![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
FIC: When Diversions Are Few: G
Apr. 23rd, 2016 09:51 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
gardnerhill.livejournal.comTitle: When Diversions Are Few
Form/Wordcount: Fic, 221b
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Inspector Lestrade
Rating: G
Warnings/Content: None.
Author’s Notes: Everyone’s clearly a little bored when this case crops up. For the April prompt for Holmes Minor.
***
“Hi! Cab!”
The old man who’d shouted in such a hale fashion sprinted after the receding hansom bearing a silhouetted figure, with a spryness that belied his decrepit appearance.
Watson and Lestrade watched this spectacle in stunned wonder for seven seconds before turning to look at each other. Lestrade reached for his waistcoat.
Much later Holmes related to his two friends the chase he’d had to make as no cabs would stop for him – through mud and street-filth, nearly waylaid by pedestrians and police alike, nearly running straight into a lamp-post at one point.
“A full mile, at least,” the sleuth responded when the Inspector asked how long he’d managed to keep up the chase. “But in ten minutes I’d caught up enough to climb aboard the rear of the cab, for the remainder of the ride to the station, where I lost myself in the crowd to follow him.”
“Ten minutes for a mile or so, you say?” Watson said, and grinned. Lestrade's face fell.
Holmes looked at both. “What the deuce is wrong with you two?”
Watson turned to the police inspector and held out his hand as a chagrined Lestrade fumbled with another waistcoat pocket. “Told you he’d keep that pace up for at least a mile, and he’d do it under a quarter-hour. You lose the bet.”
Form/Wordcount: Fic, 221b
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Inspector Lestrade
Rating: G
Warnings/Content: None.
Author’s Notes: Everyone’s clearly a little bored when this case crops up. For the April prompt for Holmes Minor.
***
“Hi! Cab!”
The old man who’d shouted in such a hale fashion sprinted after the receding hansom bearing a silhouetted figure, with a spryness that belied his decrepit appearance.
Watson and Lestrade watched this spectacle in stunned wonder for seven seconds before turning to look at each other. Lestrade reached for his waistcoat.
Much later Holmes related to his two friends the chase he’d had to make as no cabs would stop for him – through mud and street-filth, nearly waylaid by pedestrians and police alike, nearly running straight into a lamp-post at one point.
“A full mile, at least,” the sleuth responded when the Inspector asked how long he’d managed to keep up the chase. “But in ten minutes I’d caught up enough to climb aboard the rear of the cab, for the remainder of the ride to the station, where I lost myself in the crowd to follow him.”
“Ten minutes for a mile or so, you say?” Watson said, and grinned. Lestrade's face fell.
Holmes looked at both. “What the deuce is wrong with you two?”
Watson turned to the police inspector and held out his hand as a chagrined Lestrade fumbled with another waistcoat pocket. “Told you he’d keep that pace up for at least a mile, and he’d do it under a quarter-hour. You lose the bet.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}