I'm never going to attempt to write a one-shot again… Every single time I change my mind :P

So, yes, I'm going to try and write Christmas day at Baker Street. I know it's a little late but whatever, Christmas spirit is Christmas spirit!

Forgive me if they get a tad OOC…But hey! Christmas!

Oh, and it's turned out a lot longer than I expected… :P

Sherlock awoke to a yelp from the kitchen. He had fallen asleep with a book on his face, an undignified position to wake in, and one he wasn't used to. The pain in his neck as he turned look at his watch a testament to his own stupidity. He cast his mind back, trying to remember if there was any reason why he was meant to worry about the yelp from the kitchen. What day was it?

"Sherlock!" Came a frustrated shout from the kitchen, and Sherlock remembered with a cringe the conversation John and he had had the previous night before John had retired to bed.

"And you promise you'll put the turkey in the oven before you head to bed?"

Sherlock made a non-commital noise from the sofa.

"And you've told Mycroft that you're having Christmas day here, yes?"

Another grunt.

"Sherlock? Sherlock?" John had to wait a few moments before his flatmate would even look at him.

"Yes John?"

"You heard what I said right?"

"Of course."

Sherlock looked away from John, back to the book in his hands, completely engrossed. John hoped Sherlock remembered. The disaster that tomorrow promised to be had been hisidea after all. With some trepidation John retired, anxiously leaving Sherlock to finish the organization on their Christmas dinner…

Sherlock shuffled guiltily into the kitchen to find John holding a tray with a decidedly anemic turkey sitting on it, ready to be roasted. It should have been cooking slowly since late last night, ready for the guests they were expecting in two hours.

"Sherlock," John said quietly, clearly trying to keep the anger out of his voice "you didn't put the turkey in the oven…Did you."

"No, John. No I don't think I did." Sherlock hung his head, awaiting the verbal bashing that was sure to follow.

"Never mind, we'll just have to have dinner at tea time." Sherlock's head snapped up as he saw the grin on John's face. "Now, help me with these vegetables."

They chopped and diced enough vegetables to feed an army, their smart shirt sleeves creased around their upper arms, for the now-to-be evening meal. John and Sherlock put the vegetables in pans of water, potatoes in the oven along with the turkey, and John flicked on the kettle.

"So who's coming in the end?" Sherlock queried, finally drying his hands on a nearby tea towel.

"Well, whoever really," John replied, avoiding making eye contact with Sherlock, not knowing how Sherlock would react to who John had eventually invited "whoever turns up."

Sherlock had invited Mrs. Hudson, no doubt as some sort of recompense for the endless teas and meals she ended up making her boys upstairs, and had invited, much to John's surprise, Sarah. Not that John though Sherlock disliked Sarah, more that she was an unneeded distraction for him. John on the other hand had invited Greg Lestrade, who had gracefully declined, Molly from St. Barts, whose eyes had lit up in such a fashion when she heard about their Christmas that he felt unable not to extend the invitation, and Mycroft. Mycroft hadn't specified whether he would or wouldn't attend, but it wasn't until he had already invited him that John thought that perhaps Sherlock hadn't invited his brother for a reason. But, no matter, they had the ladies who were definitely coming to attend to.

Neither flat mate had asked the other whether they were purchasing gifts for one another. John had assumed that Sherlock's predisposition to ignore Christmas at all costs would include buying him a present. He could deal with that, that's just how Sherlock was sometimes. But he had bought Sherlock a gift. A small something. Because in the end Sherlock had given him a new lease of life, something to get up and out for, something worth living for. Surely that deserved a little gift at Christmas?

John took his newly made tea, and the cup he had made for Sherlock, into the front room, and came across said flat mate looking at the tree. He tipped his head back and forth it what John had come to recognise as a questioning manner.

"John?" Came the question, finally.

"Yes Sherlock?"

"There's something missing." He paused and tipped his head again, "Missing from our tree."

John placed their teas on the table with a soft sigh before joining Sherlock at his side. He looked at the tree they had decorated before the snow melted. It looked the same as it had then, just as heartwarmingly glittery and glowing. After a minute or two John broke the pregnant silence that had fallen between the two men observing the tree.

"Alright, I give up. What's gone?"

"Gone?" Sherlock gave John a strange look, as if trying to fathom what it was that he was trying to say. "Nothing's gone John. Something is missing however from our tree." Sherlock paced around the flat, leaving John to look helplessly at the tree.

He thought that it was fine. Fairy lights, check, baubles, check, bells, check, a star on top? Ah.

"Sherlock?" John turned on his heel to face Sherlock "A star."

He looked at John with derisive confusion, if any such expression could exist Sherlock could manage it. "A Christmas star, on top of the tree."

"Ah." Said Sherlock, slightly apologetic for again assuming that John as much of an idiot as most people. "But we don't have a star-" His eyes lit up as he glanced around the room and fell upon the skull, still adorned with its miniature Santa hat. He bounded over to where it lay, scooped it up, and placed it carefully atop the tree before John had the slightest idea what had happened.

He opened his mouth to object, but let it pass. Preferring to perhaps combat Sherlock's strange mannerisms on another, slightly less stressful day.

The door was rapped, and John instead decided to open it and greet a rosy cheeked, flushed looking Mrs. Hudson.

"John dear! Merry Christmas!" She squeezed John to her, barely giving him a chance to respond before being winded "Where's Sherlock, I have a gift for the pair of you!" It looked as if the slight woman had already had a glass or two of sherry that day. She bustled past John to embrace Sherlock in a similar fashion. He seemed to take it in a much more casual fashion than John had, making John envious of his swift recovery from being relatively suffocated.

"Mrs. Hudson! Please, do sit down, can I get you anything?"

"A glass of wine please Sherlock, that would be nice."

"Of course, one minute." Sherlock flashed a brilliant smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

"John, come here a minute." Mrs. Hudson beckoned John over and handed him a neatly wrapped gift "Something for the two of you." John smiled indulgently. He had heard every variation of people assuming Sherlock and he were a couple, and had ceased correcting people, just for a quiet life. Well, as quiet as it ever was around here.

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson. I'll stick it under the tree for later."

The door went again, and Molly, looking rather lovely in her red coat, greeted John shyly, handing him two wrapped parcels and kissing him on the cheek. John spluttered with embarrassment as he hadn't thought to get something for her, and he was sure neither had Sherlock.

"It's fine John." She smiled "It's just lovely to be invited over for Christmas day." The sad look in her eyes made John think about maybe inviting Molly places more often. Her pining over Sherlock must get lonely sometimes. John showed her in and introduced her to Mrs. Hudson, who seized on the fact that Molly was a woman and began talking her ear off about something or other. Sherlock swanned back into the room, holding two glasses of white wine passed one to Mrs. Hudson and one to a beaming Molly, who stood to greet him with a quiet "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas Molly." Sherlock beamed, and John truly marveled at how Sherlock was embracing the Christmas spirit as he kissed her on the cheek and helped remove her coat with assured movements. "Glad to see you."

John arched an eyebrow and went to check on dinner, and to check whether Sherlock had a stash of brandy that he was swigging from. His behaviour was most irregular, though not unwelcome. John could only hope he would be as gracious when, if, Sarah got here. Or if Mycroft decided to put in an appearance.

Sherlock was perched in his chair, listening to the women in his front room chatting, exchanging stories, becoming friends. His idea of having people over for Christmas dinner had gone well so far. Dinner was cooking, Sherlock having had as little to do with it as possible with the cooking of it having come off well, guests were happy, and John was happy. That was the most important thing today, that John have a Christmas that he would remember as a happy one. One without drunken siblings, or arguments, or anything that could ruin it. He wanted it for himself too.

He had made all the effort he could for the moment.

The door went again and Sherlock roused himself from his languid state to answer it.

"Sarah, Merry Christmas!" He greeted jovially, startling Sarah. "Come in, come in!" She smiled suspiciously. But greeted him similarly. She had seen Sherlock a few times since the Chinese kidnapping incident, but none of those could he be considered particularly friendly. However, people change. Sherlock swept her inside, thanking her sincerely for the gifts she had brought, and taking the bottle of wine from her joined John in the kitchen.

"John, Sarah's here." John noticed the edge in Sherlock's voice and turned to face him.

"Be nice."

"I'm always nice." Sherlock replied flatly, but smiled when John's eyebrows shot up. He glanced down at the floor. "I haven't got her a present either. Or Molly. Or Mrs. Hudson." John furrowed his brow, genuinely shocked that Sherlock was bothering himself with what appeared to be guilt at not having given gifts to their guests.

"Sherlock," John consoled, pouring him a glass of wine, "I'm sure it's fine. Try not to worry. Come on, let's join the ladies."

It was an hour, and a few more glasses of wine, later that they all sat around the kitchen table, beautifully set by Sherlock, and began eating what they all agreed to be a splendid Christmas dinner. Talk changed between the antics of Mrs. Hudson's niece and her brood, to some of the more odd patients at the clinic over Christmas and eventually to Christmas traditions.

"Well," Mrs. Hudson was saying "I never got to open any presents on Christmas Eve. We had to wait until Boxing day. My father was quite religious you see."

"We used to wait until the end of the meal to pull crackers," Molly said, a paper crown perched precariously on her head, "my mother had to leave the room because the smell of the smoke gave her a headache."

Sarah piped up that her father had a similar affliction, "We gave him a pair of nose clips, the ones you use for swimming, one year. He wore them all day, ended up with red marks on his nose until New Years.

John chipped in here and there with anecdotes about his past, leaving out the more recent, and more ruptured, Christmas memories. Sherlock simply smiled, and listened, taking in the words of the people around him. So this was what Christmas was meant to be about, sitting with those you cared about, not worrying about anything else but enjoying each others company. He glanced around the table at the little gathering, and thought he had done well.

The door went just as John was lighting a Christmas pudding, and Sherlock offered to answer it, and dragged himself to the door. John had insisted that he heap seconds onto his plate, "It IS Christmas after all Sherlock!"

Sherlock's sense of calm and wellbeing changed when he saw who was on the other side of the door. Mycroft.

"Evening Sherlock. Merry Christmas." Mycroft's perfunctory greeting didn't grate Sherlock as harshly as it usually would. Damn food and alcohol slowing my reactions.

"Mycroft." Sherlock stepped aside to allow his brother into the front room.

"We missed you at dinner. Mummy was most aggrieved at first, but when I explained the situation," Mycroft paused and turned to face Sherlock, "she forgave you completely. But she wants to see you before New Years."

Sherlock merely stared at his brother for a moment, as if seeing him for the first time.

"I was invited you know Sherlock." Mycroft said softly. "I wouldn't just turn up unannounced."

"Yes you would." Said Sherlock finally. He paused again, looking at Mycroft. Not this year. "Come sit with us. We're just about to have Christmas pudding." Sherlock smiled broadly.

It was worth being nice to Mycroft to see the shock on his brothers face. Sherlock turned on his heel and returned to the kitchen, a mute Mycroft trailing behind him.

John smiled as he entered.

"Pudding Mycroft?"

Sherlock looked at the flat fondly. It had been a success, most definitely. He hadn't even felt the need to argue with Mycroft. Had been content to merely talk and laugh and be, well, normal. One by one the ladies had drifted off, Mrs. Hudson first, Mycroft escorting her to her door before leaving himself, a rare handshake between the Holmes brothers perhaps a portent to less turbulent times ahead. Then Molly, who had blushed a deep crimson when Sherlock had kissed her on her cheek again and walked her to her cab. And Sarah not long after, giving John a quick kiss on the lips before scurrying away into the cold night.

That had been 20 minutes ago, and John and he had been sat on the sofa watching some Christmassy program for ten minutes. Not that it bored Sherlock, it was quite interesting really, though what fish had to do with Christmas he couldn't fathom, but he stood up and switched the television off with a flourish.

"Hey! I was watching that!" Came John's protest, when suddenly a rather lumpy, badly wrapped package was thrust into his lap.

John looked at Sherlock. Excitement lit up his eyes.

"Well, open it John!" John was in shock. No matter how long he knew Sherlock for he never ceased to surprise him.

"I didn't know you'd gotten me a gift." He said softly.

"Well, that's what you do at Christmas isn't it?" Sherlock replied, his voice similar to explaining things to a small child "Give gifts?"

"Yes- yes it is." Swallowed John, looking down at the present. "Wait here." And he ran to retrieve Sherlock's gift from his room.

Sherlock smiled inwardly at the military precision with which John had tied the ribbon around his gift.

"Thank you John."

"It's the least I could do."

"Together?"

"Yes."

"1, 2, 3!"

The both ripped into the wrapping of their gifts, each more pleased to have received a gift than bothered by what was inside. John unfolded a cream warm feeling jumper, with a Christmas pattern of reindeer going around the middle in a navy band. Sherlock had a leather bound journal, with Sherlock Holmes embossed on the glossy front.

"I thought you could keep a record of your cases," explained John "rather than merely relying on your "hard-drive"" John smirked.

"It's wonderful John, thank-you."

"I like the jumper." Said John, glancing sideways at Sherlock, "Festive."

"Yes, I thought so." Sherlock smirked.

Both were perfect. John got up, he switched the television back on and slipped on his gift.

"Tea, Sherlock?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I'm gasping."

Sherlock thought back over the events of the day.

Yes, he thought, I believe that went very well.

That went on FAR longer than I thought, but w/e.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Hope you enjoyed my seasonal frolics :D

Wayoming

x

(PS: What else was Sherlock EVER going to get John, really? :P)