Fic: Monday's Toast: Gen
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holmes_minorTitle: Monday's Toast
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: for the monthly prompt: vessel. A continuation of Sunday's toast. Using the British Royal Navy's toast of the day as additional prompt. POV Mrs. Hudson.
Summary: Mrs. Hudson contemplates her decision to send a message to Mister Holmes about Doctor Watson's illness.
I unpinned my hat and listened to Esme’s report, which was, in two words, no change. I nodded, donned my apron, and went upstairs to see for myself.
Esme was right. I didn’t doubt her, but one has to see these things for oneself.
I passed through the silent sitting room and joined Esme in the kitchen, where the tedium of that room swallowed us up for the afternoon.
The doctor visited at half four.
I put it off. I put it off by climbing the stairs. I put it off by sweeping and scouring and scrubbing and airing and sealing and the thousand little things a residence requires to keep it comfortable as well as habitable. I put it off by dealing with all manner of mongers and traders and supplicants.
I put it off by changing linen and cleaning slops and foisting spoons of beef broth and sips of tea.
I put it off by saying farewell to Esme, and I put it off by saying hello to Maisie, the night nurse. I hadn’t even considered a night nurse until Esme mentioned she had a cousin who did such work and could be thoroughly relied upon to do things in the proper manner. After three nights of observation, I was convinced, too, of that assessment. One has to see these things for oneself, of course.
I had put it off until my work was done, and then I could put it, my doubt, off no longer.
It was quiet.
I took down a glass, my glass, and poured myself two fingers of gin. Then I added a third for doubt.
I looked at the glass for a long while before taking my first sip.
I contemplated the vessel.
I liked the glass. It was my favourite for this particular libation and this particular tableau, Spinster Drinking Alone.
Thick. Sturdy. Solid. Heavy in the hand. If I threw the glass against the wall, it would crack but not dash to shards.
Had I made the right decision? Had I done the right thing?
I had gone to the telegraph office and sent a message to the address which Mister Holmes had entrusted to Doctor Watson. I’d even used their code so that he wouldn’t doubt the authenticity of the missive.
What was the worst that could possibly happen? I asked myself.
Doctor Watson rallying with miraculous speed, and Mister Holmes, having aborted his mission, returned to find him recuperated. Justice thwarted for no reason.
What was the worst that could possibly happen?
Mister Holmes returning in a month’s time to find Doctor Watson in his grave.
That was worse, I decided. Mister Holmes had many flaws but where the doctor was concerned…
Yes, I’d made the right decision.
I raised my glass to the clock. It was, I tried to remember and then succeeded, Monday.
“To our ships at sea,” I said aloud, then added, “may they all be swift ones.”
I drank my gin and went to bed.
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: for the monthly prompt: vessel. A continuation of Sunday's toast. Using the British Royal Navy's toast of the day as additional prompt. POV Mrs. Hudson.
Summary: Mrs. Hudson contemplates her decision to send a message to Mister Holmes about Doctor Watson's illness.
I unpinned my hat and listened to Esme’s report, which was, in two words, no change. I nodded, donned my apron, and went upstairs to see for myself.
Esme was right. I didn’t doubt her, but one has to see these things for oneself.
I passed through the silent sitting room and joined Esme in the kitchen, where the tedium of that room swallowed us up for the afternoon.
The doctor visited at half four.
I put it off. I put it off by climbing the stairs. I put it off by sweeping and scouring and scrubbing and airing and sealing and the thousand little things a residence requires to keep it comfortable as well as habitable. I put it off by dealing with all manner of mongers and traders and supplicants.
I put it off by changing linen and cleaning slops and foisting spoons of beef broth and sips of tea.
I put it off by saying farewell to Esme, and I put it off by saying hello to Maisie, the night nurse. I hadn’t even considered a night nurse until Esme mentioned she had a cousin who did such work and could be thoroughly relied upon to do things in the proper manner. After three nights of observation, I was convinced, too, of that assessment. One has to see these things for oneself, of course.
I had put it off until my work was done, and then I could put it, my doubt, off no longer.
It was quiet.
I took down a glass, my glass, and poured myself two fingers of gin. Then I added a third for doubt.
I looked at the glass for a long while before taking my first sip.
I contemplated the vessel.
I liked the glass. It was my favourite for this particular libation and this particular tableau, Spinster Drinking Alone.
Thick. Sturdy. Solid. Heavy in the hand. If I threw the glass against the wall, it would crack but not dash to shards.
Had I made the right decision? Had I done the right thing?
I had gone to the telegraph office and sent a message to the address which Mister Holmes had entrusted to Doctor Watson. I’d even used their code so that he wouldn’t doubt the authenticity of the missive.
What was the worst that could possibly happen? I asked myself.
Doctor Watson rallying with miraculous speed, and Mister Holmes, having aborted his mission, returned to find him recuperated. Justice thwarted for no reason.
What was the worst that could possibly happen?
Mister Holmes returning in a month’s time to find Doctor Watson in his grave.
That was worse, I decided. Mister Holmes had many flaws but where the doctor was concerned…
Yes, I’d made the right decision.
I raised my glass to the clock. It was, I tried to remember and then succeeded, Monday.
“To our ships at sea,” I said aloud, then added, “may they all be swift ones.”
I drank my gin and went to bed.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-16 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-16 10:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-06-22 05:16 pm (UTC)I thought the most powerful lines were:
I didn’t doubt her, but one has to see these things for oneself.
and
Thick. Sturdy. Solid. Heavy in the hand. If I threw the glass against the wall, it would crack but not dash to shards.
They illustrate Mrs. Hudson's personality and her current feelings so well.
no subject
Date: 2020-06-22 06:36 pm (UTC)I have drinking glasses like that, which really deserve gin or rum and not the Coke and iced tea I put in them.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-03 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-04 03:10 am (UTC)