This was requested by YOU, my lovely readers! I hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas! Or if you don't celebrate Christmas, enjoy your holidays! And for those of you who are not on holiday, happy random day of your life!

You walked down the street, clad in your winter boots and woolly but ever so warm favourite coat. Your bare hands were cold but that didn't matter to you. They held the book of carols you were singing as you walked around London on Christmas Eve. The words you sang escaped your mouth and formed a small cloud as the hot air exited your lungs and met the cold.

You walked around everywhere, in the streets that were busiest, mainly. It was still rather early in the evening, about four o'clock, and people were wandering about the city, travelling to parties or enjoying the decorations.

Your fair voice rang out into the night. There was lots of noise around, but you projected well, so people passing tended to form a circle around you to listen with smiles on their faces.

"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace," you finished the song, and claps rang out from the circle around you. You bowed, smiling, and continued on your way. You loved doing this, simply spreading happiness to people all around. It made Christmas magical.

This was a tradition you had every year. You would go carolling around London for a few hours in the main arteries of the city. Then, to finish the evening, you would go to St. Bart's hospital and sing for the sick. You made it a duty to stop by the children who had to stay at the hospital for Christmas because of grave illness, and your heart melted when they would join in the singing of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer with a happy twinkle in their eyes.

Usually, you would carol with a friend, but this year you couldn't find anyone who didn't have a party or family gathering to attend. So you went alone, which didn't bother you in the least.

Time trickled by, and you covered most of the crowded areas in the centre of London. You were taking a shortcut down Baker Street when you saw someone outside, struggling with her bins.

"Ma'am, wait, let me help you!" You exclaimed, as you jogged over to where she was.

"Oh, thank you, dear, that's very kind of you!" The older woman said. You stopped in your tracks when you heard her voice, and glanced at her properly.

"M-Mrs. Hudson?"

The woman looked at your face properly in the light before exclaiming, "Oh Y/N, it's you! I can't believe it, I haven't seen you in years! What are you doing in London?"

"It's wonderful to see you, Mrs. Hudson! I moved here a few years ago to finish my studies. What are you doing in London?"

"Oh, I left Florida behind ages ago, dear. But what are you doing out on Christmas Eve all on your own?"

"I've been carolling," you answered proudly.

"Oh, I remember when you were just a little girl, singing and dancing all over my lawn, a mess of pigtails and braces! And look at you now, all grown up!" She looked at you a moment, and then continued. "Why don't you come in? I've got a nice Christmas party going on upstairs, just a few people, it'll be nice,"

"But Mrs. Hudson, I have to get back to-"

"You're freezing, dear, you'll catch your death. Come enjoy the warmth. And I'll tell you what, one of my tenants, Sherlock, he plays the violin. Maybe the two of you could make a little Christmas song duo, so you won't feel like you're not accomplishing your caroller duty," she said.

You pondered the idea. It was only seven o'clock. St. Bart's wasn't very far from here, so you'd have time to sing for the children. Also, going inside where it wasn't freezing sounded very nice.

"Alright, then, I don't see why not," you said with a smile. Mrs. Hudson positively beamed at you.

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed. The two of you walked inside and you removed your coat, hanging it up. As you adjusted the Santa Claus hat you were wearing, Mrs. Hudson started saying a bit worriedly, "Now, Y/N, I should probably warn you about Sherlock... He-"

"Mrs. Hudson! Are you down there?" A voice interrupted her. A man descended to your level, wearing a Christmas jumper. He was a bit short, with sandy hair, but a warm smile. "Oh good, you're fine, you'd been down here for a while. I thought you might have fallen," he said. He turned and noticed you. He extended his hand. "Oh hello! I'm John Watson, who are you?"

"Y/N Y/L/N," you answered, shaking his hand.

Mrs. Hudson explained. "Y/N used to be my neighbour back in Florida. It turns out she moved to London a few years ago. I just met her outside and invited her in for a bit, to join the party. She has a beautiful voice, in fact she was carolling, and I thought maybe she and Sherlock could do a little something."

"Oh, that sounds great! Well, you're very welcome to join us, of course!" He glanced to Mrs. Hudson. "Did you tell her about-"

"That's what I was going to do, but you go ahead, John, I'll go tell them we have an extra guest," she said, and with that, the older woman went up the stairs.

You were left alone with Mr. Watson, slightly bemused at all this mystery that seemed to surround this Sherlock. Usually, you wouldn't be too thrilled about being left alone with a man you didn't know, but Mr. Watson had a kind and trust inspiring face.

"Mr. Watson-"

"Please, call me John."

"Oh, alright then, John, what's going on with this Sherlock bloke that I should be warned about?"

John cleared his throat. "Sherlock, he's...he's my best friend. He's a consulting detective, in fact I'm surprised you haven't heard of him before. You know, he's been in the papers with this hat..." Seeing your blank expression, he continued. "Anyway, he does this...thing when he meets new people. He basically deduces everything about who you are with one look at you. And he says it out loud because he's a show off," he added with a chuckle. "But he doesn't understand that he's very blunt and crude sometimes, and that he can hurt people. Anyway, just be prepared for it."

"Alright, thanks for warning me," was your reply. Honestly, you didn't think this would be such a big deal, but you could never have fathomed the incredible intellect of the man you were about to meet.

*FLASH FORWARD IN TIME AND SPACE TO HAVING CLIMBED ALL THE STAIRS TO THE OPEN DOOR OF 221B*

You strolled inside with John to be greeted by a small crowd of people that came forward to introduce themselves.

You met John's girlfriend, Jeannette, who seemed slightly bored. Then, you met Greg Lestrade, who worked for Scotland Yard. Molly, who dazzled you with her sparkles, but seemed a total sweetheart, and whom you learned worked at St. Bart's.

Finally, a man who had been watching you by the window, stepped forward, violin bow in hand. His galaxy like irises bored into yours, cold and searching, and you greeted rather flustered, "And you must be Mr. Holmes."

"Hmmm," he acknowledged. "You've had a busy day, today, clearly. Haircut, baking a cake, tutoring your nephew, painting your nails, skating, and yet you still go carolling? You must be exhausted."

You stared at the man in shock. How did he know you had done all that today, and in that order? Sherlock Holmes seemed to sense your astonishment, and smiled proudly before launching into an explanation.

"Your hair is nicely done. Probably professionally, considering the fact that you've got about five different products in it. The little hairs that have been cut off and that are still sticking onto the back of your neck give it away, really.

Cake. Coming home, you probably played some Christmas music and baked a nice holiday cake. Chocolate, from the mix that got stuck beneath your fingernails.

Ah, and then you tutored your nephew. You saw him today, dropping by for a few moments to offer him and his family the aforementioned cake, as a Christmas present. You helped him with math because there is a sheet of paper coming out of your pocket that has simple enough algebra equations scribbled all over it. Judging from their complexity, I'd say this nephew is twelve years old.

You then painted your nails, rather hurriedly because you wanted to go skating. You only had time to apply one coat, hence the transparency that allowed me to see the chocolate underneath. It was done today since you have a small polish stain on your coat, from putting it on when it wasn't dry yet.

Why were you in such a rush to apply the polish? You really wanted to go skating, were meeting some friends there. Friends? Yes, because who would go skating alone on Christmas? You skated for a few hours, as your legs seemed wobbly as you reached the top of the stairs.

And carolling? Well, you're carrying a book of carols in your hands right now. And Mrs. Hudson mentioned it. It's nice to meet you, Y/N Y/L/N."

Around you, there was only silence after Mr. Holmes's long monologue. You stood, amazed, for a few moments. The others observed you, gauging your reaction. Finally, you spoke.

"He's nine, actually." Before everyone's looks of confusion, you clarified. "My nephew, David. He's very smart for his age, he does advanced equations. I wasn't tutoring him. It's our little tradition, to do math every time we see each other." You paused. "But apart from that, everything was...exactly right. That was exceptional, Mr. Holmes."

The others looked relieved that you hadn't run off in a panic and/or in tears. Mr. Holmes smiled at you. He took his violin in hand. "Shall we begin?" He asked, knowing exactly what you came here to do. You nodded, smiling.

The familiar notes of Silver Bells rang out, and violin and voice sounded in perfect harmony.

*A FEW HOURS LATER IN TIME AND SPACE, AT ST. BART'S HOSPITAL*

It was late. You were rather sleepy, after all, it had been a long day. You walked down the halls of the hospital's more deserted areas, your destination being the morgue.

You had just finished singing to the seriously sick children. They had all gone to bed now, after the third "last song, please, we promise we'll go to bed right after" and who were you to refuse them an encore of Frosty the Snowman? Now, they were sleeping, eagerly dreaming of the next day, where they would open Santa's gifts. The staff of the hospital worked very hard in that aspect, that they would get fantastic gifts, and it made you smile. A verse of your favourite Christmas poem story came to you.

The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

You had left the Christmas party at 221B around 8:00. You left just before presents started to be offered and unwrapped. It would have been awkward for you to stay, seeing as you had no presents for these people. (So the whole Molly-Sherlock scene happens right after you leave, instead of when Molly arrived. That way, the plot continues, Irene "dies", Sherlock gets the phone)

And now, you were headed to the morgue. You had had a friend who worked there, and although you knew it was unlikely they would be working on Christmas Eve, you still wanted to give it a try.

What you did not expect, however, was for Molly Hooper, Sherlock Holmes, and a dapper and sour looking man to be there.

"Mr. Holmes?" You asked, and both men turned around. "Molly? What are you doing here? You were just at that party an hour ago!"

"Y/N?" Molly asked. "What are-"

The sour man interrupted. "Excuse me, Miss, but this is a private matter of great importance, so if you could just step out and scuttle along, that would be very appreciated," he said, with unmasked conceit.

You stood shocked, but saw Molly mouth to you, Wait outside, and since she was very kind, you nodded and did as you were told.

After a few minutes, they came out into the hallway, and Molly explained without giving really telling you anything.
"Corpse identification. I work at the morgue, actually, so I came in since everyone else had, you know, something else."

You nodded. To the two men who were walking out, you said, "I'm sorry if you've lost someone. It's horrible, especially for Christmas." They looked at you, bemused, before continuing on their way. Ok, perhaps they didn't know the person all that well.

"Well, anyway," you continued speaking to Molly, who was very nice. "I was just dropping by here on the off chance that a friend of mine might have the Christmas Eve shift. If you work here, you might know him. Mind you, I haven't spoken to him in a few months, he might not even work here anymore. Anyway, he works, or worked, in IT. Jim Moriarty? Does it ring a bell?"

Molly's eyes widened. The two men walking away from you stopped in their tracks. Sherlock spun on his heel and ran toward you.

"Jim Moriarty? You know Jim Moriarty?"

"Well, yeah, we used to talk a lot. We lost touch a few months ago, but we used to be pretty close. Why?"

Before Sherlock Holmes could say anything, the sour man interrupted. "Miss, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us."

*ONE YEAR LATER IN TIME AND SPACE, SO THE NEXT CHRISTMAS, WHICH IS STILL BEFORE THE FALL*

"John?" You asked, as you mixed some batter. "Could you get me some butter from the refrigerator?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied. "Where is it?"

"In the compartment where Sherlock placed the eyeballs."

As you glanced around the kitchen of 221B while making your traditional Christmas chocolate cake, you couldn't believe it had only been one year since you met the people who became your best friends. In fact, you probably spent more time at 221B with Sherlock and John than in your own flat, often crashing on their couch after hours of research for a case.

The two of them had quickly accepted you in their crime solving activities, mainly for your interest and knowledge in the domain, as your studies in criminal law at the University of London made you a considerable asset to their group.

Although initially, of course, they had been interested in you for your knowledge of Jim Moriarty. When you were friends with him, you never even suspected that he could have been such a horrible person. He was a total sweetheart with you.

But that night, a year ago, Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes showed you who he really was. Initially, you had refused to give away information on a person who was your friend to two strangers. So they had to prove to you how important it was you complied.

It was with horror that you read over the files, discovering how your kind friend Jim was actually a cold-blooded murderer. You wondered, terrified, if there had been any mangled bodies in the back of his flat when the two of you would watch Doctor Who together at his place. Everything you knew of him was shattered, you learned it was all fake, a pretence to get closer to Sherlock Holmes, and you had just been a part of his "being normal" act.

With newly found coldness, you had answered all of the brothers' questions.

Luckily for you, they had decided to keep a close watch on you in case Jim decided to talk to you again. He didn't, but the regular contact was how you started progressively hanging out more and more with Sherlock and John.

You were drawn out of your thoughts as Sherlock walked into the flat and flopped into his armchair. "Y/N, tea," he said.

You sighed, and raised your hands to show him they were full of flour, eggs, and butter, but his eyes were closed and his hands were steepled in front of his mouth. "Make it yourself, Sherlock, my hands are full of batter." He didn't move. You didn't repeat yourself, you knew he had heard you.

Finally, seven minutes later, he rose gracefully out of his chair and strolled into the kitchen. You saw him breathe in deeply, which caused you to smile. Sherlock never complimented on mundane things like clothes or cooking. In fact, compliments in general were exceptional. But you knew that he thought your cooking smelled good, and that was enough for you.

He reached with his arm to a high shelf just above you. He brushed against you, and you pretended that nothing was going on. But on the inside, you were freaking out and your stomach was full of stomping buffaloes, forget butterflies.

This was a growing problem. You were only lucky Sherlock hadn't noticed it yet. But, sometimes, in the way he looked at you, you wondered if perhaps he did know, but just chose to ignore it. This thought mortified you.

But how could you not have fallen in love with him? For that was the problem alright. His genius was breathtaking. But he had such a beautiful soul. Behind the almightiness he pretended to have, he was fragile, easily broken. He hid it well, but the constant insults from other people did have an effect on him. He locked his wounds and hurts behind a facade of harsh ice. And you wished you could break through it.

But alas, what could you do except be his friend? Even then, he tried to limit it as much as possible. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.

So, you too put on a facade, hiding these feelings deep within you. You imagined forcing them into a black abyss where they would hopefully never resurface. But they always kept crawling out, stronger than before, and driving you positively mad.

Sherlock took the cup he had been reaching for and moved away from you.

*THAT NIGHT, AFTER THE CHRISTMAS PARTY THAT WAS THIS YEAR AT GREG'S FLAT (YOU WENT CAROLLING BEFORE THE PARTY)*

"Alright, goodbye everyone!" You waved, as you and Sherlock left the party. You were leaving a bit earlier than everyone, to check on Mrs. Hudson. She had a nasty cold, and although Sherlock, John, and you would have preferred to stay with her (especially Sherlock, who wasn't overly fond of the idea of a party at someone else's house where he couldn't run away and science in his room), she had insisted and forced you to go. Now, you were going back, without John, who was apparently going to spend the night at his girlfriend's.

Sherlock and you had decided to walk home, as the night was beautiful and Baker Street wasn't all that far. Unfortunately, the night was much colder than you had expected, and you shivered, rubbing your hands together.

Suddenly, you felt something warm being tied around your neck. You glanced at Sherlock, who had just offered you his scarf.

"Sherlock," you told him, "I can't take your scarf." Even though it smells like your cologne and I don't think I've ever smelled something so beautiful in my life. "You'll catch a cold."

"No I won't," he said, turning up his coat collar with a smile, knowing you thought it made him look silly. But the kind of silly you want to snog senseless.

Silence. Until you quietly said, "Thanks."

Finally, you reached the door of 221B. Right as you were about to go in, Sherlock grabbed your arm. "Y/N, wait."

You looked at him, intrigued, and stopped walking.

"I know," he said. "I know how you, erm, feel about me."

"Oh," you breathed. You passed a hand through your hair and looked at the ground, the beautiful starry night, the street, anywhere but at him. The silence was stretching on and on, and after a full minute you couldn't stand it anymore.

"Listen, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, I knew it would make things unbearably weird, and so I tried, I tried so hard to stop it, but-"

"Please, Y/N, stop."

You shut your mouth. This was so bad. He didn't even want to hear it. Don't cry, he'll think you're so stupid. With all the strength you could muster, you forced those tears back, refusing to let Sherlock see you as a weak and emotional wreck.

"I wasn't finished yet," he added in a low voice. You raised your head, and saw he was the one now looking at the floor. "I don't want you to apologize for your feelings. It's the one thing we can't control, no matter how hard we try. That's why I've always tried to avoid them, to push them away. I've always counted on the fact that logic ruled my life because it's so much more straightforward. Feelings...scared me.

For a long time, I was alone. Alone meant no people around me to feel for. I was running from my fear. Of course, no one can run forever. John came into my life. He became my best friend. And then you came into my life, a big ball of singing and cakes.

It's strange because my subconscious realized how I felt before I did, storing more and more random information in my mind palace. Information I would never have considered important, but that I did because it was you.

But today, I caught myself looking at you the same way you'd been looking at me for a while now, even though you thought I didn't notice. And I realized that I value your companionship above all others, and for all the time I spend with you, it isn't enough. And this feeling, however much I tried to avoid it, I think is love."

You stood, gaping, at the man before you, who was finally looking at you. And you simply had no words. That tear that you had forced back earlier leaked out of your eye, and this time there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Sherlock frowned. "Crying...that's not good, is it? That wasn't right, I should have just read a poem..."

You let out a chuckle before launching yourself at Sherlock. You threw your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight hug. Your head was nestled in his cold neck, his curls tickling your face.

Slowly, his arms wrapped themselves around you and held you against him just as tightly. At first, he was a bit stiff, but he relaxed after a few moments. While comfortably rested against him, you felt completely at peace.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," Sherlock said, as you heard a clock striking twelve somewhere.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes," you replied.

Merry Christmas, friends! I don't know where in the world you're reading this, but from where I am it's about 4:25 on Christmas Day. So I published on time, hurrah! I wish you all the best.

Lots of love,
Helen