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A Night to Remember

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“John, there is no Orangina,” Sherlock called from the kitchen.

“Why would there be?”

“I always drink Orangina when I watch award shows!”

John paused, a handful of popcorn halfway to his mouth, brow furrowed as his brain refused to parse that sentence.  Sherlock came stomping back in, carrying two bottles of beer and wearing a disgruntled expression.  “This will do, I suppose.”  He handed one to John and sat down.

“You always drink Orangina when you watch award shows?  This is new information.”

Sherlock harrumphed.  “It’s possible that I just remembered.”

John elbowed him.  “Come on, it’s starting.  You remember the rules, right?”

“I never agreed to this ludicrous exercise.”

“You take a drink whenever anybody thanks the Academy.”

Sherlock snorted.  “Is this a game, or suicide by alcohol poisoning?”

“You drink whenever anybody gets played off.”

“Starting to suspect you’re trying to hasten your inheritance of all my worldly goods.”

“Or, just drink whenever you feel like it.”

“Then why bother with rules?”  Sherlock reached over and took a handful of popcorn from the bowl on John’s lap.  “Oh, good Lord.  Halle’s gone back to that stylist with the sequin fetish.”

“I think she looks amazing.”

“You always think everyone looks amazing.”

“Do you know how many people emailed me to ask what your predictions were?  I didn’t know you had such a reputation as an prognosticator.”

“They ask because I’m always right.  And they asked you instead of me because they know I don’t share.  I trust you revealed nothing.”

“I’m not going to help Peter win his Oscar pool, he’ll have to sink or swim on his own.”

Sherlock chuckled.  “Not to imply that I care, but why are we at home alone tonight?  Surely we received a party invitation or two.”

“We received forty-eight, all of which we declined.”

“In our quest to become hermit-like and shunned for pariahs?”

“I made an executive decision.”

“While I’m immensely grateful not to have to haul out my tux and make small talk with half of Hollywood, I am surprised that you’d be so…like me.  You’re the social one.  Care to share your reasons?”

“It’s not just this year.  I’ve decided that unless one of us is presenting or nominated, we will be spending Oscar night at home together from now on, until we die or the Oscars do.”

Sherlock looked at him.  “You have succeeded in surprising me, John.”

John met his eyes.  “Sherlock, I will never again be able to watch the Oscars, live or on the telly, without remembering what it was like to stand on that stage with the award in my hand and see you watching me from the audience.  I had just won an Oscar and all I could think about was that a few hours before, you’d asked me to marry you.  These awards aren’t about our work anymore, not for me.  They’re a part of us.  That first year of us hit its peak on this night.  I don’t want to share it.  Unless our presence is required, from now on I’m spending Oscar night alone with my husband.”

Sherlock smiled slowly, a glint coming into his eyes.  He leaned forward and kissed John softly.  “You, my love, are a sentimentalist.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Perhaps you’re influencing me, because I think your plan is smashing.”

“Good.”  John settled closer to Sherlock’s side, letting his hand rest on his thigh.  “Now, come on.  You know your job.  Let’s hear it.”

Sherlock chuckled quietly, the vibrations passing through into John’s chest.  He shifted and slipped one arm around John’s shoulders and they turned their attention back to the red carpet arrivals.  “All right, then.  Well, first off, he’s got a new lover.  Younger, by the looks of his fingernails.  His wife knows, look how she’s holding her purse.”

John grinned and let Sherlock’s stream-of-consciousness commentary wash over him.  It was almost enough to make him hope that neither of them were ever nominated again.