From Book girl fan: Christmastime in the City
Although I am a great admirer of the works of Charles Dickens, I would not go so far as to name Holmes "Ebenezer Scrooge." Money, for instance, held little sway over his Bohemian soul; I came to realize several years after leaving Baker Street that Holmes was paying as his portion of the rent very nearly what the entire house was worth. I have also witnessed moments of exceeding generosity on his part, as when he helped poor Mrs. Relish search for her lost parcel in every snowbank between our flat and Regent's Park. Yet like the character of Ebenezer Scrooge, Holmes harbored very little love for the Christmas season, and only with great effort could I convince him to venture out onto the streets any time in the week leading up to the holiday.
"I am not immune to the spirit of Christmas," Holmes said as I once again urged him to accompany me on an evening walk. "The idea of hope for mankind is a rousing one, and I do not deny the existence of Divine Providence. Yet I have noticed that Christmastime has become little more than an excuse to practice excess, which can rarely be afforded and is inimical to what you so whimsically call the "true meaning" of Christmas."
I could hardly deny such excess with the trio of particularly drunken carolers howling in the street, yet unlike Holmes, I could not unilaterally condemn those who were perhaps too generous with food or gifts on Christmas. It was a time of hope, a moment of brightness in the middle of winter, a sign that despite all our failings, God had not abandoned us.
When I told all this to Holmes, his face softened rather uncharacteristically. "Very well, Watson, if it would ease your mind, I believe there is still time for a brief walk before supper."
