CHAPTER FIVE

John shifted the two small chairs together with frustration. Looked down at the small space created, knowing that there was no way he was going to fit, he was left him only one option. – The floor. – The idea made him groan. He hadn't slept on a hard floor since leaving the army and he was more than sure it would set off his shoulder. He was not keen of having that pain return; it had taken too long to get rid of it. He did not want to return to the hours of physiotherapy it had taken to get his arm back to full working order.

Sherlock sat leaning back again the headboard, his laptop open. "What are you doing?" His gaze shifting to watch John pulling the two chairs together. "John?"

Watson turned and stared at his flat-mate. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Attempting to find a place to sleep."

Sherlock frowned at him. "What is wrong with the bed?"

"I'm not sharing a bed with you Sherlock."

Holmes frowned up at him. "Why?"

John met his gaze with embarrassment. "Because, I'm just not. – It'll be awkward."

"You're being childish." Holmes rolled his eyes. "We're grown men John, not hormonal teenagers."

John suddenly felt as if he was being ridiculous. Was sharing a bed with Holmes such a problem? It wasn't like the man was going to try and seduce him in his sleep. He'd come to the conclusion that whatever had happened to Sherlock in the past and put him off relationships for life, hence the 'married to his work' mantra he'd given to John. Relationship's maybe, but what about sex? That small little voice taunted at the back of his mind. John shook his head and glanced around the room. He really didn't want to sleep on a hard wooden floor and the bed looked so comfy, even with Sherlock in it.

John walked towards the bed reluctantly, straightening the sweatpants he was going to sleep in. Lifting the corner, he crawled beneath the covers. There was a small knock the door that rendered the pair silent, they looked at each other when the door opened a crack.

"Are you boys decent?" called the now familiar voice of Anna.

Sherlock rolled his eyes once again and returned his attention to his laptop. "What do you want Anna?"

John shifted uncomfortably in the bed, tugging the duvet up as Anna strolled merrily into the room, a bottle of champagne and three glasses in her hand.

"It's Christmas Eve, Locky, you know what that means." She giggled.

Sherlock grumbled about the infantile shortening of his name, but John could see the small smile pulling at his delicate features. Holmes continued to type away as Anna settled herself on the end of the bed, folding her legs beneath her.

"Me and Locky…" she winked. "…used to do this every year, I'd sneak in here with a 'borrowed' bottle of champagne and we'd get frightful drunk. It was the only way to get through tomorrow." She laughed at John surprised stared.

"Shouldn't you be with your husband and son?" Sherlock asked trying his hardest to sound stern and unimpressed.

"Leo's can take care of Michael; it'll make a bloody change for him…" she complained, waggling the bottle at Sherlock. "Besides, I've missed this."

Anna's smile transformed from teasing to one of genuine affection that made John envious. He hadn't been this close to Harry in years, if ever. They hadn't had any Christmas Eve traditions… unless you counted their blazing arguments.

Sherlock looked up at Anna as she continued to wave the bottle at him. With a groan he closed his laptop, still frustrated there was no case. Getting out of bed to put the computer on the bedside table he wondering why this was the quietest Christmas he'd ever had.

"Here you go Locky." Anna laughed as Sherlock took the bottle from her outstretched hand. He hated it when people shortened his name, whether it was Jacob calling him Sherly or Anna's Locky, it infuriated him. Though as much as he hated it, it always felt rather nice, at least coming from Anna, Jacob's use of a nickname brought up memories he'd tried years to wipe from his hard drive.

Anna was what many people would consider the ideal sibling; she was sweet, endearing and looked up to Sherlock. She was very much like John, she wasn't put off by his brash and seemingly uncaring manner. But unlike John she'd never had cause to rake him over the coals when he was being insensitive or thoughtless. She never covered for his social mistakes, like John did. Anna would just stand there and grin.

He heard Susan complaining to her mother once that he was a bad influence on her little sister, and that if her mother had an ounce of sense she would keep the crazy detective away from her before he got her into real trouble.

As Sherlock popped the cork on the bottle he remembered how this 'tradition' had started. Anna had snuck into his room that first Christmas giggle like the naughty school girl she was, with a stolen bottle of his father champagne in one hand and a pile of magazines in the other. She'd jumped on his bed, handed him the bottle and began to flick though the pages, encouraging him to dish the dirt on the celebs. He'd told her it was impossible to deduce anything from magazine photos, before going on to correctly point out that a singer was gay and that three other celebs had eating disorders dispite their apparent good health. Since then, every Christmas Eve Anna snuck into his room with a bottle.

And they thought he was the bad influence?

"So, did you really save Locky's life."

"Stop calling me that, or you can leave right now." Sherlock ordered, pausing in the opening of the bottle.

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "Fine. – So…" she turned back to John, who was sat up in the bed feeling very, very uncomfortable. "…tell, tell. – I want to know everything."

"There isn't much to tell." Sherlock answered, as the cork popped.

Anna held up the glasses. "You always say that Loc…Sherlock. – I'm sure it was all very exciting, right John?"

John shrugged. "No really."

Anna saw the look that passed between the two men and chuckled. "See I know it was. – Tell me!" she demanded, thrusting a full champagne flute into John's hand.

"It really wasn't all that exciting… Sherlock was just being an idiot and almost took a suicide pill."

"I've told you John, I wasn't going to take the pill."

John glared at him with disbelief. "And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"So what did you do? – Rush to his side and convince him life is worth living." She said in a dreamy tone that had both men staring at her like she'd just grown two heads.

"Anna, this is real life, not one of those trash novel's you have a fondness for reading." Sherlock scolded. "John is not a knight in shining amour…"

"And he's anything but a damsel in distress." John chuckled at the image in his head.

Sherlock narrowed his gaze at John for a few seconds before settling down on the window seat, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Alright, so what did happen?" Anna sighed, taking a sip of her champagne.

"He shot the killer."

Anna frowned, John shifted in his seat and Sherlock looked out at the night sky.

"I thought you said it was a suicide pill?" she was confused.

"It was.." Sherlock glared at her. "Don't you read the papers?"

Anna shrugged. "Not practically, their kind of depressing… beside this was what, six months ago…" she looked to John for conformation. "…I was in France with Leo, visiting his family before the baby came. – Which of course, he decided to do two days after setting foot there."

Sherlock shook his head and left it to John, as if official blogger, to explain the case of 'A Study in Pink', while he watched the night sky and drank.

He had to admit he was rather grateful at the distraction. As much as John didn't want to share a bed with Sherlock, he wasn't overly keen on sharing a bed with John. In fact, he'd rather not even share a room with the man. His mind had been in chaos since he'd received that invite; he'd been suffering from bad dreams again. Moriarty's voice taunting him in his sleep, his promise to burn the heart out of him, it was terrifying to think that the madman knew enough about Sherlock to actually target those he cared about. He knew who he would go after, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Anna, his father and Mary. Maybe even Jacob…. And of course John, only next time, John wouldn't be walking away.

He still hadn't figured out how to deal with the man, if they ever found him. Staring out into the dark he knew he was out there somewhere. He probably had his minions watching him and his family. Waiting for the moment to strike again and this time succeed.

~ SHERLOCK ~

Two hours and a bottle of champagne later, Anna stumbled merrily to the door. "Well, I'll leave you two lover birds to it…" she winked. "…but keep the antics to a social volume will you boys, I do have a baby in the next room." She laughed, the pressed her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. "Nighty night." She whispered as she staggered out of the door closing it not so gently behind her.

"She never could hold her drink." Sherlock informed, climbing back into bed and setting down on his side, facing the window.

"She nice though. I like her." John informed, shifting bellow the duvet. "I can see why you care for her so much."

Sherlock grunted as if wanting to deny the accusation but unable to find the words. John chuckled softly as he switched off the light catching sight of the time. 3:00AM. He groaned and fell back against the pillow, eyes drifting closed, allowing the room to fill with silence.

"Jesus Sherlock!" John yelled, moving under the covers. "Your fucking feet are like ice! – Are you laughing?"

Holmes didn't answer but the movement of the mattress and covers confirmed John suspicions. He'd done that on purpose.

"Arse." He spat, closing his eyes once more.

A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing and faving, I'm honoured you like it enough. :D