A/N: I don't own these characters and I gain nothing from writing this, save amusement. I do hope you enjoy it, more chapters are coming soon, and please do leave me a review.

Watson banged into the flat arms full, and red cheeked from the cold.

"So were serious about throwing a Christmas party then?" Sherlock wouldn't have looked over, he was quite busy staring at the ceiling and thinking. Except it was John, and lately despite his best efforts he found himself unable to keep his eyes away from his flat mate. Sighing, he determinedly shut his eyes; John was not helping his ability to think clearly and Sherlock was annoyed.

"Yes I was serious; did you really think I was joking?" John was setting the groceries down and Sherlock could hear the clinking of glass bottles, judging by the sound they were filled with liquor, probably rum.

"You sound entirely too pleased with the idea." Sherlock let out a long breath through his nose and cracked an eye open to see John smiling at him, he quickly closed his eye again and resisted the urge to roll and groan in frustration. He loved that particular smile, it was the one John used after a job well done. A smile of simple satisfaction, and it drove him mad.

"If you're bored you can help with the shopping." John said rustling the bags and opening cupboards.

"Dull." Sherlock cracked an eye open again, "I was thinking until you came home."

"Oh well I'll just go back out again so you can think properly, shall I?" John asked and Sherlock could hear the sarcasm dripping from each syllable.

"What would you do if I didn't go shopping, order takeaway every night?" The door to the fridge opened, glass bottles on the door rattling. "Why are there pigs' hearts in the fridge?"

"Experiment." Sherlock snapped and this time he did roll over, borrowing himself into the back of the couch.

John sighed, eyed Sherlock's long frame and resisted the urge to throw the hearts at his flat mate's head. "Can they go in the freezer? I need room in here."

"Oh yes! Because research is not as important as your little Christmas party!" Sherlock yelled into the couch, squirming deeper into the cushions.

"Well, it's the freezer or the bin. You can account for coagulation under those conditions can't you?"

"Yes, yes. Fine." Sherlock sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. Looking up he watched John bustle about the kitchen, he did seem entirely too happy.

"You've planned something." Sherlock said suddenly becoming very still, he steepled his fingers and looked over them at his friend. Taking in the lived-in face and the bob of his Adam's apple, John hadn't told him the whole story yet.

"Yes, yes I have. A Christmas party." John did a quick double take, trying to assess how much Sherlock had already deduced. "And I expect you to be there, can't have a party without my flat mate can I?" He grinned wagging a finger across the flat at Sherlock, who only stared harder.

"You have another girlfriend, got tired of the one with the nose already? Brilliant." He grinned his emotionless mischief making grin, which never failed to send a shiver down John's spine.

"The one with the," John sputtered "Sherlock she has a name!"

"Well yes I know, but then you never keep them around for long so why should I bother? I remember who they are in context." Sherlock remained on the couch staring fixedly at John, who never felt comfortable under that gaze and fidgeted.

"Yes well, you remember Sarah." John found he was losing his nerve a bit, but was suddenly struck by another thought. "Hang on, what do you mean another girlfriend? You make it sound like I've got a new one every week."

Sherlock snorted, "No, every three weeks on average. I really don't know why you bother bringing them round anymore. It's always too soon. As for Sarah, she was the only useful one." He could see irritation in John's face and body, people were so sensitive. But he liked the passion in John, his enthusiasm for life. Most people were so dim witted and blind Sherlock thought, but with John it was different, there was something in the doctor that he found magnetic.

"Every three weeks…You actually bothered to do out the math? Guess I can't say you don't care about me." John joked as he tucked a bottle of eggnog into the fridge. "Oh never mind." He said waving a loaf of bread at his unmoving flat mate. Stowing the bread John chanced a glance at Sherlock; he was staring ahead, slightly to the left and seemingly into another dimension, what John referred to in his head as Sherlock's 'thinking space.'

Sherlock shut his eyes again, "of course, I'd be lost without my blogger. Who else would work so hard to find gaps in my knowledge?" He sat back and attempted to reorganize his thoughts, but was distracted again.

John made an exasperated sound in his throat, "you're not still mad about that solar system bit are you? You know I've been very kind in my recent entries, probably more than you deserve."

"Oh well if I don't deserve it…" Sherlock rose from the couch and paced around the living room, looking for something, becoming more irritated at his current state of distraction.

John sighed and tucked the shopping bags into their drawer, "what are you looking for? Lost your thumb screws again?"

"What? No I found those weeks ago. Your skills are improving however, don't believe I mentioned it." He stopped pacing and retrieved a set of glass beakers from under a newspaper next to the fireplace.

The doctor blinked, "yes well, I suppose you might...Say that." He said quite certain that he didn't want to know why Sherlock owned thumb screws. He reached over to put on the water, and promptly shut it off again when Sherlock's mobile began to ring.

"Well then I hope you are ready to put your newly sharpened skills to the test!" Sherlock called leaping across the room for his chirping mobile. "That'll be Lestrade with a case!" He snatched his phone up from the window sill, "Hello, What have you got? We'll be right over. Come on John! This is wonderful!"

John had been hurriedly trying to maneuver the Christmas duck into the freezer and spun around to see Sherlock swinging his coat on and dashing out of the apartment.

"What is it?" John yelled down the stairs hastily grabbing his own jacket and following his friend as fast as he could, almost nose diving down the stairs when he caught the toe of his shoe at the top of the stairs.

"Group suicide," Sherlock yelled hailing a cab and practically running into the street in the process. The cabbie stopped just short of the detective and Sherlock flung the door open, calling out an address to the driver and sliding over to make room for John, who slid in next to him.

Leaning back into the cushions John couldn't help but grin, this was always his favorite part. Madly dashing off, bound for unknown horrors.