John came home from the surgery, and was once again surprised by the sight that met him in 221B. Or rather, the sound. Instead of Sherlock's usual clamoring of experiments or melodies of the violin he could hear what sounded like the Nutcracker through the door. He opened it up cautiously, only to find Sherlock waiting just inside the door. The dark haired man was smiling gently, a soft expression John rarely saw outside of their most intimate moments, with his hand outstretched.
"May I have this dance?" he asked. Without a second thought John tossed his coat aside and allowed Sherlock to gather him up against his chest.
"You would lead," John murmured when it became clear what Sherlock's plan was. Sherlock only smiled, placing one hand on John's back and holding their clasped hands away from them slightly. John settled his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, allowing him to rest lightly against the detective's breastbone.
The detective led them spiraling around the living room, through the kitchen, and back again. John stumbled now and then, but Sherlock easily corrected for them both, pulling the doctor into neat spins around furniture and the occasional dip for fun. As the music reached its climax they spun faster and faster until John was very nearly breathless, both from the speed and the surprising intimacy of Sherlock's gaze.
Sherlock leaned in, still moving them at a dizzying pace without seeming to give it a thought. "Do you trust me?" he whispered, his breath tickling John's earlobe. John could only nod. Sherlock beamed and lead them down the hall into their bedroom, spinning John neatly under his arm until the ex-soldier was held fast against Sherlock and then- they fell backwards onto the bed with a huff of air. Distantly John could hear the music still playing, but he didn't much care. Sherlock was looming over him, hands now on either side of the doctor's face, their breath coming short between them. Sherlock had never looked quite as stunningly gorgeous as he did in that moment, a pink flush spreading over his alabaster skin and his curls falling in a slightly damp disarray around his face, forming a dark halo. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of John's jaw, then to his chin, then the tip of nose, and finally slotted his lips over the doctor's mouth.
"I didn't know- you liked- Christmas music," John gasped out in the moments his lips were free. Sherlock grinned against his lips.
"I don't." John opened his mouth to ask but Sherlock claimed it once more with his own. "But you do."