"All We Want for Christmas"

What a wonderful Christmas!

But something was wrong.

Mr. Peabody sighed, getting ready for bed. He and Sherman had spent the whole day together with the promise of no work or inventing. Really, what more could he ask for? The boy was very happy and grateful for his gifts, but something seemed off. Even though he was a genius, the dog just couldn't figure it out.

Maybe it was the way Sherman had looked at him with those big, orange eyes of his. It was as if he'd wanted to say something, but would then change his mind. Perhaps he was just trying to apologize again for that morning's accident with the oven; Sherman had wanted to try and make special cookies for Mr. Peabody but unfortunately, the boy wasn't the best baker. They'd laughed about it and cleaned the kitchen, Mr. Peabody letting it slide. It was Christmas, after all.

It happened again when Sherman had given him a card.

"What's this, Sherman?" Mr. Peabody asked when the boy handed him a piece of paper. He soon realized that it wasn't just a piece of paper, but a Christmas card created by Sherman himself, who smiled. Mr. Peabody noticed that his smile was a bit crooked, but he brushed it aside.

"It's for you, Mr. Peabody!" Sherman stated tentatively. "I know it doesn't compare to anything you got for me, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

Mr. Peabody opened up the card to find a crudely made drawing of himself and Sherman sitting together by a lit fireplace, the words 'Merry Christmas, Mr. Peabody!' written above the picture circled with lights and a Christmas tree on the other side of the card.

"It's fantastic, Sherman," Mr. Peabody praised, smiling back.

He meant it.

Now that he recalled the situation, Mr. Peabody was almost certain Sherman's bottom lip had trembled a little.

Yes, something had to be wrong.

But what? Mr. Peabody sighed again, knowing he wouldn't get any sleep until the grating mystery was solved. Glancing at Sherman's card by his bed, he decided to go check on his pupil. Slowly opening the boy's door a crack, the hallway's light illuminated Sherman's room and Mr. Peabody could just make out the rising and falling of sheets.

He stayed by the door a few minutes, keeping a close eye on the small lump. He considered waking Sherman but shook his head, deciding against it. If something was wrong, the boy surely would have talked to him about it by now. Maybe he was just overreacting, and that wasn't something to be proud of.

Scolding himself for being so ridiculous, Mr. Peabody turned and started to close the door.

"Merry Christmas, dad."

Mr. Peabody stopped in his tracks and looked back at Sherman, who (seemed) sound asleep already. He stared blankly at the child, but a smile crept onto the dog's face. Like the kitchen fiasco, Mr. Peabody decided to let it slide. It was Christmas, after all.

"Merry Christmas, son."

He finally closed the door behind him, unaware of a certain Sherman peeking an eye open, smiling in return before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.