Sherlock+John's Christmases Parts IV and V

Sherlock had made a living solving crime. He had moved to London, putting the past behind him. He went from flat to flat, unable to settle down. He began to consult for Scotland Yard, and made quite a lot of money, but he just wasn't happy. He had finally been diagnosed as a sociopath, and while it relieved him, it brought no closure for his bleak childhood. He lost contact with his mother and watched via the tabloids as Mycroft rose through the ranks of government. He was alive, but wasn't living.

One cold morning he was walking back to his current lodgings, out on a stroll, when he decided to get some coffee. But all of the stores were closed, and it took him a while to figure out why. It was Christmas. He swore to himself, and continued back, walking faster. He ran straight into someone outside of his flat, sending the startled man falling into a puddle of brown London slush.

"I'm so sorry," said Sherlock, not sorry at all.

"No worries," said the man. "Can I have a hand, though? I've a bad leg."

"John Watson?" Sherlock recognised the voice. He helped him to his feet.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"My god, it's been ages. You must be freezing."

"Not t-too b-bad," John insisted, his teeth chattering. His jumper was soaked.

"I live right here. Come in and warm up." John followed Sherlock into the dim little flat. It was cluttered with books and half-packed boxes. Sherlock handed John a dressing gown, and John gave the younger man his soaked jumper and shirt.

"Doing anything for Christmas?" John asked when Sherlock had returned from the laundry room.

"Nah. Never liked Christmas anyways," Sherlock replied.

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Not really my area."

"Oh. Boyfriend, then?"

"No."

"Good- I mean... It's fine. It's all fine."

"I know."

"Why do we always seem to meet on Christmas?" John looked around the flat.

"Christmas miracle!" Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Quite." A silence fell over the flat. Sherlock threw some books into a box. "Is that- is that a skull?"

"Yeah. Old friend of mine," joked Sherlock.

"You moving, then?"

"Yeah. Been a while since my last case, rent's a bit high. Need to find a new place by Monday. But nobody seems to want me as a flatmate. Can't imagine why," he said, gesturing at the skull.

"Not at all," John chuckled. "But I've been looking for a flatmate."

"Really? What a coincidence. I've got one in mind, but can't afford it by myself."

"Well, I've got a nicer pension now."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Got shot again."

"You went back?"

"Yeah, got restless."

"I can imagine."

"Let me help you pack." Within an hour, the room was cleared of Sherlock's possessions.

"Want to get dinner, then we'll check out the flat?"

"Who's gonna be open on Christmas?"

"I know a place." They took a cab over to a little restaurant called Angelo's. The server kept insisting on making the table as romantic as possible, but Sherlock didn't mind. It was funny how flustered John got, though. They ate their dinner, and took another cab to a little second floor flat. The landlady showed them around.

"It's a great flat, and I owe Sherlock a favor," Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, said.

"We'll take it."

"Happy Christmas."

"Likewise."

~~

They had inhabited the little flat for a year. John got used to Sherlock's eccentricities, and accompanied him on some cases. He stopped going to his therapist. The old limp was gone, and he even had a girlfriend for a few months. Christmas had rolled around again, and Sherlock was in the usual post-case slump. He shot the radio when it had played one carol too many, and was now lying on the couch. John entered the flat, but didn't greet his flatmate like usual.

"S'matter?" Sherlock asked, sitting up.

"At the clinic. Ten-year-old girl hit by a drunk driver. Couldn't save her." John sank into the couch. "I hate Christmas."

"Why didn't you take off?"

"Someone's gotta do it. Everyone else was on holiday, so...."

"Mmm." John slumped into the back of the couch, closing his eyes. "I'm gonna get some wine. Want some?" Sherlock didn't wait for a response, but got two glasses from the kitchen. He poured the rich burgundy drink into two glasses.

"Don't we have any coasters?"

"Here. Use this envelope." Sherlock grabbed an envelope and gave it to John.

"Sherlock, this is a check!" John exclaimed. "You can't just leave it lying around."

"When's it from?"

"April. Sherlock, this is a lot of money." Sherlock flinched.

"Yeah."

"You could get your own flat, you know."

"I know. I just didn't want to."

"Why?"

"John... In all of my years, I've never once had a friend. You're the first. I thought w-we might loose that if I moved. So I didn't want you to know that I was rich."

"Sherlock... That's..."

"Creepy."

"No. That's really sweet." Sherlock pulled a face. "Well, not, you know, sweet, but... thoughtful."

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, happy Christmas."

"You too."