{Author's note: New chapter with a little spoilers from the new episode. Anyway, read ad review. let me know, etc. Again, I wish I owned Sherlock. Oh, the things I would do.}

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door of 219 Baker street swung open to reveal a still pajama-clad Adelaide rubbing the sleep from her eyes. A bundle of clothes was stuffed into her arms without a moment's notice while the illustrious Mr. Holmes brushed past her into the flat, uninvited.

"They're clean, but I made sure it smelled faintly of a male. I know you like that sort of thing," he commented off-handedly while he looked under the tables and behind corners with an expectant look.

Addie snorted in a very unladylike manner at this. "Yes, because your scent carries the same level of comfort as my brother does." She blew a strand of hair from her eyes, imagining she looked a little like a scarecrow right at the moment. "Besides, I leant you these more than a month ago."

"Yes, I know. I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Tonight is Christmas Eve and my ever-annoying friends thought it prudent that I invite you to partake if the tedium and forced conversation. Where's my little boy?" His words came out in one rapid burst, the last part accented by the fact that he turned on his heel towards her and stood in a very imposing manner before Addie.

To anyone else, this would seem odd. However, Addie, having spent the last month catering to surprise visits from Sherlock, was neither surprised nor in the least bit intimidated by his show. Just as she was going to tell Sherlock exactly what he could go do to himself and the general direction in which he could do it, Bart's desperate scratches on her bedroom door distracted the man and he bad at once left her with the words on her tongue. "Sherlock, it is two in the morning! Go home!" He ignored her, instead letting the dog out and paying him far more attention than he paid anyone else in the planet. The bloodhound, of course, was more than happy to oblige to the male's plans of late-night belly rubs. "Bart, you traitor."

"Don't listen to the mean lady, Barty. She's just cranky, sore and sexually frustrated. It's nothing to do with immense bond we share." The high pitch in which the detective spoke in was unusual and reserved only for Bartholomew. The man lead the pup to the couch, settling down opposite to where Addie plopped down after she deduced she was not going to get sleep anytime soon. Bart had both front paws on Sherlock's thighs while the other held the great big head between his large hands. "Bartholomew, would you like to assist the Christmas party? It would be my honor to have you in 221B."

The consenting bark caused Addie to groan out loud, trying to figure out when this dysfunctional affair began. "How you managed to get anything done as a child with pets present is beyond me. They probably passed away after they realized you were not actually their lover."

"I never had pets as a child. Mummy wouldn't allow it." He declared vacantly as he maneuvered the dog onto his lap. "Mother. I meant 'Mother wouldn't allow it'." He fought to repair his blunder in vain, Addie was already giggling in her seat.

"Mummy was right. You'd probably end up pickling their remains." Her sleepy eyes found the two in an inter-species embrace while Sherlock avoided getting licked on the face. "It is sweet. You show more emotion to that dog than to anyone else."

"Dogs don't silently judge you," he replied with a smirk as Bart scrambled off of him to bring him toys to play fetch with.

"No one silently judges you, Sherlock. We tell you how much of a bastard you are on a regular basis."

The tall man smirked at this, glancing at Addie, curled into a ball at the end of the sofa. "No, that's just you, I'm afraid. Probably due to the fact you moved so much: Caribbean, America, Germany, New Zealand, London. You were the new kid everywhere, you developed tough skin. Anywhere near?"

"For once, you actually got everything right."

On a roll, he tossed a rubber ball behind him to entertain Bart and squinted at Adelaide's calm expression. "But it's more than that, no? You're nice, not overly so, you prefer animals and petri dishes with cells and quiet environments. You lose yourself in books and music and little things with little human interaction. You hate people!"

With a grin, Addie raked her fingers through her locks. "Ding. Ding. Ding. Good job."

"Why do you put up with John or Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson or me?"

"I hate people as a principle, but you can't isolate yourself. Life is about challenge. What's more challenging than, say, explaining quantum mechanics to a goldfish." She frowned at the surprised expression on his face. "What?"

He shook the cobwebs from his mind and breathed deep. "Nothing. My brother, Mycroft, made a counter argument of sorts like that the other day. He was in favor of isolation."

"Wonderful man, I'm sure."

"I used to think I was an idiot because of him." He remarked with a scrunch of his nose.

"You are. You're a bloody genius, but you are, in fact, an idiot."

"Well, aren't you sweet?"

Addie unrolled from her ball, turning towards the armrest of the sofa and swinging her legs over it. She fell backwards onto Sherlock's lap, hair haloed around her, blond roots, Sherlock noticed, beginning to show. "Like poisoned honey, mate. I expect you'll get over it soon."

When Addie woke up, the windows were bright with the afternoon sun, even though the fairy lights she had put up for Christmas time were still on. It seemed Sherlock had left before it was light. Stretching her limbs to enjoy the popping of her bones, she noticed that the flat was exceedingly quiet. Sitting up far too quickly, she grasped at her head at the same time she reached for a note on the coffee table written in Sherlock's neat scrawl. 'If you ever want to see your dog again, you will come to the pond and teach quantum mechanics.' Adelaide smiled. The smart ass was good. Overly attached to her dog, but good.

After a light meal, some work, a shower and a change to a simple, modest dark red dress and boots, she headed over to 221B. The smell of turkey assaulted her senses as she turned the doorknob. In her arms she lugged the presents she had gotten for her neighbors, regardless of their level of annoyance (ie. Sherlock did not get a lump of coal) and ascended the stairs. "Happy holidays, bunch," she announced as she kicked open the door. Inside Mrs. Hudson called her greetings from the kitchen while John and DI Lestrade finished putting up fairy lights. Sherlock and Bart, however, sat contemplating each other.

Slowly, she stepped towards her pet and the detective sat, but John stopped her with an arm blocking her way. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you. Sherlock got into the alcohol a little early on and he's letting Bartholomew down easy."

With a curious smile, she turned back to the pair. Sherlock's cheeks were pink and he struggled to find the right words. "Sir Bartholomew, I really must tell you, I consider myself married to my work and as flattered as I am, I really don't think-," he was interrupted by Bart's low, sad whining. "No, please don't. Oh, alright. We'll make it work," he exclaimed teary-eyed before he hugged the dog with affection.

John and Lestrade stifled a laugh, insisting they needed to get Sherlock drunk more often. "So, after that display of oddities, how are you, Addie?"

"Well, John, I'm exhausted because your best friend has boundary issues, I'm freezing and my dog is emotionally attached to psy-" "socio-" "-sorry, sociopath. All in all... it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

They sat around the table: John, Sherlock, Mary, Molly, Lestrade, Tom, Addie and Mrs. Hudson, momentarily quiet due to them gobbling down their food greedily. After the first few bites, conversation bubbled. They slipped into individual chats while the radio in the corner played festive tunes. Sherlock leaned towards Addie with clumsy movements. "I want to dance. Do you want to dance?"

Without waiting for an answer, the man dragged his neighbor from her chair and spun her in a surprisingly coordinated manner, belying the state of drunkenness he was in. "Mistletoe and Holly" by Frank Sinatra crooned from the speaker. "You dissect body parts in your kitchen, but a good box step is what rounds out your resume," she giggled in a turn, one arm around his neck and the other in his own. He had remarkably good posture and form, back ramrod straight, hand on her waist while the other gently guided her through the motions.

"Well, dancing is a fine art and mark of good breeding. I am nothing if not cultured." He dipped her low, Addie was momentarily concerned that her dress would ride up, but she was laughing so hard that she forgot the issue. Once righted, Sherlock looked a little green in his all black ensemble, and fortunately, she caught it on time. Dragging him towards the bathroom, she had just enough time to get out of the way before the tall gentleman up chucked the evening's consumption. "You alright there, Fred Astaire?"

Sherlock ran the tap and splashed his face before brushing his teeth with a feral growl ripping his throat. "I feel like death warmed over."

"Now that the alcohol is out of your system you'll feel better. Though I surely lost my appetite."

"I apologize."

She waved it off. "It's fine. I drink when I feel awkward, as well."

He stopped mid-brush, left eye twitching, "Who said I feel awkward?"

"John isn't living here anymore, Mary's taking a lot of his time, Molly Hooper has a boyfriend who could be your doppelganger, Mrs. Hudson keeps coddling you, and you tried to break up with my dog."

Throwing down his toothbrush, he turned from the sink. "I'm going to go have another glass of wine." Addie grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to the bathroom. An impatient noise escaped him, but he faced at the stern-looking woman all the same.

"You know, if you ever need to talk, or rant, or just play my cello with another presence in the room, you can come to me. You've given up a lot for your friends, Sherlock. You don't always have to be the one fixing things." Without as much as a hint of recognition, he stormed out of the bathroom and attacked his violin. The music filled the living room, now packed with full stomachs and wine as the presents were handed out. Adelaide handed out her gifts, the last one she gave to Bart and ushered him towards Sherlock. He stopped mid-note to pry the box from the hound's maw. Molly and Tom had gone, having been making eyes at each other for far longer than the rest of the company was comfortable with. Lestrade, after giving everyone, including John and Sherlock, a sloppy kiss goodnight, hailed a cab home. John and Mary sat on the sofa, Mrs. Hudson opposite them in the spare chair while Adelaide lounged in front of the detective's chair, blinking away the sleep.

"I rather like Christmas in Baker street, John," Mary said with a grin, going into the detail that she especially liked the oddities that always seemed to creep up.

Watson laughed. "Oh, don't say it, they'll lock us up in the basement. And by 'they' I mean that one," he pointed towards a smirking Sherlock who had just put away his violin and took to his chair.

"Nonsense, John, there's plenty of space to tie you up here."

"Why do I feel he already knows where to tie you?" Addie asked, using Sherlock's leg as support, Bart curled at her feet, asleep. The man in question only smiled and winked in her direction.

"Well, we're going before you get any ideas," the doctor said with a grin of his own, helping his bride-to-be to her feet. Mrs. Hudson said something about her hip and took her leave, as well.

"Why are you on the floor?" The remaining man asked.

"Why are you in the chair?"

"That makes no sense."

"Neither does your face!"

In spite of the insulting nature of the comment, he laughed, rolling is eyes good-naturedly at his neighbor. "Wait here." With a single motion, he propelled himself out of the chair and into his room. He returned a moment later with box neatly wrapped in paper the same dark red as her dress. "Happy Christmas," he wished, handing her the package. She released the delicate wrapping, and with delicate fingers, she opened the box. The colorful, paper and spring snakes were no was she was expecting. She let out a squeal while Sherlock laughed boisterously at her expense.

"You bastard! You right, idiot of a bastard!" She shrieked, jumping up from her spot on the floor to the chair and swatting at him with force.

"Your face! Oh, your face!" His eyes held tears of mirth an dhis cheeks were once again pink and hot.

"I hate you, Sherlock Holmes," Addie grew tired of hitting him, and instead leaned against him heavily in exhaustion. "I'm going home. I'm tired and you're a prick."

"Can Bart stay tonight? Please?" He asked like the obvious child he was, asking for a sleepover.

"Fine. I'll get him in the morning." She rustled his hair good-naturedly, compiling the will to move and stretching her arms once she was vertical.

"Good night, Adelaide," he said in a whisper, before briefly pressing his lips to her cheek in a quick kiss goodbye.

With a grin, Adelaide opened her flat, and changed into the oversized sweat pants Sherlock had brought over, chuckling every time she remembered the snakes. It was then that a twinkling caught her eye. The fairy lights were reflecting on her cello which appeared to have been just polished and treated, the bow's horse hair replaced and a stack of freshly inked sheet music sat on the stand. On the table beside it lay another box, in the same red paper with 'Not snakes' written in black marker. She opened it with caution and emptied a beautiful kaleidoscope into her hand. She grinned knowing he had taken the hint from the brief moments he had entered her spare room to get Bart, the walls painted like the tumbling gems and mirror images that make the instrument so fun.

Addie looked through the ocular lens and watched in admiration as the pieces created beautiful images. It would not be until next morning that she would notice that while, beautiful, Sherlock had put ink on the ocular and now sported a black ring around her eye.