Fic: Underland (Sherlock Holmes / Neverwhere), PG (2/17)
Title: Underland
Authors: crimson_adder
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (ACD) / Neverwhere (Gaiman!verse)
Rating: PG
Pairing / Characters: Holmes/Watson (eventually); Watson, Marquis de Carabas
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: John Watson loses a bet, grants a favour, and finds himself in a world unlike anything he has ever seen before. Except for how it's all the same.
Notes / Warnings: So this started with my own prompt on shkinkmeme which never got filled, so I decided to do it myself. :D If you see issues with anything, please feel free to tell me, 'cause I would prefer not to be pulling stuff entirely out of my ass on a regular basis. Title taken from the recent Alice in Wonderland movie.
Details of Hanway Place taken from Neverwhere but altered to fit this story. Also suspension of disbelief starts here, because this is where the ~magic~ happens. Very mild spoilers for chapter 10 of Neverwhere, but nothing plotwise.
Underland - Part II
He was called the marquis de Carabas.
The title tickled my memory, but with no context or frame of reference I had no concept of where I had heard of him prior to that night. I was honoured and a little shocked to realise that I had gambled against nobility in a grimy public house, but he waved away my words with another of his private chuckles.
When he gave no other name I sought to introduce my self, but got no further than my own title, when he interrupted me.
"I know who you are, Doctor John Watson, for your reputation exceeds you. But heed my advice, good sir, and refrain from speaking your name to anyone else you should encounter tonight. Names have power, as you well know." He gave me a look that might have been a regretful smile and might have been a cleaving smirk, but the lamp light was too dim in the street to fully make it out.
"How on Earth do you know of me? What kind of reputation are you talking about?"
Oh how late I was to ask this.
"You have - quite the impressive reference list. I heard of you through a mutual acquaintance and desire your professional attention and discretion in a personal matter."
I interrupted, as he started walking in the opposite direction of Baker Street. "Needn't I gather my medical bag before I see to your ailment?"
"Of course not, my dear man. Your mind and kindly disposition are all I require. Now, I beg of you, ask no more questions lest you find yourself too deep in this affair."
Acknowledging his caveat, I followed silent as he led me down the winding streets, my cane clacking against the wet pavement of the sidewalks.
As we walked a low fog drifted in around us, muffling the sounds of London at night until only the deadened ring of our footsteps, the uneven beat of my cane and the rustle of the marquis' coat could be heard. The damp drew deep beneath my own wool coat and I shivered, feeling my shoulder begin to ache.
When we stopped outside a row of houses I blinked to realise we were at Hanway Place. I had not even noticed we had been walking down Oxford Street, which despite the late - or rather, early - hour of the night should have seen some significant business from the night owls such as my self.
The marquis de Carabas gestured for me to precede him down a narrow alley, dimly lit by a single gas light. I squinted, unable to see very far down the passage, and looked around briefly. A sign caught my eye, high on the wall.
ORME PASSAGE W1
I had never before noticed it, though I had been down this way some few times before. Never the less, I stepped carefully around the corner and picked my way down the alley until I reached a small door, scarcely tall enough to clear my hat. The marquis was two or three inches taller than I, and even though his figure was thin and wiry beneath his coat, he seemed to fill the alley behind me, blocking all exits. I felt a thrill of uneasiness flow through me, the drink wearing off to leave behind the vague regret of too many alcohol-fuelled decisions.
The marquis stepped up to the door and inserted a small, oddly shaped key into the lock. Though logically it seemed it should open into the back of the house we had just passed, the opening gleamed with light and welcoming warmth seeped out to entice me in.
It was like the alley, being small and slightly cramped, but comfortable, and not claustrophobic. There was a long, low table to the side, similar to the kind I kept in my office for patients, plus a cushioned chair and a washstand with clean water. A merry fire crackled in a small stove, and gas lamps around the walls lit the interior with the golden glow.
An ornate silver box sat on one corner of the table. In size it was between a cigar box and a snuff box and decorated with intricate silver filigree. Red shadows lurked under the shine of the silver.
"You are familiar, I believe, with a Mister Sherry Vernet?" de Carabas stated, sitting down on the little table and unbuttoning his waistcoat.
Removing my hat, I shook my head. "No, I'm afraid I have not heard the name before. Is it important?" I removed my coat and jacket, and rolled up my shirtsleeves for easier movement. Still unsure of what it was he needed from me, I hoped to be prepared for anything, especially without my medical tools.
He looked shocked, and then disconcerted. "No? Goodness me. I had thought - " He stopped abruptly and looked away, before returning his attention to the fastenings of his clothing.
"Is it a problem? Who is Mr. Vernet?" Once I thought of it, the name seemed vaguely familiar, in the way that an actor might be recognisable, but I could not place it.
"No, no problem, sir. But I say again, do not ask any more questions or you'll get yourself in trouble." He tried to pass off one of his easy smiles, but there was something wrong with it. It wasn't his usual closed lipped, entertained smiles, but more of a bearing of teeth, as someone trying to restrain an outburst of emotion.
The mention of trouble caused me some disquiet. However I owned my debt, and thus placed my self before the marquis so that he could direct me as he needed.
What he asked of me was astonishingly peculiar. Stripped to the waist he lay back and placed my hands, cold from washing them in the basin, on his chest just over his heart. It was similar to the position of attempting to resuscitate a person from drowning, one atop the other. The silver filigree box he placed open at the crown of his head, just brushing his long braids. It was empty, but lined with plush red velvet, with a deep impression in the middle as if to hold a large oblong locket or pocket watch.
On his instruction, I counted to three and pressed down as forcefully as my damaged shoulder would let me. Normally my greatest fear in doing such a thing would be broken ribs or a fractured sternum, so the loud whump that shook the room took me by surprise.
There was an encompassing silence for a moment, and then it was as if a gale had started within the little room. My coat and hat were whisked up from their spot of rest and thrown about the room as a howling wind appeared from nowhere and everywhere. It swirled and swiped at my shirt and waistcoat, and I threw my hands up instinctively to protect my face, fighting to stay by the side of the table as the crazed storm tried to force me into the opposite wall.
The longer it blew the more it gained power, wailing and screaming as it bashed against the door like a wild animal raging for freedom. It seemed to last for hours, the more I fought the more it beat me down until I was curled into a ball against the table leg.
It took all my restraint not to yell back, not to howl with the wind, try and overpower it the only way I could think to. The wind didn't extinguish the fire, but coaxed it violently into the room, the flames leaping from the fireplace even as the flinging air froze my skin.
Afraid it would set the little room ablaze, I struggled to right my self when it suddenly - just as suddenly as it appeared - stopped.
My hat and coat fell with a rustle to the wood flooring, now over by the door, and the fire settled back sedately into the hearth, once again crackling with cheerful warmth in place of the vicious thrashing just moments before.
I started, breathing heavily, and flailed my limbs out about me, grounding my self even after the tempest had abated.
A chuckle gained my attention, and I looked up, probably with the most shocked expression I have ever worn, to see the marquis de Carabas sitting up, calm as you please, a tolerant grin splitting his cheeks. He dropped a hand down to me and I stood with its help, still shaking. I was only glad my cane was relatively secure propped where it was or we could have both been brained by its heavy African wood.
So shaken I was, I almost forgot what I had been doing prior to the squall until de Carabas twisted his bare body, chest gleaming with sweat, though from what exertion I still have no idea, and retrieved the silver box.
There, nestled within the deep folds of padded velvet where nothing had been before, was a large duck's egg, pale blue in colour and highlighted by the flickering gold of the gas lamps.
-
| Part I || Part II || Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X |
| Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII |
Authors: crimson_adder
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (ACD) / Neverwhere (Gaiman!verse)
Rating: PG
Pairing / Characters: Holmes/Watson (eventually); Watson, Marquis de Carabas
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: John Watson loses a bet, grants a favour, and finds himself in a world unlike anything he has ever seen before. Except for how it's all the same.
Notes / Warnings: So this started with my own prompt on shkinkmeme which never got filled, so I decided to do it myself. :D If you see issues with anything, please feel free to tell me, 'cause I would prefer not to be pulling stuff entirely out of my ass on a regular basis. Title taken from the recent Alice in Wonderland movie.
Details of Hanway Place taken from Neverwhere but altered to fit this story. Also suspension of disbelief starts here, because this is where the ~magic~ happens. Very mild spoilers for chapter 10 of Neverwhere, but nothing plotwise.
Underland - Part II
He was called the marquis de Carabas.
The title tickled my memory, but with no context or frame of reference I had no concept of where I had heard of him prior to that night. I was honoured and a little shocked to realise that I had gambled against nobility in a grimy public house, but he waved away my words with another of his private chuckles.
When he gave no other name I sought to introduce my self, but got no further than my own title, when he interrupted me.
"I know who you are, Doctor John Watson, for your reputation exceeds you. But heed my advice, good sir, and refrain from speaking your name to anyone else you should encounter tonight. Names have power, as you well know." He gave me a look that might have been a regretful smile and might have been a cleaving smirk, but the lamp light was too dim in the street to fully make it out.
"How on Earth do you know of me? What kind of reputation are you talking about?"
Oh how late I was to ask this.
"You have - quite the impressive reference list. I heard of you through a mutual acquaintance and desire your professional attention and discretion in a personal matter."
I interrupted, as he started walking in the opposite direction of Baker Street. "Needn't I gather my medical bag before I see to your ailment?"
"Of course not, my dear man. Your mind and kindly disposition are all I require. Now, I beg of you, ask no more questions lest you find yourself too deep in this affair."
Acknowledging his caveat, I followed silent as he led me down the winding streets, my cane clacking against the wet pavement of the sidewalks.
As we walked a low fog drifted in around us, muffling the sounds of London at night until only the deadened ring of our footsteps, the uneven beat of my cane and the rustle of the marquis' coat could be heard. The damp drew deep beneath my own wool coat and I shivered, feeling my shoulder begin to ache.
When we stopped outside a row of houses I blinked to realise we were at Hanway Place. I had not even noticed we had been walking down Oxford Street, which despite the late - or rather, early - hour of the night should have seen some significant business from the night owls such as my self.
The marquis de Carabas gestured for me to precede him down a narrow alley, dimly lit by a single gas light. I squinted, unable to see very far down the passage, and looked around briefly. A sign caught my eye, high on the wall.
ORME PASSAGE W1
I had never before noticed it, though I had been down this way some few times before. Never the less, I stepped carefully around the corner and picked my way down the alley until I reached a small door, scarcely tall enough to clear my hat. The marquis was two or three inches taller than I, and even though his figure was thin and wiry beneath his coat, he seemed to fill the alley behind me, blocking all exits. I felt a thrill of uneasiness flow through me, the drink wearing off to leave behind the vague regret of too many alcohol-fuelled decisions.
The marquis stepped up to the door and inserted a small, oddly shaped key into the lock. Though logically it seemed it should open into the back of the house we had just passed, the opening gleamed with light and welcoming warmth seeped out to entice me in.
It was like the alley, being small and slightly cramped, but comfortable, and not claustrophobic. There was a long, low table to the side, similar to the kind I kept in my office for patients, plus a cushioned chair and a washstand with clean water. A merry fire crackled in a small stove, and gas lamps around the walls lit the interior with the golden glow.
An ornate silver box sat on one corner of the table. In size it was between a cigar box and a snuff box and decorated with intricate silver filigree. Red shadows lurked under the shine of the silver.
"You are familiar, I believe, with a Mister Sherry Vernet?" de Carabas stated, sitting down on the little table and unbuttoning his waistcoat.
Removing my hat, I shook my head. "No, I'm afraid I have not heard the name before. Is it important?" I removed my coat and jacket, and rolled up my shirtsleeves for easier movement. Still unsure of what it was he needed from me, I hoped to be prepared for anything, especially without my medical tools.
He looked shocked, and then disconcerted. "No? Goodness me. I had thought - " He stopped abruptly and looked away, before returning his attention to the fastenings of his clothing.
"Is it a problem? Who is Mr. Vernet?" Once I thought of it, the name seemed vaguely familiar, in the way that an actor might be recognisable, but I could not place it.
"No, no problem, sir. But I say again, do not ask any more questions or you'll get yourself in trouble." He tried to pass off one of his easy smiles, but there was something wrong with it. It wasn't his usual closed lipped, entertained smiles, but more of a bearing of teeth, as someone trying to restrain an outburst of emotion.
The mention of trouble caused me some disquiet. However I owned my debt, and thus placed my self before the marquis so that he could direct me as he needed.
What he asked of me was astonishingly peculiar. Stripped to the waist he lay back and placed my hands, cold from washing them in the basin, on his chest just over his heart. It was similar to the position of attempting to resuscitate a person from drowning, one atop the other. The silver filigree box he placed open at the crown of his head, just brushing his long braids. It was empty, but lined with plush red velvet, with a deep impression in the middle as if to hold a large oblong locket or pocket watch.
On his instruction, I counted to three and pressed down as forcefully as my damaged shoulder would let me. Normally my greatest fear in doing such a thing would be broken ribs or a fractured sternum, so the loud whump that shook the room took me by surprise.
There was an encompassing silence for a moment, and then it was as if a gale had started within the little room. My coat and hat were whisked up from their spot of rest and thrown about the room as a howling wind appeared from nowhere and everywhere. It swirled and swiped at my shirt and waistcoat, and I threw my hands up instinctively to protect my face, fighting to stay by the side of the table as the crazed storm tried to force me into the opposite wall.
The longer it blew the more it gained power, wailing and screaming as it bashed against the door like a wild animal raging for freedom. It seemed to last for hours, the more I fought the more it beat me down until I was curled into a ball against the table leg.
It took all my restraint not to yell back, not to howl with the wind, try and overpower it the only way I could think to. The wind didn't extinguish the fire, but coaxed it violently into the room, the flames leaping from the fireplace even as the flinging air froze my skin.
Afraid it would set the little room ablaze, I struggled to right my self when it suddenly - just as suddenly as it appeared - stopped.
My hat and coat fell with a rustle to the wood flooring, now over by the door, and the fire settled back sedately into the hearth, once again crackling with cheerful warmth in place of the vicious thrashing just moments before.
I started, breathing heavily, and flailed my limbs out about me, grounding my self even after the tempest had abated.
A chuckle gained my attention, and I looked up, probably with the most shocked expression I have ever worn, to see the marquis de Carabas sitting up, calm as you please, a tolerant grin splitting his cheeks. He dropped a hand down to me and I stood with its help, still shaking. I was only glad my cane was relatively secure propped where it was or we could have both been brained by its heavy African wood.
So shaken I was, I almost forgot what I had been doing prior to the squall until de Carabas twisted his bare body, chest gleaming with sweat, though from what exertion I still have no idea, and retrieved the silver box.
There, nestled within the deep folds of padded velvet where nothing had been before, was a large duck's egg, pale blue in colour and highlighted by the flickering gold of the gas lamps.
-
| Part I || Part II || Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X |
| Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII |