A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Sherlock.
I have no beta.
ENJOY!
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24 December 2015, Thursday:
John was sipping some hot cocoa by the fireplace, listening to Mummy prattle on about former Christmases where Sherlock did this or fell over that. The consulting detective was bundled up on the window seat in the front room, pouting because he didn't want John knowing about his very rare blunders during childhood.
Lestrade and Mycroft had gone out to some restaurant for their own time together at lunch. John liked small cafes and out of the way places and none of the eateries in the area around Sherlock's parent's abode would fit his tastes.
The brunet huffed, ignoring the painful twitch in his gut. He was supposed to take his medication but didn't feel like moving in order to do so.
His father appeared, holding a cup of cocoa and his pill wheel.
"It won't last forever," said the older gentleman. "My mother told your mother everything about my childhood as well. Your mother seemed to adore me even more afterwards, so I doubt your doctor is going to think badly of you."
That small bit of reassurance did lighten his mood considerably. John caring for Sherlock more than he already did? Count Sherlock in!
"That's right, I can't help myself."
Sherlock was startled by the warm body that sat next to him on the seat. John was cuddling under the blanket with him, smiling warmly.
"I think it's adorable that your wore your bumblebee gown every night and carried your little, stuffed bee everywhere you went. My little beekeeper!"
Father left them to each other, Sherlock flushed to the tips of his ears and John giggling delightedly.
Lestrade had wrapped Mycroft in garland - Sherlock knew the difference now, thanks to John - and Mycroft was pouting as John placed a pre-made bow on his head, as if Mycroft was some sort of gift.
Sherlock merely saw Mycroft for what he was. A biscuit disposal and entertainment center.
He wiled away his time, chucking the gingersnaps at his brother. Both hated them and never ate them. It was fun to annoy Mycroft when he wasn't in the position to retaliate. And since Mummy was in the other room, getting more cocoa, he was in the clear.
Mycroft's glare promised retribution.
Sherlock welcomed it daringly.
Dinner that evening was done with the window wide open where the falling snow was visible and the light chill could keep them awake and fresh. Christmas classics filled the room as the six adults had Christmas dinner early.
As it was their last night in Cornwall, they made certain that gifts exchanged hands and well wishes were given early.
Mycroft - on behalf of the four men visiting - purchased a large amount of vintage wine for the elder Holmes'. In return, Mummy had knitted them each a jumper. John put his on immediately, beaming because of course he couldn't help but love jumpers.
Sherlock slipped the tickets he'd purchased for his parents' cruise, on their pillows. They'd be found by evening and the two wouldn't have a chance to coddle him with appreciation because he would be half way to London by then. His own genius astounded himself sometimes.
John conveniently pulled Sherlock under some mistletoe, kissing him breathless. The brunet calmed himself because he had only a few hours before he was allowed to touch. Touch everything that was John Watson.
He'd survived four day long experiments, he could handle this.
They decided to share the car on the way back. The next train was hours off and Sherlock wanted to get back home. He had an Advent Calendar to finish and a man to worship. His hands were twitching with pent up energy.
John slid into the car first and before Sherlock could follow, something cold and wet hit him in the back of the head. He stiffened and turned, eyes landing on Mycroft and his snow covered gloves that gave all the evidence he needed.
"You had it coming," sniffed the British Government, looking for all intents and purposes as if he didn't just throw a snowball like a child.
John was laughing and Lestrade was pushing Sherlock into the car, preventing him from having his revenge.
But it would come. And it would be most sweet too.
Sherlock let John calm him down with soothing words and soft touches. The two huddled together, keeping warm as the ride began, mindful of the falling snow and the ice.
They'd be home for Christmas very soon.
A/N: Another is done!
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CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON.