The Grand Reveal, plus...
Apr. 1st, 2020 01:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tweedisgood posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
acdholmesfestThe Case of the Widening Gap
ACD Holmesfest Round 8 Grand Reveal !
Note: those of you who follow my Twitter may be aware that I’m currently missing a false front tooth, which in the current situation won’t be replaced for some months. I’m in no discomfort at all but lisping away I turned to canon and, lo and behold: Holmes was there first, of course. So in that spirit I present the ACD Holmesfest Reveal Post Fic, and below it the list of who gave what to whom.
Many, many thanks to all of you - who deserve whole gardens of roses, but in particular to my stalwart fellow mods and betas,methylviolet10b and spacemutineer, without whom this would definitely not have been possible.
Please do feel free to comment on all and any fics or art you have missed or waited for the reveal to explore, to reply to comments on your gifts or work. Creators please consider adding your piece to our AO3 collection
P.S. The newspaper story below? Is genuine.
“Tell me, Watson: were you ever attracted to the profession of dentistry?”
I put down my paper. Holmes had been in a brown study for the best part of breakfast, which in his case consisted solely of tea and a cigarette. This was the first time that day he had addressed me.
“Not in the least. Why do you ask?”
“Perhaps I am simply curious about my friend’s ambitions, youthful or otherwise.”
“I’ve never known you to be. Just as I must take you as I find you, I’m reassured that you have, by and large, done the same for me.”
He allowed me that, with a nod and a twist of his mobile mouth. After which he winced visibly.
“To come clean, then: the legacy of Mathews, the Charing Cross Station pugilist, has come back to haunt me. At the time I had Caston on the Edgware Road fix me a bridge to tie a new eye-tooth in ivory to the two beside it. I fear those two have suffered for it over the years since; they are both loose and sore.”
The prospect of infection is enough to strike fear into the heart of any doctor. To one who has lost the dearest friend of his soul already, only to witness his miraculous resurrection, the thought that in some dark waiting room fate might only be anticipating a rearranged appointment caught me by the neck.
“You must waste no time, then. Back to Caston this very morning. I insist on it!”
“Hmm. I regret to say that he succumbed to a fire at his house at the end of ‘93, and my dental records with him.”
“His partner, then?”
“A sole practitioner. However, he told me once he is one of a whole family of dentists. Be so good as to pass me over the Kelly’s Directory.”
He leafed through the C’s as carefully as he might his index - between whose pages the shade of Mathews slumbered, doubtless muttering revenge.
“Ha! I still have three Castons to choose from. And like so, I choose,” he declared, stabbing his forefinger onto the page.
“Er, I was about to say, I am acquainted with one or two dentists I could recommend, whom I or patients of mine have found satisfactory. Are you sure that family connection and… your finger…are more reliable guides?”
He regarded the digit in question solemnly.
“My teeth, my finger. No criticism implied, Doctor, I assure you.”
He was in the habit of using my title on a sliding scale from ‘what board of imbeciles granted this fellow a degree’ to ‘my dear friend, you know I have the utmost respect for your (own, limited) field of knowledge, but do knock it off’. This occasion contrived to be simultaneously at both ends of the scale. He had made his decision and that was all there was to it.
A telegram arrived by mid-morning in answer to his own, granting him an appointment first thing the next day – “absolutely the earliest one available, Watson”. At least he consented to gargle with salt in the meantime, and to anoint the affected area with oil of cloves.
I rose late the next morning, to find that Holmes had already gone out. I busied myself with tidy-work, organising notes for a story and sorting my laundry to be sent out, before tackling the news. I was part way reading through an unlikely report about an orchid hunter in Madagascar who, upon returning from an expedition to the interior without his guide, who he claimed had been eaten by wild beasts, was ordered by the guide’s brother (the local chief) to marry the widow or be greased and burned alive, when the sitting room door opened.
My friend was wearing a scarf over the lower half of his face. As the weather was brisk I took no notice of the fact until he kept it on after taking off his coat and, scarf still in place, took down his pipe rack, sat in his chair and shook his head at the row of pipes, frowning as if over the most arcane criminal puzzle.
“Holmes. Something wrong? How did the treatment go?”
In answer he put the pipe rack back on the mantle shelf and unwrapped the muffler to sit once more, mute appeal in his face. To my horror, where his top front teeth should have been appeared to be a gaping hole, stretching as far as his open mouth would show. As I rushed over towards him he turned his head away, as if in shame, and his shoulders began to shake.I had not known he cared so much for his appearance.
It was only when I knelt in front of him, a hand pressed over his in a silent promise that we would, somehow, put this right again, that I realised that what he was in fact doing was laughing.
“Path me a damp toofbruth,if you pleath, Watthon,” he lisped theatrically. Relief made me a coward or I should have soaped it before it went into his mouth.
The gleaming set of a restored smile having emerged once the blacking had been scrubbed away, I had opened my mouth to demand what in heaven’s name he thought he was playing at when, as ever, he leapt ahead of me.
“Oh Watson, just check the date on today’s newspaper, would you?”
I did. Then I threw it at him.
**************************************************
rachelindeed wrote To Cast Light on Each for tweedisgood
mistyzeo wrote The Reigate Revival for mightymads
sanguinity wrote The Taste of Truth for colebaltblue
smallhobbit wrote The Case of the Disappearing Husband for the_last_day_of_winter
mightymads wrote Simplicity Itself for saki101
gardnerhill wrote All Night Long for garonne
the_last_day_of_winter drew An Intimate Moment for rachelindeed
hippcrates460 wrote Love as Fearful Torment for saintdionysus
methylviolet10b recorded a podfic for sanguinity of her story ‘So Keen a Sympathy’
tweedisgood wrote Vocation for ghostbees
capt_facepalm wrote Masterpiece for herself, and wishes you all Happy April Fool’s Day!
garonne wrote Snapping Point for spacemutineer
colebaltblue wrote Found Family for hippcrates460
ghostbees drew Summertime for gardnerhill based on her ficlet Knight Takes King and vintage photographs of Brighton.
saki101 wrote He’s Not Here for smallhobbit
ancientreader wrote as a pinch hit Riddle Me This, Mr Holmes for mistyzeo
spacemutineer wrote Present, Tense for methylviolet10b
methylviolet10b wrote Douillet for our sterling pinch hitter ancientreader
ACD Holmesfest Round 8 Grand Reveal !
Note: those of you who follow my Twitter may be aware that I’m currently missing a false front tooth, which in the current situation won’t be replaced for some months. I’m in no discomfort at all but lisping away I turned to canon and, lo and behold: Holmes was there first, of course. So in that spirit I present the ACD Holmesfest Reveal Post Fic, and below it the list of who gave what to whom.
Many, many thanks to all of you - who deserve whole gardens of roses, but in particular to my stalwart fellow mods and betas,
methylviolet10b and spacemutineer, without whom this would definitely not have been possible.Please do feel free to comment on all and any fics or art you have missed or waited for the reveal to explore, to reply to comments on your gifts or work. Creators please consider adding your piece to our AO3 collection
P.S. The newspaper story below? Is genuine.
“Tell me, Watson: were you ever attracted to the profession of dentistry?”
I put down my paper. Holmes had been in a brown study for the best part of breakfast, which in his case consisted solely of tea and a cigarette. This was the first time that day he had addressed me.
“Not in the least. Why do you ask?”
“Perhaps I am simply curious about my friend’s ambitions, youthful or otherwise.”
“I’ve never known you to be. Just as I must take you as I find you, I’m reassured that you have, by and large, done the same for me.”
He allowed me that, with a nod and a twist of his mobile mouth. After which he winced visibly.
“To come clean, then: the legacy of Mathews, the Charing Cross Station pugilist, has come back to haunt me. At the time I had Caston on the Edgware Road fix me a bridge to tie a new eye-tooth in ivory to the two beside it. I fear those two have suffered for it over the years since; they are both loose and sore.”
The prospect of infection is enough to strike fear into the heart of any doctor. To one who has lost the dearest friend of his soul already, only to witness his miraculous resurrection, the thought that in some dark waiting room fate might only be anticipating a rearranged appointment caught me by the neck.
“You must waste no time, then. Back to Caston this very morning. I insist on it!”
“Hmm. I regret to say that he succumbed to a fire at his house at the end of ‘93, and my dental records with him.”
“His partner, then?”
“A sole practitioner. However, he told me once he is one of a whole family of dentists. Be so good as to pass me over the Kelly’s Directory.”
He leafed through the C’s as carefully as he might his index - between whose pages the shade of Mathews slumbered, doubtless muttering revenge.
“Ha! I still have three Castons to choose from. And like so, I choose,” he declared, stabbing his forefinger onto the page.
“Er, I was about to say, I am acquainted with one or two dentists I could recommend, whom I or patients of mine have found satisfactory. Are you sure that family connection and… your finger…are more reliable guides?”
He regarded the digit in question solemnly.
“My teeth, my finger. No criticism implied, Doctor, I assure you.”
He was in the habit of using my title on a sliding scale from ‘what board of imbeciles granted this fellow a degree’ to ‘my dear friend, you know I have the utmost respect for your (own, limited) field of knowledge, but do knock it off’. This occasion contrived to be simultaneously at both ends of the scale. He had made his decision and that was all there was to it.
A telegram arrived by mid-morning in answer to his own, granting him an appointment first thing the next day – “absolutely the earliest one available, Watson”. At least he consented to gargle with salt in the meantime, and to anoint the affected area with oil of cloves.
I rose late the next morning, to find that Holmes had already gone out. I busied myself with tidy-work, organising notes for a story and sorting my laundry to be sent out, before tackling the news. I was part way reading through an unlikely report about an orchid hunter in Madagascar who, upon returning from an expedition to the interior without his guide, who he claimed had been eaten by wild beasts, was ordered by the guide’s brother (the local chief) to marry the widow or be greased and burned alive, when the sitting room door opened.
My friend was wearing a scarf over the lower half of his face. As the weather was brisk I took no notice of the fact until he kept it on after taking off his coat and, scarf still in place, took down his pipe rack, sat in his chair and shook his head at the row of pipes, frowning as if over the most arcane criminal puzzle.
“Holmes. Something wrong? How did the treatment go?”
In answer he put the pipe rack back on the mantle shelf and unwrapped the muffler to sit once more, mute appeal in his face. To my horror, where his top front teeth should have been appeared to be a gaping hole, stretching as far as his open mouth would show. As I rushed over towards him he turned his head away, as if in shame, and his shoulders began to shake.I had not known he cared so much for his appearance.
It was only when I knelt in front of him, a hand pressed over his in a silent promise that we would, somehow, put this right again, that I realised that what he was in fact doing was laughing.
“Path me a damp toofbruth,if you pleath, Watthon,” he lisped theatrically. Relief made me a coward or I should have soaped it before it went into his mouth.
The gleaming set of a restored smile having emerged once the blacking had been scrubbed away, I had opened my mouth to demand what in heaven’s name he thought he was playing at when, as ever, he leapt ahead of me.
“Oh Watson, just check the date on today’s newspaper, would you?”
I did. Then I threw it at him.
**************************************************
rachelindeed wrote To Cast Light on Each for tweedisgoodmistyzeo wrote The Reigate Revival for mightymadssanguinity wrote The Taste of Truth for colebaltbluesmallhobbit wrote The Case of the Disappearing Husband for the_last_day_of_wintermightymads wrote Simplicity Itself for saki101gardnerhill wrote All Night Long for garonne the_last_day_of_winter drew An Intimate Moment for rachelindeedhippcrates460 wrote Love as Fearful Torment for saintdionysusmethylviolet10b recorded a podfic for sanguinity of her story ‘So Keen a Sympathy’tweedisgood wrote Vocation for ghostbeescapt_facepalm wrote Masterpiece for herself, and wishes you all Happy April Fool’s Day!garonne wrote Snapping Point for spacemutineercolebaltblue wrote Found Family for hippcrates460ghostbees drew Summertime for gardnerhill based on her ficlet Knight Takes King and vintage photographs of Brighton.saki101 wrote He’s Not Here for smallhobbitancientreader wrote as a pinch hit Riddle Me This, Mr Holmes for mistyzeospacemutineer wrote Present, Tense for methylviolet10bmethylviolet10b wrote Douillet for our sterling pinch hitter ancientreader
no subject
Date: 2020-04-01 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-04-02 08:26 am (UTC)