100 Followers!!! What!?
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100 Followers!!! What!?
Wow!!!! I definitely did not expect so many people to like this when I started posting. Thank you so much to everyone who follows, comments and likes my stuff. I hope you all continue to enjoy what I write in the future.Â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Day 22: Snowed In
It was solid white outside the window when John awoke. He peered at it, puzzled, than got up to investigate, ignoring the grunt of displeasure from his bedmate. A glance out the window cleared things up. Metaphorically speaking.
London was utterly snowed in, fat flakes still drifting down from the sky. Several inches had accumulated on the windowsill, and the glass fogged as John exhaled onto it. He couldnât tell the roads from the footpaths, and not a single car was making tracks through the fresh snowdrifts. There was no way he could get into work today.
âHi, Sarah? Yeah, weâre completely snowed in here--oh, you too? Yeah, are there--ok, yeah, thanks, great. Hopefully some of this will clear up by then. Ok. Yeah, I will, thanks. Bye.â
Tossing his phone back onto the nightstand, he snuggled back into bed, scooting into the mess of splayed limbs until their owner pulled them away from the center. âBudge over.â
âHmmm. Youâre letting in the cold air.âÂ
âGah! Your hands are freezing!â John squirmed as Sherlock got to work adhering their bodies together, limbs wrapped around him like a death grip and snuffling into his neck. Sherlock shushed him and pulled the duvet up until they were in a sweltering cave.
âI was quite comfortable before you woke me up. Quiet,â ordered the detective, kissing Johnâs shoulder and laying an arm over his chest. John swatted him on the backside, smirking, and allowed the sound of Sherlockâs breathing to lull him to sleep.Â
Day 21: Christmas Movies
âWhat is this tripe?â
âRudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer! Itâs a classic, you must have seen it at least partway once.â
âIf I did, I must have deleted it. And rightfully so.â
âOh come on, itâs fun!â
âItâs asinine.â
âItâs not very long. Look--weâll just watch this then flip over to something else.â
Pouting. Shifting about on couch cushions. âFine.â
10 MINUTES INâŚ
âWhy is Santa encouraging the abuse of Rudolf? He canât control his deformity.â
âWell, itâs⌠yeah, actually, Santaâs a dick in this movie for some reason.â
15 MINUTES INâŚ
âThere arenât an known gold or silver mines above the Arctic circle!â
âItâs for kids, Sherlock!â
âSo they want to teach inaccurate information?â
25 MINUTES INâŚ
âI donât understand. Did Santa really not know where the Island of Lost Toys was? Or did he just not care?â
âMaybe both? I donât know. He probably doesn't care what happened to the toys after he delivered them.â
âSo this is a massive regifting operation of inferior toys.â
âEssentially? I mean some of them are perfectly fine.â
âOh, thank God itâs over.â
âYeah⌠I mean it has some nostalgic value but⌠yeah, that wasnât as good as I remember.â
âNaturally, John. Nostalgia often clouds the memories of our childhoods.â
âNo thanks to you talking through the entire thing.â
More shifting. Arm wrapped around a pair of narrow shoulders.Â
âWell, Iâll watch more Christmas tripe with you if we can cuddle.â
âAre you going to talk through those ones too?â
âMaybe.â
Kiss.
âMaybe not.â
Day 19: Christmas Songs
Hauntingly beautiful strains of a violin pulled John from a series of bizarre and increasingly sensual dreams. He started awake, feeling warm and tingly and stretched, relieved that he didnât have to wake up for an early shift this morning. What time was it anyhow?
Christ, almost 11:00.
The violin continued, launching into the familiar âIâll Be Home For Christmasâ with a lot of lyrical flourishes. John smiled, pulling his robe tighter around himself and going down to greet Sherlock.Â
Sherlock gave no indication that heâd noticed Johnâs arrival, but tea was already steeping next to Johnâs armchair, an unexpected gesture of thoughtfulness. Murmuring a âthank youâ to Sherlock, he settled into his chair and sipped at it. Hot, strong and just a tiny bit sweet, just how he liked it.
The swooping, trilling violin eventually stopped and Sherlock went to sit across from John as though he hadnât just been playing Christmas music for the last fifty minutes.
John didnât have any particular affinity for Christmas music, but it sounded so much better when Sherlock played it. He smiled at Sherlock until the other man looked up, slightly embarrassed, and asked if he had something on his face.
Day 18: Mistletoe
Mrs. Hudson had put it up in the doorway to the stairs of their flat a few days ago, and John had carefully avoided accidentally passing underneath with Sherlock. Not because he didnât want to kiss him; on the contrary, there was little more John wanted to do than to seize Sherlock, dip him back and kiss him senseless. But that might be an unwelcome gesture. Or at least John assumed it would be, though sometimes Sherlock would give him a certain Look and heâd wonder.
In the end, Sherlock made the decision for him.
âCome on, John! This is the second body theyâve found stuffed in a chimney! The most creative serial killing Iâve seen in a while; itâs Christmas!â
âLiterally,â muttered John, zipping up his jacket and hurrying to join Sherlock, who was waiting in the doorway. John didn't even realize what he was up to until he saw Sherlock point upwards at the little round-leafed plant hanging innocently from the doorframe.Â
âOh--â
And then Sherlock kissed him. And kept kissing him. And, oh⌠Sherlockâs arms wrapped around him firmly, keeping him upright as Johnâs knees had decided this was a good moment to give out. He sagged helplessly against Sherlock, one hand reaching up to tangle in luxurious black curls and the other one trapped between his chest and Sherlockâs. He could feel Sherlockâs heart slamming out a rhythm against his palm.
John licked his way between plush lips and was rewarded by Sherlock holding him tighter and moaning into his mouth. They swayed slightly, licking and sucking and delving into each othersâ mouths, learning each other in a most intimate way. John wondered breathlessly if this would lead to other, more intimate explorations. Preferably ones that could be carried out on his bed.
Or Sherlockâs. He wasnât picky.
Finally Sherlock pulled away, panting slightly. His mouth was delightfully kiss-reddened and his cheeks were flushed; his hair was a wreak. He was beautiful.Â
âUh. Well. I. That is⌠Lestradeâs expecting us,â he murmured quietly, leaning his forehead against Johnâs. A big part of John wanted to say âfuck the caseâ and abscond with Sherlock to the nearest bedroom, but now wasnât the time. His heart was still pounding wildly.
âLead the way.âÂ
Taking Johnâs hand, Sherlock did exactly that.Â

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Day 17: Christmas Without You
âI hope you didnât mess up my sock index this time.â
John sighed, putting his book down and rubbing his temples. Maybe another shot of whiskey was in order, but the beginnings of a headache suggested otherwise. This night had been going⌠well not terribly, and then Sherlock had insulted Molly and things had gone downhill. John felt something in his gut burn with envy at the memory of Sherlock kissing her on the cheek.
Then Jeanette had broken up with him, and in retrospect he had to admit, he didnât really blame her. He didnât know who was trying to kid, really. It was virtually impossible to sustain a romantic relationship with Sherlock as his flatmate, and even more so considering how he felt towards the man. Jeanetteâs accusation hit a lot closer to home than he was comfortable with.
And now the death of the Woman. John still wasnât sure what to make of her. All he knew is she was the only person heâd ever seen really catch Sherlock off guard. And that bothered him--in a protective, entirely platonic friendship-type way, of course. And⌠well, ok, it had bothered him (a lot) to come in on her straddling Sherlockâs lap naked. And as soon as heâd received her phone, Sherlock had retreated, refusing to speak with him except a few words in passing. John had definitely lost him for the night. He didnât know what heâd really expected, really. But Sherlock seemed really broken up about this, in his own way.
John was NOT jealous!
He was just⌠worried.
Yeah. That was it.
He sighed again, heavily, and went into the kitchen. Maybe heâd have that whiskey after all.
Day 16: Family Traditions
67 beads, half white and half black. Sherlock had strung two beads on the string every Christmas since he and John had finally realized that they didnât want to be apart anymore. John hadn't realized the significance until much later. It was a physical marker of time for them both, a small reminder that even if memories faded and feelings cooled, there always would be evidence of their time together. After so many Christmases filled with death, hurt, misunderstanding and grief, it was proof of their survival, and more importance, their survival together.
Sherlockâs hair was thickly streaked with grey now, John was relying on his cane more than ever these days, and their faces were lined with wrinkles, but their love remained undiminished. Theyâd long since left London and 221B, moving out to Sussex in the cottage Janine had sold them. There had been both wonderful and poor Christmases, but without fail Sherlock always strung two beads on the string, even in the worst of times. To see Sherlock voluntarily carry out such a sentimental act made John realize how much heâd changed--for the better, John thought--since theyâd met. He was getting soft in his old age, perhaps.
His husband would scoff and grumble when John expressed these thoughts, but it never failed to bring a smile to his face. Sherlock loved him, John thought. He loved him, and he didnât need beads to prove it. All John had to do was look into his eyes.Â
Day 15: Christmas Party
Sherlock lurked in the corner of the room at the Yardâs Christmas party, nursing an untouched glass of eggnog. John was over by the buffet table. Heâd insisted that Sherlock eat something, ignorant of Sherlockâs protesting grunts and eye rolls, and was assembling a myriad of goodies, some of which Sherlock would hopefully be interested in.Â
He gazed disinterestedly around the room. Lestrade and Molly were getting cozy on one of the ugly brown couches, and Molly looked like she was on her third cosmo. Donovan was chatting animatedly with one of the evidence officers while Anderson watched jealously (this falling out seemed permanent. Sherlock wondered at what point his wife had threatened to leave for good) Detective Dimmock was on his phone, loitering by the doors (Waiting to leave with someone?) Boring. Dull. A waste of his time, but John and insistedâŚ
He sighed.
âSherlock?â John was at his elbow, holding up a plate of nibbles and sipping his own glass of eggnog. Sherlock pursued the plate, finally consenting to a sugar cookie to make him happy. Â
âWas it really necessary to attend this?â
âWe were invited by Lestrade, and I wanted to come. You didnât have to,â shrugged John, eating a forkful of egg salad.
âWell. I.â Sherlock tried to find a way to word it without sounding horribly codependent. âYou shouldnât suffer through this sort of thing alone.â
âSherlock, I think the only one suffering is you,â said John with a hint of laugh.Â
âHmm.â Sherlock scanned the room. âThat couple over there is going to break up soon, possibly tonight. Heâs already started up a new relationship with one of the secretaries. She doesnât know but sheâs so disillusioned she doesnât care. That man over there just lost his dog. Heâs showing everyone pictures but heâs drunk enough that he wonât cry about it. The woman there--â
âAnd this is why I wanted you to come,â chuckled John, threading his arm through Sherlockâs. He felt his heart and stomach flutter pleasantly. âThese sorts of things are only fun with you.â
âOh.â
âReady to go home?â
Sherlock swallowed, slowly reaching out to take Johnâs hand. âI thought youâd never say it.â