Chapter Two.

The damage was extensive. And it wasn't just the scenery damage - physical, and mental damage was also rather extensive. John stood, glancing around him, looking a little bewildered if anything. Fortunately, he hadn't suffered much - due to Sherlock's quick instinct when it came to the masked man who had tried to strangulate him - but he still had ripped clothes. Well - a ripped jumper.

His holiday jumper was ripped. Great. Sarah was going to be ridiculously angry, after all she had bought it for him. John knew that his current girlfriend was rather pissy when it came to gifts.

Ah, well. He would just have to explain that it was the assassins' fault. Certainly, hadn't been him.

How long do we have to stay here?" John asked, stretching numb hands as he glanced at Sherlock who was sat on the floor, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"Not long," he responded quietly, "well, perhaps for you."

John managed a tired smile.

"Well, you did lead a murderous band of syndicates to a children's nativity." The doctor answered ruefully as Sherlock glanced up and quirked his head.

"Not on purpose," the curly haired man muttered, "I genuinely believed I had lost them."

"Why were they chasing you anyway?"

"Not important," Sherlock shrugged coolly, "I've become rather used to it anyway."

Their conversation was cut short as Lestrade's figure became clear in the doorway and approached them. The detective inspector's face looked a lot less livid now than when he had first spoken to them an hour or so ago.

He walked up to them, holding an ice-pack to his head with one hand while the other, held the small hand of his daughter's. He looked up and grunted as a primary greeting.

"Evening, Abby," John greeted the young girl sheepishly, just passing Lestrade a rather pained smile.

"Hullo Dr John," the small girl beamed before quirking her head, "Oh, your jumper!"

"I know." The man stated with a sad huff as his eyes eventually drew back to Abby's - clearly uncomfortable father.

Considering the kicking he recieved, John imagined that it wasn't just Lestrade's head that was aching.

"John, you're free to go," Lestrade mumbled lowly as his eyes flickered towards Sherlock who looked up wearily in greeting, "You, not yet."

"How's Anderson?" John asked, knowing that the man hadn't looked well the last time he saw him. The forensic specialist had been scrambling around on the floor when the police burst in. He had two masked fugitives after him - John was surprised he managed to keep away from any permanent facial damage considering the mauling he recieved.

"Alive," Lestrade responded nodding his head faintly, "Might give him a day off though; poor bloke's talking to himself."

Sherlock chuckled a little. John cleared his throat stiffly, knowing that wasn't exactly funny.

"You... you alright, Lestrade?" the doctor then inquired, teeth gnashing together as Lestrade eyed him blankly.

"Been better," the other man answered quietly, glancing down at his daughter, "but as long as the ninjas -" Abby giggled a little, swinging her father's hand, "...have been caught... then it's all been... worth it."

"Ninjas!" Abby then intruded, grinning from ear-to-ear actively, "Did you see them Dr John! Daddy was fighting them!"

"You saw them?" John asked, blinking widely.

"Yeah. I hid behind to wait for Daddy," Abby said, a little shame-faced as she passed her father an apologetic smile, "It was so cool thoooough! And I saw you Dr John! You..." a small pink blush formed on the girl's cheeks, "crushed our manger!"

John redded instantaneously.

"And... destroyed our sheep! And fell into our barn! And broke Jared's sheep-stick-thingy!"

Lestrade managed a tired chuckle as he patted Abby's halo. "That's enough now, Abby. I'm sure Dr John didn't mean it."

"Oh no, I'm sure he didn't!" the small girl nodded, "but Aunt Sally said it was hilarious."

Donovan, it was fair to say had escaped the ordeal with the most benign of injuries. She was barely touched. If that wasn't a sign of female empowerment, John didn't know what was. It reminded him not to ever pick a fight with her - no matter how drunk he was.

As John opened his mouth to peruse the matter, a figure appeared by the open door just to the right of them. It was the young girl's head that turned first - and then Lestrade. John watched as the inspector cursed a rather spiteful cuss beneath his breath as Abby ran down the corridor and shrieked,

"Mummy!"

"Oh, sweetheart," Elizabeth Lestrade wandered up the corridor, eyes narrowed in confusion at the state of her husband. "Abby," she gave her daughter a bright smile as her eyes glanced up at her husband and gave him the "we'll talk later" gaze.

John passed the woman a polite hand wave while Sherlock, sat still thoughtful - his gaze boring into the chestnut flooring.

"There... were police...tape... I -" the woman rambled as she emitted a loud sigh at her husband's ice pack, "are you okay?" Maternally, she reached out a hand and inspected the bruise concernedly.

"Long story," Lestrade muttered with a small breath as he shook his head, "I think we should take Abby home."

His eyes glanced back at John, and then flicked gravely at the meditating detective.

"I'll call you tomorrow - him," Lestrade waved it off, looking simply like he'd had enough, "Silverson case. I'm sure... Sherlock's clearance won't be long. He just... has to explain why the bandits were after him."

"Bandits?" Elizabeth gawped. Lestrade noted that his wife's jaw seemed to have fallen.

He felt his temples throb. Oh goodie.

"Liz, let's... talk about it on the way home yes?"

"But -" the woman just clamped her lips shut and began to wander down the corridor with her husband, turning briefly to give John a polite hand of goodbye.

"Oh, Abby," she glanced down affectionately at her daughter's adorable costume, "did you enjoy your Nativity? Sorry Mummy couldn't make it sweetie."

Clearly, she still didn't understand that the police cars were here for the Nativity. Lestrade's migraine was certainly not permitting him to correct her. It seemed far safer to allow for the woman to think that the Nativity took place.

It did, for about twenty minutes or so.

"Oh yes!" the girl clucked joyfully, grabbing her dad's hand again, "It was the best Nativity ever!"

"Good," her mother chuckled, glancing up at her unsettled looking husband with a relatively impressed smile, "wow - that's -"

"Daddy fought ninjas!" Abby blurted out, happily oblivious.

Elizabeth's smile fell. Greg swallowed.

Ninjas; she certainly hadn't seen them in any of the three Nativities she had attended. Her eyes mockingly wandered over to Lestrade's - whose eyes seemed to have made it a mission to avoid her gaze as long as possible.

"Did, he now?" she quipped, smile stretching mockingly, as she glanced at her husband bitterly, "Did you fight ninjas, sweetheart?"

"Yep!" Abby stated happily, "and one of them... kicked him in... the marbles."

The girl erupted out into a fit of giggles, concealed only by the hand that she had slapped over her lips.

"In his marbles," her mother repeated giving her crimson-faced husband a soft nudge. The disdainful grin on her lips immediately faded as she found her daughter's giggles to be far more empowering.

She found herself smiling too.

It was here that she noticed that he was limping ever-so-slightly. She pressed her lips together and shook her head, suppressing the urge to laugh as best as she can.

John watched as the family departed. He was free to go too. But somehow, he felt the need to wait for Sherlock anyway. It would be interesting to see how Sherlock explained the whole incidence to the officers - perhaps that was why he stayed.

There was also the matter that he had forgotten the house keys at Sarah's. Leaving without Sherlock seemed a little bit futile. He would have to disturb Mrs Hudson - something that wasn't a good idea when the soaps were on.

Glancing down, he realized that the detective was on his phone.

"Oi, you're in trouble," John teased, "no phone privileges."

"I was looking for dinner, actually," Sherlock retorted with a pressed smirk, "I'm starving."

"Oh," the doctor couldn't argue with that. He nodded before pressing his back to the wall and sliding down to join his flat mate onto the floor.

Huddled in silence for a few seconds, John's eyes swivelled towards Sherlock curiously.

"So," he commented curiously, "ever did the Nativity at your school?"

A rather offended expression brewed on Sherlock's face.

"God no," he responded facetiously, shaking his head, "Acting never appealed to me."

"Oh," John blinked, "well... you must have at some point." He was under the impression that everyone had done a nativity play. Even if one had been casted into the most insignificant role.

"Never," Sherlock affirmed before narrowing his eyes in remembrance and playfully glancing back at John, "However, I distinctly recall that Mycroft has."

The doctor arched a brow at the gleeful expression that had formed on Sherlock's face.

"Really?" the man pressed his lips together to conceal a large smile, "what was he?"

"Mary."

"No."

"Yes."

John clamped a hand over his stomach as he burst out laughing. Sherlock, upon hearing the laughter, was soon infected and joined in the childish hysteria.

"B-B-But... why?" John blurted out, managing to compose himself.

"It should be worth mentioning that it was an all-boy's school," Sherlock remarked with a slightly sombre expression, "Female roles still had to be played."

"But still." John stated, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Exactly."

"God," the doctor took a deep breath and wiped a bemused tear that had formed at the corner of his eye. He then glanced at the other man and asked, "Sherlock?"

"Yes?" Sherlock turned to him, attentively.

"Let's never go to a children's nativity again." John announced, face still pink from laughter, "Agreed?"

"Agreed." Sherlock affirmed, "They're boring anyway."

A small silence ensued as John stretched out his hands and listened to the soft, humdrum of traffic outside. It took him a moment to realize that Sherlock was staring at him.

"Lestrade's daughter was right." The detective retorted simply.

"What?" John inquired, baffled.

"Your jumper," Sherlock murmured, arching his head as he scrunched his nose, "it's hideous."

"She didn't say it was hideous!"

"Oh," Sherlock blinked, "well... it is."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"That was sarcastic, you bastard." John commented, knowing inwardly that he agreed as he expressed a chuckle, and quirked his head to glance at Sherlock's face.

They both exchanged warm smiles.

"I can't wait for Christmas, can you?" John quipped, sighing nostalgically as he eyed the other man.

"Of course not," Sherlock stated dryly, "after this debacle; I'm just brimming with Christmas spirit."

"Oh." John blinked.

"That was sarcastic, you bastard." Sherlock remarked back, with a shake of the head.

Another array of laughter ensued. John wasn't sure how long they laughed in the end.

It wasn't until Sherlock was laughing longer than him that it occured to him that the detective was mildly concussive. About to point this out, John had found that Sherlock had fallen asleep on the floor - head pressed onto the wooden table that was positioned beside him.

Rubbing his eyes, John took a breath. He smoothed the front of his jumper and glanced at the dozing body of the detective.

"I suppose I should stay," he muttered, crossing his arms playfully as a smile tugged at the sides of his lips, "just in case there are any more assassins after you."

The detective mumbled something, clearly still sleeping. John took that as a thank you.

"No problem Sherlock," he said with a soft smile, "I've become used to it too."

A/N:

I thought that would never end. Goodness! But yes. Thanks for reading.

I hope you had a good Christmas. See you in the New Year for 01x02. Can you wait? I seriously can't.

Laterzz, guys. (if you haven't seen the online previews, you must!)