From Spockologist: 26. Watson and Mary sing Christmas carols

I awoke shivering in the dark to discover that I had fallen asleep on my settee, still fully clothed. I must have finally run out of energy as I worked upon the coded messages that I had been doing my utmost to unravel.

The sitting room was cold and the house quiet. The fire in the hearth was no longer burning. The absence of warmth in the room was an instant reminder that I was truly alone, for Watson would have covered me with a rug as I slept if he still lodged with me.

I shivered anew and considered relighting the fire, but I found myself too done up to move. I could recall my last meal, but not the day when I had eaten it. I could also not remember when I had last slept a whole night through, for this case was long and complicated.

Despite the chill in the room, I must have returned to slumber. I next awoke to the sound of church bells and cheerful voices. There were the sounds and smells of breakfast cooking, but I had no appetite. I was surprised to discover that all that I really wanted was my friend's company. I curled myself up tighter and closed my eyes.

"Merry Christmas Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson greeted me when she entered the room to relight the fire.

I gave no response. I was not in a celebratory mood and simply feigned sleep.

She tutted to herself. "You are going to catch your death of cold, sleeping there like that! No fire, no blankets! What would Doctor Watson say?"

I almost informed her that Watson would never have left me if he cared at all, but I remained still and silent.

My housekeeper came to my side and covered me with two of my thickest rugs. I felt her hand touch mine and then, with another quiet tut, she took away my case notes and gently slipped my cold hands beneath the covers. Perhaps I should have thanked her; at least somebody still cared!

I was on the edge of sleep yet again when I became aware of voices out in the street. One was male, the other female and they were singing. I pulled the rugs closer to me with a groan; I was in no mood for festivities.

The singing grew steadily louder and I realised with a jolt that the owners of those voices were in the house and climbing the stairs. I forced myself into a sitting position with the rugs about my shoulders as the sitting room door opened.

"Holmes!" the smile left my old friend's face at the sight of me and he hastened to my side, the half-finished carol (and his wife, who was left hovering in the doorway) forgotten in an instant.

I waved his hands away as he attempted to examine me. "I am all right. Merely fagged. This case Watson!"

"When did you last eat and sleep?" he demanded to know.

I almost demanded to know what he cared, but something in the manner in which he was gazing at me kept me from doing so. Instead I shrugged. "Recently, I believe. I did sleep last night."

My Boswell turned his attention to his wife. "Come in and be seated, dearest. I believe that we may have work to do."

I heard her enter slowly.

"First, we shall do what we came here to do and share some festive cheer with Mr. Holmes," I heard her say.

The case during which Watson and I became acquainted with the young and (I shall admit) very beautiful Miss Mary Morstan, who soon became Mrs. Mary Watson, had already allowed me to observe the lady as a remarkable individual. I did not have the measure of her any more than I have ever had the measure of my Boswell, I now came to see. She was not jealous when her husband showed me concern but instead shared his worry with sincere sympathy and kindness. She was everything that my (admittedly limited) experience of women had led me to believe that they were not.

I now was forced to acknowledge that love, when a man is fortunate enough to meet the woman that is best suited him, can be beneficial. I had never before seen my Watson looking so happy or well (despite his obvious concern for me) and I was (or will be, when he finds me in a better mood) only too glad to admit that my fears for him when he married had not been well-founded.

The Watsons spent much of that fine Christmas Day with me in the sitting room. They first treated me to a short repertoire of carols and then (after a hearty breakfast, from which I was not excused) we played games.

I enjoyed myself much more than I had expected to do now that I am alone in this house and was sorry to see them leave. Their visit did prove to me, however, that Watson had meant what he had told me when he married Miss Morstan - he does intend to remain acquainted with me. Perhaps I am not quite as alone as I had believed myself to be after all.