A Chance To Stay Alive - Johnlock

20) Christmas at 221b

It wasn't long before Christmas Eve had finally arrived at 221b Baker Street. Sherlock was curled up asleep on his armchair, he had been sick the previous night and was trying his best to sleep it off, while John was sat opposite him, reading through the curly-haired boy's medical pamphlet. It had been given to Sherlock when he had left the hospital and contained the phone numbers of many different support groups and treatment centres. Of course Sherlock didn't care about the book in the slightest so John had taken up the task of reading it himself. The room was silent apart from the crackling of the fire and Sherlock's light snores and it was apparent that snow had now started to drift past the misty window. The blonde boy smiled slightly to himself as he put the pamphlet down onto the table and stretched out his legs, gazing at the tired boy before him. After a few minutes Sherlock eventually awoke, stifling a yawn and sleepily rubbing his eyes as he sat up and eyed his flat mate.
"Morning sleeping beauty," John welcomed him with a grin, leaning back in his chair and running his fingers through his hair.
"Yes, morning John," the curly-haired boy replied, slightly dazed as he watched John. 
"Mrs Hudson left you some sandwiches," the blonde boy explained swiftly getting up from his seat and making his way over to Sherlock. He leant over towards the boy, planting a small kiss on his cheek before heading off into the bedroom to get his laptop. The curly-haired boy smiled foolishly to himself for a moment before resting his arms on the side of the chair and glancing over at John's empty seat.

He sat in comfortable silence for a minute, waiting for the blonde boy to return, before there was a sharp knock on the door. Cautiously, Sherlock leant back in his armchair and raised an eyebrow.
"It's open," he muttered, watching to his dismay of Mycroft walked in, dressed in his usual waistcoat, umbrella gripped firmly in one hand.
"Brother mine," he said sceptically, eyeing his little brother up and down before taking a seat in John's chair.
Sherlock frowned disapprovingly at this before rolling his eyes.
"John will be back soon," he hissed.
"What do you want?"
Mycroft cleared his throat before glaring at Sherlock.
"Christmas Day," he explained snidely, his lip curling as his brother's expression faltered.
"Mother desperately wants you to join us at her house. Look I told her about the cancer and-"
"You told her!?" Sherlock cried in outrage, butting into the oldest boy's sentence.
"You know how she reacted last time!"
All of the outrage was suddenly interrupted by John, who strode back into the living room, seemingly unaware of the agitation between the two brothers.
"Oh, Mycroft," he exclaimed with surprise, placing his laptop down onto the table and folding his arms.
"I didn't expect to see you here."

The oldest Holmes pursed his lips and quickly got to his feet, scowling at Sherlock.
"Brother mine we care for you, and so does John," he explained, his voice becoming softer with more sympathy - something that was unusual for him.
"Merry Christmas Sherlock Holmes."
The man snatched his umbrella and shot one last glance at the pair before bursting through the door and hurrying down the stairs.
"Jesus Christ," John scoffed, leaning over towards Sherlock, trying to get a good look at his expression.
"Tell you what Sherlock, let's spend Christmas Day here just the two of us. No hassle, it'll be nice."
The curly-haired boy slowly gazed up towards John and nodded, his pale face thoughtful.
"And away from Mycroft," he pointed out with a small smirk of agreement.
"Exactly," the blonde boy said with a laugh, resting his head sleepily against Sherlock's chest.
"Exactly."

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Christmas Day approached fast and early to Baker Street the next morning, bringing the sight of snow and the warm smell of pancakes drifting in from the kitchen of 221b. Sherlock awoke promptly to the sound of laughing and the feeling of someone ruffling his curly hair.
"Get up Sherlock it's Christmas!" he heard John exclaim excitedly as he slowly sat up and opened his eyes, gazing up at the blonde boy before him.
"So it is," Sherlock yawned, getting to his feet and following John into the living room where many parcels and presents lay awaiting under the Christmas tree. The curly-haired boy frowned slightly at these before taking a seat and watching as John brought in two plates of hot pancakes, both drowned in maple syrup.
"What are those under the tree?" He asked skeptically, taking his breakfast as the blonde boy took a seat opposite.
"Christmas presents," John replied casually, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't tell me you haven't received a Christmas present before."
Sherlock held his hands up in defence, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"I just never used to be a Christmas person."
John grinned as he got to his feet, folding his arms.
"So does that mean you are now?" He teased, crouching down besides the tree and digging out a few presents.

Sherlock couldn't help but watch in curiosity, in reality he did like receiving gifts.
"Look this one's from Molly," John announced, throwing a small package towards the curly-haired boy.
Sherlock tossed it around in his hands for a moment before smirking.
"Socks," he hummed, turning to face his flat mate.
John simply rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor, grabbing a few more presents.
"At least open it Sherlock!" He muttered with a small grin.
Sherlock followed the order and feared off the wrapping paper of the package, gazing down intently at his gift. Sure enough they were socks.
"Oh my god!" The blonde boy cried in glee, his face immediately lighting up.
"Look they've got little bee patterns on them!"
To Sherlock's horror the socks were indeed covered with at least a dozen tiny bumble bees. John beamed in delight and clapped his hands.
"You have to wear them!"
The curly-haired boy scoffed slightly and shook his head firmly.
"No way," he muttered, secretly slipping them into his dressing gown pocket for later.
John sighed disappointedly and passed over another present.
"This one's from...Greg," he explained, grinning and leaning back against his armchair.
Sherlock nodded and hastily tugged off the silver wrapping paper to reveal a gleaming new box of Cluedo.
"Cluedo," John admired, giving a sheepish grin before pulling out another, larger box.
"This one's from me."

The curly-haired boy was initially taken aback by this however he carefully prised the gift away from John and lifted up the lid. Inside displayed a packet of ginger nuts (Sherlock's personal favourite), a new scarf, and a collection of polaroids John had taken of the two together. A foolish grin came over Sherlock's face as he admired all of it, eventually gazing up at the boy opposite him.
"You got me all of this," he mumbled gratefully.
John gave a quick, embarrassed nod, his cheeks burning bright red.
"I scraped together what I could," he explained proudly, folding his arms.
"Like it?"
"Love it," the skinny boy replied defiantly, pulling out the last box from underneath the Christmas tree.
"This one's for you," he announced, passing it over to John.
The blonde boy raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at this before eagerly tearing off the wrapping paper; revealing a slick new laptop still fresh in it's packaging. John gasped at this and turned to face Sherlock, clutching the gift in his hand.
"Me and Mrs Hudson clubbed together," Sherlock explained smoothly, suddenly taken aback as John jumped towards him and pulled him into a tight hug.
The curly-haired boy slowly slipped an arm around him and they sat in comfortable silence for a moment before reluctantly pulling apart.
"I can write up my novels now," John whispered excitedly.
"Ya huh," Sherlock agreed, digging around the room a few seconds later before also pulling out a large, baggy, knitted sweater. It was burgundy and displayed the initials S.H neatly on the front.
"It's my old University jumper," he said, handing it over to John.
"Thought you might like it, the smell you know it reminds you of me."

John weighed the jumper in his hands for a moment before the comforting familiar smell reached his nostrils. Cigarettes, but mixed with peppermint and tea.
"It smells nice," the blonde boy agreed, clutching it to his chest and beaming up stupidly at his flat mate.
"Well then merry Christmas Sherlock Holmes," he chimed.
"And a very happy new year John Watson."

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