Sherlock’s Yuletide, Part III

And now, the third and final part to our Christmas story! We’ve skipped to the party, the shopping and cases over with, but no doubt still on their mind.

Part III

“Oh, I thought this day would never come,” squealed Mrs. Hudson. “Sherlock, hosting his very own Christmas party!”

John looked at the dish in her hands and the bag hanging from her elbow that held something that looked like a cookie tin. “Mrs. Hudson, I thought I’d mentioned we were providing the food.”

“Pish-posh.” She brushed past him, wearing a brightly colored blouse and skirt that shimmered as she walked. “There could never be enough food at a gathering when Sherlock is around. Last year, he went through two dozen cookies on his own in one afternoon.”

Sherlock popped his head around the corner. “It was an experiment.”

She fluttered her lashes. “So you say.”

“I do,” Sherlock said, nodding solemnly. “Your peppermint thins were as bitter as the year before.”

She never flinched. “And the taffy you snitched?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Better than I’d remembered.”

She smiled. “That is a compliment, coming from you.” She held out her food to him. “Now, be a dear, Sherlock. Set these out, but not before trying the chocolate-covered pretzels.” She leaned forwards, whispering. “The chocolate is a new recipe.”

He sighed, but his eyes sharpened on the bag she held. “Is that right? I was just about to instruct Lestrade how to make the punch.” He straightened and walked towards her. “But I shall help you, instead, my dear Mrs. Hudson.”

Lestrade (who knew his way around a punch bowl and needed no instructions from Sherlock) and Mrs. Hudson helped with the last minute details. Sherlock looked around. Everything looked quite festive, he decided.

John, in the throes of a decorating frenzy, had gone out a few days before and bought a large tree, boxes of baubles to put on it, a wreath for the door, and a small mistletoe bough. Anthea’s gold balls and greenery now had pride of place as a centerpiece for the table. The big fir tree shone softly with the colored bubble lights John had found somewhere, and the gold and red glass balls shimmered in reflected beauty.

Mrs. Hudson had loaned them a festive red table cloth for their dining table. Sherlock had carefully placed the large platters and desserts according to a chart he had created to maximize traffic flow.

“No one likes to stand around waiting for the person in front of them to move so they can get to their food choice. It makes them cross, John,” Sherlock fretted, working on his flow chart.

“There are only going to be six people, including us, Sherlock, not a pillaging horde,” John had told him mildly.

Lestrade came up to Sherlock with a glass of punch, breaking his thoughts. “Taste it, Sherlock, see what you think and tell me if I should add more spirits.”

Sherlock took a cautious sip and looked up in surprise. “It’s very good, Lestrade, and no further addition of spirits is needed. You did quite a good job with it.”

“My mum’s recipe,” Lestrade said, proudly. “We had it every Christmas and New Year.”

John came up to them. “I think everything is ready, Sherlock. I’m just going to put everyone’s gifts under the tree. Mycroft and Molly should be arriving soon. It was kind of Mycroft to offer to bring her. Taxis are difficult to hire in this weather.”

“Yes, Mycroft quite likes Molly. Her work with cadavers appeals to him for some odd reason.”

“It’s because he’s related to you,” muttered John.

~

The outer doorbell rang, and Mrs Hudson ran to answer it.

“I believe that’s Mycroft and Molly,” John announced. “Our revels can now begin.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock turned and made for his favorite chair.

“Is that headache of yours gone?” John asked, following him.

“Headache? I don’t have a headache.”

John scratched the tip of his nose. “You just took medication for it, while you were in the kitchen.”

So he’d seen. “Don’t worry, John.”

“You’re not sick, are you? You’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

Mrs. Hudson returned with their next guests, saving him from replying.

Molly didn’t hesitate to embrace John. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s been dreadfully lonely without my family.”

“They went on a cruise, did they?”

She nodded, wincing. “They invited me, but I couldn’t think of leaving my work behind, when you and Sherlock have been so busy.”

“I thank you, Molly,” John said. “You’re a wonder.”

She looked at Sherlock, smile tight before shifting her gaze back to John. “I-I’m not. It’s selfish, really. I hate being backed up after holiday.”

John clasped her shoulder, squeezing it gently. “The cadavers would certainly not mind—they would stay where they are and wait for you, I guarantee it—but I understand.”

She laughed, her smile lighting up the rest of the room. “Oh, John. You’re just what I needed tonight.”

Sherlock changed his mind about sitting and enjoying a mix of appetizers and stood by his bookshelf, hands clasped behind his back. He’d not seen Molly in a week. There was something different about her. To his chagrin, he could not determine what it was. The guests milling about, he observed them all rather than finish his plate of food, taking interest in their laughter and the way they included each other in the conversation. It was all rather…charming.

Mycroft came beside him, brow lifted. “You’re not having second thoughts are you? It would be terribly disappointing.”

“About the party?” Sherlock shook his head. “No. I am glad for John that they came.”

He’d no doubt they would not be so happy if he was their only host.

Mycroft’s chest rumbled in agreement. “You are a true friend, even if you do not see it for yourself, Sherlock.”

“You mean John.”

“No, I mean you,” Mycroft said and drew away to speak with Lestrade.

John came up with Molly in tow. “Sherlock, isn’t it astounding? Molly forwent going on a cruise with her family so she could be available to help with our cases.”

“Yes, I heard. That’s quite generous of you,” Sherlock said, still trying to figure out what was different about her appearance.

Molly flushed and bit her lip.

And with that Sherlock got it. “You’re wearing lipstick, Molly! But you never wear lipstick!”

Molly’s cheeks flushed even redder. John reached for her hand and drew it under his arm. “Yes, she is, in honor of our party, and she’s never looked prettier.”

“But—”

John shook his head at him. “Come with me, Molly, Mrs. Hudson is beckoning. She obviously wants to speak with you.” He pulled her gently along.

Sherlock was now alone, but it didn’t matter. With a contented sigh, he sank into his chair and took a bite from one of Mrs. Hudson’s cookies.

At last.

He could eat in peace.

~

John found a quiet corner and peered at Molly in concern. “Are you alright? He can be…”

He wasn’t sure where to start.

“No, no,” she assured him. “He’s fine. But thank you, John. I don’t know why I get so flustered around him.”

John smiled. “Not to worry, Molly. Sherlock has even been known to fluster the head of MI6 occasionally.”

“He never seems to fluster you, John. I envy you that.”

He leaned in to whisper. “You want to know my secret?”

She nodded, eyes fixated on his face.

“I only listen to a third of what he says,” he smiled brilliantly.

Molly laughed. “I’ll have to remember that. Hello, Mrs. Hudson. Lovely party isn’t it?”

“Molly dear, you look lovely. Doesn’t she, John? Doesn’t she look simply divine?”

“She does indeed, Mrs. Hudson, as do you,” John added gallantly.

“Thank you, dear.” She looked around. “I can’t believe you got Sherlock to agree to a party. It’s the first time since he came to live here that he’s entertained. It’s your civilizing influence, John dear.”

“I try, Mrs. Hudson, I try. I’m happy you think it’s working.”

“Keep at it. Soon, we’ll have parties for every occasion.”

John grimaced. “I don’t think my pocketbook could keep up.”

“I shouldn’t tell you this,” Mrs. Hudson whispered, “but Sherlock likes to make those paper ornaments for the orphan children.”

“Ornaments? Our Sherlock?” John questioned doubtfully. Chocolate was one thing. Snipping paper another.

“I’m sure of it. I find the scraps in the wastebasket, all in red and green, and sometimes yellow. And then he has me mail the package. An envelope for a large letter.” She indicated the size with her hands spread apart. “It’s always very light.”

“He’s done this before?”

“Of course.”

Molly’s expression softened. “That’s sweet of him.”

“I was thinking shocking,” John said dryly.

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t tell him I told you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” John said, crossing his heart.

He almost couldn’t believe it, but Sherlock did have a knack for the paper-folding intricacies of origami. Sherlock had often said it helped him think. Like being alone helped him sleep.

John shook his head at Sherlock, who was in his chair, plate loose in his hand, eyes closed.

“I better awaken our Sleeping Beauty,” John murmured to the women. “Excuse me.”

~

Sherlock was almost asleep when he was rudely awakened by a foot nudging his leg.

“It’s not over yet,” John said. “We have wonderful gifts to give, more delightful memories to share, more stalwart resolutions to make.”

Sherlock stirred, one eye cracked open. “You sound like a Christmas card.”

“And you look a little rough around the edges,” John said. “It’s on your face. The working. The challenges. The hours that stretched from morning to night—and beyond. Even a sociopath has to slow down at some point. You need a few days off, Sherlock.”

He couldn’t afford it. No, he amended, they couldn’t, couldn’t afford to be without his expertise. “Gifts.”

“Right.” John went to the tree and chose two presents. He held one out to Sherlock. “You first.”

Sherlock sat up in his chair and looked around, but no one was nearby. “Now?”

John shrugged. “They’ll come soon. They always do. You’re center stage.”

Sure enough, their guests found their seats, watching Sherlock expectantly.

This first gift was from Mycroft, a small flat box wrapped in gold and a red ribbon. Bemused Sherlock opened it. There were two plane tickets to Nassau Bahamas and a voucher for a 4 day stay at the Hilton Hotel. Sherlock looked at Mycroft, shock on his face.

“It’s time for a small vacation, Sherlock. Orders from your doctor. You’re looking quite peaky, pale and washed out, too thin. Sun, the sea, and rest was the prescription. John will accompany you to make sure you rest.”

Sherlock stared at his brother, speechless.

“How lovely, Sherlock, just what you need,” Mrs. Hudson twittered.

John handed him the second gift. “Open it, Sherlock.”

With slightly shaking fingers, Sherlock opened the second gift. “It says it’s from you, John.”

“It is.”

In the box was a pair of sunglasses, dark blue swimming trunks, and a rolled up Panama hat.

“Part 2 of your gift, Sherlock. Hope you like everything. If not you can exchange them.”

Sherlock clutched the box tightly to his chest. “Certainly not! Everything is to my liking! Thank you, Mycroft, thank you, John.”

John passed Mrs.Hudson their gift. “Ooh, for me? Thank you, Sherlock, John.” She opened it to find two tickets for the current run of “Wicked” at The Apollo.

“Oh my! I’ve been wanting to see it for ever so long.” She gave each of them a hug. “You are too good to me, but thank you so much!”

And so it went. John distributed the gifts and everyone opened them with enthusiasm. Be they big or small, there were vocal and loud thanks and appreciative noises.

To Sherlock’s eye, John seemed quite overwhelmed with his gift from Sherlock. At Molly’s urging, John tried on the coat, scarf and gloves. They all fit perfectly and Mrs. Hudson declared he looked quite dashing and handsome.

“Sherlock, I don’t know what to say…this is too much!”

“Nonsense, John. I can’t have you catching pneumonia while we’re out in a case. Really, it’s quite selfish of me to want to keep you healthy.”

After all the gifts had been distributed and they had a general clean up, it was time for dessert and a toast, for which Sherlock was primed and ready.

But first—

Sherlock held John’s gaze before he could get out of his seat. “Next year, we’ll start earlier. Four, perhaps? Late afternoon? That isn’t too early, is it?”

“Too early? Next year?” John broke into a smile. “Are you saying the deplorable decorations—”

Sherlock shifted in his seat. “I never said they were deplorable.”

“—the extra shopping, people encroaching on your private world, is worth the trouble?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. He observed the people he’d thought he’d known, but didn’t until John had befriended them all. He watched the food disappear into eager hands. Heard the voices clamor about him. Smelled the spices simmering in a pot on the stove at Mrs. Hudson’s insistence. Most of all, he saw hearts sharing friendships so rare, he realized they must be the luckiest people in the world.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock said.

He was already anticipating the new memories they’d make tonight and in the months ahead. No matter what occurred—if John found a Mary, and Mycroft grew tired of Sherlock’s detective work, and Molly continued to wear that odd shade on her lips, and if Lesgrade still doubted him at times—they would have each other.

It was good to have a full and happy flat, if but for one day a year. He could manage that. Nothing more. Nothing less.

John’s expression grew serious. “You truly mean that, don’t you?”

Sherlock sighed. “No need to doubt me. Next year, Yuletide will come to 221B Baker Street once again—and every year thereafter. It was a fine idea, if I do say so myself.”

John narrowed his eyes. “You’re not taking credit for this now, are you?”

Sherlock got to his feet. “How else do you think Mycroft found us so quickly?”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

John clamped his mouth shut, then opened it again. “I don’t believe it.” He paused. “But the gifts—that idea was all mine. And the decor.”

“Yes, well, I expect everything to return to normal tomorrow.”

“No bulbs?”

Sherlock shook his head.

John’s face fell. “But it will be Christmas.”

“The day after.”

“New Year’s. You can put things away then.”

“Done.”

John hesitated. “You do realize you just agreed to take down the decorations?”

“So I did.”

“Why?”

Sherlock began to walk away. “You’ll meet her by then.”

“Who?” John called out.

“Check your pocket.”

~

John shoved his hands in his pockets. His right hand touched something. A paper?

He pulled it out, unfolding it neatly.

Torn as if from a magazine, it read Mary’s Christmas Cake.

And a name, scrawled in black ink on the side. Mary Ridley. And a date. December 31. And a time. 6 pm. And a place. Glassing’s Hall. And a reason. Blind date to gather intel for a case.

Blind date? Blind date?

Of all the infuriating—irritating—

“Sherlock!” he cried.

Fists clenched, he marched forward—only to stop.

Mrs. Hudson was embracing Sherlock, who—by golly—hugged her back, his cheeks flushed with color!

It was at such moments that for an instant Sherlock ceased to be a reasoning machine, and betrayed his impersonal ways for human affection.

John’s jaw dropped. Then his shoulders. Finally, his hands, loose at his sides.

He laughed.

It was Christmas. He might as well make the most of it. Maybe a date, even one with a stranger, would be good for him. And if it would be helpful…these people mattered most.

‘‘Tis the season, Sherlock,” he murmured, and made his way to his friends.

~fine~

Merry Christmas! We hope you enjoyed our little tale! If you did, would you take a moment to let us know?

There was at least one line or reference to The Return of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle in each chapter. If you are a fan of the original Sherlock Holmes, I hope you caught them! If you’d like me to point them out, I’d be more than happy to in the comments.

This was truly an enjoyable process for us both. I really couldn’t have asked for a better writing partner. And if we do this again, which is very likely, maybe there’ll even be a real mystery.  😉