From W. Y. Traveller - Mrs. Hudson wants the Christmas tree. Holmes doesn't. How is this resolved?

It had been almost two years since Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had moved into the first floor rooms at 221b Baker Street. Last Christmas, Mrs. Hudson had not made any remarks about how the two young men seemed to refuse to celebrate Christmas – they were quite alone in London, apart from each other, and struggling financially. Besides, she was only their landlady and it wasn't her place.

Now, though, things were different. Mr. Holmes, for all his difficulties, was becoming somewhat known for his abilities as a detective, and Dr. Watson had found a good position at a hospital. She looked after them more than she had last year; they weren't much younger than Mrs. Hudson, but they seemed like they were, at times. She sometimes wondered how Mr. Holmes would find anything in his rooms or eat anything resembling a healthy meal if she wasn't there. So as December came closer, she wondered why there seemed to be few preparations for Christmas.

"Doctor, I'm going to pick up some garland," Mrs. Hudson said as she left one morning. "Would you like me to pick up some extra for you and Mr. Holmes?" It would make their sitting room considerably cheerier, she thought.

Dr. Watson looked wistful for a moment, then said, "No, I don't think Holmes is terribly fond of the holiday. The stocking I hung up by the fire disappeared after a few hours and I can't find it anywhere."

Mrs. Hudson scoffed. She had become very fond of Mr. Holmes, but that did not mean she wasn't aware of his faults. He could be entirely oblivious to other people's feelings, claiming as he did that the only thing that mattered was reasoning and rationality. But anyone could see that Dr. Watson was looking forward to celebrating Christmas. Surely Mr. Holmes, as the only friend he had managed to make, could let him enjoy the day! "That is ridiculous, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Well, the funny thing is, I had only hung them there to dry after a particularly damp day," Dr. Watson said, beginning to laugh. "He must have an intense dislike for the season, to take it so badly."

"Well, I would very much like a Christmas tree," Mrs. Hudson said. "It's been two years since Tom passed on…" she trailed off sadly, thinking of her first Christmas in this house with her husband. Who would have thought that only ten years after their marriage she would need to take in lodgers to stay? Then she shook her head; it was no use dwelling on the past and she was very glad to have Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. "It's about time I celebrated again."

"I heartily agree," Dr. Watson said. "But I think you might find it difficult to convince him of that."

"We'll see, Doctor," Mrs. Hudson promised, heading up the stairs. "Mr. Holmes!"

"What is it?" the detective answered, opening the door.

"Mr. Holmes, the Doctor and I were just talking, and we agree that it is high time the Christmas tree was set up," Mrs. Hudson said. "It is only two weeks until Christmas, after all."

Mr. Holmes's face darkened. "Mrs. Hudson, Christmas is merely a day like any other. If I cannot work, due to everyone else celebrating, I wish to spend it in quiet study rather than stuffing myself full of food and opening presents like a child." He paused. "Besides, Christmas trees are a dreadful fire hazard, what with the candles hanging from the branches."

Mrs. Hudson thought it a bit rich for Mr. Holmes of the famously toxic tobacco smoke and noxious chemical experiments to call anything else a fire hazard, but stood her ground. "I have not celebrated Christmas in three years, Mr. Holmes. A tree would undoubtedly make us all enjoy the season more."

Mr. Holmes sighed. "Mrs. Hudson, it would be a chore to get the tree up the stairs, and I haven't time for that. Now, please, I have a great deal of work to do."

Mrs. Hudson had to resist the urge to make a face at the door as he closed it. He could be so obtuse at times, and it looked as if that meant she and the Doctor would not have their Christmas tree this year. She sighed. She had known having Mr. Holmes as a lodger would be difficult, requiring some compromises on her part, and she knew him well enough now to know that she wouldn't trade him for anything. But he really could use some lessons on social tact, on occasion.

Two days later, Mrs. Hudson was trying to keep up as much Christmas spirit as she could, despite the complete lack of any outward trappings of the holiday. She was in the midst of baking Christmas biscuits, some for the Yard, some for her neighbors and some for the families of the Irregulars when she heard the door open and the patter of feet across her hallway. She smiled. Mr. Holmes's little band of street urchins refused to understand why they could not simply pick the lock on the front door, but she had become fond of them all over the past couple of years, despite her initial horror at finding her rooms hosting up to a dozen dirty little boys at once.

Mrs. Hudson stuck her head out of the kitchen door. "Wait, I have biscuits for you all to take home!"

A couple of the younger boys looked eagerly at each other, then glanced up at Wiggins, who nodded. They all trooped into the kitchen and Mrs. Hudson handed them each a small bag of biscuits. "Thanks, Mrs. H.!" little Ronald Twitt, all of seven years old with hair sticking out all over his head, said with a grin.

"They're real good!" one of the little boys said.

"How come you don't have any Christmas decorations?" Ronald asked. "I thought all the toffs had garland everywhere and a real Christmas tree!"

"Mr. Holmes doesn't want any," Mrs. Hudson answered. "He's much too busy for Christmas."

Ronald grimaced in disappointment. "Aw, I was hoping to help decorate the tree! It always looked fun."

"Ronald!" Wiggins said sharply, then glanced up at Mrs. Hudson. Spontaneously, she found herself sympathetic. Wiggins was all of nine or ten years old, and here he was, leading these boys on what was really official business. "Sorry," Wiggins said. "Christmas trees aren't so common on our side of town."

Mrs. Hudson stopped in the middle of becoming indignant on their behalf, an idea taking shape. "Boys, listen to me. I think you can convince Mr. Holmes to get a Christmas tree, how about that?"

"Yes!" Ronald said excited, and Mrs. Hudson found her skirts surrounded by ten little boys, all listening to her plan.

Mr. Holmes always came down the stairs at precisely three o'clock, looking for the newspaper (he was never willing to wait until she delivered it to him), but today Mrs. Hudson was grateful for his impatience. No sooner had he appeared in the hallway than Ronald, Wiggins and the rest of the Baker Street Irregulars ran out of the kitchen. "Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes!" Ronald cried. "Don't you want a Christmas tree? We could help you decorate it?"

"I-" Mr. Holmes began, but he was interrupted by a little boy whose gap-toothed smile even he couldn't resist.

"We were hopin' to decorate it for you!"

"We don't get much chance for that otherwise," Wiggins said, giving Mr. Holmes a small smile.

Mr. Holmes looked from one Irregular to another, then back at Mrs. Hudson with an expression that said he knew exactly what she had done. "Please, Mr. Holmes!" one of the other little boys wheedled.

Mr. Holmes sighed, and Mrs. Hudson smiled. She knew she had him. "Oh, all right," Mr. Holmes said. "We will go pick out a tree tonight and you all can come back tomorrow and decorate it for me, how does that sound?"

A cheer went up from the Irregulars, who then grabbed their biscuits and left as quickly as they'd come. Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Hudson. "I do think you would be quite the equal of any criminal leader in this city," he said.

Mrs. Hudson merely smiled back. "I suppose that's why I enjoy having you as my lodger."