Fic: House of Wax: Gen
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holmes_minorTitle: House of Wax
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
For: monthly prompt: smiling &spooktober prompt (table 2/day 16): haunted house
Summary: Watson has a bad dream.
I was bathed in darkness.
Why ‘bathed’? Why not ‘swimming’? I pondered absent-mindedly.
Regardless, I felt myself drifting, moving without conscious thought or action, as if carried by a heavy, unstoppable current, toward the light.
A long hall with figures standing on either side of a corridor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their faces.
The faces of kings and queen and emperors. The faces of poets and artists and composers.
Faces that were minted on coins and sculpted into monuments.
Still faces, resolute expressions, no softness save for the medium in which they were carved.
Once soft, now hard.
Wax.
Cold, hard wax.
Footfall on a hard floor, mine, I realised, passing from one room into another.
Shadow washing over me.
Bathing, swimming, washing in darkness.
More figures, more faces.
Two rows, standing at attention.
But the faces!
Horrid, grotesque masks.
Murderers. Violators.
Torturers. Tormentors.
Peddlers in pain and misery on either side of me.
My soul recoiled even as my corporeal form advanced.
The room grew warmer, warmer, and I realised, suddenly, but by no overt cognition of my own, that it was an infernal, diabolical, punishing heat.
And the faces, those cold, hard, wax faces, were melting.
Dripping.
All but one.
I turned my head sharply and forced myself to look it full in the face.
Full.
In the face.
I focused my eyes. My heart leapt.
Holmes!
His eyes were keen, his stare impassive.
My soul recoiled once more. What was he doing here among the infamous and the black-hearted?
But then.
He smiled, the warm smile he reserved for quiet moments and genuine mirth.
Holmes!
That warm smile grew warmer and warmer until…
…drip, drip, drip.
Holmes’s features lost their angularity as drops formed rivulets and streams form rivers.
And his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, those grey eyes beneath arched brows, those lips still holding that smile…
…melted.
Drip by drip, then all at once, sliding down in a torrent of sludge.
And then hell erupted!
---
“Watson!”
I yelped. Holmes was beating my arm and the arm of the chair.
“Very careless of you, old man, to nod off so close to an open flame, you could have done yourself no end of mischief.”
I grunted, ignoring the curls of smoke.
“Holmes…”
“One needn’t be especially observant to see yours was a troubled kip. What were you dreaming of?”
“Remember our conversation of earlier?”
“We had many. Which one?”
“The one about Madame Tussaud’s considering opening a wing for well-known crime-fighters as well as notorious criminals?”
“You were all for it. I wasn’t convinced.”
“I’ve come ‘round to your way of thinking. I don’t think you should agree to it.”
“Don’t fancy a still life Holmes living directly across the street from the real life one?”
“I can’t bear to think of you melting.”
Holmes squeezed my shoulder. “That is the stuff of nightmares. Well, then my answer’s a definite no.”
I sighed and scraped the candle drippings off my sleeve.
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Pairing: Holmes/Watson
For: monthly prompt: smiling &
spooktober prompt (table 2/day 16): haunted houseSummary: Watson has a bad dream.
I was bathed in darkness.
Why ‘bathed’? Why not ‘swimming’? I pondered absent-mindedly.
Regardless, I felt myself drifting, moving without conscious thought or action, as if carried by a heavy, unstoppable current, toward the light.
A long hall with figures standing on either side of a corridor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw their faces.
The faces of kings and queen and emperors. The faces of poets and artists and composers.
Faces that were minted on coins and sculpted into monuments.
Still faces, resolute expressions, no softness save for the medium in which they were carved.
Once soft, now hard.
Wax.
Cold, hard wax.
Footfall on a hard floor, mine, I realised, passing from one room into another.
Shadow washing over me.
Bathing, swimming, washing in darkness.
More figures, more faces.
Two rows, standing at attention.
But the faces!
Horrid, grotesque masks.
Murderers. Violators.
Torturers. Tormentors.
Peddlers in pain and misery on either side of me.
My soul recoiled even as my corporeal form advanced.
The room grew warmer, warmer, and I realised, suddenly, but by no overt cognition of my own, that it was an infernal, diabolical, punishing heat.
And the faces, those cold, hard, wax faces, were melting.
Dripping.
All but one.
I turned my head sharply and forced myself to look it full in the face.
Full.
In the face.
I focused my eyes. My heart leapt.
Holmes!
His eyes were keen, his stare impassive.
My soul recoiled once more. What was he doing here among the infamous and the black-hearted?
But then.
He smiled, the warm smile he reserved for quiet moments and genuine mirth.
Holmes!
That warm smile grew warmer and warmer until…
…drip, drip, drip.
Holmes’s features lost their angularity as drops formed rivulets and streams form rivers.
And his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, those grey eyes beneath arched brows, those lips still holding that smile…
…melted.
Drip by drip, then all at once, sliding down in a torrent of sludge.
And then hell erupted!
---
“Watson!”
I yelped. Holmes was beating my arm and the arm of the chair.
“Very careless of you, old man, to nod off so close to an open flame, you could have done yourself no end of mischief.”
I grunted, ignoring the curls of smoke.
“Holmes…”
“One needn’t be especially observant to see yours was a troubled kip. What were you dreaming of?”
“Remember our conversation of earlier?”
“We had many. Which one?”
“The one about Madame Tussaud’s considering opening a wing for well-known crime-fighters as well as notorious criminals?”
“You were all for it. I wasn’t convinced.”
“I’ve come ‘round to your way of thinking. I don’t think you should agree to it.”
“Don’t fancy a still life Holmes living directly across the street from the real life one?”
“I can’t bear to think of you melting.”
Holmes squeezed my shoulder. “That is the stuff of nightmares. Well, then my answer’s a definite no.”
I sighed and scraped the candle drippings off my sleeve.
no subject
Date: 2019-10-17 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-17 11:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-17 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-17 12:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-17 10:11 pm (UTC)Particularly taken with the description of Holmes' face melting:
That warm smile grew warmer and warmer until… …drip, drip, drip. Holmes’s features lost their angularity as drops formed rivulets and streams form rivers. And his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, those grey eyes beneath arched brows, those lips still holding that smile… …melted. Drip by drip, then all at once, sliding down in a torrent of sludge. ^^"
no subject
Date: 2019-10-17 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-18 06:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-10-18 11:58 am (UTC)