John was sitting on the couch reading a news paper when Sherlock walked in.

"I brought milk." He said quickly. He placed it on the coffee table in front of John and then hurried to his room.

Everything was off about this. "What are you doing?" John asked folding up his newspaper.

"I need quiet, absolute quiet." Sherlock mumbles.

John raises an eyebrow and gets up. "Come 'ere."

Sherlock turns his head to look at John. His eyes are oddly wide and he looks anxious. "No. I need quiet. Absolute-."

Suddenly John is angry and he makes his way straight for Sherlock. "What did you take."

Sherlock starts to mutter something. His head jerks up and then back down to look at John. He gives a small chuckle. "I brought the milk."

"You're high." John growls angrily. "You're bloody high!"

"Shhhhhh." Sherlock hushed messily. "Mycroft could have bugged the place."

"Like I give a shit!" John yelled angrily.

The taller man looked down at an angle seemingly confused.

"Why?!" John demanded.

Sherlock yawned. "I'm going to fall asleep." He started walking towards his bedroom.

The shorter man growled. "Sherlock."

Sherlock kept walking.

John wasn't inebriated so he walked faster. He stood in Sherlocks way. "Listen here-!"

Sherlock fell forward.

John jumped in surprise as Sherlock literally passed out on him. "You-." He stopped suddenly saddened. It's"Christmas eve you prick."

"I...needed sleep." Sherlock mumbled.

"Next time...say something. There are better fucking ways."

Sherlocks head rolled back. He was now fully asleep.

"I ought to kill you." John frowned and muttered, "But in the mean time I better keep an eye on you."

He sighed as he dragged Sherlock to his bed. "Christmas eve, and you're bloody high."

Later~

A startled scream, Mom and Dad yelling, a shattering dish.

A shattering dish, a startled scream, Mom and Dad yelling.

Wait. What order did it go in? Sherlock rubbed his temples. Okay the yelling was happening now. Rather loudly.

"Shut up! Both of you! I'm trying to think!" He yelled.

His parents glared and his mother put her hands on her hips.

Sherlock ignored them. He looked around the kitchen.

The kitchen sink: on. His mother was washing carrots.

Dad: Going off. "Needs to wash his mouth out with soap." As per his mother is saying.

The plate: Broken. Someone in this kitchen is clumsy.

Mycroft: Glaring pointedly at Sherlock. And pointing at Sherlock as well.

"He did it!" Mycroft accused.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was-."

His mother sighed aggravatedly. "I don't care! I just don't care! There's too many people in this kitchen! So would you both, please, get!"

Sherlock looked appalled.

His mother continued, "Go on! Go set the table or some such thing!"

The two brothers slumped and trudged out of the kitchen. Their mother watched them go while slapping her palm with a spatula. She pointed the spatula at her husband.

"You too! Out!"

John chuckled at the antics. He'd have to invite Sherlocks mother to Christmas every year. She made the Christmas dinners quite enjoyable.

Suddenly the spatula was aimed at him. "Out!"

Or not.

Sherlock pouted on the couch in his sheet.

"Couldn't be bothered to dress for our own mother." Mycroft ticked. "That's sure to make her proud."

John rolled his eyes. "Care to tell us, whodunit?" He said attempting to perk Sherlock up.

"Our beloved mother." Sherlock said sarcastically.

The point of view was weird on this one. Any suggestions on how to fix it? Critique is loved~