Sherlocked (BBC Fanfiction)

Chapter 17 - Out With Reason, In With The Season (Part 4)

Christmas Eve.  I sat cross-legged on the couch eating ramen with chopsticks.  Sherlock sat in his chair, typing away on his phone.  An overemotional soap opera Christmas Special played on the telly and I somehow found myself drawn to the melodramatic characters and the ludicrous plotline.  Wearing, for the first time in months, my long-lost glasses, I could actually discern whether a person was male or female.  And with my hair grown out to well, boob length, I was able to successfully tie my hair back.

I was suddenly bombarded by thoughts of possibly calling people to wish them a Merry Fucking Christmas.  Should I call my sister?  Holding my bowl of Asian-yet-technically-American noodles in one hand, I picked up my phone in the other.  I hovered above her name in my contact’s list.  I tentatively sent her a text message;

Hey, it’s Jordyn.  I just wanted to text you and say Merry Christmas.  Merry Christmas, I guess.  I hope you’re doing well, Harry.  Why don’t you come out into London for a while and we can catch up on things like we planned.  I miss you.

-JW

I had picked up the habit of the initials.  I set my phone back down and turned my attention back to the telly.  Gradually losing interest, I obnoxiously slurped my noodles.

“Jordyn,” I heard Sherlock say.  My eyes snapped open and I looked over at him.  He set his phone down and steepled his fingers under his chin.  “So I had been excessively contemplating this for the last couple of weeks and I had come to the assumption that just because we are undoubtedly the two most obstinate and awkward individuals in all of London –”

We both smirked –

“– doesn’t mean we shouldn’t…give eachother something for Christmas,” he finished, his eyes on mine.  With noodles hanging from my mouth, I froze, the shockwave slowly dying down.  In the ill-at-ease silence, I slurped the noodles into my mouth.  “I got you something.”

I practically spit the noodles out.  I thought I had been the only one who actually.  “You…you got me something?”  I asked.  He nodded.  “I got you something as well, actually.”  Sherlock’s expression changed and his eyes hardened. 

“You…did?”

Setting my bowl down again I stood up, ready to retrieve my present for him.  “Well Christmas is a mutual holiday.”

“But you didn’t know I got you something though,” he said, puzzled.  What was so hard to comprehend?

“So?  I only figured to get you something because…well…it’s Christmas,” I tried to explain.  I left the room and dashed to my bedroom.  Grabbing the package from beneath my bed, I went back out to the living room.  I had artfully wrapped the paper in blue and green paper – Sherlock’s favored insignias – and omitted a bow.  He hated bows.  Thought they were “overcomplicated intricacies of precarious inanity.” 

“What is that?”  He asked, turning around in his chair.

“You’ll have to open it to find out,” I handed it to him and he took it with tentative hands.  Glancing up at me and back down at the atrociously wrapped gift, I added, “And I left out a card.  I’m…terrible with cards.”

“Same,” he said quietly, unsure whether to open it or continue staring at it.  He then began meticulously peeling away the paper with the gentleness one would use in handling an infant.

“Oh just rip the bloody paper off!”  I told him.  He finally ripped the remaining wrapping paper off, revealing a rectangular box containing high quality Pirastro Oliv gut-core strings for his violin.  He seemed transfixed upon the trifling box.  “Like it?”

He glanced up at me and back down to the box.  “I love it,” he said, his voice abnormally quiet and small.  “Thank you.”  He stood up and wound one arm around my shoulders, my head only reaching his nose.  He then quickly and quietly, in the quietness of the flat, pecked me on the cheek.  With an unexpected consciousness, I felt my heart disengage and drop through my pants and onto the floor.  My stomach then joined my fallen heart and soon all my organs were one by one dropping onto the smooth tile floor below me.  Feeling literally empty, ridden of all my entrails, my body concaved into itself.  I had stopped breathing all together and I couldn’t respond, I didn’t know how to.  It felt like my brain was overloading, my system crashing.

And I had suddenly becomes very aware of my surroundings; the dim red and green light of the Christmas Tree Sherlock and I dragged up here a week ago, the low hum of the soap opera in the background, and the ever-so-quiet creaking of the fire as it began dying in the fireplace.  Warmth emanated and surrounded us like an afghan blanket.  The wooden logs fell in time with the dying flames and a soft, warm light derived from once-burning fire, embers flicking off into the air and landing on the bricks.  And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor, never to burn again.  That fire echoed my time spent at 221B Baker Street in a way. 

And then the fire died.  With a sudden hiss, the light went out and heat stopped.  A thin stream of smoke drifted out of the fireplaces. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered and stepped back.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” I replied, my speech quickened.  We both stood there for a moment, both of us attempting to grasp what had just happened.  I felt a shortage of air going down my lungs the longer my mind reeled.

“May I give you my present now?”  Sherlock asked, breaking the silence.  I blinked and turned to him.

“Sure.”  I felt so gawky, so inept and deprived of proper language.  Sherlock reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a small white box, a single piece of red ribbon tied around it.

“There’s uh…there’s a story behind it,” he began.  “You’re Chinese zodiac is the year of the dog, 1982.  So...I researched the dog of the Chinese calendar and…in my opinion, it describes well…you,” he said and grabbed my hand.  He placed the tiny box into my palm and released my hand.  “You’re honest, sincere, and faithful.  In the short time I’ve known you you’ve stood by my side and saved my butt countless times in various cases.  You…you’re not that great at socializing with friends but then again neither am I on account for having none.  But you’re a great listener and I know I can count on you to have my back.  So…that is why I found this very fitting.” 

Sherlock undid the ribbon around the box while it sat in my palm and took off the lid.  He picked up a thin chain and picked up necklace with a burnished silver dog pendant.  The handmade pendant artfully depicted human's best friend, the lovable dog.  The silhouette resembled not only a canine in profile but it came together like a ribbon for a graceful finish.

“Oh…my God…Sherlock, this is beautiful,” I murmured and took the necklace from him with shaking fingers.  The chain felt like water in my palms, slipping between my fingers with such ease.

“Here, turn around,” he spoke quietly and he picked up the pendant from my hand.  I spun around and pulled my ponytail to the side.  He reached around and I felt his fingers brush my collar bone.  I felt my stomach knot and twist as he clipped the necklace around my throat.  The pendant hung down to just above my sternum and it was simply yet elegant.  I pirouetted around, Sherlock’s face inches from mine.  With my heart in my trachea, gagging me, I found myself leaning forward.  Our mouths met and I couldn’t simply feel my body anymore.  His mouth was definite on mine, there was no denying it.  It was warm – although everything felt above average temperature at this point.

And then the windows imploded, shattering shards of glass about the living room.

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Sorry for late upload.  I don't know why but this chapter was just so damned hard to write.  I also apologize for the lack of action for the last 4 chapters.  But don't worry, things will start heating up now.  And also this is the last installment of the "Out with reason, in with the season" package.  The rest of the chapters will be titled something different.