Christmas traditions   von Siberianchan
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Titel: Christmas Traditions
Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Author: Siberianchan
Comment: Dear Suz asked for a fanfiction as a Christmas present. Well, I happily
oblieged and this is what she got out of it.
Disclaimer: As usual. “Sherlock” belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven
Moffat, Mark Gatiss, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman (At least anything
Watson-related.) I'm just here having fun and honing my writing skills.


Christmas Traditions


 It was rare, that Sherlock Holmes was at a loss for words and when it happened
it rarely ever was pretty.
However, there actually were quite a few things that could set him off. It just
happened that these things rarely ever occurred. There was a million-to-one
chance, so to speak, that an intelligent, bold, physically attractive woman
would stand in front of him, stark naked, happily smiling and calling him –
more or less – sexy.
It also was extremely uncommon that there was a case with so many loops and
loose ends it was no fun anymore. Loose ends and loops were all fine and made a
case interesting, but when there were so many one could not even see the case
anymore it grew a tad bit frustrating. 
Anyways, those were the two things that could set Sherlock speechless,
“flabbergasted” was the expression John had used. Still, it was not like
these were everyday events, not for the majority of the world population and
most definitely not for him. So, there was nothing to worry about.
This however was different. Definitely. There was a very distinctive gap between
a naked woman complimenting – and even more important, for a while outwitting
– him and... well... this.
 “What's the matter?” John actually had the nerve to sound innocent, as if
he'd simply hidden Skull once again. Which in and on itself was already an act
heinous beyond words but Sherlock had gotten used to it and took it as a minor
practice for his otherwise sometimes neglected skills of looking, not for
evidence but for a specific hidden item. Also he suspected John to act out of
jealousy, since Sherlock still used Skull as a conversation partner once in a
while. Not that he understood why his conversation with an inanimate object –
that admittedly had older and longer standing rights than John – would inspire
jealousy, but then again, he had observed that people could get rather emotional
– and thus jealous – when it came to position they considered special or
even a privilege. And everyone knew at first glance that it was a very special
position, being considered a valuable conversation partner by Sherlock Holmes.
Yes, John hiding Skull was probably just a sign of jealousy and thus rather
amusing, if anything by now. Sherlock could deal with that.
However, this was really pushing it.
“John, what is the meaning of-” Again at a loss for words he just gestured
to the green monstrosity that stood right there in their living room,
effectively blocking the kitchen entrance.
An odour of wood and fresh resin hung in the air. Sherlock blew his nostrils.
“It's a tree Sherlock. Obvious, isn't it?”
 “What – pray tell – does this tree in our flat?”
 John gave him a slightly exasperated eye roll, one Sherlock recognised as the
one he procured whenever John failed to see a point that was plain as daylight
to Sherlock.
“It's Christmas. This is a Christmas Tree. I know Mycroft is familiar with the
custom, so don't you tell me you don't know about it.”
 “Of course I know about it”, Sherlock scoffed, “So, what is it doing in
our flat?”
 “As I said, it's a Christmas tree.”
 “I heard you the first time. So? I never understood what trees had to do with
a holiday that marks the alleged birthday of the alleged founder of a religion.
And before you ask, yes. I attended Bible Class as a child. No references to
trees, nowhere.” He folded his arms before his chest. “So, where is the
logic to this custom, for I do not see it. It should not be existing, if you ask
me. And But Sherlock, everyone does it is no valid reason to participate in that
nonsense.”
 John sighed. His eyes wandered to the tree and he almost regretted having put
it where it stood now. He could have done with a nice, strong cup of tea.
“So, why do you think people actually do all this?”, he asked falling into
his chair. Carrying that monstrosity of a tree upstairs had been more exhausting
than he cared to admit. “I mean the tree, the lights, this gift thing we have
going on on Christmas.”
“How would I know.” Sherlock let himself fall onto the sofa. “It is not
like I had a Father Christmas related case, right?”
“Not as far as I know, no.” John shrugged. “Care to know? Just to get why
people do what they do... no need to keep it in mind afterwards.”
“Then why telling me in the first place?”
Again John shrugged. “I thought you might be interested what a tree does in
our flat.”
Sherlock considered it for a moment and finally he sighed. “Fine. Go on.”
After all, understanding stuff was always good. And if it was really of no
further interest, well, John was right. He could always delete it.
John grinned. “So, that whole tree business started way before Christianity
arrived here, you know. Also, astronomers are pretty sure Jesus was born in
summer.”
“So, why wont people celebrate it in summer? And why are they putting down
trees – which is murder if you keep in mind that plants are living beings –
for an actually non-Christian custom?”
John had to supress a light smirk. Apparently Sherlock's main beef with
Christmas Trees was that they were killed, so to speak, in a rather irrational
manner.
“It was a good date, I guess”, he remarked. “I mean, pagan folk have
always celebrated the winter solstice and in Rome there was the cult of Mithras
that had a holiday around the same time. By keeping the holidays mostly intact
it was easier to get and then keep new followers.”
Sherlock snorted. “What else to expect.”
“From those pagan traditions they got the schtick with lighting candles and
decorating their houses with branches of evergreens – and if you gonna ask why
they'd do that I really got to smack you.”
It was too tempting a threat for Sherlock to let slide. “Why?”
John in answer grabbed the TV magazine from the table, rolled it, got up, went
to the sofa and smacked Sherlock over the head.
“Ow!”
“Told you so.” John sat down again. “Just in case you really don't know,
people tried to remind themselves that spring would come soon for sure. Or
something along the lines. Maybe they tried to lure their summer deities back or
whatever. Thing is, when the Christians came the greenstuff remained.”
 “And?”
“It's obvious, isn't it?” John sighed. “Or was my explanation so
awful?”
“You did not explain how it went from branches of evergreens to an almost
whole tree. Sans the roots."
John laughed softly. At times Sherlock was almost adorably childish. “Well,
someday some German dude got the idea that a tree would be better than just a
few brances and the idea stuck with his fellows.”
Once again Sherlock snorted. “Ridiculous.”
“In your eyes a lot of things are ridiculous.”
“Because they are!” Sherlock waved his hands. “What is it with this
Christmas anyways? You don't even attend service on Sundays! Why...” He let
his hands fall. “It doesn't make sense. And this whole gift-giving thing
neither.”
John shrugged. “Doesn't have to.”
“Yes, it does!”
“No. I mean, erm... do you like getting presents?”
“Never got many. And those were always boring and uninteresting and not at all
what I would have liked.”
Whatever Sherlock liked. John sighed. “Well, it's the idea and the intent that
matter”, he tried with a smile. “Of course it still would be nice if people
with less clue towards your preferences would simply ask you for one or two
ideas what to get you.”
Suddenly Sherlock sat up straight. “You did not ask me.”
“I think I have a good idea about you. And I asked Mrs. Hudson.” And
Mycroft, he added mentally but that was not something he would have told
Sherlock.
“So I do get something from you? I know Mrs. Hudson has been knitting another
pair of socks for me. She does this every year.”
So that was the mysterious origin of the woolen, bright blue socks Sherlock
tended to wear at home.
John smiled. “Yes, you get something.” 
“And what?”
“Not telling. You'll see.” John wished he had a camera to keep Sherlocks
pouty face for future generations as he probably tried figuring out what John
would present him with.
“Anyways, you understand the tree thing?”
“Yes. Still ridiculous, though. You know pretty much about it, how come?”
John shrugged, slowly getting up. “Wikipedia. Had an idea you'd be throwing a
tantrum.”
“I do not-”
“We also agree gifts are good?” He slowly moved towards the stairway.
“Fine.”
“Good. Figures we also keep up the tradition of social gathering, right?”
“Ri- wait, what?”
“Would you mind cleaning up a little? Mrs. Hudson will be up here in a few
minutes, so we can trim the tree. The others will be here in an hour or so.”
“Others... which others, who?!”
“Oh, nothing big, really.” John had reached the stairway and took the first
step up. “Just Janette, you know. Behave yourself, ok? And Mrs. Hudson. And
then Lestrade and Molly.”
And then he dashed upstairs and locked the door to his bedroom.
Until Mrs. Hudson was here to keep the bloodbath at a minimum he really was not
up to testing the strength of Sherlock's holiday spirit.

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