Hi guys! I'm so excited! It's Christmas Eve! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you and my lovely readers!

"Oh, that old thing. Surprised you didn't notice it before."

"John, of course I would have bloody noticed by now! It's a huge, prickly, bloody tree! And it's covered in glittery paraphernalia! With flashing bloody lights! And a fucking angel on the top! Give me some credit John, even you would have spotted that!"

"No, Sherlock, you don't understand, it's been here for months now."

"Why didn't you mention it then?"

"I thought with your amazing powers of observation you would have noticed by now, so I didn't see any point in pointing out the obvious."

"I don't believe you! Mrs. Hudson!"

John heard the wooden stairs creak as Mrs. Hudson climbed slowly upwards. After a long pause, she entered into the room, her usual "Sherlock, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper!" retort sitting on her withered limps.

"Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock cried. "Thank god someone sane is in the room!" casting a purposeful glare at John, who was sitting nonchalantly in his favourite armchair. Sherlock then pointed, with almost childlike terror, at the menacing green tree towering in the corner.

"Oh that thing. Honestly Sherlock, you chase after serial killers, shoot at assassins and god knows what, and you're afraid of a harmless tree. Sometimes I wonder if you've ever grown up. I'm surprised you haven't got used to it by now, it's been here for months."

"What!" cried Sherlock. "Is everyone conspiring against me today? That bloody tree has not been here since tonight! I'm asking Lestrade." He pulled out his well worn blackberry from his back jean's pocket, finger flying across the keypad. After a few minutes of pressing the send button, Sherlock's face dropped. "I don't bloody believe it! " He began to read out Lestrade's succinct text.

'I don't bloody believe it Sherlock. The world's only consulting detective, and you didn't spot the bloody tree which has been in your flat for months. Have a happy bloody Xmas. '

John chuckled to himself. "Do you reckon Lestrade's had a bit much of the old bottle..." he was silenced by a fire freezing glare from Sherlock.

"Everyone is conspiring against me this evening! I bloody well know that tree hasn't been there." But now even a shadow of doubt had flickered across Sherlock's pale face. His face lit up. "I'm going to text Mycroft." John groaned inwardly. He hadn't thought to text Mycroft. Damn.

Sherlock groaned as he read aloud the new message from Mycroft.

'I can assure you Sherlock, that that tree has been there for approximately 4 months now. Don't worry, I'm sure you have faced far more formidable enemies. Regards, Mycroft.'

"Oh damn it to hell!" Sherlock cried in despair, chucking his phone at the battered sofa, where it landed with a soft plop. John grinned to himself. Thank god Mycroft had the CCTV and cameras for once, even though John hated them with a passion.

Sherlock's phone beeped again from its precarious perch on the cliff that was the edge of the sofa. Sherlock leapt forward like a panther, gripping his phone tightly. His face lit up as he read the incoming text. John knew that expression well after seeing it countless times in the past few months. Sherlock had a case.

"Oh how I do love a Christmas murder!" Sherlock almost squealed in delight. As John started to rise, Sherlock glared at him. "No, John I shall not be requiring your idiotic presence for this case. I shall be back in a few hours." John tried to put on his best disappointed face, but inside he was beaming. This was perfect. With Sherlock gone for a few hours, that left him plenty of time to cook the dinner, the grand finale of his Christmas franchise.

Sherlock darted out the room, slamming the door behind him, and it groaned in protest. John turned around to Mrs. Hudson, grinning.

"Would you like to start with sprouts or the carrots?"