This story is so emotionally exhausting. But sooooo worth it. Thanks for sticking with me, you guys.

Another Year

The Holmes family was hosting again, and this time it was for New Year's.

John insisted on helping with the cooking, and Anita let him. David, Mycroft, and a petulant Sherlock hung white lights from the balconies and assisted in running errands to the grocery. Whenever John and Sherlock interacted, shy smiles and some tension ensued.

Mycroft suspected they'd already done the deed, but after a text to Marion, she assured him that she highly doubted that anything had occurred and they were both absorbed in their own worlds. He rolled his eyes. Looks like betting on under a month was too much to ask for.

xXxXxXxXxXx

John hadn't had much of a chance to talk to Sherlock's father, and when he found himself mixing batter for a pumpkin spice cake while David was taking a rest and reading the newspaper, he found himself wanting to break the silence with the serious, analytical man. "Anything interesting in the papers?" he hedged cautiously, peering at David past the mixer.

Blue eyes flitted in his direction and straightened the paper with a shake. "Not much. I mostly look in the economics section anyhow."

There was silence again as John buttered a pan.

This is torturous, he thought uncomfortably, rather wishing that Sherlock, Anita, or even Mycroft could swoop in as a conversational partner. David had always been busy hosting or with work, and while John had had plenty of time to bond with Anita, the other half of the Holmes parental unit was foreign to him.

His surprise when David spoke up nearly made him spill the batter he'd begun pouring into the pan.

"Sherlock says he's been sharing a flat with you for several months now?"

John cleared his throat. "Yes, since late August."

"I hope he's not a difficult flatmate."

"He can be," John admitted candidly. "But if I didn't care about him or like him half as much as I do, then I wouldn't be splitting the rent with him."

"He's quite fond of you." David hadn't looked up from the paper yet.

John felt heat creep up his neck. "So I've been told. I'm quite fond of him as well."

Now David did look up, and John was reminded of where Sherlock had inherited his piercing, glacial stare. But the elder Holmes merely smiled and settled back in his chair comfortably, returning to the news.

Mycroft strode in the kitchen then, his buttery voice annoyed. "I think it's high time you get some help, Father," he stated, settling down at the table across from his father and straightening his collar. "You and Mummy don't have to do all this preparatory work and cleaning the whole house all the time when you could hire someone to do it for you."

"I'll consider enlisting help as your mother's birthday gift," said David, waving away his son's worries. "Besides, your mother and I keep fairly clean, especially now that we don't have two monkeys running around and leaving toys everywhere and starting fights."

John chuckled. Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Sherlock was always the instigator, John, believe me."

"I don't doubt it," lied John, perfectly capable of imagining a nine-year-old Mycroft luring his brother into a row by dangling toys above his head. Sherlock had told him plenty of stories of Mycroft's "abuse."

xXxXxXxXxXx

It was 11:56 and John was taking refuge outside on a balcony, not interested in socializing. He had been all night; Sherlock's family was friendly and interesting, but he just needed some space for the moment, enjoying the quiet of the snowy evening away from the party. Among some of his favorites were Sherlock's suave cousin Marco- Marian's older brother-, David's keen sister Rebecca, and Sherlock's matronly grandmother Helene. It was snowing and John was swishing some wine around in his glass, mostly untouched. He wasn't much a fan of white wine, preferring something a little darker, but he took what he could get most of the time.

He heard the creak of the balcony door and he glanced over his shoulder. Sherlock was leaning against the frame, two glasses of champagne in his hands, looking at John carefully.

"Sorry," John said sheepishly, his shoulders shrinking a bit. "I came out here to get some space. I'll come back in if you'd like."

"No, it's fine," Sherlock said with a slightly sluggish note to his voice. John registered this; he knew Sherlock had had a few glasses of wine and, knowing his friend, that was plenty to get him just a bit loopy. Not embarrassingly drunk, but just enough to be noticeable.

John smiled as Sherlock approached him and held out a glass of champagne. "Thanks."

"…You know, John," Sherlock mused, gesturing out towards the town, "I'm happy to be here right now. And…I'm not always able to say that."

John quirked an eyebrow, brushing snow off his sleeve. "I can't imagine why you wouldn't be. Your family is lovely."

"They're always telling me to bring someone home with me," Sherlock grumbled. John noticed that his cheeks were pink- an effect of the wine, he supposed.

Someone inside called, "One minute!"

John set his wine glass aside and settled the champagne glass in his grasp. "I'm happy that you decided to take me home, then." He was a little bit embarrassed; Sherlock's proximity was making him feel warm despite the cold.

"I wouldn't have wanted to bring anyone else home."

John looked over at Sherlock. His flatmate was looking at him seriously, his unwavering gaze sincere. John's pulse picked up a bit.

"Twenty seconds!"

"It's almost the start of a new year," John said quietly, wondering where his breath had gone. He needs to stop staring. Why the hell am I so nervous?

"That it is," agreed Sherlock. His dark curls were sprinkled with snowflakes. One caught on an eyelash and he blinked it away. "John, I-"

"There's no one I'd rather spend another year with than you," John blurted out, completely unsure of where that had come from, and slightly exhilarated to realize that it was completely true.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Sherlock looked slightly stunned, his blue eyes wide.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

John looked back apprehensively, swallowing.

"Four! Three! Two! One!"

The clock struck midnight, and Sherlock ducked in to kiss John softly.

Prompt was from Javien Deluke and Amon Beck, and they were: This is torturous (Javien Deluke), buttery (Amon Beck), and instigator (Amon Beck).