A Sherlock/John fic based, loosely, around the "Twelve Days of Christmas". I will be posting one chapter every two days, and with any luck, this fic should have it's conclusion on Christmas Eve. I Hope you enjoy it,

Love & Hugs, Ari.

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting, things.

On the first day of Christmas, My true love sent to me,

A Partridge in a Pear Tree.

When Sherlock was in the middle of a case and deep in thought about something, when his mind was miles away and not one ounce of his attention was focussed on you, it was in those moments you could ask him a question and get a simple, straight, truthful answer.

It took John a long time to work this out, because sometimes, when Sherlock seemed to be in that condition, he was partially still in the room, and then your chance at throwing a single question at him failed.

"What's your favourite food?"


John ducked his head as Sherlock blinked back into the room and sent him a sharp glare "Will you stop doing that?"

"If you answered my questions like that normally, I wouldn't feel the need, Sherlock" John responded, standing and moving to the kitchen to make tea. He could hear Sherlock grumbling in the living room, complaining that his thought process had been interrupted, but he knew that John was right. After all, his lover didn't throw random questions at him very often.

John, however, had a plan. He'd also already had a sneaking suspicious about the answer to his question.

He wanted to get Sherlock to eat more, and despite his best efforts, it wasn't going exactly… swimmingly. Strategically placed pieces of the detectives favourite food around the flat? Well it was his best option. His last hope.

He was just lucky Sherlock hadn't said soup.

The first of December, John's money from the Army went into his bank. He paid the water, sewage, and his half of Mrs Hudson's rent, before digging Sherlock's bank card out of the man's wallet without drawing a flicker of attention and paying the electric, gas and the other half of the rent. It was normal now for John to simply pay Sherlock's half of the rent and utilities with the detectives cards, and as he finished he glanced over at the man lying on the sofa with his eyes closed. Sherlock wasn't asleep.

"I'm going shopping, Sherlock"


That was it, and John sighed. Sherlock said he hadn't needed him for this case, it was simple. Well if it was so simple, John found he kept wishing Sherlock would solve it and get things over and done with. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he missed the taller man's non-stop chattering and even the explosions in the kitchen, or surprising new body parts in the freezer.

He sighed, pulled on his coat, and stole Sherlock's gloves to combat the icy chill before leaving without another word. There wasn't any point to speaking at the moment, and he could only hope this was over by Christmas.

It was the first of December, and John had been in Afghanistan last December. With no close family to speak of he'd offered to stay so one of his squad could go home and see his new month old little girl.

He'd been in Afghanistan last December, and had forgotten how much bloody fruit supermarkets sell on the lead-up to Christmas. He just wanted some pears!

It shouldn't have been too difficult, even with the six different types sitting on the shelf. Sherlock could have told him everything about each pear, what countries they came from and why which one was best based on the colour of the skins or something, but John simply stared at them, getting jostled by the people who were out on December first, panicking that there would be a food shortage this year and that they simply had to fill their freezers full to bursting.

Eventually, in pure desperation, he added ten of each type to his trolley, and was glad for his 'Christmas Bonus' that would go in his bank later in the month. If he was exceptionally lucky, he may even get the consulting detective sitting at home to eat something tonight, but he wasn't holding his breath.

He made it home in one piece, despite the good three inches of snow that had fallen over most of the United Kingdom for the last few days, and made his way slowly upstairs only to find Sherlock missing. It took a few moments while he dragged his coat off and hung it up to hear the shower running, and John grinned to himself.

At last! The case was solved.

Moving swiftly and unpacking the selection of pears before anything else, he filled a plastic fruit bowl he'd picked up at the shops, and placed it on the coffee table. A couple of the fruits went on the window sill, the mantle piece above the fire, John even slipped one into the detectives coat pocket when he replaced his partners gloves.

It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do, and as he heard the shower turn off, John simply returned his attention the the rest of the shopping. His phone beeped a moment before Sherlock entered the living room, dressed, with his hair still damp and the Doctor ignored whatever the message was to study the other man's expression as he stared at the fruit on the coffee table.

John smothered a smile and hid his head in the fridge as Sherlock scowled, then glared at John, but he moved fluidly to select one of the ripe fruits and bite into it.

"Sneaky John, very sneaky"

He'd not fooled him, no chance of that, but his lover had conceded the point, and John considered that a win every time. He treated the detective to a beaming smile and the man rolled his eyes but stopped sulking, turning the T.V on and continued munching on the fruit as John opened his text message, still smiling.



10.26 AM

"Very good Dr Watson, All you need now is a partridge for dinner

1 day down.