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capt_facepalmTitle: And We Will All Be Home Before Christmas (II)
Author:capt_facepalm
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight ACD)
Characters: Mr Sherlock Holmes - consulting detective (retired), Dr John Watson, Major, RAMC (not as retired as Mr Holmes would like)
Summary: There's a war on, you know
Warning: contains meh
Word Count: 1575
Author's Notes:
Author:
capt_facepalm Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Gaslight ACD)
Characters: Mr Sherlock Holmes - consulting detective (retired), Dr John Watson, Major, RAMC (not as retired as Mr Holmes would like)
Summary: There's a war on, you know
Warning: contains meh
Word Count: 1575
Author's Notes:
WAdvent 2019 - December 1
A continuation of And We Will All Be Home Before Christmas from WAdvent 2018
.oOOo.
December 11th, 1914
Sunday bells pealed across the Sussex Downs.
The days passed slowly since Doctor no- Major Watson had returned to France and Sherlock Holmes, if he could admit to such things, felt very much alone. Watson's visit was far too short and there had been no further news or correspondence from any quarter. The continental war remained in the background of daily Sussex life.
The day before last, the sound of a distant biplane engine drew Holmes out of his cottage in flapping slippers and half-tied dressing gown. He scanned the skies but the aircraft had been bound for destinations unknown and did not materialise.
The kettle was starting to boil when Holmes heard the knock at the door. There stood Davey, the telegram boy, wet from the rain and winded from his bicycle ride from the village.
'What is it?' Holmes asked, trying to mask the alarm in his voice.
'It's not (huff) like that (huff), Mr Holmes, sir,' Davey replied, trying to catch his breath. 'There was a telephone call for you. The gentleman would like you to return his call this afternoon.' He handed Holmes a card with the name Alaisdair McPherson and his exchange.
'I do not recognise this name...'
'I didn't speak with him. My uncle took the call. But the exchange is near the aerodrome at Wickley.'
Holmes' mind raced. Aerodrome? McPherson? Bumpy! Could his Christian name truly be Alaisdair?
Davey looked doubtful as the old man pulled an antiquated bicycle from the potting shed and started peddling towards the village but soon found it hard to keep up with him.
'Mr Sherlock Holmes calling for Mr McPherson,' Holmes shouted into the receiver at the perfectly manicured voice who had answered.
'Ah, Mr Holmes, this is Flight Captain McPherson, thank you for returning my call. I will be seeing your friend tomorrow and I thought perhaps you would like to send a parcel, what with the holidays approaching.'
Holmes was busily deducing McPherson's public school as the pilot prattled on.
'I know it is short notice, but wartime is like that. Actually, I have enough room, would you care to take a jaunt? I'll be heading out early and we can be back by nightfall.'
Holmes agreed before three thoughts crossed his mind. One: he had never flown in an aircraft. Two: he had sworn he never would. And three: his perspective pilot was called Bumpy.
'Splendid, Mr Holmes! Look for me at first light and wear something warm.'
Indeed, early the next morning, the little biplane buzzed into earshot and then into view as the dawning clouds turned from black to slate. It bounced to a stop on the road just past the cottage lane and McPherson urged Holmes to don a grimy boiler suit and climb aboard. In no time at all, they were airborne and winging their way to France.
Soon, but not soon enough for Holmes, McPherson was gesturing at the ground. A small village with the burnt-out ruins of a church lay below them. Holmes could make out two trucks painted as ambulances and several military tents. They circled twice and descended upon an improvised airstrip a quarter mile away.
McPherson cut the engine and looked around. 'Blast! No one is coming for us. We'll have to haul the mail ourselves. Out you get. Reach behind you and hand me my leg.'
Holmes looked into the compartment behind his seat and sure enough, beneath the mail bags there was a prosthetic leg. Without question, he handed it to McPherson who attached it to a battered and heavily scarred stump.
The two took the sacks of mail and provisions and started walking towards the church.
'Where's Major Watson?' McPherson asked of the one of the orderlies, who stood outside the ruins, which contained the infirmary tent, smoking a cigarette.
'Surgery,' he replied and glanced at his wristwatch. 'Five hours so far. A special case. I must get back in. We heard you land. Who is that with you?'
'Nobody special,' replied Holmes. 'Just a guest of McPherson's.'
'We'll wait for Major Watson in the mess. I hope you've eaten breakfast,' whispered McPherson. 'The food here is atrocious.'
Holmes was not thinking about food at all.
It was two hours later when the flap to the mess tent opened an a tired-looking Watson entered. He gave McPherson and his guest a weak smile and then his mouth opened in astonishment and recognition.
'Holmes!' Watson exclaimed with joy, and then with unsuppressed anger 'What the devil are you doing here?'
'It's good to see you too, old friend,' Holmes replied acerbically.
'Well, I'll leave you two gentlemen alone and deliver this mail shall I? You know where to find me. Cheerio!' said McPherson, attempting to extricate himself from a situation which he may have misjudged and for which he might have to take some responsibility.
'I'm sorry, Holmes,' said Watson, sniffing his cup of coffee with a grimace. 'I am truly glad to see you but-'
'But you have had little sleep and have been in surgery for several hours. How is your patient?'
'He may pull through. There was an accident: a mortar; one of ours; was mishandled and it exploded. Corporal Deldunne was the closest. Lots of shrapnel and debris, but at least he was our only casualty last night.'
'Surely one of your other surgeons could have-'
'For this, they actually needed my expertise. I may have saved his eyesight. If he recovers, that is. Head wounds are tricky,' Watson shrugged. 'But look at you! You actually got into one of “those infernal contraptions” and here you are. Will miracles never cease. How was your flight?'
'Watson,' said Holmes with all honesty 'I am so sorry I ever made fun of your seasickness.'
'If the weather holds, you will have to go with Bumpy when he leaves.'
'I'd rather swim.'
'It's December!'
'Yes, I know.'
Watson swallowed the rest of his coffee and shuddered in disgust. 'I've got some work to do so I'll get someone to show you 'round. This was a lovely place at one time, I suspect.'
Holmes was introduced to Cpl McCann, one of the ambulance drivers. McCann was a young man who spoke with a thick Hebridian burr. He was good-natured but looked like he could (and likely had to) handle himself in a fight. The corporal introduced Holmes to the nursing Sisters and a fierce-looking Matron as well as his fellow ambulance drivers. The medical officers materialised for their noon-time meal and were thrilled to meet the famous former detective.
McCann and Holmes toured the rest of the village. It had been abandoned by its original inhabitants and had been subsequently occupied by the Royal Army Medical Corps hospital. A battalion of new recruits were being housed in the deserted buildings. Outbuildings gave shelter to several horses, bicycles, and more supply lorries.
McCann returned Holmes to Watson who was helping his quartermaster receive and inventory the shipment of medicines that arrived earlier that day.
'So, what do you think of my little fiefdom, now that you've seen it?'
'It's- It's... Well, it's horrible. You don't even have a bed-'
'The hospital needed it and I am used to the hammock...'
And Holmes, who could infer a Niagara Falls from a single drop of water had observed the carts and lorries full of munitions, the numbers of troops marshalling in the rain, and the dissolute expressions in their officers' faces, grabbed Watson by the shoulders and spun him round to face him,
'Holmes?'
They stood there, locked in time.
'Holmes, what is it? You're hurting me.'
Holmes expression was one of anger and frustration. He could not say the things he wanted to say. He tightened his grip to further emphasise his words.
'Watson, you must promise me: do not be tempted to do anything heroic. When things get bad, and they will, promise to remember that a doctor is worth twenty of any other man. Promise you will not lose yourself in the coming storm.'
'Of course. Of course! You need not worry. My role here is administrative. Today was an exception. Ophthalmology is rarely required. We're several miles from the action and Christmas is coming. Perhaps there will be a ceasefire and people will come to their senses.'
Watson was trying to reassure him. Holmes, unconvinced, smiled. 'Yes. You're probably right.'
'Major Watson, come quick! Corporal Deldunne has regained conscientiousness!' One of the Sisters called out.
'Duty calls. I must go, but seek me out when McPherson returns. I want to see you off.'
Holmes relinquished his grip and smiled. 'Of course, Doctor.'
The bi-plane bounced along the landing strip as it taxied into position into the wind.
McPherson grinned and offered Holmes a thumbs up. Holmes replied in kind and climbed into the second seat. As the engine roared, Holmes gave Watson what he hoped was his best cheery wave and they were off.
Watson followed the speck disappearing into the clouds and strained to hear it until it was no more. Eventually the east wind and the rain persuaded him to return to the damp and cold of his improvised office, where another tepid cup of coffee awaited him.
December 11th, 1914
Sunday bells pealed across the Sussex Downs.
The days passed slowly since Doctor no- Major Watson had returned to France and Sherlock Holmes, if he could admit to such things, felt very much alone. Watson's visit was far too short and there had been no further news or correspondence from any quarter. The continental war remained in the background of daily Sussex life.
The day before last, the sound of a distant biplane engine drew Holmes out of his cottage in flapping slippers and half-tied dressing gown. He scanned the skies but the aircraft had been bound for destinations unknown and did not materialise.
.oOOo.
The kettle was starting to boil when Holmes heard the knock at the door. There stood Davey, the telegram boy, wet from the rain and winded from his bicycle ride from the village.
'What is it?' Holmes asked, trying to mask the alarm in his voice.
'It's not (huff) like that (huff), Mr Holmes, sir,' Davey replied, trying to catch his breath. 'There was a telephone call for you. The gentleman would like you to return his call this afternoon.' He handed Holmes a card with the name Alaisdair McPherson and his exchange.
'I do not recognise this name...'
'I didn't speak with him. My uncle took the call. But the exchange is near the aerodrome at Wickley.'
Holmes' mind raced. Aerodrome? McPherson? Bumpy! Could his Christian name truly be Alaisdair?
Davey looked doubtful as the old man pulled an antiquated bicycle from the potting shed and started peddling towards the village but soon found it hard to keep up with him.
.oOOo.
'Mr Sherlock Holmes calling for Mr McPherson,' Holmes shouted into the receiver at the perfectly manicured voice who had answered.
'Ah, Mr Holmes, this is Flight Captain McPherson, thank you for returning my call. I will be seeing your friend tomorrow and I thought perhaps you would like to send a parcel, what with the holidays approaching.'
Holmes was busily deducing McPherson's public school as the pilot prattled on.
'I know it is short notice, but wartime is like that. Actually, I have enough room, would you care to take a jaunt? I'll be heading out early and we can be back by nightfall.'
Holmes agreed before three thoughts crossed his mind. One: he had never flown in an aircraft. Two: he had sworn he never would. And three: his perspective pilot was called Bumpy.
'Splendid, Mr Holmes! Look for me at first light and wear something warm.'
.oOOo.
Indeed, early the next morning, the little biplane buzzed into earshot and then into view as the dawning clouds turned from black to slate. It bounced to a stop on the road just past the cottage lane and McPherson urged Holmes to don a grimy boiler suit and climb aboard. In no time at all, they were airborne and winging their way to France.
Soon, but not soon enough for Holmes, McPherson was gesturing at the ground. A small village with the burnt-out ruins of a church lay below them. Holmes could make out two trucks painted as ambulances and several military tents. They circled twice and descended upon an improvised airstrip a quarter mile away.
McPherson cut the engine and looked around. 'Blast! No one is coming for us. We'll have to haul the mail ourselves. Out you get. Reach behind you and hand me my leg.'
Holmes looked into the compartment behind his seat and sure enough, beneath the mail bags there was a prosthetic leg. Without question, he handed it to McPherson who attached it to a battered and heavily scarred stump.
The two took the sacks of mail and provisions and started walking towards the church.
'Where's Major Watson?' McPherson asked of the one of the orderlies, who stood outside the ruins, which contained the infirmary tent, smoking a cigarette.
'Surgery,' he replied and glanced at his wristwatch. 'Five hours so far. A special case. I must get back in. We heard you land. Who is that with you?'
'Nobody special,' replied Holmes. 'Just a guest of McPherson's.'
'We'll wait for Major Watson in the mess. I hope you've eaten breakfast,' whispered McPherson. 'The food here is atrocious.'
Holmes was not thinking about food at all.
.oOOo.
It was two hours later when the flap to the mess tent opened an a tired-looking Watson entered. He gave McPherson and his guest a weak smile and then his mouth opened in astonishment and recognition.
'Holmes!' Watson exclaimed with joy, and then with unsuppressed anger 'What the devil are you doing here?'
'It's good to see you too, old friend,' Holmes replied acerbically.
'Well, I'll leave you two gentlemen alone and deliver this mail shall I? You know where to find me. Cheerio!' said McPherson, attempting to extricate himself from a situation which he may have misjudged and for which he might have to take some responsibility.
'I'm sorry, Holmes,' said Watson, sniffing his cup of coffee with a grimace. 'I am truly glad to see you but-'
'But you have had little sleep and have been in surgery for several hours. How is your patient?'
'He may pull through. There was an accident: a mortar; one of ours; was mishandled and it exploded. Corporal Deldunne was the closest. Lots of shrapnel and debris, but at least he was our only casualty last night.'
'Surely one of your other surgeons could have-'
'For this, they actually needed my expertise. I may have saved his eyesight. If he recovers, that is. Head wounds are tricky,' Watson shrugged. 'But look at you! You actually got into one of “those infernal contraptions” and here you are. Will miracles never cease. How was your flight?'
'Watson,' said Holmes with all honesty 'I am so sorry I ever made fun of your seasickness.'
'If the weather holds, you will have to go with Bumpy when he leaves.'
'I'd rather swim.'
'It's December!'
'Yes, I know.'
Watson swallowed the rest of his coffee and shuddered in disgust. 'I've got some work to do so I'll get someone to show you 'round. This was a lovely place at one time, I suspect.'
Holmes was introduced to Cpl McCann, one of the ambulance drivers. McCann was a young man who spoke with a thick Hebridian burr. He was good-natured but looked like he could (and likely had to) handle himself in a fight. The corporal introduced Holmes to the nursing Sisters and a fierce-looking Matron as well as his fellow ambulance drivers. The medical officers materialised for their noon-time meal and were thrilled to meet the famous former detective.
McCann and Holmes toured the rest of the village. It had been abandoned by its original inhabitants and had been subsequently occupied by the Royal Army Medical Corps hospital. A battalion of new recruits were being housed in the deserted buildings. Outbuildings gave shelter to several horses, bicycles, and more supply lorries.
McCann returned Holmes to Watson who was helping his quartermaster receive and inventory the shipment of medicines that arrived earlier that day.
'So, what do you think of my little fiefdom, now that you've seen it?'
'It's- It's... Well, it's horrible. You don't even have a bed-'
'The hospital needed it and I am used to the hammock...'
And Holmes, who could infer a Niagara Falls from a single drop of water had observed the carts and lorries full of munitions, the numbers of troops marshalling in the rain, and the dissolute expressions in their officers' faces, grabbed Watson by the shoulders and spun him round to face him,
'Holmes?'
They stood there, locked in time.
'Holmes, what is it? You're hurting me.'
Holmes expression was one of anger and frustration. He could not say the things he wanted to say. He tightened his grip to further emphasise his words.
'Watson, you must promise me: do not be tempted to do anything heroic. When things get bad, and they will, promise to remember that a doctor is worth twenty of any other man. Promise you will not lose yourself in the coming storm.'
'Of course. Of course! You need not worry. My role here is administrative. Today was an exception. Ophthalmology is rarely required. We're several miles from the action and Christmas is coming. Perhaps there will be a ceasefire and people will come to their senses.'
Watson was trying to reassure him. Holmes, unconvinced, smiled. 'Yes. You're probably right.'
'Major Watson, come quick! Corporal Deldunne has regained conscientiousness!' One of the Sisters called out.
'Duty calls. I must go, but seek me out when McPherson returns. I want to see you off.'
Holmes relinquished his grip and smiled. 'Of course, Doctor.'
.oOOo.
The bi-plane bounced along the landing strip as it taxied into position into the wind.
McPherson grinned and offered Holmes a thumbs up. Holmes replied in kind and climbed into the second seat. As the engine roared, Holmes gave Watson what he hoped was his best cheery wave and they were off.
Watson followed the speck disappearing into the clouds and strained to hear it until it was no more. Eventually the east wind and the rain persuaded him to return to the damp and cold of his improvised office, where another tepid cup of coffee awaited him.
.oOOo.
Please sign the guestbook...
Please sign the guestbook...
Supplementary Notes:
My headcanon proposes that Watson did resurrect his medical career by specialising in ophthalmology (as did Doyle) and this is why there are gaps in canon chronology because in later years Watson was not always a full-time Boswell.
My headcanon proposes that Watson did resurrect his medical career by specialising in ophthalmology (as did Doyle) and this is why there are gaps in canon chronology because in later years Watson was not always a full-time Boswell.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:54 pm (UTC)Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 04:41 am (UTC)Some passages I particularly liked:
The day before last, the sound of a distant biplane engine drew Holmes out of his cottage in flapping slippers and half-tied dressing gown. He scanned the skies but the aircraft had been bound for destinations unknown and did not materialise.
'What is it?' Holmes asked, trying to mask the alarm in his voice.
'It's not (huff) like that (huff), Mr Holmes, sir,' Davey replied, trying to catch his breath.
'Blast! No one is coming for us. We'll have to haul the mail ourselves. Out you get. Reach behind you and hand me my leg.'
Holmes was not thinking about food at all.
Promise you will not lose yourself in the coming storm.
Thank you so much for sharing such a beautiful and melancholy vignette.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:55 pm (UTC)Holmes in flapping slippers is fun to imagine.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:56 pm (UTC)I watched too much M*A*S*H when I was younger.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 05:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:56 pm (UTC)Adorable and painful are a WAdvent tradition for me.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 07:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:56 pm (UTC)I try to write what is observed and let the reader read between the lines.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 11:01 am (UTC)I particularly liked Holmes being told to reach Bumpy's leg.
And you kept Watson alive!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:57 pm (UTC)Little by little, more details about Bumpy are revealed.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-02 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:58 pm (UTC)I try to keep a bit of humour in these stories of their friendship. It offsets the woe and the darkness.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-03 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:58 pm (UTC)There is a lot of room to write in this series and I was raised on M*A*S*H...
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-03 04:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 04:59 pm (UTC)This series has a serious danger of evolving into "The Bumpy McPherson Show".
Without revealing too much, McPherson modified his aircraft himself, because he was told it couldn't be done.
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-07 08:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-16 05:00 pm (UTC)The humour is there to offset the grim surroundings which I have not revealed in detail because I'm sure the readers know enough about conditions in WWI.
Merry WAdvent and Happy Christmas!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-17 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-18 06:29 pm (UTC)November writings tend to be a bit sad. Rain and darkness feature strongly.
Oh, to be writing on a sunny, warm beach somewhere!
(Not likely to ever happen... but nice to dream, eh?)
Happy WAdvent!
no subject
Date: 2019-12-20 12:14 am (UTC)Thanks! and to you ;)