A/N: Happy New Year! :) With less than seven hours to go until series 3 begins, hopefully it will be a good year :-) Anyway, when I began writing this chapter, I quickly realised that the idea I had for day 4 was absolutely awful, truly dreadful. Then along came the immensely talented Johnsarmylady (read her stories, they're brilliant!) with a different approach, and while I didn't (strictly speaking) use her excellent idea in it's entirety, the idea of a puzzle and the use of birds within the puzzle struck a chord. So THANK YOU JAL, you're a life saver! :-D

Please continue reviewing, I really do appreciate them, thank you so much! Please enjoy :-)

On the 4th day of Christmas my true love gave to me ...

29th December

The ringing 'phone had Sherlock racing through the flat from the bathroom and diving towards the desk that currently held more paper than was probably safe. Searching through the papers as they were thrown haphazardly to the floor in frustration, Sherlock finally found his mobile just as the ringing tone stopped. Growling in impotent rage, he opened the call log to find that the missed call (the third in the last five minutes) was an unknown number. When the mobile rang for a fourth time, Sherlock connected the call and raised the 'phone to his ear without bothering to check the number on the screen.

'Sherlock Holmes' stated Sherlock, his deep baritone voice reverberating through the empty flat.

The upper class tones of his older brother replied, 'Sherlock, an issue has arisen. I need you to come to the office, this 'phone line may not be secure.'

Sherlock groaned and pulled the 'phone from his ear to look at the screen. Above the words "The British Government" was a photo, that Sherlock had found during a random surf of the internet, of a triple layer chocolate cake oozing with chocolate flavour butter cream. Sherlock smirked briefly as he thought of what his brother's reaction would be to the photo being used to depict his telephone number in Sherlock's mobile phone. The smirk soon turned to a grimace when he could still hear his brother's voice calling his name.

Returning the 'phone to his ear he answered, 'What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy!'

'No. You're not!' Mycroft replied, the anger and frustration evident in his voice. 'I need you to be sensible and for once in your life, to do as you are told, Sherlock Holmes!'

'I can't possibly leave the flat, I am much too busy!' Sherlock replied in a petulant tone of voice.

The sound of grinding teeth could clearly be heard over the 'phone line before Mycroft finally gave a weary sigh and said 'very well Sherlock, I will be at Baker Street directly, if, when I arrive, you are no longer on the premises, you WILL be sorry! Do you understand me?'

'Goodbye Mycroft.' answered Sherlock as he ended the connection, and tossed the 'phone back on to the desk.

Running his hands through his dark hair, Sherlock shook out his curls as he walked over to his chair. Picking up his violin and bow, he checked the tuning, (still okay from when he had been playing it earlier before his bodily requirements needed to be met). He raised the instrument to his neck and slowly drew the bow across the strings, producing a long drawn out melancholy note. Losing interest, he lowered the instrument, picked up his cloth and wiped it clean of rosin, then loosening his bow, he placed them both in his case and returned it to his bedroom.

Walking back to the living room, he paused in the doorway to the kitchen. His feather experiments were on a temporary hiatus after he had somehow melted one of his conical flasks, Sherlock still wasn't entirely certain how he had managed that.

Hearing the door open downstairs, Sherlock moved rapidly to the sofa, and laying down he adopted his thinking pose. Footsteps ascended the stairs at a leisurely pace accompanied by the regular tap-tap of an umbrella. Opening the door, Mycroft stood at the entrance to the flat, and looked down at his younger brother, balancing a folder and a parcel wrapped in plain brown paper in one hand, while the other held his ever present umbrella.

'Don't pretend to be thinking, little brother, you know me better than that.' drawled Mycroft as he walked across to John's chair and sat down. 'I found this package on your doorstep addressed to you. You really should learn to take better care of your things, you know Sherlock.'

Upon hearing this, Sherlock catapulted himself to an upright position, strode over to the older man, and snatched the package out of his hand. 'Give me that!' Sherlock snarled before turning his back on his brother to begin his examination of the package. It was certainly considerably heavier than the previous parcels, though the wrapping was just as neat.

Clearing a space on the desk, he placed the package down. Carefully, Sherlock removed the paper, and lifted the lid of the box. Reaching inside, he pulled out a sealed clear plastic bag containing several jigsaw pieces. Putting the bag to one side for a moment, he picked up the accompanying note and started reading, a small smile crossing his face.

During Sherlock's preoccupation with the mysterious package, Mycroft had stood up and moved over to stand beside his brother. Eyes widening briefly in surprise when he saw what the parcel had contained, he quickly took advantage of the younger man's distraction and removed the note from Sherlock's hand. Showing remarkable speed for someone who professes such a dislike for legwork, Mycroft whirled away from his younger brother before Sherlock was fully aware of what had just taken place. Lunging forwards, Sherlock grabbed his brother's shoulder as he attempted to prevent Mycroft from escaping. The resultant tussle finally ended with both men sitting on the floor next to each other catching their breath, the note still firmly clutched in Mycroft's hand.

Sherlock pushed himself up with an irritated huff and made his way back over to the bag of jigsaw pieces on the desk and said sulkily, 'Fine, read it, if you must!'

Standing up, and calmly brushing down his suit, Mycroft walked over to John's chair and sat down. Straightening out the note, he began to read. 'My dear Sherlock, I have sent you as my fourth gift, 200 pieces of a jigsaw. In total, it has 1000 pieces and has been made especially for you. In addition to my future gifts to you, I will be sending a further 200 pieces each time until the puzzle is complete. Enjoy, my love. Always, Your True Love.'

Looking across at his younger brother, Mycroft raised his eyebrow in silent query. Sherlock glanced down at the, now open, bag of jigsaw pieces before replying, 'I've been receiving gifts from a secret admirer since Boxing Day. Apparently they follow the song 'The Twelve Days of Christmas', do you know it?'

'I've heard of it, yes. So this would be day 4?' answered Mycroft as he watched his brother put some of the pieces together.

'Hmm, yes.' replied Sherlock distractedly as he worked on the jigsaw.

Looking closer, Mycroft realised that although most of them were the inner pieces, there were some edges and most of them fitted together, leaving only a couple of dozen to be placed elsewhere when the rest arrived. One piece stood out as rather curious. The majority of the pieces were mostly brown in colouring, indeed they appeared to depict a song thrush, but the one that stood out was not brown at all, in fact most of it was a deep vibrant red. Pulling himself from his contemplation of the jigsaw pieces, Mycroft finally remembered why he had come to visit his younger brother in the first place, and looking around he eventually located the folder he had brought and bent down to retrieve it from where it has been thrown during their brief scuffle. Placing it on the coffee table he picked up his umbrella and walked over to the door.

'I need you to take a look at the file I brought Sherlock, it's a matter of national security, and if you have time to play with jigsaws, then you are obviously not busy. I will expect your deductions by the end of the day. DON'T make me force you!' Mycroft said as he opened the door to the flat.

'Busy! Go away!' Sherlock replied without bothering to look up from his task.

Mycroft shook his head in frustration as he walked down the stairs and out into the street to the government car waiting for him, hoping that once Sherlock had finished all he could with the jigsaw, he would be just bored enough to look through the file waiting on the coffee table.