charleygirl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charleygirl) wrote2009-10-27 06:29 pm
charleygirl) wrote2009-10-27 06:29 pm
Entry tags:
Fic | Sherlock Holmes | Jottings from a Doctor's Journal 27/?
Title: Jottings from a Doctor's Journal 27/?
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 1005
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.
SAY IT WITH FLOWERS
“Holmes?”
Even from my room up on the second floor I could tell it was he who had closed the front door with such force and then hurried up the stairs. His footsteps paused on the landing below and so I called his name again; a moment later he appeared upon the threshold, still wearing his hat and coat and – bizarrely – brandishing a huge bouquet of flowers.
“What is it?” he asked, sharp eyes running anxiously over my bedridden form. “Do you need something? Are you having a relapse?”
I could not help laughing, much to his consternation. For the last three days I had been trying to convince him that I was merely suffering from a heavy cold and was not in any danger of expiring in the near future. Sceptical, he spent so much of his time hovering around me that in the end I was forced to send him away lest he drive me mad. Holmes hated anyone fussing over him, but when the positions were reversed and I was the one laid up he was worse than the most suffocating mother hen. Today, however, he had been conspicuous by his absence.
“I’m fine, really,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to startle you; I was just feeling a little lonely. It’s rather isolated up here and I’ve not seen a soul all afternoon. Where have you been?”
“Out,” he said, throwing his hat onto the bed and sitting down beside it, narrowly avoiding my feet. “I thought it best to make myself scarce under the circumstances.”
“Surely you didn’t take my banishing you from my bedside yesterday that seriously?” I gestured to the flowers he was still holding and added with a mischievous smile, “It’s a nice idea, old man, but you didn’t need to go to all that trouble. A bag of grapes would have sufficed.”
Holmes blinked at me, uncomprehending, before his face cleared and he glanced down at the elaborate bouquet. “These aren’t for you. I bought them as a peace-offering for Mrs Hudson. She is rather…irked with me.”
“Ah. I did notice she was somewhat out of sorts when she brought up my luncheon. What did you do this time? You can’t have blown up the sitting room, for I would have heard the explosion and probably be sitting in the kitchen by now without needing to take the stairs.”
A pained expression crossed Holmes’s face, and he didn’t respond to my joking. “It was nothing to do with the house this time.”
“Not the garden.” I felt my face fall. “Oh, Holmes, you didn’t…”
“How was I to know a simple experiment would have that effect?” he demanded, his voice rising an octave as he straightened defensively. “It was merely a little compound introduced to the soil – I wanted to record its actions when combined with organic tissue.”
Quite suddenly I could feel my face growing hot, as though my fever was returning - my recovery seemed to be going into reverse. I could not leave the unemployed Holmes alone for five minutes without him wreaking some havoc or other upon the household, and it appeared that now he was spreading the chaos he created into the outside world. “Could you not have taken a sample of the soil and conducted your experiments upon that instead?” I asked him plaintively. “The garden is Mrs Hudson’s pride and joy – she has put hours of work into it!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” he shot back at me.
“How much of it did you destroy?”
Holmes shifted uncomfortably under my stern gaze, like a naughty schoolboy before the headmaster. “About…seventy-two percent.”
“Good grief.” I sagged limply against the pillows, in my mind’s eye seeing Mrs Hudson even now writing out an eviction order. She had put up with much from Holmes over the years, from his setting fire to the carpet, to the patriotic VR in revolver bullets which decorated the sitting room wall, but this was surely the last straw.
“I hope you don’t think I did it on purpose,” he said when I was silent for some minutes.
“I don’t know what to think,” I said, finding a handkerchief under the bedclothes and using it to mop my brow. As I did I looked at the bouquet he had laid down on the coverlet and continued, “No, actually, I do. I think that buying Mrs Hudson flowers by way of apology is rather tactless, Holmes. Don’t you?”
He picked up the bouquet, which from the look of what appeared to be a yard and a half of ribbon decorating it must have been expensive, and frowned at it. “You have always led me to believe that women like this sort of thing.”
“I doubt any woman would be appreciative of such a gift when the man who bought it had just destroyed three quarters of their beloved garden,” I pointed out, marvelling yet again at the complete ignorance of the greatest brain in England when it came to the subject of the fair sex.
“Then what do you suggest?” he asked. “You have far greater experience with the irrational creatures than I.”
“My advice,” I said, “would be to find out which plants it was that you killed and replace them, preferably with your own hands. You will probably need to order some bags of topsoil as well, since you have apparently contaminated most of that which was already there. When you have the garden at least partly returned to its former glory, Mrs Hudson just might start to forgive you.”
“Watson!” Holmes stared at me, horrified. “Do not forget that reprehensible list you made when we first took rooms together. There was a very good reason you rated my knowledge of practical gardening as ‘nil’!”
“Well, then,” I said, turning over and pulling the covers up to my shoulders, forcing him to get to his feet. “Now will be the perfect time for you to learn, will it not?”
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 1005
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.
SAY IT WITH FLOWERS
“Holmes?”
Even from my room up on the second floor I could tell it was he who had closed the front door with such force and then hurried up the stairs. His footsteps paused on the landing below and so I called his name again; a moment later he appeared upon the threshold, still wearing his hat and coat and – bizarrely – brandishing a huge bouquet of flowers.
“What is it?” he asked, sharp eyes running anxiously over my bedridden form. “Do you need something? Are you having a relapse?”
I could not help laughing, much to his consternation. For the last three days I had been trying to convince him that I was merely suffering from a heavy cold and was not in any danger of expiring in the near future. Sceptical, he spent so much of his time hovering around me that in the end I was forced to send him away lest he drive me mad. Holmes hated anyone fussing over him, but when the positions were reversed and I was the one laid up he was worse than the most suffocating mother hen. Today, however, he had been conspicuous by his absence.
“I’m fine, really,” I told him. “I didn’t mean to startle you; I was just feeling a little lonely. It’s rather isolated up here and I’ve not seen a soul all afternoon. Where have you been?”
“Out,” he said, throwing his hat onto the bed and sitting down beside it, narrowly avoiding my feet. “I thought it best to make myself scarce under the circumstances.”
“Surely you didn’t take my banishing you from my bedside yesterday that seriously?” I gestured to the flowers he was still holding and added with a mischievous smile, “It’s a nice idea, old man, but you didn’t need to go to all that trouble. A bag of grapes would have sufficed.”
Holmes blinked at me, uncomprehending, before his face cleared and he glanced down at the elaborate bouquet. “These aren’t for you. I bought them as a peace-offering for Mrs Hudson. She is rather…irked with me.”
“Ah. I did notice she was somewhat out of sorts when she brought up my luncheon. What did you do this time? You can’t have blown up the sitting room, for I would have heard the explosion and probably be sitting in the kitchen by now without needing to take the stairs.”
A pained expression crossed Holmes’s face, and he didn’t respond to my joking. “It was nothing to do with the house this time.”
“Not the garden.” I felt my face fall. “Oh, Holmes, you didn’t…”
“How was I to know a simple experiment would have that effect?” he demanded, his voice rising an octave as he straightened defensively. “It was merely a little compound introduced to the soil – I wanted to record its actions when combined with organic tissue.”
Quite suddenly I could feel my face growing hot, as though my fever was returning - my recovery seemed to be going into reverse. I could not leave the unemployed Holmes alone for five minutes without him wreaking some havoc or other upon the household, and it appeared that now he was spreading the chaos he created into the outside world. “Could you not have taken a sample of the soil and conducted your experiments upon that instead?” I asked him plaintively. “The garden is Mrs Hudson’s pride and joy – she has put hours of work into it!”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” he shot back at me.
“How much of it did you destroy?”
Holmes shifted uncomfortably under my stern gaze, like a naughty schoolboy before the headmaster. “About…seventy-two percent.”
“Good grief.” I sagged limply against the pillows, in my mind’s eye seeing Mrs Hudson even now writing out an eviction order. She had put up with much from Holmes over the years, from his setting fire to the carpet, to the patriotic VR in revolver bullets which decorated the sitting room wall, but this was surely the last straw.
“I hope you don’t think I did it on purpose,” he said when I was silent for some minutes.
“I don’t know what to think,” I said, finding a handkerchief under the bedclothes and using it to mop my brow. As I did I looked at the bouquet he had laid down on the coverlet and continued, “No, actually, I do. I think that buying Mrs Hudson flowers by way of apology is rather tactless, Holmes. Don’t you?”
He picked up the bouquet, which from the look of what appeared to be a yard and a half of ribbon decorating it must have been expensive, and frowned at it. “You have always led me to believe that women like this sort of thing.”
“I doubt any woman would be appreciative of such a gift when the man who bought it had just destroyed three quarters of their beloved garden,” I pointed out, marvelling yet again at the complete ignorance of the greatest brain in England when it came to the subject of the fair sex.
“Then what do you suggest?” he asked. “You have far greater experience with the irrational creatures than I.”
“My advice,” I said, “would be to find out which plants it was that you killed and replace them, preferably with your own hands. You will probably need to order some bags of topsoil as well, since you have apparently contaminated most of that which was already there. When you have the garden at least partly returned to its former glory, Mrs Hudson just might start to forgive you.”
“Watson!” Holmes stared at me, horrified. “Do not forget that reprehensible list you made when we first took rooms together. There was a very good reason you rated my knowledge of practical gardening as ‘nil’!”
“Well, then,” I said, turning over and pulling the covers up to my shoulders, forcing him to get to his feet. “Now will be the perfect time for you to learn, will it not?”
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LOL! try saying that when you're drunk! Really enjoyed this - but then i always do :))
no subject
Glad you liked it. :)
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Oh, Holmes.
I just had the most wonderful mental picture of him on his knees rooting about in the flowerbeds.
And just how did he destroy approximately 72% of Mrs Hudson's garden? *has visions of giant snails munching their way through everything in sight*
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It was something chemical. Being rubbish at science I'm not attempting to make it any more specific. :)
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I loved it. Thank you so much for writing it!
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