Stand on the Edge
Title: Stand on the Edge
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Characters: S. Holmes, J. Watson, A.C. Doyle
Table: Five
Prompt: #8. Cliff
Word Count: 737 words (not including foot notes)
Rating: PG
Summary: "You'd say that even if you were on your deathbed."
Author's Notes: Warning, AU (unexpected series), female!Watson, married!Holmes.
She was standing on the edge of a great cliff, the roar of the nearby waterfall drowning out all other sounds, unable to move for the paralyzing fear that she was about to fall to her death.
"Watson."
Who had called her name? Who could speak louder than the waterfall?
"Watson, wake up."
She was awake.
"Watson, this isn't the time to be lazy. Please wake up."
Who was this fool who was so convinced that she was asleep?
"Joanne Hannah Holmes, wake up this minute."
This time the voice actually slapped her.
The stinging pain forced her to open eyes she didn't know were closed.
"Holmes?" she called out.
"I'm here, Watson," her husband replied, getting up from his chair beside her bed in the hospital.
"You're a mess, Holmes," Watson observed.
"Stunning observation, Watson," Holmes remarked with a soft chuckle.
"What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
"I remember running through Lord Henry's manor after his nephew," Watson replied. "My next memory is of waking up here."
"Joseph Spady wasn't working alone, Watson. You were pushed down a flight of stairs by his mother," Holmes explained.
"How bad?" Watson feared that the worst had happened, that her fall had caused a miscarriage. She didn't think either of them could handle another miscarriage.
"Concussion, broken arm, broken leg, and a lot of cuts and bruises."
"And the baby?"
"Alive and well."
Watson let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Thank God," she whispered.
"I don't know if God had anything to do with it," replied the detective. "Especially since you landed on top of me."
"Are you alright?" Watson demanded, guilt rushing through her at the thought that she had likely caused her beloved husband harm.
"I'm fine."
"You'd say that even if you were on your deathbed."
"I have said it on my deathbed."
"You didn't die of Smith's fever, so I don't think that counts as your deathbed, Holmes."
"You were sure that I was going to die at the time," Holmes pointed out.
"No, I didn't," objected Watson.
"I distinctly recall you yelling at me to get out of my deathbed and start breathing."
"Panic makes a person say and do crazy things, Holmes," Watson pointed out before realizing that Holmes had been distracting her from worrying about his health. "And quit avoiding the question and tell me what injuries you sustained when I fell on you."
"He bruised his pride, Doctor," called the familiar--yet unexpected--voice of Watson's partner, Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle, from the door way. "And that's his only injury of note."
The mental image that Doyle's words brought to Watson's mind were most inappropriate for a woman of her status to have, and she blushed in embarrassment.
Both Doyle and Holmes noticed her reddening cheeks and they both rightly deduced the cause.
"I didn't bruise that part of my anatomy!" exclaimed Holmes, shooting a glare at Doyle, who was trying--and for the most part, failing--to hide his ungentleman-like amusement at Watson's misunderstanding.
"I was not aware that simply being knocked over by a woman was not enough to bruise a man's pride," explained Doyle.
"Ooooh..." moaned Watson, as she moved her head too fast.
"Are you alright?" Holmes demanded, taking her hand and squeezing it comfortingly.
"I was pushed down a flight of stairs onto my husband, how do you think I feel?" grumbled Watson.
"Like you fell off a cliff?" Holmes asked, causing Watson to wince as she remembered what had happened at those Falls nearly a decade ago, how Holmes had nearly fallen to his death as he clung desperately to a tree that had been growing out of the cliff-face and watched Professor Moriarty fall to his death.
"I'm sorry, I forgot about--" Watson began, her anger at Holmes evaporating in the face of remembering the day she'd thought she had lost Holmes forever.
"Of course you forgot, Watson," Holmes interjected. "You hit your head on the way down the stairs and got a concussion. Thinking's painful for you right now."
"I'm still amazed that you didn't get a concussion too, Mister Holmes, if the witness accounts are anything to go by," Doyle remarked.
"What?" Watson called, her aches and pains forgotten again.
"Guess he hasn't told you yet, Doctor, but you only have that concussion because your head connected with his(1)," Doyle replied.
"Well, he does have a pretty thick skull, Doyle," Watson declared.
1. It is possible for one person to get a concussion from hitting another person in the head and the other person doesn't get a concussion.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Characters: S. Holmes, J. Watson, A.C. Doyle
Table: Five
Prompt: #8. Cliff
Word Count: 737 words (not including foot notes)
Rating: PG
Summary: "You'd say that even if you were on your deathbed."
Author's Notes: Warning, AU (unexpected series), female!Watson, married!Holmes.
She was standing on the edge of a great cliff, the roar of the nearby waterfall drowning out all other sounds, unable to move for the paralyzing fear that she was about to fall to her death.
"Watson."
Who had called her name? Who could speak louder than the waterfall?
"Watson, wake up."
She was awake.
"Watson, this isn't the time to be lazy. Please wake up."
Who was this fool who was so convinced that she was asleep?
"Joanne Hannah Holmes, wake up this minute."
This time the voice actually slapped her.
The stinging pain forced her to open eyes she didn't know were closed.
"Holmes?" she called out.
"I'm here, Watson," her husband replied, getting up from his chair beside her bed in the hospital.
"You're a mess, Holmes," Watson observed.
"Stunning observation, Watson," Holmes remarked with a soft chuckle.
"What happened?"
"What do you remember?"
"I remember running through Lord Henry's manor after his nephew," Watson replied. "My next memory is of waking up here."
"Joseph Spady wasn't working alone, Watson. You were pushed down a flight of stairs by his mother," Holmes explained.
"How bad?" Watson feared that the worst had happened, that her fall had caused a miscarriage. She didn't think either of them could handle another miscarriage.
"Concussion, broken arm, broken leg, and a lot of cuts and bruises."
"And the baby?"
"Alive and well."
Watson let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Thank God," she whispered.
"I don't know if God had anything to do with it," replied the detective. "Especially since you landed on top of me."
"Are you alright?" Watson demanded, guilt rushing through her at the thought that she had likely caused her beloved husband harm.
"I'm fine."
"You'd say that even if you were on your deathbed."
"I have said it on my deathbed."
"You didn't die of Smith's fever, so I don't think that counts as your deathbed, Holmes."
"You were sure that I was going to die at the time," Holmes pointed out.
"No, I didn't," objected Watson.
"I distinctly recall you yelling at me to get out of my deathbed and start breathing."
"Panic makes a person say and do crazy things, Holmes," Watson pointed out before realizing that Holmes had been distracting her from worrying about his health. "And quit avoiding the question and tell me what injuries you sustained when I fell on you."
"He bruised his pride, Doctor," called the familiar--yet unexpected--voice of Watson's partner, Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle, from the door way. "And that's his only injury of note."
The mental image that Doyle's words brought to Watson's mind were most inappropriate for a woman of her status to have, and she blushed in embarrassment.
Both Doyle and Holmes noticed her reddening cheeks and they both rightly deduced the cause.
"I didn't bruise that part of my anatomy!" exclaimed Holmes, shooting a glare at Doyle, who was trying--and for the most part, failing--to hide his ungentleman-like amusement at Watson's misunderstanding.
"I was not aware that simply being knocked over by a woman was not enough to bruise a man's pride," explained Doyle.
"Ooooh..." moaned Watson, as she moved her head too fast.
"Are you alright?" Holmes demanded, taking her hand and squeezing it comfortingly.
"I was pushed down a flight of stairs onto my husband, how do you think I feel?" grumbled Watson.
"Like you fell off a cliff?" Holmes asked, causing Watson to wince as she remembered what had happened at those Falls nearly a decade ago, how Holmes had nearly fallen to his death as he clung desperately to a tree that had been growing out of the cliff-face and watched Professor Moriarty fall to his death.
"I'm sorry, I forgot about--" Watson began, her anger at Holmes evaporating in the face of remembering the day she'd thought she had lost Holmes forever.
"Of course you forgot, Watson," Holmes interjected. "You hit your head on the way down the stairs and got a concussion. Thinking's painful for you right now."
"I'm still amazed that you didn't get a concussion too, Mister Holmes, if the witness accounts are anything to go by," Doyle remarked.
"What?" Watson called, her aches and pains forgotten again.
"Guess he hasn't told you yet, Doctor, but you only have that concussion because your head connected with his(1)," Doyle replied.
"Well, he does have a pretty thick skull, Doyle," Watson declared.
1. It is possible for one person to get a concussion from hitting another person in the head and the other person doesn't get a concussion.