Deduce Me

Twenty-two: Oh, it's Christmas!

(That picture makes me laugh every time I see it. Okay, sorry... Carry on.)

John
(Go figure...)

Sherlock and I were tangled up in his sheets when Mycroft called for us. Of course, we didn't answer. His next attempt to get us to come down was to call both of our phones; we let them go to voicemail. Finally, he sent Greg up to bring us down. Greg knocked on the door (to which Sherlock shouted "Go away!" but Greg ignored him), then peeked his head through to try to talk to us.

Like I mentioned, we were wrapped up in the sheets, so Greg turned right back around, blushing, when he saw us. I think I even heard him laughing.

Finally, Mycroft gave in and dragged his lazy arse up the stairs. We heard him coming, of course, and Sherlock wanted to piss him off, as usual, so we didn't bother to get dressed to meet him. Instead, we only took the sheet with us to answer the door when Mycroft knocked.

He opened the door to see us, Sherlock standing behind me, both of us wrapped in the same white sheet. Sherlock's hair was a fantastic array of wild curls, while mine was spiked up in every direction. Our height difference made it hard to keep the sheet around both of us, so a vast amount of Sherlock's chest and collarbone was showing, but that was about it.

Mycroft's eyes widened to about the size of saucers.

With his hand clenched at his side and his mouth gaping open like a fish, he made some sort of strangled sound of disbelief. Sherlock snickered in my ear.

"Trousers?" Mycroft choked out.

"Nope." Sherlock used that wonderful idiosyncrasy of popping the "p" sound.

"Just... Please, tell me you're wearing pants."

I didn't have to see my boyfriend's face to know he was smiling mischievously.

"For the record," I partly reassured, "one of us is wearing pants."

Mycroft slammed the door in our faces as we dissolved into laughter.

»»»

We made it downstairs for dinner a few minutes later, fully clothed, much to Greg and Mycroft's relief. They didn't say anything, but Greg seemed to find something funny- he kept looking over to Sherlock and giggling like he knew something we didn't.

We sat down to eat, and I saw what Sherlock had been talking about when he said his mother opens up more if her husband wasn't around. I mean, she was still the same cold-hearted person she was before, except now that Siger was gone, Violet warmed up a bit. Not much, but just a little.

After about five minutes or so, Violet eyed me from across the table. "So, John... How long have you and my son been dating?"

I nearly spit my drink over the whole table, but checked myself just in time. Coughing, I managed to ask, "Wh-what?!"

"I was just curious. If you didn't want me to know, then... Well, Sherlock has such pale skin, you really should be more careful where you leave... Erm, marks."

I thought Greg and Mycroft were going to die, they were laughing so hard. My face was flaming, so I looked to Sherlock to see of he understood anything that just happened, because I sure didn't. His eyes were wide.

Suddenly I understood. There, on the left side of his neck, dark purple against his alabaster skin, were no less than three hickeys, showing the exact shape of my mouth on his skin.

Sherlock placed a hand over his neck and the other over his eyes, refusing to acknowledge us. Violet snickered as I squeezed my eyes shut and slowly lowered my head to rest my forehead on the table in front of me. "Oh, God..." I groaned in embarrassment.

The three others erupted into laughter again while Sherlock and I blushed.

>>>>

The rest of that night went smoothly, for the most part. After dinner, Sherlock retreated to his room, but I stayed downstairs for another hour or so, talking to Greg and Mycroft some more. I also got to talk to Violet some, but she soon retreated to her room after Siger emerged from his study.

Of course, after Violet left, I became a little uncomfortable when silence fell on the room and Greg started looking at Mycroft with uninterupted devotion in his eyes. It was incredibly sweet, but frankly disturbing.

So, rather than watch them have eye sex from across the room, I opted to hunt down my boyfriend. Halfway up the stairs, I heard it. He was playing the violin. I love when he plays the violin, because he always transports me to another world with it. He was in his sitting room, standing, facing the window.

The music reverberated around the room, slow and haunting, the melancholic notes dragging the bow across the strings in a depressing dance. Sherlock heard the click of the door and turned to me, the notes suddenly growing a little higher, the tune just a beat quicker. He smiled at me.

I walked slowly towards him and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind him. As the song drifted to a close, I rested my chin on his shoulder and whispered in his ear: "I think I love you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"I love you too, John Hamish Watson." I slid my hands around his skinny waist, he put his instrument down, and we crawled under the covers together.

"Goodnight, Jawn."

"Goodnight, Sherlock," I yawned. He kissed my nose as I closed my eyes.

****Christmas Morning****

"JOHN! John, get up!" Sherlock bounced on the bed to try to wake me. He had a foot on either side of me, standing over me, but leaned over with his hands on his knees.

"Mmmm, Nuuuh..." I mumbled and rolled over. "Sh'lock? What... What time is it?" I peered up at him through sleep-heavy eyes. He was shirtless, but had on his blue bath robe and grey pajama bottoms.

"It's half past one. Time to get up!!"

My eyes flitted to the window. It was pitch black outside. "IN THE MORNING?! What the hell, Sherlock? Go back to bed!!" I pulled the pillow over my face.

He took it away and jumped off the bed to switch on the light. Blinded, I had to shade my eyes so they could adjust. "No, John, there's a case. A CASE! And the DI is giving me free reign. Isn't this fantastic?" He was already getting dressed, pulling on his suit jacket.

I sat up. "But Sherlock, it's Christmas!"

He smiled his "I'm-so-happy-someone-understands" smile. "Oh, John, I feel the same."

I glared.

A brief flash of confusion passed over his face before realization dawned. "Oh, you meant it's actually Christmas. Never mind that, there's a case!"

I sighed as I pulled my clothes out of a drawer. "Fine, fine. Go... Call a cab. I'll get dressed and meet you downstairs."

He couldn't hold back his grin. I laughed as he bolted out the door and down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house.

I found him outside, holding the cab door open. It was incredibly dark outside, so I made my way to him carefully. As soon as we were in, the cab was speeding off; the thing about Sherlock is that when you're with him, you're never bored.