Work Text:
Twas the day after Christmas and in two-twenty-one B
Not a creature was stirring, not even D.I. Gregory.
Three stockings were pierced on the wall with three knives
Painted with handcuffs, lab coats, and bee hives.
The stockings were empty, the kitchen was bare
The tree had been stripped of gifts that had been there.
Tissue paper and ribbons lay strewn on the floor
And three men slept exhausted, happy and sore.
When out on the staircase, the footsteps came nearer
And John’s eyes opened to look straight in the mirror
Fastened to the ceiling (a gift from the night before)
And John leapt to his feet, and flew to the door.
The morning sun shining through hall windowpanes
Caught the dust in the air floating about soft as rain.
And up from below, saw John’s embarrassed eyes
Climbed Mrs Hudson, with a breakfast of biscuits and pies.
“Good morning, John, did you pass a good night?”
Said Mrs Hudson, her eyes and smile quite bright.
“I’ve some treats for you boys, to make pleasant your day
Now let me come through then I’ll dash right away.”
“Ah, I’ll take them now,” said John, glancing behind
At the mess in the flat of a most unsuitable kind.
(Because lurking among the crumpled tissues and bows
Were condoms, flavored lotions, gloves and dildoes.)
How her eyes, did they twinkle! How her dimples grew deeper!
And John had the feeling Mrs H wasn’t such a sound sleeper
The smile on her lips was just a bit too well-knowing
And John laughed rather high, and said, “Well, best be going!”
“Here you are, dear,” said Mrs H with a grin.
John took the plate; Mrs H didn’t try to peer in.
“Remember those are for all three of you to share
Hope they make up for me catching you unaware.”
Mrs Hudson descended the stairs, with a bit of a giggle
And John managed the door closed, with a bit of a wriggle
But he heard Mrs H say, before he ran back to the bed,
“Happy Christmas, dear boys: Sherlock, John and Greg.”