Chapter Two: The First Noël
20th December, 1889
The trip of the foot was entirely effective.
All air exited Holmes's lungs as he fell hard upon the frozen cobbled narrow streets of the rookery of St Giles. As he lay gasping amidst the residue of rotten vegetables, fish, and meat from the few surrounding stalls, the laughter of the area's residents rang in his ears. It seemed the perpetrator of his sudden downfall was not alone in his poor opinion of the chasing detective.
Or at least of the company he was keeping.
His hat having disappeared into the forest of legs surrounding him, Holmes dragged himself upwards as the policemen accompanying him arrived by his side. Ignoring the enquiries after his healthfrom both Watson and the officers, he resumed the pursuit of his quarry while a hail of mockery and fruit rained down upon them.
"Leave us be, peelers!"
"Go home and cook your goose, Blue Bottles, before we does it for ya!"
In contrast, the bearded man ahead, his long sandy hair whipping behind him as he ran, received a chorus of encouragement. Cries of "Leggit it quick!", "Lead 'em a merry Yule dance, lad!", and "Nommus!" encouraged the man in his getaway. Why not give them all a laugh and a fillip in the face of the oppressive police and the law this Christmas season?
The crowds parted for the man and closed behind him, forcing Holmes and those with him to push through the suddenly oblivious denizens of the marketplace, who blinked at the raging policemen in surprise, apologized profusely, and eventually stepped out of the way. Every second of each little playlet pulled the man they were after further and further ahead.
"This is madness!" Watson yelled to his friend as they pulled clear of another knot of recalcitrant locals. His clothes rather the worse for a barrage of old cabbage and tomatoes, the doctor tried to catch his breath even as he addressed his friend. "We've got the leaders. Surely we can let the police hunt down the individual members?"
But Holmes was not listening. His eyes scanned the street in front of him before he darted forward and down a side alleyway, bursting through a door that led, not into a house, but down into a basement lit by a single mining lamp.
On joining him at the bottom, Watson and the pursing officers stopped by his side. Their panting breaths rose steam-like in the cold air as they stood and took in the basement that was, in fact, nothing of the sort. Instead of one self-contained stone room, each of the three remaining walls of the basement had a tunnel running off it, the stench of sewage and the dim glow of yet more mining lamps emanating from each of the three.
They all of them recognised it at once for what it was -- an entrance point to the Labyrinthine escape tunnels that ran underneath great swathes of the poorest areas of the inner city…and the most lethal part of the underbelly of London.
The moment Holmes made his move towards one of the tunnels, he found himself restrained not just by Watson but by the officer alongside of him.
"No, Holmes!" The doctor struggled to pull him back. "Don't! You yourself told me the kind of traps that lie in wait for a man in there. Even if you were to guess right as to where he went, by the time you pick your way safely through he'll be long gone! He's not worth it. He was just a foot soldier."
"No," Holmes replied as he gave up his attempt to move forward. "No, he was not. Or at least not for our gang of forgerers and swindlers." As those holding him released him, he turned and moved back up the stairs, a dark expression on his face.
Watson joined him above a moment later. "What do you mean?"
"I recognised his face," the detective answered, reaching into his overcoat to draw out his cigarette case and matches. Lighting up, he drew upon his cigarette as he composed his explanation. "From the case regarding The Fenian Ram."
His colleague's brow furrowed as he remembered the eventsfrom the previousJune involving an American funded submarine and an Irish rebel plot to exact revenge upon a traitor whom they had subsequently foiled. "Fenians?" he enquired with some confusion.
Holmes nodded. "You may recall I remarked that there was one of some invention and acuity who made an impression on me."
"Yes…" Watson agreed, his head bobbing slowly. "He escaped, did he not?"
"He did. And given the outcome of this chase, it is something he is obviously adept at."
"But why would Irish rebels be involved with a group swindlers and forgers?" the doctor asked the air in general. "They are idealists and are well funded from abroad."
"Precisely. If this is what it appears to be, then there has been a significant sea change in the attitudes of those rebel cells working here in England towards working with the criminal classes. And I remind you that this is not just any group of swindlers, Watson," Holmes said to him as the officers behind them emerged and they all began to walk back to where the chase had begun. "Our client, Mr. Swaine, was quite correct in his summation of them as 'the most sublime collection of artistes and confidence tricksters ever gathered.' Men of notable talent, taste, and social graces…able to move in polite society, even if they do place their headquarters in the most squalid of environs. These men would be many things, but inclined towards helping rebels would not be one of them."
Holmes inclined his head in polite acknowledgement of a rather foul diatribe by an elderly fruit seller and returned to addressing his friend. "Something has influenced their thinking and brought them together." He sighed on spotting the remains of his black silk hat, gleefully battered flat by the antagonistic crowd, and amidst a sea of smirks, bent down to scoop it up. "I shall have to think on this further," he commented upon the odd alliance they had stumbled across as he gazed ruefully at his crumpled hat.
Watson nodded as they approached an old fishmongers and a fleet of Black Marias outside of it that were currently being filled by the police with an odd assortment of the richly dressed and the artisan set. Watching with some satisfaction as the bulk of this coterie of criminals was being led away, the doctor turned to his friend. "And knowing you, you shall think on it a great deal, I'm sure…but do take care to remember your other obligations in the meantime, Holmes."
The younger man flicked away the remains of his cigarette and pulled up his collar against the chill of the December air, his eyes upon those sullenly being incarcerated in the police vans. "If you are referring to my Christmas Day appointment in Hertfordshire, Watson, then you need fear not. As promised, I shall be on the early afternoon train as soon as the service begins to run again." He glanced at his friend. "Providing nothing urgent rears its head in the meantime."
"Of course." Watson chuckled as the two men began to walk towards the carriage they had arrived in. "Let it never be said that Sherlock Holmes shirks his mission to vanquish the criminal element even on Christmas Day."
"Especially on Christmas Day," Holmes corrected him, opening the door while their carriage driver chased away a group of ragged children determined to find a way to get a free ride on the back of the brougham.
Watson gave him a pained if good natured look after they had settled into the cab. "Do try to get there, Holmes. It'll do you good to be otherwise engaged for a while…" He peeled an old cabbage leaf from his shoulder with a look of extreme distaste. "And a great deal more importantly, it'll do me good!"
25th December, 1889
"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," the Thurlow family's butler, Goodwin, greeted him with cheery reserve upon opening the wreathed door. "Would it be in order to wish you season's greetings, sir?"
"Thank you, Goodwin," Holmes acknowledged with a nod of his head, the hansom cab that had brought him to the house pulling away behind him as he climbed the short number of steps to the entrance. "And to you, of course. I trust everyone is at home and well?" He looked past him into the cheerily garlanded and lit interior of the house on this dark Christmas Day.
"Indeed, sir." The butler nodded, silently offering to take the carpet bag Holmes carried, which he was duly allowed to do. "The family are in the drawing room partaking of egg nog, mince pies, and Mrs. Reggie's cinnamon Christmas biscuits." He stepped aside to allow the detective entry, before closing the door after them. "Miss Thurlow asked that some mulled wine be put on in advance of your arrival...and has also purchased a particularly fine selection of brandy and whiskey for your usage. A hot toddy perhaps, sir? It is a mite chilly."
Holmes drew off his scarf and hat, putting the former in the latter. Dropping his gloves in afterwards, he handed the lot to the butler. "Yes..." He thought on it, unbuttoning his coat to reveal his morning suit, cravat, and matching waistcoat. "I believe that would be eminently acceptable, Goodwin, thank you."
After dealing with the guest's belongings, Goodwin led him towards the drawing room, before knocking lightly and opening the door to step inside to the family. "Excuse me, Mrs. Thurlow, Miss Thurlow. Mr. Holmes has arrived."
As her brothers entertained themselves in an unusually quiet manner on the floor by the fire, Helen rose from the card table where she had been playing with her mother. Her face remained carefully composed, but there was no denying the pleasure in her eyes. "Very good, Goodwin. Please show him in."
Holmes stepped inside, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked around at the family. It had been quite a while since he had spent Christmas with a family, and the last time did not inspire enjoyable memories. Still, he reminded himself, the Thurlows bore little resemblance to that particular family.
"A Merry Christmas," he greeted them, his gaze moving over them all before resting at last with Helen, who moved swiftly to his side, her deep green velvet dress whispering around her.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," she returned, her eyes shining as she looked up into his.
His lips curled softly upwards. "Helen," he greeted her in a quieter, more personal manner, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he turned to her mother and inclined his head respectfully. "Mrs. Thurlow."
"Joy of the season to you, Sherlock," Alice returned and beckoned to the twins, who were watching Mr. Holmes with curious and somewhat gloomy eyes. Moving across to her in their Christmas best, the pair stood either side of her as they watched their sister with her new beau.
"Boys, a happy Christmas to you," he greeted them, wondering at their air. "Are you enjoying the day...and what St. Nicholas has brought you?"
"We have not seen what he brought us," Matthew replied in a somewhat sombre tone.
"Oh?" their guest enquired. "And why is that?"
"We were told we must wait for you," Andrew answered, the quiet serious reply puzzling the detective even more.
Holmes's brow flickered slightly. "Indeed? Well, I have no wish to hold up such an important part of the day. And I have taken the liberty of bringing a few small gifts to add to those left to you by St. Nicholas."
The boys looked at each other before Matthew turned his gaze back to their guest. "That is very kind of you, Mr. Holmes. Thank you," he said politely, though neither of the boys seemed to perk up much. Holmes's querying eyes turned to Helen when the boys' attitude did not improve greatly.
She sighed a little and gave him an apologetic look. "That is most kind of you, Sherlock...and what a splendid idea. Boys, would you like to be the parcel givers this year?"
The boys exchanged another glance. "Yes, Helen," Matthew informed her almost dutifully, and together they moved towards the brightly lit tree, the candles flickering in their holders. Kneeling down on the ground by the parcels, they began to sort through the gaily wrapped gifts.
While Holmes moved to the bag Goodwin had left by the door, Helen bit her lip worriedly at her brothers' manner, something she had been fretting over for the past week, ever since she had announced the identity of their guest for Christmas dinner…and it had proven not to be whom they had hoped for. Patting her daughter's hand, Alice led her over to the couch, where Helen managed a small smile in return of her mother's own sympathetic one.
"And how has your day been thus far, Sherlock?" Alice enquired genially once Holmes had taken a seat opposite, leaving the boys on the floor between them. "Have you spoken to the Watsons today?"
"Not today, Mrs. Thurlow," he told her. "They left yesterday evening to begin a short Christmas sojourn at rented and catered accommodation in the Cotswolds. As for myself, today has mostly been spent in preparing for the journey here. As you know, travel on Christmas Day is somewhat cumbersome with the trains not running till after services are over."
"Indeed, I do understand. And we are very pleased you were able to grace us with your presence. I suspect Helen even more so than I," she informed him with a mischievous twinkle in her large amber eyes.
"We are all pleased to have you here." Helen's cheeks flushed, though she did not deny the sentiment.
"I was, of course, gratified to receive the invitation." The small smile returned to his lips.
"You are always welcome at our home, Sherlock," Helen said, her tone soft and shy.
Before Holmes could respond, Andrew added without looking up from sorting the parcels, "There was a space at the table anyway." Alice's eyes shot over to the boy as his elder sister flinched.
"This one is for you, Helen," Matthew informed the young woman, his words slipping across his brother's as he held out a gift. "From your Mama, it says."
"Thank you, Matthew," she replied. "And thank you, Mother," she added, taking the gift and swallowing back a residual twinge of guilt at how her choice to end her relationship with William Edwards had impacted upon her brothers. She had broken the news to them two weeks previously, when their questions about his prolonged absence had become too difficult to avoid. It had been done in the rather forlorn hope that they might simply accept it…but William had made a strong impact on their young lives and they missed him dreadfully. Never more so than now, for all three of them had been making plans for Christmas, and now he was gone. Because of her. But more worryingly for her, she knew they placed some of the blame for that at her new beau's door.
Sherlock was many fascinating things to them. But friend, playmate, and father figure were not amongst them. They had, of course, not spent as much time with him as they had with William but for the moment, they did not feel as if they had traded equally at all. She had hoped they might have come to terms with it by now, but this Christmas Day had only seemed to exacerbate William's absence.
"This one is for you, Matthew." Andrew smiled a little as his brother resumed his place before leaning into him and whispering the rest. Matthew's eyes widened and Andrew nodded quickly. With a grin, the boy pulled open the paper to reveal the book below.
"Mr. Kipling!" He bounced in glee. "It's just what I wanted!"
Helen blinked, her brow furrowing in curiosity. "Who gave that to you, Matthew?"
Matthew looked up at her, his smile dropping immediately from his face and his hold tightening on the book. Helen's frown deepened at her brother's reaction. "It's just a book, Helen," he said in a small voice.
"Matthew...your sister asked you a question," Alice coaxed softly, but her tone was firm.
Matthew frowned, unwilling to answer at first, then dipped his eyes. "It's from Captain...Major...Edwards," he replied as Goodwin entered with Holmes's hot toddy. Taking it, the guest nodded his thanks before returning his attention to what was going on around him, including the sight of Andrew moving another gift behind himself surreptitiously.
"Andrew," came the swift command from the Thurlow matriarch, stilling the boy's movements though he looked at Alice with determinedly innocent eyes. Her eyebrow arched at him, her gaze told him in no uncertain terms she knew exactly what he was up to and that he should not even bother to hide it.
"It's just a present," Andrew said plaintively as Alice's intent gaze remained on him.
"Is there a difficulty, ma'am?" Goodwin asked, looking from the boys to the women, concern for his 'charges' sneaking through despite his mostly effective attempt to mask them.
"Matthew," Helen began, again pushing back the guilt and the clear embarrassment that this was happening in front of her new beau. "It isn't really proper to keep it..."
"It's not fair!" Matthew retorted in an uncharacteristically loud voice as he rose to his feet, his face crumpling. "He gave them to us! We don't want to give them back, Helen," he continued without drawing breath. His eyes turned to his brother, who picked up the gift he'd been attempting to hide and with a nod, stood up to join him. "We liked William! We liked him lots! He was our friend!"
Andrew joined in. "And you liked him! He was fun...and we wanted him to come for Christmas." He glanced quickly at Holmes. "We even made him gifts!" he protested.
"He gave us these 'cause he liked us too. We don't want to give them up...just because you..." Matthew started before stopping suddenly, his head drooping.
Andrew slowly did likewise. "It's not fair," he echoed his brother, not only talking about the gifts but the loss of the man they had come to adore. Surprised by the boys' outburst, Holmes sat back slowly, lowering his eyes and his hands folding in his lap as he masked his discomfort.
Helen, however, showed no such inclination towards masking her emotions, and her displeasure at their behaviour was writ large as she rose from her seat. "I will speak to you both outside." The order was curt as she swept towards the door and opened it. "This instant."
Leaving her mother to entertain Holmes, and once the door was firmly closed behind them, she turned to the boys, who had been ushered out by Goodwin, the butler now standing quietly to one side.
"If it were not for the fact that today is Christmas Day I would have no hesitation in sending you to bed without your dinner," she said with an icy anger that made them flinch and drop their heads. "I have given you boys a deal of leeway in your behaviour in an effort to encourage you to a freedom of expression…but you have overstepped the mark! I see I should have taken a firmer hand with you. How dare you embarrass us in front of a guest like that. You boys are Thurlows and though you are young, you have a duty and an obligation to be hospitable to all guests under your roof. If you are not, and if anything like this should ever occur again, I shall see to it that you are punished most severely. Am I understood?"
Helen inhaled quietly as both boys nodded hurriedly. Folding her hands in front of her, she reined in her anger. "No...it is not fair that you should have to return your gifts. Something I was about to agree with had I been allowed to speak." She eyed them both. "Though you scarce deserve them after today, you may both keep your gifts. I know that William would still like you to keep them no matter what has occurred between him and me. You were both good friends with him...and he with you. You cared about each other. And I cared for him too. And though you may not believe it, I do miss him greatly. But sometimes things do not run smoothly between men and women the way you would like them to. I hurt a good man...and that shall ever haunt me. But Mr. Holmes and I are walking out together now, and I have every hope that we shall continue to do so.
"Now unless my memory serves me ill, I seem to recall that you both liked him too. I would appreciate your both refraining from moping any more today; please give our guest all the respect he is due and try to give him a chance." She paused to watch both boys glance at one another sheepishly, and her voice grew quieter as it took on an explanatory tone. "Boys…liking Mr. Holmes will do no disservice to what you felt about William at all."
They held onto their presents tightly and nodded. "Yes, Helen," they chorused as their eyes dipped back to the floor.
"Now…I expect you both to write Major Edwards a thank you letter."
Andrew looked up at her tentatively. "Will you be writing to him too?"
"Yes..." She sighed and nodded. "But it will accompany any gifts he may have left me. Though I'm sure it is fine for you both and Mother to keep yours...it would not be so for me." Having heard from Nicholas that William was bound for India at the start of January, she knew it was most likely the last correspondence she would ever send to her former suitor and that she would probably never see him again.
In the slight lull, Goodwin moved closer to the siblings. "Perhaps, Miss..." he suggested quietly, "if the gift giving may resume a little later, I could take the boys to the kitchen so they can help insert the coins into the plum pudding."
With a grateful smile at the butler, she nodded. "That sounds like an excellent suggestion, Goodwin," she agreed before she turned back to the boys. "And perhaps when you both return, we can all start anew?"
As usual the boys checked with each other before they nodded to their sister and moved rapidly to Goodwin's side, their hands slipping naturally into his. With a small bow to his mistress, the butler led them down the hallway, leaving Helen to return to her guest.
"Yes, Christmas in France was somewhat different," he was saying to Alice as her daughter re-entered. "Montpellier was a deal warmer to start."
"Indeed," Alice agreed, "a beautiful medieval city. I passed through there once on a tour of Southern France. We stopped and lunched at La Promenade Royale du Peyrou. It was quite charming." Glancing up at her daughter and the rather agitated look in the young woman's eyes as she regarded Holmes, Alice rose to her feet. "If you will excuse me for a moment? I would like to check on the progress of dinner."
Holmes rose from his seat as she did. "Of course." He nodded, and with a smile, she swept from the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Helen turned to her beau, her expression intensely apologetic. "I...I am deeply aggrieved you had to witness that, Sherlock. But in truth, I've been expecting it these last three weeks. They've had a hard time dealing with...what happened." She sighed. "Now, deprived of his presence, I think they are more angry at me than anyone."
He gave her a tight smile as he clasped his hands behind his back. "They are young boys...and act only on what they want and wish for. It is merely the case that this Christmas they did not receive what they hoped for after all," he said with a fair amount of self deprecation.
"I am sure that is not it!" she insisted. "They enjoy your company as well, and have so on many occasions previously. They simply need to understand that to do so once again is not a betrayal of what they felt with Major Edwards. Give them a little time, I'm sure they will come around." She touched his arm as she moved just a little closer. "St. Nicholas brought me the best present of all this year...and I shan't be returning it. Besides..." Her eyes twinkled. "It would no doubt be difficult for me to receive a refund or part exchange on such problematic merchandise."
He glanced down briefly at her hand on his arm before his eyes once again found hers. He huffed softly in amusement. "I doubt I shall ever be to them what he might have been," he told her. "But boys are resilient. I know from the most unfortunate experience of having been one. They will come around to a more affable demeanour."
A smile tugged at her lips. "I'm positive they will," she confirmed, her shoulders relaxing in relief before realising she was still holding his arm. Pulling back her hand, she waved it instead at his seat. "Please...do sit down. Enjoy your drink," she insisted.
He waited until she was once again seated before he did so himself. Taking up his drink, he examined it quietly, turning the glass around and peering at the sweetened heated whiskey closely.
"You have been working on a case. In fact…" Helen observed as she scrutinised him closely, "I believe it to be resolved…no…not resolved…but almost."
"Indeed?" he enquired as his eyebrows rose a little. "And what brings you to that belief, Miss Thurlow?"
Her smile was slow as she placed a cushion behind her and sat back. "Nothing exceptional, I confess…merely a few obvious things in your manner that I have come to note over the time we have been acquainted. There is a certain animation about you when a case is newly undertaken. An obvious distraction to the world and its surrounds, when your case is proving problematic or is nearing its resolution…and in the immediate aftermath of its conclusion, a sanguine air of relaxed satisfaction when everything about you seems to you to be a little brighter and more tolerable than before -- an air very much like the one you are exhibiting at the moment." Her brow furrowed just a little. "Except…"
"Except?" he enquired, placing his drink down upon the side table beside him.
"Except…like the drink you were examining so intently…there is still the merest hint of distraction mixed in with your relaxation. Something still troubles you?"
He regarded her silently for a moment before his own smile slipped over his lips. "Merely a question that floated to the surface in the flotsam of the case…something I did not expect to come across. It is most probably of little relevance or consequence." He glanced towards the window in thought. "It is decidedly cold out today...and dark," he ruminated absently. "Let us hope it will not snow...for if it does I may be forced to leave prematurely."
Her brow furrowed a little in disappointment at that, but she nodded all the same. "Of course...though I am sure that the inn in town will have a few rooms if the weather becomes too treacherous."
"Hopefully so...but if not, it is Christmas after all, and I'm sure I'll find somewhere if there is no room at the inn," he remarked, his lips tugging upwards.
She smiled in return. "Well...we do have a barn..."
He laughed quietly. "Heavens forefend. If Watson were to find out…well…let us just say that he already accuses me of a near divine belief in my own abilities." He took another sip of his drink. "Your dress is a most becoming shade of green," he confided a moment later.
Her smile widened as he followed up on his promise to try and be more forthcoming. "Thank you," she replied, her gaze taking in his own attire, a look on him that she had always found most attractive. "And you are most dashing in your morning suit."
"One must make the effort...for the day," he answered, the pause noticeable.
Her gaze was deeply affectionate as her eyes met his. Though as she made to reply, the door opened and Alice re-entered the room. Holmes rose up from his seat once more but with a wave of her hand, the matriarch bade him to resume his place as she took her own place on the couch, perceiving the very comfortable atmosphere that existed both within the room and between the two people she'd left within it.
"I have heard you are doing sterling work for charity, Mrs. Thurlow. Your daughter sings your praises." Holmes looked to Helen. "She is much the admirer."
"And she is a great help when she is able," Alice agreed, taking her daughter's hand and squeezing it. "She has aided with a few fundraisers and comes with me on some of the trips I make to the mission. We are very proud of her. She has a great deal on her shoulders and truth be told, I was rather worried about her last month, that she was taking on too much, but she seems much more relaxed and happy these past two weeks...and for that I thank you, Sherlock."
"You are too generous, madam." He inclined his head. "Especially as your daughter has no doubt told you of our spectacularly good first evening out together...as ladies tend to do."
She inclined her head in affirmation. "Indeed...but one must crawl before one can walk. There are always some mishaps when two people get to know each other or when a relationship progresses. I remember Helen coming home over a year ago, utterly aghast that she had offended a young man by telling him his rooms were cluttered." She chuckled lowly. "And yet...here we are."
"So it would seem." He smiled, remembering the event in question as his gaze met her daughter's. "Albeit by a rather circuitous route."
Alice's eyes drifted from him to her daughter. "No one on this earth is perfect. We all make mistakes...but do so in order to learn and grow and hopefully become a little wiser. But with a little luck and God's guiding hand, we get where we need to be in the end."
At precisely four o'clock that afternoon, darkness having fallen with the gaslight low and the dining room ablaze with candlelight so that everything glittered beautifully, Goodwin carried in the large plump goose. The fowl, roasted to perfection and surrounded by a circlet of crisped roast potatoes, was placed at the head of the long, elegantly set dining table amidst the cornucopia of freshly prepared vegetables in their tureens.
Helen rose to her feet and taking the carving knife and fork, looked over to their guest. "Sherlock...would you care to do the honours?" she offered with a shy smile. Looking up at her, he took his napkin and placed it on the table as he stood with an incline of his head.
Drawing the bird towards him, he carefully gauged the job that lay before him and proceeded to dissect the bird with an expert hand, passing out the slices for those who wished white meat, the wings and legs for those who cared for dark.
Returning Helen's smile quietly, he seated himself again, watching as the boys took something of everything, their eyes shining as they piled their plates ridiculously high. Their sister regarded them with amusement, but reminded them in the firmest of tones that they would be expected to eat whatever they took onto their plates.
Suddenly looking a little green himself, Andrew gazed with regret at the copious amount of brussels sprouts he had placed onto his plate. "All of them?" he asked as he gave his sister a worried look.
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Perhaps you would like to rethink your portion size?"
"But it's not all for me," he told her in no uncertain terms.
"Oh?" she enquired. "And who else would be eating off your plate? I know the cats do not favour brussels sprouts." She paused. "Nor does your turtle."
Frowning deeply, Andrew nodded before raising his chin with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. "The rest is for baby Jesus," he replied firmly, sticking his fork into a succulent piece of goose. "For his birthday."
Helen stared at the boy while beside her, Holmes wiped his mouth with his napkin to hide his amusement. "Baby...Jesus?" she finally managed to articulate.
Andrew nodded, chewing happily on his fowl. "Yes. They told us in Sunday school that he loves all little things. Even baby plants...like seedlings and sprouts!"
One could almost swear Holmes snorted into his wine, though, of course, it was only a light cough. Alice wiped her mouth delicately, no trace of a smile on her lips, though her eyes were positively dancing in amusement as her daughter again stared at the child, shocked into speechlessness.
Matthew kept eating, watching the goings on closely as he fed his extra food to the cats congregated under his feet while everyone else was concentrating on his twin.
"Baby Jesus likes sprouts," Andrew concluded. "So there's extra for his birthday."
"Quite logical," Holmes agreed as he put his glass down.
Helen took a long breath and fought back the urge to laugh. "Andrew, darling, when they said in Sunday school that Baby Jesus watched over the sprouts...they did not mean brussels sprouts. They meant the baby plants that were sprouting in the gardens. Young plants are often called sprouts as opposed to brussels sprouts, which are adult plants and harvested for eating." As she explained, her eyes glanced over to Matthew and saw him sneak a piece of goose under the table. "And, Matthew, do not think that I cannot see exactly what you are doing."
"But it's Christmas for cats too, Helen!" the boy protested lightly.
"And they will be nicely fed by Goodwin with the giblets...not with your dinner," Helen returned, her tone brooking no argument.
Andrew's brow had furrowed into a deep ridge as he stared at the round green vegetables, poking them with his fork. "Not sprouts?" he asked. "So Jesus doesn't like them?"
"I'm sure he did when he walked among us on the Earth," his sister told him sympathetically. "However, since he is now residing with his father in Heaven...he has no need to eat your brussels sprouts...though I'm sure he appreciates the gesture." Her lips quirked again.
"Jesus couldn't have liked brussels sprouts when he walked on the earth, Helen," Matthew informed her. "Brussels wasn't discovered then so they couldn't have sprouts."
Andrew's eyes widened. "So he didn't like sprouts!" He stared at his plate as if it had done him a great wrong. "If Baby Jesus doesn't like them, then I don't like them either," he announced. "I shan't be eating any sprouts today, Helen."
Her mouth opened to retort that he indeed would, but then closed again in exasperation, not quite knowing how to argue the toss with him.
"It is just as well then," Holmes's voice drew their attention, "that what you are eating are not brussels sprouts."
Andrew blinked and looked at the vegetables. "They're not? They look like them."
"Ah," said Holmes, slicing up the goose upon his plate methodically, "that is exactly the key. For you see, these vegetables are quite cunning and possess a clever defence mechanism. They disguise themselves as brussels sprouts which...of course...nobody wishes to eat because the baby Jesus did not like them," he concurred with the boy in all seriousness. "They do so, so they will not be eaten themselves." Pouring himself some more wine, he held up his glass. "If you look closely you will see little golden flecks. These mark them out not as brussels sprouts, but as Jerusalem Blossoms which were regarded as a great delicacy in ancient times."
Both boys stared at him and then at the vegetables wide-eyed. "Disguising vegetables?" Andrew breathed in amazement. With another look at each other, they silently concurred that it must indeed be true because Mr. Holmes was, by common consent amongst them, the smartest person ever.
"Perhaps, Helen," Andrew said slowly, "I shall eat my Jerusalem Blossoms after all." He speared one and held it up with fascination.
Helen, who was, like her brothers, staring at her beau, nodded slowly, entirely flummoxed and stupefied by the entire occurrence.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Andrew," Alice said, smoothly picking up her daughter's role to allow her time to recover. "Let us all eat our Jerusalem Blossoms."
Holmes sipped on his wine lightly as the two boys commenced to eat their vegetables with uncommon relish. Every bite was treated as a vindication of their smartness at being able to see past the vegetable's ingenious disguise. It was doubtful so many sprouts were ever downed in one sitting as occurred then.
As their plates were cleaned to near spotlessness, Helen's eyes again moved over to regard her beau, sheer admiration in her gaze as a happy smile crept slowly over her face.
Finishing off his own meal, Holmes lay down his knife and fork and looked to her. "A wonderful dinner, thank you."
"Yes, Helen," Andrew gushed. "It was corking. Especially the Jerusalem Blossoms. They were much tastier then brussels sprouts."
"Yes," Matthew agreed. "No wonder they disguised themselves."
"Then we shall have to give our respects to Mrs. Reggie, won't we?" Helen replied as she finished up her own meal. "And let her know what an excellent job she did with the goose and vegetables...especially the incognito Jerusalem Blossoms."
"We can tell her after pudding!" Andrew announced, kicking his legs eagerly at the thought of the desert. Helen's eyebrow arched at the boys. Seeing as they had both just devoured enough to fill two grown men apiece, she wondered how they would find room for pudding as well. Ringing the bell, she turned to her mother with a smile, pleased with how the meal had progressed and how the boys were again warming to her suitor.
Following desert, which for the boys lasted precisely two mouthfuls, the twins were excused and ran back to the drawing room to await the adults and resume the opening of their gifts.
Alice watched them go with barely contained amusement. "I believe that is a first," she commented with a chuckle as soon as the door was closed.
"A first?" Holmes enquired, finishing his dessert.
"Oh yes," Helen replied. "They normally complain they are full with their dinners and then manage to devour three helpings of afters." She shook her head. "Plus getting them to simply eat half their vegetables is an exercise in bribery. The fact they ate them all is astounding."
A small smile touched his lips. "I see...well, when dealing with active imaginations, I find the best way to appeal to any part of another person, man or child, is to tweak that imagination. Chameleonic vegetables that purposefully disguise themselves seemed to carry just the right note of intrigue and awe, as well as tweaking the dogmatic cussedness of the child to eat precisely what they should not or what does not wish to be."
"And it was brilliantly played," Helen agreed. "You are a devious man, Mr. Holmes."
"The vice does have its advantages…even for less obvious situations. I must admit it was possibly the most stimulating Christmas conversation I've heard in some time."
Helen took a sip of her wine. "You must come for dinner again soon…perhaps when we are next having liver?"
He chuckled. "I would be glad to. Thank you." He inclined his head towards her. "And when you are in London...I should perhaps return the favour...to you all...by taking you to Simpson's...or the Savoy."
Helen found herself again glancing at her mother, knowing that she still generally did not like being in crowded areas for too long, but was relieved to find her smiling and nodding. "Thank you, Sherlock," Alice replied. "That is most kind of you."
"Now..." he said, "I believe there is still the important matter of two young men who have not as yet received their gifts from St. Nicholas...and others who have yet to receive theirs from more earthly sources." He looked at Helen with a small smile.
"Of course," she agreed, rising to her feet, her mother following suit as she rang the bell. "Let us repair to the drawing room."
Ten minutes later, the drawing room was awash with paper, the boys eagerly playing with train sets, toy rifles, boat building kits, and a myriad other such gifts. While mother and daughter watched them, Holmes quietly handed Helen a small parcel. Taking it with a soft smile, she handed him a slightly larger parcel that she had secreted under the couch earlier in the gift giving. With a soft word of thanks, she turned her attention to opening the paper.
Inside was a small box, which when opened presented Helen with a pair of elaborately tooled gold earrings in the shape of delicate flowers. At the centre of each one was one small emerald stone. Her hand rose to her mouth as she stared at the jewellery. "Oh...my!" she breathed, her eyes wide as they met his. "They're beautiful!"
"The job was a fine one," he admitted. "But they are probably worth more to you as a sentimental piece than as expensive jewellery. Each stone was taken from an earring given to me as a memento in gratitude by young Susan St. John. She visited me at Baker Street with her family not long after her rescue from the factory in the Becker affair." He glanced at the earrings. "It was a sweet gesture, but having them sitting in my desk drawer seemed a waste. Then when you and I undertook to..." He paused. "Well…it seemed more fitting that they should be worn. And worn by someone who had an equal right to young Miss St. John's thanks." He sat back. "So I had the stones removed and placed in bigger settings. The colour seemed suitable for you."
Helen's eyes shone, and it took everything within her not to give into the strong emotional surge moving her to take the two steps needed to embrace him. Her heart was in her eyes as she swallowed and whispered, "Then I shall treasure them always...both for the remembrance and for you kind thoughts. Thank you, Sherlock. I love them."
He inclined his head with a small smile, his intense satisfaction emanating quietly from him at her approval before he distracted himself by opening her gift in turn. Inside was a small box, which when he opened it revealed a silver and delicately etched cigarette case.
"Helen," he said, admiring the case and the work on it. "It's a fine piece of work." Taking it out, he opened it. Inscribed within in elegant script was -- S. Le premier Noël. H.
Helen watched him with no small amount of trepidation, having found it hard to settle on the most apropos inscription. They had been walking out together for only two weeks, and it had been only a week ago when she had bought it. She didn't want to sound as if she expected too much so soon...but wanted it to be personal. In the end, she had chosen to have it said in French as a nod to her former role...and the words would not be too misconstrued were the wrong person to find the case, should it ever be lost.
He gazed down at the inscription, simple yet filled with a world of meaning. A future that could spread out before them filled his imagining for a fleeting moment, until he snapped the case shut. "Thank you, Helen. It is a gift I shall treasure," he told her sincerely, his eyes flickering away from hers, somewhat embarrassed at letting her see how the dedication had taken him out of himself so. "Truly."
Her shoulders relaxed, the tension dissipating as rapidly as it had grown, and she gave him a relieved and happy smile. "You are very welcome. I'm simply pleased you like it."
He slipped it inside his interior jacket pocket. "You may rest assured that I do." But as he moved to look at her again, the nascent smile forming upon his lips died.
Outside the window, in the dark, white flakes could be seen falling slowly.
"Sherlock?" Helen enquired, the tension in her body and face returning instantly, her expression a picture of worry.
"I'm rather afraid it is time for me to leave," he explained, drawing her attention towards the window with his eyes.
Turning around, she caught sight of the flakes drifting down, and her face fell. With a sigh, she turned back around and nodded. "Of course," she agreed, slipping the box with the earrings into her pocket as she rose to her feet.
Alice, who had been looking through a new book she had just received, glanced up with a slight frown. "Is something wrong?" she queried.
"It is starting to snow, Mother," Helen informed her, gesturing with one hand towards the window.
"Ah!" the elder woman breathed as the two boys looked up from trying to figure out some of the Chinese puzzles Holmes had given Matthew.
"You're not going?" protested Andrew with a plaintive air. "We were hoping you'd tell us about the missing horse you found that you rode to win the Essex cup!"
Holmes blinked. "Wessex...and I believe some details may have become a little...lost in the original telling?" he replied, glancing at Helen.
She smiled a little and nodded. "I think so as well," she agreed with a low chuckle.
"Perhaps next time..." their guest said to the boy.
"When?" came the immediate reply.
"I'm afraid I can't quite say at the moment. I shall endeavour to make it soon, though."
"Next week?"
"I...think maybe not," he answered. "But perhaps the week after," the detective said quickly on seeing the question that was coming next.
Andrew sniffed but soon nodded, seemingly satisfied. Turning back to his brother, they resumed the finger puzzle and trap deciphering. With a rueful smile, Holmes looked to the two ladies before moving to the door and out into the hallway.
Goodwin, as if prescient, was already there. "I saw the snow had begun to fall, Miss, so I took the liberty of asking Mr. Reggie to drive Mr. Holmes back into town if required. The carriage is ready."
Though inwardly she wasn't completely sure she was entirely grateful for her butler's foresight, she smiled and nodded all the same. "Thank you, Goodwin," she replied, watching her guest dress for his trip back into town. "That was most thoughtful of you."
Alice moved over to the detective and held out her hand as soon as he'd slipped his coat on. "Well, I shall bid you a good evening and Happy Christmas now, Sherlock. I have two small boys that need to be bathed and readied for bed." She glanced over to the twins who were now standing in the doorway, not wanting to be left out of the proceedings.
Taking her hand, he bowed over it. "Good night, Mrs. Thurlow, and thank you. I wish you a most fortuitous and happy New Year if I do not see you before then." Releasing her hand, he turned to the twins. "Goodnight, boys."
"Goodnight, sir," they chorused, moving reluctantly towards the stairs at Alice's beckoning.
"I shall join you in a moment, Mother," Helen called after them before turning her attention back to her beau. "I wish you a very safe journey back, Sherlock," she said, holding out her hand, a faint timbre in her tone showing that she was sad to see him leave. "And I hope we shall see each other soon?"
His now gloved fingers touched her bare hand. "Perhaps if you are up in London after the New Year?" he suggested before bowing his head and after a moment's hesitation, let his lips brush over the backs of her knuckles.
"If you are free, I shall make a point of it," she told him softly, her voice as warm as her gaze as his lips on her skin sent a warm tingle up her arm and through her veins.
"Then, if you have no objections, I shall cable you to keep you appraised of my availability." He held onto her hand a moment longer as he rose.
"No objections at all," she agreed, squeezing his hand gently as she gazed into his eyes. "I shall look forward to it."
He held her gaze for a fraction of a moment longer and then stepped away to don his hat. "Goodnight, Helen, and thank you for le premier Noël. It has been most memorable." He glanced back at her from the door, outside of which the carriage wheels drew up.
Her smile widened just a little. "Non mon cher, je te remercie." Her eyes dipped down for a second before returning to meet his. "Be safe, Sherlock."
Taken by her words, he nodded slowly and turned to go out into the falling snow with a warmer glow inside of him than he could ever remember feeling.
Authors' Notes: Welcome back, and thank you all so much for all the wonderful comments! And greetings to both regular and new commenters! We are so glad you are enjoying the story and hope you are excited to see what is to come. :D
We are glad that everyone liked that Holmes wouldn't exactly be in the know about how to court a lady. But rest assured that though he seems rather naive now he will not always be so. Holmes is a pretty speedy learner. (snicker) As to kisses and such...well, everyone is just going to have to wait and see. As for this becoming a Brett fic more than a Holmes fic...I'm afraid I have to disagree. Yes, our Holmes may have a few Brett manerisms (and appearances), but I don't think he is more Brett than canon. In fact, I saw last chapter is being one of the least Brettish of the chapters we have done. But ah well, to each's interpretation their own...
As for Helen's patience...oh yes, she is a very patient gal. And she's had to ask herself what she would put up with to be with the man she loves, and so she'll continue to be patient with him...to a point. Last chapter, they were both in the wrong, as people are when they don't communicate, but don't expect Helen to always be in the right...nor Holmes. People, when they grow together, make mistakes. As for keeping their relationship under wraps...I can't tell you if it will always be so, but we did have to come up with logical and feasible reasons why Watson never writes about Miss Thurlow in 'the canon.' :D
Oh...and his liking of her hair...yes, he does find her auburn locks attractive...something that will come up again when a certain governess pays a call on Baker Street to consult with him about a position she may or may not accept.
And just a couple end notes...the plot bunnies would like to thank Anna for the carrots...the one smoking the pipe would like to know if she could send some shag tobacco with the next assortment. And Harrison...I am working on a drawing now of Helen and Sherlock, and hope to have it up on my deviantart site soon. So keep your eyes peeled...I just had a huge Snape and Paidea picture run, so now getting back into a Holmes one. :D
Sorry this A/N was so long! Many hugs to all, and thank you all again for all the reads and/or reviews. They are appreciated. We would also like to say a huge thank you to our beta's husband for the French betaing. -- Aeryn (of aerynfire)