Author's Note: I originally published this story as a gift for this past year's LBMR Secret Santa exchange. I had a lot of fun writing this and wanted to share it with the lovely Layton community here on FF. Enjoy!

The day had started out like any other. Florence had ridden the ambulance into work—her perpetual IV drip making public transit a risky option for her commute—and saluted Sniffer as she entered the break room. One pot of coffee later, she wheeled herself into her office and booted up her computer.

No sooner had she scrolled through her overcrowded inbox than she heard a sharp rap at her door. Lucy, more likely than not. "Come in," she called.

"Sich," came the reply. Curt. Male. Not Lucy.

"Oh, DI Dartwright," Sich wheeled around to face him. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a…special project for you," he chuckled, removing his glasses to give them a quick polish.

"The hesitation in your voice is hardly—achoo—encouraging," Florence remarked with a small smile. Unlike Al, Dartwright didn't have some other side that threatened to cut out her tongue whenever her results lagged, and, despite Al's protestations, Dartwright had proven time and time again to be a more than competent investigator. She'd never admit it out loud—especially not to Lucy or, God forbid, Al—but she rather liked Blaine Dartwright.

"Well," Dartwright continued, briefly interrupting her reverie, "there's a reason for that." He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "How do you feel about puzzles, Sich?"

"Puzzles?" she repeated, brow furrowed. "You know the Mystery Room is down the hall, right?"

Dartwright attempted—and failed—to stifle a chortle. "Somehow, I don't think Layton would take too kindly to my interrupting his and Lu—er, DC Baker's—workday with this. I'm not in the mood for threats of bodily harm. And, anyway," he added, gesturing toward the stack of books at the end of her desk, "you're the one who loves sudoku."

"What kind of puzzle are we talking about, Dartwright?" Florence pressed.

"Glad you asked," Dartwright said, turning back toward the door. "Mistry!" he called into the hallway. "In here!"

In shuffled a boy, likely no older than fourteen or so, holding out a scuffed up wooden box. "Hello, miss," he said, quietly but with an air of earnestness. "I was wonderin' if you could help me with this."

"You look familiar," Florence remarked. "Who might you be?"

"The name's Mistry, miss," the boy replied. "Uttar Mistry. I've been to the Mystery Room before."

"Yes, one of Layton's cases," Dartwright continued. "Something about the Agonni family, I think."

"I remember," Florence said. That case had been the stuff of nightmares, if she was being completely honest. Lucy had filled her in on the details afterward. "So—achoo—what do we have here?"

Uttar's eyes brightened. "I found this thing outside my door this morning. It 'ad a tag that said, 'For Uttar' on it. I dunno what it means, but I knew I oughta bring it 'ere."

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Dartwright declared with a smile, spinning on his heel to leave. Before Florence could even protest, he was out the door and marching back down the hall to his office.

She couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed that Dartwright seemed to think that a teenage boy's puzzle box was more important than whatever projects she already had on her plate. Granted, there weren't any so far that day, but the principle remained.

Still, Florence couldn't deny that he was right: she loved puzzles. One of the few disadvantages of working in a lab all day was that she didn't often get to solve mysteries on her own. Sure, her analyses were instrumental in virtually every case that came through New Scotland Yard, but she usually focused on parts of the picture rather than the entire picture overall.

"Please, miss," Uttar begged. "I need your help."

Florence gave the boy a quizzical look. "You do know that I'm a forensic analyst, not a detective, right?"

Uttar nodded wordlessly, the tears in his eyes threatening to fall at any moment.

Florence sighed, pushing herself away from her desk. "Then, let's do this."

That blasted Dartwright. What had he been thinking, sending the boy here? Florence was good—the best, in fact—but she was just one person, and her skills were more analytical than investigative. Nevertheless, a puzzle box did present quite an interesting possibility, and just in time for Christmas!

She'd have to rub it in Al's face later.

"Here, let me see the box," Florence prompted.

Uttar complied quickly.

"So, you found this this morning outside your door?" Florence repeated. The box, made of scuffed wood, had something like a dial on one face and a faint engraving reading NEWS on the other.

"Yes," Uttar replied. "It had a tag on it wiv' my name on it."

"Where's the tag?" That was a good starting point. Between fingerprints, handwriting analysis, and even the composition of the ink, she should have plenty to go on.

"I, er," he looked down sheepishly, "I lost it."

Florence was better at concealing her reactions than Blaine, so disguising the exasperated sigh as another sneeze was quite a bit easier than anticipated. "Do you have any idea who sent it?"

"None at all," he replied, only barely less sheepish. "None of my mates like puzzles, and Sassina's gone. I can't think of anyone else."

The boy was clearly at his wits' end. Dramatic, yes. Naïve, yes. But clearly befuddled by this puzzle all the same. Florence found it surprisingly endearing. Poor kid.

"Then, let's—achoo—try a different approach," she suggested, fiddling with the box for a minute. "You see this here?"

"That wheel thing?"

"It's a sort of dial, I think," Florence mused. "It's flush with the box's face, but it still moves, see?" She spun the dial with little resistance.

Uttar's eyes widened. "Wicked," he murmured.

"Now, this," she continued, flipping to the engraved face, "is a kind of key. NEWS."

"So, what's that mean?" he asked.

"Look at the dial again. There's a little arrow on it right here."

"And?"

"And, that's all we need. What does it look like to you?"

"Um, I guess, like, a safe?"

"Good. What else?"

"Hmm…" Uttar tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Like a compass?"

Florence smiled. "Exactly—achoo—exactly like a compass. So, what does NEWS mean?"

"I, er, I dunno."

"How about directions?"

"What?"

"Directions," she repeated. "North, East, West, South. Like the combination for a safe."

"Wicked," Uttar murmured again.

"Do you want to try?" Florence offered, handing the box back to the boy.

Uttar's face lit up with a grin. "You bet! Just like a safe, right?" When Florence nodded, he began to rotate the flattened dial first to the top of the box, then to the right, then to the left, and finally to the bottom.

Click.

"Look!" Uttar cried. "It's a button!"

"Let me see," Florence said, reaching for the box again. Sure enough, the dial had popped out slightly, no longer flush with the surface of the box. "Try it out," she encouraged him.

Uttar's grinned widened even further, as though that were even possible. He pressed the button, and the top of the box sprang open. "Whoa!"

"How's it coming?" Florence heard from the doorway. Dartwright.

"You're just in time," Florence said with a smile.

"Inspector Dartwright, look at this!" Uttar cried, holding up the box.

"Nicely done," Dartwright said as he sauntered into the room, a fresh cup of coffee at his smiling lips and another that he placed by Florence.

Florence accepted the coffee with a grateful nod. Perhaps this is his way of saying thanks. "So, what's in there, Uttar?"

The boy paused. "It's a note."

"A note?" the two adults repeated simultaneously.

"Yeah, a note," he repeated.

"What does it say, Uttar?" Blaine asked, his curiosity evident. Florence allowed herself a small smile.

"How about I just show you?" Uttar suggested, handing the note to Blaine and Florence.

Uttar, my boy

You've been working hard all year, so I thought I'd show you how much I appreciate you. You and your mum's Christmas dinner is on me. I'll have it all prepared, and I'll even deliver it to your flat myself.

Keep up the good work, champ. If you do, who knows? Maybe this business can be yours someday.

Merry Christmas, son.

Sincerely,

Dale Herl

"Who's Dale Herl?" Florence asked.

"Oh, Mr. Herl? He's my boss," Uttar replied, evidently pleased. "Pretty nice guy. That's awful nice of him, innit?"

"I'd say so," Blaine agreed.

"That's—achoo—a very nice Christmas present," Florence commented, smiling.

Blaine put a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for looking into this, Florence."

"Yeah, thanks loads!" Uttar cried. He took a breath to steady himself.

Blaine and Florence exchanged a brief bemused look before—

"You're—you're wicked cool, Ms. Sich!" Uttar exclaimed, the tears that always seemed to brim in his eyes finally falling. "The coolest!"

"That she is, Mr. Mistry," Blaine chuckled, giving Florence a friendly wink. "That she is."

Florence flushed. Lucy was usually one of the few people who complimented her outright. She rather liked it, even if she was unaccustomed to it. Who would've thought that such a brief interruption in her workday could give her a boost of holiday cheer? "You're welcome, Uttar, Blaine," she replied, grinning in return. "Merry Christmas."