Sherlock Holmes knew he was nothing more than a character in a book the day he met Ebeneezer Scrooge, but he had suspected it for a long time before then. He was suspicious of his own existence because he was too often tasked with seemingly impossible problems that seemed better suited to fiction than to 'real' life, and he was written to be too smart to be fooled by his own existence. Something about his cases, his life, his story, it was all too… perfect. Real life, he somehow knew though he didn't have one, rarely worked out so nicely. Real life didn't have a neat little beginning, middle, end, and wrap up with a nice little bow like in Watson's stories. But the problem was, his parts of his life did, often, end like that, and it bothered him. He didn't know how he knew from very early on that something was wrong about him, he just did.

Meeting Ebeneezer Scrooge finally convinced him his hypothesis was the correct one. He didn't even have to speak with the Scrooge upon first meeting him, something in him simply knew who the old man was. He'd read A Christmas Carol a long time ago because Watson had urged him to, but he had a very odd feeling that he would have known the other man even if he hadn't read the story he was in.

The old man just exuded a sense of… Christmas. Holmes could feel it from a block away. He spotted the man looking in the windows of a toy shop, a ridiculous smile on his face and practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. As Holmes watched him, fascinated, a young pickpocket bumped into him and Holmes thought the man's wallet would be parted from him for certain, but the old man spun very quickly and grabbed the young man by his wrist wrist, the stolen wallet still in the boy's clutched fist.

"Ha, ha!" he laughed as he took his wallet back, and somehow it was a jolly laugh without malice. "You thought you could steal from an old crook, did you? You can't fool an old fool!" He laughed again merrily. "I used to steal from others, too, my boy. I bet in my life I've stolen more money than you've ever seen! Now tell me, my fine young man, what were you going to use my coppers for, hmm? Don't be shy, my lad, don't be shy. Tell me honestly now."

Tears were welling in the youth's eyes. "Please, sir, please just let me go," he said, ineffectually trying to pull his arm out of the man's grasp. "I wasn't going to buy nothin', I swear. I don't got nothin' I just gotta live. C'mon, let me go! Please!"

"Nothing? You have nothing and you were going to buy nothing, you say? Dear oh dear, that is a conundrum. Tell me, where do you live? Do you have a whole bunch of nothing stored up in your cabinets?"

"Don't live nowhere," the boy sniffed. "Live here, in London. C'mon, guv, leave off!"

"You don't have any family? No one will take you in?"

"No," the boy sniffed. "So just leave off." His protests were getting weaker, likely because the man was smiling at him so warmly.

"I'll tell you what," said the man, crouching down to the boy's level, "I know orphanages can seem like scary places, but If you'll come visit one with me and meet the other boys and give it a look, just a look, mind you, I'll get you what you need. People like me are working very hard to make sure that places like orphanages and poor houses get the supplies they need to be good places. So, will you come take a look with me?"

"I don't like orphanages," the boy mumbled.

"But will you come?" the other man asked.

"I…" the lad said, and then he saw Holmes watching them. "If he comes!" he exclaimed.

The old man looked over his shoulder and smiled when he saw Holmes. "Hello," he said. "Do you know this young man?"

"No," said Holmes, stepping up to him, "but I have a feeling he knows me. I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

The old man extended his free hand and shook Holmes' hand. "Ebeneezer Scrooge. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I assume you've heard my little negotiations with this young man. What do you say? Will you take a little trip with us? I'll be happy to compensate for your time."

"Of course," Holmes agreed. "No compensation is necessary, only for this young man."

Scrooge nodded.

"Money first," the boy said.

"What's your name, then, my very fine lad?" asked Scrooge.

"Jack," the boy sniffed.

"Now then, Jack, when I let you go, you're not going to run away now, hmm? You're going to be a polite person and shake Mr. Holmes' hand, yes?"

"Yes," Jack murmured.

Scrooge let him go and Jack sheepishly shook Holmes' hand. Holmes could tell that Jack knew exactly who he was, and deduced he'd learned it from the irregulars.

"Hello, Jack," Holmes greeted him.

"Hello," Jack mumbled. "Can we go to the shops first?" he asked.

"Yes, my lad," Scrooge said, "but you mustn't forget that you've made me a promise."

"I know, I know," Jack sighed.

They vaguely resembled a little family as they shopped with Jack; Holmes was sure at least one salesman thought that they were grandfather, father, and son all out for a shop. They bought Jack new, warm clothes including a coat, scarf, mittens, and boots. Of course, by then it was lunchtime, and so Scrooge bought him that, too. On Holmes' recommendation, Scrooge also got the boy a pocket knife, a magnifying glass, and some sweets which Jack immediately began to suck on as they traveled to visit the orphanage.

Scrooge, apparently, was a bit of celebrity himself, for as soon as he stepped out of the carriage a flood of children poured out and clung to him, laughing and all talking at once to tell them about what they'd been doing since they last saw him and taking the sweets he offered them.

"Marcus?" Jack said from where he stood beside Holmes watching Scrooge being attacked by the children all vying for his attention.

"Jack!" cried another boy. "Do you know Mr. Scrooge, too? Are you coming to live with us?"

"I…" said Jack slowly, "yeah, I might be. I mean, I don't know. Haven't decided yet. But yeah. Maybe."

And, for the first time, Holmes saw Jack smile. Ebeneezer turned his head, seeing Jack begin to play ball in the yard with the other boys, and he gave Holmes a knowing nod. Jack, it seemed, would be staying at the orphanage with the other children.

Holmes knew as much as anyone that children sometimes feared orphanages and would rather live in the streets: hopping from home to home, scrounging for food, working when they could, and stealing when they needed to. Too many of them found that stealing was a more profitable pass-time than working and ended up in jail later in life once they got too deep into criminal activity.

Holmes' own dear band of Baker Street Irregulars he had sworn to the side of the law and had terrified with horror stories of how easy it was to slide so far backwards that they would end up hanged for killing a man for the threepence and his jacket they could steal from him. Most of his boys, he knew, lived with one of the boy's older brother's rooms, two dozen of them in one small space. Some of them were orphans, some weren't, and some had families and simply spent most of their days on the streets. Perhaps some of them could thrive here as well. He'd bring them, sometime, for a ball game with the boys at the orphanage. And, if some of them wanted to stay, then he had a feeling they would be welcome. And maybe they'd even find someone else to look up to, he mused, glancing at Ebeneezer Scrooge.

He watched as Scrooge, old and feeble as he looked, played ball with boys, running and tumbling, and taking his inevitable loss gracefully. While he played ball, Holmes was surrounded by children who recognized him from Watson's stories, and he told them about a recent case of his. Though he didn't tell stories half as well as his friend Watson could, they watched him with wide eyes the entire time and he felt like Homer, able to captivate a crowd.

Finally, it was time to go, they'd stayed well into the afternoon. Holmes could tell Ebeneezer was exhausted, but even so he'd never seen a man so happy to have spent his day being exhausted by tireless young orphans. In the carriage on the ride home, Ebeneezer was humming, his head bobbing as he looked out the window, and he smiled at every tree and bush and flower and, especially, person.

"You're cheery," Holmes pointed out needlessly.

Scrooge laughed. "Oh, yes!" he said with another smile, this one directed right at Holmes. "You must understand, Mr. Holmes, that I spent so much of my life miserable. Miserable! And so deep in my misery I thought it was the rest of the world that was wrong. And now I see how wonderful happiness is! I know how beautiful life is! And every day it is like I am seeing the world for the first time. And it is beautiful! And those children! They make me so proud, every single one of them, I can't help but be happy when I visit them!"

"You say you were miserable? What happened?" Holmes asked, though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Scrooge giggled again. "I don't think you'll believe me if I told you. But let's just say I… I had help. I had a wake-up call, Mr. Holmes, and I learned to love my fellow men again. I learned through them how to love my own life again. I didn't love life, I was headed down a miserable path to a lonely grave. And so, the man you see before you now is a reformed man!"

"I see," said Holmes with a little smirk. Wouldn't believe him indeed.

"Ah," Scrooge sighed, "I am becoming a little old for this, I think. I'll be happy to be home; I'm having dinner with a good friend and I know it will be a good time. Oh! I nearly forgot, I need to thank you for your time helping that young man. How can I repay you?"

"No thanks needed," Holmes assured him.

"Please, I insist. Isn't there anything you'd like?"

Holmes considered that. "Your pen," he finally answered with a shrug.

"Hmm? My pen?"

"The one in your inner jacket pocket: it is new, and of a sturdy quality. I have a friend who loves to write, and earlier I accidentally broke one of his pens. I was going to stop and get him a new one today, that was what I was doing when I ran into you."

Scrooge smiled widely. "That is wonderful, Mr. Holmes!" he praised. "You are a very observant man, has anyone ever told you that? How did you know that I had a new pen here? Yes, sir, I do, but I'm afraid that there's nothing special about it. I have a very special one at my office, shall we stop there?"

"I suppose," said Holmes, and soon they pulled up the a building that proclaimed it was "Scrooge and Cratchits'' on the sign outside. Scrooge leaped out like a young man, and reappeared a moment later with a little sack. Inside, Holmes found not only a gilded pen, but also a case for it, a notepad, and bottle of ink.

"Mr. Scrooge…"

"No, no, please, I want your friend to have it!" Scrooge insisted. "The one I am using now was a gift from a grateful friend, and I'm perfectly content with it. Gifts are meant to be freely given and freely received: the value of the gift makes no difference, and a lack or excess cannot make a better or worse friend. It is all free, and it is all done out of love. So please, take it, and may your friend make good use of it."

"Thank you," Holmes said, and he couldn't help smiling warmly.

Ebeneezer smiled back, and paid the driver more than enough, telling him to take Holmes wherever he needed to go. As he rode back to Baker Street, Holmes decided that even though he was fictional, that didn't mean he had a bad life or that it was a bad life, especially not if stories created people like that. Maybe it was a blessing, really, maybe that meant, somehow, there would be a happy ending somewhere along the line.

He still had a lot of thinking to do now that his hypothesis was confirmed, but he wasn't going to think too hard about it, not yet. He was somehow too happy, as if just being around Scrooge had made him cheerful like the children. But how had he met Scrooge in the first place? Had Scrooge come to his reality, or he to Scrooge's? Would he ever see him again? It was already making his formidable mind spin and he shelved it to think about later.

Overall, he decided that he had taken the realization he wasn't real quite well. Watson, however, he determined, should never know he wasn't real. He wouldn't take it well if he even believed Holmes, but more likely he would simply think he was a nutter. Holmes didn't want either outcome, and so he knew he would never tell Watson the truth.

That was why he made light of it when he arrived in Baker Street. Watson was reclining in his chair reading a medical textbook and, probably, was still stroppy about his broken pen, but he looked up as Holmes entered.

"Where have you been?" his friend asked.

"Making a new friend, if you'll believe it," Holmes said with a shrug.

"Oh? Who?"

"Ebeneezer Scrooge."

"What? You read A Christmas Carol? Is that what you mean?"

"Something like that. Oh, and this is for you. I'm sorry about your pen."

"Hmm? What is… Holmes, this is gorgeous. Where did you get this."

"I asked for it in lieu of a payment by a grateful, kind person. I wanted to make it up to you for breaking yours."

"Who was your client? This is beautiful! Thank you, Holmes."

"Of course. I am glad you like it, Watson."

"You seem different," Watson observed. "More… contemplative, I guess, but still happy. It must have been a good day."

"I have a lot to think about," Holmes said truthfully, "But yes, It was a very good day. And what do you say we make it an even better one."

"Hmm? Of course."

"Then come to dinner with me. We'll give Mrs. Hudson a break, go to Marcini's, and maybe catch a concert if we can."

"What has brought this on? That sounds lovely, Holmes, but I…"

"It will be my gift, Watson, freely given. Gifts are meant to be freely given, you know, and freely received. The value of the gift makes no difference, and a lack or excess cannot make a better or worse friend. It is all free, and it is all done out of love. So please, come with me?"

Watson smiled. "What a nice little speech. You're a good salesman when you want to be. Yes, of course I'll come."

"Good," Holmes said with a nod. "I'll go tell Mrs. Hudson."

That night, with cheer in his heart and a good friend with him, Holmes wasn't bothered that he wasn't real, because Ebeneezer Scrooge was right: life was good, even when he didn't think so. And even if he didn't have a choice in the matter, it was worth it.