„But how does Santa get into the houses of people who don't have chimneys?", Sherlock asked his nanny. The woman looked slightly overwhelmed.
„He climbs in through the window.", she stammered. Sherlock wasn't convinced.
„But how does he open the windows?", he continued to question her.
„He uses magic.", was the only answer he got. Still unsatisfied Sherlock decided that it was time to ask someone else. Although he was already in his pyjamas he got out of his bed and walked to his fathers office. The young boy knocked three times. Knock. Knock. Knock. He waited for 20 seconds and then he opened the door.
Mr. Holmes was sitting at his desk, carefully studying several documents.
„Father?" There was respect in Sherlock's voice, which was even then a rare phenomen.
„Not now, Sherlock", was the harsh answer the boy got.
„But I-", Sherlock attempted again but was cut off.
„Go ask your mother."
Sheepishly Sherlock closed the door again.
His mother was in the living room, talking to someone on the phone.
„Really, Rebecca? That is simply marvelous! Yes, of course. Have you heard that-"
„Mother?" Sherlock looked at her with big eyes. He had always know how to manipulate people but for some reason his mother seemed to be immune against his charm.
„Not now, darling.", Mrs. Holmes said without even looking at her son.
Sherlock calculated whether it would be worth throwing a temper tantrum but decided against it. Instead he walked upstairs, to Mycroft's room.
Being ten years old, Mycroft felt very grown up. He spent most of his time in his room, studying the newspapers and corresponding with people of international importance. It is understandable that he was considerably annoyed when Sherlock entered his office.
„How many times have I told you to knock before entering?", he scolded his little brother. Sherlock chose to ignore him.
„I have a question.", he said.
„Then ask.", Mycroft responded, resuming to read the newest edition of the Financial Time.
„How does Santa get into the houses of people who don't have chimneys?", Sherlock blurted out. Mycroft sighed and put his newspaper down.
„You see, Santa doesn't exist. I know that our Nanny told you so but she was lying.", he said.
Sherlock's eyes widened. „But who brings our presents then?"
„They are from our relatives. Mummy, Daddy, Auntie Elsie, Grandpa Igor, they all buy the presents in various shops, wrap them and write „From Santa for Sherlock" on them. Then they put them under the Christmas tree."
„But why? It would be so much easier to just tell us the truth.", Sherlock said, looking slightly confused.
„Most adults seem to think that children like stories about fat old men with white beards.", Mycroft answered and turned back to the Financial Times.
„Well, I don't like stories. Stories are boring.", Sherlock said to himself and went back to his room.