"Watson!" Holmes called excitedly, "I solved it!"
John Watson lowered the book he was reading, a frown turning down his lips for just a moment. "Oh! I, well, congratulations, Holmes... which case would that be?"
"The one you've been pestering me about, Watson. I've solved it, though I hardly think it was as complex as you seem to. The problem was really quite elementary." Holmes took a seat in his chair, leaning back and lighting his pipe.
"My dear Holmes, I have no doubt I am quite obtuse, but I'm afraid I haven't the slightest clue what you are referring to. Which case have I been pestering you to solve?"
Holmes grunted around his pipe, and reached into the pocket of his dressing gown. He pulled out a handsome red book with gilded lettering and threw it to Watson carelessly. "That one. You've been telling me to read it every Christmas for three years now. Really, Watson, you ought to have told me it was a mystery! I was very put off by the idea it was a ghost story like it says, but the author was really quite clever. I'm sure most people who read the book were completely taken in, but of course all the clues were there, and I have solved it. It wasn't the most stimulating mystery, but quite suitable to relieve a few hours of boredom."
"Holmes," Watson said slowly, "you solved the mystery in… A Christmas Carol?"
"Yes, Watson, do keep up. It was you who asked me to read the thing."
"This book... Holmes, A Christmas Carol is not a mystery. It really is a ghost story."
Holmes snorted. "Oh please, Watson, don't tell me you believe that."
"Well, what is the mystery?" Watson asked. "I don't recall there being one."
"Don't recall? Watson, the whole thing is the mystery! What were the so-called ghosts? Who was behind it all? What was the motive? You read the whole thing and never stopped to ask yourself those simple questions? I'm quite aware of your soft spot for literature, but I really did think you'd risen above the masses on this occasion."
"And you believe there's an answer to those questions?" Watson demanded a bit more testily then he intended.
"Of course. Don't you?"
"No, Holmes. It is a ghost story of Christmas, and I have no reason to believe there is any mystery to it at all. The supernatural, yes, but not mystery. There was no human hand involved."
"Come now, Watson. You can't think of anything even now that I've explained to you there was, indeed, more to that book then meets the eye?"
"No, Holmes. I'm afraid I cannot."
"Very well, then. I will give you the most vital clue, and we will see if you can glean any new insights from it."
"Please do."
"Very well, then. I shall refresh your memory of the tale by mentioning that Ebeneezer Scrooge had a sister."
"I do recall that," Watson said, "but doesn't she die previous to the events of the story?"
"Leaving behind Fred, Scrooge's nephew and only living relative," Holmes confirmed.
"So how could she have possibly been the culprit?"
"I did not say she was the culprit, Watson, I said she is the most vital clue."
"I'm afraid you must explain, Holmes."
"With pleasure. So, we have Fan Scrooge, Ebeneezer Scrooge's beloved younger sister. She is kind and devoted to her unhappy brother, and leaves behind a son, Fred, who also possesses a joyful soul and a devotion to his uncle, as evidenced by his visit to the old man at Christmas despite years of rebuff. Perhaps this devotion was, indeed, his own generous nature, but it also could be for his mother's sake, or even motivated by his own interests. Scrooge makes mention that Fred is a poor man, after all, and doubtless he would have been hopeful, upon Scrooge's passing, that his uncle's fortune would come to him, his last living relative, but he couldn't be sure of the fact, for the old man was eccentric and aloof."
"I see," said Watson. "Please, carry on."
"On the other hand," Holmes said, puffing on his pipe, "we have Bob Cratchit. Cratchit is overworked, underpaid, and desperate to help his young, crippled son. He needs his employer to not only give him a raise, but also to be more liberal with his time off. Bob Cratchit is not a bad person, but he is at the end of his proverbial rope."
"So… Bob Cratchit was behind the supernatural occurrences?"
"So," Holmes said, rubbing his hands together and ignoring Watson's remark, "we have young Fred, eager to have a loving uncle as well as a large inheritance, and Bob Cratchit, who needs funds lest his young child should die. These two men come into contact every time Fred comes to visit his uncle, which may not be often but is enough that the two recognize and sympathize with each other. Enough, perhaps, for the two to form a kind of alliance, each striving to meet their own ends. It was those two together, Watson, who masterminded the whole night."
"How could they have summoned a spirit, Holmes?" Watson asked, clearly disbelieving his friend's theory.
"They needn't 'summon' anything, Watson. Remember, won't you, that 'darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.' An old man, living in a large, dark house, hardened from years of routine and loneliness? It wouldn't have taken much, Watson, to fool him into seeing anything you liked."
"A magic lantern, you mean?"
"Yes, Watson. Smoke and mirrors. One person would operate it, the other would supply the voices, movements, and anything else needed to make it seem real. Fred, of course, would know something of the sad history of Ebeneezer Scrooge, and Bob Cratchit would know particulars about the lending house business as well as be able to use his own family's sad story to evoke an emotional reaction from his employer."
"Surely, Holmes, Scrooge would know he was being deceived."
"Perhaps, but remember, Watson, that Scrooge—despite all the hate in his heart— was really an old, lonely, and vulnerable man. Moreover, he was a man who was not at home anywhere, not even in his own home. It would have been easy to hide something or other in one of his large, dark, empty rooms to use for their purposes. There may even have been hallucinogens involved, for even Scrooge would have needed to eat and drink, and I doubt he was preparing his own tea, or pouring his own glass of water if he was that cheap. Bob Cratchit could have readily slipped him something, not to kill him but to help change him. Any discrepancies in Scrooge's visions and reality would be dismissed on the grounds of it being a supernatural experience."
John Watson touched a couple fingers to one of his temples. "I suppose that makes sense," he murmured.
"And their plot went off without a snag!" Holmes exclaimed. "They frightened the poor man out of his wits, and gained a better man for their efforts. I thought the author was quite crafty in creating their characters: Fred and Cratchit are the kind of men who could be dangerous criminals, and yet they are not. Instead, they are the kind of men I would likely release if I caught them, and that is what I liked about the novel. It was a clever crime, and yet the reader was completely on the side of the criminals. It wasn't my favorite mystery, but I may be inclined to read it again sometime."
Watson picked up the book, flipping through it quickly. "Holmes… I suppose you may be right…" he rubbed his forehead.
"Watson..."
"If it really was smoke and mirrors then that would be…"
"Watson!"
The Doctor looked up at him.
Holmes' smile was wide. "Watson, don't bother yourself thinking about it so hard. It's just a ghost story of Christmas!" Holmes laughed at him, and after a moment of confusion Watson joined him.
"Ah, Merry Christmas, Watson," Holmes sighed when the laughter had died down.
"And as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, every one!"
Merry Christmas, everyone!
For the prompt from goodpenmanship: smoke and mirrors.
Note: this story (and my own story where Holmes meets Scrooge!) was inspired by "The Adventure of the Three Ghosts" by Loren D. Estlemen, wherein Holmes and Watson meet a few characters from A Christmas Carol.