Re: domestic fluff (3/3)kayliemalinzaDecember 31 2011, 12:03:35 UTC
Mary leans back in the stiff manner occasioned by a fully-boned corset, though there is some degree of freedom which indicates that she laces more loosely than other women for the sake of practicality. A habit meant only for housework, most likely; the pattern of creasing in her dress does not match the current width of her waist. She will lace more tightly before she leaves the house. "I shall be busy tonight, on the other side of London,” says Mary. “You'll be taking dinner on your own, then."
"I dread it," says Watson, tipping forward in pursuit of her mouth again.
"I'll have Lizzie set out something cold for the two of you," Mary says, nimbly avoiding his rude attentions.
Holmes, who has been examining the edges of his fingernails, interjects: "I don't suppose Lizzie could bake the sourdough?"
Watson's shoulders quiver with the laughter he has never been effective at concealing; Mary's presence in his life and in his arms has further diminished this capacity.
"Mr Holmes, if I could be assured of your presence at Tuesday supper, I may be convinced to-oh no, not yours as well!" Mary breaks off with an aggrieved cry. Shaking herself from Watson's arms, she leaps forward and snatches Holmes' hat from his head.
"Mrs Watson-" Holmes protests, but Mary interrupts:
"You don't need it dirty for a disguise, do you?" she asks, and twirls the hat deftly around her right forefinger.
A crack in the front curtains lays a bright stripe upon her cheek; Holmes is occupied for a moment by investigating whether her freckles are darker than usual, and to what extent that change is mirrored by the tan of the backs of her hands. Mary is accustomed to wear gloves on walks, but not when cycling; if Holmes can collect more precise data, it should be a simple algorithm to calculate the proportion of hours spent walking to riding.
The hat is inconsequential at the moment, so Holmes neglects to articulate a response.
Mary interprets his silence however she likes. With a final fondling of the brim, she disappears down the hallway again.
Watson carefully adjusts his waistcoat. "What was that you were saying about hats, Holmes?" His mustache, being so neatly trimmed, is a poor screen for the smirk which lies beneath it. After a moment of silence, he adds, “It's nice to see the two of you getting on.”
Holmes peers intently at the front door and does not answer.
Re: domestic fluff (3/3)kayliemalinzaDecember 31 2011, 14:36:36 UTC
SO. FREAKING. ADORABLE.
This might be my favorite story with the three of them ever, you've captured each one perfectly. And like someone said earlier, love the constant flow of observation and deduction in Holmes' thoughts, you've made it incredibly natural and believable.
Re: domestic fluff (3/3)cutebutpsycho99December 31 2011, 14:48:05 UTC
This is just lovely. I love how witty the banter is and how much affection seeps though the words. I can easily picture this happening in the novels and it's just lovely.
And I am grinning at Holmes trying to bargain for sourdough biscuits.
"I dread it," says Watson, tipping forward in pursuit of her mouth again.
"I'll have Lizzie set out something cold for the two of you," Mary says, nimbly avoiding his rude attentions.
Holmes, who has been examining the edges of his fingernails, interjects: "I don't suppose Lizzie could bake the sourdough?"
Watson's shoulders quiver with the laughter he has never been effective at concealing; Mary's presence in his life and in his arms has further diminished this capacity.
"Mr Holmes, if I could be assured of your presence at Tuesday supper, I may be convinced to-oh no, not yours as well!" Mary breaks off with an aggrieved cry. Shaking herself from Watson's arms, she leaps forward and snatches Holmes' hat from his head.
"Mrs Watson-" Holmes protests, but Mary interrupts:
"You don't need it dirty for a disguise, do you?" she asks, and twirls the hat deftly around her right forefinger.
A crack in the front curtains lays a bright stripe upon her cheek; Holmes is occupied for a moment by investigating whether her freckles are darker than usual, and to what extent that change is mirrored by the tan of the backs of her hands. Mary is accustomed to wear gloves on walks, but not when cycling; if Holmes can collect more precise data, it should be a simple algorithm to calculate the proportion of hours spent walking to riding.
The hat is inconsequential at the moment, so Holmes neglects to articulate a response.
Mary interprets his silence however she likes. With a final fondling of the brim, she disappears down the hallway again.
Watson carefully adjusts his waistcoat. "What was that you were saying about hats, Holmes?" His mustache, being so neatly trimmed, is a poor screen for the smirk which lies beneath it. After a moment of silence, he adds, “It's nice to see the two of you getting on.”
Holmes peers intently at the front door and does not answer.
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This might be my favorite story with the three of them ever, you've captured each one perfectly. And like someone said earlier, love the constant flow of observation and deduction in Holmes' thoughts, you've made it incredibly natural and believable.
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And I am grinning at Holmes trying to bargain for sourdough biscuits.
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