A Very Superwholock Christmas

A Superwholock Christmas Carol

“Um, a Merry Christmas, Uncle?” John Watson said as he opened the door carefully, holding a wreath. Cas looked up, really confused as well.

“What?” Sam whispered, surprised and bewildered. John shrugged, pointing to his wrists, where there were lines. Sam looked at his wrist and found some there, too.

“I said, A Merry Christmas, Uncle? God save you,” John repeated, never acted before in his life. Sam glanced at his wrists as he eyebrows shot up.

“Bah, humbug,” Sam answered before glancing up.

“Christmas a humbug, Uncle? Surely you don't mean that!” John replied, thinking that this was the most ridiculous thing in his life. Sam squinted at his wrist as Cas went to check his own.

“Of course I mean it! Merry Christmas, indeed. What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough,” Sam replied poorly. “Where is everyone?”

“No idea,” John hissed before looking at his arm again. “Come, Uncle. What reason have you to be dismal? You're rich enough. Ha ha!”

“BAH! Away with Merry Christmas! What's Christmas to you, but a, um, time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older and not an hour richer? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be ,ah, boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!” Sam read off, wondering how such a long line could fit on his wrist.

“Uncle!” John shouted emotionlessly.

“Nephew!” Sam warned deeply, but flatly. “Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”

“Keep it! But you don't keep it,” John read before looking up at Sam, hoping that this charade would end soon. Sam sighed and looked down again.

“Let me leave it alone, then! A lot of good it has done you- Okay, I am not this bad with Christmas!” Sam shouted to the ceiling. Suddenly, things started to fly off the shelves toward them. “Okay! Okay! I’ll go along with it! John, keep reading!”

“Well, there are many things from which I have benefited, even if they didn't show a profit, I dare say. Christmas among the rest. But if anything belonging to Christmas can be considered apart from the sacred source of its name and origin, I am sure I have always thought of Christmas as a good time, a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time of year I know of when men and women- god this is a long line -seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and think of others as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of silver or gold in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!” John finished before taking a deep breath. Sam was about to applaud him, but then thought better of it. However, Cas started to applaud slowly.

“Cas?” Sam whispered.

“My wrist told me to clap,” Cas answered as Sam nodded and looked at his own wrist.

“Another sound out of you, and you'll keep your Christmas by losing your position!” Sam bellowed at Cas, who looked confused before looking back at the papers.

“Don't be angry, Uncle. Come and dine with us tomorrow,” John suggested, getting the hang of it.

“I'll see myself in hell first,” Sam grumbled before glaring at John.

“But…but why, Uncle?” John whispered, afraid of that look.

“Why? Why? Let me ask you a question: Why did you get married recently?” Sam asked without any tone in his voice.