On the Third Day of Sherlockmas... "The Most Wonderful Day of the Year", a gift for lei_che_sogna
Author: ?
Title: The Most Wonderful Day of the Year
A gift for: lei_che_sogna
Beta: a huge thank you to ?
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock & John (friendship)
Category: Gen
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Summary: Sherlock is a Grinch.
Author's Notes: used prompts “Christmas crossover! Anything goes” (a little bit of Scrooge Sherlock) and “Sherlock and John visit a Christmas market, but there are foul deeds afoot amongst the mulled wine, overpriced pseudo-German tchotchkes, and fabricated Christmas cheer” (a lot of Christmas crap!).
Sherlock worked his way up the stairs quickly. He was happy. Genuinely happy. His brain was well fed with his latest case and, due to Mother's last minute cancellation, his holiday was now freed from her nostalgia and Mycroft's scorn. He could stay home and practice his violin, maybe volunteer to help Lestrade if anything remotely interesting came up during the final week of the year.
He was finally going to be spending the season his way instead of wasting time blabbing nonsense with strangers and trying to convince Mother he was doing fine with his life. Well, of course, he might squeeze a call or two there, maybe text his brother and John, keep on the Christmas spirit or whatever they were calling it nowadays. But all in all, he was off to a good start.
The jars in the bag bounced and clicked in his bags, but he didn't worry about it. The scarf would keep everything safe. God forbid he had to return to Bart's morgue before the new year - Molly had been in a particularly sweet mood lately.
"Merry Christmas!" John greeted him as Sherlock burst into the kitchen.
Sherlock left his bags on the counter and started to unpack with the eagerness of a child trying to get rid of the wrapping standing between him and a new toy truck. "It's the 20th," he said.
John shrugged, "It still counts."
"If you say so."
"What you got there?" John asked, entering the kitchen.
"I have two sets of eyes, seven severed fingers, four sets of lips, six toes and a male genitalia."
"Ah. And where is the partridge in the pear tree?"
Sherlock frowned. "What?"
"The song. On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me- why do I bother? Ah!" John reached out and picked up the red and gold scarf that had been wrapped around the jars. "I see you've got a new scarf."
"Yes," Sherlock replied, arranging pots on the counter. "Molly gave it to me. Just what I needed, actually - couldn't bring all of this home without it."
John stared at the scarf for a moment. "You used the new scarf she gave you to keep the jars with floating body parts from breaking?"
"I did."
John rolled his eyes. "You're a Grinch." He went back to their living room. "Want to give me a hand?"
"With wha-" Sherlock started to ask, but then he turned and realized what John was talking about.
John said, "Nice, hun?"
Sherlock pointed a long finger. "What the hell is this?"
John looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Now you're going to tell me you don't know what a Christmas tree is."
"Maybe I should've been more clear. What is this doing here, in our living room?"
"I got it from the shop down the corner. Doesn't even look like plastic."
Sherlock advanced, still looking stunned, "Why did you get a tree?" His elbow brushed on something hanging on their fireplace. "Are these socks?"
"Stockings."
"Stockings..." Sherlock repeated, like he was trying to get used to a foreign word. "And there is a Santa Claus as well."
"And you haven't seen the best part of it. Look!" John stepped forward and pressed a button on the back of the doll. It immediately started shaking its plastic hips and oozing a sort of melody.
"And what is this song?"
"The Most Wonderful Day of the Year."
"I don't believe you're being sarcastic."
"It's a classic!"
Sherlock thought of Bach. Then Mozart. Then Beethoven. And then, just to have a modern equivalent to compare that song to, he thought of Montserrat Caballé. No, he still couldn't see it.
"John," he said in a very slow voice. "Remember a few weeks before when you asked me if I wanted to join your Christmas Choir and I said I didn't celebrate Christmas if Mother didn't force me to because it just felt like every other day of the year?"
"Yes.".
"What part of that statement made you think I'd want a big pine tree in our living room?"
"It's on my side of the living room, so don't worry."
"There are no sides in this flat," Sherlock said, annoyed.
"But at Christmas time we make an exception as not to offend one another. That is your side of the living room to sulk in." He pointed to the couch area. "Bland, boring, Christmas-less. This!" He motioned towards the carnival of colors with some excitement. "This is my side of the flat on Christmas."
"Shiny, childish and pine scented," Sherlock said, but John just chuckled.
"You won't steal my Christmas, Sherlock, so you better stop trying. I understand your family doesn't really encourage these traditional-"
"You mean the seasonal silliness? No."
"Those. Yes. But they're important to me, so lets just share the space. It will be down by New Year."
John reached for one more decoration and went back to his tree.
"Fine. But I don't see why you have to be all over the place. A few lights and eggnog would have suffice. Stockings? A tree? A dancing Santa Claus on the Mantel? And, ugh!" He flinched. "Mistletoe, John? Really? Are you expecting Mrs. Hudson to come up and snog you?"
"Sherlock! Where is your Christmas spirit?"
"It was gone by the time I was old enough to read A Christmas Carol."
"You read it?" John said, surprised. "I thought you only read technical books."
Sherlock shook his head, "I indulge in guilty pleasures sometimes. It opened my eyes to how people seem to abandon all rationality around the season and give in to their sentiments."
"I think you missed the moral of that story."
"Scrooge was a rational man who calculated everything and measured the world in figures. Then he wakes up on Christmas morning with a change of heart and starts to feel the world instead of reading it like a math book."
"And he becomes a good man."
"Yes, rationality makes the man evil," Sherlock disdained, "Typical Christian philosophy."
"It made Scrooge evil."
Sherlock ignored him, "Moralist tale. You're either rational or you're good. That is quite offensive if you ask me. I'm rational and I think I'm a good person. I give money to the homeless."
"You feed an underground network of informants."
"See? I give them money and a job. And I gave you a check for your choir, didn't I? That will go to what? Orphans?"
"You paid us to sing as far as possible from Baker Street."
"The end still justifies the means- Oh, John!" He moaned and marched back to the mantel. "Not the skull!"
"It looks festive."
"It is my skull and I shall decide what to do with it. Santa hats are not an option," he said, snapping it out off the bony head and throwing it onto the armchair.
John shook his head but said nothing. Sherlock walked back into the kitchen.
"Now," he said, as he closed the doors, "I will begin my experiments, and do not wish to be disturbed until January 1st. Merry Christmas."
Title: The Most Wonderful Day of the Year
A gift for: lei_che_sogna
Beta: a huge thank you to ?
Characters/Pairing: Sherlock & John (friendship)
Category: Gen
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Summary: Sherlock is a Grinch.
Author's Notes: used prompts “Christmas crossover! Anything goes” (a little bit of Scrooge Sherlock) and “Sherlock and John visit a Christmas market, but there are foul deeds afoot amongst the mulled wine, overpriced pseudo-German tchotchkes, and fabricated Christmas cheer” (a lot of Christmas crap!).
Sherlock worked his way up the stairs quickly. He was happy. Genuinely happy. His brain was well fed with his latest case and, due to Mother's last minute cancellation, his holiday was now freed from her nostalgia and Mycroft's scorn. He could stay home and practice his violin, maybe volunteer to help Lestrade if anything remotely interesting came up during the final week of the year.
He was finally going to be spending the season his way instead of wasting time blabbing nonsense with strangers and trying to convince Mother he was doing fine with his life. Well, of course, he might squeeze a call or two there, maybe text his brother and John, keep on the Christmas spirit or whatever they were calling it nowadays. But all in all, he was off to a good start.
The jars in the bag bounced and clicked in his bags, but he didn't worry about it. The scarf would keep everything safe. God forbid he had to return to Bart's morgue before the new year - Molly had been in a particularly sweet mood lately.
"Merry Christmas!" John greeted him as Sherlock burst into the kitchen.
Sherlock left his bags on the counter and started to unpack with the eagerness of a child trying to get rid of the wrapping standing between him and a new toy truck. "It's the 20th," he said.
John shrugged, "It still counts."
"If you say so."
"What you got there?" John asked, entering the kitchen.
"I have two sets of eyes, seven severed fingers, four sets of lips, six toes and a male genitalia."
"Ah. And where is the partridge in the pear tree?"
Sherlock frowned. "What?"
"The song. On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me- why do I bother? Ah!" John reached out and picked up the red and gold scarf that had been wrapped around the jars. "I see you've got a new scarf."
"Yes," Sherlock replied, arranging pots on the counter. "Molly gave it to me. Just what I needed, actually - couldn't bring all of this home without it."
John stared at the scarf for a moment. "You used the new scarf she gave you to keep the jars with floating body parts from breaking?"
"I did."
John rolled his eyes. "You're a Grinch." He went back to their living room. "Want to give me a hand?"
"With wha-" Sherlock started to ask, but then he turned and realized what John was talking about.
John said, "Nice, hun?"
Sherlock pointed a long finger. "What the hell is this?"
John looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Now you're going to tell me you don't know what a Christmas tree is."
"Maybe I should've been more clear. What is this doing here, in our living room?"
"I got it from the shop down the corner. Doesn't even look like plastic."
Sherlock advanced, still looking stunned, "Why did you get a tree?" His elbow brushed on something hanging on their fireplace. "Are these socks?"
"Stockings."
"Stockings..." Sherlock repeated, like he was trying to get used to a foreign word. "And there is a Santa Claus as well."
"And you haven't seen the best part of it. Look!" John stepped forward and pressed a button on the back of the doll. It immediately started shaking its plastic hips and oozing a sort of melody.
"And what is this song?"
"The Most Wonderful Day of the Year."
"I don't believe you're being sarcastic."
"It's a classic!"
Sherlock thought of Bach. Then Mozart. Then Beethoven. And then, just to have a modern equivalent to compare that song to, he thought of Montserrat Caballé. No, he still couldn't see it.
"John," he said in a very slow voice. "Remember a few weeks before when you asked me if I wanted to join your Christmas Choir and I said I didn't celebrate Christmas if Mother didn't force me to because it just felt like every other day of the year?"
"Yes.".
"What part of that statement made you think I'd want a big pine tree in our living room?"
"It's on my side of the living room, so don't worry."
"There are no sides in this flat," Sherlock said, annoyed.
"But at Christmas time we make an exception as not to offend one another. That is your side of the living room to sulk in." He pointed to the couch area. "Bland, boring, Christmas-less. This!" He motioned towards the carnival of colors with some excitement. "This is my side of the flat on Christmas."
"Shiny, childish and pine scented," Sherlock said, but John just chuckled.
"You won't steal my Christmas, Sherlock, so you better stop trying. I understand your family doesn't really encourage these traditional-"
"You mean the seasonal silliness? No."
"Those. Yes. But they're important to me, so lets just share the space. It will be down by New Year."
John reached for one more decoration and went back to his tree.
"Fine. But I don't see why you have to be all over the place. A few lights and eggnog would have suffice. Stockings? A tree? A dancing Santa Claus on the Mantel? And, ugh!" He flinched. "Mistletoe, John? Really? Are you expecting Mrs. Hudson to come up and snog you?"
"Sherlock! Where is your Christmas spirit?"
"It was gone by the time I was old enough to read A Christmas Carol."
"You read it?" John said, surprised. "I thought you only read technical books."
Sherlock shook his head, "I indulge in guilty pleasures sometimes. It opened my eyes to how people seem to abandon all rationality around the season and give in to their sentiments."
"I think you missed the moral of that story."
"Scrooge was a rational man who calculated everything and measured the world in figures. Then he wakes up on Christmas morning with a change of heart and starts to feel the world instead of reading it like a math book."
"And he becomes a good man."
"Yes, rationality makes the man evil," Sherlock disdained, "Typical Christian philosophy."
"It made Scrooge evil."
Sherlock ignored him, "Moralist tale. You're either rational or you're good. That is quite offensive if you ask me. I'm rational and I think I'm a good person. I give money to the homeless."
"You feed an underground network of informants."
"See? I give them money and a job. And I gave you a check for your choir, didn't I? That will go to what? Orphans?"
"You paid us to sing as far as possible from Baker Street."
"The end still justifies the means- Oh, John!" He moaned and marched back to the mantel. "Not the skull!"
"It looks festive."
"It is my skull and I shall decide what to do with it. Santa hats are not an option," he said, snapping it out off the bony head and throwing it onto the armchair.
John shook his head but said nothing. Sherlock walked back into the kitchen.
"Now," he said, as he closed the doors, "I will begin my experiments, and do not wish to be disturbed until January 1st. Merry Christmas."