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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[mustbethetruth]

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."