As I mentioned, the following prompts don't line up as nicely as I wanted them, so we have to return to it in Chapter 19 instead.

This is a follow-up to Chapter 12, though it will be set just after 'The Adventure of the Empty House.'

Warnings are typical of Sherlock Holmes, including murder and such. With that, on with the show.

Multi prompt response!

From Domina Temporis: Vatican cameos

From trustingHim17: Anniversary

From Book girl fan: Crocodiles

From GWBear: Silent Night

And finally!

From GWBear: Mistletoe on Baker St.

With those out of the way, on with the show!

Many Reunions and Missing Pages

Christmas after Mr. Sherlock Holmes returned in 1894, post being on the run was a rather… mixed affair.

Of course, there was joy and relief for all of those involved.

Mrs. Hudson embraced Holmes like a son, sobbing in joy when she realized that he was alive and not dead at the bottom of Reichenbach Falls.

Watson had fainted onto his practice floor, only to be revived by Holmes with brandy and "A thousand apologies, my dear Watson…" That led to many tears from Watson himself and a rare and much-needed hug between Holmes and Watson.

That was after Watson chewed Holmes out, and rightfully so. They never entirely left each other's sides after that, not for a while.

So naturally, that drew the curiosity of the Baker Street Irregulars, who were on their way to 221B Baker Street for the Christmas dinner that Mrs. Hudson had invited them to.

"I don't get it!" A young boy named Elliot shook his head as they strolled down the sidewalk together. "Mr. Holmes fell off a waterfall, right? How's he here?"

"None of us know." Wiggins, their leader, said, frowning. "They won't even tell me, nor Inspector Lestrade just yet."

"Well, I heard he swam with crocodiles in India!" Protested young Susan, who'd recently joined them at the behest of her little sister, Agatha, who'd heard of their adventures but was too young to join.

"No, no, I heard he was in Italy and met that…" Thomas, another Irregular, squinted, clearly in concentration. "...Important person in the big fancy Church?"

"The Pope?" Wiggins giggled, as did the others in their little gaggle of friends. "I'm not sure about that, Tom, but we'll find out either way."

It was indeed a strange time of year for us all. Holmes had returned, and he wasn't a spirit, at the very least.

That made my wounded heart and spirit soar once again.

However, while Christmas was usually a wonderful time of year for myself and Mary, since the anniversary of her being with my child and it being what led to her death, Christmas had lost a lot of its splendor.

For his part, Holmes seemed to notice the changes in my demeanor around Christmastime. He played the violin less frequently at odd hours of the night and seemed to be at my side whenever my leg acted up or when something reminded me too much of Mary or her funeral in April of the previous year.

Even if he does not subscribe to having an emotional side, I can see it on his face when he looks at me. He is fretting over me.

"Right there, Mrs. Hudson, excellent!" He called as he assisted Mrs. Hudson in hanging mistletoe over the entrance to 221B Baker Street, looping the sprig over the entranceway where anyone could notice the plant above their heads and be urged to kiss one another.

And while Holmes often dismissed the tradition, he never could resist the mischief it brought.

"Ah, my dear Watson!" Holmes bounded towards me, clasping his hands around mine. "It's good to see you up; the Irregulars will be here in time for Christmas dinner. Would you do me the very great favor in finishing up the table?" Asked he.

As much as I wanted to ignore his request and maroon myself on the settee, I never could resist his enthusiasm. So I shambled after Holmes as we gathered the napkins and other table settings in silence before he turned toward me, his gaze softening.

"Watson. Are you quite alright? You do not have to be, but you've been limping quite heavily, and I can see you're trying to hide your grunts when you walk… how bad is it?" Holmes murmured, his hands twitching towards mine again.

"It… is not physical pain, Holmes. Well, it is, but I suppose I can't hide it from you." I said, carefully weighing what I should tell Holmes. How will he take it? I know he has felt guilty, but… he has been making the changes to be the Holmes I knew before Reichenbach again.

"It is the anniversary of when Mary and I discovered she was with child. And it is what led to her death. I… do not like thinking of it, Holmes." I admitted after a while.
The room went quiet, and Mrs. Hudson turned, her eyes wide. "Oh, you poor dear, " she said softly. Before I knew it, I was embraced by both Mrs. Hudson and, after a moment, Holmes, his head on my shoulder.

"Then I shall endeavor to make sure your Christmas is good, my dear Watson." Said he in my ear.

"It is the anniversary of when Mary and I discovered she was with child…" Guilt was an emotion that I had discovered on the run from Moran.

Guilt was an emotion that had renewed with full fury after learning of Mary's death and the confession that Watson gave to me just then.

I could have returned. Given some way to let him know I was here and he wasn't alone.

But I didn't. I am here now, and I will do all I can to ensure Watson isn't alone.

So, I distracted him whenever I could muster, regaling him with tales from my youth and following him throughout 221B Baker Street so he wouldn't have to be on his own or otherwise.

Mycroft has told me that I do… hen in my own way.

As we finished preparing for the arrivals, I led Watson toward the door to greet the Irregulars. "Now, this is what I like about hanging the mistletoe."

Wiggins and Susan stepped through first, wiping the water off their boots, only to look up and groan.

"Mr. Holmes!" Wiggins protested as Susan rolled her eyes. "Him?" She grumbled as both kids glanced at each other, and Susan kissed his cheek quickly.

For the first time that day, Watson let out a low chuckle at the kids' varied reactions, from mildly horrified, to flushing with colour at the prospect of kissing one another.

Perhaps there is hope in this endeavor.

Dinner itself passed with little fanfare but laughter and giggles from each of the Baker Street Irregulars gathered around the table with Holmes, Watson, and Mrs. Hudson.
Yet, they still weren't satisfied with the lack of answers from Mr. Holmes, not at all. Glancing at each other, they nodded quietly before Wiggins cleared his throat.

"Mr. Holmes… I know you're back now, but you didn't tell any of us what you got up to when you were gone. What did you do? We've all got ideas but no answers." Said he as the rest of the children broke into a clamor.

"Yes, did you meet the Pope? And swim with crocodiles?" That was young Isaac, who glanced up as he finished off his meal. "'Cause Susan and Thomas keep insisting, but I don't know."

As the children's questions grew louder, Holmes cut them off with a bark of laughter, raising his hand to signal for quiet.

"If you wish to know, children, I will tell you. Firstly, you are right about some things but wrong about others. I did indeed visit the Vatican, but it was not with the Pope; it was with the Conclave of Cardinals, and I did not swim with crocodiles, though I did come face to face with a few through India." Said he.

This seemed to startle Watson, his eyes wide with wonder, awe, and… a slight tinge of hurt. "You did all of those things? Why didn't you tell me until now? Or write it down?" He asked.

Holmes shook his head, taking the tiny diary he'd written in, a bullet hole clean through the covers, out of his pocket. "When I was going to recount my adventures, Moran got the closest he had ever been to me and shot at me. Fortunately, I did not get hurt… but the diary I've been writing in did." He said. "But that is beside the point; let me make up for it now."

Holmes spun us a tale of adventure and flight, of running from Colonel Moran and encountering even more mysteries along the way.

The Baker Street Irregulars were enraptured, leaning forward with every story. As it turned out, most of what he said was true, though cleaned a bit to hide the actual amount of danger he was in.

As for myself? A pit of both despair and hurt welled up in my chest. He was doing all that, and he didn't check on me. He didn't know Mary died while he was off in The Vatican?

I do not want to sound like a petulant child—

"Watson?" Called Holmes, as we'd all dispersed throughout the room, with Holmes at my elbow by the door. "You are not a child for expressing your mind." Said he. "Tell me, what is ailing you?"

Anger boiled in my chest. I know Holmes had been aiding me, but he had to ask?

"You did not think once to find me? To let me know you were alright? I thought I was more to you than that, Holmes!" I snapped, fists at my sides. "I could have helped you when you were on the run, and yet I am here to learn what happened to you through stories!"

The room froze again at my outburst, but I was too hurt, too frustrated to care. Holmes shook his head, approaching me.

"A thousand apologies again, my dear Watson. You are correct and deserve better than I. I did not come to find you because I was too afraid that Moran would find you. But I did you an injustice by not telling you and an even graver one for my not being there with you after Mary died." Said he, slowly, deliberately. "I do not deserve your forgiveness, and I would not begrudge you if you do not forgive me. But I would like to be here with you now if you would let me."

Despite my anger and frustration, it did mean a lot that Holmes wanted to try, to stay, and to put in the effort.

And we have been through so much together… and I wanted him back. He is here. He is safe.

"That is all I ask," I said softly. "Be here. Do not go anywhere."

"I would not dream of it, Watson," Holmes said as a gasp arose from Susan, peering out the window.

"Look! Snow and carolers!" She cried as we all pressed against the window. Snow had begun to fall gently over Baker Street, coating the ground in a soft white. A group of carolers moved from place to place, singing 'Silent Night' as they roamed the street.

I do not recall who sang first, but we all pressed against the window, singing along to Silent Night as the snow fell. Holmes, for his lack of singing, had picked up his violin and played along to the carol.

Silent Night… Holy Night… All is Calm… All is Bright…

Perhaps, even if I couldn't forgive Holmes now, maybe even if I could not heal from these wounds, there would be some hope.

Yes, indeed. There would be hope that I would not be alone again.

Sleep in heavenly peace….

And that's it for this chapter. Like with 12, the references are the same, with the addition of 'The Adventure of the Empty House.'
This is… exploring my take on the fallout from EMPT, so if it seems like everyone's a little askew… it's post-EMPT. Of course, it is.
We're nearing the end of this fic! I believe this will end at least at Chapter 22, but I will need to go into January to finish it… thanks, FFN servers. If the reviews start going awry again, please leave me a PM Review instead.
Next Chapter? We see the fallout from the Ritual in Sussex and learn just how powerful the two Fae genuinely are.
Cheers,
Blue