Still on the Quest

There was a certain pleasure in being forced to abdicate, to follow at random the wide and narrow paths of a fascinating world. But as Sherlock Holmes strode the ancient camel paths of the Silk Road, he knew that his respite was temporary. Too soon he reached the ancient city of Bactria (Balkh, the Afghans called it, since their conquest not half a century gone). There, in the shadows of an empire crumbling into dust, where Zarathustra had once sought the balance between truth and lies, he felt the pull of distant fog-bound streets and a friend to walk beside.

"Colleague?" Sherlock asked.

John's ears reddened. "Yeah, well," he mumbled, "I didn't want that smarmy bastard to cry confidentiality and send me away, so I promoted myself."

Sherlock shook his head a fraction, as if recalibrating his thoughts, one eyebrow flying. "Ah. 'Colleague' implies a need to know, and 'partner' would have been misconstrued, as would 'flatmate'."

"And bankers don't hand 'friends' money." John held out the cheque, shrugging his apology. "One of us ought to be able to pay the rent."

Sherlock ignored the offering. "Keep it," he ordered. "One of us needs to remember to pay the rent."













Nudged into being by a wonderful fic over here

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Title: Convalescence
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: G
Character(s): Watson, Ives
Summary: Watson gains a locum
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: Ives is still borrowed from Pompey. For the "hurt/comfort" prompt

Not brain fever, but the same scarlatina which had taken Mary had laid me low, Ives explained, quite gently so I knew he still thought me half-mad with grief. Even moreso when he offered to accompany me back to Kensington, and act as my locum until I had recovered enough to resume my practice, having nothing better to do in his retirement.

I was glad of the company, but two weeks of endless cups of tea and solicitous inquiries finally broke my patience. "Why are you still here?" I demanded one morning.

Ives reddened. "I've been reading your correspondence again."






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Title: Persecution
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: PG
Character(s): Watson, Ives
Summary: Watson reads a record of spiraling threats
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: the plot is borrowed from 'The Covenant and the Oath", but the prompt is for the collection of odd words.

An odd phrase here and there seemed to jump from the scrawled threats which Ives had kept sandwiched between the pages of my railway timetable. I was lower than a snake, it seemed; deserved to be bled white; was a proven coward, having survived Maiwand; would see justice done to me, and soon.

I looked at Ives. "You're not the only one getting them," he said. "Other doctors… other Army doctors from India, have been threatened. And one of them has been shot at." He shook his head. "Too bad your friend Holmes is dead."

"I don't think he is."






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Title: Correspondence
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: G
Character(s): Ives, Mycroft Holmes
Summary: When guardians collide
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: for the "post it notes" prompt

W KNOWS STOP IVES

KNOWS WHICH QUERY M

KNOWS ABOUT THREATS STOP ALSO INSISTS S AVAILABLE QUERY IVES

THREATS STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION BY SCOTLAND YARD STOP M

W SAYS SCOTLAND YARD TOO SLOW STOP I AGREE STOP IVES

NO ONE HURT STOP M

YET STOP W INSISTS S AVAILABLE QUERY IVES

SUGGEST YOU RE-READ STRAND STOP M

THAT IS NOT AN ANSWER STOP IVES

W HAS EVIDENCE QUERY M

NO STOP BUT IS BEGINNING TO CONVINCE ME STOP IVES

BUT CAN HE CONVINCE ME QUERY M

W RECOVERED ENOUGH TO TRAVEL STOP IVES

BRING HIM TO DIOGENES WEDNESDAY STOP M



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Title: Ouroborous
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: G
Character(s): Watson
Summary:
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: for Alpha and Omega.

No sooner did Dr. Ives inform me that Mycroft Holmes had agreed to meet with me than my nightmares returned in force. My father’s words seemed to echo in my head, but ghosts did not get burned by the sun, and I pinned my hopes to that small discrepancy, and tmy anger to all the times that Holmes had left me ignorant of his plans. Round and round my hopes and fears and anger and doubts ran, until I was no longer sure whether I wanted to be right or wrong.

I only knew I wanted an end to uncertainty.



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Title: Wednesday
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: G
Character(s): Mycroft Holmes, Watson, Ives, Sherlock Holmes
Summary: Journeys end…
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: for the "actions speak louder than words" prompt


My limbs trembled as we were escorted through the corridors. So much depended on a memory so entangled in grief and fever that I was no longer confident it was true. Yet as we were escorted into the Stranger’s Room I kept my head high. It would not do to show a weakness to a man like Mycroft Holmes.

But it was not Mycroft Holmes who stood by the bay window. Not Mycroft who turned to face me with uncertainty in his grey eyes and a hand held out in unspoken apology.

I reached to take it. Words could wait.




yes, this is a lump, but I'm tired and I have to go to bed.

I came to myself briefly as I was being lifted into a carriage, and caught a glimpse of a hand I knew as well as my own, the familiar scars standing out white against an unfamiliar tan. But I could not trace the hand to the face before the prick of a hypodermic needle sent me back into darkness.

When next I woke I was in a world of white sheets and carbolic, and Dr. Ives was standing by my bed. For a moment, I thought myself back in Peshawar, still gripped by typhoid fever.

"Was it all a dream?"






Author's Notes: Ives is borrowed from Pompey's stories "On Afghanistan's Plains" and for this story, "The Covenant and the Oath". For the "playing in another sandbox" prompt at wwoes. Follows Tremors.

Author's Note: Follows Illusion And there's more internet research if you like.

( Warning: Gruesome Character Death )

Title: Illusion
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: G
Character(s): Watson, Holmes, Mycroft
Summary: At Mary's funeral.
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: follows Missive. For the amnesty prompt of a pivotal plot point at Watson's Woes, as we enter into an AU.



When I rose to give the eulogy my mind could not fix upon the words, and I found myself staring at the mourners, wondering how many of Mary's friends would vanish from my life. My own friends were scattered and few, not counting the men I had met through Sherlock Holmes. Lestrade. Gregson. Even his brother, behind whose shoulder stood a man dressed in livery with grey eyes which were... were...

I stared at him for some seconds in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted for the first and the last time in my life.

Title: Missive
Author(s): rabidsamfan
Rating: G
Character(s): Mycroft
Summary: Word arrives in London
Word Count: 100
Author's Notes: For the sentence prompt at WWoes amnesty period. Follows directly upon Premonition.


Mr. Mycroft Holmes was not appreciative of being roused from his slumber a full three and one-half minutes prior to his customary seven o'clock a.m., but when he saw the familiar scrawl on the envelope his valet was holding out as an excuse he forgot his irritation. "Already?" he asked.

"The postmark is Dover, sir," Andrews answered. "I thought you might wish to have him intercepted."

Mycroft tore open the envelope, scanned the short note within, and shook his head. "No need," he sighed, wishing for once that omniscience were not a family trait. "He'll meet me at the funeral."

"I had a dream, the other night.
Lowlands, Lowlands, away my John."

The bosun sang with the capstan crew,
As the cliffs of Dover came in view.

"My love she came, all dressed in white.
My Lowlands, away."

A simple song, the work to ease,
It drifted sweetly on the breeze.

"She did not speak, no word she said.
Lowlands, Lowlands, away my John."

A listener stood beside the rail,
His visage had gone deathly pale.

"And then I knew, my love was dead.
My Lowlands, away."

Sherlock Holmes was caught unwary;
Now he knew why he'd dreamt of Mary.




This is for the "rhyme" prompt of the amnesty/extra credit prompts at Wwoes. Whether I can make them all be for the same story is yet to be determined. Concerning the song, in the way of folksongs, I learned different words (and a slightly different tune) than I can find on the net, but if you'd like something close to what it might sound like try this.

When the pain from his left shoulder finally allowed it, he noticed that he was thirsty, and that his right hand was cold and wet. He lifted it, bringing the heavy sleeve to his lips where he could suckle at it like a birthblind kitten.

"Sir?"

He opened his eyes, saw the roof of the karez above him, the light from a nearby vertical shaft reflected up in bright patterns from the channel of water. Young Murray was huddled against the far wall, shivering with exhaustion and the fear of being left alone. "I thought you were dead."

"Not yet."







The last July prompt, although there's an amnesty list. And I've indulged in Internet research again! here, here,
here, and here.