Midnight on a New Year

John stared gloomily into his tumbler as the programme on the telly announced ten minutes until midnight.

It was a terrible New Year's Eve.

He didn't have a girlfriend, he was stuck in the flat with his arrogant best friend, Mrs. Hudson was spending New Years with her sister and even Stamford had other plans.

He was feeling remarkably lonely in his ever-increasing old age.

"Stop wallowing in your own self pity and look at this," Sherlock said sharply, somewhere near the windows.

John ignored them.

"Twenty minutes until the New Year! The excitement level here is rising!"

"John," Sherlock said.

John took a drink of his scotch, looking at the television.

"Oh, are you still continuing the silent treatment?" Sherlock griped. "I haven't even done anything to bother you this time and you're being ridiculously gloomy."

"Says the one who doesn't talk for days on end," John muttered under his breath, drinking the rest of his scotch in one gulp. He stood and trudged across the room, pouring himself another glass.

"I fall victim to not talking for days on end, I told you this when I met you. You, however, do not stay silent for minutes on end, let alone days, and you've been gloomy all day even though it's New Years, which is technically what your lot calls the time to party. So, conclusion, something's bothering you. Probably the fact that you're spending New Years with me. Considering Harry's drinking again, you have no one to visit with. Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister and Stamford and Murray both have plans that you were not invited to. Therefore, I'm the only one you have to ring in the New Year with, which you're not particularly happy about. The better question is, why are you so bothered about it? Holidays are boring; so what if it's a new year? It's going to be as same as the last, and whether or not you spend it someone isn't going to matter."

Throughout Sherlock's little speech, John felt his mood declining. Sherlock was the blunt one; he didn't care about the sentiment (or lack thereof) or how words affected other people. John knew this.

Of course, at this point, it didn't help.

"I think I'm having a mid-life crisis..." John murmured, sinking lower in his chair as the programme announce fifteen minutes to midnight.

Sherlock snorted. "Please."

"I'm serious," John replied, feeling a bit defensive. If he was having a mid-life crisis, he should know. Sherlock, who never experienced crisis in his life rather than not solving a case, hardly would know if John was having a mid-life crisis.

... Sherlock wouldn't know, right?

"Don't be melodramatic. You're just bored."

John took another large gulp of his drink, contemplating Sherlock's statement. He thought that there may be some merit to it. They hadn't had a particularly pressing case in quite awhile...

"Let's go to Trafalgar Square."

John snapped his attention to Sherlock, looking at him as though he'd just lost his mind. "What?"

"It'll be busy with people celebrating. Perhaps we'll run into a crime. Hopefully it's not boring, although I expect no less from common criminals."

Sherlock walked across the room, grabbing his coat.

John stared at him in astonishment for a few moments, watching Sherlock shrug his coat on and loop his scarf around his neck.

"Wait, is this really happening?" John asked, staring at him. "It's ten minutes to midnight!"

"There's no time to waste, then."

John blinked before scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his coat and took off down the stairs after Sherlock.

They arrived at Trafalgar Square at two minutes to midnight.

John doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees and struggling to regain his breath after they had stopped.

Sherlock was standing next to him, his breathing elevated, his hair windswept. His cheeks were pink from the cold and his eyes were glittering with interest as he looked around.

"Th-That was..." John started, gasping for breath. "That was crazy..."

"No, that was boring compared to some of the chases," Sherlock replied absently.

John laughed breathlessly, his breath forming a cloud of condensation.

"One minute to midnight..." Sherlock said shortly, his eyes directed at his own watch.

"Damn. I don't... don't have my scotch now!" John said, under his breath. "Who's brilliant idea was this to run across town?" he joked, casting a glance at Sherlock as he stood up.

"Hm, I can't quite remember," Sherlock replied with a smile.

John looked at his watch, counting down in the seconds. "Five... four... three... two..."

"One..." Sherlock said.

There was a cheer around Trafalgar Square as the clock struck midnight.

"Happy New Year," Sherlock murmured.

"Happy New Year!" John replied. "And many happy wishes."

"Maybe a good crime..."

John laughed quietly, smiling up at the consulting detective.

Sherlock's smile was nearly imperceptible, but John could spot the happiness ghosting amongst those ever keen eyes.

Perhaps the past year hadn't been so bad. He had met Sherlock, after all, and while their partnership raised too many questions for him to tolerate, he couldn't imagine life without the consulting detective.

"I told you that you weren't having a mid-life crisis," Sherlock said.

"You are my mid-life crisis, Sherlock," John joked.

"Well, yes, an exciting one, at that," Sherlock said, as though the fact that he was a walking, talking mid-life crisis was obvious.

John rolled his eyes, grinning. "Definitely exciting, that's for sure."

"Hungry?"

"Absolutely," John replied instantly, even though he'd probably end up paying.

"Chinese, then."

"Sounds good."

"You're paying."

"I figured."

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did."

"Maybe I'll pay. It's New Years', after all."

"Really?"

"Not a chance. Wallet's at home."

"Of course it is..."

"Was that not obvious?"

"Obviously not."

Happy New Year, all! I wish you all the best for 2013!