Fic: Seaside stitches: Teen
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holmes_minorTitle: Seaside stitches
Rating: Teen
Length: 500
Notes: Holmes/Watson, Tropey Mctropes-a-lot with opening act Tired Clichés.
Summary: Holmes is injured on holiday.
Author's Notes: for the September prompt and I tried the AO3 tag generator and got 'warning: seaside porn.' This isn't porn, just the lead up.
“Holmes! Oh, good Lord, your shoulder! It’s bad. You’re going to need stitches. Can you make it back to the bungalow?”
“Of course.”
“Good. My bag’s there.”
---
“Take the morphine, Holmes.”
“No.”
“Whiskey?”
“No!”
“But it will hurt!”
“So?”
“So stubborn! Medicine—and distilleries—give us things to ease pain and yet a mulish segment of society will insist on suffering. I suppose you think it makes you more of a man.”
“Perhaps.”
“Suit yourself. Here we go. Fine bit of business this is, by the way. The great Sherlock Holmes survives blackguards, villains, and Napoleons of Crime but manages to dash himself on the rocks while bathing during the first seaside holiday he’s ever enjoyed as a grown man! I can just see the headlines! And just what were you doing? Your best impression of a haddie was what it looked like. I might have thought you were showing off if there’d have been anyone besides me in a vicinity.”
“You said yourself that I’m new at this business. I suppose I misjudged the recreational element.”
“You misjudged the strength of the current and the shape of that rock, you mean! Are you certain you won’t take something, Holmes? You’re looking pale, and I don’t need to be taking your pulse to know it’s racing.”
“After.”
“Very well. I was known for a neat hand in medical school. There shan’t be a scar.”
“Don’t be too neat, Watson.”
“Why?”
“I’d like a souvenir of my first seaside holiday.”
---
“There. How’s that?”
“Thank you. It is an advantage, having one’s own personal surgeon.”
“Just wait ‘til I turn nurse-dragon! Now I recommend that we go down to The Hairy Barnacle and have pints and oysters and play cards or darts—with your good arm, naturally—and watch the people go by and you tell me all about them?”
“Lead on, Doctor.”
---
“Well, it’s late, and I’ve been beaten at every game we’ve played, and if I drink any more, I shall require nursing rather than be in a state to provide it. To the bungalow?”
“Yes. Do you need a hand?”
“How ‘bout we lean on each other?”
“Admirable plan.”
“A full moon. We shall either fall in love or meet a ghost. Perhaps tomorrow’s agenda shall be a search for buried treasure!”
"Watson, you are an incurable romantic.”
“Says the man who just split his shoulder playing ‘look-at-me’!”
“Watson?!”
“Oh, Holmes. Improbable, impossible, etcetera.”
“Well, you’re not quite right.”
“Am I not?”
“I was showing off for you. But then I got distracted when I saw you, uh, adjusting the position of your bathing chair and that’s when I misjudged the rock.”
“Silly fool!”
“Guilty. But I’m told, by the yellow literature my fellow lodger leaves about our shared rooms, that one is apt to lose one’s head on seaside holiday. What? What are you thinking?”
“You mean you can’t deduce it?”
“Does it involve a palliative treatment of the non-opioid variety?”
“One that’s certain to be a memory-souvenir.”
Rating: Teen
Length: 500
Notes: Holmes/Watson, Tropey Mctropes-a-lot with opening act Tired Clichés.
Summary: Holmes is injured on holiday.
Author's Notes: for the September prompt and I tried the AO3 tag generator and got 'warning: seaside porn.' This isn't porn, just the lead up.
“Holmes! Oh, good Lord, your shoulder! It’s bad. You’re going to need stitches. Can you make it back to the bungalow?”
“Of course.”
“Good. My bag’s there.”
---
“Take the morphine, Holmes.”
“No.”
“Whiskey?”
“No!”
“But it will hurt!”
“So?”
“So stubborn! Medicine—and distilleries—give us things to ease pain and yet a mulish segment of society will insist on suffering. I suppose you think it makes you more of a man.”
“Perhaps.”
“Suit yourself. Here we go. Fine bit of business this is, by the way. The great Sherlock Holmes survives blackguards, villains, and Napoleons of Crime but manages to dash himself on the rocks while bathing during the first seaside holiday he’s ever enjoyed as a grown man! I can just see the headlines! And just what were you doing? Your best impression of a haddie was what it looked like. I might have thought you were showing off if there’d have been anyone besides me in a vicinity.”
“You said yourself that I’m new at this business. I suppose I misjudged the recreational element.”
“You misjudged the strength of the current and the shape of that rock, you mean! Are you certain you won’t take something, Holmes? You’re looking pale, and I don’t need to be taking your pulse to know it’s racing.”
“After.”
“Very well. I was known for a neat hand in medical school. There shan’t be a scar.”
“Don’t be too neat, Watson.”
“Why?”
“I’d like a souvenir of my first seaside holiday.”
---
“There. How’s that?”
“Thank you. It is an advantage, having one’s own personal surgeon.”
“Just wait ‘til I turn nurse-dragon! Now I recommend that we go down to The Hairy Barnacle and have pints and oysters and play cards or darts—with your good arm, naturally—and watch the people go by and you tell me all about them?”
“Lead on, Doctor.”
---
“Well, it’s late, and I’ve been beaten at every game we’ve played, and if I drink any more, I shall require nursing rather than be in a state to provide it. To the bungalow?”
“Yes. Do you need a hand?”
“How ‘bout we lean on each other?”
“Admirable plan.”
“A full moon. We shall either fall in love or meet a ghost. Perhaps tomorrow’s agenda shall be a search for buried treasure!”
"Watson, you are an incurable romantic.”
“Says the man who just split his shoulder playing ‘look-at-me’!”
“Watson?!”
“Oh, Holmes. Improbable, impossible, etcetera.”
“Well, you’re not quite right.”
“Am I not?”
“I was showing off for you. But then I got distracted when I saw you, uh, adjusting the position of your bathing chair and that’s when I misjudged the rock.”
“Silly fool!”
“Guilty. But I’m told, by the yellow literature my fellow lodger leaves about our shared rooms, that one is apt to lose one’s head on seaside holiday. What? What are you thinking?”
“You mean you can’t deduce it?”
“Does it involve a palliative treatment of the non-opioid variety?”
“One that’s certain to be a memory-souvenir.”
no subject
Date: 2018-09-15 07:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-09-15 11:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-09-16 06:05 pm (UTC)A few lines that particularly struck me:
And just what were you doing? Your best impression of a haddie was what it looked like.
“Don’t be too neat, Watson.” “Why?” “I’d like a souvenir of my first seaside holiday.”
“A full moon. We shall either fall in love or meet a ghost. Perhaps tomorrow’s agenda shall be a search for buried treasure!”
no subject
Date: 2018-09-16 06:34 pm (UTC)