Merry Christmas everyone! Apologies for not updating in ages, too much school work, revision and coursework; (I also had a bit of writer's block :S). I normally send off my chapters before I publish them in order to get feedback so I can improve them but my little slave- ahem, I mean friends have gotten caught up in the Christmas spirit (which is understandable, I have too c:) and have not given me any feedback yet so there may be a few mistakes. Don't worry though! After I have been given improvements, this chapter shall be edited :D I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this and happy holidays my fellow Johnlock shippers! :D x

"You took your time." Sherlock remarked as John walked into the kitchen. He was still sat in the kitchen, peering intently into his microscope, the only thing that had changed was the fact that one of hands was wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. He stretched out his free hand towards John as he approached.

"Yeah, well Christmas shopping is practically suicide in London." John joked as he reached to the bottom of a Boots shopping bag and pulled out a pack of nicotine patches. He placed them into the outstretched hand.

"Hmmm..." Sherlock quickly slid the pack into his blazer pocket. "Interesting."

"What?" John asked as he dropped the heavy shopping bags on the floor.

"It's lucky you've gotten more milk; I'm finding traces of streptococci, the milk has started to spoil."

John sat across from Sherlock. "Well if you didn't always keep milk out of the fridge, it might last a bit longer."

"But science, John. I keep it out of the fridge for science."

John chuckled and rested his chin in his hand. "So tell me, what does it mean to find...that stuff-"

"Streptococci."

"Yes. What does it mean to find it in milk?"

"Do pay attention John, I told you. The milk spoils."

"No, go into more detail than just that. I want to see what causes you to have such a passion for science."

Sherlock slowly looked up from the microscope; it was the first time John had seen those icy irises since he had returned. "Really?" Sherlock asked in disbelief, to which John simply nodded.

Sherlock's cupid bow lips twitched slightly into a smile before he chuckled softly. "You know, searching for bacteria in milk isn't the source of my scientific interest."

"I know, but I haven't heard you make a deduction in a while, I'm not used to it." John taunted. "I'd at least like to listen to an explanation of yours about what's happening in your little petri dish."

"Well... if milk is not kept at a decent temperature- or if it's kept for too long- the bacteria in it multiplies, very simple really. The streptococci converts the lactose into lactic acid which causes the milk to obtain more hydrogen ions and so the pH of it changes, causing its sour taste. Lactobacilli then starts to gro-"

The detective was suddenly interrupted by a pair of firm familiar lips against his, something he wasn't expecting considering John was so small and he was across a relatively large table. Sherlock opened his eyes, only to see John practically climbing onto the table to pull him into his embrace.

"No, John! Stop!"

The doctor pulled back in surprise, clearly hurt by Sherlock's rejection. "What?"

Sherlock immediately stood up and ran round the table before pulling John off of the table by his arm with quite a bit of force."You know I love you, John, but-"

"But what, Sherlock? what's wrong?" Still hurt and rejected, John stared at the detective who was slowly wrapping his arms around his waist.

Sherlock tilted his head down towards John's; mere centimetres apart which teased their hungry lips. His voice was then reduced to a deep whisper."But if you nearly knock over my microscope again, I will make sure you will be a victim of one of my future cases." Sherlock teased. The doctor could practically taste the sweet delicious breath from his companion; it sent pleasant shivers down his spine, like a bolt of electricity flooding him head to toe with excitement, the moment would be a lot better though, if Sherlock's sentence wasn't such a mood killer.

"You and your bloody microscope!" John moaned, " Forgive me, I just forgot how brilliant it is when you do that."

"Do what?" Sherlock pulled away, confused.

"When you be you." John smiled softly before hastily tugging Sherlock by the collar and pulling him into another kiss, this time more passionate...

The sun was setting; causing the lounge of 221B to be flooded with a fiery glow. John was sitting in his chair, his coat resting on the arm of it as he was too lazy and exhausted to hang it up when he came in. He allowed the heat from the fireplace caress his cold face, as he did this, he stared blankly at a notepad which was resting on his knee. Lestrade had eventually given in to John's request: A fake case for Sherlock, a rather unusual Christmas present but perfect nonetheless. John was certain that if it was perfectly planned out, Sherlock would love it. Much more than a new violin anyway.

Should it be a murder? Suicide? No, they happen too frequently, it wouldn't give Sherlock as much of a thrill. A serious theft, perhaps? Drug abuse? What would Sherlock like? The doctor lay back in his chair, skimming through his memories of previous cases:

John's POV

"3 serial suicides and now a note. Oh it's Christmas!" I guess it would relate to the occasion...

"We've got ourselves a serial killer, love those- there's always something to look forward to!" So Sherlock likes serial cases, ok, worth keeping note of.

"Cryptography inhabits our every waking moment." Okay, the case could maybe have a cipher of some sort? Something to keep his mind whirring constantly?

"Look at that, Mrs Hudson. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Isn't it hateful?" So I should make the case loud, frenzied and violent; marvellous. Although, I think I should be concerned with his preferences.

There is too much diversity in the cases we've had, how the hell am I supposed to know which one Sherlock liked the most? He seemed to love all of them...

John was sat in his chair, mere metres away from Sherlock in the kitchen which caused a bit of anxiety to brew at the bottom of his stomach, if the detective sees what John is up to, then the whole plan is ruined; if John goes upstairs to his room however, out of sight, there is no doubt that Sherlock will have suspicions. The blond took a big sigh as he looked down at his ideas scribbled down on his notepad. The number of ideas written on one single page was overwhelming; how could he possibly decide between all of them? After a good few minutes of staring at the notes and ending up nowhere, John finally had a sparkle in his eye. A wide smile, ear to ear, emerged on his tired face that was now filled with anticipation. Maybe he didn't need to decide; he'll combine all of the cases that he'd experienced with Sherlock together-well all except 'A Scandal in Belgravia' and 'The Reichenbach Fall', no need to remind Sherlock of Irene Adler or his 'suicide'. John shivered at the memories.

"John?" The doctor heard the chair in the kitchen scrape softly against the tiles- Sherlock must be leaving the kitchen. He quickly tucked the notebook under his coat."Hmmm?"

"When is the next time you're going out?" Sherlock walked over to his own chair and threw himself-somehow gracefully- onto it. The flames from the roaring fire added colour to his pale face.

John just stared accusingly at the detective. "What have you done?"

The raven-haired man hesitated. "We...we need more milk." John could clearly see that he was trying to stifle a laugh.

"What? I just bought milk!" The doctor replied, astonished.

"I may have contaminated it... with blood."

John cursed before realising that Sherlock's statement was the perfect excuse to meet up with Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"You...you what?"

"I was curious to see what reaction could occur. They are rather different substances, John, you cannot blame my curiosity."

"No, but I can blame your idiocy; why didn't you use the other bottle of milk? The one you was using earlier?"

"Think, John. It was becoming spoiled. They may lead to unreliable results as it is more acidic than the fresh milk you had just bought. See? I have no idiocy. If its anyone, John, you are the idiot for not thinking of that."

"Hey, don't turn this back on me! You're the one who has contaminated the milk and yet you're the one insulting me? Where on Earth did you get the blood anyway?"

"...The hand in the fridge."

"Oh my God." John grabbed his coat that was hanging on the arm of the chair, conscious to take the notepad with it discretely. "Fine. I will get your bloody milk, but Jesus freaking Christ, Sherlock, get rid of the hand!"

"But John-"

"Nope. We store our food in that fridge; we don't want anything else contaminated. If you want to use a hand for experimentation, keep it in the bloody mortuary!" John left; leaving a rather sulky Sherlock, soaking up the heat of the fire.

"John!" Lestrade called from the back of the coffee shop. The doctor turned in response, searching for the familiar voice that was hidden in the crowded room. Lestrade called once more, this time he stood up, waving his hand to catch John's attention. The DI was sat in the corner of the room, at a small circular table on which a half-drunk black coffee rested. John walked over before shaking Lestrade's hand. "Hi."

"Hi, John. You alright?"

John nodded "Yes thanks, you?"

"I'm rather confused to be honest. Why did you specifically ask to meet at Starbucks?"

"Sherlock."

"You need to elaborate a bit with me, John." Lestrade joked as he and John sat down at the table.

"Well I've come up with an idea for the case, thankfully, Sherlock has given me an excuse to go out. He is less likely to get ideas if I come back smelling like coffee instead of the rooms in Scotland Yard."

"Ah, I see." Lestrade took a big gulp of his coffee. "What excuse has Sherlock given you?"

John laughed softly, "He- Well let's just say I need to get more milk."

"Oh shit, what has he done?" Greg asked, becoming more intrigued.

"Let's just say it involves a hand."

"Please, tell me it's his hand?"

The doctor simply shook his head."I don't even know who's hand it is."

Lestrade couldn't help but laugh. "It surprises me how you're managing to live with him without losing your sanity."

"Well, life's never boring with Sherlock." John grinned, "anyway, onto the case; sorry for rushing but I can't be gone for too long." Greg nodded understandingly as John pulled out the notebook from his coat pocket and slid it across the table towards him. "I was thinking that the case would be brilliant if different parts of the cases that we've done were combined."

Greg looked up to meet John's eyes, a bit of worry in them. "All of them?"

"Well the most eventful ones, I've listed them right here," John gestured towards the page which was densely packed full of scribbles. Greg's face didn't seem to show any relief. "I wrote all of the things that the case should include while I was in the cab on the way here. Do you think it's possible?"

"Oh yeah, it's possible." Lestrade replied, scanning the contents of the page, "it'll be a bit difficult though."

"Well I can help out where I can." John smiled, "I'll get a few people in on it too so they could help a bit, like Molly. Molly can provide the corpse as she works at the mortuary "

Greg chuckled at John's optimism, "you've really done your homework here, John."

"Yeah well I want this to be perfect." The blond suddenly took in a sharp breath, 'shit' John thought, did he just blow it? He glanced at Lestrade who was now looking at him with curiosity, hopefully due to John's sudden change in behaviour.

"Are you alright, John?"

"Yeah, just not feeling right today, I think I've worn myself out." Well, his statement wasn't technically a lie.

"You seem to be quite focused on this, why does this have to be so 'perfect'? It is Sherlock after all, just give him a corpse and he'll be over the moon." The DI joked. "You're putting an awful lot of work into this." His expression suddenly changed; he revealed a look of concern.

"I want to put a lot of work into this." John stated, "Sherlock is my best friend and I feel his astonishing talent is underrated, why not let him do what he loves-and is truly brilliant at- for Christmas?" Greg just sat speechless, staring at John. "I couldn't think of anything else to get him for Christmas anyway." John joked, putting the topic on a much brighter note.

"Oh, well fair enough then." Lestrade smiled and finished his coffee with one final gulp.

"When will the case be ready?" John asked eagerly.

"Well, there's a fresh corpse in the mortuary at the moment, he practically had no family and he was a rather isolated chap, I can't imagine that he would have had any close friends, so that's ideal as there shouldn't be many conflictions with anyone- thank goodness, none that we can't work around anyway. We have the details of his profile and we have all of the things you've requested ,so it will be ready any time you want really. Everything seems well thought out so it should be quick to organise. Thankfully, you've made our job easy ; well, except for this one here," Lestrade pointed to the bullet point on the notepad and showed John. "We can't determine when a starry night will be...are the stars a reference to that case with the fake painting? 'The Great Game', I think you called it?"

"Yes, there were a lot of astronomical related things in that case, what could be a better link to astronomy than stars?" John replied, "and I understand that it may not happen, It was just an idea which I liked a lot." John smiled; he was becoming excited as he visualised everything vividly in his head, the location, the hints and Sherlock's face will be absolutely priceless. Unfortunately though, the vibration of the phone in his pocket interrupted his thoughts. He pulled it out and unlocked the screen to reveal a message: 'Where are you? I told you to get milk, not a cow-SH'

John laughed softly at Sherlock's impatience before slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Well Sherlock's getting suspicious, I best be going. I shall text you when it is time to tell Sherlock about the case."

Greg was fishing for money in his wallet as he acknowledged John. "Okay, have a good evening, don't stand for any rubbish from him and don't get involved with any more hands." He teased before leaving a tip on the table.

As John knocked on the door of the flat, he immediately heard Sherlock's deep voice. "Finally, you're back. I've been dying for a cuppa. Where the hell where y-" The detective swung the door open to be greeted with John, shivering with his skin as pale as the frost that had settled on the grass that morning. In one hand was a bottle of milk, in the other was a steaming Starbuck's cup. "Oh."

"Still want that c-c-cuppa?" John trembled. Sherlock immediately took the milk and coffee out of John's hand and vanished behind the door without saying a word, not even a 'thank you'. The blond sighed shakily as he trudged over to the fireplace and hovered his hands over the flames to soak up its heat; he was soon startled though, by a pair of familiar arms which wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Thank you," Sherlock whispered, "the kettle's boiling."

"So you don't want the coffee I bought you then?" John asked, relaxing as he felt warmth radiate off of the slim figure holding him.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. The kettle's boiling for you."

"Ah, you're a life saver." John smiled.

"I know." Sherlock sat in his armchair, pulling his companion with him and onto his lap. "Fancy a take-away?"

"Sounds marvellous."

"How about a curry to heat you up?" The detective teased.

"More in the mood for a Chinese. "

"Chinese it is."

The room eventually became quiet; only the sound of the crackling flames, the ticking clock and the breathing of the two men filled the room. John snuggled deeper into Sherlock's embrace, stealing every little bit of heat from him. As he did so, he felt himself slowly drifting off into a gentle slumber, only to later be interrupted by Sherlock gently nudging him. "John, "he whispered, the kettle's finished boiling; and you're cutting off the circulation in my legs. I don't mean to be rude, but move your arse."

The blond grumbled but obeyed, sleepily transitioning over to the chair opposite him to free Sherlock, who made his way towards the kitchen. He looked around the room, trying to wake himself up when he spotted a bullet hole above the sofa. "Sherlock?" He called to the kitchen.

"Yes?"

"What did the wall do to you this time?"

"Oh I got bored." Sherlock replied as he bought the steaming cup of tea and his coffee into the lounge.

"Bored?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock replied as he handed the doctor his tea and sat across from him. "Bored."

"What happened to your milk experiment?"

"Repeat that back to yourself. Do you see how bored I was now? I so desperately needed a case that I resorted to playing with milk. Milk. And I found it interesting until I realised how dull it was compared to a murder. So I took my boredom out on the wall. For goodness sake, I will even resort to taking a five now. Five. I never take a five, I always accept a case that is six or higher!"

"Well have you contacted Lestrade today?"

"Yes, I called him about 3 hours ago." The detective replied helplessly as he took a sip of his coffee.

"Well there's no harm in trying again, is there?"

"What are the odds of finding a case that's higher than a five so close to Christmas? Everyone is so happy and jolly that nobody wants to kill anyone." John couldn't help but laugh. Sherlock Holmes was the only person John knew that was disappointed because people are too happy to kill.

"You never know."

"I always know."

"It's a figure of speech, Sherlock." John sighed. "Just send him a text!"

Sherlock folded his arms, not wanting to give in and be proven wrong; but he had a little voice at the back of his head that kept saying that John could be right. He jigged his leg restlessly and ruffled his hair in frustration for a good two minutes as his short, quick breaths broke the fragile silence in the room. As the clock ticked on, the thought of an available case became more and more probable to Sherlock. Much to John's relief, after a few more minutes the raven-haired man finally gave into temptation, and started running-literally- towards the kitchen table where his phone was located. John took this to his advantage by sending a text to Lestrade: 'Now- JW'