'Twas Not Quite Christmas at Baker Street
'Twas the night before Christmas,
when all through the flat,
the lights were all hung,
Billy wearing a hat.
Christmas cards were placed
on the mantle with care.
The sound of the violin
drifting through the air.
Sherlock should have been
all snug in his bed.
But stubborn thoughts
danced through his head.
John was awake,
because of the sound.
We Wish You a Merry Christmas
echoed all around.
When outside their windows,
there arose such a clatter
that John sprang from his chair,
to see what the matter.
Sherlock's attention was rapt,
while he stared outside,
his music was now silent,
his interest bona fide.
The dusted white streets,
not far below,
seemed calm and all quiet,
outside their window.
When, what to their
wondering eyes should they see.
But a man down the street,
starting to flee.
Sherlock moved away,
his motions excited.
It could be a suspect!
A new case; why fight it?
John knew that Sherlock
was now on the case.
After grabbing his shoes,
they started the chase.
"Now, John! Now! Quickly!
Now, don't let him run!"
On down Baker Street,
Oh, the excitement, how fun!
To the end of Baker Street,
past the Chinese food,
"Dash away, dash away,
brighten my mood!"
As they continued their chase,
for a potential bad guy,
John had to wonder,
'On Christmas, but why?'
Sherlock was intent,
focussed on their man.
They had to catch up!
They ran and they ran.
Their suspect wouldn't
get away quite so easy.
Sherlock tackled the man,
John catching up, wheezing.
A quick call to Lestrade;
Scotland Yard's on their way.
So, in the cold snow,
for a moment, they'd stay.
Lestrade arrived in his pyjamas,
looking tired from head to his foot.
While their suspect struggled,
"Quite vainly", as Sherlock put.
John asked Sherlock as
they walked back to their flat.
"The peace of Christmas,
where is it at?"
"Don't be stupid, this is fun,"
Sherlock replied with a grin.
"The best Christmas ever...
let's do it again!"
"Let's stick to presents,"
John muttered quietly.
"Besides, you know,
you haven't given one to me."
Sherlock was silent,
and soon they were home.
John went to make tea,
cold from their adventurous roam.
He grabbed bread for toast,
for growling, was his belly.
He grabbed the butter, then,
taking care to grab also the jelly.
When his bread was toasted,
and his tea was brewed,
he walked back to his chair.
Happy was his mood.
There was a wrapped present,
sitting neatly on his chair.
John looked at Sherlock,
whose attention was not there.
John opened it quickly,
and a smile lifted his lips.
"Sherlock, a jumper?
I thought you didn't give gifts!"
Sherlock grunted, near silent,
as John ran upstairs.
He reappeared soon with
a package wrapped with care.
He handed it to Sherlock,
who slowly unwrapped it.
Sherlock found a new scarf,
his eyes happily lit.
Sherlock nodded his thanks;
it was a good present to get.
"Merry Christmas, John...
It's my best Christmas yet."
I tried to stick to the original poem as much as I could, and then it was just a lost cause and... some of the original sneaks in now and again! And yeah... It was bit difficult. Happy holidays!
I do not own the poem, nor Sherlock.
Your thoughts are appreciated! Thanks!