Secret Santa for TheCakeIsALie (Sherlock)

[MaiMai]

Merry Christmas, TheCakeIsALie! I have to admit I was slightly nervous when I discovered I was writing for you this year, just because I know you've done/do a lot for our forum and I felt like you deserved something really special! Anyway, I tried my best and I really hope you like it!

Christmas at 221B

"Your insatiable desire to make the flat look ’Christmas-y’ concerns me, John."

"And your aversion to Christmas concerns me, Sherlock."

"I do not have an aversion," Sherlock responded, looking up in annoyance from his current experiment. "I simply don’t see the point of wasting time on such a trivial holiday. The correct name for Christmas isn’t ‘Christmas’, you do know. It should be Saturnalia.”

"The point isn’t whether it’s correct or not," John’s answer was distracted as he threaded the last few baubles onto their – or, according to Sherlock, entirely his - Christmas tree. The fight to make the flat festive had been an uphill struggle; he had resorted to gradually adding decorations in the hopes that Sherlock wouldn’t notice the transition. That had gone about as well as you might expect, considering how much he prided himself on his powers of observation. "The point is that you’ve never celebrated Christmas. How can you never

have celebrated Christmas?"

"You’ve asked that question six times this afternoon, John. You’ve already got your answer."

“Never? Not even as a child?"

"Boring." Was the abrupt and blunt answer. The hand holding a pipette shook a little as he twisted to bury his face in a shoulder, blue eyes fluttering shut. "hh-hh!-hhah’ktssh!"

"Bless you." Sherlock didn’t bother acknowledging the blessing. John hadn’t expected him to. He wasn’t honestly sure why he bothered with the social pleasantries around someone as utterly immune to convention as Sherlock. Force of habit, he supposed.

"I dislike that tree. I believe it makes me sternutate."

"You could say ’sneeze’ like a regular person."

"Regular person," Sherlock scoffed as he returned to his work. "Regular people are dull."

"So you’ve said." Sensing he was fighting a lost cause John continued in his decoration of the tree, humming softly under his breath. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"Boring tree, boring decorations, boring hhh-holiday-hih-tssh! ehhKTSHH!" He blinked and pulled out a handkerchief to sniffle into.

"I still can’t believe you use those things." Predictably, Sherlock ignored him. John wandered into the cluttered kitchen, where he peered into a jug on the countertop and frowned.

"Sherlock, did you add something to the mulled wine?"

"Oh," He looked up, expression impossibly innocent. "That was mulled wine? I assumed it was a base you kindly pre-made for me."

John could only blink at him in disbelief. "What did you put in it?"

"Cyanide, aconite, maybe a little arsenic."

"Are you trying to kill us both?"

Sherlock, worryingly, actually had to consider his answer for a moment.

"No, I don’t believe I-hh-hh!" He clamped a hand hastily over his nose and mouth. "ahkTSHH-uuh!"

The handkerchief made a brief reappearance along with a few more ticklish sounding snuffles.

"Bless you." It was tense and strained as John slumped, defeated, in his armchair. "I give up."

"I would advise you do so, John. Your attempts to get me to celebrate such a consumerist holiday don’t appear to be successful.” John sighed, but he wasn’t completely dissuaded just yet.

“Couldn’t you play a Christmas song on your violin?”

“I was under the impression you disliked my violin playing.” The detective replied with perhaps the most explicitly derisive sniffle John had ever heard. He hadn’t even known it was possible to express so much disdain with such a simple sound, but Sherlock had certainly managed it.

“When you’re playing violin at four in the morning I dislike it.”

“I play when I’m thinking, John. Not when it suits my flatmate.”

“So I gathered.” Came the simple reply. It had been several months now since the fateful meeting at the hospital; John had long since learnt not to take Sherlock’s remarks to heart.

He glanced over at the small pile of presents beneath the tree. “I suppose I might as well get rid of those, since you’re so determined not to celebrate ‘Saturnalia’.”

Sherlock didn’t react apart from a small crease between his eyebrows, whether stemming from scorn or continued irritation, John couldn’t be sure. He started moving the packages around, only to come across one he didn’t recognise. It was possibly the sloppiest wrapping he had ever come across; corners and edges sticking up awkwardly and tape barely holding the paper together.

“What is this?” There was no response from behind him. “Sherlock, did you do this?” The detective shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“You were so determined to celebrate Satur-Christmas, I thought I might adhere to at least one tradition.”

“Oh.” John couldn’t honestly come up with anything to say in the face of the unprecedented response. “Thanks.”

A hand waved dismissively as Sherlock shook his head, but it quickly transferred back to his lower countenance.

“hheh-hhahTSSH! This doesn’t mean I want to celebrate Christmas, doctor.”

He had a tendency to do that, John had noticed. Whenever he felt uncomfortable or awkward – which despite Sherlock’s protests, he was positive were part of his apparently non-existent emotional range – he reverted to formalities, referring to John as ‘doctor’ rather than by his first name. It was almost endearing, in an odd way.

“Of course not.” John responded, smiling to himself.

“And you can stop smiling like that.” Sherlock placed the vial he had been examining back on the table with a huff. “I believe I do know of one song I could play that might be fitting.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you familiar with Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’?”

“I don’t think I am.”

With a sigh directed at John’s musical ineptitude Sherlock shouldered his violin. He made it only a few notes into the song before stopping hastily.

“hhh-hhtSHH!”

“Maybe you should wait until that calms down first.” John suggested. His flatmate chose to ignore him and instead of answering Sherlock simply continued, sniffling occasionally but playing steadily and fluidly as he slowly relaxed into the piece.

John allowed himself a private smile. Christmas, at 221B Baker Street. A proper, mundane, ‘regular person’ Christmas with a tree and presents and music, even if provided and participated in somewhat grudgingly. Whoever would have thought it?

[TheCakeIsAlive]

EEEEE! Thank you so much!

It's awesome I really love it. It's so much *them* and EEE!

Thank you so much! May have to come back later and comment again.

[beatlelover22]

THIS WAS SO CUTE! Awww, Sherlock allergic to the tree! And unlike John I am familiar with Vivaldi's "Winter"! It's one of my favourite seasons! Anyway, I really enjoyed reading it!

[TheCakeIsAlive]

I love how Sherlock's façade of uncaringness falls away a bit. Also... they should definitely keep that tree. Your spellings are lovely.

Vivaldi is quite appropriate too So awesome. xD

[VoOs]

*happy giggle* Ohh, the banter...

“When you’re playing violin at four in the morning I dislike it.”

“I play when I’m thinking, John. Not when it suits my flatmate.

I can hear their voices so clearly in my head.

What a lovely, Christmas-y treat. <3

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

Marvelous! I also love that Sherlock is allergic to the tree. A bit like being allergic to Christmas. But he's going to put up with it for John. Adorable.

[AngelEyes]

"Your insatiable desire to make the flat look ’Christmas-y’ concerns me, John."

"And your aversion to Christmas concerns me, Sherlock."

So Them! I love this! It's adorable!

[stargazer]

Adorable.