"Seven Days", Sherlock Holmes, G, gen.
Title: Seven Days
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Rating: G.
Length: About 1000 words.
Characters/Pairings: Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mary, other canon characters.
Spoilers: The 2009 movie.
Summary: In which Watson visits Sherlock Holmes.
Notes: Seeing Sherlock Holmes reminded me how much I enjoyed Sherlock Holmes stories when I was a kid, and I thought I'd try my hand at writing one. This was the result.
Seven Days
Seven days had passed since Watson's wedding to Mary, and during that period, Watson visited Holmes's Baker Street residence seven times.
"Our flat is shaping up nicely," he said on his first visit, with his usual disdainful eye for the stacks of papers in Holmes's room. "Of course, Mary doesn't try to purposely sabotage all my organizational efforts, or blast firearms in the middle of the night, or…"
Mrs. Hudson interrupted the diatribe with a quiet tap on the door. "Inspector Lestrade here to see you, Mr. Holmes."
"Thank you. Send him up."
She swept away, and Holmes, with a cocked eyebrow, nodded at Watson. "You were very kind to visit, but if you'll excuse me--"
"Excuse you? Whatever for?"
Holmes smiled. "You said you didn't wish to be involved with my cases anymore. You don't live here, and you're married. Need I continue?"
"I told you, Mary--"
"Understands, yes," Holmes nodded.
Mrs. Hudson reentered with Lestrade in tow, and his eyebrows raised upon the site of Watson. "Congratulations are in order, Dr. Watson, on the occasion of your marriage."
"Yes, thank you," Watson said, glowering at Holmes.
"I thought you'd be in the country somewhere."
Holmes wasn't meeting Watson's gaze, but a hint of a smile appeared at his lips.
"I wouldn't wager you're here to discuss my personal life," Watson replied. "I should probably be on my way."
Lestrade seemed perplexed. "Before I have my say?"
"If I may," Holmes said, staring at the opposite wall. "There's been a murder. It disturbed you enough to make a personal appearance at my place of residence instead of sending someone of lower rank, and judging by your somewhat heavy breathing, you wasted no time in your arrival. Please sit, Watson, you're distracting me."
Watson complied, but he continued to grumble under his breath. Of course, no one heard over Holmes's deductions about the details of the murder, which was exactly the point.
-
After the first visit, Watson only called upon Baker Street for a few moments each day; his visits with Holmes grew into long carriage rides, longer walks, and a good amount of fruitless searching. He returned to Mary after dark each day, some nights later than others.
The murder was, as Holmes had wagered upon seeing Lestrade, committed by Professor Moriarty. It became more clear every passing day, with each misleading clue or lack of evidence Holmes came across. And instead of frustrated, Holmes seemed nearly elated by the practice. It seemed to Watson that every other sentence out of Holmes's mouth began or ended with the name Moriarty, or possessed some barely concealed awe. Watson had never seen the like.
"I cannot fathom," Watson finally said on the fifth day, as they crouched in the mud near the docks, "your fascination with the man."
"Jealous, Watson?"
"He's a criminal. A murderer."
"Yes, yes," Holmes said, distracted. "What do you make of this footprint?"
-
Watson hadn't slept through the night for weeks. On the seventh night, he didn't sleep at all. He spent the duration of the quiet hours in his new parlour watching his shadows dance in the firelight. It was only near sunrise that Mary, covering her mouth in a yawn, investigated.
"Have you been there all night, love?"
He rubbed his eyes. "Did you sleep well?"
Mary sighed and sat in the chair adjacent. "You miss him, don't you?"
"Miss whom? Holmes?" Watson gave a short laugh. "I see him more now than I did before we were married."
"And you feel guilty." It wasn't a question.
Watson exhaled. "Mary…"
She held up her hand. "Mr. Holmes has been a part of your life far longer than I have, darling. A large part. I know what you mean to each other."
"But it isn't fair to you," Watson said, looking her straight in the eye. "To get only a piece of my life."
Mary laughed. "I'm glad that I am part of your life, even a small part. And I want you to be happy."
"I am happy."
"Not happy enough," she said, patting his hand, "or you'd sleep through the night."
She swept out of the room, and Watson stared at the wall again for a moment.
But only for a moment. He nodded once and stood, grabbed his coat and hat, and walked out the front door.
-
Holmes was just getting back to Baker Street himself when Watson's carriage pulled up to the front. A random bystander on the street wouldn't have recognized him; even Watson's gaze would have passed over the red-headed ragamuffin bounding up the steps if he hadn't known what to look for. The murky light from false dawn made the illusion that much more real.
Before Watson exited the cab, Holmes stepped inside, but he left the front door ajar. With a quiet laugh, Watson slipped through the moist morning air and inside, closing the door behind him.
"I thought you didn't want to work late hours," Holmes called from the top of the stairs. "Changed your mind?"
"I have, possibly," he called back, using his stick to help hoist himself up the stairs. "Have my old rooms been rented?"
Holmes left his bedroom door open, and he was changing out of his outfit and into his home clothes as Watson stepped inside. He spoke without looking over his shoulder.
"This may surprise you, but I'm not a popular flatmate."
Watson shook his head. "Not in the slightest."
"I thought not." Holmes looked over his shoulder. He'd washed the red out of his hair, but freckles still dotted his face. "What about Mrs. Watson?"
"She wants to be with me," Watson said. "Even if it means sharing."
Holmes looked straight into his eyes, and he felt his cheeks grow warm, but he looked back without flinching.
"Mrs. Hudson has been complaining about all the dust and soot collecting in the empty rooms," he said finally, allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt upwards slightly. "Now, would you care to hear what I've learned?"
"I think I would," Watson said. He lowered himself into his usual chair and crossed his legs.
Through the cracks of Holmes's ragged drapes, the sunrise began to peak through.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Rating: G.
Length: About 1000 words.
Characters/Pairings: Dr. Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Mary, other canon characters.
Spoilers: The 2009 movie.
Summary: In which Watson visits Sherlock Holmes.
Notes: Seeing Sherlock Holmes reminded me how much I enjoyed Sherlock Holmes stories when I was a kid, and I thought I'd try my hand at writing one. This was the result.
Seven Days
Seven days had passed since Watson's wedding to Mary, and during that period, Watson visited Holmes's Baker Street residence seven times.
"Our flat is shaping up nicely," he said on his first visit, with his usual disdainful eye for the stacks of papers in Holmes's room. "Of course, Mary doesn't try to purposely sabotage all my organizational efforts, or blast firearms in the middle of the night, or…"
Mrs. Hudson interrupted the diatribe with a quiet tap on the door. "Inspector Lestrade here to see you, Mr. Holmes."
"Thank you. Send him up."
She swept away, and Holmes, with a cocked eyebrow, nodded at Watson. "You were very kind to visit, but if you'll excuse me--"
"Excuse you? Whatever for?"
Holmes smiled. "You said you didn't wish to be involved with my cases anymore. You don't live here, and you're married. Need I continue?"
"I told you, Mary--"
"Understands, yes," Holmes nodded.
Mrs. Hudson reentered with Lestrade in tow, and his eyebrows raised upon the site of Watson. "Congratulations are in order, Dr. Watson, on the occasion of your marriage."
"Yes, thank you," Watson said, glowering at Holmes.
"I thought you'd be in the country somewhere."
Holmes wasn't meeting Watson's gaze, but a hint of a smile appeared at his lips.
"I wouldn't wager you're here to discuss my personal life," Watson replied. "I should probably be on my way."
Lestrade seemed perplexed. "Before I have my say?"
"If I may," Holmes said, staring at the opposite wall. "There's been a murder. It disturbed you enough to make a personal appearance at my place of residence instead of sending someone of lower rank, and judging by your somewhat heavy breathing, you wasted no time in your arrival. Please sit, Watson, you're distracting me."
Watson complied, but he continued to grumble under his breath. Of course, no one heard over Holmes's deductions about the details of the murder, which was exactly the point.
-
After the first visit, Watson only called upon Baker Street for a few moments each day; his visits with Holmes grew into long carriage rides, longer walks, and a good amount of fruitless searching. He returned to Mary after dark each day, some nights later than others.
The murder was, as Holmes had wagered upon seeing Lestrade, committed by Professor Moriarty. It became more clear every passing day, with each misleading clue or lack of evidence Holmes came across. And instead of frustrated, Holmes seemed nearly elated by the practice. It seemed to Watson that every other sentence out of Holmes's mouth began or ended with the name Moriarty, or possessed some barely concealed awe. Watson had never seen the like.
"I cannot fathom," Watson finally said on the fifth day, as they crouched in the mud near the docks, "your fascination with the man."
"Jealous, Watson?"
"He's a criminal. A murderer."
"Yes, yes," Holmes said, distracted. "What do you make of this footprint?"
-
Watson hadn't slept through the night for weeks. On the seventh night, he didn't sleep at all. He spent the duration of the quiet hours in his new parlour watching his shadows dance in the firelight. It was only near sunrise that Mary, covering her mouth in a yawn, investigated.
"Have you been there all night, love?"
He rubbed his eyes. "Did you sleep well?"
Mary sighed and sat in the chair adjacent. "You miss him, don't you?"
"Miss whom? Holmes?" Watson gave a short laugh. "I see him more now than I did before we were married."
"And you feel guilty." It wasn't a question.
Watson exhaled. "Mary…"
She held up her hand. "Mr. Holmes has been a part of your life far longer than I have, darling. A large part. I know what you mean to each other."
"But it isn't fair to you," Watson said, looking her straight in the eye. "To get only a piece of my life."
Mary laughed. "I'm glad that I am part of your life, even a small part. And I want you to be happy."
"I am happy."
"Not happy enough," she said, patting his hand, "or you'd sleep through the night."
She swept out of the room, and Watson stared at the wall again for a moment.
But only for a moment. He nodded once and stood, grabbed his coat and hat, and walked out the front door.
-
Holmes was just getting back to Baker Street himself when Watson's carriage pulled up to the front. A random bystander on the street wouldn't have recognized him; even Watson's gaze would have passed over the red-headed ragamuffin bounding up the steps if he hadn't known what to look for. The murky light from false dawn made the illusion that much more real.
Before Watson exited the cab, Holmes stepped inside, but he left the front door ajar. With a quiet laugh, Watson slipped through the moist morning air and inside, closing the door behind him.
"I thought you didn't want to work late hours," Holmes called from the top of the stairs. "Changed your mind?"
"I have, possibly," he called back, using his stick to help hoist himself up the stairs. "Have my old rooms been rented?"
Holmes left his bedroom door open, and he was changing out of his outfit and into his home clothes as Watson stepped inside. He spoke without looking over his shoulder.
"This may surprise you, but I'm not a popular flatmate."
Watson shook his head. "Not in the slightest."
"I thought not." Holmes looked over his shoulder. He'd washed the red out of his hair, but freckles still dotted his face. "What about Mrs. Watson?"
"She wants to be with me," Watson said. "Even if it means sharing."
Holmes looked straight into his eyes, and he felt his cheeks grow warm, but he looked back without flinching.
"Mrs. Hudson has been complaining about all the dust and soot collecting in the empty rooms," he said finally, allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt upwards slightly. "Now, would you care to hear what I've learned?"
"I think I would," Watson said. He lowered himself into his usual chair and crossed his legs.
Through the cracks of Holmes's ragged drapes, the sunrise began to peak through.