Chapter Text
John Watson winced slightly as he slipped through the door of the used book store; the bell that announced his arrival was just the right pitch to aggravate his stress headache. Like most people, he wasn’t very fond of Christmas shopping; the shops were always too crowded, people tended to talk too loudly and it was just hard to keep some sense of perspective during the whole madness.
Fortunately, the book store was decidedly quieter than the street outside and vacant except the bored university student behind the counter. John nodded at him and began to peruse the shelves. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for, but he was hopeful that he would find something for the last person on his list. Sherlock had always been hard to buy for – any attempts to pin him down for a gift always ended up either in stony silence or a lecture about the pointlessness of the whole holiday.
That hadn’t stopped John from getting his friend a small present every year of course. Usually it was something related to the Work – new slides for the microscope, sketch books or something similar. But this Christmas, John was hoping to find something more meaningful to give him. The last couple of years had been really rough for the two of them, ever since that fateful day at Appledore. The stress of that confrontation and the apparent resurrection of James Moriarty shortly thereafter had combined to knock John for a loop. Then his world had completely shattered two months later when Mary and the baby had died due to complications from labour.
Through all of it, the months of bitter self-recrimination and deep depression, Sherlock had been a rock at his side. With tenderness and empathy that most would have a hard time believing, he had known just when to leave John alone and when to provide a distraction or suspect chase to keep John from spiraling too far out of control. John had been surprised at the time, but now he knew he had been selling his best friend short. Sherlock certainly still gave the impression that emotional entanglements were beneath him, but John knew it was all just an act. Sherlock cared so much about the few people in his life that the only way he could protect himself was to bury it under a veneer of contempt.
But John was determined that this year, he was going to give Sherlock something more personal, something that showed just how much he appreciated everything Sherlock had done for him over the last few years. Unfortunately, every time he had tried to come up with an idea, he had drawn a blank. The only things that he was positive Sherlock would like weren’t nearly personal enough. And while he knew that Sherlock would absolutely love them, he refused to beg Molly for a collection of random body parts from the morgue. It took several days of stewing before the answer had finally dawned on him. A quick visit to the Diogenes Club had been necessary, but Mycroft had been surprisingly encouraging and John was sure he was headed in the right direction now.
Just as he was rounding a corner at the back of the shop, John’s breath caught in his throat when he saw a range of books on the very top shelf. It took him a minute to get it down, but sure enough, it’s the exact book that Mycroft described. John can barely believe his luck as he flipped through the old science textbook, remembering the strange look that had crept over Mycroft's face as he had told John about Sherlock's adventures with this book. It was fairly easy to imagine a young Sherlock sneaking this out of his brother’s school bag to read by flashlight under the covers. John’s smile grew wider as he tucked the book under his arm and headed towards the counter.
A few minutes later, John is headed back into the chaos of the street outside the quiet shop, a wide smile on his face. His shopping bag was heavy – he had passed the True Crime shelf on his way to the till and hadn’t been able to pass up a compendium of serial killers of the eighteenth and nineteenth century. John hadn’t been able to pass that up. He was sure that Sherlock would have great fun pointing out everything they had gotten wrong. As he headed back towards the tube station, dodging chattering groups of people, John found himself anticipating the look on Sherlock's face when he finally unwrapped the books.