John groaned, stretching his back now that the box is settled down on the table. Sherlock glanced up from the paper, raising an eyebrow at the dusty cardboard, no doubt analysing the contents.
"John, pray tell why do you have a box of ornaments on the table?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. He was eyeing the blank Christmas tree anxiously.
"Because our tree is empty, Sherlock," John smiled, flipping the box open and pulling out an ornament. Sherlock studied it briefly. It was the sort you made in primary school, out of flour and such. It didn't look like John's sort of thing; it was shaped like a gingerbread woman with short dark hair.
"Harry?" Sherlock inquired, standing up and walking over to stand behind John. John was quiet for a moment, gazing at the ornament with nostalgia etched across his face. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist and perched his jaw on the man's shoulder.
"Harry," John confirmed. "She made it for me when she was in her third year. I promised to keep it."
Sherlock smiled. This was his John, soft and caring, and fierce in the keeping of his promises. He pressed a small kiss to the doctor's neck. "Let's hang it up first then," he suggested. John smiled widely and moved to the tree and hanging on the nearest bough.
"Start passing," John ordered with a grin. Sherlock began passing ornaments to his partner, occasionally asking questions about this one or that. Some had belonged to John's parents, others had been gifts from friends over the years, and a precious few, the ones that made John smile the most, were from a young Harry.
Sherlock was busy reaching deeper into the box for the last few ornaments when he heard a loud thump. He looked up, mildly alarmed, only to see John jumping again, trying to hang the ornaments higher on the tree and hilariously unable to reach.
Without thinking, Sherlock began to laugh. John whirled around. "Oh, funny is it? You could help, you great giraffe!"
"Giraffe!" Sherlock scoffed, sweeping over to the tree imperiously. He took the ornament from John's hand and placed it where John had been aiming. "Go get the rest of them, I'll put them up," Sherlock laughed as John scowled at his height and stalked back to the box.
Finally there was nothing left for the tree but the star. "If you like, we could get you a step ladder so you can put the star up," Sherlock teased. John narrowed his eyes at the detective but let his face relax into a smile a moment later.
"Oh no, the youngest has to put the star up," John replied smoothly. Sherlock only quirked an eyebrow before reaching up to perch the star atop the tree. He settled back on his heels, admiring the tree with a small smile.
"Not bad, John, not bad at all," he stated, looking the tree over critically. John only nodded, wrapping an arm around the detective's waist. Sherlock leaned against him, enjoying the peace of the evening. Something occurred to him. "There aren't any lights."