Author's Note

Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoyed this ficlet. :) Thanks to all who have reviewed and favorited.

.x.x.x.x.x.

Chapter 5: Sherlock Formulates a Plan

Meanwhile, Sherlock was quietly panicking.

John had not reacted as anticipated to Sherlock's gift of mistletoe. If John did, in fact, feel as Sherlock did, surely he would have responded to the kiss? That and the mistletoe were an obvious invitation.

Weren't they?

Admittedly, it had been a while since he had attempted anything resembling a relationship. Perhaps he had been too subtle.

Sherlock sat up in bed, letting the duvet fall into a crumpled pile at his waist. Clearly, Sherlock had miscalculated John's affection. He would need to come up with a Plan.

Sherlock closed his eyes and saw the image of John's face as he opened the box of mistletoe. Sherlock had been expecting the confusion, at least initially. But he hadn't expected the tinge of guilt and fear when he'd kissed John.

The whole thing was ridiculous. What he had with John was good, fantastic even, and it had been foolish to...

Plan. Yes. He needed to focus.

Well, obviously, the first choice would be to ignore the whole thing. John would come back, and Sherlock would carry on as normal.

If John were to question it - exceedingly likely, as John could be insatiably curious when Sherlock appeared to be acting out of character - he would simply deny the whole thing. It was a practical joke. It meant nothing. Sherlock just couldn't be arsed to get John a real present.

If John still pushed... Well.

Sherlock knew that, though John was often unobservant, he also wasn't blind. Even if John were the last to find out about Sherlock's affections, he would, eventually, find out.

Which meant that Sherlock would have to resort to The Talk.

He had been rehearsing The Talk for months now, ever since he had seen John coming out of the bathroom in just a towel.

It went something like this:

"John, I would like you to know that regardless of any physical reactions I may have, I still consider my body to be merely transport. I understand that you do not reciprocate, nor do I expect you to, and I would never dream of doing anything to sabotage our friendship. Within reason, of course. I'm not going to stop experimenting in the flat. And I still expect you to get the milk, and accompany me to crime scenes. But, for instance, I will not push you up against the wall and have my way with you."

It was at this point that Sherlock started to lose the thread of his thoughts.

If The Talk was insufficient to assuage John, Sherlock would simply have to resort to begging.

And if all else failed, well, there was always Mrs. Hudson.

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When John finally checked his pocket, an hour after sitting down with Mrs. Hudson, he was surprised to pull out his mobile and see that he had nine missed text messages.

Where, exactly, did you go? SH
John, stop ignoring me. SH
I've been told that ignoring one's flatmate is not in the Christmas spirit. SH
Did you want to open your other presents, or not? SH
Perhaps I shall use some of them in an experiment. SH
That was a joke. SH
John, say something. SH
John. SH
John, I'm sorry.

Jesus. If Sherlock was apologizing, he must be really desperate.

I'm with Mrs Hudson -jw
Stop panicking -jw

I'm not panicking. SH

Right, of course not. -jw

What have you been discussing? SH

John decided that was a conversation best conducted face-to-face. But if he didn't respond, Sherlock might worry.

:)

Right. A smiley face. He'd sent Sherlock a smiley face.

Sherlock would kill him.

I'll be up in fifteen -jw

"Well, Mrs. Hudson, it's been lovely chatting with you, but it sounds like I'd better go back up before Sherlock blows a gasket." John started to rise, but Mrs. Hudson covered his hand with her own.

"I hope you can forgive my meddling."

John grinned and turned his palm to face Mrs. Hudson's, which he grasped and squeezed reassuringly. "What meddling?"

Mrs. Hudson pulled away, smiling.

.x.x.x.x.x.

"Hi."

Sherlock nearly dropped the kettle. How had he missed John's entrance? He was leaning against the kitchen counter, eyeing Sherlock appraisingly, head tilted slightly to one side, the wisps of his bangs just long enough to brush against his forehead.

Neither of them said anything, the silence stretching uncomfortably, and finally Sherlock turned and started to pour the hot water into the two mugs sitting on the counter.

"I made tea earlier, but it cooled."

"Oh?"

Sherlock didn't know what to say to that. So he simply picked up John's mug and handed it to him, relishing the sensation of heat curled against his fingers.

"Thanks." John took a sip, eyes never leaving Sherlock's.

Well. Plan A seemed to be going fine so far.

"So are you going to tell me what's been going on?"

Ah. Time for Plan B then.

"I made tea. Unless I misinterpreted your text message," and at this he fixed John with a glare, "you talked about emoticons with Mrs. Hudson. You'll call your sister later - probably just after lunch, in the hopes that she won't be drunk yet - fat chance of that - and join Mrs. Hudson for drinks before coming back to 221B and starting to cook roast lamb, only to give up and heat up the leftover takeaway we've had in the fridge since Sunday-"

"Sherlock." John spoke the word with the authority of military command, but there was a small smile on his face and his eyes were crinkled up in mirth.

"Yes?"

"You know what I meant."

Sherlock raised a single eyebrow, affecting disdain.

"What's been going on between us, I meant."

Sherlock swallowed. "Ah."

John simply waited, head tilted at a ridiculous angle (and why would the angle of John's head have anything to do with his sincerity?). He gazed at Sherlock expectantly, a slight smile on his face.

Sherlock was rapidly running out of Plans. "John, I, ah, I would like you to know that - that regardless of any physical reactions I may have, I still consider-"

But the rest of his speech was cut off by John's mouth crushing against his own. John's lips were warm and soft and ever-so-slightly chapped, and Sherlock caught the lingering taste of tea biscuits and Irish Breakfast blend.

After a few seconds, John pulled back, cheeks flushed and breathing hard. "Should - sorry. Should have mentioned the - this." He pulled a sprig of mistletoe out of his jacket pocket. "It was - well, couldn't break the rules, could I?"

Sherlock stared down at the sprig of green in John's outstretched palm. Perhaps the mistletoe hadn't been such a bad present after all.

"Since when have we ever followed the rules?" Sherlock pointed out.

John smiled. "Point." He tossed the mistletoe over his shoulder. "Who needs rules?"

Sherlock smiled as John leaned forward once more.

As Sherlock sunk his hands into John's hair and sucked at his bottom lip, he made a mental note to buy Mrs. Hudson a nice, not-cerise scarf.

Tomorrow.