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charleygirlTitle: Jottings from a Doctor's Journal 11/?
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 1935
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: Not sure where this one came from, but I've been wanting to write some more about Holmes's family as mentioned in The Puzzle Box. :)
THICKER THAN WATER
“Sherlock Holmes, you are the most arrogant, insufferable man who ever lived!”
I could hear the raised voices the moment I opened the front door.
After helping me out of my coat, Mrs Hudson merely threw up her hands helplessly and rolled her eyes before vanishing back into her own domain, leaving me to climb the stairs and brave the battle raging above. I wondered what on earth could be happening. Holmes had been lamenting the lack of interest in the newspapers only that morning, hoping – though he would never admit it – for a visit from Lestrade or one of his colleagues. Though unemployed, he had yet to sink into one of his black moods, and I could not imagine that his temper had changed so dramatically in two hours as to make him pick fights with potential clients. Even Holmes had his limits.
As I reached the landing, it became obvious that the person doing all the shouting was a woman. Holmes, as far as I could tell, responded levelly and apparently calmly, his words inaudible to me through the thick wood of the sitting room door. This was unusual, as if one of our clients raised their voice to him he would often respond in kind, and certainly not with the thinly veiled amusement I could hear in his tone. Before I could properly consider whether I should intrude, the door flew open and I was almost run down by a hurrying figure. As I righted myself I looked up into a pair of eyes which held such a familiar expression that it took a moment for me to realised that they were blue rather than grey, and surrounded by a distinctly feminine face.
“I suppose you are his friend,” the woman snapped, straightening. As I took a step back I could see that she was tall – an inch or so taller than myself in fact – and slender, dressed in a severe riding habit of dark green wool. Her fair hair, so pale as to be almost white, was twisted and looped and piled high on her head beneath a man’s hat, which she wore with a little veil and tilted at a slightly rakish angle. I mentally placed her somewhere in middle-age, though her face was so sharply angled and her skin so taught that there could be no room for wrinkles to give any more of a clue to her years. Her thin mouth was pursed, her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
I inclined my head in response to her comment. “Doctor John Watson at your service, ma’am.”
That penetrating, appraising gaze I had met a moment earlier ran me up and down, apparently cataloguing everything about me from the shine on my shoes to the manner in which I brushed my hair. It reminded me so much of Holmes that I was about to remark upon it when she said,
“Yes, I suppose you must be. You can tell him,” she added before I could even open my mouth, “that I find his behaviour intolerable. I had hoped that he might have grown up a little since we last met, but I suppose that is too much to hope for.”
“Madam - ” I began in protest, but again she cut across me, turning her head and calling into the sitting room,
“Rest assured I shall be visiting Mycroft, and we shall see what he has to say on the matter!”
With that, she brushed past me and continued on her way. A moment later the front door slammed, rattling the pictures on the stair wall. I heard Mrs Hudson give a cry of dismay as something hit the floor with a tinkling crash, and winced.
Entering our rooms, I was quite astonished to find that Holmes, rather than being in a state of consternation at this woman’s actions, was standing before the fireplace and shaking with silent laughter.
“It is reassuring, is it not, Watson, that some things never change?” he asked when he became aware of my presence in the doorway. “My cousin Cressida’s hot temper appears to be one of those immutable facts of life.”
“Your cousin?” I exclaimed in surprise. “Good God, that woman is a relative?”
He nodded, reaching for his pipe. When he had it lit and drawing to his satisfaction he curled up in his armchair, a smile still touching his lips. “Oh, yes indeed. We have not met for more than twenty years, but she has not changed in the slightest.”
“I remember now, you mentioned her when your late aunt sent you that infernal Chinese box at Christmas,” I said, taking my seat opposite his. The puzzle contained within the gift had nearly driven us both to distraction.
He nodded. “She came to see me in connection with a small personal mystery. Typically, Cressida does not appreciate being foxed by something so trivial. She is an incredibly intelligent woman, but she will allow herself to become ruled by her passions, as you saw.” An eyebrow arched, and he looked straight at me. “What did you think of her, Watson?”
I hesitated, not wishing to cause offence by insulting his family, but at the same not sure what I could say that would not be construed as such. Holmes naturally noticed my dilemma, and waved a hand.
“Speak frankly, my dear fellow, please! I respect your opinion in these matters.”
I braced myself. “Well, I know she is your cousin, but - ”
The eyebrow arched further.
“She is frightful, Holmes.”
There was a long pause, during which I was convinced that I had done as I feared, and angered him. Therefore, I will admit that I started when he threw his head back with a great bark of amusement.
“Ha! Oh, indeed she is, Watson, indeed she is. I have always thought so, ever since I was first forced into her company at the age of six. A harridan very much in our great-aunt Sophronia’s mould. We argued constantly.”
I blinked. “Were you not once engaged to her?”
He cast me a sharp glance, as though irritated that I should remember such a thing. “Through no desire of my own and thankfully for only half a day, despite our aunt’s machinations. My father swiftly put a stop to it, for which I will be eternally grateful. The thought of a life spent with Cressida is still one which can fill me with mortal dread.” Holmes gave a theatrical shudder. “I have no idea how her poor husband has suffered her these last two decades. It is no wonder that he never sold his commission though she pestered him to do so. He must look forward to being posted away from home!”
I looked back towards the closed door, still not quite believing that I had at last met another member of the Holmes clan. It had been ten years before my friend even mentioned that he had a brother, and another five before I discovered that the family, rather than being virtually non-existent as I had supposed, was rather large, if unnaturally distant. Even after so long an acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes, I could still not properly visualise the home from which he had come, or what his childhood had been like. I could barely even think of him as having been a child, for I could not really imagine him playing with toys or involved in childish pastimes. He seemed to have sprung into the world as a fully-formed adult. And yet here was a potential window into that world. It was tantalising, and I briefly considered trying to discover Cressida’s address so that I might call and question her about my friend’s background. The recollection of her brusque dismissal of me mere minutes earlier soon put an end to such ideas, however.
“Why did she come, if you have not spoken in so long?” I enquired, shaking out my newspaper.
Holmes sat cross-legged, feet tucked beneath him, placidly puffing on his pipe. “Her shoes have apparently been vanishing, only to reappear a day or so later in a completely different spot in the wardrobe to the one in which she left them.”
I tried not to laugh. “A typically female problem, one would imagine. Why should she consult you over something so mundane?”
“Because she believes it to be inexplicable, and as she informed me, I have always enjoyed explaining such things. And so I did, though not to her satisfaction.”
“And how did you explain it?”
“I suggested that she not take on new maids who have theatrical aspirations. The spot of greasepaint on the strap of the shoe she brought for my inspection may have been too small to see with the naked eye, but it told me everything I needed to know,” Holmes replied. “If Cressida had observed instead of continually trying to imagine a motive, she would have seen immediately what was happening. That is why no woman could ever hope to succeed in my profession – one must remove emotion from the equation entirely.”
“Whatever happened to the instincts of a woman occasionally having more value than the deductions of an analytical reasoner?” I asked mischievously.
He grunted, and did not deign to reply.
“I take it that she did not like your conclusions, judging by her behaviour just now.”
“In common with the rest of our family, she does not appreciate someone else being right. She will now burst in upon Mycroft, who will not enjoy the disruption.” Holmes chuckled at the thought. “Oh, I would indeed like to be party to such a delicious encounter!”
There was a companionable silence between us for some time after that, until Mrs Hudson arrived to lay the table for luncheon. As she did, a thought struck me.
“Holmes,” I said, and he lifted one eyelid a fraction to indicate that he had heard me. “Did you say that your cousin was an extremely intelligent woman?”
“I did, and it is the exact and literal truth. I would venture to say that her education surpasses even that of Mycroft, and definitely eclipses my own. Cressida has always taken far more interest in those matters you deem so important to life, my dear fellow, such as the fact that the earth revolves around the sun.”
“Well, given those intellectual faculties, and your brief betrothal, have you never considered the benefits that such an alliance could bring to the cause of justice? Imagine employing Cressida’s talents to one of your cases!”
He had sat listening to me without opening his eyes, and thus could not see the very broad grin which had crept across my face. His own features, from their previous expression of placid contentment, swiftly took on the aspect of a man about to be lead to the gallows. His face drained of colour, and his mouth fell open, releasing his pipe to fall into his lap. His eyes, when they stared at me, exhibited a look of abject horror.
“Good God, Watson, never suggest such a thing!” he exclaimed, leaping up to empty the still smouldering bowl into the fireplace before it could set his trousers alight. “To imagine that I…and she…”
“Just think of the super-intelligent children the two of you could have produced,” I suggested, carefully moving out of range.
His eyes flashed and I believe I only narrowly escaped injury by Mrs Hudson’s timely entry with a loaded tray. Needless to say, cousin Cressida was not mentioned again – at least, not until a short, terse and unrepeatable telegram arrived from Mycroft…
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 1935
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: Not sure where this one came from, but I've been wanting to write some more about Holmes's family as mentioned in The Puzzle Box. :)
THICKER THAN WATER
“Sherlock Holmes, you are the most arrogant, insufferable man who ever lived!”
I could hear the raised voices the moment I opened the front door.
After helping me out of my coat, Mrs Hudson merely threw up her hands helplessly and rolled her eyes before vanishing back into her own domain, leaving me to climb the stairs and brave the battle raging above. I wondered what on earth could be happening. Holmes had been lamenting the lack of interest in the newspapers only that morning, hoping – though he would never admit it – for a visit from Lestrade or one of his colleagues. Though unemployed, he had yet to sink into one of his black moods, and I could not imagine that his temper had changed so dramatically in two hours as to make him pick fights with potential clients. Even Holmes had his limits.
As I reached the landing, it became obvious that the person doing all the shouting was a woman. Holmes, as far as I could tell, responded levelly and apparently calmly, his words inaudible to me through the thick wood of the sitting room door. This was unusual, as if one of our clients raised their voice to him he would often respond in kind, and certainly not with the thinly veiled amusement I could hear in his tone. Before I could properly consider whether I should intrude, the door flew open and I was almost run down by a hurrying figure. As I righted myself I looked up into a pair of eyes which held such a familiar expression that it took a moment for me to realised that they were blue rather than grey, and surrounded by a distinctly feminine face.
“I suppose you are his friend,” the woman snapped, straightening. As I took a step back I could see that she was tall – an inch or so taller than myself in fact – and slender, dressed in a severe riding habit of dark green wool. Her fair hair, so pale as to be almost white, was twisted and looped and piled high on her head beneath a man’s hat, which she wore with a little veil and tilted at a slightly rakish angle. I mentally placed her somewhere in middle-age, though her face was so sharply angled and her skin so taught that there could be no room for wrinkles to give any more of a clue to her years. Her thin mouth was pursed, her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
I inclined my head in response to her comment. “Doctor John Watson at your service, ma’am.”
That penetrating, appraising gaze I had met a moment earlier ran me up and down, apparently cataloguing everything about me from the shine on my shoes to the manner in which I brushed my hair. It reminded me so much of Holmes that I was about to remark upon it when she said,
“Yes, I suppose you must be. You can tell him,” she added before I could even open my mouth, “that I find his behaviour intolerable. I had hoped that he might have grown up a little since we last met, but I suppose that is too much to hope for.”
“Madam - ” I began in protest, but again she cut across me, turning her head and calling into the sitting room,
“Rest assured I shall be visiting Mycroft, and we shall see what he has to say on the matter!”
With that, she brushed past me and continued on her way. A moment later the front door slammed, rattling the pictures on the stair wall. I heard Mrs Hudson give a cry of dismay as something hit the floor with a tinkling crash, and winced.
Entering our rooms, I was quite astonished to find that Holmes, rather than being in a state of consternation at this woman’s actions, was standing before the fireplace and shaking with silent laughter.
“It is reassuring, is it not, Watson, that some things never change?” he asked when he became aware of my presence in the doorway. “My cousin Cressida’s hot temper appears to be one of those immutable facts of life.”
“Your cousin?” I exclaimed in surprise. “Good God, that woman is a relative?”
He nodded, reaching for his pipe. When he had it lit and drawing to his satisfaction he curled up in his armchair, a smile still touching his lips. “Oh, yes indeed. We have not met for more than twenty years, but she has not changed in the slightest.”
“I remember now, you mentioned her when your late aunt sent you that infernal Chinese box at Christmas,” I said, taking my seat opposite his. The puzzle contained within the gift had nearly driven us both to distraction.
He nodded. “She came to see me in connection with a small personal mystery. Typically, Cressida does not appreciate being foxed by something so trivial. She is an incredibly intelligent woman, but she will allow herself to become ruled by her passions, as you saw.” An eyebrow arched, and he looked straight at me. “What did you think of her, Watson?”
I hesitated, not wishing to cause offence by insulting his family, but at the same not sure what I could say that would not be construed as such. Holmes naturally noticed my dilemma, and waved a hand.
“Speak frankly, my dear fellow, please! I respect your opinion in these matters.”
I braced myself. “Well, I know she is your cousin, but - ”
The eyebrow arched further.
“She is frightful, Holmes.”
There was a long pause, during which I was convinced that I had done as I feared, and angered him. Therefore, I will admit that I started when he threw his head back with a great bark of amusement.
“Ha! Oh, indeed she is, Watson, indeed she is. I have always thought so, ever since I was first forced into her company at the age of six. A harridan very much in our great-aunt Sophronia’s mould. We argued constantly.”
I blinked. “Were you not once engaged to her?”
He cast me a sharp glance, as though irritated that I should remember such a thing. “Through no desire of my own and thankfully for only half a day, despite our aunt’s machinations. My father swiftly put a stop to it, for which I will be eternally grateful. The thought of a life spent with Cressida is still one which can fill me with mortal dread.” Holmes gave a theatrical shudder. “I have no idea how her poor husband has suffered her these last two decades. It is no wonder that he never sold his commission though she pestered him to do so. He must look forward to being posted away from home!”
I looked back towards the closed door, still not quite believing that I had at last met another member of the Holmes clan. It had been ten years before my friend even mentioned that he had a brother, and another five before I discovered that the family, rather than being virtually non-existent as I had supposed, was rather large, if unnaturally distant. Even after so long an acquaintance with Sherlock Holmes, I could still not properly visualise the home from which he had come, or what his childhood had been like. I could barely even think of him as having been a child, for I could not really imagine him playing with toys or involved in childish pastimes. He seemed to have sprung into the world as a fully-formed adult. And yet here was a potential window into that world. It was tantalising, and I briefly considered trying to discover Cressida’s address so that I might call and question her about my friend’s background. The recollection of her brusque dismissal of me mere minutes earlier soon put an end to such ideas, however.
“Why did she come, if you have not spoken in so long?” I enquired, shaking out my newspaper.
Holmes sat cross-legged, feet tucked beneath him, placidly puffing on his pipe. “Her shoes have apparently been vanishing, only to reappear a day or so later in a completely different spot in the wardrobe to the one in which she left them.”
I tried not to laugh. “A typically female problem, one would imagine. Why should she consult you over something so mundane?”
“Because she believes it to be inexplicable, and as she informed me, I have always enjoyed explaining such things. And so I did, though not to her satisfaction.”
“And how did you explain it?”
“I suggested that she not take on new maids who have theatrical aspirations. The spot of greasepaint on the strap of the shoe she brought for my inspection may have been too small to see with the naked eye, but it told me everything I needed to know,” Holmes replied. “If Cressida had observed instead of continually trying to imagine a motive, she would have seen immediately what was happening. That is why no woman could ever hope to succeed in my profession – one must remove emotion from the equation entirely.”
“Whatever happened to the instincts of a woman occasionally having more value than the deductions of an analytical reasoner?” I asked mischievously.
He grunted, and did not deign to reply.
“I take it that she did not like your conclusions, judging by her behaviour just now.”
“In common with the rest of our family, she does not appreciate someone else being right. She will now burst in upon Mycroft, who will not enjoy the disruption.” Holmes chuckled at the thought. “Oh, I would indeed like to be party to such a delicious encounter!”
There was a companionable silence between us for some time after that, until Mrs Hudson arrived to lay the table for luncheon. As she did, a thought struck me.
“Holmes,” I said, and he lifted one eyelid a fraction to indicate that he had heard me. “Did you say that your cousin was an extremely intelligent woman?”
“I did, and it is the exact and literal truth. I would venture to say that her education surpasses even that of Mycroft, and definitely eclipses my own. Cressida has always taken far more interest in those matters you deem so important to life, my dear fellow, such as the fact that the earth revolves around the sun.”
“Well, given those intellectual faculties, and your brief betrothal, have you never considered the benefits that such an alliance could bring to the cause of justice? Imagine employing Cressida’s talents to one of your cases!”
He had sat listening to me without opening his eyes, and thus could not see the very broad grin which had crept across my face. His own features, from their previous expression of placid contentment, swiftly took on the aspect of a man about to be lead to the gallows. His face drained of colour, and his mouth fell open, releasing his pipe to fall into his lap. His eyes, when they stared at me, exhibited a look of abject horror.
“Good God, Watson, never suggest such a thing!” he exclaimed, leaping up to empty the still smouldering bowl into the fireplace before it could set his trousers alight. “To imagine that I…and she…”
“Just think of the super-intelligent children the two of you could have produced,” I suggested, carefully moving out of range.
His eyes flashed and I believe I only narrowly escaped injury by Mrs Hudson’s timely entry with a loaded tray. Needless to say, cousin Cressida was not mentioned again – at least, not until a short, terse and unrepeatable telegram arrived from Mycroft…
