Sherlock didn't arrive back at Baker Street until late in the afternoon. He had spent the majority of his time at the morgue. Molly had called rather early this morning with news that he had been granted access to an unclaimed body. The amount of hypotheses he was able to validate was sure to be assets in future cases.

Molly had been so kind to let him have the lab for some time. At some point it felt as if something was nagging him. Dutifully, he ignored it.

The cab ride was short, Sherlock was preoccupied by his phone most of the ride.

When Sherlock entered the flat the familiar sound of the slow tapping of keys did not greet him, nor was there any whistling of the kettle. It was unsurprisingly quiet. John appreciated the occasional calm and quiet air. Sherlock, on the other hand found it dull. How John had managed with it was a mystery. Sherlock closed the door behind him.

At this particular time it didn't seem that John was enjoying silence. His coat was missing. Sherlock hung his scarf and coat up. He made his way through the flat, cataloging things as he went. The kitchen was left mostly the same. John's mug had been moved from the counter by the kettle to the sink. The dishes were done. Sherlock decided that he would wait until John came back and made the tea. He had better things to do, like search for more useless information to delete.

Sherlock took his usual place on the couch, bringing his feet up as well. He brought his hands together and pursed his lips. The sound of honking cars and wailing alarms faded as his focus went towards his Mind Palace. All Sherlock was aware after a short while was his steady breathing and the wealth of information fluttering through his mind in rapid succession.

He didn't surface back fully to reality for hours.

Sherlock's growing irritation was making it more difficult to focus as time went on. He had come back from his mind palace undisturbed. Hours had passed as per usual when he deleted things on such a massive scale, time was meaningless. By this point the sun had long since set. The air was cold inside the flat.

Despite the obviously late hour, John had yet to return home. Even if John had come back during his escapade in his mind, John always would murmur a quiet he's back or at the very least gotten some tea. John almost always put the kettle on when he would return home. There was no plausible way that John making tea would not go unnoticed, even in his past state. Sherlock didn't always keep track with John's coming and goings but he would certainly hear it. He should have heard something at the very least. It miffed the detective.

John could be at Sarah's. They weren't dating anymore after all, just friends. Still she would offer him her couch or duvet now and then. Sherlock had little problems with that arrangement. He just would prefer that John wasn't away at her house so much.

But John had reacted positively to his attempts at physical affection. It was possible that he was working overtime at the clinic. John was a kind person that if he was to be asked he wouldn't refuse. It looked exhausting and just didn't make any sense.

Sherlock plucked his phone from its place at his side. The device notified him of the email notification. It was probably about a case. Often it was. Sherlock retrieved John's laptop.

With effortless ease Sherlock unlocked his computer. His eyes flicked over the unread emails, almost bored. Lestrade, Lestrade, junk, fan, fan, fan, fan, Lestrade, and oh! Sherlock's lips twisted into a small smirk, the it turned into a scowl. The only thing that piqued his interest was the email from Harriet Watson. Something clicked in Sherlock's mind. Of course. John mentioned he was going over to his sister's for the holiday. Sherlock had been hardly paying attention at the time, too busy with the current case. (homicide, husband trying to frame his mistress for his wife's murder.)

His initial irritation towards John's absence subsided when he read the small message. The email was hardly interesting, it was what was attached. A small picture was taken (On a phone no doubt). He could see John clearly with what looked like, red hands, (left his gloves) cheeks pink due to the cold, and looked almost proud of what he had made. It was obvious he didn't realize what his sister had done. It was a small snowman with a scrap of cloth. The cloth was the same shade as Sherlock's scarf. Sherlock only spent a few seconds wondering where Harry got his email from, the site probably. It was foolish to think John would give her his email on his own accord, not with this anyways.

Johnny made this while we were out. Thought you might appreciate it.

-HW

Sherlock would say it was endearing on how utterly childish it was for John to make this. There was another part of Sherlock; a sentimental part thought it was touching that John would make it. Perhaps John had missed him? Somehow his smirk morphed into a small smile. Sherlock almost felt warm at the thought. It was brief though as his mind started to churn.

If John had made this for him then should it only be proper that he should return something to John? It was obviously made in a way for Sherlock after all. Couples do those types of things, don't they? Sherlock frowned. Because they were a couple Sherlock had to do something for John. He could go get the milk but John would not be back till the end of the week at the very least. The milk would be gone by then. He had mentioned coming back for New Years though.

Sherlock ran his hands though his mess of hair. This would not do. Sherlock had to do something for John. It was only proper. Sherlock hopped up from the couch and started to pace. He had to get this right. The more he tried to think of something proper he thought of a con. It was almost ridiculous. Sherlock was a genius and yet he could not figure out a gift for John.

Sherlock had little sleep that night. John would probably say he disapproved of that. He was far too caring like that.

Sherlock had been rifling through John's room when he got texts from Lestrade. A suicide and a homicide, no sign of forced entry and the murder weapon (gun) was missing. Sherlock sat, phone in hand, debating on just ignoring Lestrade. He had more important things to do than tend to a most likely open shut case. That's what he thought until he was told that there was no connection between the bodies. He could also use some other challenge then finding out what to get John.

John's room was left as it is. He could resume what he was doing later.

Sherlock fluttered around the flat in frenzy. He scooped up his scarf and coat. He frowned when he looked at the mantel. Mrs. Hudson had moved the skull once again. She didn't like it when Sherlock left in plain sight. What would the visitors think? She would often say. Frivolous. Why should he care what anyone else but John thought of him?

With a frown, Sherlock departed from his flat. He would have preferred the skull if not John. It wasn't like he could really help it though. It would be like his early days of consulting then. Fine.

Sherlock hailed a cab easily. He'd been practically glued to his phone the entire ride. It wasn't until the annoyance of heavy traffic demanded his attention. He glanced outside the window. He was only a few blocks away anyways. He could walk.

His lips curled into an annoyed scowl. Traffic would've taken it least fifteen minutes at this rate. Fifteen minutes and Sherlock could be at the crime scene. He had only lasted a few immobile minutes before hopped out of the cab. Sherlock threw a few bills at the surprised cabbie before taking off down the street.

Sherlock tightened the scarf around his neck. The air was nipping at his nose and cheeks but hardly warranted as a sufficient distraction from his ever whirring mind. Regardless of the impending case, his mind wandered back to John every so often. What was he doing? Was he thinking of him? Sherlock smirked, he liked the thought of taking up John's thoughts. With the evidence provided by John's sister Sherlock knew that yes, John was thinking of him. A foreign sensation of warmth flickered dimly in his chest. How odd.

Sherlock glanced up at the nearest address. A block or so away then. Across the still bustling street sat a park. Children were screaming and running around. A family was making a rather large snowman, laughing merrily.

John. Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. Of course! How foolish of me! He thought to himself. He had his answer of what to do the moment he read Harry's email. It had stared back at him.

Promptly, Sherlock stalked towards a nearby snow bank. It was a pathetic excuse of one but it serve his purpose. He wanted his skull but this will do just as fine. Sherlock bent over and mashed together clumps of snow. He held it up, a satisfied smirk. Perfect.

With his now temporary solution in hand he continued on to the crime scene. As usual Sergeant Donovan was there at the tape. She raised an eye brow upon seeing what he was holding. "John regain his senses and leave you, freak?" Said Donovan. "I hardly think what John does should concern you." He ducked underneath the tape. He stopped walking over, fixing a bored gaze on the Sergeant. "With the amount of cleaning you seem to be doing for Anderson I would say you charge him next time." Sherlock turned away, making a beeline for the entrance to a moderately nice flat. He ignored the irritable and irrelevant comment that followed behind him.

Sherlock strolled past various officers and up the stairs. Each member of the yard present gave him a slight look. "Sherlock…" Lestrade started. It seemed he forgot was he was going to say. "Is that a snowman, Sherlock?" He asked, incredulous. "Yes. If we could hurry this up, it's warm in here and snow-John will melt soon."

The soft murmuring of various officers hushed completely. Lestrade opened his mouth, only to close it a few seconds later. "Sherlock, why did you bring into the crime scene? What did you just call it?" He seemed more exasperated than anything else. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the obvious questions. "It's a replacement, only temporary I assure you. Just treat it like the skull. And it's Snow-John. It will hardly be a hindrance."

Lestrade eyed him for a few sparse seconds. "We've checked all the sources available and there is no connection between the vics." Sherlock smirked smugly. Lestrade accepted Snow-John with a surprising amount of ease. "Show me the bodies."

Sherlock was pleased as Lestrade allowed him a closer look at the bodies with no further questions to Snow-John.

I'm sorry. I am procrastinating on things I like now. But I have a spare this school term so I spent most of it doing this. Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading and taking time out of whatever you may be doing! Have a lovely day/evening/afternoon/morning. Again I appreciate you taking the time to read this.

I don't own anything but my own ideas. I've probably missed a bunch of mistakes as I don't have a beta.

I think I'll make this three parts. I really only meant to have two but I came up with a case. Not too fascinating but I think it's alright. I will not let this be forgotten nor shall I be so long in my update.

-Muppet.