(no subject)
Title:
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: None. Gen.
Word count: 872
Synopsis:
Notes: Fun. I seem to recall it was going to be crack!fic of some variety but I don't remember now where I was going with it. Yet another fic I have failed to finish for poor Ivan.
“My dear Watson,” the letter read, in Holmes’ usual almost illegible handwriting, and with his customary brevity, “I have a case, and I would be most glad of your assistance in this matter.”
I will not say that I was reluctant to answer his summons, abrupt though they were. Life as a general practitioner is for the most part rewarding work, but I regret that I suffer frequently from the monotony of my profession. To be required by Holmes for even the most trivial of reasons promised a breath of relief from the house calls to influenza patients.
I scribbled a reply to the effect that I would be along as soon as I had visited Mrs. Barnstable, a particularly irritable and formidable lady, and handed it to the grubby boy who stood, cap in hand, scowling at me from under his unkempt mop of hair.
Then I gathered up my bag, collected my hat and stick from the hall stand, and watched the boy as he ran off down the road, well on the way to delivering his missive to my old friend.
Mrs. Barnstable proved less formidable than usual, and so it was within half an hour that I was once more feeling the beloved and well-worn cobbles of Baker Street beneath the heels of my boots. Although I still had my latch-key (both Holmes and Mrs. Hudson insisting upon it), I still felt disinclined to intrude. I rang the bell of 221b, and waited as Mrs. Hudson opened the door.
I knocked quietly at the door of my old rooms with the regretful knowledge that there was a time where it would not have been necessary for me to do so.
Holmes’ voice floated through the solid oak to me, raised in irritation, “Watson, my dear fellow, I wish you wouldn’t loiter out there like London fog. I have been expecting you this past half hour with very little patience.”
I grinned and pushed the door open. I was greeted by Holmes at his most dishevelled- he was distinctly unwashed and was wearing his dressing gown over his nightshirt. It was clear that whatever this case was, it had kept him sitting up all night as was his wont.
“Tea, Watson, we must have tea! Ring for Mrs Hudson if you would be so good.”
As an Englishman I find that there is rarely an occasion where tea is not an excellent suggestion, and so I dutifully rang for the landlady.
When I had settled back into my favourite armchair by the fire, I returned to studying Holmes with some anxiety. The case must have been consuming him for some time, for he looked dreadfully pale. I soon saw, by the twinkling in his eyes, that he had been studying me with the same rapt attention. He had doubtless learnt significantly more.
“You will be wondering what has prompted me to summon you.”
“I confess I am curious.”
“I am not in the habit, as you know Watson, of succumbing to the hysteria of the general public. However, that has not prevented me in the past from taking cases which appear to be of… supernatural cause. You may for example recall the case of the Sussex Vampire, or even our assistance to Sir Henry Baskerville.”
“This new case is like those others but for one important feature. No matter which way I look at it, I cannot escape the conclusion that this is one occasion where I can detect no human hand, no trickery.”
“I would ask you, Watson, for two things. The first: your unbiased eye. You know nothing of this case, and it may be that with your fresh perspective some… glimmer of a solution to this wretched puzzle may present itself. The second: your expertise as a medical practitioner. You know I have every faith in you, Watson. I trust you above all to tell me, truthfully, if I have finally gone mad.”
“What say you, my friend? Will you assist me?”
Accustomed though I am to Holmes’ theatrics, I admit that this latest speech of his quite disconcerted me. The solemnity with which he spoke conveyed to me the struggle he had been going through, and the agony of this apparently insoluble puzzle. I was able to answer with barely a thought.
“My dear Holmes, how could I refuse? I am at your service for as long as the case demands.”
“Excellent, then we shall begin at once. You have no doubt heard of the recent unexplained attacks and destruction in the vicinity of Walton?”
“Heard of them? Holmes I think I would have to have been blind and deaf not to have heard something of those dreadful occurrences.”
Holmes smiled briefly, and picked up his pipe. “Just so. And what is your theory as to the cause?”
“I am inclined to believe the theory of meteor strikes, considering the heat involved. However, I’ve only been reading what they have said in the newspapers.”
“I have been myself to Walton and seen the damage first hand. In my opinion, the first explosion was indeed caused by something large falling. It can only have been a meteor. It is the subsequent damage which so troubles me."
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Pairing: None. Gen.
Word count: 872
Synopsis:
Notes: Fun. I seem to recall it was going to be crack!fic of some variety but I don't remember now where I was going with it. Yet another fic I have failed to finish for poor Ivan.
“My dear Watson,” the letter read, in Holmes’ usual almost illegible handwriting, and with his customary brevity, “I have a case, and I would be most glad of your assistance in this matter.”
I will not say that I was reluctant to answer his summons, abrupt though they were. Life as a general practitioner is for the most part rewarding work, but I regret that I suffer frequently from the monotony of my profession. To be required by Holmes for even the most trivial of reasons promised a breath of relief from the house calls to influenza patients.
I scribbled a reply to the effect that I would be along as soon as I had visited Mrs. Barnstable, a particularly irritable and formidable lady, and handed it to the grubby boy who stood, cap in hand, scowling at me from under his unkempt mop of hair.
Then I gathered up my bag, collected my hat and stick from the hall stand, and watched the boy as he ran off down the road, well on the way to delivering his missive to my old friend.
Mrs. Barnstable proved less formidable than usual, and so it was within half an hour that I was once more feeling the beloved and well-worn cobbles of Baker Street beneath the heels of my boots. Although I still had my latch-key (both Holmes and Mrs. Hudson insisting upon it), I still felt disinclined to intrude. I rang the bell of 221b, and waited as Mrs. Hudson opened the door.
I knocked quietly at the door of my old rooms with the regretful knowledge that there was a time where it would not have been necessary for me to do so.
Holmes’ voice floated through the solid oak to me, raised in irritation, “Watson, my dear fellow, I wish you wouldn’t loiter out there like London fog. I have been expecting you this past half hour with very little patience.”
I grinned and pushed the door open. I was greeted by Holmes at his most dishevelled- he was distinctly unwashed and was wearing his dressing gown over his nightshirt. It was clear that whatever this case was, it had kept him sitting up all night as was his wont.
“Tea, Watson, we must have tea! Ring for Mrs Hudson if you would be so good.”
As an Englishman I find that there is rarely an occasion where tea is not an excellent suggestion, and so I dutifully rang for the landlady.
When I had settled back into my favourite armchair by the fire, I returned to studying Holmes with some anxiety. The case must have been consuming him for some time, for he looked dreadfully pale. I soon saw, by the twinkling in his eyes, that he had been studying me with the same rapt attention. He had doubtless learnt significantly more.
“You will be wondering what has prompted me to summon you.”
“I confess I am curious.”
“I am not in the habit, as you know Watson, of succumbing to the hysteria of the general public. However, that has not prevented me in the past from taking cases which appear to be of… supernatural cause. You may for example recall the case of the Sussex Vampire, or even our assistance to Sir Henry Baskerville.”
“This new case is like those others but for one important feature. No matter which way I look at it, I cannot escape the conclusion that this is one occasion where I can detect no human hand, no trickery.”
“I would ask you, Watson, for two things. The first: your unbiased eye. You know nothing of this case, and it may be that with your fresh perspective some… glimmer of a solution to this wretched puzzle may present itself. The second: your expertise as a medical practitioner. You know I have every faith in you, Watson. I trust you above all to tell me, truthfully, if I have finally gone mad.”
“What say you, my friend? Will you assist me?”
Accustomed though I am to Holmes’ theatrics, I admit that this latest speech of his quite disconcerted me. The solemnity with which he spoke conveyed to me the struggle he had been going through, and the agony of this apparently insoluble puzzle. I was able to answer with barely a thought.
“My dear Holmes, how could I refuse? I am at your service for as long as the case demands.”
“Excellent, then we shall begin at once. You have no doubt heard of the recent unexplained attacks and destruction in the vicinity of Walton?”
“Heard of them? Holmes I think I would have to have been blind and deaf not to have heard something of those dreadful occurrences.”
Holmes smiled briefly, and picked up his pipe. “Just so. And what is your theory as to the cause?”
“I am inclined to believe the theory of meteor strikes, considering the heat involved. However, I’ve only been reading what they have said in the newspapers.”
“I have been myself to Walton and seen the damage first hand. In my opinion, the first explosion was indeed caused by something large falling. It can only have been a meteor. It is the subsequent damage which so troubles me."