Mycroft had always warned Sherlock that feelings can get in the way, especially when it comes to his chosen line of work. Typically, this would be the one thing the two brothers could agree on, however, when you reappear on his doorstep after years...
Snow isn't all too frequent of an occurrence in London, therefore, it's always a pleasant surprise to see the streets blanketed in a thick white layer of frozen crystals especially in time for the holidays. Typically, when the once grey sky turns to a frosty white, the city slows as locals try to remember how they're supposed to travel in such slick conditions. As for this day, travel seems to be an important requirement given the fact that most 'sane' people must attend family gatherings.
Sherlock stares out the frosted window of his shared flat, drawing the bow delicately across each string of his violin which lets off a smooth humming melody matching some Christmas song he doesn't see the appeal with; however, it had gotten stuck in his head after Mrs. Hudson had requested he play it at least a four times throughout the evening.
His attention is only broken from the song when you walk to his side, reaching up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He's quick to turn his head, catching your lips against his with a smile. The evening has been eventful, not that either of you've minded.
While Sherlock isn't usually one to enjoy decorating for the holidays, he could never say no to you especially when you continue to insist that this Christmas is the most important one of all. Although he'll never admit it out loud, he actually finds himself tolerating that extra twinkle brought to the flat by the Christmas lights draped over the mantle of the fireplace as well as the small Christmas tree tucked away in the corner, dressed in a mix of colored orbs, science-y tools, and police tape (guess which Sherlock put on).
Of course, neither of you spend the holiday alone. Earlier, you had been joined for Christmas dinner by Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and the Watsons with their little daughter, Rosie. Even Sherlock's parents came by for a visit while Mycroft had simply called to wish you and his brother well for the holiday. Needless to say, the evening had been filled with plenty of laughter and joy, a wonderful fit for such a special Christmas.
"...Sherlock?" He hums in acknowledgment, too entranced by the feeling of your arms around his waist with your body pressed against his back to actually open his eyes and look at you," don't you want to open your present yet?"
He had completely forgotten about that. When you first set the little blue box under the tree exactly five days ago, informing him it's a present for him when he questioned, he insisted he didn't need any material things as he's simply happy being able to call you his wife for the holidays. Of course, you can be as stubborn as your husband when you want to be, arguing that you've already spent the time carefully wrapping it, thus it's officially his present.
Once again, the present had been brought up by John who noticed it still under the tree when everyone began exchanging presents. Surprisingly, despite your previously expressed excitement for Sherlock to open the box, you dismissed John's concern right away, announcing that it's a special present for Sherlock to open on his own. Worried it might be something to do with your, well, 'intimate' time together based on your way of wording, no one else asked any further questions and you had failed to mention the topic again yourself until now as you gaze up at the back of Sherlock's head expectantly, chewing on your lower lip while awaiting his answer.
At last, he agrees, setting down his instrument while you happily retrieve the box from under the tree and hand it to him just as he finds his seat in his chair. His fingertips brush against the white ribbon, his eyes moving to you as you quite literally sit on the edge of your seat in front of him, your lip still caught in-between your teeth. Your eyes glow yet your body language shows that you're nervous, although, he can't guess why. He may be blunt and not the easiest person to shop for, but he loves you dearly and will no doubt treasure anything you gift him with.
Your behavior has admittedly gotten him curious, leading him to waste no more time removing the ribbon and wrapping paper which reveals a plain shoebox, however, judging on the weight of it, there aren't shoes inside. Lifting the lid, Sherlock is left staring down at the only content lying amount a thin layer of navy-blue tissue.
Tapping your fingers against your leg, you sit straighter with your eyes directing to the floor," I...I know we haven't really gotten the chance to discuss it much aside from little comments here and there, but...well, I personally think this is something good and I, um, I'm just hoping you'll agree. That's why I waited until now to have you open it. I didn't want to make a scene in front of everyone else, j...just in case you aren't happy with it-"
You don't get to continue much further with your rambling, the words being muffled by Sherlock's lips against yours. It's a long kiss, one that makes you almost forget all about the worries you've been dwelling on for the last two weeks now.
Sherlock's the one who pulls away, his hands rested against your legs as he kneels in front of you, his eyes twinkling with a noticeable uplift to his voice," not happy? I'm overjoyed with it! How could I not be? I've been dying waiting for you to finally tell me."
"Finally tell...? Sherlock Holmes, did you already know?" You blink once getting over your daze from the kiss, your eyebrow raised with mocked annoyance which makes him roll his eyes.
"I deduced it a week and a half ago after noticing your recent case of nausea, fatigue, missed menstruation cycle, and swollen bre-" He goes to list, but you cut him off with a finger to his lips.
"-Yes, I know the common signs of pregnancy, after all, I'm going through it all firsthand...but if you knew so soon, why didn't you say anything?"
He becomes a bit bashful at your question, taking your hand in his so that his thumb can rub against your soft skin," while I'm not normally wrong on my deductions, I especially didn't want to be wrong about this one. I figured it would be best to simply keep my hopes down until you confirm it yourself..."
"Oh Sherlock..." you smile, moving your free hand to his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch," over three years of being together and I still forget you're a master deducer. If I would've guessed you might already know, I would've told you sooner."
"Firstly, deducer isn't a word, love, and second," you roll your eyes at his comment, but smile nonetheless especially when his lips reach yours again, his hand now pressed lightly to your stomach," I think you telling me now is a perfect gift for our first Christmas together as husband and wife."
When he moves away from the kiss, he takes both of your hands in his, leading you to stand up where his arms can wrap around your waist. Knowing the movement all too well, you drape your arms over his shoulders, pecking his lips every once and a while as he sways you around, humming the melody he had been playing on his violin earlier.
It's always a lovely sight to have a young couple dancing in their flat late on Christmas Eve, not a worry in the world as they only wish to remain in each other's arms which is perfect shelter from the cold. It's a type of love that words can only do so much to describe, although, one look is usually enough to understand.
Sherlock Holmes absolutely adores you, his precious Mrs. Holmes, with such a feeling having already expanded to his unborn child that you bare, making you all the more valuable to him. That alone is excellent proof that the great detective does, in fact, have a heart that can easily be burned so long as far more careful steps are taken next time around, ones more reliable than entrusting some ordinary lovesick idiot as a client. It really is a lovely sight to watch indeed.
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