Tis The Season, Sherlock!
December Christmas Calendar Challenge: From Hades Lord of the Dead: 2024
This is my first time writing for the HLotD Christmas Challenge. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading these for well over a decade. It's fun to be on the other side of the keyboard this year. I can't guarantee I'll get all of them done, and certainly not all of them posted on time. However, I will try to get all 31 challenge prompts posted – eventually.
As we all know from the canon, Sherlock is not fond of Christmas, and Watson is. My vision of the characters always has Watson trying to bring out a little of the holiday spirit in Sherlock, even if he must be a bit stealthy about it. Let's see how well Watson does.
December 1st: Sherlock Holmes Doesn't Like Christmas
(from Wordwielder: Contrary)
1882
"If it's November, it must be rain…"
Watson grimaced as he pulled up his coat collar and adjusted his scarf. As a long time resident of southern England, he was well used to the cold, wet, windy, and altogether miserable weather that was the collective lot of every resident of the area. However, that didn't mean he had to like it. Late November always brought the same thing. Clouds, darkness, wind, cold – and rain, lots of rain.
He was standing outside Barts hospital, waiting for the next available cab, the more enclosed the better. Fortune had smiled on him recently, and he had been offered some temporary shifts at one of the hospitals he was most familiar with, as he not only had worked there, but he had received some of his medical training in the very halls he was now walking as general practitioner. He had only returned from Afghanistan in 1880, wounded, pensioned out of the army, unable to practice as a surgeon, and entirely without prospects of any kind. The pittance the British army offered as his "wound pension" was barely enough to keep body and soul together, so he needed other income if he was going to live with any level of comfort and security at all.
Early January the previous year had brought him a chance encounter that had changed his life. A colleague had put him in contact with the most eccentric, intriguing, brilliant person he had ever met. Sherlock Holmes was moody, messy, often caustic, frequently impatient – and yet, somehow they had managed to get along for close to two years now. Actually, it was more than get along. It was a friendship, more than just two bachelors sharing a flat. Holmes had gradually begun to include Watson in his ongoing consulting activities; Watson had even found ways to contribute as a companion on a stakeout, another pair of eyes, someone to bounce ideas off of, run down a piece of information – and even, best of all, as a soldier. For all of his current aches and pains from managing his war wounds, Watson's training as a soldier, and marksman, made him invaluable in a tight spot. An army service revolver makes a most persuasive argument, even to the most violent of offenders.
His shifts at Barts gave him not only much needed experience to get him reestablished as a doctor in London, but extra income just in time for the holidays. There were charities to contribute to, and gifts that needed buying. His wonderful, ever-patient landlady, Mrs. Hudson well deserved some Christmas appreciation, as did one or two of his billiards mates at the club he had joined earlier this year. Perhaps even one or two of the inspectors he had come to know at Scotland Yard…
What about Holmes?
Sherlock Holmes had made it quite clear last year that Christmas was not much more than a sentimental bother to him. Decorating, seasonal festivities, gift giving, and most of all, the mandatory good will and joviality imposed on everyone throughout the season, was utterly contrary to his nature, and personal preferences. Watson had seen Holmes quickly read the few Christmas cards he received last year, before consigning them to the fire. Gift giving made him uncomfortable, and as best Watson could tell, Holmes had no family and few friends to exchange presents with. Perhaps it was just his personal circumstances, or that he was simply rather disagreeable. The way Watson saw it. Holmes didn't celebrate Christmas or find much joy in the season, because he had nobody to celebrate with.
Until now.
Standing in the freezing rain, waiting for his cab, Watson contemplated the Christmas season ahead. He felt… fortunate. He was alive, mostly recovered, had found at least some professional work to reestablish himself, and a comfortable, decent place to live. He had even found that most elusive of life's valuable commodities: friendship. Things were vastly improved indeed from November two years ago!
"To find a friend, you must be a friend, and be worthy of that friendship." It's something his mother had told him years before. He had done his best over the years to hold to that advice as a life principle, with varied levels of success. This was one friendship he was going to do his very best to cultivate and nurture. He would show Holmes warmth, kindness, and his own generosity of spirit – without any thoughts of reciprocation. As a (fortunately enclosed) cab pulled up to him, Watson smiled. A decent cab – things were looking up indeed! Holmes was getting a Christmas present this year, whether he wanted one or not. He had enough understanding of his roommate's likes and habits such that he felt confident that whatever he chose, it would at least be useful, if not outright appreciated.
What about that nice meerschaum pipe he saw on display at Smithfield's Tobacco yesterday…?