Fic: "A Near Routine"

[beeinmybonnet]

If you think the text is too difficult to read here, you can try to read it at whimsical scribbles.

Title: A Near Routine
Summary: 1886. The conclusion of a case and its aftermath; a story in which Holmes can rely on Watson.
Characters/Pairings: Watson, Holmes; Lestrade and assorted minor characters
Rating: PG
Warnings: Reference to rape of minor OFC character
Genre: Gen; Friendship/Pre-Slash
Word Count: 1 511
Spoilers: Vague references to one, plot-irrelevant scene in the film.

Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction based on Guy Ritchie's adaptation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original works.




Hurrying down an obscure East End street which Watson had never travelled before, but with which Holmes was doubtlessly familiar, and Lestrade's forces not far behind them, Watson exerted himself not to lose sight of Clark Samson's dark form. His right calf blazed in protest to this treatment, but Watson was not prepared to succumb to it.

A strong hand grasped his shoulder and there was hot breath against his ear. "He's going to turn left at the next intersection," Holmes whispered, the words twice as fast as usual. "Run down that alley and you'll intercept him."

Trusting Holmes' knowledge of the maze that was London's road network, Watson dove into the narrow alley to his left. It was even more difficult to half-run in the limited space than it had been out on the street, but when he exited the other end he nigh on collided with Samson's great bulk. Holmes was hot on his heels and he grabbed Watson by the sleeve almost in passing, not even glancing at him. "Excellent; right on time. We'll have him now."

Barely had Holmes finished this sentence when Samson suddenly slowed down his running by half. With a terrible feeling of foreboding, Watson tore his arm away from Holmes and reached for his revolver. It was just in time; when Samson turned around and the unmistakable glint of metal glimmered in his hand, Watson did not hesitate to fire.

The bullet found its way into the blackguard's arm, and with a yell of pain he fell to his knees, pistol hitting the ground with a clatter. Watson kept his revolver raised as he leant heavily on his cane, watching out of the corner of his eye Holmes confiscate the forsaken pistol. He was not able to give his friend his complete attention; not with the monster of a man, whom he still had at gunpoint, in front of his very eyes.

Again the familiar hand fell upon his shoulder, but much gentler this time around. "That's enough, Watson. That is quite enough."

Watson hesitated, eyeing the whimpering mess before him, and then reluctantly lowered his revolver. Holmes gave him a quick pat just as Lestrade and his men caught up with them.

"I see you've got your man," Lestrade remarked when he came to a halt by Holmes, with a furtive glance at the firearm in Watson's hand. Holmes, whose eyes were still bright with alertness, held up Samson's pistol for the inspector to see.

"It was self-defence," he said in a matter-of-fact manner as he handed it over. "If Watson had not fired, the one lying here bleeding would either be a doctor or a consulting detective, and a criminal would still be at large."

"Indeed," Lestrade said. He did not appear to be wholly convinced. "Still, seems to me you've put an awful lot of work into this for a common burglar."

Watson holstered his revolver with more force than was strictly necessary. He wished more than anything to shout at Lestrade to take the vile being to the gallows, but he could not; when Nicholas Grey asked for them to find the burglar, he had made both of them swear that the rape of his sister would not be disclosed.

"You think so? The notion has never even crossed my mind. Come, Watson; I am more than certain Lestrade can handle things on his own from now on; let us hail a cab and head home for Baker Street."

Watson nodded his farewell to Lestrade and followed Holmes out onto the more open roads. They waited there in silence for a cab to pass by; Watson while trying to restrain his outrage, Holmes lost in thought.

By the time they managed to hail a hansom, Watson's anger had cooled down to a sense of despondency and he had regained most of his clarity of mind. It thus worried him when Holmes sat down beside him in the hansom and had still not spoken a word. The frown on his face, his drawn up shoulders, the way he subtly flinched at every sound; all of this spoke volumes to Watson, and only fuelled his concern.

"Holmes." When Holmes did not acknowledge him, Watson repeated his inquiry. "Holmes."

"Hn."

"Holmes, tell me how you solved the case. Tell me how you deduced Clark Samson was the culprit," Watson requested and laid his hand on Holmes' shoulder.

"It was simplicity itself," Holmes muttered, leaning ever so slightly into the touch.

Watson partway agreed with him. Compared to other cases, this one had been relatively simple, if horrendous; he himself had managed to roughly puzzle the pieces together by then. "Tell me anyhow."

"The fact of the matter is that however heinous Samson might be, he is a hopeless burglar," Holmes said and looked up at Watson. "He left traces of himself in all places of the house. A swift examination gave me such a complete profile that all I had to do was to pay a visit to the Hare & Hunt pub and ask for the name of the large, red-haired sailor habitué who always ordered their cheapest stout and smoked even cheaper cigarettes."

There was still quite a bit of the journey left before they reached Baker Street, with Holmes steadily growing worse by the second, and Watson wheedled him into continuing talking with him, grasping for every subject his mind could come up with.

"Holmes," Watson called when his friend's attention strayed for the twelfth time. "Concentrate on me. Focus on me."

Holmes turned his head towards Watson but his lacklustre eyes kept darting hastily without fixing themselves on anything.

"Tell me about— Tell me about tobacco ashes. Tell me about the differences between them."

When they finally reached Baker Street, Holmes was all but exhausted from the ride and could barely sit up straight. Watson had to pay the driver and then physically haul Holmes out of the hansom.

"Come on, old fellow, don't collapse on me just yet," he said as Holmes leaned heavily against his side. His leg started protesting vehemently again. "We're almost home."

"My head. Hurts," Holmes mumbled into Watson's shoulder, his voice muffled but the note of pain in it still quite clear.

"I know." Watson ran a soothing hand over Holmes' hair. "Only one more effort and then you'll be all right."

Half-dragging Holmes up the steps, Watson knocked on the door and then regained his hold of Holmes' arm slung over his shoulders. Between keeping Holmes upright and supporting himself on his cane, he had no hands left to open the door with.

It only took Mrs. Hudson moments to open the door. She cast one look at Holmes, shook her head and stepped aside, letting them in. "Been working himself to half to death again, has he, Doctor?"

"Indeed, he has."

Watson did not wait to doff his outdoor clothes, but made directly for the stairs. He contemplated whether he should lug Holmes up the two flights to his bedroom, or just one to the sitting-room. Seeing that Holmes now rested more than half his weight on him, Watson decided on the latter. The seventeen steps were laborious, but after a lot of effort they made it into the sitting-room.

"There, Holmes; now you're home."

Watson had to untangle himself before he could let go of Holmes, and when he had contrived he whipped off his coat and dropped down into the nearest of the armchairs with a deep-drawn sigh. Holmes in a greater or lesser degree tumbled down onto the floor, where he shakily crawled the two feet to the chair so he could rest himself against Watson's leg. His head lolled on Watson's lap and he let out a small sound of contentment.

With a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, Watson closed his eyes and laid his head back against the headrest. Holmes could be infuriating—especially so when he worked so hard, rested so little and ate so scantly that he could not even suppress the intense sensory impressions that constantly plagued him—but there was something which invariably made it impossible for Watson to be whole-heartedly vexed with him. Perhaps it was the knowledge that a fully conscious Holmes would hide his face in shame if Watson would ever refer to his frankly childlike behaviour in these instances; it gave him some much coveted leverage over Holmes, should he need it one day.

Through the floor he could hear Mrs. Hudson clattering in the kitchen, although it was almost drowned out by the crackling of the fire. Holmes' breathing had evened out and he was emitting small sniffing noises that could hardly be attributed to snores, his breath warm on Watson's thigh. Watson ran his hand over Holmes' untamed locks, his affection for his friend slowly spreading through his whole being, shoving all lingering feelings of anger aside. Sinking further into the armchair, he banished the last traces of Samson the blackguard from his mind, and slowly dozed off to sleep as well.




Author's Notes: Billions of electronic hugs and kisses to ladylovelace for a lovely and speedy beta. ♥
Yes, this is pre-slash. Only, it's Holmes/Watson pre-slash, which makes it near indistinguishable from "proper" slash. It's one of their more favourable features. ♥
This supposed-to-be ficlet (hah!) was an exercise in writing the characters, in preparation for my holmes_big_bang fic, so fire away the constructive criticism. I'm thick-skinned, so don't worry about employing any kid gloves.
(And in case anyone wonders: yes, Holmes is supposed to have Asperger's Syndrome here, as well as an attention deficit disorder, though I'm not quite sure if it's ADD or ADHD yet—the jury's still out on that one.)

Comments

[leafyaki.livejournal.com]

Ooooh, nice :D I really, really like the communication between Watson and Holmes, how they both offered comfort when they knew the other needed it. The reciprocity of their actions made me sigh internally, and it was subtle and natural to boot, which makes it even better ♥

I'm trying to figure out here though what could be improved on, because I want you to do really awesome on your Big Bang fic ♥ There're some parts which don't quite sit right with me, so I'll try to explain what I mean...

1. Watson nodded his farewell to Lestrade and followed Holmes out onto the more open roads. They waited there in silence for a cab to pass by; Watson while trying to restrain his outrage, Holmes lost in thought.

I loved the pacing in the first part before this - you managed to convey the action well while interspersing it with thoughts and dialogue at the same time. This part though, I'm a little iffy about. Watson nodding his farewell and them leaving is fine, but the transition from action to inaction is still a little sudden.

Perhaps it'd be easier to ease the transition in with a couple more description? Perhaps a line or two of Watson feeling irritated at Lestrade's attitude, or the feeling of being watched by him while Lestrade's forces scurry around Samson. Maybe the narrowness of the alleys, or the sense of gradually hearing the noises of the streets pick up volume and then them waiting in silence for the cab.

2. There're little things like word choice which is more of a personal thing. Like:

when he had contrived he whipped off his coat

"Contrived" is not a word I see often - that could be just me, but in its place I would choose to put in "managed to". It feels more natural to me.

"Indeed," Lestrade said. He did not appear to be wholly convinced. "Still, seems to me you've put an awful lot of work into this for a common burglar."

I see the feeling you're conveying here. However, the second part of his lines is enough to tell us how Lestrade is unconvinced. So in its place I'd put something along the lines of:

"Indeed," Lestrade said with a small furrow in his brow. "Still, seems to me you've put an awful lot of work into this for a common burglar."

3. Watson ran his hand over Holmes' untamed locks, his affection for his friend slowly spreading through his whole being, shoving all lingering feelings of anger aside.

This last comment has more to do with the building up of their relationship than technical issues. What I feel is that toward the end, you're doing more, mm...telling, rather than showing. Which is not necessarily a bad thing, since in your second last paragraph you built in Watson's feelings naturally, with a touch of humour in how Holmes' actions would give Watson leverage. But for the sentence quoted above, because you established his affection for Holmes in the previous paragraph, it is not necessary to repeat it again. Instead, it might work better with:

Watson ran his hand over Holmes' untamed locks, warmth slowly spreading through his whole being, shoving all lingering feelings of anger aside.

Tiny nitpick: there was hot breath against his hear. "Ear", yeah? (:

Mm, yeah, that's it from me! Basically I love the pre-movie-universe you're building up for them here, and the pre-slash, which is one of my favourite parts about this pairing. The whole UST, yeah? ♥ And of course, the little subtle touches and general sweetness here :D Keep at it! I look forward to how your Big Bang fic will be like, and any other fics you choose to write for them! *hugs*

[beeinmybonnet.livejournal.com]

I am so happy I have you as a beta for my bigbang fic. ♥

First of all, thank you so very much for the praise! I'm blushing and squirming in my seat and THAT'S NOT AT ALL SUPPOSED TO SOUND SUGGESTIVE, WTH SELF? D: Sorry about the accidental innuendo! What I meant to say is that I'm tickled pink and behaving very silly.

CON-CRIT! OMGGLOMP♥

1. Transitions are horrible; it's one of the reasons I prefer writing staccato scene-by-scene rather than streamlined "and then we did this and this and this" which is more common. But yeah, I definitely understand what you're saying.

2. This is what I meant with pseudo-Victorian; a sorta archiac feel to the language and with some oddish choices of words. Of course, this is like shooting in the dark for me; I have a decent feel for contemporary English at best, so trying to be stylistic about it is near-suicide. Why, self, do I torture myself so?

2,5 & 3. Show-don't-tell is a constant battle of balance. I try to lean towards "show" rather than "tell," but I know I don't always succeed. Tricky business, isn't it?
Also, just so you know, I hate endings and beginnings, even more than I hate transitions. Beginnings are bearable, because at least you can start in media res, but endings are pure torture. My mind always freeze up when I come to the point where I have to round everything up. I'll keep in mind that I have to be extra harsh with myself about this.

Ah, so that's where the stray 'h' went! I wondered about that. Thanks for pointing it out!

Again, thank you so, so much for this review! It definitely made my day. ♥

[leafyaki.livejournal.com]

Just received your email ;D Reading through it now and seeing how I can help ♥ In the meantime I'm glad you're happy at my small comment :D

2. Oh, I see what you mean. Mm. Let's see how we can do this...

Going by the tone of this fic, I would characterize it as still...modern, rather than an archiac feel. Mind, it is not a bad thing in the least - content, dialogue and emotions still jump out at me first in any fic I read, regardless of the time they're set in. But I understand how using a psuedo-Victorian tone sets the whole fic in the mood.

I'm definitely not at all good with tones though D: Is there an excerpt online that you can point me to? Of any Sherlock Holmes story, anything you like at all. Preferably one that you feel captures the essence of "Victorian" writing? I'd like to read it to see what you're hoping for (:

I've taken a module on 19th Century Literature before, if that helps any, and there're some distinctive aspects to every author's works that make it feel like it belongs to the 19th Century proper. Let's see how this goes, yeah? ♥

Oh, about the endings and beginnings, I feel you. It helps to have a beginning and ending in mind when writing any story, so that might help you in terms of rounding things up. Alternatively, you could try writing both the beginning and the ending first? Then if there're any changes you need to make after writing the body you might find it easier, since there's already a draft to work with.

Thank you for this story! It is a great exercise :D I'll try to reply your email when I've gotten some of my thoughts out ♥

[beeinmybonnet.livejournal.com]

I'm looking forward to your reply! :D

2. Yes, that's the tricky part. I don't want to write in a pastiche style, because while that works wonderfully (when done right) for book-canon, this is movieverse, which is this strange and awesome mesh of archiac and modern. So I'm trying to find that exact tone of mesh, with a blindfold and my hands bound behind my back. ::facepalm:: And just to confuse things even further, I have this impression that Holmes' voice should have even less of a periodic feel than Watson's, so I'm in deep waters indeed.
(You can read "A Study In Scarlet" here (http://www.literaturepage.com/read/astudyinscarlet.html). Just skip parts I-V of the second part of the story; they're irrelevant to the plot. Other than that, awesome story and my personal favourite. :D)

I've taken a module on 19th Century Literature before, if that helps any, and there're some distinctive aspects to every author's works that make it feel like it belongs to the 19th Century proper.

YES, LET'S. ♥ ::glomps::

It's not that I don't know how to begin or end a story -- I always have a rough idea where I'm going when I sit down and write -- but the problem lies in how to put it in words. Like, for this fic, I knew it would end with Holmes sleeping half in Watson's lap, but not exactly what sentences to use.

Hm, I could try that. Which, you know, just makes me flail even more over my bigbang fic, since I have no ending. I think that's the main reason I haven't started writing it properly yet. ::flails::

Ah, are we going to bandy thank-yous now? ♥ In that case, no, thank you for helping me!