Chapter 4: Happy Christmas, John
On Christmas Eve, it had been over a week since John had last seen the mistletoe. He hadn't attempted to find the other two sprigs, and he hadn't tried to move the one he'd spotted in Sherlock's drawer. In fact, he'd tried very hard not to think of it at all.
John glanced over at the pile of wrapped boxes gathered underneath Mrs. Hudson's pine tree. There were a number of presents for all three of them. John was hoping Sherlock would open his present before Mrs. Hudson came over. He didn't think he could deal with her cooing.
"Thinking of tomorrow?" Sherlock asked.
John glanced over at the doorway to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and feet crossed at the ankles casually. There was a faint smile on his face.
"Well, yeah. I suppose. It's... Christmas."
"Dreading seeing your sister?"
"No, no, that's not it. Just..."
Sherlock's eyes bored into John's, and John suddenly couldn't bear to maintain eye contact. He looked over at the pile on the floor.
"Just what?" Sherlock finally asked.
"Nothing. See you tomorrow." John turned to climb the stairs to his room. He could have sworn he heard a faint "Good night," but when he turned to look, Sherlock was gone and his bedroom door was closed.
.x.x.x.x.x.
When John trudged down to the living room on Christmas morning, Sherlock was already there, sitting curled up on the sofa and typing something on John's laptop.
"Morning," Sherlock said, without looking up from the laptop screen.
"Morning. Eggs and toast for breakfast?"
Sherlock simply hummed a response that John interpreted as Probably won't eat it, but feel free to make me some.
When John returned from the kitchen with two plates, Sherlock was eyeing a box below the tree wrapped in red with a gold ribbon.
John knelt down and picked up the package. There was a tag on it that read, simply, John. It looked like Sherlock's handwriting.
Sherlock moved closer, looming over John as he inspected the package. "Open it."
"Yes, that's what one generally does with presents," John murmured, turning the package in his hands. He glanced up, and Sherlock was glaring at John, mouth twisted as though he'd just swallowed a mouthful of grapefruit juice.
John just smirked and started tearing off the wrapping. Inside was a small box - trust Sherlock to double and triple wrap his present - and John lifted the lid carefully.
Inside were the three sprigs of mistletoe.
John's forehead crinkled. Why would Sherlock give him this?
When he looked up, Sherlock was staring at him. Sherlock's grey eyes were sharp and his gaze intense.
What?John tried to say it out loud, but the word stuck in his throat.
Sherlock knelt down so his head was on level with John's, and placed a kiss on his cheek. Then, very carefully, very deliberately, he pressed dry lips against John's.
He pulled back, studying John with a serious expression.
"Happy Christmas, John."
And then he straightened, rose to his feet, and walked back to his room, shutting the bedroom door behind him.
John stared at the closed door to Sherlock's room.
What just happened?
He glared down at the sprigs of mistletoe, still resting in the box in his lap.
Bloody mistletoe. This was all Mrs. Hudson's fault.
Mrs. Hudson.
She would know what to do.
John raised himself on wobbly knees and, still holding the box in one hand, set off for the stairs.
When he came to Mrs. Hudson's door he knocked perhaps a bit louder than necessary.
Mrs. Hudson was still wearing a bathrobe when she opened the door, smiling. "Oh, John! Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas."
"I wasn't expecting to see you so early."
"Well, I... it's just... Right." John took a deep breath and thrust the open box of mistletoe out to Mrs. Hudson. "Sherlock gave me this and... and he..." John paused, licking his lips. "He ran off to his room. You wouldn't... happen to know why?"
A look of concern flashed over Mrs. Hudson's face before her lips pulled into a tight smile. "I'm sure he'll come around. Care for a cuppa?"
"No, that's fine. Well, maybe." John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Actually, that sounds lovely, thanks. If it's not too much bother."
"Of course not. Come in."