Fic: Spring Afternoon (1/1)
Title: Spring Afternoon (1/1)
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gladstone, Mrs. Hudson
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genres: Fluff, Slice-Of-Life
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: It’s rare to find sunlight instead of soot in London.
Date Of Completion: March 19, 2010
Date Of Posting: May 12, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 301
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: My first Holmes/Watson piece! Very short but hopefully sweet. ;)
A warm breeze fluttered the muslin curtains at 221B Baker Street, a rare warm spring day in London bringing people outside to stroll with parasols twirling or hats doffed with a smile, children laughing as they ran down the street in the sunshine.
Inside the sitting room on the second floor, the breeze lightly rattled the china teacups on the table, each cup painted with tiny yellow roses. A matching teapot sat in the center of the table, the white linen tablecloth fluttering as a new breeze wafted in.
The remains of light, flaky scones littered two plates, and a pitcher of cream was tilted on its side, drops of cream falling to the hardwood floor. The bulldog of the house padded in from the hall and happily lapped it up. Lemon slices were arranged on another plate, half of them gone.
Golden motes danced in the beams of sunlight as they lent an ethereal quality to the cluttered room, books piled haphazardly on chairs and the settee, bits and pieces of wood and metal scattered on another table and the mantelpiece.
In the next room, two sets of pants, shirts, and waistcoats were strewn about, a blue silk cravat draped over a pair of shoes.
The breeze caressed the skin of the two entwined lovers on the bed, tousled heads resting on soft pillows, strong arms around each other as they held on tightly, the sheets falling half-off to spill luxuriously onto the floor as murmured voices spoke of joy.
Downstairs was a rattle of pots and pans as Mrs. Hudson began preparations for dinner, and a bird flew by the window with a strong flutter of wings as the smell of honeysuckle wafted in, warm and sweet.
Just a lovely spring afternoon in London with love in the air.
Author: BradyGirl_12
Pairings/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gladstone, Mrs. Hudson
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genres: Fluff, Slice-Of-Life
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: It’s rare to find sunlight instead of soot in London.
Date Of Completion: March 19, 2010
Date Of Posting: May 12, 2010
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Warner Brothers do, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 301
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: My first Holmes/Watson piece! Very short but hopefully sweet. ;)
A warm breeze fluttered the muslin curtains at 221B Baker Street, a rare warm spring day in London bringing people outside to stroll with parasols twirling or hats doffed with a smile, children laughing as they ran down the street in the sunshine.
Inside the sitting room on the second floor, the breeze lightly rattled the china teacups on the table, each cup painted with tiny yellow roses. A matching teapot sat in the center of the table, the white linen tablecloth fluttering as a new breeze wafted in.
The remains of light, flaky scones littered two plates, and a pitcher of cream was tilted on its side, drops of cream falling to the hardwood floor. The bulldog of the house padded in from the hall and happily lapped it up. Lemon slices were arranged on another plate, half of them gone.
Golden motes danced in the beams of sunlight as they lent an ethereal quality to the cluttered room, books piled haphazardly on chairs and the settee, bits and pieces of wood and metal scattered on another table and the mantelpiece.
In the next room, two sets of pants, shirts, and waistcoats were strewn about, a blue silk cravat draped over a pair of shoes.
The breeze caressed the skin of the two entwined lovers on the bed, tousled heads resting on soft pillows, strong arms around each other as they held on tightly, the sheets falling half-off to spill luxuriously onto the floor as murmured voices spoke of joy.
Downstairs was a rattle of pots and pans as Mrs. Hudson began preparations for dinner, and a bird flew by the window with a strong flutter of wings as the smell of honeysuckle wafted in, warm and sweet.
Just a lovely spring afternoon in London with love in the air.