Why Fireflies Flash

Meaning-Meaningless

221c Baker Street

"I didn't realize you weren't going home for Christmas."

Anabeth looked up from where she was wrapping presents on the floor in front of her couch. She gives the detective a tiny smirk that shows no emotion. He was always in her flat now. Or her in his. Though they rarely spoke.

"John's just informed me. Sentiment – family," Sherlock says with an air of confusion."It means a lot to you, so why...?" he trails off.

"Christmas is..." she says pausing in her ministrations, "not a good time to be home. It is full of forced smiles, lies, and everyone pretending they love each other. There is relentless nit-picking in the form of teasing and overly truthful drunken admitting. And as much as I enjoy seeing my nieces and nephews and Alfie and the part of the family that doesn't tick me off, I can't it deal with that. Not right now." She smiles up at him a bright smile on her face, though her eyes are clouded with misery. "Surely you must understand. Being the youngest and all."

"Of course," he agrees noncommittally. His mind is already searching through the palace, wondering why it bugged him so much, as he retreats up the stairs.

It's not until he's laid on the couch for a good long while does he realize just what it was.

221b Baker Street
Christmas Eve

"We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year."

Sherlock and Anabeth share a look as they both give a small bow. Sherlock's is a bit more snide, giving that Anabeth had stolen the metaphorical spotlight as she hummed the lyrics coming up the stairs. Mrs Hudson had given her a look that prompted Anabeth to sing fully.

"Lovely!" the landlady exclaims. "That was lovely."

"Marvelous," John says as he walks past with a cuppa for Mrs. Hudson.

"I wish you could have worn the antlers," Mrs Hudson continues.

"Somethings are better left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson," Sherlock tells her.

Anabeth perks up. "Wait. There were antlers?" She gives her neighbor a cheeky grin. "Oh Holmes, not everything is better left up to imagination."

Sherlock heaves a silent sigh as he turns towards John's girlfriend. "Oh, no thank you Sarah."

"Ah, no no no no," John says trying to come to the rescue. "He's not good with names."

"Ain't that the truth. He gets my name wrong all the time, Jeanette. Nothing to get your feathers ruffled over," Anabeth speaks up.

Sherlock turns to her. "I've never gotten your name wrong."

"He calls me Christabella," Anabeth continues without missing a beat. "Where on my birth certificate can you see the name Christabella? My name has been Anabeth Ellis Ryder since the day I was born."

He rolls his eyes a John leads Jeanette away from the detective. "Oh dear lord."

"Hello everybody," Molly says as she enters the room. "It said, on the door just to come up."

A round of hello's and wonderful to see you's echo through the small room as Molly slips out of her coat. There's exclamations of awe as Molly's gown is revealed.

"I told you you'd look stunning in that dress," Anabeth says as she hugs her friend.

"Having a Christmas drinkies then?" Molly says as she pulls away.