Fan Fiction ❯ Hinc Illae Lacrimae ❯ Tempus Fugit ( Chapter 3 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Trick Sparrow 
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.30.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 195 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Mystery | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 04.30.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 195 | Status: Completed
//Ahhh, this is going pretty well, don't you think? As per the usual requirements, I do not own Holmes, Watson, or any other invention of Sir Doyle. And if I claimed to own Crewe, she would probably kill me.//
Hinc Illae Lacrimae
Chapter 3: Tempus Fugit
Dr. John Watson was probably the most gushy, sentimental man I had ever met. He was very sweet, he treated me with the utmost courtesy, and he even bought me a whole mess of clothes more appropriate to the time. But the things he said had to make me wonder. Sure, I already knew that he was somewhat of a romantic from reading his narratives of Holmes's cases. Now that I knew him, "somewhat" was a gross understatement.
It was Watson's idea that I should live with them in the Baker Street rooms, and Holmes grudgingly accepted, only after being threatened by Mrs. Hudson. I don't know what the good doctor thought he had accomplished by getting me to stay; I had nowhere else to go in the first place. It was also his idea to fix up Holmes's study as a room for me. Of course, The Great Detective™ would have *none* of that.
"Absolutely out of the question," he announced, calmly reading the agony columns at the breakfast table in his dressing-gown. Watching him gave me the sudden urge to plant a tassled fez on his head. Lucky for him I didn't have one, heh heh.
"Now, now, Holmes," Watson gently insisted. "Poor Miss Crewe has not a single place to lay her head in this house, unless it would not bear upon your conscience forcing her to sleep in the sitting-room. The only option left is your study."
"Nonsense, Watson. She can sleep in the hallway," replied Holmes, giving me a sweet smile over the pages of his newspaper.
I pretended to look offended. "Holmes, you big meanie! And I thought men were polite in the nineteenth century." I reached into my backpack and pulled out a package of Doublemint, knowing the detective's weakness for anything habit-forming. "If you let me have your study, I'll give you a piece of gum."
He studied the package with a raised eyebrow, then looked up at me. "What is it?"
I unwrapped a stick and popped it into my mouth. "Mmmmm, it's soooo good," I said, closing my eyes with rapture. "Sure you don't want any?"
"You are trying to decieve me, Crewe."
"No, I'm really not!" I handed a piece to Watson, winking. "Try it, doc. It's great, and it's a far better habit than smoking." I shot a sidelong glance at Holmes.
As the doctor gave the gum an experimental chew, he broke out into a smile. "It is very strange, but I must say, delightful!"
"Come on, Holmes," I said, batting my eyelashes. "I'll give you *two* pieces. How 'bout that?"
I dared to meet those intense blue-grey eyes as they looked skeptically at me and my gum offering. Finally he reached out with a thin hand and snatched the sticks from my fingers. Propping his feet carelessly on the table, he raised the newspaper once more. "Jezebel."
Some days, the phrase "Time flies when you're having fun" was brought to my mind as I hung out in the Baker Street rooms. Though I was more inclined to believe that "Time goes by achingly slow when you're stuck inside with nothing to do" suited my situation much better. All day long while Watson was gone making house calls to his patients and Holmes was out doing one crazy thing of another involving one of his cases, I was left at the apartment, looking out the window at the constant rain and brooding over how much the 1800's sucked.
It was one of these instances that prompted Watson to suggest that we all go for a walk and take advantage of an unseasonably warm day. Holmes claimed to have a headache, but Watson and I could both see through this pretense.
"Just this once, Holmes, please?" I begged, kneeling in front of him as he sat in his armchair. "I've been stuck inside this house for two weeks! Can't you just abandon your antisocial nature for once and come take a walk with me-- I mean, *us*?"
Watson's eyebrows shot up at this. Oh great, I thought, instantly regretting my idiocy. Watson's going to think something sickeningly romantic now, all because of a slip of the tongue.
Holmes stood up, sighing. "Very well, for your sake. I suppose I shouldn't like to feel responsible for causing your cabin fever."
I grinned and hugged his arm, for some reason thankful for his company. After all, I didn't want to be left alone with Watson to be interrogated. Speaking of Watson, I looked over at him to see him smiling in amusement. I quickly pulled away from Holmes, mentally kicking myself. Whoooops.
I frolicked happily toward the door and swung it open. I was wearing a light grey dress that made me feel like some frumpy governess, but I didn't care. I finally got to go outside!
And I was actually looking forward to the walk until Watson pulled a, let's just say, not nice prank on me.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" he exclaimed, looking up at the clock on the mantle. "I forgot entirely!"
I looked at him warily. "What did you forget, Doc?" Or should I say, what are you scheming?
"I had an appointment with a Mr. Oliver Blackburn," he said, shaking his head sadly. "The poor man has a frightful case of laryngitis. I am afraid I will not be able to join you for your walk."
"Oh, how *terribly* inconvenient," I remarked, folding my arms over my chest. As God as my witness, I was going to strangle him.
"Yes, quite." Holmes followed me to the door and offered me his arm. "A pity you cannot accompany us." He turned to me. "Shall we, Crewe?"
I linked my arm in his, looking past him to stick my tongue out at Watson. "Yes, we shall."
"So, Holmes, what has been your most challenging case?" I asked, attempting to make conversation as we walked through the streets of London. The sun felt warm on my face, and I felt happier than I had ever felt since I had ended up in this bizarre mess. I was thankful for the little excursion, even if I *was* spending it with Holmes.
He looked up at the sky, squinting his bright eyes. I studied his strong profile, wondering why none of the drawings of Sherlock Holmes were very flattering. The man was, in my opinion, which of course went without question, quite handsome. "I suppose all my cases have been formidable," he replied thoughtfully. "Though the adventure of the Speckled Band proved quite taxing on my physical and mental powers."
I nodded. "How is Miss Stoner doing these days? Or should I say, Mrs. Armitage?"
Holmes stopped dead in his tracks. "Why, Crewe, however did you know that?"
"You're forgetting, dear Holmes, that I have the benefit of knowing some fifty or so narratives written by Watson," I said, grinning. "And I know more about you than even you do."
"Is that so?" he asked, regarding me skeptically. As we resumed walking, he said, "Let's have it then."
"Huh?"
"Out with it, Crewe. I believe it is your turn. Tell me, as you say, 'all about me'."
I smiled fiendishly. This was going to be sweet. "All right, where to begin? For one, you're not overly fond of philosophy or politics, and you know practically zilch about astronomy. For all you care, the earth could revolve around a giant India-rubber ball. You're very interested in chemistry, and you've been known to experiment with your acetones for hours on end. Hmm, what else?" I tapped my finger on my chin, watching as his eyes grew wider. "Your knowledge of sensational literature and crime records is impressive, along with your talent for the violin. And speaking of music, you like German better than French or Italian.
"You're also a skilled boxer and swordsman, and as Watson would say, a 'self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco'. You really should quit that, Holmes. Drugs are one of the biggest killers in my time." I cracked my knuckles lazily. "There's really nothing impressive about how much I know. Watson is the one I should be thanking."
"Well, Crewe, you certainly have my number," said Holmes, laughing. "Though you have a distinct advantage over my deductive reasoning, and I have some scruples about a woman knowing my entire life story, I must congratulate you."
"Oh yeah, that's another thing," I said, reminded of an additional facet of the detective's Bohemian nature. "Watson seems to think that you don't like women... though, of course, he'd never tell you. And I have to say, I'm inclined to believe that you think we're inferior."
"Really now?" Holmes stopped once again to look at me in his trademark introspective fashion. "And what would lead you to believe that?"
I punched him in the arm playfully. "Well, I don't want to let a bachelor know his faults, but the only girl you seem to tolerate talking to is standing right in front of you. Still, I can see why. I mean, can you think of a better conversational companion?"
Holmes pursed his lips in exasperation, but I'm pretty sure I saw some mirth in those attentive eyes. We continued walking for a few blocks, and he gestured toward a humble little restaurant on the corner. "Tell me, Crewe, when was the last time you enjoyed a good luncheon? This particular business is known for its excellent tea and sandwiches."
I put on a look of incredulity. "Why, Sherlock Holmes! Forsaking your usual cold roast beef? This is an unprecidented event! How could I possibly pass you up?"
"I am quite sure you will find," he remarked, holding the door open for me, "that your roommate is not as predictable as you might guess."
//Eeheehee, more pointless cuteness, I know. I just wanted to get Crewe sitchee-ated in her new surroundings. And how could I not introduce Watson in this chapter? Oh, by the way, I have no idea whether Holmes has a study or not. If he doesn't, go ahead and tell me, and I'll change it. Anywho, I promise, the actual mystery is coming up. No, seriously. It is. So leave a review! Please?//
Hinc Illae Lacrimae
Chapter 3: Tempus Fugit
Dr. John Watson was probably the most gushy, sentimental man I had ever met. He was very sweet, he treated me with the utmost courtesy, and he even bought me a whole mess of clothes more appropriate to the time. But the things he said had to make me wonder. Sure, I already knew that he was somewhat of a romantic from reading his narratives of Holmes's cases. Now that I knew him, "somewhat" was a gross understatement.
It was Watson's idea that I should live with them in the Baker Street rooms, and Holmes grudgingly accepted, only after being threatened by Mrs. Hudson. I don't know what the good doctor thought he had accomplished by getting me to stay; I had nowhere else to go in the first place. It was also his idea to fix up Holmes's study as a room for me. Of course, The Great Detective™ would have *none* of that.
"Absolutely out of the question," he announced, calmly reading the agony columns at the breakfast table in his dressing-gown. Watching him gave me the sudden urge to plant a tassled fez on his head. Lucky for him I didn't have one, heh heh.
"Now, now, Holmes," Watson gently insisted. "Poor Miss Crewe has not a single place to lay her head in this house, unless it would not bear upon your conscience forcing her to sleep in the sitting-room. The only option left is your study."
"Nonsense, Watson. She can sleep in the hallway," replied Holmes, giving me a sweet smile over the pages of his newspaper.
I pretended to look offended. "Holmes, you big meanie! And I thought men were polite in the nineteenth century." I reached into my backpack and pulled out a package of Doublemint, knowing the detective's weakness for anything habit-forming. "If you let me have your study, I'll give you a piece of gum."
He studied the package with a raised eyebrow, then looked up at me. "What is it?"
I unwrapped a stick and popped it into my mouth. "Mmmmm, it's soooo good," I said, closing my eyes with rapture. "Sure you don't want any?"
"You are trying to decieve me, Crewe."
"No, I'm really not!" I handed a piece to Watson, winking. "Try it, doc. It's great, and it's a far better habit than smoking." I shot a sidelong glance at Holmes.
As the doctor gave the gum an experimental chew, he broke out into a smile. "It is very strange, but I must say, delightful!"
"Come on, Holmes," I said, batting my eyelashes. "I'll give you *two* pieces. How 'bout that?"
I dared to meet those intense blue-grey eyes as they looked skeptically at me and my gum offering. Finally he reached out with a thin hand and snatched the sticks from my fingers. Propping his feet carelessly on the table, he raised the newspaper once more. "Jezebel."
Some days, the phrase "Time flies when you're having fun" was brought to my mind as I hung out in the Baker Street rooms. Though I was more inclined to believe that "Time goes by achingly slow when you're stuck inside with nothing to do" suited my situation much better. All day long while Watson was gone making house calls to his patients and Holmes was out doing one crazy thing of another involving one of his cases, I was left at the apartment, looking out the window at the constant rain and brooding over how much the 1800's sucked.
It was one of these instances that prompted Watson to suggest that we all go for a walk and take advantage of an unseasonably warm day. Holmes claimed to have a headache, but Watson and I could both see through this pretense.
"Just this once, Holmes, please?" I begged, kneeling in front of him as he sat in his armchair. "I've been stuck inside this house for two weeks! Can't you just abandon your antisocial nature for once and come take a walk with me-- I mean, *us*?"
Watson's eyebrows shot up at this. Oh great, I thought, instantly regretting my idiocy. Watson's going to think something sickeningly romantic now, all because of a slip of the tongue.
Holmes stood up, sighing. "Very well, for your sake. I suppose I shouldn't like to feel responsible for causing your cabin fever."
I grinned and hugged his arm, for some reason thankful for his company. After all, I didn't want to be left alone with Watson to be interrogated. Speaking of Watson, I looked over at him to see him smiling in amusement. I quickly pulled away from Holmes, mentally kicking myself. Whoooops.
I frolicked happily toward the door and swung it open. I was wearing a light grey dress that made me feel like some frumpy governess, but I didn't care. I finally got to go outside!
And I was actually looking forward to the walk until Watson pulled a, let's just say, not nice prank on me.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" he exclaimed, looking up at the clock on the mantle. "I forgot entirely!"
I looked at him warily. "What did you forget, Doc?" Or should I say, what are you scheming?
"I had an appointment with a Mr. Oliver Blackburn," he said, shaking his head sadly. "The poor man has a frightful case of laryngitis. I am afraid I will not be able to join you for your walk."
"Oh, how *terribly* inconvenient," I remarked, folding my arms over my chest. As God as my witness, I was going to strangle him.
"Yes, quite." Holmes followed me to the door and offered me his arm. "A pity you cannot accompany us." He turned to me. "Shall we, Crewe?"
I linked my arm in his, looking past him to stick my tongue out at Watson. "Yes, we shall."
"So, Holmes, what has been your most challenging case?" I asked, attempting to make conversation as we walked through the streets of London. The sun felt warm on my face, and I felt happier than I had ever felt since I had ended up in this bizarre mess. I was thankful for the little excursion, even if I *was* spending it with Holmes.
He looked up at the sky, squinting his bright eyes. I studied his strong profile, wondering why none of the drawings of Sherlock Holmes were very flattering. The man was, in my opinion, which of course went without question, quite handsome. "I suppose all my cases have been formidable," he replied thoughtfully. "Though the adventure of the Speckled Band proved quite taxing on my physical and mental powers."
I nodded. "How is Miss Stoner doing these days? Or should I say, Mrs. Armitage?"
Holmes stopped dead in his tracks. "Why, Crewe, however did you know that?"
"You're forgetting, dear Holmes, that I have the benefit of knowing some fifty or so narratives written by Watson," I said, grinning. "And I know more about you than even you do."
"Is that so?" he asked, regarding me skeptically. As we resumed walking, he said, "Let's have it then."
"Huh?"
"Out with it, Crewe. I believe it is your turn. Tell me, as you say, 'all about me'."
I smiled fiendishly. This was going to be sweet. "All right, where to begin? For one, you're not overly fond of philosophy or politics, and you know practically zilch about astronomy. For all you care, the earth could revolve around a giant India-rubber ball. You're very interested in chemistry, and you've been known to experiment with your acetones for hours on end. Hmm, what else?" I tapped my finger on my chin, watching as his eyes grew wider. "Your knowledge of sensational literature and crime records is impressive, along with your talent for the violin. And speaking of music, you like German better than French or Italian.
"You're also a skilled boxer and swordsman, and as Watson would say, a 'self-poisoner by cocaine and tobacco'. You really should quit that, Holmes. Drugs are one of the biggest killers in my time." I cracked my knuckles lazily. "There's really nothing impressive about how much I know. Watson is the one I should be thanking."
"Well, Crewe, you certainly have my number," said Holmes, laughing. "Though you have a distinct advantage over my deductive reasoning, and I have some scruples about a woman knowing my entire life story, I must congratulate you."
"Oh yeah, that's another thing," I said, reminded of an additional facet of the detective's Bohemian nature. "Watson seems to think that you don't like women... though, of course, he'd never tell you. And I have to say, I'm inclined to believe that you think we're inferior."
"Really now?" Holmes stopped once again to look at me in his trademark introspective fashion. "And what would lead you to believe that?"
I punched him in the arm playfully. "Well, I don't want to let a bachelor know his faults, but the only girl you seem to tolerate talking to is standing right in front of you. Still, I can see why. I mean, can you think of a better conversational companion?"
Holmes pursed his lips in exasperation, but I'm pretty sure I saw some mirth in those attentive eyes. We continued walking for a few blocks, and he gestured toward a humble little restaurant on the corner. "Tell me, Crewe, when was the last time you enjoyed a good luncheon? This particular business is known for its excellent tea and sandwiches."
I put on a look of incredulity. "Why, Sherlock Holmes! Forsaking your usual cold roast beef? This is an unprecidented event! How could I possibly pass you up?"
"I am quite sure you will find," he remarked, holding the door open for me, "that your roommate is not as predictable as you might guess."
//Eeheehee, more pointless cuteness, I know. I just wanted to get Crewe sitchee-ated in her new surroundings. And how could I not introduce Watson in this chapter? Oh, by the way, I have no idea whether Holmes has a study or not. If he doesn't, go ahead and tell me, and I'll change it. Anywho, I promise, the actual mystery is coming up. No, seriously. It is. So leave a review! Please?//