The 12 Days Of Christmas
Day 7 – 20th December, 2014
John decided to treat himself to a lie in because it was a Saturday and he didn't need to be anywhere immediately.
He got up at half ten and luckily, it wasn't as freezing as it had been the previous morning.
John shuffled to the kitchen and made some coffee, smiling as he passed his tree.
John walked back into the sitting room and perched on the edge of the couch, switching on the TV.
He listened to a news report about a man who had died trekking out in the snow.
"That was a bit silly."John raised his eyebrows as he switched the channel over. 'A Christmas Carol' was on and, chuckling, John left it on and tossed the remote back onto the couch, making his way to one of the cupboards in the kitchen.
Opening it, he retrieved a few bags full of both Christmas presents and various types of wrapping paper and bows and decorative string.
Walking back into the sitting room, John placed the bags onto the couch and, nudging the coffee table out of the way with his foot, sprawled onto the floor, watching as Scrooge was visited by the ghost of Christmas past.
John had just finished wrapping presents for his mother when the ghost of Christmas future appeared.
John snorted. "Maybe the ghost of Christmas future will turn up and tell me that I'm still single in 20 years."
Then, apparently on cue, the door buzzer sounded throughout the hall.
Getting up, John discarded some wayward cello tape from his dressing gown before making his way to the door.
The last person John was expecting to see in that moment stood in his doorway was Sherlock Holmes, and yet here he was.
"The door was open." Sherlock explained, gesturing behind him but apparently more preoccupied with John's state of dress, looking him up and down.
John, stood there with bare feet and in his dressing gown, felt himself blushing furiously.
He reminded himself quickly that this was his flat and it was a Saturday and he was completely entitled to be lazing around in his pyjamas.
Still, though, he blushed.
Sherlock wasn't showing any mirth, however, he was merely stood there, face expectant.
Feeling idiotic, John stood aside. "Um, come in." He said.
Sherlock walked past him and walked into the sitting room. John followed him and found the detective surveying the scene before him. Obviously taking in the Christmas tree, the wrapping escapades and the festive flick.
"It looks Christmas-y in here." Was all he said.
John cursed himself behind the detective's back.
John walked in front of him, tentatively attempting to kick some of the mess under the askew coffee table.
"How did you know where I lived?" Asked John.
Sherlock looked sheepish for a moment.
"What?"
"Well, it was written on the back of a couple of envelopes in your folder when you came around to interview me on Monday."
John shook his head and, despite everything, found himself smiling. "You did say nothing gets past you."
Sherlock smiled slightly back.
John blinked a few times, unsure why Sherlock seemed so...friendly.
"Do you want coffee?" He asked after a moment, realising he wasn't being the best host in the world.
"Sure," Sherlock replied, "black, two sugars."
Sherlock watched John walk into his kitchen before turning back to his topsy turvy living room. It wasn't all that different to the mess in his own living room except Sherlock's mess seemed to consist of science equipment and stacks of files and papers whereas John's was gifts and wrapping paper and his flat gave the impression that it was actually lived in.
Sherlock's eyes roamed over the stack of wrapped Christmas presents and the jumble of wrapping paper on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock called out to John.
"Building a rocket." John shouted back sarcastically. "What does it look like?"
Sherlock found himself smiling as he surveyed the photos on the walls and the DVD's stacked neatly beside the TV.
John lived alone, that was obvious. Sherlock hadn't necessarily expected him to have a partner, mainly from the way he carried himself, but John seemed like the loving boyfriend type.
Still, it was saddening that John was alone. Especially at Christmas.
Sherlock made a face.
John walked back in holding two mugs of coffee and saw Sherlock frowning at nothing in particular.
"What?" He asked, handing him a mug.
"I think I might be getting into the Christmas spirit." Sherlock explained with playful disgust in his voice. "Thanks." He said, accepting the coffee.
"I thought you loved Christmas." Said John, grinning at him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
John had no idea what was going on, or what Sherlock was doing there, or why he was playing and joking the way he was.
"Sherlock, why are you here?" He finally asked, and the air shifted.
Sherlock looked uneasy for a moment. "I'm leaving tomorrow," Sherlock reminded him, "and I guess I just wanted to come by and say thank you. Thank you for all the honesty these past few days, it's not often people are like that around me."
"Oh." Said John, a little taken aback. After everything that John had said, after the idiotic way he had behaved around the detective the last few days and he was thanking him?
"You're welcome." He said, a little dumbly.
Sherlock smiled gratefully at him before taking a sip of coffee and John had no idea what he was supposed to do.
It suddenly occurred to him that there was a chance, the smallest chance, that he had been completely wrong about Sherlock Holmes.
In this moment, he didn't seem confident or arrogant or flirty at all. It was like he just pretended to be around other people.
Something else occurred to John in that moment as well, something he probably understood even less.
That he was really glad Sherlock was here.
And he actually didn't want him to go.
But there was no way he could tell him that, there was no way he could keep him here on his last day in England.
"You know I have a huge amount of shopping to do today," he found himself saying without thinking, "I have to host this ridiculous party for my family on Christmas day and I haven't got anything in yet and I..." John suddenly faltered, unsure what he was expecting himself to say.
He suddenly felt quite embarrassed at his outburst and looked to Sherlock, expecting that same deducing stare he always received.
But Sherlock wasn't staring intensely at him, he was merely looking expectantly at him like he was waiting for him to finish his sentence.
John's brain froze for a moment, Sherlock looked like a completely different person to the one John was used to.
"...And I could use a hand, if you're free."
Sherlock didn't answer for a moment and John was sure he'd just made a complete fool out of himself.
"Sure." Said Sherlock, grabbing John's attention again. "I'm not doing anything."
John thanked him graciously but there was no need to, Sherlock had promised himself he'd have found some way to stick around. He didn't want to leave John Watson just yet, he couldn't explain it.
He just didn't feel like they were done yet.
"Oh, but I have to finish here first." John said, gesturing to the half-wrapped gifts strewn across the floor.
"I'll help." Sherlock offered almost immediately.
"Really?" Asked John.
…
As it transpired, Sherlock Holmes was more of a hindrance than a help.
"Okay, then you fold these two pieces over..."
Sherlock followed John's instructions, his slender fingers folding over the specified pieces of paper.
"Okay, then fold that whole bit over to the..."
Sherlock folded the side over but, unsatisfied with the angle, unfolded it and tried again.
John watched the intense concentration on the detective's face and found himself smiling despite himself. In all honesty, the only way the moment could have been any cuter would have been if Sherlock had stuck his tongue out.
"I can't believe the famous Sherlock Holmes has never wrapped a Christmas present before." John observed.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but didn't look away from the task at hand. "How many cases do you suppose involve paper folding?"
"The origami killer?"
Sherlock turned to him and made a face. "That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
The pair lapsed into surprisingly comfortable silence for a few moments until Sherlock spoke.
"Here, hold this." He instructed.
John put his fingers on the folded paper to keep it in place while Sherlock fished around for a strip of cello tape.
When Sherlock applied the cello tape to the gift, his fingers accidentally came into contact with Johns.
Startled, John retracted his hand immediately and the paper unfolded again.
The look of disappointment on Sherlock's face would have been saddening if it wasn't so funny.
Sherlock tried, for the third time, to cello tape down the wrapping paper and John grasped his coffee between his fingers. But even the boiling water seemed cold to the heat that was lingering on his fingers from Sherlock's touch.
…
It was half an hour later that Sherlock and John finally exited John's flat.
Sherlock buttoned up his long coat against the wind and sent a sideways glance to the journalist. "Sorry I'm such a terrible present-wrapper." He said a little sheepishly.
John smiled to himself. "No, you're not bad." He told him. "Still can't believe you've never wrapped a present before."
Sherlock felt the embarrassment creep in. "I don't really do that much outside of work." He admitted, hoping it didn't sound as sad to John as it did to him.
"Don't you have any hobbies?" John asked, a little mesmerised by his footprints in the snow.
Sherlock shook his head. "No. I can't imagine having to throw a ridiculous party for my family."
John laughed, more at his unfortunate situation than at Sherlock's comment. "Did you ever get a chance to say goodbye to your family?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock replied.
"Oh," said John, "I feel a little guilty stealing you on your last day."
"Don't." Said Sherlock, catching Johns eye. "I'd rather be here."
John nodded to him, acting nonchalant before Sherlock looked away again and John allowed the blush to spread across his face, willing it away.
Come on, he said to himself, don't do this. You're not special.
…
They entered a large shopping centre and John again wondered what the hell he was doing.
From what he could gather, he had been innocently wrapping presents in his pyjamas when the arrogant, narcissistic detective he didn't like turned up at his doorstep acting sweeter than a baby kitten.
John glanced across to the detective, who was looking at the giant Christmas tree in the centre of the space.
He momentarily wondered if Sherlock had been abducted in the middle of the night and replaced.
But there was something very natural in the way Sherlock was acting now, like it was his natural way of being and everything else was just a show.
They walked together, chatting, until they came across a supermarket and walked inside.
Sherlock, it turned out, was much more useful at selecting dinner party food than he was at wrapping presents, telling John how a specific wine would go with a specific fish and what foods were traditionally served at Christmas.
When Sherlock began examining a selection of cheeses that John couldn't even pronounce, John finally said, "so, do cases generally involve the need for posh catering?"
Sherlock stopped what he was doing and turned to John, cocking his head to the side. "What?"
"You just said you didn't have any hobbies, except I can't even pronounce half the things in this basket."
Sherlock looked like he was hiding a smile. "Blame my mother, she loved hosting all these posh little tea parties when I was growing up, some of it rubbed off. I can't say it's ever been useful for a case, though."
"Well, it's pretty useful now, I'm grateful."
"Then it hasn't been in vain."
…
"You know," began Sherlock, stopping in front of the bakery section. "I may murder whomever decided to play Christmas songs in every shop we've been into." As he said it, 'All I want for Christmas is you', blared out from one of the overhead speakers.
John chuckled. "I guess you'd be the perfect person to get away with it."
Sherlock shook his head at him.
The pair lapsed into a silence that was only filled by the Christmas song on the radio.
I just want you for my own
more than you could ever know
make my wish come true...
all I want for Christmas is you
Tentatively, John sneaked a quick glance at Sherlock only to find the detective's eyes locked onto him. Seeing the other staring at them, the pair both looked away immediately, cursing themselves in unison.
When they had finished up and paid, Sherlock paid for a cab to take them back to John's instead of risking stepping out into a snowstorm with bags and bags of food.
The cab ride passed in gentle conversation for the most part, until John stumbled upon an apparently frosty topic.
"So, did you get anywhere with the dead woman?"
"No." said Sherlock, sounding suddenly glum. John inclined his head towards him.
"The mortician believes she was killed by accidentally hitting a nail or something in a field that gave her tetanus. But the wound was too clean, and she had a family, why would she be in a field? I can't help feeling like she was murdered." He finished solemnly.
Despite the darkness of the subject, John couldn't help but notice just how easily Sherlock was speaking about it, as opposed to his coldness the other day.
John found himself smiling a little.
"I feel bad about leaving when there could be a murderer out there."
John's smile dropped, not because of Sherlock's suspected murderer, but because he was suddenly reminded that the detective was leaving the next day.
Sherlock had apparently forgotten that fact as well as he too fell silent next to John.
The pair remained quiet until the cab ride was over.
…
John put the phone down as Sherlock unpacked the shopping and placed it into various cupboards.
"I really need to stop eating takeaway." He mumbled.
"Cooking is boring." Sherlock replied, laughing suddenly. "Ha. Have fun cooking all this."
John scowled. "You should be glad you're in a different country, otherwise I'd just rope you into helping me."
"Then you'd be serving your guests burnt food as well as badly wrapped presents. Where do peas go?"
"Top cupboard. And yeah, I guess you're right." John laughed, picturing the scene in his head. But then it occurred to him that Sherlock would be gone by Christmas day, also no one else really knew what he was like so it wouldn't matter anyway.
They continued unpacking until the food came.
John switched the TV on to yet another Christmas film.
He rolled his eyes. "What's with all the Christmas films?" He asks rhetorically.
"Because it's Christmas?" Sherlock pointed out obnoxiously, John shook his head.
"You know, I think I might be starting to understand Christmas." Sherlock said after a moment.
John angled his head towards him. "Did the ghost of Christmas past visit you in the night or something?"
Sherlock shook his head redundantly. "No, I'm just starting to get the appeal of wanting to spend time with people you actually like. I think I didn't get it before because I never really liked anyone bef..." Sherlock fell silent as the enormity of his words became apparent.
Sherlock caught John's eye and they stared at each other for the longest time. John wasn't sure what was going on exactly, but for a moment, he couldn't see anything but Sherlock.
"I should go." Said Sherlock suddenly, breaking the moment.
"Oh," said John, taken aback, watching as Sherlock stood quickly and headed for the door. As he followed him he remembered that Sherlock wasn't just saying goodbye for the night, he was saying goodbye forever.
When Sherlock reached the door, he turned and suddenly he and John were face to face.
John didn't know what to say.
"Thanks for today." He told Sherlock earnestly. "For helping with the shopping," he quickly clarified.
Sherlock nodded slowly, eyes locked on his. "Yeah. You're welcome."
For some reason, John didn't want the moment to end but he knew he couldn't keep Sherlock there forever.
"I wish you the best." Was all he managed to say.
"And you." Sherlock replied. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he turned on his heel and trotted down the stairs quickly and opened the main door and disappeared through.
John quickly walked down the stairs and stuck his head out into the night, feeling the flecks of snow fall onto his face.
He could see Sherlock's retreating back getting further and further away from him.
For a mad second he wanted to call out to him, to run after him but he didn't.
He just shut the door.