Christmas Day

Oh! The weather outside is frightful,

but the fire is so delightful!

And since we've nowhere to go,

let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

John yawned and rubbed a hand across his face sleepily, barely registering the music wafting up from downstairs. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and tugged his warm covers around his shoulders. He sat there for a moment or two before ghosting around his room for a clean change of clothes.

He clambered clumsily down the stairs to his and Sherlock's sitting room a few minutes later, still hunting around for a clean sweater. "Sherlock," he called out. "seen a sweater?" he asked, rubbing goosebumps from his arms.

"Oh, I've got just the thing for you, Dr. Watson." Mrs. Hudson smiled cheerfully, suddenly appearing at John's elbow.

John jumped, but recovered quickly. He turned to their landlady inquisitively.

And his heart sank into his stomache.

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson..." John faltered, taking the very pink sweater offered to him. "... just what I needed, thank you." The sweater was tied with a lovely red bow. Pink and red DON'T match. That was what Harry always told John, growing up.

He awkwardly shuffled into the sweater and looked pleadingly toward Sherlock who merely held up his pink-gloved hands for observation. John turned back to Mrs. Hudson and smiled, though forced. "It's great, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, it fits you perfectly!" Mrs. Hudson cooed back in satisfaction.

"Yes it does, thank you." John thanked her politely, what else could be said?

What else had Lestrade warned him about yesterday? John couldn't help but wonder cautiously as he shuffled into the kitchen to make some toast. Oh yes, cases, questions, gifts, and Mycroft. John took a deep breath... it wouldn't be so hard, would it?

John let out the breath he had just inhaled. Who was he kidding? It was the Holmes brothers he was talking about!

"So," Lestrade prompted, "how is Christmas so far?" he asked John, eyebrow raised, when Sherlock and he showed up at his crime scene. Thankfully, both Donovan and Anderson had taken the Holiday off, leaving no distraction for Sherlock.

"Oh, wonderful." John replied simply. It wasn't the greatest Christmas he had, but it wasn't the worst... yet.

Lestrade smiled and nodded. "Good." Then he turned to Sherlock. "Alright, what have you got for me?"

"A man who walks with a limp, probably elderly." Sherlock pointed at the victim. "You'll find that, although being clubbed about the head, the victim has been poisoned. There's no way the killer could've subdued this victim with his level of physical setback unless the victim was already dead when he was beaten."

Sherlock turned sharply to Lestrade. "Not much other than that, not much that's important to the case, that is." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, thanks for your help, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed with relief.

"Oh, and before I forget..." Sherlock held up a plain wooden box under the DI's nose playfully. "Come on, Lestrade, you know you're curious..."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed. "I really couldn't, Sherlock. I don't really want a replay of the Christmas before." John's brow pulled together worriedly.

"It wasn't that bad... was it?" Sherlock asked meekly.

"You showed up at a crime scene and gave me a gift-wrapped box housing preserved human ears... in front of all my officers." Lestrade deadpanned. Sherlock's face fell dramatically and Lestrade sighed. "Not for the lack of trying, Sherlock. It's just that I'm more interested in the story behind the..." Lestrade lowered his voice as a forensics officer passed by them with an apologetic cough. "... evidence in question." Lestrade continued when the man was out of earshot.

Sherlock looked contemptuously from Lestrade to his box and bit his lip silently. Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave in. "Alright, give it over. I'll see what it is that you've gotten me this year." Sherlock handed over the box and smiled.

Lestrade peeked into the box and quickly shut it again. He breathed in deeply through his nose and pressed his lips together hard. An awkward beat passed. "You're awful quiet today." Lestrade noted aloud, obviously fishing for some distraction.

Sherlock scowled a little. "John told me that Christmas is the time to be nice to people... I'm conducting an experiment, seeing how long I can last before I break under pressure and finally tell someone how stupid they are." Lestrade just snorted and ushered Sherlock out of the scene.

"Whatever, good luck with that." He patted John on the shoulder on his way out. "And good luck with him." He nodded at Sherlock's retreating back.

"Ears, wasn't it? Last year." Mycroft intoned, seated comfortably in John's usual chair, legs crossed and hands folded over his umbrella on his lap.

"Human ears, yes." John responded distractedly as he set about, pouring tea for the three of them in the Baker Street flat.

"Ah, of course, evidence from one of the earlier cases Sherlock had worked with Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft mused.

"Used to have a bit of a row with Gregson, back then." Sherlock chuckled. "He was still so tenacious and surprisingly conventional, bit green though." Then he shrugged his shoulders. "None of that now, he's just... sort of... resigned about the fact that I know things and he doesnt."

"You've broken him." Mycroft snorted.

"'Gregson'?" John inquired curiously.

"A fellow copper, rival during their academy years, as I understand, he still works as a humble upholder of the law in Oxfordshire." Mycroft informed them.

"So, what gift did you give him this time?" John asked with genuine concern for the Yarder.

"Clay, I imagine." Mycroft scoffed at Sherlock. "Or, maybe something else of case-related sentimental value? God knows what manner of things you manage to burrow in your ridiculous excuse of an archive."

"Better than recieving a wristwatch set with a random Geiger counter." Sherlock shot back.

"Saved his life, though, didn't it?" Mycroft raised his eyebrow challengingly.

John just listened very quietly and massaged his temples. What wouldn't he give for a normal Christmas with normal companions?

"Well," Mycroft clapped his hands together as he raised himself from his seat. "I should be getting to accomplishing something useful."

"Ah, your annual kidnapping marathon, I suppose?" Sherlock snarked.

"Just friendly warnings, Sherlock," Mycroft corrected, "you know how the criminal class of England adore their fireworks and festivities. That James Moriarty especially." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And don't forget, Mummy is expecting us for Boxing Day... the both of us." The man felt the need to clarify.

"Oh, Merry Christmas to me." Sherlock muttered sarcastically.

"Indeed." Mycroft hummed back as he waltzed out of the flat, umbrella twirling with as much flair as Sherlock with his coat. John watched him leave with a slight chuckle at the comparison.

"We're nothing alike, John." Sherlock growled suddenly with no real malice.

John started. "Sorry, what?"

"You were looking at Mycroft's umbrella, then you glanced at me, and then at my coat, and you laughed. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the proceedings of your..." Sherlock caught himself. "...pedestrian brain." He grimaced in distaste.

"Good of you to say so." John smirked at the struggling detective. "Oh, before I forget..." John produced a wrapped package from seemingly thin air. "... Merry Christmas."

Sherlock took it. "I didn't get you anything." He said awkwardly. "Well, I did but Lestrade confiscated it in his attempt to make this Christmas resemble normality for you."

John's face was carefully devoid of any expression. "Pity." But he inwardly thanked the DI.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Just thought you should know."

John reclined in his seat and watched Sherlock pick and prod at the wrapping, taking care not to rip it. When the gift was finally exposed, Sherlock smiled, raising an eyebrow at John. "A microscope."

"You did manage to destroy the other one with the homemade IED that discharged on the kitchen table." John shrugged his shoulders.

"I could've always gotten another one at Barts." Sherlock pointed out.

John made a disapproving face. "Pretty sure it's against the law to steal government property, Sherlock."

Sherlock examined his new microscope and smiled, pleased. "Well, you might have a point."

"Glad you like it." John smiled back.

"Such a pity that you don't have any present to give John, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson shook her head sadly, breezing into the flat with some warm tea and scones. Then her face lit up with a bright idea. "Oh, I know! Maybe you could, like, let off your investigations, at least until Christmas is over. You could always do with a break from all those murders."

Sherlock pursed his lips, deep in thought. "Fine," he relented, "but only until tomorrow. John, keep your coat close. We're going out at 12:01 sharp."

John smiled and shook his head. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Lestrade looked up briefly from his paperwork as his phone let out a cheerful chirp and grabbed it. It was a text from the one and only Mycroft Holmes. Working late? It read.

Lestrade pushed himself from his desk and sighed. After a moment's deliberation, he decided that the paperwork could be finished tomorrow. He got up and exited his office. His phone chimed at him again. Is now not a good time?

Lestrade stalked briskly out of the building, throwing his coat on as he walked. He rounded the first corner and approached the black vehicle parked just out of sight from the New Scotland Yard. He rapped the tinted window for the passenger seat lightly with his knuckles. The window rolled down and Mycroft peered out. "Good evening, Inspector." he greeted.

Lestrade noted that Mycroft deleted whatever text he was in the process of typing and pocketed his phone. "Hello, Mycroft." he responded with gruff politeness. "I see it's that time of year again. Come to kidnap me?"

"No, just here to ask an old acquaintence for a friendly chat over dinner, perhaps?" Mycroft raised his eyebrow inquiringly.

"It's very civil of you to buy me dinner before you threaten pain and suffering, should Sherlock come to harm on my watch." Lestrade drawled. Mycroft just inclined his head and rolled his window back up. A moment later the passenger door on the other side of the car opened, beckoning Lestrade to it.

"'Come into my parlor', said the spider to the fly." Lestrade grumbled just loud enough for Mycroft to hear before he moved to the open door.

"Are they dating?" John asked over Mrs. Hudson's wonderful Christmas dinner.

"Who?" Sherlock inquired, nibbling on a stalk of celery.

"Well-" John grimaced. "I don't think it means anything, but doesn't Mycroft usually send one of his minions to kidnap people?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose so, why?"

John shrugged his shoulders innocently. "Well, Lestrade said he gets personal visits."

Sherlock scowled. "Well, if that's Mycroft's definition of 'dating', then I'm sure Lestrade is still oblivious."

John furrowed his eyebrows. "Should we tell him?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together. "Probably not. Although, I think Mycroft will be extra wary of what you say to the Inspector from now on."

John looked at him, confused. "Why?"

Sherlock lowered his gaze to the wristwatch Mycroft had presented to John as a gift. "Because that's bugged and Mycroft heard every word you said." he told John nonchalantly.

John followed Sherlock's gaze and blanched.