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But why?
By : Laiquendi
Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Sherlock Holmes > Slash > Slash
Views: 4469 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on the Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. - Chapter List
- 1
I "found" this idea while reading the Musgrave Ritual and couldn't resist. People have told me I really should have. I don't own Holmes and Watson and don't make any money from them.
Sitting at the breakfast table, Watson could hear Holmes in his room *looking* through the papers kept there. What he was looking for was unclear as he currently had no case in hand and it was unlikely he simply wanted to organize his papers. Especially as Watson could hear the muffled fluttering as pages hit the ground randomly. He winced at a muttered curse and finally decided to save Mrs. Hudson having a nervous break down. “I say, Holmes, come and eat before….”
“Before what, Watson?” Holmes asked from his bedroom door. “Are the eggs planning to hatch and walk out the door if I’m not at the table this morning?” The silence from the sitting room startled him and he peered out to see what had stunned his friend.
Watson had a lid from one of the breakfast trays in his left hand and was staring at the table in what could only be called shock. It was apparent to Holmes that there was something other than food on the table based solely on his observation of his friend’s face. “What is it Watson?”
“I really must draw the line, Holmes,” Watson said, allowing the lid to fall to the floor with a bang. “Cigars in the coal scuttle, tobacco in the toe end of a moth-eaten Persian slipper hanging from the mantle, and that blasted knife holding your letters. Indoor target practice and chemicals stinking up the place all the time. But this, this is finally too much!”
Holmes crossed to the table and looked down. There, sitting on the table was the ornamental dagger he’d been searching for. “Watson, you found it,” he exclaimed. “This dagger is the key clue in the case of the witches of Baymoore.”
As much as he would hate to admit it, Watson felt his anger vanishing only to be replaced with much curiosity. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of that case,” he said, turning to look at his friend.
“Ah Watson, it was a dark business,” Holmes said, smirking. He picked up the dagger and wiped it on a napkin before taking it with him to his chair. “Even now I don’t know if I should tell you, for the world is not yet ready to hear of witches dancing in the moonlight, sacrifices and rituals most horrible.”
Watson left his breakfast forgotten on the table and joined Holmes by the fireplace. “I’m full of curiosity, please tell me the story,” he said.
They passed the afternoon, Holmes alternately speaking and smoking his pipe, looking at the dagger on the small table next to his chair. Watson was enthralled at this new insight to his friend, mainly that he could speak of witchcraft so seriously when he scoffed at ghosts, vampires, and other creatures of the night.
Finally Holmes came to the end of his tale and looked over at Watson. “Do you see why I do not want this case published?” he asked.
“Of course, but I’m glad you shared it with me,” replied Watson. “But Holmes, why the deuce was the knife in the butter dish?”
“Why Watson, I thought it a better place than your bed.”- 1
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