Hey everyone, sorry this is a little late. I wrote this little thing over Christmas at my grandparents' house, but I couldn't upload because there was no computer. So have a late Christmas fic... And a happy belated Christmas to you all!

Enjoy!

There was one time every year when it was quiet and calm in Baker Street. It was a standard rule that had been put up after the disastrous Irene Adler case and the possible Danger Night.

No, John Watson refused to experience another Christmas like that. Christmas was about joy and presents and spending time with your loved ones, not about identifying false corpses, deducing a friend to tears and searching your own flat for recreational substances. Not to mention getting dumped by your girlfriend in the process.

Which is why John Watson wanted Christmas something to be a time to enjoy. When there were cases, they had to wait. If there was new evidence, under no circumstances would Sherlock leave the flat. John practically had him on a figurative leash; every time the detective would try to sneak out, John would loudly clear his throat and the tall man would turn around and moan, 'But Jo-o-o-ohn...'

'Not today, Sherlock,' John would reply sternly. 'It's Christmas Eve, Remember what I told you. you agreed.'

'Nom I didn't – when?' he added almost immediately.

'Last year. After your Danger Night.'

Sherlock frowned and slumped down in his chair. John immediately walked up to the sulking detective and sank to his knees, coming to eyelevel with his. He ran a gentle hand through the dark curls and held it there. Sherlock closed his eyes and made a sort of content, purring sound. 'Now, Sherlock. This is our first Christmas together. We're going to have fun, okay? We can go out again on Boxing Day.'

'And when's Boxing Day?' Sherlock asked impatiently, pulling John half next to him, half on top of him on his chair. John went with a chuckle, quickly flipping them over so that he was sitting and Sherlock was on his lap, back to one armrest and legs over John's lap and the other. 'Damn you and your army muscles,' Sherlock muttered, wrapping his arms around John and pecking him on the cheek.

'Boxing day is on the 26th of December, Sherlock,' John grinned as Sherlock started nuzzling in his neck. The detective's hand crept up under his jumper and started playing with his shirt buttons playfully, but not opening them. Sherlock's head appeared again, a small frown and a pout on his lips. 'But that's the day after tomorrow, John! I'll be bored out of my mind!'

'I think I know exactly the cure for that,' John whispered as he kissed Sherlock softly. Sherlock leaned into the kiss and put his hand on John's cheek, arching his back off the armrest. One leg curled in pleasure, the other remained slung over the chair lazily, foot pointed elegantly.

They were so into the moment that they didn't hear Mrs Hudson come in with her famous "Yoo-hoo!" and so the elderly lady watched the two crime-solvers snog passionately in front of the crackling fire.

'You know, at my time of life...' she chuckled fondly, her smile growing as the two separated as if struck by lightning. They started blushing and John shooed Sherlock off his lap, getting to his feet himself and offering their landlady a drink.

'Thanks, dear,' she said, sitting down on John's armchair, knowing how they wanted to sit next to each other on the sofa. 'A glass of red wine would be lovely.'

As John made Mrs Hudson her wine and himself and Sherlock some brandy, Sherlock claimed a spot on the sofa, curling up but leaving room for John to slump against him.

John took the spot gratefully, handing Sherlock his glass and kissing him softly on the temple. Then, he sat down, pulled his feet underneath him and settled against the sharply defined but soft lines of his partner, holding his glass with his left hand and rubbing Sherlock's thigh with his right.

Over the evening, more people arrived; Lestrade, Molly, Mike, Harry, even Mycroft decided to drop by for a minute or so. Every time John would get up and serve his guests but he'd cuddle up next to Sherlock again later, who draped an arm over his shoulder and enveloped him in his warmth.

The flat looked very cosy; fairy lights danced across the living room, decorating the mantelpiece, the windows and the desk, even the skull with the headphones on. The Christmas tree was heavily decorated, sorted glass and plastic balls bordering on the obsessive compulsive. The skull, Billy, wore a Santa hat and it was snowing outside, showing the perfect picture of a white Christmas. A fire was blazing in the fireplace and John was wearing another one of his Christmas jumpers, warmly snuggled up to his detective.

Everything went fine that night; it was a much better Christmas than last year, they could all agree on that – even Sherlock. Snacks were being eaten, drinks were being drunk, games were played and stories were shared, and after a few too many drinks on both Sherlock's and John's behalf, the two shared a passionate snog under a branch of mistletoe that a giggling Lestrade held over their heads.

As midnight drew further and further away, Baker Street quieted again. In the end it was only Mrs Hudson, John and Sherlock, but when the latter promptly fell asleep with his face buried in John's lap, their landlady decided it was time for all to go to bed.

John dragged the tired detective to bed with him, concluding that the alcohol had drained him, Sherlock not being one for much alcohol on one occasion. So he helped him out of his evening attire and into his sloppy pyjamas, holding him close as he snuggled up next to him.

'Love you, John,' he heard.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' John replied in a slur.

John opened his eyes on a beautiful Christmas morning. He was instantly greeted by the – very much awake – eyes of his partner on the pillow next to him.

'Good morning,' he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

'Morning,' Sherlock replied, his clear eyes watching John like a hawk. Suddenly, John's opened wide, their dark blue shining with delight as he grabbed Sherlock's arm and ran to the living room with him.

'It's Christmas Day, Sherlock! That means... Presents!'

He looked like a little boy, the way he danced over to the Christmas tree and pulled Sherlock to the ground with him. Sherlock smiled at seeing John so happy and selected his first present to him. 'There you go. Open it.'

John did, eagerly. Inside, he found a small box, which he opened. There lay a brand new mobile phone; expensive and modern, but still small and practical enough for John to handle. He turned it around and found an engraving, but this time directed to himself; To me dear friend, protector, and blogger. X SH.

John smiled and threw his arms around Sherlock's neck. 'It's beautiful. And bloody expensive.'

'Money is not a problem,' Sherlock dismissed the accusation. 'You know that.'

'Yeah well, don't expect any phones from me,' John said, and selected one of his own presents. 'Here.'

Sherlock looked grateful with the gift alone but his expression changed to something deeper as he unwrapped his present. 'John,' he whispered. 'Thank you,' he said as he drew John in a bone-crushing hug. John smiled at Sherlock as he drew back and examined his new microscope. 'You say you don't have money,' Sherlock mumbled. 'This is way more expensive than that phone.'

'Not exactly,' John said, watching Sherlock fondly as he drew a fibre of the carpet and started examining it. 'I know someone, back from the old days. Sold it to me for a reasonable price if I helped him with some mystery concerning his wife. It was quite obvious, I didn't even need you.'

'You solved a case without me?' Sherlock asked, clearly interested.

'It was hardly a case,' John admitted, 'but technically, yes.'

'Tell me all about it,' Sherlock said, eyes black. 'Tonight.'

'Yes,' John laughed, giving Sherlock a kiss. 'Sure, you big idiot. I love you.'

The pile of presents became smaller and smaller. Both got some chocolate from Mrs Hudson, small things to put in their flat from Molly, a bottle of liquor from Lestrade and a miniature spy camera from Mycroft.

'It's a joke, Sherlock,' John had to explain, although he could not be 100% sure.

Sherlock got some more science equipment from John (because half of it was either gone, broken or missing), a new scarf, new gloves, some books on murder and biology and that sort of things, and lastly, a square package that Sherlock didn't recognise right away.

'That's a DS game, Sherlock,' John explained. '"Professor Layton and the Lost Future". I wanted to see whether you'd be such a detective virtually as well as in reality.'

'Hmm,' Sherlock hummed, eyeing the game suspiciously. 'I probably am.'

'We'll see,' John grinned.

When John opened the remaining presents he got from Sherlock, he received a new jumper ('sorry I burnt your last one'), a notebook with post-its and some pens ('so you can finally make a new casebook'), a new kettle ('again, sorry I spoiled your last one') and something that had John fall for Sherlock all over again.

'A three-night vacation at Cross Keys in Grimpen, Dartmoor,' John read.

Sherlock shuffled nervously under John's gaze. 'Is it okay?' he asked in a whisper. 'I mean, I wanted to get you something really special, but you don't have to have many things to make you happy, so I thought maybe this was a good idea...' His voice died slowly as John gave him a long, deep kiss.

'It's perfect,' he said.

'Okay,' Sherlock breathed, relief written clear on his face. 'Good.'

One day, a few weeks after Christmas, John came home from a long day at the surgery. Tiredly, he walked up the seventeen steps but stood still when he heard Sherlock shout loudly, clearly angry at something.

'Oh, come on! That is completely illogical! If there were giant caves under London I would have known! Time travel is just as plausible as this! How can a 20 year-old man accomplish this in just a few years? And where does the daylight come from? And then there's this – people don't have puzzles with them all the Godforsaken time! Illogical puzzles at that!'

John chuckled and shook his head. He'd known Sherlock wouldn't be able to solve the easiest of the puzzles; the nasty drag puzzles, sure, but the sneaky trick questions?

No, Sherlock Holmes' brain was too logical for that sort of thing. He didn't enjoy being outplayed by a fictional character.

But that didn't mean John couldn't enjoy his rants when he was at it.