Fic: Underland (Sherlock Holmes / Neverwhere), PG-13 (8/17)
Title: Underland
Author: crimson_adder
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (ACD) / Neverwhere (Gaiman!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing / Characters: Holmes/Watson (eventually); Watson, marquis, various other Underlanders
Word Count: ~ 1700
Summary: John Watson loses a bet, grants a favour, and finds himself in a world unlike anything he has ever seen before. Except for how it's all the same.
Notes / Warnings: So this started with my own prompt on shkinkmeme which never got filled, so I decided to do it myself. :D If you see issues with anything, please feel free to tell me.
Sobek is the Egyptian crocodile god. Sybaris is another name for the Greek demon queen Lamia.
Underland - Part VIII
The marquis de Carabas would not look at me as we walked.
"I have business to conduct," he had said, and then turned to march away. It is likely, from what I remember of the set of his shoulders, that he had hoped I would not follow, but in my self-righteous anger and bitter resentment I would allow him no such reprieve from his mistakes.
I followed at a distance of some feet for a while, simply watching his affected swagger.
Any time his flitting eyes were caught by some vendor or stand he would sway in that direction, like a horse without blinders, the intensity of his focus too strong for his feet to keep him on track. He would always stifle his curiosity though, and veer back to his main path, one part of his attention ever aware of my presence behind him and the possible consequences of his stopping for too long.
He moved like Holmes did on a case, I thought. Entirely confident, with an elegance to his sweeping stride and a quick, constantly moving way of looking at things that spoke of an active body and a restless mind. They were of a similar build, tall and lithe, and from what I knew of the marquis, I imagined that it would be a wonder to see them pitted against each other in a battle of wits.
Such trains of thought brought a sour feeling to my stomach though, so I did my best to remove my attention from his similarities to Holmes and the remembrance that he and I would never again share the same world, and look instead to the incredible circus I had attempted to ignore since my initial amazement.
The trilling pomp of the toy piano still echoed abnormally loud over the other general sounds of vendors shouting their wares and the oft-hollered response of interested customers. Intermingled amongst the human voices were the thunderous pound of a hammer striking an anvil which I knew must have been Hammersmith, and the occasional animalistic squawk or roar.
I heard one such growl, deep and throbbing, to my left and was horrified to turn into the sight of a thousand-teethed leer of a being who was more crocodile than man. I stumbled back and got my bag caught up in my legs, nearly falling if not for the iron grip of hands suddenly surrounding my upper arms.
The marquis eased me back to my feet, and pulled me steadily along until we were out of reach of the reptile-like monster, though its golden, snake eyes followed me with a predatory hunger. I could not draw my eyes away, mesmerised by the creature's awful slit of a mouth, filled with layers of razor sharp teeth, and the dry, broken skin, cracked like the scales on Sobek's hide.
I heard a rushing in my ears as of the surge and tide of a river, and smelled the silt of the earth. The air I breathed grew damp and salted, the taste of sand reminding me of the deserts in Afghanistan.
"Doctor, Doctor! Look at me, focus on me!"
Abandoning propriety, the marquis hauled me about to face him, shocking me out of my trance. His eyes were piercing in their black sharpness and urgent in the width of the visible sclera. Once he saw my attentions were focused back on the reality of the present situation and not a thousand years in the past, he patted my lapel with a long thin hand and turned away to the market once more.
I avoided making eye contact with any of the other vendors from that point on, and took to watching them from the corner of my eye. There were large groups of people meandering through the stalls, some that seemed like they had just stepped off the battlefield of Napoleonic France, others who suffered from that strangeness of albinism, wearing dark clothing and shaded glasses even at night, and a hundred more in their own categories.
There was a congregation of people - men, women, and children - almost unrecognisable beneath the muddy coating on their filthy clothes. Those were given a wide berth by those around them, and looked to be communicating through wild and emphatic hand gestures. I did not know much sign language, but theirs seemed to be build less on an organised universal system, and more as general indications of intent. A pair of circus performers, decked in sequinned, skin-tight clothing stood several feet back from the table, faces surprisingly pleasant considering the way they held their hands to their noses, apparently to block out the smell. The people looked as though they lived in the sewers, and despite my curiosity for the Market, I truly had absolutely no desire to observe their stall from any closer, no matter what variety of items they were hawking.
From that angle I could see the dramatically illuminated interior of the extravagant circus tent, and I watched with unfeigned glee to see the flying tumbles and catches of the acrobats, high-flying and splendidly talented in their showmanship. I would not let my self lose sight of the marquis though, and passed on without delay.
When the marquis finally stopped moving it was outside a small tent made of old stockings - ladies silk stockings and thick woollen socks; moth-eaten, shining new, and hand-knit. They were held together with pins in long strips and draped across a metal frame. Inside it was startlingly cold, as though something had leached the heat, but the pleasing smell of lily of the valley hung light and fine in the air.
The woman inside was a magnificent specimen of feminine beauty, thin and queenly, with a tilt to her jaw that testified to her remarkable character. Her raven black hair was piled high and elegantly upon the crown of her head and her pale, foxglove-coloured eyes stood out against her pale white skin. Her mouth was a perfect bow-shape, rouged deep plum red and delicate. She looked so incongruous, this radiant woman in a long, deep purple gown with a lavender bodice, underneath the tarpaulin of socks, that I confess I heard nothing of the interaction between the marquis and the lady, so caught up in staring that I paid no attention to any thing else.
In the end, it was when the marquis stepped close, ungentlemanly close - that same level of indecent closeness that he had afforded me just two nights before - that I reverted my concentration on the exchange.
"And you, Madame Sybaris, recall the terms of our agreement, yes?" The marquis de Carabas was saying. He ran the fingers of one black hand down the silk of her evening glove, a soft caress of incredible insinuation that made me shift awkwardly.
Madame Sybaris' eyelids drooped low, shadowing her brilliant, gem-like irises, and she gazed at the marquis with a lascivious smile curling her painted lips. The sinuous sway of her graceful body recalled to my mind the talents of snake-charmers, using the entrancing movement of their dance to hypnotise the deaf snakes. She too leaned in, her mouth almost touching the marquis' thick, dark lips, and whispered in a low musical voice, "I do, indeed remember, my dear. I owe you a favour, for your aid."
I am no naïve school-boy when it comes to matters of love - I have written some small detail before of my veritable experience across the continents in my youth - but I must admit that I felt a flush rise in my face and needed to look away from this remarkably sensuous scene. They were both incredibly handsome figures, and while the temperature of the tent never rose, I felt stifled by my stiff collar, still fastened through the events of the day.
I looked back when the marquis' soft touch turned hard on the woman's wrist, and he pulled back. "Good, I shall see you once more when I am in need of your services."
He offered her a close-lipped smile, a keen almost cruelty dancing in his eyes, before he turned to me and indicated that we were to leave.
"Good night, sir," I heard behind me, and turned to see Sybaris watching me with a hooded, cheerful smile. The marquis' arm slipped into mine in a possessive manner, and he pulled me along as Holmes had so often on our occasional walks down Baker Street.
"What is she?"
The marquis gave a disgusted snort.
"A Velvet Child. One of many, though their numbers are dwindling. They are a vile sort, cold and craving the attentions and life of mortal men who do not need such troubles." He peered at me from the corner of his eye, and pulled me closer to his side by my elbow. "You'd do well to stay away. Sybaris in particular is a vulgar one - my business with her was in the nature of vengeance and while it pleases me to have her in my services, I can do with out being in her presence for quite some time, I think."
A bell tolled, loud and fierce over the chaos of the Market. Abruptly, people everywhere began to break down their stalls and pack their possessions in bags, hauling things over backs and dragging them behind. The alacrity of the deconstruction of this entire festival - of sorts - was remarkable to me, and I let my self rely on the marquis to keep me moving as I turned my head this way and that to try and observe all that I could.
"Do they always break down the Market?" I asked.
"Of course. It is the 'Floating' Market, after all. The next one will be somewhere else, at some other time."
"But what of the circus?" I could not restrain my fascination at Oxford Circus being the home of a real circus, but far below the sight of my London. "Where do they go?"
"They go where we all go when we go into the night. Below. Now, come Doctor, for the Market's over and we have places to be."
-
| Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII || Part VIII || Part IX | Part X |
| Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII |
Author: crimson_adder
Fandoms: Sherlock Holmes (ACD) / Neverwhere (Gaiman!verse)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing / Characters: Holmes/Watson (eventually); Watson, marquis, various other Underlanders
Word Count: ~ 1700
Summary: John Watson loses a bet, grants a favour, and finds himself in a world unlike anything he has ever seen before. Except for how it's all the same.
Notes / Warnings: So this started with my own prompt on shkinkmeme which never got filled, so I decided to do it myself. :D If you see issues with anything, please feel free to tell me.
Sobek is the Egyptian crocodile god. Sybaris is another name for the Greek demon queen Lamia.
Underland - Part VIII
The marquis de Carabas would not look at me as we walked.
"I have business to conduct," he had said, and then turned to march away. It is likely, from what I remember of the set of his shoulders, that he had hoped I would not follow, but in my self-righteous anger and bitter resentment I would allow him no such reprieve from his mistakes.
I followed at a distance of some feet for a while, simply watching his affected swagger.
Any time his flitting eyes were caught by some vendor or stand he would sway in that direction, like a horse without blinders, the intensity of his focus too strong for his feet to keep him on track. He would always stifle his curiosity though, and veer back to his main path, one part of his attention ever aware of my presence behind him and the possible consequences of his stopping for too long.
He moved like Holmes did on a case, I thought. Entirely confident, with an elegance to his sweeping stride and a quick, constantly moving way of looking at things that spoke of an active body and a restless mind. They were of a similar build, tall and lithe, and from what I knew of the marquis, I imagined that it would be a wonder to see them pitted against each other in a battle of wits.
Such trains of thought brought a sour feeling to my stomach though, so I did my best to remove my attention from his similarities to Holmes and the remembrance that he and I would never again share the same world, and look instead to the incredible circus I had attempted to ignore since my initial amazement.
The trilling pomp of the toy piano still echoed abnormally loud over the other general sounds of vendors shouting their wares and the oft-hollered response of interested customers. Intermingled amongst the human voices were the thunderous pound of a hammer striking an anvil which I knew must have been Hammersmith, and the occasional animalistic squawk or roar.
I heard one such growl, deep and throbbing, to my left and was horrified to turn into the sight of a thousand-teethed leer of a being who was more crocodile than man. I stumbled back and got my bag caught up in my legs, nearly falling if not for the iron grip of hands suddenly surrounding my upper arms.
The marquis eased me back to my feet, and pulled me steadily along until we were out of reach of the reptile-like monster, though its golden, snake eyes followed me with a predatory hunger. I could not draw my eyes away, mesmerised by the creature's awful slit of a mouth, filled with layers of razor sharp teeth, and the dry, broken skin, cracked like the scales on Sobek's hide.
I heard a rushing in my ears as of the surge and tide of a river, and smelled the silt of the earth. The air I breathed grew damp and salted, the taste of sand reminding me of the deserts in Afghanistan.
"Doctor, Doctor! Look at me, focus on me!"
Abandoning propriety, the marquis hauled me about to face him, shocking me out of my trance. His eyes were piercing in their black sharpness and urgent in the width of the visible sclera. Once he saw my attentions were focused back on the reality of the present situation and not a thousand years in the past, he patted my lapel with a long thin hand and turned away to the market once more.
I avoided making eye contact with any of the other vendors from that point on, and took to watching them from the corner of my eye. There were large groups of people meandering through the stalls, some that seemed like they had just stepped off the battlefield of Napoleonic France, others who suffered from that strangeness of albinism, wearing dark clothing and shaded glasses even at night, and a hundred more in their own categories.
There was a congregation of people - men, women, and children - almost unrecognisable beneath the muddy coating on their filthy clothes. Those were given a wide berth by those around them, and looked to be communicating through wild and emphatic hand gestures. I did not know much sign language, but theirs seemed to be build less on an organised universal system, and more as general indications of intent. A pair of circus performers, decked in sequinned, skin-tight clothing stood several feet back from the table, faces surprisingly pleasant considering the way they held their hands to their noses, apparently to block out the smell. The people looked as though they lived in the sewers, and despite my curiosity for the Market, I truly had absolutely no desire to observe their stall from any closer, no matter what variety of items they were hawking.
From that angle I could see the dramatically illuminated interior of the extravagant circus tent, and I watched with unfeigned glee to see the flying tumbles and catches of the acrobats, high-flying and splendidly talented in their showmanship. I would not let my self lose sight of the marquis though, and passed on without delay.
When the marquis finally stopped moving it was outside a small tent made of old stockings - ladies silk stockings and thick woollen socks; moth-eaten, shining new, and hand-knit. They were held together with pins in long strips and draped across a metal frame. Inside it was startlingly cold, as though something had leached the heat, but the pleasing smell of lily of the valley hung light and fine in the air.
The woman inside was a magnificent specimen of feminine beauty, thin and queenly, with a tilt to her jaw that testified to her remarkable character. Her raven black hair was piled high and elegantly upon the crown of her head and her pale, foxglove-coloured eyes stood out against her pale white skin. Her mouth was a perfect bow-shape, rouged deep plum red and delicate. She looked so incongruous, this radiant woman in a long, deep purple gown with a lavender bodice, underneath the tarpaulin of socks, that I confess I heard nothing of the interaction between the marquis and the lady, so caught up in staring that I paid no attention to any thing else.
In the end, it was when the marquis stepped close, ungentlemanly close - that same level of indecent closeness that he had afforded me just two nights before - that I reverted my concentration on the exchange.
"And you, Madame Sybaris, recall the terms of our agreement, yes?" The marquis de Carabas was saying. He ran the fingers of one black hand down the silk of her evening glove, a soft caress of incredible insinuation that made me shift awkwardly.
Madame Sybaris' eyelids drooped low, shadowing her brilliant, gem-like irises, and she gazed at the marquis with a lascivious smile curling her painted lips. The sinuous sway of her graceful body recalled to my mind the talents of snake-charmers, using the entrancing movement of their dance to hypnotise the deaf snakes. She too leaned in, her mouth almost touching the marquis' thick, dark lips, and whispered in a low musical voice, "I do, indeed remember, my dear. I owe you a favour, for your aid."
I am no naïve school-boy when it comes to matters of love - I have written some small detail before of my veritable experience across the continents in my youth - but I must admit that I felt a flush rise in my face and needed to look away from this remarkably sensuous scene. They were both incredibly handsome figures, and while the temperature of the tent never rose, I felt stifled by my stiff collar, still fastened through the events of the day.
I looked back when the marquis' soft touch turned hard on the woman's wrist, and he pulled back. "Good, I shall see you once more when I am in need of your services."
He offered her a close-lipped smile, a keen almost cruelty dancing in his eyes, before he turned to me and indicated that we were to leave.
"Good night, sir," I heard behind me, and turned to see Sybaris watching me with a hooded, cheerful smile. The marquis' arm slipped into mine in a possessive manner, and he pulled me along as Holmes had so often on our occasional walks down Baker Street.
"What is she?"
The marquis gave a disgusted snort.
"A Velvet Child. One of many, though their numbers are dwindling. They are a vile sort, cold and craving the attentions and life of mortal men who do not need such troubles." He peered at me from the corner of his eye, and pulled me closer to his side by my elbow. "You'd do well to stay away. Sybaris in particular is a vulgar one - my business with her was in the nature of vengeance and while it pleases me to have her in my services, I can do with out being in her presence for quite some time, I think."
A bell tolled, loud and fierce over the chaos of the Market. Abruptly, people everywhere began to break down their stalls and pack their possessions in bags, hauling things over backs and dragging them behind. The alacrity of the deconstruction of this entire festival - of sorts - was remarkable to me, and I let my self rely on the marquis to keep me moving as I turned my head this way and that to try and observe all that I could.
"Do they always break down the Market?" I asked.
"Of course. It is the 'Floating' Market, after all. The next one will be somewhere else, at some other time."
"But what of the circus?" I could not restrain my fascination at Oxford Circus being the home of a real circus, but far below the sight of my London. "Where do they go?"
"They go where we all go when we go into the night. Below. Now, come Doctor, for the Market's over and we have places to be."
-
| Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII || Part VIII || Part IX | Part X |
| Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII |