Horrible Day
Title: Horrible Day
Author: Alaylith
Rating: G
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Summary: Today is a horrible day. (July Prompt 20)
WordCount: 801
Prompt: July 20 ~~~ Watson's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day
Author's Note: Sorry for the title, but really had no other idea.When I thought how a very bad day may look like for Watson I at first thought about normal nuisances, but then I thought that for a man like Watson (who has an unlimited patience and understanding; he lives with Holmes after all) such nuisances may peeve him, but would never result in a real bad day.
And so I wrote this... I really gave him a very horrible day, I think. ._. Especially for a man like him...
I also decided that this story is the first of all parts of my bigger story; thus this happens before Little Note.
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Today is a horrible day.
To begin with Watson slept late because of a late talk with Holmes, who had already disappeared this morning and thus Watson was not able to eat anything before he had to leave for the hospital, where he volunteered to help occasionally.
On his way to the hospital he was witness to a terrible cab accident; a drunken man was run down on his way home from last night’s jaunts.
Watson tried everything within his power to safe the man, but while he was drenched in blood, gathered torn limbs and tried to keep damaged organs inside the body curious onlookers swarmed the place and hindered any help in coming.
The man died beneath his hands and Watson remembers that he heard the man’s last breaths in sync with the whispers of the people around him, saying how ugly the man looked and if that was brain splatter over here.
When Watson arrived at the hospital he was too sick to be able to eat anything or drink the coffee one nice nurse brought him.
A little girl, who became terrible sick after falling into some kind of waterhole in this damn weather, had died this morning and it was Watson’s place to tell the parents when they arrived shortly after him.
Watson’s ears still ring with the tearful screeches, the accusations and naked pleading of the poor woman who held her little dead daughter tightly in her arms.
Most hurtful was the careless remark of a fellow physician, who said that it was the parent’s own fault that the child had died, because they did not take enough care of her.
A tiny, dark voice in his mind whispered that it was the same with his own child…
Watson just had enough time to hurry to the bathroom before he vomited painfully.
Hours later - after treating gruesome wounds inflicted by other human beings (How can any mother do this to her own child?), telling a man he only had months to live (He is so very young), making an autopsy of a starved homeless person (Did no one notice how this man grew thinner over the last weeks?) and listening to the pains, sorrows and fears of dozens of people - he left the hospital to return back home, but it started to rain on his way back.
He stood beneath the canopy of a random shop, as he had no umbrella and no money for a cab ride, when a group of men barrelled down the street and without any care knocked him down.
His hurt leg twisted painfully and he landed hard on his back, the water immediately draining his clothes. The men just laughed and continued on their way.
No one else was inclined to help him; they all just averted their gazes and stared out into the rain.
Watson painfully picked himself up and started to limp down the road - he was already drenched in water and dried blood, there was no need to avoid the rain now.
It took over two hours until he finally entered Baker Street and saw the soft glowing windows of their flat.
But just as he reached the door all strength left him and he had to sit down on the steps.
And there he sits now, the cold rain pounds mercilessly on his shoulders, his leg hurts, his clothes are covered with death and his body feels numb.
So lost in pain and coldness it takes Watson a moment to realize that the rain stopped falling on him and a warm figure is in front of him.
He looks up surprised to see Holmes crouched in front of him, his umbrella over their heads and a sad, compassionate look on his face.
“Today was a bad day,” he states and Watson snorts, but it sounds more like a sob.
“Come on, my friend, let’s go inside. I got a new case I need to tell you about and I am sure that Mrs. Hudson got a nice dinner for us.”
Holmes takes Watson’s elbow, helps him to his feet and then leads him inside.
While Holmes talks non-stop over his newest case he gets Watson up to their living room where dear Mrs. Hudson already has a fire burning, takes of his coat and drapes a blanket over his shoulders.
It was a horrible day and Watson hopes to never see another like it.
But now the day finally draws to an end in the warm and powerful presence of his dearest friend and the comfort of their home.
As he listens to his friend Watson hopes that the next days will be better.
‘After all,’ Watson thinks with a small smile. ‘I do not think that it can get any worse than today.’
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PS: This is a time when I am really sad about the fact that I can not draw. I would sooo love to see the scene where they are both outside in the rain... Poor Watson hurt, tired and sad and Holmes crouching in front of him and sharing his umbrella. *sigh* But sadly I can not even draw a straight line... ;_;
Author: Alaylith
Rating: G
Characters: Watson, Holmes
Summary: Today is a horrible day. (July Prompt 20)
WordCount: 801
Prompt: July 20 ~~~ Watson's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day
Author's Note: Sorry for the title, but really had no other idea.When I thought how a very bad day may look like for Watson I at first thought about normal nuisances, but then I thought that for a man like Watson (who has an unlimited patience and understanding; he lives with Holmes after all) such nuisances may peeve him, but would never result in a real bad day.
And so I wrote this... I really gave him a very horrible day, I think. ._. Especially for a man like him...
I also decided that this story is the first of all parts of my bigger story; thus this happens before Little Note.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Today is a horrible day.
To begin with Watson slept late because of a late talk with Holmes, who had already disappeared this morning and thus Watson was not able to eat anything before he had to leave for the hospital, where he volunteered to help occasionally.
On his way to the hospital he was witness to a terrible cab accident; a drunken man was run down on his way home from last night’s jaunts.
Watson tried everything within his power to safe the man, but while he was drenched in blood, gathered torn limbs and tried to keep damaged organs inside the body curious onlookers swarmed the place and hindered any help in coming.
The man died beneath his hands and Watson remembers that he heard the man’s last breaths in sync with the whispers of the people around him, saying how ugly the man looked and if that was brain splatter over here.
When Watson arrived at the hospital he was too sick to be able to eat anything or drink the coffee one nice nurse brought him.
A little girl, who became terrible sick after falling into some kind of waterhole in this damn weather, had died this morning and it was Watson’s place to tell the parents when they arrived shortly after him.
Watson’s ears still ring with the tearful screeches, the accusations and naked pleading of the poor woman who held her little dead daughter tightly in her arms.
Most hurtful was the careless remark of a fellow physician, who said that it was the parent’s own fault that the child had died, because they did not take enough care of her.
A tiny, dark voice in his mind whispered that it was the same with his own child…
Watson just had enough time to hurry to the bathroom before he vomited painfully.
Hours later - after treating gruesome wounds inflicted by other human beings (How can any mother do this to her own child?), telling a man he only had months to live (He is so very young), making an autopsy of a starved homeless person (Did no one notice how this man grew thinner over the last weeks?) and listening to the pains, sorrows and fears of dozens of people - he left the hospital to return back home, but it started to rain on his way back.
He stood beneath the canopy of a random shop, as he had no umbrella and no money for a cab ride, when a group of men barrelled down the street and without any care knocked him down.
His hurt leg twisted painfully and he landed hard on his back, the water immediately draining his clothes. The men just laughed and continued on their way.
No one else was inclined to help him; they all just averted their gazes and stared out into the rain.
Watson painfully picked himself up and started to limp down the road - he was already drenched in water and dried blood, there was no need to avoid the rain now.
It took over two hours until he finally entered Baker Street and saw the soft glowing windows of their flat.
But just as he reached the door all strength left him and he had to sit down on the steps.
And there he sits now, the cold rain pounds mercilessly on his shoulders, his leg hurts, his clothes are covered with death and his body feels numb.
So lost in pain and coldness it takes Watson a moment to realize that the rain stopped falling on him and a warm figure is in front of him.
He looks up surprised to see Holmes crouched in front of him, his umbrella over their heads and a sad, compassionate look on his face.
“Today was a bad day,” he states and Watson snorts, but it sounds more like a sob.
“Come on, my friend, let’s go inside. I got a new case I need to tell you about and I am sure that Mrs. Hudson got a nice dinner for us.”
Holmes takes Watson’s elbow, helps him to his feet and then leads him inside.
While Holmes talks non-stop over his newest case he gets Watson up to their living room where dear Mrs. Hudson already has a fire burning, takes of his coat and drapes a blanket over his shoulders.
It was a horrible day and Watson hopes to never see another like it.
But now the day finally draws to an end in the warm and powerful presence of his dearest friend and the comfort of their home.
As he listens to his friend Watson hopes that the next days will be better.
‘After all,’ Watson thinks with a small smile. ‘I do not think that it can get any worse than today.’
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PS: This is a time when I am really sad about the fact that I can not draw. I would sooo love to see the scene where they are both outside in the rain... Poor Watson hurt, tired and sad and Holmes crouching in front of him and sharing his umbrella. *sigh* But sadly I can not even draw a straight line... ;_;