December 25: "Lestrade invites a bereaved Watson to dinner with his family." (from KnightFury)

Lestrade

Of all those I have met in my lifetime, Dr. Watson was one of the most optimistic. Even during the bleakest of cases, the man always seemed to be able to not only see the positive side of the situation, but to allow others to see it as well.

He was also one of the more sociable fellows I've known, able to strike up a conversation with nearly anyone who came into his path, and leave them in a better mood than before he met them.

But during the latter months of 1893, after the good Doctor had been deprived of both his best friend and his loving wife, this was not so. Watson was quiet, when I chanced to speak with him, which was not often, for he mostly kept himself to himself. Watson had apparently ceased to socialize, to write, and to laugh. Several months earlier, I had suggested that he apply for work as a police surgeon—partially because the work would be good for him, and partially because we at the Yard could keep a closer eye on him—but before he took the step, he lost his wife. Now it appeared that he might never work with us.

It was afternoon on the 24th of December, when members of my extended family were beginning to arrive for Christmas dinner that I thought of Watson again. He was probably alone in that house he never seemed to keep warm enough to keep a body alive.

I had a quiet word with my wife, then politely dismissed myself from the group. I was lucky enough to find a cab—feeling a little guilty the cabman wasn't home with his family yet, but resolved to pay him extra—and rode to Watson's home.

He answered the door himself when I knocked, likely having sent his servant girl home to her family.

"Good afternoon, Lestrade," said Watson. His expression was haggard, his hair and mustache greyer than when I had last seen him.

"Good afternoon, Watson," I replied.

"You can come in if you like," he said, leading me inside, "though you ought to be home with your family."

"That is why I am here," I said softly.

Watson turned to look at me, brows furrowed in slight confusion. We stood silently for a moment in the passage.

"We all ought to be with family," I said. "Helen is preparing some excellent goose, and I have three sisters who love baking desserts more than any other women I know. Their husbands and children are there as well, so the company will good, as well as the food."

Watson said nothing. His eyes had assumed that distant, melancholy expression that he often wore these days. I suppressed a shiver—it was far too cold in his house.

"And we would all be glad of your company," I said.

"Lestrade," said Watson at length, "you are far too kind to me, but I am afraid I must decline your offer."

I tried not to let my surprise show on my features. But I would not let him off so easily. "Have you other plans?" I asked.

"Of a sort," he replied distantly.

"Do those plans involve spending Christmas here, alone?" I asked.

Indecisiveness flashed across Watson's face, and I knew my suspicion was correct.

"Please, Watson," I said, "I can't stand the thought of a friend spending Christmas alone." It was probably not very Christian of me to use that angle, but I knew it would work, if nothing else would. That much I had learned from the late Sherlock Holmes.

"I suppose…" said Watson.

"Thank you," I replied.

"…if only for your sake," he continued. "I cannot in good conscience do anything to offend, or—"

"I am not sure you could ever offend anyone," I said. "Come, Watson, and I believe we will be just in time for dinner."

Watson gave a small smile that nearly met his eyes, and turned his back to retrieve his hat and coat. I felt a surge of some emotion as I waited at the door. How terribly unfair it was that someone as good as Watson should suffer so, when so many less deserving suffered so much less! But there was no helping that. I could only try to help my friend as best I could.

I only wished I could do more.

My family was a large enough one that Watson didn't appear to feel too conspicuous, and all were kind enough to him. My brother-in-law James, also an ex-soldier, soon had him talking of his experiences in Afghanistan, and I was finally able to hear to Watson's story about the tiger cub.

Dinner was delicious, and while Watson did not eat quite so much as he should have, he did partake of at least some of the food, and talked more than I'd heard from him in a while. He even smiled a few times, and once he laughed aloud.

I was certain that of all the Christmas dinners I had spent with friends and family, that year's was by far the most rewarding.

The afternoon slipped away, and soon it was nearly dusk. Watson dismissed himself, saying that he ought to return home. I offered to accompany him, and he accepted my offer, I think gladly.

There were no cabs in sight, so we walked. It wasn't too terribly cold for a December evening, and the walk wasn't a terribly long one.

"I'm glad I came," he said as we arrived at his house. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," I replied.

Watson turned towards his door, then turned back around. "One other thing," said he.

"Yes?" I asked.

"I think I will take that position as police surgeon you mentioned."

"Wonderful!" I said. "We at the Yard always enjoy seeing you. And you're a fine man for the job."

"Thank you, Lestrade," said he, with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you as well," I returned.

A/N: Merry Christmas to all of you as well, and enormous thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this December!