Prompt: Greenery, from Riandra

It was near the end of the first year I had spent sharing rooms with Dr. Watson when he approached me somewhat shyly, as if hesitant for some reason to raise a question to me. I have not the slightest idea why he should be, as I thought I had been most considerate of him this past year, but considering it had taken him nearly two months before he endeavored to ask me what I did for a living (after I had provided ample evidence!) I must assume he is either unwilling in the extreme to chance even the slightest offense or he is truly intimidated by me.

"Holmes," he asked. "Do you not intend to put up a Christmas tree?"

This was hardly the question I had expected, as I had thought he would ask rather about the scalpel that had turned up in the toast at breakfast this morning. I confess I had hardly noticed the season, as the change from autumn to winter can hardly have any effect on me save how it affects the criminal element of the city. The same is true for Christmas, a day known for its lack of crime, as even the most hardened criminals take the day to celebrate. I usually set it aside for study so I would not have to involve myself in pointless Christmas gatherings. "I had not thought of it," I said aloud. "I hardly notice Christmas, Doctor. Such celebrations are of little use to me. I intend to spend the day at my chemistry table."

"Oh," Watson said, and I am certain he looked disappointed. "Of course I understand…for those without family, perhaps it is better to skip the day altogether."

I was not entirely without family, but Mycroft is, if anything, less inclined to mark a meaningless day than I am. It is due to him that the Diogenes Club is the only London club that remains open to its members on Christmas Day. Watson, however, did not yet know of Mycroft's existence, and would not until Mycroft decided he would allow the interruption to his routine so I might introduce them. He is most annoyingly obtuse sometimes.

"Still, I was rather looking forward to the cheer of the holiday season," Watson said. "Would you mind terribly if I found a tree for us? It would brighten the room considerably."

This must be what is meant by compromise when sharing rooms. I could see no purpose to bringing into our sitting room a slowly dying pine tree, covering it with various hanging objects and melting candles, to put presents under for one day. Yet I could hardly refuse to allow my fellow lodger to engage in such a common pastime. As long as I did not have to go out and purchase the tree myself. "You may bring in whatever you wish, Watson. These are your rooms too," I said carelessly. I had much more important things to worry about than Christmas trees.

Though Watson did look so very happy at my agreement I could hardly regret it. He is extraordinarily easy to please, and difficult to anger. Both are in my favor, as any man who can happily live with the constant smells of chemicals and asks only a few pieces played on my violin in recompense is far, far better than I expected when I first agreed to share rooms.

Watson had not gone out much during the last year, due to his injuries from his service in Afghanistan, and less so in winter, so I was surprised one day to awake and find him already gone. It was some few hours before he returned, directing a delivery into our sitting room. I hastily moved aside as a large pine tree made its way into our small shared space. "Over there, in the corner, perhaps," Watson directed the delivery fellow. "Oh…there is not much space, is there?"

"No matter," the fellow said, setting the tree down heavily in the only free corner of the room, where it seemed to tower over the furniture.

"It must be eight feet tall at least," Watson said happily.

"Eight point two," I said. "I measured the ceilings when I moved in."

"Did you wish to see how many boxes of criminal evidence you could pile on top of each other?" Watson asked. I confess to an ungentlemanly splutter of laughter. Watson's sense of humor is always unexpected, and I have yet to grow used to his sudden displays of wit. Though I must admit to myself I enjoy them. I could not live with someone utterly humorless. Besides, his observation was entirely correct. I am very untidy. It is a vice, one of many.

The tree seemed a robust specimen, and we simply gazed at it for a moment. Against the wood grain of the walls, its greenery seemed bright and stood out all the more. "I told you it would cheer the room," Watson said.

"Do you not usually decorate it?" I asked.

Watson's face fell slightly. "I was unable to find ornaments," he said. "I suppose we shall have to make do with only a tree."

Perhaps it is because I was bored, my last case having been two weeks prior. My mind, when starved of work, will latch onto any problem it is presented, and this seemed as good a distraction as any. "I do not think we shall have to do that," I said. "I am sure I have some string somewhere, and as for ornaments, well, anything will do for that." It was not as if anyone other than ourselves and Mrs. Hudson would see the tree, after all. I went in search of string and returned with that object and a box full of criminal relics.

"I am sure some of these will make do as ornaments," I said. "You see, Watson, this brooch featured in one of my first cases…as did this bullet casing. And this knife was the very first time a man attempted to stab me."

"Holmes, do you mean to use criminal artifacts as ornaments on our Christmas tree?" Watson asked incredulously.

"Not entirely," I said. "I also have some test tubes which will do nicely. We must make do, after all."

Watson stared at me for a moment before breaking into laughter. "In that case," he said. "I am certain I have some artifacts from my time in India we can add…I might even have some left over from medical school."

Soon we had a tree decorated with various items associated with crime, including a paste stone that had been swapped for a real jewel from my first case involving the nobility, and an identification badge from Scotland Yard as well as some exotic feathers Watson had picked up in his travels and his old medical head light from his days at St. Bart's. We stepped back and surveyed our work.

"Well, it is certainly the most unusual tree I have ever seen," Watson said.

"Indeed, I far prefer this to the usual decorations of angels and snowflakes," I said. It had been rather fun, especially as I was without a case, and the tree looked nice enough in its place in the corner. "That was not such a bad idea, Watson."

Watson nodded, smiling, then said, "Next year let's get some real ornaments, shall we, Holmes?"

"Yes, I think so," I said. "I hardly want Lestrade to come here, see his badges on our tree, and realize that I pickpocket him." One must stay in practice, though I did not explain this as Watson simply laughed uproariously.

Perhaps I shall take some time out of my studies on Christmas Day after all, to enjoy Christmas dinner and play some carols, especially since Watson has no plans either. It would hardly do to ignore the fellow, on Christmas Day no less.