Sherlock is broached with an uncomfortable idea.

So I've had a couple of readers approach me with a correction- I am Americana, and my British terminology knowledge is all of zilch, hahaha XD Thank you, guys...

Stories

"You never told me what it was you wanted-" began John, only to be cut off by a mildly stunned Sherlock.

"Casanova?" he said, his sangfroid temporarily vanished. "Me?"

John looked at him with a slightly teasing smile on his face. "Naturally, Sherlock. Good looking guy like you, swooping into the cafe and stalking up to the counter to order tea like some kind of Byronic hero. Well, not quite like that, but close enough, and quite enough to get all the young women's hearts aflutter. Only to break them when you open your mouth and start snarking off, not even paying them the slightest attention."

"I'm…good-looking?"

"You're kidding me."

Sherlock was silent, processing this.

"Sherlock, you're beautiful." John could have smacked his forehead. "It feels a bit funny for me to tell you so, but I consider you my best friend and I know you know me well enough that I'm saying this quite plainly."

Sherlock pushed down the overwhelming urge to flush and controlled himself. To his embarrassment, he was not immune to flattery, especially flattery from John- he nearly burst with pride every time John exclaimed "Brilliant!" in admiration of his work.

John shifted. "You wanted to show me something," he prompted.

"Right," said Sherlock, snapping himself from his haze. He gestured to his open door and usher John inside his bedroom. "I'm a bit greedy, John. I request the best view in the house whenever I come home, which is why I've made this room permanently mine."

John followed Sherlock through the bedroom and waited as Sherlock opened the door to the balcony. A rush of cold air swept in, briefly chilling John, causing him to shiver and making him grateful that he had a jumper on.

"John, look at this."

John stepped outside, face immediately turning up when he felt snowflakes on his face. "Smells like snow," he commented, breathing deeply. Finally, he turned in the direction Sherlock was pointing.

The Holmes mansion stood on a hill overlooking Marview, and John could immediately see why Sherlock wanted the coveted view. The little village was lit up like a Christmas scene from a movie, snow drifting down onto roofs. The church in the town square had a beautiful rose window and a light shone through the stained glass.

"Wow," John breathed. "Sherlock, it's beautiful." He went forward and leaned on the balcony rail, inhaling as he took in the sight of the village lit up.

He felt a nudge and turned; Sherlock was offering him a quilt. "Thanks," John said, wrapping it around his shoulders and pulling it snug over his torso.

Sherlock got his own quilt and they stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the sight of the village below them shining like a Christmas tree. When the snow had lightly dusted Sherlock's chestnut curls, John reached up to brush them off and Sherlock obligingly leaned forward to allow him.

"Did you grow up here?"

Sherlock nodded. "The village has always been my home, even though we inherited the estate when I was four. I went to school there-" he pointed at a schoolhouse, "-up until I was ten. Then I went to boarding school."

"Entitled brat," John chuckled. "I went to state school all my life."

"I would've traded you anything for that experience," Sherlock said honestly. "I would have much preferred it."

"Bet you wouldn't've. It was awful. People were mean."

"To you?"

"In general."

"Sounds like boarding school."

"I bet they had better manners."

"You'd be surprised." Sherlock smiled faintly. "I wasn't one of the mannerly bunch, either."

"No."

"What?"

"You?"

"Shut up."

John laughed and shoved Sherlock's shoulder lightly. "I figured Mycroft would've put you in your place for that."

"Oh, he did. Or, at least, he tried to."

"You should've grown up with Harriet. She didn't hesitate to beat the ever-loving crap outta you if you misbehaved, and it didn't matter whose brother you were, be it hers or her girlfriend's." John went quiet. "After my dad left, she had to deliver one of those beatings to me. Had to get me to snap out of it. Help take care of my mum, cos she could barely do it herself."

Sherlock looked at John out of the corner of his eye, shifting uncomfortably. He'd never had to deal with something like this- a parent abandoning their family. "Were you able to help her?"

"Enough that she started singing again. Several months later, but still- it was a sign that she was returning to normal." John's face darkened. "Only difference is that she drank all the time. Constantly. I hated it more than anything- swore to myself that I would never drink myself into a stupor like she did every other night. I could never do that to my children."

He wants children? Sherlock's mind suddenly caught on this detail. His imagination shifted to John married to a faceless woman, surrounded by small blond children with honest blue gazes. The thought made him sad as it made him happy- a confusing emotion, but one he found he could interpret, whether he liked it or not. He found that he was slightly more relieved when he imagined himself in that picture- John passing off a small child into his arms and saying, "Hold her for a second, hmm?"

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock's attention snapped back to the young man in front of him. "You will make an excellent father, John."

John raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Thanks?"

"Of course."

xXxXxXxXxXx

I still need to get Sherlock a Christmas present, John thought a little glumly as he prepared for bed. But I have no clue what to get him. Christmas is in two days.

He climbed under the covers and curled up, trying to preserve his warmth, and slept.

In the room next door, someone else was having a sleepless night, haunted by visions of a nameless child with an unwavering gaze too similar to John's.

Prompts were from Feeling Rather Marxist, Doodled93, and Javien Deluke, and they were: sangfroid, smells like snow, and shiver (respectively)