Sherlock’s Yuletide, Part I

Before I share the first part to this short story, I’d like to explain how it came to be.

Earlier this week, I approached one of my writing friends, Judith Grace, about co-writing a story. Graciously, she agreed, and we carved out time this weekend to work on it together. 

It seemed fitting to choose Sherlock for our first venture into something like this. She’s an avid fan of the show and, even though I only finished watching the series in the late summer, the characters and story that entwined them captivated me.  

Next, we chose a day to commence our project. At first, we exchanged texts, switching after we wrote a handful of lines. Lines that turned into hundreds of words. That soon turned into longer emails. And thousands of words. In the end, we had a 6K word document to edit. 

I like to say that Grace is my sister from another mother. We harbor a love for many of the same things, including but not limited to beautiful vintage items and inspiring literature. We often think alike, and express ourselves similarly. Our hobbies correlate, except while she gardens, like another writing friend of mine, I can’t grow a plant to save a life. And…we have different styles of writing. However, I knew we’d work well together, and could blend these styles with a little effort. Suffice to say, we are so pleased at how this story came together, having fun while we were at it, I’m sure we’ll do it again! 

She saved me from a few blunders in this story, since my knowledge of Sherlock is limited. And if only you could read her amazing poetry. We’ve often shared our writing with each other this past year, exchanging ideas and opinions—and encouragement. And while she’s quite gifted at prose, she also has an amazing knack for editing just the right word to make her poems sing. She’s kindly helped me with my own poetry when I’ve asked for her assistance. She’s been a true Godsend. I’m incredibly grateful for her friendship and it does not surprise me in the least, given how kind she is, that she was willing to co-write this story and allow me to post it on my blog. Thank you, Grace, from the bottom of my heart!

I’ll post Parts II and III Tuesday and Wednesday on my blog, respectively. We hope you enjoy the story! Feel free to drop us a note about it if you do! 

Part One

John Watson stood at the front window of the flat he shared with Sherlock Holmes and looked down at the street below. He was savoring his morning cup of tea and thinking.

It was bitterly cold, the coldest winter Britain had seen in many years, so there was no foot traffic to be seen, only a few cars driving very slowly on the icy street.

He could hear Sherlock in his room getting dressed. He would soon come in to the room demanding his morning tea. John always made the tea. He had, in the course of his tenure as Sherlock’s flatmate, tried to teach him to make a decent cup of tea. It didn’t work…Sherlock’s tea tasted like bilge water. He moved away from the window into the kitchen and got the tea ready for Sherlock, strong, two sugars, a tiny drop of milk.

He handed over the tea as Sherlock walked in. “Sherlock, I’ve been thinking.”

“Really, John? And so early in the morning.”

John didn’t rise to the bait. “I think we should have a Christmas Eve party, here at the flat. With food, drink and a gift exchange.”

When Sherlock didn’t answer, John added, “I’m sure it will be a small celebration. Nothing that will stretch your sensibilities too much.”

“Alright.”

John glanced around the room, envisioning a quiet yet celebratory gathering—if Sherlock agreed. They’d spent the past few weeks running after a serial killer, their steps reaching the outskirts of England to Ireland. Germany. Poland. Back to Germany. Bulgaria. It was enough to make his head spin again.

He was surprised Sherlock hadn’t locked himself away, nursing madness as a result.

“You can choose the food for the menu, if you’d like,” John decided, although it was a risk. A hardy one, at that. They could be eating biscuits, alone, or an entree they’d never heard of before. “Would that help?”

“I believe I said yes.”

He couldn’t imagine what Sherlock would choose for an appetizer, but at least the party would be interesting. “For gifts, a trip to—”

“John,” Sherlock interrupted. “I am amenable to the idea.”

His eyes snapped back to Sherlock. “You…you agree?”

Sherlock nodded.

And wasn’t that peculiar.

John looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Why what, John?” Sherlock stared back.

“Why are you being so agreeable to the idea of a Christmas gathering?”

“Because you want it, John.”

“What?” John blinked. “Um…since when do you take what I want into consideration, Sherlock? Are you feeling alright? You’re not dying are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. Of course I’m not dying, and I take your wants into consideration when they coincide with my own.”

“Oh,” John said, relieved. This sounded much more like Sherlock.

“I decided that since you accompanied me without complaints to England, Ireland. Germany, Poland. Then to Germany again, to Bulgaria and back here. Accommodating your desire for a gathering is the least I can do.”

“Well, thank you, Sherlock,” John said dryly.

“You’re quite welcome, John. Now perhaps you should elaborate on your plans. I have decided that I will be amenable to whatever you want unless it’s too outlandish. Who are we to invite? And, if I may ask, what brought this idea into your head?”

“I thought we’d ask Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft. Mrs Hudson is always good to us, Sherlock, Molly goes out of her way to help us in our cases, Lestrade is always on hand if we need him as is Mycroft. I thought it was about time we reciprocate their efforts. We’ll need to plan the food and beverages, and then go out to buy a few small gifts to exchange with them.”

Sherlock looked askance. “Gifts? We’re exchanging gifts?”

“Of course we are, Sherlock! It’s the customary thing to do with your close friends and family. We can’t leave anyone out.”

Sherlock sighed. “Very well, John, if you say so. I don’t quite understand your insistence of remembering everyone with a gift, but we will not forget anyone, I assure you.”

“I do say so.”

“What about your sister, Harry. If we’re inviting Mycroft, shouldn’t you invite Harry?”

“I have absolutely no plans to ask Harry to our gathering. She despises Christmas festivities, says it depresses her. Our party is the antithesis of Harry’s Christmas plans which will be to see a horror film and eat fish and chips.”

Sherlock shuddered. “I agree then, it would be best not to invite Harry,” he said.

“Shall we sit down to plan our menu?”

Sherlock looked down at his now cold cup of tea. “If you want to, John, and if you will make me a fresh cup of tea.”

His tone of voice, which John studiously ignored, was long suffering and put upon.

“It is not to your liking?” John dared to ask.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “I dare say I shall teach you how to make my tea, once and for all, John.”

“Your tea is atrocious.”

“And yet you want me to plan the menu.” Sherlock handed him the cup.

He did not take it. “It is in poor taste to return a gift.”

Sherlock lifted a brow. “Then perhaps we should forgo a gift exchange, as I foresee that no one will know what I’d like, except perhaps for you, thereby leaving me no choice but to return all of mine.”

John snorted. “I think we’ll take our chances.”

When Sherlock hummed a response and sat down, his legs crossed and expression waiting, John took that as a good sign.

This was going to work. Even soften the impression their friends and coworkers have of Sherlock. God knows how trying he could be.

Sherlock set the cup down with a sigh and folded his hands. “Shall we begin?”

“Oh. Right.” John took his seat, then shifted his body so that he could grab the stack of magazines he’d set aside just for this purpose without wrenching his back.

He handed one to Sherlock. “For inspiration.”

Sherlock leafed through the pages. “I don’t need pictures to help me. This is a simple party, is it not? With friends?”

John shrugged. “Humor me.”

“This is a waste of ti—oh.” Sherlock stopped and frowned.

“What is it?”

Sherlock turned the magazine around, one finger pointing at the top right page corner where a chocolate frosted, three-layered strawberry cake was the centerpiece of a brightly decorated table.

John narrowed his eyes on the title. “Mary’s Christmas Cake?” he read.

“The name suits you.”

“For?”

“Love.”

“I don’t know any Marys.” He paused. “Good heavens, Sherlock. We’re planning a party, not a wedding.”

“You will,” Sherlock muttered, already turning the next page.

“Something with salmon,” John prodded to change the subject. “And dill sauce? Roasted parsnips? Pigs in a blanket?”

“I thought prawn cocktail cups, cranberry relish, a fruit tray, Scottish smoked salmon, since I know you love it, caramelized shallot mash, roast potatoes, a selection of cheese and crackers, and, my favorite, a trifle, would do fine.”

“Yes, yes,” John said, impressed. “Champagne?”

“A punch will suffice.”

“Mistletoe? Molly’s coming, isn’t she?”

“The shallots are for Molly.”

John’s mouth quirked at the corners. “Are they now?”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes, but don’t read into it. The cheese and crackers will satisfy Mycroft’s simpler tastes. The relish is for Mrs. Hudson, as long as it’s extra sweet. And I thought Lestrade would appreciate the roast potatoes, as they’ll remind him of his grandmother.”

John leaned back, magazine forgotten on his lap. “This was easier than I thought it would be.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Sherlock hesitated.

“What?”

“Since this was less painful than you’d anticipated, and I abhor gift-buying—”

John stood up, jaw firm. “No. You’re coming. No excuses. That’s final. Final, Sherlock,” he said pointing a finger at him. “I’m not planning this without you. Don’t think for a minute that I’m shopping on my own. I’d rather—I’d rather shut myself away for all of Christmas. For every Christmas for the next decade. We’re friends, and this is what friends do.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “I owe you a thousand apologies, John. I had no idea that you would be so affected.”

“Well, this is important. I overheard Molly—and then Lestrade—their family will be away for most of the holiday.”

“Put on a warm coat, John,” Sherlock said suddenly, tone brusque. “It’s bitterly cold out this morning. If we have to shop, we need to do it right away. Our schedule is too full for this nonsense next week.”

“This is all I have, Sherlock,” John told him, struggling into his nondescript jacket and old military gloves and scarf.

Sherlock looked disapprovingly at the jacket, but said nothing more. He put on his long wool coat, buttoning it to the top, his scarf and gloves to follow.

John jerked his head towards the door. “Come on,” he said, giving in to a smile. “I’m certain it’ll be a snap.” When Sherlock grumbled a firm I doubt it under his breath, he added, “Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself for once.”

They called goodbye to Mrs. Hudson, leaving before she could protest their departure into the wintry world.

John led the way with a fresh spring in his steps, even as the snow billowed in his face once he opened the front door.

—tbc—

Part II will be posted tomorrow evening.                            Thank you for reading!