16. Season's Greetings
Dec. 16th, 2018 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsalwaysyou_jwDay 16 of Deck the Halls:
“They can’t have just disappeared!” he growled at the ground, hunched over in an effort to spot evidence of where his murderer went.
“I keep telling you!” John shouted across the barren field. “There is only one other set of footprints!”
He saw the distant silhouette of Sherlock kick angrily at the snow, a cloud of white vapour surrounding him momentarily until catching the wind or settling back down at his feet. “They’re different shoes!”
God, this was not how John imagined spending Christmas Day. “ Then they changed shoes !” John was so close to losing it. His teeth were clashing against each other repeatedly with violent resolve after hours outside in this hellscape. The snow was past his knees, his shoes were soaked through with frozen moisture, and he was certain he could make it look like an accident if he killed Sherlock.
A groan that Sherlock probably didn’t think John would hear escaped the detective and his hands balled into tight fists in response. “They’re different gaits, too, John!”
“No, really Lestrade, Sherlock just slipped,” he imagined saying to Greg when they found Sherlock’s body.
No, probably wouldn’t be believable.
Sherlock’s back was facing him and he danced through the snow doing various reenactments of what their killer might have done in this field. The lapels of his jacket flapped behind him, swishing back and forth in the gentle wind and prompted by the winter air huffing around them.
An idea zapped into him at that moment, a cruel smile gliding across John’s face as he bent over to gather a large sum of snow between his already-freezing fingers and formed the mound into a compact ball.
“Hey, Sherlock!” he shouted, and the glee in his voice caused Sherlock to finally turn his attention to John. “Ho, ho ho!”
And he swung his right arm as forcefully as he could to project the snowball across dozens of yards to smack a confused and alarmed Sherlock Holmes square in the shoulder.
“Wha-” he shouted as he beheld the crumbled snow on his chest as though it were a substance he’d never beheld before. Laughing too hard to run, John did a strange sort of skip-walk closer to Sherlock to wipe the mess off and apologize for his childish behaviour.
Well, he was going to do that until he heard Sherlock say, now only slightly louder than his normal voice but using a rather stern tone, “That was extremely childish. Don’t do it again, we’re on a case.”
John froze just like the moisture in his shoes. Sherlock turned on his heels and continued his strange motions that were, apparently, helping the case somehow. Did he… Did Sherlock just reprimand him for having fun on Christmas?
Burning with enough anger to melt the snow around him, John held his chattering jaw firm with angry tension. Sherlock was chasing a dead trail, dragging along this miserable adventure when he’d had very, very different plans for today. Plans that involved being dry. Plans with alcohol and confessions and a lovely new scarf for Sherlock…
Fine.
He scooped up another mass of snow in his hands- more, even, than the first time- and took great care in forming it into a tight, dense ball.
“Fa la la la la,” John bellowed at the top his lungs in an off-kilter tune that he didn’t worry about. He flung it at Sherlock once more, the motion easier to aim with how much closer he now stood from him.
It hit him directly in the stomach after he turned to investigate the source John’s outburst. His mouth was a perfect “O” as it hit the breath out of him a bit and he needed to stagger backwards from the blow.
John was laughing once more, his whole body shaking with it. Perhaps this Christmas would be okay, after all.
“John,” he hissed with unadulterated fury. “I told you not to do that again.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But here’s the thing,” he said with laughter still in his voice before bending over again to amass one more snow bullet to throw at his friend’s face, “I don’t do what you tell me to.”
His hands rubbed the snow until the outside was perfectly round, the white brilliance of the trees and sky practically reflected in the surface.
“If you throw that-”
“What?” John challenged. “If I throw that… what? Ruin my Christmas? Oh, wait, you already did that.”
Sherlock’s voice was dangerously calm, his face a mask of tension and anger that left a rebellious drive in John’s stomach. “Something quite like that, yes. If you throw that-”
But it was too late. “Season’s greetings!” John shouted while Sherlock was still talking before releasing the thing.
Continue reading on AO3
“They can’t have just disappeared!” he growled at the ground, hunched over in an effort to spot evidence of where his murderer went.
“I keep telling you!” John shouted across the barren field. “There is only one other set of footprints!”
He saw the distant silhouette of Sherlock kick angrily at the snow, a cloud of white vapour surrounding him momentarily until catching the wind or settling back down at his feet. “They’re different shoes!”
God, this was not how John imagined spending Christmas Day. “ Then they changed shoes !” John was so close to losing it. His teeth were clashing against each other repeatedly with violent resolve after hours outside in this hellscape. The snow was past his knees, his shoes were soaked through with frozen moisture, and he was certain he could make it look like an accident if he killed Sherlock.
A groan that Sherlock probably didn’t think John would hear escaped the detective and his hands balled into tight fists in response. “They’re different gaits, too, John!”
“No, really Lestrade, Sherlock just slipped,” he imagined saying to Greg when they found Sherlock’s body.
No, probably wouldn’t be believable.
Sherlock’s back was facing him and he danced through the snow doing various reenactments of what their killer might have done in this field. The lapels of his jacket flapped behind him, swishing back and forth in the gentle wind and prompted by the winter air huffing around them.
An idea zapped into him at that moment, a cruel smile gliding across John’s face as he bent over to gather a large sum of snow between his already-freezing fingers and formed the mound into a compact ball.
“Hey, Sherlock!” he shouted, and the glee in his voice caused Sherlock to finally turn his attention to John. “Ho, ho ho!”
And he swung his right arm as forcefully as he could to project the snowball across dozens of yards to smack a confused and alarmed Sherlock Holmes square in the shoulder.
“Wha-” he shouted as he beheld the crumbled snow on his chest as though it were a substance he’d never beheld before. Laughing too hard to run, John did a strange sort of skip-walk closer to Sherlock to wipe the mess off and apologize for his childish behaviour.
Well, he was going to do that until he heard Sherlock say, now only slightly louder than his normal voice but using a rather stern tone, “That was extremely childish. Don’t do it again, we’re on a case.”
John froze just like the moisture in his shoes. Sherlock turned on his heels and continued his strange motions that were, apparently, helping the case somehow. Did he… Did Sherlock just reprimand him for having fun on Christmas?
Burning with enough anger to melt the snow around him, John held his chattering jaw firm with angry tension. Sherlock was chasing a dead trail, dragging along this miserable adventure when he’d had very, very different plans for today. Plans that involved being dry. Plans with alcohol and confessions and a lovely new scarf for Sherlock…
Fine.
He scooped up another mass of snow in his hands- more, even, than the first time- and took great care in forming it into a tight, dense ball.
“Fa la la la la,” John bellowed at the top his lungs in an off-kilter tune that he didn’t worry about. He flung it at Sherlock once more, the motion easier to aim with how much closer he now stood from him.
It hit him directly in the stomach after he turned to investigate the source John’s outburst. His mouth was a perfect “O” as it hit the breath out of him a bit and he needed to stagger backwards from the blow.
John was laughing once more, his whole body shaking with it. Perhaps this Christmas would be okay, after all.
“John,” he hissed with unadulterated fury. “I told you not to do that again.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But here’s the thing,” he said with laughter still in his voice before bending over again to amass one more snow bullet to throw at his friend’s face, “I don’t do what you tell me to.”
His hands rubbed the snow until the outside was perfectly round, the white brilliance of the trees and sky practically reflected in the surface.
“If you throw that-”
“What?” John challenged. “If I throw that… what? Ruin my Christmas? Oh, wait, you already did that.”
Sherlock’s voice was dangerously calm, his face a mask of tension and anger that left a rebellious drive in John’s stomach. “Something quite like that, yes. If you throw that-”
But it was too late. “Season’s greetings!” John shouted while Sherlock was still talking before releasing the thing.
Continue reading on AO3
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Date: 2018-12-17 12:44 pm (UTC)