Feltily Ever After
Title: Feltily Ever After
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairings: SH/JH (for Sherlock's hat and John's hat) & Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: Holmes, Watson, and their hats belong to ACD. The word 'feltily' belongs to spacefall
Summary: Based on a comment from this entry, community.livejournal.com/cox_and_co/291233.html made by cox_and_co after she had visited the 221B museum and noticed two hats sitting side by side. It could only mean one thing: love.
Warnings: I was obviously bit by a rabid plot bunny
Word Count: 1400+
A/N: Semi-crack. Features the life and times of two very amazing hats.
"Hang on, does this mean that ... Holmes/Watson was actually a by-product of the all-consuming passion of two hats? I can see it now. One day the attraction was too strong, and bowler and topper began pressing feltily together, with inevitable consequences for the attached gentlemen."
-spacefall
My response, 'Yes, it bloody well does.'
~*~
No one thinks much about the feelings of inanimate objects for the simple reason that such objects are unable to feel anything, much less complex emotions. Hats however, are most definitely not inanimate objects. Neither are toys for that matter, but that is something to be explored by much cleverer and visual people than this humble narrator. Now what was I on about? Oh yes, hats.
Hats have feelings. To clarify, hats have brains or at least they are worn over the tops of brains and in consequence they often catch the many prolific and wandering thoughts of their owners. Thus, the more brilliant the mind, the more brilliant the hat. If you hadn’t noticed, dull people often wear even duller hats, hats that can do no tricks like stubbornly stay on its owner’s head on windy days or look particularly impressive while being twirled about in its owner’s hand or lovingly preserving the hair it should, by all rights, be flattening and instead keeping it bouncy and light.
The deerstalker was one such hat. He-yes well of course it’s a he, you wouldn’t call a bonnet anything but a she, now would you?-could tell time and assess the weather so it would know when to expect its owner to be of need of it. The deerstalker had been tossed on the table one day after its owner had been collecting new samples of mud out in the town and it lay contemplating different patterns of plaid when a familiar Wearer trudged by and laid its hat, a bowler, upon the table beside the deerstalker before making his way up the stairs. The deerstalker observed the Wearer looked very tired. The Wearer was a doctor, which the deerstalker could tell from the cloying scent of the bowler. The deerstalker was also very well acquainted with the bowler, from afar of course since the deerstalker’s Owner worked often with the bowler’s Wearer.
They usually got on splendidly, but today the bowler was crying. The bowler couldn’t be blamed; his Owner was always taking him off and being placed atop his Owner’s heart. His Wearer also constantly thought about other people and their feelings. Not like the deerstalker’s Owner, who was always thinking about science and numbers and murders. However, the deerstalker, being quite the above average hat, decided to see if he could possibly correct the bowler’s weeping.
‘What is wrong with you today, JH?’ the deerstalker asked the bowler, ‘JH’ being the initials etched upon the inside of the bowler, which the deerstalker cleverly deduced meant ‘John’s Hat’ in order for the bowler’s Wearer to prove he was the sole owner of such a singular hat. ‘You have not been forgotten somewhere. Why are you crying?’
‘I am becoming dirty. If I continue to not look my best, my Owner will simply buy a new hat since my Owner has no wife to clean me. I do not want to be thrown away, but I do not want my owner to look shabby either,’ the bowler sniffed.
The deerstalker considered this problem for several seconds. ‘If you come nearer to me,’ the deerstalker said, ‘I could help you.’
‘Oh no, I am not nearly clever enough to move on my own,’ the bowler demurred.
‘Yes you are,’ the deerstalker insisted. ‘Your Wearer assists my Owner all the time. You must be very clever and it is not so far. Please come here and I will put you right.’
The bowler hesitated. ‘I will try.’
‘Yes, try,’ the deerstalker agreed rather fervently. The deerstalker wasn’t sure why he was so adamant about helping JH other than the fact that JH was quite a handsome bowler and he thought it would be a shame to lose him. There was nothing so sad as invalid hats, especially one so loyal as JH and he didn’t deserve to be tossed out because he was a little dirty.
The bowler managed to scoot towards the deerstalker just close enough so that they were touching. The deerstalker delicately lifted one of its flaps and went about cleaning JH with meticulous care until the bowler looked brand new again.
‘Why thank you!’ the bowler exclaimed. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
‘Would you stay here with me and…and keep me company?’ the deerstalker asked shyly. The bowler hat was very popular and was always being put in places where lots of other Wearer’s hats were placed. The deerstalker’s Owner always seemed to leave him in secluded places so his Owner could think better. It did not always bother him, but sometimes it did and he liked the bowler hat.
‘Of course! I will stay right here and now that I know I can move, I will come to you whenever I can,’ the bowler announced and the deerstalker knew the bowler was telling the truth because its Wearer never hid his thoughts, so the bowler probably could not do it either.
They sat together, deerstalker and bowler and had a very engaging discussion about rain.
A few days later when the bowler was set down on the table once more, he immediately looked for his friend and spotted a top hat sitting opposite him.
‘Hello,’ the bowler greeted gaily, for he knew the top hat was the same hat he had come to love for even though he came in many different forms, they all had the letters SH written inside them.
The two hats nuzzled feltily together on the table before the fire.
‘How did you know it was me?’ the top hat asked, ever curious.
‘Because I love you, silly. That’s how I know it’s you, because it says SH for ‘Silly Hat’,’ the bowler teased. For a very brilliant hat, SH had to be reminded fairly often that he loved him.
The top hat’s brim curved upward in a smile. ‘I am taking you to the opera tonight, JH.’
‘How?’ the bowler asked excitedly.
‘I have been filling my Owner’s head with music all day. He will have to bring your Wearer with him and we can sit on their knees side by side. My Owner likes to jiggle his leg when listening to music. Maybe we can rub and have felty sex together.’
‘Yes please!’
Just then, Holmes, SH’s Wearer, emerged from his room wearing his evening clothes.
“Watson!” he called, eyes methodically sweeping across the room.
“Yes, Holmes, what is it?” Watson asked distractedly as he entered the sitting room, still adjusting his tie and cufflinks.
“It is nearly time to depart. I already have a cab waiting to receive us.”
“Fine, let me just-”
They both reached out to grab their hats and their hands met midair, fingers twining gently together. They both blushed and Holmes pulled his hand back and grabbed Watson’s bowler with the intent to hand it to him, but instead found himself unconsciously searching it for clues.
“A modest material for a humble man, though well off. A simple design, its owner is very practical. A fairly large circumference, indicating it is worn by someone with a profession that requires extensive education. ‘JH’ is etched along the inside, which would usually stand for a person’s name…”
Watson smiled softly and took his hat from his friend, fingering the inscription. “I hadn’t noticed that the ‘W’ had worn off. I should fix it.”
“Or perhaps…” Holmes daringly took a step closer, bringing him very close into Watson’s personal space so that they were practically touching from neck to ankle. “Perhaps it stands for John Holmes because dear God, if I could marry you John, I would.”
Watson chuckled a little. “And would you be the one to clean my hat?”
“If that’s what it took to prove that you were mine,” Holmes breathed, lips ghosting over Watson’s neck as he dipped his chin over it.
“John Holmes,” Watson breathed. “Maybe I shan’t change this hat one bit.”
Holmes plucked the hat from Watson’s hand and placed it back on the table next to his own, so that he could finally kiss him unimpeded.
One thing led to the next and soon Watson was lying on his back, legs hoisted onto Holmes’ naked shoulders as he buggered his biographer into oblivion, shouting and growling a million things that meant nothing in English, but meant love in the ears of his John.
All the while the table shook and the two hats slipped and slid together.
Always, always, always together.
Epilogue:
pro-prodigy.livejournal.com/11823.html#cutid2
Rating: PG-13ish
Pairings: SH/JH (for Sherlock's hat and John's hat) & Holmes/Watson
Disclaimer: Holmes, Watson, and their hats belong to ACD. The word 'feltily' belongs to spacefall
Summary: Based on a comment from this entry, community.livejournal.com/cox_and_co/291233.html made by cox_and_co after she had visited the 221B museum and noticed two hats sitting side by side. It could only mean one thing: love.
Warnings: I was obviously bit by a rabid plot bunny
Word Count: 1400+
A/N: Semi-crack. Features the life and times of two very amazing hats.
"Hang on, does this mean that ... Holmes/Watson was actually a by-product of the all-consuming passion of two hats? I can see it now. One day the attraction was too strong, and bowler and topper began pressing feltily together, with inevitable consequences for the attached gentlemen."
-spacefall
My response, 'Yes, it bloody well does.'
~*~
No one thinks much about the feelings of inanimate objects for the simple reason that such objects are unable to feel anything, much less complex emotions. Hats however, are most definitely not inanimate objects. Neither are toys for that matter, but that is something to be explored by much cleverer and visual people than this humble narrator. Now what was I on about? Oh yes, hats.
Hats have feelings. To clarify, hats have brains or at least they are worn over the tops of brains and in consequence they often catch the many prolific and wandering thoughts of their owners. Thus, the more brilliant the mind, the more brilliant the hat. If you hadn’t noticed, dull people often wear even duller hats, hats that can do no tricks like stubbornly stay on its owner’s head on windy days or look particularly impressive while being twirled about in its owner’s hand or lovingly preserving the hair it should, by all rights, be flattening and instead keeping it bouncy and light.
The deerstalker was one such hat. He-yes well of course it’s a he, you wouldn’t call a bonnet anything but a she, now would you?-could tell time and assess the weather so it would know when to expect its owner to be of need of it. The deerstalker had been tossed on the table one day after its owner had been collecting new samples of mud out in the town and it lay contemplating different patterns of plaid when a familiar Wearer trudged by and laid its hat, a bowler, upon the table beside the deerstalker before making his way up the stairs. The deerstalker observed the Wearer looked very tired. The Wearer was a doctor, which the deerstalker could tell from the cloying scent of the bowler. The deerstalker was also very well acquainted with the bowler, from afar of course since the deerstalker’s Owner worked often with the bowler’s Wearer.
They usually got on splendidly, but today the bowler was crying. The bowler couldn’t be blamed; his Owner was always taking him off and being placed atop his Owner’s heart. His Wearer also constantly thought about other people and their feelings. Not like the deerstalker’s Owner, who was always thinking about science and numbers and murders. However, the deerstalker, being quite the above average hat, decided to see if he could possibly correct the bowler’s weeping.
‘What is wrong with you today, JH?’ the deerstalker asked the bowler, ‘JH’ being the initials etched upon the inside of the bowler, which the deerstalker cleverly deduced meant ‘John’s Hat’ in order for the bowler’s Wearer to prove he was the sole owner of such a singular hat. ‘You have not been forgotten somewhere. Why are you crying?’
‘I am becoming dirty. If I continue to not look my best, my Owner will simply buy a new hat since my Owner has no wife to clean me. I do not want to be thrown away, but I do not want my owner to look shabby either,’ the bowler sniffed.
The deerstalker considered this problem for several seconds. ‘If you come nearer to me,’ the deerstalker said, ‘I could help you.’
‘Oh no, I am not nearly clever enough to move on my own,’ the bowler demurred.
‘Yes you are,’ the deerstalker insisted. ‘Your Wearer assists my Owner all the time. You must be very clever and it is not so far. Please come here and I will put you right.’
The bowler hesitated. ‘I will try.’
‘Yes, try,’ the deerstalker agreed rather fervently. The deerstalker wasn’t sure why he was so adamant about helping JH other than the fact that JH was quite a handsome bowler and he thought it would be a shame to lose him. There was nothing so sad as invalid hats, especially one so loyal as JH and he didn’t deserve to be tossed out because he was a little dirty.
The bowler managed to scoot towards the deerstalker just close enough so that they were touching. The deerstalker delicately lifted one of its flaps and went about cleaning JH with meticulous care until the bowler looked brand new again.
‘Why thank you!’ the bowler exclaimed. ‘How can I ever repay you?’
‘Would you stay here with me and…and keep me company?’ the deerstalker asked shyly. The bowler hat was very popular and was always being put in places where lots of other Wearer’s hats were placed. The deerstalker’s Owner always seemed to leave him in secluded places so his Owner could think better. It did not always bother him, but sometimes it did and he liked the bowler hat.
‘Of course! I will stay right here and now that I know I can move, I will come to you whenever I can,’ the bowler announced and the deerstalker knew the bowler was telling the truth because its Wearer never hid his thoughts, so the bowler probably could not do it either.
They sat together, deerstalker and bowler and had a very engaging discussion about rain.
A few days later when the bowler was set down on the table once more, he immediately looked for his friend and spotted a top hat sitting opposite him.
‘Hello,’ the bowler greeted gaily, for he knew the top hat was the same hat he had come to love for even though he came in many different forms, they all had the letters SH written inside them.
The two hats nuzzled feltily together on the table before the fire.
‘How did you know it was me?’ the top hat asked, ever curious.
‘Because I love you, silly. That’s how I know it’s you, because it says SH for ‘Silly Hat’,’ the bowler teased. For a very brilliant hat, SH had to be reminded fairly often that he loved him.
The top hat’s brim curved upward in a smile. ‘I am taking you to the opera tonight, JH.’
‘How?’ the bowler asked excitedly.
‘I have been filling my Owner’s head with music all day. He will have to bring your Wearer with him and we can sit on their knees side by side. My Owner likes to jiggle his leg when listening to music. Maybe we can rub and have felty sex together.’
‘Yes please!’
Just then, Holmes, SH’s Wearer, emerged from his room wearing his evening clothes.
“Watson!” he called, eyes methodically sweeping across the room.
“Yes, Holmes, what is it?” Watson asked distractedly as he entered the sitting room, still adjusting his tie and cufflinks.
“It is nearly time to depart. I already have a cab waiting to receive us.”
“Fine, let me just-”
They both reached out to grab their hats and their hands met midair, fingers twining gently together. They both blushed and Holmes pulled his hand back and grabbed Watson’s bowler with the intent to hand it to him, but instead found himself unconsciously searching it for clues.
“A modest material for a humble man, though well off. A simple design, its owner is very practical. A fairly large circumference, indicating it is worn by someone with a profession that requires extensive education. ‘JH’ is etched along the inside, which would usually stand for a person’s name…”
Watson smiled softly and took his hat from his friend, fingering the inscription. “I hadn’t noticed that the ‘W’ had worn off. I should fix it.”
“Or perhaps…” Holmes daringly took a step closer, bringing him very close into Watson’s personal space so that they were practically touching from neck to ankle. “Perhaps it stands for John Holmes because dear God, if I could marry you John, I would.”
Watson chuckled a little. “And would you be the one to clean my hat?”
“If that’s what it took to prove that you were mine,” Holmes breathed, lips ghosting over Watson’s neck as he dipped his chin over it.
“John Holmes,” Watson breathed. “Maybe I shan’t change this hat one bit.”
Holmes plucked the hat from Watson’s hand and placed it back on the table next to his own, so that he could finally kiss him unimpeded.
One thing led to the next and soon Watson was lying on his back, legs hoisted onto Holmes’ naked shoulders as he buggered his biographer into oblivion, shouting and growling a million things that meant nothing in English, but meant love in the ears of his John.
All the while the table shook and the two hats slipped and slid together.
Always, always, always together.
Epilogue:
pro-prodigy.livejournal.com/11823.html#cutid2