When night starts to fall, John picks up some things at the nearest shop before he heads back to the flat, somehow unsurprised when the previously locked door is now unlocked. Shaking his head a little, he lets himself in and locks the door behind him before searching the apartment slowly until he sees Sherlock sitting in his chair with the day's newspaper, casually reading it over.
"Did you break into your own flat?" John asks skeptically as he looks at the detective, going to put some bags in his bedroom before going to the kitchen to pull out the food that he picked up, as well as a pot, since even if there was one in the kitchen, he doesn't trust anything.
Flipping the top of the newspaper down briefly to look at John before he brings it back up, the detective talks from behind the paper. "Try not to be tedious, John. You had the keys, there was little else I could do to get into my apartment. It is not breaking a law if it is my apartment." He reminds the doctor with a small sigh before he falls silent again, legs crossing as he relaxes.
John shakes his head a little for a few moments. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that. It's so obvious." He says sarcastically as he starts to cut up various vegetables and chicken, mixing them in the pot slowly before he turns to look at Sherlock. As he turns, something catches his eye however and he does a little bit of a double take. "Sherlock.. there are presents under the tree. I didn't put mine there yet. Did you go Christmas shopping today?" He asks, feeling rather shocked that the cold, unfeeling detective would go to the trouble of getting him something for Christmas. Of course he did get a bit of a present last year in the form of the sketches that Sherlock sent him.
"You bought me a present, brought it back yesterday. Social convention says that I must return the favor." The younger man casually points out from where he is hiding behind his paper, slowly turning the page, before he closes it and flips the top down along the fold, tossing it aside casually onto another pile of newspapers, before he gets up smoothly and strides toward the kitchen with a slight frown on his face as he approaches the stove. "Cooking, interesting skill for a man of your age and background. You must have admired your mother a great deal, spent more time in the kitchen with her, likely she cooked every day. Also indicates the possibility of an independent personality, preferring to do such things as cooking rather than eating out. Possibly also a low income family." He says thoughtfully as he looks down into the pot, sniffing at it for a few moments before apparently deigning it satisfactory because he goes over and grabs his laptop from the desk, flopping back down in his chair with it.
Sighing a little again and pinching the bridge of his nose, John shakes his head. "For the record, my mum was a stay at home mom, and I was very close to her." He acknowledges as he watches Sherlock before he starts to make himself some tea and tends to his soup. "Our family wasn't low income, but my mom always believed in cooking where you could, instead of wasting money on take away, considering you never know what is in it." He says with a small smile, and a fond tone to his voice as he talks about his mother. "She was a good woman." He adds with a sad tone to his voice.
Something in his voice must have given the detective pause because he looks up and stares at John for a few moments. To Sherlock, the tone and use of tense indicates that John's mother is likely not still alive, but that it happened in his adult years rather than juvenile years because he's still mourning her in a way. For once however, he has decided not to say anything about his deductions, instead he just keeps them in as he continues to take in the body language of the doctor in front of him, before he turns back to the entry he was doing on his computer.
Silence falls in the flat as John falls into more melancholy thoughts, and he stirs the soup, finally finishing everything and serving out two bowls, including some bread on the side. Without asking if the detective wants any, he merely sets down a bowl next to him expectantly, taking his own food to the chair he's been using opposite the taller man and then he flicks on the tellie, finding a channel of some show that looks like he could enjoy without having to have seen every episode, eating quietly and musing over what the detective could have gotten him for Christmas, excitement building the sort that he hasn't felt since he was a much younger man. Which allows him to relax a little more and generally be in a better mood.
Interestingly enough, after a brief glance at the soup that he's given, Sherlock adjusts his work space so that he can still work on his computer but he does pull the food over and start to eat slowly. Partially, he tells himself, as an experiment to see how good of a cook the other man is. And the answer to that surprises him, causing him to kook skeptically at the soup for a moment before he continues to eat. Eventually when he's finished, he gets up, collecting John's dishes as well to bring them to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink and at least making sure the stove is off before making tea for both of them, setting John's down on the small table beside his chair before he casually returns to where he was sitting, tapping away on his keyboard.
After a few hours of listening to the mindless shows that John seems to be listening to, Sherlock snaps his laptop shut, frowning. "Surely you can find something a little more intelligent to watch, John?" He asks with frustration as he glares at the tellie.
"Shut it, Sherlock." John says before he looks at the detective. "I'm not very familiar with television shows at the moment. If there's something in particular you want to watch, then tell me. Otherwise, I am going to watch some Christmas movies, and maybe have a drink, if you have anything." he says as he looks over at the detective.
With a small sigh and a little frown, Sherlock gets up and goes to the kitchen, putting the remainder of the soup, pot and all, in the fridge, before he grabs two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, pouring some in each glass before he brings them out, handing one to John and keeping one for himself, the bottle sitting on the end table. "If I am going to be forced to listen to this, I may as well be drinking." he grumbles lightly, not liking to drink normally because he tends to lose control over himself and that is something he cannot stand. However, he trusts John not to let him do anything too horrible.
"You are such a drama queen, Sherlock." John accuses, wincing a little after he takes the first sip of the whiskey. "Bloody hell, you do have good taste though." he says with a nod of his head, coughing lightly because he wasn't expecting it to be quite so strong, but after that first drink he sips a little more cautiously but is expecting it so it goes down a little smoother.
Unfortunately as the night passes and they watch the various Christmas specials, neither of them pays attention to how much they are drinking. By the time John decides to go to bed, he's more than a little tipsy but not quite fall-down drunk, swaying a little when he first stands up. "You're a good mate, Sherlock. A good.. good man.. Thank you.. for having me... for getting me presents.. for writing to me. You don't know... know how much.. the... the.. um.." He pauses and then shakes his head, losing his train of thought as he turns to the detective who has also stood up. "Thanks." He says with an very emotional tone, apparently feeling too much to turn into words, so he reaches up to grab Sherlock by the back of the neck, pulling him down into a rough hug, giving him a few thumps on the back before he releases the man and stares at him for a moment. "Right. Bed." He decides before he turns and staggers a little toward the bedroom.
Drunk or not, Sherlock is a little stunned at the hug, managing to return it somewhat awkwardly. "You're welcome, John." He says in a near-whisper during the hug, taking a slight step back as he's released so suddenly. Staring after the smaller man as he staggers away, the detective frowns a little, one hand moving to rest over the center of his chest, confused at the feelings - any feelings - that are stirred in him. Things that he finds a bit disturbing but also finds that he's craving those feelings more which is annoying to him. Since his mind is going around in circles and making no sense, Sherlock decides that bed is good as well, and finally stumbles off, not even bothering to change, just falling face first onto his bed, asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.
Alright! Sorry this took so long. I wanted to put in a scene between the last and Christmas, and this is sort of what came out. lol. I love it though. Especially John's slightly more emotional state because of the alcohol. Next up is Christmas, which I know everyone is excited about because of the presents. I am, too! :D
Comments/Reviews welcome of course!