Christmas morning was a joyous and magical occasion for families everywhere. Unless your power was out and it was below freezing outside.
I woke up with a violent shiver, automatically pulling my sheets closer to my body. The hour was early yet, I doubt anyone else knew about the power outage. Cause: Large snowfall overnight, resulting in tree damage, resulting in power line loss or damage.
Just as I was about to return to my much needed slumber, I saw John shiver across the room. I got up; making my way across he freezing floor, fully intent on helping John to keep warm when I spied presents under our Christmas tree. John must've placed them there once I was asleep. After I caught myself staring at them, I realized that my own presents were still downstairs in Mrs. Hudson's office.
I turned around and padded downstairs in the deserted building. Almost everyone had gone home yesterday to spend Christmas with their family. Only a few remained, but we had this building to ourselves. Another dorm caught my eye through a window, the lights were on so we must be the only ones affected.
We have been rather quiet, so John would have to call the office for a repair. Mrs. Hudson's door was unlocked, as always, and I made my way in. On my way out, bag of presents in hand, I saw a note taped by the door previously unnoticed by me.
Sherlock, it read I figured you might hide presents in here for your friend, so I left my presents in the chair. Happy Christmas, dear! - Mrs. H
I smiled, tossing the note and picking up the other bag of presents. Happy Christmas Mrs. H, I thought.
John awoke a few hours later by snuggling closer to me. The happiness evoked in me from this simple action still astonished me.
"Good morning, John," I said.
"Mmmmmngh S'lock," came the reply.
I smiled. "Get up."
"Mon mermint," he mumbled.
Laughing slightly, I stood up on the bed like a kids and started jumping a bit. John groaned. I laughed and jumped higher: "COME ON JOHN WAKE UP IT'S CHRISTMAS IT'S CHRISTMAS LOOK PRESENTS COME ON!" I screeched, mimicking the brat we watched in a Christmas movie the previous night.
Needless to say, John woke up.
Unfortunately, he woke up by rolling out of bed. But at least he was up, right?
He got up and stretched as I jumped down.
"Why is it so cold in here?" he asked. "What did you do?"
"Why do to always assume it's me who has done something?" I pouted while he tried to turn on his bedside lamp, to no avail.
He gave me his look, the one saying of course it's you Sherlock, it's always you, but was cut off my a hug from me.
"HappyChristmasJohnI'mreallygladyoucamehereand thatyou'remypersoneventhoughidon'tknowwhy."
John hugged me back. "I didn't catch all of that," he said, "buy I got the gist of it. I'm glad you exist too." He grinned, kissing me and stepping back. "Now, where's breakfast?"
"Taken care of," I said. "Mrs. Hudson made us cookies."
I unwrapped the plate she had left for us, letting John take one.
"Mmmmm, cinnamon. My favorite. We'll have to call her today or tomorrow to say thanks."
I nodded, munching on one of the small treats. "The snow from last night knocked out the power to this particular dorm. I doubt anyone knows at the moment, as we are the only ones here," I informed him.
He nodded, finishing his cookie and slipping on some socks for warmth.
"What now?" I asked, unsure of proper Christmas morning protocol.
He though for a moment and stood, grabbing me by my upper arms. "What next, you ask?"
I nodded, slightly confused.
"Next comes... PRESENTS!" he shouted, shaking my shoulders.
He let go of my arms, but grabbed hold of my hand to drag me to the tree. Next I knew, I was sitting down on the floor with four presents around me. John sat close by, similarly surrounded, fingering the present from Mrs. Hudson.
He looked up, "Come on Sherlock! Open your presents!"
Mrs. Hudson got both of us new leather gloves, mine in black and John's in a dark brown. Next, I picked up a present from John. He pauses to watch my reaction: "I'm glad you chose that one first."
I shook it in my hand, turning in over and inspecting the corners. A book, obvious, but what book?
Carefully tearing the wrappings, I turned it to reveal its cover. I gaped at it.
"It's, it's ah... "
"Harry Potter!" interjected John, laughing. "I thought I might start you off with book one, maybe you'll be able to get my references now! Or at least some."
I smiled, John expected me to ignore the series, he gave this to me as a joke. But I'll read it, just to surprise him. It didn't look interesting at all...
"Your turn," I said.
He picked up the one closer to him, but put it back, going for a smaller one instead. He chose my almost gag-gift as well.
He tore open the paper: "Jam! Blackberry! My favorite! Thanks Sherlock," he laughed.
I picked up another from him. The package was soft and pliable, some sort of clothing or fabric. The inside the wrapping, I found a long, deep blue scarf; almost warm to the touch, even in the cooled room. I wrapped it around my neck greedily, rubbing my cheek on the fabric.
"So, uh, you like it?" came John's nervous question.
I had almost forgotten his present, entranced by the faint patterns in the scarf. "John, it's really warm," I attempted. "Er, thank you." A scarf wouldn't have gone amiss… what if he didn't like what I got him?
He grinned, blushing a bit at the ears. "I, ah, thought it would go good with your hair," he mumbled. "Next one then!"
He grabbed the previously discarded package and ripped into it, distracting us from his embarrassment.
"Oh, Sherlock, it's... How did you know that-?"
I let out a breath that I barely registered I was holding and explained. "From your obvious interest in biology and anatomy, combined with your reaction to the crash, I deduced it. This one is rather old, an antique, and I thought it might be interesting because it was used in-" John's lips cut off the rest of my description.
"Thank you I love it," he said, pulling the stethoscope around his shoulders and hugging me.
I immediately returned the hug and was handed my next present by John.
"Here then," said John.
I opened it and a smallish piece of metal stared back at me. I picked it up and turned it over. It was surprisingly lightweight. With my hands on each side, I pulled to open the middle crease, revealing a magnifying glass with fantastic clarity. Smiling, I looked up at John, waiting for his explanation.
"I thought you might like to, you know, to investigate stuff," he said sheepishly. "And it's sturdy so it should last a while, plus," he said, taking it from me, "look! It's got different magnifications in the smaller ones around the middle."
I showed him my gratitude by kissing him shortly, anxious for John to open his last gift. He grabbed another cinnamon cookie - I really must convince Mrs. Hudson to make these more often - and ripped open his last package.
This one I had spent most of my money and thought on. It was a leather journal of a deep maroon with a gold stripe. The colours reminded me of John somehow, and I added a gilded "JHW" to the bottom right corner. The journal was equipped with a pen sleeve and a ribbon book mark. It was perfect.
"Sherlock... I-" he cut off.
I hope that he liked it, that he didn't deem it too personal or girly or stupid or-
"Sherlock it's beautiful," came his sincere reply. "Thank you. It... It must've cost a fortune."
"Don't worry about the price," I said, taking in his concerned glance at the book in his hands. "My family is... Fairly well off." I left it at that and turned back to my presents, inspecting the cover of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone with my new magnifying glass.
I felt John's smile as he turned back to his newest gift.
"Happy Christmas, Sherlock."
"Sherlock?" John asked. He was sitting at our desk, writing in his journal - presumably about the events that just occurred - while I examined my newest mould culture by the window.
"Yes?"
"How exactly did you find out my middle name?"
I grinned. "Obvious. The way you hold yourself, and your remarkable likeness to a hedgehog, are only a few clues that lead to the conclusion of your middle name: Hamish."
He gaped at me, nonplussed at my elusive sense of humour, and sputtered "Sherlock!"
I laughed from my place on the floor, retracting my retort in favor of answering my phone.
It was a text, from one Molly Hooper.
Happy Christmas Sherlock! xoxoxo - Molly Hooper
I sighed, the girl was quite obviously smitten with me because I helped her out. Too dense to see that John and I were an item, or just not caring if we were, I didn't know.
And, not for the first time, I wondered what exactly she had written in that journal of hers.
The only reason that I hadn't gone through it was to impress John. It didn't seem like something that he would approve of so I skipped it. In hindsight, I should've looked. Skimmed, really, just to see if there was anything that Donovan girl could use against her – Molly is an acquaintance of mine after all.
At my expression, John slid down from his chair and over to me, slightly worried. He must've called my name a few times. I really must work on responding to him.
Seeing what he was about to ask, I preemptively said "Text, from Molly Hooper. She's still smitten with me. Is that a thing?"
"What do you mean, 'a thing'?"
I sighed, exasperated at not being understood. And by not knowing how to explain what I meant. "You know, a... relationship thing? One that you're supposed to... Discuss or... something?" I hated the way my voice rose at the end.
John smiled. "You mean, should I be jealous?"
I nodded.
"Of Molly Hooper?" he asked, his smile widening.
I blushed slightly, realizing that I made a stupid assumption. John just smiled softer and kissed my cheek, murmuring.
I was about to apologize for my error when we were interrupted by his bedside light blinding us in the floor.
The power was back on.
If one was a member of the Watson family on Christmas, at least a few years ago, one would be subjected to various large amounts of food and movies until after the owls went to bed.
John was raised this way, so he only thought it normal to hoard two armfuls of food back to our room for the days provisions.
Entertainment was taken care of thanks to my laptop, a lovely wi-fi connection and knowledge of the best movie websites.
The movies started with an early lunch, and none, to my immediate and obvious relief, were particularly Christmas themed.
We took turns picking the movies. John picked his favorites, commandeering the first three turns by choosing the "ONLY three Star Wars movies," as he put it. I endured the first, but started to pay more attention as John talked animatedly about the scenes. He could believe I hadn't heard of them before.
For my first, I picked "Pirates of the Caribbean." I've always liked pirates, and the movie wasn't too bad. If I was being downright honest, the ships were bloody cool. Not that I would tell anyone that. Nor the fact that I believed I was a pirate for six months of my life.
John helped me select a Batman movie, winning me over by describing him as a detective. My third choice, with it being very late or very very early, was chosen at random. It was a film called Third Star, described as a Comedy/Adventure.
It was not a Comedy/Adventure.
I'd rather not talk about it, as my reactions to the movie were not standard, as the hour was very late or early and I was tired and I didn't cry, why would you think that? End of story.
Needless to point out, both of us were exhausted after watching six movies back to back, and we woke up on Boxing Day at noon, cuddled together on the floor with popcorn in our hair.
After a much needed shower and teeth-brushing, I came back into the room to find John awake and on the Internet. Facebook, to be precise, obviously deduced from the blues and whites lighting up John's face.
His expression was grim.
"Sherlock, you know that kid, the one in our English class?"
Slightly irritated by his broad question, I responded: "Yes! Of course John! The one kid on our English class! What a descriptive question - I know just the one kid you are talking about!"
"Not funny, Sherlock," he said, catching my eye. "Something happened to him." he gestured for me to look at the screen.
I could see why he went a bit pale.