So Ben C wrote an open letter to Father Christmas (who I believe is also called Santa Claus) and it was fantastic and heartwarming to read. I love this quote of his the most: This is what I'd like to ask you to help with. A little more time for children to be children. Stretch the moment of magic and playfulness. Also, I think lightsabers are not yet in production, dear sir.

Anyway, I got inspired to write, and I thought I'd better post it up now as well, because it's not everyday I get to write something in full. It's in the format of short letters, 4 in all; I try so hard to get into character, but sometimes we just don't know what goes on in that funny little head of his. Apologies if I'm so far off or he's OOC, or his history is so over-the-top, but this is kinda my headcanon for TV series Sherlock Holmes. Anyway, I can't wait for all the Chrismassy Sherlolly stories to come out, and the SBBC collabs! And I hope you enjoy reading this :)

Dear Father Christmas,

I already wrote one letter to you in class that Mrs Johnson told us to write, but I want to write another one because the first letter I wrote was not completely the truth - no, I don't really want a pirate boat because that is huge and it might not fit in the backyard, but if I can have it, it will be fun to play in! But I also want to write another letter to you because I don't want anyone else to see this except for you. I want to ask you for something simple that I think you can give me because everyone has them so easily, and it looks like it could be fun - could you give me some friends? Redbeard's dead (Mummy said he won't be coming back anymore, and that made me really sad), and I don't have people to play with, besides Big Brother. The other kids don't like to play with me because they think I'm a freak because I know a lot of things than them. Sometimes they're mean to me. Friends aren't mean to each other, right? So I want to have friends! Thank you in advance for the friends you'll give!

- William

Father Christmas,

I don't know why I have the inclination to tear a sheet of paper off my coursebook and write something. I don't know why I'm even writing to you in particular - to a fabricated being that only silly little children believe in and that society take advantage of to boost sales for a month. Must be because it's Decemeber - isn't that your month or something? I'm too high to even care. Whatever. Whether you exist or not, it doesn't matter. But does happiness truly exist? Can you give me that?

Father Christmas, can you give me happiness?

- SH

P.S. You think I'd have forgotten about it, but I haven't, and I don't know why I even bother to remember it, to keep this stupid information in my Mind Palace - you still haven't given me the friends I asked for. That letter I wrote to you when I was seven; that second letter I actually stupidly posted to a fake North Pole Father Christmas-esque address that I saw on TV. Is it that difficult to ask for friends, Father? Everyone has friends.

Why don't I?

Father Christmas,

Saw you (rather, a mascot sitting on a red chair in the middle of the mall with the sight of all the horrendous festival decorations and children queuing up) while I was wandering around. Was bored, so I decided to come by and participate in this 'Write to Father Christmas' thing that the lady asked (begged) to do. Although, I am confused as to why only the children are writing. Isn't this event for them adults as well?

Loathe as I am to admit it, I miss the easy companionship of my partner-in-figurative-crime. I miss the unspoken understanding between my landlady and I, and the way my work colleague (to put it lightly) get exasperated whenever I wrongly recall his name. My situation must be affecting me really badly for I dare admit that I miss verbally sparring with two of the most frustrating yet competent work colleagues I've ever had the displeasure of working with, and with my brother who still could not sneak the cake out of the room. I also miss the person who counted the most.

I miss a lot of things, but I will do this again if, God forbids, it happens again. It is exhausting, but it is necessary.

I'm supposed to write what I want from you. You're not real.

Nonetheless, all I want is for all of them to be safe.


Father Christmas,

You're a few years late in granting my wishes, but that's okay.

Thank you for letting me have a family in Molly and our children; thank you for letting me have friends in John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson (and Mycroft and Sally and Anderson, but don't tell anyone about it, especially Anderson).

Thank you for giving me happiness.

You may exist, or you may not. But believing that things can happen, and letting things happen, sometimes do work. Thank you.

- Sherlock Holmes