"Final Act, Curtain Falls" (July 18 Prompt for watsons-woes
Title: Final Act, Curtain Falls
Author: gardnerhill
Rating: G
Characters: Sherlock Holmes (aka Reginald Kincaid) & Dr. Watson from "Without a Clue" (1988)
Summary: Musings on a conflagration.
Warnings: Spoilers for the film's ending. Also, spoilers for the film's premise.
Word Count: 450
Author's Notes: For the July 18 prompt (photo of a burning warehouse-style building). Dedicated to many, from William Gillette to Benedict Cumberbatch (not forgetting Michael Caine).
###
The Orpheum was a massive box of roaring flames; the fire pump's pitiful output might as well be spittle in the face of that inferno, for all the dogged persistence of the crew working both pump and hose.
And Moriarty? He'd been down in that conflagration, and surely lost to it. Surely he could not have escaped. Surely?
Watson gasped and huffed for breath, blinking the smoke tears out of his eyes. This couldn't be good for his blood pressure - well, this, nor lying low for a day and two nights with no food, little water and little rest whilst tracking his prey. And he'd come close to being cut down by Moriarty after all - had it not been for his erstwhile partner. Erstwhile?
He looked up, to see the man himself staring into the flames. Sorrow was written all over his face. "Holmes?" Watson wheezed.
"She was a grand old theatre, Watson," the man said softly. "Home of my sole Thespian triumph."
Ah. The man was not Sherlock Holmes the fictional detective just now, but simply Reginald Kincaid the actor.
"And of your most heroic moment, old man," Watson reminded him. "Your brilliant stage-fencing saved us all from Moriarty's blade. Sherlock Holmes couldn't have done the deed better. Take it from the man who invented the fellow."
Kincaid smiled a little. "I highly doubt Sherlock Holmes would have accidentally touched off the fire."
Watson snorted. "Perhaps not. But Moriarty had planned to torch the place to cover his crime, so it could very well have been doomed anyway."
The actor cocked his head, staring at the roaring mess. "A grand English tradition, unfortunately. The Globe Theater in 1613. Who knows how many stages in 1666? The Theatre Royale just a few years ago."
"A crime averted, lives saved, Moriarty defeated, and all culminating in a great fire." Watson smiled and gave the man a thump on the shoulder to jolly him out of his sombre mood. "All in all, quite a dramatic end to this case, don't you think?"
That worked. Kincaid flashed Watson his wide friendly grin just as three great shadowy figures hurried toward them.
"Lord Smithwick," Watson muttered, and fell a half-step behind Kincaid, taking on his own acting persona as the stalwart, simpler-minded friend of the brilliant detective.
Who now straightened and stood, calm and wise, cloaked once again in character - no more Reginald Kincaid but Sherlock Holmes to his shoes, ready to receive his due gratitude for cracking the case.
At that moment Watson could do nothing but admit the truth:
A writer might indeed have invented the man, but an actor had breathed life into him.
Author: gardnerhill
Rating: G
Characters: Sherlock Holmes (aka Reginald Kincaid) & Dr. Watson from "Without a Clue" (1988)
Summary: Musings on a conflagration.
Warnings: Spoilers for the film's ending. Also, spoilers for the film's premise.
Word Count: 450
Author's Notes: For the July 18 prompt (photo of a burning warehouse-style building). Dedicated to many, from William Gillette to Benedict Cumberbatch (not forgetting Michael Caine).
###
The Orpheum was a massive box of roaring flames; the fire pump's pitiful output might as well be spittle in the face of that inferno, for all the dogged persistence of the crew working both pump and hose.
And Moriarty? He'd been down in that conflagration, and surely lost to it. Surely he could not have escaped. Surely?
Watson gasped and huffed for breath, blinking the smoke tears out of his eyes. This couldn't be good for his blood pressure - well, this, nor lying low for a day and two nights with no food, little water and little rest whilst tracking his prey. And he'd come close to being cut down by Moriarty after all - had it not been for his erstwhile partner. Erstwhile?
He looked up, to see the man himself staring into the flames. Sorrow was written all over his face. "Holmes?" Watson wheezed.
"She was a grand old theatre, Watson," the man said softly. "Home of my sole Thespian triumph."
Ah. The man was not Sherlock Holmes the fictional detective just now, but simply Reginald Kincaid the actor.
"And of your most heroic moment, old man," Watson reminded him. "Your brilliant stage-fencing saved us all from Moriarty's blade. Sherlock Holmes couldn't have done the deed better. Take it from the man who invented the fellow."
Kincaid smiled a little. "I highly doubt Sherlock Holmes would have accidentally touched off the fire."
Watson snorted. "Perhaps not. But Moriarty had planned to torch the place to cover his crime, so it could very well have been doomed anyway."
The actor cocked his head, staring at the roaring mess. "A grand English tradition, unfortunately. The Globe Theater in 1613. Who knows how many stages in 1666? The Theatre Royale just a few years ago."
"A crime averted, lives saved, Moriarty defeated, and all culminating in a great fire." Watson smiled and gave the man a thump on the shoulder to jolly him out of his sombre mood. "All in all, quite a dramatic end to this case, don't you think?"
That worked. Kincaid flashed Watson his wide friendly grin just as three great shadowy figures hurried toward them.
"Lord Smithwick," Watson muttered, and fell a half-step behind Kincaid, taking on his own acting persona as the stalwart, simpler-minded friend of the brilliant detective.
Who now straightened and stood, calm and wise, cloaked once again in character - no more Reginald Kincaid but Sherlock Holmes to his shoes, ready to receive his due gratitude for cracking the case.
At that moment Watson could do nothing but admit the truth:
A writer might indeed have invented the man, but an actor had breathed life into him.