AN: Merry Christmas to everyone! I hope you have a great day, I am posting this so that maybe when you're full with turkey and everyone is watching a movie, you could be reading this. I hope you all get totally lovely things... I am here to deliver the Christmas gift of family fluff with Violet. I hope you enjoy! - RF

The sound that woke John and Sherlock on Christmas morning on year was not each others snoring. It was not the smell of Christmas dinner downstairs in Mrs. Hudson's flat getting ready for them. It was not the doorbell ringing marking the arrival of Molly and Harry or Mycroft and Greg, or any of the other regular Christmas visitors 221 was used to getting at Christmas.

The sound that woke them was in fact footsteps of a small elephant. Or at least, that's what it sounded like to John as Violet stomped on every stair before shouting at the top of her seven-year-old lungs.

"It's Christmas. Papa, Daddy, wake up. It's present time," Violet ran through the kitchen and pushed their bedroom door open just a split second before she launched herself at their bed.

"Violet, we're up honey," John managed to grumble before she dove under the covers between them.

"Present's Daddy. Come on," Violet attempted to push John at his shoulders before realising that he was a lost cause and turning to Sherlock and pushing him with her feet. "Papa, come on, you love present's as much as I do. It's wrapping paper and guessing what is on the inside of the box. Papa!"

Sherlock spun on her and cradled her in is arms with speed, and plucked her from the bed with his laughter and her shrieks of fun and he popped her over his shoulder. "Alright, Vi. We're off. Let's go and see what Santa brought you."

John followed after he made the bed look at least a little more tidy. Their little hurricane known as Violet – too much like her Papa – had attacked and left horrors in her wake. He found Sherlock in the kitchen starting tea, and Violet placing the various presents in different piles as per who they were for. Violet's pile was biggest.

Placing a kiss on Sherlock's arm he waited for Violet to boss - sorry instruct - him to the pile that belonged to him.

Her straight black hair moved around her as she worked, before she pointed him to one place and Sherlock soon followed with tea at the other pile.

"Okay, Vi, you go first, see what Santa brought for you."

Violet went for the little red box on top and considered it before putting it back down.

"Daddy, I need to tell you something. And I don't want you to be mad." Violet chewed on her lip before darting a glance to Sherlock and back again. John smiled patiently and urged her on, but it was a moment before she could speak. "Thing is, Daddy, I don't… I don't… I know that Santa isn't real!"

Sherlock couldn't help but beam, and John fought a smile from his face. "Okay, Violet. Thank you for telling me. I just…, how did you know?"

Violet rolled her blue eyes before she listed them on her fingers. "There are too many Santa's dressed up in shops getting kids to confess what they want for Christmas – none of them are the same man. None of those Santa's have real reindeer, not even one. They always say that Santa knows each kids name, so why does he always ask our names, huh? All the presents get bought by you or Papa, or Nana or Granny. Sometimes Auntie Molly and Auntie Harry bring them with the silly excuse that Santa got the address wrong, and Uncle Myc and Uncle Greg just turn up with arms filled with gifts. Well if Santa were real, he does a really rubbish job of knowing where everyone is."

Violet huffed and paced, having found her feet during her observations, and blew her fringe out of her face before she continued. "What about adults? They get presents too, so who buys them? Santa? Rubbish. So the most obvious conclusion is that Santa doesn't exist and is a lie told by grown-ups. I just don't know why they would all tell this silly lie when kids figure it out."

Sherlock and John were stunned by her investigation. Yes – even Sherlock was stunned. He hadn't expected such a comprehensive list from his seven-year-old daughter, even though she was the brightest child he knew. He expected the admission, of course.

"So, you know that Santa isn't real. Okay. But the presents are no less yours, you know that right?" John managed and watched Violet become the very image of Sherlock, she straightened her back and her eyes squinted into focus.

"Of course the presents are mine! They have my name all over them, Daddy."

Sherlock could only laugh at John's goldfish impression as he handed Violet her the red box she had discarded, and they watched as she tore into it with glee. It was from Mrs Hudson, who had thought it was time Violet get to have her first nail varnish set full of girlie pastel colours. John didn't know how long Violet would be interested in the varnish, but now she was giving equal time to figuring out what was in her next box along which colour would look best on her. They took turns much in that same fashion until only Violet's presents remained and she played with them until she had to get dressed.

Later on Christmas Day, when Violet had fallen asleep after the mammoth lunch with Mrs Hudson, John and Sherlock snuggled on the sofa and looked at the maelström that their daughter had left.

There was giggling, mass amounts of giggling from John and Sherlock held him until he calmed down and waited for an explanation.

"So, we no longer have to fluff around with Santa reasoning. No more asking everyone to remember to use the Santa excuse," John kissed Sherlock's chin.

"I'm amazed it took her this long to come forward," Sherlock smiled down at John who looked confused. "Well, come on, she has been chewing on this for weeks, dropping hints up until the end of term... You didn't notice?"

John tucked himself into Sherlock and grunted. He had noticed. He had noticed and hoped that Violet would still be their sweet little girl through this Christmas, but her Holmesian personality meshed with her Watsonian personality which encouraged her to be honest. Curious and honest.

Curious, honest and full of observations.

John knew that Violet Watson-Holmes was nothing short of a chip off of the old block. At least the saga of Violet and Santa was done with for the future, something to blog about for sure.