Author Notes first. Because they are important:
I, Bradspyjamas, need to make it very clear that without Kizzia this would not be happening. It says co-written in the summary because Kizzia is stupidly noble and insisted but, in reality, she's written all of them herself. She has done this because I really, really wanted this story to happen but I've been so overwhelmed with MA work that my ability to write seems to have gone into hiding. So I mailed her my one measly page of ideas and she has turned it into the story I would have written had I not been being so useless. I have attempted to beta them but my grip of grammar and commas and stuff is … well, thing Arthur in Cabin Pressure and you won't go far wrong!
I, Kizzia, need to make it clear that I am neither stupid or noble. It says co-written because, despite the fact that I may have produced more of the actual text than Bradspyjamas, this could never have existed if she hadn't written Little Things and done such wonderful world building in her own version of Omegaverse. This is as much hers as it is mine and, in the most important aspects, even more so. I'm honoured she trusted me enough with her world to let me play.
We both hope you enjoy this and have a thoroughly lovely advent and Christmas!
(Oh, and we don't own Sherlock, this is just for fun, no profit being made, etc. ad infinitum)
"Deck the halls"
'There now, little one,' John says as he lays Hamish in his lap while he rights his own clothing and puts a rag over his shoulder, 'is that better?'
A gurgle of milky bubbles from lips that are the miniature of Sherlock's makes John smile and, unable to resist, lean down to press a kiss to Hamish's full tummy before settling him over his shoulder.
'Are you two finished?' Sherlock asks as he carries a large cardboard box into the living room.
'Yes, do you want to … what's in there?'
'Honestly John,' Sherlock quirks an eyebrow as he sets it on the table, 'do you not know what today is?'
'Um … Saturday?'
'Well yes but ...'
'No, don't tell me,' John furrows his brow, hand moving rhythmically on Hamish's back as he wiggles and burps, 'I'll get it. Just let me think … our anniversary's in April, there's no case and Hamish being ten and a half weeks old doesn't signify anything special so …' John's eyes roam the room and he catches sight of the newspaper. 'Oh! It's the first of December.'
'Exactly,' Sherlock grins and, expression morphing into one of pure glee, pulls out a handful of tinsel, 'Christmas, John. It's Hamish's first Christmas!'
'Well what are you waiting for?' John grins back, Sherlock's enthusiasm catching, 'you'd best break out the baubles.'