A/N: Yeah, John got up at ten, and I got up at nearly one p.m. Lovely.

25 Days of Christmas

Chapter 7

7 December, 2013

Thank God for weekends, John thought. He had slept in until ten, and he felt a little bad for doing so, but at the same time it had felt so good. Of course, Sherlock had been up all night (John swore the man never slept), and was sprawled across his chair when John came downstairs. Sherlock watched as John rubbed his eyes and managed a "good morning" through his yawn.
"Morning," Sherlock replied.
To his surprise, John found a steaming mug sitting on the coffee table, as if it was waiting for him. He shot a quizzical glance at Sherlock, who shrugged.
"I heard you get up," he said.
John accepted that. He was a bit suspicious, however. Sherlock never made coffee. Sherlock never made him anything. The last time he had, Sherlock had put potentially drugged sugar in it. So no one could blame him for gingerly picking up the mug and sniffing it cautiously. It smelled like coffee. He sloshed the contents slightly. It looked like coffee. It was even black like how he liked it.
"I assure you, it's not poison."
John jumped and looked up. "Oh, no, um... You just don't... usually make coffee..."
Sherlock shrugged again. "I was already making myself a cuppa. I knew you'd like some coffee, you always do, so I simply found it easier to make you some."
John nodded slowly. Sherlock watched him closely, expression slightly offended.
"Really, it is safe to drink," he insisted.
After a small hesitation, John turned his attention back to the mug in his hand. He took a breath and drank.

Oh, God, that was good.

John made a contented noise in the back of his throat and took a hearty swig. Where the hell had Sherlock gotten this? This couldn't have been the cheap shit John usually bought. Did Sherlock have a secret stash of top-of-the-line groceries that he kept tucked away in some secret shelf, hidden amongst jars of eyeballs and bags of severed thumbs?

John's speculations were interrupted by a forced cough. Sherlock was staring at him.
"Good?" he asked, pretending like it really didn't matter.
John nodded and smiled. "Fantastic."

After John had read the paper, Sherlock cleared his throat again.
"Yes?" John asked, brow raised.
"Want to finish the tree?" Sherlock inquired, nodding towards the bags of decorations still lying about the flat.
John was taken aback momentarily. "You're asking me about the tree?" he asked, incredulous.
"Mrs Hudson came by earlier. She wasn't very pleased by the mess," Sherlock explained.
John raised his brow further. Somehow he didn't believe that.
"Besides," Sherlock added, "there's no room for my messes anymore."
"Ah," John said with a nod of approval. He fully believed that one.

"Are we done yet?" Sherlock complained a while later. The two were back sitting crosslegged on the floor, stringing ornaments.
A huff that sounded more like a chuckle escaped John's lips. "You were the one who suggested we finish."
"Don't remind me."
"Oh I will," John grinned. "Every time I get the chance."
Sherlock groaned.

"No, don't put it there! They're all near the bottom!"
"I can't reach any higher!"
"Well how is that my problem?"
"Get over here and help!"
"I'm untangling more lights!"
"I can do that, and you can put the ornaments higher up!"
Sherlock huffed, eyes narrowed. He untangled himself from the accursed coloured lights that John had borrowed from Mrs Hudson, and took the ornaments out of John's hands. John tried to glare back at him, but his pokerface was ruined by the right side of his lips twitching upwards slightly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Looking good Sherlock," John said from the nearly untangled lights. Sherlock grunted in response.
Not bad, he thought to himself. Not bad.
"Now I can tell everybody that you did most of the decorating," John teased.
Sherlock was nearly okay with that, until the sudden realisation that people were going to be in his flat hit him like a brick. He groaned for the fifty-first time since they had started, going by John's calculations, and proceeded to busy himself with more ornaments.
John shot him a look, but opted to resume his own work.

"Looks like we're done," John said. They both stood before the tree, admiring the lights and the ornaments and the tinsel. It was beautiful. Even Sherlock was impressed. For the moment. The moment passed as soon as John said, "Now for the rest of the flat."
They would get into that during the rest of the weekend.