You're An Idiot, Sherlock Holmes (OC x Sherlock)

Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes

I walked into 221b at a brisk pace, setting down the bag on the desk. I found Sherlock by the window playing Christmas carols on his violin, in the exact same spot just as I left. For the past three weeks, he's been playing the same cycle of songs as if on some sort of schedule, and I haven't gotten tired from any of the music, surprisingly. Whether Sherlock liked Christmas or not, he still liked playing carols and staying inside in the cozy flat where the harsh winds and the heavy snow couldn't affect him. I pulled out the scented candles from the bag and placed some on the mantle, some on the desk, and some on the kitchen table. 

Sherlock's music came to an abrupt stop as he came up behind me. "What're all these?" He motioned to the candles I set down.

"Okay, look," I began as I walked to the refrigerator, opening its door to reveal all of the body parts stored. "Maybe, I think, this place would be a little more welcoming for tonight if we didn't have the flat smelling like a morgue." Sherlock's body stiffened and I immediately regretted my choice of words. "Look, all I'm saying is, maybe once Molly arrives I don't want her thinking she's back at work at St. Bart's." I slam a fist on the countertop. "What I'm trying to say is: scented candles would make the party more Christmas-y." 

I found the matches and walked back to the candles on the table where Sherlock stood, still looking down at me without a single word. I mentally cursed at myself. Usually, I'm good with words when I was with clients during sessions, I knew exactly the right things to say. With Sherlock, it seems very different. He's not a client, he's my . . . my . . . 

"Besides, these have wood wicks, so when you light them," I paused to strike a match and light one of the candles, "it sounds like crackling firewood." I blew the match out. "You gotta admit, that's pretty cool," I said smugly, letting out a soundless laugh. Sherlock's expression seemed to relax as he looked down at the candle before looking into my eyes, practically seeing through me. He could've been deducing me right now for all I knew, already figuring out what happened in America with Irene; if he even cared about that. 

Sherlock's hand somehow now rested on top of mine, and our faces drew closer before something caught my eye and I pulled away to look up. I pointed my index finger up at the mistletoe hanging from the light. "Did you do this?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Do what?" He looked up at the hanging mistletoe. "What's that doing there?"

"I guess not," I said quietly. 

Mrs. Hudson. She was going to come upstairs for the party in an hour or two. 

"Why would there be mistletoe?" Sherlock asked quizzically. 

It never occurred to me that Sherlock was never kissed under mistletoe, let alone aware of the tradition.

I shifted in my spot and placing my hands on his chest, trying to find a way for Sherlock to understand. "Well, around the holidays, if two people find themselves under a piece of mistletoe, they have to kiss," I explained.

"Why would they do that?"

I shrugged. "It's tradition."

"but what would be the point of hanging mistletoe just for romantical purposes during the winter when-"

I rolled my eyes and pulled him into a kiss. Once more he froze before his tension eased. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes." I walked out of the kitchen to fetch my present for Sherlock and my dress and shoes before heading out of the flat to go to Molly's.

~

"Question is, how does one wrap a freaking violin bow into a perfect present?" I rhetorically asked as Molly touched up her scarlet lipstick behind me in her mirror.