"Oh, come on," Quill complained as a forest green knit sweater was thrust into his arms. It had taken George a few attempts, but he'd managed to ambush Quill in the living room, near the enormous fir tree Holly and I had decorated two weeks ago. He'd been caught unawares when he put the gifts he brought underneath, and George had seized his chance.

"All that blustering about not needing a uniform or even co-ordinated work clothes, but you all do the Christmas sweater thing?"

"We sure do," George replied. He tugged his own blue sweater down a bit, distorting the knitted snowman on it. "It's tradition. Besides, Mum worked on it for ages, so at least keep it on while she's here, okay?"

Not even Quill could bring himself to disappoint Mrs Cubbins, who'd greeted him with a hug and cheerful chatter about how happy she was he'd recovered well after the incident at Fittes House a couple months ago. We'd tried our best to keep the details from her, but George didn't get his intelligence from a stranger and I was quite sure Mrs Cubbins knew there was more to the story than what the papers published and George had told her.

With some grumbling, Quill pulled the sweater on over his dark button-up. The cartoon-ish reindeer grinning at the world from his chest instantly undermined the smart look him had been going for.

"You fit right in Quill," I told him, biting back a laugh at his disgruntled face. Quill pursed his lips and surveyed me. I was wearing a green number as well, dotted with little multicoloured pompoms that made me look like a Christmas tree. It was Mrs Cubbins Christmas present to me the first Christmas I spent in London, and I loved it. The jumper was warm and soft, and I imagined I could feel the care and love that had gone into the craft.

"At least it's warm," Quill muttered after a moment of consideration. There was no bite in his voice, though.

I left the living room as Quill finished arranging his presents under the tree, adding to the large pile of gifts already there. Voices drifting down the hall lured me into the warmth of the kitchen which had been taken over by Mrs Cubbins right after she arrived.

Holly ran a tight ship in the kitchen, but she was outdone by Mrs Cubbins, who worked with military precision. With a tight schedule and a decade or two of experience, she managed to turn the preparations for Christmas lunch into an efficient process. She also wasn't afraid to put us to work. George spent the first half of the afternoon helping his mum prepare and stuff the great Christmas turkey, which was now roasting in the oven, while I rolled little pork sausages into their bacon blankets and Holly chopped vegetables for the side dishes.

Lockwood had escaped the first round of kitchen duty earlier, but when I entered the kitchen, he looked up from his assigned task. Apparently that task was preparing the pastry for mince pies. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, to protect his shirt and jumper from the flour he had sprinkled over the pastry to keep it from sticking. He had succeeded for the most part, but when I walked over, I could see that not all the white specks on the navy wool were the knitted in snowflakes.

"Hey Luce," He said warmly, putting down the rolling pin. His fond tone immediately summoned a smile from me.

"Hi," I replied. I reached over to brush some flour from his rolled-up sleeve. "I see Mrs Cubbins caught you?"

Lockwood pulled me close and laughed, a sound that warmed me as much as the delicious smells in the kitchen did.

"Yeah, can't escape her watchful eyes. But I think I'm managing." He gestured to the spread out pastry on the counter.

"It doesn't look too bad, does it?"

"It looks perfect, Ducks," Mrs Cubbins soft voice rang out from the hidden basement door. She stood in the door opening. Her blonde hair was curly and streaked with silver grey strands she had gained with age. She was wearing one of George's floral aprons, and once again I was struck by the resemblance between her and her son. She was carrying two jars of mincemeat. We kept them in the storeroom in the basement, as it was the coolest place in the house. Mrs Cubbins had prepared a batch earlier this month and given us a couple of jars. George liked to use mincemeat for all kinds of desserts, and I enjoyed it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream now and then.

I had jumped at the sudden sound of Mrs Cubbins voice, feeling a bit caught, but Lockwood didn't even blink.

"I'm glad!" He told her, stepping aside to let her have a closer look.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against his side. He was in high spirits, and his good mood was as infectious as his enthusiasm on cases. I returned the side hug before stepping away. Since we'd started dating (officially anyway, George was quick to point out we had been acting like a couple basically from the moment I'd returned to the company) Lockwood took every excuse to touch me with both hands. I had taken longer to get used to our casual physical contact. My family wasn't exactly what you would call touchy-feely.

"Well, for now there is nothing left to do in the kitchen. You should go join your friends," Mrs Cubbins stated.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, there are no more preparation steps for side dishes left to do until the turkey is out of the oven. I'll be fine."
Lockwood accepted that answer, and Mrs Cubbins gently shooed us out of the kitchen. I closed the door behind us before Lockwood could see her pick up the rolling pin and turn back to his pastry.

Holly had joined George and Quill in the living room while I had gone to the kitchen, and the three of them were laughing when Lockwood and I came in. Even prim and proper Holly was wearing a Christmas jumper, but somehow she had turned the thing into a fashion statement.

"What's so funny?" I asked as I let myself drop onto the couch. Lockwood sat down next to me, and I shuffled over so we sat with our legs pressed against each other. George pointed to the sideboard where a charred skull looked into the room menacingly. The skull was the source of a vulgar ghost which had loved nothing more than whispering curses and homicidal thoughts into my ears. He leered and pulled gross faces to scare us and was overall unpleasant. He also saved Lockwood and me from an explosion in Fittes house and hadn't manifested since.

There was no change in that now, but someone (I suspected Holly) had put a Santa hat on it. I snickered as I imagined what the skull's opinion on that particular piece of decoration would've been. "He wouldn't have been happy about that."

"He was never happy about anything though, was he?" Lockwood pointed out.

"Not from what you told us," George agreed. "He was quite unpleasant overall if we are being honest."

"Yeah, for sure," I said, "yet I still miss him a little."

Holly gave me a sympathetic look. She never understood my attachment to the skull, but she knew I had started to view him as a friend. I hoped the skull knew as well, but I never explicitly told him. I glanced at the sideboard again, where the white pompom drooped in front of the skull's empty eye sockets.

Conversation flowed from the skull to reminiscing about the past year, to sharing stories of childhood Christmas celebrations. Lockwood went a little quiet during that, so I leant against his side as I told the others about how my sisters and I would make each other little gifts to put under our Christmas tree. He seemed to appreciate the small act of comfort.

After about an hour, Mrs Cubbins appeared in the door opening of the living room. She was still wearing the flowery apron, which was stained by now, and her face beamed with pride.

"Dinner is ready," she told us.

There was a true feast waiting for us as we entered the kitchen. The turkey was the steaming centre piece on the table, but it was surrounded by a wealth of delicious sides. I immediately spotted my pigs in blankets, but there were also roasted potatoes with herbs, a parsnip gratin, glazed carrots and sprouts, and Yorkshire pudding.

About a dozen or so mince pies waited on the countertop, to be baked later so we'd have a treat when we unpacked our presents. Lockwood had to go down to the basement to grab a folding chair so all six of us could sit around the table. It was a tight squeeze in our small kitchen, but nobody minded.

Mrs Cubbins handed George the meat knife and carving fork and gestured at the turkey. "The honour is yours, sweetie," she said. George took the utensils from his mother, and expertly carved the turkey, dishing out meat for each of us. Even Holly couldn't resist the golden meat, but she stuck to the vegetable-based side dishes to compensate.

After everyone had eaten their fill (and then some), we went back to the living room. I was feeling warm, full and delightfully dozy. Lockwood had claimed a spot on the couch so he could lounge, with his feet resting on the armrest. I knelt down in front of the hearth, taking some old newspapers from next to the basket of logs. It took me a few attempts, but eventually I got the fire going. The sound of crackling flames filled the living room as the flames warmed the air.

"Hey, Lucy?"

I looked up at the sound of Holly's voice. She was holding out a red cracker with a golden moose on it.

"My flatmate got two sets, so I thought I'd bring a few," she explained. "Want to have a go?"

"Might as well," I agreed.

I took the other end of the cracker and pulled. The cracker split apart with a crack, and left me with the larger end.

"You won," Holly said. "What's in it?"

I held the cracker upside down to let the prizes slide out. I got a blue paper crown, a joke, and two toys. The toys were two figurines, one in the shape of a classic sheet ghost, the other a puppet with a rapier in hand. I snorted and put them to the side so I could see the joke.

"What do you get when you cross Christmas with a duck?" I read aloud.

"Roast duck?" George suggested.

I let out a snort. "The answer is a 'Christmas Quacker', but I think yours works too," I replied. Quill let out a groan at the cheesy joke.

"Do you want to try one?" I asked Quill.

"Yeah, sure. Put the crown on, though. We're already wearing the jumpers, so we might as well go all in."

I won that one too, receiving another joke, a little cardboard jigsaw puzzle and a silver paper crown. As I was already wearing a crown, saggy as it was, I turned to the couch with a grin. Lockwood raised an eyebrow at me as I held up the tissue paper, but miraculously didn't complain when I walked over and carefully put it onto his head. It stayed in place better for him, held up by his dark curls.

"Budge over," I said, climbing over Lockwood's legs to lie down beside him. I was feeling full, warm, and delightfully cosy, and the warmth in my chest only spread when Lockwood wrapped his arm around my shoulders. George rolled his eyes at us, and I maturely stuck out my tongue at him. There was no further teasing, though. Nobody wanted to risk ruining the pleasant atmosphere with Mrs Cubbins around, and our friends were basking in the post-Christmas dinner glow as well.

In a while we would start unpacking the gifts, but for now we took the moment to relax. Something we rarely took the time to do. With my head resting on Lockwood's shoulder, I watched the lights in the Christmas tree, twinkling and glimmering between my lashes. There was a soft pop when Mrs Cubbins and George pulled a cracker, and we all snickered at the lame joke she read out a moment later.

Lockwood reached out to adjust the paper crown on my head and pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

"Happy Christmas, Luce," he whispered.

I turned my head so I could smile at him and then pressed my lips against his. Ignoring George's wolf whistle, I gave Lockwood my brightest grin.

"Happy Christmas"