Merry Reunions [Sherlock] [#Yuletide]

Ugly Sweaters and Christmas Confessions

I picked through the itchy fabrics, running my hands over stitched snowmen and green felt and various buttons before finally pulling out the most hideous sweater of them all.

"I'm not wearing that."

I took another look at the sweater I was holding up for Sherlock to admire. It was particularly ugly: lights embedded in the fabric and constantly flickering, the smiling face of a blushing Father Christmas staring out from the center, various stitchings of snowmen and candycanes - all on the canvas of a shade of green I didn't know to be in existence. The street stand was empty besides myself and Sherlock, which was understandable as it was Christmas Eve and near-freezing.

I shook the sweater on its hanger. "I chose for you. Now you choose for me."

"Mine isn't half as ugly as that, though."

"Boo-hoo. You and your good taste."

He offered a half smile as he pulled his selection out from the rack on the street. He was right- it wasn't very ugly. When it came down to it, it was just a cherry-red sweater with a massive snowman stitched into the front of it.

I laughed. "You're going to look so much more ridiculous than me."

"Then pick out a stupider one for yourself!"

I shook my head, still giggling. "Those aren't the rules of the game, Sherlock Holmes! You pick one for me, I pick one for you, and now-" I plucked the hanger out of his hands and made my way to the vendor, "we buy them."

I paid for both of our sweaters, and Sherlock made no attempt to protest against this. I didn't blame him. His lack of budgeting skills had probably caught up to him. He really did need me around, at least for that.

We spent the entire day wandering around London, reminiscing. The wind bit at our necks and the cold chapped our lips, and despite my frozen toes, I couldn't have been happier; I was with Sherlock. It hurt to love him as much as I did, and to know that these feelings had done anything but disappear after the separation, but if I was going to do this whole one-way-feelings thing, distance was only going to make it more difficult.

Only when the cloud-blocked sun began to dip past the city skyline and the temperature began to drop did Sherlock and I return to 221B Baker Street. Two warm mugs of hot cocoa had been set out for us on the kitchen counter, and the others were sitting around the living room, offering warm greetings upon our arrival.

Mrs. Hudson practically pounced on us as soon as we'd settled in the room. "Ooh, boys! So glad you came in just now, we were all about to open gifts!"

Anderson was passing out the packages that had been sitting around the tree. By the time he was done, each person had six gifts, one from each other guest.

"I feel so horrible," I confessed, surveying my pile of five (was one missing?). "I didn't think to bring presents at all."

Molly waved this away. "Don't worry, John. We missed you enough that you being present is present enough." She laughed at her own joke.

I nodded, feeling a bit better thanks to Molly's near-constant warmth, which only seemed to be increased by the merry atmosphere. My friends were beginning to dig into the gifts around them. Anderson ripped packages here and there, wrapping paper flying around him like flurries in a blizzard. The others weren't being so violent, and when I turned to Sherlock, I met his eye. Had he been staring? He broke eye contact, looking towards a gift in his lap and beginning to methodically, nearly open it, tape strip by tape strip.

I did the same, pleased with the very generous gifts from my friends. A kettle from Mrs. Hudson, chocolate from both Mycroft and Greg, a fancy blend of tea from Molly, a nice sweater from Anderson. Nothing from Sherlock, which made my heart crumble a bit. Did he really have so little faith in me that he believed I wouldn't come down to visit at all?