A/N: HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS. I am so, so, so, sorry. I blame ff. I was literally *just* about to post this and my other stories when this fucking site decided to crash AGAIN after being crashed ALL FUCKING DAY. So, I apologize. It's around 2:30 in the morning here, an I can't sleep because as it turns out, sleeping on your's grandma's lumpy on couch, in her cold motor home, with nothing but a sleeping bag and a really old and super thin pillow you've had since you were six isn't as conductive towards falling and maintaing sleep as one would think. So I went eh, why not post this now. Thank you for your patience. My ramble is at the bottom. Enjoy. :)

Dedicated to my Dear Sherlock ADD Buddy. Merry Christmas, and that damn song has been stuck in my head ALL NIGHT. I believe I have found a new song to listen to when I read Johnlock smut. Thanks for that. ;3

DAY 25: THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL (aka Mistletoe, as prompted by Loki Laufeyson- Mischief God)

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

Sherlock and John didn't have many Christmases together.

They had only had one before Sherlock went and jumped off a roof, and then they missed three. Those three Christmases were the worst of John's life.

Then Sherlock returned.

After that, they had one more Christmas where they weren't a couple. Two more where they were.

And on their first as an engaged couple, they celebrated alone for the first time.

Every year previously, they had spent it with friends or family, but this year was different. This year they were engaged. Going to get married. Dedicated to each other. It seemed almost rude to intrude upon the pair for more than a "Happy Christmas" call.

Mrs. Hudson, of course, was the exception. Their sweet old landlady, who was like a mother to Sherlock, was an exception to a lot of things. This was no different.

And she had a plan.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson passed out on the sofa on Christmas eve.

So when they woke up in the same place on Christmas morning, it didn't really come as a surprise.

"Damn," John muttered, rubbing his shoulder. He'd been trying to sleep on the couch less, because of how badly it hurt his already-wounded shoulder. But it was too late now.

Sherlock yawned next to him. Currently the consulting detective's lanky arms were wrapped around his middle, pale skin offset by the darker tone of his lover's skin. Sherlock buried his head in John's shoulder from behind him.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," John said, smiling. John could feel Sherlock smile and pull back, placing a kiss on the back of his neck. John loved these mornings- Sherlock was always more physically affectionate than he'd normally be. Sherlock didn't say "Merry Christmas," but that was okay. John knew it was being said mentally.

John slowly extricated himself from his lover's arms and stood up. "What do you want for breakfast, Sherlock?" he called out as he headed toward the kitchen. They'd decided not to do presents that year- Sherlock believed it was an archaic tradition, and John was relieved he wouldn't have to search for something the detective might want or need.

Plus, the detective's thought was that he was lucky enough that his doctor was still alive and with him. That was gift enough.

Sherlock moaned and flopped around on the couch. John laughed. "Eggs it is then."

Just then, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs. "Merry Christmas, boys!" she called out. John smiled and called back, "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock moaned and turned completely over on the couch.

Mrs. Hudson laughed when she saw Sherlock's position on the couch. "Here you go, boys," she called out. "I got some small things things for you two. Oh, don't even start-" she said at John's protests. "I know you didn't get anything this year, and I'm perfectly okay with that. But I wanted to get you something. Now let me go place it by your fireplace and I'll leave you be." She toddled off to the living area, against John's protests.

John shook his head. Mrs. Hudson was stubborn, that was certain. Then again, she had to be to put up with Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson had to contain her giggles as she placed her "presents" by the fireplace.

"John, what's this?"

"What's what, Sherlock?"

"This plant hanging above my head. I wasn't aware we had plants growing from the ceiling."

John poked his head out of the kitchen, where he had just finished putting his and Sherlock's breakfast on plates. He laughed when he saw the plant hanging over his head.

"That's mistletoe, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson must have put it there."

"Why would she put a plant on our ceiling?"

"Because- Sherlock, don't tell me you've deleted mistletoe."

"I know what mistletoe is, if that's what you're asking."

"No, it's not. Mistletoe is- well, why don't I just show you?" John asked himself, before heading over to Sherlock. Sherlock stiffened. "John, what-?"

Sherlock suddenly had a mouthful of John. Not that he was protesting. Oh no sir, he wasn't.

Sherlock was just beginning to open his mouth when John pulled back, slightly out of breath and grinning. "That, Sherlock," he said, "is what mistletoe is for."

"Interesting. So someone hangs it up in the hopes of getting two people to kiss? And of one catches another standing under the mistletoe, they must kiss them?"

John laughed. "More or less." He pulled Sherlock down for another quick kiss before dragging him towards the kitchen. "Come on, Sherlock," he said. "Food's getting cold."

Mrs. Hudson squealed from behind her hiding spot.

A/N: Sorry about the shortness of this, but with the Christmas I had I'm amazed that I managed to crank this baby out at all, not even mentioning the other two stories I wrote.

Speaking of which. I wrote two other stories. I am exhausted and my brain is dead but I am proud. Even if I'm not so bug a fan of the longest one and this and the other one are far too short in my opinion.

Okay, so about my Christmas.

First of all, you have to understand that my brother and I are basically the black sheep of my dad's side of the family. No one really gives a shit about us, and they only ever even acknowledge our presence because they'll feel guilty if they don't. I've come to terms with this- I noticed how everybody ignored me by the time I was seven, and just sort of grew used to it. That doesn't mean it still doesn't hurt.

Okay, so I woke up at four yesterday morning, fell back asleep, woke up at nine and went in. I got some really nice-noise cancelling headphones from my dad, a lava lamp from my grandparents, and a new charger for my MP3 player. I immediately took the headphones and used them, because I could tell I would need them.

I started writing soon after. Sometime around two, I went to my Great-Aunt's house and we had Christmas dinner and hung out there until around eight. Which was torture. Why?

Well, for starters, my Christmas dinner consisted of mashed potatoes and mashed potatoes only. My brother and I have Celiac Disease- which means we can't eat gluten. My family knows this. They don't care. So they made a meal where the only thing I could eat was mashed potatoes. So that was nice.

And then everyone, including my dad, got drunk. I'm used to this. I honestly can't remember a family gathering where everyone didn't get drunk. I've learned to just tune everyone out and escape into my own little world. This pisses my dad off to no end. See, he's of the belief that I'm a teenage girl, so I love to socialize, because EVERYBODY know all teenage girls love to socialize *insert sarcasm here*. Ergo, if I'm not socializing, that means that something is wrong with me, and thereby him. So every five minutes he'd yell at me for not being social enough. Well, dad, I'm sorry if I'd rather be writing my own goddamn stories or texting my own friends then watch you and everyone else get pissed drunk, or go outside and walk into to tangible cloud of smoke and alcohol that makes my lungs burn. (Did I mention everyone's a smoker?) I think the worst part is that my dad's a pushy drunk, so what starts out as, "Hey, you should come be more social" becomes a rough hand on my shoulder that squeezes me and "HEYYYY, whY dOn't You bE moRe Soshuul?" after around eight beers. And then the yelling starts.

So I kind of took my new headphones, walked around the neighborhood listening to music too loudly and tried not to cry.

We finally went home after a while (my grandma didn't drink, so she drive us), and I finished writing these, tried to post them, failed, and fell asleep listening to music, then woke up with a sore back and unable t fall asleep again. Yay.

So, that was my Christmas. And it pisses me off that ff was down, not only because I couldn't post my stories but because I couldn't get any reviews. And that would have made my day a lot better.

But I need to stop complaining. I could have it worse.

Now to the news!

And this is exciting news! Later this morning, in about five hours, I am going camping. Now, mobile phone technology is a marvelous thing. Not only have I written every challenge so far on my phone, but I have responded to every review, and sent every PM from my phone. But there are some things mobile technology just can't do- namely, I can't publish these from my phone. So to do that, I need a computer with WiFi access. And one thing this place doesn't have (as far as I'm aware- I could be wrong) is WiFi. Which means I can't post.

But never fear! I have found an ingenious solution. As mentioned, mobile phone technology is an amazing thing. All I need is a little nit of signal and I can do nearly anything. So I have recruited my dear friend Dino (that is what you may call her) to post these for me. I'm going to email her these every night, Rainy's Ramble included, with instructions on how to format them, and she'll be logging into my account and posting for me. I have given her full permission to leave notes and say hi, and talk with you guys if she so desires. She's awesome, and just as funny and wacky as I am. And far sassier.

I should probably post these now, and go to bed. I need the sleep.

PLEASE leave me a review. You guys make the worst days brighter, and keep me going when I want to give up. And Donovan likes clean floors. So please. Review. Make Donovan's floor a little cleaner.

Goodnight, I love you all, and even though it isn't Christmas anymore- Merry Christmas. '

Talk to you soon.

Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams

P.S. To ObservationofTrifles- SHIT SHIT I DONE FUCKED UP I put the wrong day. Expect your prompt, kittens, to be filled Day 28. And if any of you have any last-minute prompts, I'm more than happy to hear them. Thank you.