Fic: Happiness if Homemade (ACD, T)
Dec. 7th, 2021 10:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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holmes_gendersTitle: Happiness is Homemade
Universe: ACD canon modern AU
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson, Mary Morstan, Molly Hooper
Word Count: 1334
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson spend a cosy Christmas Day together.
I woke on Christmas morning to find Sherlock sitting up beside me, reading a book. Their hair had begun to work loose from its bun, giving them a pleasingly rumpled look.
“Good morning,” I mumbled, reaching out to squeeze their thigh under the duvet.
They smiled down at me and laid the book aside. “Merry Christmas, love,” they murmured as they settled back down beside me.
We kissed softly, shifting closer to each other. It was warm and cosy, the world reduced to just the two of us in our bed. When we pulled away, I could see a familiar glitter in their eyes.
“What would you like?” they asked, their thumbs tracing over the faded scars on my chest.
“You,” I replied, drawing them into another kiss.
Our lovemaking was slow and gentle, with kisses and giggles and murmurs of love. We held each other for a time afterwards, before deciding it was time for breakfast.
In the kitchen, I turned the radio up loud. While we made tea and toasted slices of fruit loaf, we danced together, singing along to Wham. When everything was done, we went into the sitting room. We munched our toast and sipped our tea, gladly skipping watching the news. After we had finished eating, it was time for unwrapping presents. We started with those that had come from family and friends. My parents had bought me a cactus, another member of my growing army of houseplants. Sherlock’s parents had opted for a beautiful antique magnifying glass, which they handled with wonder.
Our presents from our friends were less extravagant, but no less welcome. Giles Lestrade and his wife had got us a box of biscuits, while Stanley Hopkins and his boyfriend had given us chocolates.
After these, we moved onto our presents to each other. They were modest stacks of gifts but given with all our love. We went first for the bought gifts. Sherlock’s to me was a set of red corduroy dungarees that I had been agonising over buying from a second-hand shop.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, stroking the material. “Thank you.”
They gave me a squeeze. “You’ll look lovely in them, John.”
The gift I had bought for Sherlock was a collection of second-hand books on bees that they had greatly admired. I had bought the books before they were able to get back the shop. They gasped when they tore aside the paper.
“It was you who bought these before me,” they said.
“Yep,” I replied.
“You sneaky git,” they teased, poking me lightly in the ribs.
I laughed before picking up the next present from my pile. Sherlock had made me some floral scented bubble bath. Their next gift from me was a pair of gloves, knitted using cotton yarn that wouldn’t scratch their sensitive skin. We then moved onto our main presents. I opened mine first, revealing a smart notebook.
“What’s this?” I asked, intrigued.
“Open it,” they replied.
I did so. On the first page was the translated title of a paper on gender theory that I had long wanted to read, but which was only available in German. It was in Sherlock’s handwriting. I turned to them quizzically.
“I translated it for you,” they explained. “That’s why I was spending so much time in the library.”
I smiled broadly, feeling lucky to have such a thoughtful partner. “I love it,” I said. “Thank you.”
I reached up to kiss their cheek and they blushed. They then unwrapped their final gift. It was a set of lingerie, red with black lace trim. They picked up the bra, caressing the satiny material of the cups in wonder.
“John, this is beautiful,” they breathed. “How did you do it?”
I gave them a squeeze. “Molly helped me,” I said. “You’re so bloody sexy, Sherlock, and I want you to feel it.”
They smiled. “Thank you, darling,” they murmured.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
We leaned in to share a brief kiss, then we had a cuddle. Their arms were warm around me, making me feel so very loved. After a little while longer on the sofa, we went to get dressed. Knowing that I would likely get dirty whilst cooking the lunch, I didn’t put on my new dungarees, instead opting for some slouchy trousers and a t-shirt. Sherlock wore a pair of garishly patterned leggings with a sweatshirt emblazoned with gold stars. We lazed around for a while, reading our new things. Sherlock kept pointing out illustrations in their books. It was so endearing that, in the end, I gave up on my own reading to devote my attention to them.
Eventually, I had to start cooking the lunch. It was fortunate, I mused, that I had assembled the nut roast the day before when Sherlock was making the bread for tea. I was kept busy for quite some time with the roast, the veggie sausages, and the vegetables. While the gravy was thickening, I went to change into my dungarees, then we sat down to eat. We stuffed ourselves the acceptable amount, leaving just about enough room for the Christmas pudding.
We rested for a while on the sofa before going out for a walk. With our hands clasped together, we strolled around Regent’s Park. It was cold and bright, and London was far quieter than usual. We stopped for a while at our favourite bench to sit in the late sunshine before wending our way home.
It was as I flicked on the kettle, back in our little kitchen, that the doorbell sounded.
“I’ll go,” Sherlock said, pausing to press a kiss to my cheek.
I heard them talking to our guests below, then the clatter of footsteps up the stairs. It was Mary who first entered the kitchen, and she came to me for a hug.
“Merry Christmas, John,” she said warmly.
I gave her a squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Merry Christmas. It’s lovely to see you.”
“And you,” she replied.
Her partner Molly came in then, and we hugged too.
“How did the lingerie go down?” Molly asked.
“They loved it,” I replied. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile.
I handed them both their mugs of tea, then carried mine and Sherlock’s through to the sitting room.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” I said, handing them their mug.
We sat around for a time, drinking our tea and talking. Then, we played boardgames. It was cosy and fun, with no need to watch what we were saying or keep our laughter quiet. I smiled to myself, seeing Sherlock able to flap when they were excited without being judged, just as they could when we were alone.
At 7, we decided we were ready for tea. We arranged the food on the dining table – Sherlock's bread, the cold leftovers from our lunch, and some nice cheeses. Mary and Molly had brought us some chutneys made from things they had grown on their allotment, so those went out too. We ate off our knees, sitting on the sofa and in armchairs. The meal was rounded off with slices of Christmas cake, then our friends left for home. We had given them a box of homemade biscuits, which they were saving for later.
After they had departed, Sherlock and I made some more tea and curled up together on the sofa again. We put the TV on, providing background noise. My gaze lingered for a while on our Christmas tree. It would not grace a fashionable home, but it was a reflection of us. We had decorated it with things we had picked up over the years, a selection of robins and little soldiers I had knitted, and some beautiful china birds which Sherlock had been given by their grandmother.
Sherlock squeezed me and pressed a soft kiss to my temple. “I love you,” they murmured.
“I love you too,” I murmured back.
It had been a perfect day.
Universe: ACD canon modern AU
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson, Mary Morstan, Molly Hooper
Word Count: 1334
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson spend a cosy Christmas Day together.
I woke on Christmas morning to find Sherlock sitting up beside me, reading a book. Their hair had begun to work loose from its bun, giving them a pleasingly rumpled look.
“Good morning,” I mumbled, reaching out to squeeze their thigh under the duvet.
They smiled down at me and laid the book aside. “Merry Christmas, love,” they murmured as they settled back down beside me.
We kissed softly, shifting closer to each other. It was warm and cosy, the world reduced to just the two of us in our bed. When we pulled away, I could see a familiar glitter in their eyes.
“What would you like?” they asked, their thumbs tracing over the faded scars on my chest.
“You,” I replied, drawing them into another kiss.
Our lovemaking was slow and gentle, with kisses and giggles and murmurs of love. We held each other for a time afterwards, before deciding it was time for breakfast.
In the kitchen, I turned the radio up loud. While we made tea and toasted slices of fruit loaf, we danced together, singing along to Wham. When everything was done, we went into the sitting room. We munched our toast and sipped our tea, gladly skipping watching the news. After we had finished eating, it was time for unwrapping presents. We started with those that had come from family and friends. My parents had bought me a cactus, another member of my growing army of houseplants. Sherlock’s parents had opted for a beautiful antique magnifying glass, which they handled with wonder.
Our presents from our friends were less extravagant, but no less welcome. Giles Lestrade and his wife had got us a box of biscuits, while Stanley Hopkins and his boyfriend had given us chocolates.
After these, we moved onto our presents to each other. They were modest stacks of gifts but given with all our love. We went first for the bought gifts. Sherlock’s to me was a set of red corduroy dungarees that I had been agonising over buying from a second-hand shop.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, stroking the material. “Thank you.”
They gave me a squeeze. “You’ll look lovely in them, John.”
The gift I had bought for Sherlock was a collection of second-hand books on bees that they had greatly admired. I had bought the books before they were able to get back the shop. They gasped when they tore aside the paper.
“It was you who bought these before me,” they said.
“Yep,” I replied.
“You sneaky git,” they teased, poking me lightly in the ribs.
I laughed before picking up the next present from my pile. Sherlock had made me some floral scented bubble bath. Their next gift from me was a pair of gloves, knitted using cotton yarn that wouldn’t scratch their sensitive skin. We then moved onto our main presents. I opened mine first, revealing a smart notebook.
“What’s this?” I asked, intrigued.
“Open it,” they replied.
I did so. On the first page was the translated title of a paper on gender theory that I had long wanted to read, but which was only available in German. It was in Sherlock’s handwriting. I turned to them quizzically.
“I translated it for you,” they explained. “That’s why I was spending so much time in the library.”
I smiled broadly, feeling lucky to have such a thoughtful partner. “I love it,” I said. “Thank you.”
I reached up to kiss their cheek and they blushed. They then unwrapped their final gift. It was a set of lingerie, red with black lace trim. They picked up the bra, caressing the satiny material of the cups in wonder.
“John, this is beautiful,” they breathed. “How did you do it?”
I gave them a squeeze. “Molly helped me,” I said. “You’re so bloody sexy, Sherlock, and I want you to feel it.”
They smiled. “Thank you, darling,” they murmured.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
We leaned in to share a brief kiss, then we had a cuddle. Their arms were warm around me, making me feel so very loved. After a little while longer on the sofa, we went to get dressed. Knowing that I would likely get dirty whilst cooking the lunch, I didn’t put on my new dungarees, instead opting for some slouchy trousers and a t-shirt. Sherlock wore a pair of garishly patterned leggings with a sweatshirt emblazoned with gold stars. We lazed around for a while, reading our new things. Sherlock kept pointing out illustrations in their books. It was so endearing that, in the end, I gave up on my own reading to devote my attention to them.
Eventually, I had to start cooking the lunch. It was fortunate, I mused, that I had assembled the nut roast the day before when Sherlock was making the bread for tea. I was kept busy for quite some time with the roast, the veggie sausages, and the vegetables. While the gravy was thickening, I went to change into my dungarees, then we sat down to eat. We stuffed ourselves the acceptable amount, leaving just about enough room for the Christmas pudding.
We rested for a while on the sofa before going out for a walk. With our hands clasped together, we strolled around Regent’s Park. It was cold and bright, and London was far quieter than usual. We stopped for a while at our favourite bench to sit in the late sunshine before wending our way home.
It was as I flicked on the kettle, back in our little kitchen, that the doorbell sounded.
“I’ll go,” Sherlock said, pausing to press a kiss to my cheek.
I heard them talking to our guests below, then the clatter of footsteps up the stairs. It was Mary who first entered the kitchen, and she came to me for a hug.
“Merry Christmas, John,” she said warmly.
I gave her a squeeze and kissed her cheek. “Merry Christmas. It’s lovely to see you.”
“And you,” she replied.
Her partner Molly came in then, and we hugged too.
“How did the lingerie go down?” Molly asked.
“They loved it,” I replied. “Thank you so much for your help.”
“You’re welcome,” she said with a smile.
I handed them both their mugs of tea, then carried mine and Sherlock’s through to the sitting room.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” I said, handing them their mug.
We sat around for a time, drinking our tea and talking. Then, we played boardgames. It was cosy and fun, with no need to watch what we were saying or keep our laughter quiet. I smiled to myself, seeing Sherlock able to flap when they were excited without being judged, just as they could when we were alone.
At 7, we decided we were ready for tea. We arranged the food on the dining table – Sherlock's bread, the cold leftovers from our lunch, and some nice cheeses. Mary and Molly had brought us some chutneys made from things they had grown on their allotment, so those went out too. We ate off our knees, sitting on the sofa and in armchairs. The meal was rounded off with slices of Christmas cake, then our friends left for home. We had given them a box of homemade biscuits, which they were saving for later.
After they had departed, Sherlock and I made some more tea and curled up together on the sofa again. We put the TV on, providing background noise. My gaze lingered for a while on our Christmas tree. It would not grace a fashionable home, but it was a reflection of us. We had decorated it with things we had picked up over the years, a selection of robins and little soldiers I had knitted, and some beautiful china birds which Sherlock had been given by their grandmother.
Sherlock squeezed me and pressed a soft kiss to my temple. “I love you,” they murmured.
“I love you too,” I murmured back.
It had been a perfect day.
no subject
Date: 2021-12-14 05:06 pm (UTC)Sherlock translating for John is one of my favourite lesser-known tropes.
Well done!!
no subject
Date: 2021-12-14 05:46 pm (UTC)