Prompt from Lucillia - Christmas.

AN: I know I keep referencing my story 'A Holmesian Carol', but these last two prompts fit so neatly into that particular storyline, I couldn't help it.

Christmas

Sherlock Holmes sat beside the little fireplace in his bedroom pondering the coals that occasionally sputtered or popped. He smoked his pipe and looked at his clock, wondering if he was right. Wondering if he was a fool. Wondering if he had simply dreamed it all last year. And then he didn't need to wonder anymore. A shining, pure light shone from under his door and grew in intensity until it leaked through the seams around the frame and filled his room with the whitest of lights.

Stunned, Holmes slowly rose to his feet, setting aside his pipe. He stared in awe at the door for an instant and then rushed to open it. The sittingroom was filled with the beautiful light and he smiled as he had not smiled in many a long day. She had returned!

Slowly the light grew less and to his joy he saw that the room was once more filled with the multiplicity of adornments he had seen once before. Blazing logs filled the fireplace. A tree ten times larger than what should fit in the small sittingroom stood in the corner with a wealth of brightly wrapped presents under it and hung with sparkling ornaments. Garlands stretched from wall to wall and framed all of the windows. A feast of good foods and roasted goose was laid out on the table normally reserved for his chemical apparatus and the air was scented with fresh cut pine boughs. And standing before the fire was a womanly form in a familiar red cloak. She held a crystal goblet in her hand and smiled upon him genially.

Holmes' steps faltered and the smile vanished from his face.

"Who are you?" he asked, bewildered.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, of course," laughed the woman.

"No you aren't," said Holmes and strode up to look at her closely. "I have met the Ghost of Christmas Present and you are not she! Wait!" Holmes' eyes flew wide and he stepped back in shock. "You're Mary Watson!"

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, Mr. Holmes," the Spirit said gently. "You see me as Mary Watson."

"But… Why?" he asked. "Last year you looked like Irene Norton."

"I was not here last year, Mr. Holmes," said the Spirit and handed him her goblet. Rich red wine swirled inside it. "Drink this, Mr. Holmes. I think you need it more than I."

"You were here," Holmes stated firmly. "Can you not remember?"

"My sister was here," she chuckled. "She was the Ghost of Christmas Present. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Holmes' mind cleared as understanding filtered in.

"So there is a new Spirit every year," he said nodding. "Of course, there must be. It makes perfect sense."

"Indeed," the Spirit laughed softly.

"But why have you come this year?" he asked.

"Because you were expecting me to," she said simply.

"You have no special mission, then?" he asked.

"I do, but not for a little while yet," she said and found a seat in Watson's chair. From somewhere she picked up another goblet and sipped wine.

"You haven't come for Watson, have you?" asked Holmes, taking his own chair next to the fire.

"No," she said with a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you wear the form of his late wife," said he.

"Ah," she said and sipped from her wine again. "And you were expecting Irene Adler. Or should I say you were hoping for Irene Adler."

"Norton," Holmes corrected.

"Adler," she said with a sly grin. "I speak what is, Mr. Holmes. It's part of my calling."

"Then tell me why it is that you appear to me as Mary Watson," he said.

"Perhaps because you needed to see Mary this night," she said. "Because you were wondering if you had been a fool."

"I…" Holmes broke off and looked down into his wine, then took a drink. The wine was very good and he instantly felt lighter of heart. "I suppose it is useless to deny the truth. I envy Watson his time with Mary. I envied her, her time with Watson."

"And you continue to wonder what it would have been like if you had married Alice Howell," the Spirit added. "Or perhaps Irene Adler."

"Yes." Holmes could not bring himself to look up. He was somehow ashamed to admit the truth, even to this Spirit. "Can you show me?"

"I can only show what is, Mr. Holmes," she said gently. "And this night I have not the time to spare for you."

"I see," he said. He stiffened his resolve and looked up into her eyes. "Well, I shan't detain you longer, then. Thank you for your visit and Merry Christmas, Spirit."

"I'm not going yet," she said with another radiant smile. "I haven't the time to show you anything, Mr. Holmes, but I can take a few minutes to tell you what is. Perhaps that will help you decide if you were a fool. It may not take away your regret, I'm sorry to say."

"Very well," he said, leaning forward in his chair. "Tell me what is."

"England is at peace on this fine winter's night," she said. "There are families throughout Europe who rest easy in their beds. Your friend Dr. Watson is alive and well. He misses his wife, but his greatest friend is returned to him. Wiggins continues to study hard and it looks as though he will one day become a very good man. There are wicked men behind bars and the people of this city are safer because of it. And there is a cabdriver who was able to feed his wife and children this Christmas Eve."

"These are all fine things, Spirit, but I don't quite understand," said Holmes. "What you said of Watson is clear enough, but how do these other things apply to me?"

"It is more in line with how you apply to them," she chuckled. "Really, Mr. Holmes. You are the greatest detective of your age and yet you cannot deduce the relevance?"

"How I apply to them?" Holmes mused aloud. "Are you saying that somehow I have influenced all of these people?"

"My sister said you were thick," the Spirit teased. "I'll have to tell her you haven't changed."

"Thank you very much," Holmes said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," she chuckled. "Of course you influenced the people I mentioned. Were it not for you, Sherlock, England would be at war and her young men would be fighting and dying on the continent and at sea. How many scandals have you averted that would have torn families apart? You already know what would have happened to John had you not brought him back to live with you. And had you not taken a firm hand with young Wiggins, what would have become of him by now?"

"And the cabdriver?" Holmes asked.

"Two days ago you employed him for a full day and then gave him two additional guineas for his good service," she explained. "He purchased a rather fat goose, a sack of potatoes and a few other things. His family will be eating well for the rest of the week."

"I see," Holmes said and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully.

"All because you are who you are and because you made the choices you made, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the Spirit said forcefully. "Not even your brother could do what you have done, my dear sir."

Holmes considered her quietly for a long moment and then gave a nod. He understood.

"I am sorry I could not take away your regrets," she said.

"Tell me one other thing before you go, Spirit," he said. "What of Irene Adler?"

She smiled again and sipped her wine.

"Can you not tell me?" he asked. "Is she truly dead?"

"I can tell you she celebrates Christmas, Sherlock Holmes," the Spirit replied and then the light in the room began to grow until once more it blotted out everything. When Holmes could see again he blinked and looked around. The room had returned to what it had been before the Spirit's visit and he was left feeling uncertain, though not in a bad way. He took another sip from his wine before realizing the goblet should not be in his hand, and then he smiled.

The End