Not too long into the night did the snow start. It was slow at first, flurries of delicate snow falling aimlessly onto the streets of London. As time went by the snow grew larger, more desperate to reach the ground as it became heavier and heavier. John sat next to the window for a while watching the snowfall that eventually built up taller than he'd ever seen. It could've been considered a full-blown storm.

"I see you're watching the storm as well," Sherlock stood in the doorway.

"Oh, Sherlock, I didn't see you come in."

He walked into the room and sat gingerly down on the bed, very unlike him in terms of the heavy silence that accompanied.

"Everything alright?" John asked, growing concerned. Sherlock set his lips in a straight line and nodded his head.

"Couldn't sleep, so I assumed you couldn't either."

Most times if there was even a lick of an opportunity for alone time, Sherlock would take it. That time typically came at night, but now he sought John's company? He must've read John's confusion, as he stood up.

"I'll leave you be if you would like-"

"No- no, it's fine. Really, stay."

After an unconvinced look from Sherlock, he added a feeble

"Please."

Sherlock sat back down awkwardly.

"What's actually going on with you?" John turned to Sherlock now. "You're acting a bit, well... not you."

"Just been in thought recently... me, alone with my mind. A terrible combination."

"Want to talk about it?"

Sherlock shot him a look of surprise at the comment. He furrowed his brows.

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing, just, speaking. It's so counterproductive sometimes, don't you think?" Sherlock asked, looking out the window distantly.

"I mean, I don't think so." John sighed, pulling his good leg up into the chair. "I think it's a good way to tell people how you feel, what you think, that sort of thing."

Sherlock nodded lightly, still seemingly transfixed on the storm outside.

"Still, using it too much, it takes away it's value."

"Did you come in here just to philosophize talking with me? At what? Midnight?"

Sherlock stood up suddenly, just slightly did he grin. He patted John's shoulder.

"Happy Christmas."

He stared for a moment, either paralyzed by the suddenness of the kind gesture or the fact it was a kind gesture in general.

"Oh- erm, Happy Christmas to you too."

"Try your best to get at least some sleep, we will be up at the brink of dawn."

John tilted his head in confusion.

"Why?"

"Isn't that what you do at Christmas? Wake up early?"

"That's what children do, not grown men."

"See you in the morning!"

He tried to protest against it, but Sherlock was already out the door. He sighed, shaking his head all while laughing a little bit to himself. Though Sherlock was acting a bit differently than usual, it wasn't bad by any means. If anything, it was a positive change. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more behind the sudden change. He yawned and looked back out the window. Eventually, he managed to meander his way back to the bed and fall asleep.

...

He didn't know whether it was the smell of the burning toast or the array of banging and crashing that woke him up first. Either way, it was concerning. John swung his legs over the bed, grimacing slightly. He almost kept forgetting about his wounded leg. He was about to stand up when the door swung open, revealing Sherlock standing in the doorway with a platter whilst wearing a smile. Along with a lab coat (his version of an apron) of course.

"Care for some toast?"

"What was all the noise?"

"Care for some toast?" Sherlock repeated. John decided just to not ask again.

"You know what? Sure."

Sherlock gingerly placed the platter down on the bedside. There were two plates of toast- burnt to a crisp- only reconciled by a thick slather of jam. Accompanying those were a small tea kettle and cups.

"Don't think for a moment of telling anyone I actually cooked," Sherlock said. John chuckled, admiring the ungodly blackness of the toast.

"I don't think cooked would be the word I'd use."

The two sat for a while, chatting over breakfast. John sat on the bed while Sherlock situated himself in the chair across the room. While they were talking, the door opened. They saw a quick glimpse of Mycroft before he hurriedly closed the door.

"Mycroft, have you ever heard of knocking?"

Mycroft opened the door cautiously. He smiled at the two unconvincingly.

"Sorry about that, boys. Thought I was walking in on something."

"Mycroft..." Sherlock said in a warning tone.

"Well I didn't know, everyone celebrates Christmas differently nowadays."

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked annoyedly.

"Just thought I'd drop in, see how John's leg is and bear some gifts, of course," Mycroft pulled out a bag from behind his back. The only thing John was concerned about was how he didn't see the bag before.

"Brother," he handed Sherlock a small box, wrapped in a silver and gold wrapping.

"Don't worry yourself, I have one for you as well," he said, pulling out another box.

This one was slightly larger with the same wrapping. John hesitated a moment before accepting the gift. Gifts weren't something he received often, so naturally, if he was offered one he would become increasingly suspicious.

"Though I'd love to stay," Mycroft checked his watch, "the parents are waiting. Shame you couldn't come, brother mine. I'll try my best to save some bread rolls this time."

John looked at Sherlock quizzically. Sherlock avoided eye contact, maintaining it with Mycroft instead.

"Give Mother and Father my best."

"Will do, enjoy your Christmas you two."

"You too," John said slowly as Mycroft walked out, closing the door behind him.

There was a moment of silence before he turned to Sherlock, maybe a bit too heated, as Sherlock stood up quickly.

"You skipped your family Christmas? Sherlock, why?"

"Those aren't much fun, I hardly ever go anyway and-"

"No, there's something else. Why did you not go? Was it because of me? And bloody- sit down I'm not going to hit you."

Sherlock exhaled and sat down on the bed next to him.

"Yes, I skipped. I wasn't about to leave you here alone on Christmas, what type of friend would that make me?"

He smiled a bit to himself hearing Sherlock use the word 'friend'.

"Don't respond to that it was rhetorical," Sherlock continued. "John, it was partially my fault for what happened to you and I want to make it right-"

"Sherlock, I really-"

Sherlock held up a hand to silence a very disgruntled John.

"It's given me time to reevaluate myself, these past few days. You do a lot more for me than I do for you, and I have no reason for not doing so because these few days have been quite enjoyable with you." He took a breath.

"I'm falling off-topic, but what I'm trying to say is I would rather spend this time with you if that makes any sort of sense. Endearment isn't my strong suit."

"Obviously," John laughed, wrapping an arm around Sherlock.

"If you're going to hug, at least follow through," Sherlock said, returning the hug with both arms.

"Thanks, Sherlock. Those words meant a lot."

"Of course, erm... perhaps the bed isn't the best place to hug,"

He let go, laughing.

"Yeah, I don't think so either. Say, let's go into the living area. I have something I wanted to give you."

Sherlock helped John up, and the two made their way into the living area. They both sat in their chairs with gifts wrapped in paper bags sitting in their laps, along with the gifts from Mycroft next to them. He gave Sherlock his gift first.

"I'm sorry it's not much," he said as Sherlock started delicately tearing the wrapping paper. "I didn't know what you would want."

Sherlock opened the cardboard box, which he knew had a rolled-up piece of cloth inside. He took it out carefully and unrolled it, gasping quietly after seeing what was inside. John's heart skipped a beat.

"You didn't..." he said, gazing over the contents.

"You like it?" He asked, surprised.

"I love it! The wooden handles, not even recently varnished oh my land- I haven't seen one of these sets since I was last abroad, John, how did you know?"

"Truthfully? I didn't," he laughed. "I know a fair deal about medical equipment, so I bought what I knew best."

"It's perfect, thank you. Now I can do all my autopsies at home-"

"Uh, I don't-"

He was cut off as Sherlock tossed him a small box. It caught him completely off guard.

"Oh?"

"What? Did you not think I would get you something?"

He turned the box over in his hands a few times, admiring the neat wrapping covering it, and the ribbon that was loosely tied around it, a bow on top.

"No, I just... I didn't expect such nice wrapping."

"It's nothing really," Sherlock said.

"No, no it's nice. I like it."

He opened the box, being as careful as he could no to rip or tear anything. He typically wasn't one to be careful with the wrapping but in this case, tearing it would make him feel bad. As John set aside the paper, he noted a small wooden box underneath. He glanced up at Sherlock who seemed just as anxious to see it. He opened it.

"My God..." he whispered. In the box, a golden pocket glimmered back at him.

"Do- do you not like it? If you don't, I can take it back and-"

"It's amazing, I-I just can't get over..." he turned the watch over in his hand and paused.

"This is a vintage Rapport-! Sherlock!"

"Well, yes I suppose it is-"

He looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"Do you know how much these are? Sherlock, how much did you pay for this? Is this gold ?!"

"I gather I don't remember how much," Sherlock said frowning. "I didn't pay much attention."

"These are hundreds of dollars, and for it to be a vintage gold, edition, I can't even imagine! Why would you have spent so much?"

"Money is a mere object."

He laughed breathlessly. It was beautiful, the gold casing shimmered like a diamond in the light of the Christmas tree, encasing a crystal clear watch front. It was true he needed one, as his last watch broke during a case. He seemed to be late to everything since it happened.

"Thank you, Sherlock, this is an amazing gift."

"It isn't a problem, thank you for your gift as well."

They opened Mycroft's gifts afterward. He had given Sherlock another scarf identical to the blue one he already wore. When he inquired about it, Sherlock revealed Mycroft replaces the same scarf every Christmas while in return Sherlock gives him the same umbrella. He gave John a jumper, which happened to match Sherlock's scarf.

"I think your brother is trying to imply something," he noted, holding it up.

"When isn't my brother trying to imply something? Come, let's go wish Mrs. Hudson a Happy Christmas before we forget."

He laughed.

"Forget Mrs. Hudson? Never."

After they wished Mrs. Hudson a happy holiday, the two retreated into the living area and watched a couple of Christmas specials after he managed to talk Sherlock out of a Christmas day autopsy.

"Come on, John, people die on Christmas too, you know?"

"I will not let you cut open a body on the dining room table!"

"Why not? You gave me the equipment and I'm not allowed to use it?"

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I anticipated you would use it on small animals or something, here at least. You cannot and will not bring a corpse in here!"

"I already have though!"

" When ?"

"Last weekend, you were out."

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock."

"I cleaned the table, don't worry."

John laughed, which caused Sherlock to shoot him a look of concern.

"You're laughing. Why?"

"I just," he said in-between laughs, "never imagined I would be arguing with someone for doing a home autopsy on my table, while watching Charlie Brown, on Christmas."

Sherlock chuckled a little bit, then eventually started laughing as well.

"Yeah? Yes, I assume that is a bit ridiculous."

The two laughed for a long while, then watched TV for the remainder of the morning. For a while they tried watching CSI: Miami but you could imagine how terrible that worked out. After a near-miss of Sherlock throwing the remote at the TV, they decided to do something else when John remembered something.

"Oh! I just remembered, under the tree- near the back I have something. Could you grab it?" He asked.

Sherlock reached under the tree and pulled out a box that had been hidden by the curtain.

"Are you serious?"

"I thought I might save Mrs. Hudson the trouble and maybe the expenses as well, besides, it's quieter and can be fun," John explained, pulling out the two Nerf guns, along with bullets.

"I'm not a child, John."

"You're close enough," he said, handing Sherlock the toy. "Try it out."

Sherlock closed one eye and aimed the fake gun at the wall, with one shot he made a perfect bullseye on one of the eyes.

"See? Much better."

"Ah, I see how this can be an advantage," Sherlock said.

He turned the gun suddenly, shooting it right at John's head. Before he could react, the sticky bullet hit him square on the forehead. Sherlock laughed.

"I think you forgot that I have two," John said, pulling out the second gun. "On guard, Holmes."

"The game is most certainly on, Watson!"

The two began shooting at each other, most of the time dodging each other's bullets. John crawled behind the couch, shooting at Sherlock from afar.

"No barricades!"

"Yes, barricades!"

"That's cheating!"

"No, it is not!"

Sherlock rolled across the floor skillfully, shooting at John who still hid behind the couch. He ran to jump on John, who moved out of the way then across the room.

"How on earth are you crawling that fast?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

"I was a soldier, you dunce."

As the two carried on in their mini-war, Mrs. Hudson walked into the room, holding a plate of sugar cookies.

"You two are children," she laughed, placing the cookies on the table.

Upon hearing the plate, the two turned their heads. Sherlock was the first to react.

"They're mine!"

John yelled, crawling as fast as he could, as his cane was on the other side of the room.

"Share!"

When Sherlock grabbed the entire plate, John collapsed on the floor, groaning in defeat. As he lay on his back, Sherlock placed a single cookie on his chest.

"Merry Christmas, have a cookie."

"You're terrible."

"These cookies certainly aren't," Sherlock said, shoving a cookie into his mouth. John laughed.

"I think we're just a tad childish."

Sherlock smiled.

"Oh, definitely."

...

Randall stood outside of the apartment, grinning from his spot near the telephone. He knew for a fact that Sherlock saw him later that night. He made sure of it. Now that he was aware, he could finally set his plan in motion.

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock Holmes. See you tonight."