"Who told you that I didn't like Christmas?"

Sid looked a bit surprised at Sullivan's accusatory tone. They'd been having a perfectly cordial conversation in the front of the Wolsley (Sullivan having offered him a lift, as it was absolutely baltic outside and no one could deny Sid a lift in this weather, especially not his boyfriend) and this question had popped out of nowhere.

"No one," He defended, scrunching up his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I overheard you telling Father Brown that I didn't."

"Oh." Sid blushed, "Well... I didn't figure that you would. I mean, you hate Halloween -"

"It's just an excuse for juvenile delinquents -"

"To set bins on fire and scare people, yeah, I know. And you don't like Easter much either -"

"It's pointless."

"Lamb dinner?"

"I could have one of those any Sunday. And it's another obligation to go to church."

"See? You don't like those holidays, I didn't think Christmas would be any different to ya. Just a chance for burglars to nick kid's toys or summat."

"I do like Christmas." Sullivan protested. "I just have a different perspective of it, that's all. But I do like Christmas. Blast, I've missed the turn."

He braked and reversed into a gap in the hedge, craning his head around to try and spy the Montague gates that he had driven by hidden in the frosted hedgerows.

"What do you like about Christmas?" Sid persisted.

"Oh, I don't know." Sullivan said distractredly, finally finding the turn and turning into the long, winding lane. Huge banks of leaves scattered across the gravel and there were several potholes iced over. The trees were thick on either side, which always scared him in the countryside - God knows what was going to fly out at you.

"There rests my case."

"No - the decorations," Sullivan countered, "I love seeing places decorated for Christmas. And seeing all that stuff in the shops you only get once a year, and the music, and the way everyone always seems so happy. Families getting together, people making time for their friends, it's just... nice."

He turned to look at Sid, and immediately made a disgruntled face at the ridiculous soppy face he was pulling.

"Aww, you big ol' softy."

The car hit a pothole and bounced. Sulliavn winced.

"Shut up. Remind me to go by the front gates next time, I hate this lane."

"It's so sweet though," Sid said, voice turning to verbratto as they drove over a cattle grid. "I had you down as a Scrooge but you're really sweet about it all. It's adorable."

"Alright then, what's your favourite part of Christmas? Oh wait, let me guess, the dinner." Sullivan announced triumphantly.

Sid snorted. "Yeah, well, it meant a lot to me." He recounted, "That first Christmas dinner at the pres, I ain't gonna forget it. It was magic."

Now it was Sullivan's turn to coo. "How cute, you sound like a child again."

"Ah, you weren't there." Sid argued, "If you'd have been there - I went in, right, and there was the table and it was groaning under the amount of food; turkey, stuffing, veggies, gammon, everything, and a flamin' pud - she sets it on fire an' all, Mrs McCarthy does, its amazing, she puts so much booze in it you'd get drunk on the smell of it. And they brought me in, sat me down, and they said 'now Sidney, you eat whatever you want.' The whole table covered and they just told me to eat and eat - oh God, oh it was just incredible."

Sullivan had gone a little misty eyed. He knew Sid's childhood hadn't been a picnic, and the image of him being sat down at a feast after scrounging in bins for food was very heartwarming.

Sid had obviously noticed and hit him a friendly punch on the shoulder.

"See, you are a big softy."

"That's a lovely story though." Sullivan mumbled.

"What was your best Christmas then?"

"Eh..." He thought for a moment, "Probably the one with the blue dressing gown."

"Is that what you got that year?"

"No, we got it for my mum. Dad carried her downstairs and she wore it while we ate our Christmas dinner. I remember all the presents from that year - actually, I remember everything about that year because there was never another one like it. Mum had rang a shop to order a gramaphone for my father, and then she got me to pick it up - it was so funny, I acted like I was on a secret mission, I was only about seven - and they had a little dance in the living room. Well, he sort of held her up and swayed with her, she wasn't strong enough to do much else."

He trailed off, with a weak smile.

"That sounds beautiful." Sid said, voice thick with emotion.

"I think about that Christmas a lot, around this time of year."

"What does your old man do now round Christmas?"

"I think he spends it at his club, there's a few old men there that get together. I'd better send him a card soon. I usually send him something."

Sid was about to say something, but kept it to himself. Sullivan was in a state of happy nostalgia, his opinion on the man's father could wait.

"You going anywhere this Christmas?" He asked instead.

"No, I'm on a call but I won't be working, probably just relax at home, listen to the Christmas specials on the wireless."

"Wrong." Sid declared, "You're coming to the presbytery with me."

"Sid!" The policeman exclaimed, serving suddenly to avoid a particularly malignant pot hole, "I - you can't just invite -"

"Actually Father Brown was hoping you'd come, and Mrs M always makes enough to feed an army." Sid grabbed hold of his bicep and looked at him with pleading eyes and childlike excitement, "Come on, you have to experience Christmas dinner at the presbytery. Mrs M's Christmas pudding. The mince pies. The turkey sandwhiches - you haven't really experienced Christmas until you've experienced Mrs M's turkey sandwiches."

"Are you sure an atheist like me would be welcome?" Sullivan teased.

"Unless you insult the cooking, which you won't, 'cause its amazing, everyone's welcome. Valentine came a few times, and Blind Arry usually rolls in, and we'll probably have Lady F and Bunty cause Monty's away - oh come on, it'll be brilliant."

"Alright."

Sid swooped across and pecked his cheek, making him giggle.

"You won't regret it babe, I promise. One spoonful of that pudding and Christmas will take on a whole new meaning."

"From what you've told me about its alcohol content I'll be singing like a songbird."

"That's alright, you've a cracking voice. Besides, that's what Christmas is all about when you get older, isn't it? Eating too much, getting pissed and falling asleep on the sofa to the Queen's speech."

"Doesn't actually sound too bad, as long as I can do that with you."