Disclaimer: Again, don't own zilch. I'm a little sad about it really… :-(

Again up into the wee hours of the morn writing this. It's now 2:41 am and I feel ever so slightly dead. By the end I have forgotten the rules of any coherent language and have forgotten how to spell Sherlock. These are dark times indeed. Even darker when you consider I was looking up how to cook and stuff a turkey at 1:55 am. Okay, I've never cooked a turkey before! Sorry if I got anything wrong.

XMillieX: Again, thanks for reviewing once more. I would pay to see that show on TV :-) I fconcur, Mycroft is immense. Hope you had a good Christmas day!

L: This chemistry lesson was still the funniest we've had. "It's a turkey" *Complete deadpan face* :-) Love you too L.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

Lesson 4: Preparing the Christmas dinner

Christmas Eve. John had spent last Christmas Eve in a ditch in Afghanistan with 12 other depressed soldiers ducking bullets. Not that living with Sherlock was any less dangerous, John reflected, but he had noticed recently a strange era of calm in the flat. Apart from the string above the oven, John had found no dead body parts in the fridge or underwear drawer, there had been very little in the way of experiments, and Sherlock hadn't destroyed something of John's possession in five whole days. Perhaps things were looking up for the better, John thought.

"No! Of course it was the brother, are you blind? The jumper says more than enough!" Sherlock screamed at the TV. Or perhaps not, John thought. John had made toast for himself that morning and had sat down to check over the TV times when Sherlock had come in, looking tired with a particularly bad case of morning hair, refused any toast and sat down heavily in his chair, turning the TV onto Five USA to watch Oprah.

"Jeremy Kyle not on?" John asked, to which Sherlock shook his head. "It's been cancelled after the last show. Someone threw a shoe at Jeremy. He's taken the week off" he said, sounding most upset about the subject.

"I take it you didn't get much sleep last night then? Again." John said. Sherlock hadn't slept in three days and had merely said when John had asked him too, "Sleep is boring".

"Please tell me you weren't loosing sleep over Jeremy Kyle?" John smirked happily. Sherlock ignored him. "I solved the Barrow's case" he said dryly, ignoring John's obvious smirking. John looked at him in surprise. John hadn't even known that Sherlock was working on that case, he hadn't mentioned it. He had gone missing for an hour last night.

John had been making some dinner, ravioli actually, and had knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door. He had never been inside, but he'd seen it from the doorway before. It was just as messy as the rest of the flat.

"Sherlock?" John had shouting, knocking, "Do you want any of this ravioli?" No reply. John guessed that Sherlock was just being stubborn over eating. "Sherlock?" Still no reply. Frowning, John knocked a little harder and the door swung open.

"Sherlock?" John poked his head around the door. Nothing. The room was empty. "God, where has he got to now?" John had muttered to himself, going inside sheepishly. Of course, he had good reason to be worried, Sherlock was always getting into scrapes, and good reason to be in his room of course, but John still felt as if he was trespassing. Sherlock hadn't invited him in, and John felt awkward having gone inside uninvited. Not that Sherlock ever asked for his permission to go in his room. But still. That was when John had felt the light breeze to his left and saw the open window next to Sherlock's bed on the back wall, which led out onto the street behind 221B via a fire escape.

"Damn it" John growled looking down at the pan of ravioli he was still holding. He would have gone after him, but having no clue where he was, John didn't have much of a choice but to wait for him to come back. Which he had done, eventually, an hour later.

Obviously Sherlock had been on the case, John thought as he watched Sherlock giving glares at the TV. "They're all idiots" Sherlock said, sounding simultaneously shocked, disappointed and mildly amused all at the same time. John rolled his eyes, looking over as Sherlock's phone vibrated on the arm of the chair. Sherlock picked it up, still looking at the TV, quickly read the text and put it down once more.

"Who was it?" John asked, knowing that there were only really two people it could be, apart from perhaps a client.

"Lestraude" Sherlock said, sounding bored. John nodded. Then, "Oh God I forgot!" Sherlock looked over. "What?"

"I forgot to give Lestraude his present last time I saw him! Damn it!" John had bought Lestraude the gift a few weeks ago, but had since forgotten to give it to him.

"Just drop it off at his house" Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing he had ever said.

"Oh yeah, thanks Sherlock, I don't even know where Lestraude lives!"

"64 Maplewood Avenue." John looked at him, surprised, before turning cynical. "How on earth do you know that?"

"I have been to Lestraude's home before John, he is the detective inspector. I actually went last month to inform him about a case when he was off with the flu."

"Bet Lestraude loved that" John mumbled.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing." John gave him a funny look. "You going to Lestraude's though? You never visit anyone!"

"Work makes it necessary John" Sherlock said.

"Yeah right, as if. I bet if you turned up at Lestraude's right now he'd be more surprised than I am now"

"Really John, how ridiculous."

"I'd be willing to bet on it" John said, looking indignant. Sherlock looked at him slyly. "I really shouldn't bet on thing I know I'll win" Sherlock said, "It's unfair"

"Bet you a twenty" John said.

"Now, now John, I'm no gambler."

"Neither am I but I'm pretty sure you'll lose, so it's not much of a gamble is it?" Sherlock looked thoughtful.

"You win; I'll let you dissect that body you've wanted to take apart in the morgue on Boxing Day without telling you once not to put anymore explosives in the ear canal. You lose and you don't put any more chemicals on the kitchen side for a month"

Sherlock smiled. "Deal"

A few moments later they had caught a cab to 64 Maplewood Avenue and were soon standing outside a rather charming townhouse that Sherlock swore was Lestraude's. Sherlock rang the doorbell, smiling knowingly at John and a few moments later Lestraude appeared. John held his breath for the inspector's exclamation of surprise but was disappointed as the man took one look at Sherlock and his shoulder's sagged.

"Hey Sherlock" he said, opening the door wider to let them in, "Good morning John" he said as they entered.

"You surprised to see us?" John asked as he hung up his coat on a hook in the hallway.

"You, yes" Lestraude said, "Sherlock, no. He's just here to tell me about a case I expect since I took the day off work". Sherlock grinned and gave a "there you go" sort of look to John, who scowled.

"Can I use your computer Lestraude? I want to check something. It was the brother by the way, the killer. With the lawn mower". John raised a surprised eyebrow. Sherlock nodded happily and went off into the living room to sit down at Lestraude's PC.

"I won't bother telling him the password" Lestraude said with a sigh, "He probably already knows anyway". Sure enough the windows theme tune played and Lestraude nodded sadly. "Want anything to drink John?" he asked, leading him into the sitting room where they sat down on the white leather sofa, Sherlock tapping away in the corner.

"No I'm fine thanks Lestraude, just brought your Christmas present here" John said, putting the gift on the coffee table.

"Want anything Sherlock?" Lestraude said. Sherlock shook his head. "Didn't think so, never drinks after a case" Lestraude mumbled.

"So," Lestraude said, sitting back, "You two got anything planned for Christmas? I've got the kids you see, got 'em at home tomorrow". John smiled. "Nah, just Christmas dinner I think. Not got any family over or anything." Lestraude nodded.

"You've done him good" Lestraude said, gesturing to Sherlock who was sitting, oblivious and out of ear shot. John gave him a questioning look. "Done him good? How-"

"Well, he declined a case the other day" Lestraude said.

"So?" It was like Sherlock to decline cases that didn't interest him. One of the many perks of being the world's only consulting detective as Sherlock described it.

"It wasn't 'cos he wasn't interested." Lestraude said, looking expectantly at John.

"Then why-"

"Exactly! And he said that he didn't want to take it because he was spending Christmas with you and so he wasn't taking any new cases over Christmas! I never thought I'd see the day when Sherlock Holmes didn't take a case because he wanted to make someone else happy! I thought the day'd never come!"

John frowned. Come to think of it, Sherlock hadn't being doing experiments for the past couple of days either. And he had cleared the flat of dismembered body parts. John considered this. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was even familiar with the concept of a gift, but John knew for a fact that Sherlock wasn't the sociopath he made himself out to be. Sherlock Holmes had given him, John Watson, a gift. Sherlock probably saw no point in trivial material items, much like John himself only ever bought practical gifts, but whether he had intended to or not, Sherlock had obviously made a conscious effort, had decisively declined the case… so that he could spend time with John over Christmas. He smiled, looking over to where Sherlock was sat by the PC. He wouldn't let anyone else know the other stuff Sherlock had done, like clearing up the flat two days ago. If Sherlock wanted people to think he was a "high functioning sociopath", that he didn't care, it was John's job to make sure no-one knew about Sherlock's effort. That would be how Sherlock would want it.

Looking over at the younger man, he realised that he still hadn't thought of a good enough present for him. It was Christmas Eve already, and he still hadn't a clue. Sherlock was without a doubt the hardest person John had ever bought a present person. After finding out the date from Mycroft, John had bought Sherlock unlimited texts for two years for his birthday and Sherlock had been truly surprised to even receive a gift from the ex-soldier, let alone when he discovered the little cake, balloons and banner decorating the flat. John found it shocking that nobody, except from Mycroft's almost corporate looking Birthday card, had bought Sherlock anything for his birthday and had been even more shocked to discover tat Sherlock hadn't even expected John to bother even finding out about the date of his birthday, let alone buy him a gift.

"Of course I bought you something," John had said, "I'm you're flatmate". "You're my friend" he clarified after Sherlock gave him a puzzled look. This time though, John had no idea what to buy the young detective.

He had considered a new coat or scarf at first but had soon dismissed the idea after seeing Sherlock's small collection of such items. He had thought of getting him a few extra vials of ammonia as he always seemed to be experimenting with the stuff but he had quickly sought to forget that idea after finding the burn marks in his jeans and had rowed with Sherlock about the dangers of acidic substances. In fact, John had struggled to think of anything to get him. Now however, John had had a great idea. He smiled. Roll on Christmas day he thought, grinning.

They left Lestraude's about half an hour later after meeting his very lovely wife Melissa.

"You made the bet just so that I'd go to Lestraude's with you didn't you?" Sherlock said as they sat in the taxi on the way home.

"Yup. And you texted Lestraude in the taxi there to tell him not to be surprised because it was a bet. I saw you do it" John said. Sherlock chuckled. "We may make a detective out of you yet".


Christmas Eve night started off pretty quiet. At least as quiet as Baker Street usually was on a normal night. Sarah had popped in earlier to drop off her present and Sherlock had hid himself in his room for the duration of her stay and it was around 8 o' clock that John decided that since Sherlock was going to be of no help at all, he had better start getting ready for the Christmas dinner. Considering that he had never done it before, John was anxious to get started, having bought all of the ingredients two days ago, checked the list three times and had received a turkey from Mrs. Hudson yesterday when she had discovered that he was cooking the Christmas dinner.

"I'll cook a pudding" she had said, handing him the most enormous turkey John had ever seen.

Getting up, he had left Sherlock to his strictly come dancing special and cleaned the vegetables, starting to peel and chop. Potatoes, sprouts, carrots, parsnips. John checked off the list in his mind. He didn't know if Sherlock even liked any of those. John could imagine a younger version of Sherlock pouting over being told to eat sprouts. John smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" Sherlock said from his chair, looking inquisitively at him.

"Oh, nothing". He'd have to ask Mycroft about those Christmas dinners he'd mentioned.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. "John! Will one of you come and help me with these Christmas lights? They've gone off. Sherlock looked at John. John looked at Sherlock. John looked at the vegetables and bowl of stuffing he was halfway through making. Sherlock got up.

"I don't even like Christmas lights" Sherlock grumbled, tramping down the stairs. John smiled, satisfied. Remove giblets from turkey stomach. Stuff turkey with sage stuffing and secure with skewer. John looked at the turkey in disgust.

"You have giblets?" he said, disgusted. In all his time in military service, he had never thought that he would be removing giblets from a dead turkey. He tried not to think of the many people who would laugh if they saw him, Mrs. Hudson's pink apron on, hand pulling out giblets from a turkey. Eventually he was done. Crouching down he drew eye level with the turkey, looking into the very unappetising rear end of his turkey.

"Er…I don't know quite how to do this, so er… I'll just try to be gentle" he said, recognising his insanity as he talked to the dead bird, picking up a handful of stuffing.

Sherlock could not have come in at a worse moment, John later reflected. There he was, pink apron on as instructed, hand stuck inside the rear end of a Christmas turkey. And he had joked about Sherlock ripping his clothes of at the swimming pool that time.

"Ah" Sherlock had said as he stopped dead after dashing back into the lounge. John froze and for a moment they just stared at each other. Actually John was staring at Sherlock, but Sherlock was staring more at the turkey.

"Well. This is awkward." Sherlock said.

"It's this God damn turkey! It's taking me ages. It's been defrosting since last night! I had to clean it, take the bits that you can't eat off, stuff it with this stuff and have you seen the amount of time it takes to cook one of these things?"

Sherlock came to stand next to him as John finished up the stuffing. Sherlock leaned over, taking a look inside the freshly stuffed turkey with a disdainful look. "That looks disgusting" Sherlock said. John splatted him with a bit of stuffing. "Of course it looks disgusting Sherlock, it's not even cooked yet!" Sherlock shrugged, standing up straight again. John flipped a page on the cookbook and was faced with the most complicated graphs he'd ever seen. A few moments of heated discussion later and John finally admitted "So really we have no idea how long to cook this thing for? I think my military mission plans were easier to understand than that graph thing and they were encoded!" he said, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Look" he said, turning the book around to face Sherlock. "It says here to cook it for 4 hours and 45 minutes but when you work it out by poundage it's only 3 hours 45 minutes. And that doesn't include the legs!" Sherlock leant down again to look closely at the turkey. "Let's think about this logically" he said, deadpanning.

"It's a turkey Sherlock, it's not rocket science".

Sherlock glared at him.

"I'll put it in for four and a quarter and see how it goes" John said, sighing. It actually took them 15 minutes to get the turkey in the oven and Sherlock suggested getting out his 'scientific' blowtorch, which John immediately declined, but they eventually got it in and through the oven door John could only see the mass of meat that was surely going to burn no matter what he did. Panting, they stood to apprise the rest of the recipe.

"Right. Only the Yorkshires now and the gravy and we're done". Sherlock looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and then went to watch Jamie Oliver's Christmas feast. John sighed. Right. Onion gravy… this'd be fun.

Lesson 4: How to make a Christmas dinner

Complete


Don't know if anyone caught the line from the film Brother's Grimm. :-D Love that film. Hope everyone had a great Christmas day!