"This one!"
"No. It's far too tall, how do you expect we'll get it into the flat?"
"We can twist it a bit, it'll be fine."
"I didn't mean getting it up the stairs, I meant standing it up in the living room. It'll hit the ceiling and bend. We won't be able to get a star on."
"It won't touch the ceiling, it'll be fine. You just don't want to get a Christmas tree."
"You're not wrong. I don't see what all the fuss is about. I'm not religious, why should I care?"
"Because, Sherlock, it's a wonderful time of year. Everyone's in such a good mood and everything looks so pretty. It's a time for showing you care." I said.
"No, Sarah, it's a time for capitalism." replied Sherlock grumpily, arms folded across his coat clad chest. We were stood, muddy footed, in the middle of a crowd of Nordic spruce trees, inspecting each one carefully to find one of the right girth and stature to grace the living room of 221B. Currently, I had one in each hand, waggling the one on my right excitedly while Sherlock stood back and looked on, unamused.
"Well, I say this one. It's the best one we've found and I'm almost at the back of the bunch."
"Ok, darling," he said sauntering over to me, taking hold of our chosen tree so I could put back the second choice for someone else to take home, "Whatever makes you happy." He smiled softly, his eyes creasing with fondness.
When we got back to the flat, we unhooked our tree from the roof of the cab and paid our disgruntled driver. Sherlock lifted one end and I the other as we navigated the stairs up to our floor.
Once in the stand, I stood back, directing, while Sherlock was knelt, hair becoming over-run with needles from our tree as he twisted the base to get the right side of the tree to show.
"A little more left." I said thoughtfully.
"How's that?" he asked,
"I said a little, not a lot-tle. Turn it back a bit."
"Better?" he replied, turning the tree ever so slightly back to the right
"Perfect!" I exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of my feet, clapping my hands with glee. Sherlock moved from under the tree to join me at my side, wrapping his arm around my waist and placing a gentle kiss on top of my head.
"Shall we decorate?" He suggested.
"Yes, but only after I've done something very important..." I left Sherlock's side and wandered over to the stereo, grabbing a CD jam packed with Christmas songs and putting it in. 'Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree' came blasting out of the speakers and I bopped back across the room to Sherlock, grinning all the way. "Now we can decorate."
Lights, which were a nightmare as always, went on first, giving us a nice base to put on the tinsel. I decided on a red and gold theme for this year. It was a classic colour scheme that my family always used when I was younger. It made me feel like a child again, carefree and cosy, before everything changed and we lost my dad. Christmas after that was much more sombre. My mum tried to keep it together, for my sake, but I could tell that she was never quite the same. That's why I'm so invested in this holiday; it brings me that little bit closer to my dad again.
After about an hour, the ornaments were on. Well, almost all of them. Sherlock was examining a small red and gold nutcracker with a loop on his hat so that you could hang it on the tree.
"Did you want to put this one on? It's the last one in the box." he asked
"Yeah, I'll do it. He needs to be pride of place." I said, taking the ornament gently from Sherlock and moving to perch it on one of the highest branches, front and centre.
"He?" Sherlock enquired tentatively
"Yeah. My dad..." I said quietly, making sure it was secure "My mum bought this ornament the year my dad died as a tribute to him. He loved Christmas." I stepped back to admire our work, smiling fondly at the sight of my dad's ornament up high; front and centre.
"Oh." Sherlock said. He didn't seem quite sure what to say, but it was ok. I didn't expect a reply, it wasn't needed. We stood in silence for a moment, taking everything in. I had put out a garland across the fire place and warm white lights framed the window, twinkling gently. "Are you ready to put the star on?" asked Sherlock, breaking the silence.
"Yes! Move the armchair closer to the tree and I'll get up there." I said
"Not a chance. I know what you're like, you'll probably fall and break your neck. Get on my shoulders."
"Oh, yeah, as if I'm less likely to injure myself doing that than I am standing on a chair." I retorted, moving behind him as he crouched down.
"You are. At least now I've got hold of you if you do fall and you're less likely to hit your head on anything." He said as he slowly stood up, my feet departing from the floor. Star in hand, I steadied myself on Sherlock's shoulders as he moved toward the Christmas tree, his shirt sleeves rolled up and hand on my shins, ready to catch me if I fell.
When we reached the tree, I held the top branch steady and slid the star onto it. A bit of an adjustment was needed, but then again does anyone really put the star on perfectly the first time? "I told you it wouldn't touch the ceiling." I said grinning triumphantly to myself.
As Sherlock was backing up to be able to get me off of his shoulders, the song on the stereo changed from Wizzard's 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day' to 'It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas' by Michael Buble.
When I got down, Sherlock took my hands in his and turned to face me.
"Are you happy with everything?"
"Of course. I couldn't be happier." I beamed, letting go of his hands and wrapping my arms around his torso, closing my eyes contently and taking in the faint scent of Christmas tree that had rubbed off on his shirt.
"Nor could I." he said, returning the embrace...
The sun woke me up that morning. It was harsh and almost blue in the winter months that had come. I rolled over in my double bed, holding my breath and preparing myself. I did this every morning, I knew nothing would change and yet there was still a part of me that thought it would be different this time. As expected, Sherlock wasn't there. He'd been dead for almost a year now and still I hoped he'd be there for me in the morning with a cup of tea and a smile, but he never was.
With a sigh, I grabbed my phone from my bed side table and checked the time. 11am, almost time for mine and John's weekly Friday catch up over fish and chips. I had blocked out Friday's as my day off each week for exactly that.
I forced myself out of bed and got ready for the day, my dream of a Christmas with Sherlock that I would never get to live still lingering in my mind.
YOU ARE READING
Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Life
FanfictionSarah Cook- a normal girl who happens to be somewhat of a closet genius. What would happen if she stepped into a not-so-normal world? This is exactly what happens when she decides to make one of the biggest decisions of her life and move to London...