[Sherlock Holmes] jaelijn's Prompts, 98: Idiom
Yay to late University teachers. Had time to finish this drabble.
Title: Idiom
Pairing: None
Beta Reader: None
Rating: G
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John H. Watson
Genre: Introspective, Melancholy
Warnings: Drabble (145 words)
Info: Written for Prompt 98: Idiom of Jaelijn's Prompts Table.
Prompt 98: Idiom
He traveled the snows and mountains of Tibet, where the city of Lhassa and the secluded monasteries stood out as grand islands of civilization and majestic cores of an ancient culture whose intriguing dialects were new even to his formidable intellect.
The jargon he heard in Khartoum was softer, and he struggled to learn its basics. He realized, with inner discomfort, that the very soul of Persian literature would never have been attainable to a foreigner.
The gentle accents of Montpellier were familiar to his memory almost as his mother language was. Although his mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge his renewed ease, he dwelled in the south of France until it was time to cross La Manche.
Only the sound of his own name spoken by his dearest friend's stunned and enthusiastic voice allowed him to understand how much he had missed London's elegant parlance.
---
Ah, Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody! *runs to DataBase classes*
Title: Idiom
Pairing: None
Beta Reader: None
Rating: G
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John H. Watson
Genre: Introspective, Melancholy
Warnings: Drabble (145 words)
Info: Written for Prompt 98: Idiom of Jaelijn's Prompts Table.
Prompt 98: Idiom
He traveled the snows and mountains of Tibet, where the city of Lhassa and the secluded monasteries stood out as grand islands of civilization and majestic cores of an ancient culture whose intriguing dialects were new even to his formidable intellect.
The jargon he heard in Khartoum was softer, and he struggled to learn its basics. He realized, with inner discomfort, that the very soul of Persian literature would never have been attainable to a foreigner.
The gentle accents of Montpellier were familiar to his memory almost as his mother language was. Although his mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge his renewed ease, he dwelled in the south of France until it was time to cross La Manche.
Only the sound of his own name spoken by his dearest friend's stunned and enthusiastic voice allowed him to understand how much he had missed London's elegant parlance.
---
Ah, Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody! *runs to DataBase classes*