Welcome. I am glad you are here. As always, prompts will be at the end. Please, enjoy.
John Watson couldn't help himself: he paused to look, peering over his friend's shoulder. "A bird?"
"Yes, Watson, very perceptive of you. I'll make a detective of you yet," Sherlock Holmes murmured, the sarcasm which laced his voice muted by the charcoal stick sticking out the corner of his mouth like a forgotten cigarette.
"I like the colours," Watson murmured, leaning closer to get a better look. "It's unusual."
Holmes lifted one hand that had been holding down his paper and waved it vaguely through the air.
Watson ignored the dismissal. "It's very good. What kind of bird is it?"
"I do not recall," Holmes grumbled. "I am drawing from memory, and it is deucedly difficult with you hanging over me."
"Do you often draw?" In truth, seeing his friend bent intently over a sketch was what had intrigued Watson in the first place.
"No, and it, also, is deucedly difficult, so would you mind?" He waved his hand again.
"Why start now? And why a bird?" Watson asked, sliding onto the bench seat next to him and stoically ignoring the hand flapping in his face.
Holmes finally grunted, put his pastels down, popped the charcoal out of his mouth, and sighed. "Very well, Watson, I was envious. Is that what you want to hear?"
"No," Watson said slowly, "it's not. I wanted to know what kind of bird it is. I think we're talking at cross purposes: what exactly are you referring to?"
"You, Watson. When I asked you yesterday to describe what the hallmarks of an animal attack would be, your drawing was perfect. I suppose I'd never seen the value of honing my drawing skills for the purposes of the science of deduction since I can recall things clearly in my own mind, but seeing your skill made me reconsider. Thus, this little exercise. I saw this bird once, in Asia, and challenged myself to recreate it so accurately that I could open one of my reference books and locate it."
"And I really was just wanting to know what bird you were drawing and why." Watson spoke jovially and smiled disarmingly, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You know, Holmes, the reason I can draw is because I have to. I'm a doctor, I study anatomy. I assure you, my university days were spent getting far more acquainted with cadavers than I'd ever wanted to be. Name any part of human anatomy, inside or out, and I can sketch it for you. And, as far as a bird or a crime scene goes, surely cameras will soon replace all paper drawings?"
Finally, Holmes smiled, too. "Perhaps," he conceded, "though I'd like to make a record of some of the crime scenes I've borne witness to in the past. I believe reconstructing them may prove beneficial to future detectives who take up the science of deduction." He frowned down at his bird. "I believe I have a ways to go, however. As you can imagine, I did not pursue the arts very ardently as a boy."
"I think," Watson said, "that it's better than you know. Let's see if you did it."
"Hmm?"
"Recreated it enough that it could be identified. Don't tell me, let me see if I can find it." Watson crossed to the bookshelf, skimming his fingers across the different spines before snatching one in particular and flipping it open. They looked over the pages together, trying to find the double to Holmes' sketch. And even though they didn't find it, somehow Sherlock Holmes didn't feel quite so envious anymore.
For the prompt from Book girl fan - a bird of unusual colouring