AU: 'Twas the night before Christmas

[mustbethetruth]

When Holmes was running for the past two years, he never really had a Christmas, but he never really wanted one, not when he was alone and running and hiding and far away from home and Watson and even Mycroft. Christmases have been decidedly different since Gideon, and his idea of a proper Christmas has changed significantly; he knows Mycroft still goes home for family dinners, but Holmes is no longer welcome, and he doesn't really think he'd want to, anyway. That conviction changed once or twice since he was sent to university, but since Watson, he hasn't really regretted not being able to go home, he supposes because he's found someone who truly loves him, either as a friend or a lover.

Sitting here now with a Mrs. Hudson special Christmas Eve dinner settling in his stomach and the cheery presence of Christmas decorations littering their familiar sitting room, a fire in the fireplace and Watson beside him, he couldn't think of a better way to spend the holidays, or who he'd rather spend it with. Everything seems to have found its place; everything fits together perfectly, not just himself and Watson, but certainly that too.

He sighs contentedly, pulling on his cigarette and reclining against the couch, stretching his feet out in front of him.

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[lightconductor]

All the evening really needed, to be quite perfect, was a pair of glasses of brandy, and Watson was carefully pouring those out now. The last few Christmases had been poor, for him, lonely and rather agonising, stopping by to see a friend or two but having to leave them to their families soon enough. This, though, this year... Watson liked Christmas, very much. This was already all he could want, and it hadn't even arrived yet.

"Here you are, my love." Watson settled himself on the couch, fitting himself in next to Holmes, and offered him the glass, along with a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Happy Christmas."

[mustbethetruth]

And there, hearing Watson call him my love, is all that could possibly have made this moment any better. He takes the brandy and turns his head to kiss Watson properly, slow and loving and tender. He nestles close to him, taking a sip of brandy once he moves away from Watson's mouth.

"Happy Christmas to you, my love," he says, returning the endearment that had so warmed Holmes's mood. "I do believe this is the happiest Christmas I have spent in many years."

[lightconductor]

"What a wonderful thing to hear you say," Watson said, laying his head upon Holmes's shoulder. It was slightly awkward to drink like this, but it seemed a good trade-off. "This is definitely a happy Christmas for me, too."

How far things had come. Watson had worried (still did, to be perfectly honest) about whether or not they would have been able to accomplish this, to have lived in their old rooms with their new relationship, to not be discovered, to pick up where they had left off all those years ago. But here it was Christmas, it had been a long stretch of happy months -- not without its disagreements, Watson thought the two of them probably always would snap at each other from time to time -- and the coming new year seemed full of promise.

"Remind me," he murmured. "Will there be anything tomorrow to prevent us from simply having a lie-in? Only a very pressing social obligation or a very fascinating crime scene is going to convince me to let you stray very far tomorrow."

[mustbethetruth]

"Mm," he murmurs, bringing his drink to his lips. "Mycroft has invited us to dinner. Did I neglect to tell you?" he asks, genuinely unsure if he had or not. It's just as likely that he never did quite get around to saying anything to Watson about it. "That is not until later in the evening, so we could still lay about for a good portion of the day."

For no reason he can name, he's nervous now that Watson would object to dinner with Mycroft, when he knows he will do no such thing. Perhaps it's just that this would mean a great deal to Holmes.

"I am looking forward to it, actually," he admits, looking down into his glass. "To have my family all together for Christmas. I have not had that in quite a while. Not since I met you, certainly."

[lightconductor]

Faintly surprised, Watson did lift his head, marginally. "At his home, do you mean? Surely not his club, not on Christmas."

He was, despite himself, faintly anxious about that, knew that it would be a holiday dinner with the in-laws (or as close as they would ever have). It was strange to think of being invited into Mycroft's home, too, and even if he knew rationally that they would be known and accepted under that roof... that was faintly unnerving. How open would it end up being?

Still, Watson did like Mycroft, even if he did not always know what to make of him, even if it was still strange to think that the man might be considered family (although, of course he was), and he could not have refused, not for anything.

"It sounds very splendid," Watson said, resting his head again. "You shall have your family together, then."

[mustbethetruth]

"Yes, at his home. It's rather nice, if a little sparse. He never paid much attention toward decorating it, but it's at least comfortable. That is a chief concern of my brother's after all," he says with a light smile. Turning his head, he presses a kiss to Watson's temple.

"And you can be sure, my darling, that we will not have much to fear there. Mycroft is very particular about who he hires to work in his house; his line of work is far too dangerous to risk a wayward maid. We may not be able to be as comfortable as we are here, but there is little need to thoroughly hide our regard."

The more Holmes thinks about it, the more eager he gets. A true, comfortable Christmas. He hides his smile in Watson's hair, kissing his temple again.

[lightconductor]

Watson shut his eyes, momentarily. An evening with family, the two of them able to be comfortable and even perhaps a little open, just as if there were nothing wrong with their relationship -- no, that was ridiculous, there wasn't anything wrong with their relationship, he knew history would bear them out on that. It was just the here and now that was a little more uncertain.

"I look forward to it, then." He let out a contented sigh. "I shall be on my best behaviour, too, to avoid embarassing you." He flashed a smile, and reached over to the sidetable to help himself to a cigarette, balancing it with his glass as he lit it.

[mustbethetruth]

"Oh, thank you for that," he says sardonically, finishing off his drink and setting the glass aside, so that he may now have a free hand to lightly touch Watson's thigh. "I was just about to request that you keep your bohemian tendencies under control. I can't have you being your usual disrespectful, abrupt, sometimes casually cruel self, not around my brother, not on Christmas."

Smirking, he kisses Watson's cheek, then takes another drag off his cigarette.

[lightconductor]

Watson laughed, a low chuckle deep in his throat. "You're welcome," he said, amiable and warm. He shifted to settle his head back against Holmes's shoulder, brandy in one hand, cigarette in the other.

It was wonderful, he reflected, that Mycroft was the sort of man who would invite his brother's male lover to a holiday dinner, knowing everything as he did. That sense of feeling included, of belonging, of being accepted -- it was all unspeakably valuable. He had very few complaints with the world, just then. He was warm, and comfortably full from dinner earlier, and loved, and accepted, and he had one of his favourite cigarettes and a glass of good brandy and his husband close by. What more could he want?

"Then I suppose I must only ask that the criminals of London leave us in peace for a day or two. Surely that's not too much to ask?"

[mustbethetruth]

"Surely not." He kisses Watson's forehead, and he has to admit he is rather impatient for Watson to finish with the things he holds in his hands because Holmes would much rather have those hands to himself.

"It is not too much to ask, but it may be far too much to give. Crime does not take a holiday, I'm afraid, my darling, but perhaps it will allow us some rest for the next two days. And even if Lestrade does come knocking, well. It will have to be a very pressing case. Perhaps it will be something we can make a few hours' work of in front of the fire, and then the good inspector can be on his way, and then we can make our own few hours of work in front of the fire." He grins mischievously.

[lightconductor]

Watson smiled. He drained the last of his brandy, and set the glass aside, before settling back down again to work on the remainder of his cigarette. "Now that," he said, "sounds rather pleasant an interruption, if we must have one. You do realise, I hope, that I am always game for a little work in front of the fire."

He puffed a little, before putting his hand up to touch the side of Holmes's face. "Hours, really?" he asked, smirking faintly.

[mustbethetruth]

"Really," he says unashamedly, smirking; he catches Watson's hand and turns his face to kiss the palm, turning it into a very serious occupation. He kisses each of Watson's fingertips, and then places a kiss square on his wrist, where all the veins come together.

"I believe our stamina is up to the task. It certainly has been in the past." He flashes another predatory smile, comfortable and rather at peace with Watson nestled against his side. This is what Christmas should be every year. Since he's left home he's not always been completely satisfied, if he's honest, with the way Christmas turns out; something always seems to be missing, or he still manages to feel alone at the end of it all. He doesn't feel alone now, to be sure.

"But if you object, then... I suppose we could find other ways to spend our time. Reading, quietly, alone in our own chairs, keeping our hands to ourselves..."

[lightconductor]

"What utter rot," Watson scoffed. He found himself watching Holmes kiss his wrist, his expression fond, faintly wondering. It was still so precious to see this, to experience it. "Why should I object? I am not so foolish. I shall always place a few hours work in priority over anything as frivolous as some quiet reading."

Watson smiled. He sat up enough to flick the remains of his cigarette into the fireplace, neatly over the grate, and settled back down, not having removed his other hand from Holmes's grasp. "No, I merely wish to be certain that you are not taunting me with plans you have no intention of following up on."

[lightconductor]

Watson's smile was slow, slightly surprised, charmed. It always gave him a little thrill to hear Holmes call him John, as it was rather rare, and very intimate. Perhaps it was the rarity that made the use of his Christian name so previous, although there was no need for something so simple to have such an effect upon him.

He laid his own hand alongside Holmes's neck, his thumb resting not far from the corner of his mouth. "To you also, my love. Merry Christmas."

He leaned in to kiss him, gently, awkward because of the packages.

[mustbethetruth]

To be honest, he likes calling Watson 'John,' likes it so much that he doesn't like to do it too often because maybe then it will stop giving him such a rush of intimacy and closeness, and maybe the heavy weight of intimacy it does bring makes it so that Holmes shies away from it, too. At any rate, it feels good to say it occasionally, and he gives Watson a smile as he draws back from the kiss and sits himself on the sofa.

"Well, now. Shall I go first, then?" He wants to save Watson's for last so that they might end on the ridiculous present, as it is generally best to end on the most ridiculous, so that all the rest may not lack something in comparison.

[lightconductor]

Following to the couch, Watson settled himself down again, making himself comfortable. "If you wish, certainly," he said, passing the gifts the very short distance between them.

To be honest, he was a bit nervous about this. It was their first Christmas at home together like this, with significant potential for gift-giving. Best to get it over with, perhaps. He settled himself down comfortably.

[mustbethetruth]

He'd be so busy orchestrating the springing of Watson's presents onto his husband that he'd barely given any thought to being excited about his own, but now that he has the packages in his lap, he can't deny a small thrill of excitement. He's certain whatever Watson has bought for him will be something he'll enjoy -- Watson is good about that, good at buying presents and putting thought into things. With this in mind, it's difficult not to smile as he opens the first package to unveil some new violin strings.

"How perfect," he says with a smile, setting them aside, "I was near to running out."

And now the second package, and he admits to being slightly more surprised to see what he unveils here. It's the pipe he'd been admiring in the tobacco shop, the new one that looked rather stunning, in his opinion, but what's more is that while he'd admired it when he and Watson were in the shop one day, he'd never said a word about it. He looks up, his smile broadening.

Perhaps the best present of all is that he never said a word about liking this pipe, but here it is, in his hand.

"My darling, you scintillate." He leans in to give Watson a somewhat fierce kiss.

[lightconductor]

It was somewhat awkward to smile and be kissed at once, but Watson couldn't help it, just then. He'd fretted over the pipe a little, but he could surely recognise, after so many years, when Holmes was interested in something, even without being told that was the case. Watson did not always feel confident of his ability to read clues in a crime scene and pick out every necessary detail, but he did know Holmes. A reaction like this was the very best that he had hoped for, and it was astonishingly gratifying to see it now before him.

"I am glad you like it," he murmured, somewhat breathlessly, before kissing Holmes again, his hand upon Holmes's waist. "Should I take it that I managed to surprise you?" He was gently teasing, but he did honestly enjoy being able to do that.

[mustbethetruth]

"You most certainly did," he responds, turning the pipe over in his hands with a marveling look on his face that has very little to do with the pipe itself -- though he is rather fond of it and is rather glad that Watson bought it for him, as he isn't certain he would've bought it himself -- and so much more to do with the surprise of it all.

And now he is rather worried for his own surprise, which is far less... well, good.

"And very pleasantly so, I might add. Thank you, my dear." He leans in for another kiss, briefer but no less grateful, and he draws away. "And now, your turn." He hands the packages over to Watson and places his new pipe between his teeth; he'll have to break it in soon, he suspects.

[lightconductor]

Watson though, irresistably, of the Polaroid camera he had once experimented with, and wished rather pointlessly he could have such a thing now; he wanted very much to be able to capture Holmes's expression, just then, and save it for future reference. Sadly, the invention of such things was a good number of years away, too far for them.

The cigars that he unwrapped first were delightful; he recognised good quality tobacco when he saw it, when he smelled it, and he certainly did indulge in a pleased and appreciative sniff of one. He flashed an appreciative and delighted smile in Holmes's direction. "You know my taste exactly, thank you," he said, before turning to the second package.

The second package revealed a dressing gown, quite a nice one, and his expression turned slightly softer. He had needed a new one, he didn't doubt this, and this was very much to his taste. "Oh, look at this. This is splendid." He held it up, smiling, running his fingers over the inner lining. "Quite splendid. Thank you, my dear, this is wonderful."

Unable to wait, he left the third package for the time being and shook out the robe to pull it on, or at least as well as it were possible to do without rising from his seat. As soon as he had his arms through the sleeves he leaned over and kissed Holmes, warmly.

[mustbethetruth]

Holmes can barley enjoy Watson's pleasure at seeing his gifts, though he does make a note to be pleased with himself later, much later, once Watson has opened the last one and hopefully joined in with Holmes's joke. He had been certain that Watson would enjoy the tobacco, only slightly less certain of the dressing gown -- but Holmes had been right when he'd assessed it in the shop and determined that it would look good on Watson.

He returns the kiss, passing his arm along Watson's in his new robe, and he draws back to get a proper look at him: freshly kissed and well dressed.

"It looks even better on you than I had estimated. You are showing up my powers tonight, dear boy." He smiles teasingly and leans in for another kiss, but now he's sure he can't wait any longer.

"Go on, open your last present." He gives an amused smile which actually hides how slightly nervous he is. Joke gifts are so stressful.

[lightconductor]

Turning to the last gift, which was by far the heaviest of the tree, Watson tore away the paper carefully to reveal...

Well.  He wasn't entirely sure.  Schooling his face into an expression of carefully blank neutrality, because he wasn't sure if it was safe to laugh or not, Watson turned the item over in his hands, inspecting it.

It was a monkey.  That much was certain.  It appeared to be made of china, and it was dressed in Indian garb, complete with turban.  It was smoking a hookah.

"Holmes," Watson said cautiously, still trying not to laugh, "please don't take this the wrong way, but what is it?"

[mustbethetruth]

He can tell when Watson is trying not to laugh, and laughing is good, in this case, and it breaks all of Holmes's nervous energy. He bursts into laughter himself, taking the pipe from his mouth and wrapping his arm around his stomach.

"Can't you tell, Watson? Use your powers of deduction," he says when he can finally manage, still shaking with quieter laughter now as he eases back into his seat.

[lightconductor]

Oh, he was laughing. This was encouraging, that it was not meant to be taken seriously. "It's a monkey. A Hindu monkey, apparently." Watson turned it over again, shaking his head. It was an absolutely ridiculous item, whatever its purpose might be, and why he was now the owner of it he certainly did not know. "Why -- oh, hello, look at this."

He had found the clockwork key. There was no way to know what that did until he turned it, so he wound the monkey up to see what it would do. It creaked into motion, the monkey jerkily going through the motions of smoking its hookah, while a tinny sort of tune was plucked out from somewhere inside it.

"It's a music box," Watson said, slightly dumbfounded, and laughed. "Holmes, where did you find such a thing?"

[mustbethetruth]

"An unfortunate little shop, unfortunate because while some of its merchandise is truly worth something, the majority of it is things like your new monkey friend. Oh, but wait." He leaps up and retrieves a cigarette; lighting it as he returns, he sits and places it into the appropriate location on the monkey box's base.

"It also smokes. Look at this, Watson, and tell me how could I not have purchased such a thing for you? It pertains to all of your interests -- India, tobacco, and music." He grins and sits back in his seat. "Though I do have one question. What are your feelings on monkeys?"