For for rabidsamfan: The Empty Heart
Title: The Empty Heart
Recipient: Rabidsamfan
Author: piplover
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson, Mrs. Hudson, the Irregulars.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Holmes may be back among the living, but that doesn’t mean his heart is ready to go on. Not if he doesn’t have his Watson by his side. Luckily for him, Mrs. Hudson and his army don’t just see, they observe. And then they take action.
It was a cold, miserable spring night. The air was damp and leaden with fog, and although the street lamps had been lit, their soft glow provided little illumination to the shrouded streets. Those unfortunate few not yet home found further insult in the intermittent, sprinkling rain which contributed to the growing puddles dotting the pavements.
Huddled in the meager shelter of an alley, a small boy hugged his jacket closer about his shoulders, staring grumpily at the building across from him. Waiting.
His eyes narrowed as a curtain twitched on the first floor, followed by the muted glow of a sheltered lamp.
Swiftly, he crossed the street, too-large boots squelching in the mud as he made his way to the kitchen entrance and knocked. Settling back on his heels, he wiped indelicately at his nose with a damp sleeve, the cold skin of his hands red and chapped beneath the dirt that caked them.
The door opened a few moments later, warmth and the scent of dinner wafting out along with the cheery light.
“Come in, then,” a voice beckoned, and the child wasted no time in complying, hurrying into the room and basking in the warmth by the stove. “Which one are you?”
“William,“ the boy replied, eyes following the movements of the woman in front of him with what most would consider disconcerting focus.
Mrs. Hudson, however, was not most people, and merely smiled as she bustled about the kitchen. Donned in a warm brown dress that had seen slightly better days and hair done up in a no-nonsense bun, she prepared a bowl of stew from the pot simmering over the fire and garnished it with bread from the oven.
“Have you any news?” she asked as she ushered the boy to a seat and presented him with his meal.
He nodded even as he steadily shoveled the food into his mouth. He was polite enough not to speak with his mouth full, and Mrs. Hudson patient enough to wait for him to finish his first bowl before pressing him for details.
“’E’s been settled cross the way all afternoon,” William said after a final lick to his spoon. “Bundled up like a beggar, with ‘is nose pokin’ out of the blankets. Nearly missed ‘im at first, ‘sept for ‘is ‘ands. ‘E always forgets.”
“And Doctor Watson?” Mrs. Hudson prompted, removing his bowl to refill it.
The boy’s snort was answer enough, though he did not hesitate to elaborate. “No offense to the doctor, Miss, but ‘e’s not too keen at times, if you know what I mean. Walked right past Mr. ‘Olmes three times and not even a second glance.”
Though more restrained than William’s snort, Mrs. Hudson’s sigh was just as exasperated.
“Lord knows I can understand the man not wanting to leave a settled home, but for goodness’ sake,” she grumbled, brushing a hand across her forehead. Her brow wrinkled in thought as she contemplated. “Get that stew into you, William, it’s a cold night coming. Is there another lad keeping watch or have you all settled for the evening?”
“’Enry was s’posed to watch ‘im, but ‘is mum’s been sick with the cough and we figured Mr. ‘Olmes would either sit there all night or come ‘ome soon.” William shrugged as he focused once more on his food, neither of them needing to elaborate what everyone but the two men in question seemed to already know.
Since his return to the living and Baker Street four weeks previous, Sherlock Holmes had seemed a shadow of himself without the company of his friend. Though the two of them had worked together to bring about the capture of Moran, and had spent many days in each other’s company, Dr. Watson had been hesitant to break completely with his practice and his solitary home.
He remained stubbornly ensconced in his house, and refused all offers to help him move back in with his friend, though he visited often enough that Mrs. Hudson had taken to keeping fresh collar and cuffs at the ready for when he stayed the night. On the days that the doctor did not visit, Holmes would position himself in some disguise or other and keep watch over him, loath to have him out of his sight for even such a short time.
In turn, the Irregulars kept eyes on both men, and reported to Mrs. Hudson their well being. In the long absence of their general, the children of the streets had taken to following orders from a different task master.
“Miss?” William asked hesitantly, running his spoon around his bowl. “Do you think they’ll ever figure it out?”
“Perhaps…” Mrs. Hudson said, her eyes narrowing as the front door opened and slow, shuffling footsteps made their way up the stairs. “But I think in this case, direct action may be best.”
William smiled slowly, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited for his orders.
***
Though he had been out of the military for a good many years, Dr. John Watson had retained his ability to sleep lightly and react to any perceived threats quickly. Thus, when the sound of a window being opened jerked him out of slumber, he did not hesitate to reach for the revolver kept in his nightstand.
The small form which wiggled its way through the crack in the darkness would normally have been more annoying than threatening, but after working with Holmes on more than one case where a person of small stature had committed barbaric acts, he took no chances and cocked his gun.
“If you value your life you will stop where you are and do. Not. Move.”
The figure immediately stilled.
“Dr. Watson?” a small voice asked, the pitch that of a child. “I’ve come for ‘elp. Mr. ‘Olmes is sick.”
Still hesitant to trust, Watson kept his gaze on the intruder as he turned on the light, thankful that the house had been converted to electricity some months before. Once his eyes had adjusted, he found himself lowering his gun, taking in the boy before him with a practiced eye.
No more than eleven, with curly, thick brown hair that snarled around his head. His boots were slightly too large, and his trousers scuffed at the knee and too long in the leg. Overall, he looked the typical street urchin, and was the perfect example of one of Holmes’ Irregulars.
“You said Holmes is sick?” Watson asked, replacing his gun and reaching instead for his trousers and shirt.
“Yessir,” the boy replied, eyes large and shimmering in the dim light as he watched the doctor dress. “E’s got a fever, and Mrs. Hudson said something bout a cough. She wouldn’t let us near ‘im, said it might be catching.”
Watson frowned as he quickly did up his collar, gesturing for the boy to head out of the room.
“Why wasn’t I informed earlier? It’s nearly two in the morning. Why on earth didn‘t you knock on the door?”
The boy hesitated, biting his lip as he avoided Watson’s eyes, scuffing his boot on the carpet as he waited for him to retrieve his bag.
“What is it?” Watson asked, his tone gentling as he forced himself to calm. Rushing the child would get him nowhere, and even though every instinct was telling him to hurry, he waited for the other to speak.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but Mr. ‘Olmes didn’t want you to know.” The boy kept his eyes averted as he added, “’E didn’t want you to worry.”
“What rubbish,” Watson growled, snapping up his case and briefly inspecting it to make sure he had everything he could possibly need. “He knows I’m at his disposal whenever he needs me, for whatever reason.”
“If you say so. Sir.” The tone was not belligerent, but there was a definite air of disagreement, despite the words.
Watson turned his attention back to the boy, who quickly lowered his eyes to study the carpet again.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “And don’t try to play stupid with me, lad, I know you lot better than that. Holmes wouldn’t have you working for him if you weren’t the keenest eyes around.”
Shoulders hunched up around his ears, the boy clenched his fists and refused to meet the doctor’s eyes.
“I just meant… ‘E misses you, Sir. It’s not right, the way ‘e mopes when you’re not around. Like ‘e’s lost and doesn’t know ‘ow to get ‘ome again.”
“We’re friends,” Watson begins, but stops as the boy finally raises his head, giving the other such an exasperated, adult stare that the doctor isn’t sure how to continue.
“I may be young, but I got eyes. Just cause you don’t wear a green carnation doesn’t mean you don’t fancy each other.”
“That- that is beyond rude and - and you should not-” Watson sputtered, his face blanching at the implications.
“Lord, you two are a pair of blind old birds. ’Onestly, Doctor, just ’cause some ’igh and mighty decides to make a law ’gainst something doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It just means them that’s made the law doesn’t want to deal with whatever got their knickers in a twist.” The boy snorted and glared. “You should know just that better than anyone.”
His lecture given, the child turned toward the door, suddenly much more confidant. “Mr. ‘Olmes needs you, Doctor.”
Without waiting for a reply, he opened the front door and bolted, secure in the knowledge that the other would follow.
***
Sherlock Holmes was a bundle of blankets set before the fire in the dimly lit sitting room of 221B. Watson wasted no time in going to his side as Mrs. Hudson looked on, smiling fondly as she ushered William out of the room.
The two of them headed down the stairs to the kitchen, where a warm pot of tea waited them.
“Do you think they’ll get it now?” William asked, sipping delicately from the chipped cup.
“I should hope so,” Mrs. Hudson sighed, casting her eyes to the ceiling, as though she could will the two men above to come to their senses. “I think we’ll know more in the morning. Drink your tea, dear, it’s going to get cold.”
William smiled brightly as he did so, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and a task accomplished.
***
Two weeks later, nibbling on a fresh bun still warm from the oven, William watched as the movers unloaded Dr. Watson’s boxes and carted them into the building across the street. From one of the windows on the first floor, the curtains were pulled aside, and Sherlock Holmes’ distinctive profile appeared.
His gaze swept the street, seemingly casually, until his eyes settled on William. For a long moment they held each other’s gaze before Holmes nodded his head, a smile stretching his lips. William nodded back, and grinned himself as Holmes turned away, as though listening to something behind him.
William turned his attention back to the bread in his hands. Life was good, if only for the moment. He was certain there would be another task ahead of him before long, but for now, he simply watched and waited, knowing that everything was as it should be.
Recipient: Rabidsamfan
Author: piplover
Characters/Pairings: Holmes/Watson, Mrs. Hudson, the Irregulars.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Holmes may be back among the living, but that doesn’t mean his heart is ready to go on. Not if he doesn’t have his Watson by his side. Luckily for him, Mrs. Hudson and his army don’t just see, they observe. And then they take action.
It was a cold, miserable spring night. The air was damp and leaden with fog, and although the street lamps had been lit, their soft glow provided little illumination to the shrouded streets. Those unfortunate few not yet home found further insult in the intermittent, sprinkling rain which contributed to the growing puddles dotting the pavements.
Huddled in the meager shelter of an alley, a small boy hugged his jacket closer about his shoulders, staring grumpily at the building across from him. Waiting.
His eyes narrowed as a curtain twitched on the first floor, followed by the muted glow of a sheltered lamp.
Swiftly, he crossed the street, too-large boots squelching in the mud as he made his way to the kitchen entrance and knocked. Settling back on his heels, he wiped indelicately at his nose with a damp sleeve, the cold skin of his hands red and chapped beneath the dirt that caked them.
The door opened a few moments later, warmth and the scent of dinner wafting out along with the cheery light.
“Come in, then,” a voice beckoned, and the child wasted no time in complying, hurrying into the room and basking in the warmth by the stove. “Which one are you?”
“William,“ the boy replied, eyes following the movements of the woman in front of him with what most would consider disconcerting focus.
Mrs. Hudson, however, was not most people, and merely smiled as she bustled about the kitchen. Donned in a warm brown dress that had seen slightly better days and hair done up in a no-nonsense bun, she prepared a bowl of stew from the pot simmering over the fire and garnished it with bread from the oven.
“Have you any news?” she asked as she ushered the boy to a seat and presented him with his meal.
He nodded even as he steadily shoveled the food into his mouth. He was polite enough not to speak with his mouth full, and Mrs. Hudson patient enough to wait for him to finish his first bowl before pressing him for details.
“’E’s been settled cross the way all afternoon,” William said after a final lick to his spoon. “Bundled up like a beggar, with ‘is nose pokin’ out of the blankets. Nearly missed ‘im at first, ‘sept for ‘is ‘ands. ‘E always forgets.”
“And Doctor Watson?” Mrs. Hudson prompted, removing his bowl to refill it.
The boy’s snort was answer enough, though he did not hesitate to elaborate. “No offense to the doctor, Miss, but ‘e’s not too keen at times, if you know what I mean. Walked right past Mr. ‘Olmes three times and not even a second glance.”
Though more restrained than William’s snort, Mrs. Hudson’s sigh was just as exasperated.
“Lord knows I can understand the man not wanting to leave a settled home, but for goodness’ sake,” she grumbled, brushing a hand across her forehead. Her brow wrinkled in thought as she contemplated. “Get that stew into you, William, it’s a cold night coming. Is there another lad keeping watch or have you all settled for the evening?”
“’Enry was s’posed to watch ‘im, but ‘is mum’s been sick with the cough and we figured Mr. ‘Olmes would either sit there all night or come ‘ome soon.” William shrugged as he focused once more on his food, neither of them needing to elaborate what everyone but the two men in question seemed to already know.
Since his return to the living and Baker Street four weeks previous, Sherlock Holmes had seemed a shadow of himself without the company of his friend. Though the two of them had worked together to bring about the capture of Moran, and had spent many days in each other’s company, Dr. Watson had been hesitant to break completely with his practice and his solitary home.
He remained stubbornly ensconced in his house, and refused all offers to help him move back in with his friend, though he visited often enough that Mrs. Hudson had taken to keeping fresh collar and cuffs at the ready for when he stayed the night. On the days that the doctor did not visit, Holmes would position himself in some disguise or other and keep watch over him, loath to have him out of his sight for even such a short time.
In turn, the Irregulars kept eyes on both men, and reported to Mrs. Hudson their well being. In the long absence of their general, the children of the streets had taken to following orders from a different task master.
“Miss?” William asked hesitantly, running his spoon around his bowl. “Do you think they’ll ever figure it out?”
“Perhaps…” Mrs. Hudson said, her eyes narrowing as the front door opened and slow, shuffling footsteps made their way up the stairs. “But I think in this case, direct action may be best.”
William smiled slowly, clasping his hands in front of him as he waited for his orders.
***
Though he had been out of the military for a good many years, Dr. John Watson had retained his ability to sleep lightly and react to any perceived threats quickly. Thus, when the sound of a window being opened jerked him out of slumber, he did not hesitate to reach for the revolver kept in his nightstand.
The small form which wiggled its way through the crack in the darkness would normally have been more annoying than threatening, but after working with Holmes on more than one case where a person of small stature had committed barbaric acts, he took no chances and cocked his gun.
“If you value your life you will stop where you are and do. Not. Move.”
The figure immediately stilled.
“Dr. Watson?” a small voice asked, the pitch that of a child. “I’ve come for ‘elp. Mr. ‘Olmes is sick.”
Still hesitant to trust, Watson kept his gaze on the intruder as he turned on the light, thankful that the house had been converted to electricity some months before. Once his eyes had adjusted, he found himself lowering his gun, taking in the boy before him with a practiced eye.
No more than eleven, with curly, thick brown hair that snarled around his head. His boots were slightly too large, and his trousers scuffed at the knee and too long in the leg. Overall, he looked the typical street urchin, and was the perfect example of one of Holmes’ Irregulars.
“You said Holmes is sick?” Watson asked, replacing his gun and reaching instead for his trousers and shirt.
“Yessir,” the boy replied, eyes large and shimmering in the dim light as he watched the doctor dress. “E’s got a fever, and Mrs. Hudson said something bout a cough. She wouldn’t let us near ‘im, said it might be catching.”
Watson frowned as he quickly did up his collar, gesturing for the boy to head out of the room.
“Why wasn’t I informed earlier? It’s nearly two in the morning. Why on earth didn‘t you knock on the door?”
The boy hesitated, biting his lip as he avoided Watson’s eyes, scuffing his boot on the carpet as he waited for him to retrieve his bag.
“What is it?” Watson asked, his tone gentling as he forced himself to calm. Rushing the child would get him nowhere, and even though every instinct was telling him to hurry, he waited for the other to speak.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but Mr. ‘Olmes didn’t want you to know.” The boy kept his eyes averted as he added, “’E didn’t want you to worry.”
“What rubbish,” Watson growled, snapping up his case and briefly inspecting it to make sure he had everything he could possibly need. “He knows I’m at his disposal whenever he needs me, for whatever reason.”
“If you say so. Sir.” The tone was not belligerent, but there was a definite air of disagreement, despite the words.
Watson turned his attention back to the boy, who quickly lowered his eyes to study the carpet again.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “And don’t try to play stupid with me, lad, I know you lot better than that. Holmes wouldn’t have you working for him if you weren’t the keenest eyes around.”
Shoulders hunched up around his ears, the boy clenched his fists and refused to meet the doctor’s eyes.
“I just meant… ‘E misses you, Sir. It’s not right, the way ‘e mopes when you’re not around. Like ‘e’s lost and doesn’t know ‘ow to get ‘ome again.”
“We’re friends,” Watson begins, but stops as the boy finally raises his head, giving the other such an exasperated, adult stare that the doctor isn’t sure how to continue.
“I may be young, but I got eyes. Just cause you don’t wear a green carnation doesn’t mean you don’t fancy each other.”
“That- that is beyond rude and - and you should not-” Watson sputtered, his face blanching at the implications.
“Lord, you two are a pair of blind old birds. ’Onestly, Doctor, just ’cause some ’igh and mighty decides to make a law ’gainst something doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It just means them that’s made the law doesn’t want to deal with whatever got their knickers in a twist.” The boy snorted and glared. “You should know just that better than anyone.”
His lecture given, the child turned toward the door, suddenly much more confidant. “Mr. ‘Olmes needs you, Doctor.”
Without waiting for a reply, he opened the front door and bolted, secure in the knowledge that the other would follow.
***
Sherlock Holmes was a bundle of blankets set before the fire in the dimly lit sitting room of 221B. Watson wasted no time in going to his side as Mrs. Hudson looked on, smiling fondly as she ushered William out of the room.
The two of them headed down the stairs to the kitchen, where a warm pot of tea waited them.
“Do you think they’ll get it now?” William asked, sipping delicately from the chipped cup.
“I should hope so,” Mrs. Hudson sighed, casting her eyes to the ceiling, as though she could will the two men above to come to their senses. “I think we’ll know more in the morning. Drink your tea, dear, it’s going to get cold.”
William smiled brightly as he did so, enjoying the warmth of the kitchen and a task accomplished.
***
Two weeks later, nibbling on a fresh bun still warm from the oven, William watched as the movers unloaded Dr. Watson’s boxes and carted them into the building across the street. From one of the windows on the first floor, the curtains were pulled aside, and Sherlock Holmes’ distinctive profile appeared.
His gaze swept the street, seemingly casually, until his eyes settled on William. For a long moment they held each other’s gaze before Holmes nodded his head, a smile stretching his lips. William nodded back, and grinned himself as Holmes turned away, as though listening to something behind him.
William turned his attention back to the bread in his hands. Life was good, if only for the moment. He was certain there would be another task ahead of him before long, but for now, he simply watched and waited, knowing that everything was as it should be.