A.N. - I LOVE prompts/requests/challenges. Especially when they are this cute. A tumblr nonny asked for a New Years Countdown first kiss. I picked fluff over smut, hope that's ok! I just needed a bit of fluff. Sorry it took sooooo long.
I don't own nuffink - as yet unbetaed, so drop me a line if you spot anything glaring.
John loved New Years. The eve, the parties, the day, the hangovers, the feeling of a new beginning. He'd needed a few new beginnings in his life.
He had been looking forward to it for weeks, even since before Christmas. He had a few invites to different parties and had been intending to drop in to all of them, find a random woman at the countdown and kiss away his worries. A good plan. He'd put on a new shirt, his lucky pants and even some wax in his hair. He looked good, especially good for a man crammed down a dirty alleyway between a jeweller's shop and a bookstore in the freezing rain. Not just cold rain, he wasn't exaggerating, it was freezing – as in small chunks of ice falling from the sky and aiming for your eyes kind of freezing.
It hadn't been a pointless detour; there had been a mysterious late night visitor in the alley, a questionable handover, some dodgy dealings to witness, but John would much rather be at a party with a beer (or even a cocktail), a woman dancing up against him, and some music pounding in his ears. There was music, it was just muffled and second-hand, rumbling from a party above them. There was even a woman, but she wasn't dancing. She was standing at the back door of the jewellers, a phone in her hand and a gun holstered beneath her arm. And there certainly wasn't any cocktails.
"Just a few more minutes," Sherlock breathed in his ear, "I just need to see if the phone call will be significant."
John rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to his other foot. They were in a convenient alcove that allowed them a view of the shop-backs, but still kept them mostly ensconced in shadows.
Somewhere in the flats above them John heard the party getting raucous. It sounded fun. So much for a new years snog. The only woman in sight was less than appealing – with the criminal tendencies and murderous intent. And Sherlock wasn't much better, even without a gun tucked in his armpit. Well, he was markedly more appealing, but kissing him would be no less dangerous. New beginnings indeed. The new year looked much like it might resemble the last one very closely. Full of confused unrequited... somethings.
"Happy new year," he muttered grumpily.
As soon as his lips closed after the grumble they were swept up and covered with a partnering pair. Sherlock. What the – The words in his mouth dropped down, slipping heavily down his throat and colliding with his stomach, sending it plummeting into his pelvis. Chilled hands framed his face, long fingers sliding backwards into his hair, which was absolutely delightful. His mouth did what his brain couldn't, and closed his lips, latching onto the ones against them, warm and damp. Sherlock was pressing him back against the wall, using the solidity to lever his body into John's and join them from chest to hip. John would have been surprised by the heat of the kiss, if he hadn't been imagining it for... years. The tip of a nose stroked down the side of his and he sucked a beautifully plump lower lip in between his own as it pulled away, earning himself an extra second of contact.
Sherlock drew back, sweeping his gaze over John's undoubtedly rather surprised face before dipping back down as if to continue.
"Woah, woh woh woh," John put a hand on Sherlock's chest and halted him. "Wha – Who... What was that?"
"New Years Eve tradition. Is it not?"
"Not quite like that, no." He frowned. Though he'd happily start it as a tradition. "You're kind of meant to wait for the strike of twelve. And then it's a bit... less..."
"Oh." Sherlock shrugged. Then he whipped around in a flurry of coat and scarf and disappeared around the corner.
"Shit," John stumbled as he gave chase. "Guessing we're done here now then?"
"Come along John," Sherlock didn't turn around, but flicked a beckoning hand over his shoulder, "Places to be, things to do."
They ended up at a party, John was glad to say, a gathering of St. Bart's staff. And though he hadn't been intending to take Sherlock celebrating with him, it wasn't a half bad adjustment to the evening. He was conversing happily in a corner pub booth with Mike Stamford. Being polite, apparently, and even quite... nice.
Molly had dragged, albeit rather shyly, John over to the section of the floor cleared of tables and chairs and set aside as a sort of dance floor. There was a good beat thrumming, a crowd of similarly rhythmically inclined people pressed in together and John was actually having a good time, even if he wasn't as alcoholically influenced as the people that had been partying for more than twenty minutes. A bloke he vaguely recognised flung an arm around his neck and pulled him into some sort of staggering jig. John just laughed and joined in.
It was only when the countdown began that he realised quite how late it was, and quite how sober he was and quite how alone he appeared to be now Molly was disappearing to find that boyfriend with the Yorkshire accent that someone had introduced him to and he had promptly forgotten.
Nine, eight. John shrugged and headed to the edge of the dancefloor. He wasn't disappearing exactly, but he had no intention of being on his own as the clock struck.
Seven. He'd go and sit with Sherlock and Mike, have a New Year beer cheers and see it in with them.
Six. Except the booth was empty. Of course, Mike would have gone to find his missus. And Sherlock would...
Five. Where would Sherlock have gone?
Four. John spun around, listing a little to the left as he tried to look casual in his search.
Three. Why were these people so bloody tall?
Two. Fuck it.
One. The cheers were deafening, the fireworks outside loud enough, even over the shouts, to make him jump, spike up his hackles.
"Happy new year."
He nearly missed it. Nearly. Almost. But not quite.
John grinned at the familiar rumble in his ear and turned on the spot. Sherlock offered him a raised eyebrow and a sly smile before he leaned down and crushed their lips together, quite spectacularly if John may say so.
It was very public and very obvious, but John gave not a crap about it. He just wrapped his arms up around those tall shoulders, pulled him a bit further down and kissed him back. An unexpected move, apparently, if Sherlock's shocked whimper was anything to go by, but not unwelcome. Sherlock caught John with long fingers through belt loops and tugged him even closer. He was delicious, all cold expensive lager and sultry wet man and John could not get enough of it. Lips weren't enough, tongues were not quite there and even teeth joining in fell a little short. He slid his fingers up into the loose curls at the base of Sherlock's skull. Their breaths were getting hotter and shorter and everyone else had stopped kissing ages ago. People were milling around them, chatting and embracing. The music had started up again. But they were still kissing, though Sherlock was pushing him backwards, out of the way, guiding his steps gently until they hit a pillar.
Finally John pulled down, breaking their mouths apart so he could gasp in some air. The air tasted of Sherlock, crisp and musky at the same time, stale Marlboros and designer cologne.
"Well..." John said, rather pointlessly. "That was, erm, yeah, well, that... Mmm."
"Succinct as ever," Sherlock rolled his eyes, but with a hint of a laugh. "Can we go home now? I'd quite like to continue this seasonal merriment without a gawping audience."
"I'd say that sounds like a good idea," John grinned, still sucking in oxygen frantically. That suggestion hadn't helped. "In a minute. Let me just..."
"Hurry up, John." Sherlock's smile curved against John's lips and then he was kissing him again and it was difficult to go anywhere.