3 more Holmesish drabbles
I was going through one of my notebooks, looking for a blank page on which to compile a grocery list, and I found these. I wonder what else I have scattered here and there? This first one is fairly silly, and requires that you pretend Watson is Catholic. *shrugs* IDEK.
Bless Me, Father
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three years since my last confession.”
“A long time, my son.”
“Yes. But you see . . . I’ve been able to control them for so long. My urges.”
“What sort of urges?”
“Shameful ones. Profane ones. I . . . Father, I . . . I am lusting for my best friend. For another man.”
“. . . I see.”
“I’ve tried to ignore it, to smother it. But he is so remarkable, and . . . I love him. Please, what should I do?”
“Give in.”
“What?”
“Love, my child, can never be a sin. Tell him.”
“But . . . wait . . . I know that voice . . .”
Decided
I shouldn’t have snapped at him; I regretted it the moment I saw the hurt on his face. It’s not his fault, after all. But panic has a sharp grip upon my throat.
Our client is clearly interested in him. Watson, thankfully, remains oblivious. However, he cannot remain so forever. Unless I distract him somehow.
I consider kissing him. If he is repulsed I can explain it away. If not . . . either way he will certainly pay no more attention to our erstwhile client.
He smiles at me so innocently, I can stand it no longer.
My mind is made up.
My Brother's Keeper
He is collapsed on the settee, and has been for days. I thought at first that he was ill; now I fear that he is dying. It makes no sense. True, he warned me of black moods, but this . . . when the Drubber case went, I thought, remarkably well . . .
He has begun eyeing the morocco case on the mantle-the one he will never let me touch. It frightens me, somehow.
I should leave. He barely even notices I’m here. But I can’t shake the feeling that he lives only so long as I keep watching him.
And so I stay.
Bless Me, Father
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three years since my last confession.”
“A long time, my son.”
“Yes. But you see . . . I’ve been able to control them for so long. My urges.”
“What sort of urges?”
“Shameful ones. Profane ones. I . . . Father, I . . . I am lusting for my best friend. For another man.”
“. . . I see.”
“I’ve tried to ignore it, to smother it. But he is so remarkable, and . . . I love him. Please, what should I do?”
“Give in.”
“What?”
“Love, my child, can never be a sin. Tell him.”
“But . . . wait . . . I know that voice . . .”
Decided
I shouldn’t have snapped at him; I regretted it the moment I saw the hurt on his face. It’s not his fault, after all. But panic has a sharp grip upon my throat.
Our client is clearly interested in him. Watson, thankfully, remains oblivious. However, he cannot remain so forever. Unless I distract him somehow.
I consider kissing him. If he is repulsed I can explain it away. If not . . . either way he will certainly pay no more attention to our erstwhile client.
He smiles at me so innocently, I can stand it no longer.
My mind is made up.
My Brother's Keeper
He is collapsed on the settee, and has been for days. I thought at first that he was ill; now I fear that he is dying. It makes no sense. True, he warned me of black moods, but this . . . when the Drubber case went, I thought, remarkably well . . .
He has begun eyeing the morocco case on the mantle-the one he will never let me touch. It frightens me, somehow.
I should leave. He barely even notices I’m here. But I can’t shake the feeling that he lives only so long as I keep watching him.
And so I stay.