[Sherlock makes himself the portrait of innocence once John returns, even if the dog is awful at it. Eyes clear and face unperturbed, he takes the glass, even if he can tell John knows what happened. No matter.
After a sip, he furrows his brow.]
Is this eggnog with brandy or brandy with a drop of nog?
[It was more a rhetorical question, and he had already figured that. But Sherlock decides not to complain, just for now. He takes a more significant sip before checking his watch. Sure enough, the sirens started to sound outside. Sherlock hums thoughtfully.]
Suppose it's officially the Eve now, isn't it?
[Last Christmas he'd been alone in a run down shack out in the agricultural sector, and the sirens hadn't been as loud. But just as he did then, Sherlock can't help but compare it to the sounding of church bells or Big Ben ringing the hours on Christmas. They're not nearly as soothing.]
[ this time last year, John was in the throes of re-adjusting to civilian life, living on his own in sheltered accommodation. even with the ominous sirens outside and the impending darkness, tonight is already an improvement on last year's and he exhales softly after drinking another mouthful. ]
Mmhm, yes.. although I don't suppose it really matters out there, does it.
[Sherlock wanders over to the window and looks down on the Darkness overtaking the streets. Afflicted rats already start to rise from the inky gutters and the sky is pitch, as always. However, tonight from nearly every window there was a warm little glow, whether it be from tiny sill top trees, fairy lights like theirs, and even a few scattered electric menorahs. It made things feel a little less bleak.
And in spite of the outside, things were fine here. In spite of John's cast and his stiff joints, they were alright. Safe enough, even if just for a little while. That's enough for tidings of the season he can ask from the Port, really.
Sherlock picks up the gift from the windowsill and turns around to hand it to John.]
[ if John was privy to the same view as his friend, he'd make a comment about how it wasn't just the darkness that was capable of spreading across the port, but the christmas spirit... but then he would probably be accused of over-romanticizing or something equally demeaning about the way he summarized things. short, concise (and, admittedly, sometimes cheesy) was good enough for him.
John had been living with him long enough to put up with these little nuances anyway and surprise would be an understatement when Sherlock holds out his gift. so much for his sarcasm about christmas shopping earlier. ] Oh. Well, if you say so... thank you.
[On tonight, of all nights, Sherlock may have given him a pass for that. Possibly. In the end, maybe it was better not to chance it. Still, he watches with what might be recognizable as apprehension as he waits for John to unwrap his gift.
Inside his friend would find a self setting diving watch, general British service issue. Black face with silver hands, and a leather strap to match. A CWC model worth a few hundred dollars, but price was something Sherlock tended to ignore at times. The less expensive, but still pricey, gifts he'd gotten for others were proof of that. Season of giving and all that. But never mind.
Though the watch was a foreign army issue, it got a rather special treatment on the black market-- a built in five minute warning alarm for both morning and night siren. Sherlock scrawled down the instructions and placed them in the box with the watch. He was nearly hovering by John now, half wishing he hadn't bothered to get it wrapped.]
[ if John's put off with Sherlock hovering around him like an agitated bee waiting for his reaction, then he doesn't show it... well, not that much apart from his usual flash of exasperation and dutifully unwraps his gift in full view of his friend before he has a conniption.
it certainly looks pricey when he opens the case and his brow lifts when he takes a closer look, turning it over in his hands. suffice to say, he knows quite a bit about timepieces and had looked for practicability with the one he bought a few years ago that came to the port with him, which he slides off his wrist and replaces with Sherlock's gift. it fits well enough and John looks up from it with a smile. ]
This is good, Sherlock. Really, really good. Thanks.
[John's reaction is carefully gauged; Sherlock always knew when someone was disappointed by a gift he gave them. This is thankfully not one of those times, considering how much effort he'd put into the search for a change.
Now, his own reaction. Well, he feels warm. Like he'd just spent a good amount of time by a hearth rather than out in the cold. And one of his rare, genuine grins spreads across his face, though he doesn't seem to realize it. That doesn't last long, and it devolves into a tight lipped smile. He bobs a bit on his feet and nods.]
... Well, I bet you were a riot at birthday parties.
[ John sighs with exaggerated weariness and makes a beeline for the couch, instead of going to retrieve the present Sherlock has known about for ages. ] Go on, then. Bring it in here.
[He doesn't say it in a way that's asking for pity, but more like John should have known. Either way, he's off like a shot for John's bedroom. His movements stir up Blackheath, who follows him excitedly.
When Sherlock returns, he hops up onto the couch and examines the package.]
behold the depth of my instrumental ignorancesittingtypeJanuary 15 2012, 15:44:03 UTC
[ right, John should've known that and wets his lips thoughtfully. no parties or jelly and cake. when your brother is doubling as your arch-enemy, then maybe you didn't have the most conventional upbringing in the world. John forgets about that sometimes. ]
Yes, you're on the right track so far. [ he leans forwards, resting his hands on his knees and listening to Sherlock speaking out loud. it was bloody difficult wrapping a violin, but John did his best, as he did when he was looking for a replacement for the one Sherlock already owned. he doesn't have the faintest clue about violins really, but talking to the bloke at the mall, he managed to get a good deal on one of them. a copy of an antonius stradivarius, probably from a dubious origin -- it always was in the port but it was aesthetically pleasing.
he was suddenly feeling very nervous. unfamiliar territory and all that. he covers up his nervousness by whistling for Blackheath and scratching him behind the ear. ]
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After a sip, he furrows his brow.]
Is this eggnog with brandy or brandy with a drop of nog?
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Brandy with a bit of nog.
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Suppose it's officially the Eve now, isn't it?
[Last Christmas he'd been alone in a run down shack out in the agricultural sector, and the sirens hadn't been as loud. But just as he did then, Sherlock can't help but compare it to the sounding of church bells or Big Ben ringing the hours on Christmas. They're not nearly as soothing.]
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Mmhm, yes.. although I don't suppose it really matters out there, does it.
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And in spite of the outside, things were fine here. In spite of John's cast and his stiff joints, they were alright. Safe enough, even if just for a little while. That's enough for tidings of the season he can ask from the Port, really.
Sherlock picks up the gift from the windowsill and turns around to hand it to John.]
No need to wait until morning, I imagine.
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John had been living with him long enough to put up with these little nuances anyway and surprise would be an understatement when Sherlock holds out his gift. so much for his sarcasm about christmas shopping earlier. ] Oh. Well, if you say so... thank you.
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Inside his friend would find a self setting diving watch, general British service issue. Black face with silver hands, and a leather strap to match. A CWC model worth a few hundred dollars, but price was something Sherlock tended to ignore at times. The less expensive, but still pricey, gifts he'd gotten for others were proof of that. Season of giving and all that. But never mind.
Though the watch was a foreign army issue, it got a rather special treatment on the black market-- a built in five minute warning alarm for both morning and night siren. Sherlock scrawled down the instructions and placed them in the box with the watch. He was nearly hovering by John now, half wishing he hadn't bothered to get it wrapped.]
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it certainly looks pricey when he opens the case and his brow lifts when he takes a closer look, turning it over in his hands. suffice to say, he knows quite a bit about timepieces and had looked for practicability with the one he bought a few years ago that came to the port with him, which he slides off his wrist and replaces with Sherlock's gift. it fits well enough and John looks up from it with a smile. ]
This is good, Sherlock. Really, really good. Thanks.
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Now, his own reaction. Well, he feels warm. Like he'd just spent a good amount of time by a hearth rather than out in the cold. And one of his rare, genuine grins spreads across his face, though he doesn't seem to realize it. That doesn't last long, and it devolves into a tight lipped smile. He bobs a bit on his feet and nods.]
Well, erm. Merry Christmas, then.
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[ he gestures to his bedroom with a thumb and starts limping towards it. ]
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Coat closet shelf, right side, hidden under your summer clothes and a box of hospital files.
[The more typical wry smirk returns.]
If you want me to get it. I didn't open it.
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[ John sighs with exaggerated weariness and makes a beeline for the couch, instead of going to retrieve the present Sherlock has known about for ages. ] Go on, then. Bring it in here.
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[He doesn't say it in a way that's asking for pity, but more like John should have known. Either way, he's off like a shot for John's bedroom. His movements stir up Blackheath, who follows him excitedly.
When Sherlock returns, he hops up onto the couch and examines the package.]
A bit big, but not too heavy. Slender...
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Yes, you're on the right track so far. [ he leans forwards, resting his hands on his knees and listening to Sherlock speaking out loud. it was bloody difficult wrapping a violin, but John did his best, as he did when he was looking for a replacement for the one Sherlock already owned. he doesn't have the faintest clue about violins really, but talking to the bloke at the mall, he managed to get a good deal on one of them. a copy of an antonius stradivarius, probably from a dubious origin -- it always was in the port but it was aesthetically pleasing.
he was suddenly feeling very nervous. unfamiliar territory and all that. he covers up his nervousness by whistling for Blackheath and scratching him behind the ear. ]
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