Fic: The Not-So-Mystery of the Not-So-Missing Christmas Tree (Sherlock) - (Nana Does Christmas)

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Another 'Nana Does Christmas' fic :) this is another for fueschgastwho requested something christmassy with Sherlock and John friendship.

Title: The Not-So-Mystery of the Not-So-Missing Christmas Tree (or How Sherlock Tried - Unsuccesfully - To Steal Christmas)
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock, John, Mrs. Hudson
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Cursing. Sort of crackish
Genre: Humor/Friendship
Word-count: 527 
A/N: Christmas prompt for fueschgast
Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to this
Summary: Christmas has hit Baker Street. It is not exactly a good thing

”Sherlock…”

”Hmmm…”

”Sherlock!”

”Hm.”

”Sherlock, would you look at me when I’m talking to you?”

“Hmhmmm…”

“Sherlock!” John nearly shouted, desperately resisting the urge to stomp his foot on the ground in exasperation. His flat-mates head snapped up from his phone, eyes finally settling on John.

“Yes?” He muttered, sounding as if his very patience was being tested. John tried not to imagine too many ways to kill him.
“What… happened to the Christmas-tree?”

“Christmas-tree?”

“Yes, we had a Christmas-tree.”

“Did we now,” Sherlock mumbled, distracted as his phone beeped. He frowned at the message, fingers moving incredibly fast to answer. John gritted his teeth.

“Yes, we did. It was here three hours ago when I went to work, and now it’s gone.”

“Yes, well, it’s clear that it’s not here anymore,” Sherlock said, sweeping his eyes dramatically around the room before returning to his phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lestrade will soon have more pressing matters for me to attend to…”

“No he won’t,” John muttered firmly. Sherlock’s eyes shot up.

“Yes he will.”

“No, Lestrade isn’t even at work today because it’s bloody Christmas and he specifically told everyone else not to indulge you and even Mycroft is determined that you should actually stay indoors this year and actually enjoy Christmas like any sane person!”

“But I don’t enjoy Christmas,” Sherlock protested, sounding like a petulant child. John raised an eyebrow.

“Is that why you got rid of the Christmas-tree that Mrs. Hudson had spent hours decorating?”

Sherlock snorted. “If she spent hours, it was only because she had some silly notion that every single orb had to hang in a very precise spot on each branch, which I’m telling you is ridiculous considering the weight of the ornament and the fragility of the branches, there’s no way it wouldn’t move at some point. Besides, it was taking up the entire room, it would have to be relocated anyhow.”

John sighed. “You know, sometimes I wish I was still in Afghanistan.”

“Well, if you think a war-zone is better than living with me…”

“Living with you is a war-zone,” John interrupted, too tired to even begin to be listening, especially when Sherlock was in a mood like this: a mood that usually reverted his emotional maturity at least twenty years back. He was about to say something more, when Sherlock’s phone beeped and the man in question let out a whoop of joy.

“Lestrade has found me a case!” He bellowed, jumping up from the couch in glee. “C’mon John, grab your coat, we’re…”

“No.”

“… What?”

“I said no. It’s Christmas. I’ve been at the clinic all day. All I want is to sleep, but now I apparently have to go get the Christmas-tree as well before I can do that, because you decided we had to relocate it.”

“I never said it was me!”

“Yes, you implied it rather heavily just before.”

Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it, his fast mind replaying the conversation from before.

“But… you…”

John felt very mature as he resisted the urge to stick out his tongue, merely grinning wildly at his flat-mate.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”