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holmes_minorTitle: Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!
Length: 221b
Rating: Gen
Characters: Inky Quill (OC - porcupine); Watson
Notes: for the monthly prompt: pigeon; there is a well-known children's book in the US called Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!
Summary: Watson observes a resemblance between the protagonist of a puppet show and a certain sleuth.
I waited.
The applause died and the crowd dispersed, and soon I spied my spiny friend ambling towards me, his gait a methodical waddle and his bowtie a dapper russet brown.
“Congratulations, Mister Quill, on another success.”
“Thank you, Doctor Watson. It means a great deal to have friends in the audience even though you are not the age originally conceived for such a work.”
I shrugged and put a hand to my chest. “I am a child at heart. Shall we take a walk?”
“By all means. Early autumn is my favorite time of year. Perhaps you will accompany me back to my residence in Her Majesty’s Zoological Garden?”
“I’d love to.”
We walked together.
“So, tell me, Mister Quill, why ever did you decide to branch out from poetry and journalism to children’s theatricals?”
“One must go where the muse leads, and there is a certain magic about puppetry, is there not?”
“It was a splendid show. Amusing and entertaining, but, and please, forgive me if I’m presuming, but I think the inspiration for your play and the inspiration for my jottings in The Strand are one in the same.”
“Your instincts are sound, Doctor.” His eyes twinkled.
“I knew it! I thought the pigeon looked very familiar, and you should never, ever let Sherlock Holmes drive the bus!”
Length: 221b
Rating: Gen
Characters: Inky Quill (OC - porcupine); Watson
Notes: for the monthly prompt: pigeon; there is a well-known children's book in the US called Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!
Summary: Watson observes a resemblance between the protagonist of a puppet show and a certain sleuth.
I waited.
The applause died and the crowd dispersed, and soon I spied my spiny friend ambling towards me, his gait a methodical waddle and his bowtie a dapper russet brown.
“Congratulations, Mister Quill, on another success.”
“Thank you, Doctor Watson. It means a great deal to have friends in the audience even though you are not the age originally conceived for such a work.”
I shrugged and put a hand to my chest. “I am a child at heart. Shall we take a walk?”
“By all means. Early autumn is my favorite time of year. Perhaps you will accompany me back to my residence in Her Majesty’s Zoological Garden?”
“I’d love to.”
We walked together.
“So, tell me, Mister Quill, why ever did you decide to branch out from poetry and journalism to children’s theatricals?”
“One must go where the muse leads, and there is a certain magic about puppetry, is there not?”
“It was a splendid show. Amusing and entertaining, but, and please, forgive me if I’m presuming, but I think the inspiration for your play and the inspiration for my jottings in The Strand are one in the same.”
“Your instincts are sound, Doctor.” His eyes twinkled.
“I knew it! I thought the pigeon looked very familiar, and you should never, ever let Sherlock Holmes drive the bus!”
