This proved longer than I thought, so christmas will carry over to chapter 72. Enjoy.

Sherlock was awoken, late Christmas morning, by the sounds of laughter and gossiping, coming from the end of his bed. He lifted up his head, opening one bleary eye to see three people sitting in the small living room area of his room. All in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. Molly and Irene were nestled together under a large woollen blanket. Mycroft sat opposite, sipping tea and possibly reading the paper.

"Oh, sleepy head is up!"

Exclaimed one Irene Adler, who decided to brave the moderately warm room and rush over towards Sherlock's bed. The fireplace had been relit, but judging by the temperature of the room only recently. Irene sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed and poked him in the side. "Up you get, sleepy head!". Sherlock responded by sighing and pulling the covers over his head. Like hell, he was getting up. But Irene could be just as stubborn as Sherlock Holmes.

She pulled the covers all the way back and smirked, holding them tightly. Sherlock pulled the pillow over his head instead. So Irene wrestled that out of his grip too. "Leave me alone" He moaned, hiding his head in his folded arms. "No. It's Christmas, time to get up." She grinned and threw his dressing gown over his head and hurried back to the warmth of Molly Hooper and the pink, woollen blanket.

Sherlock groaned, pulling the dressing gown further across his head. "Help me" He murmured at his brother. Mycroft simply sipped his tea and declined. "I'm afraid I can't do that. They woke me up also. Best to hop out of bed and get things over with dear brother" Another groan and Sherlock pulled himself into a sitting position. He had a mind to continue whining or moaning but decided against it. He slipped on the dressing gown and stumbled towards one of the couches, sitting himself down next to Mycroft. Sherlock brought up his knees and wrapped his dressing gown tightly around them.

"The coffee on the table is yours"

Mycfroft barely looked up, turning the pages of the newspaper with boredom written all over his face. Sherlock nodded, picking up the warm beverage and almost sighing in pleasure as he took the first sip. He noted that Irene and Molly seemed to be bursting with some sort of secret. Oh, right, Christmas. That was most likely the reason for their expressions. Sherlock hadn't even bothered to buy presents, he hadn't been expecting them, or himself, to do anything for the holiday. Mycroft had probably taken care of things, if he suspected the other two were buying gifts. Just as well, Sherlock had no idea what to do in that department.

Irene looked at Mycroft silently asking him a question. He nodded shortly and put down his paper. Grinning, Molly hopped out of the warm confines of the blanket and headed towards the tree, she picked up a large box, not wrapped, but with a bow on top, and handed it to the confused detective.

"Happy Christmas" They chorused, a secretive grin was shared between both women.

"What is this?"

"It's a Christmas present silly" Molly laughed. "Open it". A present huh? For me? Why would they do such a thing? And why did the box seem to be moving? He pulled off the bow and ribbon and lifted off the lid. Inside was a small black creature staring up at him, with wide, piercing blue eyes. It mewed inquisitively and attempted to escape it's prison, with amusing results. It's paws grasped the top of the box and it attempted to pull itself up, causing the box to tumble over and the creature to tumble out.

The black kitten shook itself and stumbled out of the box, still getting used to using its legs. It mewed again, as if inquiring who opened the box and rescued it. Sherlock was so astonished by the animal that he had not spoken nor acknowledged the others for several minutes. The black kitten was tiny, with bright blue eyes and a small chunk appeared to be bitten from it's ear. On closer inspection Sherlock could see a faint scar across it's cheek, now mostly hidden by fur. This little fellow must have survived a brief attack as a newborn. It was a wonder it survived.

"No one wanted him. Because of his ear and the little scar. It's really sad, you can barely see the scar now and he has so much personality and he's so adorable. Isn't he Reanie?"

"He's certainly a playful one, very cheeky. Very vocal as well"

The kitten mewed loudly as if agreeing with Irene. A boy then. "Poor thing, he was the only one left, personally I think we got the best out of the litter." Sherlock had set aside the box and watched as the kitten explored his new surroundings. He was extremely curious as he wobbled around the couch, stopping at Mycroft. The elder Holmes raised his eyebrow at the creature, who chirped a hello. Mycroft sighed and picked him up, placing him back on Sherlock's lap, who still was unsure what to say or do.

Why give him an animal? He'd always wanted a pet, but father wouldn't have animals in the house. The detective supposed the idea was to make him feel less lonely, take his mind off what had happened to him, and missing John, and put it to taking care of a helpless creature. Sherlock picked it up, studying him. Small, perhaps the runt of the litter, different, unloved, unwanted, the freak. He felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. Yes, he would keep this kitten.

"Well?"

"What do you say Sherlock?" Oh, right.

"..Thank you" He responded quietly, the kitten chirped and poked him in the nose with his tiny paw. "What will you name him?" Molly asked gently, sharing a look with Irene, both pleased Sherlock liked their gift. That's right, he'll need a name and he had just the right one. "Milton" Mycroft snorted. Judging by the blank looks from Molly and Irene, Sherlock sighed. "John Milton? He wrote Paradise Lost."

"Oooh..right" You have no idea do you?

Molly grinned anyway and gestured to another box. "Some accessories for him. Collar, toys, litter box etc. Um, have fun toilet training him." Oh how wonderful. Milton meowed loudly once more, he disliked being ignored. He pounced at Sherlock and decided to explore the interesting smells coming from his dressing gown.

The gift giving continued. As Sherlock suspected, Mycroft had brought presents for the other two, Sherlock's behalf. For Molly there was a new flat, free from rent. She had spent so much time here that her landlord had finally had enough and informed her to make a decision, stay or leave. Mycroft had found a suitable flat, much larger and in a much more affluent part of London, actually not that far from Baker Street. Molly was of course beside herself, repeating over and over again she couldn't accept such a gift. Mycroft insisted, that her help in everything meant she did in fact deserve it.

For Irene there was a full pardon for her previous crimes and a pair of earrings, as Mycroft felt, in light of all her help, perhaps he ought to get her a proper present. Anthea had suggested earrings, and so he'd had earrings purchased for her. Irene had brought a pretty, if slightly revealing dress for Molly and Molly had purchased a set of dvd's that Irene had been raving on and on about for ages, but been too lazy to buy herself. They'd both brought Mycroft a new suit, unsure on what else to get, considering he allowed them refuge in his home, they thought they should at least buy him something.

Attention was once again pointed at Sherlock. He had rested his head on the arm of the couch, his legs drawn up and dangerous close to kicking Mycroft. Milton was exploring Sherlock's chest and face. Irene cleared her throat again. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" She pointed at a package in her hands. He sighed and sat back up, Milton protested and clung to Sherlock's shirt with his sharp, miniature claws. "You didn't have to get anything else. I won't be getting what I really want for Christmas anyway." Oh shit, he just said that last part out loud didn't he? The other's looked uncomfortable. Sherlock pulled off the paper with little care. Inside was a brand new Belstaff coat and a deep green striped scarf. Sherlock bit his lip and nodded a thanks. He'd missed his coat. He didn't feel himself without it.

The last gift was again for Sherlock. "I don't do gifts well, but I feel this time I have chosen wisely" Replied Mycroft as he handed over his present. Sherlock was rather surprised he had bothered at all, after all he himself had brought no gifts for anyone. Inside was an expensive and rather beautiful, black telescope and a book on stars. Sherlock let himself finally smile.

"Thank you Mycroft"

"Don't mention it" Just use it.

"I..don't have anything for you.." I'm not good at this either.

"Just get better and I'll count as even" That's all I ask.

"I'll try.." Somehow.

"Good, now, who is up for breakfast?"

Sherlock pulled on a pair of tracksuit pants and a plain blue top and fell back onto his bed. Milton gleefully exclaimed something in kitten speech and tried to climb up the bed post to join him. Sherlock reached down and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and plopped him on the bedspread. Picking up a discarded ribbon, Sherlock dangled it over the delighted creature's head.

"We're a pair, you and I. Both different, both looked upon with distain." Sherlock laid down on his stomach and rested his chin in his hands. The kitten watched him, munching happily on the ribbon. "No one wants to be our friend. Though.. I suppose I can no longer make that claim my own. Molly and Irene would certainly disagree with that conclusion. Still, I feel I am without the one friend who matters."

Milton stopped chewing and crawled back up to Sherlock's face and patted him on the nose. "Yes, I suppose you're right, I should stop feeling sorry for myself. You need to be fed don't you? And toilet trained. Don't you dare pee on this bed, pee anywhere else if you must, this is not my house."

He picked up the kitten and headed back towards the opened presents still under the tree. The others had left to go about their business, Molly and Irene were out for lunch and then Molly was going to visit her mother. They promised to return for Christmas dinner. That left Sherlock quite by himself for a few hours, which he preferred right now.

He took out the litter box and moved it to the corner of the room, filling it up. He placed two bowls beside it, filling one with water and the other with a small amount of food. As Milton happily chewed away, making pleased little sounds, Sherlock searched for the collar. It was deep blue, easily seen amongst the red wrapping paper. It matched his old blue scarf, Irene's little joke most likely. Sherlock put it around the kittens neck and patted it once on the head.

"That's you fed, perhaps I ought to feed myself. Be right back"

Sherlock opened the door, to find Mycroft waiting. "You have a package, an anonymous package Sherlock. Don't worried it's been scanned. I received one myself. I think perhaps you can deduce the sender. Report to me once you've finished with it. Best to bring the cat, I don't want him peeing or ripping apart the furniture" Sherlock had the desire to roll his eyes but as per normal nowadays, he did not.

"Fine."

"I don't like this Sherlock, I wanted him to leave you alone, but I suppose I was asking too much. Remember as soon as you are done" Mycroft turned and left for his office, a troubled look on his face.

Inside the package were two wooden boxes. One large, one small. Inside the large one was an iphone. The phone was much like his old one, complete with a cover, angel wings. Curious and finding himself becoming increasingly concerned for his own wellbeing, Sherlock opened the phone to find one new message. He clicked it and waited.

Hello Lockie!

Seb provided me with some rather interesting information the other day, before I sent Mycroft his little pressie. Apparently, you've recovered, or started to. Nice try with your disguises but the CCTV footage doesn't lie. I know it's you, I don't know how, but let's face it, more fun that way isn't dear?

This little gift is so we can keep in touch. I don't like what you started and your brother continued, it has to stop. If you don't stop your brother and his men, I will. And I know you don't want that. Now, no telling brother dear, he'll want to know what's inside so give him the little wooden box and the letter taped to the top of the lid. Keep the phone hidden.

I'll be watching.

Happy Christmas!

xxx Jim

Sherlock clenched the phone in his fist and a determined, dangerous look spread across his face. He was not going to play this game again. It would be pointless not to tell Mycroft about the phone, he'd probably already taken a peek at the package anyway. But Moriarty perhaps would already know that. So maybe it was the message inside that he was not to talk about. Do you really want to play this game again Jim? I do not, not with you. But if I must, then only one last time.