Fic: The Gift of Empathy: G
Dec. 1st, 2016 10:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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holmes_minorTitle: The Gift of Empathy [Inky's December column]
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Content Notes: Holmes, OC [Inky, mention of others]; h/c; Christmas; in the same universe as my Watson Woes WAdvent fic Compliments of the Season.
Summary: When Inky's avant-garde Christmas play flops, he finds empathy in an unusual source.
Author's Note: for the monthly prompt: gift
“Mister Quill.”
I was at home to no one, but a pleasant baritone at an hour when the gates of Her Majesty’s Zoological Garden were most assuredly closed to visitors prompted me to reconsider.
“Mister Holmes.”
“Would you care to join me for a drink?”
“I deduce that Doctor Watson is occupied this evening.”
“He is taking part in a shared ambulatory seizure with musical accompaniment.”
“Caroling?”
“That is the provincial term. Whiskey-and-soda?”
“I have no taste for whiskey.”
“Neither do I, but Watson equates its consumption and tolerance with certain, shall we say, desirable aspects of character. Just soda?”
I nodded.
---
Mister Holmes tut-tutted. “And then?”
“And then, at the most delicately-wrought moment of the drama, when the mouse—“
“Representing humility,” he interjected.
I nodded. “—rides upon the back of the lobster—“
“Symbolising the powerful currents of nature.”
“—across the stage holding the scroll inscribed with the yuletide blessings of peace, joy, health, and happiness—“
“Inscribed in English?”
“In French, my good man! Well, at that moment, they stopped throwing tomatoes and began throwing hard-boiled eggs!”
“Heavens!”
“Chaos erupted, the cast mutinied, well, all save Ferret, who was gobbling up as many of the projectiles as possible whilst in a lobster costume, and the audience chased me out of the theatre!”
"A playwright is not without honour, save in his own country, and in his own house, Mister Quill.”
“I am heartened that you chose that verse and not the one about pearls and swine, for Mister Peccary not only did an estimable job as a maniacal Christmas pudding, he also extended to me warm compliments of the season—immediately prior to stampeding for the egress, of course. But what honour, Mister Holmes? I face laughter and pitying looks wherever I go. I even spotted a very unflattering caricature of me scratched on a rock in the flamingo pool!”
“I have suffered it all, Mister Quill, at the hands of Scotland Yarders, except, perhaps, the eggs and tomatoes, though quite a few would’ve jumped at the chance. You must not lose heart. Lick your wounds and launch yourself back into the fracas. Though risible today, tomorrow you may be something entirely different.”
He leaned forward and unfolded a newspaper. The headline exclaimed: THE GREAT SHERLOCK HOLMES SAVES THE DAY!
We finished our drinks in companionable silence, then I bid him good night.
---
On an evening of the following week, I discovered my den had been trespassed in my absence. My quills bristled until I saw that nothing had been taken, but rather that something had been left behind.
A card.
A card with a breath-takingly beautiful rendering of a mouse, riding on a lobster, holding a scroll inscribed ‘paise, joie, santé, bonheur.’
On the blank side, it bore a handwritten message: Art begets art.
My heart swelled, and my paw longed for a pen.
And thus, kind readers, I am once again your humble servant,
Inky Quill
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Content Notes: Holmes, OC [Inky, mention of others]; h/c; Christmas; in the same universe as my Watson Woes WAdvent fic Compliments of the Season.
Summary: When Inky's avant-garde Christmas play flops, he finds empathy in an unusual source.
Author's Note: for the monthly prompt: gift
“Mister Quill.”
I was at home to no one, but a pleasant baritone at an hour when the gates of Her Majesty’s Zoological Garden were most assuredly closed to visitors prompted me to reconsider.
“Mister Holmes.”
“Would you care to join me for a drink?”
“I deduce that Doctor Watson is occupied this evening.”
“He is taking part in a shared ambulatory seizure with musical accompaniment.”
“Caroling?”
“That is the provincial term. Whiskey-and-soda?”
“I have no taste for whiskey.”
“Neither do I, but Watson equates its consumption and tolerance with certain, shall we say, desirable aspects of character. Just soda?”
I nodded.
---
Mister Holmes tut-tutted. “And then?”
“And then, at the most delicately-wrought moment of the drama, when the mouse—“
“Representing humility,” he interjected.
I nodded. “—rides upon the back of the lobster—“
“Symbolising the powerful currents of nature.”
“—across the stage holding the scroll inscribed with the yuletide blessings of peace, joy, health, and happiness—“
“Inscribed in English?”
“In French, my good man! Well, at that moment, they stopped throwing tomatoes and began throwing hard-boiled eggs!”
“Heavens!”
“Chaos erupted, the cast mutinied, well, all save Ferret, who was gobbling up as many of the projectiles as possible whilst in a lobster costume, and the audience chased me out of the theatre!”
"A playwright is not without honour, save in his own country, and in his own house, Mister Quill.”
“I am heartened that you chose that verse and not the one about pearls and swine, for Mister Peccary not only did an estimable job as a maniacal Christmas pudding, he also extended to me warm compliments of the season—immediately prior to stampeding for the egress, of course. But what honour, Mister Holmes? I face laughter and pitying looks wherever I go. I even spotted a very unflattering caricature of me scratched on a rock in the flamingo pool!”
“I have suffered it all, Mister Quill, at the hands of Scotland Yarders, except, perhaps, the eggs and tomatoes, though quite a few would’ve jumped at the chance. You must not lose heart. Lick your wounds and launch yourself back into the fracas. Though risible today, tomorrow you may be something entirely different.”
He leaned forward and unfolded a newspaper. The headline exclaimed: THE GREAT SHERLOCK HOLMES SAVES THE DAY!
We finished our drinks in companionable silence, then I bid him good night.
---
On an evening of the following week, I discovered my den had been trespassed in my absence. My quills bristled until I saw that nothing had been taken, but rather that something had been left behind.
A card.
A card with a breath-takingly beautiful rendering of a mouse, riding on a lobster, holding a scroll inscribed ‘paise, joie, santé, bonheur.’
On the blank side, it bore a handwritten message: Art begets art.
My heart swelled, and my paw longed for a pen.
And thus, kind readers, I am once again your humble servant,
Inky Quill
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no subject
Date: 2016-12-02 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-02 01:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-02 10:53 pm (UTC)An inspired twist to take a look at what seems like a ridiculous image and re-interpret it as a deeply meaningful one. And inspired to have the lobster played by Ferret ^_^
How wonderful that Holmes understood - and that his understanding led to Inky wanting to write again.
no subject
Date: 2016-12-02 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-03 11:01 am (UTC)Inky is such a great character, the caroling description was perfect, and the involvement of the Christmas cards was...I have no words.
Many thanks for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2016-12-03 12:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-06 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-06 04:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-12-06 12:33 pm (UTC)