Fic: Silent Ballad
Title: Silent Ballad
Author: Maestress83
Rating: G
Universe: ACD Canon
Character(s): Doctor Watson, Sherlock Holmes, reference to Oscar Wilde
Relationships/Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Watson publicly sings Holmes' praises, but there is a private song that must never be sung aloud.
Content Warnings: Period-typical homophobia
Word Count: 186
Author's Notes: Written in response to JWP 2015 #8 (The Ballad of Reading Gaol) on Watson's Woes. I took my inspiration from the title itself rather than the text.
I know I tend to wax rhapsodic over Holmes' brilliant mind. I was worried at first that I was overdoing my descriptions and praise in my writing, but according to the Strand's editors and the occasional letter that makes its way to Baker Street, the public finds the constant details of my fascinating friend just as compelling (if not more so) than the mysteries we investigate.
What I long for, however, is not to sing praises just of his mind and intellectual skill, but of his body, his impossibly graceful and lithe frame that makes this old soldier feel young again, and of his secret heart, which belongs to me alone...
But there my tongue must still. England's court has just showed its greatest playwright and wit of the age no mercy; what hope have I, a mere teller of tales? And so I sing my hidden song only to my lover's ears and the flames of our fireplace; I dare not even whisper it into my buried tin box. This bard's heart would break if an indiscreet ballad banished my beloved to Reading Gaol.
Author: Maestress83
Rating: G
Universe: ACD Canon
Character(s): Doctor Watson, Sherlock Holmes, reference to Oscar Wilde
Relationships/Pairing: Holmes/Watson
Summary: Watson publicly sings Holmes' praises, but there is a private song that must never be sung aloud.
Content Warnings: Period-typical homophobia
Word Count: 186
Author's Notes: Written in response to JWP 2015 #8 (The Ballad of Reading Gaol) on Watson's Woes. I took my inspiration from the title itself rather than the text.
I know I tend to wax rhapsodic over Holmes' brilliant mind. I was worried at first that I was overdoing my descriptions and praise in my writing, but according to the Strand's editors and the occasional letter that makes its way to Baker Street, the public finds the constant details of my fascinating friend just as compelling (if not more so) than the mysteries we investigate.
What I long for, however, is not to sing praises just of his mind and intellectual skill, but of his body, his impossibly graceful and lithe frame that makes this old soldier feel young again, and of his secret heart, which belongs to me alone...
But there my tongue must still. England's court has just showed its greatest playwright and wit of the age no mercy; what hope have I, a mere teller of tales? And so I sing my hidden song only to my lover's ears and the flames of our fireplace; I dare not even whisper it into my buried tin box. This bard's heart would break if an indiscreet ballad banished my beloved to Reading Gaol.