Fic: Make up (2.7.a): Teen
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holmes_minorTitle: Make up (2.7.a)
Rating: Teen
Length: 500
Characters/Pairing: Lomax/Lestrade, Inky Quill, Watson
Notes: for the March monthly prompt, definition 2.7.a of make up: to invent or improvise. here is Inky Quill in his plague doctor mask. POV Lomax.
Summary: When Lestrade kips on the sofa at 221B, he has an odd dream. Or is it a dream?
Lomax suddenly discovered the challenge of maintaining propriety whilst running after a lover on a crowded street.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
“Inspector!”
That stopped him.
The softening of recognition could not wholly erase the distress on the countenance. A swell of concern rose in Lomax’s chest.
“I saw you approach the library door, then turn away. Twice. Oscillation on the pavement, according to Mister Holmes, indicates something.”
“No,” there was a turn of lips trying its level best to be a smile, “my affairs of the heart are well in order. It is a trivial, personal matter.” His eyes flitted to the stream of pedestrians flowing around them. “I thought better of troubling you with something so petty.” He lifted his eyebrows and added, “Twice.”
Piqued curiosity called for boldness. Lomax used the heavy artillery.
“Tea, then?”
---
The unburdening did not occur until they were seated on stools in the dark, musty bowels of the London library at Saint James’s Square, so close that their lower halves were a tangle of trouser legs. A single, large tin mug of strong, sweet tea was held in consort.
“I had a dream.”
Lomax took a sip and waited.
“Because of a case and the storm, I decided to kip on the sofa at Baker Street last night. I fell asleep quickly enough but woke at some hour and heard Doctor Watson talking very quietly. At first, I thought he was conversing with Mister Holmes, but I cracked one eye and saw a creature.”
“Creature?”
“A creature with long, sharp spines wearing a bird mask.”
Lomax took another sip.
“I couldn’t hear the creature, only Doctor Watson’s replies. It seemed that there was an illness in the creature’s home, a grave illness, that was spreading fast. Doctor Watson was telling the creature how to prevent becoming ill. He mentioned washing its paws and being careful about what it ate and not visiting or being visited by its neighbours. The creature nodded as if it understood everything the Doctor said. It must’ve been a dream, but part of me doesn’t think it was. How could I make up something like that? Oh, and the creature was a poet. Doctor Watson also gave it advice on its pant-tomb. Or something like that.”
“Pantoum?”
“Yes! What’s that?”
“A series of interwoven quatrains from the Malay.”
Lips pressed hard and quick to Lomax’s lips. His heart pounded with sudden, riotous joy.
“How do you know such things?”
Lomax shrugged. “How do you know when your pocket’s being picked?”
“I can’t seem to shake the notion that it was real. Do you think I’m going mad?
“No.”
Another kiss, slower, softer, centred upon Lomax’s bottom lip.
“Have you plans for Easter?” Lomax barely heard the question. He was still tasting the kiss. Tea. Tobacco. Him. “I worked through Christmas so I’ve a whole four days to myself next week. I’ve secured the seaside cottage for us.”
“Dream?” murmured Lomax, eyes still closed.
“Come with me and find out.”
Rating: Teen
Length: 500
Characters/Pairing: Lomax/Lestrade, Inky Quill, Watson
Notes: for the March monthly prompt, definition 2.7.a of make up: to invent or improvise. here is Inky Quill in his plague doctor mask. POV Lomax.
Summary: When Lestrade kips on the sofa at 221B, he has an odd dream. Or is it a dream?
Lomax suddenly discovered the challenge of maintaining propriety whilst running after a lover on a crowded street.
Desperate times, desperate measures.
“Inspector!”
That stopped him.
The softening of recognition could not wholly erase the distress on the countenance. A swell of concern rose in Lomax’s chest.
“I saw you approach the library door, then turn away. Twice. Oscillation on the pavement, according to Mister Holmes, indicates something.”
“No,” there was a turn of lips trying its level best to be a smile, “my affairs of the heart are well in order. It is a trivial, personal matter.” His eyes flitted to the stream of pedestrians flowing around them. “I thought better of troubling you with something so petty.” He lifted his eyebrows and added, “Twice.”
Piqued curiosity called for boldness. Lomax used the heavy artillery.
“Tea, then?”
---
The unburdening did not occur until they were seated on stools in the dark, musty bowels of the London library at Saint James’s Square, so close that their lower halves were a tangle of trouser legs. A single, large tin mug of strong, sweet tea was held in consort.
“I had a dream.”
Lomax took a sip and waited.
“Because of a case and the storm, I decided to kip on the sofa at Baker Street last night. I fell asleep quickly enough but woke at some hour and heard Doctor Watson talking very quietly. At first, I thought he was conversing with Mister Holmes, but I cracked one eye and saw a creature.”
“Creature?”
“A creature with long, sharp spines wearing a bird mask.”
Lomax took another sip.
“I couldn’t hear the creature, only Doctor Watson’s replies. It seemed that there was an illness in the creature’s home, a grave illness, that was spreading fast. Doctor Watson was telling the creature how to prevent becoming ill. He mentioned washing its paws and being careful about what it ate and not visiting or being visited by its neighbours. The creature nodded as if it understood everything the Doctor said. It must’ve been a dream, but part of me doesn’t think it was. How could I make up something like that? Oh, and the creature was a poet. Doctor Watson also gave it advice on its pant-tomb. Or something like that.”
“Pantoum?”
“Yes! What’s that?”
“A series of interwoven quatrains from the Malay.”
Lips pressed hard and quick to Lomax’s lips. His heart pounded with sudden, riotous joy.
“How do you know such things?”
Lomax shrugged. “How do you know when your pocket’s being picked?”
“I can’t seem to shake the notion that it was real. Do you think I’m going mad?
“No.”
Another kiss, slower, softer, centred upon Lomax’s bottom lip.
“Have you plans for Easter?” Lomax barely heard the question. He was still tasting the kiss. Tea. Tobacco. Him. “I worked through Christmas so I’ve a whole four days to myself next week. I’ve secured the seaside cottage for us.”
“Dream?” murmured Lomax, eyes still closed.
“Come with me and find out.”
