December 18: "Mycroft believes in Father Christmas and Sherlock does not." (from Aleine Skyfire)
A/N: Made this one a 221b on the first draft. :D
"What are you doing?" whispered little Sherlock. He'd snuck into the sitting room to retrieve one of his books, and was startled to see his older brother Mycroft, now nearly twelve, staring intently out of a window.
Mycroft gave a little start, then shushed his brother. "Shh! I'm waiting for Father Christmas to come!"
Sherlock gave a careless shrug, and whispered, "All right."
Mycroft looked confused. "Well, aren't you waiting for him too?"
Sherlock thought a moment, then shook his head. "Not really." He glanced around for a moment, then seeing his book in a chair across the room, retrieved it and made to leave.
"Well, I'll tell him not to leave you anything, when he does come," said Mycroft.
Sherlock shrugged again. "All right, Mycroft. But you know you won't see him."
"What do you mean?" Mycroft demanded.
"You just won't see him," said Sherlock.
"And why's that?" Mycroft eyed his brother disdainfully.
Sherlock sighed. Mycroft was far too convinced of Father Christmas's existence to warrant another argument, especially at an hour when they were both supposed to be in bed. "Because you'll fall asleep far before he comes," Sherlock reasoned.
"I will not!" said Mycroft, aghast.
"Yes you will," said Sherlock with a little grin. He tucked the book he'd retrieved under his arm, and scampered off to bed.