The Only Thing Worth Fighting For

Chapter 17

The carrot was hanging from the knocker of the black door on a length of gold tinsel which had been procured from Mrs Hudson, spray snow covered the windows which were lit up with colourful bulbs from the Christmas lights. Baker Street and most of London was decadently decorated for Christmas.

Sherlock looked on bemused as John carried Rosie around the room on his hip; John carried a plate of biscuits in his hand balancing a small silver tankard in the middle of the crockery as he placed it on the mantelpiece with a grinning and warm smile.

"For Father Christmas" John nodded and looked at Sherlock.

The detective simply nodded in agreement and took to his chair, pulling his violin onto his knee he began playing hymns and carols softly as John stood beside the large and intricately decorated Christmas tree he had insisted on purchasing. Sherlock had helped to dress the tree under duress but soon found that his lover's excitement was infectious; the detective placed the shiny baubles in geometrically perfect patterns and stood back to admire his handiwork. John gave the final trinket to Sherlock and looked down at his own colourful bauble,

John had been out shopping and had found the perfect ornament. His mother had a family tradition when they were growing up; each year Mrs Watson would take Harry and John shopping and allow them to pick their own bauble to represent their year gone by. A happy memory was spoken in front of the tree before the bauble was placed onto the branch, every year when the family unwrapped all of their decorations, they would remember the memory of the bauble before adding the next one.

"It's a tradition" John blushed before looking at Sherlock with wide, ocean blue eyes. "We give a memory to the tree and then next year, we get another and another. Eventually, the tree will be filled with happy memories"

Sherlock nodded his understanding before thinking; the bauble was simple, a silver metal with an intricate pattern of music notes engraved into the curve.

"This year I got you back" Sherlock whispered, "You came back to me and filled the void in my life"

John gulped back tears and reached to entwine his fingers into Sherlock's realising that the detective hadn't finished.

"You brought me somebody else to love. I adore your daughter as much as I love you. You've given me a reason to live outside of death, cases and puzzles"

The doctor swallowed once more; the lump in his throat was becoming larger and caused him to dramatically attempt to clear his airways before speaking and looking down at his own trinket. His was a plain clear plastic, a picture of Sherlock holding Abigail and smiling into the camera. It had been a candid and secret photograph which Sherlock wasn't aware of as John pointed his mobile towards the sofa where the pair had been cuddling. The picture was so beautiful that John had made it into a decoration to keep forever.

"I'm thankful for having you as a best friend, a... lover" John smiled coyly "and a guardian to my child. I never expected to have this"

Both men took a moment to gather themselves before adding their decorations to the tree and taking a step back. It looked elegant and pretty but homely at the same time.

"What time will everyone be here tomorrow?" Sherlock asked, moving to his seat once more and folding his legs.

"About one, Mrs Hudson is cooking the turkey but we're doing the rest up here" John smiled as he took a seat opposite and nuzzled into Rosie's cheek. Blowing a soft raspberry on her skin.

"Who's coming?" Sherlock asked despite knowing already. He just hoped that perhaps it had changed.

"You know" John grumbled before rolling his eyes and indulging his man-child lover "There will be me and you, Mrs Hudson, Greg and Molly are coming over if she can stomach the smell. Her morning sickness has been rather terrible apparently"