Fic: You Better Stop And Rebuild All Your Ruins - 6/12
Title: You Better Stop And Rebuild All Your Ruins - 6/12
Author: RubyChan05
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary
Word Count: 2097
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 6
He came to surrounded by noise, a senseless buzz of sound that gradually rearranged itself into words. Opening his eyes a crack, he was vaguely aware of a circle of faces gazing down at him before a spasm wracked his body and he found himself coughing violently, water forcing itself up his throat.
He was dimly aware of a hand rubbing his back soothingly, a gentle voice murmuring for him to get it all out, that was it, he’d feel much better now. Feeling the coughing fit fade, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes fully, wincing at the brightness of the sunlight.
“Where…where am I?” He croaked out.
“You’re in Marlow, young man. It looks like you’ve had quite the swim. Did you fall in? How far up the river were you?”
He opened his mouth to reply, pausing when he realised that he didn’t know. His panic only grew as he realised that he didn’t know anything about where he’d come from. Or even who he was for that matter.
Flailing into a sitting position, he wrapped his arms round his knees and breathed deep, forcing the panic back. There was no point in losing his head, things were bad enough already.
“I…I don’t know.” He managed. “I can’t remember anything.”
“Nothing? Not even your name?” An aghast person asked, and he bristled.
“No. Not even my name.”
“Come on now, give the man some room!” A young voice called out, and a respectful murmur went through the crowd.
“Sir Harry!”
He stared up at the newcomer, taking in Sir Harry’s immaculate hair and wrinkle free suit. Feeling suddenly self-conscious he patted his damp hair nervously, free hand tugging at the mangled, soggy mess that was his own suit.
Sir Harry seemed to notice, laughing quietly as he crouched down so that they were eye level.
“Now now, none of that. A fellow can’t be judged by his attire after nearly drowning. Did I hear you say that you don’t know who you are?”
He nodded.
“Right then. You’re coming with me. You can stay at the manor until you’ve recovered, and Dr Lichen can give you a look over there. Feel like you can walk?”
He nodded again, levering himself unsteadily to his feet only to collapse as his leg gave way underneath him. Sir Harry lunged forwards, catching him under the arm and pulling him into a position where he was being supported by the younger man.
“Whoa now! Let’s take things slowly shall we? Now let’s get you back to the manor…”
He nodded gratefully, limping slowly towards the carriage that was waiting, door held open by an elderly man with a medical bag. Allowing the other two men to help him inside, he relaxed against the smooth leather with a sigh, only moving to allow the doctor enough room to sit comfortably.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to make sure you’re alright.”
He smiled softly, lowering his gaze and examining the scars on his hand with great interest.
He couldn’t be expected to know anything without knowing the back of his hand now, could he?
* * * * * * * * * *
Mrs Hudson opened a door that had once led to her tenant’s living room, though judging from the impenetrable grey smog that now covered all that the eye could see (which wasn’t that much) it was now a doorway onto some forgotten kingdom of nothingness.
Sighing, she set down the tray of sandwiches at the door and removed her apron, wafting a visible pathway to the window and opening it despite the avid protests emerging from somewhere behind her.
“I don’t care Mr Holmes, it can’t be healthy for a man to sit in a room with so much smoke.” She objected, putting her hands on her hips and turning to face him. “Exactly why is it so terrible that I’m airing out the room and giving you actual air to breathe?”
“I need to think, Nanny! In order to find Watson, my mind needs to be working at maximum capacity. I cannot be distracted.”
“Hence the vision handicapping smoke?”
“Exactly.”
“And what’s wrong with using a sleep mask?”
“I go to sleep.” Holmes said glibly. Mrs Hudson snorted in disbelief, wagging her finger at Holmes.
“Now don’t you lie to me Mr Holmes. As if I’m to believe you’d sleep with Mr Watson missing. You barely sleep when helping strangers, let alone a close friend.”
“Apologies, Nanny. Now if you could perhaps leave your offerings and go? I’m sorry to be so rude, but time is of the essence here.”
Sighing, Mrs Hudson nodded and went to retrieve her tray, depositing the sandwiches on the table and picking up Holmes’ untouched breakfast.
“Make sure you eat something this time.” She instructed, already knowing full well that she would return in five hours to find Holmes in the same spot and the sandwiches untouched.
“I swear,” she muttered, returning downstairs. “He’s going to wind up killing himself one of these days.”
* * * * * * * * * *
He had been sitting in one of Sir Harry’s guest bedrooms for what felt like hours, allowing Dr Lichen to subject him to all manner of tests both physical and oral in nature. Sir Harry had promised to wait outside, though he would rather the other man had come in. There was just something soothing about the baronet’s presence. Of course, there was no way he could have asked. He had humiliated himself quite enough today already, thank you very much.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see Dr Lichen coming back in with Sir Harry in tow.
“Well? Did you find anything?” He asked.
“Miraculously, you’ve escaped with nothing more than a slight cold and bruised knuckles.” Dr Lichen said, a faintly incredulous tone to his voice.
“What about my leg?”
“An old wound. I suspect that you were previously using a cane as a walking aid. Judging from the shrapnel scarring on your shoulder and the bullet scars in your injured leg, I’m guessing that you were invalided out from one of the wars. Probably Afghanistan.”
“So…I’m a soldier?” He questioned, furrowing his brow. That sounded right. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.
“We think so. I’ve sent an enquiry to London asking whether any former soldiers have been reported missing. It will probably be a while before they get back to me - you know how bureaucracy is.”
He smiled, amused because he did. How odd that he could forget his own name yet remember everything about England’s petty politics.
“You’re more than welcome to stay here until you remember something, or someone in London sends your records down.” Sir Harry offered. “We have plenty of bedrooms, and to be honest I’ve been craving some masculine company. Eleanor just doesn’t know a thing about cricket.”
At his blank look, Sir Harry laughed.
“Eleanor’s my sister. She’s an alright girl, but you’d have more luck explaining the rules of cricket to a rock than her. You’d probably get more sense out of it too.” He suddenly paused, frowning. “Look, we can’t keep calling you ‘you’ all the time. We need to give you a temporary name. Any ideas?”
“…”
“How about John Doe?” Dr Lichen suggested. The name sounded oddly familiar. It wasn’t right, but it seemed that it was maybe nearly there…
“Of course not, doctor! You can’t call the poor man something so generic!” Sir Harry exploded, seemingly outraged on behalf of his new guest. “What about after that doctor who’s making waves in London? Joseph Bell?”
“Sir Harry, I’m not quite sure giving him the same name as someone that famous is really very smart…”
“Pish posh. It’s only temporary. Let the man enjoy his taste of fame while he can, doctor.” Turning to face Joseph, Sir Harry winked, a wicked smile on his face.
Joseph just smiled back, wondering why the expression seemed so familiar to him.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you to get yourself washed up. There’s a private bathroom through the door on your left, and shaving equipment on the side if you need it. Oh, and help yourself to whatever clothes you like from the wardrobe. They’re nothing special, just the clothes Eleanor won’t let me wear any more because they’re ‘unfashionable’. But they should fit you fine.” Sir Harry offered, guiding Dr Lichen out of the room. “Dinner’s at 6 - I hope you’re feeling well enough to join us by then.”
Joseph blinked, unable to quite believe his luck. Not only had he washed ashore with relatively few injuries, he seemed to have been taken in by a man as generous as he was wealthy. He was sure that in most other cases victims such as himself would be left to beg for aid on someone’s doorstep.
Opening the wardrobe, he stared at its contents in awe. Unfashionable they may be, but each one still had a much finer cut than the ruined one Dr Lichen had stripped from him. Each one of them most likely cost more than what he’d used to earn in a year.
Pulling out an outfit ready, he investigated the bathroom, eyeing the copper bathtub and taps with glee. He’d spent far too long damp and chilly, what he needed was a nice hot bath to warm him up. But first…the mirror.
Shuffling over to the mirror next to the sink, Joseph kept his eyes lowered so that he didn’t accidentally catch a glance at his reflection. Once there he paused, breathing in deep, trying to squash the butterflies fluttering inside his stomach. This was it - his first look at his reflection. It had been somewhat disconcerting to walk around with absolutely no idea of what he looked like. He hoped he wasn’t ugly; it would be somewhat crushing to have to accept however many years worth of ugliness in a few seconds.
Gripping the side of the sink tightly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, gazing curiously at the man staring back at him. It could have been far worse. In fact, he’d probably go as far to say that he was fairly attractive. And hey, no disfiguring facial scars or tattoos - that was a bonus.
Turning his face from side to side, Joseph stroked a cheek with his fingers, prodding at the skin. Somehow it still didn’t quite feel like his face. Like his old self maybe, but not like his current amnesiac self. He wanted to do something to it, to make himself feel like he belonged in his skin.
Eyeing the pot of shaving equipment on the side, Joseph hesitated before picking up the foam brush. Dragging a nail over the bristles, he stared at his reflection and pondered.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Watson household, Mary sat down to dinner alone, the clink of her knife against her plate echoing unusually loudly in the empty room. Normally John would be regaling her with tales of that day’s patients by now, or listening to funny stories from when she’d been a governess.
Without John, the room seemed far too big and cold.
Her mother was coming over tomorrow. She’d be staying until there was news of John - she didn’t think a woman like Mary should sleep alone so long. Mary had been tempted to tell her that she was probably far more capable of taking care of herself than her mother was, but had refrained. Her mother was only looking out for her, after all.
Fingering her wedding ring, Mary bit her lip. It wouldn’t be long now. If the police didn’t come up with something soon, then Holmes would. He would never let his friend vanish into the system like that.
If John wasn’t found, what would happen to her? She had enough money to keep her going for a good while if she budgeted accordingly, but eventually it would run out. And in her condition, there was no way she could find employment now.
And how was she supposed to go on living without John anyway, now that she knew what it felt like to welcome him home every evening and hold hands in front of the fire? He made her feel witty, beautiful, and the thought of losing that wonderful smile of his was too terrible to even consider.
“Mrs Watson? I’m afraid the cook’s burnt the duck.”
It was too much. Burying her head in her hands, Mary began to cry.
Chapter 7
Master Post
Author: RubyChan05
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, Watson/Mary
Word Count: 2097
Rating: PG-13
Chapter 6
He came to surrounded by noise, a senseless buzz of sound that gradually rearranged itself into words. Opening his eyes a crack, he was vaguely aware of a circle of faces gazing down at him before a spasm wracked his body and he found himself coughing violently, water forcing itself up his throat.
He was dimly aware of a hand rubbing his back soothingly, a gentle voice murmuring for him to get it all out, that was it, he’d feel much better now. Feeling the coughing fit fade, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes fully, wincing at the brightness of the sunlight.
“Where…where am I?” He croaked out.
“You’re in Marlow, young man. It looks like you’ve had quite the swim. Did you fall in? How far up the river were you?”
He opened his mouth to reply, pausing when he realised that he didn’t know. His panic only grew as he realised that he didn’t know anything about where he’d come from. Or even who he was for that matter.
Flailing into a sitting position, he wrapped his arms round his knees and breathed deep, forcing the panic back. There was no point in losing his head, things were bad enough already.
“I…I don’t know.” He managed. “I can’t remember anything.”
“Nothing? Not even your name?” An aghast person asked, and he bristled.
“No. Not even my name.”
“Come on now, give the man some room!” A young voice called out, and a respectful murmur went through the crowd.
“Sir Harry!”
He stared up at the newcomer, taking in Sir Harry’s immaculate hair and wrinkle free suit. Feeling suddenly self-conscious he patted his damp hair nervously, free hand tugging at the mangled, soggy mess that was his own suit.
Sir Harry seemed to notice, laughing quietly as he crouched down so that they were eye level.
“Now now, none of that. A fellow can’t be judged by his attire after nearly drowning. Did I hear you say that you don’t know who you are?”
He nodded.
“Right then. You’re coming with me. You can stay at the manor until you’ve recovered, and Dr Lichen can give you a look over there. Feel like you can walk?”
He nodded again, levering himself unsteadily to his feet only to collapse as his leg gave way underneath him. Sir Harry lunged forwards, catching him under the arm and pulling him into a position where he was being supported by the younger man.
“Whoa now! Let’s take things slowly shall we? Now let’s get you back to the manor…”
He nodded gratefully, limping slowly towards the carriage that was waiting, door held open by an elderly man with a medical bag. Allowing the other two men to help him inside, he relaxed against the smooth leather with a sigh, only moving to allow the doctor enough room to sit comfortably.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to make sure you’re alright.”
He smiled softly, lowering his gaze and examining the scars on his hand with great interest.
He couldn’t be expected to know anything without knowing the back of his hand now, could he?
* * * * * * * * * *
Mrs Hudson opened a door that had once led to her tenant’s living room, though judging from the impenetrable grey smog that now covered all that the eye could see (which wasn’t that much) it was now a doorway onto some forgotten kingdom of nothingness.
Sighing, she set down the tray of sandwiches at the door and removed her apron, wafting a visible pathway to the window and opening it despite the avid protests emerging from somewhere behind her.
“I don’t care Mr Holmes, it can’t be healthy for a man to sit in a room with so much smoke.” She objected, putting her hands on her hips and turning to face him. “Exactly why is it so terrible that I’m airing out the room and giving you actual air to breathe?”
“I need to think, Nanny! In order to find Watson, my mind needs to be working at maximum capacity. I cannot be distracted.”
“Hence the vision handicapping smoke?”
“Exactly.”
“And what’s wrong with using a sleep mask?”
“I go to sleep.” Holmes said glibly. Mrs Hudson snorted in disbelief, wagging her finger at Holmes.
“Now don’t you lie to me Mr Holmes. As if I’m to believe you’d sleep with Mr Watson missing. You barely sleep when helping strangers, let alone a close friend.”
“Apologies, Nanny. Now if you could perhaps leave your offerings and go? I’m sorry to be so rude, but time is of the essence here.”
Sighing, Mrs Hudson nodded and went to retrieve her tray, depositing the sandwiches on the table and picking up Holmes’ untouched breakfast.
“Make sure you eat something this time.” She instructed, already knowing full well that she would return in five hours to find Holmes in the same spot and the sandwiches untouched.
“I swear,” she muttered, returning downstairs. “He’s going to wind up killing himself one of these days.”
* * * * * * * * * *
He had been sitting in one of Sir Harry’s guest bedrooms for what felt like hours, allowing Dr Lichen to subject him to all manner of tests both physical and oral in nature. Sir Harry had promised to wait outside, though he would rather the other man had come in. There was just something soothing about the baronet’s presence. Of course, there was no way he could have asked. He had humiliated himself quite enough today already, thank you very much.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see Dr Lichen coming back in with Sir Harry in tow.
“Well? Did you find anything?” He asked.
“Miraculously, you’ve escaped with nothing more than a slight cold and bruised knuckles.” Dr Lichen said, a faintly incredulous tone to his voice.
“What about my leg?”
“An old wound. I suspect that you were previously using a cane as a walking aid. Judging from the shrapnel scarring on your shoulder and the bullet scars in your injured leg, I’m guessing that you were invalided out from one of the wars. Probably Afghanistan.”
“So…I’m a soldier?” He questioned, furrowing his brow. That sounded right. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.
“We think so. I’ve sent an enquiry to London asking whether any former soldiers have been reported missing. It will probably be a while before they get back to me - you know how bureaucracy is.”
He smiled, amused because he did. How odd that he could forget his own name yet remember everything about England’s petty politics.
“You’re more than welcome to stay here until you remember something, or someone in London sends your records down.” Sir Harry offered. “We have plenty of bedrooms, and to be honest I’ve been craving some masculine company. Eleanor just doesn’t know a thing about cricket.”
At his blank look, Sir Harry laughed.
“Eleanor’s my sister. She’s an alright girl, but you’d have more luck explaining the rules of cricket to a rock than her. You’d probably get more sense out of it too.” He suddenly paused, frowning. “Look, we can’t keep calling you ‘you’ all the time. We need to give you a temporary name. Any ideas?”
“…”
“How about John Doe?” Dr Lichen suggested. The name sounded oddly familiar. It wasn’t right, but it seemed that it was maybe nearly there…
“Of course not, doctor! You can’t call the poor man something so generic!” Sir Harry exploded, seemingly outraged on behalf of his new guest. “What about after that doctor who’s making waves in London? Joseph Bell?”
“Sir Harry, I’m not quite sure giving him the same name as someone that famous is really very smart…”
“Pish posh. It’s only temporary. Let the man enjoy his taste of fame while he can, doctor.” Turning to face Joseph, Sir Harry winked, a wicked smile on his face.
Joseph just smiled back, wondering why the expression seemed so familiar to him.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you to get yourself washed up. There’s a private bathroom through the door on your left, and shaving equipment on the side if you need it. Oh, and help yourself to whatever clothes you like from the wardrobe. They’re nothing special, just the clothes Eleanor won’t let me wear any more because they’re ‘unfashionable’. But they should fit you fine.” Sir Harry offered, guiding Dr Lichen out of the room. “Dinner’s at 6 - I hope you’re feeling well enough to join us by then.”
Joseph blinked, unable to quite believe his luck. Not only had he washed ashore with relatively few injuries, he seemed to have been taken in by a man as generous as he was wealthy. He was sure that in most other cases victims such as himself would be left to beg for aid on someone’s doorstep.
Opening the wardrobe, he stared at its contents in awe. Unfashionable they may be, but each one still had a much finer cut than the ruined one Dr Lichen had stripped from him. Each one of them most likely cost more than what he’d used to earn in a year.
Pulling out an outfit ready, he investigated the bathroom, eyeing the copper bathtub and taps with glee. He’d spent far too long damp and chilly, what he needed was a nice hot bath to warm him up. But first…the mirror.
Shuffling over to the mirror next to the sink, Joseph kept his eyes lowered so that he didn’t accidentally catch a glance at his reflection. Once there he paused, breathing in deep, trying to squash the butterflies fluttering inside his stomach. This was it - his first look at his reflection. It had been somewhat disconcerting to walk around with absolutely no idea of what he looked like. He hoped he wasn’t ugly; it would be somewhat crushing to have to accept however many years worth of ugliness in a few seconds.
Gripping the side of the sink tightly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, gazing curiously at the man staring back at him. It could have been far worse. In fact, he’d probably go as far to say that he was fairly attractive. And hey, no disfiguring facial scars or tattoos - that was a bonus.
Turning his face from side to side, Joseph stroked a cheek with his fingers, prodding at the skin. Somehow it still didn’t quite feel like his face. Like his old self maybe, but not like his current amnesiac self. He wanted to do something to it, to make himself feel like he belonged in his skin.
Eyeing the pot of shaving equipment on the side, Joseph hesitated before picking up the foam brush. Dragging a nail over the bristles, he stared at his reflection and pondered.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back at the Watson household, Mary sat down to dinner alone, the clink of her knife against her plate echoing unusually loudly in the empty room. Normally John would be regaling her with tales of that day’s patients by now, or listening to funny stories from when she’d been a governess.
Without John, the room seemed far too big and cold.
Her mother was coming over tomorrow. She’d be staying until there was news of John - she didn’t think a woman like Mary should sleep alone so long. Mary had been tempted to tell her that she was probably far more capable of taking care of herself than her mother was, but had refrained. Her mother was only looking out for her, after all.
Fingering her wedding ring, Mary bit her lip. It wouldn’t be long now. If the police didn’t come up with something soon, then Holmes would. He would never let his friend vanish into the system like that.
If John wasn’t found, what would happen to her? She had enough money to keep her going for a good while if she budgeted accordingly, but eventually it would run out. And in her condition, there was no way she could find employment now.
And how was she supposed to go on living without John anyway, now that she knew what it felt like to welcome him home every evening and hold hands in front of the fire? He made her feel witty, beautiful, and the thought of losing that wonderful smile of his was too terrible to even consider.
“Mrs Watson? I’m afraid the cook’s burnt the duck.”
It was too much. Burying her head in her hands, Mary began to cry.
Chapter 7
Master Post