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charleygirlTitle: Jottings from a Doctor's Journal 2/?
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 392
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson
Genre: Friendship, fluff
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me.
Summary: A collection of scenes and fragments that are too long to be drabbles and too undisciplined to be 221Bs.
Author's Note: Another work-inspired piece. I am convinced that I had a guy fishing for information about the company on Friday. He was too tenacious for it to have been a casual conversation...
GONE FISHING
“I absolutely do not believe it!” I exclaimed as I reached the sitting room. The door slammed satisfyingly behind me, rattling my picture of General Gordon which hung on the adjoining wall. He gazed at me a little reproachfully as he swung back and forth, but I was too agitated at that moment to bother doing anything about it.
Holmes lowered The Times to look at me in some surprise. “Believe what, my dear fellow?”
“That so-called colleague of mine from the hospital – the one who was sounding me out about some work – is a journalist! There was no locum position; he spent the time fishing for information!”
“Information about what, precisely?”
“You!” I thundered, my anger propelling me to stalk the rug for a few moments before falling into my chair. “The man had the infernal cheek to start questioning me – in a roundabout fashion at first, naturally – about your whereabouts for the last three years. He let the cat out of the bag when he actually asked whether you deliberately set out to defraud the general public by pretending to be dead!”
Holmes, while I was speaking, reached into his pocket for his silver cigarette case and offered it to me. I took one almost mechanically and he struck a match to light it, all without saying a word. I took a lungful of smoke, grateful for the calming effect of the nicotine. Such prying into my friend’s affairs, and in so underhand a manner, had infuriated me more than anything had in a long while.
“It is the betrayal which hurts the most,” I said eventually, when we had been sitting in companionable silence for some minutes. “The fellow abused my trust shockingly.”
“I take it that he got nothing from you?” Holmes asked.
“Of course! Once I realised his game I sent him packing. I made a promise to you - the truth will out if you ever agree to my publishing again, and not before.”
“Faithful Watson. It seems to me that your journalistic acquaintance is not much of a fisherman – I believe that in order to catch a fish, one must successfully bait the hook.” My friend smiled around the stem of his pipe and took up his newspaper once more. “He will have to put you down as the one that got away.”
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 392
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson
Genre: Friendship, fluff
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me.
Summary: A collection of scenes and fragments that are too long to be drabbles and too undisciplined to be 221Bs.
Author's Note: Another work-inspired piece. I am convinced that I had a guy fishing for information about the company on Friday. He was too tenacious for it to have been a casual conversation...
GONE FISHING
“I absolutely do not believe it!” I exclaimed as I reached the sitting room. The door slammed satisfyingly behind me, rattling my picture of General Gordon which hung on the adjoining wall. He gazed at me a little reproachfully as he swung back and forth, but I was too agitated at that moment to bother doing anything about it.
Holmes lowered The Times to look at me in some surprise. “Believe what, my dear fellow?”
“That so-called colleague of mine from the hospital – the one who was sounding me out about some work – is a journalist! There was no locum position; he spent the time fishing for information!”
“Information about what, precisely?”
“You!” I thundered, my anger propelling me to stalk the rug for a few moments before falling into my chair. “The man had the infernal cheek to start questioning me – in a roundabout fashion at first, naturally – about your whereabouts for the last three years. He let the cat out of the bag when he actually asked whether you deliberately set out to defraud the general public by pretending to be dead!”
Holmes, while I was speaking, reached into his pocket for his silver cigarette case and offered it to me. I took one almost mechanically and he struck a match to light it, all without saying a word. I took a lungful of smoke, grateful for the calming effect of the nicotine. Such prying into my friend’s affairs, and in so underhand a manner, had infuriated me more than anything had in a long while.
“It is the betrayal which hurts the most,” I said eventually, when we had been sitting in companionable silence for some minutes. “The fellow abused my trust shockingly.”
“I take it that he got nothing from you?” Holmes asked.
“Of course! Once I realised his game I sent him packing. I made a promise to you - the truth will out if you ever agree to my publishing again, and not before.”
“Faithful Watson. It seems to me that your journalistic acquaintance is not much of a fisherman – I believe that in order to catch a fish, one must successfully bait the hook.” My friend smiled around the stem of his pipe and took up his newspaper once more. “He will have to put you down as the one that got away.”
