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“Alright then. I’m up. Care to guess which one’s mine Sherlock?” John glanced over at the sulking git and raised an eyebrow. He was torn away from an eggnog related experiment for this and apparently determined to make everyone regret it
“Fine. You got that one over there that’s wrapped in some god awful festive paper which we now have a roll of since you didn’t want to spend an extra pound on someone else wrapping it for you. You’re military training must have included perfect wrapping because you have the neatest gift here. Even the bow is symmetrical and pristine. It’s distasteful.”
John chuckled as Sherlock huffed and kept going. “You bought Gavin a tie and put it in a square frame to throw me off the gift. It’s an atrocious tie, even worse than the one his wife got him as an apology for doing the mailman again. All huge and patterned. It would match nothing he owns, but you never pay attention and only agreed to participate because I hate it and you think you have to do normal things to detract from the fact that you hate Christmas just as much as me.”
John grinned, “Well then, ya git. You’ll be delighted to know that you are wrong.”
“Oh?”
“It’s for you and it’s not a tie. So go on, open it.” Sherlock faltered. He already knew what John got him for Christmas. They had each put one present for each other under the tree Mrs. Hudson had snuck in one night. John had labeled dirt samples from all their best crimes all around London. He’d put it in a little frame. It was possibly the best gift anyone had ever gotten for him, but this wasn’t that. Unless John had unwrapped the gift and then rewrapped it, but no. The tape showed no signs of that. Even John wasn’t that good at stealth. With careful and quick movements Sherlock unwrapped his gift and stared at John just before opening it in confusion. Why two gifts? John was practical. He wouldn’t get two gifts for someone. He was too frugal. Complained bitterly about having to buy Harry a gift and ended up keeping it under a strict money limit. Though to be fair, Harry didn’t care and was only uses this whole family gift exchange thing to show off her new job and the money that came with it. John is going to hate the fancy pocket watch she gives him, but smile through it anyways. And then Harry is going to do a much worse job as faking her hatred for the gift and then John’ll come home and complain and they’ll order takeout and watch all the Doctor Who Christmas specials. “Ahem.” Graham leaned forward, “Sherlock! The gift!”
“Oh yes. Of course.” He flips the wrapping up and snaps his eyes to the gift. “The Apis mellifera.” Careful fingers touched the glass frame and traced a pastel image of a honeybee perched on a violet. It was drawn over sheet music, the music to Flight of the Bumblebee.The wrapping paper fell away and Sherlock noticed the envelope taped to the back.
“Well done John!” Geoffry clapped John on the back. “You fooled him. Now that is something I never thought I’d see, the day Sherlock Holmes was well and truly wrong. And speechless. What a sight.”
“Yes, how did you do it?” Sherlock asked, holding the envelope carefully.
“Army mate of mine has a bee farm out in Sussex, retired there with his dog. Sent me a ton of photos for references. I’ve doodled here and there, nothing big really. And bees aren’t too hard. After that time our flat was filled with various types of honey as you catalogued, tasted, and did who knows what else with it, figured you liked ‘em.” John shrugged and grinned. “Who’s next then? Sally?”
Sherlock stopped listening as he stared at the bee. The envelope had a brochure for that bee farm and a note from John. ‘My mate says you’re welcome anytime if you want. Might be fun. I’d certainly love to catch up’
He had gotten John a new jacket. His old one had been in the Thames three times. In various dumpsters, sewn up from knives and scrambling up buildings on the chase. It hadn’t quite survived the strain. He’d also grabbed a new notebook, John had two pages left on the one he keeps on him at all times, and finally a blue tie. A tie which coincidentally matched a dress shirt Sherlock owned. The one he planned on wearing to the Holmes Christmas party that year. John would feel obliged to wear the tie. It was not manipulation and served no purpose at all.
Gerome did end up with an awful tie and a bottle of scotch from Sally. Sally got a train conductor’s hat which made everyone laugh for some reason. Though Sherlock thought it was all idiotic. Anderson got a copy of forensics books, which could not come close to saving the world from his stupidity and would probably all be too difficult for him to grasp. Molly was gifted two new sweaters and one poster of a cat. It was atrocious especially when she asked Sherlock for his opinion of them and after a glare from John he was forced to grimace and be nice. John got some dreaded scarf and bumbling comments were made with gestures towards Sherlock who just glared. Soon enough Sherlock was allowed to usher John out of Lestrade’s office after a beer and glass of scotch, though not Geff’s new bottle. Which apparently offered some comedy. Sherlock paused as he rushed up the stairs, waiting for John to get within a few steps. “Thank you.”
“It reminds me of you. How you flit about amazed by the world. We really should go sometime”
Sherlock nodded before sweeping into the flat. He placed the frame on his chair and grabbed his violin. The first song he played was Flight of the Bumblebee. He kept playing, the songs getting slower as John nodded off. His gift would need expanding. He would need to give John something amazing. Something that said, ‘I know what you mean. Me too.’ He was certain this was his chance. His gaze settled on the doctor asleep in his armchair and he slowly stopped playing, instead humming, as he lifted John up and slowly carried him up the stairs.
“It would be better if you just slept in my room,” he whispered, tucking John into bed and placing his shoes in the closet. Christmas was two days away, though it was 11 at night. Christmas Eve was an hour away. He needed to find the perfect gift for John. Not something selfish, not something that was more Sherlock than it was John. Something matching that bee, something that said, “I know you John and I’m so baffled by how someone like you could bear someone like me.” The game was on. “Oh, good morning. When did you go out?”
“Two. Toast?”
“Sure, got any jam? Two in the morning?”
“Marmalade alright?”
“What kind? How much sleep did you get?”
“Enough. Grapefruit.”
“It’ll do. Tea?”
“Already on.”
“Staying for breakfast or are you out again? Not a case is it?”
“Not a murder, no. I’ll be in most the day. Is Harry today?”
“Canceled till the sixth, but that won’t do. So I’ll push it off further.”
“Good, she got you a horrid pocket watch.”
“Oh? I’m going to hate it then?”
“Yes. But that’s alright, we’ll watch Doctor Who. I’ve already ordered Angelos.”
“Brilliant.”
“The pocket watch?”
“No, you. When’s the Holmes party? I could schedule Harry’s thing for the same day and give you an out.”
“No need. Mycroft will be forced to endure Mummy and her nannering about children. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Nannerings? And you’ll escape them?”
“I’ve got a plan. The perfect plan you could say.”
John grinned, “What is the Holmes’ Christmas party like? More of a ball or homemade cookies by the fire?”
“Sadly Mycroft is putting it on this year. We’ll be subjected to the whole family, even that horrid Aunt of mine who lives in Connecticut. She’ll go on and on about America as Cousin Furth tries to cozy up to her and get all her money. Mycroft always goes over the top, as though it’d impress Mummy so he’ll become the favorite instead of me. Cakes, dancing, music, presents, ugh it’s distasteful. But, Myc will be under the keen eye of Mummy who wishes dearly to be a grandmother and as the eldest it is his duty to uphold. Oh it’s such fun to watch.”
“Toast?”
“Here you are and your tea.”
There was silence for a while as John looked at the newspaper and Sherlock considered his tea. “John?”
“Hmm?”
“When did you learn to draw?”
“Just a hobby. Took a class in college and another in high school. I’m really not that great.”
“Can I see others?”
John paused. “I guess. They’re really not that good.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “You’re a doctor, a good one. You observe the world quite well. Even if it’s not in the same way I do. I deduce your art would display that talent quite well.”
“I have a sketchbook or two. I’ll grab it after breakfast.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s twice in the span of twelve hours, Sherlock. Careful or you might just have me believing you aren’t a high functioning sociopath.” John smiled.
“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Sherlock grinned back and he sipped his tea. “Mrs. Hudson. You know John.”
“The lovely doctor?” She smiled at Sherlock who just glared back. “Oh of course I know him, dear. I’m not going senile.”
“What do I get him for Christmas?”
“Leaving it to the last minute? I would’ve thought you’d have already figured the perfect gift for him.”
“I thought I had, but then- argh.” Sherlock twirled away, “Never mind Mrs. Hudson. It’s too late.” With that he was gone and Mrs. Hudson sighed.
“You’ll work it out dear. You two always do. I just better be invited to the wedding and stop talking to myself. Oh dear.” Sherlock stalked down some dastardly winter market bursting full of all your last minute Christmas needs. Crappy ornaments over here, crappy blankets over there, a shit ton of hot cocoa over there. Nothing John esque nothing perfect. Nothing that describes John, the perfect golden man stuffed with loyalty and wit. Someone who will run after him with no explanation, just trust, and faith that he’s right and means well. And his humor, perfectly executed to calm down the worst situation. John is so much more than anything Sherlock could ever explain. How could he match that gift? The perfect gift, the best gift ever. There was no stupid nativity set or hand crafted ceramic that could match that. No new jacket or blue tie that happened to match a dress shirt. It was all futile, there was nothing. Not a well played or composed song. It wouldn’t be John, it would be Sherlock. Sherlock would get compliment after compliment. And John could only hear the gift and truly appreciate it when Sherlock was around. Too much Sherlock, not enough John. A good case isn’t proper, murder not in the spirit of the season and all that. John’s not one for the newest electronics or styles. So none of that would do. What could be done? So he sulked. He plodded. He harrumphed. It was worthless, useless, nothing to be done. John was chipper. Sherlock had to be chipper too. Chipper was truly worthless. There was the dinner with Hudders on Christmas Eve. Sherlock was expected to eat his whole meal and John eyed him worriedly when he was reluctant to and then they had drinks after by the fire. It was pleasant, quiet, smooth, but all Sherlock could think of was John’s perfect gifts and Sherlock’s lacking ones. Christmas Eve dinner was dour. Both John and Mrs. Hudson smiled and ate and chatted up a storm. Sherlock tried, he really did, for John. John shot worrying looks and tapped his leg every now and again with a foot. He tried to weedle Sherlock into eating and Sherlock really tried to eat, he did. It was just so menacing. So tedious. Sherlock couldn’t find the gift. The John gift. He couldn’t tell John how much he meant to him, how much Sherlock saw John and appreciated him. Eating was just too nauseating. He had a headache.Mrs. Hudson was ushered off to bed after John quickly got her intoxicated. “All part of the plan,” he’d said with a smile. One Sherlock had difficulty returning. Further pressing occured. John was worried, this was worse. No gift and a worried John, it was awful. He’d leave. He wouldn’t understand how a genius like Sherlock could miss something so big and important as the perfect gift. He’d be disappointed. A disappointed John is possibly the worst thing in the world. Even worse than a smug Mycroft. John went to bed after a quiet cup of cocoa by the fire. “Old tradition, Sherlock. Choose your mug wisely, it’s the one I’ll insist you use year after year.”
Year after year. John expected long term. Years. Sherlock was about to let him down bigtime.It was a long time before John went to bed, there was a quiet, drawn out conversation. A quick story about that time his army mates rewrote every Christmas carol they could think of. Then his feet sounded up the staircase, his door closed, and the shuffling about died down as he fell asleep. Sherlock stayed up. He wrote poems. Composed songs. Scoured the web. Attempted to make paint with kitchen supplies and the odd acid. Experimented with sculpting. Checked which medical books John was missing. Many of them, there were a lot of medical books. Folded origami. Used up all his spray paint for a collage. And threw all of it out, much of it went via the fire. Sherlock showered and got dressed at five in the morning. John would be up soon. He was an early riser, though often his sleep schedule was thrown off by a case, but John always got it back on track quick enough. He liked the order. Briefly Sherlock’s hand ghosted over his blue dress shirt. Would John attend the Holmes’ party? He’d been invited and would have rsvp’d if Sherlock had permitted it. But it had been understood that if Sherlock was there, John would be too. John was the only reason Sherlock viewed the event with less pure hatred as usual. Mummy would like him and father too. That one Aunt would finally leave him alone and those weird acquaintances who were sometimes invited for odd power manipulation reasons would stop trying to hook up with him. But Sherlock hadn’t gotten the perfect gift. He only wished John would understand.With a deep breathe he went out to put on tea. Today was the day. The gifts were wrapped, John was stirring. Sherlock could hear the tell tale signs. It would be tea and breakfast first order. Unless Christmas changed the routine. So Sherlock got started. He pulled out the honey and recently purchased jam. It was the least Sherlock could do when he went out shopping most the day. Searched out Mummy’s fancy festive tea box. She had tea for every season and major holiday. These boxes were frequently replenished. John was soon padding down the stairs.
“Morning! Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”
“Merry Christmas. Tea?”
“Sure, think it snowed last night?”
“It did.”
“We should go for a walk. Fresh snow on Christmas is always a lovely sight.” John sat down, “You alright, Sherlock? You’ve been tense lately.”
“I’m fine.” No, he’s waiting for the end. He wants to explain how he failed John. How he tried his best. “I thought you hated Christmas?”
“I did.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“It’s a new era. Christmas is always overrated. Maybe I just had to downplay it to find appreciation for the holiday.”
“Here’s your tea, John.”
“Ta.”
“When were you planning on opening gifts?”
“I hadn’t thought. Any preference?”
Sherlock shrugged.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve already figured out my gift. I can only really fool you once a month,” John said with a shrewd grin, “But I have no idea what you got me. So let’s do it sooner. Plus your brother did threaten to come by sometime today.”
“When?”
“A week ago. Cornered me outside of Tesco’s. Demanded I make you attend the party. I almost made a million off it too.”
“Almost?”
“Yeah apparently he decided to leverage the power of your mum and tell her you hadn’t responded yet.”
“She knows we’re coming. Finds it charming that I’m keeping Mycroft on his toes about it. ‘Some one has to, and without a spouse, the duty falls on the younger brother,’ she’d said.”
John’s eyes lit up and he shook his head a bit as he chuckled. John migrated to his armchair after a piece of toast. He grabbed his gift and Sherlock drifted after, picking up his own. They handed them off with a nod and after a brief look and a shrug and head tilt from John, Sherlock unwrapped his first.It was a little glass frame holding sediments from all their best cases around London. The compartments were organised in color and labeled with coordinates.
“Thank you John. It’s perfect.”
“Well then, that’s good. Cause after that I’m all out of ideas and your birthday’s coming up too. So just remember this when I inevitably get you some crap tie or something.”
“Ugh, birthdays. Pedantic.”
“Yes, well, you can’t stop me from celebrating the fact you were born. So humor a mortal, eh?”
“For you? Always.”
John grinned and looked away to his gift. “This better not be dirt. I mean who would give dirt as a Christmas present?”
Neither of them chuckled as John unwrapped his gift. Sherlock was tense.
“Thanks, Sherlock. My jacket’s trashed anyways, I was looking for a new one. How many pocket’s has this got?”
“Ten. I noticed you’d sew in your own to cart medical supplies in.”
“It was weird to go from carrying a kit with most things you need to save a life to carrying three or so basic items for civilian life.” John set the jacket aside. He’d opened the gift upside down. The other two parts were supposed to be on top. “Hey! I’m on the last pages of my notebook. Perfect timing, it’s almost like you’re a world class detective.”
John smiled up at Sherlock and faltered as he noticed how nervous Sherlock was. “You good?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what, Sherlock?” John’s voice was soft and he set his gifts aside to kneel in front of him.
“You got me two perfect gifts. I failed you.”
“I love my gifts, Sherlock. You noticed what I needed. I was going to buy a new jacket soon. And I’d kept forgetting to pick up a new notebook even though I’ve got like three pages-”
“Two.”
A grin appeared on John’s face, “Two pages left. See? You notice things. You notice me. You’ll grab my jacket for me as we dash out of rooms. You have an extra pair of gloves in your coat for when I misplace mine. You stop during cases so I can pick up a snack. You planned for takeout and Dr. Who specials after I inevitably have a bad time with Harry later. You’re a man of detail and chaos. In it all you somehow go out of your way for me. And if I’m not mistaken you’ve got a shirt that perfectly matches my new tie.” A little smirk drew across John’s face. “If the best detective in London doesn’t believe in coincidences, I don’t think I should either.”
Sherlock was silent and still. He stared at John and slowly sank down to the floor to sit with him. “You, John Watson, keep me right.”
“I’m happy to help, you brilliant man.”Sherlock wore his blue dress shirt and John the blue tie. They’d bought boxed wine for the event along with a single cupcake.
“Boxed wine and trespassing might be too much of a gift, Sherlock.”
“Indeed. Perhaps we should try knocking.”
Mummy Holmes answered the door, all smiles and hugs. “Oh dear, come in, come in. I’m so glad you’re just a bit late. Mycroft was grumbling that you’d never come. Thinking he’d finally dethrone you as the favorite.”
“You’d think he’d realise that he should stop hosting these things and his chances would go up.”
“Don’t let him in on it, Lock. I fear I may actually start a competition for favorite.” Mummy winked and smiled mischievously with her son before turning rather suddenly to John. “Oh! You must be John. It’s a lovely tie, matches your eyes.” She smiled for just a moment before, “And my son’s shirt. Happy news?”
“I had to wear my favorite gift of the season, Mrs. Holmes. The fact that it matches your son’s shirt is really the only reason it’s my favorite.” John smiled warmly as he caught Sherlock’s eye.
“Lovely, John. I’ve decided I like you. If you ever join the family a real competition for favorite child will get going.”
“Oh good to know. Say, how would I best run my own campaign for favorite?”
Mrs. Holmes paused as to consider, “Well, I’d say if you weedled Lock here into visiting more, got him to eat you know. Really take care of my little baby.”
“That’s my goal,” John glanced around, “I’ll take the wine to the kitchen then? Let Mycroft wonder who’s it from?”
“You don’t know where the kitchen is,” Sherlock began to usher him over, “and I doubt my brother could be fooled by boxed wine and a single cupcake.”
“I don’t know, you were fooled by a simple present switch.”
“I mistook you for a man who disliked Christmas.”
“You’re fatal flaw was really discounting yourself.” John bumped his shoulder, “Careful, else you may convince me you’re not a high functioning sociopath.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot John.”
“Git.”