I wrote this for Christmas, but, I think it's great without Christmas.
Sherlock is woken in the wee hours of the morning by peals of giddy laughter coming from his friend. What the Hell. It's early, and John feels the need to go all girl on him.
"What the Hell are you doing in here?" He asks grumpily, John says nothing but continues to laugh, "If you have nothing better to do, leave so I ca get some sleep, it's cold and dark, and I'm tired." John laughs some more,
"Do you know what day it is?"
"The day where I kick you out of the flat and into the snow covered street." Sherlock grumbles before rolling over to face the wall.
"Sherlock." He's not going to leave till Sherlock says something,
"What?"
"It's Christmas." Sherlock furrows his brow, Christmas. Oh God. Another useless holiday,
"So?"
"SO? SO? So it's Christmas! Time to celebrate almost a year of flat share, time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, time to celebrate life and happiness. Time to get drunk and stupid, time to be mates and wish everyone a happy Christmas. Time to exchange gifts and drink eggnog!"
"Time for you to get out of here." John is stumped, Sherlock should be happy. Everyone is happy on Christmas,
"Sherlock?"
"John, I don't even care that it's Christmas. I don't care that I'm supposed to be happy. You know, Christmas is the worst time of year."
"What?"
"Christmas is the time when the criminals lay low. Christmas is the time when Mycroft comes round to try and get me to a hateful Christmas dinner. Christmas isn't happy, and the sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be." John's face falls,
"I've said too much, I can tell. I've upset you."
"Yes. You bloody well upset me. You hate me when I wake you up in the middle of the night." John leans back on his feet,
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry. I'll just leave you be now."
"Thank you." John gets up to leave,
"Oh, and Mycroft called. He said you were going to Christmas dinner with him tonight whether you want to or not." Sherlock sits up, fear dancing across his pale features.
"He did what?"
"He said you're going to dinner with him today. Apparently mummy's in town."
"No!" Sherlock leaps out of bed, grabbing John the the front of his shirt, "We're going out tonight. I can't... Not today."
"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Sherlock let go of John's shirt before sitting down on his bed,
"No. What time is it?"
"Round about six in the morning. Why?"
"Do you have any Christmas obligations with your family?"
"No. Why?"
"So you're not busy tonight?"
"No. Why?"
"So if I leave here tonight you'll be home all by yourself on Christmas?"
"Yes. Why?" He looks at John, happiness flooding his entire being, saved. Oh yes, now he believes in Christmas miracles,
"I could kiss you!"
"I rather hope not. That would be awkward and weird on so many levels."
"We are going out tonight. I'm not going to dinner with Mycroft. He tries to get me to go every year. This time he's bribing me with mother. I'm just not up for a social call. I haven't talked with mother in years." John takes a seat next to his friend,
"Well then don't you think it's time you start talking to her?"
"No. Last time I saw her, things were said. It'd be awkward." Sherlock's mobile rings causing them both to jump. "Oh bugger. How much do you want to bet that's Mycroft?"
"Ten pounds."
"You're on." Sherlock reaches across to his nightstand and answers his phone, "Sherlock Holmes. Hello Mycroft." He holds his phone away from his ear, "You owe me ten quid John," before talking to his brother, "What do you want? No. I'm not. John and I are busy tonight. I just can't spare the time. If I go to the dinner, he'd be home all by himself. No he can't just make plans with his family, he'd be at the flat, all alone. On Christmas. What do you mean I've never cared about holidays before? I have! I always have! What did you get me for Christmas last year? Um... I don't know, I never opened your present. Threw it in the garbage as soon as I got it in the mail. What do you mean that's not Christmas spirit, of course it is! I was sure it was booby trapped! You can't expect me to open a present when I know full well that- Of course I didn't buy you a present! I don't have anything to give, no idea what you want, and no, you're right, I don't have Christmas spirit. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate and respect the traditions and happiness of those around me. What? I don't want to talk to mummy! No. No! Don't. Oh bugger." He holds the phone away from his ear before turning to John, "This is why I hate holidays."
John smiles, laughing while he spoke, "This really is comical! You place yourself above everyone else, saying how high and mighty you are, and here you are right now doing something fairly normal in most households."
"Shut up John. You don't underst- Hi mum." John is quiet, knowing that this is hard for Sherlock, he knows when to shut up, when to be quiet, when to just be there for Sherlock. He's known him long enough for that. "No, no, everything's fine. We're all good over here. No, we have plans tonight. Sorry mum. No no. You don't need us there, you have Mycroft, you always liked him better then me anyway, even if he did disappoint you. Oh that was me? Now I'm really busy tonight. Good night mummy." He hangs up the phone. "Apparently I upset mummy." He hangs his head,
"Are you alright Sherlock? No, of course you're not." Sherlock looks up,
"Of course I'm fine. What do you want to do tonight?" John laughs,
"Oh I don't know. We could go to a pub and watch a movie or something." Sherlock chuckles,
"Dull." John sits up straighter,
"Well what do you have in mind?"
"Oh I don't know. I don't really celebrate Christmas."
"I know, but what do you do?"
"For holidays?"
"Yeah."
"Nothing usually. Blow holes in the walls. Get really drunk. Take loads of sleeping pills. Let them pass me by. Nothing really happens."
"That's it? You don't do anything special?"
"Nothing comes to mind." John says nothing and just sits on the bed, thinking. What can he do to make this Christmas brilliant? An idea. A simple one, but it might just be brilliant enough for Sherlock Holmes.
"Have you ever played Clue?"
"What?"
"It's a board game. Harry has it, we could borrow it if you want."
"What's it about?"
"You'll have to find out, I'll call Harry."
About an hour later
Sherlock is still in his pajamas, bent over the game, moving the little purple piece the correct number of spaces.
"This game is pointless." He cries before sitting up and looking at John pointedly.
"I have an idea of how to make this interesting."
"If it involves eggnog and a couple of die, I'm out."
"What?"
"Never mind. What's this idea of yours?" John gets up from his chair and goes into the kitchen, getting a bottle of Vodka from out of the pantry and two shot glasses. Sherlock doesn't drink, at least not usually, but John always keeps a bottle or two on hand for when he wakes in the middle of the night due to bad dreams,
"The number we roll on the die, we drink the same number of shots. You can pour your own, but it has to be that same number. If we're lucky we'll pass out before we finish the game." Sherlock furrows his brow,
"This is such a stupid idea. Is this your idea of an ideal Christmas? It's stupid." John sits down before taking the die,
"Have you got anything better?" Sherlock thinks a moment,
"No."
"Exactly." John rolls, the die bounces off the table and onto the floor, three. He moves his yellow piece and then fills his shot glass, downing it in one gulp. Shuddering he fills it again. Sherlock looks away, pointless. His phone buzzes,
"Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade? Aren't you on holiday? Happy Christmas to you too I guess. No murders, so why are you calling me? To wish me a happy holiday? I'm not sure I buy that, but okay. Thank you I guess. Get on with your day." He hangs up before throwing the die. Six. Of course. Sighing he reaches for the bottle and drags it closer to him, dreadful. Positively dreadful.
About two hours and several drinks after the fateful call from Lestrade
Sherlock is drunk. There is a downside to rolling high numbers most every time you roll the dice. John is drunk too, though not nearly as drunk as Sherlock. He's more the comfortable, went to a pub kind of drunk.
"I give up on this game, I don't want to play anymore." Sherlock slurs, putting his head in his hands and looking at John,
"Is it because I'm winning?"
"No." John looks at him hard a moment, "Yes."
"Well what do you want to do?"
Sherlock thinks a moment, "We can play Scrabble."
"Scrabble? You want to play Scrabble?"
"Yes. I'm going to go get dressed first though." Sherlock stands and heads toward his room, nearly running into a wall before successfully closing his door. John packs up Clue. At least it kept him busy for an hour or two. He tromps up to his bedroom, leaving the game on his bed. There's a Santa hat on the corner which he picks up and looks at for a minute,
"Sherlock would look good in this I think." An odd comment, granted, but he is drunk. He turns from the room and heads back downstairs. Sherlock is already dressed. I say dressed... Meaning he has pants and a shirt on, but his buttons aren't buttoned properly and his jacket is thrown across the back of the chair. He's setting up a Scrabble board, he already has his seven tiles out. He looks up,
"Hello John. Get ready to have your arse whipped." He takes a seat. John looks at him before pulling the hat down over his curls,
"Happy Christmas." Sherlock makes no move to remove that hat but starts placing his tiles on the board. Q-U-I-R-E starting at the star and to the left, hitting a double letter score tile. Fifteen times two, the star being a double word score square. A thirty point move. Sherlock sits back in his chair, a smile on his face. He knew that he had done that, the knew how many points he'd get. He reaches into the bag and draws four more tiles,
"You're turn John."
"Is that even a real word?"
Sherlock's annoyed, "Obviously. Play the game so I can beat you." John looks down at his tiles, there is nothing there. He can't make a single word, it's too early in the game to say so though. First move on his part.
"Sherlock. I can't think right now, it's a wonder that you even placed that. How did you-? My brain is fuzzy." He stands up and leaves Sherlock to stare at the board. Flopping himself on the couch he starts talking to Sherlock, "Hey, we've been sharing a flat for almost a whole year now. Isn't that something. A whole year. How many cases have we solved?"
Sherlock looks up, "Too many to count I would think."
"Nah. I've blogged about everyone of them I think. Even if they were little." Sherlock stands up,
"Scoot over." John stretches out and scoots into the cushions more, making room for Sherlock to lie down. His head at John's feet, he stares up at the ceiling, "How much Hell do you think we've put Mrs. Hudson through?" John laughs,
"Oh. Too much. Enough for a life time."
Sherlock laughs too, "She loves it though."
"Yeah, I suppose she does." The two men are quite.
"John?"
"What Sherlock?"
"I have a confession to make."
"What is it?"
"I didn't get you a present." John chuckles,
"I didn't get you one either."
"I wouldn't take it."
"I know." There is a knock on the door, "Come in." It's Mrs. Hudson.
"Happy Christmas boys." John raises his head to look at her,
"Speak of the devil! We were just talking about you Mrs. Hudson! Happy Christmas to you too!"
"Mrs. Hudson, in light of the festivities of this holiday, I think it's only fair that you give me my skull back. I know you took it. Again." Mrs. Hudson frowns, though Sherlock can't see it,
"I've brought presents!" John sits up all the way, accidentally kicking Sherlock in the face.
"OI!"
"Sorry Sherlock. I got you something Mrs. Hudson, I'll just pop upstairs and get it."
Mrs. Hudson smiles and laughs, "Oh that's sweet dear, you didn't have to."
"Oh it was my pleasure." Sherlock just lies on the couch, staring at the ceiling, in a stupor of thought. John comes down the stairs again with a wrapped package, placing it on the table, "There you are. I didn't know what to get you, so I got some chocolates just to say thanks. I think you've got to be the best landlady I've ever had." He gives her a hug before she reaches into her bag to pull out a gift for John,
"Here you are love, I'm not going to tell you what it is, you're going to have to open it yourself when I'm not around. And I have something for Sherlock too." Sherlock sits up and turns to face the two of them,
"What? You shouldn't have done that Mrs. Hudson. You know I loath the gifts. I can always guess what they are before I open them."
John scoffs, "No you can't." Mrs. Hudson takes out an oval shaped package and puts it in Sherlock's hands,
"Yes I can. This is Yorik. Thank you Mrs. Hudson." He stands and embraces the little woman. She laughs before shaking her head and going down the stairs again. John sits down again, looking at Sherlock,
"The day isn't even half over."
"Right you are."
"What are we going to do for the rest of the day?"
"Nothing. Unless you think of something." John nods before shaking his package slightly. Sherlock smiles, "You'll never be able to guess what it is." John frowns,
"Like you know what it is just from that."
"Oh trust me."
"Poor choice of words Sherlock. What is it?"
"It'll ruin the surprise."
"Sherlock."
"Okay fine. It's Call of Duty Modern Warfare Two. Right up your street if you ask me."
"No one did. It's an X-Box game right?"
"Right."
"We don't have an X-Box or controllers."
"Oh. Did I mention?"
"What Sherlock?" He reaches behind the sofa and brings out a large unwrapped box. X-Box 360,
"Happy Christmas."
"SHERLOCK!"
"What?"
"You said you didn't get me anything." Sherlock looks confused,
"I didn't."
John gestures to the new gaming system, "Then what do you call that?"
"Something for us."
"Right. We still don't have controllers do we?" Sherlock thinks about this for a moment,
"No. I wasn't thinking." John takes the box from Sherlock before sitting down again.
"I know what we're going to do today." Sherlock looks up,
"What?"
"Get your coat, we're going to go get controllers." Sherlock looks at John like he was crazy,
"Why don't you just go?"
"Because you're the one who bought the damn thing. You're going to help me for once."
"You know I don't like people."
"Sherlock you have to get out at some point." Sherlock kneads his eyes,
"I don't want to go. I'm slightly drunk and I don't feel good."
"Sherlock it's Christmas. Humor me." Sherlock sighs,
"What the Hell. It can't hurt anything." John silently cheers before getting up to get his coat.
"Come on Sherlock. Who knows. Maybe you'll have fun." Sherlock smiles,
"This is the best Christmas ever. Thank you John."
Sherlock tried not to look at anyone, but it was difficult.
"John, just get the controllers and we can go." He shrinks back into his coat a little bit, standing closer to John as he examines the controllers.
"Hold on Sherlock. I'll just pay for these, then we can head back to the flat." Sherlock sighs,
"Well could you hurry up?" John sighs,
"Alright. Alright. Hold this," He shoves a controller into his hands before getting one for himself. The two head for the checkout line and pay for their equipment and Sherlock hails a cab, and was fidgety the whole way home. Mrs. Hudson was in their flat when they got home, she had set up the X-Box and greeted the two men.
"I'm all thumbs when it comes to technology, maybe you can work this out." She smiles before leaving the two men to their game.
Several hours later
"OH MY GOD! I TOTALLY KILLED YOU! This game is unfair!" Sherlock sits back in his chair, eyes wide as he stairs at the TV screen. John shakes his controller as his guy comes around a corner, guns blazing,
"DIE DIE!" He starts laughing as spots of blood litter the floor and Sherlock's character falls to the ground, dead. Again.
"SHIT! You stupid Russian! I will kill you!" Sherlock's half of the screen responds and his guy takes off down a crumbling hallway, "Where are you? I will find you. Are you hiding in the bathtubs? Again?" He turns down another hallway and lets the rounds spray, throwing tile and dust around in the game, "GOT YOU! AT LAST! Eat my bullets you old army doctor! The consulting detective takes the lead!" He starts laughing before the two resume the game, not a word passes between them, just the occasional sound of gunfire and the death of their characters. There is a knock on the door startling the two,
"Come in." John calls before shooting rapidly at Sherlock,
"OH BLOODY HELL! NOT AGAIN!" The door opens and Sherlock nearly throws the controller across the room, "What?" He asks the person standing behind them, "Mrs. Hudson, I'll get the rent to you in a matter of days."
"It's not Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock whirls around in his chair,
"Mother."
"Hello Sherlock." John turns to see Sherlock's mum. She has the same colour hair as him, that dark, almost black, brown, the curls too. Her eyes are green though. She's pretty. Not what John expected. He holds his hand out,
"John Watson. Pleasure." She smiles, same smile too.
"Rosanna. The pleasure is mine. You've been keeping my son out of trouble, I've heard about you." Sherlock looks up,
"Mum, if you're here, does that mean Mycroft is here too?" She laughs,
"No. I know you too have your silly rivalry. You didn't come to dinner, I decided to see what was so important that you couldn't see your mother for Christmas." Sherlock looks away,
"I am busy you know. Christmas and everything."
"The hat looks good."
"What?" Rosanna gestures to the hat on Sherlock's head,
"It looks nice." Sherlock smiles,
"Oh. Yeah. Thanks."
"That's it? Aren't you going to say anything about where I've been?" Sherlock shakes his head,
"No. Don't want to embarrass you, trying to keep down appearances, trying to hide where you've been, what you've been up to."
"Yeah. Thank you I guess."
"Welcome." There is silence. An awkward one and suddenly, John feels out of place,
"I can go if you need me too..." Sherlock sits up,
"No, no no. It's fine John, really. We'd like you to stay, isn't that right mother? Need to get to know John. He is my best friend after all." She smiles before taking a seat on the sofa, "I'll just get some eggnog. I know you bought some John, don't bother trying to deny it." John rolls his eyes and shifts in his chair to talk to Rosanna.
"So you're Sherlock's mum. I've heard a bit about you."
"Really? I'd have thought he'd steer as far away as possible from that subject."
"Did you not leave things well with him then?"
"Not really no."
"Ah." Sherlock sets a few glasses on the table and sits down in the other chair studying his mother,
"I missed dinner."
"Yes you did."
"I'm not going to apologize."
"I know."
"Mum?"
"What Sherlock."
"Thanks for Christmas."
Subject: Something Festive 
Wed Jan 05, 2011 3:26 am
