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holmes_minor2023-05-15 03:52 pm
stonepicnicking_okapi) wrote in holmes_minor2023-05-15 03:52 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Sudden Flag: Gen
Title: Sudden Flag
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: While doing errands, Mrs. Hudson has a sudden flag.
Later Mrs. Hudson would not be able to point to any single cause for her sudden change in mood, in physical condition. It was an ordinary day with an ordinary day’s responsibilities, concerns, and tasks. She was at the market in a near continuous state of comparison between the list in her mind, the contents of her purse, considering what was needed, what was on offer and, of course, the cost and quality of everything about her.
And then, without warning, she seemed to wilt, sapped of her life force.
She flagged.
She was tired, completely utterly and senselessly tired. Tired of shopping. Tired of markets. Tired of, well, everything. So tired even a simple, ubiquitous remedy like a cup of tea did not occur to her until much later.
Mrs. Hudson has enough sense of self-preservation to move herself to a less bustling corner of the market and find a sturdy crate to rest her not insignificant bulk upon. There was still a stream of buyers and sellers and the sundry other characters always to be found about centres of popular commerce. They created a kind of noisy curtain, shielding her from the market, cloistering her with her thoughts.
What was the point of it all, really? What did it matter? She could remain on this perch for centuries, let the world rise and fall around her.
Mrs. Hudson’s gaze went from her lap, her shopping bags, and her purse, to the bustle about her. When there were gaps in the flow of people, she noticed she was opposite stalls of flowers. Pretty spring bouquets and nosegays and bundles.
A faint tendril of their perfume curled through the bodies, and Mrs. Hudson was relieved that at her own smile.
At least she wasn’t too spent for that!
But she had no idea where she was going to find the energy to remove herself from the crate and make her way home. She did not have the will to rise from her makeshift stool, and her natural economy balked at the notion of paying for a cab when she hadn’t yet made a single purchase.
What about her list?
What about her list. Oh, to the devil with her list!
She shocked herself.
She had a second shock when she heard a voice she recognised.
“What are you doing, Watson?”
“Getting some flowers.”
“Your interest in the deceased’s sister is stronger than I imagined.”
“Not for her. These are for Mrs. Hudson.”
“Oh.”
“She’s been wearing herself thin lately. These will cheer her up.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right about the condition of our noble landlady. But mere petals won’t do. I propose to pick up a bottle of her favourite elixir to add to the gift.”
“Excellent suggestion.”
Mrs. Hudson found herself transformed.
She had no difficulty in getting to her feet once the gentlemen had departed. She would buy some nice chops for supper and then make a quick retreat to Baker Street—
and receive her gifts with aplomb.
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: While doing errands, Mrs. Hudson has a sudden flag.
Later Mrs. Hudson would not be able to point to any single cause for her sudden change in mood, in physical condition. It was an ordinary day with an ordinary day’s responsibilities, concerns, and tasks. She was at the market in a near continuous state of comparison between the list in her mind, the contents of her purse, considering what was needed, what was on offer and, of course, the cost and quality of everything about her.
And then, without warning, she seemed to wilt, sapped of her life force.
She flagged.
She was tired, completely utterly and senselessly tired. Tired of shopping. Tired of markets. Tired of, well, everything. So tired even a simple, ubiquitous remedy like a cup of tea did not occur to her until much later.
Mrs. Hudson has enough sense of self-preservation to move herself to a less bustling corner of the market and find a sturdy crate to rest her not insignificant bulk upon. There was still a stream of buyers and sellers and the sundry other characters always to be found about centres of popular commerce. They created a kind of noisy curtain, shielding her from the market, cloistering her with her thoughts.
What was the point of it all, really? What did it matter? She could remain on this perch for centuries, let the world rise and fall around her.
Mrs. Hudson’s gaze went from her lap, her shopping bags, and her purse, to the bustle about her. When there were gaps in the flow of people, she noticed she was opposite stalls of flowers. Pretty spring bouquets and nosegays and bundles.
A faint tendril of their perfume curled through the bodies, and Mrs. Hudson was relieved that at her own smile.
At least she wasn’t too spent for that!
But she had no idea where she was going to find the energy to remove herself from the crate and make her way home. She did not have the will to rise from her makeshift stool, and her natural economy balked at the notion of paying for a cab when she hadn’t yet made a single purchase.
What about her list?
What about her list. Oh, to the devil with her list!
She shocked herself.
She had a second shock when she heard a voice she recognised.
“What are you doing, Watson?”
“Getting some flowers.”
“Your interest in the deceased’s sister is stronger than I imagined.”
“Not for her. These are for Mrs. Hudson.”
“Oh.”
“She’s been wearing herself thin lately. These will cheer her up.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right about the condition of our noble landlady. But mere petals won’t do. I propose to pick up a bottle of her favourite elixir to add to the gift.”
“Excellent suggestion.”
Mrs. Hudson found herself transformed.
She had no difficulty in getting to her feet once the gentlemen had departed. She would buy some nice chops for supper and then make a quick retreat to Baker Street—
and receive her gifts with aplomb.
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It is a lovely idea--the world may sometimes wear Mrs. Hudson out but some thoughtfulness and support from other people can buoy her up again.
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Yes, it's a message of getting your second (third, hundredth) wind at life from wherever you can.
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