A/N: One more, and I'm all caught up. Yay!

25 Days of Christmas

Chapter 5

5 December, 2013

The next morning - at approximately seven a.m. - was quiet. A little too quiet. Sherlock raised his eyes from his microscope and looked around, ears pricked. He realised with a jolt that John wasn't up yet. Sherlock humoured the option of just leaving him be momentarily before his conscience kicked in. Funny, he wasn't aware he had one.

Sherlock tried his best to avoid the creaky spots in the floor on the way up to John's room, and succeeded for the most part. Once outside John's door, he hesitated for a moment, listening. John had a rule about knocking before entering (after a few... unfortunate events). Sherlock rapped once and softly. He thought he heard his name mumbled through the door, and went in. It was dark, but he could make out the shape of a very asleep John snuggled under his blankets. Again, the thought of just letting John sleep crossed Sherlock's mind, but he painfully remembered the last and only time he had done so. The memory made half of his face cringe.

After recovering from the memory, he crept up to the beside. John looked so peaceful. Sherlock hated to wake him, he really did.

"John." No response. "John," he said, a little more insistently.
"Mmmmph."
"Sleeping Beauty," Sherlock prompted, utilising the nickname that John used for him whenever he happened to nod off on the couch, or at his work table.
This time he got a more intelligible response. "What?"
"You're late. It's nearly seven."
There was a pause.
"Shit."

John had jumped out of bed, getting ready in a whirlwind of limbs and expletives. After seeing him off, Sherlock collapsed into his chair, knees pressed to his chest. It was a little chilly, he thought. He glanced around the room, looking for something to do. Unfortunately, there were no cases to be solved, murderers to apprehend, or Andersons to set straight. For a while Sherlock sat there, bored out of his mind. Then an unruly pile of branches caught his eye. He could always start putting the damned thing together. It was taking up half of the sitting room anyways. And what would Mrs Hudson think if she saw the (bigger) mess their flat was in?

"Sherlock!" John called, seemingly in a better mood than he had been that morning. "You ready to finish the-? Oh."
Sherlock lifted his head from his position on the couch indolently. John was standing in the doorway, eyes focused on the tree. His head tilted to the right.
"You started already?"
Sherlock lowered his head back onto the arm of the couch. "Only the ones I knew you couldn't reach. I saved the top, though."
John verified this when he spied the top of the tree resting in his chair. "I can see that." Curiously he walked over, observing the meticulously placed branches. "Good job," he said after a few minutes of silence. Sherlock grunted in acknowledgement before he returned to his mind palace. John let him, opting to finish the rest of the tree.

Some time later, Sherlock was being gently shaken to consciousness. He opened his eyes to see John's smiling face. "You can get right back to whatever you were doing. All I ask is that you put the top on now."
Sherlock grumbled. John stood over him patiently, moving only when Sherlock swung his legs to step on and over the coffee table. John handed him the top, which Sherlock dutifully put on and adjusted accordingly.
"Perfect," John said, and Sherlock had to admit it did look rather nice, if not a bit lacking.
"Decorations?" he questioned. He instantly regretted it.
"Tomorrow," John answered with a grin. Sherlock knew that particular grin. It was a grin that said they were doing something John would enjoy, but Sherlock wouldn't necessarily like. In fact, Sherlock would probably hate it. And Sherlock was going to do it anyways.
How could he say no to those imploring eyes, or that beseeching smile?