Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or the night before Christmas poem/story

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the flat
not an experiment was bubbling, no detective there sat
the lights were hung in the windows with care
Even if Sherlock didn't want them to be there

The flatmates were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of dangerous cases danced in their heads
And Sherlock laying on top, and John under him
Had just fell asleep after fighting with Jim

When out on the street there arose such a clatter
The lovers sprang from there bed to see to the matter
Away to the windows they flew really fast
Sherlock got to the window and John was their last

The buildings outside were covered by snow
Which gave the night a sort of pretty glow
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer

With a fat old driver, so mysterious and quick
John knew in a moment it must be St. Nick
Sherlock wasn't sure what to think as Santa came
The jolly man shouted and called his deer by name

Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the building! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As the lovers looked out at the sleigh that did fly
Sherlock scoffed at the fat man riding the sky
"So Santa has come back wanting more"
Said Sherlock to John who wanted to snore

But sleep couldn't be sot for they heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each noisy hoof.
As the two men looked to each other and turned around
A knock on the door St Nicholas came with a bound

He came in dressed in red from head to his feet
And Sherlock remembered their first meet
A bundle of something was on Santa's back
And he looked like a thief, about to steal with his pack

His eyes-how they searched! His dimples were gone
His cheeks were like roses. His nose stuck up wrong
His droll little mouth was drawn down low
And the frowning beard on his chin was white as snow

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth
Loosened and fell like a slamming door and a wreath
He glared at Sherlock and stuck out his belly
That shook when he grunted, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, but very unhappy
And Sherlock crossed his arms, both looked so sappy
A giggle did escape John's throat
Soon causing Santa to shift in his coat

He spoke not a word, but tossed each man a gift
And walked to the door, then turned with a shift
And giving the flatmates one annoyed look
He left with a nod and to the roof he took

He hurried to the sleigh, not wanting to stay long
And away they all flew like being there was wrong
But the flatmates did hear, 'ere he drove out with hate'
"Merry Christmas to John, and good luck with you mate

How'd I do? You like or no?