The weather was changing and the temperatures were rapidly beginning to drop. The hustle and bustle around Baker Street was that of Christmas shoppers weighed down by their parcels as they trudged through the six inches or so deep snow that had been falling throughout the day and preceding night. Buskers were out on corners with their caps or cases open playing Christmas carols for the masses on guitar, violin, or with their voices harmonising to the season. Inside, Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen stuffing the Christmas goose with a sage and onion stuffing that was always the family favourite, and she was sure that her boys Mr. Holmes and that delightful Dr. Watson would love it too. Out in the parlour she was greeted with the crackling warmth of a large coal fire which crackled and which warmed the building.
At the other end of the sitting room and opposite the fire, the wireless was tuned to the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby who was crooning "White Christmas" which filled the elderly woman with feelings of warmth and seasonal spirit.
Meanwhile, up the street, Holmes and Watson were walking nearly hand in hand or as close as the packed street would allow them. Not that either man minded the close contact. Watson wore a fond smile underneath the heavy overcoat and scarf he had doubly wrapped around his neck. Holmes looked back at his partner in crime, well partner in more ways than one before he slipped their gloved hands together and gave them a gentle squeeze of reassurance, full of the promises of the season to come.