25 Days of Christmas

Chapter 20

20 December, 2013

Sherlock was still a little down the next day, but he got over it soon enough. At least for the moment. John was standing in the kitchen, waiting for him with tea and coffee. On the table was a heap of legos, scattered about. John had had a fun morning.

"I'm leaving," John told him once Sherlock walked out. Sherlock yawned, ruffling the back of his hair.
"Alright," he replied, reaching for his mug. John smirked.
"We're decorating the flat tonight, remember."
"I'll try not to."
Chuckling, John swept a few stray curls from Sherlock's forehead, a familiar action by now, and caressed the side of his face lightly. "Have fun with that," he said softly, then turned to leave.
"Laters!" Sherlock called after him. Something in his voice almost called John back, like he had forgotten something, but he told himself he must have imagined it.
"Bye!" he called back, heading down the stairs.

When John finally made it back home after his shift, Mycroft was just leaving. He seemed in a better mood than he usually was when he left their flat, but as soon as he noticed John his expression changed to one of mild consternation. His eyes betrayed some inner contentment.

"Hello Doctor Watson," he greeted politely. He went to walk on, but John had things to say to him.
"Hey Mycroft. What are you doing here? Have you gotten your cello back?" John added after a moment. It had taken him a bit to remember that Sherlock had snitched it. Or that Mycroft even played.
Mycroft let out a weary sigh that wasn't quite as weary as John was anticipated. "No, I haven't."
John chuckled, but stifled it out of sympathy. "I'm sure you'll get it eventually."
"Oh, I have no doubt that I will. Now if you'll excuse me, John-"
"Uh, hold on a second."
Mycroft halted mid-step. "Yes?"
John lowered his voice a trifle. "Listen, um... there's this thing for Sherlock... for Christmas. I don't quite have the funds for it..." he choked out, cheeks turning red.
Mycroft studied him, head tilted slightly. Then he made a face, proceeded to reach into one of his pockets. "Say no more," he said, handing over a credit card.
"I just need a small loan," John stammered.
"Consider it my Christmas gift to you," Mycroft said with a small smile. "This is the one I send Anthea on errands with - it is safe to use."
John frowned at the card in Mycroft's outstretched hand, weighing his options. Eventually he bit his tongue and sighed. "I will pay you back- Don't you dare tell me not to worry about it!"
Mycroft shut his mouth, though he was still smiling. There was a pause.
"Alright, on your way," John huffed to him.
Mycroft shrugged, and continued down the pavement.
"Thanks," John called after him.
Mycroft simply waved his umbrella a bit.

Even Sherlock seemed in a good mood when John saw him. He was sitting in his chair - well, no, not sitting. He had his legs thrown over the back of it, head hanging off of the seat. His violin was nestled on his belly, nimble fingers plucking distractedly at the strings.
"Have a good talk with your brother?" John asked with a smile.
Sherlock grimaced half-heartedly. "Oh, we fought like no other. Mrs Hudson had to intervene," he said, but there was no malice.
John raised a brow. Sherlock had this wistful look in his eye, like he was remembering something long gone. John just left him there for the moment.

"All your blood's probably in your head," John remarked a good while later. Sherlock hadn't moved an inch.
"Hm?" Sherlock asked, raising his head and instantly regretting it. All the blood that had gathered suddenly came rushing back.
John chuckled. "Told you so. Now up, time to decorate."
Sherlock shook his head, clenched his eyes shut and opened them a few times, then hopped to his feet. Promtly, he grabbed a Santa hat from the box in the corner of the room, walked to the mantle, and placed it on the skull.
"Done," he said cheekily, and John rolled his eyes.