25 Days of Christmas

Chapter 24

24 December, 2013

Christmas Eve wasn't a happy day for Sherlock. Not only had John left last night for Harry's, but Mrs Hudson had taken off at some time in the early morning for her own sister's to celebrate Christmas.
For the first time in a long time, Sherlock was left completely alone in the flat. There were no people, no cases, no nothing. He was at a loss, had no idea what to do with himself. So he sat in his chair, staring at nothing. The tree sat in the corner of the room, brightly lit, mocking him. Underneath it was bare, though not because there were no presents. John and Sherlock had a standing agreement. They could get anything they wanted for the other, as long as it didn't bankrupt them, and as long as it all could fit in a stocking.
His gaze trailed lazily to the mantle then, taking in the stockings that were hung there. Presents were still nestled in them, making them bulge - he had told John last night that he could wait to open his, but urged John to open his own presents, since he would be gone. John refused, saying that if Sherlock could wait, he could too.
So there they sat, untouched. Sherlock made a face, resumed staring off into empty space.

He had grown so accustomed to the lonely silence of the flat, that it surprised him when he heard someone on the stairs. Sherlock's gaze fixated on the door somewhat hopefully, but those weren't John's footsteps, though they were just as familiar.
"It's just you," he said irritably, sagging back into his chair.
Mycroft raised a brow. "Yes, 'just me'. Sorry to disappoint."
"You always disappoint."
Mycroft ignored the statement, gesturing towards John's chair. "May I?"
Sherlock glared back and forth between his brother and the chair. Finally he stood, turned, and fell into John's chair with a huff. Mycroft watched, head tilted.

"Well sit," Sherlock suddenly commanded, nodding his head towards his now vacant chair.
Mycroft sat.
The two sat in somewhat amiable silence for a long while. Sherlock stared at random points on the carpet, brooding, while Mycroft watched his brother carefully, studying him.

It was well into the evening when Mycroft spoke up again.

"Well, this has been fun, but I should be off."
Sherlock looked up, surprised. He had nearly forgotten his brother was there. Sherlock had felt Mycroft's presence, became used to it, enough to not have to acknowledge it to know his brother was there. "Well go on then. I'm not keeping you."
"I will. But first I have something for you."
Sherlock tilted his head, frowning as he watched Mycroft draw something from an inside pocket of his coat. It was a small, meticulously wrapped package. Mycroft passed it to his younger brother, who took it delicately.
"What is this?" Sherlock asked, shaking it slightly. It felt soft, and didn't rattle.
Mycroft was silent, a smile playing on the corners of his lips.
Sherlock scoffed, but carefully tore open the wrapping paper. His eyes widened slightly when he pulled out his scarf. The same one he had lost several days ago. He looked up at the spot where his brother had been, only to see that Mycroft had suddenly disappeared.

Something in his chest dropped to the pit of his stomach. The flat seemed so much emptier now, so much lonelier. He found that he missed his brother's presence, if only because Mycroft was somebody to share in his solitude.
Sherlock fondled the scarf in his hands, remembering when Mycroft had given it to him all those years ago.

25 December, 2013

Sherlock blinks as the clock chimes, signalling the few seconds before midnight. He had relatively gotten over his loneliness over the hours, and now he's bored - so bored that he doesn't want to do anything at all. Not even his violin sitting across the room can entice him to get out of his chair. A mug of cold tea sits on the floor next to him.
He's lounging, feet in John's vacant chair, feeling something empty play in his chest. If John were here, he would be tickling Sherlock's feet playfully, gazing at him with warm eyes. Sherlock swallows, pushes the feeling away, and pulls out his mobile.

Merry Christmas
SH

He really doesn't expect reply, but he can't hide his delight when he receives something back.

Merry Christmas Sherlock
JW

Sherlock smiles.

Shouldn't you be asleep?
SH

Shouldn't you?
JW

Sherlock can practically see John's face contorting into a wide yawn. He should really let him get back to bed. Sherlock is well aware of the fact that John was probably fast asleep only minutes before. He entertains the thought of saying good night for a moment.

Not really, no.
SH

he sends instead. He thinks for a minute, then sends a second text.

It's rather quiet here.
SH

I know.
JW

Sherlock knows that John understood that last text, replacing the word "quiet" with "lonely". Sherlock doesn't even have to send an "I miss you" for John to understand that he does. Sherlock sits there for a moment, just thinking. It's time to let John be. He'll most likely have a long day tomorrow (in a few hours?) with his sister.

Goodnight John.
SH

Night Sher
JW

Sherlock stared at that last text for a long while, picking apart the meaning behind 'Sher'. Was it a term of endearment, or was John simply shortening his name because he was tired?
Somehow, Sherlock's eyes scrambled it around to mean something else. He bit his lip, re-evaluating his position on love and friendship.

RN: Hello there everyone! In the name of Christmas spirit, I'm holding a little giveaway. All you have to do is guess one present of Sherlock's, and one of John's (so go back and look through the chapters). Message me with your answers before I post tomorrow (guests, I suppose you can just leave a review if you want), and I'll write you a fic of your choice! Merry Christmas, and all that.