(A/N) Hello all! This fic'll be a series of oneshots updated as regularly as I can manage. I love John-Sherlock banter so prepare for arguments and conversation, though I've got several approaches I want to try. Hope you all enjoy it- there'll be more coming!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, season three would've been out today...T.T, sadly it's not. Draw your own conclusions.

"You can imagine the Christmas dinners..."

"Oh, God no."

John remembered speaking the same phrase when the idea was exchanged in jest, and he cringed at his own word choice. Sherlock would no doubt pick up on that. Could you really blame him, though? Being asked to go to a Holmes family meal was the furthest thought from his mind. The consulting detective ran a hand through his dark curls- for once actually managing to look disheveled when he did so instead of annoyingly perfect.

"But John, it's entirely dull. Not to mention, Mycroft is insufferably mundane about it all." His voice slipped into a childish whine. John let his eyebrows creep up ever so slightly. Despite still wearing his signature coat, the buttons were undone and his appearance was ruffled at best. Sherlock never got like this unless he was bent out of shape from a case.

"I thought I was 'insufferably mundane'." John retorted, coolly leaning back into his comfy arm chair and taking a sip of his tea before continuing, "As often as you remind me, I don't see how my presence would help much." Secretly, though, he was interested as to how any sort of familial event might play out at the Holmes'. His curiosity, however, was tempered with a fair dose of self-preservation. Any room housing both Sherlock and Mycroft (as well as any other blasted family character) may as well be an open war zone. Were he to consider going, John could imagine anything from strained silences and false smiles to flying silverware and heated arguments. The stubborn glares alone were dodgy enough to stay at 221B for the holidays.

Sherlock's pale eyes narrowed acutely, as if following John's train of thought. He must not have liked it much, because his lips turned down in a scowl.

"Please, John." John blinked once. "You're not as mundane, and not nearly so infuriating." John blinked twice.

"I think that's as close to a compliment as you've ever come." He muttered, now mulling over the prospect of accompanying Sherlock to the dreaded dinner. If it meant that much to him, well- John examined his flat mate more closely. Sherlock must've been under severe duress because the haughty pride often blocking his features was replaced with open pleading, just hinting at vulnerability. The expression was fleeting, though, and his composed mask slipped over seamlessly.

"I've complimented you plenty of times." He countered decisively, drawing himself up to his full height. Oddly, he was still standing in the center of the living room, just across the low coffee table strewn with newspapers. John snorted.

"No, no- complimenting does not involve insulting my intelligence. That happens at least three times a day if you're in a good mood." Eyes flashing with mirth, John was still stringing him along. The quick beat of confusion scrunched the detective's brow before he conceded.

"I am fairly certain that we've gotten off topic." he redirected. "From your apparent amusement, I can only conclude that you are either digging for respects or have decided to come with me." John balked.

"I don't dig for compliments, Sherlock! And why should I?" John flushed a bit at his word choice, "Er- I mean why should I come with you? It's your family. I would be intruding." A frustrated sigh puffed from the other's lips as he dropped into the chair across from him.

"Mycroft brings a friend." Sherlock had his arms crossed, slouching deeply into the cushions.

"You're sulking." John pointed out, almost immune to this version of guilt-tripping. He only fell for it three times since- wait. "A friend, as in a colleague?" John backtracked swiftly. The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up.

"Yes, his assistant." Just what was he implying? John fumed quietly for a moment.

"You do know I'm a qualified doctor, right?" John cradled his tea patiently, "I'm not your assistant." Sherlock's smirk turned into a triumphant smile.

"Of course not," he leaned forward a bit in his chair, out of his sulking position, "You're my blogger." Bugger it. John knew what Sherlock was trying to do, but he was just too damn good at it.

"Fine." He forfeited shortly, standing from his chair to take care of his now very empty mug. Partly it was because he didn't want to see the smug grin on the other's face. Bloody sentiment. He turned on the tap to rinse out his cup, hearing Sherlock stand back up.

"Then come on. I'll get a cab." John dropped the mug. The clang rang hollowly in the metal sink, but he spun to face his flat mate anyways, faucet still running.

"Now, Sherlock? Christmas isn't for two days!" A blank nod confirmed it as the man knotted his scarf around his neck.

"Of course. If we met on Christmas, then we'd be obligated to exchange presents." The eccentricity of it all was delivered with the utmost sincerity and John gaped at him a moment before remembering to shut the water off. On the other hand, it was so like Sherlock that he really should have seen it coming.

"Why didn't you think to ask me earlier?" John was losing his even temper to a much more immediate sense of alarm. Sherlock was aggravatingly unperturbed.

"I didn't see the need." He deadpanned, tossing John his tweed coat and gesturing towards the door. After rushing about to get his things together, constantly being reminded that it was okay if they were late, or rather, Sherlock greatly desired to be late, John found his shoes and put them on. Sherlock opened the door with a flourish and John shouldered his coat as he left the flat, not ignoring the contented expression on Sherlock's face.

Manipulative prat.

(A/N) Drop me a review, with comments, typo notification, criticisms etc. I'll take requests as well xD Thanks for reading!