Ficlet for janeturenne
May. 4th, 2009 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elabyThe second result of that meme! A ficlet for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
janeturenne, who could not have possibly given me a better prompt if I begged her. She asked for Holmes/Watson and Shakespeare, with extra points if I got Holmes to call Watson his Horatio. I had such fun with this, and I really hope it's everything you wanted :)
Pairing: Holmes/Watson, possibly the slashiest thing I've ever written. Predictably, the slashiest thing I've ever written turned out very mild indeed.
Rating: I dunno. PG for cuddling Victorians?
Warnings: Mushiness. Gratuitous Shakespeare.
Word Count: 834
Author's Notes: I have found that I love writing literary allusions into other fictional universes quite beyond reason.
A few weeks into the autumn of 1894, I came home to find Holmes curled in his chair with his knees up to his chest, reading over the top of them a copy of the Strand Magazine. It was almost a year old, and I recognized it immediately – December 1893.
I never hated an issue of the Strand so much as I did that one.
It is nerve-wracking enough for an author to see someone read his works. It is even more so when the man reading it is the one for whom it was written, and the author never in his wildest fantasies expected him to get the chance. I settled in my chair and tried to take no notice, however, until Holmes himself broke the silence.
"'And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain...'"
To tell my story, my mind supplied automatically, but I could hardly trust myself to believe the parallel he was drawing, and all I said was "Sorry?"
"I recall I briefly mentioned your account of my death on the day I rendered said account fictional, but since then... somehow the topic hasn't come up." I had not forgotten so much of my friend's ways not to recognize that, oblique as it was, he was referencing his previous criticism of my writing. Naturally I'd had more than enough of his opinion in that area and I had not been eager to resume the dispute so soon after I got him back. Understandably, then, this whole conversation caught me quite off-guard. "I know I've been dreadfully lax in keeping up with your literary career, even when copies of the Strand were readily available... but don't believe I've read any of your other stories so often as I have this." I was certainly dismayed to hear it, but I soon forgot: Holmes leaned his head back against the chair and regarded me with that penetrating gaze I swore cut straight through my soul. No one can make eye contact quite like he. His expression softened but grew no less intense. "John Watson. My Horatio."
I am not accustomed to being compared to the denizens of great literature – I'm far too average – and I warred equally against self-consciousness and pleasure at so unsuitable a compliment. "I fear I cannot lay claim to that level of stoicism," I said. Holmes held my eyes for another brief moment and then turned back to the page open before him.
"He was not so stoic, I recall, when his prince lay dying in his arms."
I felt myself flush. "Few who love a friend so deeply would be." He had been there, I knew now, to witness my display at the Reichenbach Falls. How much could he read on my face from such a distance? Here's yet some liquor left... But he had not been there to strike the goblet from my lips. That I was obliged to do on my own.
"It was not, in fact, his stoicism I had in mind when I likened the two of you," Holmes said, with a certain quickness that made me think he'd picked up on my discomfort. "Steadfastness, patience... uncomplaining devotion in what must have a thankless position."
I admit this affected me far more favorably than any of his declarations of apologies owed. I came over to stand beside his chair, reluctant as I was to glimpse the thing printed in his magazine. In spite of the warm glow he had kindled with his comparison, the necessary other half of Holmes's analogy worried me. "The logical extension, then," I said, "would be that you believe yourself to resemble Hamlet. I rather hope you don't; his is not a burden I would wish on anyone, you least of all."
Holmes tilted his head up thoughtfully, and his eyes lost focus above the top of the page. "I have already borne a piece of it, having died."
"But you came back. I have played Horatio's lonely part once already; I don't care to do it again."
His eyes shifted, flickered swiftly to me and away again. I wondered if I mistook the spark of tense impetuous resolution beneath the gesture. "Be that as it may, I find it possible to see something of myself in him - or something of he in me. Certainly not Hamlet, the prince. Not even Hamlet, the actor. But I do admit affinity with at least one facet of his identity."
"Which one is that?"
He let the magazine drop from his fingers, and I heard the thump of it hitting the floor as he slid his arm past my hip. His hand pressing the small of my back, curling in the fabric of my jacket with unexpected dependency, caused my heart to somersault. With his ever-excellent diction only barely thickened, Holmes turned his face into my waistcoat and said:
"He that thou knowest thine."
janeturenne, who could not have possibly given me a better prompt if I begged her. She asked for Holmes/Watson and Shakespeare, with extra points if I got Holmes to call Watson his Horatio. I had such fun with this, and I really hope it's everything you wanted :)Pairing: Holmes/Watson, possibly the slashiest thing I've ever written. Predictably, the slashiest thing I've ever written turned out very mild indeed.
Rating: I dunno. PG for cuddling Victorians?
Warnings: Mushiness. Gratuitous Shakespeare.
Word Count: 834
Author's Notes: I have found that I love writing literary allusions into other fictional universes quite beyond reason.
A few weeks into the autumn of 1894, I came home to find Holmes curled in his chair with his knees up to his chest, reading over the top of them a copy of the Strand Magazine. It was almost a year old, and I recognized it immediately – December 1893.
I never hated an issue of the Strand so much as I did that one.
It is nerve-wracking enough for an author to see someone read his works. It is even more so when the man reading it is the one for whom it was written, and the author never in his wildest fantasies expected him to get the chance. I settled in my chair and tried to take no notice, however, until Holmes himself broke the silence.
"'And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain...'"
To tell my story, my mind supplied automatically, but I could hardly trust myself to believe the parallel he was drawing, and all I said was "Sorry?"
"I recall I briefly mentioned your account of my death on the day I rendered said account fictional, but since then... somehow the topic hasn't come up." I had not forgotten so much of my friend's ways not to recognize that, oblique as it was, he was referencing his previous criticism of my writing. Naturally I'd had more than enough of his opinion in that area and I had not been eager to resume the dispute so soon after I got him back. Understandably, then, this whole conversation caught me quite off-guard. "I know I've been dreadfully lax in keeping up with your literary career, even when copies of the Strand were readily available... but don't believe I've read any of your other stories so often as I have this." I was certainly dismayed to hear it, but I soon forgot: Holmes leaned his head back against the chair and regarded me with that penetrating gaze I swore cut straight through my soul. No one can make eye contact quite like he. His expression softened but grew no less intense. "John Watson. My Horatio."
I am not accustomed to being compared to the denizens of great literature – I'm far too average – and I warred equally against self-consciousness and pleasure at so unsuitable a compliment. "I fear I cannot lay claim to that level of stoicism," I said. Holmes held my eyes for another brief moment and then turned back to the page open before him.
"He was not so stoic, I recall, when his prince lay dying in his arms."
I felt myself flush. "Few who love a friend so deeply would be." He had been there, I knew now, to witness my display at the Reichenbach Falls. How much could he read on my face from such a distance? Here's yet some liquor left... But he had not been there to strike the goblet from my lips. That I was obliged to do on my own.
"It was not, in fact, his stoicism I had in mind when I likened the two of you," Holmes said, with a certain quickness that made me think he'd picked up on my discomfort. "Steadfastness, patience... uncomplaining devotion in what must have a thankless position."
I admit this affected me far more favorably than any of his declarations of apologies owed. I came over to stand beside his chair, reluctant as I was to glimpse the thing printed in his magazine. In spite of the warm glow he had kindled with his comparison, the necessary other half of Holmes's analogy worried me. "The logical extension, then," I said, "would be that you believe yourself to resemble Hamlet. I rather hope you don't; his is not a burden I would wish on anyone, you least of all."
Holmes tilted his head up thoughtfully, and his eyes lost focus above the top of the page. "I have already borne a piece of it, having died."
"But you came back. I have played Horatio's lonely part once already; I don't care to do it again."
His eyes shifted, flickered swiftly to me and away again. I wondered if I mistook the spark of tense impetuous resolution beneath the gesture. "Be that as it may, I find it possible to see something of myself in him - or something of he in me. Certainly not Hamlet, the prince. Not even Hamlet, the actor. But I do admit affinity with at least one facet of his identity."
"Which one is that?"
He let the magazine drop from his fingers, and I heard the thump of it hitting the floor as he slid his arm past my hip. His hand pressing the small of my back, curling in the fabric of my jacket with unexpected dependency, caused my heart to somersault. With his ever-excellent diction only barely thickened, Holmes turned his face into my waistcoat and said:
"He that thou knowest thine."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 03:33 am (UTC)I were but little happy if I could say how much.
Oh, oh, it's magnificent, and I left so incoherent that I'm sure I can't begin to make it through a comment just now. But give me half an hour to stop dancing, and then I promise I'll leave a proper one...
no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 05:06 am (UTC)His expression softened but grew no less intense. "John Watson. My Horatio."
Eeeeee! Yep, just as delicious as I hoped for, and then some :D You may be interested to know that the bonus points from this reference officially broke the point system. You have run out of decimal places on the point-counter, THAT'S how many points you have. I am not clever enough to come up with a suitable reward for all those points. Ask for anything whatsoever, and I will do my level best to see it done.
I am not accustomed to being compared to the denizens of great literature – I'm far too average
Oh, Watson! Eternally modest in the face of his own perfection. What a wonderful bit of characterization...
"Steadfastness, patience... uncomplaining devotion in what must have a thankless position."
And the other side, Holmes being as aware as Watson is not of Watson's many, many good qualities. Lovely, lovely, lovely...
the thing printed in his magazine
Such a little phrase, and yet it expresses Watson's suffering so vividly. One of those kinds of details that makes or breaks anybody's writing-- and, clearly, makes yours.
"I have already borne a piece of it, having died."
"But you came back. I have played Horatio's lonely part once already; I don't care to do it again."
Oh, this. Thisthisthis. The first line is so unbelievably natural that I was sure I'd heard it somewhere, but I hadn't; it's just so exquisitely worded that it seems as though it must have always been, besides being terribly Holmesian.
And then Watson, breaking my heart and putting it together again all in the same sentence! His pain and his love are both so utterly explicit here, though unspoken, which is, I think I've mentioned, a thing you do unbelievably well. Write subtext into text, that is.
And then there are the last two paragraphs, to which I cannot possibly ever begin to do justice. Every word, every single word, is precisely, absolutely and utterly the right word in every possible sense. I have the most vivid mental picture of this scene, but not because I can cut-and-paste anybody else's Holmes and Watson into it. They are clearly and undeniably your Holmes and Watson, and they are perfect, and they make me cry, and they make me sing, and I adore them only a little less than I adore you.
THANK YOU! Thank you so, so very much; I promise, I really cannot begin to say how happy this made me-- is still making me XD *sends about a million hugs, and as many thanks, and a healthy helping of eternal gratitude*
no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 10:57 pm (UTC)Yep, just as delicious as I hoped for, and then some :D
*fists in the air!*
You may be interested to know that the bonus points from this reference officially broke the point system. You have run out of decimal places on the point-counter, THAT'S how many points you have.
*cracks up* YAY XD Oh, you don't know how much that delights me XD *big goofy grin on face while reading this comment, and seriously for the twenty minutes after until she can craft a suitable response*
Such a little phrase, and yet it expresses Watson's suffering so vividly. One of those kinds of details that makes or breaks anybody's writing-- and, clearly, makes yours.
Ah, thank you! With that line, I knew what I wanted, and when I wrote it I went "Err... is that... it? Uh." But I couldn't make it anything other than it ended up, and I'm SO glad it did what I meant it to!
The first line is so unbelievably natural
*dances* Again, I'm SO relieved! Holmes is so HARD.
And thank you, thank you, thank you for your comments on the last paragraphs. I agonized over them. And the problem was - like I was talking to you about in that post of yours about writing - I could SEE it, so I didn't know how to write it. But if you could see it too, then I did it right :)
They are clearly and undeniably your Holmes and Watson, and they are perfect, and they make me cry, and they make me sing, and I adore them only a little less than I adore you.
*blushes incandescent and can't find anything to say* Except thank you, and I will seriously write for you any day.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-06 10:57 pm (UTC)Early Modern English-mixed-with-fangirl
For about five seconds I considered the possibility of attempting to construct an entire comment out of Shakespeare quotes, and then it occurred to me that that was clearly insane and I settled for those three (well, two in this one, and the one in the last).
Holmes is so HARD
Ummm, YES. Very yes. He's aware of so much that it's near impossible for us mere mortals to even begin to get a grasp on him-- but you do write him beautifully, dahling, really.
I will seriously write for you any day
Ditto XD
no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 12:46 pm (UTC)... This! Is amazing. perfect. SCULPTED. Crafted!!
Wow!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 10:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 04:01 pm (UTC)I am not accustomed to being compared to the denizens of great literature – I'm far too average
Oh, Watson! *cuddles him* You're nothing of the sort! Just like him to think like that though, isn't it?
Sherlock Holmes and Shakespeare, the two only combine in my dreams and in your fics. *sigh*
This was lovely for that reason and so many others.
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Date: 2009-05-05 10:45 pm (UTC)I'm glad I warned for them too, then! Hee ^_^ I really could write Sherlock Holmes and Shakespeare all day, if it wasn't so taxing on my brain cells.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-05 07:04 pm (UTC)AGH ♥ ♥ ♥ ! ! ! AGH. *sigh* *snrfle*
And I do not give those exclamations out indiscriminately. You gotz skillz, lady.
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Date: 2009-05-05 07:13 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-10-09 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-12 07:19 am (UTC)I am a HUGE fan of Hamlet references...especially when they are used in brilliant writing, and are integral to the story, and focus on Horatio (I see Nick Farrell saying "there's yet some liquor left" in my mind's eye.)
So, I'm not really torn in two. That was AMAZING!
(Have you seen "Chaplin" with Robert Downey, Jr.? I saw it the other day, and he says "Goodnight, sweet prince" and I cried....)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-12 10:19 pm (UTC)I ADORE Nick Farrell's Horatio, holy cow. He's so brilliant. And I have seen "Chaplin," but it was very long ago and I need to see it again! I don't remember that part, but I'll look forward to it :)
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Date: 2010-03-12 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2010-03-13 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-13 03:14 am (UTC)Well, I guess there was one viable option: KILL CLAUDIO!
no subject
Date: 2010-03-13 01:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-13 05:05 pm (UTC)To be fair to poor Hero, it wasn't her idea, and it doesn't seem that anyone cared to ask her opinion...
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Date: 2010-03-13 05:45 pm (UTC)