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charleygirlTitle: Jottings from a Doctor's Journal 22/?
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 682
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.
ON THE OTHER HAND
“I suggest you stay very still, Doctor Watson, unless you wish me to treat you in the same fashion as your friend,” Harris said, motioning with his pistol for me to raise my hands above my head.
Reluctantly, I complied, leaving the overflowing drawer and the incriminating papers it held. “You won’t get away with this,” I growled, well aware that we had been neatly caught in a trap of the banker’s devising. There was little I could do but brazen it out, as Harris had taken Holmes down with a well-aimed shot to the shoulder mere moments before, and my revolver was out of reach. I glanced anxiously again at my friend, who slumped against the wall on the other side of the room, blood pooling on his coat. I could not tell from where I stood whether he was conscious or not – he still appeared to be breathing, thank God, but he had not moved since the bullet struck him, throwing him to the floor. My gun lay a mere two feet from his outstretched hand.
Harris smiled. “And how precisely are you intending to stop me? You are hardly in a position to negotiate: I have every advantage. Oh, there’s no point looking for help from that quarter, Doctor,” he added, nodding towards Holmes as though reading my mind. He laughed; a girlish giggling which set my teeth on edge. “I read your memoirs in The Strand – I know that Mr Holmes here is right-handed, and I took special care to incapacitate his dominant arm. It appears though that he’s not as clever as you make him out to be. It was child’s play to catch you both in here – you really must try harder, Mr Holmes, or your reputation will suffer!”
Holmes made no reaction.
“The police are moving in on this building as we speak, Harris,” I declared, hoping against hope that Holmes’s message had reached Gregson and the inspector was even now heading this way. “They will not allow you to leave this building except in custody.”
“I doubt that very much,” the banker said, moving to the window and easing back the blind a fraction. The gun never wavered, pointed straight at my heart. “You see, if it hadn’t been for Mr Holmes’s meddling, they would never have latched onto me in the first place. I’ll be away from here and on a boat to the continent before anyone has even realised that the two of you are missing.” He turned back to us, taking a firmer grip upon the pistol, chubby face set now in determination. “I don’t think I’ll kill you: that would be too quick. Instead I’ll give you the opportunity to bleed to death. Is there anywhere in particular you would prefer me to aim, Doctor?”
From the corner of my eye I could make out movement behind the man, but he appeared to be oblivious to it so I kept my position, my hands held high. “Six inches above my head would be a good spot,” I said.
Harris put his head on one side, eyes narrowed. “Do not play games with me, sir. If you are to be flippant then I shall choose for you. A shattered kneecap is I believe exquisitely painful – shall we begin there?” His finger tightened on the trigger, the gun moved downwards and I held my breath.
“Perhaps you would care to discover how painful a shattered skull can be,” said a weak but commanding voice from Harris’s shoulder, startling the banker who began to turn – before he could complete the motion Holmes struck him across the back of the head with the butt of my revolver. Harris crumpled to the floor without a sound.
Relief flooded through me, turning my legs to jelly. “You cut that rather fine, Holmes,” I gasped.
He smiled slightly, and leaned heavily against the wall. “It’s a good job you never thought to mention to your readers that I am ambidextrous,” he said, glancing down at the gun he held in his left hand.
***
Author's Note:
I know there is no evidence in the canon to support the idea of Holmes being ambidextrous. However, in the Granada series Jeremy Brett - a left-hander himself - was convinced that Holmes was right-handed and so insisted on doing some things what was for him the wrong way round. This resulted in his Holmes writing with his right hand, but performing tasks requiring more dexterity - such as packing his pipe and striking matches - with his left. I therefore came to the conclusion that his Holmes, at least, is ambidextrous. :)
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 682
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.
ON THE OTHER HAND
“I suggest you stay very still, Doctor Watson, unless you wish me to treat you in the same fashion as your friend,” Harris said, motioning with his pistol for me to raise my hands above my head.
Reluctantly, I complied, leaving the overflowing drawer and the incriminating papers it held. “You won’t get away with this,” I growled, well aware that we had been neatly caught in a trap of the banker’s devising. There was little I could do but brazen it out, as Harris had taken Holmes down with a well-aimed shot to the shoulder mere moments before, and my revolver was out of reach. I glanced anxiously again at my friend, who slumped against the wall on the other side of the room, blood pooling on his coat. I could not tell from where I stood whether he was conscious or not – he still appeared to be breathing, thank God, but he had not moved since the bullet struck him, throwing him to the floor. My gun lay a mere two feet from his outstretched hand.
Harris smiled. “And how precisely are you intending to stop me? You are hardly in a position to negotiate: I have every advantage. Oh, there’s no point looking for help from that quarter, Doctor,” he added, nodding towards Holmes as though reading my mind. He laughed; a girlish giggling which set my teeth on edge. “I read your memoirs in The Strand – I know that Mr Holmes here is right-handed, and I took special care to incapacitate his dominant arm. It appears though that he’s not as clever as you make him out to be. It was child’s play to catch you both in here – you really must try harder, Mr Holmes, or your reputation will suffer!”
Holmes made no reaction.
“The police are moving in on this building as we speak, Harris,” I declared, hoping against hope that Holmes’s message had reached Gregson and the inspector was even now heading this way. “They will not allow you to leave this building except in custody.”
“I doubt that very much,” the banker said, moving to the window and easing back the blind a fraction. The gun never wavered, pointed straight at my heart. “You see, if it hadn’t been for Mr Holmes’s meddling, they would never have latched onto me in the first place. I’ll be away from here and on a boat to the continent before anyone has even realised that the two of you are missing.” He turned back to us, taking a firmer grip upon the pistol, chubby face set now in determination. “I don’t think I’ll kill you: that would be too quick. Instead I’ll give you the opportunity to bleed to death. Is there anywhere in particular you would prefer me to aim, Doctor?”
From the corner of my eye I could make out movement behind the man, but he appeared to be oblivious to it so I kept my position, my hands held high. “Six inches above my head would be a good spot,” I said.
Harris put his head on one side, eyes narrowed. “Do not play games with me, sir. If you are to be flippant then I shall choose for you. A shattered kneecap is I believe exquisitely painful – shall we begin there?” His finger tightened on the trigger, the gun moved downwards and I held my breath.
“Perhaps you would care to discover how painful a shattered skull can be,” said a weak but commanding voice from Harris’s shoulder, startling the banker who began to turn – before he could complete the motion Holmes struck him across the back of the head with the butt of my revolver. Harris crumpled to the floor without a sound.
Relief flooded through me, turning my legs to jelly. “You cut that rather fine, Holmes,” I gasped.
He smiled slightly, and leaned heavily against the wall. “It’s a good job you never thought to mention to your readers that I am ambidextrous,” he said, glancing down at the gun he held in his left hand.
***
I know there is no evidence in the canon to support the idea of Holmes being ambidextrous. However, in the Granada series Jeremy Brett - a left-hander himself - was convinced that Holmes was right-handed and so insisted on doing some things what was for him the wrong way round. This resulted in his Holmes writing with his right hand, but performing tasks requiring more dexterity - such as packing his pipe and striking matches - with his left. I therefore came to the conclusion that his Holmes, at least, is ambidextrous. :)
