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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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?"

"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?"

"I have no particular feelings on monkeys one way or the other," Watson said, still chuckling. "This one, however, gives me the distinct feeling that he is leering at me."

He held the monkey aloft, watching it go through the motions of smoking and blowing smoke from the cigarette, faintly impressed at it, faintly horrified, mostly amused. Where were they going to put such a thing?

"He is merely getting acquainted with you. He has been shut up in a package for some time, after all, and he may be the slightest bit perturbed," he says, teasing, as he glances at the monkey but then focuses his attention on Watson himself. He seems to be amused by it, which was the point, and he was genuinely happy about his other two presents, so perhaps Holmes can count this as a successful mission, then.

"That robe does look rather handsome on you," he says warmly, a smile creeping across your face. "Perhaps I should have bought a less appealing one, and then I would not have been tempted to take it off you, which rather defeats its purpose."

Watson smiled, and reached to set the monkey aside, leaving it to wind down on its own. "You would rather have me walk about in a robe that doesn't suit me?" he teased. "Is that what you're saying? I can't say I approve of that."

He settled himself comfortably along Holmes, wrapping the robe around both of them as best as he could. "Fortunately, as very fond as I am of it, I can't say you should have very much trouble in removing it from me when the whim strikes you. Surely past experience must have taught you that?"

He was feeling more warm and comfortable and loved than anything else, and it was easy to let go and allow himself to be vulnerable with only Holmes there to see. "Thank you for my presents," he murmured, against Holmes's neck.

He nestles close, smiling and listening to the monkey sing out its last few notes. It'd been silly but he doesn't regret it, he finds, because in however many years when they remember this Christmas it's likely they won't remember the pipe or the robe or the tobacco because, while lovely, those kinds of things are ordinary. The monkey, though, that will stick in their minds, and then they'll never forget opening their presents on the sofa just after midnight, half-dressed in their pyjamas.

"And thank you for mine," he murmurs in return, seeking out one of Watson's hands so that he can link their fingers together. "Whatever may happen tomorrow -- criminals or no -- I've already had my best Christmas in years tonight." He kisses Watson softly, then adds with a playful grin, "And Mrs. Hudson's meal may have helped matters."

"And the day not yet an hour old," Watson smiled. "I agree, though. This is already a splendid Christmas."

He settled himself, resting his head against Holmes's chest where he could listen to his heartbeat, steady and reassuring and wonderfully present. Distantly, he had to suppose they ought to take themselves off to bed properly, but he was rather comfortable just then. "I won't go so far as to call this the best, though. There's always room for it to be better next year."

He squeezed Holmes's fingers, gently.

"Mm, yes. We must leave room for ourselves to improve on things next year," he returns, smiling playfully, and he squeezes Watson's hand in return. "What do you think -- shall I spill something on the rug? Start a small fire where a fire should not be?"

Really, though, if everything goes awry tomorrow then at least they have had this; this is enough Christmas for Holmes, if he will get nothing else. It's peaceful, lovely, and perfect to sit on the sofa and lounge about with his husband; it's everything a Christmas ought to be, like there's a Christmas checklist out there, and they've already checked everything off it.

AU: 'Twas the night before Christmas

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