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Something red, something green, something sparkly

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— You’re asking me what to give John for Christmas?

— I thought that was FAIRLY obvious. SH

— Why?

— You were in the military. You must know what kind of gift or tribute he’d like. SH

— Right, because all army men are alike, it’s well known.

— You served with him, you must know what he missed the most when he was in Afghanistan. SH

— I honestly don’t think you want to give him THAT.

— Fine. Never mind. Forget I asked. SH

— No need to get shirty.

— If you think of something later, do text me. Thank you. SH


* * * * *


— I know what you’re about to ask, brother mine, and you can save yourself the trouble. I have no idea. And it serves you right for waiting until the last week.

— I say this most sincerely: Fuck off, Mycroft. SH


* * * * *


— I have no idea! I only know the man because of you!

— But you’re good with people. You’re kind. You know how to imagine what gifts they might like. SH

— Why do you think that?

— You did it with me. That time. SH

— Oh. That was different. You like lots of things. I just had to think of the thing that only I would know you wanted and only I would know how to acquire.

— Molly, you’re BRILLIANT. Thank you. That’s an excellent principle. SH

— Well, it’s good you don’t want me to identify the object, because I can't.

— No need now. SH


* * * * *


— I thought I knew how to pick out a gift for John, but it hasn’t worked. SH

— So you’re asking me.

— Yes. No. Sort of. SH

— How and how not are you asking?

— If you make suggestions it might spark an idea. SH

— Oh, God, I hate gift shopping. Anything I suggest is likely to be a terrible idea.

— I know. That way I know what to avoid. SH

— Berk. Fine, then. Tickets to a rugby match.

— I’d sooner be dead. SH

— That can be arranged. OK, a special date night. A sitter for the sprog, an evening at the Landmark, some dancing after.

— HE’D sooner be dead. SH

— Christ, you’re difficult.

— Keep going. SH

— Yes, Your Lordship. Cufflinks.

— Now you’re just taunting me. SH

— Yep, what was your first clue?

— Lestrade. I'm desperate. SH

— Give it up, mate. A present has to be personal.


* * * * *


— I can hardly believe you’re asking me this.

— You always say you know what people like. SH

— In a very specific context.

— Stay away from that context. SH

— Fine. Then we should talk in person. Let’s have dinner.

— I’m not hungry. SH

— Then happy Christmas, Sherlock. And good luck.

— Thanks for nothing, Irene. And happy Christmas. SH


* * * * *


— A holiday in the Cairngorms, my boy. John said he’d love to go.

— He didn’t say he’d love to go in winter. SH

— Well, but you could give him one of those box-things, for a later date.

— Unbearably banal and commercial. SH

— Perhaps you’re right. A concert together?

— I can’t stand the music John likes to hear live, and vice versa. SH

— Give him tickets to take someone else?

— Perfect romantic Christmas present, Daddy, thanks. /s SH

— Sorry, but Christmas presents are torture for me, so I’m surprised you asked.

— I’m beyond desperate. SH

— Thanks for the vote of confidence. Go forth and improvise!


* * * * *


— Single malt. The best.

— Dull. SH

— Yes, but you could drink it together, and that wouldn’t be dull.

— Perhaps not. But not very personal. SH

— Fine. How about a photograph?

— A ... photograph. Of whom? SH

— Rosie?

— The flat is already well supplied with photos of Watson. SH

— Of you and Rosie?

— Including one of me with Watson napping on my chest. SH

— Fine. A new composition? That’s personal.

— Takes time. Haven’t got time. SH

— Come now, darling. You’re a genius.

— Even for a genius. Composing takes time. SH

— You’re not being very helpful you know. SH

— All right, darling, here’s a fail-safe classic: sexy underwear.


— Well, it does seem to me as though if you chose right, it would be seasonal, and jocular, and seductive, and very personal. Seriously, visualise it: something red, or green, and definitely sparkly, and perhaps some sparkly lube to go with it.

— Sherlock?

— Sherlock? Are you there, darling?


* * * * *


— And then Mummy suggested sexy underwear. SH

— Well, it isn’t a bad idea, now I think of it.

— No, it isn’t a bad idea, it’s a TERRIBLE idea. SH

— No, hear me out, now: you’d be wearing it, not him. FOR him, in fact.

— Where do you get these lurid notions? SH

— Well, I’m not deaf, dear. And stop interrupting. I KNOW you can see I’m still typing.

— You take forever. SH

— Stop it NOW. Wait till you have arthritis. I’m not suggesting you put it on and prance about. I’m suggesting you put it on and have a photograph made, or a drawing, or a painting. Just a private little in-joke. With seductive undertones.

— I would look ridiculous. SH

— Sherlock, dear, as much as that man loves you, you could never look ridiculous, dressed up provocatively for him.

— Hm. Maybe you’re right. I don’t suppose you would photograph me. SH

— Not even for ready money. No. Never. At my age. For heaven’s sake. The very idea.

— Fine. But I’m running out of time. SH

— Well, I’ll make you up a list of the best fan-artists on Tumblr, and if you gave them a nice commission you might be able to get them to hurry.

— Tumblr? SH

— And you young people think we whitecaps are dinosaurs. I’ll send you a link to that shop in Soho, for the underwear. After that you’re on your own.

— Mummy said red, green, and sparkly. I’ll feel like a fool. SH

— Do it with conviction, dear. You could never look like a fool to him.


* * * * *


— Where are you? SH

— Feeding the girl child. You finally awake?

— Obviously. SH

— Slept well?

— Haven’t slept that hard in years. SH

— Hard, eh.

— Stop. SH

— Well, your Christmas present was ... transformative. Inspirational. And very surprising. How in the world did you come up with that?

— Nothing to it. Easy peasy. SH

— Ha. You only say easy peasy when you’re lying.

— Let’s just say it wasn’t hard. SH

— Oh yes it was. 😏

🙄 SH

— And you can do that again any time, for the record. Now get in here, there’s a stocking to open.

— Right after I shower. SH

— Grand. See you in 45, then?

— Ha bloody ha. I’ll surprise you. SH

— You really won’t. Not as much as last night, at least. That was one for the books. Now get out here, and wear those sparkly things under your dressing gown.

—Right away, Captain. SH