Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did. Sherlock would be a world of fluff and ship
Warning: This is my first Johnlock, so bear with me
"Sherlock" John said, shaking the consulting detective's shoulder, "Sherlock wake up," Sherlock grumbled angrily and rolled over, falling off the couch where he had nonconviniently collapsed (fully dressed) the night propped himself up on his elbows and glared at John.
"What."
"It's Christmas Sherlock"
"Magnificent, John, now leave me alone." Sherlock clambered back onto the couch, curling up and facing the couch's back. John rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and returning to the couch.
"Last chance Sherlock" John said, holding the glass out
"Go away John" Sherlock said in a slightly sing song voice
"Alright then." Sherlock smirked as John flipped the glass over, sending a cascade of cold water towards Sherlock's face.
At the last second, the consulting detective moved away and sat up, leaving the cushion to be soaked. Sherlock's curls were askew, messy, and fairly adorable.
"Really, John?"
"You wouldn't get up"
"And?"
"And it's Christmas."
"And?"
"And it's time to open presents" John motioned towards the brightly lit Christmas tree, a sparse number of presents underneath. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared up at John.
"John, you are conscious that the birth of Christianity's imaginary Christ was in fact during springtime, aren't you?"
"Yes, and I don't care much. Now, presents?" John seated himself in front of the tree and held a festivley wrapped gift in his lap. It was at that moment, as Sherlock got up and stepped on and over the coffee table that he noticed John's jumper. It was dark blue with red and white horizonal striped and a line of snow covered pine trees running around the middle.
"Really, John?" Sherlock asked again, standing over the doctor.
"Yes, I like the holidays"
"But...John..." Sherlock's voice whined just a little but he stopped, words frozen by John's gaze. It wasn't a glare, or a look of hate, or even a look of "Shut up Sherlock", it was a look of adoration. A look that tangled up Sherlock's insides in a way he was just now getting used to. Sherlock knelt down in front of John and leaned over the present, kissing him tenderly on the lips. John pulled away momentarily so there was just a whisp of air between their lips, foreheads pressed together.
"Merry Christmas Sherlock" John whispered.
"Merry Christmas John"