The Blue Carbuncle

I fumbled my packages from arm to arm, attempting to reach the door handle, to no avail. I thought of shouting for aid from my companion and flat-mate, Sherlock, but I wasn't ready to admit defeat just yet. As I was pondering what success I might have with my foot, the door flew open and there loomed the very man. Sherlock's eye darted to take me in, laden with Christmas packages and dusted with snow.

"New jumper," It wasn't a question. He turned and strode back into the flat.

I shifted my parcels and followed, finding myself with no uncluttered surfaces on which to place my purchases. I gave up looking, setting them atop a pile of newspapers on the table. "I did buy a few new jumpers, yes," I admitted, tilting one of my shopping bags open.

"No, you're wearing one," Sherlock said, not looking up. His attention was captivated by what appeared to be some sort of holiday special on our small television.

"What? How?" I looked down at myself. My upper half was completely hidden by my coat, which I had been about to unbutton, but hesitated, curious.

He shot me a briefest of looks along with the most fleeting of sympathetic smiles. "You neglected to remove the shop tag. It's sticking out of your collar."

I felt around to the back of my neck and sure enough, there was the price tag. "I was cold, it was warm, I put it on," I explained, tersely. I pulled a few boxes of Christmas lights from my shopping. Mrs Hudson's old strings were dead and they didn't make bulbs for them any more. Sherlock had correctly surmised that she'd had those strings of lights since before she had gotten married. She just gave him a cheeky smile and requested I pick up some new ones.

"What on earth are you watching?" I asked, squinting over my companion's shoulder.

"I don't know," he said, as though the title of the film was the least important thing in the world.

"Alright," I tried again, moving back to my shopping. "Why are you watching it?"

"Ah," I saw the flicker of a smile play on his pale lips before fading again, "Do you see what the holiday season reduces me to, John?"

"No,"

"No cases. No work. My brain is turning to mush, and as a result I sit here watching disgusting Christmas specials trying to deduce if these two actors are having an affair."

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to smile. He looked so perfectly pained that this was what he had been reduced to. Laughing out loud would no doubt send him into a full sulk and he'd make me more miserable than he usually did around the holidays. While his attention was diverted I ferried his gift (several classical music CDs of famous violin performances) into my coat pocket for later hiding in my own room. As far as I knew, Sherlock actually kept his snooping nose out of my space.

"They are," Sherlock announced definitively, and changed the channel.

I was about to suggest we go out for dinner, perhaps distracting him that way, when there was a knock on the door downstairs. Moments later Mrs Hudson led someone up, explaining as she did so that she was not, in fact, our housekeeper.

"Peterson!" I exclaimed.

Sherlock swung his head languidly around to see whom I had just greeted so enthusiastically.

"Hello, Watson, old fellow! How have you been?" asked the man standing I the doorway, looking pleased, but unsure. "I heard you'd gotten a flatmate," he peered in at Sherlock. He had no doubt read the news reports, or my blog, or both, and knew exactly who I was rooming with. By the avid look in my friend's eyes I could tell that Sherlock was the real reason he had stopped in for a visit.