Fic: Mirror: Gen
Nov. 19th, 2020 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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holmes_minorTitle: Mirror
Length: 221b
Rating: Gen
Notes: Holmes/Watson. Sussex 'verse. For the November prompt. It's just a pun.
Summary: Holmes has an odd dream.
“Do you ever wonder about a mirror world, Watson?”
As pillow talk went, it left much to be desired, and I said as much as I did my best impression of a fitful walrus in my attempt to roll over in bed in order to face Holmes.
It was almost winter and still dark. Holmes and I were buried beneath layers of warm blankets.
“A world made of mirrors?”
“No, I mean a parallel world.”
“No. Did you have a dream? You were restless.”
“How would you know, my dear man? You sleep like the dearly departed.”
My reply was a noise of indignation, but I recognised the parry for what it was. “Did you have a dream?” I pressed.
“Yes,” Holmes admitted. “I was Scottish.”
“Ah, a good dream, then.”
This won me a retaliatory tickling.
“I was a lecturer and a surgeon at the medical university,” said Holmes a few minutes later.
I hummed thoughtfully.
“I was demonstrating to a theatre of medical students how to determine a person’s occupation and other personal characteristics based on physical clues found on their body. You were there.”
“Oh, yes?”
“A bright young thing, gazing intently, taking notes furiously.”
“You are fascinating, even in your dreams,” I replied and kissed Holmes’s nose.
“My name was Joseph.”
“Doctor Joseph? Doesn’t ring a Bell.”
Length: 221b
Rating: Gen
Notes: Holmes/Watson. Sussex 'verse. For the November prompt. It's just a pun.
Summary: Holmes has an odd dream.
“Do you ever wonder about a mirror world, Watson?”
As pillow talk went, it left much to be desired, and I said as much as I did my best impression of a fitful walrus in my attempt to roll over in bed in order to face Holmes.
It was almost winter and still dark. Holmes and I were buried beneath layers of warm blankets.
“A world made of mirrors?”
“No, I mean a parallel world.”
“No. Did you have a dream? You were restless.”
“How would you know, my dear man? You sleep like the dearly departed.”
My reply was a noise of indignation, but I recognised the parry for what it was. “Did you have a dream?” I pressed.
“Yes,” Holmes admitted. “I was Scottish.”
“Ah, a good dream, then.”
This won me a retaliatory tickling.
“I was a lecturer and a surgeon at the medical university,” said Holmes a few minutes later.
I hummed thoughtfully.
“I was demonstrating to a theatre of medical students how to determine a person’s occupation and other personal characteristics based on physical clues found on their body. You were there.”
“Oh, yes?”
“A bright young thing, gazing intently, taking notes furiously.”
“You are fascinating, even in your dreams,” I replied and kissed Holmes’s nose.
“My name was Joseph.”
“Doctor Joseph? Doesn’t ring a Bell.”
