YULE

[fighting_northumerland]

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.

Comments

[fighting_northumerland]

Mrs. Watson sighed. "Really, I'm more upset about the shooting and the bombs than anything else. I thought that was over after he came home," she shrugged. "But John...wants what he wants. It's not the booze, but..." again she shrugged.

"Harry!" John groaned, exasperated. "You, of all people, are being extremely unhelpful about this entire thing! Can't you just--?" he gestured vaguely, searching for words "- just let it be?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

There was a sudden pang of guilt somewhere in the back of his throat. "He's an extremely capable man," he muttered, suppressing an absurd urge to stare at the floor. "We protect each other."

A loud bang came from the dining room as Harry slapped the table in triumph and surprise. "You've gone totally mad over your flatmate! How did this even happen?"

"Harry," their father said warningly. She waved a hand at him, the gesture vaguely dismissive.

"No, look, I'm happy, I really am. More power to you, and all that. But seriously--how?"

[fighting_northumerland]

"I know you do," she said, warm and steady. "And really, John would have found something to terrify me anyways. At least there's no time difference between here and London."


John threw his hands in the air, frustrated beyond words. "It just does! Frankly, he's brilliant, we like each other, end of story. Whatever feud you're trying to start up is just childish, really."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Um." Sherlock managed to look her in the eye. "Could you give me a moment? Thanks."

He picked up the tray of cups and saucers, already carefully assembled, and nudged the kitchen door open with one foot. If he had one social gift, it was knowing exactly when to interrupt a conversation.

"Coffee's not ready yet, but. Might as well get things started. And--sorry, Thomas, was it? Over in the bag we brought there's a box of Christmas crackers. You might want to let the kids at them. Help them let off a little energy."

Now, now, he'd finally managed to achieve charming. If only for a brief moment.

[fighting_northumerland]

At the word 'crackers' the children were gone, attacking the bag like wolves. John felt Sherlock's unease around them may have been somewhat justified.

"Thanks," he said, taking a cup. He took a second, two lumps of sugar, and set it in Sherlock's place.

"Tell us, then," John's father started, "You're with the police, is that right?"

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Actually, no. Well, not officially." He didn't smile, but his tone of voice was less strained than it had been half an hour ago. "I'm a private detective. The police consult me when they need special help with a case--and, of course, thanks to John's blog there are plenty of private clients."

He rested a hand on John's shoulder, fingers tapping very slightly. Morse code, again.

Ok now.

[fighting_northumerland]

John smiled at the message, grinning broadly- their code was secure, but the look on his face was enough to give everyone at the table a hint that something was up.

"We get all sorts," he said, nodding his head. "Bankers, government, the occasional child with a lost rabbit- really, I didn't know there was such a demand."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"There's always something," Sherlock put in smoothly. "Well. Almost always. And when there isn't, there's freelance forensics research."

He very tactfully did not mention that this usually amounted to body parts in the kitchen.

"One of the good guys, then," John's father remarked. He was clearly still getting used to the idea of having two gay children at the table, but, well... to be frank, Harry had caused far more drama in her time. "So--how long has this been...?" He gestured at the two of them, as if to indicate their general togetherness.

[fighting_northumerland]

John nearly rolled his eyes. Of course, Dad.

"'Bout a year," he said, looking to Sherlock. "It just kind of...happened. Totally unexpected."

Not at all unwanted.

Harry laughed, loudly but without malice. "You moved in the first day you met him!"

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Well, we did both need a flatmate. But the rest of it didn't happen till much later." Despite the switch into charming mode, Sherlock was still deeply reluctant to reveal any details of his emotional life to people he'd only known a few hours.

"And here I thought John was this big romantic," Harry mock-complained, as Mrs. Watson emerged from the kitchen with the coffeepot.

[fighting_northumerland]

John did roll his eyes. "For God's sake, Harry, we aren't teenagers," he sighed. "We just...solve mysteries and eat breakfast. Not much to it."

Susan's nose wrinkled. Clearly, boys were vastly overrated.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Been making him your famous eggs, John?" Mrs Watson asked pleasantly. "Susan, dear, move aside a little--there, we can't have a big spill at the dinner table, now can we?"

Still a touch skittish, Sherlock finally reclaimed his seat, taking John's hand under the table.

Harry, for her part, shot her brother a look. "Not much to it? That's disappointing." There was something smug and knowing in her tone that suggested she knew details were missing and was really unhappy they'd been omitted.

[fighting_northumerland]

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. You are doing so well, not much longer. With his free hand he sipped his coffee.

"We're not celebrities, despite what some very confused teenage girls seem to think," he said, in lieu of 'piss off, Harry'. "No tabloid stories for you, sorry."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Do you find things that have been stolen?" Susan asked, peering around John to address Sherlock directly.

"All the time," Sherlock responded, eyes fixed on his coffee.

"What was the hardest one to find?"

That made him look up.

"Huh. That's--you know, I have to think about that."

[fighting_northumerland]

"It's apparently the Tesco," John said, without thinking. He'd forgotten about their audience. "You can never find it on your way back from a case when we need milk."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"I'm not the one who always uses it up," Sherlock retorted. Half a second later he realized Susan and Harry were laughing; he took another swallow of coffee to soothe his nerves.

He hoped John knew he wasn't above kicking him under the table if this turned into a Hat-Man situation.

[fighting_northumerland]

"That is totally untrue, you have conducted numerous experiments using my milk, and-- I fail to see what's so funny about this, Harry."

Harry's giggles did not subside, they only grew stronger. Even Mrs. Watson's eyes sparkled, her mouth pressed together with barely-contained mirth.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"You sound like--" Their father had begun to laugh himself, but he shook his head fondly. "No, never mind. Next year I'll make sure to get you one of those gift cards."

The sound of crackers popping and children getting their second wind drifted in from the living room. Apparently the younger Watsons had decided it was time for presents, and the few straggling adults still at the dinner table were moving to keep an eye on their offspring.

"We do gifts and carols," Mr Watson went on, already pushing out of his chair. "Dunno what you lot get up to in the city, but you can join us any time."

"Would you--ah--give us a minute?"

Sherlock's tone of voice was cool and assured, but there was something nervous in his eyes.

[fighting_northumerland]

John hung back, motioning Harry one when she lingered just a little bit longer than necessary.

"Are you doing alright? I know its a lot, but you did well, mum seems pleased..."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Look. Before we get any further tonight, I thought..."

He shifted, withdrawing a small, flat box from his pocket and laying it on the table between them.

"This should stay private," he said, by way of explanation. "There's something more generic in the bag, but. You should open that."

[fighting_northumerland]

John lifted the lid of the box curiously, and gasped when he say the small round shape inside. He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

"Sherlock..." he said, running his finger of the surface of the button.

[punchmeitssubtext]

It was cheap and clearly handmade, and to be honest the color scheme was a little gaudy: the background was dark brown but the lettering a vivid yellow.

John Watson Was Right.

"A few days before I came back..." Sherlock's voice had dropped to a low murmur. "There was this girl on the Tube. University student, probably in psychology. It was on her bag, and I..."

He trailed off, not really wanting to bring up the whole situation or the painful mess of emotions it evoked. The gift was, quite simply, sentimental--but the sentiments were all positive, all the sorts of things Sherlock had once claimed he rejected wholesale. The change in him was small, but it was permanent.

"You don't have to wear it. I just thought--you should see it," he finished lamely.

[fighting_northumerland]

"You pinched a button off a girl's bag," John said, with a slightly nervous sounding giggle. "I didn't know if you saw...I suppose you did." He took a deep breath.

"It wasn't me who started it, but I couldn't...bring myself to go through with the lie. To tell the truth, I'd almost forgotten about these..." He smiled.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"I hadn't."

It was a poor substitute for "I love you". Sherlock wanted to say it, wanted it badly--but this was someone else's house, and the very small emotional part of him shied away at sharing such an intimate feeling in a strange place. Instead he lifted a hand, awkwardly, and curled it around John's wrist.

[fighting_northumerland]

John used his free hand to covertly wipe his eyes. He looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

"Thank you," he said, softly. "It's...it was a bad time, but knowing you saw really..." he couldn't go on.