Author's note: Thanks to dyeyell for prompting me to write this, it's been a lot of fun.
Thanks also to patemalah21 for her suggestions on the plot line.
Sherlock's Night Before Christmas
By Doctor Napalm
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the flat,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a rat.
A skull was placed on the mantle to stare,
At visitors coming with mysteries to share.
Sherlock was sprawled on the couch as if dead,
While visions of cigarettes danced in his head.
John with his laptop in a comfortable chair,
Had just finished posting a blog entry there.
When on Baker Street there arose such a clatter,
Sherlock sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window he quickly careened,
Threw open the curtains and took in the scene.
Some snow on the stones of the old London street
Showed the boot prints of someone with very small feet.
The visitor rode, it was patently clear,
In a tiny red sleigh pulled by pint-sized reindeer.
A ring of the bell, up the stairs to their floor,
The visitor sneezed then knocked on their door.
"Come in," said the sleuth, as John stood by his side,
The knob loudly rattled and the door opened wide.
"Ho, Sherlock and Watson! I have quite a puzzle!
I've a Christmas conundrum and my minds in a muzzle!
My elves cannot help me, they're worthless at this!
If you cannot solve it, there'll be no Christmas bliss!"
"My toys!" he then shouted, "They've all disappeared!
Where have they gone? It really is weird!"
Sherlock steepled his fingers there up under his chin,
And examined the elf that had rudely barged in.
His eyes didn't twinkle, his face wasn't merry,
He'd been drinking Four Roses, his nose like a cherry!
His sad little mouth was turned down in a frown,
He shook his head slowly, he'd been painting the town.
He was dressed up in leather, his eyes showed red veins,
His clothes were all covered with buckles and chains.
"Impostor," said John, "this can't be Saint Nick,
He's drunk as a skunk, this must be a trick."
The sleuth took a note from the tiny elf's hand,
It was covered with things which his eyes quickly scanned.
"It's him," then said Sherlock with a resolute voice,
"We must find his toys, we've no other choice!"
Out of the flat, down the stairway they ran,
To the sleigh without toys and St. Nick close at hand.
And then with a bound, they took to the sky,
Pulled by eight tiny reindeer that really could fly.
In moments they landed, it was just a twinkle,
Sleigh travel is faster than time with a wrinkle.
"We're here," said the sleuth as he got out of the sleigh,
"Hurry up," he then urged, "we must not delay!"
He ran to the house on whose lawn they had landed,
And jabbed the door bell, he was quite heavy handed.
The door slowly opened to answer the buzz,
John's jaw dropped an inch when he saw who it was.
Sherlock held up the note in front of her face,
"You're at the top of his naughty list, what a disgrace!
You've been boozing with Santa and taken his toys,
The wench who stole Christmas from good girls and boys!"
Irene Adler just stood there; on her face was a pout,
"Come in, my dear Sherlock, there's no need to shout.
The toys are still here, the elf left in a fog.
He'd just dropped by for a pre-Christmas snog."
"So give back my leathers, he can have back his toys,
My callers all go for more exquisite joys."
Santa spoke not a word as he picked up his sack,
He filled Irene's stockings then said, "I'll be back."
He climbed in his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a heat seeking missile.
Sherlock heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"