"The Firm" (July Writing Prompt 2012), JWP # 10
Title: The Firm
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone film series)
Rating: G
Warning: Canonical scrambling.
Word Count: 800
Summary: Even a frightened client sees it.
Author's Notes: For the
watsons_woes 2012 July Writing Prompt #10 - July 26:
Your next writing prompt is: pick up the closest book to hand. Open at random, and place your finger at random on the page. That word must be either the word you begin your story with or the word with which it ends.
***
Timidly she lifted her veil to reveal her terror to the man she wished to engage. She was very relieved that the landlady remained beside her, providing a proper chaperone to a young woman visiting two men in their quarters so early in the morning.
Only fear could have brought her to do something this rash and daring - go to London and hire a private detective, as if she was a wicked woman plotting her husband's murder in some tawdry yellow-backed novel! What a fool she must look, and how useless it would all be in the end, surely.
The only thing worse would be to go to the police with her story. She knew how such men viewed women. She could vividly picture their skeptical faces and patronising smiles, their dismissal of everything she said as the ravings of an hysterical female, and their lewd suggestion that these fancies would all be cured once she was properly married (with ghastly winks and smiles at each other).
But Mrs. Farintosh had spotted her in town when she'd gone shopping and had insisted on buying her tea and listening to her fears. "I was in such a state as you now - and that's when I went to London. Mr. Sherlock Holmes didn't just find my tiara, he saved my reputation. Now, dearie, I can see something very bad is happening with you. Go to him - he's a gentleman, not like a police detective, not at all."
And…and he wasn't like a police detective at all. He was very cool and factual with her - and stunned her by casually describing her journey to his door as if he'd seen every bit of it himself. She could see that he was brilliant - frighteningly brilliant. He paced a bit as if restless, but not in that swaggering stride affected by so many police. When he sat he fixed her with an unwavering stare like that of a cobra. He only nodded when she tearfully described her sister's death, as if simply storing that bit of information away; he was just as cool and detached when she spoke of her stepfather's brutality, the cold and lonely life she led, and even her hope for future happiness with her husband-to-be - not joy nor grief nor pain seemed to touch him. His voice was cool as his manner, sharp at times when he asked questions. He might have been discussing a maths problem for all the passion he showed.
When she remembered that terrifying day and that drawing room, when she described the detective to her husband and to her friends, they wondered that she'd stayed in such a cold, forbidding presence, and how brave she'd been to face such an unfeeling reptile of a human being in his very den. She was bemused by the conclusion they'd drawn; for it hadn't been cold or forbidding in that room. When she spoke more of it, and how it had been, it dawned on her that it had been more than that one diamond-brilliant and diamond-cold man.
For the man's colleague had been in that room too - and he was full of all the warmth and compassion lacking in his friend. He was a big man, with the girth of a comfortable gentleman, but his manner was less that of a cosseted patrician and more like a bear, rising stout and fierce against an opponent. He sent the landlady to bring her coffee, patted her hand and expressed his sympathy for poor Julia's fate, blustered and huffed indignantly at Dr. Roylott's doings, and even swore that the bounder ought to face a gentleman who knew fisticuffs who'd teach him the proper way to treat a lady. Mr. Holmes had rebuked him into silence for that - but with a flicker of a smile on his face and a thread of warmth in his cool voice; not even this diamond-sharp man was immune from that bearlike warmth. Dr. Watson was no match for his friend's intellect - who in all of London was? - but it seemed that Mr. Holmes was no match for his friend's bluff and generous heart.
All the rest - following Mr. Holmes' strange orders, helping them canvass the house like prospective burglars, shivering in dread at his sharp injunctions against sleep, and that horrible night when the depths of her stepfather's monstrosity was revealed - was only possible because they inspired her to heights of courage she thought lost with her beloved sister.
"They are extraordinary," Helen Armitage (nee Stoner) said simply. "Yes, Mr. Holmes is sharp and clever, and Dr. Watson is a dear man who'd take on an army if he had to, but together, they are - they are unconquerable. Go to them, dear. They'll help you."
"Thank you. I believe I will," Violet Smith said timidly.
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone film series)
Rating: G
Warning: Canonical scrambling.
Word Count: 800
Summary: Even a frightened client sees it.
Author's Notes: For the
watsons_woes 2012 July Writing Prompt #10 - July 26:
Your next writing prompt is: pick up the closest book to hand. Open at random, and place your finger at random on the page. That word must be either the word you begin your story with or the word with which it ends.
***
Timidly she lifted her veil to reveal her terror to the man she wished to engage. She was very relieved that the landlady remained beside her, providing a proper chaperone to a young woman visiting two men in their quarters so early in the morning.
Only fear could have brought her to do something this rash and daring - go to London and hire a private detective, as if she was a wicked woman plotting her husband's murder in some tawdry yellow-backed novel! What a fool she must look, and how useless it would all be in the end, surely.
The only thing worse would be to go to the police with her story. She knew how such men viewed women. She could vividly picture their skeptical faces and patronising smiles, their dismissal of everything she said as the ravings of an hysterical female, and their lewd suggestion that these fancies would all be cured once she was properly married (with ghastly winks and smiles at each other).
But Mrs. Farintosh had spotted her in town when she'd gone shopping and had insisted on buying her tea and listening to her fears. "I was in such a state as you now - and that's when I went to London. Mr. Sherlock Holmes didn't just find my tiara, he saved my reputation. Now, dearie, I can see something very bad is happening with you. Go to him - he's a gentleman, not like a police detective, not at all."
And…and he wasn't like a police detective at all. He was very cool and factual with her - and stunned her by casually describing her journey to his door as if he'd seen every bit of it himself. She could see that he was brilliant - frighteningly brilliant. He paced a bit as if restless, but not in that swaggering stride affected by so many police. When he sat he fixed her with an unwavering stare like that of a cobra. He only nodded when she tearfully described her sister's death, as if simply storing that bit of information away; he was just as cool and detached when she spoke of her stepfather's brutality, the cold and lonely life she led, and even her hope for future happiness with her husband-to-be - not joy nor grief nor pain seemed to touch him. His voice was cool as his manner, sharp at times when he asked questions. He might have been discussing a maths problem for all the passion he showed.
When she remembered that terrifying day and that drawing room, when she described the detective to her husband and to her friends, they wondered that she'd stayed in such a cold, forbidding presence, and how brave she'd been to face such an unfeeling reptile of a human being in his very den. She was bemused by the conclusion they'd drawn; for it hadn't been cold or forbidding in that room. When she spoke more of it, and how it had been, it dawned on her that it had been more than that one diamond-brilliant and diamond-cold man.
For the man's colleague had been in that room too - and he was full of all the warmth and compassion lacking in his friend. He was a big man, with the girth of a comfortable gentleman, but his manner was less that of a cosseted patrician and more like a bear, rising stout and fierce against an opponent. He sent the landlady to bring her coffee, patted her hand and expressed his sympathy for poor Julia's fate, blustered and huffed indignantly at Dr. Roylott's doings, and even swore that the bounder ought to face a gentleman who knew fisticuffs who'd teach him the proper way to treat a lady. Mr. Holmes had rebuked him into silence for that - but with a flicker of a smile on his face and a thread of warmth in his cool voice; not even this diamond-sharp man was immune from that bearlike warmth. Dr. Watson was no match for his friend's intellect - who in all of London was? - but it seemed that Mr. Holmes was no match for his friend's bluff and generous heart.
All the rest - following Mr. Holmes' strange orders, helping them canvass the house like prospective burglars, shivering in dread at his sharp injunctions against sleep, and that horrible night when the depths of her stepfather's monstrosity was revealed - was only possible because they inspired her to heights of courage she thought lost with her beloved sister.
"They are extraordinary," Helen Armitage (nee Stoner) said simply. "Yes, Mr. Holmes is sharp and clever, and Dr. Watson is a dear man who'd take on an army if he had to, but together, they are - they are unconquerable. Go to them, dear. They'll help you."
"Thank you. I believe I will," Violet Smith said timidly.