Fic: Tuesday's Toast: Gen
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holmes_minorTitle: Tuesday's Toast
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: for the monthly prompt: vessel. With the British Navy's toast of the day. Continuation of the previous ficlets. Watson is gravely ill with influenza while Holmes is away as Captain Basil. Mrs. Hudson sends Holmes word of Watson's condition. Alternating POV.
I marched down the stairs, remembering the physician’s final words to me.
“All you can do now is make him as comfortable as possible.”
Our men, I grumbled to myself, they are all about the fight when the fight is on the open seas or in a field far away, but when it comes to human vessels, fighting for a sickbed not to become a deathbed, well, thing are difference.
The bottle of laudanum was in my pocket. It was going to stay there, for now.
I burst into the kitchen. Esme and Maisie sprung to their feet.
“He’s given up. The doctor.” They looked aghast. “The doctor, not our doctor.” I looked from one girl to the other. “Have we given up?”
“No, ma’am!” they replied in unison.
“Good.” I sighed. “Let’s have a cuppa.”
---
“All you can do now is make him as comfortable as possible.”
I knew that phrase! It meant I was dying.
Perhaps it was better this way. Holmes was far away. By the time he returned, it would all be over. I would be somewhere else. The thought made my eyes sting with tears.
And the doctor’s words, ringing in my ears, made my blood boil with indignation.
I would fight.
---
“Mrs. Hudson!”
Esme gave a yelp. I said a prayer in the guise of an unladylike oath.
We both hurried down the stairs.
Captain Basil’s ashen face met ours. He dropped his bag on the rug.
“How is he?”
“Still with us,” replied I as I’d rehearsed in my mind since I’d sent the telegram.
He clasped one of my bare hand in both of his gloved ones. “Thank you.” He gave a faint smile and nod to Esme and then pushed between us and hurried up the stairs.
---
“How in heavens did you know?”
“Mrs. Hudson sent me a telegram.”
“Bless her. I’m sorry about your case.”
“I’m not. I’m where I belong.”
“The doctor said I’m to be kept as comfortable as possible.” I gave the phrase all the derision I could.
“Damn him.” He bent and wrapped his arms around my chest, lifting my upper body off the bed, and pressing me to him.
I closed my eyes and curled my arms around his neck. “No, no,” I murmured, feeling his strength and drawing it in to me as I inhaled the briny fragrance of the sea which still clung to him. “I am following doctor’s orders. I’m as comfortable as possible.”
---
With a full tray in her hands, Esme made her way slowly but not ungracefully back down the stairs.
She returned to the kitchen and set the tray down on the table.
Mrs. Hudson appeared.
“I think they need a few more minutes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hudson nodded sagely. “Well, why don’t we have a drink?” She held up a bottle.
“I’ve never tried rum,” confessed Esme.
But a few minutes later she was raising her glass to Mrs. Hudson and grinning as she echoed the toast.
“To our men!”
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: for the monthly prompt: vessel. With the British Navy's toast of the day. Continuation of the previous ficlets. Watson is gravely ill with influenza while Holmes is away as Captain Basil. Mrs. Hudson sends Holmes word of Watson's condition. Alternating POV.
I marched down the stairs, remembering the physician’s final words to me.
“All you can do now is make him as comfortable as possible.”
Our men, I grumbled to myself, they are all about the fight when the fight is on the open seas or in a field far away, but when it comes to human vessels, fighting for a sickbed not to become a deathbed, well, thing are difference.
The bottle of laudanum was in my pocket. It was going to stay there, for now.
I burst into the kitchen. Esme and Maisie sprung to their feet.
“He’s given up. The doctor.” They looked aghast. “The doctor, not our doctor.” I looked from one girl to the other. “Have we given up?”
“No, ma’am!” they replied in unison.
“Good.” I sighed. “Let’s have a cuppa.”
---
“All you can do now is make him as comfortable as possible.”
I knew that phrase! It meant I was dying.
Perhaps it was better this way. Holmes was far away. By the time he returned, it would all be over. I would be somewhere else. The thought made my eyes sting with tears.
And the doctor’s words, ringing in my ears, made my blood boil with indignation.
I would fight.
---
“Mrs. Hudson!”
Esme gave a yelp. I said a prayer in the guise of an unladylike oath.
We both hurried down the stairs.
Captain Basil’s ashen face met ours. He dropped his bag on the rug.
“How is he?”
“Still with us,” replied I as I’d rehearsed in my mind since I’d sent the telegram.
He clasped one of my bare hand in both of his gloved ones. “Thank you.” He gave a faint smile and nod to Esme and then pushed between us and hurried up the stairs.
---
“How in heavens did you know?”
“Mrs. Hudson sent me a telegram.”
“Bless her. I’m sorry about your case.”
“I’m not. I’m where I belong.”
“The doctor said I’m to be kept as comfortable as possible.” I gave the phrase all the derision I could.
“Damn him.” He bent and wrapped his arms around my chest, lifting my upper body off the bed, and pressing me to him.
I closed my eyes and curled my arms around his neck. “No, no,” I murmured, feeling his strength and drawing it in to me as I inhaled the briny fragrance of the sea which still clung to him. “I am following doctor’s orders. I’m as comfortable as possible.”
---
With a full tray in her hands, Esme made her way slowly but not ungracefully back down the stairs.
She returned to the kitchen and set the tray down on the table.
Mrs. Hudson appeared.
“I think they need a few more minutes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Hudson nodded sagely. “Well, why don’t we have a drink?” She held up a bottle.
“I’ve never tried rum,” confessed Esme.
But a few minutes later she was raising her glass to Mrs. Hudson and grinning as she echoed the toast.
“To our men!”
