Sherlock Holmes Fic: An Invitation, And What It Made Known
Another Christmas-themed ficlet written for Fandom Stocking. Yes, I know I'm really pushing it on seasonal appropriateness.
Title: An Invitation, And What It Made Known
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Characters: Holmes & Watson
Rating: G
Content advisory: none
Author’s note: Written for Fandom Stocking 2013 for bullet2
Summary:Holmes and Watson have yet to discuss their plans for the upcoming festivities.
As the winter wrapped itself around the flat on Baker Street, I found myself in an especially jovial mood. The business of crime has a tendency to abate somewhat during the month of December, which meant I could look forward to several uninterrupted days in the company of my colleague and companion, Sherlock Holmes. Quiet days, when neither of our professions compelled us to race around London for this appointment or that clue, were rare treats.
The Sunday before Christmas, I began to plan the supplies I might ask Mrs. Hudson to lay in for a festive meal, while Holmes had unpacked a set of fine instruments at the table and commenced disassembling the carcasses of a fair number of beetles for purposes I could not fathom and did not wish to question.
A ring at the front door hardly made Holmes pause in his work, and when Mrs. Hudson arrived with a note addressed to him, Holmes waved her away. “Watson, I’m at a delicate stage in my project just now. Won’t you read it for me?”
I thanked Mrs. Hudson for the note, which was penned on a fine, thick paper, and read it out.
“My dear Mister Holmes. We find ourselves in London for the month, and have undertaken to invite a few friends for an evening of music and good cheer. The gathering is to be this Monday at the Ambassador’s residence on Chesham Place. We would welcome your company. Do let us hear from you soon. Fondly, Mrs. Vertanan.”
I looked up from the note with wide eyes. “The wife of the Ambassador from Finland is a friend of yours?”
“Yes, of course. I helped settle a matter between her husband and a wealthy Dane some years ago.” Holmes plucked another beetle from the dish before him. “Send a reply, won’t you, Watson? Thank her for the kind invitation, but say that I am spending Christmas with family and will be unable to attend.”
The visions I’d been spinning of quiet evenings in front of the fire smoking while Holmes played the violin, reading side by side, or perhaps engaging in one of those diverting conversations on some obscure topic of Holmes’ study melted away like frost upon a window.
“Of course,” I said, a little louder than I’d meant to. I’d known Holmes had a brother. Doubtless there was some home in the country where the family gathered on such festive occasions. Holmes’ obvious good breeding marked him as coming from the sort of home that would surely observe a wealth of Christmas traditions. Holmes had no reason to languish in a drafty flat, keeping the company of a bachelor doctor with no family of his own and little wit or talent to recommend him. I slumped into my chair at the desk to pen Holmes’ reply.
“Watson.” Holmes had looked up from his beetles and was regarding me intently. “My dear boy, you understand that I mean to spend Christmas here at Baker Street.”
I frowned. “But your family-“
“You are my family, Watson. And all the truer for being bound by affection rather than by blood.” Holmes inclined his head, just slightly. “You’ll write the reply?”
“Yes. Yes of course.” I looked quickly away from Holmes’ searching glance. I dashed off a note of a few lines, though I fear they may not have been given the care an ambassador’s wife deserved. My mind was already off on its next task: enjoying a Christmas at home with the man who was, by his own pronouncement, my family.
Title: An Invitation, And What It Made Known
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Characters: Holmes & Watson
Rating: G
Content advisory: none
Author’s note: Written for Fandom Stocking 2013 for bullet2
Summary:Holmes and Watson have yet to discuss their plans for the upcoming festivities.
As the winter wrapped itself around the flat on Baker Street, I found myself in an especially jovial mood. The business of crime has a tendency to abate somewhat during the month of December, which meant I could look forward to several uninterrupted days in the company of my colleague and companion, Sherlock Holmes. Quiet days, when neither of our professions compelled us to race around London for this appointment or that clue, were rare treats.
The Sunday before Christmas, I began to plan the supplies I might ask Mrs. Hudson to lay in for a festive meal, while Holmes had unpacked a set of fine instruments at the table and commenced disassembling the carcasses of a fair number of beetles for purposes I could not fathom and did not wish to question.
A ring at the front door hardly made Holmes pause in his work, and when Mrs. Hudson arrived with a note addressed to him, Holmes waved her away. “Watson, I’m at a delicate stage in my project just now. Won’t you read it for me?”
I thanked Mrs. Hudson for the note, which was penned on a fine, thick paper, and read it out.
“My dear Mister Holmes. We find ourselves in London for the month, and have undertaken to invite a few friends for an evening of music and good cheer. The gathering is to be this Monday at the Ambassador’s residence on Chesham Place. We would welcome your company. Do let us hear from you soon. Fondly, Mrs. Vertanan.”
I looked up from the note with wide eyes. “The wife of the Ambassador from Finland is a friend of yours?”
“Yes, of course. I helped settle a matter between her husband and a wealthy Dane some years ago.” Holmes plucked another beetle from the dish before him. “Send a reply, won’t you, Watson? Thank her for the kind invitation, but say that I am spending Christmas with family and will be unable to attend.”
The visions I’d been spinning of quiet evenings in front of the fire smoking while Holmes played the violin, reading side by side, or perhaps engaging in one of those diverting conversations on some obscure topic of Holmes’ study melted away like frost upon a window.
“Of course,” I said, a little louder than I’d meant to. I’d known Holmes had a brother. Doubtless there was some home in the country where the family gathered on such festive occasions. Holmes’ obvious good breeding marked him as coming from the sort of home that would surely observe a wealth of Christmas traditions. Holmes had no reason to languish in a drafty flat, keeping the company of a bachelor doctor with no family of his own and little wit or talent to recommend him. I slumped into my chair at the desk to pen Holmes’ reply.
“Watson.” Holmes had looked up from his beetles and was regarding me intently. “My dear boy, you understand that I mean to spend Christmas here at Baker Street.”
I frowned. “But your family-“
“You are my family, Watson. And all the truer for being bound by affection rather than by blood.” Holmes inclined his head, just slightly. “You’ll write the reply?”
“Yes. Yes of course.” I looked quickly away from Holmes’ searching glance. I dashed off a note of a few lines, though I fear they may not have been given the care an ambassador’s wife deserved. My mind was already off on its next task: enjoying a Christmas at home with the man who was, by his own pronouncement, my family.