Hey everyone! So quick explanation: everything that says Christmas Collection in the summary is part of the collection of stories that I wrote for my friends as gifts. This was suppose to be a bit longer, but because of time, I had to shorten and change it. I hope this is okay, I haven't written in a while. I think Sherlock is a bit OOC in this. If you have anything that you've noticed, your input would be awesome!

I hope that you guys enjoy this! Reviews would be a lovely christmas presents from you all :)

December 25th 2011

John cast a judging eye over the flat's living room, making sure that everything was spotless for their guests. It wasn't often that he could persuade Sherlock to have friends over for drinks, but John had asked it as his christmas present, and his flatmate had been unable to decline. They were just having a couple of people over; Lestrade, Molly, his girlfriend Janett, and of course Mrs. Hudson. Remembering the old lady downstairs, John made his way to the table and grabbed the two presents that were sitting there. He placed the landlady's under the tree. The other one, he kept in his hands.

John sat down in his armchair, staring down at the wrapped gift. He had poured hours and hours over this gift, wondering whether it was enough, or if it was too much. He would honestly never know when it came to his flatmate. Speaking of the devil, the consulting detective himself trod into the living room. He looked at the immaculate state of the flat in distaste. He plopped himself down in his armchair and assumed his thinking position. John couldn't help but stare. Despite the fact that Sherlock was wearing the exact same suit that he wore on a daily basis, there was something different about him. The light of the twinkling christmas lights cast an angelic glow on his flatmate. And before John could stop himself he had thought the thought; Sherlock looked really really attractive. He shook his head a bit, as if that would rid him of the thoughts that had been so recently popping into his mind. He had to stop. He was not gay. He had a girlfriend for crying out loud! He took a deep breath to compose himself.

- "Hey Sherlock," he said clearing his throat, "I thought it would be best that I give you this before the guests arrived." he said holding the package out. Sherlock's eyebrows rose.

- "John, I told you that you didn't have to give me anything. I don't believe in holidays." he mumbled.

- "I know but I did anyway, so shut up, and enjoy your present." ordered John. Sherlock rolled his eyes and smirked, as he took the present. He unwrapped it slowly. John could see his flatmate deducing the content. It was John's turn to roll his eyes. He had predicted that ahead of time, and wrapped the present oddly, so that Sherlock would not be able to guess or at least guess incorrectly. John relished the look of surprise on his flatmate's face as he took off the last of the wrapping. Sherlock carefully pulled out the long violin bow, and stared at it, eyes wide. His long, bony hands caressed the dark wood.

- "John, thank you. This is the most thoughtful present anyone has ever given me." John felt a rush of affection sweep through him. He knew Sherlock, and he knew that what he had just said was sincere. Sherlock placed the bow back in the box and reached for something in the folds of the couch. He pulled out a small white envelope, and held it out to John. It was John's turn to be surprised.

- "I thought you didn't celebrate christmas." stated John. He took the envelope and stared at the cursive writing of his name.

- "I don't." said Sherlock. When no further explanation came, John shrugged and opened his gift. He turned the envelope upside down, and two glossy tickets fell onto his lap. "They're for that musical, Wicked. It's Janett's favourite musical. I saw a picture of it on the cover of her agenda. I thought you could take her, pretend it was your idea." Sherlock explained. John stared at the man bewildered. He made to thank his best friend, but the sound of footsteps, climbing the stairs, reached their ears, and Sherlock was on his feet, holding the door for little ol' Mrs. Hudson.

December 25th 2012

John Watson's small flat, looked completely unfestive. Apart from a small pile of presents on his desk and a little gingerbread house brought over by Mrs. Hudson, one would not have thought it was christmas. John didn't hurry to wake up and start the day; what was there to look forward to? He had a shift at the clinic later in the afternoon, by his request, and an invitation to Greg's which he had no intention of accepting. Merry Christmas, indeed.

He managed to get out of bed and make breakfast at around ten. He turned on the tellie while he ate and watched a bit of the cooking channel. When the program ended, his eyes were drawn to the pile of gifts. He sighed and sat himself at his desk, pulling the package at the top towards him. A toaster from his parents; plane tickets to Harry and Clara's second wedding from the happy couple themselves; freshly baked cookies and a hand knit scarf from Mrs. Hudson; bottle of wine from Stamford; and an expensive looking jumper from Mycroft. As the pile of presents thinned, John noticed for the first time, the white envelope lying at the bottom. He looked at it curiously. He had no memory of picking it up in the mail or it having been delivered. He picked it up cautiously and turned it in his fingers. He slowly opened it. His mouth opened in shock.

The envelope fell to the ground as John slumped to the floor, tears falling down his face. His body shook with the sobs, the pain of the last year flooding in like the gates of a dam had been opened. Beside him, the still glossy Wicked tickets shone in the lamplight.

December 25th 2015

It was impossible. He was officially crazy, there was no question of it. The man standing in his doorway couldn't be real.

- "John, I know this may be hard-"

- "You're not real. You can't be real." said John, shaking.

- "John." Sherlock said softly, placing a hand on his arm. And John could feel it. The touch was real. So he punched Sherlock in the face.

- "Yup, definitely real." John said angrily, as his supposedly dead flatmate staggered to his feet. His left eye was blinking rapidly, already beginning to swell.

- "You complete sod!" John shouted. "You jumped off of a sodding building, I saw it! But I guess that was the plan wasn't it? Pretend to be dead, while you leave me to mourn and fall into depression!" It wasn't a question, more of an accusatory statement. "I buried you, Sherlock!" he cried, a sob escaping his throat. He stumbled forward and fainted, leaving his flatmate to catch him. The last words he heard before everything went dark, he would always remember:

- "Merry Christmas, my John."

December 15th 2016

- "Sherlock, where did the eggnog go?" John asked exasperatedly.

- "Experiment." came Sherlock's voice from the sitting room. John groaned and poured himself more wine. He stomped back into the sitting room of 221B Baker st., where Sherlock Holmes was busy typing away on his laptop. He didn't even care anymore.

- "Oh, by the way, we're going out to buy new suits for your brothers wedding tomorrow. Apparently it can't wait; Lestrade is getting antsy." John said, sitting down in his armchair.

- "Well he is marrying Mycroft." Sherlock pointed out. He turned to look at John and gave one of his signature smirks. John let out a chuckle in agreement. Things we're finally getting back to the way they had been, and about time too. John would still catch himself crying out at night as he watched his best friend fall again, but it was manageable. What wasn't manageable however were his new found feelings towards the consulting detective. It had started about a month after Sherlock's grand return. He had just caught himself staring. Sherlock really was quite attractive, and John had come to notice it more and more. He had finally been forced to come to the resolution that he was in love with Sherlock Holmes. Brilliant, gorgeous, exasperating, and not to mention asexual, Sherlock Holmes. John was at the end of his wits. Caught in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed his flatmate staring at him. John cleared his throat.

- "You okay?" he asked Sherlock.

- "Hmm?" Sherlock mumbled. He straightened as if coming back to life. "Oh yeah, I'm fine." John eyed him warily before rolling his eyes and grabbing the book beside him. He had hardly opened it when Sherlock spoke again. "John?" he closed the book and looked at his best friend. "I was just wondering if you would like your present now." John's eyes widened. He nodded faintly. Sherlock sprung from his seat and grabbed his violin from its stand. He placed it gracefully on his shoulders. And he began to play. John could not believe what he was hearing. Sherlock had written him the most beautiful piece; it was slow and melancholy, and almost... almost like a love song. He was mesmerized by how Sherlock moved with the music, his eyes close, deep in concentration.

Sherlock finished the song with a flourish of his bow. He looked at John expectantly, biting his lower lip. John, as much as he wanted to, could not say anything. His eyes were too busy, tracing the perfect line of Sherlock's lips. The flat was completely silent. The silence stretched on for a couple more seconds before Sherlock broke.

- "John?" his question was definitely answered. Before he could do anything, he was being pushed against the wall by a very determined looking John Watson. Next, his lips were being brutally attacked, but he was in no way complaining. He wrapped his long arms around his doctor, pulling him impossibly closer. The kiss was hot, passionate, and perfect. Five years of bottled up sexual frustration were being put to very good use. Sherlock couldn't help but smile as John wrapped his legs around the detective's waist as they fell to the couch.

December 25th 2017

- "So Dr. Watson, which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock smiled tightly at his mother, his hand clenched under the table. The thing he despised the most in the world were the Christmas Dinners. He had been able to avoid them since he had moved in with John, but this year, Mother had insisted. Sherlock shot Mycroft a pained look across the table. This was the first time he was able to sympathize with his brother as it seemed Mrs. Holmes goal for the night, was to question and find out everything about her eldest son's husband and her younger son's flatmate. Of course, Sherlock and John were much more than flatmates, but they had felt no need to inform anyone on that fact.

- "Afghanistan ma'am. And please call me John." John said in his gentlemanly voice.

- "Of course; as long as you call me Camille." Camille Holmes was a very imposing woman, reaching about six feet, with sharp features, like her sons. She was also quite the deducer herself. Sherlock was very proud of how John was getting along with Mother as he knew how terrified Lestrade was of her. He shot his boyfriend a radiant smile.

As Frederic, the butler, brought in the desert, Camile's attention turned to the other side of the table.

- "Greg, dear, when are you and Mycroft going to make me some grandchildren?" simultaneously, Lestrade choked on his wine, Mycroft turned white as a sheet, and Sherlock broke out into a fit of giggles. John immediately joined in, and it wasn't long before they were nearly on the floor with laughter. Camille turned slowly to the pair, her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised. Mycroft crossed his arms and stared at the gloomily. Lestrade still looked like he was about to have a panic attack. Mrs. Holmes let John and Sherlock continue for a bit longer before shooting.

- "John, how long have you been sleeping with my son?" needless to say, the laughter stopped immediately. Sherlock's eyes widened as John began to blubber.

- "How... how did you-?"

- "How did I notice you two making googly eyes at each other all night, and the gigantic hickey underneath your collar?" John blushed deeply. "Not to mention, my son can't even walk straight!"

- "You're joking!" Lestrade guffawed, his eyes wide. "She must be joking!" he looked at John, waiting for him to deny it.

- "No actually she isn't." Sherlock answered with his cool, detached voice. He stood, pulling John up with him. He slid his arm around the doctor's waist. "John and I have been together for exactly a year now. This is our anniversary." Camille sat back in her chair looking satisfied, while Mycroft and Lestrade just looked at the pair, obviously extremely confused at how they could have hid it this long.

- "A toast!" came a voice at the door. Frederic approached the table, a glass of wine in his hand, which he raised. "To Master Sherlock and Doctor Watson. May this first christmas together, be the first of many." He took a sip of his wine and everyone at the table followed suit. John, who couldn't hold it in any more, kissed his lover on the lips. Sherlock was surprised but not at all displeased and kissed back eagerly.

- "Thank you Frederic." said Mycroft, after a while, as a way of interrupting the couple. John and Sherlock broke apart and sat down, both blushing slightly, but smiling. The table was silent for a moment.

- "So," Camille finally said, "John, when are you and Sherlock going to make me some grandkids?"

December 25th 2019

John woke up, as the sunlight filtered into the room. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was 10:30 am on Christmas day. He pushed the covers off of himself, planning on making some breakfast, when he was enveloped in a warm hug. He smiled, closing his eyes, inhaling his most favourite smell in the world.

- "Where do you think you're going, leaving me here all alone?" Sherlock asked, his voice deep with sleep.

- "Nowhere, well not anymore." said John, unwilling to leave now that his detective was awake. Sherlock began to place light kisses on the side of his neck and he sighed in content, his head falling back to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. His flatmate began to rub his shoulders, releasing the tension that he could never get rid of. God, his boyfriend was the best! He decided to return the favour. He flipped around, pushing Sherlock to the bed and climbing over him. Their lips attached immediately. John tried to put all the love and emotion that he was feeling into the kiss, and it must have been working because Sherlock was moaning very loudly.

They pulled apart for a quick intake of air, which lasted only a second before John dove in again. However, instead of Sherlock's lips, he was greeted by Sherlock's hand. He pulled back, confused and a bit hurt: why was Sherlock rejecting him? His boyfriend saw that look immediately and quickly dispelled it.

- "No no, I'm not rejecting you!" Sherlock said honestly. John relaxed.

- "Then why are we stopping?" John asked. They never stopped. What was going on? He saw Sherlock take a very loud deep breath, and for the first time ever, the detective looked nervous.

- "I have a question for you." Sherlock finally said.

- "Well spit it out!" said John, not meaning to sound rude, but the situation was starting to make him feel uncomfortable. Sherlock chuckled.

- "It's not exactly something to spit out." He took another deep breath, closing his eyes. As he opened them, he said it, in one long breath.

- "Will you marry me?"