Happy Christmas (Johnlock One-Shot)

Happy Christmas

December 25, 2011

"Merry Christmas Sherlock!"
"John, why must you insist we celebrate this holiday. It's really not important. With what Christ's death or something and Santa. You aren't even Christian John!"
"It's not about that Sh-"
"Yes it is. The birth of Christ is supposedly the whole 'meaning of Christmas' " I made air quotes around the words, stretching my legs out over the armrest of my chair.
"Sherlock it's about spending time with the ones you love. Your family. Appreciating what you have." John crossed his arms over his chest and stared me down with his legally green but ever changing eyes. His annoyance was apparent. (As I write this he is getting frustrated with my lack of poetics even though he's the one who asked me to write; however, I see no point in poetics and prefer not to use them. They blind you from the truth.)
"By giving them gifts." I spat out the word like poison.(Happy John?) I needed a fix, and frankly some sleep but John didn't seem to be allowing that any time soon.
"Sherlock" John sighed, moving to rub his temple. I'll admit, seeing him like that, I felt remorse. John didn't need to put up with my difficulty on top of everything else. He was spread thin to say the least. Between his job and working cases with me,not to mention putting up with my antics, I was surprised he managed to keep his calm. "It's Christmas for fucks sake Sherlock just...humor me". How could I refuse? So, pushing aside my itch to argue brought on by lack of nicotine and being woken in the early minutes of three am, I humored him.
"Merry Christmas John." I sat up in my chair properly, my back sinking into the seat. Taking it as an invitation, John came forward and took a place in my lap. I'm sure my he could feel my bony legs against his thighs in a way that must have been far from comfortable. Despite my arguing with him, I knew that Christmas was important to John so I did get him a present. It wasn't much really. Just a token of my affection. Reaching down under my chair I pulled out a brown paper wrapped package.
The look of surprise on John's face made it worth it.
It was like he was a whole new man. The smile he gave. It lit up every inch of his face, down to the folds of skin around his eyes. I know I said I wouldn't use poetics, but it was like John was containing a sun inside of him and it was fighting to get out.
"Oh Sherlock" John's tone had been soft, adoring, or maybe that was just my perception of it. It wasn't as if the gift was grand or anything. It was just a simple, brown leather bound journal. Yet, he acted as if it was the best gift he'd ever been given. Which I knew wasn't true as there was a brand new silver watch on his wrist, presumably from Harry. Must have cost at least one hundred pounds.
"I just figured since you like to write and some of the places we go to don't have Internet that you'd like it and -" I was cut off as John dipped his head down to press a kiss to my lips. I hate to admit it but I made a soft noise of surprise. It caught me off guard. As John got up from my lap and padded back over to his chair I could feel the heat of blood running to my cheeks. Thankfully, John didn't seem to be paying me any mind. He was too busy admiring the journal.
"John can I go back to bed now?" I wanted to stay up with John and make it a happy Christmas but the sun hadn't even risen yet and I only had two hours of sleep to run off of.
"Yes Sherlock."
I got up from my chair and made my way to my room, sliding into bed. I don't know when it happened but sometime during my sleep John came to join me. Instead of waking him, like I normally would in this situation, I turned to face the blonde and take in his features. The way his eyelashes cast shadows down on his soft cheekbones. He looked so peaceful, content.
Maybe this could be a happy Christmas.
John didn't wake for another few hours, the clock reaching 11:30 before his eyes opened. If it weren't for his steady breathing I fear I would have lost my mind, and as John would say, to lose something that beautiful would be tragic. I feel the same way about John. About his heart. John is one of the most beautiful things I've ever had the pleasure of observing and analyzing. I wouldn't be surprised if his heart was quite literally made of gold. Well, actually, I would be considerably surprised. It's a medical impossibility. The point still stands. John is a splash of color in my world of black and white logic. There is no grey. No in between. Only what is and what isn't. John is separate from all of that. He isn't a muddled unsure in-between. John is what could be. He is a possibility, a promise, of future. He's a bright splash of orange across my world. As bright as the sun.
When John finally woke he was sluggish. I was already up and out of bed, not being able to sit around and think about my blogger anymore. I was in the kitchen, making toast and tea. The smell must have been what invoked the will to get up in John. That or the fact he had a secret gift for me. I had already known of course. John wasn't good at hiding it. Either way he walked into the kitchen, eyes heavy from need of sleep. Of course, he must have stayed up until three, too excited to sleep. He was like a child. Before he could ask I was sliding a plate of toast and a cup of tea towards him. The softness that settled across his face showed that I had been right. Grabbing my own cup, I joined him at the table, a see through smile plastered onto my face. If John wasn't so tired I'm sure it would have been obvious that I was just putting on a show.
"Sherlock?"
"Yes, John?"
"I have something for you."
"Oh?"
John got up from the table to go to his room. He came back carrying a sleek and slender wooden box. The wood was dark, polished, and had a clip to hold it closed. It made me catch my breath. As he set it down before me I found my long fingers fumbling to open it. The inside of the box was lined with blue velvet, the soft fabric brushing against my fingers as I lifted what it held. A new violin bow. I had broken my last one in a fit of composing rage. This must have cost John a fortune. Well. Relatively. It was one of the best I had ever had. Maybe even the best.
"Thank you, John." My own voice was hushed in awe. This must have been why he was working extra hours.
"Anything to surprise you Sherlock. Not many people can say they've done that" And he was right. Yet, John was and still is full of surprises.