This was something short I wrote for a prompt on Tumblr, and it shall be doubling as my yearly Christmas fic! Last year was Harry Potter, the year before was Skulduggery Pleasant, so I thought I'd write for one of my newer fandoms (well, one I've gotten into since last Christmas). I haven't written for this fandom before, so I hope you like it! I'm always a bit nervous when writing for a new fandom for the first time... Well, enjoy the story and please let me know what you think! And I hope everyone (who celebrates it) has a very Merry Christmas and a fantastic New Year. Lots of love to you all this holiday season :) (Sorry for the length, I've been super busy lately! I promise I'll write more updates and longer oneshots soon!)

I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Sherlock Holmes wrapped his coat around himself and stepped out into the bitter cold air of Christmastime in London . As he started to walk away from his newly acquired flat- courtesy of Mycroft- he kept a keen eye out for a familiar head of dirty blonde hair, or for a figure that walked with that unmistakeable military stance, or… He shook his head of those thoughts. He has preparations to make with Mrs Hudson and Mycroft and the Yard, for his inevitable return to life.

He had moved back to London just last week, having finally unravelled Moriarty's web. Foolishly, he had originally planned to just straight out tell John, but he soon realized that there were arrangements that had to be made, for him to be legally alive again and for his property to come out of storage, as well as informing people like Molly and Mrs Hudson of his wellbeing.

Now, it was two days before Christmas, and he realized that he wasn't going to be able to be back at 221B for Christmas after all. Not that he cared for the holiday in the least, but he knew John liked to celebrate it and what better a gift than telling his closest friend that he was back and things could go back to normal again…

But of course they, as Mycroft was constantly telling him ("He has a life outside of the memory of you, brother"), but Sherlock needed to at least try to regain some of the friendship he had lost, to repair the nagging hole in his chest that told him life was not okay without his blogger.

A black car pulled up beside the detective, and he rolled his eyes, considering ignoring it. Deciding it was no worth Mycroft visiting the flat, he hopped in, nodded at Anthea, and allowed himself to be driven off to whatever darkened warehouse his brother had chosen.

Sherlock stared intently at the video feed of 221B, with John in the centre in his armchair. The doctor's face was serious and unmoving as he gazed unseeing at the wine glass in his hand. His expression was unfitting to the Christmas decorations around him, exactly the same as Sherlock remembered from his own years at 221B.

"He's depressed."

"Of course he is," Mycroft said from behind him. "It's not been diagnosed, mind you, but it's obvious."

"Why is he depressed? It doesn't make sense!"

"Over you,"

"But it's been three years!" Sherlock exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He started pacing. "Shouldn't he be over it by now? That was the whole idea! Stay away, he'll forget about me, be out of danger, everyone would be happy…"

"Except for you," Mycroft pointed out. "Which is why you decided to come back after the job was done. You couldn't resist being selfish. It's in your nature."

Sherlock shot his brother a glare, flicked up his collar, and stalked away.

"You'll be able to see him soon, Sherlock!" Mycroft called after him, a hint of an apology in his voice. "I know you wanted to be home for Christmas. I'm sorry."

Sherlock ignored him, and tried to do the same with the small knot of irrational pain in his chest, and the overwhelming want to stop John's pain. Now wasn't the time for emotion. If he ever wanted to talk to his blogger again, he had to focus on the priorities and not get distracted.

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams