Christmas Eve

John looked up at the tentative knock on his office door. He frowned a little. He had begged Sarah a few minutes rest from work and decided that whatever had the woman at his door not thirty seconds later must be something serious. "Come in." he called out in a very business-like way, not looking up from the obscure documents he was scribbling at.

"Evening, Dr. Watson." John looked up with a pleased smile at Lestrade as the man shuffled into his office, shaking flakes of snow off the shoulders of his coat. Then the corners of John's smile inched downward slowly as his mind clasped at the first reason the DI would be on his office threshold. "Okay, what did Sherlock do this time?"

Lestrade chuckled a bit at the resigned doctor. "Nothing so far, just checking in on you." he assured the man at the desk.

"'Checking in on me'? Why?" John asked, eyebrows quirking a little. "Am I in some kind of danger?"

"To some degree, in a way." Lestrade deadpanned. "Nothing too physically dangerous, I suppose. But you'll learn to prepare yourself for the worst."

Silence reigned as John watched Lestrade unwrap his scarf from around his neck and made himself at home in the armchair opposite the desk from him. "Alright, I'll bite. What should I be preparing for?" he asked finally.

"Well, there will always be Sherlock dashing about, knee deep in snow, for his cases. He'll probably want you along for that." Lsetrade ticked off his fingers. John frowned a little, worriedly. "You'll have him asking numerous questions about the logic behind alot of Christmas decorations and traditions... most of which I don't know myself." John's frown deepened. "Mrs. Hudson will probably have knitted an obnoxiously coloured piece of garment, usually pink, and she'll expect you to wear it." John nodded, he had deduced that when the little lady had inquired after his size earlier in the day. "And you'll have random kidnappings, or unmarked boxes on your doorstep from Mycroft, wishing you a Merry Christmas." John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "And while we're on the topic of gifts, Sherlock will probably give you something utterly horrible that he thinks is amazing, so be nice about it. And Mycroft will give you a wonderful gift that is either bugged, or has some other mode of surveillence on it, get rid of it as soon as possible."

John dropped his head into his hands despairingly. "Ugh, kill me now." he moaned pitifully.

Lestrade grimaced. "And... that's in a good year."

John lifted his face out of his hands and sent him a guarded look. "Do I even want to know about a bad year?"

Lestrade tapped a finger to his chin in mock-contemplation, then grimaced at some terrible memory, and shook his head. "No."

John sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Lestrade reached over and patted John's shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, it's worse at New Years."

John rolled his eyes at the DI. "Oh, thanks! I feel much better now." Lestrade just smiled at him.

"Well, I'd better be going now." Lestrade sent a furtive glance at his watch and pushed himself out of his seat. "Left Sherlock at Bart's and all. He should be done torturing his cadaver by now."

John raised an eyebrow at Lestrade. "You have to deal with Sherlock over the holidays too?"

Lestrade, who already had one foot over the threshold, lingered in the doorway and made a confused expression. "'Holiday'? What's a holiday?" Then he smiled at John. "Merry Christmas Eve, Dr. Watson. Maybe we could go out for a pint after Christmas to celebrate our surviving the weekend?"

John smiled back gratefully. "I have a feeling I'll be needing it."

"Well," Lestrade chuckled jokingly. "we of inferior IQ should stick together, keep ourselves sane-like." Then, with a polite nod, Lestrade loosely wrapped his scarf back around his neck and left the office, closing the door after himself.

John turned his gaze from the door to the calendar on his wall, glaring at the small date marked in red, and sighed, dropping his forehead onto the surface of his desk.

And he was supposed to be the one who liked Christmas!