Christmas Day found Joan happy and comfortable in jeans and her favorite sweater, sitting on the floor of her mom's house. The house, cheerfully noisy with relatives from both sides of the family sharing tales of their past year, smelled of dumplings and apple pie, cinnamon and ginger and a hint of evergreen, the Christmas tree's contribution to the gathering. The little ones gathered round the tree, jockeying for the best present-receiving-position. Joan smiled remembering how she and Oren would tussle for that one perfect spot that assured the most visibility when gifts started to be distributed.
Joan was alone this Christmas and found she was quite pleased about her solitary status at the family dinner. Andrew was stuck in Copenhagen on business; Sherlock, had as usual, declined her de rigueur offer to attend the holiday function, but this year thankfully spared her the "Christmas is the most hypocritical of all holidays" speech; and Kitty took Zachary up on his offer to Christmas dinner with his family. Joan could relax and not worry about the onslaught of comments and judgments her family would have noted and then kindly shared about whatever poor soul accompanied her.
The presents were happily distributed by Mary in her bouncy Santa hat. She made a quick business of efficiently distributing gifts. Joan watched with amusement as ribbons and wrapping paper flew over and around the kids and parents beamed and took photos.
Her mom's voice caught her off guard, "Joan. Joan!" She looked at her mom. "This one is for you." A small square box was placed into her hands, meticulously wrapped in bright red paper with a curly mass of white and green ribbons tumbling from its top.
"What's this?" Joan looked at her confused.
"It was delivered for you late last night. A courier dropped it by, said it was for you." Mary smiled at her daughter.
Fear gripped Joan's stomach. Her first thought was for the safety of her family. "Who was it from?"
"He said he didn't know. He was just paid to deliver it. Is that a problem?" Mary saw the concern that registered on Joan's face as she stood up.
"No, no... Not all. Thanks." Joan took the present and walked towards the foyer stopping to surreptitiously retrieve gloves from her purse. Her first thought was Moriarty followed closely by March. She knew she was being paranoid; the gift could just as easily have come from Andrew as from a "nemesis," but she was taking no chances. Mary watched her daughter as she slipped quietly into the kitchen.
It was too light to be an explosive device but she couldn't rule out any toxic substances. Joan walked out onto the kitchen's back porch and set the package on the bannister. She put on the latex gloves and carefully opened the package.
Joan's breath caught on sight of the gift's contents. In a plastic display case, sat an old baseball, autographed by many hands in different inks. She knew exactly what it was without a glance at the small plaque that officially identified it. A 1969 World Series baseball signed by every member of the "Miracle Mets."
With her face flushed and her vision hazed, she murmured, "Thank you." Joan knew exactly who her Secret Santa was...
...
So this is my gift to you all. You decide who the gift is from - whoever you ship Joan with is the right answer - happy holidays!
