The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, sending a warm light around the sitting room. The gentleman sitting at his desk nearby, however, paid no mind to it. He rose from his desk and took to pacing about the room, toying with a small object hidden in his hands.

The door opening below distracted him from his pacing. Footsteps followed, slower than as usual. The doctor had had a long day, he deduced, and the cold weather had caused his old injury to flare up again.

The door to the sitting room opened and Watson entered, his limp proving the detective right. Throwing a weary smile at Holmes, he collapsed onto his chair by the fireplace, warming his hands gratefully by the flames. "I'm very sorry to be so late, Holmes. The cold weather has caused an absolute flood of people at the surgery."

Holmes nodded thoughtfully. "Accidents on the road are not uncommon this time of year."

Watson lifted up from his seat in surprise, then collapsed back down again, laughing softly. "I've no idea how you knew that, and frankly am too tired to ask."

Seeing Watson's eyes begin to slip closed, Holmes permitted himself a small smile, placing the object, Watson's present, on his desk and pulling a blanket over his sleeping friend. "Merry Christmas, my dear Boswell."