a/n:prompt from MyelleWhite: - Holmes wakes from a dream to find Watson was never real at all. He had just been in a very vivid dream...his reaction could be either sorrow or disbelief... (but do not mix them...have fun with that LOL)-
Holmes and companions do not belong to me.
Thanks to anonymous for very kind reviews:)
And wishing everyone a very happy new year.
POV of Holmes.
Dream
Hooves were striking cobbles as another day was starting;
He woke and stretched contentedly and got up out of bed.
A quiet day was planned, to follow yesterday's excitement.
He'd have a word with Watson, and discuss the day ahead.
A clatter: Mrs. Hudson with the breakfast tray approaching?
But no: an unexpected, old familiar sound instead.
~o~
The crashing of a breakfast tray, a cry of sheer frustration;
A loud and angry swearing then the slamming of a door.
Holmes shivered as he studied his immediate surroundings;
And recognized a room he'd lived in many years before.
Montague, not Baker Street, his past unpleasant lodgings;
The rooms he could have sworn he'd left ten years ago, or more!
~0~
But where was Mrs. Hudson? And where on earth was Watson?
And what about the bullet riddled letters on the wall?
And what about the butter dish, pipe rack and Persian slipper?
And the desk with pens and journals where his flat mate liked to scrawl?
And where were all his letters, pinned to mantelpiece with jack knife?
And who had moved the cane and bag, which should be in the hall?
~0~
Why wasn't he in Baker Street? His home had simply vanished;
He'd lost the last ten years or so, he did not understand.
A shrewish rent collector had replaced dear Mrs. Hudson;
No friend to share adventures with, no copies of "The Strand"
No cozy fire side chairs where two could smoke and talk together.
His life was not progressing in the way which he had planned.
~0~
He caught his own reflection, as he passed a hallway mirror,
He glanced, then did a double take, considered what he'd seen
He looked a good deal younger than he really had expected.
As though the years at Baker Street had never really been.
He'd lived here once, then found the ideal partnership and lodgings;
But something odd had happened to the decade in between.
~o~
He stood, quite deep in thought as he reviewed the implications,
Still shaken by the notion that his closest friend had gone.
Eliminating options as he reached a sad conclusion;
The only explanation as to what was going on.
He'd dreamt the whole scenario of Baker Street and Watson,
And this, in fact, was still the year of eighteen eighty one.
~o~
Now what? The chance to build a brand new, better, brighter future?
The perfect opportunity? A different hand to play?
And yet...the local paper: "flat in Baker Street for renting";
The weekly rate seemed reasonable for two, perhaps, to pay.
He'd have a word with Stamford, and head out to study bloodstains;
And listen for a limping tread which might just pass his way...
~0~