REPOST: Sherlock ACD drabbles - 2
I am still writing a 60 word Sherlock Holmes-drabble each week for sherlock60. It's pretty much the only thing I've been writing. This needs to change.
Here is another batch of four drabbles, written each in response to reading a Sherlock Holmes story by Arthur Conan Doyle. They will not make much sense if you don't know the stories they refer to.
Canon Story: The Crooked Man
Title: The Unhappiness of the Villa Lachine
Rating: PG
Pairing: Colonel Barclay/Nancy Barclay née Devoy
He dreams of Bhurtee - scorching heat, the warm shimmer of Nancy's hair, the Sikhs' orange headgear. Of whispers in the dark. He awakes, afraid and alone. Always alone. Nancy has not lain with him in thirty years. They are regarded the model couple of the regiment, childless but happy. His heart clenches painfully. Tomorrow he'll tell her the truth. Tomorrow…
Canon Story: The Resident Patient
Title: The Ever-Changing Kaleidoscope of Life
Rating: G
Author's Notes: This took a lot more research than I intended. :)
A ramble through Fleet Street with my friend Sherlock Holmes meant…
…to see bombs at Hancock's where others see toothache remedies,
…to infer by a close look at the stairs that a Duke called for the services offered at 3 Serjeants' Inn,
…and to keenly observe the illegal gambling going on behind the barber's chair at the Gaiety Toilet Club.
Canon Story: The Greek Interpreter
Title: The Sister's Story
Rating: R for violence
She'd found the knife in the room they'd rented for the night. Kemp's eerie giggle haunted her dreams; killing him was easy. Harold was harder. Sofia had loved him, once. But he had starved her little brother, killed him with poisonous fumes. Pavlos. When they crossed the Morava she slipped the blood-stained knife between Harold's ribs, right into his heart.
Canon Story: The Naval Treaty
Title: A Woman of Rare Character
Rating: G
Annie took in the detective's features, his thin lips and brown eyes, looking anything but kind. He reminded her of her father, smelling of pit-coal and snow. Yet she trusted him, implicitly. For what her mind suspected, her heart refused to believe. Holmes was untouched by this tangle of emotions. He'd see the truth she couldn't bring herself to see.
Here is another batch of four drabbles, written each in response to reading a Sherlock Holmes story by Arthur Conan Doyle. They will not make much sense if you don't know the stories they refer to.
Canon Story: The Crooked Man
Title: The Unhappiness of the Villa Lachine
Rating: PG
Pairing: Colonel Barclay/Nancy Barclay née Devoy
He dreams of Bhurtee - scorching heat, the warm shimmer of Nancy's hair, the Sikhs' orange headgear. Of whispers in the dark. He awakes, afraid and alone. Always alone. Nancy has not lain with him in thirty years. They are regarded the model couple of the regiment, childless but happy. His heart clenches painfully. Tomorrow he'll tell her the truth. Tomorrow…
Canon Story: The Resident Patient
Title: The Ever-Changing Kaleidoscope of Life
Rating: G
Author's Notes: This took a lot more research than I intended. :)
A ramble through Fleet Street with my friend Sherlock Holmes meant…
…to see bombs at Hancock's where others see toothache remedies,
…to infer by a close look at the stairs that a Duke called for the services offered at 3 Serjeants' Inn,
…and to keenly observe the illegal gambling going on behind the barber's chair at the Gaiety Toilet Club.
Canon Story: The Greek Interpreter
Title: The Sister's Story
Rating: R for violence
She'd found the knife in the room they'd rented for the night. Kemp's eerie giggle haunted her dreams; killing him was easy. Harold was harder. Sofia had loved him, once. But he had starved her little brother, killed him with poisonous fumes. Pavlos. When they crossed the Morava she slipped the blood-stained knife between Harold's ribs, right into his heart.
Canon Story: The Naval Treaty
Title: A Woman of Rare Character
Rating: G
Annie took in the detective's features, his thin lips and brown eyes, looking anything but kind. He reminded her of her father, smelling of pit-coal and snow. Yet she trusted him, implicitly. For what her mind suspected, her heart refused to believe. Holmes was untouched by this tangle of emotions. He'd see the truth she couldn't bring herself to see.