Prompt: A case involving a reindeer
From: Hades Lord of the Dead
A/N: A bit of swearing in this from our fave Inspector! And this story just deteriorated into silliness; I did not plan for it to be so random! Hope you all enjoy regardless! 😊 Especially since the last prompt response was rather gruesome.
I do not own Holmes, Lestrade, Holmes, Santa, Mycroft or Sweeny Todd. They belong to whomever they belong to. I do, however, own Anthea. But she is not BBC Anthea 😉
...
Holmes swore as his boots strayed onto a treacherous patch of black ice, sending him flying headfirst into a snowdrift on Fleet Street.
"Are you alright, Holmes?" I asked cautiously, looking down at my friend, who quickly pulled his now red face away from the miniature snowbank and glared me with the deadly glare of a python and a grumpy Siamese cat combined.
"What does it look like, Doctor?" He hissed sarcastically, shaking snow from his muffler before flailing his legs in the air in a futile manner to loosen himself from Winter's hold. "For a medical man, you are not doing a remotely competent assessment of any potential injuries I may have sustained."
"Ignore him, Doctor Watson." Lestrade said perkily, re-joining us with a smug smirk on his face at Holmes' plight. "I say, Holmes, keep those legs moving and we could stick you in with the other reindeer!"
I laughed. "Yes, with those knees, Holmes, you'd pass for a reindeer well enough! Imagine him teaching Blitzen and Rudolph the finer points of tobacco identification!"
"Or how to deduce!" Chortled the inspector, gleefully as we helped Holmes to his feet again. My friend looked very miffed at me as I gave him a friendly smile. His eyes flashed with a brief look of hurt as he strode onwards as though nothing had happened, aquiline nose held in the air as nobly as his French ascendants.
I will confess, dear reader, I was feeling a tad guilty for teasing Holmes about his knobbly knees. This had become a serious matter to his pride when going away to the coast on holiday, and he was very self-conscious about the matter whenever I had to see to anything medical related on his legs.
Judging from his reaction, he would soon forget I had said anything- unless he was angered and hurt I mentioned a point of his embarrassment in front of the good Inspector.
"Don't worry, Watson- Holmes will be back to normal- or as normal as he can be- in a short time." Lestrade said quietly.
I nodded. My friend was one for theatrics, certainly, but I was also concerned I had genuinely hurt his feelings- even if only on a small scale.
...
About 15 minutes later, we did the unthinkable crime against humanity. We committed the one sin we as police and medical professionals had vowed never to commit. We had broken our oath to the preservation of man's sanity.
We had lost Sherlock Holmes.
"Dammit! Where is he?" Lestrade growled, brown, rat like orbs scanning the street. "We can't have lost him already!"
"We have, Lestrade. We can't escape such a travesty to humanity." I replied. I knew when Holmes was on a case, he was a living, breathing danger to the sanity of anyone who crossed his path. Especially if he was peeved about his knees.
"Who the hell puts us through this torture anyway?" Growled Lestrade.
"Well, it certainly isn't someone writing out our lives, Lestrade. Come, we must see if Holmes has found any leads into Cupid's disappearance." I pointed out, running down Fleet Street.
...
Lestrade's turn to slip on the ice came when he accidentally missed a step and his left foot came away from him- sending him crashing into me, sending us both to the snow-covered cobblestones.
"Well, well, well, Mr. Claus, don't my friends look unusual?" a familiar voice asked smugly, and I blushed in embarrassment. "Do you think, perhaps, with the correct leg kinesthetics, that they might be able to join your reindeer in pulling your sleigh round the world?"
"Holmes, what are you doing?" I asked wearily, my cheeks blushing bright red. I shall pretend it is too cold to be pale, and not because Holmes was going to pay us out for teasing him earlier.
"I saved Mr. Santa Claus from paying a wrong visit to that barber down there." Holmes replied, pointing to the shop in question with his walking stick before leaning on it with his left hand; his other resting on Santa Claus' shoulder.
"Mr. Todd?" Asked Lestrade in bemusement. "What the devil has this to do with the missing reindeer?"
"Well, my dear Inspector, young Tobias, one of my Irregulars, also works in that shop, and he fears that man greatly. He is right to distrust the name Sweeny Todd." My friend said darkly. "But whilst I have been saving the life of Mr. Claus, what have you gentlemen been up to, hm?" He asked, an impish look lightening his features.
I would have clubbed him round the head if it were not for the Inspector's presence; though I am certain Lestrade would also feel my sentiments on the subject.
"Well, we managed to achieve ice skating without skates?" Lestrade offered weakly.
"Something I had accomplished before you, gentlemen." Holmes reminded us, his smug smile widening a bit.
"We did it in doubles!" I defended, though I was wondering why I was bothering now. Holmes would probably make some ill-mannered quip about the pair of us being even more incompetent combined than he alone.
"Well, my sincere congratulations, Watson, for your combined efforts to claim first prize in making absolute fools of yourselves in the London public with only ice and poor timing. I knew you always had potential in you for such a feat, Lestrade."
Lestrade growled.
"I say!" Exclaimed Santa. "Is this how all you chaps behave?"
"Well, Holmes and Lestrade like to make fun of each other," I answer dryly. "Holmes is a very devilishly clever fellow, but he has all the humour of some impish creature. I swear he must be"-
"HE'S ADOPTED!" Yelled Mycroft, who had appeared from seemingly nowhere.
"What are you doing here, Mycroft?!" Holmes asked his brother, glaring at him. Mycroft vanished as quickly as he came, yelling 'RAINBOW KITTENS LOVE MINCE PIES!"
"That doesn't normally happen." I said apologetically. "Mycroft's far more reserved than this."
"I see." Santa replied.
"What the deuce is going on?" Asked Lestrade. "This sort of thing wasn't happening earlier!"
"Must be a paradox." I mused. "Or it could be some unknown force writing out our lives as if we were actors. If so, then has our whole lives just been controlled as though we were nothing more than mere puppets."
"If so, then this force is being bloody immature." Lestrade answered darkly, glaring at Holmes who was trying to stifle his laughter.
...
In the end, we found out who took the missing reindeer (it was Comet, for those of you still reading this bizarre twist on events.)
No, Comet didn't steal himself. I meant he was the reindeer who got stolen.
One of Mycroft's mince pie eating, rainbow kittens had taken him.
"Well, Mycroft, your kitten is very...cute," I said, uncertainly.
"I call her Anthea!" Mycroft said happily, feeding her another mince pie. "Someday, Anthea, we will rule all of Great Britain!"
"Should we be worried, Holmes?" I asked my friend, watching as Santa harnessed Comet to his sleigh and drove away, breaking some sort of speed barrier as he did so- no doubt anxious to get away before we drive him to insanity.
Holmes had doubled over in laughter, his eyes watering from mirth. "No, no, my dear Watson. We'll leave him to it. If need be, I have a walking stick. It'd be nice to use some minor violence on my brother without getting a nagging from Mother."
"Holmes!"
"You, Watson, are no fun at all." He sniffed, folding his arms.
Well, I suppose maybe there was one thing worse than losing Sherlock Holmes on a case when he's peeved about his knobbly knees.
It's losing Mycroft Holmes and his entire litter of mince pie eating rainbow kittens inside Buckingham Palace.