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storypaint) wrote2015-02-08 09:10 pm
storypaint) wrote2015-02-08 09:10 pm
[Sherlock Holmes] no more intrepid explorer (Mary/Jane, Shirley/Irene)
Title: no more intrepid explorer
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Length: 787 words
Prompt: Sherlock Holmes fic battle: modernverse; Shirley, Jane, Irene, and Mary; The Adventure of the Wailing Door
Pairing: slight Mary/Jane, Shirley/Irene, mostly gen
Other: Set in a modern AU-verse where both Holmes and Watson are women who started their partnership in college.
Excerpt: Irene is restless. She's been restless from the first moment, and no amount of whispered reproach can stop her from shifting whenever she thinks she has a moment. It's driving Shirley crazy, and Watson can't help from being the tiniest bit amused. See, Jane thinks to herself, very quietly, your girlfriend is not a top investigator either.
Jane is not the observer. Oh, she tries, but she can never see as much as Shirley does in one glance. But today, she's going to try. It's not as if there's anything else to do.
They are waiting for the door to start crying -- or, more accurately, for the woman behind it to take up her nightly sobbing. She's oddly punctual about it, or so they've been told, always beginning sometime after two in the morning and ending before four. Holmes isn't taking chances, so they got here at midnight. If it hadn't been such a nice night, Jane might have protested. Instead, she enjoys the little persistent wind, wraps her arms around her knees, and watches the ladies sitting around her, wondering what the wailing woman does that makes her stay her sobbing until so late an hour.
Shirley is burning with excess energy, so much it makes Jane smile a little. Shirley won't do anything to give their hiding place away, but she's doodling in the dust and thinking about everything. She wants to move, but she won't.
Irene is restless. She's been restless from the first moment, and no amount of whispered reproach can stop her from shifting whenever she thinks she has a moment. It's driving Shirley crazy, and Watson can't help from being the tiniest bit amused. See, Jane thinks to herself, very quietly, your girlfriend is not a top investigator either.
Mary is so still and quiet and Jane has poked her a couple of times to make sure she was still awake. Somehow she is. She's leaning her head on Jane's shoulder, her warm presence a comfort. Mary might not be too into this whole detective thing, but at least she'd agreed to tag along.
Jane wonders briefly how their faculty sponsor would feel if he heard what the club was up to on the weekend before finals, but she's never quite got ahold of Professor Moriarty, and she's waffling between approving and dreading when Shirley sucks in a quick breath. There is a sound in the night, the softest click of a door opening.
Shirley is up and moving and Jane is right behind her, not sure what to expect but with her heart pounding, her wounded leg strong. There's true joy in Shirley's victorious smile and they are up and in before Jane has quite grasped what it is they're doing. Suddenly, Shirley throws an arm up, catching Jane right in the chest, her bony elbow nearly knocking the breath out of Jane.
"Be careful," Shirley says, not bothering to be quiet, as Irene skids to a stop just behind Jane, breathing heavily in Jane's ear. Mary follows around at the end of the line, her white face a blur in the dimness.
The crying hasn't stopped, even with their shoes in the hall. The house is cold and dark. If Jane didn't know better, she'd say no one lives here. It could certainly use a good cleaning, judging by the crunch of dirt and debris under her feet.
Shirley laughs in a self-deprecating way. "I hope no one is allergic," she mutters to herself, making her way down the hall. When she pushes the bedroom door open, Mary lets out a little exclamation of delight.
"Kittens!" she says, clapping her hands together, and there they are, in a squirming pile tucked into a pile of old clothes or blankets in the corner of the room. They wail like a crying woman, their strident cries failing to summon their missing mother.
Jane feels like this is a little anticlimactic. Although adorable.
"Did I really follow you into a deserted house after kittens?" Irene asks, but no one answers. Mary is cooing at the little things, even though the kittens lost interest when they didn't immediately produce milk. They are in the stage of kittenhood where they look like little more than large rats. Jane is not much of a cat person, and she's not very impressed.
Shirley finally shrugs in response to Irene's question.
"They aren't all worth writing up," she says, giving Watson a meaningful look that Jane might consider ignoring. It is a nice twist, at least. Amusing.
They don't stay very long, now that they've solved the mystery. The night is swiftly getting colder, and Jane doesn't really want to tangle with an overprotective feline mother. They emerge back into the night in silence.
"A purr-fect investigation," Watson says suddenly, grinning, and before Shirley can do more than groan, her friends unleash a variety of terrible cat puns in her direction. They laugh their way back to the dorms, and even Shirley's cracked a smile by the time they reach their room.
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes
Length: 787 words
Prompt: Sherlock Holmes fic battle: modernverse; Shirley, Jane, Irene, and Mary; The Adventure of the Wailing Door
Pairing: slight Mary/Jane, Shirley/Irene, mostly gen
Other: Set in a modern AU-verse where both Holmes and Watson are women who started their partnership in college.
Excerpt: Irene is restless. She's been restless from the first moment, and no amount of whispered reproach can stop her from shifting whenever she thinks she has a moment. It's driving Shirley crazy, and Watson can't help from being the tiniest bit amused. See, Jane thinks to herself, very quietly, your girlfriend is not a top investigator either.
Jane is not the observer. Oh, she tries, but she can never see as much as Shirley does in one glance. But today, she's going to try. It's not as if there's anything else to do.
They are waiting for the door to start crying -- or, more accurately, for the woman behind it to take up her nightly sobbing. She's oddly punctual about it, or so they've been told, always beginning sometime after two in the morning and ending before four. Holmes isn't taking chances, so they got here at midnight. If it hadn't been such a nice night, Jane might have protested. Instead, she enjoys the little persistent wind, wraps her arms around her knees, and watches the ladies sitting around her, wondering what the wailing woman does that makes her stay her sobbing until so late an hour.
Shirley is burning with excess energy, so much it makes Jane smile a little. Shirley won't do anything to give their hiding place away, but she's doodling in the dust and thinking about everything. She wants to move, but she won't.
Irene is restless. She's been restless from the first moment, and no amount of whispered reproach can stop her from shifting whenever she thinks she has a moment. It's driving Shirley crazy, and Watson can't help from being the tiniest bit amused. See, Jane thinks to herself, very quietly, your girlfriend is not a top investigator either.
Mary is so still and quiet and Jane has poked her a couple of times to make sure she was still awake. Somehow she is. She's leaning her head on Jane's shoulder, her warm presence a comfort. Mary might not be too into this whole detective thing, but at least she'd agreed to tag along.
Jane wonders briefly how their faculty sponsor would feel if he heard what the club was up to on the weekend before finals, but she's never quite got ahold of Professor Moriarty, and she's waffling between approving and dreading when Shirley sucks in a quick breath. There is a sound in the night, the softest click of a door opening.
Shirley is up and moving and Jane is right behind her, not sure what to expect but with her heart pounding, her wounded leg strong. There's true joy in Shirley's victorious smile and they are up and in before Jane has quite grasped what it is they're doing. Suddenly, Shirley throws an arm up, catching Jane right in the chest, her bony elbow nearly knocking the breath out of Jane.
"Be careful," Shirley says, not bothering to be quiet, as Irene skids to a stop just behind Jane, breathing heavily in Jane's ear. Mary follows around at the end of the line, her white face a blur in the dimness.
The crying hasn't stopped, even with their shoes in the hall. The house is cold and dark. If Jane didn't know better, she'd say no one lives here. It could certainly use a good cleaning, judging by the crunch of dirt and debris under her feet.
Shirley laughs in a self-deprecating way. "I hope no one is allergic," she mutters to herself, making her way down the hall. When she pushes the bedroom door open, Mary lets out a little exclamation of delight.
"Kittens!" she says, clapping her hands together, and there they are, in a squirming pile tucked into a pile of old clothes or blankets in the corner of the room. They wail like a crying woman, their strident cries failing to summon their missing mother.
Jane feels like this is a little anticlimactic. Although adorable.
"Did I really follow you into a deserted house after kittens?" Irene asks, but no one answers. Mary is cooing at the little things, even though the kittens lost interest when they didn't immediately produce milk. They are in the stage of kittenhood where they look like little more than large rats. Jane is not much of a cat person, and she's not very impressed.
Shirley finally shrugs in response to Irene's question.
"They aren't all worth writing up," she says, giving Watson a meaningful look that Jane might consider ignoring. It is a nice twist, at least. Amusing.
They don't stay very long, now that they've solved the mystery. The night is swiftly getting colder, and Jane doesn't really want to tangle with an overprotective feline mother. They emerge back into the night in silence.
"A purr-fect investigation," Watson says suddenly, grinning, and before Shirley can do more than groan, her friends unleash a variety of terrible cat puns in her direction. They laugh their way back to the dorms, and even Shirley's cracked a smile by the time they reach their room.