Fic: Mrs. Hudson's Sand Globe: Gen
Aug. 7th, 2022 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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Title: Mrs. Hudson's Sand Globe
For:
scfrankles - Happy belated Birthday!
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Summary: Mrs. Hudson has a quiet Sunday.
Sundays were usually quiet. Mrs. Hudson made herself a cup of tea and set it on the well-scrubbed kitchen table. Then, on a whim, she went to her bedroom and returned with something.
She set the crystal globe, set in its dark stand, on the table and took up the cup and sipped. Then she returned cup to saucer and took up the globe. She cranked a small lever on the side, shook the heavy orb, and set it back on the table and watched and listened.
She smiled.
What played, as tinny as it was jaunty, was a carousel tune, a circus melody of Mrs. Hudson’s youth.
Unlike every other globe Mrs. Hudson had ever seen, the scene inside the globe was a summer one.
Not snow, but sand.
The water swished about, tugging the sand up over the wee sand castle, obscuring it momentarily. The waves sloshed about, creating a chaotic tide. White flecks in the shape of gulls danced about in the maelstrom.
The tune played on, and Mrs. Hudson remembered trips to the shore. She closed her eyes and could hear the music of the bathers, children playing, mothers gossiping and scolding, fathers snoring. She could hear the vendors calling out their enticements and the aroma of grease and sugar riding along the breeze. She could hear the splashes. She could feel the warm sun on her face.
Sun, sea, sand. Fun and games.
She opened her eyes when the tune ceased and was momentarily surprised to find herself in the kitchen of 221 Baker Street, central London.
The sand in the globe had settled. The castle could be seen on the slope of the dune. The gulls were sitting atop the water. All was calm. Mrs. Hudson remembered floating on top of the water, looking up at the rare wisp of cloud.
She finished her tea, still firmly ensconced in memory.
It was the bang of the front door which finally jolted Mrs. Hudson out of her seaside reverie, boots taking the seventeen steps at a hard, fast clip and voices, low in registry but animated in spirit.
Mrs. Hudson knew in her marrow that her Sunday quiet had just come to an end. She scooped up the globe and took it back to her bedroom. She was returning to the kitchen when she heard her name being called in a tone which meant something, perhaps many things, would be asked of her.
After moments of Sunday quiet, her escape into daydream, Mrs. Hudson was disposed to indulge her tenants. After all, hadn’t it been Doctor Watson who had listened intently to the stories of her childhood and her family’s trips to the seaside? And hadn’t it been Mister Holmes who had presented her with the handmade gift of the globe that very special Christmas? He had actually fashioned it himself. Mrs. Hudson had to admit he was clever and not just at the destruction of household upholstery and the solving of crimes.
“Yes, gentlemen?”
For:
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Summary: Mrs. Hudson has a quiet Sunday.
Sundays were usually quiet. Mrs. Hudson made herself a cup of tea and set it on the well-scrubbed kitchen table. Then, on a whim, she went to her bedroom and returned with something.
She set the crystal globe, set in its dark stand, on the table and took up the cup and sipped. Then she returned cup to saucer and took up the globe. She cranked a small lever on the side, shook the heavy orb, and set it back on the table and watched and listened.
She smiled.
What played, as tinny as it was jaunty, was a carousel tune, a circus melody of Mrs. Hudson’s youth.
Unlike every other globe Mrs. Hudson had ever seen, the scene inside the globe was a summer one.
Not snow, but sand.
The water swished about, tugging the sand up over the wee sand castle, obscuring it momentarily. The waves sloshed about, creating a chaotic tide. White flecks in the shape of gulls danced about in the maelstrom.
The tune played on, and Mrs. Hudson remembered trips to the shore. She closed her eyes and could hear the music of the bathers, children playing, mothers gossiping and scolding, fathers snoring. She could hear the vendors calling out their enticements and the aroma of grease and sugar riding along the breeze. She could hear the splashes. She could feel the warm sun on her face.
Sun, sea, sand. Fun and games.
She opened her eyes when the tune ceased and was momentarily surprised to find herself in the kitchen of 221 Baker Street, central London.
The sand in the globe had settled. The castle could be seen on the slope of the dune. The gulls were sitting atop the water. All was calm. Mrs. Hudson remembered floating on top of the water, looking up at the rare wisp of cloud.
She finished her tea, still firmly ensconced in memory.
It was the bang of the front door which finally jolted Mrs. Hudson out of her seaside reverie, boots taking the seventeen steps at a hard, fast clip and voices, low in registry but animated in spirit.
Mrs. Hudson knew in her marrow that her Sunday quiet had just come to an end. She scooped up the globe and took it back to her bedroom. She was returning to the kitchen when she heard her name being called in a tone which meant something, perhaps many things, would be asked of her.
After moments of Sunday quiet, her escape into daydream, Mrs. Hudson was disposed to indulge her tenants. After all, hadn’t it been Doctor Watson who had listened intently to the stories of her childhood and her family’s trips to the seaside? And hadn’t it been Mister Holmes who had presented her with the handmade gift of the globe that very special Christmas? He had actually fashioned it himself. Mrs. Hudson had to admit he was clever and not just at the destruction of household upholstery and the solving of crimes.
“Yes, gentlemen?”