Hey, look. It's Christmas Day. Whoo.

Wait.

CHRISTMAS?! HOLY MOTHER OF TAP-DANCING PANCAKES!

So, without further ado, here's cawcaw-oedipus' present for the Sherlock Secret Santa! Yes, it's a little late, but since it's Christmas Day, surely that makes it an even better present, right? Right?...

And since I'm terrible at Christmassy things, there's no actual Christmas in here. Still, that means all year round fun! Yay!

Yeah, let's just get this going.

Bad Telly or Good Telly?

John was on his way home after a particularly bad day at work. It was a particularly bad day not because of the actual contents of the work, but because not once had he received a text from his flatmate. Most days, he would be guaranteed a 'Come home. –SH' or a 'Bored. –SH', but today, despite how many times he had checked his phone, ha hadn't had a single message.

To tell the truth, this worried him.

So, as John sat in the taxi that was slowly crawling through the London traffic towards 221B Baker Street, he felt an odd nervousness creep up inside him. If Sherlock had a case, he would have texted. If he didn't, he still would have texted (about the lack of cases). If Sherlock was in any sort of danger, even if he didn't have the time to text, he would still have made it apparent through some sort of contact. This lack of connection was what panicked John the most.

As he got out of the cab, fumbling through his pockets quickly for a note and shouting "Keep the change!", John approached the door, stopping only to get out his key. With a quick motion, the door was unlocked, and he rushed quickly over to the living room, a breath of relief to find Sherlock sat upright in his chair, very much alive and well.

Then he noticed the DVDs.

Stacks of DVDs, boxsets and volumes were piled up in the space around Sherlock's chair, as well as by the sides of the television and under the coffee table. John scanned through the boxes, trying to work out what they were, if they were some kind of case material.

And then he remembered.

"Bored, John. Bored!" Sherlock was draped across the sofa, staring up at the ceiling and twiddling his thumbs together impatiently. "There hasn't been a good case for the last week, and since Mycroft's taken the habit of sending people to follow me every time I leave the house, I can hardly keep him happy now, can I?"

"Oh, for pity's sake, Sherlock, just stop whining! There are more important things in life than just cases and one-upping your brother!"

"I don't see what I could possibly derive more entertainment from. Care to help me out on that?" Sherlock twisted over to look at John, a dull shine glazed over his eyes.

"Why don't you watch some telly? Not that crap you ended up watching before, something good… ah!" John pulled a thin box out of his coat pocket, handing it to Sherlock. "Now, I need to go to work, so keep yourself occupied with this, okay?" John walked briskly out of the doorway, hoping to avoid the snarky comment that would come.

"No need to talk to me like I'm five, John. John? John!" Sherlock called after his flatmate, sighing. "Well, that wasn't very mature, was it? What is this, anyway?" He stared at the box – it was a DVD case, and the information he could gather hardly piqued his interest. He sighed, but stood up to move over to the television, opening the box and putting the DVD in.

It couldn't be that bad, could it?

John flicked his gaze over the piles of DVDs. Certain titles stuck out more than other – a good third of the boxes had the words 'Doctor Who' printed on them in varying fonts, and there was a large boxset of DVDs for a series by the name of 'Supernatural' directly next to Sherlock's feet. He furrowed his brow in confusion, a questioning look in his eye. "Sherlock… what… where did all these come from?"

"Assorted stores, a few borrowed copies from Mrs. Hudson and a bundle of boxes along with a smile courtesy of Angelo. Oh, thanks for the first copy, by the way." Sherlock smirked, looking around at the mess. "You… probably want an explanation for this, I suppose."

"You 'suppose' right. What have you done this for, anyway?"

"It keeps me occupied." Sherlock picked up a box from the floor. "What if I told you what these shows were about?"

"Actually, I'd rather just - "

"You see, this one here, it's about this man, called the Doctor – that's why it's called Doctor Who – and he's an alien, which I have trouble with believing, but I'll put that aside for now. He does a lot of time traveling, in a police box of all things, and people come with him, and there are lots of happy bits and sad bits and you're not listening any more, are you?" Sherlock let out a slow sigh. "Well, I'll explain it to you over tea. Phone for takeaway?"

"Sherlock, I'm not sure I'm really that interested- "

"You'll be surprised. There are so many little details, so many deductions to be made…" Sherlock trailed off slightly, an amused smile on his face.

"…All right. But I'm having the spring rolls, okay?"

"So, what's the deal with that angel guy, anyway? You know, the one that's obviously in love with that other guy?" John shovelled a forkful of sweet and sour chicken into his mouth, munching loudly as he finished his question.

"Oh, something about something… really, you have to watch it all several times to understand. At least, that's what Angelo tells me. I suppose he could just be addicted, but…" Sherlock grabbed a prawn cracker, crushing it between his fingers and letting the powder fall into his bowl, mixing with the egg fried rice.

"Right… I kind of do want to watch some more… oh, and why does that man keep going on about bow ties? What's the deal there? Some serious plot twist?"

"I'd hazard a guess at mental damage, to be fair."

Some time passed during the meal, and Sherlock and John ended up on a tangent of which Doctor was their favourite, unable to agree on a final decision, and eventually, as John went to take out the rubbish, he saw Sherlock grab his laptop and flip it open, to a page he had never seen before.

"What's that?"

"Truth be told, nobody knows, and not even I could work it out. Something about a boy, called John – which is funny, since I kept picturing you all the time, and there are some parts that make too much sense, and -"

"Get on with it!"

"Well, he seems to be stuck in a house, which leads me on to the title…"

Okay, it's short, I'm sorry. But I tried, and I've decided that I like Superwhoholmestuck so much I'm writing something else for this. That can be a further present, 'kay?

Merry Christmas!