#holidaze2024

“The bees were restless this morning. I think a storm might be coming through today,” Sherlock mentioned as he glanced over the print of his newspaper. He didn’t look at John. It was a habit of old. He would start a conversation but continue the task he was on.

“Oh?” John replied, removing his glasses and looking up from his book. He enjoyed this ritual of theirs. “I was going to suggest a stroll to the village for dinner tonight. It’s our anniversary.”

Sherlock let his paper drop down to look over at John. “It’s not. We were married in June, John. You’re too young to be going senile.”

John smirked. “Not that one.”

“How many anniversaries does one have?” Sherlock checked looking confused.

John pulled an item out of his pocket and held it up.

“You know my eyesight isn’t that good,” Sherlock moaned, not even bothering to squint to try and see it.

“And I’ve told you to go back to the optometrist, so it’s your fault entirely isn’t it?” John teased. “You will just have to wait.” He returned the item to his pocket with glee and put his glasses on to return his focus to his book.

Sherlock didn’t move. John could feel him glaring, thinking, brow furrowed, calculating but no retort came.

“In any case, let’s see what the weather does. We still have that lamb I can cook up if the weather is against us,” John suggested.

“I’ve heard they invented a fantastical object that you can hold up and it actually stops you from getting wet in the rain. Marvellous,” Sherlock said full of sarcasm, pulling his newspaper back into line with a smirk.

John snorted and shook his head, and the room returned to its original state - silent companion reading.

Twenty five years to the day, John thought to himself. But he waited. He waited all day.

The rain did come and had set in but the storm had eased off to a more gentle, steady rain. John decided that the stroll would do Sherlock some good anyway. His joints had been freezing up quite a bit lately and he needed to get out and move more. John found their two umbrellas in the cupboard beside the door and waited patiently for Sherlock to make his way down the stairs.

He was wearing a lovely suit. One of John’s favourites. He clearly respected the occasion even if he didn’t remember what it was for.

They strolled hand in hand down the road to the village, mostly in silence, looking around them. The occasional comment would surface, about their neighbour’s property, the farm down the road must have bought more sheep, had the little girl been riding the ponies again, she hadn’t been seen for a while, the pot hole at the junction had gotten bigger and they would need to be mindful of it when they had to drive out for Christmas with Mycroft and his partner. Just general conversation followed by comfortable stretches of silence.

John finally slowed his pace further, bringing them to a halt at the crest before the village. He loved this spot. From here you could see across all the fields. You could see the top of their cottage roof in one direction, and in the other, you could see the village row of shops below. The rain had slowed too, ever so slightly so he put down his umbrella and fished the item out of his pocket, settling himself under the edge of Sherlock's umbrella instead.

Sherlock watched him carefully unable to see what it was but excited for the surprise. John was cupping it secretly in his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes,” John began.

“Yes John Holmes-Watson,” Sherlock interjected with a cheeky smile.

John flashed him an irritated glance. He hated being interrupted. These days, he was likely to lose his train of thought.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he began again. He had practiced this. Over and over. “I was cleaning the spare room out the other day and I found a box of your things. I don’t think it’s been opened since we moved here, since we retired to the country. At least, the dust would say as much. And I found this,” he said, opening his hand and holding the item up so Sherlock could see it. Finally, Sherlock’s eyes began to sparkle with recognition, and a little mist, it seemed.

“I was reminded of the fact that it’s actually been twenty five years,” John continued. “Twenty five years ago you stole this mistletoe and held it above my head,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t see you grab it back out of the snow. I didn’t know you still had it.”

Sherlock’s eyes were glistening properly now. And for once in his life he was speechless.

John gave a gentle smile.

“You were the only man who could make me run without a cane in a matter of hours, or leave the city for a quiet country life together, or get married, despite all my arguments to the contrary. You have always been my exception. To everything. And I thank God every day you stole this bloody mistletoe and showed me how much you needed me. Because I needed you just as much.”

“I know,” Sherlock managed to choke out. He reached over and took the mistletoe from John’s hand. He moved it around in his own hand looking at it like a rare gem. “I forgot I had it, too,” Sherlock sighed. “Poor Molly.”

“She did just fine. Four kids, ten grandkids. She had a good life, Sherlock," John said, with reverence, remembering their friend, passing from cancer only a year ago. "And a much better life, I imagine without you.”

“Hey!” Sherlock grumbled.

“You weren’t meant for her,” John said gently. “You were always meant for me. It just took us a while to find our way.”

“It took you a while,” Sherlock teased.

“Well, maybe if someone stopped drugging my tea, or stealing my laptop, or turning my skin green, I might have noticed,” John said with a smile.

“Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten about the green!” Sherlock exclaimed, chuckling to himself as John rolled his eyes.

“And this is why we have retired. I feel you used those brain cells up at a faster rate than the rest of us,” John teased. “But I was certain you would have had a shelf in the mind palace for Elpheba-John.”

Sherlock snort laughed and John joined in. But then Sherlock stopped laughing and looked lovingly into John’s eyes. He lifted the mistletoe up.

He leaned in part way and John met him in the middle. Under the old, crumpled mistletoe, they shared a chaste, but loving kiss beneath Sherlock’s umbrella.

“There is no one else in this world I would have wanted to marry and retire to the country with, John Watson. It’s always been you. From the very beginning.”

“Watson-Holmes,” John finally corrected. “We agreed. After much argument, I recall. And you know I rarely get to win. So I will keep reminding you.”

“Oh yes. As ever, you are right, my love,” he said, returning the mistletoe safely to his own jacket pocket. "I love you John Watson-Holmes.” He held out a crooked elbow. “Dinner?”

John took it and then rested his head onto his husband’s shoulder as they shared the one umbrella. “Starving,” he said.

And so they began to walk to the village arm in arm to celebrate. Best friends, lovers, husbands, destined to find each other. Always.

The end.

Dear readers - thank you so much for sticking with me across December. I hope you enjoyed this story. It was a new adventure for me, to try and tackle a chapter each day and try to lead it in a direction that linked in some vague way without really knowing where it was going. I have a new appreciation for all of you who do these prompt months on the regular! I’m ready for a break now!! Navigating some Tumblr after all these years has been fun too. So thank you for everyone that engaged with me and made it fun! And thanks @notjustamumj and @totallysilvergirl for enticing me to try it!

Happy New Year to you all. May 2025 bring you new creative inspiration or more wonderful fics to read.

If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my writing on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesian_love

I really appreciate the support xx

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----------------------------------------------------------

The Unlikely Mirror

Two kids sit there couches apart

One just by age, one at his heart.

One accepts the proposal,

With pictures as a treat –

The other ruled antisocial,

For his behaviour indiscreet.

----------------------------------------------------------

Here's my take on @notjustamumj's prompt for Day 14 🩷

fuck it, work, time to procrastinate!!

“Good morning, my love,” John sighed, beside his head. “Happy Birthday.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock sighed into his pillow. “Morning.”

“How about I make some breakfast for the birthday boy?” He kissed Sherlock’s curls and then another on his shoulder blade before sliding out of bed.

“Joooohhhhn,” Sherlock moaned, turning over. “Where are you going?”

“Come on, you. I have plans,” John said impatiently. “Get yourself up and I’ll make those eggs you like.”

Sherlock flipped back onto his front, burying his head into his pillow. He lay there for a while, listening to the sounds of John rustling around in the kitchen. He could almost fall back to sleep if he just settled back down the right way. He tried fluffing his pillow and pulling the blanket just right. But now that he was listening to John, he wanted to be near him again. He had never realised just how obsessive he could be about another human being but ever since Christmas, ever since they had crossed into this new territory, life had finally felt like it had all fallen into place, like everything had suddenly become colourful. His heart was overflowing with so much love.

With a heavily annoyed groan, he got himself up, put his dressing gown on and padded to the bathroom. After emptying his bladder he decided to freshen up, wash his face and tidy his hair to look nice, to wake up properly so he could greet John with more enthusiasm. He got  out his skin care and worked on his face. Then he grabbed his comb to tidy up his curls. When he looked back into the mirror, he suddenly let out a blood curdling shriek.

He heard John drop something in the kitchen which shattered on the floor and then John came running in.

“Sherlock?! Are you okay?! What is it?” John cried out, worried.

“John! Look!” he moaned. “Look!”

“What exactly am I looking at?” John asked, frozen in the doorway trying to understand, looking for signs of bleeding.

“My hair John. I have a silver strand! A grey hair, John!”

John sighed and collapsed heavily back against the door frame, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, I thought you’d sliced your face open shaving or something.”

“But John…” Sherlock pouted, expecting a bigger reaction to the news.

“Welcome to the old boys club,” John simply said with a sigh. “Mine’s been getting greyer for months. Are you going to lose interest in me because of it?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Exactly.” John gave him a smug expression.

Sherlock still sulked and fussed at the mirror “Come and check for more. I want you to pull them out of my head. Will you?”

John just stood at the door frame looking at him lovingly in silence. “I’m going to marry you,” he said gently.

“What?” Sherlock spun around.

John grinned. “Yep. I’m going to whisk you off to the countryside and marry you. Not today, obviously. Don’t worry. But one day. I definitely will.”

Sherlock paused, letting the thought jiggle around in his brain for a moment. “Is that right?” he finally asked, gently smiling as he walked over to John. He needed to look right into those eyes and judge how serious he was.

“Mmm-hmmm.” John let out a contended sigh. “And until then, you will just have to get used to becoming all distinguished and silver. Like your father.”

“Oh dear god,” Sherlock moaned, collapsing against John.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” John said, laughing at his ridiculous partner.

“I hardly think eggs count as a surprise, John. You told me already.”

“Not the eggs, you twat, there’s something else. Come with me.” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him into the kitchen. “Just watch out for the broken china. And ignore the fact that it may have been your favourite mug. I’ll tidy it up in a moment,” he said in a flurry before Sherlock could register it. “Now sit.”

Sherlock sat himself down at the table, looking a little stunned. Until he saw it. On his plate, were not the eggs yet, but an envelope. “What’s this?”

“Well go on.” John pointed at it to encourage him.

Sherlock opened the envelope and read the card inside. It was a cryptic clue. He had already solved it of course, within seconds but he sat there holding the card in his hands, his mouth open in surprise. His fingers stroked the card and he found himself getting a little emotional. “It’s a treasure hunt?” he asked, finally looking up at John.

John shrugged. “I did have to ask your brother for some pointers and I can't promise to be as smart or as cryptic as him. I'm going to have to learn my way around this,” John said, already apologising for his clumsy version, and blushing slightly. “But yes, I am going to make you work for your presents.”

“You’re already the best present,” Sherlock sighed, smiling up at him.

John paused and smiled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that aloud,” he laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, you’re getting soppy on me.”

“No, I’m not!” he rushed to protest.

“Yes. Yes you are,” John teased. “One silver strand of hair and now you’re all soppy. You’re old and sentimental.”

“Shut up!”

“I love you,” John sighed happily.

“I know. And I love you,” Sherlock rushed to say.

“I know. Now, let me finish your eggs. Once you’ve eaten, we can do the treasure hunt.”

“The day you walked into that lab, was the very best day of my life,” Sherlock sighed.

John smiled and they both just held each other’s gaze for a moment. John leaned in and kissed him gently and then pulled away. “See? Old and soppy,” he teased. He gave Sherlock a little swat on his arm and laughed as he walked back to the counter to finish making breakfast. “Besides," he added. "I’m pretty sure in the last week, you’ve had some days… and nights, that might be better than me walking into the lab and offering you a phone. Don’t you think?” He gave Sherlock a cheeky wink.

Yes, the last week had definitely had some pretty incredible days. And nights. Sherlock’s mind quickly found a few of his favourites in the catalogue of his mind palace, and replayed them as he waited in silence for breakfast. Some very passionate, and steamy moments.

I’m going to marry you.

John’s words suddenly floated back into Sherlock’s head, and the silver strand of hair was long forgotten. He didn’t care about that, if he had his doctor, his blogger, his friend by his side for the rest of his life. Sherlock relaxed back in his chair and sighed to himself. He couldn’t have planned for things to go any better. If he had asked his brother to manipulate a scenario such as this, with all his resources, it never would have been this perfect.

In the end, things had worked out exactly as they needed to. Eventually.

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John woke, alone, in Sherlock’s bed, momentarily confused by the situation and then the memory of last night came back in a flurry. They had kissed, and then kissed some more and… well, one thing had led to some more very nice things and Sherlock had demanded John stay close. And John had no problem obliging, now that he knew he wasn’t imagining things. Now that he knew Sherlock felt the same. 

He could hear Sherlock playing his violin out in the lounge. Music filled the apartment. It sounded much happier than his usual mournful music. Hopefully, it was good thinking music, and not regret-filled music. Or “I wish John would go back to his own bed” music.

John got up and pulled his T-shirt on with his boxers, wandering down the hall to find out. Sherlock turned and smiled, a beautiful, content smile at John and stopped playing. John sighed with relief and moved closer to place a kiss to those lips again and Sherlock was very happy to receive it. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be heading to the train?” John asked.

“I cancelled.”

“Oh, Sherlock. No—“

“It’s fine John, it’s already done,” Sherlock said, with a little wave of his hand. 

“But you should—“

“It’s done,” Sherlock said firmly.

“I’ve come along before. And they did invite me. Did you want me to—“

Sherlock closed his eyes and shook his head. “Mycroft would know the second he saw us and there is no way I’m giving him a shot at spoiling this in the first twenty-four hours,” he sighed.

John had to admit he agreed with the assessment, although he felt terrible that Sherlock now wouldn’t go and see his family at Christmas, as originally planned. He opened his mouth to argue.

“Nope. You’re stuck with me today, I’m afraid,” Sherlock said, with a twinkle in his eye. He put his violin down and pulled John in closer.

John smiled back at him. “Oh dear whatever shall we do?” he asked, suggestively. 

Sherlock couldn’t help chuckling, deep in his chest. “I can think of a few things.”

God, that sound was incredible.

“If any of them involve dead bodies, I’m going to your parents’ house without you,” John scoffed.

“Not a chance,” Sherlock said, pulling John close to kiss him. 

The very best surprise of this whole thing, had been that, aside from having an incredible chemistry with each other, and experiencing the excitement of realising they felt the same way about each other, the reality was that Sherlock was still very much Sherlock. And John could just be John. It was like this physical addition to their relationship was simply an extension of what they had already built together. Sherlock Holmes kissed like a bloody expert, and John had the confidence and swagger required to lead someone as head strong as Sherlock, who simultaneously lacked some experience, sexually. But all in all, when they were together, it was as if they had been a couple all along and this was just simply an extension of things. John could finally understand what everyone had seen between them, because it was absolutely there, and had always been there. They had just finally lifted a curtain that had hidden some information. Sherlock and John were still very much Sherlock and John, just a little friskier. And that, was a huge relief to John. 

“I’m going to make some tea,” he sighed happily, reluctantly removing himself from Sherlock’s arms to walk to the kitchen.

“Yoo-hoo!”

“Hudders!” Sherlock cried out, enthusiastically. 

“I thought I’d just invite you both down for a spot of Christmas lunch this afternoon. I know we’d spoken about it briefly, John, but I thought I’d formally invite you. We can celebrate the good news,” she said.

“Good news?” John asked, walking out of the kitchen to see her.

“You two finally getting yourselves sorted,” she said with a wink.

“Mrs Hudson how…?” John asked.

“How soundproof do you think these apartments are, dear?” she simply stated, with a look that made John blush profusely. “No need to be embarrassed. I’ve lived. It doesn't bother me. I’m just pleased. And if I know this one he will want to avoid the family and hole up here with you alone now,” she said, of Sherlock. “But you’ll need your sustenance too, and I have a roast beef that is too big for me.”

John closed his eyes, trying to adjust to the idea of Mrs Hudson listening in. “Well... thank you,” he managed to say.

“One P.M., don’t be late,” she said, and already started walking out of the apartment.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sherlock said, from the side of the room.

“Well that was embarrassing,” John said, planted to the spot with humiliation. 

Sherlock smiled and moved over to him to kiss him again, to reassure him. “I think it’s perfect. Everything feels just right.”

John looked up at his detective and smiled back. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Sherlock agreed.

“Right then. Tea?” John asked brightly.

“Please,” Sherlock replied, giving him one more kiss before he let go.

“Done. Now go back to your music. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I hope it was happy thoughts inspiring your playing?” he asked a little nervously. 

“The very best, John,” he simply said. He returned to his violin and this time he played the Bach that John liked while their tea was being made.

As John stood in the kitchen he smiled to himself, remembering last night. He felt sure that this thing with Sherlock was all he needed. All he wanted. But he had felt that way once before and been very wrong and suddenly his stomach started to churn. What if they did this thing and it went sour? What if they weren’t actually suited to one another and then he would have spectacularly miscalculated and not only lost a partner but lost his best friend and a roof over his head. Was he being reckless by jumping into this with Sherlock?

The thoughts plagued him as he brought the tea out and settled onto the sofa. Sherlock put down his violin and came to sit beside John. They drank their tea in silence for a while, John thinking he was doing an excellent job of hiding his thoughts by staying silent. 

“I’m not him,” Sherlock finally said. “I’m not going to—“

“It’s ok.” John cut him off uncomfortably.

Sherlock grabbed John’s tea from his hand and put both cups on the coffee table. “No, John, listen,” he said firmly. "You really are terrible at just listening." He turned to face John, popping a leg up onto the sofa to face John properly and grab John’s hands in his.  “When I said all the things I said about love in the past, it was because a great many people proved to me what a weakness it can be. Just as they have done to you. But then I met you.” He smiled.  “And for a while there, I hated love, but only because I knew I loved you and you weren’t going to return it. Or so I thought. It was a protective layer I placed upon myself. Just like when you announced repeatedly that you were not gay. Protection, John. And I don’t need to know… as a matter of fact I don’t want to know what Alex did or didn’t do. It’s irrelevant to me. But I can promise you, whatever he did that made you think people would just hurt you… I promise you I won’t be that. I’m not him, John. I am going to make a great many mistakes because I’m me, but you’ve seen me at my worst already. So you know that. But I won’t be him.  And we can just be... us. And you can stop hiding and second guessing and running. I’m right here as I’ve always been for as long as you’ve known me. And I won’t be going anywhere.”

John sighed and pulled Sherlock in for the most tender of kisses. 

“Now come back to bed. I wasn't actually done with you yet,” Sherlock said and they both laughed at him being flirtatious. 

“The tea…”

“Really John?” Sherlock asked.

“No, you’re right. You’re right. The tea can wait. I’m all yours,” John said.

“Yes, yes you are,” Sherlock sighed, the sound full of contentment, and he took John’s hand to lead him back to the bedroom.

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Watching the scenery in silence was less tedious than Sherlock expected. But he couldn’t talk to John. Everything John did lately only made him nervous, or suspicious, or depressed… Or happy. Most of the things made him happy, really. But sitting in silence felt wrong too. There had been too much silence between them for the wrong reasons and he didn't like it.

“You asked me about me… earlier and I…” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I also struggle with sharing personal information.”

John turned his head, browsed raised. “You think?”

Sherlock gave an awkward smile back. “I suppose I felt, as you did, that I didn’t want you to be… nervous about moving in with me… so I…” He tilted his head trying to think how to say things properly. “Like you, John, I’m not one to share things with the world. About myself. But I think, perhaps, it then became too hard… to share them with you. I left it too long. We had an understanding and that was enough.”

John nodded. “It is enough, Sherlock. We don’t have to know everything about each other to be best friends. Knowing each other’s sexual interests changes nothing about our case work together or our daily lives. It’s irrelevant.”

Irrelevant.

“Neither of us seems built for long term things. Perhaps we’re each an acquired taste. Like a fine liquor,” John suggested. “Not meant for everyone.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right. Or perhaps we have incredibly high standards.”

John scoffed. “You’ve been observing my dating. I wouldn’t say that’s the problem, would you?”

Sherlock couldn’t help laughing at the remark. “No, perhaps not. Not those women. But, perhaps, in looking for the right one, John. The person you would settle down for? None of your usual women are marriage material, obviously.”

“Oh, I think most women our age think only of marriage and snagging a man to get them babies. Maybe that’s the actual problem.”

“Do you want that? Marriage? Children?” Sherlock asked, trying to hide all self interest from his expression. 

John looked at Sherlock a little surprised. “You’ve really started delving for answers haven’t you?” he teased. “The amount of information you’ve pulled from me in the space of a day is… ridiculous.”

“Well?” Sherlock asked expectantly, not to be deterred.

John sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve not really thought about it. Maybe once. I had a long term thing... once. A long time ago. In med school. I thought…maybe…” John’s eyes drifted off, his thoughts far away for a moment. “That was the only time I discussed kids and marriages. Alex,” John offered with a smile.”

“Alex?” Sherlock accepted the name like it was delicate cargo. John was sharing real information now. “And was she interested in those things too?” he asked.

John shook his head. “In the end, things were too complicated.” He looked out the window to the scenery, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well, that’s a shame. She missed out on how great you are now,” Sherlock offered. There was a pain in his chest at the idea that John had built a serious life with someone that he never spoke about, that could have been 'the one' big thing for him. Was that why he was so guarded now?

“Too old for kids now,” John scoffed, keeping his eyes fixed outside. “Could you imagine the chaos?” he tried to make it sound flippant, joking, but it fell flat and sounded bitter. 

Sherlock reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, John.”

“Not your doing. Sometimes life sends us in new directions. I flew into a war zone to move on from that one and… well you’ve seen what I’ve done with my life since,” John said with a grimace. “But I met you because of all of that. It led me to here.”

Sherlock sat in silence. He really had opened some wounds on John which were telling, fascinating. He wanted to know more but he needed to be careful not to push too hard. After his pep talk with his brother he had been so eager to rush home and just blurt everything out. But instead, he was going to have to treat John like case work. Like a delicate puzzle that needed solving, unwinding, to find the way in.

“So. No children. But a contented life with someone?” Sherlock probed. “Surely you still hope for that?”

“Isn’t that what we already have?” John asked. He turned his head to look at Sherlock and it was clear his eyes were red-rimmed. The topic had upset him.

Sherlock’s stomach sank. “John—“ He should stop this now. It wasn't worth upsetting John over.

“Well, it’s true. We have the work. And our friendship. It’s a good life, Sherlock. It’s certainly the happiest I’ve been in a long time and precious little makes me happy these days, as you know.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “Maybe for some people... that’s all we get. And it’s okay. I am content. I've made peace with it.”

Sherlock swallowed hard and was rendered speechless. Unintentionally, they had chosen one another and while Sherlock secretly wanted more, it was nice to know John felt that way, at least.  John returned his gaze to the scenery and Sherlock picked up his phone to scroll on it in silence, to leave him with his thoughts. 

John’s voice interrupted him quite a while later. He had obviously needed time to think and process.

“Did you ever? With anyone? You know, make plans and all that?” John asked awkwardly. 

Sherlock huffed. “No. You think you’re insufferable? Then what am I?”

“Oi, I don’t think I ever used the word insufferable… for me at least,” John teased, nudging Sherlock gently with his shoulder.

Sherlock couldn’t help smiling at that. “Fair point,” he said. No, John wasn’t the insufferable one at all. 

“Did you want to? Ever settle down?” John asked.

The idea of settling down had never even crossed Sherlock’s mind. The question surprised him. Oh, he knew it was a ritual people performed. He’d attended weddings, admittedly more of them as a detective checking a dead body than as a guest which really said something about the institution - at least in Sherlock’s mind. But he had never given any of it much thought. Making friends or attempting to date had been so uncomfortable that he never thought beyond that. Until John.

“Only once,” Sherlock said gently, looking at his lap. If he was going to get through this he needed to just say it all and not look up. Just power through. “I know I’m difficult. Most people find me difficult and I struggled with that for a long time. And then I found the drugs and I didn’t have to worry about anyone but myself for a while. I was a selfish mess and I needed no one. But then there was a light. A light came into my life that changed everything. A strong, kind, caring being who made everything else seem unimportant. All the people who hadn’t understood me before didn’t matter and it was as if a path forward finally lit up before me. It all made sense.” He stopped and fidgeted with his hands.  Keep going, he willed himself.

“The thing is, John, after all this time, I’ve realised… I don’t need anything else, anyone else. Like you, I’m content with how things are. You at Baker Street. Working together on cases, and just… carrying on in… what do they call it? Domesticated bliss, I suppose? And I know you’re uncomfortable working out how you fit in with your… identity or whatever you want to call it. So I’m not saying this to complicate that. But Mycroft - I know, I know, I shouldn’t listen to him but he is prone to the occasional wisdom - anyway, he suggested that I just talk to you. We’re best friends. So I am just talking to you. I’m just telling you what’s in my head, or in my heart, as it were. And you can do with that, what you will. The fact is, I… for some time now, I… have thought that I would very much like to… ask you… That is, I wondered, if perhaps, you might… have dinner with me? I mean, I know we eat dinner together all the time. That’s not what I mean, obviously. I mean, really have dinner. As in, a date. I’m asking you on a date John.” Sherlock was terrified to turn his head, to look at John’s reaction. What in heaven’s name would he think of it all? At least he hadn’t run yet. He was still sitting there.

Using all his willpower, he turned his head only to find John Watson sleeping. Sitting upright, arms still crossed, his neck tilted in the most uncomfortable looking position. He was absolutely still.

Sherlock sighed and then chuckled to himself. Of course. Of course he would have missed all of that.

He let out another heavy sigh of resignation. He lifted his arm up and over John’s head to gently nudge him, so his head fell onto Sherlock’s waiting shoulder. He left his arm there, curved around John's shoulder to support his friend. Perhaps it was for the best that he didn't hear. John said he was content. Why rush things? He already had John Watson in every other way. Maybe that would simply need to be enough.

He looked down at John’s light hair just resting on his dark woollen coat. His arms had uncrossed as he tilted, and one of his hands had fallen onto Sherlock's thigh which was all Sherlock could look at now. He could hear John’s gentle, steady breathing and it felt so perfect. 

“This can be enough,” he whispered to himself and he tilted his head down and placed a kiss on the top of John’s head. “This can be enough.”

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When Sherlock finally found him, John was standing by a frozen lake in the park, shivering. Sherlock was furious. He had just given John gloves and a scarf for specifically this purpose. Beautiful, warm cashmere, even. John had worn them to dinner but where were they now? He knew that even though it was a new habit for John, he would likely refuse to give Sherlock the satisfaction of being right. He would stand there and freeze to death rather than put them on, or admit he’d forgotten them. But Sherlock wouldn’t argue now. John Watson was clearly in crisis in this moment. Now was not the time.

Sherlock moved slowly closer, finally standing beside him in silence. John was staring across the lake, so Sherlock stood beside him, staring out over the lake too. He didn’t want to disturb John, but he needed to help him. He turned to say something and saw John shivering. He could even hear his teeth chattering. He reached out and put a hand on John's arm and the poor man startled like a wild deer. As if he hadn’t even registered that Sherlock was there yet.

“John…” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed uncomfortably, still deep in thought.

“John.” 

“What, Sherlock?” John finally asked, in an irritated growl.

“You’re angry.”

“No. I’m embarrassed, Sherlock.” John shuffled his feet uncomfortably but still refused to turn and look at his friend. 

“You needn’t be,” Sherlock replied gently. “He seemed… very nice.”

“He’s not. Appearances can be very deceiving,” John snapped.

“Is that… why… you…?” Sherlock hesitated.

“Sherlock.” John’s tone was a firm warning.

“I’m just trying to understand, John. You’re always saying you're—“

“Not gay. I know,” John interrupted, finally crossing his arms across his body.

“So, are all the women… a cover up or…?”

“No. Please, Sherlock,” he pleaded. When Sherlock remained silent, John finally spoke again. “I’m… I suppose I’d be bisexual or some part of that grey area that’s indefinable. If it were anyone’s business. If it needed to be clarified,” he said bitterly. “It’s barely relevant since I don’t really date, do I? Not really. I like sex. Who it’s with is generally not so important, although I tend to fall into more traditional, binary preferences and women are just… easier.”

“But that… there… was a relationship, John. You told me it was a relationship…” Sherlock tried to open the lines of communication.

“An awful one.”

“It mustn’t have been. On the train you said…”

“Sherlock, I really don’t want to go over this. If you must know, we were together in medical school and he was an abusive, manipulative piece of work who lied about what he wanted." John sighed heavily. The weight of the world seemed to be on his shoulders. "And I got away from him… and I won’t ever be in that position again. Alright?”

Sherlock nodded quietly, knowing better than to push any further. They stood for a while in more silence, and John’s eyes teared up. A single tear made its way down his face. He looked at Sherlock with clear embarrassment. The realisation of what had happened finally hitting him.

“Sorry. I just haven’t seen him… since…”

“John, you’re shaking,” Sherlock said, moving slightly closer, wanting to help him now that his walls were finally coming down.

“Well, it’s bloody cold.”

“You never bring your gloves! Honestly,” Sherlock growled.

“I did!" John argued. "Left them in the bloody restaurant, didn't I?” John sighed.

Sherlock stepped forward. “Here,” he said grabbing both of John’s hands in his.

“What are you doing?” John squeaked, suddenly nervous.

“You’re bloody freezing, John!” Sherlock said angrily. “You’ll catch your death out here. You’re always telling me you don’t like the hassle of scarves and gloves and for someone who has such truly terrible fashion sense, I can't fathom why you’re being so fashion conscious about the one thing that might actually stop you dying of hypothermia. And now, you’re freezing your backside off. So let me warm you up, for heavens sake! Not everything has to mean something alright?” he snapped.

John clenched his jaw after the scolding. “Fine.” He held his hands out again and Sherlock stepped closer. 

“Here,” Sherlock said, pulling his scarf off and tying it around John’s neck before he could argue. Then he held John’s hands between his gloved ones. “Stand closer,” he directed.

John flicked him a dubious look.

“I’m not a predator, John. Why do you always behave like I’m going to…”

John shuffled closer in, stopping Sherlock's words. Their hands were now touching and resting against their chests. They had formed a circle of enclosed body heat. They stood in silence, breathing in each other’s air and finally, John’s shivering started to settle.

“Better?” Sherlock asked, his voice calmer now.

John stayed silent for a moment. “Better,” he finally admitted with a nod. “I do really like my scarf and gloves. I think they fell under the table at dinner. They were with my things when we arrived. I’m not used to having them yet. Sorry.”

He looked up at Sherlock, and in that moment, being so close, he felt sure Sherlock would see something. He would know. John really only had one secret left to hide. The secret that could have him out on the street. Sherlock thought John was worried he was a predator, when really, it was the other way around. John was terrified Sherlock would figure out what was in his head. Surely Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate his flatmate harbouring secret feelings for him? And now, here they were, entwined in a park, in the dark, alone. If John didn’t know any better, it would almost be romantic.

When Sherlock finally looked at him, their faces were so close, their eyes boring into each others. It was mesmerising. Their breath was filling the same space, the condensation leaving their mouths like elegant smoke, entwining like lovers in the narrow space between them. It felt incredible. John was definitely warm. rom the very tip of his toes to his eyeballs everything felt bloody warm now. He was on fire for this man. And now he could feel his breathing finally settling to match the pace of his flatmate’s, calming him.

If only he could read the expression on Sherlock’s face right now.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked. John sighed with irritation. “Sherlock…” But still, he looked up at his friend, allowing him the space to talk.

Sherlock went on. “When we met, you were trying to figure me out, and what to expect with me and I was… uncomfortable too.”

“I remember.”

“Well, just so it’s clear... I am gay.” Sherlock admitted. "Non-practising, though."

John scoffed at that. “I already gathered as much,” John said.

“But you said to me… Back then, you said… it was all fine,” Sherlock continued.

“Yes, so?” John frowned.

“Did you really mean it?”

“I did,” John confirmed.

“But… it hasn’t been all fine, has it? Not really. You haven’t been fine with... any of it,” Sherlock said quietly. "And I've been trying to decide if it's me... or just your own thing... or...?"

John sighed. “I want to be comfortable. With myself. I want to be. But I know I’m not. I’m sort of just drifting along, following your lead, Sherlock, if I'm honest. I go where you go. To Belgium if required. And wherever else you need. The rest... the personal stuff... it just stays over at the side in a dumpster fire not being dealt with.” John made sure to look at Sherlock. "It's not you. It's my own mess."

“This is why the case upset you? The man with the… husband?” Sherlock asked.

“He wasted it. He was able to marry that man but it wasn’t even… he was just collecting spouses like they didn’t even matter. It was so wasteful and so unfair…” John said bitterly between clenched teeth. “And some of us…” He couldn’t finish the thought, his eyes tearing up again.

Sherlock frowned. “John—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sherlock,” he said firmly, a sob escaping from his chest. The humiliation was palpable. “I didn’t want you to know any of that and now…”

Sherlock moved his hands away and grabbed both of John’s shoulders, forcing John to look into his eyes. "John, there's something I've been wanting to..."

“I’m tired Sherlock. Please stop,” he pleaded.

Sherlock had thought he might make his move tonight. Things had been so good and on the way home, he was going to talk to John. Their conversation had seemed comfortable lately and he really thought it might be possible to say something. But now, after this revelation. Alex. Sherlock realised that what had been going on in John's head was not at all what he thought, and now things were way more complicated.

“Let’s just go home,” John said, closing his eyes. Everything had been ruined by the appearance of Alex.

Sherlock's face softened slightly, his hands squeezed John's shoulders ever so slightly in support. “I just wanted to say, it’s all fine, John,” he said, looking deep into John's eyes. “I mean it. Whatever you need. It’s all fine.”

John nodded without a word. His heart hurt. His mind was fried. Was it really all fine? Did Sherlock know? Did he suspect? Or was he just trying to be a supportive friend right now?

“Let’s go back and get your things from the restaurant,” Sherlock said gently. “I don’t want anyone else wearing your posh accessories. They’re yours, and yours alone.” He finally let go of John but left his scarf around John’s neck, in a possessive move. His soft and Sherlock-scented scarf, which would drive John crazy all the way home.

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“Molly it was lovely of you to invite us,” Sherlock said as he moved past her into the small flat.

Molly had been anticipating a more physical greeting it seemed, as her disappointment crawled across her expression like a summer storm. She then tracked his movements into the flat and over to the punch bowl where he settled himself.

John cleared his throat awkwardly at the door. “Well, I could apologise for him, but you’ve known him longer. You know what he’s like.” He offered her an uncomfortable smile.

Molly turned her head back to acknowledge John and gave him an equally forced smile in return. She looked up instinctively to the mistletoe she had strategically placed above the door. John felt guilty and immediately leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mol,” he said, as he moved inside. He knew that was not what she wanted. Everyone knew what she wanted. Even at Christmas, Sherlock Holmes couldn’t give people what they wanted most. John knew that all too well, and he felt just as ridiculous for it. 

A few hours later after far too much alcoholic punch and merriment, Sherlock hooked his arm in John’s. “Home,” he simply said, and it was the best thing John had heard all night.

After grappling with goodbyes around the room and coats and gloves - which he had remembered to bring this time - they made it to the door. 

Molly looked up to the door frame again and her expression dropped. When John followed her eyes, the mistletoe was gone entirely.  Even so, John kissed her goodnight and Sherlock even followed suit, thanking her for the party with a kiss on the cheek. John tried not to notice the little pang of jealousy it sparked in him, as Sherlock leaned in and placed those gentle pink lips against her skin. He tried not to notice her hands gripping onto his arms a little firmer than they needed to and staying longer than required. 

“Merry Christmas,” Sherlock said in a low rumble, before turning and disappearing down the stairs. John stood there just long enough to see that the tiny encounter had made Molly’s year. He followed Sherlock out into the snow, the moment still replaying in his mind as they started to walk. 

They travelled a few blocks in silence. It was a comfortable silence though. There was something lovely about the two of them just walking side by side, no words required. At some point, John realised he was walking alone, though. The familiar sound of Sherlock's footsteps in the snow beside him had ceased, his friend had stopped following him and so he turned back. Sherlock was standing in the snow, deep in thought. He looked beautiful. The dark curls and coat against the white backdrop of freshly fallen snow was breathtaking. John was embarrassed to admit to himself just how much those feelings inside him had grown and how, at one point, he had pitied poor Molly and her infatuation, when in fact, he was just as pathetic. Sherlock Holmes didn’t feel things that way. They were both fantasising about a man that would never reciprocate.

“You alright?” he asked. 

“It’s a strange tradition,” Sherlock said.

John padded through the snow back to his flatmate. “What? Christmas?” he asked, mildly amused. “I think you’ll find the Christians disagree.”

“Sorry?” Sherlock looked at John like he’d grown two heads.

“Christmas,” he offered again in reply. 

“Oh. No. Not what I was referring to,” Sherlock replied.

John knew he had partaken in too much punch but he was only now just realising how unsteady Sherlock also looked. He was swaying slightly. And he was definitely up to something. Busy in his own head about it too.

“Shall we just find a cab?” John suggested.

“In a minute." Sherlock was impatient. "John, I wanted to…”

“Hmmm?” John asked, turning back.

Sherlock had pulled from his pocket the little mistletoe bunch with a red velvet ribbon at the top and held it out. His expression was incredibly guilty. 

“Sherlock Holmes!” John exclaimed. He was shocked but the alcohol and the cold air had addled his brain and he laughed, heartily. He moved closer to grab it out of Sherlock’s hand but it was swiftly lifted into the air. 

Sherlock’s expression became very serious and John suddenly felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach which he tried very hard to will away. 

“You stole that, so Molly didn’t achieve her Christmas goal! Kissing her favourite detective!” John scolded.

“Well, no.” He looked at John. “I mean, yes that became a secondary bi-product but that’s not why I…” He hesitated. Despite the alcohol, Sherlock Holmes looked… nervous? “There was a lot of pretty women at the party and I know how you get… with a few drinks, so I thought…”

“You stole Molly’s mistletoe, meant entirely for you, to prevent me from being a drunken letch?” John scoffed, his face heating from the embarrassment he felt at the very idea. 

“No. No John,” he scolded. “If you’d be quiet for two consecutive seconds, I’d explain.”

John went to argue but realised how ridiculous that was so he closed his mouth. He folded his arms across his chest in mild impatience, waiting for Sherlock. 

After finally getting the floor to speak, he nodded and continued. “If this piece of shrubbery - which is a preposterous tradition as I was saying - is supposedly for my benefit, then… I would like to choose who I… use it on,” he said, his voice dropping away slightly as he levelled a quite pointed look… at John.

The power in those eyes made John swallow hard and take a step away. Surely he didn’t mean what John had suddenly got the very real impression he might be trying to mean? This was Sherlock. He didn’t feel things that way… certainly not about John. Did he?

It wasn’t lost on John that the step backwards had then incited a change in Sherlock’s demeanour, either. He felt acutely guilty for it and was about to jump in with a clarifying question, when some drunken revellers exited a nearby apartment building, loudly singing carols.

Before John could even register what was happening, Sherlock had grabbed his arm and dragged him into a side alleyway beside the apartment block, into the shadows to take refuge against the wall. He pulled John with him who had not expected the move. So when Sherlock hit the wall and stopped moving, John couldn’t help but collide with him, trying to get his balance and inciting a grunt from both of them at the collision. 

He pulled himself away slightly. “Sorry. What just…”

But Sherlock had not let go of his arm. He glanced down to see if he was accidentally attached to something, their buttons caught on each other or something, only to find they were linked, because Sherlock’s hand was clasped around his arm firmly. John became confused and was most definitely feeling the alcohol swim around him like a cloud now, clear thought impossible. 

“Sher–“

Sherlock lifted the mistletoe above their heads without a word and leaned in. John’s instinct was to step away again but the move was halted by the firm grip Sherlock's other hand had on his arm. Their lips touched, featherlite and tentative at first. Sherlock was trembling. John could feel it now that he had stilled to absorb the moment. John knew that Sherlock was never cold. He must be terrified! 

John was surprised to find that kissing Sherlock didn’t feel even remotely strange. It felt magnificent. The first little touch had lengthened to a more deliberate though still very gentle and uncertain kiss. But the kind of first kiss a sweeping soundtrack should spring to life to accompany. After all this time, Sherlock had confirmed the one thing John had never been able to believe. No amount of words would have helped him accept it. But that one, gentle kiss completely changed everything. After the brief second of contact, Sherlock dropped his arm, the mistletoe having performed its duty, and made a move to disengage. John bravely made eye contact and he saw something in Sherlock’s eyes he’d never seen before.

Uncertainty. Regret. Embarrassment.

A grin spread across his own face as he realised. Sherlock had stolen the mistletoe, not only so John wouldn’t kiss anyone else tonight or so he himself didn’t have to kiss Molly. He wanted to kiss John! And ensure its success.

“For me?” he asked quietly.

Sherlock nodded, almost imperceptibly. He looked positively frozen to the spot, the shock of actually going through with the task clearly too much for him. His eyes watched desperately for John’s response.

“Not just one of your… experiments?” John checked. 

Sherlock shook his head ever so slightly. He really was terrified. After the last experiment, John wasn’t surprised he was nervous though. John had been pretty mad about being turned green. He reached down, pulled the mistletoe out of Sherlock’s hand and threw it into the snow. 

“You’ve never needed that,” John finally admitted and grabbed Sherlock’s coat to pull him in for a much deeper, much longer kiss. 

This time their lips found a rhythm together. Saliva and heat entangled in a desperate contest to gain purchase with each other, as if this moment was the one thing they both needed after all this time, to confirm all the thoughts they had tortured themselves with. John let go of Sherlock’s collar to reach his arms around and pull him closer.

When John felt Sherlock sink into the kiss and wrap his own arms around John’s back in reply, he couldn’t help the little sigh of relief and joy, knowing he had finally got exactly what he wanted.

And apparently, so had Sherlock Holmes.

Don't worry this month has 31 days! It's not over yet...!

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