Miscellanea
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the affiliated characters or ideas--their creator is the remarkable Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
KS: Pft. Randomness. I'm cleaning out my fic folder.
Enjoy!
Holmes sat in his chair before the fire across from Watson; the doctor had lost three patients that day and had felt miserable ever since. Holmes had been endeavouring to lift his spirits, but he found that no matter what he tried, he could not. It was a very confusing and problematic situation. He wished to go to bed, for to-morrow he was to set out on a case, but with Watson acting so very unlike himself he could not. Watson had admitted he felt better, and that was some consolation, but even though he could not quite fully understand these matters of the heart he knew Watson was far from well.
It was growing late. Though while on a case Holmes had a most remarkable ability to stay awake for days, while off a case he could succumb to the desire to sleep like any other mortal, and his lids were growing heavy. He resorted to blinking much to keep himself alert in the silence as he tried to think of some method to help his friend further. Seeing him in such a depressed state was most disturbing.
The detective's head had begun to sink when Watson spoke.
"I'm sorry, Holmes. I don't want to feel this way, but….they were all so young…"
"Mm…" Holmes muttered, resting his head against his fist. "I know. Losing a client or patient is never an easy thing."
Watson looked up at his friend at hearing his drawled reply. His lids were slowly sliding closed, but he stirred himself before he fell asleep.
"I suppose it's time we go to bed," Watson remarked.
Holmes nodded, "Possibly. Are you quite ready to?"
"I think so."
"Mm, good," Holmes said, setting aside his long-extinguished pipe. "I'm afraid I was little help besides. I become rather slow and stupid when I do manage to get tired."
"Oh, never, Holmes. I don't recall any time when the word 'stupid' or 'slow' could be used to describe you."
"Mm…" Holmes nodded, "I'm afraid it's so. It's especially worse if after long periods without a case." He gave a small yawn, hiding it behind a thin hand. "Remember that affair of the priest, Father Bedevere? Or Mrs. Rachel Fairchild. Or the dustman, Langley? I'm afraid I was most disappointing on those occasions. Slow and blind as a beetle!"
"Your definition of 'slow and stupid' is a much different one than mine, Holmes."
The detective gave a slight shrug. "They are still instances of stupidity."
"Hm. I suppose the reason I don't remember them is because each time you recover so beautifully."
Holmes paused, his eyes opening wide. He looked at Watson for a few moments searchingly, and then averted his eyes. A light pink flush was upon his gaunt cheeks; Watson saw his expression and smiled faintly. If there was anything in the world that could catch Sherlock Holmes off his guard, it was unexpected genuine praise from a friend.
KS: Thank you for reading, do not forget to review!