A/N: Midnight in the US (eastern) = Tuesday = 5:00 a.m. in London = POSTING TIME.
I use the word "tube" a lot in this one. Mainly because typing "the Underground" constantly is tiring. Also "tube" is a fun word. Yeah... Also, prepare for a(n) (slight) OOC Sher?
25 Days of Christmas
Chapter 10
10 December, 2013
"Willing to go out again?" John asked the following evening.
"No," Sherlock said, though his response was muffled through the British flag pillow that had recently been thrown at him.
"C'mon," John prompted, making his way over to the sofa where Sherlock was currently lounging. "Up," he said, tapping Sherlock's thigh lightly. Sherlock rolled over, burying his face into the back of the cushions. That gave John no choice.
"Oi! Stop it!" Sherlock shouted, trying not to laugh. John ignored him, trailing his finger lightly along the sensitive parts of Sherlock's feet. He then attacked the backs of his knees. At this, Sherlock actively wiggled and kicked. "Oi! Oi! Stop!"
"Or what?" John asked, chuckling.
"Or I'll kick you in your bloody face!" Sherlock exclaimed, landing a soft kick on John's chest.
"You'll have to do better than that," John chuckled, going in for the ribs. The response was spontaneous.
"Nonononono, NO!" yelled Sherlock, trying to pry John's hands off of him.
"You gonna go out with me?" John asked, not quite paying attention to his word choice. At first Sherlock started to shake his head, jaw clamped tight, though his eyes were close to watering from laughing so hard. He stopped when John's fingers started moving towards his armpits. "Well?" John asked mischievously.
"Oi!" Sherlock shouted again. When John didn't stop, and his squirming proved ineffective, the words, "Mercy, mercy!" escaped his lips. "Oi, alright I'll go!" John smirked and stopped his tickling, though his hands were slow to put any sort of distance between Sherlock's chest and themselves.
"Didn't you tell someone once that you don't beg for mercy?" he teased, cheeky grin plastered all over his face.
Sherlock scoffed.
There was a brief pause. "I didn't know you were ticklish," John admitted aloud.
"Neither did I," panted Sherlock, trying to catch his breath. John smiled, smacked his hands lightly against Sherlock's chest twice, and stood.
"C'mon," he prompted once more.
Sherlock didn't need to be told twice.
"What the hell have you been doing while I've been at work?" John asked incredulously after twenty minutes of roaming up and down Baker Street. Literally no cabbies had looked twice at them before moving on. Even Sherlock had trouble getting one's attention.
Sherlock shrugged. "Probably Mycroft's way of saying 'Happy Holidays'," he grumbled, glaring at the nearest CCTV camera he could spot. It turned away from him.
John sighed. "Regardless. We're obviously not getting a cab."
Sherlock sensed where this was headed. "We could walk?" he said hopefully. He really hoped John couldn't see the discomfort in his eyes.
John shook his head, telling Sherlock that he couldn't. Sherlock was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. "All the shops close in a few hours. We'd never make it..."
Sherlock waited in anticipation.
"I suppose we could take the tube..."
Sherlock cringed noticeably. His only saving grace was that John wasn't looking at him at that particular moment.
"Why do we have to go tonight then?" Sherlock asked nearly three blocks later, trailing behind his friend.
"Because if we wait much longer, there won't be anything left because of the pre-Christmas rush," John said a matter-of-factually, in a very Sherlock-like manner.
Sherlock sighed. "But the tube," he stressed.
"What is it about you and the tube?" John asked, sensing something in Sherlock's voice this time.
Sherlock remained silent.
On the tube, Sherlock was tense. He could feel his hackles raising and his eyes kept flickering back and forth. John, who was currently keeping an eye out for their stop, didn't notice at the time. Bodies kept shoving into him, and Sherlock didn't like that. He pressed himself further into John's side, feeling the familiar warmth support him. It helped a little. Very. Little. John didn't even seem bothered by it. Then again, why should he be?
At the second stop, he heard a sickly "sorry" behind him. Sherlock looked, saw a rather small woman, and pressed himself as close as he could get against his friend so she could pass. As she did, she turned her head to sneeze, but she couldn't quite raise her arm in time. Sherlock caught the brunt of it and quickly wiped his face. When he could see properly, the woman was out of sight. His teeth clenched, as did all the muscles in his body, but they slowly relaxed when he felt a warm hand against his back.
"Bless you!" he called irritably. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to catch some deadly disease now. With his luck, she probably had H1N1, or SARS, or something.
A thumb began to trace small circles near his spine soothingly.