"I don't celebrate Christmas."

John jumped and nearly spilled tea all over his lap. He has been dozing off for the past half an hour and didn't even know Sherlock was in the apartment. Yet there the detective stood, looming over john with a worrying look on his face.

"I thought you were going home with Mycroft?"

Sherlock huffed. "Only told you that so you wouldn't pity me and so you would go to Harry's"

"Oh right," mumbled john. He wasn't sure what to say. He was dreading spending Christmas with his sister, all that festive booze was never a good thing. He would probably spend most of the day looking after her, and then go to bed early.

"Stay here with me"

Before john even had time to registered his movements Sherlock had sat beside him and had clasped his alabaster fingers tightly around john's wrist. His eyes looked pleading and desperate. John had to tear his gaze away from Sherlock's intense stare, instead looking down at his wrist.

"It's Christmas eve though," he said, his voice coming out raspy. "Both our families will miss us"

"Mycroft knows I'm not coming. Harriet has guests over; she will understand your absence. Please."

That one word sent johns brain into overdrive. He had never heard Sherlock genuinely plea for anything. Sure he had said the word once or twice when in disguise, but never genuinely. Never to john. He felt like he would melt right there and then. The word dripping out of Sherlock's mouth like royal honey, the big, begging eyes, the electric pulses throbbing under Sherlock's fingers.

"Of course I will," he managed to choke, feeling terribly incoherent. Sherlock suddenly beamed his grin wide and full of pearly white teeth. His grip on john's wrist loosened, but he didn't let go.

"I have a gift for you!" Sherlock said, sounding excited.

"Yeah, your present is upstairs, hold on I will go and get it"

"I don't want it." Sherlock said firmly

John was confused. Did Sherlock already know what it was? Did he not like it? John was always crap at buying gifts, but he had spent ages picking out Sherlock's present, he was rather disappointed at the detective's words.

"Don't look like that John," he scolded. "Material gifts are nothing. What I want from you is quite different."

"What?" Asked john, feeling eager to please the difficult man. "As long as it won't destroy my bank balance you can have it"

"I want you John Watson." Stated Sherlock, staring up from thick long lashes, his voice once again dripping in that sultry tone that made Johns knees quiver. "I want you to be mine. For Christmas and long after. I want to wear you on my arm in public and be one with you in private. And I want you more than I have ever wanted anything"

John began to alternately blink and swallow furiously as he digested the words. He looked up to meet Sherlock's gaze. Anybody else looking into those eyes at that moment wouldve probably bolted and not stop running for a very long time. His eyes were full of fire and desire, laced with danger; they were always laced with danger. John had loved Sherlock Holmes since that day in the laboratory at St. Barts.

"Oh god Sherlock, I-"

His words were cut off by Sherlock entwining their fingers and leaning forward. John had to quickly catch his breath and find words from somewhere.

"I can't Sherlock," he protested. "I want to, just, just not yet."

"I understand," purred Sherlock. "Contrary to popular belief I understand that things take time." He smiled slowly, that familiar smile that warmed the hearts of every one of Sherlock's victims. Perhaps victim wasn't quite the right word, but right now he would quite easily fold under Sherlock's command.

"Kiss me," breathed John. "On Christmas day, you can kiss me."