25th December prompt from Wordwielder: A gift exchange.
Exchange
There's a fire's burning bright in the parlour;
Outside, there's a light fall of snow,
Which muffles the sound of the cab wheels
And footsteps which rise from the cobbles below.
A tree, slightly battered, but cheery,
With gifts, also battered, beneath.
The light flickers round the room, resting
On candles and test tubes and bats and noose wreath.
Three people, three tea cups, three breakfasts;
Poached eggs and smoked salmon, a treat,
Are about to start unwrapping presents;
Together once more in their home; Baker Street.
For someone has bought Watson's practice,
And Holmes has returned from the dead,
Which means Mrs H has her tenants again…
There's excitement and friendship and danger ahead.
At Holmes' signal, they share out the presents;
Untying each off-kilter bow;
Quite perfect till Toby had scattered the lot,
But that's how a Baker Street Christmas should go.
Mrs H gets a posh Sunday bonnet,
With trimmings in navy and white;
And a set of new needles for knitting,
With yarn for a cardigan, sober not bright.
Holmes gets a pouch of tobacco,
And a deerstalker hat, Harris tweed,
While Watson receives a new journal and pen
It seems the companions have all that they need.
Except…they look round at each other;
Identical looks in their eyes;
They're useful and thoughtful and fitting, perhaps
But who wants a present that brings no surprise?
"Tobacco's a great antiseptic…"
States Watson, "perhaps, my dear chap,
You'd let me look after this fine leather pouch,
Prepared for adventures and any mishap"
"That bonnet" states Holmes, "is precisely
The type that would suit my next case.
Perhaps I could borrow it, for my disguise;
It's neatly designed for concealing the face"
"Your deer stalker," Mrs H swiftly replies,
"Looks elegant, cosy and warm.
When heading to market on mid winter days,
It would keep out the cold in a gale or snow storm.
And your journal, dear doctor, is perfect, I think
For writing the week's shopping list.
I know I'd sleep better not thinking about
Those items I've somehow forgotten or missed."
"Mrs Hudson," states Watson, in tentative tones;
He seems to be blushing, a bit.
"I wondered about your new needles and wool,
You see, my dear Mary…she taught me to knit."
"Your new pen, my dear fellow, would be just the thing."
This from Holmes, as he eyes up the gift.
"For writing my next learned treatise on mud;
How quickly it dries, and how fine it can sift."
Three grins, then three glasses of port are raised up;
The perfect solution is clear.
They take back the presents they bought for their friends,
And vow to repeat the same, year upon year.
~0~