The Downside of Baker Street- Potter(y)'s Revenge
Authors Note: Born out of pity for those poor souls who live near Holmes, because we all know that he musty be the WORST tenant in London!
Disclaimer: I own Mr. Potter, but I do not own 2a.m revolver practice, or the darlings know as Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. Borrow Mr. Potter if you wish, but PM or e-mail me first. You can find my e-mail in my profile.
Mr. Potter groaned and rolled over, one hand reaching up to thump on the wall. He was getting too old for this. Especially for this. . . neighbour! Who else would have revolver practice at two in the morning but Sherlock Holmes! Especially revolver practice held indoors. Silently hoping that Mrs. Hudson, bless her heart, would wring their necks one day, he got up. Revolver practice would last until Doctor Watson got fed up enough to show Mr. Holmes that he was still the better shot, at which point there would be a slamming door, and blessed silence for the rest of the night.
Unfortunately, early the next morning, there would be a bellow at some ungodly hour – Mr. Holmes using his lungs to enact revenge on the Doctor, – a loud thump as the Doctor fell out of bed, a slamming door as he chased his vengeful compatriot out of the room, and then (please, let it be so ) silence for a time.
However, silence never lasted long when you were living next Sherlock Holmes. The rest of the day would be interrupted by explosions, shouts, yells, the occasional scream, more revolver practice, and yet more slamming of doors. It didn't bear thinking about what poor Mrs. Hudson went through on a daily basis, much less the sitting room.
Groaning again, Mr. Potter rose.
He didn't really mind living next to Mr. Homes. Really. It was most amusing to watch the assortment of people he admitted (or rather, Mrs. Hudson admitted) to his home on a daily basis, ranging from nobility, more than one cabinet minister, the occasional street urchin, and everything in between. Nor did he mind the noise. Sometimes. The violin music was quite nice when it wafted over, and the laughter was a welcome change of pace.
But, revolver practice at 2 o'clock in the morning was where he drew the line.
Picking up a piece of pottery his wife wouldn't miss (and if she did, it would have given it's life for a noble cause), he carefully opened the window and waited.
He didn't have to wait long.
It was mere moments before the gunfire began, presumably having stopped for the purpose of reloading. When it had begun again, Mr. Potter drew back his arm, took aim, and threw that piece of pottery as hard as he could.
"SHUT UP!"
Closing the window, having made his statement, the only sound was the muted applause from the other houses in the neighbourhood.
Thank you for reading this far, this was the first fic I wrote for Holmes, and I wouldappreciate feedback. Like it, hate it, want to tear your eyes out? Tell me! Thanks!