Chapter Seventeen

The Christmas Scarf

"When I look into your eyes, it's like watching the night sky, or a beautiful sunrise, well there's so much they hold."

The first verse of the song filled the hall with its swinging musicality, a guitar dinging notes as one continuous beat. There were clinks of teacups from the surrounding counters and scrapes as shoes rubbed up against the floor. Couples changed their movements to sway along with the melody instead of acting like lunatics.

Watson licked his lips and glanced around, hopeful that nobody was watching them. Mary still hadn't returned from the restrooms, and Lestrade and Molly surely were probably still dancing. Praying that no students would start to get ideas, John bowed his head and smiled at the request. Then he extended his hand, magnetizing his palm with Sherlock's and feeling the smoothness of his skin press on his fingertips.

"I'd love to," he accepted, and Sherlock helped him up off the bench. They walked together over to the mob of dancers, their elbows a few inches apart. John stopped at the edge of the floor, leaning back to whisper in Sherlock's ear as he bent forward.

"I thought you'd never ask," he admitted, and a bowed head was the gesture he received in return. Since Sherlock had watched during the first part of the occasion, John made the appropriate move and took a step forward, offering his hand for his partner to come and follow. Pivoting on his heel, he reached out his arm to Sherlock and grinned, not nervous at all when three girls snickered nearby.

He's making this like a public announcement, Sherlock noticed, but he found his hand connecting to John's without permission. His brain waves hadn't completely translated the message altogether, but his body took over for him and the shorter boy led him out between two groups.

They stood facing each other for a few drawn‒out moments as the music blended into a swaying chorus, debating in their minds how this was supposed to work with two males. Deciding what was the best place to start, Sherlock grasped John's hand in his and lifted them to his ribs height, and the shorter boy in the blue dress robes made to move his other arm but was stopped suddenly.

"No no no," Sherlock exclaimed, and John looked up at him in a 'I beg your pardon' look. "Your arm goes on my shoulder."

Wait, John thought, finding this interesting and ridiculous at once. Is he telling me what to do? Sherlock Holmes, a dancer? He doesn't even know how to act when doing this kind of stuff…

And then it clicked in John's brain and he tilted his head up at the Ravenclaw in an understatement. "Oh I see, so I'm the 'girl' then?"

"Precisely," Holmes smiled, forcing the lion's left arm to rest on his shoulder blade. It did seem to make sense, considering John was about five inches shorter than the taller boy. That was just how it worked when at a school dance. Unless it was that one case that the girl was taller, that which just makes the situation even more awkward.

John watched Sherlock clean his teeth behind his mouth with his tongue, and realized the eagle was staring at something close to the floor. The blond's eye contact flew to his friend's frozen hand, hovering half a foot away from John's own hip. Watson removed the hand that was glued to Sherlock's shoulder to slowly progress Holmes's right hand onto the slight bump in his side that was a result of his bone structure.

Watson could tell Sherlock was applying pressure back on his own hand, avoiding further contact on his body. He raised his eyebrow at Holmes and told him the truth. "You were the one who offered me to dance in the first place, so you just have to deal."

Holmes looked caught but unleashed some of the force from his palm, letting John push it for him. His fingers bent to hook around John's waist, and the athlete returned his free hand to Sherlock's collar.

When the brunette didn't move, John tried to hint his next move by flashing his eyes. His fingers slid over the soft fabric of Sherlock's dress robes and traced the forest green trim. The brunette still didn't get what he was supposed to do. John gave up trying and told him with words instead from his lips. "The gentleman is supposed to lead," he inquired, tapping his finger in a sort of way to inform his friend that he was waiting. Holmes rolled his eyes, secretly judging the way his dancer was being a smart aleck.

Taking the first‒time experience one step at a time, Sherlock let his dominant foot slide to his right, guiding Watson in his arms. He sighed, feeling stupid as John glanced down at the floor, checking to make sure his movements were following his friend's rhythm. However, the Gryffindor wouldn't have been able to tell that it was his first time from far away. It seemed to come naturally to him, and that was just odd in terms of Sherlock Holmes.

They passed a couple who were at least three years older in age, who also gave them an almost amused look. John didn't see why it was funny; he'd spotted two girls dancing together earlier. Why did two guys make it any different?

"I won't give up on us, even if the skies get rough, I'm giving you all my love, I'm still looking up."

John tried to nervously bow his head lower into the crowd as he spotted Mary galloping back into the hall, noticing he had vanished.

"Cause even the stars they burn, some even fall to the earth, we've got a lot to learn, God knows we're worth it. No I won't give up."

The shorter dancer suddenly felt a light tap on his shoulder, and Sherlock made a sort of hissing noise with his cheeks. "What?" John grumbled back, disappointed that Holmes interrupted the beautiful song. He briefly craned his neck at the spot Sherlock had poked him.

"Do you find it suspicious that the student over in that corner is spying on people from under his coat collar?"

What? John never expected such a thing to escape from his mouth at that time. Of all things, while they were dancing and listening to the soft notes fill their ears, Holmes was indicating an older student.

"What?" John repeated himself, but this time his tone was in a 'you're‒not‒serious' tone rather than a 'what Sherlock?' sort of voice. He felt Sherlock's hand swivel his hips around to face the direction the Ravenclaw was moments ago, and the taller kid flashed his eyes at the boy over his shoulder. John had to stand on his tiptoes, but it was enough to give him an available view.

There was indeed a boy of about five foot ten in height skulking in the shadows, hiding his face from the gaze of the mob. His eyes were almond‒shaped and a frightening shade of brown, and his normally spiky hair was slicked with hair gel on the top of his head.

"And this is suspicious, how?" John asked, lost.

"He's avoiding eye contact with anyone." Holmes stated the fact, keeping his voice in a whisper so no one could hear. The words in the swaying song briskly faded in and out of hearing as they tried to play along with everyone else, hopefully not looking skeptical themselves. "Ever notice once in a while he's checking the insides of his robes?" John didn't have time to say no because his friend's lips were moving at lightning speed. "He's protecting something. Clearly he doesn't want anyone to know. That also adds to the fact that he doesn't want to be here. His dress robes are too tight around the wrists and he's been there ever since the dance started."

"You've been so into the unsocial boy that you haven't even realized your brother is sitting ten feet from him." Watson felt a lurch in his back after his comment as Sherlock did a quarter turn, indeed deducting that Mycroft was sitting with his spine perfectly straight and his umbrella hooked over his forearm, occasionally giving the protectively sulky boy a sneer.

Sherlock let his arms fall to his sides and he nudged his way out of the crowd, heading in the direction of the entrance to the Great Hall. "Why would I care?" he chimed in, his dress robes flinging to his side as he checked the time on his gold pocket watch. He was standing directly between two ice sculptures when John caught up to him and grabbed his upper arm, ordering him to turn and look him in the face.

"You should care, Sherlock!" John whispered in a hiss, and there was a pause as the music boiled up into the last verse.

"I won't give up on us, even if the skies get rough, I'm giving you all my love, I'm still looking up."

Sherlock scrunched up his face and lazily breathed out a heavy sigh. "John," he said, getting his attention with a swift slice of his hand through the air, "it's Mycroft. He's sixteen, he can deal with his own…self," he settled, making himself avoid blurting out a nasty word.

"Apple cider?" The change of subject was so purposeless John had to thrash his head in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"Apple cider, do you want some?" Sherlock offered, thrusting his thumb to the bar counter on his right.

"Uh…" John stumbled, contracting his eyebrows as he was majorly confused. "Sure…"

After they sat down at the far end of the hall, Sherlock kept his eyes pinned on the boy in the corner while John scanned the room, marveling at the festive decorations and outfits people wore. The Gryffindor suddenly got the sense the eagle was spying on the mysterious lad, so he nudged him in the elbow. Sherlock was so focused on his concentration that all he did was hum from his mouth.

"Are you onto something?" the blond questioned, trying to make their secluded conversation look as normal as possible.

"Why not?" Holmes suggested, considering the idea. Us running around the school, causing trouble and needing to know everything that's going on. "That would be interesting. Just the two of us, running around the school, solving mysteries and taking on the world." John shrugged his shoulders, thinking Sherlock's idea wasn't so bad if he said so himself.

"What do you say?"

John looked up and gave him a smirk. "Hell, why not?"

"That's my boy," the older boy smiled, slapping his buddy across his back.

"What?"

"Nothing."

John didn't bother asking. "I suppose we should get our pictures taken soon with Molly, Lestrade, and Mary," he said, seeing the short flashes from the camera behind the screens to his right.

"Ugh, gross," Sherlock snorted, disgusted. If there was one thing Sherlock hated that most Mugglesdidn't, it was getting his picture taken.

"Come on." John attempted to convince him. "It's not that bad. My mum used to take pictures of me and Harriet all the time when we were little…" He shook his head, recalling the moments when Harry embarrassed him in public or messed up his ruffled hair just to piss him off, but he smiled anyway because he couldn't help it. Deep down, he loved his older sister.

"There are far more important things I can do than get my picture taken, John," he replied, and suddenly Holmes was on his feet, fast walking under the arched entrance of the dining area. Watson had to sprint to catch up, his navy blue robes swaying behind him in the breeze his body created.

He nearly bumped into his partner Mary Morstan, and she flung around to yell at him. "Where are you going?" she wanted to know, standing with a giggly Sarah Sawyer.

"No time to explain!" John shouted over his shoulder, and then stopped himself and pointed a finger at her slim figure. "I'll be back!" he gasped through short breaths, and bolted out of the hall after Sherlock.

He came to a controlling stop at the right wall of the archway, and Sherlock used hand motions to tell John to stay where he was. The younger Gryffindor flattened himself against the wall as the Ravenclaw pointed to the doors to the castle that led to the grounds. The taller boy was doing his best to hide behind a pillar sticking out from the wall, snaking his head around to watch someone leave the building.

John got a better look and saw the gel‒haired boy slipping through a small crack in the open oak front doors, clearly unaware that the two buddies were watching him. Sherlock motioned for John to join him as he snuck to the center of the entrance hall, preparing to follow the boy and find out what he was up to.

"You realize we're really bad at this, don't you?" John commented, joining his friend at his side.

"So what?" Sherlock ignored, his hand resting inches from the door's glossy and carved surface. "Ready?" Holmes asked, nodding his head in John's direction. The brave lion brought in a deep inhale and was determined he could accomplish their task with his consulting friend by his side.

He thought he heard the next sentence wrong from the younger Holmes's mouth. "Could be dangerous."

John gave him a look but figured he'd been in more dangerous situations than this before. "Go," he said flatly, his tone in one note.

Ready to sneak and act at any moment, Sherlock pushed open the door. John let the first year in the black robes with the forest trim slip out of the castle before him, and he closed the door as normally as he could.

When Sherlock pivoted around on the ball of his foot after checking that John had shut the door, their mysterious man from the corner of the hall was nowhere in sight. Holmes sighed tremendously. "It did no good after all," he concluded. "Maybe it really was nothing...He's probably a loser anyway."

He got a slap on the arm from his helper for being rude.

Even though it was almost thirty degrees outside and a light snow was beginning to fall, Sherlock offered John to join him for a stroll. "Shall we?" he asked, swishing his hand forward to point to the pathway on their left.

"Um, Sherlock? It's freezing out here…" The Quidditch player was hunched over and hugging himself, teeth clamping as he tried to stay warm from his own body heat.

"So?" He didn't care and pushed John in the back, walking slowly behind him. "They've got some tacky decorations out here," Holmes remarked, spotting the vibrant red berries sticking out of the shrubbery lining the stone path.

"Yeah well…" John froze in mid‒sentence as he accidentally broke one of the icicles close by. Shaking and being sneaky, he took the cracked ice and flung it under the nearest bush, hoping no one would notice later.

"Enjoying your night so far?" Sherlock asked, his arms behind his back, serving as a presentation of a proper gentleman.

"I guess so," John concluded, shuffling his feet through a small patch of snow. The temperature of the white mound was cold beneath the sole of his foot, passing through the barrier as easily as the ventilation system in his home. "Oh god, turn around," he said, grossed out and assuring that the older boy didn't see what his eyes had witnessed.

"What?" Sherlock stumbled, feeling John's strong muscles dig into his upper back.

"Just —" John paused, exhaling deeply again. "People kissing. I'm not fond of watching. Besides, it's bloody cold out here."

"Fine," Sherlock agreed, heading back to the school. "Hey, when we get inside, I'll get you a hot chocolate. Deal?"

"You're on," John piped up, a smile spreading over his face, which still had some chubbiness in his pink, wind‒nibbled cheeks.

Molly was poking Sherlock's upper arm while he sat with his arms crossed on one of the benches. Her voice was full of thrill, as she'd had a wonderful night dancing with her partner. "It will take ten seconds, Sherlock," she promised, checking over her shoulder and finding there was no one in line to get their pictures taken.

John was standing a few feet away chatting happily with Mary, the mug of hot chocolate from his best friend still clasped in his tiny hand. He said something funny which made her laugh, and she buried her head into his shoulder bone which stuck out through his bulky muscles. Lestrade stood next to the skinny girl Sarah Sawyer, trying to ask her a few questions about herself. She answered politely and truthfully every time, and it was very easy for her to get along with others. She had a jokester personality which made their relationship as friends evolve more rapidly without downsides.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock did his best to flatten his brunette curls growing from his skull. His mood had changed dramatically from the start of their first night off for the holidays, but he managed to keep his grumbling behavior under control for the last twenty minutes.

A very upbeat tune started to play, blasting from the speakers around the orchestra. Molly girlishly squealed over the beating pop music before the voice of a man started to sing, and she apologized quickly for her foolishness. "Sorry," she said bashfully, pulling up her bright yellow dress. "I love this song. Not necessarily this group's album, but I'm fond of this song. Mum and Dad always let me listen to it on the radio back home."

"Fine!" Sherlock gave in, jumping up from the seat and startling his weekly Patronus practice buddies nearby. His voice lowered for his next sentence. "Let's get this thing over with…"

Lestrade looked absolutely pleased with himself and grabbed John's mug from his hand, setting it down on a counter not far away. The photographer positioned them into a reasonable pattern, putting Sherlock in the middle of them all because he was the tallest in height. The words of Molly's favorite song were blurred behind the back drop, but the five friends could nonetheless still make them out as the two girls were placed next to the only Ravenclaw.

"I'll find the places where you hide, I'll be the dawn on your worst night, you're the only thing left that I like, yeah I would kill for you that's right. If that's what you wanted."

"Alright," the photographer said from behind the lens, "everybody smile!" Mary nudged Sherlock in the ribs to make sure he showed his teeth, and just like that the photo was taken.

"Thanks!" Molly exclaimed, taking the image from the camera man's outstretched hand. "Okay, John? Mary? You two want to go next?" Morstan agreed and the three others pushed off to the side to allow the first couple of friends to go.

Unfortunately, John was looking away when their picture was taken, but Mary liked it anyway. Molly and Lestrade went after, and they were so close to each other it looked like a high school prom portrait only better. Her head was tilted back as he leaned in over her, Greg's hands holding hers on her stomach. Sherlock had never seen Molly express a smile as wide and happy as the one in the winter dance photo he held in his hands.

"Where's Sarah?" Lestrade asked, trying to peer above the mass of people now starting to leave the hall and head off to bed.

"Doesn't matter…" Sherlock told him, hoping they too could end their night so he could get some sleep.

"Hang on, we still have to get one more picture taken." John was still standing in his navy robes by the camera, giving Sherlock a hinting stare. "Come here, Sherlock." Because it was John, his John, Sherlock put on the best smile he ever showed in his life and didn't object.

John kept the image hidden under his vest as the last song they would hear that night died into the final few lines. He revealed it as an early Christmas gift at the top of the marble staircase while they were alone, before he gave Sherlock a friendship hug for bed. The Christmas wreath over their heads shimmered in the candlelight, and the dark colors of their robes blended well together to resemble a nightfall scene.

Just me and John. The two first years who can conquer the world. The unbeatable duo who can handle anything.

"What a night," John sighed, smiling and rubbing the muscles on Holmes's upper arm.

"Never thought I'd say so myself,"the brunette stated. He glanced down at their two smiling faces printed on the shiny paper and reached forward to give it back to his little Gryffindor.

"No you keep it," John inquired, re buttoning the front of his dress robes. "Let's just say it's an early Christmas present."

He left Sherlock standing at the bottom of the stairs as he ruffled his blond locks, heading up to Gryffindor Tower at a deadly hour in the morning with a rushing relief feeling in his veins.

"If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

John woke up lazily the next morning around ten, seeing as he went to bed about seven and three‒quarters hours earlier. The room was entirely empty when he rolled off the mattress, and he noticed three of the five beds were perfectly made with no luggage set on top of the floorboards. Only one of his fellow Gryffindor boys seemed to be staying, and John's brain was fuzzy as he threw on a sweater to head down for some breakfast.

It was true in fact that his twelve‒year‒old roommate Gale sat at the nearest end of the Gryffindor table, and Watson asked him what was going on, not properly functional yet."Where is everyone?" he wondered, rubbing his sleeping eyes.

"Gone!" Gale replied gleefully, throwing his hands up into the air. "It's the first day of the holidays, remember? Everyone's headed back home to spend time with their families."

"Oh! Right…" John remembered, feeling stupid. He finished a leisurely chat with his housemate and wished him good day. Jumping up, he replied enthusiastically, "Well, see you later!"

"Bye!"

There may have been twenty‒five people scattered in the hall, the most being from the Ravenclaw table. Mary wasn't in sight, as she'd told John at the dance that she would be spending the holidays at home with her parents and cousins. The train had departed earlier that morning, and John wished he could've wished them happy holidays before the headed off for winter vacation. Molly must have gone without fail, because her vibrant ginger hair wasn't picked out from the Hufflepuff table, and it was obvious Greg went too because his trunk was missing from Gryffindor Tower.

John sat down by himself towards the middle of the table where a group of platters sat holding toast and bacon for his first meal. A sixth year blond‒haired girl was seated a few benches down from him, her hair in loose braids and makeup smudged on her face from the previous night.

"Hey." At least one familiar face was still around for winter break. Sherlock looked as alive as he ever would be, joining John across the house table that wasn't his own and resting his elbows on the surface.

"Oh! Morning." John stretched, pulling the tray of bacon closer to him. He took a crunchy bite as Sherlock crumbled an old essay into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket. "This is abnormal," John stated, eyes scanning the empty space all around them.

"Hmm…" Holmes hummed, amused.

"Did any of your fellow first years in your dorm leave too?"

"All of them," Sherlock said almost proudly, because he was relieved he could spend his nights alone for a few weeks.

"Oh…" Watson went back to his toast and chugged half of his orange juice. "How about this..."He began to suggest ideas and plans, his mouth half full of food. He swallowed before continuing, nodding his head to make himself clear and apologizing about his terrible manners. "Why don't you come hang out with me in my common room on Christmas day?"

Sherlock contracted his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Why not? You really don't want to be alone for the holidays, do you?"

A long sigh came out of the older boy's mouth. Reluctantly, he finally answered. "Fine. I'll come."

There wasn't much to do over the following week. John had a routine of waking up in the morning, possibly having a go on a broom to practice on the Quidditch pitch, meeting up with Sherlock to finish up homework early for teachers, and sometimes perfecting his Patronus on a boggart out of habit. A few times he found himself collapsing onto the cold stone floor in fear, but other times as the holidays grew nearer he was able to produce a shield larger than himself to keep him out of harm.

Sherlock even practiced on the dementor and a shield erupted from his Sycamore wood wand. John had never seen him cast a corporeal Patronus, but Holmes always claimed he'd 'done it on his own many times before'.

Wednesday morning arrived, and John awoke bright and early to find a small pile of gifts lying at the foot of his bed. Excited, he rolled over to check the date on his wrist watch. It was in fact the 25th of December, and heavy snow was falling outside the window to his left.

"Gale! Gale, wake up!" John shouted, leaping out of bed and shaking his roommate viciously.

"Why?" the dark‒haired boy groaned, accidentally smacking Watson in the face. Ouch! the lion interjected.

"You bloody well know why!" John chuckled, still rubbing his eye. "It's Christmas!" At the mention of the holiday's name, Gale Royceston bolted up in bed, shutting his eyes tight as he sat up too quickly.

John hastily unwrapped his presents, which included a box of sweets from his aunt, a few Galleons from his parents, a new scarlet jumper from his mum, an interesting looking book from Harriet, and another box of chocolates from his entire family. A note was enclosed accompanying the chocolates with a short message from his father about life after serving in the Army, with an extra explanation of how much he loved his son.

Hidden inside the jumper was a brand new hat from his dad. The hat was covered in a green, brown, and black camouflage pattern, with a black pom‒pom knitted on top. John pulled the hat over his fluffy blond locks and felt the cotton against his went over to examine his new look in the dresser mirror.

"How do I look?" he asked his roommate, who was now able to spit out hilarious remarks like it was his life job.

"Absolutely stunning, darling." Watson snorted at the name that was used, afterwards considering it could have been something more humorous or unfortunate.

"Oh! I forgot!" he exclaimed, throwing the hat off his head and onto the bed, "Sherlock's outside the portrait hole!"

"What?" Gale questioned as John squeezed into his usual Christmas jumper. It was navy blue with red and white shapes lining the collar, and it was fuzzy wool which kept him warm in harsh snow storms. He carefully sprinted down the stone stairs, doing his best not to slip in his red fuzzy socks as he did so.

He stopped forcefully at the edge of the common room carpet at the bottom. For Sherlock was standing four feet to the right of a luminous fire and a twinkling Christmas tree, just his size.

"Sherlock," John gasped, heavily breathing. "What…?" Sherlock smiled sweetly.

"How did you get in the portrait hole?"Watson seemed almost appalled, but his tone showed he was in utter shock.

"Oh please." Sherlock shook the statement off as if it was nothing. "It's the science of deduction, John. Really clueless to figure out the password." John tilted his head, still amazed at Sherlock's brilliance and how he managed to figure out the spoken word to Gryffindor Tower.

"So," Sherlock elongated his word, holding out his hands with his palms up, "want to open presents?"

"Yeah!" John smiled, jumping up and not denying anything. "Hang on," he said, bringing his childlike actions back to composure, "I'll be right back!" He turned on his feet and ran back up the stairs, down the hall, and through the open door to his dorm. "Hey Gale," he said, searching for a neatly wrapped box in silver paper under his bed, "Sherlock's downstairs. We're about to open presents if you'd care to join us."

"Yeah, give me a minute will you!" he laughed, and John smirked as he crouched by the floor. "I just barely woke up. I'll be down in a few."

"Okay," John giggled, retrieving the gift he had been searching for. "Take your time." He gave Royceston a small salute and headed back out the door.

Sherlock was lounged in one of the comfy armchairs when John flew back into the room, and the younger first year tried to hide the present from his friend as he placed it under the tree. "Okay!"he said happily, straightening up and pulling down his sweater, "dig in!"

Magically, Sherlock's presents were delivered and appeared under the tree overnight. Clearly Dumbledore knew…Sherlock deduced, but slid from the chair to pick out a starting gift anyway. I'llopen John's last. Got to save the best for the finale.

"How many boxes of sweets are people sending me?" John seemed to complain as he placed a jar of wizard sweets from Molly onto the couch.

"They're probably sending them because they know you have a sweet tooth and you'll eat them all," Sherlock put in, seeing that the answer was logical. "Or they don't know you well enough, so they don't want to get you something you might not like." He opened his present from Lestrade to find a tiny figure of a eagle. It was bewitched with a charm to move and fly around him, and Holmes thanked his absent Gryffindor friend for a replica of his house's mascot.

"Wow!" John remarked, unwrapping a coat from a bunch of lime green tissue paper. The jacket was Gryffindor colors, and John read the tag on the package to find it was from the Quidditch captain. On the back across his shoulder blades the name 'Watson' was inscribed, and the number one was sewn into the left arm sleeve. A golden lion was patched onto the front of the chest, and the blond marveled at his new jacket, which he knew Anthony didn't have to purchase or make it for him, whichever he did.

John immediately slipped on the new piece of clothing, finding fleece covering the inside to keep him toasty in winter. "Looks good on you," Holmes complimented, and John felt his cheeks blush cherry red.

Sherlock was majorly confused at the next gift he opened. There was no tag or name to say who it was from, and it was wrapped in crumpled orange paper. From the depths of the organized wrapping Sherlock pulled out a book. Not a book related to school or wizards for that matter, but it was a book related to his hometown in the Muggle world.

The information guide was titled London A-Z and not a crease pierced the binding. The cover page had that so‒called glossy look to it, and the letters were in the colors of red, white, and blue. "What's this junk for?" he asked, puzzled as he showed the book to his friend.

"Dunno. I've never seen that book in my life. You should keep it though," he added quickly. "Might come in handy back home."

"I suppose," Sherlock considered, shrugging his shoulders and throwing the Muggle present onto the chair his back was resting on. The Ravenclaw lunged forward to open the rest of his gifts, and halfway through he heard John mumble about receiving another jumper.

"I'm going to have a wardrobe full by the end of the year…" the Gryffindor murmured, slinging it over the arm of the couch. Sherlock chuckled to himself. He was still occupied with his pointless book that he hadn't noticed John was opening his gift.

"Careful with it," Sherlock warned him, and his buddy took precautions while opening it.

John froze when he saw the gift inside. He gave Sherlock a 'no‒you‒didn't' look and the Ravenclaw smirked. Out of the wrapping paper, John lifted a blue flower with a bright green stem. A stem that matched Sherlock's eyes…

The taller boy had clearly been keeping the flower in pristine condition over the past months, and Watson didn't need to ask as he recognized the blossom from their first meeting in the hospitable field back home. "Thank you," he smiled, placing the delicate flower gingerly on top of his small mound of presents. Turning back to face his friend, he encouraged, "Open mine."

John flattened himself to the floor to peer under the rainbow‒lighted Christmas tree. He pulled out his gift to his best friend and slid it across the carpet. It bumped into Sherlock's knee, and he took no hesitation in opening the paper‒covered box.

When the brunette removed the lid, he couldn't believe the neatly folded gift that was nestled inside. His long, skinny fingers picked up the smooth fabric, and the box in his left hand fell unnoticed to the floor. "John…" He tried to speak but found himself stuttering to find the correct words in his situation.

"What do you think?" John asked, hopeful.

The navy blue scarf was the length of his torso, and small fringes lined the bottom. It was divided into two shades of thick blue stripes, and all Sherlock could do was run his fingers over the cotton. "John…" he repeated, too stunned for words. I'm being stupid, he told himself. I'm fawning over a scarf…

"Do you like it?" John was trying to force an answer from Holmes.

"I‒I‒I love it!" Sherlock admitted, folding the scarf perfectly in half and snaking it around his neck. He drew a loop and threaded the end of the clothing through the gap, pulling it tight so the end rested comfortably over his chest.

"Really? Well, I'm glad you do!" John sank onto the cushiony couch next to his pile of stuff in relief and played with his own feet. Sherlock kept his scarf on for almost the rest of the day, and John motioned for the older eleven‒year‒old to join him. Sherlock sat with his buddy in front of the cackling fire, feeling the tingling sensation of heat being absorbed into his body and the fuzziness of John's hair on his neck.

"It's blue like Ravenclaw," Sherlock noticed, gesturing at his present.

"Funny, I never considered that when I bought it for you. Well, it just fits perfectly then."

The snow outside the window was swiftly stroking the glass, and Sherlock was glad he was curled up with John behind the barriers protecting their school. No one else around, just the two of them.

"Oh yeah, here." Sherlock poked John in his stomach above his hip and he flinched, being tickle‒ish in that spot.

"Hmm?" John looked up and saw Sherlock was passing over a piece of paper to him. The blond took it without question, and when he peeled the two halves apart saw a message Holmes was hinting to him.

Just the two of us against the rest of the world.

The smile widened on his cheeks from ear to ear, and Sherlock pulled Watson's head in closer to his chest. "Merry Christmas, John." The lion was welcomed into the snuggle with a tiny squeeze on his left wrist. And he didn't care if anyone got any ideas about them during their adventures at school. Because when he was with Sherlock Holmes, he had the passionate freedom to imagine possibilities, dream big, and believe in himself.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."