Christmas
Sherlock Holmes had never believed in Christmas. As far as he was concerned it was a complete and utter waste of time. Giving and taking presents, spending time with family, what was the bloody point? Stupid.
Or at least, this is how he had felt. Before he met Watson.
John was different, how, he didn't know. But he made that ridiculous holiday enjoyable. Sherlock still rolled his eyes at the pointlessness of the celebration and still complained about how annoying everyone was about it. But on the 25th of December he'd stop. It was the one day of the year that Sherlock really let John in. They'd sleep in late, have a breakfast of what little food they had in the apartment. Sometimes they read poetry or passages from their favorite books to each other. Then later eat what Mrs. Hudson had left for their Christmas dinner. And at the end of their glorious, peaceful day John would sit down and Sherlock would play his violin. Whatever he fancied. John would close his eyes and hear Sherlock's emotions. And it was beautiful.