Part One: Canon


"Holmes! It is snowing!"

Holmes and I had not been back at 221B for very long, that cold December evening of 1887. The sky had been heavy and threatening all the day, and my friend had complained loudly as we made our way to and from Scotland Yard for what was very likely our last case of the year. Holmes rarely dressed appropriately for the winter weather; it seemed to have become my lot in life to follow after him with warm overcoats and gloves, and to fuss for him to put them on and not to lose them; for when his attention was entirely focused elsewhere, personal comfort was the last thing on his mind. On this occasion, he had left his scarf behind; I had been remiss enough not to notice. I had given him mine. The chill air nipped my neck and whistled around my collar, but Holmes, at least, was happier.

Now, as I stepped away from the roaring comfort of our fireplace and peered out from our bay window, I took pleasure in observing the flakes that whipped against the frosted pane, flurrying down to the street below.

"Holmes, do come and see," I said, waving to him.

My friend sighed. He rose from his armchair and came across to join me in the bay.

"It will be ankle-deep by nine o'clock," said he, "and quite knee-deep by the morning. Mycroft will be furious."

I chuckled. "Brother Mycroft must find it irksome that it is not yet within his power to control the elements," I said. "Still, he will not be walking here from Pall Mall. He has a carriage."

"This whole scenario is ludicrous," said my friend, backing away from the view and returning to our cosy hearth. "And potentially abominable."

We – or rather, should I say, I – had been enthusiastically engaged this past week on our forthcoming Christmas celebrations. For tomorrow being Christmas Eve, the 24th December, I had been grandiosely inspired to plan a fine dinner, inviting Mycroft, of course, and our two closest friends from Scotland Yard to join in the festivities. Mrs. Hudson, bless her sweet soul, had not baulked very terribly at the prospect of preparing a meal for the five of us on such short notice, and I had busied myself thereafter with arranging the relocation of her grand six-place dining table from her kitchen to our sitting-room, where it would be positioned tomorrow in central pride of place. I was thankful that our room was sufficiently large to accept it without the need to rearrange the existing furniture too inconveniently. My thoughts now turned happily to our feast, our guests and the season.

"We must decorate tomorrow, Holmes," I said, smiling around to him. "I do hope that you didn't throw away last year's baubles."

"Only the ones that I stepped on and cracked," he replied. "The others are quite safe in their tissue box, my dear fellow. Wherever that is. The lumber-room, I suppose."

"Yes," I said, "that is where they must be. I shall retrieve everything first thing tomorrow morning, before we set up the dining table."

Holmes groaned. "I wish it could just be the two of us," said he, his lips pursed.

"It will be just the two of us on Christmas Day," I scolded him softly, "since you would not allow Mycroft to persuade us to attend his own celebrations."

"Indeed not," said Holmes. "I would have no desire to play rounds of 'The Minister's Cat' all day long. I would be a nervous wreck." He yawned, and stretched his long legs out before him. "Draw the curtains, will you, my boy, I feel a draught coming through from somewhere. Then join me here, and let us smoke together."

I drew the curtains closed, taking one last peep outside at the snow now settling and layering, with no remotest sign of ceasing. I picked up my pipe from my desk, and my tobacco pouch from the mantel, and sat opposite my friend. He smiled at me lazily through his own plume of smoke.

"I am very glad that we resolved the Carpenter case today," said he. "I was not relishing the prospect of it dragging through into the New Year."

"No, indeed," I replied, emphatically. "You have given that poor gentleman peace of mind now; his worries are over. And to think that it was all due to the depth of the scratches on the door-frame. If you had not noticed them, then that rogue Hawshank might still be at liberty."

"I noticed them from the start," replied my friend with some asperity. "It was merely the nature of how they became so in the first place. Come here," he added, then, looking at me askance.

"I just lit my pipe," I grumbled, amused all the same. I waved it at him. "This Christmas Spice blend is quite excellent, Holmes, you should try it."

"I do not think so," he said, wrinkling his nose, "it smells like old fruitcake. Come here."

I heaved myself out of my comfortable nest, and perched myself upon the padded armrest of my friend's easy chair.

"Well, now I am here," I said. "Apparently smelling of old fruitcake, but nonetheless, at your disposal."

Holmes chuckled quietly. He flung an arm around my waist and anchored it, rubbing my side gently with his thumb. With my left hand I roughed and smoothed his dark hair back, gently drawing down his nape to harbour soft upon his shoulder. We remained that way a while as we smoked, enjoying the warmth and each other's company, for such simple pleasures are the fondest, I have found. At length, my leg resolved to ache, and when our landlady knocked upon the door to carry in the evening meal I was relieved to rise and stretch my sore limb, then to tap the ash out from my pipe and join my friend at table.

"Your first square meal in how many days?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "Two, perhaps," he said. "I could not spare the necessary time for digestion."

I shook my head. "I wish you would at least try."

"I am making up for it now," my friend replied, "and will likely continue over the next couple of days, if Mrs. Hudson has her say in the matter. By the end of the week I shall be intolerably bloated, irrevocably nauseous, and no doubt you will feel very satisfied about it, dear Doctor." He caught my eye and winked. "I shall help you with the dining table tomorrow," he added, in an attempt to pacify.

"Yes, please do," I said, through a mouthful of pie crust, "I may be strong, but certainly not quite as strong as to manhandle a mahogany table in its entirety up a full flight of stairs on my own, without a good deal of invective."

"I shall do my utmost to assist," said Holmes.

By eleven o'clock the next morning our festive decorations were strung and garlanded, brightening the mantel, shelves and door-frames. Cheerful Christmas cards adorned every conceivable surface. In a corner, sat a small pile of brightly wrapped and ribboned gifts. The great dining table now stood proudly in the middle of it all, for Holmes and I had triumphed in our mission to have it elevated to the sitting-room without grave mishap. We stood back from it and surveyed the room together.

"Where on earth is my violin amidst all this nonsense?" asked Holmes. "Everywhere is covered in holly and bows and white cotton. I won't be able to find anything now."

"Your violin is wherever you left it," I said, turning around as our landlady bustled into the room with a telegram envelope. "Holmes, you have a telegram. I do hope it isn't urgent. It's Christmas Eve."

Holmes ripped the flap and read the contents.

"It is from Mycroft," said he. "He informs us that he will be bringing a guest with him this evening." He strode to the landing, leaning over the stair-rail. "MRS. HUDSON! It will be SIX of us for dinner tonight. Yes, SIX. So sorry!" He came back into the room, chuckling. "Hmm, I wonder who the sixth could possibly be?"

"Whoever it is, it is on very short notice," I remarked.

"Well, now, that is brother Mycroft for you," Holmes replied. "He is frequently taken to such whims, and we must all snap to attention or pay the price and accept the brunt of his withering fury. He really doesn't have the energy for it to be any more potent than withering, you know."

"The snow is not quite yet knee-deep," I said, moving across to the window, "but there is every likelihood of it becoming so by the evening. It is almost a blizzard."

"I suggest, then, that we enjoy these two cups of hot chocolate that Mrs. Hudson so thoughtfully brought us along with the envelope, and spend the rest of the day as comfortably as we can before the onslaught. Oh, I do beg your pardon, my dear fellow. Before the party."

And we did so, feeling fortunate that neither of us was compelled to venture outside the front door that day, for the cold was as piercing as the snow was relentless. We lit our lamps and stoked the fire, and very soon 221B was as cosy and inviting as it could be. Holmes busied himself with his indexes; I played Solitaire, and read a third of the way through my new sea novel. At five o'clock, Mrs. Hudson came through to prepare the setting of the table, and we stirred ourselves to change into our evening dress and await the first arrival.

"I have an idea as to who our mystery guest might be," said Holmes, as he straightened his tie in the dressing-table mirror. "Well, it could be one of two people, but with one far more likely than the other."

"Tell me who," I demanded.

My friend smiled. "You will see," he replied. "It is someone we both know."

The downstairs bell rang, then. We heard the murmurs of greeting as Mrs. Hudson admitted the guests entry, and two pairs of heavy boots upon the stair. Holmes stepped to the sitting-room door, and flung it open wide. He burst into hearty laughter.

"Why, Lestrade! Gregson! You are quite the pair of snow angels. Come in, the both of you."

They stepped in, and I saw as to what my friend was referring. Both were covered from their heads to their boots in thick snow. Lestrade smiled sheepishly and thrust his arms out from his sides in a gesture of defeat.

"We walked here," the Inspector explained. "And well, it is snowing rather heavily, as I am sure you know. I do apologise, gentlemen, we should not be scattering it all upon your rug the way we are. Gregson, we had best remove our coats on the landing."

When they were inside our room once more, we drew them up close to the fire. We exchanged greetings and made small talk, and loud complaints regarding the harsh weather, and gradually the colour returned to their faces. It was surely helped by the glasses of wine which Holmes had poured for us all.

"We are to be six?" enquired Gregson, as he surveyed our festive dining table.

"We are indeed," I said. "A friend of Mycroft's."

"No doubt they will be fashionably late," said Holmes, leaning back languidly in his chair. "Although certainly not so late as they might miss the first course. Mycroft would never allow that to happen."

"Your holiday plans are still as you last mentioned them?" I asked the two Inspectors.

Lestrade nodded. "Yes, I imagine, right enough. I will be travelling to spend the day with my old mother, and Gregson here, I think, you are visiting family also, are you not?"

Gregson nodded, sweeping a hand back through his knot of flaxen hair. "Aye, like as not, as long as the weather does not get very much worse. You and Mr. Holmes are very fortunate in that you need not stir an inch from beside the fireplace until this lot is over."

"Fortunate is scarcely the word," said Holmes. "Ah, I can hear a carriage out in the street. I think that this must surely be our fifth and sixth."

A booming from the hallway informed us that it was, as the elder Holmes brother wished our landlady the full compliments of the season and, from what we could make out, presented her with a small appreciative gift, which was accepted with grateful thanks. Then, further steps upon the stair, and before any of us could reach it, it pushed open, and there stood Mycroft Holmes and guest.

"Come in and shut the door, Mycroft," said Holmes, "you are letting in the most appalling draught. Good evening, Mr. Burroughs, how very pleasant to meet you once again. How is your dear Aunt Augusta?"

Young Victor Burroughs – for it was he – came forward to shake my friend's hand, smiling, apologetic.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes; good evening, gentlemen. My Aunt is very well, thank you, sir; she mentions you often, each time I pay her a visit. Thank you again for your time and care with her case. I am sorry if I am intruding on you this evening, but my prior plans fell through horribly, and your brother was so very kind enough to extend an invitation so that I should not be alone, and -"

"That is quite all right," said Holmes, patting the garrulous fellow upon the shoulder, "you are not intruding in the slightest, we are happy to have you as our guest."

"And besides, as you well know, Sherlock," said his brother, "I really cannot bear to have an odd number at a dinner party. Six is such a nice even figure, don't you agree?"

"One which you are capable of counting up to, at any rate," Holmes replied. He set about introducing the new arrivals to Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade. If there was a flicker which passed across Gregson's face, then it was fleeting. I could not tell if it was that the two gentlemen knew one another. The next moment I decided not, as the young Victor put forward friendly questions regarding career and family.

I smiled at Mycroft Holmes, standing beside me with a glass filled to the brim with rich red wine, and regarding the vocal hubbub with his usual polite detachment.

"I was not aware of your acquaintance with Mr. Burroughs," I said, turning my head in the young man's direction.

"He is a regular at the Diogenes," Mycroft replied. "We had met before that, also, in matters of State. He is most respectful, which is a quality I admire much in a gentleman. And quiet, which is a quality I admire even more. He is but four and thirty, and I think he will do well with his lot. He certainly appears to have found a kindred spirit in your Inspector Gregson."

"Yes," I said, "I am pleased to see that."

"My invitation still stands for you and Sherlock to spend the day at my house tomorrow," said Mycroft, sipping carefully from his glass. "I have broached the subject with my brother, but his reactions are always impossible. I have promised that I should not embarrass him with paper crowns and crackers, and yet he refuses to consider."

"And I still refuse," said Holmes, overhearing and leaning in. "Watson and I have everything we need here, Mycroft, no other parties need apply."

Mycroft Holmes shook his head. "Impossible," he repeated. "Still, I am very glad you both are happy."

I smiled. "Thank you, Mycroft, yes, we are. To your good health, sir." And I raised my glass of Rhône to his.

And the fine wine softened all our edges, and mellowed out our tongues, and we became a rather merry gathering, in our fashion. We took our places at the table, and hailed Mrs. Hudson as she brought through one mouthwatering dish after another for our delectation: French onion soup; roast partridge and vegetables; a most delicious almond tart with cream.

"My word," said young Victor to Inspector Gregson seated by his side, "this is the finest home-cooked meal that I have had in the longest time." He smiled around at all of us. "I live alone, you see, and fend for myself. I could never hope to prepare anything like this."

"I would agree with you, my lad," beamed Inspector Lestrade. "I am thinking that it will take some walking off, to be sure. If I manage to eat more than a thimbleful tomorrow then it will be a miracle."

We assisted with the clearing of the table. Holmes opened a bottle of aged tawny port. I laid out the card cloth, and we sat and played several hands of Whist. Such an oddball group of family and friends, old and new, but at that moment I could not think of any others with whom I would rather spend the time. But then, as Holmes has told me so very often, I am a sentimental fellow. Why should I not be?

Our little party began to draw to its close a few minutes before ten o'clock. The heavy snow had reduced to light flakes; and so beautiful, falling out of that blue-black sky.

I could not help but notice Gregson passing a folded slip of paper to Victor, who accepted it with a shy smile, placing it safe inside his waistcoat pocket.

As our guests were pulling on their coats and boots, I found my friend close by my elbow.

"Holmes," I said, "did you see –?"

"Yes," he said. "Now hush."

And then, as our guests were shaking hands and making fond farewells and wishes for the season, and stepping out and marching into the dense white street, I found my friend's arm upon my shoulder. And we stood there, observing these departures from our window.

"Merry Christmas, my dear fellow," I said, turning to my friend, and drawing to the curtain fold.

And he, smiling, drew me to him, in all of his great warmth. "Merry Christmas, John," said he.