Christmas in London
Christmas in London
Words: 501
Crossover and Christmas
[Note: This is part of an ongoing series of mine that seems to never end, where Giles takes the Scoobies to London after the fall of Sunnydale and meets up with his old buddy Lestrade, thus getting them involved with the BBC Sherlock crew.]
“I must say, it’s very nice of you to invite us for Christmas,” Watson said as he shook Giles’s hand and moved past him into the rather large hotel suite. “Indeed, indeed,” Giles smiled. “Might as well share the wealth, so lucky to have landed this deal, and after all, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without-“
“I know this one!” Willow jumped forward, “Christmas won’t be Christmas without….” she intoned, looking around her expectantly and waving a napkin filled with some type of crumbly appetizer.
“Wet comic books and a sleeping bag in the backyard?” Xander asked brightly from the buffet table. “Staking vampires in a Christmas tree lot?” Buffy called out from the bar. “Mindless twaddle and small talk and meaningless gifts?” Sherlock pushed past John at the doorway and went to glare out the large bow window. "Getting embarrassed in front of your new girlfriend by your flatmate?" John murmured as he went to get a beer.
Giles’s smile faltered as he looked to greet the next guest. “While I’m tempted to add a wry observation from my own experience with Christmases past,” Mycroft said smoothly, only briefly grimacing at the memory of interminable roast dinners at his parents’ cottage, “I believe Ms. Rosenberg is quoting a well-loved book in saying “Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.” From behind his back he produced a large shopping bag filled with brightly wrapped parcels and handed it to Willow, who squealed and started digging through it.
"I must say, that's most thoughtful of you." Giles steered Mycroft toward the bar. "I'm afraid we're not quite organized enough for gifts--" Mycroft waved a gloved hand. "No matter, no matter, mere trifles, and selected by my assistant, so I hope they suit. And I'm given to understand that you and your--" he looked around the room--"team have been most helpful in several of my brother's, and Inspector Lestrade's, undertakings, so consider this a small token of thanks. And, of course, hosting this lovely gathering." Despite the diplomatic tone and expression, Giles didn't miss the slight eye roll at the mention of the "undertakings" nor the small emphasis on the word "lovely."
"Quite, quite," he said heartily, clapping Mycroft on the arm. "As I was about to say, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without friends and family gathered round." He paused for a moment, thinking of his young charges having lost so much of their family and friends. He raised his glass, cleared his throat, and was about to make a small, celebratory speech, when he noticed that no-one was paying any attention. Willow, Xander and Buffy were oohing and ahhing over the apparently more than trifling gifts; Sherlock and John seemed to be having an whispered argument at the window, and Mycroft was leaning against the bar, sipping a whiskey with his gloves still on, and staring at the blinking light above the mantel. Shrugging, Giles sat down with his cheese and gin-and-tonic, and prepared to enjoy Christmas in London in his own way.
Words: 501
Crossover and Christmas
[Note: This is part of an ongoing series of mine that seems to never end, where Giles takes the Scoobies to London after the fall of Sunnydale and meets up with his old buddy Lestrade, thus getting them involved with the BBC Sherlock crew.]
“I must say, it’s very nice of you to invite us for Christmas,” Watson said as he shook Giles’s hand and moved past him into the rather large hotel suite. “Indeed, indeed,” Giles smiled. “Might as well share the wealth, so lucky to have landed this deal, and after all, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without-“
“I know this one!” Willow jumped forward, “Christmas won’t be Christmas without….” she intoned, looking around her expectantly and waving a napkin filled with some type of crumbly appetizer.
“Wet comic books and a sleeping bag in the backyard?” Xander asked brightly from the buffet table. “Staking vampires in a Christmas tree lot?” Buffy called out from the bar. “Mindless twaddle and small talk and meaningless gifts?” Sherlock pushed past John at the doorway and went to glare out the large bow window. "Getting embarrassed in front of your new girlfriend by your flatmate?" John murmured as he went to get a beer.
Giles’s smile faltered as he looked to greet the next guest. “While I’m tempted to add a wry observation from my own experience with Christmases past,” Mycroft said smoothly, only briefly grimacing at the memory of interminable roast dinners at his parents’ cottage, “I believe Ms. Rosenberg is quoting a well-loved book in saying “Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents.” From behind his back he produced a large shopping bag filled with brightly wrapped parcels and handed it to Willow, who squealed and started digging through it.
"I must say, that's most thoughtful of you." Giles steered Mycroft toward the bar. "I'm afraid we're not quite organized enough for gifts--" Mycroft waved a gloved hand. "No matter, no matter, mere trifles, and selected by my assistant, so I hope they suit. And I'm given to understand that you and your--" he looked around the room--"team have been most helpful in several of my brother's, and Inspector Lestrade's, undertakings, so consider this a small token of thanks. And, of course, hosting this lovely gathering." Despite the diplomatic tone and expression, Giles didn't miss the slight eye roll at the mention of the "undertakings" nor the small emphasis on the word "lovely."
"Quite, quite," he said heartily, clapping Mycroft on the arm. "As I was about to say, Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without friends and family gathered round." He paused for a moment, thinking of his young charges having lost so much of their family and friends. He raised his glass, cleared his throat, and was about to make a small, celebratory speech, when he noticed that no-one was paying any attention. Willow, Xander and Buffy were oohing and ahhing over the apparently more than trifling gifts; Sherlock and John seemed to be having an whispered argument at the window, and Mycroft was leaning against the bar, sipping a whiskey with his gloves still on, and staring at the blinking light above the mantel. Shrugging, Giles sat down with his cheese and gin-and-tonic, and prepared to enjoy Christmas in London in his own way.