Authors note; Okay so this is the first thing I've written in a very long time and it was a request from a friend on tumblr. I don't quite know why it is written in the second person but I think it works quite well. Constructive criticisms and reviews are welcome. I hope you enjoy it.
Christmas time. You would expect it to be crammed full of mistletoe kisses, presents, holiday cheer, the sound of carolling and the perfect dusting snow on the ground. The picturesque scene of the beautifully decorated tree and the roar of the toasty warm fire as you sat by it, a mug of hot chocolate clutched in your palms with steam rising from it's chocolatey depths as perfectly round marshmallows float peacefully on the top. You'd expect the smell of spices and the cheer of children to be playing a background to the holiday season, unless you were one John Watson of course. Your Christmas would be full of running across London several times, as "Criminals don't just take the day off on Christmas John, don't be an idiot.", experiments would litter your apartment some of which were more than likely toxic, there would be no presents under the tree nor the chance to sit down by the fire and relax in the peace the holidays seemed to bring.
You think all this would sound like a reason to hate Christmas. Not being able to celebrate the way you were brought up as a child and having it replaced by hectic days and nights of running across London like your life depended on it -most of the time it did- but it wasn't. There was a plus to Christmas with Sherlock. When all the cases were closed and the criminals all brought to justice; the chaos made way for a calm, more traditional Christmas. It would always be in time for Christmas day and nothing quite compared to being woken up in the morning by the smell of freshly brewed hot chocolate rising from the kitchen; to see the flat had been completely transformed over night. Where there had once been experiments lay a clean table with breakfast upon it. The living room would have been decorated with a Christmas tree below which lay a small number of presents and the sound of a violin could be heard.
You would stumble downstairs, your hair all messed from sleep and into the living room; a knowing smile on your face, to be greeted by a Christmas carol fading out and a fire roaring. You'd sit down both amazed and somewhat amused by your flatmate's sudden interest in Christmas traditions but wouldn't complain as a mug of hot chocolate was placed in your hands with a rare smile. When that was finished you'd curl up to him shamelessly like a cat and gaze into the fire feeling all warm and fuzzy. What would come next would surprise you somewhat yet only add to your amusement. Mistletoe. You wouldn't resist, after all it was tradition right? A blush would creep to your cheeks and once broken apart you would grin and address the man in front of you.
"Merry Christmas Sherlock."
"Merry Christmas to you too, my dear John."