Hello you all!

This is my first "Sherlock Holmes" fanfiction and just a one-shot. But hey, which fanfiction writer wouldn't be inspired by the latest movie?

Well, what's there more to say? This one's kinky, utterly romantic and pretty silly. Merry Christmas!

Note: Potential errors! No native speaker!

On the last day of Christmas my true love gave to me…

Sherlock Holmes, the infamous detective and brilliant mastermind in persona, was standing in front of a huge Christmas Tree, thinking intensely about where to put the next ornament, a classic red bauble. The whole problem was that he still hadn't made up his mind whether we wanted the ornaments to form a certain pattern or not. To him it seemed to be a matter which should be well deliberated.

If he chose to simply put the ornaments in the tree with no particular plan in mind, the danger was that he might subconsciously arrange them in a telltale way. Maybe he would form a pentagram without knowing or create a phallus with wooden stars. And while he had to grin widely at the image of Mrs. Hudson detecting the phallus, he thought that though this moment would be quite diverting it wasn't worth the things one could read into him by analyzing such a pattern. On the other hand… Good old Watson would see the tree as well. His grin became even wider, he mounted the ladder in front of the tree and hung the bauble up on a high branch. This would be the tip.

After he had climbed down again, he went over to a low coffee table which he had purchased in Hong Kong and picked up his pipe which he had already filled with tobacco before he got distracted by the issue of the pattern. He stuck the pipe between his teeth and lit it with a match, then he cast a concerned look at the cup of eggnog that was also sitting on a table. His loathing for eggnog was near to indefinite. To his mind the idea of putting an egg into an alcoholic drink or any drink for that matter was just utterly absurd. He furrowed his brows. "Why would anyone do this?" He sighed loudly. "Mrs. Hudson, of course." She really displayed a disquieting sense of tradition from time to time. Eggnog being an especially ominous part of this.

He picked up the cup, went over to the window, opened it and tossed the whole thing out on the street, where it shattered in front of a gentleman wearing a cylinder. The man looked up, an angry expression on his tired looking features. Ah, Mr. Fitzgerald, returning from – judging by his slovenly tied necktie and the stain of lipstick on his collar – a tryst with a woman. Holmes waved at him nonchalantly with his pipe, "Good evening there, Mr. Fitzgerald, how is your lovely wife feeling?" In the light of the gas lamp that was situated directly in front of his living room, Holmes could see Mr. Fitzgerald's Adam's apple bombing nervously in his throat. A tryst indeed.

"How nice of you to ask," the other man said, "She's feeling quite well."

Holmes smiled brightly. "Excellent, most excellent. Well then, since I don't intent to delay your return to her beloved arms, I bid you farewell. Merry Christmas!"

Mr. Fitzgerald's mouth formed an unconvincing smile and he answered, "Merry Christmas to you as well." Then he hurried down the street.

Holmes drew on his pipe while his eyes followed Mr. Fitzgerald, then he shrugged his shoulders and picked up a small wooden star that lay in a box with all the other Christmas ornaments. His lips formed a puckish grin when he looked at the tree. "So, where would the sides be?"

Five hours later Watson returned from the club. There had been an important business he had had to attend to. And since everything had worked to his complete satisfaction, he was in best spirits. He shut the front door behind him quietly, hung his bowler and his coat up on the rack and tugged the bag with his acquisition under his arm. Then he ascended the stairs to the second floor, trying to make as little noise as possible with his cane. The fact that the hallway was completely dark except for the sparse light of the street lamps that fell through the windows was a bit of an obstacle. Fortunately Watson knew the house like the back of his hand. Excluding Holmes' rooms of course which were always an utter mess.

He had just passed the door to the aforementioned rooms, when something grabbed his attention. He looked over his shoulder at the door and blinked so that his eyes would adjust to the darkness. Indeed, the door was slightly ajar and a faint light fell through the small gap. Watson made a step backwards and opened the door a little bit further. He rolled his eyes when he realized that he couldn't identify the source of the light with all the eccentric exotic plants that Holmes had installed in his living room. He pushed the door completely open with his cane and entered the room, only to be hit square across the nose by a rebounding palm leaf when he closed it again. He cursed silently and fingered his hurting nose. Apart from a scratch, it appeared to be intact.

He took a deep breath and ventured forward, more carefully this time, holding his cane in front of his face like a machete. The smell of the room, created by the multitude of palm trees and exotic flowers and the dubious chemical experiments Holmes conducted, was most peculiar and reminded Watson of his time in India. Once in a while he suspected that his roommate had purchased the plants just to see how Watson would react to them, so – in other words – to make Watson the subject of his scientific studies. This was a thought both alarming and flattering.

Suddenly another odor crawled up Watson's nostrils and he stood still, trying to identify it. His brows slid up towards his hairline when he realized that it was definitely a smell of burning. "Oh, Holmes!" He hectically hurried forward towards the source of the light, pushing leaves out of the way with his cane, ducking branches. He felt something tear at his pants, he banged his knee on something and another leaf hit him in the face, but finally he broke though the copse of absurd plants and arrived on a clearance, panting heavily. His eyes took in several things at once: There was a Christmas Tree next to the fireplace, Holmes was sleeping under it, curled up and hugging a wrapped up gift, the window next to the tree was wide open, there was something odd in the way the Christmas ornaments were hung up in the tree, the candles in the tree were burning and one of the branches as well. One of the branches was burning!

Watson laid the bag under his arm down hurriedly and scanned the room, hoping to find a bucket filled with water or something comparable. "Drat!" he exclaimed when he detected nothing of that kind, but then he spotted a jug with something liquid on Holmes' opium table. He rushed at it, grabbed it and turned around, barely noticing that Holmes had propped himself up on an elbow and was looking at him with a dozy, yet terrified expression. Watson didn't pay attention to his roommate, even when he yelled "No!", raised the jug and poured its content over the burning branch, unfortunately catching Holmes as well. The fire went out and Watson looked at the detective, who was now dripping with eggnog.

Holmes blinked a few times, while the silence stretched, then he wiped his eyes and said in a rather pouty tone," I hate eggnog!"

Watson looked at him, put down the jug and folded his arms. "Well, pal, then you should either see to it that no candles are burning while you're sleeping or you should keep a bucket of water around. Needless to say, that's just a suggestion."

Holmes seized a tail of his red velvet dressing gown and dabbed his mouth, looking altogether nauseated. "There is a much simpler solution: You should just refrain from saturating me with eggnog. And, chap," he looked up at Watson," that's not a suggestion."

The doctor raised a hand, slightly indignant. "Are you threatening me?"

The detective proceeded to clean up his face, but cast a brief look at Watson which implied that Holmes regarded this question as being completely and utterly absurd. "Of course not! But since I am without any doubt an expert as to the subject of human nature," he mopped his chin," and have made the observation that humans, especially men, seek revenge, I hypothesize that I will, involuntarily of course, return the favor if you choose to souse me with eggnog again."

Watson rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly and exasperatingly. "Oh, Holmes, now you're being silly! I know that you believe in free will."

"Nonsense!" Holmes answered nonchalantly, while he continued to clean himself.

The doctor took a deep breath and remained silent for a moment, then he lifted one brow and settled down next to Holmes, grinning subtly. "I see," he bent his leg, foot on the floor, "but just so that I don't err: If I ever spill eggnog over you again, you will do the same to me?"

Holmes looked at Watson, tilted his head and nodded as if this reaction was the most obvious and reasonable thing in the world.

"All right," Watson's grin widened" so then it's only logical to assume that you will also return the favor when I do this." He caught hold of the other man's hand that went on with wiping his face, leaned forward towards him and licked over Holmes' right jawline. The stubble of the other man's three-day beard was scratchy against his tongue, though not necessarily in a bad way.

The detective kept still and watched Watson out of the corner of his eye. His face didn't reveal in any way how he felt about the other man's approach. However, when Watson sat back a little, he commented laconically," I think your logic is flawed."

"Shut up!" Watson murmured and bent forward again, still holding the detective's hand. He licked over Holmes' left jawline, starting at his chin. When he had reached the spot just below his earlobe, the tip of his tongue continued upwards. And… Holmes sighed, scarcely audible. The doctor smiled. "I really don't understand what your problem is, Holmes. I find this eggnog quite delicious."

Finally Holmes grinned and said quietly, his deep voice soft," That's because the eggnog is on my face."

"You're a genius," Watson whispered while he licked slowly over the bridge of Holmes' nose," that's most certainly the reason."

"Naturally, that's the reason," Holmes murmured with a smug little smile, then he threw one arm around Watson and pulled him into a kiss. The doctor held Holmes' hand tight, while the detective licked over his lower lip, greedy and uninhibited. When their tongues met however, Holmes shivered with disgust and pulled back. "Urgh, you taste like eggnog."

Watson groaned loudly and released Holmes hand. "Will you give it a rest already?"

The detective raised both brows, looking innocent. "What? I've already told you that I hate eggnog! Consequently I can't possibly kiss you when your mouth tastes like it. "

Watson laid a hand on Holmes' chest and pushed him down roughly, so that he lay in a pile of wrapped up gifts. Then he hunkered over him, his mouth next to the detective's ear. "Hush. Just hush." He pressed Holmes' upper and lower lip together with the thumb and index finger of his left hand when the detective got ready to reply something and let his right hand wander down the upper part of Holmes' body. Then he opened his dressing gown and pushed it apart, revealing the other man's naked, well-defined stomach and the waistband of his trousers. Watson looked Holmes in the eye.

"Holmes, I need both my hands to open your trousers, so I'll let go of your lips. But I swear if you'll mention the eggnog again, I'll retreat to my rooms." He saw a mischievous glint in the detective's eyes. "Alone!" The glint subsided and Holmes nodded darkly. Watson nodded also, grinning lightly, and released the detective's lips, then he opened his belt and the buttons of his trousers. When he reached into them, the grumpy expression in the brown eyes disappeared, and when he brushed over the soft, delicate flesh of his cock, Holmes trembled with pleasure and sighed breathlessly.

While Watson proceeded to rub the other man's most sensitive body part lightly and very tenderly, he placed his lips on his neck, this time not showering him with eggnog, but with small, playful kisses. Holmes moaned quietly, a noise so sexual, so erotic, that it caused the doctor to tremble as well, spread his legs and placed a hand in Watson's nape, caressing him slowly.

Both continued what they were doing for a while, moaning quietly, shivering with increasing lust. Suddenly Holmes whispered," Look, John, outside!"

Watson lifted his head and looked to the window, which was still wide open.

Thick snowflakes were falling, each one illuminated brilliantly by the light of the street lamp.

He turned his eyes back to Holmes and both started to smile, one lightly and somewhat crookedly, the other one openly and radiantly.

"Magic!" Holmes whispered," Merry Christmas, John!"

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock!" Watson brushed a strand of Holmes' hair, which was still a little damp, behind his ear.

And then they kissed – taste of eggnog or not –, passionately, deeply, causing each other's hearts to race, making each other breathless, ruffling each other's hair.

Watson pushed Holmes' trousers over his hips and his fully erect cock, then he opened his own trousers and wriggled himself out of it, assisted by the detective's hasty fingers, doing his very best not to break the kiss.

Finally their lips parted and they both inhaled deeply, looking into each other's eyes with heavily heaving chests. Holmes smiled at Watson, his brown eyes sparkling, then he spit in his hand, lowered it and closed it around his own cock. The doctor returned the smile and used the time the detective needed to prepare himself to take off his vest and shirt. He trembled in anticipation, moaned at the thought of what was about to happen.

When he was done, Holmes placed a hand on Watson's hips and looked him deep in the eye. They both shifted slightly, their lips found each other again, Watson raised his pelvis and then lowered it again, allowing Holmes in.

Above Holmes, Watson exhaled with a moan and laid his hands on the detective's chest. Below Watson, Holmes groaned ecstatically and raised his hand to stroke the doctor's cheek fondly.

While Watson began to move his hips up and down, Holmes took hold of the doctor's cock and moved his hand in the same rhythm.

Their moans became deeper, their breathing heavier, their motions quicker, wilder. And in the moment their reddened lips met again, the passion washed over them.

Afterwards, while the snow continued to fall, they lay in each other's arms on the pile of gifts, under Holmes' dressing gown, below the Christmas tree.

Watson examined the tree with an intense look, while Holmes was idly drawing patterns on the doctor's chest with his right index finger.

Suddenly Watson's brows slid upwards. "Holmes, is there a penis in the tree?"

Holmes too examined the tree for a moment, very intently and most seriously, then he shook his head and looked at Watson with a sad expression in his eyes. "It's most unfortunate that a doctor of your reputation and status has such a questionable imagination. And your language… tsktsk…"

Watson pulled a face and poked Holmes in the ribs. "You're impossible! Sometimes I really ask myself why I expose myself to you."

Holmes grinned widely. "Because I'm your God? Because I'm the center of your being?"

The doctor rammed his elbow lightly in the detective's side, who gasped melodramatically. "Don't be ridiculous!"

Holmes giggled childishly, then he propped himself up on one elbow. "Did you get me something for Christmas?"

Watson nodded, grabbed for the bag and handed it to the other man. For a moment, Holmes held the bag in his hand, examining it, then he stated, "I smell tobacco and whiskey, sandalwood and sawdust. Furthermore, I know this kind of bag." He lifted his eyes to look at Watson. "You purchased this gift from Mr. Lewis, who deals with products from China, and he gave this to you in the club, where you drank three glasses of whiskey. He had vodka… how eccentric."

Watson smiled crookedly. "Maybe you should open the bag before you spoil yourself the surprise."

The detective nodded absent-mindedly and reached into the bag. When his hand emerged again, it held a round wooden plate. A delicate picture was carved into its surface: A Chinese dragon and a Chinese tiger, looking at each other.

Holmes beheld it for a long moment, then he blinked at Watson. "Yin and yang."

The doctor smiled and put forth his hand, touching Holmes' chest gently, "Yang," then he touched his own," Yin." He leaned forward and whispered into the other man's ear," That is the reason why I expose myself to you."

Holmes turned his head slightly and smiled at Watson, serenely, peacefully. And under the Christmas Tree, in which the ornaments were hung up quite oddly, they kissed again.

An outside observer with a certain amount of wits and intelligence might have said that those ornaments delineated a circle.