"Escape" (WWI Era, Holmes Minor 2020 March Prompt)

[gardnerhill]

Title: Escape
Author: gardnerhill
Form/Wordcount: 500
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: G
Warnings/Content: None
Summary: The technology has changed, but the need to tell stories is universal.
Author’s Notes: For the Holmes Minor March 2020 prompt: Make Up



I turned to the next page of raised bumps, my eyes and brain translating with the ease of a lifelong code-cracker.

"That was fast. You're cheating again."

"Looking at the dots rather than feeling them does not constitute 'cheating.'" I continued perusing the pages John had finished typing on his Hall Braille Writer. Writing, God be thanked, was a profession John could still pursue, once he'd acquired a new set of tools and relearned his letters all over again, by touch.

Now I sat beside John's desk. His writing was different, and not only because it was stamped in a textured alphabet. Noble knights and virtuous damsels explored English countryside, absent-minded scientists chased dinosaurs through London, and amazed children discovered fairies in their garden.

"Well?" John had a little smile. He was awaiting my mocking of his penchant for making up romantic twaddle; Lord knows I'd castigated him often enough for merely embroidering our cases.

But I could still deduce. I did so.

In the past, Watson's writing had always been grounded in the reality of his life – embellished though his detective stories were to disguise both the clients' identities and the true nature of our relationship. When I read them, I saw and recalled the case, the people, the locales he referenced.

These works – romance, fairy tales, scientific fiction – contained absolutely nothing of his experience in the mortal Gehenna of the trenches. Here there was no gas, barbed wire, or machine guns – none of the horrors that still awoke him shouting.

A man living in Hell does not wish to read about Hell.

Conclusion…

I set the pages back into order. "You are writing these stories for the soldiers who are still at the front."

His smile warmed me to my bones. "Brilliant, Holmes. Yes. Anything to read is a godsend, and magazines get devoured. Leave is a pipe-dream for most of the men stationed there. This way I can give them an hour's respite from the trenches."

John's eyes were forever tearless from the effect of the phosphorous bomb that had taken their sight, but my own stung and filled at yet more proof that I have the honour of calling the best man in England my lover.

I blinked the tears out and let them fall silently, lest he realise and mistake my reaction for pity. My voice was strong and careless. "So you are quite finished for now?"

John grimaced and stretched his hands and fingers. "Yes, I need a break from this damned machine. What time is it?"

"Half two." I smiled, and made sure he heard the smile in my voice. "An hour before tea. I think we need to make up for lost time."

He laughed. "Again?" But he was already standing, and holding out his hand for me to take. "Your doctor said this was safe. And I could use some R&R myself."

"Come with me, soldier," I crooned in imitation of a French prostitute, and led my laughing spouse to bed.

Comments

[smallhobbit]

Another lovely story in that 'verse.

[gardnerhill]

Thank you.

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

Aw. Holmes takes such good care of his Watson!

[gardnerhill]

He does indeed.

[scfrankles]

... absent-minded scientists chased dinosaurs through London, and amazed children discovered fairies in their garden. I love this is what you've given to Watson to write about ^^

And how like Watson to realise the need for these kind of stories. A little escapism can be a wonderful thing sometimes.

[gardnerhill]

Thank you. Yes, a wee tweak of the nose to ACD.

Remember that this was during the time when fantasy literature was derided as stuff fit only for women, children or the feeble-minded - real adults read realistic, gritty, ugly fiction. But Watson knows what his soldiers need.