A Christmas "thing"

(Sunday, early December)

"I'm off then," Tessa was busy buttoning up her coat, as it was an extremely chilly day in London. Sherlock glanced at her from behind the paper, the brunch she'd prepared for him half-eaten, his coffee growing cool. He looked at her quizzically "What for?" he asked, surprised to see her bundling up to leave the flat. He'd thought they had the afternoon ahead of them, perhaps a dvd or two to watch while relaxing quietly, fire in the hearth, her head upon his shoulder, few words spoken but for commentary about the movies, comfortable as any old couple who knew each other's ins and outs. With Christmas approaching his caseload had lightened significantly and he counted on Tessa to fill the hours with him, as John was in Northumberland, attending a retirement celebration for another doctor from his unit in Afghanistan, and so was away all weekend long.

"You weren't listening again," she replied, her tone indicating this was no surprise to her. "Sherlock, I told you, I have some Christmas shopping to do—some of my favorite people are still on my to-do list, and that," Tessa's eyes lit up with mirth, "includes you." She was pulling on her gloves, and headed in his direction, presumably for the ritual she could seldom do without—the Goodbye Kiss. She would get no proffered cheek until he'd had his say.

"Well, at any rate, shopping shouldn't take all afternoon." Sherlock stated this as an established fact," Surely you'll be back before too long." Then the afternoon could proceed as he'd expected.

"Well, actually…." Tessa paused, sighed and continued, "I've got a thing this afternoon, so I won't be back till after dark."

"A 'thing'? And just what sort of 'thing' do you have?" She'd piqued his curiosity now and he wouldn't settle for less than a full explanation.

"A Christmas thing, Sherlock. A thing at a church." She was smiling at his growing consternation, at making him ask instead of volunteering the information herself. She'd learned he listened better when he had to work a bit for it, although the telltale scowl forming on his face warned her not to push the tease too far. She patiently repeated what she'd told him several days before, "Sylvie and Jasper's girls are in a Christmas pageant at their church. They've been practicing for weeks, and I promised Syl I wouldn't miss it."

The sigh he gave was rife with irritation; he closed his eyes a moment and asked, trying his best to minimize any aversion in his voice, "And where exactly is this pageant to take place?"

Tessa narrowed her eyes, shaking her head slightly, "Um….Saint Mary's of the Angels, on Moorhouse Road in Notting Hill." She bit her lip and held her breath a moment before deciding to ask, "Why would you want to know that?" Tessa downplayed the sudden hope that he just might be interested in joining her there. That was a near impossibility, although she'd be more than happy if he did.

"Because, my dear, perhaps we could meet for dinner afterwards, and it would be best if we met close by, don't you think?" Sherlock turned the page of the paper, indicating he thought that the matter was settled. "What time is this performance going to begin?"

"4:00, this afternoon. I wouldn't imagine it will run more than an hour or so." Tessa found she was disappointed; dinner would be fine, but she really would've loved to share this little holiday presentation with him—though she'd never dare to ask.

Sherlock took a deep, dramatic breath, as he completed the debate inside his head, yes or no to an idea. He lowered the paper, giving Tessa his full attention. "Only an hour then?" Tessa nodded yes, and he continued, "You know, I could join you there. At the church. If you'd like me to." His face was impassive, but for the slight amusement in his eyes.

Although Tessa was speechless in her surprise, Sherlock could see from her face that he'd hit the mark. He usually could read her very well, and it was obvious this time that she wanted very much for him to join her. He realized she hadn't invited him, not because she feared him declining, but simply because she knew the idea would be naturally anathema to him.

Recovering from her shock, Tessa felt obligated to caution him. "Sherlock, this is a group of five and six year olds we're talking about. Far from disciplined, excited about their play, excited about Christmas. You do understand what you'd be getting yourself into?"

He suppressed the cringe that would normally have been on his face. "Tessa dear," he said, reminding himself he needn't sound magnanimous, "let's just consider it an early Christmas present, shall we?"

Tessa was still skeptical. "Um…you should know—from what Sylvie says, there may even be a couple of sheep." She waited for a response and when he remained silent, she added with great emphasis, "Live sheep, Sherlock. Are you sure about this?"

He nodded, certain he'd followed the right course. "Never surer. I will be there, count on it."

The smile she gave him was surely worth all the irritation and boredom he expected to experience in the church. He started to lift the paper up to read, when she knelt beside him, hugged him tightly, and nuzzled his neck sweetly. "Sherlock," she said into his collar, "sometimes you can be such a dear." She moved back a little, just to see his face; saying in complete sincerity, "What have I done to deserve you?"

He answered her most dryly, giving her the half smile he knew she adored, "You must've been a very good girl as a child."

Tessa's only answer was a loving smile and a lingering kiss. She rose to leave without another word, but as she reached the door, Sherlock called to her, "If you're thinking of getting me new gloves, the only ones worth investing in can be found at Harvey Nichols." He lowered the paper, wanting to stress the importance of the details he was about to impart, "Cashmere lined, with five-finger, precise touch technology." He started to return to his page, but then flicked down it down a moment, adding "I'd prefer them in black, of course."

Tessa tilted her head, acknowledging his request as one would acknowledge the victor in a well fought contest. "Of course," she replied with a smile, before turning to leave. She hoped the other item she had in mind would come as a complete surprise, for he had so few of those in his life and she knew he enjoyed them when they came


Tessa reached the church nearly a half-hour early, having dropped her Christmas packages off at her flat beforehand. She didn't mind arriving early; as she headed to a pew off to the side, she saw the children were just finishing up with a final rehearsal of their pageant. She smiled at their obvious excitement—in a space designed to echo with prayer and song, there was their happy laughter ringing out (along with the attendant shushing of the adults around them). She hadn't told Sherlock, but her family parish at home had a similar tradition, celebrated for almost fifty years. She had even played the Christmas Star when she was five, and it was one of her earliest, dearest Christmas memories.

Truth be told, it wasn't just her promise to Sylvie that brought her here—it was a deep longing for a connection to her family so very far away, at this family-centric time of year.


Tessa had left her phone on vibrate, in case Sherlock should text her to beg off coming to the church. At 3:55 she felt it go off, and was fairly certain it was him, perhaps with a brief apology or explanation for why he wouldn't attend. She didn't expect him to carry through, and wouldn't blame him in the least if he didn't; she understood him enough to realize how uncharacteristic it would be for him to appear at such a function.

She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and clicked on his text. "I'm in the church vestibule. Where are you?" Her eyes widened in surprise, her delight clear to anyone who cared to look her way. She quickly texted back, "3rd row, far left hand row of pews." Tessa turned to watch the doors at the back of the church, and within moments she saw him, his classic greatcoat swirling behind him at his rapid stride, collar upturned against the cold (and in his usual nod to vanity, she knew). Sherlock's face was set in her direction, looking crisp from the cold, his curls gently tousled so that she just wanted to reach out and tame them a bit. He slipped into the pew beside her.

Tessa couldn't help herself; she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. Her lips were warm against his chill, and she whispered in his ear in amazement, "You're really here." Sherlock, looking down at her, answered in a tone clearly saying there was never any doubt, "Of course. Did you really expect any less?"

Tessa looked down herself, demure in the moment, "Well…I wouldn't have held you to it. But now you're here, I'm very glad." She twined her arm around his, facing forward, saying, "I just hope you won't regret it."

Sherlock teased her gently, his voice a soft, deep rumble for her ears alone, "With you by my side, how could I?" He glanced forward at the activity around the altar and the final preparations. The quiet of the church was broken by a growing hubbub of murmurs as those in attendance waited to see their own come down the center aisle and begin the pageant. Tessa had leaned her head against his shoulder for the moment, and as always he found it made him happy to have her assume such a feminine pose.

A teenaged girl stepped up to the podium to the left of the altar, and gave a brief welcome to the crowd, and then began to narrate the tale the children would be enacting. There was a choir of tweens in the loft, who, with each section of the play, would sing a carol fit for the story. The younger children reacted in a variety of ways to performing; some embraced it with seriousness and all due attention; some allowed themselves to be led to the altar, looking frightened and unsure, their teachers coaxing them along; some were easily distracted, waving at their families in the pews, or turning back to watch the choir, or focusing on the sheep (the ones led in by a couple of older boys playing shepherds, as Tessa had predicted). The little girl playing Mary looked angelic, though her nerves got the best of her and she planted her thumb firmly in her mouth the moment she reached the altar. There was a bevy of angels in white and gold and silver, wings of feather or foil or painted cardboard, depending on the ingenuity of the parent making the costume. One carried a large gold plywood star, and went to stand on a step stool behind the Holy Family, so that the Three Kings could find their way.

The wise men presented their gifts, and the teachers then moved forward to lead the children in singing "Away in a Manager", which they mimed—again with varying degrees of success—using simple motions that fit the gentle lullaby. At the conclusion, the audience broke into appreciative applause.

Sherlock had not made the performance his only focus. Throughout the little play, he glanced sideways at Tessa, enjoying her response to the music and the pageant, her hand resting comfortably in his, lying soft against her thigh. She had sung along with every carol the choir had performed, her voice rising clear and bright on the Glorias of "Angels We Have Heard on High", singing it out with all her heart. He knew it was his feelings for her that colored his reaction, but still he thought it was the sweetest he'd ever heard them sung. And he surprised Tessa when he joined in himself, on "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and "Joy to the World". She slipped her hand in the crook of his arm again, squeezing it tightly and smiling up at him, as he showed a velvet bass she hadn't expected. He would tell her later that he'd served his fair share (as had Mycroft) in church choir at his parents' behest, until his voice changed and proved for several years to be ungovernable. Oh, but she enjoyed the surprise of it in the soft light of the church.

The pageant complete, the lights of the church were unexpectedly dimmed, and the crowd was hushed in anticipation of the finale—the lighting of the towering Christmas tree to the right of the pulpit. As the bright white lights on the tree came on, the crowd "ooohhhed" with satisfaction. The choir began to sing "Silent Night" with almost all present joining in. Sherlock heard Tessa sing along with the first few words, and then she fell silent. He turned to look at her; her head was bowed, her lips were trembling, her breath hitched at times. It was clear she was doing her utmost to fight back tears—and despite her best efforts, she appeared to be losing. She took her hand from his arm to reach into her bag and get a tissue, dabbing at her eyes, still with her head bowed.

The choir sang all three verses of the carol, and the music died away. The lights in the church came back up, and the narrator then invited all in attendance to the basement for Christmas refreshments. Parents, children, families, began to move from the pews back to the vestibule where the stairs were located. Tessa remained still, not yet looking up. She shook her head and took a deep breath, remaining seated, still without a word. Sherlock sat beside her, not asking yet, simply waiting.

When she appeared to have recovered her composure, she finally looked at him. Her lashes were still wet from crying, but she was gamely trying to smile. This time he had to ask, gently, solicitously, "Tessa, why the tears?"

The small smile that dimpled her cheeks was pure but bittersweet, "Oh, you know me. What day could pass without at least a few melodramatic tears?" But she could see that answer wouldn't satisfy his disquiet on her behalf, and so went on, "Really—it's the music. It never fails to move me. I think it sounds…" she looked down again, perhaps afraid emotion might overwhelm her if she kept looking at the puzzled concern upon his face, "I think it's the most beautiful of all the carols. Simple but pure, you know?" Sherlock nodded, not in agreement, but to encourage her to continue. "I've always thought it was inspired by Heaven. I've always thought it sounded like coming home at long last, after years of being lonely and far from those who love us." Tessa turned back to him, her eyes bright with emotion, "It's just…this time of year…I get a little homesick. For my family…well, what's left of us. And our traditions." Tessa took a deep, bracing breath, more in control of the sentiment that had overwhelmed her earlier, "It's different for me here, and somehow it sort of aches. You know what I mean?"

Sherlock had his own aches aplenty, but for most of his adulthood he had successfully kept them to himself. Seeing Tessa so vulnerable—and so pretty in her unvarnished emotion—made him feel protective, almost possessive in an archaic kind of way; made him want to be the one to whom she turned. After all these months he was still surprised that she could evoke such feelings in him. The simple, very human, nature of this—which he'd so long prided himself on rising above—turned out to be pleasant and fulfilling after all. He supposed the greatest love stories had that at their core—the feminine cleaving to the masculine as Nature intended all along. What she'd given him from their beginning was unconditional acceptance and understanding; it stood to reason that he would fiercely want to provide for her happiness. As he felt at this exact moment.

Without a word, Sherlock folded her gently in his arms and pressed his lips against her hair, making Tessa relax easily into him. Holding her so, in the now quiet church, he noticed how the small white lights on the Christmas tree strikingly brightened the white and gold decorations gracing the branches—spurring him to reflect on how they were so very like the illumination Tessa had brought into his life. Seeing things through her eyes had opened up parts of the world he'd never taken time to notice before, and it came to him that she was doing the same now, showing him Christmas from a soft and sentimental point of view that had long since vanished from his lexicon, as far back as his discovery that Father Christmas wasn't real after all. What sort of gift, he wondered, could he give her in return, and how might he temper with some Christmas joy, her homesickness for her family so far away?

"We'll dine in tonight," he told her softly, knowing her well enough that now she'd likely want to spend the evening quietly and as close to him as possible. She nodded her grateful assent and they started down the aisle to the back of the church. As they left, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, Sherlock felt the beginnings of a plan start to form. It would require time, it would require effort, but if anyone could do the task, he knew that it was him. There might even be some favors he'd need to call in, but he had a wealth of those saved up, and Tessa was certainly worth whatever cost might come to bear.

(to be continued)