A/N: I really wanted to do a Sherlock Holmes fic, but this was all i could come up with XD

Please enjoy these short stories of Holmes and Watson on Christmas day ^^

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes' stories or characters (or movie). They belong to Arthur Conan Doyle

December 25, 1890.

I had been woken up by my flat mate's violin music. Holmes was playing terribly, on purpose. I just knew it. It was that time of the year again.

I stood from my warm and comfortable bed and looked out the window. I could tell that it wasn't even 5 in the morning yet. I then made up my mind to go and tell him to stop his horrid twanging or he'd wake up the whole neighborhood.

I sluggishly walked up the stairs and made my way to his room, where I knocked quietly at his door. The music instantly stopped and I heard footsteps coming towards me. I was surprised that he had heard me at all.

"Good morning, Watson." He said, a childish smile stamped on his face. He was holding his violin and the bow with one hand, while the other hand rested on the doorknob.

But I ignored his rather cheerful comment and groaned with disgust when i noticed the repugnant mysterious smell drifting off from his room, "Good God, Holmes! What in the world is that smell?"

The detective's smiled grew even wider, "Ah!" He said in delight, "I see you've noticed the new elixir I was creating. But it's not complete yet."

"That's not important! Why would you want to create such a thing and what in heavens is in it?" I wheezed, covering my nose with my hand. I had by now forgotten my real reason for coming over to his room.

"I cannot tell you what's in it because I haven't finished it yet, Watson. Now, to answer the question as to why I'm doing it: I'm getting myself into the Christmas spirit. Which reminds me, today is the 25th right, Watson?"

I nodded. Holmes play a few notes on his instrument with his free hand before resuming:

"I shall call my elixir: My thoughts about this bloody holiday."

I couldn't help but chuckle at this. Sometimes I wondered what age his mind really was.

"Merry Christmas, old boy." I said -rather, tried to say- to him.

"Thank you Watson, but I prefer you'd said: 'I hope you survive this Christmas.'"

"I'll see you soon, Holmes."

Then, I walked back to my room. I heard my friend shut the door and carry on with his playing, which was much worse than before.