A/N: Surely it's not December again?! ... Really? You're sure? Well, once more unto the breach, dear friends. :-) I am overjoyed to tackle this challenge with you all. A huge thanks to Hades for organising it and being utter awesomesauce as always!
Prompt at the end for my first response.
Symphony
The moon is nearly a quarter full, a lopsided grin inside a pale greying face, distant worlds away, and Watson can hear music.
He is near Whitechapel, the buildings huddled together like lost boys sharing secrets, chimneys bowed and roofs sagging. The gutters carry the melting dregs of the previous night's snow, trampled down to slush, and he can hear music.
He is unsure where it is coming from. The ground beneath him is hard and cold. His clothes are damp. There is something wrong with this, something missing ... something he cannot put his finger on.
He stretches out an arm. Pain spears his chest and he inhales sharply between his teeth, returns the arm to his side.
The moon's grin broadens at his discomfort, and Watson continues to hear music.
Beethoven, sonata number fourteen, which feels ironic. Coins flinting in the guttering light. Cards curled at the edges from being handled by so many fingers. This much he remembers.
He waits a minute, an hour, perhaps more, and just as the pain becomes unbearable Holmes materializes by his side.
Relief washes through Watson. He is grateful for the detective's appearance, hopes now things will begin to make sense.
Holmes's face is pinched. Concern glints in his eyes. There is a faded smudge of dirt across Holmes's cheek, and Watson wants to reach for his handkerchief, rub the imperfection away, but everything hurts too much. Holmes speaks but Watson doesn't hear it. Watson manages to shake his head, but even this slight movement costs him dearly and the darkening sky claws at his vision.
Holmes reaches out to Watson. His hands touch the doctor's head, keeps him still.
He loses consciousness as the ocean rushes to greet him, and it is Heaven, the best kind of music, soft rasping waves delivered between warm palms.
End
Prompt 01: From Domina Temporis – Music.
A/N II: *Sips tea casually* Well now … you guys know I can't resist a bit of angst and a cliffy …