The Regift

[smallhobbit]

Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Rating: PG
Word Count: 700
Summary: Written fo basaltgrrl who missed out on a fic fo martianholiday and asked for John/Lestrade: one of them regifts to the other, and it turns out very well.  I hope you like it.

John Watson opened the present his sister had given him and smiled politely.

“I do hope you like it,” Harry said.  “I spent ages trying to find just the right thing for you and making sure it was your colour.”

He might have been inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt (it was Christmas after all) if he hadn’t seen an identical pile of scarves close to the doorway of the department store he’d followed Sherlock into two days earlier.  He’d had a feeling there had been a number of colours available, but the one Harry had chosen had clearly come from the top of the pile.

“Thank you,” he said, wrapping it back up.  “I won’t wear it now; I’ll save it for Christmas.”

They continued chatting for a while, but it was obvious that Harry had no interest in anything that John had to say and he had no wish to hear her slagging off the whole of her department, so he soon made his excuses and left.

When John arrived back at Baker Street he found Greg Lestrade sitting in an armchair, talking to Sherlock.

“Ah, John, I see the meeting with your sister was as satisfactory as ever,” Sherlock remarked as he entered the room.  “Lestrade has brought Christmas gifts.”

Sherlock held up a child’s detective pack, containing a miniature magnifying glass, a notebook and pen plus glasses, false nose and moustache for use as a disguise.

Greg laughed.  “I thought since I had something for both John and Mrs Hudson that you’d sulk if I didn’t give you anything.”

Sherlock glared at him then grinned.  “I could always wrap it up and give it to Mycroft for his birthday.  And frankly I’d say you did rather well out of your exchange with Mrs Hudson.”

Greg agreed.  “Yes, I only gave her a pot plant.  She’s given me a dozen mince pies and half a Yule log.”  He reached down beside the chair and handed John a large package.  “It’s not a present as such.  I remembered you saying that you’d enjoyed the first two Aubrey-Maturin novels, so when my uncle was having a clear out of several of his books I spotted these and thought you might like them.”

John opened the packet and smiled broadly.  “Greg, that’s brilliant.  Thank you so much.  And please thank you uncle for me.”

A thought crossed John’s mind and he felt in his coat pocket.  He’d rewrapped the scarf carefully and there was no name tag on it.  And despite Harry’s obvious lack of thought, it was an expensive scarf

He took it out and gave it to Greg.  “I hope you like it,” he said hesitantly.

Sherlock glanced at John and raised an eyebrow.  John looked back, willing him not to say anything.

Greg opened the present.  “This is lovely.  It’s so much better than the ratty one I’ve been wearing – I don’t think it ever recovered from Sherlock throwing it in the Serpentine.”  He wound it round his neck with a smile.  “I must be going now.”

John got up too.  “I’ll see you out.”

They walked downstairs and Greg stopped underneath the mistletoe which Mrs Hudson had hung in the middle of the hallway.  John, who hadn’t expected Greg to stop, practically walked into him

“I don’t suppose this gets much use,” Greg said, pointing at the mistletoe.

“Not really, which seems a shame.”

“Has anyone checked that it works properly?”

“Not that I know of.  Maybe someone should try it.”

They leant towards each other and kissed gently.  Then Greg grabbed John’s head and John put his arms round Greg’s chest and drew him close and the kiss became more passionate.

They had just come up for breath when they heard the door of 221B open and Sherlock shout down, “John put Lestrade down and get back up here, we have things to do.”

Greg laughed as he headed for the door.  “I don’t suppose you fancy coming over to my flat later to help eat all these mince pies?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great.  Anytime after half past seven.”

“Jo-oh-hn!”  A plaintive cry came from above.

“See you later!”

nbsp;