[COMPLETE] ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????「Sherlock」

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THE MOURNFUL NOTES OF SHERLOCK' RENDITION OF HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS oozed with the consistency of syrup, sugary and sweet. Julia could hear it even as she stepped down the stairs, heading to the flat below in order to join the others in her new getup. Her dahlia heels clicked in sharp, mesmerising thuds, her hips swaying softly, the dark forest-green material parting over her left leg, allowing a flash of her soft skin to bare on the occasion. Her hand found the doorknob and she paused, listening to the soft conversation that she could hear ever so faintly beneath the violin's deep croon. She was confident. The dress fit like a glove. In all honesty, she was more comfortable in it than she would have been in Sarah's, or perhaps even her jeans and jumper.

Her hand cranked the chilled knob, taking note of the damp patches upon the floor from where snow had most likely melted off of Sherlock's coat. Was he still upset? Most likely, and yet she could not pretend that she hadn't heard his soft plead before she had broken away from him at the restaurant, nor how tightly he had held her, as if she were going to crumble right there in front of him and never manifest again. It's too late, she thought to herself. Back into the fray. 221B's door swung open and she gracefully strode inside, turning herself as she would always do while sneaking inside, and shutting it ever so discreetly. The song did not end and she ignored the turning heads, admiring the crackling heat of the fireplace as she travelled in the direction of the kitchen.

Julia found that it was spotless and well-dressed with bottles of sparkling champagne, sherry, rum, whiskey and Jägermeister, along with a case of Steamwhistle, which John favoured mostly. How Molly had gotten her hands on all of it was beyond her. Retrieving one of her aunt's beautiful glasses, she poured herself the partially-opened glass of bubbly alcohol and took a drink, enjoying its aroma. Bubbles leapt from the frosty liquid, spraying in a faint mist across her lips even as she drew away. The rosette sighed. This was how Christmas was supposed to feel: her back straight, her head held high, dressed in a pair of comfortable heels and a kick-ass outfit... all while enjoying the company of her friends and family.

She carefully stepped into the den once more, her stones of turquoise finally finding Sherlock. He wandered gracefully around the back of his seat, her aunt settled in his place as she listened with wonder painting her ever-glowing features. John held Sarah's hand in his own as he rested upon the arm of his own sitting place, his girlfriend perched upon the cushions to his right. Molly hovered upon the opposite side, and Elliot watched from where he resided on Sherlock's leather sofa. The hearth spit and sparked.

Julia took a deep breath in, glancing around the room, yet could not keep her eyes off of him for long. He was so elegant, poised, as if he had stepped out of some sort of Gothic time beyond their own. His dark chocolate curls bounced and fluttered, his shoulders stoically holding the weight of his weapon of choice. Sherlock was untouchable, in body, mind and soul, and Julia couldn't resist basking in the light he gave off, even if he were so horribly vain. He'd step casually, then pause, eyes glued shut in the candlelight and Christmas colours. Sherlock swayed and then pivoted around, facing her and abruptly opening his wicked powder-blue jewels.