Work Text:
"I asked you to do one thing! Just one thing Sherlock!"
Sherlock shook his head.
"That's a lie John. You've asked me to do many things."
"You know what I mean." John rubbed at his temples in an effort to calm himself down. "All I wanted was a nice little tree with a few lights and a couple of balls… Was that too much to ask for?!"
Instead of a simple tree and a few lights, as requested, Sherlock had outdone himself. The living room looked like every light in London had been commandeered, as well as a tree that was bushy limbs from floor to ceiling. A 'few baubles' had turned into a display worthy of a small window shop in Soho. On the very top was a child's handmade star, so stark in contrast to the professional feeling of the rest of the boughs, but perfect for it being made by Rosie's child hands.
It was the lights that brought it together with a Sherlockian air. Little golden Bumblebees blinked on and off in time with the music that played from the attached speaker. Even Billy wore a small crown of lights on his bone white head.
John wasn't angry even though he knew he sounded that way. John was scared. His flatmate had been more attentive of late and it had made him go from pleased, to nervous, to petrified. Why was Sherlock being so… so… so nice?
"What did you do? Just tell me so I can get mad then forgive you."
Sherlock looked at him with a blank expression. "I didn't do anything but get you a tree like you asked."
John knew he had to have done something or, worse, he planned to do something. "What are you planning?"
By this time Sherlock was fed up with the accusations and he prepared to leave the flat for a few hours.
"What are you doing?" John asked as Sherlock retrieved a box from under the tree. It was a present for Molly, proof that he'd learned a thing or two since John had entered his life.
"I'm leaving." Sherlock adjusted his scarf.
John, still stubbornly focused on Sherlock's overall motive, misunderstood and thought that Sherlock meant he was leaving leaving. He sank to his chair with an oomph. "Oh."
Sherlock saw the look on John's face and it all clicked. The fact that John was scared that Sherlock would leave him made him smile. John misinterpreted that smile to mean he was glad to have finally told him.
"John Watson. You are the dumbest intelligent person I know." The Consultant Detective took off his scarf and gloves and went over to his blogger.
"What's that supposed to mean?" John looked up at Sherlock in confusion. He went to stand up but Sherlock pushed him back down then got on his knees in front of him.
"It means," Sherlock spoke as he took John's hands in his, "that I could no more leave you than I could stop thinking."
John blinked several times but did nothing else.
"It means that Mycroft was right and even after all these years you have no idea that I am as addicted to you as I am to The Work. Some, and by some I mean Mycroft, would go as far as to say that I'm in love with you."