Hello everyone...this is a one-shot that I wrote for everyone for Christmas. It will be featured in my story called "Everlasting" on December 25th. In the story, it will be Sherlock's gift to john, so if you don't like spoilers...sorry for ruining my story for you. But I won't reveal John's gift yet-that one is genius! (if I do say so myself)

So, without further ado, please enjoy my story and review to tell me what you think!

Also, John and Sherlock can be perceived as slash or as good friends in this poem.

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John POV

"John, I believe it is customary to exchange gifts on Christmas but you know I hate stores so-"

"It's okay Sherlock. I knew you would either forget or not feel like getting gifts but I got you one anyways, I hope you don't mind."

He stopped me by holding up his hand and waving it. I shut up and he drew a small piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it and cleared his throat.

"I hate stores so I made your gift. I hope it explains how truly thankful I am for all you've done this year. If you'll just sit down, I'll read you your poem."

"You wrote me a poem?"

"Well, I took the original 'Twas the Night before Christmas poem and changed the words..." he said shyly. I chuckled quietly at his bashfulness and sat on eh chair to listen to the poem.

Sherlock cleared his throat again and began reading to me.

"'Twas Christmas at Baker Street

When all through the flat,

I watched my friend John,

By the window he sat.

The Christmas tree stood in eh corner with lights

The colours transforming the dark sitting room bright

The landlady, , brought us tea from the steeper

While she gently reminded us she was not our housekeeper.

Molly arrives, looking most beautiful,

As John and I search for plates that are useable.

It's my first normal Christmas and I'm very excited,

All thanks to john, we are now all united.

It's a small crowd, of course, but it will suffice.

For the few us here, it feels just right.

'Perfect' is the word we use to describe

The wonderful dinner had by our own little tribe.

When dinner is finished, we sit round the fire,

Decorations hung for us to admire.

With tea in each hand and warmth in each heart,

Not rain, snow, or ice could keep us apart.

I'm so grateful for everything that's happened this year.

Though I don't often say it, John, I'm so glad you're here.

This poem is getting awkward so I'll take it right back;

To the humour and fun that our lives often lack.

To the time when you caught me shooting our wall;

Take your mind make and remember it all.

The months I've spent in our Baker Street flat,

Have been the best of my life, I promise you that.

You're a wonderful friend, flatmate, and doctor.

I'd truly be lost without my dear blogger.

When Lestrade is at the door, it's hard to stay put;

And with you by my side, the game is afoot!

We're a team like no other, a dynamic duo.

You're my first real partner, I hope that you know.

After hearing this poem, you'll see I really can't write.

So now finish, dear John, with Happy Christmas and I bid you goodnight. "

"Sherlock...I..."

I didn't know what to say.

"Do you like it? It's not too soppy is it?"

Well, it kind of was, but I wasn't going to tell him that because then he'd never say anything nice as long as he lived.

"It's perfect."

He beamed at me. "Happy Christmas, John."

"Happy Christmas."