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Title: A Tale Of Two Christmases
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Characters: John, Harry, Sherlock, Lestrade, mentions of others including a dog.
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 2 x 221
Disclaimer: They're still not mine.
Summary: Before and after: two ficlets about Christmas from John's point of view.
A/N: originally written for Wordstrings' "Oh, It's Christmas!" Sherlock BBC Holiday Meme, and posted here for archiving purposes.


He’d have been better off spending Christmas in the hospital ward, and that’s saying something. He knows what that’s like, doesn’t joke about it. But this is worse.

Harry’s place is the most godawful tip, even worse than usual. She’s obviously been going in for retail therapy on a grand scale since the split with Clara and there is literally nowhere to sit down. Not till he’s cleared a pile of DVDs off one of the chairs, that is.

She’s spent a fortune on food, as usual, and as usual she isn’t eating any of it. Pushes the food round her plate, hides smoked salmon under the watercress, picks at tiny bits of whatever game bird that is. Christmas arrived in a courier’s box and it was left to John to assemble it while Harry drank.

After lunch Harry rings Clara and he tries not to hear how her bluster collapses into pleading, then turns to abuse again. He doesn’t know whether to be furious with her for wasting her best chance of happiness or envious that she had one to waste.

Who would want him now, after all? An ex-Army doctor with no prospects and a string of injuries: wrecked shoulder, intermittently shaky left hand, and a possibly psychosomatic limp. Not to mention officially - in layman’s terms - stark staring bonkers.


“I don’t know why you agreed to look after that dog,” Sherlock grumbles.

“Mrs Gregson’s nephew was desperate,” John says. “Wait - what’s that smell?”

“Fuck!” Lestrade grabs the big saucepan currently buckling on the stove. “Sherlock, you tosser, don’t you know anything about how much water to put in the bottom of a steamer?”

Stupid question. Obviously the answer’s no.

But at least the Christmas pudding itself is unharmed, and somehow, God knows how, they get it all on the table more or less at the right time, and it’s really not half bad, considering.

For once, even Sherlock seems to have an appetite, though John suspects he’s also been sneaking bits of turkey to McIntosh, who is now spark out on the hearthrug imitating the action of a haggis. He hopes Mrs Gregson won’t take it out on her nephew if the dog has indigestion.

Lestrade and Sherlock are swapping their favourite grisly murder cases from the eighteenth century. Whoever put those Old Bailey Sessions Papers online was a public benefactor, or a public nuisance, depending on your point of view.

John looks at the two people who have changed his life in ways he couldn’t have imagined this time last year.

That was the worst of times, he thinks, that Christmas with Harry. And this? This is the best.

This entry was originally posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/44593.html where there are comments.


( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
May. 18th, 2011 01:18 am (UTC)
Ooooo lovely. :)
May. 18th, 2011 09:20 am (UTC)
thank you - very glad you enjoyed them!
(Deleted comment)
May. 18th, 2011 09:21 am (UTC)
thank you - I realized I'd never posted them here when kalypso_v said she couldn't find the html for this entry.

May. 18th, 2011 06:52 am (UTC)
Very sweet! And always love dogs in a fic.
May. 18th, 2011 09:22 am (UTC)
thank you! I do too. I might be going to write another with a dog in after the thing that I'm writing at the moment.
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )


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