A/N I can't promise that every chapter will write up this quickly but here you go – two in one weekend:D It's a bit shorter than the last one:)

Thank you mattsloved1 for having the patience to look thorough my work.

4. Winter Wonderland

performed by Felix Bernard

Have you ever wondered how something so outrageous, so impossible can happen to you? Have you ever stood someplace trying to figure out how this can be your life? It was like they say when you see everything flow in slow motion. But then it was like everything moved too fast, a blur of bright colours and wonder, sounds and hopes beyond my greatest imaginings, a magical calliope, when Sherlock swept into my life.

"This man couldn't possibly be Mycroft's fiancée."

"What are you saying, Sherlock? Don't be ridiculous."

"Me ridiculous, Mother? This man is clearly an Army doctor who's been invalided home from Afghanistan. He lives for danger and is easily bored by a quiet and uneventful life. Although Mycroft has had some interesting things happen to him, like someone shooting him, that's a one off. Normally the most exciting thing that happens to him is if they're late bringing around the tea tray at the Diogenes Cub or perhaps when Korea gets into a bit of a snit. What on earth could interest a man like this in my brother?" He waved his hand back and forth in John's general direction, before turning to him to say, "Oh and your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid."

"Sherlock, behave! You're brother getting shot is neither interesting nor exciting! Stop this instant." The blood had rushed from Veronica's face while Sherlock spoke and then flowed back again, making it all blotchy from a combination of fear for Mycroft and anger at Sherlock.

"Sorry Mother, but this man here? Mycroft's fiancé? Not likely. Quick, don't think! What's Mycroft's favourite song as a child?"

"Er…"

"Puff the Magic…" began Greg.

"Dragon. Dragon!" finished John.

"Don't help him, Lestrade!"

"Sorry! Reflex."

"What accessory is Mycroft never without?"

"An umbrella."

"Hmmm, yes, well that was an easy one. If Mycroft could only have one dessert for the rest of his life what would it be?"

"Ummm, tri…fle?"

"Sherlock, come in, sit down and cease bothering John."

Sherlock continued to regard John with deep interest and John tried not to squirm and stared steadily back at him. He sat when Veronica handed him a plate of trifle and began to shovel it into his mouth in a way that suggested he might not have eaten for several weeks. The entire time his eyes did not stray from John's face. It made it rather interesting to watch him place the fork in other locations besides his mouth once or twice. John tried very hard not to think about that mouth as the forkfuls went in. That lush, pink mouth with the full lips, shapely and…

The clatter of the fork hitting the plate pulled John out of his musing about Sherlock's lips.

"I really can't stay long, Mother. I have some interesting leads regarding Mycroft's shooting I need to follow. I came to get Lestrade to see if he could move off of the sofa and help me out." His eyes glimmered with interest and a hint of mischief. "But now that I have met John, I suspect he would do nicely. You are an army doctor, correct?"

"Yes, but…"

"Seen lots of action? Too much perhaps?"

"Enough for a lifetime."

"Ready to see more?'

"God, yes! If…if that's all right with everyone? If I just leave for now?"

"Of course, dear," said Veronica. "It would be good for you to get to know your future brother-in-law. Perhaps you can get him to act a little more civilised."

Lestrade sat forward, "Now see here, Sherlock, if this is a police matter…"

"No time, Lestrade. You had your chance. Come John. There's a crime to solve! Oh, it's Christmas."

"Well, yes, it is."

"No Christmas. Oh, I see you mean Christmas. Yes, it's that, too. Come along, John."

Sherlock swept out of the room, pulling John along in the wake of his hurricane force, sweeping aside all of John's inhibitions, and it brought in feelings of worth and energy he hadn't realised he had been missing.

John was returned to his bedsit hours later by a slightly put out Detective Inspector. Flushed with the success of helping Sherlock solve the mystery of Mycroft's shooter. Lying on his small, uncomfortable bed, he grinned in the dark. What a rush to follow Sherlock through alleys as he chased him across rooftops all in search of a disgruntled former aid turned revenge filled cabbie. John lost Sherlock at one point and came across Sherlock confronting the former aid, Jefferson Hope, pistol pointed at Sherlock's head. A well-timed tackle from John had Hope trussed up like the turkey that had been consumed earlier. Hope lay there on the pavement, squirming. John made a comment about this being the craziest thing he had ever done and Sherlock had responded with, "you invaded Afghanistan!"

The warmth that suffused John's chest, like a winter sun on a cold, drab day, had filled him with such promise. All he could do was beam at Sherlock; he had to share with him the feeling that flowed through his veins. And then they giggled (giggled!) like fools. Lestrade chose that moment to drive up clearly annoyed with the two of them for having pulled him from his comfortable spot on the Holmes's sofa. Perhaps as well, a bit perturbed with John. John could see his point. After all, Greg had been trying to help him pretend he was Mycroft's fiancé and here he was chasing after Mycroft's lunatic younger brother. But what a night it had been! Sherlock had even managed to make his psychosomatic limp disappear for the duration of the evening.

The Holmes family was turning his life merrily upside down. In the last few days, Mycroft's parents and friends gave him much-needed love and affection. Sherlock gave him something even more precious, a new purpose in life.

As he thought this all through, his mind's eye turned toward the image of Sherlock, grinning at him. What if they had been alone a few minutes more? It was easy to imagine what might have happened, the adrenalin rushing through their veins, heat and spice. For a moment, John tried to stop thinking about Sherlock, about the wild curls that covered his head, soft and perfect for sinking his fingers into, his hand would do that, run through the incredible hair, pull Sherlock's head closer to him, tugging on it, guiding him. That implausibly lush mouth would curve up in a knowing smile, plump and full. John closed his eyes tightly, trying desperately to get the thought of that mouth out of his head, but he couldn't. That mouth demanded his attention, that mouth, wicked and smirking. He tried to stop the picture of Sherlock falling to his knees, looking up at John with those changeling eyes, cerulean, jade, stormy. Sherlock would raise an eyebrow and ask John if it was all right if he could do this. John could feel his breathing increasing as he lay there and he lifted a hand to his mouth and bit it, a muffled groan emanated from it. He could almost feel Sherlock's hand brush the front of his trousers lightly, but his own hand was the one to free his trapped member from his pants. He could see Sherlock's face turned up, his eyes fixed on John's face, waiting for any sign that John was hesitating. He would then pull down on the zip and take John's hard penis out of them. Playing a little, sweeping across the head, before engulfing him, licking, swirling, his hand guiding John's penis in and out, tasting the salty pre-cum, sucking on the velvet heat. In his room, with the thought of Sherlock's mouth, he quickened his pace, breath coming in gasps.

"OH SHERLOCK!" John shouted into the dark, empty bedsit. The release, it was as sweet as anything he'd ever had, all the better for it being Sherlock in his head, Sherlock who had moved in there in the few hours he'd known him, built a home for him, planted a garden. There may have been beehives there, as well.

And then, for the first time since he'd left the Holmes's house, he felt oddly guilty for having cheated on Mycroft.

Meanwhile, on the other side of London, the hospital was quiet, or as quiet as it could get. The nurses had been around to check on the slumbering patients and the lights in the hallway were dimmed. Not much was going on in the way of emergencies. Sherlock snuck in unseen and settled in by Mycroft's side. If Mycroft had been awake at that moment, the unaccustomed look of worry and fear upon Sherlock's face would have surprised him. It would have given him pause. He may have taken it as an opportunity to tease his younger brother about it, but not likely. It would have reminded him of other moments in their lives when he had worn a similar look on his face; their positions reversed. It also wasn't likely Sherlock would ever let his brother see this side of him, vulnerable, afraid.

Sherlock sat in the room, as dark as it would get due to the glow from the various machines hooked up to Mycroft. It certainly was not silent, the constant beep and hum making a pattern of sound.

"Typical of you to go out of your way to avoid our parents' Christmas. I had to make an appearance just to show them not all of their sons were in dire straits or neglectful."

Sherlock paused, his fingers played on his lips. "So, well done you. John is not what I would have expected. I mean as a choice for you. You know I have always looked up to you. It is not something I would ever say if you were in a conscious state so enjoy it while you have the chance. I have always admired you, used you as a role model when we were children. Did everything in my power not to be like you when I went to uni. I've come to gain a newfound, if reluctant respect for you since. You are my big brother and I hate to admit his but I would miss you if you were gone. It would break my heart."

He sat there, knees drawn up, hidden under his coat, arms wrapped around them as if to protect himself from these unfamiliar feelings. He spoke the last part, having to get it out while Mycroft was still unconscious, knowing he'd never be able to say it to him otherwise. "I have been, I admit, jealous of certain things that have come far easier to you than me. But this…"

He looked down at the floor and pulled his coat around him more firmly.

"Mycroft, I have never been more jealous of you than I have tonight. Well done. John is everything a man could want. I hope you two will be very happy."

He stood to go, thought a moment and then leaned down to whisper in his brother's ear. "I hope you appreciate what you have with John and endeavour to deserve him."