From mrspencil: a Christmas concert

My cane steadied me around an overturned trash bin. Young voices hinted at hidden Christmas fun nearby, but nothing in this alley resembled the holiday. Between the pallets stacked over my head and the haphazard collection of boxes one of the shopkeepers had thrown out—not to mention the debris every alley contained—only firm concentration kept me on my feet. Our plan would fail the moment I tripped.

"I still cannot believe you are making me do this."

Or when Holmes's grousing gave away our presence. I never looked up from my cautious pace.

"I'm not making you do anything," I answered shortly. I had tired of his grumbling an hour ago. "Go home if you like."

A harrumph carried through the quiet, but he stayed behind me, as I had known he would. His complaints came more from a desire to be contrary than any true irritation. I carefully avoided a stack of boxes to reach the pallets Archie had indicated hid a serviceable ladder, then stopped and faced him. He either joined me, or he went home, but further griping after we left the ground would only get us caught. Did he intend to keep his word?

Yes, that sigh said. He steadied me to the jagged roof, then handed up both cases before scaling the ladder himself. The voices below us never paused despite my occasional stumble. Holmes would probably have something to say about us being able to walk above their heads without detection.

Not that he would address it now. Carefully avoiding the windows that could reveal our presence still reached my chosen alcove with plenty of time to spare, and my gesture sent Holmes toward the opposite side. He could move faster without waiting for me.

Provided he moved. Archie would reach his position in only a few minutes, but Holmes turned with me, following despite my glare until I settled beside a rarely used window. Only then did he dart across the roof much faster than anyone could consider safe.

And still the voices below us never changed. A loud question echoed off the brick. Jimmy yelled something about Doris saving the snowball fights for when they had snow. Nicholas wandered beneath my window to work some number problem in a convenient patch of dirt. I needed to remind Holmes to help me find that boy the next mathematics textbook.

Later, though. Nicholas finished his problem and wandered off as a raised bow confirmed Holmes ready, but I merely listened. Archie's alcove could not see either of ours. He would determine when we started.

There. A single, clear tone faintly pierced the clamor below. My own raised bow readied Holmes, and a slow count of five sent the first notes drifting across the roof.

To no reaction. One of the littles released a happy squeal. A girl's ball bounced beneath my window. One of the older boys called something about behaving for Father Christmas.

Then the first child noticed the music. Silence abruptly fell just below me, then an urgent whisper rippled that quiet outward. The entire courtyard stilled one child at a time, each listening to the soft carol Holmes, Archie, and I played on their roof. Two measures identified the song before a hesitant voice provided the lyrics.

"It came upon a midnight clear…"

Another voice joined, then a third. By the end of the first verse, every child old enough to know the lyrics sang along, and slow steps wandered ever closer until Doris stopped directly beneath my window. Her wide grin never hampered her singing even as one hand waved the others closer. This had thoroughly surprised them.

Good. That made Archie's idea a success. More and more children crowded beneath my window—and probably Holmes' and Archie's as well—and resounding applause met the song's end.

"Come inside, Doctor!"

"It's warmer in here!"

"Tell Mr. Holmes to get in here, too! I've heard Archie practice enough to identify another violin in the mix!"

I waved a laughing agreement, but their noise only increased when Holmes again darted across the uneven roof faster than I could put my viola away.

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Mr. Holmes!"

"Thank you for the Christmas carol, Mr. Holmes!"

"We like your music!"

"You made a lot of children very happy today."

He rolled his eyes at my quiet words, though, to his credit, he did wait until the children now scattering to meet us at the entrance could not see him. We both knew he would never have planned this alone.

"Humbug."

"Scrooge." My smile leaked into my tone. "You know they will want more carols as soon as we get inside."

"You and Archie can handle that."

I shook my head, feigning a disappointment I failed to "hide" in managing the ladder. "Archie is not practiced enough to play more than a few songs."

His frown suggested he had not heard that part of the conversation—to my relief. While Archie did not know half as many songs that Holmes and I did, I had been pleasantly surprised at how many he did know without sheet music.

But he would never match Holmes as a concert partner, especially since Holmes and I had played together many times over the years. We would be able to keep time with each other rather than me keeping time with Archie, and each of us knew far better versions of the songs than Archie's young fingers could yet play. The boy nearly bounced up the alley before Holmes could form a reply.

"They loved it!"

"Yes, they did." A hand on his shoulder acknowledged a well thought gift—and tried to calm him somewhat. Such rapid movements risked damaging the violin despite its case. "You gave them a very nice Christmas present."

"Archie!"

"Mr. Holmes!"

"That was some good playin', Doctor!"

The entire courtyard mobbed us two steps past the entrance, each excitedly announcing their surprise, their thanks, and how "amazing" it had been to have music come from the sky. Several dozen Irregulars made conversation impossible for long seconds.

"Thank Archie," I told them once they quieted enough to let me respond. "He came to the flat today to ask if we would help with his Christmas present. Several months' work went into that song."

He flushed, but a near chorused "thank you, Archie!" only widened his grin. They peppered him with questions long enough for me to reach the closest table.

"Holmes?"

And press my friend for his answer. The shortened question tore his gaze away from the gathered Irregulars, but his resulting scowl emerged more than half feigned. He did not dislike this as much as he let on.

"What?"

I merely raised an eyebrow. I had opened my viola cases on the table beside me. He did not need me to voice such an obvious question.

Though he had apparently wanted me to ask it, however silently. A hesitation more for show than true indecision finally produced a "grudging" nod, and he pulled his own instrument from its case.

"More moosic?" To immediately catch one child's attention. Young Macy scurried away from the others, wide eyes on the viola I lifted from its case. "More moosic, Doctor? Pwease?"

Holmes' mouth twitched, but I could not restrain a chuckle. "Would you like more music?"

She nodded eagerly. "Moosic pretty. Fun. Sing along. Full joy noise."

"Singing is a joyful noise," I agreed. With so many young Irregulars this year, it was certainly more noise than tune. "We can do a few more. Which song would you like?"

Macy's deep thought became a frown far too serious to produce anything but a smothered smile. "Holly Ivy?"

I knew that one, and a glance ensured Holmes did as well. Macy bounded to where the others had only just noticed our actions.

"Holly Ivy more moosic! Shh!"

Holmes released a noise suspiciously like an aborted laugh, but the order served its purpose. The group around Archie finally broke to surround our table, and childish voices rang off cobblestone as every Irregular joined the tune. That song's end produced another request, which led into many, many more.

And not once, during the hours that followed, did I catch Holmes with anything other than a smile turning his mouth. He might not prefer most of the holiday favorites, but he enjoyed treating the Irregulars just as much as I liked Christmas.

As evidenced by the smirking initial bar of "Yankee Doodle" meant only to make the youngest children announce "that's not a Christmas song, Mr. Holmes!"

For more on Archie, see Smoke #18: Steal the Show (1900ish)

For more on Watson playing the viola, see The Gift of Music (1895) for Holmes giving him the instrument, or the other stories in that timeframe for how Holmes learns of the lack and decides to help. There's a timeline on my profile or, as always, feel free to ask.

The Holly and the Ivy is a song published in "A Good Christmas Box, a collection of carols" by G Walters in 1847. It dates back far more years than we can now trace it.

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