Title: Rest in Torquay
Author(s): Jenny Starseed
Rating: G
Characters: Watson, Holmes.
Summary: Vacationing at a fashionable sea side resort would be a pleasure for anyone except Sherlock Holmes. ACD Canon Universe.
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 583.
Author's Notes: My first Victorian Holmes fic. I set the fic in Torquay because I am also a burgeoning Agatha Christie nerd. Written for Watson' Woe's miniwrimo prompt #5: torch, boat, yellow, pebble, seventeen.
Un-beta-ed and unbritpicked.
Obviously, none of the characters are mine.
Holmes sat listlessly in the train compartment, his grey eyes scanning the scenery before him. He had just solved an exhausting case for his brother Mycroft, a complex diplomatic quagmire of stolen foreign military secrets that involved French diplomats and greedy minor clerks. Watson had no part in this adventure; Mycroft deemed it too confidential to allow a civilian doctor aid Holmes.
In the end, Watson climbed the seventeen steps to find Holmes in his shirtsleeves, his fingers yellow from the constant smoking, lying on the floor with his ear to the floor with a glass of water beside him. Mycroft had wired him to let him know that the case was solved and with the influence of the foreign minister, an all-expenses paid trip to Torquay for rest and recuperation was arranged for Holmes and a doctor next week.
"Greetings Watson," said Holmes, his voice rough with disuse and heavy smoking. "Did you know when Beethoven was deaf, he sawed off the legs of his piano and composed with his ear to the ground? I suppose it would be rather impossible to do with my violin, but that's neither here or there..."
This wasn't a new sight to Watson, he had witnessed three of Holmes' severe bouts of nervous exhaustion and depression. With practised words, he coaxed Holmes off the floor, had him wash, eat and sleep before having a word with Mrs. Hudson. He informed her that Holmes was to receive no more visitors until the next month, the man needed rest.
The next day, the two friends found themselves in a train compartment, on their way to Torquay, an expensive sea sort town that was the height of Victorian fashion. Holmes was predictably sullen and irritable at the thought of idle rest with the wealthy.
"This is intolerable Watson, what am I to do in Torquay?" exclaimed Holmes. "Watch the boats? Skip pebbles in the water like a child?"
"Holmes, you can swim nude in the water for all I care," retorted Watson, "but you are going to rest. As your doctor and friend, I plead with you to think of you health. You are no use to anybody half dead on the floor of Baker Street."
"Maybe I will find a nice spot of murder in Torquay," mused Holmes. "All those men and women of wealth could inspire a crime of passion. I have yet encountered a murder by drowning, I could have my first in Torquay."
"Holmes, imagine all the crimes you want," returned Watson, "but no extreme mental or physical exertion."
Holmes scowled in response. He could be like a sullen child who was denied his favourite sweet. He also looked dreadful, his gaunt face and slight tremor in his hand belied a frailty that Holmes did his best to hide. He was no longer a young man. Still, a bored and depressed Holmes made for terrible company.
"Holmes, suppose we use this time of rest to sharpen your deductive skills of observation," suggested Watson.
Holmes perked up at that. "Continue."
"See if you can accurately deduce a person's occupation, their income and their origins by the state of their dress," Watson explained. "You will have to deduce thirty of them accurately before the week is over."
"Is that all?" asked Holmes. "I can deduce all that in conversation with them. This is just pretense to have me interact with the other visitors. Fine. I grant you, it will alleviate my boredom somewhat."
"Thank heavens for that."