Professor Layton’s Christmas Gathering
This is my gift for the wonderful @angelbellelc2 !!
I hope you enjoy this!!!
Snow drifted down in gentle spirals through the London twilight, blanketing the rooftops and lamplights of Bloomsbury in a soft, amber glow. Inside a stately townhouse on Charing Street, the firelight danced upon mahogany bookshelves and framed maps, casting long, thoughtful shadows that seemed, fittingly, as contemplative as their owner.
Professor Hershel Layton straightened the wreath on his front door and glanced toward the grandfather clock in the hallway. “Just in time,” he murmured with quiet satisfaction, brushing a bit of dust from his signature top hat before settling it back in place.
Moments later, a gentle but enthusiastic knock echoed.
“Professor! Merry Christmas!” came a bright voice.
Layton smiled before even opening the door. There stood Luke Triton, his faithful apprentice from years prior, now a young man but with the same eager energy glowing behind his eyes. His scarf, of course, was slightly askew from rushing through the snow.
“Merry Christmas, Luke,” Layton greeted warmly. “Do come in—you're just in time to warm yourself by the fire.”
Luke stepped in, stamping snow from his boots. “It smells wonderful in here! Have you been cooking, Professor?”
Layton chuckled. “I’ve been attempting a roast, with limited supervision. Though I dare say we’ll have better luck once our next guest arrives.”
That “next guest” turned out to be Flora Reinhold, smiling softly as she entered a few minutes later, her arms full of neatly wrapped gifts. “Professor Layton! Luke! Oh, how lovely it is to see you both!” She gave each of them a cheery hug, her golden hair glinting in the warm lamplight.
The trio soon gathered near the hearth, exchanging stories and laughter while the wind whispered at the windows. Then came Emmy Altava, brisk and bright, tapping her boots clean. “Thought I’d make it before the snow turns the whole of London into an ice rink,” she quipped, pulling off her gloves.
“Emmy! It’s been too long,” Luke said, grinning.
“Only a couple of months since our last puzzle case,” she teased. “But it’s good to see everyone again—especially under peaceful circumstances.”
As the clock struck six, the doorbell rang again. A tall man with fair hair appeared in the doorway, his expression warm but tinged with a trace of old guilt—Clive Dove.
“Clive,” Layton said, stepping forward. “Please—come in. The past is behind us tonight. It’s Christmas, after all.”
Clive smiled faintly, emotion creasing his voice. “Thank you, Professor. It’s good to be welcomed… truly welcomed.”
The circle around the fire grew, chat turned to laughter, and soon two more silhouettes emerged at the threshold—Alfendi Layton and Katrielle Layton, the professor’s children, each bearing their own brand of charm and flair.
“Father!” Katrielle exclaimed, clearing the snow off her crimson beret. “You didn’t start the festivities without us, did you?”
“Of course not,” Hershel said, his face lighting up at the sight of her. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Kat’s been running investigations even on Christmas Eve,” Alfendi noted dryly, loosening his collar. “Some things never change.”
“Well, mysteries don’t take holidays,” she replied with a grin.
Laughter echoed again through the room, and Layton’s home felt almost to burst with warmth and music. Emmy helped Flora serve tea. Luke regaled Clive with tales from their old adventures. Katrielle perched by the piano, playing a cheerful lullaby that mingled perfectly with the soft crackling of the fire.
Outside, the city’s glow faded beneath the snowfall, and the evening settled into something timeless. That was when two final guests arrived—Desmond Sycamore and Raymond. They came bearing small parcels and their characteristic charm, the former with polite exuberance, the latter with impeccable grace.
“My, Professor,” Raymond said with a bow, “I see you’ve gathered quite the distinguished company this evening.”
“And what better occasion than Christmas to do so,” Hershel replied. “Please, join us.”
They did—and soon the entire ensemble was present: old friends, family, and a few companions who, by fate or memory, had wandered together through so many mysteries.
The Christmas Toast
Dinner was spread across the oak table—roast goose gleaming under candlelight, bowls of potatoes and glazed vegetables, puddings dusted in powdered sugar. The chatter quieted as Layton rose, glass in hand.
“My dear friends,” he began, his voice carrying the calm dignity that Luke had missed so dearly. “There are many moments in life that one might call precious—but few as precious as this: to sit among those who have shaped one’s life through kindness, courage, and memory. Tonight, we share not a puzzle to be solved, but a joy to be savored.”
He paused, his gaze meeting each face. “I am deeply grateful that you have all come—from near and far—to celebrate this evening together. Merry Christmas, and thank you... for being part of my journey.”
“Merry Christmas!” the group echoed in chorus, raising their glasses high.
Dinner began. There was laughter, a flurry of cheerful conversation, and even a friendly competition between Luke and Alfendi over who could carve the roast more neatly (Flora ultimately declared it a draw). Emmy complimented Layton’s cooking, which made him blush modestly. Desmond recited a witty toast about “cryptic clues hidden in Christmas pudding,” and even Clive laughed freely.
By the time dessert arrived, the fireplace flickered low but warm, and snow pressed softly against the windows—each flake glowing faintly in the reflection of the tree lights.
Snowball Mischief
Later, when most had leaned back in their chairs, full and content, Luke noticed Katrielle staring dreamily out at the falling snow. A mischievous idea crossed his mind—the sort of innocent fun he hadn’t indulged in since his younger days. He turned to her.
“Kat, why don’t you come outside for a moment?” he said, wearing a sly grin.
“Outside? It’s freezing!” she replied, suspicious.
“Come on,” Luke pressed. “Just for a minute. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
Her curiosity overcame her sense. Katrielle grabbed her coat and hat and followed him into the garden, where the world was blanketed in silver stillness. The snow crunched gently under their boots.
Luke crouched, scooped up a palmful of snow, and shaped it quickly before Katrielle realized what he was doing.
“Hey—what are you—”
Before she could finish, a soft *thwump* hit her mittened arm. Snowflakes exploded everywhere.
Her eyes widened in mock outrage. “You didn’t!”
“I did!” Luke laughed, backing away.
Katrielle bent down immediately, her competitive grin spreading. “You dare challenge a Layton to a snow duel?”
The next volley hit Luke squarely in the chest. He gasped, then laughed harder, lobbing another snowball in return. Within moments, both were darting across the yard, shouting and laughing as snow filled their coats and scarves.
Inside, Flora peeked out the window and smiled. “Oh, those two,” she said fondly.
“Playing in the snow like children,” Emmy added, amused. “Should we stop them?”
Layton shook his head, utterly content. “Let them enjoy the night,” he said softly. “After all, the spirit of youth and joy should never be restrained—especially on Christmas.”
The others soon decided to join in anyway. Emmy threw on a thick red coat and rushed outside with a triumphant yell, pelting Luke with a perfectly aimed snowball. “Consider this payback for last spring’s prank!”
Then Clive joined, then Flora—who hadn’t wanted to ruin her dress but was dragged into the fun nonetheless. Raymond stood at the doorway, chuckling deeply as Desmond halfheartedly joined in. Even Alfendi couldn’t resist for long, letting his more playful side appear for the occasion.
Hershel finally stepped out too, savoring the scene—the laughter mingling with the winter air, the snow glittering under the streetlamps. He lifted his face toward the sky for a moment and breathed deeply, the icy air mixing with warmth in his chest.
A Christmas to Remember
When at last the snowball war turned into friendly truces and good-natured laughter, the group retreated inside again, gathering in front of the hearth with steaming cups of cocoa. The fire snapped and popped merrily, warming chilled fingers and hearts.
Katrielle sat near her father, still brushing snow from her curls. “You know, Father,” she said, half-sheepish, half-glowing, “this may be one of my favorite cases yet.”
Layton smiled. “Oh? And what was the mystery?”
“The Case of the Disappearing Christmas Pudding,” she teased. “Someone ate mine while we were outside.”
Laughter erupted again—Alfendi raised his eyebrows and feigned innocence. “No evidence can prove that.”
“As a detective,” Kat shot back mock-seriously, “I know guilt when I see it.”
Layton watched them all, that same gentle smile never fading. The clock ticked quietly toward midnight, and outside, the snow continued to fall—softly, endlessly—over the peaceful city.
In all his years of adventures and enigmas, Hershel had never solved a puzzle quite like this one: the simple, irreplaceable joy of friendship, family, and newfound peace.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” he said softly one last time.
And the night ended, as all the best ones do, in laughter and warm hearts.
