Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness - Day Sixteen
[Prompt from Wordwielder]From Wordwielder: 16) The Ghost of Christmas Past
I was awoken in the middle of the night one Christmas Eve by a cry of alarm from downstairs. I know my companion to be a very light sleeper and of the two of us I am the one most prone to bad dreams, while he tends not to sleep at all if he is troubled. It was for this very reason that I snatched up my revolver before I took to the stairs.
Sherlock Holmes was not in his bed and the covers were still undisturbed. I was just making my way to the door which connects his bedroom to our sitting room when another cry reached my ears and quickened my actions. I all but flew into the room, despite my protesting old wounds, with gun at the ready.
I found my companion flailing in great agitation upon the sofa. The room was otherwise unoccupied.
For a moment I stood watching the fellow as I wondered what action I should take, but then I realised that he might throw himself to the floor at any moment in his distress and quickly hastened to secure him.
"Holmes?" I called to my friend gently when he attempted to punch me. "Holmes, can you hear me? It is only Watson."
He gave a start and his eyes flew open and stared back at me, wild and unseeing.
"It is only me old fellow," I repeated gently as I squeezed his shoulder. "It was just a bad dream."
But Holmes was not listening. He brushed me aside and then half jumped and half fell onto the floor with much less than his usual grace. He seemed to be peering beneath the sofa.
"What are you doing?"
Again he gave a start and then he looked up at me, finally realising that I was present. "Where is he Watson? Where did the blackguard go? Come out damn you! How dare you come and haunt me in the middle of the night!"
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
"The ghost!" he shouted back at me. "For Heaven's sake Watson! You must surely have heard it, even if the fiend did vanish away when you came in. Though why the Ghost of Christmas Past would come as a goose I cannot quite understand."
I started to laugh. "It was a bad dream old boy. I expect that you have had a little too much rich food and brandy before bed. Unless you have a guilty conscience, of course?"
"My conscience is quite clear thank you."
"Good. I thought that it would be. In that case, I prescribe a drink of water and then a good night's sleep. Good rest old fellow."
"Good night Watson. Uh... I am sorry to have disturbed you."
"Not at all," said I with a yawn. "Would you like some company?"
"Lest the spectral goose returns? No, I am all right. Go back to bed old chap; you need rather more sleep than I do."
"Piffle," I snorted. "Sleep," I ordered as I left the room to return to my waiting bed.
I was awoken in the middle of the night one Christmas Eve by a cry of alarm from downstairs. I know my companion to be a very light sleeper and of the two of us I am the one most prone to bad dreams, while he tends not to sleep at all if he is troubled. It was for this very reason that I snatched up my revolver before I took to the stairs.
Sherlock Holmes was not in his bed and the covers were still undisturbed. I was just making my way to the door which connects his bedroom to our sitting room when another cry reached my ears and quickened my actions. I all but flew into the room, despite my protesting old wounds, with gun at the ready.
I found my companion flailing in great agitation upon the sofa. The room was otherwise unoccupied.
For a moment I stood watching the fellow as I wondered what action I should take, but then I realised that he might throw himself to the floor at any moment in his distress and quickly hastened to secure him.
"Holmes?" I called to my friend gently when he attempted to punch me. "Holmes, can you hear me? It is only Watson."
He gave a start and his eyes flew open and stared back at me, wild and unseeing.
"It is only me old fellow," I repeated gently as I squeezed his shoulder. "It was just a bad dream."
But Holmes was not listening. He brushed me aside and then half jumped and half fell onto the floor with much less than his usual grace. He seemed to be peering beneath the sofa.
"What are you doing?"
Again he gave a start and then he looked up at me, finally realising that I was present. "Where is he Watson? Where did the blackguard go? Come out damn you! How dare you come and haunt me in the middle of the night!"
"What are you talking about?" I demanded.
"The ghost!" he shouted back at me. "For Heaven's sake Watson! You must surely have heard it, even if the fiend did vanish away when you came in. Though why the Ghost of Christmas Past would come as a goose I cannot quite understand."
I started to laugh. "It was a bad dream old boy. I expect that you have had a little too much rich food and brandy before bed. Unless you have a guilty conscience, of course?"
"My conscience is quite clear thank you."
"Good. I thought that it would be. In that case, I prescribe a drink of water and then a good night's sleep. Good rest old fellow."
"Good night Watson. Uh... I am sorry to have disturbed you."
"Not at all," said I with a yawn. "Would you like some company?"
"Lest the spectral goose returns? No, I am all right. Go back to bed old chap; you need rather more sleep than I do."
"Piffle," I snorted. "Sleep," I ordered as I left the room to return to my waiting bed.