Inspiration came from one of the "Red pants Monday" submissions that I totally fell in love with! Find it here!
post/38692910632/here-we-are-a-quick-christmas-eve-red-pants
John had come to the kitchen for water, well passed midnight. Merry Christmas, he thought to his self. He hadn't bothered with clothes since he thought Sherlock had actually gone to bed. But as he padded down the stairs in his red pants and a throw blanket over his shoulders, he was greeted by the sight of Sherlock crouched in the doorway to the living room, engaged in... whatever it was he was doing...
"Sherlock? ... What are you doing?
"Shhh John... Be quiet. I'm trying to catch that fat man again."
John was still addled from sleep. Sherlock didn't just say what he thought he said... did he?
"A fat man? In the flat?"
Sherlock finally turned to give John a thoroughly pissed off glare.
"Of course, John. In case you didn't realize, which I'm sure you have with your increasingly awful jumpers, it is Christmas. Christmas eve, in fact. The one night a year people think it's alright for someone to break into your home!"
All this was presented to John in a fierce whisper, and as soon as he could comprehend it, it became hilarious.
"Sherlock... You're trying to catch Santa?"
"I know John. I've heard it all; 'Oh, but Sherlock, he leaves gifts!' 'Sherlock, he's a good man who wants to bring joy to the world!' Rubbish! No one ever does anything without expecting something in return.. except you John."
John slowly smiled. "You think I'm that nice?"
Sherlock looked at him a moment, then sighed. "Disgustingly so, at times. Best man I know. But since I know men like you are extremly rare, this Nicholas person can't be."
Sherlock turned back to watch from the doorway to the large tree in the sitting room.
"Well, would it put your mind at ease if I told you Santa isn't real?"
Sherlock stood, and turned to John. He could see the look of defeat in his features.
"A Greek saint, 270 AD, dedicated to giving away all his possessions to help others, patron saint of children, sailors and thieves and died 346 AD and couldn't possibly still be living, let alone bring presents for all the children in the world?"
John was struck mute for a second. He hadn't known all those facts. "Um... yes, exactly..."
"Then, John, how do you explain those!"
John looked to the sitting room, past the booby trap and what he was sure was even a bear trap, to the tree. Beautifully lit, and tastefully done to Sherlock's specifications, it set in the room close to the fireplace. But under it were gifts he had never seen, large and small. He had never even seen the wrapping paper!
"Those weren't there when you came down, John! You distracted me from capturing him!" Sherlock walked into the sitting room, turned his back to the tree, and slammed down into his chair covering his eyes with one hand, full pout.
John stood for some time, shell shocked. Sherlock never missed anything... Who broke in to leave gifts?! Could there be something to this whole San-
He couldn't even bring himself to say it.
He made his way to the tree, selected two gifts, one to Sherlock and the other to himself.
He brought them before Sherlock and sat at his feet.
"He may be creepy with the whole breaking and entering thing... But he did leave us stuff. Want to open them all now?"
Sherlock looked up through his fingers at John, then at the large package he offered.
Sighing, he took hold of it.
"Of course, I do. Damn that Santa. I can't even seem to get on the naughty list! ME!"
After a moment, they both fell into giggles,
Mrs. Hudson giggled herself as she slipped down the stairs. If John hadn't distracted Sherlock, she feared she never would have gotten the presents in.