Hey, everyone! I was going to post this Christmas Eve, I really truly was,
but my sister got to the computer first... Gr. No time at all to type. So,
now I'm up at, like, five in the morning, waiting for SH22 to be on, as I
just recently found out that it was, and lo and behold! I have time to
type! So, here I am... Just, everyone, thank March Hare; I had kinda laid
this by the wayside, and was planning on posting it for a Christmas-in-July
kinda thing, but she gave me a good kick in the pants to get moving. So,
I'm posting this for the anniversary of the first publication of BST! Yay
for us! Exactly one year *and a day* ago, the first chapter of BST appeared
on the Holmes board! It's a great holiday, so the schools have been giving
us the entire week off. I bet you were wondering what the extra week after
Christmas was for! Now you know. I'm probably boring you all to death, so
here we go again!
*Nona*
The sound of a good-hearted Christmas carol from the kitchen brought me out of a sound slumber. Groaning, I prepared to roll over in to the warmer side of the bed, but stopped when I remembered what day it was: Christmas Eve. I suddenly felt even more reluctant than before to get out of bed. It was Christmas, and I didn't have one party to go to, one place to be. A knock on my door brought me to the here-and-now as Mrs. Hudson brogued through the oak.
"Nona, birdie, it's time to get up! Breakfast won't make itself, I'm afraid." Steeling myself to the outside, and lonely, world, I resolved that even if I wasn't going to a party, the least I could do was make the house ready for the season. Doubtless there would be enough cheery meals at home to reap the benefit from a clean house. Small though that task may seem, it was in reality a substantial obstacle. Victorian cleaning supplies were not what one would call "First Class." Feeling better with my new resolution, I climbed out of bed, determined that even if today was going to be a miserable day, the least I could do was be cheery about it.
Getting ready to be seen by human eyes in record time, I bounded out the door without looking where I was going. I must remember to do that more often. I was sent sprawling to the floor into a tangle of skirt, legs, and arms, as well as-- Oh, Dear! A pair masculine hands on my... How did that happen? To top it all off, I found myself looking in to a pair of startled gray eyes barely an inch from mine. Still in shock, *Or so I claimed when the subject came up over a few drinks later that year* I laid there for what seemed like a nanosecond, though in reality it must have been several times that, when I heard the voice of another shocked individual behind Holmes and I sprawled on the floor, for indeed Holmes it was. This one, however, had a rather cultured London accent, one that was intensified by surprise.
"Oh, dear me!" said Watson from the stairs. "What in heaven's name is going on here?!" The spell was broken, but the damage was still done. Coming back to his senses, Holmes fairly leaped to his feet, leaving me conspicuously on the ground. I think that I have never seen his ears turn quite that shade of red: he made the garland of holly berries behind him seem to fade.
"Dreadfully sorry, Nona... You should watch... Why were you...? Here, let me help you up!" Extending his hand downward, Holmes caught mine in his and heaved me to my feet. I made a show of brushing little composed me off, but truth be told I must have been of the same shade as Holmes. Watson's voice rang out from the landing, sounding too highly amused for me to be comfortable.
"Good lord, Holmes, however did that come about?"
"It was entirely my fault, Watson," I said, stepping in to the rescue. "I just didn't watch where I was going when I came out of my room, and I'm afraid I was going kinda fast. But, no harm done!" I said in what I hoped was an airy tone. Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson's calling from the kitchen rescued me from the conclusion of easily one of the most embarrassing moments in my short life.
"Nona, are you up yet?" I would have to remember to thank her later.
"If you would be so kind as to excuse me, gentlemen." I turned on my heel and walked through the swinging door to the kitchen. Once inside, I burst out laughing. Maybe today wouldn't be so miserable after all...
/*\ \*/
"I'm Home!" I proclaimed opon opening the door to 221, b later that day, even though I knew full well that there would be nobody there to hear it. Holmes and Watson had planned to go to a concert before lunch, and Mrs. Hudson said something about visiting some obscure relative; anyhow, I was back from my Christmas shopping, and felt inclined to announce my presence to the dust bunnies. Whistling "Carol of the Bells," I went to my room to stash the presents under the loose floorboard to be boxed later. Laying out my purchases on the bed, my spirits suddenly sank as I reviewed the results of my day's work:
For Mrs. Hudson, I had a new thimble. She had been teaching me how to hem, and her old one had dissapered in to the Land of Oz while it was... *Ahem* On loan. Watson had been a little harder to shop for, as men always are. I finally settled on a Medical Journal that I had seen him eyeing before. Then came Holmes. That was the most difficult of all. I had finally sensed the perfect present walking home today in desperation. Sitting in the window of a shop was a small, high-power magnification glass. I know that his larger one had been giving him trouble of all sorts: The handle fell off, the glass fell out, it was too large to carry conveniently in one's pocket... The smaller one was just the thing. However, this last purchase had drained my already meager fund.
But, it was not the fault of my purse that my spirit's had been uninflated. It was the number of the gifts. Christmas had always been my favorite time of year before I timehopped. Carols, presents, yes, but most of all my favorite part was getting together with my family. My cousins from around the world would fly out every year for the season, and in most cases, it was the only time I saw them the entire year. The thing I remember most was the shopping. Trish and I, with several other friends, would go mall hopping for weeks straight, trying to find the perfect present for everyone. Some nights we would struggle home laden with bags and boxes only to collapse on the couch and watch "It's a Wonderful Life" with candy canes and hot chocolate aplenty while we wrapped them. It was true, what they say, at least in my case. It really IS better to give than to receive. So, here I was now, looking at my presents. My three presents. One... Two... Three. One for every person I knew. I was homesick. I wanted to go to the Christmas Eve party, to wake up in the morning to discover what "Santa Clause" had left us this year, to be there when my mom desperately tried to unload all the left over food on unsuspecting visitors--
There was a ring at the door. Knowing full well that I was the only one home, I was forced to leave my sad vigil over the presents and see who knocking. Thundering down the hall with a downhearted scowl, I was assailed by a most unsuspected sight opon opening the door: Mycroft!
The butterball, not even waiting to be invited, stepped in to the hall the instant I opened the door, oblivious to my mute protests.
"Mycroft!... I... Is something..." Holding up his hand to silence my inquires, he cocked a quizzical eye at me.
"Peace, woman! It's Christmas Eve; I simply wanted to wish my brother the Best of the Season, and deliver some news from North Riding. Assuming from the fact that he is not downstairs already, I deduce that he is out. Would you happen to know where he is?" Woman? Who did he think he was? Oh, right... Holmes' brother...
"Nope, sorry, but I don't have a clue where Holmes is."
"Well," He responded, eyeing me askance, "That's a first." I could have killed that man right where he stood. He may be smarter than Sherlock, but that is certainly no excuse to be ruder by as many fold!
"You said that there was news from Oakenstaff?" I held my hand out expectantly with a curt attitude. With an uneasy look, he dug in to his jacket breast pocket and revealed a letter. He handed it to me, and I made to shut the door; Mycroft, however, stuck his pudgy foot, door-to-door salesman style in between the door and the wall.
"Nona, would it be too much trouble to see that he gets that letter before half past noon? It's a matter of some importance." Well, at least he called me by my name. The least I could do was to be civil.
"I'll try. He will get it the instant that he gets home, and no later." Heaving a sigh of gratitude, Mycroft removed his foot from the path of the door.
"Thank you." He said, and walked off. After shutting the door behind him, I examined the envelope further. The paper it was made of was of good quality, though still far from the best. There was a "To" Address, 221, b Baker Street, but no return address. Glancing at the corner, I saw that there were no postage stamps... Odd. It somehow seemed harder to feel more forlorn over my small collection of presents in my room now that my mind was occupied with the reason and/or cause of Mycroft's earlier appearance. Carrying my things up to the sitting room where there was more room to box and wrap, I cast the letter down opon the settee and gave it nary a second thought. Yeah, right. The thing puzzled me to no end: what was it; why Mycroft delivered it by hand, rather than posting it; and not the least why it was to be given to Holmes before 12:30.
After wrapping my things and placing them in their hiding place with Bernie, I returned to the sitting room and puzzled over the origins of this mysterious letter, glancing nervously at the clock on the mantle every three minutes. The sooner that Holmes and Watson returned, the sooner I would find out what was in it. Or, at least, that was the reason to begin with. As soon as the clock struck noon, I began to worry that the pair would not get here in time to open the letter by the appointed time. Around 12:40, I despaired that they would ever get home, and went downstairs to seek my neglected lunch, only to have the pair open the door the instant my foot touched the top step. Ascending from my perch with what I hoped was a non-chalant attitude, I said lightly to Holmes:
"You got a letter while you were out." He paused in the act of putting his coat away and looked at me confused.
"A letter? But the postman's already been."
"Yes, I know. Mycroft delivered it himself." That got him moving. So rare was it that Mycroft would venture beyond the eccentric boundaries of his club that when he did, it was sure to cause a stir of one kind or another.
"Well, where did you put it?" He asked as if I would have tossed it out with the garbage.
"Upstairs in the sitting room." I gestured towards the door. Moving in a leap, he bounded past me and up the stairs. I was about to comment on this, but remembering the sort of news that Mycroft had brought last time he showed at Baker Street, I swallowed my tongue and went in to the kitchen for an apple. I am afraid to say that we had both somewhat neglected Watson, and he was left standing in the hall with Holmes' jacket thrown across his arm in a quite confused state.
After retrieving my lunch, I went up to the sitting room, bursting inside to know what was in that letter. However, opon arriving there, I found Holmes casually sitting in his chair reading the Times for the day. The letter, I noticed, was cast aside on the mantle. Sitting down on the sofa, and quite confused about his attitude, I pondered his actions. Was there not something of the utmost importance in that correspondence? Why should it have been delivered by half past, when already it was 12:45?
"Well, Holmes?" I inquired. He glanced up at me expectantly, as if he had no idea what I was asking about. "What was in the letter?"
"Oh, that." He responded. He tossed the opened envelope over to me. "See for yourself." I glanced inside, only to be caught unprepared for the contents: Train Tickets! Three of them! For... North Riding! Accompanying them was a letter from Sherrinford, requesting that we join them for Christmastide. So this was what was of so much importance! But why was it to be delivered by 12:30? Pursuing the tickets further, I found out: They were for a 1:20 train! That only gave us... I counted on my fingers, to the apparent amusement of Holmes in his chair... Half an hour to get to the station. Leaping out of my chair, I said to Holmes:
"Well, come on, let's get packing!" Again acting oblivious, he looked up at me with the picture of innocence plastered on his face.
"Packing? Whatever for?" Whatever for? He honestly didn't expect us not to go!
"For the train! We've got just enough time to pack before we leave, and if we waste any, we'll be late and miss the train!" Folding up his paper and standing up, he casually stretched his arms behind his back, only serving further to agitate me.
"Well... I hadn't intended on going, but if you *want* to..." That jerk! He knew perfectly well that I wanted to go! A big Christmas Eve at Oakenstaff... This is just what I had been wishing for!
"You dolt, of *course* I want to go! Now let's get packing!" Moving as slowly as he could he walked over to the door and held it for me. "Well, then, I sudgest you get packing! And inform Watson. I shall be along momentarily." Without waiting for another word to be said, I rushed downstairs, skipping the last three in a way that Mrs. Hudson would have disapproved of. And so, in less than half an hour, the three of us were speeding down the tracks on our way to North Riding.
AN: *Sigh* Well, there it is! My mom's been bugging me to get off the computer and walk the dogs for the past half hour, and says that if I'm not off in five minutes, she'll pull the plug, so I'll make this fast. I've been working on a web cite for BST! It's got a guest book, and a chat room and all sorts of other cool stuff, plus these neat graphics that took forever to behave themselves. You all should check it out! It's my homepage. And, I've made a Yahoo! Group for we the brownies! It's called bstfans; just go to the Yahoo! Homepage and search for it, and click on the first link. It rox too. Ok, just check it out and happy Brownie Anniversary, everyone!! Ciao! *Oh, and review. Pwease??*
*Nona*
The sound of a good-hearted Christmas carol from the kitchen brought me out of a sound slumber. Groaning, I prepared to roll over in to the warmer side of the bed, but stopped when I remembered what day it was: Christmas Eve. I suddenly felt even more reluctant than before to get out of bed. It was Christmas, and I didn't have one party to go to, one place to be. A knock on my door brought me to the here-and-now as Mrs. Hudson brogued through the oak.
"Nona, birdie, it's time to get up! Breakfast won't make itself, I'm afraid." Steeling myself to the outside, and lonely, world, I resolved that even if I wasn't going to a party, the least I could do was make the house ready for the season. Doubtless there would be enough cheery meals at home to reap the benefit from a clean house. Small though that task may seem, it was in reality a substantial obstacle. Victorian cleaning supplies were not what one would call "First Class." Feeling better with my new resolution, I climbed out of bed, determined that even if today was going to be a miserable day, the least I could do was be cheery about it.
Getting ready to be seen by human eyes in record time, I bounded out the door without looking where I was going. I must remember to do that more often. I was sent sprawling to the floor into a tangle of skirt, legs, and arms, as well as-- Oh, Dear! A pair masculine hands on my... How did that happen? To top it all off, I found myself looking in to a pair of startled gray eyes barely an inch from mine. Still in shock, *Or so I claimed when the subject came up over a few drinks later that year* I laid there for what seemed like a nanosecond, though in reality it must have been several times that, when I heard the voice of another shocked individual behind Holmes and I sprawled on the floor, for indeed Holmes it was. This one, however, had a rather cultured London accent, one that was intensified by surprise.
"Oh, dear me!" said Watson from the stairs. "What in heaven's name is going on here?!" The spell was broken, but the damage was still done. Coming back to his senses, Holmes fairly leaped to his feet, leaving me conspicuously on the ground. I think that I have never seen his ears turn quite that shade of red: he made the garland of holly berries behind him seem to fade.
"Dreadfully sorry, Nona... You should watch... Why were you...? Here, let me help you up!" Extending his hand downward, Holmes caught mine in his and heaved me to my feet. I made a show of brushing little composed me off, but truth be told I must have been of the same shade as Holmes. Watson's voice rang out from the landing, sounding too highly amused for me to be comfortable.
"Good lord, Holmes, however did that come about?"
"It was entirely my fault, Watson," I said, stepping in to the rescue. "I just didn't watch where I was going when I came out of my room, and I'm afraid I was going kinda fast. But, no harm done!" I said in what I hoped was an airy tone. Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson's calling from the kitchen rescued me from the conclusion of easily one of the most embarrassing moments in my short life.
"Nona, are you up yet?" I would have to remember to thank her later.
"If you would be so kind as to excuse me, gentlemen." I turned on my heel and walked through the swinging door to the kitchen. Once inside, I burst out laughing. Maybe today wouldn't be so miserable after all...
/*\ \*/
"I'm Home!" I proclaimed opon opening the door to 221, b later that day, even though I knew full well that there would be nobody there to hear it. Holmes and Watson had planned to go to a concert before lunch, and Mrs. Hudson said something about visiting some obscure relative; anyhow, I was back from my Christmas shopping, and felt inclined to announce my presence to the dust bunnies. Whistling "Carol of the Bells," I went to my room to stash the presents under the loose floorboard to be boxed later. Laying out my purchases on the bed, my spirits suddenly sank as I reviewed the results of my day's work:
For Mrs. Hudson, I had a new thimble. She had been teaching me how to hem, and her old one had dissapered in to the Land of Oz while it was... *Ahem* On loan. Watson had been a little harder to shop for, as men always are. I finally settled on a Medical Journal that I had seen him eyeing before. Then came Holmes. That was the most difficult of all. I had finally sensed the perfect present walking home today in desperation. Sitting in the window of a shop was a small, high-power magnification glass. I know that his larger one had been giving him trouble of all sorts: The handle fell off, the glass fell out, it was too large to carry conveniently in one's pocket... The smaller one was just the thing. However, this last purchase had drained my already meager fund.
But, it was not the fault of my purse that my spirit's had been uninflated. It was the number of the gifts. Christmas had always been my favorite time of year before I timehopped. Carols, presents, yes, but most of all my favorite part was getting together with my family. My cousins from around the world would fly out every year for the season, and in most cases, it was the only time I saw them the entire year. The thing I remember most was the shopping. Trish and I, with several other friends, would go mall hopping for weeks straight, trying to find the perfect present for everyone. Some nights we would struggle home laden with bags and boxes only to collapse on the couch and watch "It's a Wonderful Life" with candy canes and hot chocolate aplenty while we wrapped them. It was true, what they say, at least in my case. It really IS better to give than to receive. So, here I was now, looking at my presents. My three presents. One... Two... Three. One for every person I knew. I was homesick. I wanted to go to the Christmas Eve party, to wake up in the morning to discover what "Santa Clause" had left us this year, to be there when my mom desperately tried to unload all the left over food on unsuspecting visitors--
There was a ring at the door. Knowing full well that I was the only one home, I was forced to leave my sad vigil over the presents and see who knocking. Thundering down the hall with a downhearted scowl, I was assailed by a most unsuspected sight opon opening the door: Mycroft!
The butterball, not even waiting to be invited, stepped in to the hall the instant I opened the door, oblivious to my mute protests.
"Mycroft!... I... Is something..." Holding up his hand to silence my inquires, he cocked a quizzical eye at me.
"Peace, woman! It's Christmas Eve; I simply wanted to wish my brother the Best of the Season, and deliver some news from North Riding. Assuming from the fact that he is not downstairs already, I deduce that he is out. Would you happen to know where he is?" Woman? Who did he think he was? Oh, right... Holmes' brother...
"Nope, sorry, but I don't have a clue where Holmes is."
"Well," He responded, eyeing me askance, "That's a first." I could have killed that man right where he stood. He may be smarter than Sherlock, but that is certainly no excuse to be ruder by as many fold!
"You said that there was news from Oakenstaff?" I held my hand out expectantly with a curt attitude. With an uneasy look, he dug in to his jacket breast pocket and revealed a letter. He handed it to me, and I made to shut the door; Mycroft, however, stuck his pudgy foot, door-to-door salesman style in between the door and the wall.
"Nona, would it be too much trouble to see that he gets that letter before half past noon? It's a matter of some importance." Well, at least he called me by my name. The least I could do was to be civil.
"I'll try. He will get it the instant that he gets home, and no later." Heaving a sigh of gratitude, Mycroft removed his foot from the path of the door.
"Thank you." He said, and walked off. After shutting the door behind him, I examined the envelope further. The paper it was made of was of good quality, though still far from the best. There was a "To" Address, 221, b Baker Street, but no return address. Glancing at the corner, I saw that there were no postage stamps... Odd. It somehow seemed harder to feel more forlorn over my small collection of presents in my room now that my mind was occupied with the reason and/or cause of Mycroft's earlier appearance. Carrying my things up to the sitting room where there was more room to box and wrap, I cast the letter down opon the settee and gave it nary a second thought. Yeah, right. The thing puzzled me to no end: what was it; why Mycroft delivered it by hand, rather than posting it; and not the least why it was to be given to Holmes before 12:30.
After wrapping my things and placing them in their hiding place with Bernie, I returned to the sitting room and puzzled over the origins of this mysterious letter, glancing nervously at the clock on the mantle every three minutes. The sooner that Holmes and Watson returned, the sooner I would find out what was in it. Or, at least, that was the reason to begin with. As soon as the clock struck noon, I began to worry that the pair would not get here in time to open the letter by the appointed time. Around 12:40, I despaired that they would ever get home, and went downstairs to seek my neglected lunch, only to have the pair open the door the instant my foot touched the top step. Ascending from my perch with what I hoped was a non-chalant attitude, I said lightly to Holmes:
"You got a letter while you were out." He paused in the act of putting his coat away and looked at me confused.
"A letter? But the postman's already been."
"Yes, I know. Mycroft delivered it himself." That got him moving. So rare was it that Mycroft would venture beyond the eccentric boundaries of his club that when he did, it was sure to cause a stir of one kind or another.
"Well, where did you put it?" He asked as if I would have tossed it out with the garbage.
"Upstairs in the sitting room." I gestured towards the door. Moving in a leap, he bounded past me and up the stairs. I was about to comment on this, but remembering the sort of news that Mycroft had brought last time he showed at Baker Street, I swallowed my tongue and went in to the kitchen for an apple. I am afraid to say that we had both somewhat neglected Watson, and he was left standing in the hall with Holmes' jacket thrown across his arm in a quite confused state.
After retrieving my lunch, I went up to the sitting room, bursting inside to know what was in that letter. However, opon arriving there, I found Holmes casually sitting in his chair reading the Times for the day. The letter, I noticed, was cast aside on the mantle. Sitting down on the sofa, and quite confused about his attitude, I pondered his actions. Was there not something of the utmost importance in that correspondence? Why should it have been delivered by half past, when already it was 12:45?
"Well, Holmes?" I inquired. He glanced up at me expectantly, as if he had no idea what I was asking about. "What was in the letter?"
"Oh, that." He responded. He tossed the opened envelope over to me. "See for yourself." I glanced inside, only to be caught unprepared for the contents: Train Tickets! Three of them! For... North Riding! Accompanying them was a letter from Sherrinford, requesting that we join them for Christmastide. So this was what was of so much importance! But why was it to be delivered by 12:30? Pursuing the tickets further, I found out: They were for a 1:20 train! That only gave us... I counted on my fingers, to the apparent amusement of Holmes in his chair... Half an hour to get to the station. Leaping out of my chair, I said to Holmes:
"Well, come on, let's get packing!" Again acting oblivious, he looked up at me with the picture of innocence plastered on his face.
"Packing? Whatever for?" Whatever for? He honestly didn't expect us not to go!
"For the train! We've got just enough time to pack before we leave, and if we waste any, we'll be late and miss the train!" Folding up his paper and standing up, he casually stretched his arms behind his back, only serving further to agitate me.
"Well... I hadn't intended on going, but if you *want* to..." That jerk! He knew perfectly well that I wanted to go! A big Christmas Eve at Oakenstaff... This is just what I had been wishing for!
"You dolt, of *course* I want to go! Now let's get packing!" Moving as slowly as he could he walked over to the door and held it for me. "Well, then, I sudgest you get packing! And inform Watson. I shall be along momentarily." Without waiting for another word to be said, I rushed downstairs, skipping the last three in a way that Mrs. Hudson would have disapproved of. And so, in less than half an hour, the three of us were speeding down the tracks on our way to North Riding.
AN: *Sigh* Well, there it is! My mom's been bugging me to get off the computer and walk the dogs for the past half hour, and says that if I'm not off in five minutes, she'll pull the plug, so I'll make this fast. I've been working on a web cite for BST! It's got a guest book, and a chat room and all sorts of other cool stuff, plus these neat graphics that took forever to behave themselves. You all should check it out! It's my homepage. And, I've made a Yahoo! Group for we the brownies! It's called bstfans; just go to the Yahoo! Homepage and search for it, and click on the first link. It rox too. Ok, just check it out and happy Brownie Anniversary, everyone!! Ciao! *Oh, and review. Pwease??*