Hi guys! Well, with only 4 days till Christmas, I am desperately trying to finish this fic before the big day, which is looking increasingly unlikely now, but I still have hope! I've had to rush things along a bit in order to get everything I want in, but I hope you enjoy it! Please review, alert or add at the end, I will love you forever! XD

Sherlock practically sprinted towards the entrance of the supermarket, bursting bags bouncing up and down, and on more than one occasion almost spilling the already battered contents on the gleaming supermarket floor. Oh god, John thought. Sherlock really was like a misbehaving two year old sometimes, unruly and unbearable. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. John then began to precariously balance several of the heavy bags on one arm, and pulled out his ancient mobile from his jean's pocket. He was hardly an expert at texting with two hands, let alone one, but he made his best effort. He smiled to himself as he slipped the phone away again, re balancing the bags. Now all he needed was to distract Sherlock and waste some time. Sherlock had stopped just outside the entrance, not even shivering as the first flakes of London snow began to fall. As John departed the warm shop, his eyes became entranced for a moment with child like wonder at the first twirling flakes. He resisted the temptation to squeal and jump up and down. Sherlock was staring at him with a curious, intense gaze. John couldn't help but grin at him.

"Why are you so happy, John?" Sherlock asked with honest confusion.

John stared dumbfounded at Sherlock consternated expression. Well he was a self declared sociopath, he supposed. "Sherlock, it's snowing! That means we're going to have a white Chris..." he stopped himself in his tracks.

"A white what, John?" Sherlock questioned, still confused.

"Nothing, Sherlock, it doesn't matter." John began to trundle off back to 221b, Sherlock following. Thankfully, John didn't need to waste time as the streets were so congested in Central London and there were so few taxis out that Sherlock and John decided in unison that they were better off walking the journey home. It took them the best part of an hour and a half to finally reach the reassuring front door of their familiar home after coordinating the icy streets, John nearly slipping over several times had it not been for Sherlock constant reassuring hand on his arm, keeping him upright and balanced.

John and Sherlock stood outside the door, locked in a silent war as to who would open the door. John was shivering and his arms were beginning to ache from the constant weight hanging off them.

"Oh for god sake Sherlock, why the hell can't you open the bloody door?"

"Why can't you?"

"But why can't you?"
"The question is John, why can't you?"

John knew from past experience that Sherlock was like a steel ball in their arguments. Unbreakable and capable of breaking. Oh for god sake. The things he did for this man. With lots of dramatic effect and several evil glares directed at Sherlock's smiling figure, he grudgingly opened the door.

"Why thank you John," Sherlock said smugly, smiling at him.

"No, no Sherlock, no need to thank me. Any time." John smiled back.

"Ladies first." Sherlock gestured to the stairs, eyes filled with sarcasm.

"No, men just before." John secretly loved their childish arguments, which not even 8 year olds would sink to. Sherlock strode up the stairs, but John trudged up slowly, smiling expectantly.

"John!"

"Yes Sherlock?" John smiled almost evilly.

"Why the hell is there a bloody sparkling tree by the TV?"