Hello everyone! Hedgehog here... It's been a little while, I think, though you've probably all managed perfectly. Here is it, finally; the sequel to my fic "Undisclosed Desires". I must say, since it is a collection of short stories, the style will be a little bit different, but I used "Undisclosed Desires" as a base for this, so everything that happened there has happened here as well.
Disclaimer: Still don't own anything to do with Sherlock Holmes. Getting sick of writing this every time but I suppose that means I'm well on my way to write a sh*tload of fanfictions. :)
Enjoy!

1. Christmas Dinner

'Utterly pointless,' Sherlock exclaimed. 'Why should a Christmas dinner be any different from normal dinners?'

John sighed, exasperated. 'It's a tradition,' he said. 'Come on, Sherlock! It'll be fun. Mrs Hudson will be here, and Lestrade, and Molly. Even Mycroft promised to drop by for a glass or two.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. 'Mycroft?' he asked suspiciously. He shook his head and rolled his eyes. 'I can't say that I'll enjoy it. Or that I'll eat much. I'll be there, but don't expect any...' Sherlock made a face and waved his hands frantically, looking for the right word. 'Social frivolities or anything, whatever the courtesy might be.'

John smiled at his boyfriend from over the edge of his newspaper. 'Will you at least help me decorate the room?' He knew it was a lost cause, but he loved teasing the detective and he loved the confused looks he always got from him. He was the only one who could throw Sherlock Holmes off guard and secretly, he enjoyed it immensely.

Sherlock shuddered. 'If it concerns your guts, I might help.' The consulting detective rolled his head to the right and sighed at John's horrified expression. 'You know I don't mean that, John.' John's wide eyes didn't turn away and Sherlock grew uncomfortable. 'All right, I'll help,' he murmured, defeated.

Satisfied, John turned back to his newspaper. There was a moment of silence, before he heard Sherlock mutter from the sofa; 'Evil.'
John grinned. This was going to be a very interesting Christmas.

'Sherlock, I am going to do some last-minute shopping and when I come back, you will be properly dressed,' John ordered from the doorway.

It was the day o their Christmas dinner and the flat has already been decorated. Sherlock had helped, thought not much, and it had ended up in a childish glitter fight between the two of them. Sherlock's dark curls were still coated with gold and silver glitter but John decided he looked quite sweet that way. But he was still in wearing his pyjamas and that ridiculous dressing gown and he would not be able to receive guests that way. Well, if anyone would be able to, Sherlock was probably on top of the list, John thought. But what John really wanted to see was how the silky dark blue shirt he had bought Sherlock for Christmas would look on his oddly muscular body. It had been expensive and Mycroft had had to help him find the right store, but Sherlock had been genuinely pleased. John had wanted to know how it would look on the detective even then, but their clothes had come off rather quickly, instead of on.

'Understood?' John made sure.

'Hmpff,' Sherlock huffed. John took it as a "yes" and turned around, leaving 221B.

When Sherlock heard the door slam, he smiled and bolted up from the sofa. He didn't know how long John would be gone, so he moved quickly.
He sorted all the case files and other rubbish on his desk, hovered the whole apartment, even stored away his science equipment to prepare the table. Once the kitchen and the living room were as clean as possible, Sherlock dashed to his bedroom – their bedroom – and quickly undressed. He chose the new dark blue shirt John had given him, plus the smooth black suit which he knew John loved so much. He decided against a tie, as always and shot into his shoes just as he heard the key in the keyhole downstairs.

He raced to the living room again and quickly made a fire in the hearth. It cast a shadow glow over the dimly lit apartment. Sherlock decided to play his violin at the last moment before John came in.

'And, have you moved your arse and done what I told you, or – ' John stopped dead in his tracks, gaping at the scene before him. 221B was clean – had Sherlock even hovered? – there were no papers on the desk, no experiments lying underneath the sofa, and it was dark except for the fire and the tiny lights in the Christmas tree and around the mantelpiece.

But in the middle of it all stood Sherlock Holmes, the man he loved, impeccably dressed, still a little bit of glitter in his soft hair, playing his violin, moving slowly with the melody. John saw the passion when he played; it was one of the few moments in which Sherlock was totally at peace, his mind was not racing out of control. The music helped him to organise his mind and as much as John hated the sound of the tuning at three in the morning, he loved it when Sherlock played a beautiful peace and especially when it calmed him down.

Sherlock turned around after a long finishing note and looked John deeply in the eyes.

'Merry Christmas, John.'

John couldn't answer; it seemed as if his tongue had disappeared and all he could do was stare at Sherlock, his mouth half open.

Sherlock chuckled and then asked softly; 'Do you like it?'

'Sherlock,' John managed to whisper. He dropped his shopping bags and took a few steps towards the tall man. He put his arms around Sherlock's slim waist and he whispered, 'I love it.' He then noticed the smooth material Sherlock was wearing and he smiled. 'You're wearing my present,' he muttered. He put one hand on Sherlock's back and one on his chest, loving how the smooth fabric hugged his muscular body.

'And you even dressed up,' John said, looking in Sherlock's eyes. He had been right; the dark blue colour of the shirt would complement his pale green blue eyes perfectly.

Sherlock smiled. 'Christmas does not mean much to me, but it obviously does to you. And you do mean a lot to me. I wanted to make you happy. Are you happy?' he asked, a hint of worry in his keen eyes.

'I couldn't be happier.'

Sherlock's hesitant face transformed into a happy one, glowing with pride. He took John's head in his hands and leant forward to kiss him softly.

'Merry Christmas,' he repeated quietly.

'Merry Christmas,' John whispered back. They hugged each other tightly for a while, then John decided that since it was already half past four, the guests would arrive in a few hours and he better get started on the final preparations.

'If you like, you can help me with cooking,' John said hopefully when he started walking towards the kitchen. He picked up his shopping bags which he has dropped earlier and put them on the clean kitchen table. 'Or you can just sit there and do nothing,' he said when he saw that Sherlock hadn't moved.

'I like to watch you cook,' the detective said when he glanced up at John. 'I believe that cooking in tedious. But watching you do it...' Sherlock blushed. He followed John into the kitchen and stood opposite him, on the other side of the kitchen table. He folded his arms across his chest and grinned. 'You're cute when you cook,' he said matter-of-factly.

John's stomach felt hollow, as if he'd missed a step on the stairs. He always felt like that when Sherlock complimented him. John continued with unpacking the groceries and decided not to look at Sherlock or he'd never get to cooking. 'You think so?' he asked nonchalantly. The idea seemed ridiculous; why would he look cute while cooking?

His confusion must have been clear on his face because Sherlock chuckled and walked around the kitchen table, standing behind John as he put his arms around John's waist. He put his head on John's shoulder and he muttered in his ear; 'The way you stick out your tongue in concentration, the way you wipe your brow, the way you handle a knife with absolute certainty, or how you stir a sauce. I could look at you, watch you all day.'
Smiling, John took one of Sherlock's hands that were around his waist. He laid his other hand on Sherlock's cheek and he gave him a small kiss.
They were just getting into the moment when they heard a soft knock on the door. It was Mrs Hudson; her identifiable "hoo-hoo!" was unmistakeable. Reluctantly, they broke the kiss, but Sherlock had no intention of letting go of John. He kept his arms around John's waist and his
chin on John's shoulder.

'Oh, did I interrupt anything?' she asked cheerfully, making her way to the kitchen. 'It's wonderful here! John, dear, you've really tried your hardest, haven't you?'

'Oh, I didn't do it, Mrs Hudson,' John said with a smile. He looked at Sherlock, a fond expression on his face. 'All Sherlock's doing.'
Mrs Hudson frowned, looking at Sherlock with an amused smile. 'Really? Well, dear, you did a wonderful job. The guests are coming in three hours; do you need a hand in the kitchen?'

'Thanks, Mrs Hudson, but I've got it all under control,' John said politely. He heard a snort next to him and he rolled his eyes. 'I do, Sherlock. Unlike you I don't leave a severed foot in the oven.'

'I do not!' Sherlock said indignantly. 'It was an important stage in my experiment. I don't just leave it there.'

Mrs Hudson shook her head, smiling delightedly. I'll leave you to your bickering, then. Make sure you are presentable when the guests arrive.'
John blushed at the implication but Sherlock merely grinned. 'Will do, Mrs Hudson,' he said, softly nibbling John's earlobe. John blushed even heavier; Mrs Hudson was not even out the door yet.

'Sherlock...' he tried to say in a nagging voice, but it sounded more like a moan.

'What?'

John bit his lip to stop himself from making any louder noises; Sherlock's lips were at his neck, tugging at the skin, pressing soft little kisses everywhere. 'Don't do that with Mrs Hudson around,' he muttered.

'Why not?'

'It's not – ah... – it's not decent, Sherlock.'

'Who cares about decent?' Sherlock whispered, his lips brushing John's skin. His hands on John's waist tightened, pulling him closer to his chest.

'I do,' John said, but when Sherlock nuzzled in his neck, he added; 'To a certain extent. I need to get cooking, love. You can watch or help; as long as you do something, don't go and sulk around in the living room, okay?'

'Hmm.' With a sigh of reluctance, Sherlock withdrew and perched himself on a kitchen chair. 'Then I'll be watching you, Doctor,' he said, holding his head in his hands.

John felt slightly uncomfortable cooking with Sherlock's pale eyes constantly watching him, but he managed to get everything done in time. Sherlock hadn't moved the entire time that John was in the kitchen and he still wasn't bored. He could look at John forever, notice something new, wonder about something old. Try to figure out how this amazing man had been able to stir deep feelings in him, feelings he had successfully suppressed for years. Try to figure out how he returned his love for him.

Forty minutes after John had finished cooking, it was a quarter to eight and the doorbell rang for the first time. They let Mrs Hudson open the door and minutes later Lestrade strode through the door, a wrapped present that was obviously a liquor bottle in his hands.

'Happy Christmas, everybody!' he exclaimed happily. John shook his hand and greeted him back, nudging Sherlock forward. He shot John a desperate look, but all he got was a comforting hand on the small of his back. He cleared his throat and began rather awkwardly, 'Well, Lestrade – Greg – Lestrade… I know we've had our differences, and I mean to say that all of those are not forgotten when I say "merry Christmas". I do acknowledge that you are one of the most competent of Scotland Yard, unlike Donovan or – God help him - Anderson. So – merry Christmas.'
Sherlock turned around, gave John a small kiss and went to the kitchen to talk to Mrs Hudson.

'Isn't he adorable?' John sighed, looking after his boyfriend.

Lestrade laughed. 'Perhaps. To you, at least. How long are you together, now?' he asked curiously.

'Almost three months,' John answered. 'I do hope he remembers, though I don't know what to expect if he does. I suppose I'll just have to wait and see…'

Lestrade chuckled and shot a quick glance at Sherlock, talking to Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. His voice sounded musing when he answered, 'He does seem… happier now, doesn't he? I don't know what you've done to him, John, but he needed it. I wish he'd been a little more like this when I first met him all those years ago.'

'Luckily Mike introduced me to him. I hope he'll be able to drop by tonight – he still has to text me. Harry will be here as well, and I still have to tell her about…'

'Sherlock.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes,' John sighed. 'And Mycroft will come during dinner as well. Molly doesn't even know yet! God, this will be an interesting evening…'

Half an hour later, all the guests had arrived – even Mike Stamford – and they were sitting at the table; Mrs Hudson at one end, Mike at the other. Sherlock sat at Mrs Hudson's right hand side, John ext to him and Harry next to him. Mycroft sat opposite from her, next to Lestrade, and Molly sat on his other side, at Mrs Hudson's left hand side. John had proudly served a roasted chicken and turkey, while Mrs Hudson and Sherlock placed the side dishes on the table.

'Well; merry Christmas and dig in!' John said happily when everybody sat down once more. Sherlock made a face when John cute the meat and gave everyone their share – including Sherlock. He had promised to eat something, to make John happy, but his boyfriend was filling his plate a bit too enthusiastically for his liking. Sherlock sighed deeply and decided not to argue; he did not want to start an argument.

'Before we start eating, I want to tell the ones that don't know yet about… something,' John began, swiftly looking at Sherlock on his left. 'Molly, Mike, Harry – ' John looked at Mycroft, who smiled politely. 'I know what you are going to say, Doctor Watson, I can assure you that it is not news to me.'

John frowned, a bit disturbed, but he turned his attention to Mike, Molly and Harry again. He suddenly felt a lump in his throat, but a comforting hand closed around his under the table. John decided that showing them was the best way to tell them, so he placed their joined hands on the table. He took a moment before he said, 'Sherlock and I are together.'

There was a moment of silence in which Molly stared at them with wide eyes, Harry frowned and Mike looked utterly bewildered. Then, Mike and Harry burst out in laughter.

'Finally, mate!' Mike chuckled. 'Ever since I read your blog I wondered when I'd see you two get it on.'

Sherlock smiled stiffly, but kept his hand firmly around John's. John smiled shyly and turned towards his sister. She looked at him with an amused smile and a sparkle in her dark blue eyes – the same colour as John's, Sherlock noticed. It was one of the few things that made her resemble her brother in facial features.

Harry laughed softly and quirked an eyebrow. 'I would be a hypocrite if I didn't accept it, John. Don't expect though that I won't make jokes about it.'

Sherlock chuckled for real now; he decided that Harry had just the right amount of John in her that made her likeable. 'Don't worry, I tease him all the time,' he said softly and he kissed John briefly on the mouth. Mrs Hudson and Mike smiled delightedly, Mycroft and Lestrade looked at each other, seemingly uncomfortable, but with an accepting sparkle in their eyes, Harry giggled and Molly smiled awkwardly.

John blushed and looked Sherlock in the eyes a little longer than necessary before he turned to Molly. 'And what do you think?' he asked. Sherlock might have been blind to her obvious attraction to him, but John knew better.

Molly smiled shyly but answered in a clear voice. 'I think that if anyone is good for him, John, it's you. And the other way around,' she added after a moment of thought. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade nodded in agreement. Mycroft spoke up after a while as well.

'Even I have to admit that that is true. Sherlock has a stubborn tendency to ignore what other people say, and John got him to tidy the flat. Well done. Doctor Watson,' he said appreciatively.

'Do you have cameras in our house or something?' John asked and Sherlock chuckled.

'I do, but I don't need those to tell that Sherlock would only allow himself to remove the experiments that take over the whole apartment.'
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling. A happiness filled his chest, one he could not identify. John was still holding his
hand and he was surrounded by the people he cared about most. Perhaps this was what it felt like to feel complete.

The evening progressed nicely. There was a pleasant atmosphere and they talked about all sorts of topics. They all emptied their plates - even Sherlock, though he finished it by the time Mike filled his plate for a third time.

Sherlock even participated in some of the conversations, quickly looking at John for approval about something he'd said of which he wasn't entirely sure.

John served dessert around nine o'clock – a big chocolate pudding. Sherlock swore under his breath; despite his lack of appetite, he had always had a soft spot for pudding. He allowed John to give him a piece though, and he intended to eat it. John wanted him to, after all, he told himself.
After everyone got a piece (Mike and unusually big one) John sat down again next to his boyfriend, who, to his surprise, was well on his way to licking his plate clean. Sherlock noticed him watching him and looked at John from the corner of his eyes. 'What?' he asked.

'Nothing,' John replied, turning to his own pudding. 'You're sweet when you eat pudding,' he added in a whisper, so only Sherlock could hear it.
Sherlock's cheeks turned pink and John laughed. He touched Sherlock's knee briefly under the table and Sherlock smiled. Apparently, the rest had noticed that something was going on between them, for Harry joked fondly, 'You're supposed to kiss under the mistletoe at Christmas, right?'
Mike laughed, Mrs Hudson smiled hopefully, Lestrade chuckled, Molly giggled and even Mycroft cracked a smile.

'Yeah, like that's going to happen!' Lestrade sniggered over the edge of his wine glass. 'Not if it's up to Sherlock, anyway.'

Sherlock frowned, his spoon in mid-air on the way to his mouth. 'What do you mean by that?' he asked. 'I am perfectly fine with kissing John.'

'Prove it, then. Later tonight, under the mistletoe,' Harry joined in.

'But we don't have mistletoe!' John finally opened his mouth. His cheeks were as red as the clothes of the little Santa that stood on top of the mantelpiece.

Lestrade grinned and fished something from his presents. It was a little branch of mistletoe. Sherlock smiled affectionately when John sighed, exasperated. 'Fine. Fine; Sherlock and I will snog later this evening. If you're okay with that, that is,' he murmured to his boyfriend. Sherlock raised his eyebrows and grinned mischievously. 'I'd never pass up a chance to kiss you, Doctor,' he whispered.

Lestrade coughed from across the table, winking at Molly, who couldn't stop giggling. Sherlock sighed and leant back in his chair; unconsciously, he'd leant in to John, forgetting that there were other people in the room. He looked at Mycroft, who was smirking, sipping his scotch. 'I thought you'd only drop by shortly?'

'And miss your little moment under the mistletoe?' Mycroft sniggered. 'I've waited for over thirty years for you to finally engage in such a thing, I intend to make an end to that.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Fine.'

'Everyone finished?' John asked, feeling highly uncomfortable. He stood up and stacked all the plated, carrying them to the sink. 'You're doing the dishes tonight, Sherlock,' he teased with a grin.

'The hell I am! I already cleaned the flat!' Sherlock said indignantly.

'Yes, and I cooked dinner all day, Sherlock. Now, do you all want a glass of wine or something?'

It was half past one when the guests decided to go home. Harry hugged John, who was proud she'd refused a glass of wine, and she even shook Sherlock's hand warmly. Lestrade was a bit tipsy and hugged both of them – at the same time – and Mike, who was more than a bit tipsy, joined in. Mycroft nodded at Sherlock and John and Molly hugged them as well, a bit tentatively. Sherlock patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and was glad when she let go.

'We're forgetting one thing,' Lestrade said and he held up the tiny branch of mistletoe. He fastened in to the top of the doorframe and stepped back onto the landing, followed by the rest.

Sherlock sighed and took John's hand, pulling him in the doorway, underneath the mistletoe. 'Ready?' he murmured.

'As ready as I'll ever be,' John replied in a whisper. His heart beat fast in the anticipation of kissing Sherlock – in front of six people whom he saw almost daily. But all that vanished from his mind when he felt Sherlock's breathing against his lips. Sherlock's lips followed within seconds, his arms around his waist. Lost in the moment, John threw his arms around Sherlock's neck and allowed Sherlock to kiss him deeper. Sherlock pressed him closer to his body, parting his lips slightly.

Mycroft was the first to leave; he'd realised that John really had changed his brother for the better and because he was in fact a decent man, he left him and his lover to themselves. What the others did was not of his concern, but he awarded them their privacy.

Mrs Hudson retreated quickly afterwards, also feeling that they should have a little time on their own. The kiss also became rather heated and at her time of life it was better not to get too involved in such things.

Molly decided on leaving next, and Lestrade, Mike and Harry followed shortly, a content smile on their faces. However impossible it might have seemed before, now they were fully convinced that the detective and the doctor really loved each other.

Half an hour after the door had closed for the last time, Sherlock and John were still kissing, their lips were still locked, their arms around each other. They didn't even register the fact that they were alone when John pulled back to whisper, 'Let's take this upstairs.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Your bedroom?'

'It's colder there; heat's been off for a couple of months now. We might need some body heat to warm us up…'

Sherlock laughed in his low rumble and he grabbed John's hand. 'Then let's go.'

That's the first little story of my fluffy collection :) Tell me what you think and stay tuned for the next few, they will be up here as soon as possible. But I've got to ask something; I have ideas for three more chapters after this one, but after that I'll have to think of more fluffy scenarios. Would you mind helping me with that? If there's anything you like reading about them, I'm sure I can work with it ;) Thanks for reading and please help me by reviewing! I love you all ^^