Dec 2 - From KnightFury - Watson is feeling festive. Holmes is not.
The series of events that led to both Holmes and myself stranded within the cellar of a London countess is long and dull and hardly worth my recounting here. That night, we sat back to back in the cramped, dark space, listening for any sound that indicated the departure of the lady, thereby freeing us from our self-inflicted prison. The fruits of our quest still mockingly out of reach, we remained inside the cellar.
In the hour that had passed, my body had become stiff and I shifted uncomfortably to allow relief for my leg. As I did so, I felt Holmes jolt in surprise; in any other setting, I might have expected him to yelp, so sharp was his movement. He reached behind him and rubbed at a spot on his back as he twisted his head in a futile attempt to glance back at me.
"What in God's name is in your jacket pocket? You must have stabbed me."
I frowned down at my hands in the darkness, wracking at my brain before realization dawned upon me. "Holmes, you picked me up off the street. I had errands to perform before Christmas."
"I'm well aware; and as you know, this couldn't wait. What could you possibly have purchased that is as sharp as a bramble?"
I reached into my pocket and passed him the sprigs of mistletoe that I had procured from a small shop earlier in the day. He sighed heavily when his fingers closed around the leaves before pushing them back into my coat.
"Please inform Mrs. Watson we have work to do."