July 10 - what's all this then
Title: The Trials and Tribulations of a Country Constable
Author: Pompey
Universe: AU-ACD crossover with Disney’s Gargoyles
Warnings: supernatural
Word count: 479
Summary: Pity the poor policeman who has to contend with Sherlock Holmes , gargoyle!Watson, and a man who doesn’t exist. Part 9/?
Prompt: July 10 - what’s all this then
I know our village has nae been the most canny of places. Every now and again come tales of odd occurrences -- of lights in the dark where they ought not to be, bits of fairy music in the distance, even of the gargoyles moving though they always manage to end up in their proper places with nary a bit moss out of place. But this is the modern age, I try to be a man of science.
I like to think Mr. Sherlock Holmes appreciated my efforts during his investigation not quite a fortnight ago. It’s lucky he was here to help before the folk began to spin tales of elf-arrows and curses when what was to blame was simple human sin.
But last night, me own sister came to me swearing she saw two creatures flying around the castle. Big as men, she said, and looking like two demons straight out of the pit. And she wasn’t the only one. Now, I may not believe such tales but I’m also nae foolish enough to go prowling about crumbling stone walls in the middle of the night with naught but a lantern betwixt me and tumbling off the hill.
I did mean to go up to investigate the next day, truly. But when I saw Mr. Holmes back here after seeing him depart, and the sorts of questions he asked, it slipped my mind. Then, when he asked me to keep my eyes open for a man by the name of Owen Burnett, well, I felt as though it were a duty placed on my shoulders by a great man. Besides, for all I knew, the man Mr. Holmes wanted was a most dastardly criminal in the Empire. (Though why he should want to come here and play curator to a ramshackle castle in a poor village was quite beyond me.)
Now, though, I don’t know what to think. Sunset was an hour ago and I myself have seen a light up at the castle, and I would swear with my hand on the Holy Writ that one of the stone gargoyles moved. And nae five minutes ago, a blond stranger came up to me. “I hear someone is looking for me,” says he. I asked him who that might be, and who he was.
“I am Owen Burnett,” he replies. “And it is Sherlock Holmes himself seeking me.” Then he looks up at the castle and says, “Ah. I think that must be he.” And then - then Owen Burnett disappears right before me very eyes, like a candle blown out.
So, lads, make of that what ye will. All I know is, I am finishing with me rounds for the night. I am finishing this pint and if anything else uncanny should happen up at the castle, I am dreadful sorry but you’re all on your own.
Author: Pompey
Universe: AU-ACD crossover with Disney’s Gargoyles
Warnings: supernatural
Word count: 479
Summary: Pity the poor policeman who has to contend with Sherlock Holmes , gargoyle!Watson, and a man who doesn’t exist. Part 9/?
Prompt: July 10 - what’s all this then
I know our village has nae been the most canny of places. Every now and again come tales of odd occurrences -- of lights in the dark where they ought not to be, bits of fairy music in the distance, even of the gargoyles moving though they always manage to end up in their proper places with nary a bit moss out of place. But this is the modern age, I try to be a man of science.
I like to think Mr. Sherlock Holmes appreciated my efforts during his investigation not quite a fortnight ago. It’s lucky he was here to help before the folk began to spin tales of elf-arrows and curses when what was to blame was simple human sin.
But last night, me own sister came to me swearing she saw two creatures flying around the castle. Big as men, she said, and looking like two demons straight out of the pit. And she wasn’t the only one. Now, I may not believe such tales but I’m also nae foolish enough to go prowling about crumbling stone walls in the middle of the night with naught but a lantern betwixt me and tumbling off the hill.
I did mean to go up to investigate the next day, truly. But when I saw Mr. Holmes back here after seeing him depart, and the sorts of questions he asked, it slipped my mind. Then, when he asked me to keep my eyes open for a man by the name of Owen Burnett, well, I felt as though it were a duty placed on my shoulders by a great man. Besides, for all I knew, the man Mr. Holmes wanted was a most dastardly criminal in the Empire. (Though why he should want to come here and play curator to a ramshackle castle in a poor village was quite beyond me.)
Now, though, I don’t know what to think. Sunset was an hour ago and I myself have seen a light up at the castle, and I would swear with my hand on the Holy Writ that one of the stone gargoyles moved. And nae five minutes ago, a blond stranger came up to me. “I hear someone is looking for me,” says he. I asked him who that might be, and who he was.
“I am Owen Burnett,” he replies. “And it is Sherlock Holmes himself seeking me.” Then he looks up at the castle and says, “Ah. I think that must be he.” And then - then Owen Burnett disappears right before me very eyes, like a candle blown out.
So, lads, make of that what ye will. All I know is, I am finishing with me rounds for the night. I am finishing this pint and if anything else uncanny should happen up at the castle, I am dreadful sorry but you’re all on your own.