Mrs. Hudson's Christmas Ritual
Genre: Family
Pairings: All background
Main characters: Mrs. Hudson, Greg, ensemble background
"Is the wine properly mulled, Gregory?" Mrs. Hudson inquired, as she stopped in on the kitchen in 221C.
"I believe it's close, Mrs. H," was the gruff teddy bear reply. "It smells nearly right, I reckon. But would you be so kind, if I might impose upon you," he said, as he rose from his chair to join her in the kitchen, "to give it a little test, just to… you know… make SURE?" He wrapped his arms around their beloved elderly landlady from behind, giving her a solid bear hug. Mrs. Hudson blushed slightly and laughed, leaning back into his friendly embrace.
"Well, I might, in the interests of my little brood," she replied with a warm giggle. "Ah Gregory, you do know how to charm a girl into drink, even if she's…"
"Our matriarch?" he said with a grin, as he released her and reached for a heavy goblet. "This is an old Lestrade family recipe, and I've kept it secret from everyone save for Morrie. He's a bit of a scamp but he can keep a secret, that boy."
"I hope you've made a children friendly version for my grandbabies," she said, hopefully. "I'd hate for them to miss out merely because they're underaged?"
"Sherlock has worked out a wassail with the same proportions of whole spices and flavour profiles and such, no worries. He assures me it's as close as can be gotten to mulled wine. Ciana and Greer have been waiting for hours for it, just because they've been promised it'll taste the same as their daddies' drinks. The boys are a bit more patient but I know they're looking forward to Christmas eve with it."
"And our traditional storytelling too?" Mrs. Hudson said, hopefully. "Oh, it just isn't Christmas without my Baker Street boys, and Kieran and Phillip… and my girls, telling the story! It's going to be so lovely, Greg. Your story, and the warm drinkies, and the fire. Oh and the little ones in their pajamas…"
"It's to be Christmas Eve as always," Greg reassured her.
Later that eve, with hearts and spirits full to the brim, with A Christmas Carol told only the way Greg, John, Sherlock, Kieran, Phillip, and their wives could tell it… warm spiced bedtime nightcaps for young and old alike, cozy pajamas and a yuletide fire to make anyone who wasn't already soothed towards slumber lean towards it with contentment, the collective families and friends of 221 Baker Street turned in.
One flat, and one bed at a time, Mrs. Hudson was the last to turn in. First, she had her own little ritual.
One by one, she silently padded into each bedroom in her house, tucking in, and placing soft kisses goodnight upon the sleeping cheeks of both young and old, parent and child.
"Happy Christmas, my loves," she softly whispered to each of them.