The Spirit of Love

by Schattengestalt

A Christmas party at Baker Street. A mistletoe. Hidden feelings. And too much spiced punch... What could possibly go wrong! Johnlock.

Author Notes: Merry Christmas and/or happy holidays to all of you! =D I hope everyone can enjoy the last week of the year. :)

I am sorry that I didn't post anything in so long but RL was kept me extremely busy. I hope I will be able to post more often next year.^^

Enjoy the story! =)

Appreciation: A big thank you goes to my awesome beta-reader, Tstui1gos. Thank you, dear for finding the time to read this story and improve it. =D

Trigger Warning: Mentions of transphobia.

Guest: Thanks for your review. I would love to answer it with a long reply, but if you aren't logged in on FFN, that's a bit complicated. ^^" If you log in or leave me the means to contact you otherwise, I'll be in touch.

The Spirit of Love

"Sherlock, could you help me with the decorations?"

Sherlock gazed up from where he sat in his armchair and looked at John who was trying - and failing - to put up fairy lights. His lips curled up in an amused smile as he watched how his friend tried to untangle the lights and made it even worse in the process. If he continued like that then John would be the one covered in fairy lights instead of their wall. Sherlock was about to announce just that and then continue the reading of John's medical journal before their guests arrived when it hit him: John was here!

"Of course, he is here. You must be completely off your game if you only noticed his presence now." Sherlock ignored the superior sounding voice of Mycroft in his Mind Palace. His whole attention was focused on John as he cursed loudly when the fairy lights almost sent him falling to the floor. The scene should make Sherlock laugh but instead he felt a lump settle in his throat. He shouldn't treat John's presence in his life and especially not in their flat as granted because it wasn't.

When Sherlock had come back from his mission to destroy Moriarty's network John had been in a committed relationship with a woman. And it hadn't even been one of his long-term but casual girlfriends. No, his best friend had been ready to propose to her. In fact John had proposed to her... the very evening that Sherlock had come back to London. Sherlock clenched his hands in the fabric of the armrests as he forced himself not to relive those memories. The pain and desperation of those days when John hadn't even been willing to talk to him and Sherlock had taken Molly on a case with him to feel less lonely were still present in the dark corners of his Mind Palace. And there had also been an unhealthy dose of disappointment and jealousy mixed in with these feelings. Disappointment that John had moved on so fast after Sherlock's faked suicide and jealousy of his friend's bride.

Mary!

Sherlock ground his teeth as he recalled a picture of her in his mind's eye. She had been small and sweet. Her laugh had been light and feminine. Her short blond curls had made her look cute and innocent. She had been witty and charming at once. In short, she had been everything that John wanted in a partner and everything that Sherlock could never be.

"That's not completely true, is it?" The annoying voice of his brother pointed out to him with a mild smile. "You are aware that you could be some of these things if you had chosen differently."

"It wasn't a choice," Sherlock whispered under his breath.

"What wasn't a choice?" John sounded curious as he asked while he tried to arrange the fairy lights around the bison head.

"Nothing." Sherlock shook his head. "Just a little discussion in my Mind Palace." He wasn't going to explain to John how his brother had always treated his decision to transition as a choice. As if it was just a question of mind over matter. And that if Sherlock had only been stronger than he wouldn't have needed to undergo surgery and take testosterone supplements. Mycroft had had the nerve to advise Sherlock to just ignore his body and concentrate on his mental abilities. The memory of this conversation - although almost two decades ago - still sent a shudder through Sherlock's body.

"I strongly advise you against going through with this, sister mine."

"Don't call me that!" Sherlock glared at his brother as he leaned back in his armchair with a tumbler of whisky in his hand.

"Fine." Mycroft shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "I advise you against undergoing this surgery, brother mine."

"Why?" Sherlock paced up and down in front of the fireplace before he turned back to stare at his brother. It wasn't unusual that he didn't understand Mycroft's motives completely but this time his brother didn't make sense at all. He hadn't had any troubles with switching to calling him Sherlock. Mycroft had even made sure that their parents got all the information they needed to come to terms with having a transgender son. Therefore it didn't make any sense that he of all people was now trying to get Sherlock to cancel his top-surgery.

"It's unnecessary."

Sherlock blinked aghast at his brother. "You didn't say that when I got my tubes tied."

"Of course not." Mycroft spoke with him as if Sherlock was an especially slow child. "It effectively prevents a pregnancy which would only be a distraction to everyone and it was only a minor surgical intervention. The three days you stayed at the hospital were well invested."

"But this time they aren't?"

"No, of course they are not." Mycroft gestured to Sherlock who crossed his arms over his chest where two bumps were visibly under his loose shirt. "You will stay at the hospital for at least a week and then it will take at least two more months for you to fully recover. You could use this time much better by studying chemistry or travelling the globe to further your education."

"Did you miss the fact that everyone would take me for a woman if I don't get these," Sherlock gestured to his chest, "removed?!"

Mycroft only rolled his eyes at him at that. "You failed to mention that you will also need to inject testosterone to prevent any such mix-ups from happening."

Sherlock flinched at the reminder of his too soft face and too high voice but before he could say anything his brother continued. "Do you think it wise to inject yourself with hormones without knowing what they might do to your mind?"

"Oh yes, I am already worried about becoming more like you," Sherlock snapped at his brother who only reacted by taking another sip from his drink. "Can't you just focus on sharpening your mind and becoming the best in your chosen field instead of wasting time on all these nonsense."

"Nonsense?!" Sherlock flinched at how his voice came out much too high in his anger. "This is my life you are talking about here."

"Exactly." Mycroft's lips twitched in approval as if Sherlock had finally got his point. "And it shouldn't matter if you are perceived as a woman or a man. It only matters what you achieve and besides," Mycroft made a dramatic pause, "you know who you are. Isn't that enough?"

Sherlock could only stare at his brother in disbelief as he sipped calmly at his whisky as if he hadn't just spurted the most ridiculous nonsense.

"No!" Sherlock turned on his heels and marched out of the room. There was no use in discussing with his brother. Mycroft wouldn't let go of his stupid ideas no matter what Sherlock said. He threw an antique looking vase to the floor on his way out and grinned at the annoyed sigh that followed him as he left Mycroft's house. He would rather stay in a hotel before his surgery in the morning than spend one more hour under the same roof as his brother.

"If you are quite finished discussing whatever highly interesting topic took your fancy you could move your posh arse over here to help me!"

A surprised laugh fell from Sherlock's lips at John's words and how they tore through the fog the memories had left behind in his mind. The picture of Mycroft's disapproving gaze as he had visited Sherlock at the hospital vanished as Sherlock got up to come to his friend's aid.

"Why is it even necessary to hang these up?" Sherlock threw a disgusted look at the fairy lights even as he helped John to untangle them. "We already have a Christmas tree and Mrs. Hudson put two reindeers on the mantelpiece, isn't that enough?"

To Sherlock's chagrin John only laughed at that and arranged the fairy lights on the window sill. "We are having a Christmas party which will start in about half an hour."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the unnecessary reminder. As if he could forget that his flat would soon be filled with too many cheerful people. "That's not an explanation for why we need so many decorations. Or why you only started to put them up now. If you want everything to be perfect for our guests then shouldn't you have everything finished by now?"

"Seriously, Sherlock?!" There was a note of annoyance in John's voice even as his eyes crinkled with amusement. "You ask me why our flat isn't decorated yet after I had to do all the preparations for the party in the past couple of days. I went to the shops and prepared the dishes - including your favourite dessert - and cleaned the flat and arranged the tree while you did nothing to help me."

"I cleaned the fridge," Sherlock felt the need to point out and John sighed. "Yes, you did. After I threatened to donate all your chemical equipment."

Sherlock only shrugged. It was true, he wouldn't have cleaned out the fridge and scrubbed it to within an inch of its life if he hadn't been worried that John would make good on his threat. There was only so far Sherlock dared to push his friend.

"The party was your idea after all. I don't see why you shouldn't do most of the work if you want to have all these people here."

A frown appeared on John's forehead at that as he placed a red hat on Billy the skull and then contemplated where to put a few fake branches. "If you didn't want to have a party here, then why did you agree to it?"

Curious blue eyes looked up at Sherlock who opened his mouth to respond but closed it again as he couldn't find the right words. There should be a simple answer to John's question but there wasn't. No, in order to explain why he put up with this stupid party Sherlock had to reach far back. To the day when John had stood on his doorstep with a duffle bag at his feet and an embarrassed expression on his face.

"John, what are you..."

Sherlock's eyes fell on the duffle bag that stood at John's feet before they flickered up to his face. The lips of his best friend were pressed into a thin line which usually meant that John was angry about something. The light blush in his cheeks though indicated that he was embarrassed at the same time. It was a variation of the expression he always wore after a fight with the machine at Tesco's. And it could only mean that...

"Can I come in?"

Sherlock blinked in confusion as he was torn away from his observations and finally noticed how John shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He was obviously not only embarrassed about his situation but also unsure if he was welcome at 221B. Ridiculous as if Sherlock would ever deny John entry to his own home. It didn't matter that John had moved out two years ago. As far as Sherlock was concerned Baker Street would always be his home... their home.

Before he could blab such emotional nonsense though Sherlock merely nodded and stepped aside to let John enter. He noticed how his friend hurried up the stairs before Mrs. Hudson could get the chance to come out of her flat and ask him what was going on. An unnecessary precaution as she was away at the moment but it showed once more just how uncomfortable John felt.

Sherlock frowned slightly as he made his way up the stairs. There was only one explanation as to why John had appeared at his doorstep like this. Mary and he must have gotten into a fight. A big one, otherwise John wouldn't have taken a duffle bag with him to stay somewhere else.

Sherlock's heart jumped in pure joy at the thought before guilt suffocated his euphoria. He shouldn't be glad that John and Mary had fought. John was his best friend and Sherlock was certain that it was considered a-bit-not-good to feel thrilled when said best friend and his fiancée had an argument. Or maybe it was allowed because Sherlock had faked his own death - and had been prepared to die for real - to protect John. Maybe different rules applied because he loved John more than anyone else.

Sherlock halted on the twelfth step to take a deep breath and mask the emotions that had come to the surface at that thought. He couldn't let John see how he felt about this argument. Instead Sherlock needed to help his best friend to fix things with Mary to ensure his happiness because Sherlock couldn't give him what she could. At least one of them should have the chance to lead a fulfilling life. His chest constricted painfully at the logical conclusion but Sherlock ignored it as he climbed the final steps. A small smile flickered over his face as he heard the familiar sounds of tea making. At least for a couple of days he would have John in his life again. It had to be enough before the wedding took place in four months.

"I made tea," John announced unnecessarily as he carried two mugs into the living-room. "I hope you still take yours the same way."

"Black with two sugar," Sherlock confirmed as he took his place in the armchair opposite John's.

Minutes passed as they blew at their steaming tea and took careful sips until John sighed in defeat. "Alright, get on with it!"

Sherlock looked up at him in confusion. John looked like he was about to jump up from the armchair and flee from the room and like he remained seated by willpower alone. Sherlock hadn't realised that his company was that terrible. He looked back down at his tea so that John wouldn't see the crushed look in his eyes.

"I don't know what you mean, John."

An exasperated sigh. "Your deductions. Tell me why I am here! I know that it must be killing you not to blurt it all out!"

Sherlock couldn't keep himself from flinching at the accusations and John's angry words. He had believed that they were past the anger. John had forgiven him for faking his death... or at least he had said so when he had believed he was about to be blown up. Obviously Sherlock had been mistaken. John was still angry at him. He might even hate him for all Sherlock knew and he was only here now because he had nowhere else to go. Sherlock swallowed hard as he realised how much sense that made and barely managed to place his mug on the table without spilling anything before he got up. "Your room upstairs is as you left it. Bedclothes are still in the second drawer of the wardrobe. Feel free to stay as long as you need. I have to go... somewhere."

Sherlock didn't look at John as he hurried in the direction of the door. If he saw John's anger directed at him then he would break down right here. Sherlock needed to get away and find a quiet place to lock away his feelings temporarily before he could even hope of interacting with John again.

"Sherlock, wait!"

John's desperate voice made him stop in his tracks but he still didn't turn around as his friend stepped up behind him. A minute ticked by as they both waited for something to happen until John sighed behind him. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you. It's not your fault that... I am grateful that I can stay here and I will try not to act like a total prick in the future."

Sherlock turned back around at that and met tired blue eyes. A weak smile curled up John's lips before it vanished again and was replaced by a defeated look. Tentatively Sherlock placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and when it wasn't shaken off he gave a little squeeze. "It's alright. You're angry and it's understandable that you are lashing out but it will be fine. Mary and you... it will be fine." Sherlock hated how every word of the assurance pierced his heart like tiny needles but he had to stay strong. John needed him if only to help him fix his relationship with Mary but Sherlock would take what he got.

A bitter laugh tore him away from these painful thoughts and he raised an eyebrow at John who was smirking humourlessly. "You got it wrong. We didn't fight. Mary... left me."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again as the words sank in. They didn't make any sense. "Why would she leave you if you didn't fight? What about the wedding and..."

John shook his head and Sherlock hated how lost he appeared as he spoke to his feet. "The wedding his cancelled as is the rental agreement for our house. At least that's what her letter said."

"No," Sherlock shook his head. That made even less sense than Mary breaking up with John over an argument. "Have you talked with her? Maybe she wants you to... fight for her. I heard that some women like that."

John's snort was followed by a real laughter at his words and Sherlock's lips quirked up in reply. The moment of happiness was short lived though as John's face fell once more. "Mary isn't a woman who wants a man to fight for her... or if she is then she didn't give me a chance to even try." John's shoulders sagged as he finally glanced up to meet Sherlock's searching gaze. "She left without leaving a trace behind. None of her friends know where she is. She has given notice at the surgery and the staff at the bank informed me that she closed her account. It's almost like she has never been here. I don't know what to make of that!"

Helpless blue eyes looked up at Sherlock but he didn't have an answer to John's question either. If anything he was even more confused than his friend. Mary had seemed so ordinary at first glance. Certainly not like someone who could vanish from one day to another without leaving a trace. Obviously Sherlock had missed something but what...

"I could ask Mycroft to look for her," Sherlock offered. He would also ask his brother to check Mary's history while he was at it. No matter how much it irked Sherlock to ask Mycroft for help he would do it for John even if it meant owing his brother.

To his surprise - and admittedly relief - John only shook his head at the offer. "Thanks but I don't see how that would help." John held up his hand when Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. "Yes, I am aware of how much power your brother has and how he could help but even if he found Mary it wouldn't change anything. It's damn clear that she doesn't want me anymore and I am not going to chase after her."

John straightened his back and met Sherlock's gaze head on as if daring him to fight with him but Sherlock didn't even consider that option. If he had learned one thing during his friendship with John then it was that fighting with him when he looked this determined was alost battle. Besides, Sherlock didn't want to argue the point that John should try to find Mary and get back together with her. It was probably selfish but...

Sherlock's eyes flickered to the steaming mug next to John's armchair and to his coat on the rack. He didn't only want to have John at the flat as a temporary guest but for him to live here again. Sherlock wanted their belongings to mingle until none of them could tell anymore which book was whose or who had bought what pillow. He wanted...

"Move back in!" The words were out before Sherlock could think twice about it and to his great relief John didn't take offence at them but smiled and nodded. "I wanted to ask you if that would be okay at least until I have the time to look for something new."

"There is no need to look for something new. You can stay here as long as you like." Preferably forever, Sherlock added in his mind but didn't say as they toasted their new living arrangements with a cup of tea.

Now, almost a year later John was still here. He hadn't looked for a new flat and he hadn't even been on one date since he had moved back in. Not that Sherlock had any hope that this would last. Sooner or later John would meet another woman and fall in love with her. They would date and then move in together and Sherlock would be alone once more.

He pushed that depressing thought aside as he felt a lump settle in his throat. There was no need to focus on such prospects when they were still in the future. For now Sherlock had John in his life and he would do everything to make his friend want to stay. Therefore a stupid Christmas party was a small price to pay to assure that John was happy. Of course, Sherlock couldn't say that. It would give too much away and he didn't want to make his friend uncomfortable.

"It must have slipped my mind how annoying such parties are." He shrugged at John but frowned when he noticed the look in his friend's eyes. They were completely focused on a point above Sherlock's head and held a wistful expression. It was the same look John had often worn in the first few months after he had moved back in. As there had always been an underlying sadness in his expression when Sherlock had caught his gaze he had assumed that John had still been heartbroken about Mary. But he hadn't looked like this in months, at least Sherlock hadn't noticed it. So why was that expression back?

Sherlock bit down on his lower lip as he went through their interaction today. Had he said or done something wrong? Or was John just feeling sad because it was Christmas Eve and he had hoped to spend it as a newlywed couple with Mary? The thought hurt. Still if this was the cause for John's mood then Sherlock would do everything in his power to make him feel better. He would engage in small talk and play the violin and not complain about everyone John invited and...

"You are standing under a mistletoe, Sherlock."

The words were so disconnected from Sherlock's own train of thoughts that it took him a second to process them. He looked up at the ceiling where - as John had said - hung one lonely and sad excuse for the annoying parasite that had lost most of its berries already. Who had decided it was a good idea to hang it up there? It had probably been Mrs. Hudson or...

"Someone has to kiss you."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest this statement and was just about to tell John how silly a tradition the whole kissing-under-a-mistletoe was when he noticed the change in John's expression. Gone was the wistful look in his eyes and in its stead was pure determination.

Sherlock held his breath as John crossed the space between them with a few steps. Their chests were almost touching as he leaned forward on his tiptoes and...

John's lips were on his!

For a second Sherlock feared that he would pass out as John pressed a chaste and tender kiss to his lips as he tried to process every sensation at once. They were slightly chapped and warm and...

Sherlock didn't get further with cataloguing every sensation as John withdrew only a second later. He mourned the loss of the intimate contact even as he told himself that John had only kissed him because of a stupid tradition. There was no use in letting his friend see just how much such a simple kiss meant to him.

Sherlock forced a smile on his lips as he looked at John. He expected his friend to laugh the kiss off and to slap Sherlock's shoulder to re-establish that they were only friends. Instead blue eyes gazed hopefully back at him as John gave him a sheepish smile.

"Sorry if that was a little sudden but I have wanted to do that for some time and well," John scratched his head nervously, "the timing finally seemed right."

"You..." Sherlock gaped at his best friend who shifted anxiously from one foot to the other. He had to be dreaming. There was no other explanation as to why John would suddenly want to kiss him. His friend had never even given Sherlock a reason to believe that he was interested in a relationship with a man let alone that John felt any kind of attraction towards him. Sherlock pinched himself but the image of John didn't vanish. If anything his friend appeared even more nervous as he clenched and unclenched his hands while he stared up at Sherlock. As if he was waiting for something...

"Do you want that too, Sherlock?"

"What?" Had John asked a question?

John somehow managed to let his sigh sound desperate and exasperated at once. "A romantic relationship. With me. Is this something you want?"

"Yes." The word burst out before Sherlock got a chance to analyze the situation. It was worth it as a brilliant smile brightened John's whole face at such a simple answer.

"Come here," John whispered and Sherlock felt himself hugged close to a warm and compact body before his lips were claimed in a kiss once more. This time Sherlock got the chance to catalogue how John's breath caressed his lips. He put the information of how John tasted away on a shelf in his Mind Palace and swore to always remember the warmth of his friend's body as it pressed against his own. He sighed happily into John's open mouth as he carded his fingers through short hair and held his friend as close as physically possible. John didn't protest. His hands stroked over Sherlock's back as he deepened the kiss. Tongues came into play and Sherlock was sure that this was going to lead to one of their bedrooms very soon. The idea sent his blood rushing south even as another thought occurred to him.

"John," Sherlock whispered urgently against his friend's lips who withdraw reluctantly but still didn't let go of him.

"What is it?"

"I..." Sherlock started but was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson's yelling from downstairs. "Your guests are here, boys! Last chance to get decent!"

A delighted laugh sounded from John. "That's the first time that she is right to warn us." He stole another kiss from Sherlock's lips. "Remind me where we stopped so that we can pick up at that point after the party."

Sherlock opened his mouth to call John back as he went to greet their guests at the landing of the staircase. They needed to talk. And not only about the sudden change in their relationship and - God help him - their feelings but also about the part of himself that Sherlock had always kept secret from his friend.

"John! Good to see you, mate! Thanks for the invitation."

Lestrade's voice made Sherlock snap his mouth shut. There was no time to talk now. Not when they had other people in their flat.

Sherlock carded a shaking hand through his curls and then forced himself to appear as unmoved and disinterested as ever as Molly and Lestrade came into the living-room.

"Sherlock, good to see you."

He endured Lestrade's bear hug even as he glanced at the clock over the DI's shoulder. Four or five hours before he could even entertain the idea of getting John to himself. More than enough time to imagine and prepare for every one of John's possible reactions to learning that Sherlock was transgender.

"That's going to be a great party."

Sherlock couldn't disagree more with Lestrade's assessment.

OOO

"Isn't this a lovely Christmas party, dear?"

Sherlock snorted at Mrs. Hudson's questions. "If someone enjoys mindless small-talk, spiced punch and sentimental Christmas carols then it's certainly a lovely party for them."

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson patted his arm with a sad smile, "don't take everything so seriously all the time and relax a little. Drink some punch." Before he could protest a glass of the red liquid was pressed into his hands by his landlady.

"I don't think that a glass of punch will be enough to make me enjoy this... party."

Sherlock's eyes flickered from John who was talking and laughing with Lestrade to Molly who was standing a little forlorn next to the Christmas tree and finally landed on Sally and Anderson. He still didn't know why John had invited them today. Sally had grudgingly apologized to him after he had returned and Anderson had become something of a fan but... they weren't their friends.

Sherlock frowned as Anderson edged closer to Sally and put a hand on her knee. They had better not try to sneak into one of their bedrooms later or Sherlock would have to burn down the whole bed. That though would give him an excuse to share a bed with John. If his friend didn't kill him for starting a fire in their flat and if he still wanted to sleep with Sherlock after he had learned...

Sherlock gulped down the strongly spiced punch in one go before he could freak out. There was no use in working himself up over how John would react to his coming out. At least not when Sherlock still had to endure at least three hours of this terrible party before he would even get a chance to talk with his friend.

"You know," Mrs. Hudson leaned against his arm and Sherlock vowed to monitor her intake of the punch more closely. "I am really relieved that John is here with us today."

"Where else would he be? He organized this party after all although I am glad that you took on the baking. John couldn't make decent mince pies if his life depended on it."

To his disappointment, Mrs. Hudson wasn't distracted by his compliment as she only shook his head at him. "You know what I mean, Sherlock. If Mary hadn't run away then our dear John would be married to her by now."

Sherlock clenched his hand around his empty glass and contemplated getting a refill. He could certainly do with something to dull his senses if the conversation was going into this direction and he doubted that John would be thrilled if he took to his preferred drugs. "Of course, we are all terribly sorry that this completely useless ritual wasn't performed."

"No, I think it's good that he didn't marry this woman." Mrs. Hudson completely ignored his criticism of weddings in general as she gestured towards John. "There was something fishy about her. I can't put my finger on it but I am sure that she would have gotten our John into trouble."

"You're exaggerating, Mrs. Hudson." It wasn't that Sherlock hadn't wondered what other surprises Mary would have had in stock for them after she had managed to vanish without a trace but he really didn't want to discuss her today.

"Thankfully we will never know." Mrs. Hudson giggled and then stumbled a little. "Excuse me, my boy. I think I will just sit down for a moment. My hip, you know."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie but still made sure that Mrs. Hudson made it to his armchair without falling down. He would have to send John down to her with some hangover remedies tomorrow. Apropos John, Sherlock glanced at his friend who was still laughing about one of Lestrade's stories and decided to join them. If he had to endure this party he could at least spend his time in John's company. Who knew if his friend would still want to be close to him after his confession?

Sherlock pushed the thought aside before it could show on his face and stepped up next to his friend. "I estimate that you had at least four glasses of the punch plus two bottles of beer," Sherlock addressed Lestrade. "If you drink anymore you will spend the next two days with a hangover."

Lestrade shrugged as he sipped at his fifth glass of punch. "Not like I have plans to be anywhere."

Sherlock was just about to point out that Molly didn't have any plans either but that she wouldn't be adverse to spending time with the DI judging from the looks she was giving him when John elbowed him in his side.

"Be nice," he mouthed at him.

"I am nice. I was just about to tell Galvin that..."

"Jesus Christ, it's Greg. When will you fucking remember it?!"

"He does know your name," John jumped in before Sherlock could respond, "he just thinks it's funny to pretend that he doesn't."

"Well, it's not," Lestrade muttered and for a second Sherlock feared that he would get maudlin when his eyes lit up again. "But I know something funny. Something about him."

Lestrade stumbled a few steps backwards as he tried to point straight at Sherlock which gained him the attention of everyone in the room. Sherlock groaned as even John showed mild interest in Lestrade's story. Great, now he had to endure a retelling of the time that he had fallen into a small lake because he had stumbled over a duck. Or maybe it would be the story of him running face first into a street lamp when he had been too busy looking at his phone. Or maybe...

"This mad bastard," Lestrade giggled as he leaned heavily against the doorframe to keep upright, "was so caught up in a case once that he ran around all day without realising that he had gotten his monthlies. Was right shocked when he finally sat down in my office and noticed his trousers sticking to his legs. Good that they were black or otherwise..."

Lestrade's giggles were the only sound in the whole room as everyone appeared to wait with bated breath for a reaction.

Sherlock took a second to stare at the still giggling DI who had just outed him as transgender to everyone at the party and then forced himself to assess the damage. Sherlock didn't have the courage to look at John for fear of what his expression would tell him and so his eyes fell on Mrs. Hudson first. Her expression was of mild surprise but she didn't even look shocked at the news. Sherlock wasn't sure that it was even possible to shock her after everything she had already experienced in her life. At least he would still have a home when this evening was over.

Sherlock focused on Anderson and Sally next but had to look away a second later. Even he couldn't stand to be regarded with such disgust, anger and disappointment for long. Not even when it came from them.

A moment later though, Sherlock wished that he had kept on staring at Sally as the disappointed and tear-filled expression in Molly's eyes was even harder to stand. Her look resembled his mother's when Sherlock had told her for the first time... No, that was not the time to go down this path.

Sherlock braced himself as he turned around to face John and stumbled back at the pure rage that filled his friend's eyes. Gone was the pale colour of his irises and in its stead was a dark, stormy blue that Sherlock had never seen before. It told him more than the way John clenched his hands and grinded his teeth as he took a step away from Sherlock. It told him that this - everything they had, their whole friendship - was over.

The force of this realisation hit Sherlock like a hammer as he gasped for breath and then allowed his most primal instincts to take over as he fled from the room. His feet took him down the stairs and out of the flat before anyone could react.

The cold air bit his skin but Sherlock didn't turn back around to get his coat but instead stumbled down the street. Fresh snow covered the pavement and crunched with his every step. Colourful Christmas lights blinked down at him and hopeful carols echoed through the air as if to mock him.

God and here he had thought that the worst that could happen at the party would be for someone to vomit on the carpet. Instead Lestrade had outed him to everyone and now... Now, he had obviously even lost the few friends that he had managed to keep for all these years.

Sherlock's feet slipped on a patch of ice but the pain of his knees and hands hitting the ground barely registered with him. Everything hurt. The cold air burned in his lungs with every breath he took and the pain was only made worse by the constricted feeling in his chest and the painful lump that had lodged itself inside his throat. His eyes burned as he stared down at the snow covered street but he didn't allow his tears to fall. It would be the ultimate surrender to give in and cry now. He had sworn to himself that he was done crying after Victor had given him a split lip and a black eye over finding out that Sherlock was transgender during his university days. It was the last time that he had allowed himself to cry.

"Liar," Mycroft's voice sounded in his head, "you cried when you had to fake your own death and leave John behind. And you also shed some tears when you came back and found that he had moved on."

Sherlock shook his head and tried to push Mycroft out of his Mind Palace. It didn't work. It had never worked. Somehow his brother had managed to become a fixed institution in Sherlock's mind.

"You need to get up!"

"What for?" Sherlock's hands clenched in the snow. There was nowhere for him to go. He couldn't go to Molly's after seeing the disappointed look in her eyes. His parents were away on a holiday trip and Mycroft was away on some international business. Sherlock didn't even consider crashing on Lestrade's couch like he had done numerous times at the start of their acquaintanceship. Not after the DI had outed Sherlock like this.

A bitter laugh fell from Sherlock's lips. For years, Lestrade hadn't mentioned Sherlock's gender identity. Lestrade had found out about Sherlock when he had looked after him while Sherlock had gone through a drug withdrawal. They had only had one conversation about it at the time and then they had gone on like nothing had happened. But when it had been the most important for the DI to keep his mouth shut he had blabbed out his secret. If it had been before Sherlock had agreed to a romantic relationship with John or after tonight then it wouldn't have been so terrible but...

"At least, I don't have to worry about ruining my relationship with John anymore," Sherlock whispered to the snow. Certainly his friend wasn't interested in him anymore. Not after learning of Sherlock's gender identity like this. He'd be lucky if his friend didn't accuse him of leading him on like Victor had done.

"Holmes!"

Hurried steps sounded behind him on the pavement and Sherlock groaned as he forced himself to get up. There was no way that he would give Sally the satisfaction of sitting in the snow like a beaten puppy.

"What do you want, Sergeant?"

Sally rolled her eyes at him as she reached him and Sherlock took a second to notice that her high heeled shoes weren't made for running down snow covered streets. Still, she had taken it upon herself to find him because... why would she do that?

"You forgot your coat, you git."

Sherlock blinked down at the heavy woollen coat she thrust at him before he accepted it with a nod and shrugged it on.

"Your scarf is in the pocket."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in surprise at this but sighed in relief when the warm cashmere was wrapped around his neck. He hadn't realised just how cold it really was outside until now.

"Thanks," he nodded at Sally, "you can go now."

She only snorted at that and crossed her arms over her chest as she gave him a hard look. "I don't think so."

"Really?! Why would you want to stay in the cold when you can go back home with Anderson and think of new insults for me? Or maybe," Sherlock mused with a sneer on his lips, "you have already come up with something to say to me. Are you going to tell me that I am just a woman in disguise and that I should stop to be such a disgrace to my gender. Or that I am not a real man. Or maybe you will just call me Freak again and walk away!"

Sally visibly flinched at the last part of his speech but she still stood her ground as she met his eyes. "I am not going to say any of these because I don't think that they hold any truth. And for the record," Sally added just when Sherlock was about to respond, "I never called you Freak because you are transgender and neither did Phillip. It would be more than hypocritical of me to do so."

"You..." Sherlock closed his mouth with a click as he realised what Sally had just told him. He didn't know whether he was more surprised by the revelation that she was transgender as well and he hadn't deduced it or that Anderson and she had known all along about him. The latter, Sherlock decided after a split second of indecision. Definitely the latter.

"Christ, you really didn't know," Sally muttered to herself.

"No, how did you figure it out?"

"I... it wasn't me. Phillip figured it out. He..." A light blush crept into Sally's cheeks and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at such a display. He had never seen her blush before that he could remember. "He saw you throw something away in the restroom. It was tampon. He analyzed it and found out that the contents were yours and that the bloody discharge on it included uterine lining."

"Why would he... Oh yes, he probably hoped to find evidence that I was taking some sort of drug by pushing a prepared tampon up my arse." It made sense. The incident had probably occurred during the first year that he had started solving cases for the Yard. At that time Sherlock's testosterone dosage hadn't been high enough to prevent menstruations from happening. Thankfully, that hadn't been a problem for years.

"Yes, he has always been a little obsessed with you." Sally shrugged. "Now that we have got this out of the way can we get back? It's bloody freezing cold."

"Feel free to go... but wait," Sherlock added hastily when a memory nudged at his mind although Sally hadn't taken one step away from him. "If you already knew and were both fine with it why did you look so disgusted and angry back at the party?"

Sherlock had never been the most observant when it came to reading emotions of people but he certainly could recognize such negative feelings. They had been directed at him often enough after all.

"Because it was fucking disgusting that Greg told such a story! He is my boss and he was drunk but that's no excuse for embarrassing you like this." Sally grimaced as she shook her head. "He can be thankful that everyone but Mrs. Hudson already knew - and that she wasn't faced by the revelation at all - or I would have ripped him a new one."

Silence.

Sherlock stared at Sally in disbelief. The part about her being disgusted by Lestrade's actions and not by Sherlock made sense. As did the part about Mrs. Hudson taking everything in stride but...

"What about Molly?"

Sally snorted. "She is disappointed that Greg behaved in such a way. I guess she imagined him to be some kind of greying Prince Charming. I am sure she will be fine though."

That explained Molly's look that Sherlock had believed had been directed at him. Still, he had never told her that he was transgender. So how had Molly figured it out? Or hadn't she known about Sherlock's secret and was just more affected by Lestrade's behaviour than by the revelation itself?

"Don't tell me you didn't know that she knew either?"

Sherlock bristled slightly at Sally's amused tone but then just sighed and shook his head. "No. How..."

"Don't ask me," Sally held up her hands. "I am not best buddies with her although I might want to change that after the right hook she landed on Greg's nose."

"Molly slapped Greg?!"

Sherlock certainly knew that Molly had a temper but he would have never believed that she had it in her to slap the one she fancied. Obviously he needed to renew parts of his Mind Palace about some people.

"Phillip and I would have given him a smack too but we were too busy preventing John from physically harming a police officer to get a chance."

"John?"

"Yes, he was hopping mad at Greg. It was only thanks to Mrs. Hudson that my boss managed to leave the flat and escape in a taxi."

Sherlock blinked slowly as some pieces started to rearrange themselves in his Mind Palace. The people in his flat - his friends - hadn't been mad at him but at Greg for outing him. The mere idea was startling. Still, that didn't mean that John wouldn't be mad at Sherlock for not telling him sooner. It was also still highly likely - about 93.7% - that John wouldn't want to pursue a relationship with him any longer.

"Now that we have established that Greg needs to apologize and that the party has broken up, can we go back? I am freezing my arse off and John is probably getting crazy waiting for you to come back."

"He is probably waiting for a chance to yell at me," Sherlock murmured to himself but took a step in the direction of his flat. This time though Sally stopped him with a curious look on her face. "Why should John yell at you? I mean, I can't imagine not yelling at you if I lived with you but why should he do so tonight?"

"He didn't know."

Sally gaped at him. "What, but I thought you two were..."

"We were never together, not like this," Sherlock admitted, "but we kissed this evening before the party started for the first time and..." He stopped abruptly midsentence as he realised that he was just spilling his guts to Sally of all people. Christ, he had to suffer from the first stage of hypothermia if he believed this to be a good idea. "Nevermind! Forget what I just said."

"For claiming to be a genius you are really slow. " Sally held up her hand when Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. "I don't know if John knew that you are transgender but everyone can see that he is madly in love with you - God knows why. Why else do you think that all the Yarders believe that you are shagging like rabbits?"

"Because we live together and I am irresistible," Sherlock joked weakly and Sally's lips twitched upwards.

"God, you really are an idiot. Go home and talk to him."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Sherlock tried to smile but it must have fallen short as Sally felt the need to pat his arm reassuringly before she linked arms with him.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. "You should really consider wearing different shoes in such a weather."

"Shut up!" Sally dragged him along the street as fast as the snow and her high heels allowed. "I am just making sure that you don't run away."

"I won't," Sherlock promised quietly and Sally nodded in acceptance before they made the remaining way to the flat back in comfortable silence.

They were greeted by Anderson when they made it to the front door. "About time that you get back. I don't know how much longer John would have waited patiently upstairs before he had stormed out to search for you as well."

Sherlock felt himself tense as he was reminded that it was only a matter of minutes anymore before he had to talk with John. Sally might believe that John loved him and maybe she was right but Sherlock had learned years ago that love often wasn't enough. That it often wasn't some pure and unconditional emotion that could conquer all. He just hoped that it was at least enough to save their friendship.

He must have given some outward sign of his distress as Sally squeezed his arm in silent support. "It will be fine, Holmes."

"Goodnight, Holmes." Anderson nodded at him as he held out his hand for Sally to take as they made their way to the next tube station.

Sherlock watched them walk away until they had moved around the corner and then looked up the front of the building. The light in the living-room of 221B was still turned on. John was waiting for him.

Sherlock took a shaking breath and forced his legs to carry him through the front door and then up the stairs before he could think better of it and break his promise to Sally. He had barely stepped over the threshold when he was enfolded in strong arms.

"John," Sherlock choked out as his friend gave a great impression of pressing the air from his lungs.

"Sorry." John stepped back with a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his head. "I just... I am glad that you are back and more or less in one piece."

Sherlock followed John's gaze to his knees where the fabric of his trousers had been torn. He must have hit the ground harder than he had realised when he had fallen. A look at his hands confirmed that the skin there was a little scratched as well. This certainly put a damper on his plans of playing his violin for a few days. And there he had thought that he would surprise John with some of his favourite Christmas carols. If Sherlock had known that this would happen then he wouldn't have needed to use up so much storage place in his Mind Palace just for this stupid music. Of course, if he had known how this evening would go then...

"So," John began - his usual way of starting a difficult conversation - but then shook his head ruefully. "I am an idiot, you must be frozen stiff. Take a hot shower and change into your warm pyjamas while I make us some hot chocolate."

Sherlock blinked in confusion. Certainly whatever John had to say was more important than a shower and a change of clothes. Besides he doubted that he could stand the suspense much longer.

"Don't even think of arguing with me, Sherlock!" John crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow at him. "Shower and pyjamas, Doctor's orders!"

Reluctantly Sherlock agreed to the order with a nod. There was no use in arguing with John when he used that tone.

"And wear slippers when you come out of the bathroom. There might still be pieces of broken glass in the kitchen. I tried to mop it up but I am not sure that I got it all."

Sherlock stopped on his way through the living-room as he glanced at John who was rubbing his neck in embarrassment while heat coloured his cheeks. He had only ever seen John wear that exact expression after he had lost his temper. Sherlock's eyes flickered over the floor and walls until he found what he had been looking for: Splashes of red on parts of the wallpaper and the cupboard. John had smashed the bowl with the punch and probably the glasses as well. Sally hadn't exaggerated when she had said that John had been really pissed off. The only question was if this was good or bad for him.

"The shower won't come to you." John's amused voice stopped Sherlock in his musings and brought him back to the present. A present in which his friend was arranging milk, chocolate bars and a vanilla bean on the kitchen counter. They were about to have cups of the good hot chocolate. The one John only made on special occasions. Sherlock took heart from that and finally hurried to the bathroom to take a shower. He only noticed how cold he had been when the warm water hit his body and made him hiss in discomfort before he got used to the temperature.

His knees and hands burned as they came into contact with the water and soap but Sherlock paid them no mind as he hurried through his usual routine as fast as his hair allowed it. There was no way that he could skip the shampoo and conditioner without ending up with a bird's nest on his head the next day. Somehow he still managed to make his way back to the living-room - dressed in his favourite grey pyjamas and his dressing gown - as John placed two mugs next to each armchair.

"Great timing!" John's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as they both sat down in their armchairs.

Sherlock closed his hands around his mug to hold onto something as he waited for John to speak his mind. Minutes ticked by. The flames crackled in the fireplace. John alternated between sipping his hot chocolate and fidgeting with his hands. He didn't look like he would say anything anytime soon.

Sherlock sighed. It looked like he had to start this conversation if he wanted it to be over before tomorrow morning. "I'm sorry."

John almost spilled the contents of his mug at that as he stared at Sherlock in disbelief. "Why are you apologizing?"

Sherlock shrugged and stared down in his mug. "For running away and ruining the party."

"If anyone ruined the party then it was Greg." A hard note edged into John's voice and Sherlock deduced that Lestrade would have to eat humble pie if he ever wanted to go to the pub with his friend again. "And while it wasn't great that you ran away like that it's understandable. No one wants to be outed like that although," John added thoughtfully, "Everyone - except for Mrs. Hudson - already knew that you are transgender but Greg wasn't aware of that and..."

"Hold on!" Sherlock almost spilled hot chocolate all over himself as he held up his mug to interrupt John. "You knew?!"

Sherlock felt like a complete idiot when John nodded with a confused look on his face. All his friends - and Anderson - had known that he was transgender and Sherlock hadn't even realised it.

"It only shows that you have chosen wisely in allowing them closer to you," Mycroft's bored voice drawled in his Mind Palace. "They never found it necessary to comment on your gender and just accepted you as you are. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Sherlock had to admit that his brother - or the version of him in his Mind Palace at least - was right. He had always hoped that he would meet someone who wouldn't care that he was transgender if he told them. Someone who would treat him no differently after learning about this part of him and not bother him with stupid questions. Obviously, his wish had been fulfilled without him even noticing and that also meant...

"You knew that I was transgender before you kissed me and asked me to... get romantically involved with you?" It had been supposed to be a statement but it sounded more like a question as Sherlock still felt unsure about making assumptions.

"Oh God!" John's eyes were as round as saucers and filled with absolute horror and understanding as Sherlock finally dared to meet his friend's gaze again. "You thought," John's Adam's apple popped up and down as he swallowed hard, "That I didn't know before Greg's stupid joke and that I would be angry at you." John shook his head as if the mere notion of something like that was absolutely unbelievable. "Even if I hadn't known, do you really think that I would have been mad at you because you hadn't told me sooner?"

A humourless laugh escaped Sherlock at that. "You make it sound like no big deal but you wouldn't have been the first one to lose their temper over such a minor detail."

At his words, John's expression underwent a rapid change from anger over sympathy and finally settled on embarrassment. "You are right. I guess I would have been both shocked and surprised if I hadn't known before Greg outed you." A rueful smile played around the corner of John's lips. "At least that was my first reaction when Mary told me about you. Maybe I would have reacted differently today but..."

"Wait a second!" Sherlock felt like his mind was overheating as he repeated John's words over and over in his head but they didn't change their meaning. "Mary told you that I was transgender?"

"In a way," John pressed his lips together as he appeared to recall what the exact words of his ex-fiancée had been, "She said that it was amazing how far you had come despite the stigma against transgender people. It was right after you came... back."

Sherlock frowned. "How did she know?"

He couldn't imagine how Mary could have figured out his best hidden secret. There were no clues in the flat to give him away and it had been years since Sherlock had needed to worry about passing. So how...

"I don't know. I didn't think to ask her because she made it sound like it was totally obvious and I was an idiot for not noticing." John ducked his head in embarrassment. "I was more focused on getting over my first surprise to wonder how Mary knew but now..."

"We will never know," Sherlock finished the sentence for his friend. It was the truth. Mary was gone and they would never learn her secrets. And by now Sherlock was certain that a lot had been hidden behind her pretty smiles and manicured hands. It was probably for the best that she had left when she did.

"God, I feel like I dodged a bullet by not marrying her." John's words mirrored Sherlock's own thoughts perfectly and they both took a moment to appreciate what they had now as they took sips from their cooling chocolate.

"So you don't have any problem whatsoever with me being transgender?"

"Didn't you just establish that the good Doctor already knew about that part of you when he asked you to be together? Really, brother mine, what more confirmation do you need?"

Sherlock huffed inwardly at the Mycroft in his Mind Palace. It was easy for his brother who had never been interested in any kind of relationships at all to speak like this but Sherlock needed to hear from John that they would be alright. That his gender identity wouldn't get in the way of their developing relationship.

"Words can lie, dear brother. If you are so insecure you might want to wait for confirming actions. And even then there is no guarantee..."

"Oh, shut up!"

John jumped in his chair at Sherlock's loud outburst and hurt blue eyes looked at him. "I didn't even say anything yet."

"No, I meant Mycroft," Sherlock tried to soothe the hurt in John's expression but only managed to agitate his friend who jumped up from his chair and glanced suspiciously around the flat. "Did he install cameras and microphones again?"

"No," Sherlock got up as well and placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder. "I meant the one in my Mind Palace. He likes to keep a running commentary on everything I do." It sounded completely mental when put into words and Sherlock worried his lower lip with his teeth as he waited for John to laugh at him.

Instead his friend sighed in understanding. "Older siblings can be annoying. I am just glad that I don't have Harry commenting in my head or I would go nuts."

"Some people would remark that you already are crazy for spending time with me," Sherlock remarked and regretted it a second later when the smile on John's face was replaced by a serious expression.

"Sherlock Holmes," John placed both hands on Sherlock's shoulders and met his gaze with a determined expression, "Most people are idiots that don't know how much I love you therefore..." Sherlock noticed the exact moment when John realised what he had just said as his eyes widened in shock. With bated breath Sherlock waited for his friend to take the words back and offer to make tea but for the countless time today John surprised him. "Well, I guess that answers your former question." There was such tenderness in John's eyes as he looked up at him that Sherlock needed to swallow hard before he could speak without his voice cracking from happy tears.

"I love you, too."

Sherlock couldn't say who initiated the kiss this time. He was only aware of the warm body in his arms and the gentle lips on his own as he was finally allowed to hold and kiss the man he loved.

"Merry Christmas," John whispered into the kiss as the bell of Big Ben struck midnight.

"Merry Christmas," Sherlock replied and for the first time in decades the words didn't carry bitterness and contempt but love and happiness as he held John in his arms. His very own miracle wrapped in a soft jumper.