The One Next Door

A Merry Christmas Morning

"Ghastly movies, aren't they?" Sherlock asked as he closed the door.
"Now you sound like your brother." John decided. Sherlock frowned, but realized that he had indeed just made fun of Mycroft for using the exact same word only an hour earlier.
"Don't associate me with him, please, he's such a jerk." Sherlock sighed.
"You're too much alike, you two, as much as you refuse to admit it. Same stubbornness, just opposite options." John decided.
"That's a good way to put it, I suppose." Sherlock agreed. They both pulled out their pajamas and got dressed, brushing their teeth and whatnot before finally snuggling under the blankets together. Dudley slept on his bed on the floor, his loud snoring making it particularly difficult to get to sleep. Not that they were even trying though.
"Were you serious about moving away?" Sherlock asked, laying on his side to face John.
"Of course I was, what part of wanting to spend the rest of my life with you don't you understand?" John asked.
"Well, I don't know, I thought maybe you were, I don't know." Sherlock admitted. John just laughed a little bit, turning on his side as well so that they were facing each other.
"There might be some complications, but I'm sure we'll get through it together, we'll be alright." John assured.
"What complications?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, you know, family matters, taxes, probably some jealous worker from the burger shop realizing his undying love for you." John shrugged. Sherlock just giggled a little bit. "But we'll get through it, together." John assured, stroking Sherlock's cheek ever so gently with his finger.
"I think my parents like you. I mean, like, really like you, like chain you to the wall if you dare leave." Sherlock decided.
"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" John asked.
"Of course I wanted them to like you, that was half the reason I came down here, I don't want you to be scared off though, by my mother's aggressive hospitality." Sherlock shrugged.
"I think it's amazing, I would've loved to be raised by such caring people." John admitted.
"Well, Mycroft balances the ticket." Sherlock sighed.
"So you really swore off feelings then?" John asked.
"I wanted to be more like him. He was the big, wise big brother with a fancy name and fancy suits and a mature outlook on life." Sherlock sighed.
"How many years older is he?" John asked.
"Seven years." Sherlock admitted.
"I can see why you used to admire him." John agreed.
"So when he was fourteen, I was seven, and our dog died, Redbeard, who had been my best friend for life. And he told me to stay strong, and swear myself off of emotions. He convinced me that everything I ever dared to love would go away in the end, that it's best not to set yourself up for disappointment." Sherlock admitted.
"Well, do you dare love me?" John asked.
"I most certainly do." Sherlock agreed.
"Good, because I will be here forever. Till death us do part, I don't care if we're married or not, nothing and no one will ever separate us." John said firmly.
"I believe you." Sherlock agreed. He opened his mouth to say some more, when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Slow, as if the walker was determined to hear whatever the two were saying.
"Mycroft." Sherlock whispered.
"Well then, good night." John agreed in a hushed voice, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's lips silently and rolling over to turn out the light.                                                                                                     

      When they woke up, the early morning sunlight was streaming through the lacy curtains hanging over the windows, birds chirping outside and the air feeling fresh. It was very unusual not to hear cars passing, or people yelling, or people walking around in the hallways. The plus side of the country apparently. Sherlock woke up naturally, not by an alarm clock, not by Molly angrily banging on his door, not by Dudley jumping around on the bed, it was so relaxing that he'd love to go back to sleep purely for the satisfaction of waking up. But then again, he couldn't go back to sleep in this sunlight, so he blinked a little bit and looked over to where John was sleeping. To his surprise,however, he saw John's chocolate brown eyes staring right back.
"Good morning." John said with a smile.
"Where you watching me sleep?" Sherlock asked.
"You're so beautiful when you sleep, it's hard to resist." John admitted.
"That's not something you hear every day." Sherlock decided.
"I suppose not." John agreed, rolling closer and pressing a kiss to Sherlock's sleepy lips.
"What's that for?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, I can only guess that this is our only private time, considering we're at your parent's house." John pointed out, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and kissing him once again. "So I just wanted to say Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." Sherlock agreed, his words just off just a little bit as John kissed him again. Honestly, he felt honored, but Sherlock was very suspicious of Mycroft, who might have his ear to the door at the very moment.
"John, you know, I don't think this is the place, or time." he insisted as John inched ever closer, his fingers pulling their way through Sherlock's bed head. John just sighed with a smile, but rolled back over onto his own pillow and laughed a little bit.
"Where's the fun in that? The only advantage to going to your parent's house is the thrill of not getting caught." John pointed out.
"It's getting caught that scares me." Sherlock agreed.
"Why, I could murder someone and I don't think your parents would like me any better." John pointed out.
"You better keep your lips to yourself, because if you kiss me in front of my family, Mycroft will be the one to murder you." Sherlock suggested.
"That would be a bit inconvenient." John decided.
"For both of us, yes." Sherlock agreed.
"Mm, do you smell that?" John asked.
"Did you fart?" Sherlock accused, preparing to cover his nose.
"No, idiot, it smells like bacon, I think your mom is making Christmas breakfast." John insisted.
"She always makes eggs and bacon." Sherlock agreed.
"Wonderful." John decided.
"I bet your omelets are better." Sherlock decided.
"Maybe we should have a cook off tomorrow morning." John suggested.
"We're staying until tomorrow morning?" Sherlock whined.
"Yes! We're here for the weekend!" John insisted.
"How do you know this and I don't?" Sherlock asked.
"Because if I don't listen to your parents, it's a bad impression, and I don't want that." John pointed out.
"I thought you could murder someone?" Sherlock insisted.
"Not that I would." John debated.
"Mycroft's looking like the cream of the crop right now." Sherlock agreed.
"I'm not going to kill your brother." John insisted.
"I'll do it then." Sherlock decided, sitting up and pulling on his robe.
"I really don't want a brutal killing to be the reason we get sent home early."John sighed.
"And the police officers really won't want to be pulled from Christmas dinner, now would they?" Sherlock agreed.
"I doubt they would, so take pity on them, and leave your brother intact." John suggested, getting up and pulling on his robe as well.
"That's a big commitment." Sherlock sighed.
"I'm sure you can handle it. Should I get dressed, or do you parents not really care if we veg around in our pajamas for a while?" John asked.
"It's Christmas John, do whatever you like." Sherlock insisted. John just raised his eyebrows, and Sherlock groaned.
"I'm going downstairs." Sherlock decided. John followed, clicking Dudley's leash onto his collar and trotting down behind him.
"Good morning!" Mrs. Holmes said cheerfully.
"The smell of bacon persuaded me to come down early." John agreed, poking his head in the kitchen to see the bacon popping in the frying pan.
"Well, you're going to have to wait a little bit longer; it's still not cooked well enough." Mrs. Holmes decided, poking at a piece with a fork.
"No, take your time, you can't rush perfection." John assured.
"Is that why Mycroft was born prematurely?" Sherlock asked, and Mycroft, who was sitting at the kitchen counter reading the newspaper, growled at him.
"Not even a good morning, just going right at it again. Where's your Christmas spirit?" Mr. Holmes asked while toasting multiple pieces of bread.
"I haven't had Christmas spirit since I was seven." Sherlock insisted.
"You can't blame your bitterness on me." Mycroft defended.
"Watch me." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock, why don't you come with me to let Dudley out?" John suggested.
"An excellent idea." Sherlock agreed, glaring at Mycroft as he walked towards the back door.
"Try to be a bit more cheerful." John insisted.
"Not when he'd being an insensitive jerk." Sherlock pointed out.
"He said one sentence! That's hardly being a jerk." John insisted.
"I haven't seen my brother in nearly a year, that's probably the reason I was enjoying life so much." Sherlock decided.
"I'd like to think I'm the reason you're enjoying life so much." John pouted.
"Of course you're the reason, I'm not an idiot." Sherlock agreed.
"I should hope not." John agreed.
"And, before you try anything stupid, my parents are probably looking out the kitchen window at us right now." Sherlock decided. They both turned to look, and saw the top of Mrs. Holmes' head disappear from view.
"They feed off of gossip." Sherlock sighed.
"Well then, they'll have a lot to share now won't they?" John decided.
"Yes, I suppose they will. However I hate to be the topic of conversation." Sherlock sighed.
"I feel like I'll be on their mind a little bit more. They still might have some doubts." John decided.
"How could they ever doubt you?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't really want to know." John admitted with a smile.
"Let's go back inside, breakfast is probably ready." Sherlock decided.
"Sounds like a plan." John agreed. The two of them dragged Dudley back inside, who was still trying to sniff the reminder of the drooping flower bushes, deprived of flowers or color. As promised, when they came back inside the eggs and bacon were ready, the Holmes family was just finishing up buttering all of the toast.
"Need some help?" John asked.
"No, we'll be alright; you two just take your seats." Mrs. Holmes insisted.
"Oh, don't treat me like royalty, let me do something." John defended.
"Alright then, would you be so kind as to pour the orange juice?" Mrs. Holmes asked.
"Certainly." John agreed. Sherlock got out five cups and John dug around in the fridge for the juice, pouring all of them large glasses of juice and carrying it out to the dining room. There were already place settings set up, with bowls and multiple boxes of cereal lined up for the choosing.
"You guys really go all out with breakfast." John decided, sitting down in the place he sat in for dinner the night before.
"Not really, once again, trying to make a statement." Sherlock shrugged, sitting down next to John and waiting for the ceremonial presentation of breakfast. Finally, the rest of the Holmes family appeared, Mr. Holmes proudly carrying a tray of slightly burned and heavily buttered toast, Mycroft holding the bowl of eggs at arm's length, as if disgusted, and Mrs. Holmes entering with a large plate of bacon.
"This looks wonderful." John decided, picking up his fork in anticipation.
"Well, it's our traditional Christmas day breakfast." Mrs. Holmes said happily.
"And you know how we love our traditions." Mrs. Holmes agreed.
"Maybe a little bit too much." Sherlock mumbled.
"Speaking of traditions, we just got a call. Uncle Rick is coming down after all, says he's got some presents for us and for Sherlock's...girlfriend." Mrs.Holmes said almost worriedly.
"Oh dear." Mycroft said with a smile.
"Maybe we can call up Molly, have her take John's place for a day." Sherlock suggested.
"Heck no, I'm staying right here. He'll have to find out eventually." John insisted.
"I agree with John, it's not like it's that much of a secret, it's Sherlock's life, and all of our family members have best learn that now." Mrs. Holmes agreed, taking her seat with confidence.
"Well, this is Uncle Rick we're talking about." Sherlock pointed out.
"Just because he's a priest doesn't mean he's homophobic." Mr. Holmes defended.
"But there's a much higher probability." Sherlock insisted.
"Maybe just a little bit." Mrs. Holmes agreed with concern.
"I don't care, honestly, I can take it. We don't need approval to be together, only two people's opinions matter, and that's mine and Sherlock's. Everyone else who sides with us is just the icing on the cake." John assured.
"Your optimism is stunning Mr. Watson." Mycroft decided.
"Please, call me John." John insisted, not out of pity or anything, just sounding genuinely disgusted that anyone would dare call him Mr. Watson.
"So, how long are we expected to stay?" Sherlock asked doubtfully, scooping some eggs out of the bowl.
"Well, we're not going to hold you here against your will, but Sunday afternoon is when you were expected to leave." Mrs. Holmes shrugged, sounding a little bit offended that Sherlock was so ready to leave.
"And we'll leave Sunday afternoon. Don't listen to Sherlock; he doesn't know half the things that come out of his mouth." John assured.
"Stop making me sound like a child." Sherlock snapped.
"You are a child." John insisted, and Mycroft shrugged in approval.
"And don't team up with my brother." Sherlock added.
"Well, that wasn't intentional." John admitted, taking a bite out of a massive piece of bacon. "So, Mrs. Holmes, I heard you can make an amazing omelet."
"Well, it's not amazing, but the boys liked them when they were little." Mrs. Holmes shrugged, looking flattered all the same.
"John prides himself in being an omelet chief, made one for me yesterday morning just to show off I presume." Sherlock shrugged.
"We should have an omelet off." John suggested.
"Oh, that would be fun, but I'm sure you'll beat me." Mrs. Holmes insisted, sounding doubtful even as she said it.
"It's your kitchen, your home territory." John insisted.
"Well then, I think you have yourself a deal. Tomorrow morning then, be warned." Mrs. Holmes agreed with a laugh.
"I'll take my defeat lightly." John assured, and Mrs. Holmes just laughed.
"Where did Sherlock even find such a nice young man?" Mr. Holmes asked.
"Across the hall. It wasn't too difficult." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft rolled his eyes, as if disgusted in Sherlock's decision to go on with his life.