Snow was falling in furious flurries, dancing and playing along the window panes and kissing the ground chastely. John Watson was sitting in the window seat of his dormitory in Gryffindor tower, smiling out at the weather. "Here's the tea." Sherlock said, handing him a mug of tea and sitting on the floor by the seat. "Merry Christmas Eve, by the way."

"Merry Christmas to you, too." John took a sip of tea, then looked over his shoulder to see his friend, who was staring into the fire in the center of the room. There was a hint of sadness in the stoic eyes, one only John would ever catch. "What's wrong?" He snapped the new laptop closed, swung his legs around, and dropped to sit on the floor next to Sherlock.

"It's our last year, John. We graduate in a few months."

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Well, then what?"

"Aren't you going to work with the Ministry? In the Department of Magical Catastrophes? I mean, they did initiate your grade skip so you could get there faster."

"I meant us. You're going to St. Mungo's to be a healer, and we won't see each other again. You're my only friend, John." Sherlock didn't turn his gaze from the fire.

John shook his head. "Wait, who said we weren't going to see each other again? If I still plan on hanging around with Lestrade and Molly and Sarah after school, then why wouldn't I hang out with my best friend?"

"I'm your best friend?" Sherlock's head shot up to look at John.

"Of course you are. I was actually just online looking for flats in London, I thought we'd split the rent on a place."

Sherlock nodded. "That sounds good." He took another large swallow of his tea and then said, "Wait, is that what that thing is?" He waved at the computer.

John stared at his genius in disbelief, then remembered Muggle devices were foreign to him. "Yeah, it's a laptop. My parents sent it for Christmas. You can get online and do all sorts of things." He opened it back up and clicked on a tab. A blue screen came up and several white boxes with words in them littered the center.

"What is that?"

"It's called a blog. I run one about my life and the misadventures we get into."

"Why?"

"Why not?" John gave the laptop to Sherlock. "Here, I opened up several websites you'd like. Just scroll through and be entertained. This one is Tumblr, the blog one. I also pulled up YouTube, Wikipedia, and Google." He plugged headphones into the port and gave them to Sherlock. "Go nuts. I'll be back in a bit. I need to call my family."

An hour later, John came back into the dorm room to find Sherlock still glued to the screen, the laptop on the floor in front of his crossed legs and his fingers were steepled under his chin in concentration. He looked over the top of the screen to see something on YouTube, a playlist of short of videos of people slapping each other, or dancing with their cats. "I see you've found vines."

Sherlock nodded, took the headphones out and snapped the laptop shut. "But I'd prefer to stay in this world, thank you, not the Muggle one. They all seem like idiots."

"They seem that way because most people on YouTube are idiots."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Wanna go mess around in Hogsmeade?"

"I thought that place was 'dull'?"

"Yes, but you like it, and as they say: 'YOLO'." Sherlock said in his 'factual voice'.

"How about we go to Hogsmeade, I buy you a butterbeer, and you promise to never say that again."

Sherlock considered this proposition. "Fair enough."

The walk to Hogsmeade was always a tough one in the winter time. The two seventh years had put on long sleeved shirts, coats, and scarves, but their cheeks were still a burning pink by the time they reached The Three Broomsticks. "Two butterbeers, please." John exchanged money for two warm mugs, and brought them over to the booth Sherlock had picked out. "Here's yours." He slid in next to his friend.

"It's too cold out, John." Sherlock complained, scrunching his noise in disapproval at the window.

"And what would you like me to do about it? I can't exactly change the weather." Sherlock shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. There was silence in the booth as the two friends enjoyed each other's company and the small buzz their drinks gave them. When they were reaching the bottom of their glasses, a small tap came on John's shoulder. He turned, but there was no one there. He went back to his glass. The tap came again, and when John didn't turn, it tapped him again. Still, John didn't react, and when the mysterious tap came a third time, John moved at top speed and caught the offender. It was a soft, slender tail. John dropped it and turned back to Sherlock. "How many times have I asked you to stop doing that?"

Sherlock finished off his drink and turned to John, this time having sprouted sleek ebony cat ears out of his curls. "I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe you're going crazy." He tried to look innocent.

"Shove it." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't think just cause you've sprouted ears, that automatically gives you the right to act 'cute'."

The ears flattened irritably, then vanished again. "Well, fine. You have a foam mustache, by the way."

John wiped the froth from his upper lip and smiled. "I've always considered growing a mustache."

"No." Sherlock said simply.

"It's my face, why shouldn't I grow a mustache?"

"Because you'd look ridiculous."

"You think I look ridiculous all the time."

"No, just when you try to do potions homework. Or any homework, really."

John turned around and gave the tail (which was still poking him in the ribs) a firm tug. Sherlock hissed lowly and the black wisp of fur disappeared promptly. "What's wrong? Don't like your feathers ruffled?" John teased.

"John, didn't your mother ever teach you not to pull a cat's tail? We have claws for a reason."

"She only taught me to never pull and innocent cat's tail. You, however, are not innocent." John got up out of the booth and stretched. "Let's go. I have a surprise for you."

Sherlock huffed at losing the argument, and stood up, rubbing his tailbone as he did. They bundled back up and walked out into the cold. It was a short trek over to Dominic Maestro's Music Shop, and the warm air inside was as inviting as the enchanted instruments that floated through air, a melody trailing after them. "Ah, John. I was wondering when you'd be back. It's ready for you." Dominic was a friendly old man with callused hands born from many years of music-making.

"What's ready?" Sherlock asked.

"You'll see." The shop owner came back up from the back room, carrying a black case with a bright blue ribbon wrapped around it, and set it down on the counter. John nudged his tall friend. "Go ahead. Open it."

Sherlock made his way over to the counter, and ever so gently, pulled the ribbon until it fell away from the case like water. When he opened the lid, a hand-crafted violin stared back at him, and his breath caught in his throat. It had been carved from cherry wood, and the stain made it a deep, tantalizing auburn. The bow was black and the hairs had been carefully colored a brilliant silver. Sherlock pulled the instrument slowly from it's case to inspect it all over. John watched his friend carefully turn the woodwind over and see the inscription. In silver script near the neck, it read:

'To Sherlock,

Merry Christmas.

-John.'

Sherlock pulled the violin sharply up into position and danced the bow across the strings, relishing the clear and concise melody he elicited. When the short song had ended, he looked at his friend with tears in his eyes. "How did-"

"When I was at your house this summer, Mycroft told me that your dad had smashed your violin in one of his rages. So, I talked to Dominic here and designed you a new one to give to you for Christmas. Do you like it?"

Sherlock didn't answer, only threw his arms around his friend and started to cry.