The One Next Door

So Long, Farewell, Thank God

    In the morning when they woke up, Sherlock woke up first, for once. He was snuggled deeply into John's chest, his arms wrapped sloth like around John's neck, holding him in somewhat of a chokehold. Of course, since John's eyes were still closed, Sherlock couldn't move or adjust his flailing limbs, so he just lay as still as he could, suddenly aware of all the soreness in his muscles as he refused to move them.
"Based on the sudden change of breathing, I'd say someone's awake." John muttered, almost scaring Sherlock out of his mind.
"I thought you were asleep?" Sherlock asked, taking advantage of John's consciousness and moving his arms around.
"I'm awake." John insisted.
"Obviously." Sherlock muttered. John's lips cracked into a loving smile, and he kissed Sherlock's forehead quickly.
"You ready to eat some omelets?" he asked.
"Not particularly." Sherlock sighed.
"Mine is going to be amazing." John decided.
"Honestly, just five more minutes?" Sherlock groaned, snuggling even closer to John to make sure he couldn't escape.
"I've got to be prepared." John pointed out.
"Tomorrow morning we'll have to wake up at six." Sherlock insisted.
"Alright, five more minutes." John agreed. Sherlock smiled, laying his head back down on the pillow and touching their foreheads together.
"It's so nice to wake up and see your face." John decided.
"Likewise." Sherlock agreed. John just laughed, as if he couldn't believe what a child Sherlock was.
"Make your own complements, come on Sherlock." John laughed.
"Alright, alright, let me have time to think." Sherlock muttered.
"You can't think, you just have to find the moment, lightning strikes." John pointed out.
"I'll think of something, I will." Sherlock debated.
"I feel like if you end up proposing it's going to be worse than the Hallmark channel." John guessed.
"I'm not that monotone, am I?" Sherlock asked.
"You're perfect." John insisted.
"There you go again, you're out of control!" Sherlock exclaimed. John just laughed, shaking his head a little bit with amusement.
"Has that been five minutes?" John asked.
"No, but since you're so anxious to go make an omelet and an old lady cry, then I suppose we can cut snuggle time short." Sherlock sighed.
"We'll have plenty of time once we get back home." John decided.
"Ya, alright." Sherlock agreed, clambering out of the bed and pulling on his robe. John yawned loudly, tying his robe and marching officially down the stairs, as if he were walking up to the starting line of the Olympics.
"I've got my war paint on, let's do this!" John called throughout the house, bouncing into the kitchen with a large smile on his face.
"Don't get too arrogant John, I'm an old lady, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." Mrs. Holmes insisted. She was waiting at the kitchen with two pans, cutting boards, bowls, and everything else they could possibly need. There were scattered vegetables on the counter, salt, pepper, and a carton of eggs for each participant.
"You ready to lose?" John asked.
"I think we should each have an assistant." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"Sherlock's a rubbish chief." John complained.
"They won't cook, just fetch us the things we need." Mrs. Holmes shrugged.
"Fair enough. And Mycroft will judge." John decided. Mycroft looked up lazily from the paper, gave John a sort of suspicious look, and hummed in agreement.
"Alright then, you ready?" John asked, hopping up and down on his heels.
"Is this timed?" Sherlock asked.
"Twenty minutes on the clock." Mrs. Holmes decided.
"Since when?" John whined.
"Go!" Mrs. Holmes yelled, and John scrambled to his oven desperately, and they were off. Sherlock was sure that it was fun for them. His mother and John were honestly both working their hardest to get those bloody omelets perfect, but for Sherlock and Mr. Holmes, the 'assistants', it wasn't fun at all. John just yelled, holding out his hand and shaking it without really telling Sherlock what he needed.
"Shockingly, I'm not telepathic!" Sherlock yelled.
"Onions!" John insisted, poking around the edges of his eggs. Sherlock gave him the onions that he had very messily chopped, and John threw them into the mix, adding parsley, peppers, mushrooms, and all kinds of spices. Finally, in twelve minutes, John very carefully tipped his completed omelet onto a plate and displayed it for all to see.
"It is done!" he said proudly. Mrs. Holmes was just pouring her eggs into the buttered pan, but she had taken more time to separate the yolks and the whites, chop her vegetables, and balance out the spices in the raw egg itself. Considering that she had put a lot more time and effort into her omelet, it wasn't a far leap as to who will win. Mrs. Holmes tipped her perfectly cooked omelet onto a plate at nineteen minutes, arranging it with parsley on top to make it seem more attractive.
"Alright, present them to the judge." Sherlock decided. Mycroft was just picking at a bowl of cereal, obviously not paying much attention to what was going on around him.
"Oh, joyous." Mycroft sighed. John sighed, very gently picking up his plate on his fingertips, as to present it like a crown or something. But, evidently, when the crown was presented to a king, there were no bumbling bulldogs to get in the way, because as soon as John took his first step, Dudley came racing into the room, obviously needing to be let out, and made John trip. His beautiful omelet went flying through the air, the plate cracking on the floor, and hit Mycroft right in the face, buttery eggy goodness dripping onto his fancy ironed suit.
"NOOOOO!" john screamed dramatically, falling to his knees in a dramatic state of denial.
"Well, I think I know the winner." Mycroft decided, sliding the omelet off of his face and letting it fall onto the table with a sickening splat.
"It's still edible, it's fine." John decided, grabbing a new plate and flopping the omelet, now falling apart, onto it. "See, good as new." He insisted.
"I'll call it a tie." Mrs. Holmes laughed, setting her plate down in front of Mycroft, who didn't seem too thrilled to be eating either one.
"That's a real let down." Sherlock decided as John pretended to slam his face into the cabinet.
"What, the omelet, or the fact that he's not actually hurting himself?" Mycroft asked.
"Mikey, be nice!" Mrs. Holmes insisted.
"Who is Mikey?" Mycroft with a bored expression.
"Not this again." Mr. Holmes sighed.
"Sorry about the plate, my idiot dog ruined the whole thing." John groaned.
"Don't listen to him Dudley, you're beautiful." Sherlock muttered.
"It's quite alright dear, accidents happen." Mrs. Holmes assured, walking over to the cabinet to get dust pan. While they were cleaning up the mess, Sherlock let Dudley outside, without a leash, just to see what he would do. But the dog was either too smart to run away or too stupid to realize he could, because he just stayed in one spot and sniffed around, typical Dudley. Sherlock sat on the stairs, letting the dog run up to him, licking his face and crawling all over his lap.
"How would you like if I married John?" Sherlock asked. Dudley only responded in more kisses, maybe with a bit of tail wagging though.
"Is that a yes?" Sherlock laughed.
"Are you talking to my dog?" John asked, standing in the doorway with a smile.
"Ah, there he is, Mr. Omelet champion!" Sherlock laughed, pushing Dudley off of his lap and going over to where John stood.
"We'll have a rematch next Christmas." John shrugged.
"When they come over to our house?" Sherlock asked.
"I'll have the home field advantage." John agreed, pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips before leading the dog back inside the house.
"You're destined to lose!" Sherlock warned.
"And you're destined to be annoying." John agreed.
"That was terrible!" Sherlock insisted.
"You're terrible!" John agreed. The rest of the day was filled with packing, Sherlock had somehow managed to spread his clothes everywhere, in the closet, under the bed, his jacket was still in the living room, he was a mess. John seemed to have kept everything neat and organized, so he took that time to help Mrs. Holmes clean up, taking the sheets off of the bed to be washed and pulling the blankets up over the mattress, as a formality or something.
"You're such a little gentleman." Sherlock laughed.
"You're a mess." John agreed as Sherlock dove back into the closet for his slacks.
"My packing mirrors my personality." Sherlock agreed.
"True." John laughed.
"I'm not that much of a mess am I?" Sherlock asked.
"You're a beautiful mess." John insisted.
"There we go again." Sherlock agreed.
"I just slips out, it's not my fault I'm a modern day Romeo." John shrugged.
"Oh stop it!" Sherlock laughed, throwing his discarded Santa hat at John as if it would stop his charm. It didn't, of course, because even after he was hit in the face with Christmas spirt, Sherlock still loved him more than existence itself. I wasn't long until they were all ready to go, Sherlock's suit case finally packed, John's suitcase with his new purse hanging out, and Dudley's bed and bowls in Molly's gigantic shopping bag. They loaded the things into the car, Dudley still in the house doing whatever he does. Mycroft was loading his car as well, a big, fancy convertible that Sherlock was sure he bought only to brag. Mycroft would never put the roof down, wind messes up his heavily gelled hair. John went into let Dudley out one more time, god forbid he had an accident in the car, and retreated back into the house to collect his idiot bulldog. Sherlock and Mycroft were left outside, Sherlock pretending to do something as he heard his brother approach the car. Maybe for a goodbye, probably for one last pest until they see each other next Christmas.
"Well, I guess I'll see you next year." Sherlock decided, breaking the silence that he knew was about to shatter anyway.
"Maybe sooner." Mycroft sighed, sliding on his expensive leather gloves with a bored expression on his face.
"For both of our sakes, I hope it's not sooner." Sherlock decided, shoving the grocery bag into the trunk.
"Be careful Sherlock." Mycroft advised.
"About what?" Sherlock asked, turning with exasperation to face his brother face to face.
"Be careful with him." Mycroft insisted, his face calm but his voice serious.
"Once more, Mycroft, just because I have a heart, doesn't mean you have to torment me for it. You have one too, you have feelings too, no matter how many times you insist on denying it." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock, I know you have a heart, and I know that he is going to break it. Just like Redbeard broke it." Mycroft pointed out. Sherlock started to say something, start to explode on Mycroft for using his childhood traumas against him, but Sherlock took a dep breath, regaining his composure, and thought about the words that came out of his mouth.
"John's not going to break my heart, I love him, he loves me, it's as simple as that." Sherlock insisted.
"Sherlock, for once, just listen to me!" Mycroft demanded, grabbing Sherlock's arm in desperation. Sherlock pushed his hand away, stepping a disgusted step back and glaring at his brother.
"No, Mycroft, I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear about the terrors of love, I don't want to hear you whine about how every single positive emotion I have will be the death of me!" Sherlock yelled. "I love him, and you just have to deal with that!"
"Sherlock, last night, I..." Mycroft started, but his sentence was cut off with the rest of the group walking down the sidewalk.
"Judging on the yelling, I'd say you two are saying goodbye?" John asked, coming up with Dudley and the Holmes parents. Mycroft closed his mouth in defeat, tapping his fingers against his legs in exasperation. Whatever he was going to say though, Sherlock didn't want to hear it. Nothing his brother could say could be important.
"Yes we are, finally." Sherlock agreed, closing the trunk with a slam and casting mere glances at his parents.
"Thanks for everything, it was a lovely Christmas." John said thankfully, giving the Holmes family (including Mycroft) hugs goodbye.
"Oh, any time dear, anytime, it was a pleasure having you." Mrs. Holmes assured, smiling genuinely.
"Bye parents, thank you for the presents." Sherlock said, hugging his parents very stiffly.
"No problem, and Sherlock, remember, we approve." Mrs. Holmes insisted, patting Sherlock on the back in encouragement. Sherlock just nodded, getting into the passenger seat and waiting for John to get the car started.
"Sherlock, heed my warning." Mycroft insisted.
"I don't even know what that means." Sherlock insisted with a laugh, and with that, John pulled out of the drive way, waving their farewell to the Holmes family, who all cheerily waved back. Except Mycroft of course, who stared at the car as if it had personally offended him.

 "Heed his warning?" John asked with a laugh, turning on the radio to some stupid pop song. 

"He's an idiot, I don't even know what he's warning me about." Sherlock assured.
"It's about me, isn't it?" John asked. Sherlock nodded guiltily, helping Dudley walk from the backseat to the front over the armrest. The last thing they needed was that dog to fall on something important, like the emergency brake, in the middle of the highway.
"He seems to think you're out to get me, that it's a big trap to break my heart." Sherlock sighed.
"And what do you think?" John asked.
"I think he's over reacting. I firmly believe that you love me just as much as I love you, and nothing my brother is going to say is going to change that." Sherlock decided.
"There it was! That was romantic!" John pointed out.
"Really?" Sherlock said proudly.
"I'm so proud." John agreed, patting Sherlock on the shoulder as quickly as he could, considering he was still driving.
"Thanks." Sherlock said with a smile, sitting up just a little bit taller. Of course, whatever self-dignity he had gained was lost very quickly as a Hollaback Girl came on, and Sherlock sang along very aggressively.
"Even the dog is judging you." John decided as Sherlock wailed out the final note.
"Then obviously your dog thinks I'm really cool." Sherlock guessed.
"Dudley thinks you're an idiot." John decided, but Dudley just jumped up onto Sherlock's chest to lick his face in approval. It seemed like the ride home was much shorter, as much as Sherlock was ready to leave the horror of his parent's house, he loved riding with John, he loved simply being in his presence. So when they pulled up in the back alley of the apartment building, Sherlock had to admit, he was a little bit disappointed. As soon as they dragged their things inside the hallway, a door flung open and Molly came rushing down the stairs, practically flinging herself at them for a three person hug.
"I missed you two so much!" she exclaimed, pretty much holding John and Sherlock in a choke hold.
"We missed you too!" John laughed, pushing her off. Dudley jumped up of course, having missed Molly as well.
"How was your parents' house?" she asked Sherlock, who just groaned.
"It was miserable." Sherlock sighed.
"It was great! They all love me, even his psycho priest uncle!" John said proudly.
"You're a likeable guy; I knew there wouldn't be problems." Molly shrugged.
"Mycroft doesn't approve." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well, from what I've gathered, Mycroft doesn't approve anything you do." John pointed out.
"That's not our concern. His brother is a snot nosed little brat." Molly decided.
"Preach Molly, preach!" Sherlock exclaimed. Molly just laughed, looking a bit guilty for speaking her mind so harshly.
"How was your Christmas?" John asked.
"Oh, it was fine. Tom didn't come with me to my parent's house, but it was alright. Just a regular Christmas I suppose." Molly shrugged.
"We got you a gift." John said proudly, pulling the floral handbag off of his suitcase and handing it to her.
"Aw, thank you! Wow, this looks expensive, you didn't have to get me anything." she insisted.
"You feed us every day, which costs three times as much as that stupid purse." Sherlock assured. Of course, he had 'bought it' out of the goodness of his heart. It totally wasn't a re-gift or anything...
"Well of course I bought you guys something, go unpack and come back over." Molly insisted.
"Sounds like a plan." John agreed. When they had thrown their things in their rooms (because honestly who unpacks anymore?) they headed over to Molly's flat, which smelled like an assortment of Christmas candles and Christmas trees. The door was unlocked, so they walked into where Molly was pouring three cups of hot chocolate into large mugs.