July 23 - use a pun
Title: Far From Home (part 5/7)
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC, ACD/Gaslight, Dr. Who
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, crossover. (Also, somewhat obscure pun towards the end.)
Word count:
Summary: In 1894, John finds someone waiting for him. And then another someone.
Prompt: July 23 - Use a pun in your entry today
It was, John reflected, not the worst night of his life. There had certainly been more terrible ones. Still, spending the night in a cold and damp prison cell wasn’t exactly what he would call pleasant. At least they hadn’t made him turn out his pockets. Who knows what they would have done with him after seeing his mobile and wallet.
When the pale, sickly sunlight filtered into his cell, he was released. It was six a.m., or at least that’s what he was told when he asked. An officer escorted him through the gate and that was that. John was on his own again and with no change in his situation - except that he was hungrier than he had been twelve hours previously. He decided to try the charity angle again. And this time, he might just make it there.
“Oi, wait up!” shouted a high-pitched voice from behind him. John turned and saw a child somewhere between eight and twelve years old, clad in filthy and tattered clothing, come running up to him and grabbed at his pocket.
Somehow John repressed a groan. Two attempts to rob him in less than twenty-four hours; was that a new record? “Look, I don’t have any money or any valuables so you might as well clear off.”
The boy (at least, he thought it was a boy) shook his head and tugged on John’s pocket. “Can’t. You need to come with me.”
“Need to? No, I really think I don’t.” Firmly John extricated himself from the boy’s grip and started walking away.
The boy called after him, “Yes, you really do . . . Dr. Watson.”
John whirled around and stared at the boy, who burst into a grin of delight at his shock. He felt himself break out in goosebumps. First it was moving statues, then time travel, and now this. “Right,” he said slowly, wishing for some kind of weapon. Even if it was just a broken bottle. “Who are you, how did you know my name, and how much do you know about . . . ” John waved his hand vaguely at their surroundings, “all this?”
The boy stepped closer. “I’m Scarper Ed,” he announced and held out a small, dingy hand that John was obviously meant to shake. He did, gingerly.
“The man you need to see told me who you was,” Scarper Ed continued, pulling at his hand. “He told me to meet you when they let you out. And he said that you need to see him.”
John kept his feet in place. “Who is this man I need to see?”
The boy grinned again, clearly relishing knowing something that John didn’t. “He told me I couldn’t tell you. He said that you had to see him in person.”
Well. That wasn’t least bit ominous-sounding. “And just why is it so important that I see him in person?”
Scarper Ed stopped smiling. “Because he said you’d never believe it if you didn’t. And because you ain’t got nowhere else to go.”
There was more truth to that last statement than John liked, double negatives notwithstanding. “OK,” he agreed and allowed the strange child to lead him down the streets.
*****
The further they walked, the more streets John recognized and the more uneasy he became. Finally, they turned onto Baker Street. John silently counted the building numbers as they went past the 180s, then 190s, and into the 200s. Then the 210s gave way to 220 and John found himself frozen outside an all too-familiar address.
“Don’t stop here!” Scarper Ed exclaimed, trying to physically push John past the doorway of 221. “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
“Chameleon,” John murmured, unable to help himself despite, or perhaps because of, his fraying nerves. At Scarper Ed’s puzzled look, he hastily added, “Never mind. It’s from before your time. . . . Or after.”
The boy merely huffed at the delay. “Look, I got a guinea coming to me if I get you to him. So hurry up!”
Wishing for a weapon once again, John warily entered. The layout of the building was the same although the décor was definitely not. He paused just outside the door to what would be his flat in over a hundred years, steeling himself to meet whoever was inside. If it was one of those stone statue things, he thought he just might go mad.
Impatiently, Scarper Ed turned the knob and flung the door open. John took in the room. Like the downstairs, the layout of windows and such was the same but everything else was alien. Except for the man who had sprung up from his chair at their entry.
Tall and thin build. Dark curly hair. Ice blue eyes. Wearing clothing that was Victorian but with a cut that screamed posh tailoring.
“Sherlock?!”
His flatmate smiled, showing lines and wrinkles that hadn’t been there the last time John had seen him. “It’s good to see you again, John. Thirteen years is a long time to wait for my blogger.”
Author: Pompey
Universe: BBC, ACD/Gaslight, Dr. Who
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, crossover. (Also, somewhat obscure pun towards the end.)
Word count:
Summary: In 1894, John finds someone waiting for him. And then another someone.
Prompt: July 23 - Use a pun in your entry today
It was, John reflected, not the worst night of his life. There had certainly been more terrible ones. Still, spending the night in a cold and damp prison cell wasn’t exactly what he would call pleasant. At least they hadn’t made him turn out his pockets. Who knows what they would have done with him after seeing his mobile and wallet.
When the pale, sickly sunlight filtered into his cell, he was released. It was six a.m., or at least that’s what he was told when he asked. An officer escorted him through the gate and that was that. John was on his own again and with no change in his situation - except that he was hungrier than he had been twelve hours previously. He decided to try the charity angle again. And this time, he might just make it there.
“Oi, wait up!” shouted a high-pitched voice from behind him. John turned and saw a child somewhere between eight and twelve years old, clad in filthy and tattered clothing, come running up to him and grabbed at his pocket.
Somehow John repressed a groan. Two attempts to rob him in less than twenty-four hours; was that a new record? “Look, I don’t have any money or any valuables so you might as well clear off.”
The boy (at least, he thought it was a boy) shook his head and tugged on John’s pocket. “Can’t. You need to come with me.”
“Need to? No, I really think I don’t.” Firmly John extricated himself from the boy’s grip and started walking away.
The boy called after him, “Yes, you really do . . . Dr. Watson.”
John whirled around and stared at the boy, who burst into a grin of delight at his shock. He felt himself break out in goosebumps. First it was moving statues, then time travel, and now this. “Right,” he said slowly, wishing for some kind of weapon. Even if it was just a broken bottle. “Who are you, how did you know my name, and how much do you know about . . . ” John waved his hand vaguely at their surroundings, “all this?”
The boy stepped closer. “I’m Scarper Ed,” he announced and held out a small, dingy hand that John was obviously meant to shake. He did, gingerly.
“The man you need to see told me who you was,” Scarper Ed continued, pulling at his hand. “He told me to meet you when they let you out. And he said that you need to see him.”
John kept his feet in place. “Who is this man I need to see?”
The boy grinned again, clearly relishing knowing something that John didn’t. “He told me I couldn’t tell you. He said that you had to see him in person.”
Well. That wasn’t least bit ominous-sounding. “And just why is it so important that I see him in person?”
Scarper Ed stopped smiling. “Because he said you’d never believe it if you didn’t. And because you ain’t got nowhere else to go.”
There was more truth to that last statement than John liked, double negatives notwithstanding. “OK,” he agreed and allowed the strange child to lead him down the streets.
*****
The further they walked, the more streets John recognized and the more uneasy he became. Finally, they turned onto Baker Street. John silently counted the building numbers as they went past the 180s, then 190s, and into the 200s. Then the 210s gave way to 220 and John found himself frozen outside an all too-familiar address.
“Don’t stop here!” Scarper Ed exclaimed, trying to physically push John past the doorway of 221. “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”
“Chameleon,” John murmured, unable to help himself despite, or perhaps because of, his fraying nerves. At Scarper Ed’s puzzled look, he hastily added, “Never mind. It’s from before your time. . . . Or after.”
The boy merely huffed at the delay. “Look, I got a guinea coming to me if I get you to him. So hurry up!”
Wishing for a weapon once again, John warily entered. The layout of the building was the same although the décor was definitely not. He paused just outside the door to what would be his flat in over a hundred years, steeling himself to meet whoever was inside. If it was one of those stone statue things, he thought he just might go mad.
Impatiently, Scarper Ed turned the knob and flung the door open. John took in the room. Like the downstairs, the layout of windows and such was the same but everything else was alien. Except for the man who had sprung up from his chair at their entry.
Tall and thin build. Dark curly hair. Ice blue eyes. Wearing clothing that was Victorian but with a cut that screamed posh tailoring.
“Sherlock?!”
His flatmate smiled, showing lines and wrinkles that hadn’t been there the last time John had seen him. “It’s good to see you again, John. Thirteen years is a long time to wait for my blogger.”