Sherlock Holmes Christmas Gift! Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Christmas at 221B. Holidays have all kinds of surprises. Not always good.
Sherlock Holmes and the Case of Christmas at 221B.
BY JOHN PIRILLO.
“I’m astounded!” Watson cried out as he got up that morning. “Not a single snowflake has fallen the entire night. Baker Street looks unholy in the sunlight.”
Sherlock ignored him. He was busy doing something with his hands, his pipe seated in its holder beside him on a stand, smoke curling gently up from its mouth while he worked.
“I’m sure it has to come sometime. It’s never failed before.” Watson went on, all grumbly and snarly.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Sherlock finally said, knowing that little else would please his friend once he was upon the warpath as now.
“Not a single person clamoring for our attention. “ Watson announced. “It’s ungodly.”
“Ungodly, indeed, Watson.” Sherlock agreed, continuing the work in his lap.
Watson shook his head, not once looking at Sherlock as he spoke. He rubbed his muttons fiercely, and then eyed the street below for victims of his wrath. “Not even that dratted Inspector Bloodstone is here to bother us. I tell you it’s just not right. Not right, you see.” Watson went on.
Sherlock nodded. “Refreshing really.”
“Hardly.” Watson joined in.
“I’m sure the good Inspector has other things on his mind.” Sherlock announced cheerily.
Watson, still not turning around, sighed wearily. “It always snows in December.”
“Two years ago it did not.”
Watson shook his head. “That was even more unholy than this one. Moriarity nearly clipped our heads off.”
“Yes. That was a rather surprising time, was it not, Watson?”
“Sometimes, I wish he were still alive.”
Sherlock chuckled. “Which one?”
Watson shook his head. “That’s what makes it even more unholy. I can’t even keep track of the damnable man and all his duplicates we’ve had to deal with. Except James, of course.”
Watson sighed. “I imagine James is just fine right now at least. What with having found his Fairy Princess and all.”
“I imagine so, Watson. That’s one Moriarity we shall never have to be afraid of turning our backs to. The others…well, we’ll deal with them when and if we have to.”
Watson sat down on a chair near the window and pondered the sky a moment. “It could still snow, you know.”
“Indeed it could.” Sherlock agreed, setting down one thing from his lap and picking up another thing to work on.
“Anything is possible.”
Watson considered that. “Do you think there’s a chance she’ll…?”
“Not a chance, Watson. You know that the passes through Switzerland are all snowed in this time of year.”
“Couldn’t we ask Jules and Wells to retrieve her? They owe us a favor.”
“Actually, we owe them one.”
“How so? Didn’t we save them from the horrid creature they brought back from Mars the last time?”
“Yes. But if we hadn’t disturbed its nest in the Museum, they would never have had to travel to Mars in the first place to go after it.”
Watson slumped. “I suppose so.”
“Cheer up, Watson. Things could be worse.”
“Right now, I don’t know how they possibly could be.”
Watson looked over at the empty scone plate seated on the small table near him. “We’ve been out of scones for two days now.”
Sherlock laughed so hard that Watson finally looked at him.
“Dear God, Holmes, must you be so beastly about my habits?”
“And here I thought you were just moping for Mrs. Hudson all this time.”
Watson laughed. “Actually, I was.”
They both laughed.
Watson got up to join Holmes by the fire.
“Whatever in the world are you doing with those horrid things?” Watson demanded, pointing to the two leather things Sherlock had been working on.
Sherlock ignored him and inserted soft inserts into the holes of them. “Making them comfortable.”
“For whom…a rhinoceros?”
The door in front was banged.
“Go see to it, will you, Watson, while I put the finishing touches to these?”
Watson grumbled loudly, but went downstairs.
He opened the door and Inspector Bloodstone stood there with his son, Constable Evans. “Merry Christmas, Watson!”
“Merry Christmas, Doctor!” Constable Evans declared.
They each shoved a present into Watson’s arms and went upstairs.
Watson was about to shout at them when two cars pulled up. New Teslas.
Lord Graystone and Lady Shareen got out of one, and Tesla and Edison stepped forth from another.
They rushed to the porch, their arms filled with gifts.
“Merry Christmas! Watson!” They cried out, piling on the gifts.
Watson stood there, a stack of gifts in his arms up to his chin. “What in the world is going on here?”
Then another gift appeared on the stack and Professor Langdon became visible in front of Watson, causing him to stumble backwards, almost losing his grip on his presents.
Langdon hurriedly steadied his friend. “Sorry about that. Cold weather you know. Makes me go invisible sometimes. No control over it sometimes.”
“Merry Christmas!” Professor Langdon told Watson and went upstairs.
Watson was about to go back inside when a great shadow fell over the street and buildings. He looked up. The Master of the World, all bright and shiny gold, lowered. A ramp fell to the street. Jules, Wells, Captain Nemo and Einstein climbed down and came up the steps, their arms filled with gifts.
“I hope the Bobbies won’t mind our parking her here.” Jules asked.
Inspector Bloodstone looked down from above, waved and shook his head. “Not a chance of it. I told them to just watch the block from the opposite ends and ignore what happened between.”
Wells waved back. “Thanks!”
Inspector Bloodstone winked and pulled his head back inside.
“Merry Christmas, John.” Jules said, kissing him on both cheeks
, then depositing a new present on the heap already in his arms. Wells clapped Watson on the back, deposited another one and went upstairs with Jules.
Einstein and Captain Nemo stopped in front of Watson. “Looks like you’re about to have a meltdown, Watson.” Einstein noted, a grin on his face.
“Will someone tell me what the bloody hell is going on?”
“Oh, John! John!” Hollered Mrs. Hudson from the Master of the World.
Ned steadied the ramp for her as she descended at a run.
Watson put his gifts in the arms of Einstein and Captain Nemo and dashed to meet her.
“Merry Christmas, John!” She told him and kissed him on the lips.
As more and more guests arrived, more now with food and drink, Watson and Mrs. Hudson huddled in a corner holding each other close.
Sherlock finally done with his work, stood up and gazed at his handicraft. “This should do nicely.”
He cleared his throat loudly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“As we all know, my dear companion and friend, Watson has a most disgusting habit of going barefoot in the winter….”
Watson looked distressed. “You told them!”
Mrs. Hudson whispered in Watson’s ear.
Watson blushed. “Oh!”
Sherlock stepped closer, everyone parting for him. He held out what he had been working on. “I think these shall fit nicely, John.”
Watson looked at the leather items. “They’re slippers. Slippers!”
Sherlock had dressed them up nicely and they looked quite handsome as he handed them over.
“Try them on!” Lady Shareen hollered.
Madam Curie joined in. “Do it!”
Challenger and Conan pulled a chair over for Watson to sit on.
He slipped his feet free of his shoes, and then deposited them into the slippers effortlessly. He stood up and a look of utter satisfaction lit his face.
“By Jove, Sherlock, you’ve done me wrong!”
Everyone tensed. Surprised.
Watson broke into a big smile. “These are not for a rhinoceros at all. They are gifts from heaven. I shall cherish them every night of my life!”
Everyone broke into applause and laughter.
In moments the food and drink were being distributed by eager hands and then Lord Graystone stood up and raised a glass. “To all our friends and loved ones. The Brotherhood of Baker Street.”
Everyone joined his toast. “The Brotherhood of Baker Street!”
Inspector Bloodstone put an arm about his son, Constable Evans’ shoulders and then began singing,
“We wish you a Merry Christmas.”
Everyone joined in.
On the rooftop opposite 221B a tall man in thick coat watched the joviality with a sneering smile on his face. “Sing. Laugh. For soon there will be no more laughter. For anyone!”
He raised a glass of bubbling champagne. “To the Brotherhood of Evil!”
He drank it and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Then he hurriedly stepped out of view.
Watson was about to kiss Mrs. Hudson when he suddenly felt this chill come over him. He glanced out the window, peering at the rooftops.
“What’s wrong, John?”
Watson looked at his beloved Mrs. Hudson. “Nothing.”
“No, don’t lie to me. What happened?”
“I just felt like death was watching us. Watching us and laughing.”
“Then let us laugh back, shall we, Watson?” Sherlock said, clasping him firmly on his right shoulder.
He turned Watson around and raised his glass.
“To laughter and to friendship.”
“To laughter and friendship.” Everyone joined.
Watson smiled. Blasted if it mattered whether there's snow or not, he thought to himself!
"To laughter and friendship." He joined in.