"Please, Sherlock?" John begged. It was 6:15 pm Friday night. John stood before Sherlock who was draped dramatically across the couch, his dressing gown falling around him and his hair all mussed. "You said you would go," John added when his 'please' elicited no response from the detective.
Sherlock glared up at John. "I said no such thing. As I recall, you are the one who agreed to attend this...gathering of Scotland Yard's idiot population. I see no reason to spend my entire evening surrounded by imbeciles."
John folded his arms across his chest. "Please Sherlock?" he asked once more.
"No," Sherlock said and turned his body so that his back was to John.
John huffed a sigh and shook his head. He stood, thinking, for a moment before muttering "fine," and turning on his heel.
Surprised at John's retreat, Sherlock quickly turned his head to look at John. "Where are you going?" He asked John's back.
"To the Christmas party. You don't want to go, that's fine. But, I do want to go. I expect I won't be back till rather late. Don't wait up." John was shrugging on his coat and heading toward the door.
Sherlock bit his lip and felt a moment of insecurity. He watched John in silence until John opened the door. "Wait," Sherlock said and stood quickly. "I suppose...if you want to go...I will...endure this party."
"Really Sherlock, you don't have to go," John replied.
"I want to be with you. If you want to go, then I suppose I shall go with you. I'll need some time to get ready though."
20 minutes later Sherlock emerged. He looked splendid, but John was feeling rather lucky so he decided to push one more issue. "You look wonderful love," he said.
"Thank you."
"But..." John began carefully. "Everyone shall be wearing..."
"Must I really?" Sherlock asked, cutting John off.
"Well, it is an ugly sweater party. Plus, Mrs. Hudson bought the sweaters for us. Look, I'm wearing mine." John looked pleadingly at his lover. He opened his coat to show Sherlock that he was in fact wearing a red sweater with a wide white stripe across the middle. Embroidered in the white stripe were several green christmas trees. The tree in the center of the sweater was further decorated with colored balls and had a yellow star on the top.
Sherlock intended to hold his ground, but looking into those hazel eyes, he melted. "Fine," he resigned and headed back to their room.
A minute later Sherlock stood before John, his own sweater on. John looked at Sherlock, wondering how he could look so good in such an ugly sweater.
Sherlock's sweater was green also with a wide white stride across the middle. In the white stripe of his sweater were embroidered brown reindeer. Most of the reindeer were grazing or walking, but the one in the very center stood tall and proud, and had a bright red ball on the end of it's muzzle, serving as a nose. Sherlock looked down at the thing and cringed, but he noticed John smiling, so he figured he could bear this humiliating outfit for one night if it made John happy.
John decided to push his luck further, pulling out his phone.
"No. No. No. No!" Sherlock repeated, rushing for his coat to cover up his ridiculous outfit. John, however, was blocking his path, and looked up at him with his best puppy-dog eyes. "No, John!" Sherlock said again.
"Please Sherlock? You look so cute. I need a picture so I can always remember." John managed to make his lower lip quiver, and judging by Sherlock's gaze, it was achieving it's intended purpose.
"And what, exactly, am I getting out of this deal?" Sherlock asked, lowering his voice causing John to shiver.
"What do you want?" John asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"I want a picture of you."
"Oh...um...okay." That was easy.
"One that you are embarrassed to let me take."
"Wha... Oh..." John recalled a conversation they had a few nights back. Sherlock had wanted to take pictures of John while he was...exposed. John had felt too embarrassed and self-conscious, worried about his scars and his not-up-to-military-standard physique. "Um...Okay...I guess."
Sherlock beamed and moved to stand next to John, wrapping his arm around the doctor's waist. John handed the phone to Sherlock who snapped the photo of them both.
"Alright, let's go," Sherlock said, bouncing toward the door.
"You're rather enthusiastic all of the sudden," John commented, following Sherlock.
"I have something to look forward to after this dreadful affair. The whole time we are at the yard, I shall be fantasizing about coming home and removing that horrid piece of cloth from your body." Sherlock gave John the most sensual stare he could muster.
They arrived at the Yard and entered the building quickly. Dozens of people were standing around in various colours of horrid sweaters. Music was playing overhead and there was a food table set up against the far wall. Desks had been pushed out of the way to make room for tables and chairs. The tables were covered in bright red table cloths and in the center of each table was a vase with several poinsettia flowers.
John spotted Lestrade across the room and lead the way to say hello. Lestrade wore a bright blue sweater that had a large white snowman on the front.
"Good to see you!" Lestrade beamed, his face slightly blushed.
Sherlock made quick work of deducing Lestrade's current state. Slightly tipsy, wine most likely. Drinking due to his divorce. Not wearing his wedding ring, fighting with his ex. Not seeing his daughter for Christmas. Been working late hours to distract himself.
"Good to see you too Greg," John said, breaking Sherlock's reverie. "How are you?"
Does John really have to ask? Can't he see how miserable Lestrade is? Sherlock thought to himself.
"Good, good! How about you?"
Why is he lying?
"Good. Been busy getting ready for the holiday. A lot of stuff got put off because of the Moriarty situation."
"Yeah yeah same. How about you Sherlock? Personally, I can't believe you're here, and in a horrible jumper too! Are pigs flying too?" Lestrade gave a hearty laugh.
Sherlock gave Lestrade a withering glare, which only served to make Lestrade laugh harder. "Well, enjoy yourselves, I'm going to go get a drink and mingle with the ladies." He winked at John and walked off, leaving Sherlock and John standing alone.
"Why is he lying?" Sherlock asked, startling John.
"What do you mean?"
"He's lying about being fine. He's been drinking."
"It is a party Sherlock, people like to drink at parties."
"He's not wearing his ring."
"He's getting a divorce. Why would he wear his ring?"
"He has been wearing it up until now. Why take it off now?"
"Maybe he's moved on, he said he was going to go try to talk up some women."
"Perhaps..." Sherlock decided to search others for clues to Lestrade's current state. It would help to pass the time and make the party more...bearable.
John was beyond the point of tipsy, and was currently having a heated discussion with a lab worker, who's name Sherlock had forgotten, about the physical signs of some disease, the name of which Sherlock didn't care about. Sherlock noticed Lestrade standing at the food table,grazing the various snacks, on his fifth, that Sherlock had seen, glass of wine.
Breaking away from John's side, Sherlock approached Lestrade and cleared his throat.
Lestrade turned, and stumbled a bit when he heard Sherlock. "Oh, Shelook..." Lestrade slurred. "You startled me."
"You are quite drunk detective."
"Yes...And?"
"Something going on at home?"
"Oh the usual. Constantly fighting with the wife...excuse me, ex wife. She wants to take Jill out of the country for Christmas. Wants to take her to see some sights. Can you believe it? America of all places? What the bloody hell is there to see in America?"
Sherlock was quite surprised that Lestrade was being so frank about his personal problems, especially surrounded by his coworkers, several of whom were staring now because Lestrade was raising his voice.
For once in his life, Sherlock considered the social implications of a situation. God, John is rubbing off on me... "Detective, perhaps we could discuss this in your office?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep his voice down.
"Why? Why shouldn't everyone know? It's not like they can't figure it out!"
Doubtful, Sherlock thought, but bit his tongue.
"Why is my life falling apart Sherlock?"
John had overheard the conversation and was making his way toward them.
"Why can't I have a relationship like your's and John's?"
John stopped dead, and the whole room seemed to go quiet. Most of the Yard had no idea that John and Sherlock were an item. They had decided to keep it to themselves for a little while longer.
"Lestrade..." Sherlock began, but the drunken detective inspector carried on.
"You two seem so happy. You're perfect for each other. I can't begin to tell you how jealous I am of you. If you, of all people, can find someone, why can't I?"
A few people sniggered at the comment, but Sherlock brushed it off. He glanced over at John, who's face had drained of color. Sherlock hung his head slightly and made to turn away from Lestrade. As he moved, a hand grabbed at his, and he turned to see John looking at him.
"It's alright Greg," John said. "You'll find someone else. You and your wife just didn't want the same things toward the end. But, look at it this way, you have a beautiful daughter because of your marriage. That's the good that came out of the bad." John gave Greg a smile, which Greg returned gently. "As for Sherlock, it's very easy to love him. At least for me. He's not as intolerable as everyone seems to believe.
Sherlock looked down at his lover and smiled slightly.
"Thanks for giving us a good way to tell everyone Greg," John said. Then he turned to the crowd of people who were watching the whole exchange. "We were going to tell you ourselves," John began, voice booming. "But, Greg's just a bit tipsy, and you know what they say about Grey Goose." The group laughed. "So, I only have one question, why is there no bloody mistletoe at this party? I've been dying to have an excuse to kiss this man all night!"
Sherlock was indeed shocked. How drunk is he? But, try as he might, he could not come to be angry with his doctor. Instead he decided to make his own bold move. He grabbed John's head, pulling his face close, and lingered for a single breath before pressing their lips together. John's tongue darted out and licked Sherlock's lip. They finished their short but sweet kiss and when they broke apart, they room burst into applause.
The rest of the night, Sherlock couldn't stop smiling, even when people he didn't know congratulated him and John. Lestrade had tried to apologize a few times, but John and Sherlock shrugged it off. Eventually, they were even able to cheer Lestrade up.
When the men stumbled back into their flat around midnight, they were wound in each other's arms. As soon as they had their door closed behind them, they were tearing at each other's coats.
In their bedroom, John pulled his sweater off and took a deep breath. "Time for a photo shoot?"
Sherlock gave a devious grin, pushed John onto the bed and pulled his mobile out of his pocket.
By the end of the night, Sherlock had well over a hundred photos of John in various states of undress and ecstasy. Many of the pictures were blurry, because Sherlock had found it rather difficult to focus when John's mouth was...exploring. The last picture Sherlock snapped was one of both of them, John pressed against Sherlock's bare chest, eyes closed and hair mussed, with his arm clinging to Sherlock's waist. For the photo, Sherlock lowered his face, closed his eyes, and kissed John on the top of the head.