A: Let's find out, shall we?

25 Days of Christmas

Chapter 16

25 December, 2013

Sherlock had almost smiled at that, but the air was too thick, sparking with electricity. John could feel his skin prickle, and as Sherlock leaned a bit closer, John could see goosebumps forming on his friend's pale skin. Anticipation hung in the air, heavy and tangible. Subconsciously, John rose on his tiptoes slightly, craning his neck upwards. Why the hell did Sherlock have to be so tall? They were so close, so close, only a little further now. If Sherlock wasn't so tall - and if they both weren't so apprehensive - they could be snogging right now.
John could feel Sherlock's fringe tickle his forehead, and he nearly stopped breathing. When the tips of their noses brushed, Sherlock's breathing hitched slightly. The consulting detective would spend the next week psycho-analysing that. Right now, he was focused. Afraid, but focused.
Out of nowhere, a phone rang. The two men jumped.

"Oh shit," John huffed, head falling forward in defeat. Sherlock pressed their foreheads together, brow furrowing as he tried to search John's eyes. It was a little difficult, seeing as John's eyes had closed.
After a few seconds the voicemail kicked in, but the moment was past ruined. Neither made a move to proceed, nor did they make a move to part. At least not until John's mobile rang again.

Sherlock chuckled. "Might want to get that."
John groaned, but obliged, rifling through his pocket until he found the accursed device. He nearly answered it rather rudely - until he saw it was his sister.

"Shit," he murmured, then quickly changed his tone. "Hey sis!"
Sherlock watched as John took the conversation across the room. He could hear Harry yelling from where he was, though after John practically shouted the words, "I felt bad leaving Sherlock here alone!" she seemed to understand the hidden meaning there and quieted down.
Sherlock smiled, ran his fingers through the curls on the back of his head, and meandered into the kitchen.

...

The rest of the week passed without further incident. Sherlock was bored, John chastised him for shooting walls, and everything seemed back to normal. Somewhat.
John and Sherlock seemed to be partaking in some sort of dance with each other. When one would figuratively take a step forward, the other would take an equal, but still figurative, step back. John didn't pet Sherlock's hair anymore - whenever his fingers even twitched in Sherlock's direction, the detective would subconsciously flinch away, even though Sherlock knew that he loved John's fingers carding through his curls. Sherlock didn't lie on John. The doctor would actually sit in the middle of the couch to prevent this, and if Sherlock made a move to sit beside him, John would slide to the opposite side. They would take pains to avoid touching, whether it was walking past in the hall, or sitting in a cab. They were still on good terms, of course, but... It was almost as if they were afraid of breaking each other.
They both looked sad when they thought the other wasn't looking.

On New Year's Eve, things were quiet. John was at the table with a glass of something strong, while Sherlock was curled up in his chair. He had been texting someone for the majority of the afternoon, but John hadn't the faintest idea who it was. Out of nowhere, Sherlock's head jerked towards the doorway, and seconds later, John heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets, one heavier than the other, and one of them skipped over the creaky stair. Greg and someone else then... though that gait was slightly familiar...

"Anderson," Sherlock murmured to John an instant before two familiar faces appeared in the doorway. John nodded in a way that said "ah".
"Knock knock," Greg greeted with a grin. Anderson stood next to him, hands in his pockets.
"Hello John."
"Hello Phillip."
Sherlock looked up from the floor momentarily, staring straight ahead. He blinked several times, frown growing across his features. In all honesty, he looked consitpated. Anderson noticed, and John could tell that he was holding back a smile.
"That's my name," Anderson said helpfully, raising his brows. The snark was tangible.
Sherlock's frown deepened as he turned to face John in his chair. "How do you know Anderson's name?"
"Because I pay attention," John answered. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something.
Greg piped up then. "Alright ladies, we aren't here for a row."
"Then what are you here for?" Sherlock almost-snapped.
"We're here to ask John if he wants to go out for a little New Year's drink," the detective inspector said with a smile. Anderson nodded affirmatively.
"Oh. Uh, Greg, I was actually planning on a quiet evening at home..." John said slowly. In all reality, a break from Baker Street would have been lovely. But due to past occurences, John didn't have much reason to really like Anderson all that much. (John did like him more than Sally, however.)
"Oh go on, John. I'm sure you're getting sick of me," Sherlock murmured distractedly, eyes on his phone again. Coincidently, Greg's mobile went off, and he covertly glanced at it from his pocket.
"Why don't you go on ahead, Anderson. I'll see if I can't convince John to come along."
"Don't be too long."

After Anderson had left, John stared after him, frowning. Sherlock nearly read his mind.
"So, Anderson having problems with the wife?" Sherlock asked for John with a sneer.
"Only about as much as the rest of us," Greg said with a shrug, and John and Sherlock were both reminded of Greg's own marital problems. Only John took the effort to feel sympathetic.
"Want a drink?" John asked, gesturing towards the kitchen. "You'll be here for a while."
Lestrade grinned. "That's no trouble."
Sherlock scoffed from his chair, but was thoroughly ignored.

The remainder of the evening was spent amiably. John and Lestrade chatted on the sofa while Sherlock brooded in his chair, watching the New Year's broadcast with a frown. At about eleven, he suddenly stood, walked over to the other two men, and plopped down between them. John flinched away (but only slightly), while Greg just sat there.

"Getting a little lonely over there, huh?" he asked, hiding a smile.
Sherlock acted as if nothing had happened, simply scooted a millimetre closer to John and crossed his arms, eyes back on the telly. John was equally silent.

Half eleven now. Both John and Greg noticed that the closer it got to midnight, the more restless Sherlock became. He seemed to be running something through his mind - but what? John wracked his brain for something, but nothing seemed right. Greg just sat there, looking at the two of them with that smile Mrs Hudson got sometimes. The one that made John frown and Sherlock roll his eyes.
Suddenly, Sherlock went stiff as a board, back rimrod straight, eyes glued to the television screen. The countdown had started - and the camera was flicking between hundreds of couples, all anticipating their first kiss of the new year. John found Sherlock's anticipation contagious, though he had no idea what could be causing it. Well, to be honest he did, it just refused to cross his thick mind.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1-"
Sherlock looked to John then for a brief moment, glancing over his face, drinking it all in. Then, like a scared fawn, he shied away, turned to meet Greg's eyes.
"C'mon, would you just kiss him already?" he asked incredulously.

And Sherlock did.

And it was perfect.

And that's it! Only one more chapter, though the next one really has nothing to do with anything. Sorry this one is so late - I really have no excuse. Ending could have been better as well (along with the whole bloody thing), but whatever. Maybe I'll come back to it.