mustbethetruth | AU: 'Twas the night before Christmas

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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This, he thinks, is a very encouraging sentiment for Watson to convey, and Holmes hugs him tighter for it. He could almost smile were their situation not so troubling; instead he kisses Watson's shoulder before he begins to answer, hugging Watson to him again.

"You should not, as there is no shame in it. I think we have learned that, at least, in our time on the island. I am most grateful to that place for what it showed us of the future for other men, if not ourselves." He pauses to kiss Watson's shoulder again, sliding his hand down to squeeze his hip.

"I am very familiar with this feeling. It is exhilarating and maddening at once, and in that respect it is very much like love itself." He shifts so that he can kiss Watson, brushing his thumb against his hip bone.

"If we must get dressed again, and I suppose we must, I propose we exchange our regular clothes for pyjamas."

"That," Watson said, kissing Holmes warmly, "is a very splendid idea. If we cannot quite reach 'entirely respectable' then 'halfway respectable' shall have to do." He ran a thumb over Holmes's cheek, merely smiling at him for a moment or two, almost trying to drink him in, to memorise this moment.

He shifted to get up, rather reluctantly, kissing Holmes again as he did so. "Shall I get us some things from your room, then?"

"Yes, please do." He catches Watson's hand, pressing a kiss into his palm. "I don't think I'm quite prepared to reach entirely respectable with you this evening, my dear Watson, not on Christmas, at any rate." He sits up and stretches his arms and shoulders for a moment before he moves to the sofa, hunting up his tobacco.

"Would you care for a cigarette?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, please, if you don't mind," Watson answered, even as he disappeared into Holmes's room. It didn't take long to find a few appropriate pieces of clothing, and after hurriedly pulling on the bottom half of some pyjamas he hastened to rejoin Holmes in the sitting room.

"Here," he said, offering the bundle, "if I truly must see you made decent. A crime, if you ask me." Watson smiled. "But I do not have say in legal matters, and if we must pretend to be law-abiding citizens, then so be it."

He lights Watson's cigarette for him and hands it over to him once he returns to the sitting room. Placing his own unlit cigarette into his mouth, he shuffles into the bottom half of his pyjamas and sinks shirtless onto the sofa to light his cigarette.

"So we must either break the laws of the country, or break the laws of our bedroom," he returns, smiling. He reclines on the sofa in such a way so that he is sure he looks rather appealing, and he throws in a come-hither look, for added benefit. He lifts his cigarette to his lips, taking care to keep his gesture as light as possible. A little hand seduction never hurt. "What a dilemma we find ourselves in, hm, my darling Watson?"

Watson smiled, greatly charmed, no matter that it was no new thing for him to see. "I think, in this situation, I prefer our own laws to any of England," he sighed, sinking onto the sofa with him. They were still not particularly decent, but good enough, he supposed. Or bad enough.

He pressed a kiss to Holmes's collarbone before settling down against him. The idea that he might be responsible for Holmes's downfall like that was still horrid, unthinkable. He puffed at his cigarette, though, and tried not to think of anything but Holmes underneath him.

He slides his arm easily around Watson and kisses his forehead; his fingertips lightly trace his initials against the skin of Watson's side. There's something immensely satisfying and amusing about the act, done mostly out of idleness and a desire to be touching Watson's skin; it's quietly and privately possessive.

"Oh, look at that," he murmurs, gesturing to the clock. "It's almost midnight. How the time does fly when one is sufficiently occupied." He hides a grin against Watson's hair and gives him another kiss. "We are about to usher in our first Christmas in our proper home as a married couple."

He pauses, musing on that, and he draws from his cigarette.

"I never envisioned my life as being so domestic," he murmurs, taking another drag. "So it's a good thing we've exerted ourselves and are only half dressed. If we did this decently I think I may have to question my identity."

"If we did this decently," Watson chuckled, "I would have to find some way to ensure your identity as well. I couldn't have some imposter."

He could feel Holmes tracing over his skin, could feel the shape of the letters for what they were, and for some reason it delighted him, utterly. It was so small a gesture, and so touching.

"I only hope you don't find this unexpected domestic lifestyle a disappointment," Watson murmured. "Would you like your presents -- well, your other presents," he laughed, "would you like them now, as it is nearly Christmas already, or will you wait until morning?"

"My dear," he murmurs, lifting Watson's chin so that he could kiss his lips, "I could never find our life together disappointing." He pauses for another kiss, gentle and tender, before he continues.

"And as for the presents, I'm sure they will not be disappointing, as well, but perhaps just to be sure we aren't forgetting ourselves too much in all of this holiday tradition, perhaps we ought to open them now." He grins playfully, brushing his thumb against the line of Watson's jaw.

"Oh, very well then." Watson kissed him, playfully. He was reluctant to get up again so soon after having settled down, but at least getting the presents now could mean they could settle more permanently before they at last retired to bed. "If you cannot wait, I shall indulge you in this."

He rose again, placing his cigarette in his mouth again, and crossed the room to his desk. He'd hidden -- sort of -- Holmes's presents in the bottom drawer. He had to suppose there wasn't really any place he could really hide them. If Holmes wished to seek his presents out ahead of time, Watson could not have prevented it, but it at least seemed a place unlikely for them to be happened upon accidentally.

He slips into his room to retrieve Watson's presents from their hiding place, unable to keep himself from grinning ridiculously all the while. He'll need to school that grin if he's hoping to surprise Watson with the sheer ridiculousness of one of his presents; by the time he's emerged, he's wrestled his smile into something more acceptable -- less devious, more playfully excited.

As he returns, the clock appropriately begins to chime midnight, and he gives it a rather amused smile. How well-timed. He halts Watson on his way to the sofa, shifting his packages so that he has a free hand, which he lays against Watson's face.

"Merry Christmas, my dear John."

AU: 'Twas the night before Christmas

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