a/n:prompt from sagredo: - It is Watson's first Christmas without either Holmes or Mary.
Does he spend it alone, or do some unlikely friends come to his aid?-
Holmes and companions do not belong to me
POV of Watson; Christmas Eve
Company
He hears the final patient bid farewell and close the door;
It's only half past eight; he'd hoped for several clients more.
As long as he is busy, useful, fully occupied;
He can, perhaps, forget who should be standing at his side.
He wishes his assistant all the best for Christmas day;
Then turns, and lets his calm physician's mask just fall away.
He hears the background chatter of the world outside his door;
Amazed that London life goes on exactly as before.
His grief has disconnected him from every day routine:
His current life; his hoped-for life; the chasm in between.
~0~
No Christmas decorations; not a hint of festive cheer;
No cause to celebrate, with those he loved no longer here.
~0~
Prescriptions checked, equipment cleared, a solitary meal.
A doctor who could not predict when wounds would start to heal
He sits, with stacks of BMJs, and reads by candle light;
Prepared, from past experience, for one more sleepless night.
He glances at two objects, put so carefully in place;
A blue-eyed smiling portrait and a battered silver case.
~0~
At midnight, there's a gentle, nervous tapping at the door;
He finds a group of urchins he's met many times before.
They tumble in; a jostling crowd of short humanity:
Young Wiggins tells the doctor that he needs their company.
They settle in his sitting room; on cushions, floor and chair;
Announcing they have stories they would really like to share.
They talk of Holmes adventures and the foes they helped defeat:
The doctor feels, for one short hour, he's back in Baker Street.
The urchins then head out; they leave a gift; a Christmas tree:
A branch, if truth be told; fir cones and rags, strung carefully.
~0~
Another hour; another knock; the door is opened wide:
Two Yarders, Hopkins and Lestrade, stand patiently outside.
They tell him, they were passing and they saw the candle light
And wondered if the doctor wanted company that night.
Invited in; they sit back with an offered drink in hand;
And recall those baffling cases which were published in "The Strand".
The doctor finds himself engrossed in familiar tales of old;
Those days when he had Holmes to help, and Mary's hand to hold.
An hour flies by; the Yarders stand to leave; just one thing more:
A slightly battered holly wreath to hang upon the door.
~0~
The doctor sleeps a little, waking up before the dawn;
And wonders how he'll fill a bleak and empty Christmas morn.
~o~
A knock; a stranger at the door; well dressed; smart hat and coat:
A covered basket in his hand; a neatly written note.
A Christmas lunch from Mycroft; freshly cooked, from his hotel.
A reminder there were others who were missing Holmes as well.
He thanks the man politely; puts the basket to one side;
Touched by this thoughtful gesture, on a lonely Christmastide.
~0~
And finally, mid morning, there is one more Christmas guest;
The faithful Mrs. Hudson, calm as always, warmly dressed.
She knows just what the doctor needs: a Christmas morning walk:
Sherlock Holmes and Mary Morstan; she can listen; he can talk.
And he does; they stroll together through the crisp clear winter frost
And he tells her how it's really been since both of them were lost.
His words at first are hesitant; this is not his usual role;
He's the one who calmly listens while another bares his soul.
He's the sidekick or physician, with a notebook in his hand;
Not the client, nor the patient; but begins to understand.
He remains the same John Watson; still in mourning; dignified;
But something, very slowly, is unknotting, deep inside.
~o~
There's no quick and easy method which will mend a broken heart;
He knows his friends are there to watch his back;
And that's a start.
~o~