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picture_prompt_funTitle: Bloody Sleigh Bells!
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Rating: Gen
Length: 600
Warnings/Notes: Genderbent; fem!Holmes, fem!Watson.
Challenge: Advent Calendar - Day 1
Summary: Watson reaches a bridge and turns back.
The bridge, like the whole of the world was covered in snow and ice, and I could see that beyond the bridge only lay more of that which I had already traversed: barren winter wasteland.
I did not cross the bridge. I stopped and swore.
Bloody Holmes! Sending me on another wild goose chase!
My decision was quick and firm.
I would follow my own tracks back and reach the inn before nightfall. Then I would take the first train, cart, or pack mule to civilization, sit before a roaring fire and, alternately, drink tea, read tawdry literature, and curse the woman I loved, for the rest of my days.
It seemed like a capital plan at the time.
I turned back at once and listened to the crunch of my stalwart, stubborn boots on congealed ground.
Then I heard bells, but they were not church bells, for where, I thought rather uncharitably, in this godforsaken tundra could there be any god or any temple or any worshippers?
Nevertheless, when I heard the bells again, I stopped and listened intently.
Sleigh bells!
The sound grew louder, and I twisted ‘round, back and forth, trying to place it.
It was coming from the other side of the bridge.
I strained my eyes. There was nothing.
Rock. Snow. Ice.
Whites and greys.
But then something dark appeared.
It was moving fast, moving closer, and jingling all the way.
Finally, it drew near enough for me to see clearly that it was a dog sled.
When it reached the bridge, the driver brought the team to an expert halt and dismounted.
The stride was familiar, and by the time she drew back the hood of her bloody fur cloak, I was certain.
“HOLMES!”
“WATSON!” She held her arms wide and grinned and then gestured to the canine pack. “YOUR CHARIOT AWAITS!”
“YOU BLOODY FOOL! THE GRICE PATERSONS?”
“RESOLVED. COME. I’LL TELL YOU BY THE FIRE.”
I scowled and folded my arms over my chest and did not move.
“OH, WATSON. DON’T BE CROSS! A TINY PREVARICATION THAT EVEN YOU WILL AGREE WAS COMPLETELY NECESSARY UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH I WILL EXPLAIN BY THE FIRE AT THE OWL AND LADY. COME. LET’S NOT SHOUT.”
“NO. I’M RETURNING TO THE BEETLE,” I said with a childish huff. “MY THINGS.”
“BLOODY FOOL, YOU THINK I DIDN’T ARRANGE TO HAVE YOUR BELONGINGS MOVED?”
Holmes growled impatiently and started across the bridge; she slipped on the second plank but quickly recovered herself.
Fear battled anger and won.
“NOW, WHO’S A BLOODY FOOL? GO BACK, HOLMES! IT ISN’T SAFE.”
“SINCE WHEN HAS THAT EVER BOTHERED EITHER OF US?”
I did not exhale my held breath until her gloved hands were in mine.
“Come, Watson. I shall make it supremely convenient. The sled is for you, and there is a splendid fire and an empty glass just waiting for the congenial marriage of whiskey and your lips. Come, the dogs are hungry. And so are you and I.”
“Very well. But that bridge looks awfully brittle, Holmes.”
“Take my hand. We’ll cross it together.”
“Are those bloody sleigh bells?”
Holmes laughed. “Of course. I can resist anything but you, my dear Watson, and a touch of the dramatic, and after all, it’s Christmas!”
And I soon was reminded of two things.
One, that a bridge is much easier to cross when you’re holding someone’s hand, and two, a wasteland can become a wonderland if you’re skidding across it, snug in a fur cocoon, with a serenading driver…
I saw three ships come sailing in!
…accompanied by bloody sleigh bells.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Rating: Gen
Length: 600
Warnings/Notes: Genderbent; fem!Holmes, fem!Watson.
Challenge: Advent Calendar - Day 1
Summary: Watson reaches a bridge and turns back.
The bridge, like the whole of the world was covered in snow and ice, and I could see that beyond the bridge only lay more of that which I had already traversed: barren winter wasteland.
I did not cross the bridge. I stopped and swore.
Bloody Holmes! Sending me on another wild goose chase!
My decision was quick and firm.
I would follow my own tracks back and reach the inn before nightfall. Then I would take the first train, cart, or pack mule to civilization, sit before a roaring fire and, alternately, drink tea, read tawdry literature, and curse the woman I loved, for the rest of my days.
It seemed like a capital plan at the time.
I turned back at once and listened to the crunch of my stalwart, stubborn boots on congealed ground.
Then I heard bells, but they were not church bells, for where, I thought rather uncharitably, in this godforsaken tundra could there be any god or any temple or any worshippers?
Nevertheless, when I heard the bells again, I stopped and listened intently.
Sleigh bells!
The sound grew louder, and I twisted ‘round, back and forth, trying to place it.
It was coming from the other side of the bridge.
I strained my eyes. There was nothing.
Rock. Snow. Ice.
Whites and greys.
But then something dark appeared.
It was moving fast, moving closer, and jingling all the way.
Finally, it drew near enough for me to see clearly that it was a dog sled.
When it reached the bridge, the driver brought the team to an expert halt and dismounted.
The stride was familiar, and by the time she drew back the hood of her bloody fur cloak, I was certain.
“HOLMES!”
“WATSON!” She held her arms wide and grinned and then gestured to the canine pack. “YOUR CHARIOT AWAITS!”
“YOU BLOODY FOOL! THE GRICE PATERSONS?”
“RESOLVED. COME. I’LL TELL YOU BY THE FIRE.”
I scowled and folded my arms over my chest and did not move.
“OH, WATSON. DON’T BE CROSS! A TINY PREVARICATION THAT EVEN YOU WILL AGREE WAS COMPLETELY NECESSARY UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH I WILL EXPLAIN BY THE FIRE AT THE OWL AND LADY. COME. LET’S NOT SHOUT.”
“NO. I’M RETURNING TO THE BEETLE,” I said with a childish huff. “MY THINGS.”
“BLOODY FOOL, YOU THINK I DIDN’T ARRANGE TO HAVE YOUR BELONGINGS MOVED?”
Holmes growled impatiently and started across the bridge; she slipped on the second plank but quickly recovered herself.
Fear battled anger and won.
“NOW, WHO’S A BLOODY FOOL? GO BACK, HOLMES! IT ISN’T SAFE.”
“SINCE WHEN HAS THAT EVER BOTHERED EITHER OF US?”
I did not exhale my held breath until her gloved hands were in mine.
“Come, Watson. I shall make it supremely convenient. The sled is for you, and there is a splendid fire and an empty glass just waiting for the congenial marriage of whiskey and your lips. Come, the dogs are hungry. And so are you and I.”
“Very well. But that bridge looks awfully brittle, Holmes.”
“Take my hand. We’ll cross it together.”
“Are those bloody sleigh bells?”
Holmes laughed. “Of course. I can resist anything but you, my dear Watson, and a touch of the dramatic, and after all, it’s Christmas!”
And I soon was reminded of two things.
One, that a bridge is much easier to cross when you’re holding someone’s hand, and two, a wasteland can become a wonderland if you’re skidding across it, snug in a fur cocoon, with a serenading driver…
I saw three ships come sailing in!
…accompanied by bloody sleigh bells.
