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“I cannot believe we’ve filled an entire suitcase with Christmas sweaters for everyone. They’re not even remotely attractive, either.”
“That’s the whole point, Myc!” Greg insisted with an impish grin. “No one’s meant to look good at an ugly sweater party. It’s part of the fun to see who ends up looking the worst.”
“The boys agreed to this?”
“I was...hesitant.” Sherlock admitted.
“Until I managed to convince him it was a competition with prizes involved.” John chimed in helpfully. “Winner won’t pay for their drinks all night on New Year’s Eve.”
“Now that I could get behind, though I still don’t entirely understand why we’re doing it in the first place. Christmas will be long over by the time we land in France.” Mycroft replied.
“Yes, but Christmas celebrations won’t be. We’ll be meeting some of your family; I’ve roped them into this too.” Greg explained cheekily, sneaking one last bow into the suitcase before zipping it up.
“Do I even want to know what use you’ll have for a single bow?” Mycroft rolled his eyes, arms across his chest. This whole situation was getting more ridiculous by the minute.
“I’ll leave that to your imagination.” Greg said, suggestive intentions obvious. “I can put it anywhere you’d like to unwrap.”
“Get a room!” called Sherlock while John blushed furiously.