From W. Y. Traveller: One of the 221B residents goes undercover
I had been against the idea when it was first proposed, but now I saw Watson decked out in the red suit and boots, I could not help but laugh in delight.
"What?" He lifted away his white beard to inspect himself anxiously. "Is something wrong with it?"
"No, not at all," I chuckled. "The effect is... impressive!"
"Ah." He settled his beard back onto his face, so that the only part of him someone might recognise were his eyes. "You think I'll fool them?"
"Hmm." I tilted my head and considered what I might think if I were an Irregular. "The costume is up to scratch, certainly."
"But my performance is not?" He suggested wryly. "I told you it wouldn't be. Maybe you should do it."
"No, thank you," I responded firmly. I cared for those children in my employ, but I could never countenance dressing up as Father Christmas for them; some things were too much, even for me. "I think they shall be so carried away with the effect of the costume that all you will need is to change your voice somehow."
"Whit abit thes? Am nae sure- What is so funny, Holmes?" He dropped back from a Scotsman into a disapproving Englishman as soon as he saw me smiling.
"It's just I have usually only heard you speak in your native Scots on a handful of occasions. Mostly when you have had a touch too much to drink..."
He blushed beneath his beard, so that his face matched his costume. "Ahem, yes, well. Do you think it will work? A Scottish Santa Claus?"
"Well," I said with an affected graveness. "There is only one way to find out. Are you ready to go undercover?"
He lifted the bag of presents we had wrapped with Mrs Hudson the evening before, and nodded grimly. In his Scottish accent he ordered, "Send 'em up, Mr Holmes."
"Straight away, Mr Claus," I replied, and went to do just that.