Fic: The Baker Street Nativity (23/23) NOW COMPLETE!

[swissmarg]

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Title: The Baker Street Nativity (On AO3)
Author: swissmarg
Beta readers: ruth0007 and dioscureantwins
Rating: NC-17
Word count: This chapter: 1,429 words / Total: 99,662 words
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Summary: Fusion with Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter note: This fic is now complete. Please see the notes at the end of the chapter for more information.

See chapter 1 for more extended notes, disclaimers, and acknowledgments.

Chapter 23 - The Game Is On

"This would have been easier if you lived with me."

"Possibly," John agreed as he slid onto the back seat of the taxi next to Sherlock. He looked unfairly good (unfair because the taxi driver - devout Muslim, two wives (one back in Nigeria, the second here) - was already eyeing them suspiciously, and it would be annoying to have to find another taxi on Christmas Day) with his hair slicked back and the silk blend scarf Sherlock had given him a couple of days earlier around his neck. And Sherlock hadn't even seen the suit yet, hidden as it was under John's coat. The scarf was decidedly not a Christmas present, as they'd decided not to exchange Christmas presents; John had bought him the supple leather gloves he was currently wearing, purely on impulse and because his old ones were already a couple of years old and wearing at the seams.

"I had to be ready half an hour early in order to come get you," Sherlock complained.

"Appreciate it." John smiled and patted Sherlock's leg, leaving his hand there.

Sherlock flumped back and scowled out the window, but put his hand on top of John's and gave it a brief squeeze. It was hateful how sunny and cheerful it was outside. The streets were dry, and the taxi flew along the largely empty thoroughfare. It was Christmas; it was supposed to be dreary and gray, the weather matching his mood and giving everyone an excuse for sniping at each other. But now John was here with him, and he was finding it difficult to maintain his pique.

"I bought Gladstone a dog bed," Sherlock grumbled.

John raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have taken you for someone who'd buy their pet a Christmas present. But I'm sure he appreciated it."

Sherlock turned his head slowly to meet John's eye. "John. I bought - Gladstone - a dog bed. I'm training him not to sleep on the bed anymore. In the bedroom at all, actually. I've put him out in the hallway."

"Oh. Oh!" John said with more enthusiasm as he caught on. "Oh, right! That should be... Yeah, that's good." John grinned and rubbed his hand over Sherlock's thigh. Sherlock shifted minutely closer.

"Here. I didn't get you anything for Christmas either." John reached inside his coat and pulled out an envelope, which he held out to Sherlock.

He only needed to glance at the envelope to know what was in it. "Congratulations. I told you they'd take you."

"You haven't looked inside," John said.

Sherlock flicked a finger at it. "Addressed to you, from the clinic you applied to. Several sheets of paper, judging by the thickness. An employment contract, obviously."

"Yeah, all right, full points. There's something else, though." John waggled the envelope.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and took it. Inside was - yes, the contract, salary a bit lower than someone with John's experience should command, but sufficient to live on, and it was John's business. And then another sheet of paper. Sherlock unfolded it and skimmed it. His eyes jumped to John's, hardly daring to hope...

"It's six months," John said, leaning over to tap his finger on the date he'd put on the termination of lease notice. The pink curve of his ear was right at the level of Sherlock's mouth. He made a mental note to lick it at the first possible opportunity. "You're right," John went on, "the place is a dump, and with what I'll be earning I'll be able to afford something nicer, maybe even closer to the clinic."

"Why six months? You can move in tomorrow," Sherlock said in a rush, before John could change his mind. "Today, we can-"

"Six months," John said firmly, sitting back so he could re-fold the letter and put it back in the envelope. "It's not a promise. I may still end up in my own place. But it's … something to aim for, anyway."

Six months from the first of the year. That would be eight months since they met; not even a year. Skirting the limits of moving too fast, by conventional societal measures. A glacial pace, by Sherlock's. Still, it didn't mean Sherlock couldn't start arranging things now so that John was de facto living at his house by the time he could legally leave his current flat. The first order of business would be encouraging him to leave an extra set of toiletries and a change of clothes. John had already bemoaned the lack of a toothbrush and having to put the same pants back on after staying the night. Serving him alcohol (more than one beer) late at night so that it would be more prudent for him to stay over. And eventually a key, merely for the sake of convenience should Sherlock be out when John needed to stop by to pick something up. And of course lots of sex. John enjoyed sex. Sherlock did, too (with John). He should possibly not be thinking of that now, on the way to his mother's house for Christmas dinner – with John, nota bene, the payment Mycroft had exacted for his help with Moriarty and the play. Most especially as Mycroft would be there too, and would immediately know what had been on Sherlock's mind for the entirety of the car ride.

He tried to think of something else. The pig hearts he'd gotten from the butcher, or … or a nice murder, yes. The tap on Dimmock's phone had been both disappointing and instructive. Disappointing because of the staggering depth of the vapidity which the majority of his correspondence contained. But instructive in that Sherlock now had a good idea of his daily schedule and which officers were on Dimmock's team. Also the facts that Dimmock wasn't above closing one eye when it came to skirting procedure, he was worried about his heart, and he had a teenaged son who was involved in drugs. All points which could be extremely helpful, given the right circumstances.

Just then, the text alert sounded that signalled one of the carbon-copied messages from Dimmock's phone. Sherlock took his mobile out to check it - unlikely it was anything pertinent, but he couldn't afford to miss that one tip-off he was waiting for, and the distraction was just what he needed at the moment. And - bingo! An address, sent from the number of one of the officers who worked under Dimmock. They must have called him to let him know he was needed, then texted him the address so he wouldn't have to write it down. It could, of course, be another case altogether, but that might be interesting as well. In any event, Sherlock would at least get to see just how incompetent the police were in the course of their evidence-gathering.

Sherlock stuffed the phone back into his pocket and leaned forward to speak to the driver.

"Change of destination. Lauriston Gardens."

"What? What's going on?" John asked. His body tensed immediately. A soldier's instinct. Always ready for action. A thrill crept up Sherlock's spine.

"A murder, John," Sherlock said, his eyes sparkling. He craned his neck to get a better view of the road and make sure the driver was taking the most direct route. They might even get there before Dimmock, which would make things immensely easier.

"What?!" John yelped.

"The police think they're suicides, but the police are fools."

The driver turned his head halfway toward Sherlock, apparently thought better of it, and accelerated a bit more.

"Sorry, what?" John asked again.

Sherlock glanced at John. He looked confused, naturally, but also expectant. Excited. Nostrils flaring, lips parted, pupils dilating. The way he had the first time he'd been to Sherlock's house and he'd thought that Sherlock might have been planning to kill him. Interesting.

"I could use a medical man at my side," Sherlock said, a plan already forming. "Would help immensely getting onto the crime scene."

"Sorry, crime scene?" John gaped. "What about your mother?"

Sherlock fluttered his fingers dismissively. "Christmas comes round every year. But a murder, John!"

"I'm pretty sure those come round at least once a year as well," John remarked dryly.

"Yes, but not like this. Not a case that I've been following for a couple of weeks now, and that I know is more than the police are seeing." Sherlock was practically bouncing on the edge of the seat in excitement.

"You're going to explain this to me-"

"Yes, later," Sherlock promised impatiently. "Now, John... the game is on!"

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End note: Originally, this end note started out saying, 'and that's it'. But then getoffmysheet on AO3 had a terrible wonderful idea: a Baker Street Nativity advent calendar. My first reaction was that there was no way I'd have time to write 24 ficlets before Christmas. But then I couldn't stop thinking about it. And so I did it. You can see them here.

Okay, and now for the real end notes on this fic:

Thank you so, so much to everyone who read and commented, especially on LJ: rifleman_s who was an absolute brick and commented on every single chapter, labellecreation and frodosweetstuff for their regular comments and amazing manips, and of course my super fantastic beta readers, ruth0007 who was with this from the start, and dioscureantwins who came in halfway through to add even more finesse and insight. And on AO3, shout-outs and a Lindt chocolate to a-cumberbatch-of-cookies (I love that name!), BelleLegacy, BrightandSparkly, Fansquee, ganja-chan/ganjachan, JPerceval, jazzthecat, JunkenMetel, kitmerlot1213, ladyprydian, Lorelei_Lee who basically wrote me an essay for every chapter, Lonewolf001, PenelopeWaits, SherlocksStalker, snogandagrope, Sue, and who_la_hoop for regular and enthusiastic comments, along with everyone else who dropped in to give feedback and share their thoughts. I wish I could name you all, but they're only giving me five minutes here. I treasure each and every one, honestly.

I was especially chuffed to hear from several readers who went out and purchased Nativity! after reading this fic, which hopefully means a bit of extra change in Martin Freeman's pocket as a result. If you haven't seen the movie, I do recommend it as a heartwarming, family-friendly, holiday movie. It's cute and Martin gives a very wide-ranged performance, from humour to heartbreak, along with being excellent with the children.

By the way, there is a sequel to the movie, Nativity 2: Danger in the Manger, starring David Tennant, with Marc Wootton reprising his role as the hyperactive teaching assistant. And the director, Deborah Isitt, confirmed on her twitter @DeborahIsitt that she will be making a third movie in the series, to begin filming in November 2013 (although it didn't look like they'd started yet when I posted this).

There is now also a DVD extras collection of links and some self-indulgent meanderings relating to this fic if you'd like some background on how it came to be.

Thank you again, you've all been wonderful!