December 28: "Rugby match" (from Hades Lord of the Dead)
A/N: Sequel to yesterday's...
Knock, knock, knock.
Watson briefly wondered if he had enough energy to calm down a hysterical client, if that was the person who was at the door, before hastily preventing Holmes from shouting at their long-suffering landlady.
"For goodness' sake, Holmes!" he said. "Give the poor woman a rest; she has an awful cold, remember? I shall answer the door." Watson quickly followed through with his statement, descending the stairs and opening the door. The man on the other side was blown rather than walked in, along with what seemed to be half of the snow on the block.
The visitor, a clean-shaven man about two inches taller than Watson with dark hair and lively blue eyes, stood panting for a moment, after which he sighed and growled, "If I'd known the weather would get this bad I would have waited till tomorrow!"
There was something vaguely familiar about the face and the slightly Scottish accent of the voice, but Watson couldn't quite place it.
"Have you come to consult Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" asked Watson.
The man shook his head and brushed some of the snow off of his shoulders. "No, I'm here to deliver something to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson." He smiled at the doctor. "Remember me, Watson?"
Suddenly, Watson's eyes lit up with recognition. "Is that you, Burgess?"
Burgess laughed. "I wondered if you'd recognize me! We haven't seen one another in... good heavens, has it really been seventeen years now?"
"It has," said Watson almost disbelievingly, now grinning as well. "Come up to the sitting room! It's far too chilly down here to carry on a conversation." As they started up the stairs, Watson asked, "What have you been doing with yourself, after you broke your nose for the fifth time in that last match?"
Burgess reached up and rubbed his nose absently. "It never has been quite the same," he admitted cheerfully. "I inherited that orphanage after my uncle died eight years ago. Before that, I worked on the railroad in Aberdeen." They reached the top of the stairs, and Holmes looked up from the morning paper he had been cutting apart.
Watson introduced them to each other. "Holmes, this is my old rugby teammate, Peter Burgess; Burgess, this is Sherlock Holmes."
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Holmes," said Burgess cordially. "I learned about you from Watson's stories in the Strand."
Holmes chose to (for once) avoid poking fun at Watson's writings, and instead asked, "What brings you here on a day like this?" He gestured toward the window, outside of which the weather was becoming steadily worse.
"The staff at the orphanage where you two so kindly volunteered yesterday wanted to thank you both for your help," he said. "I recognized Watson's name, so I decided to bring them over myself." He pulled a brown paper bag out of one of the pockets in his overcoat. "There are two cookies in there, one for each of you." Then he added, almost as an explanation: "There were a few left over at the end."
"Thank you very much, Burgess," said Watson, taking the bag from him and setting it on the table.
Burgess smiled. "I'll pass your thanks on to the ladies who baked the cookies." He paused for a moment. "We'll have to have a good chat sometime, maybe over lunch somewhere. I'll come back when the weather's a bit more..."
"Agreeable?" suggested Watson.
Burgess glanced out the window. "Well, I had best get going before the storm gets any worse." Watson took a step toward the doorway, but Burgess stopped him. "I'll find my own way out; you just stay warm up here."
Watson nodded. "Be sure to watch out for that icy patch on the right side, just outside the door."
"I will," he said, already on his way toward the stairs. They heard him descend them, and then the shrieking of the wind before the door closed behind him.
"Peter Burgess, the rugby champion, running an orphanage?" Watson muttered to himself. "Who would have guessed..." he trailed off and shook his head.
A/N: COLOSSAL thanks to my mom for the idea!
I kind of needed it, since I don't know very much about rugby, so I wouldn't be able to write about an actual match.
