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“I think,” says John, “that it’s a bad idea.”

“Of course it’s a bad idea,” Mycroft agrees drily.

Sherlock keeps fiddling around with his creation. “You always want me to be more festive. You always ask me to participate more in the family traditions.”

“I don’t ask that,” Mycroft denies. “Mother asks that.”

“And now I have finally taken an interest in the Christmas festivities.”

“Yes, but the Christmas festivity in question is lighting the pudding on fire,” John points out. “Using a special compound you developed yourself.”

For @chocolamousse

For @chocolamousse

When you think about it, there’s a shocking lack of food in the Twelve Days of Christmas. Unless you count all the birds, which – John thinks about Perdy the partridge and decidedly does not count any of the birds in the carol as food. So that just leaves him with the maids a-milking, he supposes.

He is aware that he could make any number of Christmas foods – plum pudding, or a Christmas trifle – but it needs to be Twelve Days of Christmas-related. It’s romantic.

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There was mistletoe hung all over the house and Sherlock was annoyed by it.

“I know,” John agreed, “it’s a lot, but I think your mother is just happy we’re happy.”

“It’s like she’s testing us,” Sherlock spat out, “to make sure we’re really dating this year. But anyway, mistletoe is a terrible tradition. Christmas traditions are awful.”

“I don’t believe you really think that,” John said, mindful of the twelve days.

Sherlock continued, “A special plant for kissing, but where’s the plant for nuzzling? Not enough nuzzling is being encouraged,” Sherlock sulked. “Absolutely unacceptable.”

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John had an idea, in the formal, stuffy milieu of the Holmes family estate. Sometimes you didn’t want a seven-course meal. Sometimes you just wanted…a mugcake.

“But what is it?” Sherlock asked dubiously.

“A mugcake. What’s it sound like?”

“Don’t be insulting, you can’t possibly be making a cake in a mug.”

“Why not?”

“Because my mother doesn’t have mugs, John, she only has proper teacups in Limoges china.”  

John considered the cupboards. “That may indeed present a difficulty. Can you put Limoges china in a microwave?”

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What to Get the Person Who Has Everything! proclaimed the headline.

“Useless,” muttered Sherlock. Nobody had everything. What people had were enough things that it was difficult to make an impression. That was Sherlock’s problem: When you gave someone all Twelve Days of Christmas, what could you get them after that?

The article suggested Chocolate! Sherlock scoffed.

But then he considered the things that one could do with chocolate. Unclothed. Scientifically. Maybe that article did have a point.

“What are you getting John for Christmas?” Mycroft asked.

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The note read, The way you say the word ‘obviously.’

Sherlock said, “You only add to your list of what you love about me after we quarrel.”

“They’re little reminders,” John explained.

“Reminders that you love me?”

“Reminders that I love you. Not because I think I might forget because I’m worried you might.” John looked at him evenly.

Sherlock didn’t respond.