fighting_northumerland

YULE

John stopped in front of the front door. It wasn't too late, he reasoned-- they hadn't seen him yet. They could escape back into the cab, get Chinese, have a quiet night to themselves and not deal with the madness of Watson Christmas...

Behind them, the cab pulled away and turned off into traffic. Trapped.

"Well then," he said, steeling himself, and knocked.

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Sherlock didn't let go of him, but his hand was tense--as good an indication as any that John's tiny cousin had given him a momentary panic attack.

"Lot of procrastination, though, wasn't it?" Harry grinned. "Took you, what, two years to get yourselves sorted?"

Okay, so maybe the panic attack was ongoing.

John sighed, leaning his head back into Sherlock's chest. He'd heard application of pressure was used to quiet down startled cattle, maybe it worked on consulting detectives.

"Oh, shut up," he replied, casually but with a hint of iron. "There were...circumstances."

Although his partner's heartbeat was thumping wildly against John's hair, he did manage to take a deep breath and force a few of the muscles in his shoulders to relax.

"There's always circumstances." Harry wrinkled her nose, rather childishly. "Only shoes belong in the closet, Johnny."

"Whose closet?" asked Susan. Her mother looked about ready to die of embarrassment.

"The closet to Narnia," John said, in what he assumed was the correct way to explain Important Things to children, "where people go when Earth is just a bit too much. I wasn't closeted, I'm just..." he shrugged.

Not gay for anyone else.

"There were cases, girlfriends, national crises...not to mention he was indisposed for a while," John said, maybe a little too sharply.

"And I have trouble with people."

It was a startlingly open admission on Sherlock's part--possibly the most personal thing he'd said all night. Harry's eyes widened in surprise; somewhere behind them, Mrs Watson slipped an arm around her husband's shoulder.

"I can read facts. Things, for the most part. People are..." He trailed off before giving John's hand another squeeze and pulling back slightly, as if he were trying to prove a point to himself. "Complicated. Anyway."

You didn't have to be Sherlock to see the way John's chest puffed up and he looked a little taller on the couch. That's right his body language screamed, Sherlock Holmes admits his weaknesses for no one but me. Someone say something about him, I dare you.

"Slow but steady wins the race," he said, mildly. "Come sit with me on the couch, you loom like a stork."

Sherlock started to say something, probably a reflexive protest of some sort: after all, he was still getting used to the idea of having a real friend, much less a partner, so his default response was withdrawal. But Susan--Susan, of all people, who could not have been more than eight--slid off the couch and patted the space where she'd been sitting. Right next to John.

Oh. Well.

He murmured a quick thank-you in Susan's direction before settling in next to his partner. There was really no logical reason why he should feel so relaxed in someone else's personal space, but then there was really no logical reason for anything else that had happened in the past year, either.

Harry watched them both with interest and perhaps a touch of concern. She was good at people; despite all the jokes she'd been cracking she was starting to form a real picture of this relationship as a very serious one. Which she hadn't really expected from her brother.

John still had shame and a proper sense of propriety- so instead of shameless curling around Sherlock like a weighted blanket, he wrapped his arm around his shoulders instead.

Susan was getting many, many extra gifts for Boxing Day.

For a while they sat like that, sharing a moment of silence while gifts were examined and the soft sound of clearing up could be heard.

"Thank you," he said, after a long moment. He'd tried to use that time to puzzle out whether or not this blatant display of affection would attract staring and commentary the way it did in his own family. As it turned out, there was so much casual contact between people in the room--partners, spouses, brothers and sisters, parents and children--that sitting on the couch with one's boyfriend was... really not a very big deal.

John shifted, getting comfortable. Harry gave him a look that screamed no PDA, little brother and he resisted the urge to stick his tongue out.

"I must be getting old," John said, yawning. "I'm exhausted." He resisted the urge to loll his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Overstimulation will do that to you." Sherlock patted his friend's knee, quick but reassuring. "We can call the cab a little early, if your parents don't mind."

"You know what," Harry put in suddenly. "Why don't you do that? Give me and my brother a minute to catch up."

John looked wary, but glanced up at Sherlock.

"Could you?" he asked, "that would be great. I'll be right with you in a minute."

Sherlock levered himself off the couch. "Right. Phone's in my coat, I'll give them a call."

The minute he'd moved out of their line of sight, Harry shifted in her chair, leaning over as close to her brother as she could get.

"John," she said, her voice low and serious. "I'm your sister, I have to do this. Just... tell me you really like this bloke and I won't say another word."

"Ha-rry," John groaned, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "We've been living together since we met, if I was going to snap out of it it would have happened ages ago!"

"I mean, I had a boyfriend once, for God's sake. You remember that. Things get weird sometimes." She reached over the arm of her chair, laying one hand on the couch: he could take her hand if he wanted to, but he wasn't obliged. "I just need to know that you're... okay with all this. That he's, you know, good for you."

"Good for me?" John looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. "Harry...you know how I was after I was sent back. Sherlock- you saw him, he's a mad genius, but he's the one person who..." he shrugged. "We're fine."

Harry was silent for a moment, mulling over this information.

"Do you know how he feels about you?" she asked at last. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Johnny."

John nodded. "He doesn't really do feelings, Harry- except for me, and a few select others. He saved my life," he admitted, "in more ways than he knows. I return the favor as often as I can."

Her face lit with a smile. She knew her brother well enough to know when he was telling the truth.

"And he knows if he breaks your heart I'm going to kill him?"

Her mobile beeped, and she rolled her eyes. "Hang on, that better not be an ex text on bloody Christmas... oh. Um."

The text simply read, I know. -SH

"They'll be here in twenty minutes," Sherlock said, tucking his mobile back into his pocket as he moved into the living room. "Should be enough time for a few carols and another cup of coffee."

John looked back and forth between his partner and his sister, eyebrow raised.

"You two are going to make Ella a very busy woman," he sighed. "I assume you'll want the violin?"

"I'm a show-off, of course I'll want the violin." He radiated false innocence. "Besides, I'm out of change and the children have to be kept quiet somehow."

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