Under the mistletoe – Part 1

Harriet:

I woke up on Christmas morning by the gentlest of caresses and when I opened my eyes I glanced into the smiling face of Sherlock Holmes.

"Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on my lips.

"Merry Christmas, dearest," I answered back, wrapping my arms around him.

From the corner of my eye, I could see something suspended above our bed and looking up I had to laugh at seeing the mistletoe hanging there. How he had managed to hang it up while I was sleeping next to him, I could not fathom, but nonetheless, there it was dangling from the ceiling held together by a bright red ribbon.

"You are impossible, Sherlock!"

"Hm, so I have been told." he mused, with the broadest of smiles lighting up his grey eyes.

Pulling me on top of him his smile turned mischievous: "But my wife is equally impossible. Impossible to resist at any rate."

"So, I take it you would like your Christmas gift?"

"Is that not obvious?"

"Very much so. The proof of it is quite evident in this instance." I replied, softly whispering in his ear. "And you are of course aware of what a mistletoe represents, are you not?"

"I am," he replied, his eyes hooded and the voice husky.

When we got up it was a bright winters day. The snow was glistening in the cold winter sun, the sky was wonderfully clear, so much different from the one in the middle of London, where the many fires of the houses seemed to constantly darken it during most of the cold season. Martha was already busy in the kitchen as was Tom, running errands for her all around the house all the while whistling a merry tune. Breakfast was but a quick affair, as I still had many preparations to make for our guests, even though it would be a rather informal gathering among friends. The table needed setting, the holly and mistletoe needed to be hung up and the stockings needed filling.

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock asked standing idly by and seeing I was already in the midst of it, polishing the glasses and knives.

"You seem to have a knack for hanging up foliage, so I would say take a ladder and knock yourself out," I replied, re-tying my apron as I had managed to catch it on the drawer handle of my sideboard where I was working presently.

"Only if it serves my purpose," he smirked.

"Ah, then I will make sure it will serve your purpose."

Stepping closer to me he whispered: "And how would you do that then?"

"Hm, you will have to find out. Perhaps a repetition of this morning? - See, there is a good boy." I teased, pecking him on the cheek, while Sherlock laughed heartily swiftly walking out of the house and over to the laundry to fetch the stepladder.

"And there you say I am impossible, wife dearest," he smirked as he returned.

We were so busy that we almost forgot how late it was and I hardly had time to change into something presentable, when there was a knock on our door and Mrs Hudson and Jane arrived, bringing Sherlock's violin with them – then again, they were more than an hour early to give us a hand. Of course! What else did I expect? Rushing upstairs to get changed I had barely finished buttoning up my dress, when the Watson's arrived as well making the party complete and quite a merry bunch. It was good at any rate to see Mary laugh again and laugh she did.

"No, you will sit, my dear." Mrs Hudson told me when I went to serve the food. "If your maid is good enough to show me around I will take care of it."

"But..."

"No, but, Mrs Holmes, you have been busy enough this morning."

I well knew this was meant in regards to the decorations and the preparations for the meal, yet I could not help blushing and glancing at my husband I saw he desperately tried to suppress a chuckle, which ended in a weird sounding cough.

"I hope you are not getting ill again." Doctor Watson remarked.

"No, I am perfectly well, thank you." Sherlock now had serious difficulty in staying serious.

Over our feast, the conversation ultimately touched the subject of our last case and all its tragedy but just when the topic had become too gloomy for such a cheerful occasion and I saw Mary's good mood about to turn I enquired: "My dear, surely you must have come across many odd cases. What was the most hilarious?"

"Oh, as Watson will tell you there have been many most peculiar and odd cases, but one case comes to mind, which will also be new to my good old Boswell here as it happened before I have met him and when I was only at the very beginning of my career."

It was obvious that the Doctor was most curious to hear about it as were the rest of us.

"It was in autumn of 1879 when I had my dingy singly chamber in Montague Street, that I was visited by a young widow who seemed to have an issue with a strange man in her house."

"Oh, I on occasion have an issue with a strange man in my house – particularly when he works with something containing sulphur..." Mrs Hudson remarked dryly at which we all laughed.

"Well, this man was perhaps not quite so strange, but no-one knew who he was. Yet he had been frequently seen on the upper floor of the house and one of the maids was convinced that he must be a ghost as every time he disappeared as suddenly and as noiselessly as he had come. She was quite scared by him. These 'sightings' occurred so frequently, that Mrs Bellinger, that was the young widow's name, at long last came to seek my help. - It was Lestrade who had sent her over as he was of the opinion that a ghost hardly fell into the responsibility of Scotland Yard."

"He might just have a point there."

"Till then I was also more or less under the impression they did not fall into my line of work either." Sherlock laughed. "But yes, Harriet, he of course was right, this had nothing to do with the police.

'Mr. Holmes,' Mrs Bellinger said looking rather timid as she entered my room one early morning in October of that year. 'I am quite at a loss as to what to do.'

'Then why don't you tell me your troubles?' I offered, acutely aware that the present state of my room was not exactly fit to ensure much trust."

At that, all of us had to chuckle. Sherlock, even though most meticulous in his dress and work, was rather prone to a bohemian lifestyle as I had found out in the few weeks of our marriage.

"I offered her a seat, which she reluctantly took and thus began her tale.

'I live near Oxford, Mr Holmes. About a year ago my husband died and even though he had secured me and our three children I thought it necessary to move into a somewhat smaller house outside of town. That was about four months ago. I took all my staff with me, apart from the governess I then employed as she wanted to stay close to her family which had lived nearby my former home. I was quite lucky to find a replacement quickly and ever since had little reason to regret my decision.'

'Till now?' I enquired as she fidgeted with her gloves.

'I still have no reason to be anything but satisfied with her work, and the children dote on her. My husband's death was very hard for my eldest and only son. She managed to put a smile back onto his face, but she also seems to have introduced some kind of secrecy into my household and I cannot help thinking that she might know more about what is going on than she tells.'

At this point, I was getting rather impatient and at the same time was most curious what she would tell me.

'At any rate,' Mrs Bellinger carried on, 'one morning a few weeks back one of the maids approached me and told me that upon ascending the stairs the previous night, she had seen a young man walk across the landing. But before she knew it, he had disappeared. I put it down to tiredness and did not pay much attention. You know how these things are, they read some Gothic novels and think it might happen for real. My cook, however, is a most grounded person and two weeks after the maid, she told me a similar story. That was the point when I began to take it more seriously. I had the servants search all of the house – but of course, there was no man anywhere to be found.'

'All of the house?' I dug deeper.

'Yes, from top to bottom.'

'Did you check the closets?'

She replied that they had searched the closets as well as every other furniture big enough to contain a grown person."

"So I presume they had checked underneath the beds as well?" Mary piped up.

"Yes, no man anywhere in sight. But he was seen again and one night Mrs Bellinger herself saw him, too.

'My youngest, who is but one was ill with getting teeth and I decided to have a look and see how she was faring. I saw a young man cross the landing on tiptoes and disappear.'

'Can you describe him?' I enquired.

'Not thoroughly, but he has short dark hair, is clean shaven and of medium hight. About two or three inches shorter than you are.'

'What age would you take him to be?'

'He is rather young, but in the dim light of the landing I could not make him out properly. He might be anything from eighteen to his early thirties.'

'Built?'

'Quite lean and nimble.'

Now, this described any number of men and I decided to go down to Oxford the next day to have a look around myself."

"Why did you not go with her straight away?" I asked.

"Because I had an appointment elsewhere which I did not want to put off."

"A lady?" I grinned at his fairly sheepish expression. Seeing that his smile was still disarming he must have been extremely handsome when he was younger. I would not have been surprised to hear that many a young lady had swooned over him. Not that he was not still a good looking man, quite the contrary even, but I knew he could be somewhat austere at times.

"No," he replied, however. "I was to meet with my father."

At this, all of us gaped at him. Till then I had been under the impression that Sherlock's father had died when both brothers were still in their childhood, but it seemed I was wrong. Mrs Hudson alone did not seem overly surprised.

"Your father?" Watson looked as astonished as me.

"Yes."

"But I – Holmes when did he die? You never said a word. I thought he had died a long time ago. Why did you never share your grief?"

"Because my father is not dead, Watson. He is alive and well."

Now, this was a Christmas surprise indeed to find out I had a father in law.

"Where does he live?" I managed to ask after several instances of bewildered silence.

"He lived in Egypt for the past several years, working as an archaeologist."

"Lived?" I dug deeper.

"Currently he is touring through Europe on his way back to England, last I heard of him, he was in Greece. - That was last August." Sherlock looked anything but comfortable. "He is due to arrive in England by May or June the next year."

"So you are in contact with him?"

"Infrequently, but yes." glancing at me he smiled wearily. "Are you angry with me, my dear?"

"No, only very much surprised," I admitted truthfully.

There were many questions forming at the back of my mind, but none that I thought appropriate to ask there and then. Instead, I reminded him, that he was about to tell a story and that all of us were quite curious about how it would commence.