Short Sherlock Story "There but for the Grace..."
A very short gen Sherlock story under the cut. Thanks very much to 
mackiedockie for beta duty.
Summary: A private entry in Dr. John Watson's blog.
*****Friday
Need to restock my med kit again.
Met a man today, a brave and fragile man, a veteran living rough. He allowed me to treat his leg for a wound that wasn't healing as fast as it should. I asked about him staying in a shelter and he told me, "I want to see the sunrise and see it set, not blank walls. I want to hear the birds talking in the morning about what kind of a day it will be. I belong to the earth not to the walls."
I understood exactly what he was saying. His truth could be mine.
That day Sherlock had been trolling for information needed to solve a case and I had come with to keep him out of trouble. On the way home we debated homeless culture, my peculiar friend argued that it was a viable alternative, while I couldn't quite keep my bleeding heart from showing. I protested that it was a bitter failure on the part of society (yes, I practically pulled out a soapbox to step up onto and harangue the analytical sod.)
In an emo outburst I asked, "And would you like to live on the streets?" I knew the moment I blurted out the question what he was going to say, though it wasn't something he'd ever told me before, I must have subconsciously known considering the way he gravitates toward and floats amongst street citizens.
"I have. And no, I didn't like it. Birds singing in the morning is just a rowdy cacophony when you wake in need of a fix."
*****
This evening we went to an embassy party because Mycroft had wheedled and bullied us and finally offered to restock my med supplies. He's learning. The affair was a bit of an upper crust crush of networking conflict mediators, mid-level bureaucrats, and cultural adjuncts. I could see a few ordinary sorts strewn into the mix -- not quite comfortable but making a go of it, as it was their job to be there -- so I mingled with them and quite got on.
It was Sherlock whom remained most ill at ease, poor bloke, but he did his best to observe people as requested of him -- though why on Earth Mycroft thinks anyone would try to pass on secrets with Sherlock in the room watching -- oh. Oh! Of course, we were guard dogs, not watch dogs, how silly of me, of course, must be more tired than I thought to take this long to see that. Surely, Sherlock...hmm. Of course. Thanks for the supplies mate.
I can't help thinking about all those calories on that food table. Just appetizers really, but compared to what the good fellow I treated today gets by on it was a feast. Just what I devoured during a couple hours of partying would have fed him for a week. There's a knot in my gut now.
No doubt, I'll dream of Afghanistan tonight. And tomorrow will be another day.
mackiedockie for beta duty.
Summary: A private entry in Dr. John Watson's blog.
*****Friday
Need to restock my med kit again.
Met a man today, a brave and fragile man, a veteran living rough. He allowed me to treat his leg for a wound that wasn't healing as fast as it should. I asked about him staying in a shelter and he told me, "I want to see the sunrise and see it set, not blank walls. I want to hear the birds talking in the morning about what kind of a day it will be. I belong to the earth not to the walls."
I understood exactly what he was saying. His truth could be mine.
That day Sherlock had been trolling for information needed to solve a case and I had come with to keep him out of trouble. On the way home we debated homeless culture, my peculiar friend argued that it was a viable alternative, while I couldn't quite keep my bleeding heart from showing. I protested that it was a bitter failure on the part of society (yes, I practically pulled out a soapbox to step up onto and harangue the analytical sod.)
In an emo outburst I asked, "And would you like to live on the streets?" I knew the moment I blurted out the question what he was going to say, though it wasn't something he'd ever told me before, I must have subconsciously known considering the way he gravitates toward and floats amongst street citizens.
"I have. And no, I didn't like it. Birds singing in the morning is just a rowdy cacophony when you wake in need of a fix."
*****
This evening we went to an embassy party because Mycroft had wheedled and bullied us and finally offered to restock my med supplies. He's learning. The affair was a bit of an upper crust crush of networking conflict mediators, mid-level bureaucrats, and cultural adjuncts. I could see a few ordinary sorts strewn into the mix -- not quite comfortable but making a go of it, as it was their job to be there -- so I mingled with them and quite got on.
It was Sherlock whom remained most ill at ease, poor bloke, but he did his best to observe people as requested of him -- though why on Earth Mycroft thinks anyone would try to pass on secrets with Sherlock in the room watching -- oh. Oh! Of course, we were guard dogs, not watch dogs, how silly of me, of course, must be more tired than I thought to take this long to see that. Surely, Sherlock...hmm. Of course. Thanks for the supplies mate.
I can't help thinking about all those calories on that food table. Just appetizers really, but compared to what the good fellow I treated today gets by on it was a feast. Just what I devoured during a couple hours of partying would have fed him for a week. There's a knot in my gut now.
No doubt, I'll dream of Afghanistan tonight. And tomorrow will be another day.