I arrived at 221B Baker Street, my old place of residence, at just a little past eight and quite cold. I arrived dressed in a red overcoat with white fur lining, a pair of red trousers held up by a big buckled leather belt and a false, white beard that itched my moustache underneath. I arrived to find the house of Sherlock Holmes unearthly quiet. I brought the brass knocker on the door down heavily.

Footsteps made their way to the door. When the door had only opened slightly I boomed in my best St. Nick impersonation: "Merry Christmas!"

Mrs. Hudson clutched her chest and in her Scottish accent let out: "Mr. Watson! You almost scared me half to death!"

"Sorry old girl." I told her. "Is Holmes here?"

"Yes. He's asleep in the parlor." she replied.

I looked ahead to the door straight behind her that I knew to lead to the parlor. It was closed.

"Shall I wake him?" she asked me.

"No. I'll take care of it."

I walked into the foyer and the door closed behind with one hearty push. The wind was picking up.

From the foyer I opened the door to the parlor and entered into a room of soft light and the drone of my friend's sleeping.

He was slumped asleep in his favorite reading chair with his violin lying precariously in his lap. An almost empty glass of sherry sat alongside the bottle of the same liquor on the small table next to Sherlock's sleeping form.

The room itself was quite warm from a light fire in the fireplace at the far end of the room. It filled the parlor with a sleepy heat that made me even think about taking up the other chair, my chair you could call it, and taking a nap. But I hadn't time for that and I knew my wife awaited me at home. Time to get a moving on.

"Holmes?" I asked him as I poked him softly in the shoulder with a finger. "Are you awake?"

"Of course I am. How could anyone sleep with all the racket you were making?" he told me as he sat up in his chair.

I hadn't made a sound but I knew that was different to a trained ear like his.

"Merry Christmas, old friend." I told him.

He looked up at me and his face made a cross look.

"This is a new look for you, Watson. Although I never thought red would go so well with your build."

"I just left the Royal British Orphanage where I gave out toys to the children."

"Good show Watson, as usual!" Holmes told me.

He stood up and walked over to a small liquor cart. He took up another glass and turned to me offering me it.

"Sherry?"

"Perhaps a splash." I replied and he filled up the glass with the bottle from the small table. Then, he poured himself a glass also.

"To a Merry Christmas." he toasted.

"And a Happy New Year." I added.

"Yes. One with lots of challenges."

"You know, perhaps it will be a quiet one?" I considered.

And, as if in answer, there was a loud knocking at the door! It sounded as if Thor's hammer were striking the Earth!

"What the devil?" Holmes asked me as probably to himself.

I watched as Mrs. Hudson walked towards the door and a sense of fear shook over me! A premonition!

"No! Mrs Hudson don't!" I cried to her but it was too late!

She opened the door only a centimeter when it came swinging open by some larger mass smacking her square in the forehead and sending her flying down to the ground! She was out cold!

The dark massive shape moved through the door and closed it behind him quickly. He headed towards us and stepped into the light! He was dressed in a red overcoat and a white...beard? I turned towards the mirror by me and then back at him. We were dressed alike. Too much alike.

His face was cross with worriment and circles of sweat soiled the red suit!

"I fear you've struck down our housekeeper!" Sherlock told the man!

"You've got to help me Sherlock Homes!" he told them in the same booming voice I'd used when I was impersonating St. Nick!

"What seems to be the problem?" Sherlock asked.

"They're trying to kill me!" he told us.

"Who?" I asked him.

"I'm not sure! It could be any of them!" he answered.

"Who are they?" Holmes asked.

"The elves! The reindeer! Even my own wife!"

In all this excitement it occurred to me that he was genuinely frightened and that we were dressed alike. Like an epiphany I wondered that could the person or persons trying to kill him mistake me..for him?

I didn't need to answer that question as I began to fumble with the suit! I had to get this damn thing off!

"I see. And you are?" Sherlock asked him.

"I'm Santa Claus for Christ's sake!

"Yes..." Sherlock mumbled, almost sarcastically, "I see."

"Why would they want to kill you?" I asked as I tried to pry apart the buttons that just wouldn't come apart! Why do they make these suits so easy to get into but so bloody difficult to get out of?

"Each has their reason! The reindeers are angry because I had to put Donner down he was rabid! The elves are mad because I had to let some of them go downsizing, you know! And Mrs. Claus has been trying to kill me for years because she thinks I've got some chippie on the side which she's right!"

"My god, man! You're a disgrace!" Sherlock scolded him!

I'd gotten the button undone and made my way down the rest of the front of the red coat when the door blew open and all the lamps and candles into he parlor were blown out by a mighty breeze! It was too late!

"Oh God! No!" cried Santa! "They found me!"

Coming through the doorway I could see little dark shapes and child-like laughter echoed through the parlor like a broken record. Another shape entered, larger than the others, and disappeared into the darkness of the room!

Suddenly I could feel little hands prodding and touching me and still the childish laughter filled my ears and my mind with fright! I tried to pull off the beard but my wife had double-knotted it in the back!

From behind me I could feel the hot, delicate breath of some fiend on the back of my neck! I could smell a slight perfume and felt thin, bony fingers scrape across my face like sandpaper!

"Leave me be!" I cried out into the darkness.

"Watson? Where are you?" Holmes hollered!

The hands withdrew and so did the breath. The childish voices and their footsteps moved away from me and above me, on the roof, I swore I could hear a stomp of what sounded like a hoof hitting once. A signal!

Then a man cried out in pain! His cries were muffled quickly and violently! Then the cries dulled out.

I slumped to the floor in exhaustion.

Moments later Holmes lit a lamp with a single match and then found his way to another which he lit also. Light filled the room like salvation.

We were alone. There was nothing except for Holmes, the man claiming to be Santa, and I.

"Are you fine?" asked Holmes.

"Yes. I'm unharmed." I replied.

"Wish we could say the same for him." Holmes pointed out as he gestured to the man who lie on his back, face stuffed full of gingerbread men, a string of tinsel wrapped tightly around his neck, and about twenty little scissors sticking out of his chest.

"My God!" I said in horror. That could have been me!

"It seems the game's afoot." Holmes stated. He looked at the tracks leading away from the body. "Or rather, the game's ahoof!"