Fic for igrab: Snow and Candlelight
Dec. 7th, 2010 05:55 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lavvyan.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
holmesticeTitle: Snow and Candlelight
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tatyan85
Recipient:igrab
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock/John slash, Mycroft, Harry
Rating: PG to be safe
Warnings: None
Summary: Christmas brings past memories for Sherlock, John and Mycroft.
Snow and Candlelight
“There we go! All done.”
“Lovely dear, but don’t you think that’s a little unsafe?”
John looked at the Christmas tree, now artistically decorated with unlit candles and the battered decorations passed down from his parents. He frowned at Mrs Hudson’s words as he went to put the gifts under the tree.
“I mean, Sherlock is a wonderful person but you know how he is with things like fire.”
John gave his landlady a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs Hudson. He’s promised me that there’ll be no experiments until Boxing Day. Plus I’ve always loved candlelight.”
John looked out the window wistfully; the day was crisp, the sky a clear blue with that icy colour only ever seen in winter. He sighed; still no snow.
“If you say so, my dear. I’ll make some pudding for you as well, but you’ll have to come and help me stir it.”
“Of course, Mrs Hudson.”
Mrs Hudson smiled sweetly before going downstairs. John took another look around the room, pleased with the decorations.
Sherlock was away at the moment; he’d been cornered by what had appeared to be the whole of Scotland Yard and forced to do some of his necessary paperwork.
Sherlock hated paperwork.
John had seized the opportunity to decorate the flat a bit, after all it was the 22nd of December. He’d had enough sad Christmases in Afghanistan, he planned to enjoy his first Christmas back in the UK.
He smiled at the packages under the tree; gifts for Sherlock from himself, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson; and gifts for him from Sarah, Mrs Hudson and surprisingly, even Harry. Looking at all the cheerily wrapped boxes he felt as giddy as a child again.
He quietly went to prepare some eggnog, humming ‘Jingle Bells’ to himself entirely off key, whilst the winter twilight fell over the city.
He completely missed the black car pulling up outside 221B Baker Street.
When he turned round and he saw Mycroft Holmes glancing round the room, John’s lips tightened.
“I’m afraid Sherlock got rid of all your little spying devices last week, if that’s what you’re wondering about.” John noticed Mycroft didn’t have the decency to look crestfallen.
“Yes, I know. That’s not the reason I’m here today. Quite the decorations you’ve got I see. Well, well.” John said nothing, eyeing Mycroft warily.
The taller man smiled, twirling his umbrella as he pointed at a bag close by on the floor.
John raised an eyebrow.
“Gifts, for you and my brother. I brought them here; since it seems that neither you nor Sherlock are coming to the Christmas dinner Mummy and Father are holding at the house in Tortola.”
“That’s very kind of you.” John followed Mycroft’s eyes to the tree and sighed.
“I’m not going to let Sherlock set the flat on fire, I assure you. The candles on the tree are perfectly safe. I’m not going to pull down the decorations either, no matter how much he pouts.”
“You misunderstand me Doctor, I’m sure Sherlock will like this...quite sure.” The softness in the man’s voice startled John.
He looked closer at Mycroft, who was shaking himself out of some kind of reverie before continuing on briskly, “Well, I’ll leave you and my brother to your festive cheer then. Merry Christmas, Doctor.”
Before John could respond, Mycroft was out the flat. John shook his head as he filed this moment away to that corner of his mind labelled ‘The madness of the Holmes Brothers’’.
He looked doubtfully at the bag on the floor, wondering whether it was wise to put it under the tree with the other gifts or call in the bomb disposal unit.
On the street Mycroft looked up at the well-lit sitting room of 221B Baker Street, his eyes soft.
“Sir, is everything alright?”
The man startled out of his trance before nodding to – what was her name this week? Oh, yes, Penelope.
“Yes, Penelope, I was just remembering...”
Sherlock was missing.
Of course, this was nothing new; in fact Mycroft would be worried if Sherlock was not missing. When Sherlock was in his room it usually meant he was up to something nefarious.
Still, it was his duty as the older brother to find him and make sure he wasn’t trying to blow up the house or something equally destructive and dangerous.
Mycroft wandered through the rooms of the holiday house, the Caribbean sun only just fading. The neon lights shone brightly, illuminating the glass and metal framework.
Mycroft spared a glance for the stylised crystal figure their father believed to be some sort of Christmas decoration, Mycroft rather doubted it but Father wasn’t keen on traditions and it had been the only thing Mummy had succeeded in putting on display.
With a sigh the boy went back to his search, muttering about how undignified it was for a young man of 12 to have to spend Christmas Eve looking for one’s obnoxious little brother.
After two hours of searching, Mycroft was less annoyed and much more worried.
Sherlock wasn’t in any of his usual hiding places, the servants hadn’t seen him all day and it was starting to get dark.
He toyed with the idea of calling his parents but quickly dismissed it; they were in South Korea doing something very important, the details of which Father had succeeded in keeping from him, but not for much longer if Mycroft had his way. It didn’t matter though; there was nothing they could do if they weren’t here.
After another hour Mycroft felt his heart beat quicken, his eyes started to tingle with unshed tears. He swept at them angrily, he didn’t cry, he couldn’t cry. Where on earth had the impossible little brat hidden himself?
Walking aimlessly he found himself in front of the nursery, the half-opened door revealing the darkness and – was that a light?
Mycroft opened the door and sneezed; the room was cold, the windows closed and a young boy was asleep in front of the television.
Paralysed with surprise, Mycroft stayed glued to the spot in the doorway. His brain, however, never shut down, telling him how the child had probably turned down the air conditioning to make the room colder. He took everything in: there was a palm tree covered in several red and green paper decorations with a badly wrapped empty box underneath; Sherlock was dressed in his winter attire, gloves and all; and on the television there appeared to be a BBC Christmas special showing image after image of roast dinners, Christmas puddings and Christmas trees. Finally in Sherlock’s little fist there was an aborted attempt to make a candle using floor wax.
Mycroft shook his head, quietly going to turn the television off. Sherlock blinked, looking up at his brother then down at his attempt at making a candle in his hands.
Mycroft couldn’t hold back a smile as he picked his little brother up to carry back to his room.
“You can’t make candles out of floor wax little brother.” Sherlock pouted in response; he was very good at it.
“Candlelight is beautiful, it softens the world Mycroft. It makes everything else go away.”
Mycroft stilled at the words mumbled by the half asleep child lying in his arms. Looking down at his brother he saw Sherlock was sleeping again, snuggled up against his chest.
Heaving a sigh he finished carrying the small child back to his room where he helped Sherlock out of his jumper and fuzzy socks.
Closing the door behind him he went to turn off the air conditioning, wondering where he could find a pine tree and some wrapping paper.
“Was your talk with Doctor Watson informative, sir?”
Mycroft let the memory fade. “Yes, thank you. I think my brother is going to have a wonderful Christmas this year. Drive faster could you, I don’t want to miss my plane.”
“Of course, sir.”
It was late.
John lit the last of the candles and stood back admiring his handiwork. The tree was positively glowing in the dark sitting room, putting a smile on his face.
He had helped Mrs Hudson with the turkey, the pudding and all the other wonderful food they’d be eating tomorrow. In return she had supplied them with some sandwiches and other finger food for dinner that night, all of which was now laid out on the table in front of the sofa in a space cleared of books, notes and God knows what else.
John’s smile quickly faded when he heard the familiar footsteps on the stairs followed by a familiar voice.
“What a waste of my time and brain, John. Can you believe they gave me one hundred and thirty two forms to sign? There should be a law against forcing someone to sign that much paperwork!”
“Well if you did it straight away, Sherlock, it wouldn’t pile up.” All he got in reply was a derisive huff as the man in question came into the room.
John didn’t have the heart to turn around, bracing himself for Sherlock’s rebuke, the giddy happiness of the day ebbing away.
Sherlock simply cleared his throat; John stiffened.
“Oh. Ohh.”
John blinked, that was the sound Sherlock made when he’d had an epiphany for the end of a case.
The doctor turned around, glancing at his partner. Sherlock looked mystified as his eyes roamed their living room, as if it were the first time he’d seen it. He looked at John, his eyes had the same look they did after an hour of lovemaking and cuddling; soft and eerie, yet astonishing in their happiness.
Before John had a chance to say anything, Sherlock had moved towards him, taking him in his arms before kissing him.
John felt himself relaxing, letting his lover hold him in the candlelight.
“Your brother brought us our gifts. I always thought he had a secret identity, but Santa Claus wasn’t what I was thinking.”
Sherlock snorted a laugh. “The very idea!”
“Well you have to admit it would explain a lot.”
“Yes, it’s going to snow John, you can stop looking out the window it won’t help in anyway.” John looked startled, staring at Sherlock with a comically surprised expression on his face.
Sherlock smiled, satisfied, and snuggled up closer to John under the blanket they had thrown over themselves sitting on the couch, wiggling his toes and yawning.
The candlelight was pleasant, as was the food and the company. Sherlock tried to snuggle even closer, manoeuvring his long limbs as he yawned again.
John automatically put an arm around his bony yet warm and familiar form, with a raised eyebrow. “How did you...no, never mind, it was probably perfectly clear.”
Sherlock purred in response. “You like snow don’t you?”
Silence
“John?”
“Yes, yes I do...”
“John! John! Where is that boy? Harry, have you seen your brother?”
“No mum.”
Mrs Watson let out a sigh as she looked worriedly around the dimly lit living room; the light of the candle she was holding casting shadows on the furniture, the green and red decorations seemed eerie as the flame flickered.
“Harry go and search for your brother, he’s too young to be off on his own and it’s about to start snowing. This power cut’s come at the worst time.”
Harry sighed; annoyed, she left the toy car she was playing with to go and search for her four year old brother. Little things only caused trouble.
Half an hour later the whole household; Mrs Watson, Mr Watson and even Harry were all frantic, John hadn’t been found anywhere. It was now snowing and the power was still out, the only light was that of candles.
Harry was running around worried and angry with her little brother. It was Christmas Eve! They should all be having fun and trying to guess their presents; instead her parents were thinking about calling the police and it just wasn’t right!
The house was so different in the dark, with only candles for light, every shadow scared her and monsters were hiding everywhere.
She opened the back door, tiptoeing to reach the chain as she tried to get away from the shadows, sneezing as the sudden cold hit her.
She glanced up at the sky; it was strangely calm in the cold night, the soft light that precedes snow relieving the darkness.
She rubbed her hands together and it was then that she saw him.
She ran towards her brother who was busy jumping up and down, throwing glitter in the air.
“Mum! Mum, I’ve found him!” she yelled.
Not ten minutes later John Watson was tucked up beneath a warm blanket, merrily drinking a mug of hot chocolate.
Harry Watson, in a similar condition, was watching her younger brother in the weak candlelight whilst their father looked on, relief having replaced the anger from earlier.
“So young man, what were you doing out there?”
John looked surprised and showed his father one tiny fist. Inside was what remained of the glitter he’d been throwing.
“Mark said you can make it snow if you do a snow dance. I’ve never seen snow and it’s Christmas, it has to snow!”
Their parents tried hard not to smile at each other as Mrs Watson lowered herself to her son’s side.
“John, you must never go outside in the dark on your own again, it scared me and daddy. Do you understand?”
Harry shivered, when mum used that quiet and sad tone of voice things were bad, it was worse than shouting.
John looked up at his mother and nodded, looking anxious all of a sudden.
“But you still love me mum, don’t you?”
Mrs Watson laughed and hugged her son, nodding, whilst Mr Watson stood up, smiling out the window.
“It looks like your glitter was magical after all, look it’s snowing.”
Harry snorted, she was a big girl and big girls don’t believe in magic. Still she threw a glance at her brother’s fist still clutching onto the glitter.
John smiled from the circle of his mother’s arms, blue eyes wide and staring out the window where big, white flakes were falling in the candlelight.
“Snow is like forgiveness, isn’t it mum?” Mrs Watson laughed, hugging her son tighter and kissing his brow tenderly.
“Yes John, it is.”
John shook his head; Harry loved to remind him of that particular story and the ‘snow-dancing’.
He looked back down at the mass of dark curls currently splayed across his chest, smiling softly he kissed them.
His eyes wandered over the bullet holes in the wall and over to the fridge, which all too often contained some sort of creepy experiment; he smiled again.
“It’s snowing, right now.”
John turned his head, not bothering to guess how Sherlock was able to see the window from his position. He smiled for the third time that evening as the great, white flakes fell from the sky and he relaxed back into the sofa.
Sherlock purred again. “I bet Mycroft tried to disguise his gift for me, he does it every year. I can still tell what it is though.”
“No you can’t. Not if your brothers disguised it.”
“I can tell you what Sarah’s gift is.”
“Don’t!”
“It’s a...”
“Sherlock, I just told you not to! If you tell me now, I’ll get my own back somehow.”
“Well she hasn’t used much creativity or imagination.”
“Sherlock!”
Sherlock gave a deep laugh from his position lying over the chest of his lover, making John laugh as well.
The snow continued to fall silently outside, whilst the candles lit their small room.
Author:
tatyan85Recipient:
igrabCharacters/Pairings: Sherlock/John slash, Mycroft, Harry
Rating: PG to be safe
Warnings: None
Summary: Christmas brings past memories for Sherlock, John and Mycroft.
“There we go! All done.”
“Lovely dear, but don’t you think that’s a little unsafe?”
John looked at the Christmas tree, now artistically decorated with unlit candles and the battered decorations passed down from his parents. He frowned at Mrs Hudson’s words as he went to put the gifts under the tree.
“I mean, Sherlock is a wonderful person but you know how he is with things like fire.”
John gave his landlady a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Mrs Hudson. He’s promised me that there’ll be no experiments until Boxing Day. Plus I’ve always loved candlelight.”
John looked out the window wistfully; the day was crisp, the sky a clear blue with that icy colour only ever seen in winter. He sighed; still no snow.
“If you say so, my dear. I’ll make some pudding for you as well, but you’ll have to come and help me stir it.”
“Of course, Mrs Hudson.”
Mrs Hudson smiled sweetly before going downstairs. John took another look around the room, pleased with the decorations.
Sherlock was away at the moment; he’d been cornered by what had appeared to be the whole of Scotland Yard and forced to do some of his necessary paperwork.
Sherlock hated paperwork.
John had seized the opportunity to decorate the flat a bit, after all it was the 22nd of December. He’d had enough sad Christmases in Afghanistan, he planned to enjoy his first Christmas back in the UK.
He smiled at the packages under the tree; gifts for Sherlock from himself, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson; and gifts for him from Sarah, Mrs Hudson and surprisingly, even Harry. Looking at all the cheerily wrapped boxes he felt as giddy as a child again.
He quietly went to prepare some eggnog, humming ‘Jingle Bells’ to himself entirely off key, whilst the winter twilight fell over the city.
He completely missed the black car pulling up outside 221B Baker Street.
When he turned round and he saw Mycroft Holmes glancing round the room, John’s lips tightened.
“I’m afraid Sherlock got rid of all your little spying devices last week, if that’s what you’re wondering about.” John noticed Mycroft didn’t have the decency to look crestfallen.
“Yes, I know. That’s not the reason I’m here today. Quite the decorations you’ve got I see. Well, well.” John said nothing, eyeing Mycroft warily.
The taller man smiled, twirling his umbrella as he pointed at a bag close by on the floor.
John raised an eyebrow.
“Gifts, for you and my brother. I brought them here; since it seems that neither you nor Sherlock are coming to the Christmas dinner Mummy and Father are holding at the house in Tortola.”
“That’s very kind of you.” John followed Mycroft’s eyes to the tree and sighed.
“I’m not going to let Sherlock set the flat on fire, I assure you. The candles on the tree are perfectly safe. I’m not going to pull down the decorations either, no matter how much he pouts.”
“You misunderstand me Doctor, I’m sure Sherlock will like this...quite sure.” The softness in the man’s voice startled John.
He looked closer at Mycroft, who was shaking himself out of some kind of reverie before continuing on briskly, “Well, I’ll leave you and my brother to your festive cheer then. Merry Christmas, Doctor.”
Before John could respond, Mycroft was out the flat. John shook his head as he filed this moment away to that corner of his mind labelled ‘The madness of the Holmes Brothers’’.
He looked doubtfully at the bag on the floor, wondering whether it was wise to put it under the tree with the other gifts or call in the bomb disposal unit.
On the street Mycroft looked up at the well-lit sitting room of 221B Baker Street, his eyes soft.
“Sir, is everything alright?”
The man startled out of his trance before nodding to – what was her name this week? Oh, yes, Penelope.
“Yes, Penelope, I was just remembering...”
Sherlock was missing.
Of course, this was nothing new; in fact Mycroft would be worried if Sherlock was not missing. When Sherlock was in his room it usually meant he was up to something nefarious.
Still, it was his duty as the older brother to find him and make sure he wasn’t trying to blow up the house or something equally destructive and dangerous.
Mycroft wandered through the rooms of the holiday house, the Caribbean sun only just fading. The neon lights shone brightly, illuminating the glass and metal framework.
Mycroft spared a glance for the stylised crystal figure their father believed to be some sort of Christmas decoration, Mycroft rather doubted it but Father wasn’t keen on traditions and it had been the only thing Mummy had succeeded in putting on display.
With a sigh the boy went back to his search, muttering about how undignified it was for a young man of 12 to have to spend Christmas Eve looking for one’s obnoxious little brother.
After two hours of searching, Mycroft was less annoyed and much more worried.
Sherlock wasn’t in any of his usual hiding places, the servants hadn’t seen him all day and it was starting to get dark.
He toyed with the idea of calling his parents but quickly dismissed it; they were in South Korea doing something very important, the details of which Father had succeeded in keeping from him, but not for much longer if Mycroft had his way. It didn’t matter though; there was nothing they could do if they weren’t here.
After another hour Mycroft felt his heart beat quicken, his eyes started to tingle with unshed tears. He swept at them angrily, he didn’t cry, he couldn’t cry. Where on earth had the impossible little brat hidden himself?
Walking aimlessly he found himself in front of the nursery, the half-opened door revealing the darkness and – was that a light?
Mycroft opened the door and sneezed; the room was cold, the windows closed and a young boy was asleep in front of the television.
Paralysed with surprise, Mycroft stayed glued to the spot in the doorway. His brain, however, never shut down, telling him how the child had probably turned down the air conditioning to make the room colder. He took everything in: there was a palm tree covered in several red and green paper decorations with a badly wrapped empty box underneath; Sherlock was dressed in his winter attire, gloves and all; and on the television there appeared to be a BBC Christmas special showing image after image of roast dinners, Christmas puddings and Christmas trees. Finally in Sherlock’s little fist there was an aborted attempt to make a candle using floor wax.
Mycroft shook his head, quietly going to turn the television off. Sherlock blinked, looking up at his brother then down at his attempt at making a candle in his hands.
Mycroft couldn’t hold back a smile as he picked his little brother up to carry back to his room.
“You can’t make candles out of floor wax little brother.” Sherlock pouted in response; he was very good at it.
“Candlelight is beautiful, it softens the world Mycroft. It makes everything else go away.”
Mycroft stilled at the words mumbled by the half asleep child lying in his arms. Looking down at his brother he saw Sherlock was sleeping again, snuggled up against his chest.
Heaving a sigh he finished carrying the small child back to his room where he helped Sherlock out of his jumper and fuzzy socks.
Closing the door behind him he went to turn off the air conditioning, wondering where he could find a pine tree and some wrapping paper.
“Was your talk with Doctor Watson informative, sir?”
Mycroft let the memory fade. “Yes, thank you. I think my brother is going to have a wonderful Christmas this year. Drive faster could you, I don’t want to miss my plane.”
“Of course, sir.”
It was late.
John lit the last of the candles and stood back admiring his handiwork. The tree was positively glowing in the dark sitting room, putting a smile on his face.
He had helped Mrs Hudson with the turkey, the pudding and all the other wonderful food they’d be eating tomorrow. In return she had supplied them with some sandwiches and other finger food for dinner that night, all of which was now laid out on the table in front of the sofa in a space cleared of books, notes and God knows what else.
John’s smile quickly faded when he heard the familiar footsteps on the stairs followed by a familiar voice.
“What a waste of my time and brain, John. Can you believe they gave me one hundred and thirty two forms to sign? There should be a law against forcing someone to sign that much paperwork!”
“Well if you did it straight away, Sherlock, it wouldn’t pile up.” All he got in reply was a derisive huff as the man in question came into the room.
John didn’t have the heart to turn around, bracing himself for Sherlock’s rebuke, the giddy happiness of the day ebbing away.
Sherlock simply cleared his throat; John stiffened.
“Oh. Ohh.”
John blinked, that was the sound Sherlock made when he’d had an epiphany for the end of a case.
The doctor turned around, glancing at his partner. Sherlock looked mystified as his eyes roamed their living room, as if it were the first time he’d seen it. He looked at John, his eyes had the same look they did after an hour of lovemaking and cuddling; soft and eerie, yet astonishing in their happiness.
Before John had a chance to say anything, Sherlock had moved towards him, taking him in his arms before kissing him.
John felt himself relaxing, letting his lover hold him in the candlelight.
“Your brother brought us our gifts. I always thought he had a secret identity, but Santa Claus wasn’t what I was thinking.”
Sherlock snorted a laugh. “The very idea!”
“Well you have to admit it would explain a lot.”
“Yes, it’s going to snow John, you can stop looking out the window it won’t help in anyway.” John looked startled, staring at Sherlock with a comically surprised expression on his face.
Sherlock smiled, satisfied, and snuggled up closer to John under the blanket they had thrown over themselves sitting on the couch, wiggling his toes and yawning.
The candlelight was pleasant, as was the food and the company. Sherlock tried to snuggle even closer, manoeuvring his long limbs as he yawned again.
John automatically put an arm around his bony yet warm and familiar form, with a raised eyebrow. “How did you...no, never mind, it was probably perfectly clear.”
Sherlock purred in response. “You like snow don’t you?”
Silence
“John?”
“Yes, yes I do...”
“John! John! Where is that boy? Harry, have you seen your brother?”
“No mum.”
Mrs Watson let out a sigh as she looked worriedly around the dimly lit living room; the light of the candle she was holding casting shadows on the furniture, the green and red decorations seemed eerie as the flame flickered.
“Harry go and search for your brother, he’s too young to be off on his own and it’s about to start snowing. This power cut’s come at the worst time.”
Harry sighed; annoyed, she left the toy car she was playing with to go and search for her four year old brother. Little things only caused trouble.
Half an hour later the whole household; Mrs Watson, Mr Watson and even Harry were all frantic, John hadn’t been found anywhere. It was now snowing and the power was still out, the only light was that of candles.
Harry was running around worried and angry with her little brother. It was Christmas Eve! They should all be having fun and trying to guess their presents; instead her parents were thinking about calling the police and it just wasn’t right!
The house was so different in the dark, with only candles for light, every shadow scared her and monsters were hiding everywhere.
She opened the back door, tiptoeing to reach the chain as she tried to get away from the shadows, sneezing as the sudden cold hit her.
She glanced up at the sky; it was strangely calm in the cold night, the soft light that precedes snow relieving the darkness.
She rubbed her hands together and it was then that she saw him.
She ran towards her brother who was busy jumping up and down, throwing glitter in the air.
“Mum! Mum, I’ve found him!” she yelled.
Not ten minutes later John Watson was tucked up beneath a warm blanket, merrily drinking a mug of hot chocolate.
Harry Watson, in a similar condition, was watching her younger brother in the weak candlelight whilst their father looked on, relief having replaced the anger from earlier.
“So young man, what were you doing out there?”
John looked surprised and showed his father one tiny fist. Inside was what remained of the glitter he’d been throwing.
“Mark said you can make it snow if you do a snow dance. I’ve never seen snow and it’s Christmas, it has to snow!”
Their parents tried hard not to smile at each other as Mrs Watson lowered herself to her son’s side.
“John, you must never go outside in the dark on your own again, it scared me and daddy. Do you understand?”
Harry shivered, when mum used that quiet and sad tone of voice things were bad, it was worse than shouting.
John looked up at his mother and nodded, looking anxious all of a sudden.
“But you still love me mum, don’t you?”
Mrs Watson laughed and hugged her son, nodding, whilst Mr Watson stood up, smiling out the window.
“It looks like your glitter was magical after all, look it’s snowing.”
Harry snorted, she was a big girl and big girls don’t believe in magic. Still she threw a glance at her brother’s fist still clutching onto the glitter.
John smiled from the circle of his mother’s arms, blue eyes wide and staring out the window where big, white flakes were falling in the candlelight.
“Snow is like forgiveness, isn’t it mum?” Mrs Watson laughed, hugging her son tighter and kissing his brow tenderly.
“Yes John, it is.”
John shook his head; Harry loved to remind him of that particular story and the ‘snow-dancing’.
He looked back down at the mass of dark curls currently splayed across his chest, smiling softly he kissed them.
His eyes wandered over the bullet holes in the wall and over to the fridge, which all too often contained some sort of creepy experiment; he smiled again.
“It’s snowing, right now.”
John turned his head, not bothering to guess how Sherlock was able to see the window from his position. He smiled for the third time that evening as the great, white flakes fell from the sky and he relaxed back into the sofa.
Sherlock purred again. “I bet Mycroft tried to disguise his gift for me, he does it every year. I can still tell what it is though.”
“No you can’t. Not if your brothers disguised it.”
“I can tell you what Sarah’s gift is.”
“Don’t!”
“It’s a...”
“Sherlock, I just told you not to! If you tell me now, I’ll get my own back somehow.”
“Well she hasn’t used much creativity or imagination.”
“Sherlock!”
Sherlock gave a deep laugh from his position lying over the chest of his lover, making John laugh as well.
The snow continued to fall silently outside, whilst the candles lit their small room.
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no subject
Date: 2010-12-07 06:48 am (UTC)He quietly went to prepare some eggnog, humming ‘Jingle Bells’ to himself entirely off key
Aaaahhhh I love this. ♥ I love John being musically inept.
“You misunderstand me Doctor, I’m sure Sherlock will like this...quite sure.” The softness in the man’s voice startled John.
SQUEE
He looked doubtfully at the bag on the floor, wondering whether it was wise to put it under the tree with the other gifts or call in the bomb disposal unit.
ashdkfljsd LOL. LOLLL. (the second, john. definitely the second. ;D)
Paralysed with surprise, ... attempt to make a candle using floor wax.
!!!! Oh my god, this whole paragraph. Love. LOVE.
“Candlelight is beautiful, it softens the world Mycroft. It makes everything else go away.”
HAJSLFJKSDGKSD I am just imagining adorable tiny Sherlock saying this in Mycroft's arms OH MY GOD /explodes
SHERLOCK'S APPEARANCE, IT WAS AMAZING. Just, that whole scene EEEEE.
Sherlock smiled, satisfied, and snuggled up closer to John
Aaaahhhhh Sherlock being all coy and deductive and then SNUGGLING. I want this forever.
Harry snorted, she was a big girl and big girls don’t believe in magic.
I just love your wee Harry. Already so cynical ♥ but in a really cute, little-girl-trying-to-be-a-grownup way.
OH JUST ALL OF THIS. ALL OF IT. THIS IS WONDERFUL. Also, I love that Sarah got him a gift and they are (still) on good terms ♥ THANK YOU SO MUCH ANONYPERSON.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-07 01:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-07 06:21 pm (UTC)I particularly liked Mycroft in this.
Just lovely! Well done! I didn't want it to end. <3
no subject
Date: 2010-12-12 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 03:58 pm (UTC)