Fic: Hammam Bouquet: G

[okapi1895.livejournal.com]

Title: Hammam Bouquet
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Content Notes: Angst; Holmes/Watson (pining); AU with regard to timeline, esp. Watson/Mary; Turkish bath; rum; tattoos; mention of morphine use; references to "A Scandal in Bohemia."
Summary: Watson contemplates a tattoo.
Author's Note: For the monthly prompt: spirit. Inspired by the sherlock60 discussion post of two weeks ago about fragrance and the 1_million_words prompt: "There was frost on the carpet."

“Doctor Watson?”

I grunted.

“There’s a cab for you, should you wish to return to your lodgings.”

“Is there? Prescient sod.”

The first utterance was directed at the soft-spoken attendant, the second at the pair of mint sprigs at the bottom of my glass.
Green stems as muddled as I was.

“Very well.”

I slowly got to my feet, weighed more by the memory of my own foolishness than by the spirit flowing through my veins.

“Doctor, you forgot this.”

“Did I?”

Certain of the irony lost in my reply, I shoved the small roll of parchment under my arm and tottered toward the exit.

---

“You’ve been unfaithful, Watson. To your whiskey and your bath.”

I grunted.

“The distinctive blend of scents known as Hammam Bouquet on your clothes can only mean you’ve eschewed the Turkish bath on Northumberland Avenue for the one on Jermyn Street. And I’d be a poor detective if I couldn’t detect rum on the breath of a man who is as spirit-filled as the one before me.”

I scowled not at Holmes’s words, but rather at his waistcoat, which peeked out from a dark blue dressing gown.

If there was a waistcoat, there was a watch, and if there was a watch, there was a watch-chain, and if there was a watch-chain, there was a sovereign, and if there was a sovereign…

…well, there was a fool.

I hurled the parchment into the fire and growled “Go to hell,” then shuffled off to bed.

---

Breakfast was coffee for two.

“I threw that in the fire,” I said, glancing at the parchment stretched upon canvas.

“An unsuccessful attempt. It’s a beautiful rendering and an interesting choice of subject. Dragon.”

“New patient, had the most fabulous tattoo, covered his back. Said he had it done on Jermyn Street. So I went to see the artist. We chatted a bit and he drew that.” I sighed. “Needle pierces skin, I squeal like a lamb at slaughter. Couldn’t go through with it. I was a soldier, damn it!”

My fist hit the table.

“Watson.”

The word was as soft as crushed rose petals, but as Holmes reached for my hand, I glimpsed the sovereign.

Like a hanged man.

“Must ready myself. I’m to propose marriage to Miss Morstan today.”

“Watson.”

“I am not the man that I think I am.” I glanced at the sketch of the dragon. “And I will never be…”

The rest of my words—clever, charming, loved in the way that I love—drowned in a sip of coffee.

Cup met saucer, but just as I rose, morning light struck the gold disc and danced across the room, creating the illusion of a cascade of sparkling snow flurries.

“Enjoy your guinea—that is, your breakfast,” I mumbled, fleeing a heated, hunting and hungry, grey-eyed stare.

---

When next I met those grey eyes, they were shrouded in an opiate veil.

“She said ‘yes.’”

He looked through me, nodding.

“Is that why there’s frost on the rug?”

Comments

[thesmallhobbit.livejournal.com]

Lovely sad portrayal of both Holmes and Watson.

[okapi1895.livejournal.com]

Thank you. I think the rum worked well. Although for length's sake I had to cut the part about Bunsy Tweedlebite's trip to Antigua. Wouldn't have gone with the mood anyhow.

[thesmallhobbit.livejournal.com]

Bunsy wouldn't have been right for the mood. Maybe we could meet him another time?

[scfrankles.livejournal.com]

There are some beautiful phrases in your fic. I love The word was as soft as crushed rose petals..., ...just as I rose, morning light struck the gold disc and danced across the room, creating the illusion of a cascade of sparkling snow flurries and When next I met those grey eyes, they were shrouded in an opiate veil.

I must admit I hadn't been expecting you to go down the serious route with the perfume and the tattoo. It's so poignant that this is a story about the absence of the tattoo. That Watson views his inability to have the dragon on his back as a metaphor for what's lacking in his character.

[okapi1895.livejournal.com]

Thank you! The rose petal line I think wins the award for the most artful phrase osf the story. And I had the prompt of 'frost on the carpet' so I wanted Holmes to see it in a drugged stupor at the end but Watson to see it also, reflected in the symbol (to him) of his inadequacy and failure.

I started with the line 'you've been unfaithful to your bath, Watson' and Holmes deducing Watson's visit to the Jermyn Street establishment by the scent (picking up on the 75 perfume study of HOUND). And I honestly can't see canon Watson getting a big dragon tattoo (although I watched the Old Russian episode today and I am willing to entertain the idea for Russian Watson). But if he sees the Irene's sovereign as a symbol of the partner he cannot be (intellectual equal) of Holmes, then maybe he has a crises of confidence and wants to prove it. Something dramatic, over the top (like the canon equivalent of a sports car) and when his older body (and/or mind) rejects the idea, well, he's shattered twice over. So he falls back on a traditional role that he knows he can succeed at. Plus, the days are getting noticeably shorter and colder and darker here and I'm feeling a bit glum. So, angst.

[debriswoman]

Very sad
Some powerful images.

[okapi1895.livejournal.com]

Thank you!