Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock. How sad :(
Five Christmas Days of Sherlock Holmes
0.
Oh, it's Christmas!
Whenever an interesting case presents itself to him- usually entailing a serial killer filled with riddles- Sherlock Holmes would utter those words in delight. Ghastly, people wonder, just what was Christmas to him? Has Christmas always been that exciting for him? Well, the answer would be no, but there certainly were some… memorable Christmas days.
1.
Sherlock had never believed in Santa Claus. That was all Mycroft's fault. To be more precise, the 7- year difference between him and Mycroft was at fault.
It was when Sherlock was at the tender age of three, and Mycroft ten. By that time, any illusions Mycroft had about the jolly old man garbed in red and white had been thoroughly destroyed. That was in part due to him being a brilliant little kid, but mostly because of an incident that happened when he was six. On Christmas Eve, he witnessed a man who had claimed himself as the Santa Claus just a moment before getting rid of his disguise and returning back to an ordinary person. In public toilet, no less (how careless of him).
Mind, Mycroft had no intention at all to ruin his little brother's belief in Santa. He had to admit, it was kind of exciting to wonder what kind of gifts Santa gave on Christmas morning, and he wanted Sherlock to experience this feeling as long as he could. Also, who was he to deny their parents' wish if they wanted to leave a free present in Sherlock's room without waking him up, tiptoeing like a burglar? God knew that was a difficult thing to do, it deserved at least a standing ovation and silence to their secret.
However good Mycroft's intention was, the problem still happened. Namely, the Holmes couple got too used to having a child that had no illusion of Santa Claus. Of course, they actually did have a plan to disguise Mr. Holmes as a Santa for Sherlock. The sad thing was that Mrs. Holmes hardly put any effort in covering her conversation on phone with Mr. Holmes, saying he needed to buy a 'Santa's present for Sherlock' and 'a Santa costume' on the way home. Obviously, Sherlock witnessed this shocking scene.
Even at that young age, Sherlock possessed a deductive ability to put two and two together. Therefore, he drew the conclusion that there was no Santa Claus, only his parents trying to pretend that he exist. Dejected, Sherlock came to Mycroft, and at that brave little face, young blue eyes shining brightly, Mycroft couldn't help but to hug him.
On that Christmas Eve, Sherlock ended up sleeping at Mycroft's room. All night, Mycroft explained to his brother, how Santa is not an actual person but a loosely held protocol of sort that parents had to follow. Like giving a present at birthday. Santa was like a.. mascot that represented all the value that protocol had. It was a flimsy explanation, but Sherlock seemed to accept it. They agreed on keeping the fact that Sherlock knew about Santa's identity a secret. In Mycroft opinion, their parents didn't have to feel the guilt of not protecting Sherlock's innocence, too. It was a relief that Sherlock seemed to enjoy to have a secret only kept between him and his big brothe. Sherlock confessed that it made him feel like an adult.
Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Holems successfully carried out 'Mission Santa' until Sherlock became nine. Sherlock successfully made his peers cry by spoiling the secret of Santa until he became nine.
2.
It was Sherlock's tenth Christmas Eve. Now, his parents got rid of the pressure of playing Santa, and Sherlock also got out of the torture of morphing his expression into surprise when he saw presents on Christmas morning. In fact, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that his excellent acting skills had been honed at each Christmas. Back to the point, his tenth Christmas Eve was not that special a day, not anymore, and Sherlock was wandering around the house. Mycroft was sick that day.
The Holmes manner was horribly big, a symbol of wealth passed down through many generations. In the back, there also was forest and dens and everything; a good place to explore by anyone's standard. You never knew what to find in that area. Sherlock certainly hadn't expected to stumble upon a skull.
Well, to be more precise, an entire body of a human skeleton.
It seemed to have been buried, or more likely, abandoned here a long time ago. Only bones were visibly left behind. Unlike other kids who would have jumped back in horror screaming upon seeing that thing, Sherlock skipped toward in curiosity. It was much more delicate than false skeletons he saw on Halloween. As Sherlock saw it, the skull was the most aesthetically pleasing part. He decided that it would be a Christmas gift for himself.
Sherlock entertained the idea of saying to his parents that there is no need for his gift this year while showing the skull, but abandoned it pretty soon. Honestly, his parents got surprised at every little thing.
Mycroft, his big brother would understand, though. Sherlock trotted down to Mycroft's room, opened the door, and shouted, "Hey, look at what I got for Christmas!" Mycroft half raised himself from the bed and stared at the thing. Sherlock felt momentary disappointment. Now, even his brother was being mundane.
"Sherlock, did you even washed that thing? God knows where it had been, it certainly won't be good for your health if you just keep it that way." Mycroft admonished him. While Sherlock was blinking at him in surprise, his brother seemingly conjured a bottle of hand cleaner and a handkerchief out of thin air, and thoroughly cleaned the skull with them. After Mycroft finished his work, Sherlock looked down at his skull. It appeared way much better than before.
Sherlock hugged him as a way of saying thank you.
3.
Christmas dinner was always a nightmare. Family has to stick together, they say, but whenever the entire Holmes family got together for Christmas dinner, and Sherlock had to put up with unnecessarily large number of cousins, he got to appreciate the fact that he only had one brother.
On Sherlock's twelfth Christmas, he was leaning against the window with a sullen look on his face. He hated his cousins. Martin was once again sucking at his aeroplane mode; (a Christmas gift) while nervously shooting glances toward other adults in the room, and Paul was biting off a bar of chocolate noisily. The most annoying cousin of all was Rory, who was whining that his little brother Daniel took his favourite food. Sherlock dearly wanted to take away Paul's chocolate bar and shove it in Rory's mouth to make him shut up, but managed to rein in that urge with a pout. He didn't want to repeat the last year's fiasco.
Mycroft, who was now in college, was 'congenially' discussing important matters with 'adult' cousins. It was sickeningly false. Goddamn politics, Sherlock threw one Californian roll at Mycroft's head. Mycroft turned back with a frown on his face, but couldn't do anything because there were so many people. Sherlock stuck out his tongue – a childish gesture, but it was totally worth it to see that look on his brother's face – and stormed out of the place.
There were already plenty of people here. No need to add himself to the number.
4.
The Christmas party in the university was- well, for lack of better words, Sherlock should have just gone to the family dinner. Sherlock had never thought that he would ever say such a thing in his life, but truly, it was that bad. Listening to Martin proudly blabbering about how he became a CAPTAIN of MJN air (never mind that he earned nothing for it) would have been ten times more beneficent to him than coming here.
"Hey, bottoms-up, people!"
Sebastian had put an arm around Sherlock without asking for permission, and it was annoying. Sherlock wondered what on earth he did to make Sebastian feel 'friendly' with him. The smell of alcohol stank. The weirdly edited version of Christmas Carol assaulted his ears. Sherlock thought that if he couldn't get out of here anytime soon, he would break the Champaign bottle and slit a throat with the glass. Whether that throat would be his or his colleagues was a question to be pondered upon.
And Sebastian's hand was creeping down along Sherlock's back.
I ought to slit his throat, the thought flashed through Sherlock's mind. Thankfully, the thought that he should leave Right Now before he could actually do anything drastic also came to his mind. He didn't need Mycroft's nagging today. Sherlock harshly shoved Sebastian's hand away.
"Oh, Sherly, where are you going?" Sebastian asked with a stupid grin on his face. Sherlock gritted his teeth and answered with an icy smile.
"A family dinner."
From that day to his graduation, Sherlock never missed a Christmas dinner with a family. Mom had been so happy.
5.
"Did you say your name was Sherlock? There has been another murder, just like you had predicted."
The first time Lestrade brought a case to Sherlock was on Christmas, ironically enough. Lestrade's face had been pale and withdrawn, because he suddenly had to work overtime without getting to see his family. On the contrary, Sherlock was almost skipping with excitement.
"What are you so happy about?"
Sherlock hesitated for a moment. Even him, who had almost no social grace, still knew that gleefully shouting 'Already three people have been killed. It's a serial killer, a clever one at that!' to a police officer who was half suspecting him to be the killer was not a good move. Sherlock shuffled through his very short list of socially acceptable answers. Well, this one should work.
"Oh, it's Christmas."
+1
"Merry Christmas!"
John joyfully shouted as he shut the taxi door. He unsteadily went toward 221B, with Sherlock unusually trailing behind him. John fumbled for the key, and let out a curse as the key just wouldn't go into the keyhole. With a sigh, Sherlock tried to do the work for him, but got a slap at the hand for a reward. He decided to just let John keep trying.
Sherlock and John had been invited to the Scotland Yard's Christmas party, and they were on the way back home. John had enjoyed his conversation with Lestrade and got pleasantly tipsy. Sherlock also had to admit that the party was not that bad. He even got to see Anderson being chewed out by Sally. It was entertaining to see Anderson's facial colour changing rapidly. This Christmas would have been much more bearable had he not get that gift from Mycroft, but one couldn't have it all. The sound of click- brought Sherlock out of his thought. John finally managed to open the door.
"Hey, Sherlock," John slurred as he stumbled upon the entrance to the flat. Sherlock tried to steady him, when suddenly, with resounding Wham and a painful sensation at his back, he found himself stuck between a wall and a handful of John Watson. Sherlock calmly lifted his eyebrow.
"What is this, John?"
"We are under Mistletoe."
Indeed they were. Mrs. Hudson had carefully put that on for 'the pair of shy couple living upstairs' in the morning. Sherlock still remembered red-faced John shouting 'Mrs. Hudson!' for the entire world to hear. What an interesting change of personality. Sherlock carefully added this influence of alcohol on John Watson to the mental file that he kept on his flatmate. Alcohol was truly a remarkable substance. .
"What, what's the matter," John's face came close to Sherlock's. Deep blue eyes were shining with mischief. "Worried that you'll never get a gift from Santa if you kiss me?"
Struck with sudden mirth, Sherlock laughed out loud and hugged John tightly. With their head tipped together, it felt like John's giddiness was being passed on to him through skin. Sherlock's laughter died down to a soft chuckle.
"Now who is the naughty one?"
The End
AN: Yay, I got to finish this one before Christmas! I had so much of fun writing this. What did you guys think? Anyone figured out who Paul, Martin, and Rory are? Please tell me XD.