Prompt: A Christmas Carol

From: SheWhoScrawls

….

"He… he was right here, Mr. Holmes!" Cried Ebenezer Scrooge, wildly gesticulating at his bedside. "And then over there… and he… and…"

"Mr. Scrooge, sir?" I asked him, taking his hand in my own and patting it comfortingly. "What happened?"

"He… he flew out the window… holding me by the hand. I was flying, sirs, flying over London!"

"Where did you fly to, Mr. Scrooge?" Asked my friend, Sherlock Holmes, severely. I could tell he did not believe this story one bit, but was nonetheless seeking all the details, as was his methods. He was currently examining the window with his magnifying glass, and he did not even turn around to address our client.

"My old employer, sirs, t'was old Fezziwig's himself! The old man was there, and my, my darling Belle! I couldn't believe my eyes!"

"I wouldn't," My friend remarked under his breath, and I coughed loudly, to distract our client from Holmes's rudeness.

"It is quite remarkable, sir, for someone to have gripped your wrist so tight, you have bruises." I remarked.

"It was a ghost, I tell you, Doctor! A ghost! Whatever shall I do, Mr. Holmes?"

"You may feel free to call upon a priest, Mr. Scrooge, but I cannot help you." Said Holmes.

"I do apologise, sir," I said, more politely, "but Holmes and I hardly deal with the supernatural, it's just not done."

"I… I see." Said Scrooge, his brow furrowing. "What shall I do?"

Holmes stared at the floor. "How about," he suggested, "You put ash at where your 'ghost' stood. If the ash is disturbed by anyone other than yourself, contact me and Scotland Yard at once."

"And if not?"

"Either a priest, or a doctor, perhaps. Good day, sir!" And Holmes promptly strode out of our client's bedroom.

"I am sorry about him," I said sympathetically. "If you need help, sir, here's my card. It need not be in a medical capacity, either, my good man, for I can see you are distressed, and may simply wish to talk to someone."

"Indeed, I am!" He grunted. "I am quite, quite unsettled, Doctor!"

"Is there family you could perhaps stay with, or who could come and stay with you?" I asked as kindly as I could.

"Just my nephew."

"He could help you, or, as I say, if you'd rather speak to me, you can call upon at my practice, or at 221B, if you prefer."

…

"What an insufferable, weak-minded fool!" Snapped Holmes, as we took a cab home. "Ghosts, indeed! How the deuce did you speak to the fellow so calmly, Watson?"

"I am a doctor, Holmes, and your flatmate, a great level of patience and humility is needed for both roles." I reminded him.

"Am… am I that bad?" He asked me, quietly.

"I wouldn't dream of living with any other friend, Holmes," I said, patting his gloved hand in my own. "You do, however, have habits that can be…"

"Irregular? Insufferable?" He grinned.

"From time to time, yes." I admitted, and we shared a chuckle.

….

There was no word that the ash had indeed been disturbed, but, three days later, I was summoned to his house, and came away with a Christmas pudding, some tobacco for Holmes and myself, and a purse from none other than Ebenezer Scrooge, along with his compliments of the season.

Holmes did at least have the courtesy to decide that perhaps he wasn't such a bad fellow after all… even if he mocked his ghost story.