To Arms (Holmes fic)
Written for a prompt elsewhere: Holmes is the worst roommate ever. Let Watson list the ways. Bonus points for keeping his violin hostage until thing change.
Watson surveyed the room with dismay. It was, in no uncertain terms, a disaster. Mrs. Hudson gone to see her sister and accompanying family, and the girl she had hired to fill in had taken one look at the bullet holes in the wall and Holmes' experiment bubbling away and closed the door on their drawing room.
That had been five days ago.
Five days in which Watson's practice had been more than usually busy, while Holmes' had not. There had been clients - he'd heard them ring the bell - but apparently of the sort where a single conversation with the Great Detective was sufficient for their mysteries to be solved. Which meant that Homles was left to his devices, and that in turn meant the sorts of activities which led to the incredible mess that had overtaken their shared space. The cocaine had not yet emerged, so far as one could tell, but given a normal mess and cocaine versus the chaos and whatever that smell was, the cocaine was almost preferable.
Watson sighed audibly, and Gladstone raised his head. "Well, at least he's not poisoned you again," said the doctor to the dog.
Gladstone whuffed, and looked toward where the leash was laying across a chair.
"Quite right," agreed Watson, "Just let me do one thing first." He dug through various piles until he had achieved both pen, ink, and paper. With these, he scribbled a short note and placed it in the one place he know Holmes would be sure to find it - the persian slipper. Then he took up the leash, and a few other things, and called Gladstone to the door. Together the two stalwart residents of 221B Baker St departed for cleaner pastures.
--
Holmes was, of course, instantly aware that the leash and dog were gone, and it hardly took someone of his intellect to gather that his flatmate had taken the dog for a walk. The note in the slipper, however, was a bit of a surprise. The contents of the note even more so.
It read: Holmes. I understand that you're between cases, and Mrs. Hudson is gone, but you cannot expect me to live in these conditions, nor can you reasonably expect to impress any new clients. I have removed myself and Gladstone from the building until evening at the earliest. I request you do the following before our return:
1. Please remove the throwing knives and other weapons from the door to your room. They are hardly decorative and I'm fairly certain they frightened the girl Mrs. Hudson hired.
2. If the seven teacups and their contents which are on the windowsill are not one of your experiments, put them on the tea tray which I believe is under the ottoman and put it outside the door so that they can be washed. If they do constitute and experiment, kindly move them to your room.
3. The bluish liquid which you have apparently been distilling into a beaker smells awful and looks neglected. Do something with it, if you please.
4. You might also put the four egg cups into which you have emptied your pipe on the tray for the girl to clean. If that is even possible.
5. It would be a great relief to me, and the girl Mrs. Hudson hired, and I daresay any visitors we might have if you would take all the various clothes you've left over furniture and put it either to be laundered or in your rooms. Particularly the undergarments.
I realize that these tasks may seem dull to you, but the need for you to complete them has led me to drastic measures. I have taken your violin and your cocaine. I shall return them to you only when the room is once again in a condition to receive clients.
-Watson
Holmes read the note twice, carefully. He looked away from it to the places where his violin and cocaine case ought to have been. They were, indeed, gone.
There was a long still moment.
And then Holmes laughed. "Well played, old boy," he said, and got to work.
Watson surveyed the room with dismay. It was, in no uncertain terms, a disaster. Mrs. Hudson gone to see her sister and accompanying family, and the girl she had hired to fill in had taken one look at the bullet holes in the wall and Holmes' experiment bubbling away and closed the door on their drawing room.
That had been five days ago.
Five days in which Watson's practice had been more than usually busy, while Holmes' had not. There had been clients - he'd heard them ring the bell - but apparently of the sort where a single conversation with the Great Detective was sufficient for their mysteries to be solved. Which meant that Homles was left to his devices, and that in turn meant the sorts of activities which led to the incredible mess that had overtaken their shared space. The cocaine had not yet emerged, so far as one could tell, but given a normal mess and cocaine versus the chaos and whatever that smell was, the cocaine was almost preferable.
Watson sighed audibly, and Gladstone raised his head. "Well, at least he's not poisoned you again," said the doctor to the dog.
Gladstone whuffed, and looked toward where the leash was laying across a chair.
"Quite right," agreed Watson, "Just let me do one thing first." He dug through various piles until he had achieved both pen, ink, and paper. With these, he scribbled a short note and placed it in the one place he know Holmes would be sure to find it - the persian slipper. Then he took up the leash, and a few other things, and called Gladstone to the door. Together the two stalwart residents of 221B Baker St departed for cleaner pastures.
--
Holmes was, of course, instantly aware that the leash and dog were gone, and it hardly took someone of his intellect to gather that his flatmate had taken the dog for a walk. The note in the slipper, however, was a bit of a surprise. The contents of the note even more so.
It read: Holmes. I understand that you're between cases, and Mrs. Hudson is gone, but you cannot expect me to live in these conditions, nor can you reasonably expect to impress any new clients. I have removed myself and Gladstone from the building until evening at the earliest. I request you do the following before our return:
1. Please remove the throwing knives and other weapons from the door to your room. They are hardly decorative and I'm fairly certain they frightened the girl Mrs. Hudson hired.
2. If the seven teacups and their contents which are on the windowsill are not one of your experiments, put them on the tea tray which I believe is under the ottoman and put it outside the door so that they can be washed. If they do constitute and experiment, kindly move them to your room.
3. The bluish liquid which you have apparently been distilling into a beaker smells awful and looks neglected. Do something with it, if you please.
4. You might also put the four egg cups into which you have emptied your pipe on the tray for the girl to clean. If that is even possible.
5. It would be a great relief to me, and the girl Mrs. Hudson hired, and I daresay any visitors we might have if you would take all the various clothes you've left over furniture and put it either to be laundered or in your rooms. Particularly the undergarments.
I realize that these tasks may seem dull to you, but the need for you to complete them has led me to drastic measures. I have taken your violin and your cocaine. I shall return them to you only when the room is once again in a condition to receive clients.
-Watson
Holmes read the note twice, carefully. He looked away from it to the places where his violin and cocaine case ought to have been. They were, indeed, gone.
There was a long still moment.
And then Holmes laughed. "Well played, old boy," he said, and got to work.