Fic: Small Moment of Happiness: Gen
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holmes_minorTitle: Small Moment of Happiness
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Summary: Holmes describes his favourite moment of a case.
Author's Note: for the HM August prompt (small moment of happiness)
Shakespeare once wrote of tides and floods and fortune, and the Bard’s words are no less true when the affairs of men are their crimes, at least, those crimes which possess features of interest to the discerning connoisseur. The fortune to which the private crime resolver is led is quite often lucre plain, that is, fees gratefully and swiftly paid and the occasional valuable token of appreciation bestowed after a discrete interval of time, when the dust has settled, as they say.
The lucre is sometimes deferred, meaning success in one case leads to the arrival of other cases, the latter proving the more handsomely remunerative than the former. It is not as great a priority as it once was, thankfully, but with an eye towards a comfortable retirement, I still recognise the importance of the paying case.
Of course, there are less tangible rewards: the pride of seeing one’s name in print, of hearing one’s name shouted by the boys on the street corners and whispered in the politest of company, of reputation. I am not immune to such flatteries as Watson has, on more than one occasion, related in his narratives.
Far nobler is the private satisfaction of seeing justice served, suffering avenged, wrongs righted. Far pettier is seeing the doubters and the naysayers, though fewer in number these days, receive their comeuppance on silver serving dishes. And there is, finally, the very private, but also very simple, almost academic satisfaction of a puzzle solved, the last piece slotted into place, rendering a comprehensible whole from a multitude of seemingly incongruent parts.
But before all these, before the fortune, the prides, the satisfactions, there is a single moment of unadulterated happiness.
It has breath and sound and character.
“Holmes!”
Watson’s astonishment, manifested so vividly in his wide eyes and slack jaw and heard so clearly in his ejaculations of wonder, is that moment of happiness for me. The face itself has changed a bit over the years, but the expression, the reaction, is immutable. He is still flabbergasted, after all these years, after all the explanations, quotidian and fantastic, and, quite frankly, I’m still amazed that he’s still amazed, that he’s still capable of such genuine and countenance-consuming awe.
And he still believes, despite my frequent and logical argument against the view, that in terms of intellect applied, I stand alone in this great metropolis. Such belief is often expressed as a kind of a second act to his opening burst of unabashed surprise.
He is wrong, gorgeously, thoroughly, hopelessly wrong.
London is replete with unwept, unknown Agamemnons, but as Horace rightly points out: carent quia vate sacro. They are without a divine poet to chronicle their deeds.
I have divine poet.
I have faithful companion.
And, what’s more, I have spellbound audience for every performance, one whose wild applause forms the small moment of happiness which is the point of flood in the tide in the affairs of this lucky man which leads onto so much fortune.
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Summary: Holmes describes his favourite moment of a case.
Author's Note: for the HM August prompt (small moment of happiness)
Shakespeare once wrote of tides and floods and fortune, and the Bard’s words are no less true when the affairs of men are their crimes, at least, those crimes which possess features of interest to the discerning connoisseur. The fortune to which the private crime resolver is led is quite often lucre plain, that is, fees gratefully and swiftly paid and the occasional valuable token of appreciation bestowed after a discrete interval of time, when the dust has settled, as they say.
The lucre is sometimes deferred, meaning success in one case leads to the arrival of other cases, the latter proving the more handsomely remunerative than the former. It is not as great a priority as it once was, thankfully, but with an eye towards a comfortable retirement, I still recognise the importance of the paying case.
Of course, there are less tangible rewards: the pride of seeing one’s name in print, of hearing one’s name shouted by the boys on the street corners and whispered in the politest of company, of reputation. I am not immune to such flatteries as Watson has, on more than one occasion, related in his narratives.
Far nobler is the private satisfaction of seeing justice served, suffering avenged, wrongs righted. Far pettier is seeing the doubters and the naysayers, though fewer in number these days, receive their comeuppance on silver serving dishes. And there is, finally, the very private, but also very simple, almost academic satisfaction of a puzzle solved, the last piece slotted into place, rendering a comprehensible whole from a multitude of seemingly incongruent parts.
But before all these, before the fortune, the prides, the satisfactions, there is a single moment of unadulterated happiness.
It has breath and sound and character.
“Holmes!”
Watson’s astonishment, manifested so vividly in his wide eyes and slack jaw and heard so clearly in his ejaculations of wonder, is that moment of happiness for me. The face itself has changed a bit over the years, but the expression, the reaction, is immutable. He is still flabbergasted, after all these years, after all the explanations, quotidian and fantastic, and, quite frankly, I’m still amazed that he’s still amazed, that he’s still capable of such genuine and countenance-consuming awe.
And he still believes, despite my frequent and logical argument against the view, that in terms of intellect applied, I stand alone in this great metropolis. Such belief is often expressed as a kind of a second act to his opening burst of unabashed surprise.
He is wrong, gorgeously, thoroughly, hopelessly wrong.
London is replete with unwept, unknown Agamemnons, but as Horace rightly points out: carent quia vate sacro. They are without a divine poet to chronicle their deeds.
I have divine poet.
I have faithful companion.
And, what’s more, I have spellbound audience for every performance, one whose wild applause forms the small moment of happiness which is the point of flood in the tide in the affairs of this lucky man which leads onto so much fortune.
