Christmas day is usually a day of celebration, fun, festivities and all the little things in-between. A time of sharing and simply being with those you love. That is unless you where Sherlock Holmes.
It all started way back at the start of December, the Christmas advertisements on TV and the billboards and posters, Sherlock was always complaining about the insignificance of it all, the fact that Christmas, was, in fact just a way of companies earning as much money as possible before the new year. Basically he was just being Sherlock only much more irritating, the closer it actually got to Christmas the worse he became. The more mentions of the holidays the more moaning John would have to endure from Sherlock. To make matters worse, the number of crimes Sherlock saw as interesting had depleted severely in December, obviously mass murderers where too busy buying Christmas presents to go out and give Sherlock something to solve. It resulted in Sherlock locking himself inside of 221B in order to avoid as much of the Christmas cheer as possible, but when a street-Santa ringing his bell and shouting out 'Merry Christmas' decided to set up right across the road, Sherlock's master plan failed and he became all the more of an arse.
John knew all of this was coming, of course; however he may not have predicted just how irritating Sherlock was going to be. By the 20th, every little thing was setting Sherlock off, John was wrapping presents in their living room, Sherlock was muttering about how it was all irrelevant and being the least helpful he could possibly be. John was setting up a small tree in the corner of the room, Sherlock was moaning about how it was making a mess. When John asked if Sherlock was going to get any presents for his mother and father, if they were still around, Sherlock never talked about them, Sherlock merely shrugged and muttered something about Mycroft doing the shopping this year.
So in conclusion, Sherlock was being an ass, only more so than usual. On Christmas Eve the small band got together for a small Christmas party, it was something they had done nearly every year since John came in to the picture. It was always held at 221B; John had no other way of getting Sherlock involved because he wouldn't leave the house for something like a Christmas party. John had given him a stern talking to about being nice and at least pretending to enjoy himself for one night. It worked, for at least half the night Sherlock was hospitable however things went downhill after that. Eventually Sherlock had to come out with something witty and harsh this year directed at Lestrade, he of course handled it well and ignored Sherlock however the mood was dampened for the rest of the night.
It was only later that night that Sherlock actually realised what he had done. John was stripping out of his festive jumper, another bright red knitted thing with Father Christmas knitted in to the material. Sherlock was already ready for bed, his usual navy pyjama top and bottoms, he strolled his side of the room watching John
"What is it?" He asked sharply, cutting straight to the point
"Nothing, Sherlock." John replied, slipping in to bed, an action which Sherlock quickly followed suit only to have John's back to him when he shifted in to the middle of the bed
"It's something." He pestered "If this is about Lestrade then-"
"God dammit Sherlock!" John finally snapped at him "Couldn't you have been nice for one night, that was all I was asking! For you to keep your comments to yourself for one damned night and you couldn't do that could you?!" Sherlock didn't answer, he knew John didn't want one and despite what John sometimes thought Sherlock didn't want an argument with him.
The next morning John woke to a cold bed, but when he turned over and looked toward the door he saw Sherlock's figure, carrying a tray with some steaming tea and a fully cooked English breakfast, underneath the tray was a Christmas present, the green coloured paper was the same John had used days before to wrap presents for their friends. Sherlock strolled over, placing the tray on John's bedside cabinet and almost dumping the present in John's lap. The blond haired doctor gave Sherlock a tilt of his head before beginning to rip away the paper. A small, joyful little laugh came from John's lips when he saw what had been inside, he pulled out the cloth, and it was another Christmas sweater, this time with a reindeer pulling a strange face on the front of it with the words 'Merry Christmas' written underneath. There was also a Christmas card in the packaging with a simple note in Sherlock's scribbled hand writing 'Merry Christmas, thank you, I love you. Sherlock.'
"Merry Christmas, John."
NOTES: Merry Christmas Paulina! Hope you like it! All mistakes are my own and I couldn't give a flying fuck about any of them. Stupid fluff for Christmas!