BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: I'm Dreaming of a Bloody Christmas

Hope ya'll enjoyed this fine Christmas Day, and I hope this gives you a chuckle, but also makes your heart flutter.

~

"What time is everyone supposed to arrive again?" you asked Sherlock while cleaning off the coffee table. Your mind had been running a million miles a minute for the past 3 days, trying to make everything perfect as this was your first time playing host for Christmas dinner. It was a big deal to you. Not just the party, but Christmas in general. Since your childhood, your parents had put on fabulous Christmas parties for your family and friends, and even here in past years at 221B had the parties been top notch. You too wanted to have a hand in bringing more joy to the holidays for people.

"Whatever time you told them to arrive," he answered blandly, not even looking up from his book. He had been bothering you all day with his nonsense about Christmas and his whining for a murder. You had been dusting around the house, by the bookshelf, when you couldn't take it anymore and threw the first book you could grab at him. Turns out it was one of your mom's sappy romantic novels with the men's flowy hair and tragic love story.

"Why don't you read that?" you had suggested in a joking manner.

"You're kidding right?" he exclaimed examining the cover. You don't know how it happened, but he had ended up on the couch, completely dissolved in the book.

"Fine, I'll check it myself," you huffed, heading into the kitchen towards your planner. While you were at it, you checked the pie in the oven. A burst of wonderful berry smell filled your nostrils, and you felt your senses sigh in happiness. You saw that everyone was supposed to arrive at 6:15. It was currently 5:30. You decided it was time to finish decorating whilst you waited for the guests to arrive and the food to finish cooking.

~

Your first guests, John and Mary, arrived at 6:14. Needless to say, you had been anxiously watching the clock for the past 44 minutes.

"Sherlock take their coats," you ordered.

"But Sheila just found out her niece is having an affair with her husband!" he whined, turning the page with a brisk motion. John gave you an unsure look, and you rolled your eyes in amusement.

"You can read about Sheila's screwed up life later, we have guests."

"Fine," he huffed, bookmarking his page and setting it carefully on the end table. He heaved himself off the couch, landing like a graceful ballerina. He greeted Mary with a sweet kiss on the cheek, and John with a snide "have you gotten shorter?"

More guests arrived including Mycroft, Molly, Tom, Lestrade, and of course, Mrs. Hudson. So far, to your eyes, everything had seemed to go well. While you weren't nervous about the party itself, you were nervous about the food. You had helped around the kitchen when you were younger, but cooking had never come easy to you. Granted people had brought side dishes to this party, but you were in charge of the main dish: the turkey. Never once in your life had you cooked a turkey, and your mom lived too far away to come and assist you. Mrs. Hudson gave you tips and such, but she had been gone a lot recently to buy gifts and prepare more for Christmas. As you removed the turkey from the oven, you inspected it's golden brown outside. It smelled right. It looked right. But the inside would tell. You had seen movies and heard stories where the outside looked just fine, but the inside was dry and excreted a gas when cut open. You prayed your turkey had turned out okay - that's all you really wanted for Christmas. You grabbed a carving knife, ready to begin the operation. You sharpened the knife one more time, then plunged it into the turkey with all your might, closing your eyes and awaiting the worst. But no gas came, nor did any gross turkey smell. You sliced a piece off, and found it was nowhere near dry, but succulent and cooked just right. You sighed happily as a big weight was lifted off your shoulder. You continued slicing the turkey, and setting the pieces onto a big platter. Christmas music played in the background and you swayed with the beat, and sang along with the music, while still slicing.