"This will be hideous," Sherlock grumbled.
"We promised," said John.
Sherlock sneered. "You promised."
John sighed. "Could you possibly not be an arse about this?"
"Either it will be an evening of insipid carols or they'll be butchering Vivaldi, I hardly know which is worse."
John kicked him.
The auditorium lights dimmed, and the members of the choir filed out onto the risers. John scanned the singers until he spotted Mrs. Hudson in the second row.
Sherlock had seen her, too; his fingers closed tightly around John's arm. "There she is," he whispered urgently.
John touched Sherlock's hand. "I know."