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acdholmesfest[Mod Note: A perfect pair of pinch-hitters saved the mods once again. You have our deepest gratitude!]
Title: A Perfect Pair
Recipient: The amazing PinchHitter #1, the wonderful PinchHitter #2
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tweedisgood
Rating: PG
Characters, including any pairing(s): Mr Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson, Mary Morstan; Mr Sherlock Holmes/Dr John Watson
Warnings: None
Summary: Two men, looking towards two futures, at two points in time.
For PinchHitter #1:
I hold my breath as I catch sight of Mary, waiting for me at the altar, neat as a dove in white and silver grey. I let it out again as I see Holmes standing ready to see me off into matrimony, proud as a raven in spotless coal black. I swear to myself, to them, that neither of them will find me wanting. She will build a nest to keep me warm and he will tap at my heart’s window on a rainy night. She will not ask that I leave behind adventure, only that I come home at last with a kiss for her lips and a tale for the fireside. He will not ask to be let in to perch by the cosy hearth, but only lure me out into the night. He will bring me the cold and the dark and the danger, mixed in just the right dose to set my pulses racing.
Together, apart, they are a matchless match for me, this sometimes still divided man. Together, apart, they have healed this wounded physician better than he ever could himself. No-one can know the future, much less conjure it: but if I alone could manage it, this would last lifelong – to stand between, sharing and shared, the world’s only consulting detective and my new bride.
For PinchHitter #2:
I hold my breath as I catch sight of Watson, stepping down from the train in a cloud of steam, smiling as he sees I have come all the way to the station to meet him. I let it out again in a dry bark of greeting as I remember my reflection in the shaving mirror that morning. An old man, perhaps no longer one to hold in awe, to inspire wonder at his genius. I swear to myself then that I shall say nothing. Nothing to oblige him to stay, nothing to force his hand. Nothing of my dreams of late, of the cold and the dark and the danger men like me have lived with all our lives. He will not ask for my secrets. If he guesses them all the same, he will be kind: perhaps more than kind, for I think he has secrets of his own.
Together, not apart, we are a matchless match. No-one, not even the world’s only consulting detective, can deduce the future, much less create it in a test tube; but if I alone could do it, this would be our life from this day on. He who knows me better than I could ever know myself, making a nest here with me, shared and sharing all, board and hearth and bed.
Title: Bark and Bite
Recipient: The amazing PinchHitter #1, the wonderful PinchHitter #2
Author:methylviolet10b
Rating: PG
Characters, including any pairing(s): Mr Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson, mentions of Sir Henry, Stapleton, and the convict on the moor
Warnings: Assumes knowledge of The Hound of the Baskervilles
Summary: The bark and the bite - both are telling.
“Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!” - Watson to Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles
Bark, for PinchHitter #1:
The words slipped out without volition. I wished them unsaid almost immediately. Yet I could not deny them, for they were true. Rather more true than I tried to think or let myself believe.
He does use me: as a biographer, as a steady hand with a gun or a scalpel; as a buffer between the more irascible aspects of his personality and the rest of the world. I soothe things over with officials and station-masters; ease the way with house-maids and ladies; and calm his clients.
I am useful, but not as a confidant. Holmes’ actions speak far more loudly than the fumbling excuses he gives for his deception. As if I, an old campaigner, would be so weak-minded as to risk betraying a man bivouacking in enemy territory by unnecessary visits or worries for his comfort.
No. He had not trusted me, but merely used me as a bodyguard and a blind. I knew it. From the look on his face and the increasing amount of praise he tried to give, Holmes saw that I knew.
I attempted to put my feelings aside, accept Holmes’ words at face value and forget everything but the danger to Sir Henry. But even as he detailed Stapleton’s villainy, I knew Sir Henry was not the only one at risk of feeling betrayed.
Bite, for PinchHitter #2:
I anticipated that Watson’s relief might turn to chagrin once he learned how long I had been on the moor. Yet his cry caught us both by surprise. Watson, for he never meant to betray himself so; myself, for having failed to foresee this consequence.
If I was the perfect reasoning machine of Watson’s stories, I never would have made such a blunder. But I am no more that man than Watson is the lackluster fellow he portrays himself as in those selfsame tales. My hasty attempts to paper over my crime with compliments only made matters worse. I saw the realization of how he had been used bite deeply into Watson.
He pretended to accept my reasoning, but I did not delude myself. After the adrenaline of the death of the convict and the encounter with Stapleton, Watson was unusually withdrawn. Normally he would have peppered me with questions, but deeper doubts held his attention and his tongue. I spent our walk to Baskerville pondering how I might right this wrong. For my deception had been motivated by respect for the caliber of our foe, not from any doubts about Watson. How to convince my Watson he held my absolute confidence, and always had?
Trusting Watson with the revelation of Sir Hugo’s portrait was the first demonstration of my belief.
Title: A Perfect Pair
Recipient: The amazing PinchHitter #1, the wonderful PinchHitter #2
Author:
tweedisgoodRating: PG
Characters, including any pairing(s): Mr Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson, Mary Morstan; Mr Sherlock Holmes/Dr John Watson
Warnings: None
Summary: Two men, looking towards two futures, at two points in time.
For PinchHitter #1:
I hold my breath as I catch sight of Mary, waiting for me at the altar, neat as a dove in white and silver grey. I let it out again as I see Holmes standing ready to see me off into matrimony, proud as a raven in spotless coal black. I swear to myself, to them, that neither of them will find me wanting. She will build a nest to keep me warm and he will tap at my heart’s window on a rainy night. She will not ask that I leave behind adventure, only that I come home at last with a kiss for her lips and a tale for the fireside. He will not ask to be let in to perch by the cosy hearth, but only lure me out into the night. He will bring me the cold and the dark and the danger, mixed in just the right dose to set my pulses racing.
Together, apart, they are a matchless match for me, this sometimes still divided man. Together, apart, they have healed this wounded physician better than he ever could himself. No-one can know the future, much less conjure it: but if I alone could manage it, this would last lifelong – to stand between, sharing and shared, the world’s only consulting detective and my new bride.
For PinchHitter #2:
I hold my breath as I catch sight of Watson, stepping down from the train in a cloud of steam, smiling as he sees I have come all the way to the station to meet him. I let it out again in a dry bark of greeting as I remember my reflection in the shaving mirror that morning. An old man, perhaps no longer one to hold in awe, to inspire wonder at his genius. I swear to myself then that I shall say nothing. Nothing to oblige him to stay, nothing to force his hand. Nothing of my dreams of late, of the cold and the dark and the danger men like me have lived with all our lives. He will not ask for my secrets. If he guesses them all the same, he will be kind: perhaps more than kind, for I think he has secrets of his own.
Together, not apart, we are a matchless match. No-one, not even the world’s only consulting detective, can deduce the future, much less create it in a test tube; but if I alone could do it, this would be our life from this day on. He who knows me better than I could ever know myself, making a nest here with me, shared and sharing all, board and hearth and bed.
Title: Bark and Bite
Recipient: The amazing PinchHitter #1, the wonderful PinchHitter #2
Author:
methylviolet10bRating: PG
Characters, including any pairing(s): Mr Sherlock Holmes, Dr John Watson, mentions of Sir Henry, Stapleton, and the convict on the moor
Warnings: Assumes knowledge of The Hound of the Baskervilles
Summary: The bark and the bite - both are telling.
“Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!” - Watson to Holmes, The Hound of the Baskervilles
Bark, for PinchHitter #1:
The words slipped out without volition. I wished them unsaid almost immediately. Yet I could not deny them, for they were true. Rather more true than I tried to think or let myself believe.
He does use me: as a biographer, as a steady hand with a gun or a scalpel; as a buffer between the more irascible aspects of his personality and the rest of the world. I soothe things over with officials and station-masters; ease the way with house-maids and ladies; and calm his clients.
I am useful, but not as a confidant. Holmes’ actions speak far more loudly than the fumbling excuses he gives for his deception. As if I, an old campaigner, would be so weak-minded as to risk betraying a man bivouacking in enemy territory by unnecessary visits or worries for his comfort.
No. He had not trusted me, but merely used me as a bodyguard and a blind. I knew it. From the look on his face and the increasing amount of praise he tried to give, Holmes saw that I knew.
I attempted to put my feelings aside, accept Holmes’ words at face value and forget everything but the danger to Sir Henry. But even as he detailed Stapleton’s villainy, I knew Sir Henry was not the only one at risk of feeling betrayed.
Bite, for PinchHitter #2:
I anticipated that Watson’s relief might turn to chagrin once he learned how long I had been on the moor. Yet his cry caught us both by surprise. Watson, for he never meant to betray himself so; myself, for having failed to foresee this consequence.
If I was the perfect reasoning machine of Watson’s stories, I never would have made such a blunder. But I am no more that man than Watson is the lackluster fellow he portrays himself as in those selfsame tales. My hasty attempts to paper over my crime with compliments only made matters worse. I saw the realization of how he had been used bite deeply into Watson.
He pretended to accept my reasoning, but I did not delude myself. After the adrenaline of the death of the convict and the encounter with Stapleton, Watson was unusually withdrawn. Normally he would have peppered me with questions, but deeper doubts held his attention and his tongue. I spent our walk to Baskerville pondering how I might right this wrong. For my deception had been motivated by respect for the caliber of our foe, not from any doubts about Watson. How to convince my Watson he held my absolute confidence, and always had?
Trusting Watson with the revelation of Sir Hugo’s portrait was the first demonstration of my belief.
