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The night was cold and I sat close by the fire, wrapped up in a blanket as I looked at a book. Holmes sat across from me with a pipe, lost in thought.
Neither of us were young men, not anymore. I had gone completely grey and Holmes had very little color left. Our hands and faces and bodies showed the years and the trials we had faced.
We’d retired after one last summer in London, carefully packing up a lifetime of treasures, discarding or giving away what we no longer needed to carry with us, saying farewell to old friends and places, and at last making our way here, to this comfortable cottage in the Sussex countryside.
Now it was Christmas. We’d have visitors in the morning, some of those old friends and a few new ones. But for tonight it was just us, quietly enjoying one another’s company as we did every night.
I shifted the blanket aside and got up to fix us each a cup of tea. I was well aware that my hands weren’t as strong and sure as they’d once been, but I could still be useful.
As I stood at the counter Holmes wrapped himself around my back and helped steady the teapot. Perhaps I should be resentful that I needed the assistance, but rather, I was grateful that he was here to support me at all.
Holmes kissed my temple and took his cup, leaning against the counter as he regarded me.
I gave him a gentle smile. “Still here,” I said. “As long as you’ll have me.”
Something sad crossed his eyes. We both knew who was likely to pass first, though I could hardly imagine one of us going anywhere without the other being close behind.
I leaned up and kissed him gently. “We’re not to the end yet,” I assured him.
“And thank goodness for that,” he said, putting his cup aside and taking my hand, leading me into a slow dance. I laughed and let him follow whatever tempo he was hearing in his head, safe in his arms as we moved around the kitchen.
We came to the doorway where a sprig of mistletoe had been hung. “Happy Christmas,” he said, kissing me.
“And Happy Christmas to you as well,” I answered, kissing him back.
He hugged me gently. If we were younger, things might have gone differently, but the cold made my knee ache and his hands stiffen.
“I love you,” I said instead. It had taken a long time to say those words aloud, but now I never tired of the way his face lit up when I said them.
Holmes leaned in to kiss me again. “I love you, too. Now go sit by the fire, I’ll bring the tea.”
I knew better than to argue, and my knee was bothering me, so I resumed my place and pulled the blanket over my lap.
He deposited my tea by my side, then went to the phonograph. Even if he could no longer play, at least we still had music in our home.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening. There were times I’d thought I’d never live to see this. Times I thought that even if I did I, I’d be alone in the world. But instead, here I was, with the man who made me complete.
He squeezed my hand before resuming his seat. The warm fire and the music lulled me to sleep, feeling surrounded by love.