Chapter Text
John stood in front of his closet and examined his reflection in the head-high mirror at the front. With a wry smile, he straightened his new jumper. Just the right thing for NSY’s Christmas party. A really ugly, green jumper with a large reindeer and a penguin in the middle and small hearts and little bells embroidered around them.
A week earlier, John had found this absolute horror in a store a little apart from the other Christmas clothes, and bought it immediately for the motto that was scheduled for the party: Ugly Christmas clothes. Everyone should wear at least one piece of ugly Christmas clothing.
John would be comfortable at the party, immerse himself in the crowd, and have a good time with some of them. And he was looking forward to the choice of Greg and Molly’s Christmas attire.
Maybe Sherlock would go with him. Certainly not in an ugly Christmas jumper, but maybe he would condescend to accept John’s invitation and go to that party with him. John had tried to convince Sherlock by promising to listen when he would deduce all the cheeky things that concerned the colleagues at the Yard.
With one last appraising look in the mirror, John turned towards the stairs and made his way into the kitchen to have a last cup of tea before they had to make their way to the party.
******
Sherlock knew very well when he was being manipulated, not that John was being very clever with it.. On the other hand, bets with John were always fun and Sherlock couldn’t deny being intrigued by the idea of winning a bet against him. He had always been ambiguous, and with not many cases on, Sherlock had spent the past few days getting ready.
It wasn’t too difficult finding horrendous Christmas jumpers online, especially for a person with just a bit of a sense for fashion. He had been tempted to buy at least eight of them, had already designed a spreadsheet to do a series of experiments on strangers - gauge their reactions on the audacity of the jumpers.
Then, he had found the one jumper that went beyond any sense of taste and the experiment was forgotten. Sherlock had ordered it immediately and it had arrived two days before the Christmas party at the Yard.
With a double murder at Embankment Underground Station, there had been no time to try it on or to even unpack it and so, one hour before they were supposed to show up at Scotland Yard, Sherlock pulled it out of the packaging.
“Well, that is ridiculous,” he said to himself, tracing the pattern with a finger for a moment, before pulling it over his head. The fabric felt horribly scratchy and Sherlock put on a vest to not have to deal with that. Then, only wearing boxer shorts, Sherlock pulled the jumper over his head.
“Horrendous.” He pulled a grimace, which slowly turned into a smile. “It’s perfect. You don’t stand a chance, Watson.”
Going through his wardrobe, he chose a pair of black jeans - he wasn’t going to waste any of his suit trousers for this - and finished dressing, just in time to hear John’s footsteps on the stairs. Time to check out his opponent, before the reaction of the Yarders would decide the ultimate winner.
Ruffling his hair one more time, Sherlock stepped out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where John was just preparing two mugs of tea.
******
“Tea?” John asked without looking up from his preparations.
“Yes, thank you, John,” Sherlock smirked and stood straight in the entrance to the kitchen so that John couldn't miss what a hideousness Sherlock was wearing when he finally looked up from making the tea.
“Whoah…!” John exclaimed with a startled look “What the hell are you wearing, Sherlock? I thought you wouldn't…” with an audible click of his teeth, he closed his mouth and just stared.
“You see but you don't observe, John. I'm wearing the ugliest jumper the Yard has ever seen and I'll win the bet.” Sherlock smirked, puffing out his chest so John could see even better what was embroidered on his jumper.
“But it's… there are… COCKS on your jumper! Ridiculous looking cocks with Santa hats!” John gestured somewhat helplessly in the direction of the said jumper.
“Exactly.”
“I really didn't see that coming,” John laughed, his eyes sparkling with joy about this successful surprise “Especially not from you, Sherlock.”
It was ridiculous. Sherlock, who only ever wore the most elegant clothes, now was dressed in this horrendous jumper and looking smug about it. The giggle burst from John’s throat, and he found himself unable to stop. Sherlock was giggling too now, his grey eyes filled with the spark of amusement and John had to hold onto the kitchen counter for balance, stomach aching from laughter. He imagined who would usually wear a jumper like this, people in their teens and early twenties, as they went out on the weekends, hoping to find someone to hook up with, not wanting to go home alone.
But what if…? What if Sherlock...?
Still giggling, he turned back to the tea, but then looked up again, nodding at the jumper and asked: “Do you, though?”
******
“Do you, though?“ The question echoed through Sherlock’s brain, thoughts chasing each other.
Do you - want cock for Christmas?
Not a reaction he would have expected wearing this jumper. The laughter, yes, that’s what Sherlock had aimed for, blue eyes sparkling with it, mouth curled into a broad smile, John tilting his head back a bit as he giggled. But now, from one moment to the other, that had stopped, a little frown tugging at the lines on John’s forehead and around his mouth until his lips had given way to that question.
Those three short words that now seemed to be a threshold, and if Sherlock stepped through it, their friendship might be changed. Three words, that could mean three entirely different things.
First – and if it weren’t for the look on John’s face, Sherlock wouldn’t have even considered the other options - John might be taking the piss. A jumper like this just seemed an invitation to an entire variety of jokes, a risk Sherlock had calculated when choosing the jumper.
Secondly, John could have just come onto him. He was a flirt, John, and a good one at that, his charm coming as natural to him as deductions to Sherlock. But Sherlock would have expected a raised eyebrow or a lick of his lip.
Instead, something dark hovered over his features, tainting the cheekiness of the words. And finally, Sherlock understood. John Watson was jealous - jealous of anyone at the NSY party that might see the jumper as an invitation. Ridiculous. No one at the Yard would ever do that - they all hated him. And even if they didn’t, Sherlock wasn’t interested in a hook-up with any of them. But stupid, perfect, idiotic John Watson didn’t observe.
“Only if it’s yours,” Sherlock said, eyes flickering up to John’s. He wanted to sound flirty, maybe even wink - John liked the winking, instead, his answer escaped with a breath. No hiding behind false confidence, but laying bare what he felt – what he needed.
Stepping through the threshold, breaking through the wall. No way back now.
His answer did something to John’s face the detective couldn’t quite explain, no matter how hard he tried to take in every shift in his features, translating every thought into movement. Always expressive, his John. And then, after a brief moment of hesitance, in a surge of movement, John connected their lips in a desperate kiss.