When John wakes up, it's not the easy wakeup that he's had the last few mornings. No, this time he wakes with a start and a small gasp, sitting up quickly from his somewhat reclined position. Automatically, he reaches for his gun only to find out that it's not there but it takes a second more to figure out exactly where he is, then he sighs and relaxes back in the chair for a moment before he rubs both hands over his face. The blanket confuses him and tangles him for a moment before the man manages to get to his feet and stumble to the bathroom where he splashes some cold water on his face to ground him and wake him up a little.
Still a little groggy, John steps out of the bathroom into the main room again, the detective conspicuous by his absence. Deciding not to be concerned just yet, the doctor goes to clean up the remains of Christmas dinner, grabbing a few bites to snack on himself as he puts everything away. Once that's done, he walks back into the main room and toward the window. There's still snow falling faintly outside when he looks out, glancing around to see if the detective is maybe outside smoking or something, but it seems not. Not willing to sit down and watch more crap tellie and risk falling asleep again, he instead turns toward the desk, noticing the sketches that Sherlock was doing earlier, he decides to be a little nosy.
The first one on top of the pad is a simple one of the flat, having the tree in it with the presents underneath it, the messy desk and the window with the snow falling outside. It's sort of sad and yet it also makes John happy to see that it is a memory that Sherlock feels he wants to preserve. Under the first page is another picture from this morning, of John himself, looking at the sampler of tea that Sherlock gave him. He didn't realize he had such a look of awe on his face when he saw the present, even though he knows that he felt it. The thought behind that gift surprised him and continues to surprise him.
With a little smile, he continues looking through the sketchpad, unabashedly, seeing another sketch of him cooking, and one of him sleeping, and one from the view out the window with the snow coming down on the street outside, and all the Christmas lights fairly twinkling. They all bring a smile to his face, liking the fact that while he may not be able to outwardly express his feelings, he's able to at least make such beautiful pictures. Even though he knows the detective will know he's been snooping, John still closes the book back up and puts it back where it was. After a moment where he's not sure exactly what to do next, John walks into the bedroom and retrieves the laptop he meant to return to Sherlock, sitting down in 'his' chair with it to check some email and such. Even if he isn't going to call Harry - mostly because he doesn't have a good phone number for her - the least he can do is drop her an email. Assuming that the email he has for her is good. Or at least one that she still uses. Even that is hit or miss, but this time John is trying to be a good brother. He and Harry haven't gotten along in the last few years but he figures now is the time to start repairing everything, if he can.
Sherlock returns while John is still on his laptop, flicking his coat collar down and scanning the room out of habit. "Finally awake, I see." He says as he removes his jacket and brand new scarf which he hangs up, ruffling his hair a little to get the snow and any moisture out of it. At some point he dressed, though just in a t-shirt, jeans and a sweatshirt. Apparently whatever he was doing, he didn't intend to impress anyone.
"Yeah, been up about an hour." John says without looking away from the laptop, deciding not to give the younger man the satisfaction of his undivided attention since that is what he seems to want at the moment. But of course he won't ignore him either, that would just be rude.
Another scan of the room before Sherlock heads toward the kitchen. "Ah. Obsessive neatness. A byproduct of your long years in the army. Rather telling, I suppose your bed is neatly made as well, with perfectly creased corners and the pillows placed precisely in the center of the bed." The detective states, making a few graceful, but pointed hand motions as he speaks about the pillows.
Still not giving him full attention as he looks through some webpages, John just shrugs one shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with being neat, Sherlock. For your information, I was always neat, even as a child." He points out with a little shake of his head. "You know, it's actually considered normal to put things back when you're finished with them, or to have some sort of organization." He says as he finally looks up from the laptop to vaguely motion to the mess of folders and papers, journals and file folders that's laying around the apartment. He finally turns a little to look at Sherlock before he turns back to his computer.
"Ah, yes. Product of an abusive father." Sherlock says casually, as if he weren't delving into something that might be painful. "No, don't look at me like that. I never said he was physically abusive. There are many forms of abuse, John, a medical man like yourself should know that." He says in his condescending, dismissive way, fluttering one of his long-fingered hands in the air before he starts bringing things back to the kitchen table like his microscope and a few other things. "Constantly trying to please your parents, make sure that you didn't get in trouble. Probably trying to make up for your delinquent sister as well. Be the good child. Of course you couldn't be good all the time, especially in the eyes of your parents, especially when your father got drunk." The detective says in a thoughtful tone, though he doesn't really seem to be paying attention to what's coming out of his mouth.
That is just about enough as far as John is concerned, and he snaps his laptop shut. "That's enough, Sherlock." he says in an irritable tone, not really wanting this otherwise nice day to end with a diagnosis of his childhood from an emotionally stunted man.
"You really should deal with some of these issues, John, especially if they're going to upset you so easily just by a mention of them. I didn't exactly have a perfect childhood, but it hardly bothers me if someone were to point out that my father was an emotionally distant dictator, until he was killed of course." Sherlock says as he looks out the kitchen window for a moment, then he goes back to what he was doing, starting up some experiment. "You however, were closer to your mother. Hiding from your father's disapproval and given your skill in the kitchen. You must have been hanging off her apron every time she was in the kitchen. Even tried to protect her from your father's anger as well, hm?"
"Ok, that's it. I told you to stop, Sherlock." John says before he gets up, walking over to put his boots on before he shoves his arms into his jacket. "I'll be back later, and maybe by then you can act like a human being." He says with a frown at the detective, before he grabs the scarf Sherlock gave him and he leaves the flat, slamming the door a bit behind him. He has no destination in mind, he just has to leave, not wanting to hear the younger man talk about his family in such a cold way.
Seeming genuinely confused, Sherlock looks up from his microscope to where John is. "John?" He asks after the door slams shut, gracefully getting up and walking with smooth strides over to the window to watch John stalk down the street. As soon as John is out of sight, Sherlock's phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket."Hello, Mycroft. How is Mummy's party?" He can't help but give that little dig, knowing that he escaped it while his brother did not.
"Tedious, as always, brother mine." Mycroft says in a smooth, almost oily tone, not sounding amused by the question. "Fortunate that you had a legitimate excuse this year, otherwise Mummy would have had me dragging you here kicking and screaming. She's most interested in this new friend of yours, you should bring him by to meet her tomorrow. It's not as if you ever had friends to bring home, this will be a first, won't it?" He asks casually, the faint sounds of a party in the background indicating that he is merely in the next room over from it in all likelihood.
"I suppose at least one of us will have someone to bring home, then. I believe the only one you've ever brought home was that new assistant of yours. Mummy no doubt is expecting a happy announcement by now. Has she started making plans for the wedding yet or is she still trying to set you up with the daughter of that friend of hers? What was her name again? Gertrude? Gladys?" The detective asks, having been playing this game with Mycroft long enough that he can give as good as he gets, though he's still not very happy about the little digs.
"Geraldine, actually. And she is not here tonight, it seems that she's fallen ill. Mummy understands I have a purely working relationship with Anthea, but at least she hasn't given up on me entirely." Mycroft says before he gets to the point of the conversation. "I presume by now, you've opened presents, how did you and John enjoy my gifts?"
Sherlock sighs a little, walking away from the window. "I need to install more locks on my door obviously. John quite appreciated the gift you gave him, he thought it was quite thoughtful." He says dismissively, before he responds to the rest, only because he knows his brother won't let it go. "I haven't opened mine yet, I'm afraid I lost interest in presents. You know I've always thought this holiday was rather useless, merely a way to show others how you feel through mostly meaningless gifts." He says as he walks back to the kitchen. "Is that all you wanted, Mycroft? I have an experiment I need to finish and it's rather time sensitive."
"I see. Do tell me when you open it, I'm eager to hear what you think of it. I'll let you get back to your experiments and your little pet. You really should bring him by tomorrow, I'll let Mummy know to expect you." Mycroft says before he hangs up, not giving his brother time to respond.
Sherlock closes his phone and glares at it a little, frowning for a moment at it. "Bloody prat." He mutters in an unusual use of swearing to show his frustration. He's alone though, so why not? Still, he at least has a bit of satisfaction thinking that his brother doesn't know his reaction to the present or even that he's opened it. Before too long he's too absorbed in his experiment to think of anything else, and the 'invitation' to visit his mother is washed out with anything else he doesn't feel is important.
Ah-hah! Getting better with my updating. Again. Hope you enjoy this, I am not sure whether they will actually visit Mummy Holmes this time around, or if it will be just something to get SHerlock in trouble with his family. :) Thanks again for reading!
Reviews/Comments welcome!