Sherlock - A Christmas Eve Story
By Allyson
(A/N – Sherlock belongs to A. C. Doyle and the BBC)
It was Christmas Eve and severe weather had gripped Great Britain. Torrential rain and high speed gusts of wind had caused cancellations on the trains and disruption on the roads. John Watson sat miserably in his armchair at Baker Street; the weather grounding him in the flat. His plans to spend Christmas with his family had been cancelled at the last minute. He was torn between missing seeing his mother and eating her famous Christmas trifle, and feeling guilty about being relieved that he would not have to once again witness Harry fall back off the wagon.
When John had returned from his failed trip to the train station, dripping wet and shivering from the cold, he found his flat mate, Sherlock Holmes, exactly where he had left him – lying on the sofa lost in his mind palace. Before John could say anything more than to announce his return, Sherlock suddenly swung off the sofa and grabbed his coat and scarf.
"Be back soon," the detective called out as he swiftly left the room without a backwards glance.
"Sherlock! It's raining, you can't-"
The sound of the front door slamming shut cut off John's exclamation. John had just sighed, shook his head and went to dry off before making himself a cup of tea. He now sat an hour later, chin propped up on his hand, staring absently as he tapped at the silver bell that was hung nearby. Besides the Santa hat on the skull and some old fairy lights strung over the mantelpiece, the bell was their only Christmas decoration in the flat. The bell filled the silence with its bright sound but John still felt unhappy. It was turning out to be a rubbish Christmas.
The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and the flat door opening roused the doctor out of his contemplative mood. Looking around, John saw Sherlock leaning up against the doorframe, rain droplets dripping from his hair and coat. Sherlock gave him a searching knowing look before allowing a genuine smile to grace his expression. At John's raised eyebrow, Sherlock held up two bags of Magic Snow from the Hamley's carrier bag that had previously been hidden behind him.
"Do you want to build a snowman?"
John's smile lit up the room in response. Christmas had finally arrived at 221b Baker Street.