Fic for Prompt of watsons_woes #21: “A Lost Comet Like You.”
Title: “A Lost Comet Like You.”
Author: ariadnechan
Rating: PG.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC and Granada
Characters: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Bill Murray.
Summary: The lives of four men would be tied up trough time with a comet in a defining moment of their lives.
Warnings: Magic realism, a slight au. Some war angst.
Word Count: 550 approx.
Author's Notes: Prompt of watsons_woes #21, Lost Comet :
Lost comet. Use however this inspires you - whether it's the phrase,
the idea, or an actual 'lost' comet, such as the one rediscovered in
1894 (among other years) and its apparition in 2009.
Beta: mildred_bobbin
In my recollections of the events of the day of the rediscovery of the Vico Comet in 1894; I said that an old man who sold books was seat in front of me on my study, but I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then everything fade to darkness…
What I would never share with the world, was that in front of my closed eyes I saw the celestial trajectory of the aforementioned comet and how it comes near and far away from earth several times until I opened my eyes and I was not on the floor on my study nor even in my foggy England, but back in the afghan wars.
At first I thought that the vapors had reach the top of my head of maybe I was too tired with the early court testimony against Colonel Sebastian Moran, and everything was a trick of my imagination.
I was after all an amateur writer, and imagination was part of the trade, but before me it was the heat and the unforgivable sun that I remembered so well, the copper odor of blood and the noise of the machines and the cannons, even if I couldn't distinguish any of them as familiar their function was self explanatory.
I had some kind of shotgun in my hand, but my uniform was different it had the same colour of the sand around me, everything was different and the same, very disturbing imaginary. I decided to go along the flow because a soldier of her majesty is always a soldier and neither my shoulder nor my leg hurt me at all.
I looked into the sky and saw the comet Vico who supposedly one could not see with the naked eye, but I could do it, a dream, I reassure myself. But in a dream the bullets do not fly so near your own ears or
killed everyone around you so vividly while you tried to save the fellow soldiers in the middle of the sand. In a dream you do not feel the bullet trespassing the flesh of your shoulder a second time while on your knees trying to stop the bleeding of other man, feeling the blood in your hands, hearing his cries and trying to reassure a poor soul of his survival.
I was sure it was not a dream, the searing pain in my shoulder and I could felt how life escape you a second time in the same but different sands as the first time. John Hamish Watson was sure he was going to
die there in the sand of a foreign land alone, with only a lost comet for company, until everything fades to black for a second time.
“My dear Watson, It is really me, Holmes. Can you wake up my dear fellow?” said a deep baritone voice, one I longed for so many years.
I opened my eyes and there really was Sherlock Holmes my friend with his brilliant eyes full of genius and something more, emotion? I stand up with the help of the apparition, the rediscovery of my lost comet Sherlock Holmes and I knew we would grow old together, because I would not let this crazy man out of my sight again.
-----------------------------------
Afghanistan 2009
“John, John?”
“Bill?” Asked John uncertain.
John was really weak and felt dizzy with fever he had real problems to recall what had happened on the mission, he lost track when he looked at the night and saw the comet, Vico was it? Because for a moment he
was lost in celestial trajectories and in a Victorian house with a man calling his name, telling him he was his friend Holmes. John was certain that he didn't know anyone with that name, then he was like a ghost during the attack trying to help the wounded and then he felt the pain and the deep baritone voice at the same time. He was not sure if it was reality or a dream or maybe fever.
“Yes, John I'm Bill, at least now you know who I'm I was so worried, you had asked for a Vico, and a Holmes before, who is Holmes by the way?” Asked Bill with teasing voice.
“I haven't got a bloody idea… Do you have water?” asked John lost in thought, but trying to be in the present, he had to survive this.
“Sorry, I have some, but not much, take a sip.” Said Bill apologetically, John sipped slowly, he could survive this.
A month later in the hospital of San Bastion in Afghanistan, John realised that Vico was a ‘Lost Comet’ and he in his fever had dreamed its entire trajectory. He wondered if he was a lost comet too and his mind
had made some kind of association with the fever.
John had also googled Holmes, and got a site “The Science of Deduction” strange site about a bloke obsessed with cigarette ash, and had wild theories about observation and crime solving. Maybe John would look more about him, apparently he was a detective, Sherlock Holmes, maybe this man was a lost comet too.
Author: ariadnechan
Rating: PG.
Fandom: Sherlock BBC and Granada
Characters: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Bill Murray.
Summary: The lives of four men would be tied up trough time with a comet in a defining moment of their lives.
Warnings: Magic realism, a slight au. Some war angst.
Word Count: 550 approx.
Author's Notes: Prompt of watsons_woes #21, Lost Comet :
Lost comet. Use however this inspires you - whether it's the phrase,
the idea, or an actual 'lost' comet, such as the one rediscovered in
1894 (among other years) and its apparition in 2009.
Beta: mildred_bobbin
In my recollections of the events of the day of the rediscovery of the Vico Comet in 1894; I said that an old man who sold books was seat in front of me on my study, but I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then everything fade to darkness…
What I would never share with the world, was that in front of my closed eyes I saw the celestial trajectory of the aforementioned comet and how it comes near and far away from earth several times until I opened my eyes and I was not on the floor on my study nor even in my foggy England, but back in the afghan wars.
At first I thought that the vapors had reach the top of my head of maybe I was too tired with the early court testimony against Colonel Sebastian Moran, and everything was a trick of my imagination.
I was after all an amateur writer, and imagination was part of the trade, but before me it was the heat and the unforgivable sun that I remembered so well, the copper odor of blood and the noise of the machines and the cannons, even if I couldn't distinguish any of them as familiar their function was self explanatory.
I had some kind of shotgun in my hand, but my uniform was different it had the same colour of the sand around me, everything was different and the same, very disturbing imaginary. I decided to go along the flow because a soldier of her majesty is always a soldier and neither my shoulder nor my leg hurt me at all.
I looked into the sky and saw the comet Vico who supposedly one could not see with the naked eye, but I could do it, a dream, I reassure myself. But in a dream the bullets do not fly so near your own ears or
killed everyone around you so vividly while you tried to save the fellow soldiers in the middle of the sand. In a dream you do not feel the bullet trespassing the flesh of your shoulder a second time while on your knees trying to stop the bleeding of other man, feeling the blood in your hands, hearing his cries and trying to reassure a poor soul of his survival.
I was sure it was not a dream, the searing pain in my shoulder and I could felt how life escape you a second time in the same but different sands as the first time. John Hamish Watson was sure he was going to
die there in the sand of a foreign land alone, with only a lost comet for company, until everything fades to black for a second time.
“My dear Watson, It is really me, Holmes. Can you wake up my dear fellow?” said a deep baritone voice, one I longed for so many years.
I opened my eyes and there really was Sherlock Holmes my friend with his brilliant eyes full of genius and something more, emotion? I stand up with the help of the apparition, the rediscovery of my lost comet Sherlock Holmes and I knew we would grow old together, because I would not let this crazy man out of my sight again.
-----------------------------------
Afghanistan 2009
“John, John?”
“Bill?” Asked John uncertain.
John was really weak and felt dizzy with fever he had real problems to recall what had happened on the mission, he lost track when he looked at the night and saw the comet, Vico was it? Because for a moment he
was lost in celestial trajectories and in a Victorian house with a man calling his name, telling him he was his friend Holmes. John was certain that he didn't know anyone with that name, then he was like a ghost during the attack trying to help the wounded and then he felt the pain and the deep baritone voice at the same time. He was not sure if it was reality or a dream or maybe fever.
“Yes, John I'm Bill, at least now you know who I'm I was so worried, you had asked for a Vico, and a Holmes before, who is Holmes by the way?” Asked Bill with teasing voice.
“I haven't got a bloody idea… Do you have water?” asked John lost in thought, but trying to be in the present, he had to survive this.
“Sorry, I have some, but not much, take a sip.” Said Bill apologetically, John sipped slowly, he could survive this.
A month later in the hospital of San Bastion in Afghanistan, John realised that Vico was a ‘Lost Comet’ and he in his fever had dreamed its entire trajectory. He wondered if he was a lost comet too and his mind
had made some kind of association with the fever.
John had also googled Holmes, and got a site “The Science of Deduction” strange site about a bloke obsessed with cigarette ash, and had wild theories about observation and crime solving. Maybe John would look more about him, apparently he was a detective, Sherlock Holmes, maybe this man was a lost comet too.