A/N: Shout out to all my reviewers across all three parts of this collection thus far. I cannot thank you enough for your support and encouragement! It has helped motivate me far more than I expected.

This chapter is dedicated to Lemon Zinger, whose feedback was essential in maintaining the existence of this little piece. Which, of course, launched me into the SH fandom writing in general. I would have likely deleted it and moved on without her. Thank you so very much for the encouragement!

Warnings!

1) Ridiculously long chapter. I could not, for the life of me, find a place to break. So I'm leaving this part whole, and hope it counts as a double.

2) OOC...just in case. For anyone who didn't read my earlier notes, my position is that what do we really know about Holmes' attitude toward Christmas beyond what little we saw in BLUE? And, in Grenada he was even caught decorating his chemistry set in "Cardboard Box". So, yes, this may be OOC for some people's vision of Holmes, but I'm willing to take the chance here.


Chapter Six

His friend's teasing and happy countenance was infectious. Not even bothering to question him, Watson rose from his chair to head for his room more out of excited anticipation than simple curiosity. Though he was too far away to hear, he saw a brief exchange between Holmes and Mrs. Hudson before he disappeared into his room. Minutes later he descended the stairs as Holmes exited his own room. He disappeared briefly into the sitting room to return with his somewhat battered violin case in hand. However, the sight of Mrs. Hudson in the foyer depositing some rather large boxes quickly distracted him. As he headed down the stairs to help her, she smiled briefly in thanks before retreating once more to the kitchen.

"Excellent!" Holmes cried, bounding down the stairs happily. "If you would be so kind as to help me load these into the cart, Watson."

He caught sight of Mrs. Hudson returning with an enormous sack that all but dwarfed the poor woman as Holmes opened the door. Quickly he moved to relieve the woman of her burden as he smiled affectionately. As Watson carefully hefted a couple of the suspiciously warm boxes out the door and toward the waiting cart just outside, he nearly stumbled in surprise as he heard Holmes speak behind him.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, Mrs. Hudson?" he asked warmly.

Glancing back, Watson caught Mrs. Hudson just drawing back from what he knew had been a most uncharacteristic display of affection from his friend for the second time that day. In return Mrs. Hudson gave a rather unladylike snort of amused surprise at the question before giving a verbal reply that had Holmes laughing openly.

"You tried to blow up my sitting room, shot holes in the walls, wailed on that violin of yours at all hours of the day and night, and made yourself quiet possibly the worst tenant a woman could have ever asked!"

Even though the words had been spoken with undeniable affection as if from a mother to a child, Watson found himself choking back gales of laughter as he hefted the first round of boxes onto the cart. Before long the cart was loaded with the bulging sack and boxes of food stuff that almost painfully reminded Watson he had yet to remember to eat today. Holmes quickly insisted that Watson take the remaining seat beside the cart-driver as he curled up in between the boxes in the back to keep them stable. Within minutes they were making surprisingly quiet progress down Baker Street in the ever-deepening layer of snow.

Watson was surprised when Holmes called a halt only a few blocks away at the entrance to what seemed just another one of many nearby alleys. Before he had a chance to question his friend, however, Holmes was quickly unloading boxes and telling the driver to wait a few minutes. Watson followed suit by quickly grabbing a stack of boxes of his own and catching up to him before the swiftly falling snow swallowed him up in the shadows of the alley. At the end of the alley as they rounded the rear corner of the building, Holmes motioned Watson to move as silently and swiftly as possible.

As they crept quietly further into this open space behind several buildings, Watson began to realize that this was some sort of nearly hidden plaza. However, he could now see what appeared to be a small house of mixed materials that had been cobbled together which now occupied most of the open space. Though less than stable, it appeared to be all of one unit stretching in every direction. Only when they were close enough to hear the muffled voices from within was he able to make out the faintest glints of light sneaking out between the cracks. Holmes smile widened as he nodded quickly and silently at the sight of Watson's understanding.

Setting the boxes down with no more noise than a cat, the two of them turned back toward the plaza entrance. It wasn't until they were well down the alley once more that Watson finally spoke.

"So that's where they've been staying!" he exclaimed quietly in wonder. "All these years, I had no idea."

"So, I take it you've guessed the purpose for this night's outing?"

"Yes, and I only wish you had warned me so I could have brought my medical bag. I'm sure there are some of them that could use a little tending," he replied quietly as they once again headed down the alley with more boxes.

"You mean the one sitting behind the driver's seat?" Holmes asked casually.

The chuckle he received in response was enough. A few more rounds brought the last of the boxes to their destination. And it was a matter of moments for Holmes to heft the sack onto his back leaving Watson to carry the violin case and medical bag. Rubbing his hands together in excited anticipation, Holmes threw Watson a mischievous smile as he smartly rapped on the makeshift door made of what he could only guess to have been a boat hull at one time. Moments later the door swung inward slightly as a familiar, if older, face peered cautiously around the edges.

"Mr. Holmes!" Jacob exclaimed in surprise. "What...I mean...how did you..."

"If you would be so kind as to invite us in, Master Jacob, I would be obliged to answer all your questions in due course," Holmes stated in a voice that not only carried is usual cool confidence, but conveyed a sternness the Irregular knew did not likely bode well for him.

Jacob recovered himself quickly and was visibly abashed. Nodding to himself, he stepped back and swept his arm and the door inward. "Welcome to our headquarters, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

To this Holmes nodded in satisfaction, as if a teacher to a pupil; though he never lost the air of stern authority. As he turned away to take up the bulging sack once more, he shot Watson a grin and a wink. As he followed Holmes through the door, the sight that met his eyes was one he would never forget. Though he had had no idea what to expect, he was struck speechless by the place. From one end to the other, beds cobbled together from miscellaneous parts of so many discarded items lined the walls. The "floor" was lined entirely with scraps of cloth and pieces of old rugs. Lamps, candles, and semi-portable stoves lined the walls between the beds, offering what warmth they could. Nearly three dozen children sat quietly upon their various make-shift beds wrapped in the rather sorry remains of countless blankets.

Watson's heart twisted painfully for just a moment as so many fearful and expectant faces watched their moves from behind eyes ranging in age from toddlers to almost adults. But, to his surprise, none of them were dirty. Some appeared tired and careworn, most were clothed or covered in scraps that could barely be called suitable; yet none of them appeared either starving or uncared for. For all its outward appearance of being nothing more than a collapsing ramshackle on the outside, the inside of this little building had all the appearances of a makeshift orphanage.

He had only a moment to take all this in, before Holmes spoke again drawing his attention away momentarily.

"I need a few of your older lads to help, Master Jacob. There are several boxes outside growing cold."

Jacob eyebrows raised minutely, but he never hesitated in picking out a few unfamiliar faces to help out. It wasn't until they had returned with all the boxes stacked in neat piles at the end of the building that appeared to be an open, common area that Watson realized how familiar these faces really were. Some had grown older in the years since he'd last seen them. Others had simply lost the expected layers of dirt and grime one always expects of homeless children. Even as he was recovering from this little added surprise, he—like every other face in the somewhat crowded house—returned his attention to the masterfully commanding presence of his friend.

"Now, Jacob, I would like you to see to the distribution of the food, the rest we will discuss afterward," Holmes stated, never dropping the authoritative demeanor.

"Now, Mr. Holmes," Jacob started in his most obviously trained formal tone of voice, as if addressing an equal. "As our employer, we appreciate what you do to give us work. However, at the risk of sounding ungrateful, you must know we will not accept payment for services not rendered."

There was no missing the proud stance Jacob had adopted while confronting Holmes. And it was in no way diminished by his considerably shorter stature or age. For a moment he and Holmes faced off silently, neither giving an inch. A moment later Holmes gave a very ungentlemanly snort as he broke the eye contact.

"What makes you think that as an employer I would go through all this trouble?"

When Jacob pridefully refused to back down, continuing to glare silently, Holmes finally sighed as if he were the most put-upon man in the entire city.

"Oh very well, I admit, it was not as your employer I have come calling. Nor did I come as someone likely to be mistaken for Santa Clause. You have Mrs. Hudson to thank for this little gift. And, if you do not accept, I cannot go home tonight and face her without risking the wrath of that formidable woman," Holmes explained as Watson struggled to keep a straight face.

Knowing this for the less than half-truth that it was, Watson carefully kept his expression sincerely neutral as Jacob glanced to him for confirmation.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly go calling you a Scrooge or anything, Mr. Holmes," Jacob finally said. "But you cannot deny it is rather unexpected. However, in light of your plight, we will of course do our part to assist."

This last was said with a knowingly amused glint in his eyes. Watson very nearly doubled-over laughing outright as Holmes sighed once more with the most theatrically profound relief. Apparently that was enough to satisfy the wills and pride of both parties, as things then began to descend into barely controlled chaos. Jacob shouted for everyone to line up neatly and assigned the three eldest boys to assist in unboxing the most incredible amount of holiday food Watson had ever seen. Both Holmes and Watson took a moment to marvel at why it was Jacob was the Irregular's declared leader. Without a doubt, he was a masterful leader and quick to take control over the situation. And neither Holmes nor Watson could deny that experience with handling a large number of seemingly undisciplined children was a test of leadership any but the strictest commander would likely fail.

As the food was revealed and distributed to the wonderment, awe, and unconcealed joy of all present, Watson followed Holmes' lead as they moved to a quiet corner to take a seat on a nearly unrecognizable object that had presumably once been a sofa. Both of them were lost for several minutes with warm, happy smiles of their own as they watched the unmatched joy and squeals of wonder at all the various types of foods Mrs. Hudson had lovingly prepared. It was some minutes before Jacob again appeared out of the crowd with two, fully loaded trays of food. He approached imperiously making clear with his expression that he would brook no argument in the matter. Seeing Holmes open his mouth to decline, Jacob beat him to it.

"As I am given to understand, Mr. Holmes, gentlemen don not insult their hosts by refusing hospitality," Jacob stated, beautifully silencing the detective in a perfectly delivered statement.

To this Watson laughed openly. He had long known Holmes had taught some of the older irregulars the manners and overall education of higher society in the hopes that one day they would grow into men he would continue to watch over with pride. These children he had unofficially adopted had not only taken to Holmes' teachings, but had done so with fervor and passed it on to the younger. It had all started with Wiggins so many years ago. And, the two men had watched as each of those children did just as they had hoped.

"You taught them well, Holmes," Watson commented, as he thanked their host, once again reminded by his empty stomach it had been far too long since his last meal.

With a fond smile and gracious nod, Holmes accepted his food as well. As the last of the children were slowly retreating to various seats throughout the structure, Watson spied just how much food there was leftover and was glad to know they would not go hungry on Christmas Day. He kept watch out of the corner of his eyes as all the children, even the youngest ate heartily; for once not having to wonder from where tomorrow's meal would come. His heart warmed by this sight, he continued his covert inspection looking for signs where he knew he would later be needed. Overall, the children appeared remarkably healthy. Few showed signs of a bruise or other possible injury, and only a couple he considered might be slightly ill.

Beside him Holmes dug into his own food with gusto equal to that of his companion. Watson couldn't help but note the continued glances Holmes himself shot around the room as he took in the large number of children. Each and every glance was filled with a combination of fondness, warmth, and pride Watson could only sum up as fatherly. He was not ignorant of Holmes' long-standing feelings towards the Baker Street Irregulars, though he had never expected it to be displayed quite so openly. Making every effort to stick to his teachings, Jacob helped to initiate and maintain numerous pleasant conversations throughout their meal. It was through this casual conversation that Holmes revealed the bulging sack to be a wide variety of clothing and other articles Mrs. Hudson had gathered through her various charity work in the last couple of years. This Jacob accepted with unfeigned gratitude.

Eventually they had all eaten their fill and the boxes were repacked, and condensed as the remainder was shifted about and moved out of the way for tomorrow. The enormous amount of dishes were swiftly removed to what had once been a copper bathing tub in the far back of the shelter. There they spotted an old pump that must have once been connected to a crumbled old stone fountain that now served as a communal lavatory. It was the work of mere minutes to accomplish the cleaning and re-organizing of the entire shelter to Jacob's approval. Even as Jacob was overseeing this task, Holmes began to ready his violin. Soon the children abandoned their beds to gather around the communal living area, their eyes fixed on Holmes.

"So, how many of you were planning to venture out in hopes of a little extra coin tomorrow?" Holmes asked, as Watson moved a little off to the side taking his medical bag with him.

"Caroling, Mr. Holmes?" the familiar voice of Sam spoke up from somewhere in the crowd. "I thought you didn't go in for that sort of nonsense."

"Rightly so," Holmes agreed, again scraping his bow across the strings to produce a fearful wail. "Especially when it sounds something like that. Therefore, if you insists on such holiday foolishness, I will, of course, be obliged to at least teach you how to do so properly."

To this, several of the elder children snickered. None of them labored under the illusion of a mastery of any form of musical talent. However, all appeared eager to learn. While all of the eldest had gathered around and begun to situate themselves more comfortably, a few had hung back to keep up with the youngest. As he had suspected, Watson now spied more closely that at least five of the children present were under the ages of five. Even as recent as a few hours ago, this fact would have pulled the strings of his heart painfully. Now seeing how well they were being cared for by the older of the motley group of children, left him no doubts they were in as good of hands as any he could conceive on his own.

Not wanting to interrupt Holmes beginning lessons of the more popular Christmas carols, Watson quietly motioned for one of the nearby caretakers to bring her charge over to him in the light a small distance away. He had carefully positioned some lamps and candles around a very short stool in between the rows of beds in the center to make himself more accessible and give him some light in which to work. The caretaker herself could not have been more than twelve by the looks of her, though it was hard to tell under all the layers of clothing. The child she brought was a giggling, pudgy little boy wrapped in numerous layers of cloth that served as blankets. Though he appeared old enough to be walking, she seemed to take great care to keep his legs and lower body covered as she approached with some trepidation.

"My name is Dr. Watson," he introduced himself gently, bringing to bear all his accumulated experience with the more shy children. "And what is your name, young lady?"

"Sarah," she replied almost too softly to hear as she gently rocked the boy.

"That is a beautiful name, Sarah," he smiled sincerely. "And who might this be?"

"Tommy."

"He seems quite energetic," Watson observed. "Would you mind helping me for a bit? You look like you know about everyone here, you have sharp eyes."

"I need to be taking care of Tommy," she replied seriously, showing no signs of wavering.

"But that won't be a problem," Watson returned, with a knowing smile. "I would like to take a look at him and maybe you can help answer some of my questions."

For a moment she appeared reluctant to release the small boy as he squirmed in her arms. But, after eying Watson closely, she asked, "Can you help him?"

"I will certainly do my best," Watson stated, with equal solemnity.

Finally she approached and began to hand the boy over to Watson with tender care as she explained. "His parents were killed in a cab accident a few months ago. His stroller was turned over and his legs were hurt. When they said he wasn't likely to live and no one wanted him, Evan watched out for him. When he was well enough, he was brought here."

During this Watson had propped the boy carefully in the crook of one arm while he began unwrapping the coverings with the other. By the time she finished speaking, he knew what he would find. Much as it hurt to see it, he knew this little boy was beyond his ability to heal. However, freed of his cumbersome wrappings, Tommy burbled and laughed happily as he began kicking. From the knees down his legs were a twisted and broken ruin. But in his own eyes, Tommy saw nothing wrong that would keep him from flailing away in momentary freedom with unadulterated joy.

Holmes, now working his way through the beginnings of Silent Night patiently, had watched Watson's opening moves carefully. He knew this was likely to be at least somewhat painful for his friend, especially after what he had endured only hours ago. But he also knew his friend's ability to rise far above that of a simple physician to that of a true healer. The man had always possessed an ability to win over anyone he encountered, and children most especially. He never doubted his friend's first moves would be toward the youngest of the children hidden away here. Watching out of the corner of his eyes, he could not help but smile happily as Watson smiled down at the boy in his arms. Holmes was once again struck by the unfairness of the world as the little boy's mangled legs were uncovered and Watson frowned sadly. In a heartbeat, however, the whole scene changed as the boy's vigorous kicking brought a smile once more to Watson's previously clouded expression.

Holmes very nearly lost his place in the music as his heart jumped a little painfully at the sight of his friend's returned smile. He was paying less than half attention to the children before him singing with mixed results to the sound of his violin as Watson took up the child and began bouncing him happily in the air. Even over the sounds of so many mingled voices in song, Holmes could clearly hear the squeals of undisguised glee from the little boy. For a moment, he wondered at what an incredible father his dearest friend would have been. Some small part of him still hoped that would one day be so. Then he was forced to bring his full attention back to the task at hand as several of the children began to get lost and forget the words.

After several moments of nearly ear-splitting shrieks of joy from Tommy, Watson again returned the boy to the more settled position on his knee and began bouncing him softly. He then returned his attention back to Sarah.

"I am sorry, Sarah, but there is little I can do for him now. As he gets older, there are ways he may be able to adapt. But, for now, keep his legs warm as best you can. And, try not to encumber him too much," Watson advised, as if speaking to a parent and not just another child. "He is more than ready to crawl, and though his legs are damaged, his knees would easily sustain the exercise. It would be good for him to learn to get around. Let him have as much freedom as he can without getting into trouble. Many obstacles he will learn to cope with all the better for having a chance to learn for himself."

Sarah appeared to listen intently, nodding to his instructions. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Miss," Watson returned with a sincere smile as he continued to bounce the boy on his knee. "Now, how are you feeling?"

"Well, sir, thank you."

For a moment Watson eyed her critically before accepting her answer. "Would you care to assist me as I check on the others?"

"Yes, sir," she said, with a small smile of her own, warming to him quickly.

"Then would you be so kind as to bring me one of your friends with another little one? I'd like to check each of them over before attending to any injuries or illness."

In a moment she brought forth another little girl caring for her three-year-old younger sister. One by one Watson looked over all the youngest of the Irregulars. He then sent them off one at a time to join their friends around Holmes. As all of them appeared relatively healthy and uninjured, it didn't take very long at all for him to check them over. Then, as promised, he began having them fetch others one at a time that displayed any signs of illness or injury. Again, they appeared to have all been well-tended in recent weeks and had little need of his services beyond a couple of fresh bandages and an admonition to be more careful in the future. Before he realized it, however, he was now surrounded by nearly half of the Irregulars as they watched him intently.

Apparently these had gathered around on beds, places on the floor, and other convenient spots to watch him work as they had lost interest in Holmes' ongoing music lessons. Left with little else to do, he asked them if they would like some stories. Eager faces and bright eyes lit up as he regaled them with what he considered some of the more appropriate tales of his adventures with Holmes through the years. In no time, he had a devoted crowd of listeners waiting in perfect stillness to hear every word. Thankfully they were far enough away from the others he didn't need to raise his voice enough to disturb Holmes' still rather large group.

As he led into a story involving a thieving Santa Claus playing Robin Hood they had had the misfortune of chasing one holiday season, Watson was struck speechless as one little boy of no more than seven finally spoke up.

"He should have known better," the boy stated with bitterness. "Everybody knows there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

Several eyes in the crowd darkened in sadness, though none voiced any protest to this statement. Saddened himself by the disillusionment he should have known he would encounter amongst these bravely surviving children, Watson momentarily regretted having brought it up. However, his heart rebelled at such a sorry thing, even when faced with such a reality. Struggling to find a way to recover from this, he handed over the child most recently occupying his arms to another and motioned for the boy to come forward.

"And what is your name, sir?" Watson asked politely, keeping his smile firmly in place.

"Wally, sir."

Watson was struck straight to the heart by the somber brown eyes that now faced him squarely, as if daring him to contradict. Recognizing this was not to be an easy task, Watson assessed him quickly.

"Very well, then," he started, "why do you say there's no Santa Claus?"

"Because their isn't."

"And who told you that?"

"Everybody knows!" the boy burst out, frustratedly. "No one's ever seen the real one, just a bunch of men dressed up giving out gifts. They don't even have a sleigh or reindeer."

Finally coming up with an idea, Watson fell back on one of the oldest memories he possessed of days with his own brother so very long ago. "And do you know what happens to children who do not believe in Santa Claus?"

"They get nothing or coal in their stockings!" one child piped up cheerfully.

"Worse," intoned Watson darkly.

Now the boy's somber eyes took on a challengingly suspicious glare. "What?"

Watson whispered something in a low, menacing voice forcing all the children to lean closer to hear, though none quite caught what it was. With a wicked smile and mischievous glint in his eyes, he launched himself at the boy, taking advantage of his unbalanced position to successfully snatch him right off his feet. Before Wally even had a chance to comprehend the seriousness of his situation along with the change in both elevation and attitude, he was mercilessly attacked. For one stunned moment, every single child gathered around stared in wide-eyed shock as Watson's fingers dug into the boy's ribs. The peal of laughter half choked off by an indignant squeal of protest only further incited Watson. Like a man possessed, he found every exposed spot as the boy twisted violently in an attempt to escape his tormentor.

So engrossed was Watson in his endeavor that he failed to notice the growing silence from the other side of the room as Holmes' lessons came to an abrupt halt. Holmes had turned his attention to the scene just in time to see Wally finally make good his escape. But, much to his amusement, Watson lost no time in randomly grabbing another child not quick enough to get out of the way. He had only enough time to comprehend what it was he was seeing his friend getting into before it was too late. Even as Watson was twisting around to find a third victim, he was overwhelmed by a mass of children that dove forward to begin actively rescuing their own. And, approaching from every angle, they began to torment their tormentor.

Holmes only barely managed to place his violin aside in a place of safety as he bit back laughter at his friend's plight. By the time he turned around, it was just in time to see Watson toppled from his stool to lie helplessly squirming and shouting laughter of his own amid the squeals of so many little children. He winced inwardly knowing some of his friend's more recent injuries would not have appreciated such treatment. He did not want to contemplate how it was his friend managed to laugh through it. Not wanting to break up this little battle, Holmes approached slowly wondering if he really should wade in to help his friend in such an undignified moment. Seconds later, the decision was taken out of his hands as Jacob called out loudly.

"Just what do you think you're doing?!" he roared.

Silence descended on the gathered children in an instant. Knowing he had their undivided attention, as Watson lay panting on the floor, Jacob then continued, "I know I taught you all better than that. If you're going to attack a larger opponent, you have to work together!"

Holmes doubled over with laughter even as the children seamlessly and instantly formed up in perfect ranks in which to utilize their abilities to the fullest. No matter which way Watson rolled, squirmed, or twisted, there were a hands available to tickle him with as much mercy as he had shown his victims earlier. Wiping tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes, Holmes finally gave in to Watson's pleas for help. Even as he took a step forward, Jacob raised an eyebrow warningly.

"Please, Holmes!" Watson gasped in between barks of laughter. "You said you wouldn't abandon me!"

With a very obvious wince at this low-blow, Holmes shook his head at Jacob, gave a helpless shrug, and joined the fray. Before he'd even managed to reach his friend, a shrill whistle behind him sent the remaining Irregulars into action. In less time than it had taken him to process what had just happened, he found himself joining Watson on the floor under a merciless onslaught of countless fingers. All concept of time fled as he fought desperately against overwhelming numbers. In the end, it was Watson's waving white handkerchief that finally convinced their general to call a halt. It was several minutes before either of the two adults were able to seriously move back toward an upright position. For one moment, Holmes glared balefully at his dear friend before they both burst into a renewed fit of laughter soon joined by victorious cries from their captors.

"Good one, old man," Holmes congratulated as he helped his friend back to unsteady feet, "you've very thoroughly ensured defeat by launching a head-on assault on a far superior force. Are you mad?"

Still stifling giggles behind his mustache, Watson attempted to control himself once more as he shook his head. "Well, it worked. And I'll explain that little maneuver later."

By this point Jacob had managed to restore order to the victorious chaos around them. Again the children were moving themselves towards various seated positions throughout the shelter expectantly awaiting the next round of entrainment. All eyes once again returned to Watson and Holmes as they moved toward the sofa upon which they had originally been seated. After taking their seats, Holmes announced the presence of hot chocolate he had thus far kept concealed. Once again, their host rose to the occasion as he took command of the making and distribution of nearly three dozen cups of hot chocolate.

Just as they were settling back down, warming cups in every set of hands large enough to hold them, there came a furious pounding at the door that made several of them jump fearfully. Setting aside his cup, Jacob fairly flew at the door. Holmes watched with approval as he issued silent commands with his hands to several of the larger boys to take up defensive positions in the main living area. Cautiously Jacob began to open the door a crack before his hands fell limply in shock and the door swung open the rest of the way on its own.

"Jacob Williams?" came a commanding voice just beyond Watson's visual range.

"Who are you?" Jacob asked challengingly, having recovered from his apparent shock.

A moment later Watson nearly choked as he swiftly put a name to the voice. His head whipped around dizzingly fast as he turned his shocked expression to Holmes who only winked in response.

"Who do think I am?" the voice responded in obvious disgruntlement. "And if you say you don't believe it, you'll be the first to find out otherwise, young man!"

Obviously Jacob had opened his mouth to say something, but quickly snapped his mouth shut at the imperious tone that cut him off. A moment later the same disgruntled voice began grunting and griping simultaneously in ways that once more had Watson biting back giggles.

"No proper roof! Ung, no chimneys!"

A large red-decked figure began to back his way through the door leaving Jacob no choice but to back out of his way and let him in as all eyes widened in absolute disbelief at the sight before them. Dragging a sack of nearly impossible proportions through the tiny doorway was none other than the sternly debated Santa Claus himself.

"How am I supposed to deliver all these blasted gifts with no rooftop to land on and no chimney?" grumbled Santa as he finally let the sack rest on the floor and stood up to face his audience.

Absolute silence greeted this question as all eyes continued to try to process what they were now seeing.

"Well, one would assume other, more modern means of transportation," Holmes finally responded drily.

"Humph!" Santa replied turning to face them. "Yes, unfortunately, we're a little behind the times being so far away at the North Pole."

Turning back to the children, however, he dropped his previous grumbling. "So, I finally managed to get in here. Unfortunately, my sleigh and reindeer are now stuck sitting around in the cold instead of comfortably resting on a nice, sturdy rooftop."

As shock began to give away to more rational thought, Holmes and Watson watched many faces take on a skeptical expression.

"Oh very well! Go ahead and take a look for yourselves," Santa grumbled once more. "Just remember, I'm not the one that's going to suffer when you catch a cold!"

In was a matter of seconds before half the shelter had emptied into the darkness beyond the door tramping down the thick layer of white, fluffy snow as they gathered around the eight reindeer and beautifully decorated sleigh parked in the remaining space of the plaza. Having followed them, Watson stared in absolute wonder not unlike the children at the sight before him. Knowing Holmes must have been planning this for far longer than he could have guessed, he watched the children slowly approach the eight bored-looking reindeer as if touching them were the only way to prove they were real. While they were occupied, Watson turned a wondrous glance at "Santa" and Holmes standing side-by-side just outside the doorway. The twin smiles of undisguised joy at the success of their little plot once again reminded Watson very clearly just how well-known his friend had become and in what circles of society.

His credentials now established, "Santa" then decided to call everyone back indoors to the warmth and the previously abandoned cups of hot chocolate. With Jacob's help, there was once again order amid the chaos as Santa took up his position at the opening of the sack. One by one, gifts labeled with each child's name were distributed to the appropriate recipient. Tears of happiness flowed freely as each child accepted their gift from Santa and paused to either shake his hand or hug him fiercely. Enthralled by the sight of it all, Watson sat back beside his dearest friend on the sofa and wondered, not for the first time, at the greatest of hearts that lay so well-hidden from the world behind the detective's great brain.

Though it had taken some time to go through all of them, not a single child walked away empty-handed. And the masses of ribbons and wrapping paper that littered the room were astounding. It seemed that not only had every single child received a gift, but it had been exactly what they had been wishing to receive—even while knowing it would never happen. Watson could not begin to fathom how Holmes and his cohort had managed that little feat. At least one of the Irregulars present had to have had a part in this. But, so far, he had yet to detect the faintest glimmer of anything other that absolute surprise and joy from any of them.

Finally done with the distribution and unwrapping of gifts, Santa neatly began to fold up his sack as he turned to the only two other adults present. With all his usual air of authority, he addressed them directly.

"I have, of course, left your presents at your residence, along with Mrs. Hudson's. Now, I still have many stops to make this night, so I will bid you all Merry Christmas."

Rising to his feet, a still somewhat stunned Jacob graciously saw his guest to the door. The room was filled with absolute silence as they all held their breath listening as the sounds of sleigh bells swiftly faded into the night. Eventually the awed silence was broken by a couple of stray yawns. Glancing at his watch, Watson only just realized it was now nearing midnight. While he was sorry to see their time here coming to an end, the children definitely needed their sleep. As if reading their minds, Jacob quickly turned to the others.

"All right, it's time for bed. Everyone get settled," he called out, walking up and down the rows of beds to help tuck in the children.

Once all of the children under the age of fifteen or so were settled into their own beds, he turned back to his guests. Holmes, by this point, had once again taken up his violin. Seeing a surprised, but welcoming nod from Jacob, Holmes began playing a slow whimsical piece Watson didn't recognize. After a few minutes there was no doubt that every child there had been lulled into blissful sleep by the beautiful music. Silently, he replaced his violin in its aging case and Watson gathered his medical bag. Completing his role as host, Jacob saw them outside before closing the door behind himself.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I cannot begin to tell you how much this night has meant to all of us," Jacob started, obviously holding back some emotion.

"Nonsense, Master Jacob," Holmes address formally. "It was for our own good, if you recall. Now, at least, I can rest peacefully tonight safe in the prospect of having avoided Mrs. Hudson's wrath."

To this Jacob chuckled softly as he quickly dashed tears from his eyes. "Nevertheless, I thank you, on behalf of all of us. Perhaps one day we can return this favor."

Holmes did not doubt for one second that the boy would do just that. Nodding slightly, he knelt down to meet the boy's gaze on even level.

"You just keep doing what you're doing, and find a worthy replacement when it's your time," Holmes stated squarely.

Choked with emotion, the boy nodded solemnly as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. While giving all indication of having accepted this with all the seriousness and sincerity of an adult, Jacob still appeared no more than half his true age as the emotions broke beyond the barriers. Again Watson was struck by the burdens such young children must bear to not only survive, but do so under such circumstances. Even as the boy sniffed trying to compose himself, Holmes for the third time that day embraced someone in yet another uncharacteristic display of open affection. This time it only lasted a moment, before he released the boy and stood to leave.

"Merry Christmas, Jacob," Holmes said, turning to head out of the plaza and down the alley.

It wasn't until Watson caught up with his friend at the entrance to the alley that he spied Holmes wipe his gloved hand across his face suspiciously. Moments later they were back on Baker Street and heading carefully home through the accumulated snow along the sidewalk. Though it was only a few, short blocks, the exertions of the day combined with the lack of proper rest for almost two straight days had left Watson feeling every bit of his age. Not only were his leg and shoulder complaining bitterly, but he swore he could feel every injury he'd ever endured come back to haunt him.

Silently, Holmes took up the role of supporter as he had not done in many years. Keeping to a slow pace for his friend, he helped to ensure they maintained steady footing.

"Alright, Watson?"

"Never better, dear chap," Watson replied warmly.

Holmes smiled at the obvious sincerity of the statement, but still regretted not having a cab readily available for his friend. However, they were soon home and made their way back to the comfort of their wonderfully warm sitting room. He wasted no time helping his friend into his chair beside the fire where he could comfortably relax and prop his aching leg. Knowing Mrs. Hudson to likely be sleeping in exhaustion, he quickly and quietly fled to the kitchen to make some tea. By the time he returned, Watson was already snoring softly. Ensuring that his friend was properly buffered against the cold with another blanket, he took his own seat across from him. For the first time since Holmes could remember, both he and Watson slept in perfect peace.