Trains of Thought
Title: Trains of Thought
Rating: PG
Word Count: 342
Summary: Holmes doesn't like trains
Warnings: Parisians
thanks sciuraamethysta for the prompt. Can't wait to see what you spark this time.....
I, though very controlled in almost all I do, cannot rein in my deductive powers when confined to a train compartment while Watson is gone. The good doctor has a way of distracting me with inane talk and board games; I hardly notice the passing of the landscape and time. But currently the cabin is singularly Watson-free thanks to my insensitivity on, what I thought, was an insignificant matter. The truth of the matter is, why should a ladies feelings be spared in the course of a case? But the Doctor saw it in a different light, and we fought, ending with him leaving the compartment.
My mind begins to focus on whatever there is around me. Gears and gyros whirl on the axis they are attached to, a woman is screaming at her children, ages three and seven, a ticket taker has found a stowaway who had hidden in the kitchen compartment, a street urchin of fourteen. A food cart with a deformed left wheel two doors up, plausible cause: children playing in the corridor. Deduction: woman is yelling at her children for crashing into the cart. Baggage car door opens, a thud, and slams shut. Deduction: stow away will spend his time avoiding trunks. Thirty-six pairs of men’s boot, forty-seven pairs of women’s heels, twenty-six children, thirteen not wearing shoes, six infants, and someone is failing to pick the lock of my door.
Three Americans, two doors over, six Parisians across from me, someone still failing to break in, two people from Derbyshire, six from the countryside to London, fourteen from London to the country side, the man outside my door is standing up, two attendants fighting-one just came from the French compartment. Deduction: one was groped while attending to them. Twelve ….
Just as my brain pulls me farther down, the door is kicked down. Watson stands on the wood he’s kicked down, looking at me in a rather like the way I look at a new case.
“Up for a game of chess, Holmes?”
I find my head is, now, quite clear.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 342
Summary: Holmes doesn't like trains
Warnings: Parisians
thanks sciuraamethysta for the prompt. Can't wait to see what you spark this time.....
I, though very controlled in almost all I do, cannot rein in my deductive powers when confined to a train compartment while Watson is gone. The good doctor has a way of distracting me with inane talk and board games; I hardly notice the passing of the landscape and time. But currently the cabin is singularly Watson-free thanks to my insensitivity on, what I thought, was an insignificant matter. The truth of the matter is, why should a ladies feelings be spared in the course of a case? But the Doctor saw it in a different light, and we fought, ending with him leaving the compartment.
My mind begins to focus on whatever there is around me. Gears and gyros whirl on the axis they are attached to, a woman is screaming at her children, ages three and seven, a ticket taker has found a stowaway who had hidden in the kitchen compartment, a street urchin of fourteen. A food cart with a deformed left wheel two doors up, plausible cause: children playing in the corridor. Deduction: woman is yelling at her children for crashing into the cart. Baggage car door opens, a thud, and slams shut. Deduction: stow away will spend his time avoiding trunks. Thirty-six pairs of men’s boot, forty-seven pairs of women’s heels, twenty-six children, thirteen not wearing shoes, six infants, and someone is failing to pick the lock of my door.
Three Americans, two doors over, six Parisians across from me, someone still failing to break in, two people from Derbyshire, six from the countryside to London, fourteen from London to the country side, the man outside my door is standing up, two attendants fighting-one just came from the French compartment. Deduction: one was groped while attending to them. Twelve ….
Just as my brain pulls me farther down, the door is kicked down. Watson stands on the wood he’s kicked down, looking at me in a rather like the way I look at a new case.
“Up for a game of chess, Holmes?”
I find my head is, now, quite clear.