Sherlock - Highlights From Possibly Unsuccessful Pioneers of Christmas Present Giving Traditions
Title: Highlights From Possibly Unsuccessful Pioneers of the Christmas Present Giving Traditions
Author: da_cursednlucky
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1160
Warnings: Americanisms
Summary: Of pig parts, leashes, and other questionable last-minute Christmas gifts of last resort.
Disclaimer: Guys, if I did, in fact, own these boys, they'd never leave 221B's bedroom to solve any cases.
Author's note: No body parts were harmed in the making of this fic. On another note, this is a fic toi_know_its_0ver at the sherlockmas gift exchange. I'm truly sorry for the delay though. Hope you like it!
---
Highlights From Possibly Unsuccessful Pioneers of the Christmas Present Giving Traditions
While it is commonly known that people can be pigs, it isn't logical to say that pigs are people. This applies to dead pig body parts.
John Watson is not amused.
He's a good man, perhaps not a great one, but still, he is a good man. He pays his half (and sometimes more) of the rent for the flat, he's a doctor, he served his country well and then got shot in the shoulder for it, he has morals, and he's a nice guy. So, the reason why he can't seem to decide what to get Sherlock Holmes for Christmas must be because of some demented form of karma (or perhaps the result of procrastination). Either ways, it's already the evening, it's Christmas Eve and John's got nothing.
John isn't sure what Sherlock would want in the first place. The man runs all over London happily for murder and antagonizing Scotland Yard, but while John may be Sherlock's only friend, John isn't quite ready to murder anyone or to bug anyone with a police badge. There was the obvious option of providing Sherlock with more body parts, but John doesn't want anything stinking up the fridge again. Besides, John isn't sure he could even get human body parts. He'd get Sherlock pig parts from a supermarket or something, oh sure. That's easy, but the idea just sounds stupid if he says it out loud. Sherlock would probably just make him cook dinner with the stuff anyways.
John should really come up with something soon. Sherlock's been out all day, so John would like an idea to hit him soon. Sherlock means a lot to John and John wants to gift him with something, god dang it. He hasn't fussed this much about finding presents since, well, the last time he had a girlfriend who stuck around long enough to celebrate Christmas with him.
Which reminds him, John doesn't really understand this driven force to acquire a gift. John thinks about it and comes to the conclusion that it's probably because Sherlock is one of the few people John cares for. Still, John wouldn't classify Sherlock simply as a colleague, flatmate, or friend. Sherlock's more than that. How much more is where things get all muddy and okay, not really his area.
John Watson may or may not be a bit in love with Sherlock. Probably leaning towards the love part more than the not in love part, if John's not trying to lie to himself again. It's just that, well, it's a bit hopeless.
Sherlock's not interested in anything of that sort. John's pretty sure Sherlock avoids the opposite sex as much as possible, and he's married to his work after all. It isn't smart to be Sherlock's flatmate and be devotedly in love with the mad man (albeit, it does come in handy if Sherlock's in mortal danger on a case again and John's got his gun).
Sod it all. Fine. John admits it. He's in love with a high-functioning sociopath, he hasn't got a Christmas present to give, and it's eight in the evening. John hears the sounds of a door opening and footsteps coming up on the stairs.
Sherlock enters the living room with a large white (and suspiciously hole-y) box and a grin. John sincerely hopes the box doesn't contain another Supposedly Respectable and Reasonable Scientific Endeavor. It's Christmas and John doesn't want to deal with that when he's got to fix this stupid heart of his.
He doesn't expect Sherlock to walk up to him and all but thrust the box into John's arms.
"Open it," Sherlock instructs happily. "It's your present."
Damn. John was hoping Sherlock would be "Christmas? John, it's completely irrelevant to my work."
"It isn't Christmas just yet, Sherlock," John says. "I don't have your present with me right now."
"Don't care. Open now," Sherlock insists and well, John's terrible at saying no to Sherlock so John looks down to inspect the gift (John will do this often after the noodle incident in which Sherlock said that yes, those are just egg noodles but five hours later, no, Sherlock, you must really clarify if those were laced with any poisons or not).
Upon inspection, John notices that it's a relatively large box. It's got a bow on top that's very blue and there's a lot of holes in it. It's quite heavy too. John braces himself and opens it.
There's a bulldog puppy in it. John can't help but stare.
"I got you a dog," Sherlock states. "Based on your personality and that Chinese mafia case where we actually had to deal with cats, you're not a cat person. I wasn't sure which dog to get, but a puppy seemed ideal because you'd care for it. You're not allergic either, because I came home with dog hair all over my coat after visiting a suspect. We'd have to get a leash for it, because I don't want it ruining my experiments if you want to keep it. And, well? What do you think? Good? Not good? Mycroft thought a bulldog might not suit you. I told him his diet wasn't working and he shouldn't hide biscuits underneath his papers. We can retur-"
John laughs. "Sherlock, it's fine. God, I would never pegged you as someone who'd get me a dog. We're keeping it, alright?"
Sherlock breaks out into a wide, wide smile and John melts a little on the inside. "Brilliant!" Sherlock replies.
But then John frowns. He hasn't gotten anything for Sherlock and this is horrible because Sherlock went out and got him puppy. A puppy for god's sake.
"Sherlock, I don't have a gift for you," John says. "I meant to, honestly. I really did, but I wasn't sure what'd you like and I didn't want to bother you and you've the right to be angry. I just - I'm really, really sorry, Sherlock."
John pauses. He waits for a reaction. Any reaction. at all.
Sherlock's face is neutral now, but he's staring intently at John and John doesn't know what he's going to do next. Slowly, Sherlock reaches for the box's lid in John's hand and takes it. He takes off the bow on top of the lid and sticks it on John's jumper.
"Problem solved," Sherlock states, but the look on his face says that this is not a statement, but a question. Sherlock's waiting for a response from John, an affirmative yes or no and suddenly, John thinks he isn't so hopeless after all.
John leans in closer and smiles. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock," he says before kissing Sherlock.
Now, some may be wondering, and some may not be, but when the kiss is over and they break apart, Sherlock too replies, "Merry Christmas, John."
And really, it's only natural that John thinks it's the best Christmas he's ever had. Because, as Sherlock insists (and everybody knows he's always right), it is the best Christmas ever.
---
Author: da_cursednlucky
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1160
Warnings: Americanisms
Summary: Of pig parts, leashes, and other questionable last-minute Christmas gifts of last resort.
Disclaimer: Guys, if I did, in fact, own these boys, they'd never leave 221B's bedroom to solve any cases.
Author's note: No body parts were harmed in the making of this fic. On another note, this is a fic toi_know_its_0ver at the sherlockmas gift exchange. I'm truly sorry for the delay though. Hope you like it!
---
Highlights From Possibly Unsuccessful Pioneers of the Christmas Present Giving Traditions
While it is commonly known that people can be pigs, it isn't logical to say that pigs are people. This applies to dead pig body parts.
John Watson is not amused.
He's a good man, perhaps not a great one, but still, he is a good man. He pays his half (and sometimes more) of the rent for the flat, he's a doctor, he served his country well and then got shot in the shoulder for it, he has morals, and he's a nice guy. So, the reason why he can't seem to decide what to get Sherlock Holmes for Christmas must be because of some demented form of karma (or perhaps the result of procrastination). Either ways, it's already the evening, it's Christmas Eve and John's got nothing.
John isn't sure what Sherlock would want in the first place. The man runs all over London happily for murder and antagonizing Scotland Yard, but while John may be Sherlock's only friend, John isn't quite ready to murder anyone or to bug anyone with a police badge. There was the obvious option of providing Sherlock with more body parts, but John doesn't want anything stinking up the fridge again. Besides, John isn't sure he could even get human body parts. He'd get Sherlock pig parts from a supermarket or something, oh sure. That's easy, but the idea just sounds stupid if he says it out loud. Sherlock would probably just make him cook dinner with the stuff anyways.
John should really come up with something soon. Sherlock's been out all day, so John would like an idea to hit him soon. Sherlock means a lot to John and John wants to gift him with something, god dang it. He hasn't fussed this much about finding presents since, well, the last time he had a girlfriend who stuck around long enough to celebrate Christmas with him.
Which reminds him, John doesn't really understand this driven force to acquire a gift. John thinks about it and comes to the conclusion that it's probably because Sherlock is one of the few people John cares for. Still, John wouldn't classify Sherlock simply as a colleague, flatmate, or friend. Sherlock's more than that. How much more is where things get all muddy and okay, not really his area.
John Watson may or may not be a bit in love with Sherlock. Probably leaning towards the love part more than the not in love part, if John's not trying to lie to himself again. It's just that, well, it's a bit hopeless.
Sherlock's not interested in anything of that sort. John's pretty sure Sherlock avoids the opposite sex as much as possible, and he's married to his work after all. It isn't smart to be Sherlock's flatmate and be devotedly in love with the mad man (albeit, it does come in handy if Sherlock's in mortal danger on a case again and John's got his gun).
Sod it all. Fine. John admits it. He's in love with a high-functioning sociopath, he hasn't got a Christmas present to give, and it's eight in the evening. John hears the sounds of a door opening and footsteps coming up on the stairs.
Sherlock enters the living room with a large white (and suspiciously hole-y) box and a grin. John sincerely hopes the box doesn't contain another Supposedly Respectable and Reasonable Scientific Endeavor. It's Christmas and John doesn't want to deal with that when he's got to fix this stupid heart of his.
He doesn't expect Sherlock to walk up to him and all but thrust the box into John's arms.
"Open it," Sherlock instructs happily. "It's your present."
Damn. John was hoping Sherlock would be "Christmas? John, it's completely irrelevant to my work."
"It isn't Christmas just yet, Sherlock," John says. "I don't have your present with me right now."
"Don't care. Open now," Sherlock insists and well, John's terrible at saying no to Sherlock so John looks down to inspect the gift (John will do this often after the noodle incident in which Sherlock said that yes, those are just egg noodles but five hours later, no, Sherlock, you must really clarify if those were laced with any poisons or not).
Upon inspection, John notices that it's a relatively large box. It's got a bow on top that's very blue and there's a lot of holes in it. It's quite heavy too. John braces himself and opens it.
There's a bulldog puppy in it. John can't help but stare.
"I got you a dog," Sherlock states. "Based on your personality and that Chinese mafia case where we actually had to deal with cats, you're not a cat person. I wasn't sure which dog to get, but a puppy seemed ideal because you'd care for it. You're not allergic either, because I came home with dog hair all over my coat after visiting a suspect. We'd have to get a leash for it, because I don't want it ruining my experiments if you want to keep it. And, well? What do you think? Good? Not good? Mycroft thought a bulldog might not suit you. I told him his diet wasn't working and he shouldn't hide biscuits underneath his papers. We can retur-"
John laughs. "Sherlock, it's fine. God, I would never pegged you as someone who'd get me a dog. We're keeping it, alright?"
Sherlock breaks out into a wide, wide smile and John melts a little on the inside. "Brilliant!" Sherlock replies.
But then John frowns. He hasn't gotten anything for Sherlock and this is horrible because Sherlock went out and got him puppy. A puppy for god's sake.
"Sherlock, I don't have a gift for you," John says. "I meant to, honestly. I really did, but I wasn't sure what'd you like and I didn't want to bother you and you've the right to be angry. I just - I'm really, really sorry, Sherlock."
John pauses. He waits for a reaction. Any reaction. at all.
Sherlock's face is neutral now, but he's staring intently at John and John doesn't know what he's going to do next. Slowly, Sherlock reaches for the box's lid in John's hand and takes it. He takes off the bow on top of the lid and sticks it on John's jumper.
"Problem solved," Sherlock states, but the look on his face says that this is not a statement, but a question. Sherlock's waiting for a response from John, an affirmative yes or no and suddenly, John thinks he isn't so hopeless after all.
John leans in closer and smiles. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock," he says before kissing Sherlock.
Now, some may be wondering, and some may not be, but when the kiss is over and they break apart, Sherlock too replies, "Merry Christmas, John."
And really, it's only natural that John thinks it's the best Christmas he's ever had. Because, as Sherlock insists (and everybody knows he's always right), it is the best Christmas ever.
---