Fic: The Things I Do For You (Sherlock Holmes '09)
Title: The Things I Do For You
Author: TLynn
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson ('09 movie universe)
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,001
Warnings: None.
Summary: A conversation between friends.
Originally written for and posted at holmestice as a gift for ficshun. Many thanks to colebaltblue for the beta, help, and encouragement. She’s pretty rad, I must say. This is my first foray into the Sherlock Holmes universe, so I hope I did them justice.
Watson came to slowly, his senses awakening one by one: his ears perked at the sound of rolling thunder in the distance, his nose twitched at the aroma of a fine darjeeling, his fingers brushed against the cotton bandage wrapped around his torso, his tongue tasted the saltiness of his own dry lips, and finally, his eyes opened to see a dark figure, fully dressed, complete with a bowler atop its head, hovering above him. Startled, his body jerked involuntarily.
“What are you doing in my room staring at me, Holmes?” Watson barked hoarsely, wincing. His left arm instinctively wrapped around his midsection as he gingerly sat up.
“Tea?” Holmes offered.
“Water, please,” Watson answered, holding out his free hand, eyes cast downward.
Holmes fixed his gaze on his friend’s profile even as he moved to the left and in reach of the pitcher of water and single glass that rested on the bureau. The room filled with an uncomfortable silence, only amplifying the rumble of more thunder, a bit closer this time, and the soft clink of crystal against glass as the water poured. Sherlock handed the glass to Watson and watched as he drained it dry.
“Better?” Holmes asked. Watson threw him a scowl as he handed over the empty glass.
“I can’t believe you’re still angry,” Holmes stated, his posture slouching in disbelief. “I’d have thought you’d come to your senses after a full night’s rest.”
“I have three bruised ribs because of you,” Watson responded. “Forgive me if any hostility towards you is lingering.”
“I don’t know see how any of this is my fault,” Holmes retorted as he sat down in a chair next to the bed. “I told you to duck.”
Watson’s eyes fluttered closed as he drew in a deep breath, holding in the expletives that so dearly wanted to escape from between his lips. “Did you at least catch him?” he asked.
“No,” Holmes replied casually. “He dropped the diamond necklace he had stolen from the Colonel. Case closed.”
“Case closed?”
“Closed,” Holmes affirmed. “He was a petty thief. There really is no reason to pursue him now that the good Colonel’s treasure has been recovered.”
“Right,” Watson said. “Nevermind that he took a huge wooden plank to my abdomen.”
“What?” Holmes asked. “Is is vengeance you’re looking for? It’s just not practical, old boy. I’d wager that’s the last we’ll ever see of that stable boy; his unrefined methods demonstrate his lack of skill and the abrupt disposal of the necklace only serves to prove his lack of commitment to the crime. It was, therefore, attempted purely for personal gain, not for that of a criminal mastermind or some such. We frightened the poor chap half to death, surely, and he’s probably halfway to America by now.”
“You are unbelievable,” Watson declared.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Watson said, shaking his head. “I need to get in touch with Mary, I need to tell her what happened.”
“Oh, yes,” Holmes said, not quite under his breath. “Her.”
“Yes, Holmes,” Watson said. “Her. She’s become a very important part of my life and I’d appreciate -- frankly, I expect -- your respect and support of my choice to be in a relationship with her. It’s the least you can do since you refuse to meet her.”
“You know,” Holmes said. “I’ve been thinking about this very subject of late. Considering the questionable company you keep and your fervent taste for the macabre, I’d say you should think twice -- or perhaps thrice -- about bringing a woman into your life. You don’t want to put her in danger, do you? Or do you fancy the rather ridiculous and very distracting idea of rescuing the damsel in distress? Don’t you want your head in the game?”
“Holmes...” Watson warned.
“No, I’m very serious, Watson,” Holmes said, sitting forward in his chair with hands clasped. “How do you want to spend the rest of your life? Trapped in a marriage with a woman who wants to cook you dinner and serve you tea, doomed to a life of mediocrity and monotony? Or would you prefer to live out the rest of your days here on Baker Street, where excitement and intrigue abound? Mrs. Hudson can cook you your dinner and I...”
Holmes stood quickly, advancing to the tea set sitting next to the pitcher of water on the bureau. He poured a small cup of the darjeeling and handed it to Watson, careful not to spill.
“...can serve you tea.”
Holmes smiled triumphantly as Watson took the teacup and sipped gently. “Now that that’s settled,” he said, clapping his hands. “I need your help on a new case that’s been brought to my attention.”
“You let this steep too long,” Watson said, even as he took another sip. “And I still I need to get word to Mary.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “After I tell you all about this new intrigue. A man by the name of Jabez Wilson came to see me this morning and told me a tale about a mysterious order called The Red-Headed League that apparently has gone missing. I of course have my suspicions, but I need more data. First off, I think we should--”
“Holmes!” Watson shouted.
“Calm down, Watson,” Holmes said. “You’re recovering from a dreadful injury and I think it best you don’t get too excited.”
“I’ll help you and Mr. Wilson only after I speak with Mary,” Watson said.
“Fine,” Holmes agreed.
“Fine,” Watson repeated. “The things I do for you, Holmes.”
“Ha! The things I do for you, Watson,” Holmes said, tossing an envelope onto Watson’s lap. Watson saw his name inked on the front of it and immediately recognized the flowery script as Mary’s.
“I sent word late last night,” Holmes explained. “And this was on the doorstep this morning.”
“Thank you,” Watson said. “Truly.”
“Make no mention of it,” Holmes said, turning to leave the room. “Mr. Wilson awaits. Are you well enough to join me, Watson?”
“Indeed I am.”
Author: TLynn
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson ('09 movie universe)
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,001
Warnings: None.
Summary: A conversation between friends.
Originally written for and posted at holmestice as a gift for ficshun. Many thanks to colebaltblue for the beta, help, and encouragement. She’s pretty rad, I must say. This is my first foray into the Sherlock Holmes universe, so I hope I did them justice.
Watson came to slowly, his senses awakening one by one: his ears perked at the sound of rolling thunder in the distance, his nose twitched at the aroma of a fine darjeeling, his fingers brushed against the cotton bandage wrapped around his torso, his tongue tasted the saltiness of his own dry lips, and finally, his eyes opened to see a dark figure, fully dressed, complete with a bowler atop its head, hovering above him. Startled, his body jerked involuntarily.
“What are you doing in my room staring at me, Holmes?” Watson barked hoarsely, wincing. His left arm instinctively wrapped around his midsection as he gingerly sat up.
“Tea?” Holmes offered.
“Water, please,” Watson answered, holding out his free hand, eyes cast downward.
Holmes fixed his gaze on his friend’s profile even as he moved to the left and in reach of the pitcher of water and single glass that rested on the bureau. The room filled with an uncomfortable silence, only amplifying the rumble of more thunder, a bit closer this time, and the soft clink of crystal against glass as the water poured. Sherlock handed the glass to Watson and watched as he drained it dry.
“Better?” Holmes asked. Watson threw him a scowl as he handed over the empty glass.
“I can’t believe you’re still angry,” Holmes stated, his posture slouching in disbelief. “I’d have thought you’d come to your senses after a full night’s rest.”
“I have three bruised ribs because of you,” Watson responded. “Forgive me if any hostility towards you is lingering.”
“I don’t know see how any of this is my fault,” Holmes retorted as he sat down in a chair next to the bed. “I told you to duck.”
Watson’s eyes fluttered closed as he drew in a deep breath, holding in the expletives that so dearly wanted to escape from between his lips. “Did you at least catch him?” he asked.
“No,” Holmes replied casually. “He dropped the diamond necklace he had stolen from the Colonel. Case closed.”
“Case closed?”
“Closed,” Holmes affirmed. “He was a petty thief. There really is no reason to pursue him now that the good Colonel’s treasure has been recovered.”
“Right,” Watson said. “Nevermind that he took a huge wooden plank to my abdomen.”
“What?” Holmes asked. “Is is vengeance you’re looking for? It’s just not practical, old boy. I’d wager that’s the last we’ll ever see of that stable boy; his unrefined methods demonstrate his lack of skill and the abrupt disposal of the necklace only serves to prove his lack of commitment to the crime. It was, therefore, attempted purely for personal gain, not for that of a criminal mastermind or some such. We frightened the poor chap half to death, surely, and he’s probably halfway to America by now.”
“You are unbelievable,” Watson declared.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Watson said, shaking his head. “I need to get in touch with Mary, I need to tell her what happened.”
“Oh, yes,” Holmes said, not quite under his breath. “Her.”
“Yes, Holmes,” Watson said. “Her. She’s become a very important part of my life and I’d appreciate -- frankly, I expect -- your respect and support of my choice to be in a relationship with her. It’s the least you can do since you refuse to meet her.”
“You know,” Holmes said. “I’ve been thinking about this very subject of late. Considering the questionable company you keep and your fervent taste for the macabre, I’d say you should think twice -- or perhaps thrice -- about bringing a woman into your life. You don’t want to put her in danger, do you? Or do you fancy the rather ridiculous and very distracting idea of rescuing the damsel in distress? Don’t you want your head in the game?”
“Holmes...” Watson warned.
“No, I’m very serious, Watson,” Holmes said, sitting forward in his chair with hands clasped. “How do you want to spend the rest of your life? Trapped in a marriage with a woman who wants to cook you dinner and serve you tea, doomed to a life of mediocrity and monotony? Or would you prefer to live out the rest of your days here on Baker Street, where excitement and intrigue abound? Mrs. Hudson can cook you your dinner and I...”
Holmes stood quickly, advancing to the tea set sitting next to the pitcher of water on the bureau. He poured a small cup of the darjeeling and handed it to Watson, careful not to spill.
“...can serve you tea.”
Holmes smiled triumphantly as Watson took the teacup and sipped gently. “Now that that’s settled,” he said, clapping his hands. “I need your help on a new case that’s been brought to my attention.”
“You let this steep too long,” Watson said, even as he took another sip. “And I still I need to get word to Mary.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “After I tell you all about this new intrigue. A man by the name of Jabez Wilson came to see me this morning and told me a tale about a mysterious order called The Red-Headed League that apparently has gone missing. I of course have my suspicions, but I need more data. First off, I think we should--”
“Holmes!” Watson shouted.
“Calm down, Watson,” Holmes said. “You’re recovering from a dreadful injury and I think it best you don’t get too excited.”
“I’ll help you and Mr. Wilson only after I speak with Mary,” Watson said.
“Fine,” Holmes agreed.
“Fine,” Watson repeated. “The things I do for you, Holmes.”
“Ha! The things I do for you, Watson,” Holmes said, tossing an envelope onto Watson’s lap. Watson saw his name inked on the front of it and immediately recognized the flowery script as Mary’s.
“I sent word late last night,” Holmes explained. “And this was on the doorstep this morning.”
“Thank you,” Watson said. “Truly.”
“Make no mention of it,” Holmes said, turning to leave the room. “Mr. Wilson awaits. Are you well enough to join me, Watson?”
“Indeed I am.”