It had been a little over a month since the late night meeting in the swimming pool. John and Sherlock, with the help of Mycroft's resources, and Sherlock's homeless network, and even some strings pulled by Lestrade, had been working tirelessly trying to find where Moriarty had disappeared to.
"I don't understand," Lestrade remarked on a Tuesday morning. Snow flakes were threatening to fall from dark clouds overhead. "It's like he's fallen off the face of the Earth." Lestrade, John, and Sherlock stood in front of the Baker Street flat.
"Perhaps he's decided to take a holiday, being so close to Christmas and all," John offered. The men had been out all night, combing the streets trying to sniff out any information they possibly could. They had met back in front of Sherlock and John's home cold, tired, and without any success.
"Speaking of holiday, I'm going out of town. I'll be leaving on Saturday. But there will be a party at the Yard on Friday, you two are welcome to come. We all deserve a bloody break from this Moriarty bastard." Lestrade noticed his ride, a police car, driven by Sally Donovan, approaching. "Get some rest, I'll see you two on Friday?"
Sherlock heaved a sigh, but John ignored him and said, "Wouldn't miss it Greg."
When the DI was in the car, and driving away, John and Sherlock, quickly entered the flat, eager to get warm. The flat was relatively unchanged, but John had set out a few Christmas decorations here and there. Sherlock had rolled his eyes, made quips about the whole ridiculous affair, and even threatened to burn one ugly stuffed elf that John insisted on perching on one of the book shelves. But John persisted, and he noticed that Sherlock was complaining less and less. Now to see how far I can push this.
"Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen, where he was making two warm mugs of tea.
"Mmm?" Sherlock responded. He had quickly changed into pajamas as soon as they got inside, and now he sat in his arm chair wrapped up in his dressing gown and a blanket, with his hands steepled under his chin.
John entered the living room, tea mugs in hand, and held one out to Sherlock. The sweet scent roused him enough to outstretch his arm an take the hot cup. "You in, Sherlock?" John asked.
Sherlock sipped at the tea and slowly exited his trance. "My apologies John. Now I am 'in'."
"Right, so I've been thinking, since my bedroom doesn't really get used anymore, I was thinking we could move some of the stuff thats out here into there." John paused for a moment to sip his own tea, trying to make it seem as normal of a conversation as possible. "Maybe then," he continued, a little nervously, "we'd have room for a proper Christmas tree." John looked down at his tea, trying to listen for Sherlock's unspoken reaction. He didn't want to be disappointed, but he wanted to at least try.
"I don't see why that would be a problem," Sherlock said in his deep voice.
John shot a look up at the detective. "Really?" He couldn't help how surprised and excited he sounded.
"Really. You seem to quite enjoy the holiday spirit. I can't say I agree with you, but seeing you happy is enough of a reason for me."
"Perfect!" John exclaimed. "We can pick one up tonight, after we get some shopping done."
Sherlock bit his lower lip. He absolutely hated shopping and so he was tempted to ask John to do it without him. But he wondered to himself what he would do while John was gone. With the whole Moriarty thing going on he hadn't had time for other cases, nor a single experiment. If I stay in while John goes Christmas shopping, I'll just be bloody bored. "Alright, shopping it is then."
John smiled his approval and leaned down to kiss Sherlock's cheek. "Alright, I just have to shower, then we can go."
"I need a shower too," Sherlock murmered as John was headed toward the bathroom.
"Ok, I'll hurry so I don't use all the hot wa...Oh..." John was still getting used to sharing a bed and a shower with Sherlock. "Well come on." Sherlock jumped up and eagerly followed the doctor to the bathroom, both men leaving their half-drunk cups of tea behind.
The two men sat on the floor of the tub, with the water pouring down on them. Sherlock sat with his back to John's front. "The water's starting to get cold," Sherlock observed.
"So much for not using all the hot water," John quipped. He gently pushed on Sherlock, trying to get the tall man to stand up. "We should probably get washed up before the water gets much worse."
With a groan, Sherlock stood, followed by John. They made quick work of the rest of their shower.
They got dressed and made their way out of the apartment.
A cab dropped them in front of a large shopping mall, the name of which Sherlock didn't care enough to remember. The sky was still thickly laced with dark grey clouds, but now fat snow flakes were lazily making their way to the ground. People were bustling all around, with less than a week left to get ready for Christmas, everyone was in a hurry. Everything was decorated, and strings of lights were wrapped around everything that would stand still long enough, and they hadn't even made it inside yet. Sherlock cringed to think what the inside would look like if they did this much to decorate the outside.
As they walked toward the entrance, John was surprised when Sherlock reached out and laced their fingers together. John knew Sherlock wasn't one for public displays, so his heart rate always peaked when Sherlock made an effort like this.
The inside of the mall was even more festive than the outside. Lights flickered, little plastic reindeer stood all around, decorated trees were all over, and the whole place smelled of cinnamon. To Sherlock's annoyance, Christmas music was blasting over head. This is going to be a long day.
As the two of them prowled around the mall, John was pleasantly surprised at Sherlocks complacently. Sherlock even seemed to be enjoying himself. John couldn't help but point out, "I didn't think you'd enjoy this."
"Honestly, neither did I. But there are so many people. So much to observe and deduce. It's enough stimulation to keep up with my racing mind."
"Tell me what you see." John pulled Sherlock toward an empty table, motioning for him to sit down.
"Alright," Sherlock said and cleared his throat. "That woman there," he pointed toward a middle aged woman in a large fur coat. "She's having an affair with her husband's boss. She's the reason for her husband's recent raise."
"Fascinating," John remarked, looking at the woman and trying to figure out how Sherlock knew.
"That man over there," Sherlock pointed to a young man with worn jeans and a thin hoodie.
"The one with the little girl?" John looked at the pair. The man seemed a bit young to be the girls father, but the two did look a lot alike. The girl was only about 3 or 4.
"No, he's not her father," Sherlock explained even though John hadn't spoken his thoughts aloud. "That's his little sister. Their parents were recently killed in a car accident. His brought her here to visit Santa. Child services are threatening to place her in foster care." Sherlock's brow furrowed.
"That's too bad. So close to Christmas." John looked the pair over again.
"Do you want children John?" Sherlock asked, startling John.
"Uh... I've thought about it. Yeah probably. But er... Sherlock..." John wasn't sure what to say.
"It's quite alright John, I do like children. And though I've never imagined myself having any of my own, I never imagined anyone would want to be in a relationship with me either. I was simply curious on your stance."
John reached a hand across the table and placed it on top of Sherlock's. He gave a small squeeze. Sherlock gave John a little smile before turning his hand over so that their fingers interlaced.
Several hours had passed and John and Sherlock had finished most of their Christmas shopping. They had found gifts for Lestrade, Molly, Ms. Hudson, and even Mycroft. They also found gifts for Harry, John's sister, and Sherlock's parents. They finished up by purchasing an assortment of ornaments for the tree they were going to put up. Sherlock had suggested that the colors for the tree should be black and gold, and John was in such high spirits that he simply couldn't say no.
They ecited the mall, both carrying numerous bags, and John began looking around for a cab.
"Ah, here's our ride," Sherlock said as he pointed to a large black SUV that could only belong to Mycroft Holmes.
"You called your brother for a ride?" John asked, eyebrow raised.
"How else are we going to transport a tree to our flat?"
The car took them to a lot where several people were picking out trees. Hand in hand the boys walked through the lot until they found a suitable tree. Mycroft's driver tied the tree to the top of the car.
"Back to Baker Street?" the driver asked.
"Yeah, back home," John said.