stonepicnicking_okapi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stonepicnicking_okapi) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
holmes_minor2018-12-06 01:44 pm
stonepicnicking_okapi) wrote in holmes_minor2018-12-06 01:44 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: What Child is This?: Gen
Title: What Child is This?
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Summary: A foundling comes to 221B.
Author's Note: for the monthly prompt.
“What child is this?” wondered Holmes aloud at the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in his armchair.
“A foundling,” announced Watson as he came tripping down the stairs.
“A foundling?” echoed Holmes as he watched Watson scoop the child up in his arms and hold it close to his chest.
“Meaning I found her on my rounds this morning. I asked about, but no one knew her. I notified the authorities. I’m certain someone will turn up. There is, in all probability, someone frantically searching for her at this very moment. But for now, I thought, well, it’s almost Christmas. There ought to be room at the inn made, no?”
“Another inn, Watson! This is no place for an infant!”
“Neither is a basket behind St. Cyprian’s.”
“Mrs. Hudson…”
“Has enough work on her hands. But she has offered to ‘round up the necessary supplies. I will take care of her, Holmes. Look, just look at her.”
Holmes looked.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” cooed Watson.
“She appears well-nourished,” Holmes observed.
“Exactly. Someone has been taking care of her. Don’t worry. I suppose it’ll only be a couple of hours.”
“A foundling, Watson,” said Holmes. “Not a keepling.”
Three days later…
“What child is this?” whispered Watson, with wonder.
Holmes was asleep, in shirt sleeves, stretched out on the sofa, with Violet, for what else could they call her, also asleep, lying on his chest.
Holmes's eyes fluttered open, and he put one finger to his lips.
Ignoring the caution, Watson said very softly, “Holmes, do you think we could, well, take care of her ourselves? I mean, raise her.”
Holmes’ reply came quick.
“Not here. Early retirement in Sussex.”
“Yes!” said Watson. “Fresh sea air. Open spaces. A country practise.”
“My memoirs,” added Holmes.
Boots pounded on the stairs; the infant startled and began to cry.
“Oh, ho!” called Inspector Lestrade when he appeared in the threshold. “What child is this?”
“Ours,” said Watson defiantly.
“And you’ve woke her!” accused Holmes, who rose and began to pace with the child in his arms.
“Yours, eh? Well, it just so happens I’m looking for a wee thing myself. She was left with a grandmother for the weekend, a grandmother who isn’t, as it turns out, as sound of mind as she appears, the poor dear.” He looked about the room. “Yes, there’s the basket.”
Holmes looked at Watson. Watson looked at Holmes.
“Look at you two. Fatherhood suits you, eh?” said Inspector Lestrade with a smile. “Well, c’mon. I’ll let you bring her to the mother and father yourselves; you can assure them she’s been in good hands all this while. They’re mad with worry.”
“Very well,” said Watson, his voice flat, his expression reserved.
Holmes nodded. “But if they prove unsuitable custodians…”
“Oh, Holmes…”
Holmes and Watson exchanged another look, then Holmes sighed resignedly.
“Very well.”
“But,” said Watson, brightening, “she mightn’t yet have godfathers.”
Holmes’s eyes lit. “An excellent suggestion, my dear Watson. Two shepherds to keep watch.”
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Summary: A foundling comes to 221B.
Author's Note: for the monthly prompt.
“What child is this?” wondered Holmes aloud at the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in his armchair.
“A foundling,” announced Watson as he came tripping down the stairs.
“A foundling?” echoed Holmes as he watched Watson scoop the child up in his arms and hold it close to his chest.
“Meaning I found her on my rounds this morning. I asked about, but no one knew her. I notified the authorities. I’m certain someone will turn up. There is, in all probability, someone frantically searching for her at this very moment. But for now, I thought, well, it’s almost Christmas. There ought to be room at the inn made, no?”
“Another inn, Watson! This is no place for an infant!”
“Neither is a basket behind St. Cyprian’s.”
“Mrs. Hudson…”
“Has enough work on her hands. But she has offered to ‘round up the necessary supplies. I will take care of her, Holmes. Look, just look at her.”
Holmes looked.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” cooed Watson.
“She appears well-nourished,” Holmes observed.
“Exactly. Someone has been taking care of her. Don’t worry. I suppose it’ll only be a couple of hours.”
“A foundling, Watson,” said Holmes. “Not a keepling.”
Three days later…
“What child is this?” whispered Watson, with wonder.
Holmes was asleep, in shirt sleeves, stretched out on the sofa, with Violet, for what else could they call her, also asleep, lying on his chest.
Holmes's eyes fluttered open, and he put one finger to his lips.
Ignoring the caution, Watson said very softly, “Holmes, do you think we could, well, take care of her ourselves? I mean, raise her.”
Holmes’ reply came quick.
“Not here. Early retirement in Sussex.”
“Yes!” said Watson. “Fresh sea air. Open spaces. A country practise.”
“My memoirs,” added Holmes.
Boots pounded on the stairs; the infant startled and began to cry.
“Oh, ho!” called Inspector Lestrade when he appeared in the threshold. “What child is this?”
“Ours,” said Watson defiantly.
“And you’ve woke her!” accused Holmes, who rose and began to pace with the child in his arms.
“Yours, eh? Well, it just so happens I’m looking for a wee thing myself. She was left with a grandmother for the weekend, a grandmother who isn’t, as it turns out, as sound of mind as she appears, the poor dear.” He looked about the room. “Yes, there’s the basket.”
Holmes looked at Watson. Watson looked at Holmes.
“Look at you two. Fatherhood suits you, eh?” said Inspector Lestrade with a smile. “Well, c’mon. I’ll let you bring her to the mother and father yourselves; you can assure them she’s been in good hands all this while. They’re mad with worry.”
“Very well,” said Watson, his voice flat, his expression reserved.
Holmes nodded. “But if they prove unsuitable custodians…”
“Oh, Holmes…”
Holmes and Watson exchanged another look, then Holmes sighed resignedly.
“Very well.”
“But,” said Watson, brightening, “she mightn’t yet have godfathers.”
Holmes’s eyes lit. “An excellent suggestion, my dear Watson. Two shepherds to keep watch.”