Amortentia

Part 34

This time he led the way upstairs, walked into John’s room, and collapsed on the bed. John shut the door behind them and sat in the beanbag chair next to the bed.
“I hate interacting with other humans.” Sherlock groaned, his voice muffled through the pillows.
“Well you’re doing a really good job actually.” John pointed out.
“It’s so much effort to pretend I care.”
“I told you they’re a bit of a handful, but they really are good people after the pestering is over.”
“I know, don’t worry, your family is very sweet.”
“Except for Harry.” John pointed out.
“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. He propped his head up so he could look at John while he talked.
“You still have a lot of pine needles on you.” John observed. Sherlock took out his wand, muttered a spell, and all of the pine needles shot to his wand, where he caught them easily.
“Not anymore.” He said with a smile.
“Better not let mom catch you doing that, like she’d punish you anyway, I’d probably have to take the blame.” John sighed.
“I don’t want to do anything to get you in trouble.”
“You won’t, don’t worry.” John assured.
“When should we tell them then?” he asked. John didn’t need to think very hard about what he meant.
“How about Christmas night, after my grandma comes, she’s very religious, and against, you know, that kind of relationship.”
“That’s too bad, you shouldn’t be hiding from your family.”
“I’m not, I just don’t want to screw up her Christmas.” John decided. Sherlock nodded, thinking about something obviously.
“How many pictures must your mom take?” he asked finally.
“As many as the camera can hold.” John laughed.
“I hate getting my picture taken.” Sherlock decided.
“Well, sorry, because she captures everyone’s every move in this house with a camera.” John laughed. Sherlock groaned.
“Well, when you’re all old, don’t you want to remember your dear old boyfriend John, look at those pictures and say remember when?” John asked.
“I won’t need pictures to remember you; you’ll be in the rocking chair next to me.” Sherlock said with a smile on his face. John smiled back at him, imagining growing old with Sherlock.
“That would be perfect.”
“We could live in a little farm house, and have a dog, I’ve always wanted a farm.” Sherlock decided.
“Just not a dog like Coco.” John decided.
“No, something big, like a bloodhound.”
“I like bloodhounds.” John agreed. He smiled at Sherlock again, his heart pumping a mile per minute with every second he looked into those beautiful green eyes. John felt love radiating from him to Sherlock, deep love; he didn’t care if he only had known Sherlock for about a week, even if he had spent a couple of weeks before with him, he wanted to live with him forever, with nothing in the way.
“Sherlock,” John sighed, trying to figure out what to say. There seemed to be a million things rushing through his mind, but he couldn’t catch anything. “Just, please, don’t get us into any kind of danger, with the memory wipe, the heir could still be out there, and they might have more planned than just a memory wipe. I couldn’t live without you, I just couldn’t.” John said. Sherlock looked at him, and John could swear there was a slight tear in his eyes.
“I can’t make any promises, but I will tell you that I will do anything in my power, whether that be living or dying, to make sure you live.” Sherlock said.
“What’s the point of living when I don’t have anything to live for?” John asked.
“You have so much to live for, you have a potential future, a family that loves you, friends.” Sherlock said.
“So do you, you could be the Minister of Magic, you’re brilliant, and you have family and friends too.”
“You know what, I don’t want to be having this conversation.” Sherlock decided. “We’re both alive, we’re perfectly fine, I don’t want to look too far ahead.” John nodded, he couldn’t agree more, but he just wanted to assure himself, just in case.
“What should I wear to church, anything special?” Sherlock asked.
“Just something nice, look decent, act decent, say the prayers, you’ll be fine.” John shrugged.
“Are we exchanging gifts tonight?” Sherlock asked.
“Ya, dang it, I forgot to wrap them.” John said, cursing under his breath.
“One spell will do the trick.” Sherlock said simply.
“Well, I think my family wants you to play Christmas songs on the violin, so be prepared. And also, my entire family’s singing voices are terrifying.” John warned.
“I bet anything is better than Mycroft singing in the shower.” Sherlock decided with a smile.
“Is your family doing anything special for Christmas?” John asked.
“Probably, but just not as extreme as your family.”
“I’m sorry, they’re big traditionalists, I should’ve warned you.” John said.
“It’s fine, really, it’s better than sitting in the castle alone.”
“Why wouldn’t you have gone to your parent’s house?”
“We’re not very close, with the whole wizard thing really created a gap in the relationship.” Sherlock shrugged. John frowned; thankful that didn’t happen with his family.
“I’m sorry.” He muttered.
“Nothing about you, you only improved my life.” Sherlock assured.
“Except for the few months when I had no idea who you were.” John pointed out.
“Yes, well even the darkest times have a dawn, and the Yule Ball was more than that, it was the birth of a new sun.” Sherlock laughed, remembering the dance. John had to admit he felt the same way; the missing pieces in his life were filled the moment they were in each other’s arms.
“Can you believe that was just a week ago, before that I wouldn’t even look at you twice.” John sighed, regretting all of the wasted days with Mary.
“It feels like a lifetime ago.” Sherlock agreed. The room filled with awkwardness, John wanted to do something to show his affection, take Sherlock’s hand, kiss him, something other than just sitting here and expecting him to believe every word he said. When five o’clock rolled around, nothing had happened, and Mrs. Watson called up for them to get ready for church.
“Should I shower?” Sherlock asked uncertainly.
“Probably, towels are in the cabinet in the bathroom.” John said. Sherlock nodded, rolling off of the bed and walking to his room. John shut the door behind Sherlock, picking his clothes out for church and going into the bathroom for his own shower. After a long, hot shower that felt very good, he put his nice shirt and slacks on, drying his hair the best he could with a towel, and putting on a squirt of cologne for the occasion. When he walked back out, he found Sherlock sitting on the bed, wearing the same outfit except he was now wearing a white shirt underneath the jacket. His hair was wet, so the curls dropped a little under the weight of the water, which gave John the urge to dry his hair off.
“Well at least you respect other people’s privacy.” John said, frowning.
“The door was closed!” Sherlock defended.
“How did you know I wouldn’t… never mind, just don’t do that again.” John sighed.
“Yes sir.” Sherlock said sarcastically.
“We should probably get downstairs, dry your hair.” John instructed. Sherlock still had a towel around his neck, so he quickly ruffled his hair around in it, while scowling. When he was done it still looked wet, but not as bad.
“Stop being so adorable.” John demanded. Sherlock gave an innocent smile that melted John’s heart, but he knew his parents would be looking for them. He groaned but walked to the door, trying to ignore Sherlock’s laugh from behind him. The Watson family was sitting on the couch, Mr. and Mrs. Watson happily chatting about all of the neighbor’s Christmas plans, while Harry sat looking like she wanted to die. She was wearing a red dress and had her hair pulled up in a bun, making her almost look human. Her eyes were glued to her phone, so she wasn’t all evil until that was taken from her.
“Ready to go everyone?” Mrs. Watson asked when she saw the two boys come back downstairs. Coco attacked Sherlock with happy barks, jumping on his legs and covering the black fabric with dog hair.
“Coco, come, bad boy!” Mr. Watson yelled, and thankfully the dog obeyed. Sherlock smiled, trying to brush the dog hair off of his legs.
“Harry don’t you look so nice?” John said in a taunting voice.
“JOHN I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL…” Harry started, blowing the last bit of self-control she had.
“Harry, stop right now, John, don’t antagonize!” Mrs. Watson hissed, immediately taking control of the two bickering siblings.
“Everyone in the car.” Mr. Watson said cheerfully. “It’s Christmas, cheer up everyone.” John, Sherlock, and Harry were once again jammed in the backseat of the car while more cheesy Christmas music played from the car radio. Harry’s glare could probably cut someone in half if she concentrated hard enough. When they pulled up at the church, the streets were already flooded with people, which made Mrs. Watson express her worry about not getting seats. They did three loops around the parking lot to find a spot before they gave up and parked in the street on the other side of the church. It was a cold walk to the door, Sherlock had been smart and remembered his trench coat, but John had forgotten one, so he pulled his arms around himself in an effort to keep body heat. The snow had started falling again, speckling the newly shoveled sidewalks. Mrs. Watson automatically found someone she knew in the first thirty seconds of wandering around, and had to introduce Sherlock to them, and talk about how big John and Harry had gotten, and on and on about rubbish that only moms cared about. John tapped his foot impatiently, trying to get his parents to hurry up. Harry groaned, knowing the cold walk would take double the time as Mrs. Watson went on about John coming back from boarding school, as they called it.
“I think we should get in quickly now dear, we want seats don’t we?” Mr. Watson said finally, just when John thought his fingers were going to freeze. He wished he had Sherlock to hold his hand, which would warm him up easier than a winter jacket. Mrs. Watson said goodbye to her friend, and they all exchanged Merry Christmas’s before walking to the church entrance. There were people already standing against the walls, all of the pews were occupied, even the fold up chairs the church had attempted to put up were filled. John and his family were forced to stand in the back of the church; the kids were allowed to sit against the wall as long as they didn’t talk and paid attention. The parents went to stand closer to the pews so they could listen. Mrs. Watson had a pamphlet and was reading it like it was a test, pointing things out to Mr. Watson, who nodded politely but obviously had no interest. The minute they were gone, Harry got her phone out again and started to text so fast her thumbs were blurred, probably complaining about how she was trapped in church. The church looked very festive, a wreath hung above their heads, there were Christmas trees, it almost looked like Hogwarts, except for the magical candles and the fairy lights. Sherlock sat close to John, pretending like he was making space for other people if they needed to sit, but John felt his fingers intertwine with his own. John looked at him, but Sherlock was still pretending to look bored, like nothing happened. Sherlock’s touch sent warmth flowing through him, all winter chill vanished, and his heart rate faster. He was almost worried that Harry would hear his heart beating, but she was so focused on her phone that she wouldn’t notice if the church blew up. Music blasted out of the piano, and everyone stood, starting the mass. After a long mass, John felt his eyes staring to close a little bit, tiredness washing over him. It might have been interesting if he could see, but tucked away in a little corner with Sherlock’s hand in his, he felt safe and unbothered. When the mass finally ended with a song of “Come all ye Faithfull’, they were dismissed. Harry immediately put her phone away just as the parents turned to get them. Luckily for her, they were too busy talking with a couple John had never seen before, and didn’t see. Sherlock’s hand left John’s as he got up, stretching and complaining about his back hurting. John and Harry got up too, anxious to get out of there, and excited for the presents waiting for them under the tree. Unfortunately, it took them another twenty minutes for them to get out of there because Mrs. Watson insisted on talking. When they finally got in the car, John was wondering (hoping more like it) that his mom had used her voice too much for talking, making her unable to sing. She didn’t turn on the radio this time, claiming she was saving the Christmas spirit for tonight. Sherlock was squished this time between the window and Harry, John felt bad for him, but he was in the same situation, just on the other side of the car. The snow was coming down hard now; the windshield wipers were working double time just to keep the road visible. John was worried about accidents, they could barely see five feet in front of the car, and if something like another car or a deer was in that five feet, he doubted they’d have time to stop. When the car pulled into the garage, he was more than happy to stumble out and race upstairs to get his presents. He grabbed the bags out of his trunk, which were hidden below his pile of robes and stuff, just in case someone went sneaking around. He heard Sherlock walking around in his room, probably getting his things. John made sure his mom wasn’t around, and quickly tapped all of the gifts with his wand, wrapping them with paper that came out of nowhere. Once the presents were wrapped in Santa gift paper, which was kind of creepy, he piled it all in one bag to carry downstairs. He hoped Sherlock liked his gifts, he knew it wasn’t much, but he didn’t have much money. He had forgotten to send Greg, Mike, and Sara with their gifts, so he’d just have to give them late, when they see each other again. He wasn’t going to torture Jam into a trip that long through the snow, especially on Christmas. While he was thinking of the owl, he gave him an owl treat for Christmas, letting him out to go hunt or something, and walking downstairs to where his family was already waiting. Sherlock sat on one of the armchairs, his violin in his hand, tuning the instrument quietly. There would be a small ping of the strings, making everyone look to him, but he ignored them. Mrs. Watson turned off the lights, every Christmas she’d light a million candles and set them all over the living room, so it ‘made the place feel like real Christmas, because back then they didn’t have electricity’. Quote on quote, every year.
“Are you going to play for us then?” John asked hopefully. He loved to hear Sherlock play his music, especially in such a setting, if only his parents and Harry could just leave.
“Everyone ready?” Mrs. Watson asked. Harry groaned, as if she’d rather crawl through hell than sit here and sing with her family, and the expression on Mr. Watson’s face suggested she might get the opportunity. “Line up here, look like a proper chorus, I’ll get the camera.” Mrs. Watson said, running to the kitchen. There was a bang, and an angry groan, since she didn’t exactly have night vision, but she returned with a happy smile and a camera dangling from her wrist. John, Mr. Watson, and Harry walked to the front of the living room, like tradition, as if a real audience was actually there. Mrs. Watson claimed the audience was Jesus himself, on his birthday, but John doubted even Jesus would show up for this atrocity of a performance.
“Sherlock, when you’re ready, don’t you need music?” she asked.
“No, I memorize all of my pieces.” Sherlock said confidently. “What should I play first?”
“Silent Night.” Mrs. Watson said with a little too much enthusiasm. Sherlock nodded, and raised the violin to his shoulder. John watched, awestruck, hoping no one was watching. He slid the bow across the strings, creating a beautiful note of music, starting off the piece. Mrs. Watson started the singing, with an earsplitting croak that made the whole family wince. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice, his eyes were closed, enchanted with the music and vibrations of his violin, swaying slightly. His fingers danced on the strings, the bow going gently back and forth, the candle light casting slight shadows on his face and hair… John realized he was the only one not singing; even Harry’s angry voice was among the mix. John joined in, hoping no one noticed. The piece sounded horrible, he was sure one of the neighbors would call the animal control soon enough, the only good sound was the violin, cutting through the horrible singing with beautiful notes and rhythms, like pure water running through dirt. John was sure his own voice was terrible, and he did his best to try to sound decent, he had Sherlock to impress, and that was the only opinion he really cared about. Before he knew it, the song was over, and everyone had stopped singing, and Sherlock lowered the violin from his chin, looking so elegant it was hard to concentrate on anything except the way the candle light hit his pale skin.
“Any more recommendations?” he asked. John looked at his family, Harry looked like she wanted to die, Mr. Watson looked annoyed, and Mrs. Watson clicked a picture with a big smile.
“Oh Holy Night?” Mr. Watson said, as if it was more of a question for Mrs. Watson’s approval. But she nodded happily, and Sherlock nodded once to show he understood. He raised the violin to his shoulder, and the cycle repeated again. John didn’t know all of the words to this song, but he did the best he could to sing along with the wailing voice of his mother. He wished his family could just leave already, so it was just he and Sherlock, but of course, it was Christmas, where would they go? When the song was over, they sang another two or three, the ones that could be played on a violin.
“Would you like to sing a few dear?” Mrs. Watson asked Sherlock, as if it was a tempting offer.
“No thank you, I doubt anyone would want to hear me sing.” Sherlock laughed. Ya, because they’d pass out from the perfection.
“Come on Sherlock, we’re all singing.” John encouraged with a smile.
“I really shouldn’t.” Sherlock warned.
“You get over here right now.” John said in a mocking tone. Sherlock groaned, as if it was a done deal, and walked to stand by John’s side in the little chorus line they had going. Mrs. Watson took a quick picture, smiling too wide to be possible.
“Let’s sing, Silver Bells.” Mrs. Watson decided after a moment of thought, because, as they all knew, this was the most important decision of her life. They all nodded, and John hoped this was the last song they were forced to sing. She counted down, and on one, they started singing, but John couldn’t process any of the sound, any of the people, nothing at all, because when Sherlock had started to sing, the song that flowed from his lips was the most beautiful, breath taking sound John had ever heard, it seriously took all of his self-control not to kiss him right then and there, but that would have to stop the music, and John never wanted to do that. Sherlock’s voice was the most beautiful thing John had ever heard, maybe apart from the violin, and he was absolutely enchanted. John didn’t remember the singing stopping; he only remembered that Sherlock had stopped. There was a moment of awkward silence, when John realized he was staring in awe, but when he looked around, he realized he wasn’t only one, even Harry looked amazed, and the entire family was looking at Sherlock with their mouths hanging partially open. Sherlock blushed slightly, looking slightly embarrassed.
“What?” He asked shyly. John exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath.
“Sherlock, you are an excellent singer, have you ever considered a career?” Mrs. Watson asked. Sherlock looked like he was appalled at the idea of that occupation.
“Well, thank you, but no, I always wanted to be a potions teacher.” He said simply.
“Sherlock, wow.” John muttered. Sherlock’s cheeks went even redder, but he looked flattered.
“Presents then?” Mr. Watson suggested.
“I’ll get the coco.” Mrs. Watson agreed. At the sound of his name, Coco came running out of the other room, obviously he had been hiding from the earsplitting noise. She raced out of the room to the kitchen, and the light flickered on for a moment, followed by the clinking of glasses. Mr. Watson fished presents out from underneath the tree while Sherlock, John and Harry sat on the couch, awaiting the pile of presents that would soon be there. John got his own bag from behind the couch and placed the presents in piles for the relatives and one for Sherlock of course. When all the presents were delivered, everyone had a good sized pile, except for Sherlock, who had the one from John and a gift from John’s parents as sort of a default gift. They all sat in the chairs, sipping steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Mrs. Watson had turned on Christmas music, because apparently they hadn’t had enough of Sherlock’s angel singing and violin playing.
“Who first?” John asked excitedly.
“You can go, you sound the most excited.” Mrs. Watson agreed, holding her camera to her face. John smiled, picking up the first present. There was a smiling snowman label on the Christmas bells wrapping paper, so it could only be from his family. It read to John, love Mom and Dad. He ripped the packaging open to find a new video game, as if he had time to play video games anymore since no technology was allowed in Hogwarts. John doubted the place even had electricity, but he smiled and thanked them, promising Sherlock to teach him how to play tomorrow.
“Harry, do you want to go next?” Mrs. Watson asked. Harry groaned, trying to hide her excitement, but John could tell she was as excited as he had been. She unwrapped the paper to reveal a new CD, some punk Goth band John had never heard about, but it got a smile on her face, which was enough for the family, Mrs. Watson snapped a picture, blinding them all with a flash.
“Sherlock, how about you go?” she asked. John made quick eye contact with him, as if wishing him good luck for whatever his parents had decided to get him. He picked up the packaging, and John prepared for the worst. When the paper fell off, John saw it was a book on spells, complicated spells that fixed things and stuff.
“We picked that up in Diagon Ally, it was originally for John, but we thought it would be perfect for you.” Mrs. Watson said happily. Sherlock smiled politely thanking them, which John was happy to see, he was worried they’d be socks or something that would be totally embarrassing.
“You guys next I guess.” John said. “I picked one present for the both of you because it was pretty expensive.” Mrs. Watson picked up the gift and opened it, looking at the book John had gotten them. She showed it to Mr. Watson, who laughed.
“Quidditch for Dummies, right up our ally.” He said with a smile. They thanked John, and then the cycle rotated again. John had gotten a box of owl treats for Jam and a wand polishing kit from his parents, who obviously had a shopping spree when they were out. Sherlock went next; John’s present to him, which made John hold his breath, hoping he’d like it. When he unwrapped it, his face lit up, and John hoped he just wasn’t faking it to make John feel good. He held up the cleaning polish and the music for everyone to see.
“I’ll play them as soon as I can.” He promised John, who smiled back at him. It was almost impossible for John not to return his beautiful smiles, the ones that make his heart melt like ice. Harry got a pair of headphones from the parents, and she had gotten the parents a candle and a tie, generic ‘I didn’t know what to get you gifts’, but they smiled and thanked her anyway. John opened his gift from Harry, which was a book he’d been wanting to read, which he was actually surprised with, it was thought out. Harry got her candy from him and Sherlock had gotten John’s parents quills and ink, after what John had said about them liking them. They insisted that he didn’t have to get them anything, but they were obviously flattered by the thought, he was definitely on their good side. Then came John’s present from Sherlock, which looked big. John immediately felt bad for only getting him cleaning polish and music, but it had been all the money he had. He opened it up, and thankfully his parents couldn’t see it immediately because there was a rose squashed between the wrapper and the gift. He quickly stuffed it into the pocket on his sweatshirt, hoping no one had noticed. The gift was a broomstick repair kit, which was amazing. John smiled and held it up for them to see, it was the perfect gift, but he worried about the cost.
“Thank you so much, but you didn’t have to spend so much, I feel bad now.” John said.
“It’s fine John.” Sherlock assured, and he looked sincere.
“I love it.” John said again, trying to communicate through his eyes that he also loved Sherlock, but he didn’t want his parents to pick up anything. Tomorrow night they’d tell them, and John prayed that they’d support them and they’re happy for them, because John didn’t know what he’d do if he was torn between the two most important people in his life. Gifts were over now, and no one had drunken their hot chocolate so they turned on another cheesy Christmas movie to watch, which was some Santa movie John had never seen until then, and to be honest it wasn’t much of a loss. When it was over, it was ten o’clock, and John was exhausted, from what he had no idea. He brought his empty mug to the counter to be washed in the morning, said good night to everyone, and went up to his room while everyone else stayed behind and watched another movie. He stashed his gifts in his trunk for now, changed into his pajamas quickly, and climbed into bed, thankful for the warmth the covers provided. It was still snowing outside, even though lightly, making the Christmas traffic a little rough. He closed his eyes, and in almost no time he was asleep, dreaming dreams he wouldn’t remember when he woke up.