A/N: I'm pre-writing all of these chapters as I likely won't have any/much computer access the next few days. I'M WRITING YOU FROM THE PAST. WHOOOOO *ghost noises*
DISCLAIMER: Please don't sue me because of this story. I don't own anything at all.
Mrs. Hudson was baking downstairs, and damn it all if John hadn't popped into her flat at least a half dozen times today. He was trying to lose the bit of fat he'd managed to get during his down time.
Apparently running after criminals was very good cardio.
He was just coming up the stairs, munching off the head of a gingerbread man, when he saw Mycroft through the front door. "What have I told you," he began as he walked in. "About just...wandering in? Just because you have a key, Mycroft, doesn't mean you're always welcome."
John almost burst out laughing, because Mycroft's eyes were trained solely on the now headless gingerbread man in his hand. "Mycroft,"
Blinking, Mycroft came back to himself. "Ah, yes, John." He smiled. "I was wondering if, perhaps, seeing as neither have us have family in London at the moment...would you terribly mind if I popped by for Christmas dinner?"
Sherlock,
Your brother is the giddy limit. He just invited himself to Christmas dinner. I wasn't even planning on having Christmas dinner.
Well now I am. With Mycroft. Jesus what have I done...
I wish you were going to be here. You could figure out how to change the locks or something so he couldn't get in. He is not the Holmes I want to spend Christmas with. You are.
Please come home.
John
A/N: INTENSE FEELS. also cuteness bc mycroft's being a butt-hole. Thank you for reading! Please review and...
DFTBA darlings, :)