On the First Noel~(Irene)

[Sherlock Holmes]

Location: 221b Baker Street
Era: Victorian

221b Baker Street was quiet on Christmas Eve. Of course, one would wonder what was so wrong about that. But Baker Street was never so quiet, during any day of the year. And yet, as the dark London sky was filled with snowflakes, at first there didn’t seem to be anyone home.

Mrs. Hudson, the owner of the building, was visiting her family in the countryside. But she had not left before putting up decorations around the house, and cooking her remaining tenant his Christmas dinner, telling him he could reheat it on the stove. Watson was with his future wife and her family. Which left only one person left in the house, and he was usually responsible for most of the noise…

Suddenly, the noise was broken by the sound of a violin. Instead of the sound of plucking, or of a gypsy melody that implied screeching tones. It was the sound of a Christmas carol, Noel to be specific.

Sherlock sat in his study room, the only room to be admitted from Christmas decorations. The fire in the hearth gave off the only light. The flames danced on the polished wood of the Stradivarius, as the horsehair bow ran across its strings. The detective’s fingers danced on the neck, his eyes closed, as he knew the piece without even having to look.

He was no stranger at being alone during such a family and friend-oriented season such as Christmas. When he was a child, the highlight of the day was being able to run outside and play in the snow, while getting candy from his parents (a treat only given on that day of the year).

However, he had gotten older. Youthful years died, and the candy and longing to go play out in the snow died with them. Though he still enjoyed the snow, it was more on the scientific sense than on the longing to throw a snowball at someone. (Even if one year, he had made a snowball at a crime scene and knocked Watson’s hat off.)

He had never been one for the turkeys and puddings. Or even for spending time with family. Three Christmas’ ago, he went to visit his brother Mycroft. And that was a disaster in itself. But it also made Sherlock realize that he and his brother were solitary creatures. They enjoyed being alone on Christmas, because the alternative was staring at your family member, being forced into uncomfortable conversations.

So he was content to sit here, in the middle of his empty room, in the midst of an empty house, playing his beloved violin to the silence. After all, there had been no snow in Bethlehem. The young Jesus was not given a feast of turkey, nor was he given candy. In fact, according to the scriptures, the entire holy family had to flee to Egypt right after his birth.

What was the point then, of having family to love, and friends to laugh with on this day? When on all other parts of the year, you had family to sit awkwardly with, and friends who were either moving away from you, or were too dangerous to even associate with? Perhaps this was how Christmas was supposed to be originally celebrated: in a silent home, with only music to break it….

[new123]

Her timing was absolutely miserable. Never before had Irene spent a Christmas by herself. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. A more accurate way to describe Irene’s status during the Christmas holiday was…married. This did not necessarily mean she was with her husband but more or less legally bound to him. If she was happily married at the time, this meant her Christmas was to be spent with presents presented to her one right after the other. If she was not with her husband during the holidays, this meant she was in the process of a divorce. Luckily enough, a decent amount of money would find its way to her in that case, whether through the actual divorce process or….divine intervention, perhaps?
Nevertheless, this was her first Christmas she would be spending completely and utterly by herself. Unless…

Irene very rarely spent the holidays in London, so it was only assumed that she never saw Sherlock during those occasions. That seemed rather odd. For a man she so admired, whether she’d admit to it or not, you would think at least one Christmas Eve dinner or even New Years would have brought the two together. Alas, that was not the case. Surely, Watson would be spending his time with his soon to be wife, leaving the detective to fend for himself. That was miserable.

Without a second to think it over more, Irene found herself in a small London shop, having a clerk place all the items one would need for a festive Christmas. Holly. Garland. Spices of all sorts. Drinks to warm the spirits. And countless other items that Irene wasn’t even capable of spotting. It was amazing the kind of service one was granted if you place a rather heavy bag of coins onto the front counter.

The basket was overwhelming heavy, to the point she had to ask for assistance all the way to 221b Baker Street. Now she certainly could not scale the side of the building and surprise the man which was awful in and of itself, which left her only the option of ringing the bell in hopes he would hear her. Irene gave the young boy who had helped her with the basket a few coins and proceeded to wait for the detective. “You had best be home, Sherlock.” It would be terrible to have brought all of these items to his home, only to find out he had more friends than she had.

[Sherlock Holmes]

He was on his next violin piece, ‘Oh come, oh come Emanuel’, when the bell at the front door rang. At first, he thought nothing of it, thinking that Mrs. Hudson would answer the call. But after a moment, realization set in that Mrs. Hudson was not here, and he was alone in the house.

Sighing, the detective stopped playing, setting the violin next to his chair and standing. At first, he wondered if perhaps he should not answer it. It couldn’t have been Watson or his fiancé, as Watson had a set of keys. But then again, it could be Lestrade or Clarky, coming to him for another case. And a case would indeed be welcomed, especially an interesting and exciting one.

With that thought in mind, and violin bow still in his hand, he made his way down the stairs. The banister was decorated in tinsel and pine branches woven together. There was a wreath on the entrance, decorated with holly barbs. Holmes even caught sight of some mistletoe hanging near the front entrance.

He made sure to walk in a wide circle around that, telling himself that it wasn’t because he was afraid someone would jump out of nowhere and kiss him. But because it was a parasitic plant that buried itself in the bark of trees. People really should know that that was what they were kissing under.

Unbolting the door, the detective opened the portal, fully expecting to see a police officer standing in the swirling snow. Instead, as the cold air entered the house and blasted his face, he caught a whiff of Parisian Perfume. Too late to slam the door, he found himself face to face with Irene Adler instead.

He simply stared at her for a moment, for this was not her way at all. True, she exited the building of 221b Baker Street through the front door. But she never entered the same way. Instead, she would enter his private quarters through a widow, and make herself at home until he realized she was there. Even helping herself to his private files, or messing around with his things.

Bloody woman, but here she was. Standing on the front stoop with a rather large basket at her feet. He noted a different set of footprints, smaller ones, indicating that she had had help in carrying it. Sherlock was very suspicious at what was in that basket.

“Miss. Adler,” He stated, his eyes observing her face carefully, trying to decide if he should let her in. But regardless of her occupation as a con artist and a thief, she was a lady. And she looked rather cold. “Won’t you come in?” He asked finally, opening the door fully.

When she had entered, he walked out and used the horsehair bow to gently lift the cover of the basket while she was not looking. The first thing he saw was a bottle of spirits, which was more to Irene’s style. Port, from what he could tell. But he also saw Holly, and was that Garland?

Holmes sighed and picked up the basket as carefully as one would a bomb, moving it into the house for her and closing the door. He set it down, moving away from it with a suspicious glance, before turning to gaze at The Woman. He had never seen her on Christmas, as she was usually in warmer climates, or at least with her husband of the year.

“Quite interesting to see you here, Miss. Adler, and not with some chosen fiancé.” He informed her quietly, noticing that they were both quite close to that infernal mistletoe. He would be ripping it down the moment her back was turned on him, bloody parasitic plant! Why did Nanny hate him so, by putting up such things in her absence?