9. From Garonne – serendipity
Serendipity: (noun) the faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident.
I am not particularly prone to sentimentality, especially during the holiday season. Watson has often teased me by calling me "Ebenezer" or "Mr. Scrooge." He frequently, then, takes the role of the overworked Bob Cratchit. For as much as he protests my theatricality, he took the role far beyond any of my dramatics when he arranged for several Irregulas and Mary to assume the roles of the Cratchit family and invited me to dinner.
"Hello, Mr. Scrooge," Watson greeted me at the door. He was dressed the most raggedly I had ever seen him.
"Watson, do stop with that."
"Come in, sir. I'm dreadfully sorry, if I had known you'd be coming we'd have prepared a finer meal."
"You invited me!" I exclaimed.
"Cratchits, we have a guest!" he called, scurrying into the kitchen where three Irregulars and three young girls I recognized as friends of my Irregulars sat looking even scruffier than usual, and where Mary was dressed in a somber, faded dress and frowned at the miniscule portions she was putting on the table.
She nodded stiffly at me. "Mr. Scrooge."
"Mary, what has he roped you into?"
"We've got a goose for dinner," she replied, gesturing to a miserably small bird on the table.
"Children, say hello," Watson ordered.
"Hello, Mr. Scrooge," they all called.
"My, mother, so much food!" Wiggins exclaimed.
"Well, it is Christmas," she said, fondly ruffling his hair.
"Sit," Watson urged, and I sat, astounded at the scene before me.
They spoke in lines from a Christmas Carol throughout the dinner and feigned poverty excellently. Mary sent quietly resentful but polite comments my way, and the children exclaimed at the plain meal like it was fit for a king. Alfie even threw in a very realistic coughing fit, and his "mother" rushed over to him. "Are you alright, Tim? Do you feel alright?"
"I feel strong," Alfie replied, leaning on his prop crutch.
"What the devil are you doing, Watson?" I finally demanded.
"Pardon me, Mr. Scrooge," Watson said innocently. "Would you like more goose, sir?"
I sighed. "Should I agree to let you decorate 221B, would you stop this tomfoolery?"
"Why, Mr. Scrooge!"
I narrowed my eyes. "Is that not enough for you?"
Watson turned to Mary. "Look at this excellent repast, love. You are truly a treasure. "
"I'll go to your blasted Christmas party, too."
"Mr. Scrooge—"
"And New Year's Eve!"
Watson grinned. "Alright, Mary, boys, excellent performance, you may break character."
"Really, was that necessary?"
"Oh, no," he said, smiling broadly, "but wasn't it fun, everyone?"
"I've never seen you look like that, Mr. Holmes," Mary laughed. "Now, let me bring out the rest of dinner. Luckily, we can afford it."
There was a collective sigh of relief and a small peal of laughter.
"Thank goodness," Henry whispered to Davie. "I'm so hungry."
Alfie piped up as Mary set down a pot of greens, "God bless us, everyone!"
I am not particularly prone to sentimentality. I do not expect I will ever be. Yet even I can conclude, simply from the evidence, that it was serendipity that Watson and I met so many years past. He's brought a certain joy to my life, and if that deplorable episode communicated one thing to me is that he'll never stop trying to.
This is such a loose take on the prompt, but I love it.
