igrab
in
grabi_hands
❄ december fourth | the christmas song
title. the christmas song
pairing. sherlock/john
written for. kohaku1977
wordcount. 679
summary. john finally brings up the subject of christmas, and what to do about it.
On December 4th, John finally broached the subject of Christmas. It had been weighing on him for a while; what to do, how to ask, and he felt so often that Sherlock was a ticking verbal time bomb, primed and ready to explode.
But John only knew one way to be when he was nervous, and that was blunt.
"So," he started in. Sherlock was wrapped up in about a hundred blankets on the couch, like he intended to hibernate the winter away. "What do you usually do for Christmas, then?"
Sherlock peered up at him curiously.
"...Nothing. Why? Are you planning something? I refuse to be dragged off to meet the rest of your family. I'm convinced they're terrifying." He had met Harry, recently. It was only inevitable, now that John had let slip that he and Sherlock were 'something of an item'. Sherlock had not taken to her.
John chuckled at the attempt at humor and leaned his elbows on the back of the sofa. "No, actually I - nothing? Nothing at all?" He had to be sure. Sherlock had also claimed 'nothing' when it came to birthdays, neglecting to mention that Mycroft refused to leave him alone about it.
"Truly. My mother was devoutly Catholic and my father, a member of the Temple of the Four Orders. Winter holidays greatly resembled a crusade, a witch-burning, and an inquisition all in one. Now really, why do you ask?" He pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders.
John blinked. Their relationship was quite new, true, but it was so far removed from the bounds of 'normal' that John regularly caught himself thinking of their lives ten years from now, twenty, until the day they died. It got worse when Sherlock did this - felt so comfortable he would let drop jewels of information about his past and present, trusting John with a carefree implicitness. It boggled the mind, for one, and it drew John ever nearer to him.
"...Well, it's. Harry's all I have, really, and we've never been too keen on holidays. She likes to run off on Christmas, so it's - " He caught himself, and stopped waffling. " - I'd really like to do something with you."
Sherlock tilted his head to the side, into John's arm, and blinked up at him. "With me?"
"Yes." John was getting redder by the second. "Just - get a bit of a tree, exchange presents... whatever we want. A lot of Christmas traditions are a bit silly, but - "
Sherlock cut him off. "We can make our own." John went quiet, felt embarrassed, awkward, for even bringing the whole thing up. But then he looked down and Sherlock had that little quirk of a smile in the corner of his mouth - and the light in his eyes, so much more telling than any often expression. John melted like butter.
Sherlock's hands came up, pulled John's face down until he could kiss his lips lightly. "Is there anything you've always wanted to do?" he asked, surprisingly warm.
"Well," and John didn't have to think about it long, "I've - I've always wanted to roast chestnuts. You know, like the song."
"We can do that."
"We don't have a fireplace."
"We'll make do."
That night, Sherlock pulled out his violin and played a beautiful series of winter songs and Christmas carols - starting, of course, with The Christmas Song, and John even hummed along, though it felt a bit traitorous, to mar such beautiful music with his own rough voice. Then Sherlock moved on, and played songs John hadn't even heard of, interspersed with more familiar tunes. He could hear the season in them, though. Christmas songs had a kind of feel, and the carols Sherlock played sounded medieval, eternal, and sparkling.
John knew that - chestnuts aside - this, here, would be his favorite tradition. Sherlock, going out of his way to do something for John, not thinking that it wasn't selfish at all - that it was thoughtless, and beautiful, and sacred.
pairing. sherlock/john
written for. kohaku1977
wordcount. 679
summary. john finally brings up the subject of christmas, and what to do about it.
On December 4th, John finally broached the subject of Christmas. It had been weighing on him for a while; what to do, how to ask, and he felt so often that Sherlock was a ticking verbal time bomb, primed and ready to explode.
But John only knew one way to be when he was nervous, and that was blunt.
"So," he started in. Sherlock was wrapped up in about a hundred blankets on the couch, like he intended to hibernate the winter away. "What do you usually do for Christmas, then?"
Sherlock peered up at him curiously.
"...Nothing. Why? Are you planning something? I refuse to be dragged off to meet the rest of your family. I'm convinced they're terrifying." He had met Harry, recently. It was only inevitable, now that John had let slip that he and Sherlock were 'something of an item'. Sherlock had not taken to her.
John chuckled at the attempt at humor and leaned his elbows on the back of the sofa. "No, actually I - nothing? Nothing at all?" He had to be sure. Sherlock had also claimed 'nothing' when it came to birthdays, neglecting to mention that Mycroft refused to leave him alone about it.
"Truly. My mother was devoutly Catholic and my father, a member of the Temple of the Four Orders. Winter holidays greatly resembled a crusade, a witch-burning, and an inquisition all in one. Now really, why do you ask?" He pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders.
John blinked. Their relationship was quite new, true, but it was so far removed from the bounds of 'normal' that John regularly caught himself thinking of their lives ten years from now, twenty, until the day they died. It got worse when Sherlock did this - felt so comfortable he would let drop jewels of information about his past and present, trusting John with a carefree implicitness. It boggled the mind, for one, and it drew John ever nearer to him.
"...Well, it's. Harry's all I have, really, and we've never been too keen on holidays. She likes to run off on Christmas, so it's - " He caught himself, and stopped waffling. " - I'd really like to do something with you."
Sherlock tilted his head to the side, into John's arm, and blinked up at him. "With me?"
"Yes." John was getting redder by the second. "Just - get a bit of a tree, exchange presents... whatever we want. A lot of Christmas traditions are a bit silly, but - "
Sherlock cut him off. "We can make our own." John went quiet, felt embarrassed, awkward, for even bringing the whole thing up. But then he looked down and Sherlock had that little quirk of a smile in the corner of his mouth - and the light in his eyes, so much more telling than any often expression. John melted like butter.
Sherlock's hands came up, pulled John's face down until he could kiss his lips lightly. "Is there anything you've always wanted to do?" he asked, surprisingly warm.
"Well," and John didn't have to think about it long, "I've - I've always wanted to roast chestnuts. You know, like the song."
"We can do that."
"We don't have a fireplace."
"We'll make do."
That night, Sherlock pulled out his violin and played a beautiful series of winter songs and Christmas carols - starting, of course, with The Christmas Song, and John even hummed along, though it felt a bit traitorous, to mar such beautiful music with his own rough voice. Then Sherlock moved on, and played songs John hadn't even heard of, interspersed with more familiar tunes. He could hear the season in them, though. Christmas songs had a kind of feel, and the carols Sherlock played sounded medieval, eternal, and sparkling.
John knew that - chestnuts aside - this, here, would be his favorite tradition. Sherlock, going out of his way to do something for John, not thinking that it wasn't selfish at all - that it was thoughtless, and beautiful, and sacred.