holmes_minor | Fic: Missing Piece: Gen

Title: Missing Piece
Rating: Gen
Length: 500
Notes: Sussex Retirement AU. Happy Puzzle Day!

That morning I resolved to put an end to my suffering.

Though early, Holmes was not about. At least, he was not stirring, and a glance round confirmed his absence. No doubt he was already tending to the hives.

My steps took me past the source of my anguish, and I let my eyes rest upon it only briefly before giving a tightening tug to the knot of the sash of my dressing gown and marching to the kitchen for a cup of fortifying tea.

I was going to dismantle the jigsaw puzzle and return its one hundred and ninety-nine pieces to their box.
The puzzle was a gift from Mycroft Holmes, sent to me it along with well wishes for his brother’s birthday in early January. I was pleased, and even more so, days after its arrival, when our corner of Sussex suffered a snowstorm which left Holmes and myself housebound for the better part of a week.

As everyone knows, snow is the best weather for jigsaw puzzles.

My gift, when properly assembled, formed a picture of a handsome heraldic crest bearing a lion and a unicorn except, of course, in my case, it was not a unicorn.

The piece bearing the horn of the beast was, in a word, missing.

Nothing is more frustrating than a missing jigsaw puzzle piece. Every corner of the sitting room, indeed, of the cottage itself, had been searched thrice. Holmes was feeling the loss as acutely as I was. He seemed to think it a matter of honour that something as simple as a small irregularly shaped piece of wood should not elude him.

But day after day passed. Snow melted. We returned to our normal routines. And the unicorn’s horn failed to reveal its hiding spot.

It was almost February. I declared defeat and decided to put the puzzle up.

I drank my tea and debated whether to tell Holmes of my decided course of action, ultimately electing candor. I went to dress and shave preparatory to the confrontation. I could not anticipate his reaction.

I searched garden and sheds. I called.

No sign.

Just when I’d decided to go ahead with my plan regardless, I heard him.

“Prepare the fatted calf, Watson!”

His hand was held high.

“Are you serious? Is that…?”

“It is. I’ve just come from Haddock’s.” Haddock was the local veterinarian. “He had to do emergency surgery on Mrs. Beaminster’s Rollo this morning, and the pearl in the oyster, so to speak, was a horn.”

“But Rollo never went near the sitting room when they stopped by. I swear it!”

“No, but he snuffled about quite a bit in your overlarge cardigan jumper pocket for treats. Luck for us, he recently consumed a pin cushion which disagreed with him. I advised Haddock as to our predicament, and he sent word this morning. I cleaned it up in his surgery.”

He presented me with the tiny bit of wood, and I beamed.

The missing piece was found.