"Monday Morning" (ACD, WWI Era, November 2020 Holmes Minor Monthly Prompt)

[gardnerhill]

Title: Monday Morning
Author: gardnerhill
Form/Wordcount: 444
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Rating: G
Warnings/Content: None
Summary: Sometimes a cold drizzly morning walk is worth it.
Author’s Notes: For the Holmes Minor November 2020 prompt: Bells.
Author's Further Note: This is set in the same series as my other 2020 Holmes Minor stories, which take place in Sussex after Watson returns from WWI.



Sherlock proposed that we go for a walk after breakfast, rather than turn to the late-autumnal chores that normally occupied us at this time of the year. (I could still help my spouse prepare his hives for winter; it was a little less nerve-wracking now that I could not see the bees flying around us during the work, and I was getting better at gauging their distances by sound.)

"A walk?" said I. The weather was cold and drizzly – typical November in East Sussex – and not the best day for a casual stroll. But I knew my spouse; there was a reason for this.

More pride filled me as we headed eastward along the cliff's edge. I'd become surefooted on the dirt and occasional stones on the pathway – and when I did occasionally fall, my oaths were their pre-war "Blast!" or "Bother!" again. I barely used my cane to make my way now. Sherlock felt the same way, for I sensed the vast pleasure emanating from him at my progress, if his humming of a favorite Tchaikovsky piece was an indication.

The cold drizzle pressed around me and on my face like a million microscopic raindrops. "Can you see a da– dratted thing? It feels foggy."

My husband laughed. "There is some visibility, but not far. I can see the path ahead, but most of the sea is cloaked." Joviality in his voice.

"Sherlock Holmes." I tried to sound stern, but I was in an anticipatory mood myself. "You sound as if you are about to make me a gift of the entire coast of Dover."

"It's better than that, Johnny-lad."

Oh my Lord. Something bright stirred inside of me too. What – what else could put him in such a giddy, boyish mood, reckless enough to dare a bedroom name in the open air? …Oh dear God. What we'd all prayed for so long. Did I dare hope?

At the next rise, we stopped. "Here, I think." He chuckled. "Almost time."

Time. It was late morning when we walked out. It must be nearly eleven o'clock. Heh. Eleventh day of November, eleventh month. Eleven…

I heard a a church bell ringing. But it was not tolling the hours but ringing madly, as if for a wedding. But if so then everyone was marrying because other bells pealed around us. Alfriston, Eastbourne, Brighton, Hassock, St. Leonards – from every town in earshot we heard joyous caroling from every church bell-tower.

My heart exploded in a ball of sunlight. Mycroft must have told him. "Oh sweet Jesus."

"Yes, darling." Sherlock's voice was thick with tears, but his voice was as joyous as mine. "The war is over."

Comments

[smallhobbit]

Perfect!

[gardnerhill]

What more appropriate theme for a WWI-era November story?

[stonepicnicking_okapi]

Aw. A lovely use of the prompt!

[gardnerhill]

Thank you. I may have done a bit of dancing and celebrating a week ago myself.

[scfrankles]

Ah, beautifully touching ^____^

And can I just mention how much I liked a couple of little touches - Watson's different and new perception of the bees, now he can no longer see them. And the way his swearing has been turned down a bit, the weaker curses reflecting his letting go of any frustration, and his new confidence in himself - he's in control of himself again in more than one way.

[gardnerhill]

And no doubt some severe training away from what Holmes called "frontline vernacular" in Watson's language when he was first home from war. They no longer have to fear for ladies or children hearing profanity if he takes a spill - and he's more amused than stricken when he does fall.