Summary: Sherlock might not be a fan of Christmas, but he is a fan of other things. Like, the Nobel Prize.
Note: It’s a bit late (should have been posted two days ago), yet a bit rushed so there are errors. See end of fic for more notes.
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(I need a tissue too! Sherlock dying of Alzheimer's is a concept that kills me! no matter when and where his live has brought him. just the image of him having his focus and his mind slipping through his fingers and he knows it's happening, but he can't do anything about it. and he should have been in Stockholm with them because it's his dream! ...sorry, that became long)
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