Prompt: A peaceful Christmas eve, from YoughaltheJust
Christmas of 1888, which was to be Mary's and my first Christmas as a married couple, obviously took on greater importance. Mary in particular was very concerned that the holiday be marked with appropriate festivity. "I have never had a family of my own to celebrate with," she told me. "Of course the Forresters did their best to make the day festive, but it is not the same as celebrating with one's own family."
I remembered Christmases spent with my own family. Those days were long past now, but I at least had memories of better times to fall back on. Mary had not even that, and imagining my dear wife as a young girl, left alone at school only to hear about everyone else's holidays with their families made me even more determined to make the day special.
It looked, however, as if Mary and I would be left to our own devices for Christmas Day. Perhaps many newlywed couples would have been pleased not to have to play host to company when they would rather have been alone, but we had both lived such solitary lives that the prospect of celebrating alone was not a pleasant one. Now that we had a home of our own, we both found we wished to welcome our friends and family into it and mark the day together.
But with my brother's death the previous year, I was the last of my family, and Mary had long been alone in the world. When we sat down to think of who to invite, we found our lists depressingly short. "The Forresters will not wish to attend their former governess's holiday party," Mary said. "I have long since lost touch with my school friends. I expect they would find an invitation odd even if I knew where to find them." She looked at me hopefully, but I shook my head.
"I have no one I might invite," I said. "Murray, perhaps, but he is posted in South Africa now. Aside from him, I can think of no one." I had cultivated few friends among the doctors at my club, being so busy with Holmes's cases.
Mary pursed her lips, most attractively despite the reason for it, and finally sighed. "What sad sacks we are!" she said. "What young couple does not have even one or two friends to invite for Christmas?" She looked my way again, then asked, "Might we invite Mr. Holmes?"
I could not help but laugh aloud, though not unkindly. "Holmes does not celebrate Christmas," I said. "If he was not engaged in a case or some study of his own design he simply ignored it, though Mrs. Hudson always insisted on providing a meal worthy of the holiday." For my benefit rather than his, for Holmes intensely disliked interruptions to his routine, and especially disliked any excuse for the crime level to decrease, thus depriving him of work.
"He truly would not come if we asked?" Mary asked. "I know you have not seen him much of late; perhaps he would like the opportunity to visit." Her tone said that she already knew I would, which was very true. I found I missed Holmes and his cases, and would be glad of a visit.
"I will ask," I said. "Shall I ask him merely for Christmas Day?"
"No, ask him to come on the Eve and visit until the next day," Mary said. "Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would enjoy the break."
I duly sent the invitation, and was entirely surprised when Holmes accepted a mere few hours later. I confess I was very glad he did; aside from wanting to make Mary happy, I was very glad to be able to visit with Holmes, and to host him for the holidays after so long spent as merely-lodgers.
Holmes arrived on the day with his violin in tow. "May I wish you the compliments of the season?" he asked. "Merry Christmas, my dear Watson, and Mrs. Watson."
"Merry Christmas to you as well, Holmes," I said, shaking his hand warmly. "Thank you for coming. I'm afraid it is not much of a party, only us three."
"I prefer it that way," Holmes said. "Besides, I was very glad to be away from Mrs. Turner's cooking. She is no replacement for Mrs. Hudson, who is away visiting her sister this week. I shall be very glad for your hospitality tonight."
It being Christmas Eve, and Holmes so intimate a friend, there was no need to stand on ceremony, and so while Mary brought out some light refreshments, she also worked on her tatting while Holmes and I chatted.
"I have not had much work these last weeks," Holmes said. "Merely a brief affair of a stolen dog, which was easily solved when I determined that a brick had been loosened in the house next door."
Mary was fascinated and listened to the denouement of the case as I poured Holmes and I brandies from the sideboard. Soon we were all three engaged in reminiscences of Christmases past, a conversation that carried us into the dining room for dinner.
"My favorite was the last Christmas I spent in India with both my parents, though I barely remember it," Mary said. "It sounds funny, but Christmas ever since has evoked the hot, humid air and fragrant flowers of India rather than pine trees and snow!"
"I was fortunate not to spend a Christmas in the army," I said. "I doubt a desert Christmas would have been very pleasant."
"Though perhaps more true to history," Holmes remarked. "I spent a Christmas or two in France with my mother's relatives, and while I do not always hold with frivolity, the differences between our own English Christmas and the French celebration were quite fascinating."
"I suppose it would be interesting to see how other places mark the day," I said. "Is the food to your liking, Holmes?"
"Yes, very good, even in comparison to Mrs. Hudson, to say nothing of Mrs. Turner," Holmes said.
"High praise," I said dryly to Mary, who laughed into her wine glass.
"Our cook shall outdo herself tomorrow," my dear wife promised Holmes. "For tonight, she merely made a family meal."
Holmes was certainly the closest I had to family, and I knew, though he barely showed it, that he understood. "I look forward to tomorrow, then," he said. "I see you have set up a tree, Watson. You did not have to argue as much, I presume?"
"No, Mary did not fight me as much as you did when it comes to Christmas trees," I said, before turning to Mary. "Holmes never let me put up a Christmas tree without a fight."
"I hope you do not object to Christmas carols, Mr. Holmes," Mary said. "I see you brought your violin."
"I do not," he said. "In fact, I observe you have the distinct markings of a pianist. Short nails, greater wear on the bottom of your right shoe than your left…I hope you will consent to accompany me."
"We shall duet," Mary promised.
Both my friend and my wife were talented musicians and so together, despite never having played together, they were correspondingly better, and I enthusiastically applauded their efforts.
"You ought to sing," Mary said to me. "So you can join in."
"No!" both Holmes and I cried out, then laughed at Mary's surprised look.
"Trust me when I say that I cannot sing," I said.
"Surely you cannot be that bad," Mary protested.
"I must disagree," Holmes said. "Singing is not one of your many talents, Watson."
"I possess no musical ability," I said. "I am content to enjoy, much as I have the rest of tonight. You have hosted a lovely Christmas Eve, Mary, and I daresay will do the same tomorrow."
"Yes, indeed," Holmes said. "I am very glad to have come, Mrs. Watson."
Mary flushed pink in her embarrassment, though she looked pleased at the compliment. "Perhaps we shall make a tradition of this, then."