My goodness, I can't seem to stick to just one fandom, can I? I spend too much time reading and not enough time writing, I guess… but, anywhosies, here is my fourth fanfic, and first for the Sherlock Holmes fandom. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: My initials are not ACD, sorry. Don't own it, I just like messing with it.
Irregular ChristmasIt was my first Christmas at 221B Baker Street, and my friendship with Sherlock Holmes was still in its fledgling stage. Holmes, in his typical fashion, insisted that the holiday and all its home and hearth frivolities were unnecessary and, in fact, annoying, so I bought and decorated our small tree alone, with an approving smile from Mrs. Hudson and a disinterested look from Holmes. On Christmas Eve, I noticed Holmes playing with his breakfast and staring out the window.
" Storm coming," he remarked to me. I nodded in agreement upon seeing the clouds. Just as I settled down to dig in, Holmes stood and walked downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's rooms, which was odd as he usually just hollered for her from the top of the staircase. To my surprise, less than an hour later, the house was filled with the smell of cookies. When I noticed this, I eyed my friend, who was sitting with his pipe in his armchair.
" Did you ask her for cookies?" I asked.
" Brilliant deduction, Watson. Your olfactory senses are in ship shape."
I chose to ignore the sarcasm since it was so close to Christmas.
" I didn't know you liked cookies, old chap."
" Usually, I don't. But it's cold out."
"As usual, I don't follow your reasoning." He quirked his lips at this, but otherwise made no reply, and I let the matter lie.
Snow had just begun to fall when Mrs. Hudson's indignant shriek made me jump and Holmes smile.
" What the deuce-" my exclamation was cut short by the appearance of Wiggins and the other Irregulars.
" 'Ello Mr. 'Olmes, Dr. Watson." Wiggins said amidst many chimes of " 'Ello Mr. 'Olmes!" from the others.
" Hello indeed, Mr. Wiggins." Holmes said. He would have seemed severe but for the twinkle in his eye. " May I ask why you lot have invaded my home without invitation?" At this, one or two of the youngest boys looked uneasy, but the older ones were smiling.
" Why don't you deduce it, Mr. 'Olmes?" one lad of about ten ventured daringly. Holmes' mouth quirked up.
" Very well then, Tommy, I will. You are all cold, hungry, and dirty. It is snowing (or, more accurately it seems, slushing) outside, and you were drawn here by my cheerfully crackling fire and the enticing aroma of Mrs. Hudson's cookies, which I must admit smell far better than anything that woman at Montague made. I must deduce, therefore, that you are here to eat and be merry or some such nonsense."
" Right as always, sir." Tommy affirmed.
I looked between Holmes and the Irregulars, wondering what on earth was going on. The boys rarely actually came up into the flat, and even when they did, it was always because of a case. Then, to my surprise, my flatmate smiled.
" Well, why in the world are you just standing there, then?" he asked kindly. The boys grinned and sat themselves down around the room, settling into the sofa, my armchair, and on the floor. Holmes finally uncovered the tray of cookies, and I swear I could see the nostrils and pupils of each boy dilate in anticipation.
" Now, gentlemen, you are hardly getting these for free." Holmes said, holding the tray away from the eager lads. I glanced quizzically at my companion, wondering what game he was playing. Surely he knew that they hardly had a sovereign between them. As though reading my thoughts (I wouldn't be surprised if he could), he shook his head at me.
" Why would I ask them for money, Watson? I supply their payroll." He said before settling himself in his chair and surveying the boys thoughtfully.
" Alright, boys, what has four legs in the morning, two in the day time, and three in the evening?"
The Irregulars chatted amongst themselves, debating the answer, and I smiled at my companion. 'No need for Christmas indeed.' I thought as the boys began making suggestions and, failing that, begging Holmes for hints. When Holmes determined that all the boys needed a clue, he nodded.
" Let me reword it- four legs in the beginning, two legs in the middle, and three legs at the end."
The boys began debating amongst themselves again, save one young lad named Peter, who was staring at my cane with a look of utmost concentration on his face. Suddenly he jumped up.
" It's a person, a person!" he yelled excitedly. Holmes clapped his hands and all clamor stopped.
" Very good, Peter. Explain."
" A baby crawls on all fours, a man walks on two legs, and an old person uses a cane like a third leg! No offense, Dr. Watson, sir." He added quickly.
" None taken, Peter."
Holmes smiled and passed out one cookie to each lad.
" You didn't give one to the doctor, Mr. 'Olmes." Peter said.
" He didn't try to answer the riddle," Holmes pointed out, clearly preparing to smack me with the grandfather of all riddles.
" His cane helped, though." Peter reasoned on my behalf. " It gave me an epee- an epa… uh… a what-do-ya-call-it."
"An epiphany, perhaps." Holmes said. " Well, then?"
The boys chatted amongst themselves, looking at me occasionally, and then Wiggins said "Give 'im half of one, then."
Holmes nodded and presented me with half a cookie.
" Your prize, good fellow."
I took it with a nod, a smile, and a word of thanks.
" Shall we make him work for the other half?"
" Yes!" came the unanimous answer. Holmes grinned wickedly and turned in his seat to regard me.
" Are you up for the challenge, Doctor?"
" Do your…" I reconsidered. " Actually, try not to do your worst, Holmes."
My flat-mate smirked.
" Very well, Watson. Try this one on: A realtor wants to buy a house for far less than it is worth. To scare potential buyers away he offers the following story: Previous residents of the house had been an old lady and her maid. One stormy night, the made was awakened by the wind banging the window shutters. Before she could get back to sleep, she heard her employer scream. She ran to the old woman's room and found her already dead in a pool of blood. The made then looked out the window for the crook, but he had already disappeared into the fog.
" This story fooled all but one astute couple, who saw through the lie. How do they do this?"
"They consulted you." I said immediately, eliciting chuckles from the Irregulars.
" Flattering, my dear fellow, but no." Holmes said with a small half-smile.
I found myself quite stumped, much to the amusement of the Irregulars and, I suspect, my companion, though he, rather than laughing, was staring at me intensely, a small, expectant smile on his face.
" The couple had researched the house already?"
" Plausible, but no. Try again, take it apart, old fellow."
After a few moments, Peter intervened on my behalf.
" Ken I give 'im a hint?" the sandy-haired boy asked hopefully, eliciting strange looks from the other Irregulars. It was clear that they did not know the answer to the riddle anymore than I do, and were at a loss as to what hint Peter could provide. Holmes, however, carefully regarded Peter before nodding once.
" Just the one, but mind you do not tell him the answer."
" Course not. Doc, think what 'appens if you blow on th' steam from a 'ot meal." Peter advised. " Tha's the best clue I ken give ye."
" Well, the steam is blown away, naturally…" I mused. I thought for a moment longer, and when it came to me it seemed so simple I could not believe I had missed it earlier.
" The wind!" I cried in excitement. " If the maid was awakened by strong winds, there couldn't be any fog for the thief to disappear in!"
Holmes clapped his hands delightedly.
" Good show, Watson, I've taught you something after all." He praised as he held out the cookie tray. I smiled and rolled my eyes and took a cookie and a half, giving the half to young Peter.
" 'Ow did you know that, Pete?" Wiggins asked curiously. Peter grinned widely and dipped his head in Holmes' direction.
" Element'ry, my dear Wig!" he offered, drawing a full blown grin from Holmes.
Things continued in this manner for some time, with Holmes posing riddles and the boys laughing and answering them for cookies. After my companion had passed around glasses of milk, the boys rallied together and tossed a story riddle of their own at Holmes, who was delighted that it made him think for a full minute.
As the sun began to set, the Irregulars began to leave our humble abode for wherever they called home, calling their best wishes for the season over their shoulders. Young Peter lingered after the others, holding his uneaten cookies.
" What are you after, Peter?" Holmes asked, eyeing the boy. Peter fidgeted and looked imploringly at my companion.
" Mr. 'Olmes, if I eat these cookies, could you, supposin' you hadn't seen me eatin' em, deduce that I ate em?"
" I probably could, yes." Holmes said, raising an eyebrow curiously.
" Oh. I better not, then." He reluctantly put the cookies back on the tray.
" Why not, Peter?" I asked. Peter shifted uneasily, and Holmes' jaw clenched and I saw his lips tighten like they always did when he deduced something unpleasant.
" Eat your cookies, boy. Your father will be none the wiser." He said with forced gentleness. " In fact, you can share my dinner."
It was then that I gave the boy a closer look, and, seeing how thin and undernourished he seemed, I realized the horrible truth- young Peter was forbidden to eat by his own father. I watched sadly as Holmes assured Peter that no harm would come of him eating with us. After Holmes spoke softly to him for a few minutes, Peter smiled and nodded.
" Might I wash up?" he asked in his most proper voice.
" You certainly may, but I know precisely where, Peter, so don't try to sneak anything."
" Really, Mr. 'Olmes! Why would I do that?" the boy pouted before running to the bathroom. Holmes watched him go, and when he turned to me there was an expression of cold fury on his face visible only for a moment before his stoic mask slipped back into place.
" Damn," he said simply.
" Holmes, this is awful. Is there nothing we can do? Surely such treatment is illegal- can we not go to the police?"
" No, the boys would never forgive us. Besides, what can those fools do that I cannot? There is no solid evidence, nothing to hold as grounds to arrest the man for. We shall tell Wiggins, and ensure the lad has a good meal tonight." Holmes said firmly as Peter returned, face clean and anxious to get his cookies back now that he knew he could eat them.
" Peter," I began as he devoured his cookies, " there is something I must, as a doctor, ask."
" Go ahead, then."
" Does your father hit you at all?"
" 'E smacks me when I'm bad, like any da'll do." The lad offered. " When I'm fresh and stuff like that."
" And how often is that?"
" Tha' really depends on me, don't it?"
I frowned and Peter grew wise to me.
" 'E's not a bad person, guv. He just don't like me eatin' when 'e can't eat hisself."
" You needn't make excuses for him Peter, there is nothing to worry about." Holmes interjected smoothly, placing a hand on the boy's head. " Dinner is on its way up."
Sure enough, Mrs. Hudson bustled in with dinner not a moment later, scolding Holmes for " keeping the poor lad on Christmas Eve" before tossing a " Merry Christmas, gentlemen" over her shoulder as she left the room. Holmes took a small piece of goose for himself but left the majority of his portion to the young boy, who cheerfully stuffed his face between chattering about the things young boys talk about- who beat who in a race, how utterly gross girls are, the Irregulars' anticipation for their next adventure…
" They sure was surprised I knew that riddle story, Mr. 'Olmes." Peter said with pride and a hint of mischief. Holmes nodded.
" They certainly were."
" Ken you give me another?" he asked eagerly. Holmes' lips quirked up in that odd little half-smile that I'd seen on him so often tonight.
" After dinner." He promised, prompting the lad to begin attacking his meal in earnest, giving me a food-muffled thanks when I donated my mashed potatoes to his dish. In the ensuing silence I took a moment to study my companion. His behavior this Christmas Eve had both pleased and confused me. His attitude had been Scrooge-like toward the holidays (I swear I heard him mutter " bah-humbug" when I mentioned getting a tree), and this past year I had seen him as being a decent, but generally cold person, and yet here, clearly demonstrated, was a softer side of him. For all his purported coldness, he had been unfailingly kind to his boys, and it was clear that the lot of them were completely devoted to him.
Soon enough, Peter was done with his meal and was bouncing in his seat.
" Gimme a riddle, Mr. 'Olmes, please!" he begged. Holmes chuckled.
" Very well. You are driving a cab. On Monday, you give rides to five people. On Tuesday you give rides to seven, on Wednesday to eight, on Thursday to three, on Friday to ten, and on Saturday to six. What color are the cab driver's eyes?"
Peter frowned in concentration, then his expression lifted. He looked at his reflection in a spoon, smiled, and gave his answer.
" Blue-ish, sir." Holmes smiled and nodded.
" Good lad."
" Oy, do y'know any Christmas songs?" Peter asked suddenly, gesturing towards my friend's violin case.
" I do." Holmes said. " You needn't look so surprised, Watson." He said to me when I raised both my eyebrows. He took out his precious instrument and Peter looked at it with awe and envy.
" G-string, D-string, A, E…" he muttered to himself, looking at the corresponding strings at the violin. He also identified the bridge and the F-hole. Holmes looked surprised, and then delighted.
" How did you know that?"
" Me mum played one, sir, and she showed me a lot before she went a couple a years ago. Me dad made me sell the thing after tha', so I never got around to actually playing. I wish we coulda kept the thing, though, cuz it's makes a nice sound when it's played right, and I'dve liked to play it some, in her memory, see?" Peter explained.
" Really…" Holmes glanced at me, clearly debating something internally. Then he glared at me and mouthed 'not a word' before lifting the lad into his lap.
" How would you like to play with me?" he asked the shocked boy, whose gaping expression must have mirrored my own. Peter's eyes lit up like the winter sun and he gave an enthusiastic affirmative. Holmes let the boy tuck the violin under his chin, and I was privy to the heart-warming sight if Sherlock Holmes covering the lad's hands with his own and gently guiding them into a simple rendition of " Silent Night." Peter's face was the very image of joy and Holmes looked peaceful, if not happy. As they finished, the clock struck seven, and Peter yelped.
" Oy, I hafta get home quick!" he exclaimed as he leapt off Holmes' lap and grabbed his ragged coat, doing a quick examination of his reflection in a plate to see if there was any evidence of food on his person. He was clearly satisfied, but he looked to my companion just in case. Holmes nodded at him; he was clean.
" Thank you very much for your hoshpitality, sirs." He said respectfully before he left.
" Not at all, Peter." Holmes said.
" Merry Christmas," I added.
" Happy Christmas." He said back before turning to leave. He had one foot out the door when he spun around and launched himself at Holmes, grabbing the startled man in a quick hug.
" Merry Christmas, Mr. 'Olmes!" he said cheerfully before running down the stairs and out the door, leaving my friend quite bewildered and me laughing.
" You'd make a fine father, Holmes." I teased, earning a scowl from him. " You impress me, Holmes. You were very kind to Peter- to all the boys."
" If I wasn't, they wouldn't be quite so eager to do my work." He sniffed.
I smiled and shook my head, suspecting there was far more to it than that. It seemed to me that I would never get the man's limits. We sat in companionable silence for the rest of the night, silence that was only punctuated by Holmes' violin playing and the sound of carolers in the street.
" Do you really think Peter will be alright?" I asked late into the night. Worry for the boy had been nagging at me.
" Once we tell Wiggins, the lad will have nothing to fear. They look after their own, those urchins." He said. "As for his father… if he becomes a problem I shall personally deal with it." My companion seemed sure that no harm would come to the boy, and my faith in him was such that I ceased to worry. The clock struck midnight and I clapped Holmes on the shoulder.
" Merry Christmas, old chap."
" Yes, well, bah humbug and all that." He huffed. I smiled and remembered the image of his hands guiding Peter's through " Silent Night."
" Bah humbug, indeed."
THE END
Ta-da! So, how did I do? Reviews are my bread and butter, so please, press the button and drop me a line! I love concrit, really, I do, but I'll take anything. Love you all!