Fic: Blue Star Confession: G

[okapi1895.livejournal.com]

Title: Blue Star Confession
Rating: G
Length: 500
Content Notes: pre-Holmes/Watson
Summary: A home laboratory mishap lead to an accidental confession.
Author's Note: Blue is the most difficult colour to achieve in fireworks. More about that here, if you're interested. The pellets of metal salts that make up fireworks are called 'stars.' For the November prompt: fireworks.

BANG!

I rushed to open a window.

“Did you see that, Watson?!”

“I may not be the most observant man in the world—or the room,” I called behind me, “but even I could not miss an exploding star of blue flame!”

“Not the goal I had in mind, but still significant,” said Holmes.

“What?” I asked, coughing and waving at the smoke. “Good Lord, Holmes! Your eyebrows!”

“Casualties in the crusade for the truth, my dear Watson. But, no, my victory is for art, not science. My azure blood is singing!”
The last was, indeed, sung.

I stifled a laugh. “Are you certain your blood isn’t singed?”

Ignoring my quip, he waltzed about the fog.

“Blue, Watson! Blue is rare. Strontium carbonate creates red; calcium chloride, orange; sodium nitrate, yellow; and barium chloride, green. All simple and straightforward. But, oh, that tricky copper chloride. Copper creates blue, and the temperature must be within a very narrow range. Too hot or too cool, nothing, but when the elements are just right—BOOM!”

He made a theatrical flourish.

“My dear man,” his face fell, “I hope that the explosion did not cause you any undo distress.”

“I’m quite all right,” I reassured him, touching my face and confirming that my own eyebrows were still attached.

“Good. Sometimes returned soldiers find such noises quite detrimental to their peace of mind.”

“Oh,” I breathed, realising the source of his concern. “It’s true that noises in the street can have an unsettling effect.” I considered the question further, then added, “But I think in those cases it is surprise that contributes to the distress. When I see you at work in your laboratory,” I gestured to the apparatus strewn across tables and floor, “I know that such hazards are very likely, if not imminent, and therefore I suppose I am somewhat prepared for it.”

He smiled. “Good. I should not want to contribute to your nightmares.”

I laughed and retorted, “The way you contribute to my dreams.” I made to sit, shuffling newspapers, and it wasn’t until I was settled in my armchair that I realised the full import of my words.

Good Lord. I could not meet his eyes. I waved an arm and coughed. “This blue smoke, it’s quite thick, isn’t it? I feel a bit addled,” I said weakly, then shuffled more papers.

I caught a flash of plaid flannel dressing gown, and when I finally summon the courage to look up, Holmes was at the open window, his back to me.

“Indeed,” he said. “Perhaps it’s best if we remove ourselves from the rooms for the evening. Marcini’s for supper, then a concert?”

I exhaled. “It’d be a lovely way to celebrate your artistic achievement.”

He turned sharply and with a rueful expression, said,

“And mourn the loss of my eyebrows.”

Our eyes met, and we both burst into laughter.

“The illustrator will be very cross,” I added as we retreated to our respective bedrooms to change.

Comments

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Thank you for this charming and seasonal ficlet. I must quote confirming that my own eyebrows were still attached. And I love the bit about blue fireworks - a fine extra!

The ending is so good, too.

[okapi1895.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading! And yes, there's all right and then there's all right (with eyebrows). They really are tough to get. If you see them, you know you're watching a top-shelf show.

Thank you. Nothing too dramatic, just a bit of fresh air.