From mrspencil - home made Christmas tree decorations are attempted
Kind of got expanded from just Christmas tree decorations.
"He's a right Mr. Scrooge, isn't he?" Wiggins asked his Irregular comrades as they trooped down the stairs from Mr. Holmes's rooms. Mr. Holmes had been impatient with them today, which Wiggins didn't take kindly too. His young friends had done their best to find out what Mr. Holmes wanted to know, following that smuggler to his offices at the docks and nicking a lady's purse in Hyde Park after her brother had accused her of poisoning his prize guard dog. It wasn't their fault the purse contained no clues, and that young Sam was caught behind a huge fish-seller and couldn't see the meeting he'd been ordered to spy on. The lad was only eight.
"A what?" Sam asked, his hands in his pockets to make himself look older and more confident.
Wiggins sighed. "Mr. Scrooge. He's an old man what hates Christmas in a book Dr. Watson let me borrow." Wiggins had to admit that, as much as he liked Mr. Holmes, it was easier to work with him when the Doctor was around. Dr. Watson often tried to make Mr. Holmes see the difficulties of what he asked his young charges to do, and sometimes sewed them up if they got into scrapes. He'd also taken charge of trying to teach them a little, saying that Mr. Holmes only cared if they knew how to identify a sailor from a soldier. Most of them hadn't liked that much, Wiggins remembered, but he'd taken to it after a time. 'Specially once the Doctor told him how all those great stories he told came out of books.
Eleven year old Melinda shrugged. "He just misses the Doctor, that's all."
"Well, so do I," Wiggins said grumpily. Dr. Watson had got himself married a few months back, and now he was hardly ever about at 221b anymore.
Sam frowned. "Well, maybe if we make Mr. Holmes a nice Christmas, he won't be Scrooge anymore!" he grinned up at them, his missing tooth ruining the effect of his attempts to appear older.
"Come on, how are we supposed to make Mr. Holmes have Christmas?" Wiggins asked. He'd never had much of a Christmas; the closest he'd ever come was when Mrs. Hudson baked them all biscuits to take home. Wiggins smiled at that, remembering his little sisters' delight as he brought the platter home. Didn't do much for his mum, but then, nothing did except the bottle. He drew his coat around himself; soon enough he'd be old enough to really work and then he'd get them all a place of their own. Mr. Holmes was going to get him a position someday, he'd said so, and a voucher from Mr. Holmes was worth its weight in gold.
Melinda shrugged. "I can make him some ornaments if you get him a tree."
"Come off it, where am I supposed to get a Christmas tree in the middle of London?" Wiggins asked.
"What kind of detective are you going to be if you can't figure it out?" Melinda asked calmly. Wiggins glared at her. She always had an answer. Probably why she was the only girl in the Baker Street Irregulars. But she was a good second in command and besides, she was right.
So Wiggins left his friends and headed to his favorite rubbish heap, where he sometimes found clothes good for disguising and toys not too beat up to give to his sisters. He rummaged through it until he found a twisted hat stand. He stood it up, looking at it. It wouldn't be too bad. They could probably make it straight somehow.
He knocked on Melinda's door the next morning with his tree. She eyed it for a few seconds, then pulled out several grey yarn blobs. "What are those?" Wiggins asked.
"Ornaments," Melinda said. She held up a battered crochet hook. "It was my gran's, and she taught me a bit 'fore she died." Wiggins looked at the grey yarn blobs. They were almost star shaped, if he tilted his head and squinted. "Only don't pull on them because I think they'll unravel," Melinda finished, turning a bit red. Wiggins grinned. She wasn't much good at girl things, she would do as well on the police force as he would. Too bad that wasn't the kind of job Mr. Holmes could get her.
They hid the tree at Melinda's, because she had a wardrobe, and Wiggins didn't think about it for the next two days until he was awoken at seven in the morning by a knock. He groaned. "Who's'at?" he said, opening the door bleary-eyed and checking to make sure none of his sisters had woken up.
He was greeted by a pile of sticks. Or, rather, a pile of sticks with Sam's grinning face in the middle. "I made a wreath!" Sam said happily. "For Mr. Holmes!"
Wiggins looked at it. He'd been by the Watsons' last night, just to see, and their wreath was full and green with a ribbon. This was a circle of brown stick. "Where'd you get it?" he asked.
"I broke off enough sticks in the park," Sam said. "And then I bent them together and begged some string from the butcher to tie them." He smiled proudly and Wiggins nodded.
"It's a good wreath, Sam," he said. "Just needs a ribbon." He searched his flat, finding only some crumpled newspaper and an old red scarf. He frowned. "I bet I can tie this," he said, tearing the newspaper into strips and managing to tie them into a passable bow. "There!" he said stuffing it into the wreath so it stayed in place.
"It looks like a real wreath, Wiggins!" Sam said. "What about the scarf?"
Wiggins looked it over. It was still bright red, but with multiple holes, and he didn't think anyone would miss it. He wrapped it around the wreath until it almost looked like stripes. "There. A real wreath for Mr. Holmes. Now, let's go get the tree."
They collected both Melinda and their tree and walked it slowly all the way to Baker Street, Wiggins scolding the other two every time they stumbled with the tree between them.
"You'll make the ornaments fall!"
Melinda scowled at him. "I told you we shouldn't put them on 'till we got there!"
"No matter, we're here now," Wiggins said, knocking on the door. Mrs. Hudson answered with a smile.
"Oh, good, I was wondering when I'd get to give you your Christmas cookies!" Then she looked at the wreath and tree suspiciously. "What are those?"
"It's a Christmas tree!" Sam said brightly. "For Mr. Holmes, since he's sad the Doctor left!"
Mrs. Hudson looked surprised, and then smiled. "You urchins are the most ingenious people I know, consulting detectives included," she said, and Wiggins grinned. "You go on up," Mrs. Hudson continued. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."
Wiggins knocked quietly on the sitting room door, opening it when he heard Mr. Holmes's voice say, "Come in."
"What is it, Wiggins, I have a great deal to do, and I haven't asked you for an update," he said, without looking up from his writing desk.
"We're not here for an update," Wiggins said, standing straighter than usual. "We wanted to give you these." He put the tree down and held up the wreath. He realized he was holding his breath, and then felt extremely stupid. What had made them think Mr. Holmes would want their things? He had his own decorations; last year he'd had a real tree, even though the Doctor had bought it and not told him. Their decorations were childish. Poor. Not for the likes of Mr. Holmes.
Mr. Holmes turned around, taking in their tree and wreath. "Is that a Christmas tree?" he asked.
"Yes, sir!" Sam burst out, clapping a hand over his mouth when Wiggins shot him a glare. He was the one who was supposed to talk to Mr. Holmes.
Mr. Holmes bent to inspect it. "Did you make the ornaments, Melinda?"
Melinda nodded, her usual sure ways gone in the face of the intimidating detective. "Wiggins found the tree," she said.
"And who is responsible for this…wreath?" Mr. Holmes asked.
"I am!" Sam said. "See, it's tree branches and I put them together and tied them up!"
"Did you make the bow too?" Mr. Holmes asked.
"No, I did," Wiggins said quietly. He looked up, feeling like he had to explain himself. "We saw you didn't have decorations up, 'cause the Doctor's not here, and we made them."
"Oh," Mr. Holmes said. "Well, I have to say I barely noticed, but in that case, I think we'll have to put these up, don't we?" He took the wreath and fixed it to the outside of the sitting room door with a dart from his pocket. He smiled. "There. Now, where to put this tree?"
"Right over there!" Sam said, gaining his confidence. "By the table!"
"Ah, yes, of course!" Mr. Holmes said, placing the tree carefully in the corner by the window, next to his breakfast table. He stepped back and looked at it. "It does make the room brighter."
Wiggins was shocked. He liked them? Mr. Holmes, who had dined with nobles and worked with the government liked their handmade decorations?
Mr. Holmes saw the look on his face and smiled. "Wiggins, do you think honors from every government in the land are equal to those from one's own comrades in arms? If you do, then you do not know me as well as I had thought."
Wiggins puffed up with pride. Comrade in arms, him. Well, him and Melinda and Sam, and all the other Irregulars. Comrades with the greatest detective in the world.
"Now that you are here, would you join me for breakfast?" Mr. Holmes asked. "I find my meals are quiet of late. I would enjoy the company."
Wiggins grinned. "Yes, sir, Mr. Holmes! Thank you!" Melinda and Sam nodded next to him, and Mr. Holmes rang the bell for Mrs. Hudson.
"Excellent. I'll have more sausage ordered," Mr. Holmes said. "Thank you very much, by the way. The rooms are cheerier, and much more Christmas-like. Watson would be pleased." He paused, then said, "Perhaps you should make him some decorations as well."
The glint of humor in his eyes told Wiggins he was teasing, but then again, with Mr. Holmes, it was impossible to be sure.