Sherlock Holmes- A Study in Blood

Chapter 13

"The best gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other." ~ Burton Hillis

Sherlock Holmes lie awake early one morning, perfectly content for the moment to watch his wife sleep, musing on how married life had in fact changed him.   If only a bit.  Not that he would ever admit as much to Watson.  However, even the great Sherlock Holmes must concede that marriage had settled him.  Never before would he have allowed himself to simply lounge about in bed all morning.  Truthfully, many mornings would find him still working on a case or experiment with sleep the farthest thing from his racing mind.  But, it seemed Irene's presence had brought him a peace he previously did not know he needed, or even wanted.  With her by his side, he slept more soundly than he ever had before.  There were of course, still mornings where he saw the sun rise, but he was no longer always the first in the flat to be up and about.

A point that was well proven when he heard the bedroom door slowly creak open, and the pitter-patter of small feet make their way across the floor toward him.

"Homes," came a whisper, followed by a tiny finger poking his back.  The clever girl had long since discovered which side of the bed her uncle slept on, and therefore, whom to awaken first.  "Is you seeping?"

Holmes rolled over toward her, his eyes still closed.  "Yes."

"No you isn't!"

"No sense fooling you, I see," he smiled, opening his eyes to see his niece staring up at him, her blonde curls flying wildly about her head, and her stockinged feet sticking out from beneath her night dress.  "Good morning, Mary."

The toddler grinned and threw her arms out wide.  "Mewwy Chwistmas!"

"Why, I do believe you're right," he whispered, lifting her up to sit upon his chest.  "It's Christmas morning!  Is your papa awake yet?"

Mary shook her head no.

"Wonderful!" he grinned, taking her in his arms as he eased himself up from the bed.  "What say you and I go and see if we can deduce what Saint Nicholas has brought, hmm?"

"Not so fast," came a voice from behind.  Holmes turned around to see Irene awake and pulling on her peach silken robe.  "You'll do no such thing, Sherlock Holmes," she smirked, her grey eyes sparkling.  "Not without me."

Dawning his own tattered robe, he winked at his wife.  "Embark on an adventure without you, Mrs. Holmes?  I wouldn't dare."

The three filed out into the parlor area of the flat, both Irene and Holmes following their mischievous little angel.  "Remember, Mary darling," Holmes whispered, "we don't want to wake your papa, so we must be..."

A high pitched squeal followed by a fit of giggles interrupted her uncle's warning as Mary rushed toward the doll that sat prettily beneath the Christmas tree.

"... very quiet," he groaned.

Irene laughed and kissed her husband's cheek before joining her niece on the floor, making the appropriate remarks and compliments as Mary proudly showed her the new doll.   Holmes watched the picturesque scene unfold with an unfamiliar ache in his chest.  He dismissed it quickly, not one to dwell too long on feelings of any kind.  Not that he would have had the time to analyze such stirrings, as at that moment, a heavy sigh was heard followed by a weary chuckle.  Holmes chanced a glance over his shoulder to see Watson also clad in a robe and stockings, his face unshaven and eyes blinking blearily at the gleaming tree.

"Good to see that some things never change, I suppose.  First you and now my daughter.  It appears I will never be able to wake up early enough on Christmas morning to best the great Sherlock Holmes and his new partner in crime."

Holmes smiled broadly.  "And a Merry Christmas to you as well, dear Watson.  Embrace me."

Watson chuckled and patted the consulting detective's back as he was caught up in a great bear hug.

"Papa!" Mary squealed, her grin brightening the entire room as she held up the doll that was nearly as big as she was for her father to see.

"Do you like it, darling?" Watson grinned, scooping up his daughter and placing her on his lap.

She nodded enthusiastically, kissing the doll's painted cheek.

"It's truly beautiful, John," Irene complimented, knowing he must have saved for months to afford such a gift.

Watson simply smiled as he watched his daughter tenderly finger the doll's silken pink dress and reverently touch the golden curls that matched her own.

"Pwetty," she softly murmured.

"She is very pretty," Holmes agreed, "but may I suggest we commence the merriment and open more gifts?  I am especially interested in the one that has my name on it that is wrapped in a hatbox but sounds suspiciously like new chemistry equipment."

Irene groaned and Holmes beamed in triumph.

"Don't fret, Irene," Watson said.  "He does that every year."

"Yes, apparently my brother enjoys ruining the joy of holiday gift giving," said Mycroft Holmes as he entered the flat.

Holmes gave him a placating smile.  "And just who was it to start such a bah-humbug tradition?  Ah yes, dear brother Scrooge."

"Hmm, well to save us all time and the inevitable dramatics that would be involved, your gift has been placed in your wardrobe.  You are in sore need of a new jacket, and I took the liberty of purchasing you one.  Merry Christmas, Sherly," Mycroft smiled as he made himself comfortable on the sofa.

"And yours lies in wait in your top desk drawer, brother mine.   A copy of the book you've desired.  First edition and signed.  Merry Christmas, Mycroft," Holmes nodded, this time with a genuine smile.  "Now, dearest Mary, must I open this rather large gift all by myself or will you assist me?"

"I help!" Mary answered, scrambling off her father's lap and ripping into the present.  It was, in fact, a new set of chemistry equipment from his wife.  Next came a box of fine cigars from Watson.  For Irene, a bottle of her favorite Parisian perfume from her husband, a fashionable shall from John, and a beautiful blue hat from her brother-in-law.

When Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray of tea and pastries, Holmes beamed again at the arrival of his landlady.  "Ah, the spirit of Christmas is truly upon us!  Dear, sweet Nanny, how are you this fine morning?"

Mrs. Hudson chuckled and shook her head.  "You certainly are full of it today, aren't you?  Giddy as a school boy, this one.  Christmas does seem to bring out the best in you, Sherlock."

"I don't know what you mean.  I am equally pleasant any day of the week."

Watson nearly choked on his tea and Irene could not help but laugh.  Mrs. Hudson passed around packages for each of her tenants, even including one for Mycroft.   Handmade scarves were revealed in various colors, dawned immediately by both Holmes and Watson.

As more gifts were exchanged, Holmes slipped down to see to the knock at the door that had gone unnoticed by the rest of the jolly gathering.  Upon opening the door though, he was met with nothing but the bitter chill of London's winter scene.  That is, until he noticed the note on the stoop, tied to a peppermint stick.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Holmes.  ~ Professor J. Moriarty"