The Lonely Christmas
Dec. 28th, 2010 04:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
capt_facepalmRating: PG-13
Characters: Doctor John H. Watson, Mrs. Hudson
Summary: Watson's first Christmas alone
Warnings: Extremely primitive art!flail; loneliness, (not slash)
Word Count: 1702
Author's Notes:
- For
![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=1)
rojo3131 who wanted to know more about the "bull pup" and likes Mrs Hudson - My story of Watson's dog was originally storyboarded in the graphics as follows (original frames were about the size of a postage stamp)
- Then the story morphed into something else
.oOOo.
Tuesday December 28, 1880
Early evening
One small steamer trunk, one large suitcase, one small valise, the clothing he wore, and his cane, the visual evidence of his recent past. These and their contents were the sum total of all the material goods and chattels of John H. Watson, M.D., late of the Army Medical Department.
The cabbie had been very helpful; first by moving his luggage from the hotel, and again to the door at 221 Baker Street.
‘I’ll wait t’see if anyone’s 'ome,’ he offered.
When Watson’s knock was answered quickly by his new landlady, Mrs Hudson, he paid the cab fare.
‘Thanks, guv’nor!’ the cabbie smiled at the generous tip, bounded up onto his perch, and drove away.
Mrs Hudson beheld the young man before her. They had met earlier that day, when he had accompanied that other gentleman looking to share the flat upstairs. The two men met with her approval and the apartments passed their inspection. They had signed the leasing papers that afternoon with the agreement that they could move in anytime between now and the new year. The young doctor indicated that he would move as soon as he settled his accounts at the hotel, but she had not expected him this early. The other gentleman’s lease did not expire until the end of the year, so he would be in less of a hurry to relocate.
‘Come in, Dr Watson,’ she invited. ‘When will the rest of your things arrive?’
He was clearly embarrassed to admit that there would be no more, but something else made him hesitate to enter.
‘I have an unexpected complication,’ he explained, clutching his chest. With his other hand, he shifted his cane to open the top button of his overcoat. The head of a small puppy poked out and greeted her with a sleepy yawn.
‘I thought I had placed him with a good family, but they returned him to me this very afternoon. I know our lease specified ‘no pets’, but he will need to stay with me until I can make other arrangements for him,’ he said.
The doctor went on to explain how, before Christmas, the hotel manager had agreed to take the pup home to his family as a Christmas present for his daughter. They had had the little dog for only five days before they had given up on the idea. When Watson returned to his room that afternoon, the manager had returned the dog with his apologies. Apparently, the pup’s howling when he was left alone was causing problems. This inexplicable behaviour had not been present when he was living in the hotel with the doctor. Watson secretly suspected that the little girl was bored with the pup.
‘Not to worry. It’s all right, for tonight, Doctor,’ she said, inviting him to bring his belongings into the entryway, and taking his small valise, led the way up the seventeen stairs to his flat. The doctor followed with the larger case, opting to leave the trunk at the bottom of the stairs.
‘I wasn’t expecting you tonight,’ she said, ‘So I haven’t lain on a fire. I’ll start one now, but you should wait downstairs while the room has a chance to warm.’
Although she had said nothing, he saw the concern in her eyes as he struggled with the heavy load. He reassured her that the trunk would not be any trouble for him since he could move the contents in stages, making multiple trips. She replied that there was no need to hurry and that the task could be put off until the next day.
Mrs Hudson ushered the doctor into her parlour. Christmas garland and cheerful decorations were scattered about. Patterned table cloths, china figurines, and lace doilies: all these things that meant home to other people did not resonate with the doctor’s own experience of dormitories, cramped student housing, or barracks life, but the warm comfort of the room was welcoming in itself. On a blanket near the fire lay an ancient terrier that raised his head at the newcomer’s entrance; curled in a contented ball in an armchair, lay a ginger cat. Watson settled into the armchair indicated to him, with the pup repositioned on his lap.
When asked how he had found himself with a puppy, the doctor described with a chuckle that although Afghanistan had tried its best to kill him, it was the voyage home on the Orontes that came closest to finishing him for good. He explained that upon his arrival back in England, the army provided care to those who still needed it. Watson chose to stay in a transition home for newly returned veterans in Southampton rather than the veterans’ hospital for invalids in nearby Netley. While there, the nun who ran the hostel inexplicably gave him this mongrel puppy. The Sister refused to disclose her reasons, but made him promise to look after it.
Watson liked dogs as a rule, but never had one of his own. Adjustments had to be made to his regimen. The little dog required food and exercise on a regular schedule so Watson had to get up early each day. The pup demanded attention and constant vigilance to keep it out of trouble so the doctor was always on the go. Once Watson taught him good manners, the little dog's popularity drew admirers and the doctor found himself engaging with the many people around him.
‘I named him ‘Gairie’. It means ‘Shorty’ where I come from,’ the doctor explained. ‘He is supposed to be some sort of bull terrier, but his build is not quite right.’
Mrs Hudson considered herself to be a good judge of character. Although he spoke of the pup with indifference, the young man's actions told another story. He absently rubbed its ears and gently reprimanded it when it sought to chew his fingers. Even as the doctor denied any attachment, he was clearly besotted with the little dog.
‘You must be glad to be home for Christmas. It must have been so lonely to be so far from home, in that God-forsaken land,’ she commented.
‘Until this year, I was never alone at Christmas. As a small child, I had my family. When I lost them, I had my brother and my boarding school. My friends at the University always welcomed me into their homes over the holidays. The army was different; although we were far from home, we were all together. Christmas may have been atypical, but it was not lonely. As it was, last year, I was surrounded by the best friends a fellow could ever hope to have.
‘This year was my first Christmas alone. Even this little wretch had deserted me,’ he said as the pup obligingly rolled onto its back to let the doctor rub its belly. ‘The hotel staff had the holiday off and everyone had assumed that I had somewhere else to be. Their dining room was closed but they permitted me to browse their kitchen for anything I cared to eat. I remember making a pot of tea, but anything else seemed too much to bother with. I dressed to go to church, and even got within sight of it, but I felt so much the hypocrite that I turned around, went back to the hotel, and retired to my room.’
‘Do you not know anyone in London?’ she asked. He shook his head.
‘Perhaps there are some, but I have not been fit company since my return, and I have not sought them out. I still have some readjusting to do, and the city should allow me to settle myself away from the scrutiny of those whom I have disappointed.
‘Besides, whatever family I have left are still in Scotland. My father’s side are all gone, and I have never been close with my mother’s kin. My university colleagues have scattered, and the men of my regiment, those who are left, are still abroad,’ he paused, ‘I have to admit, this Christmas was dreadful. But, you, Mrs Hudson, appear to have had a lovely Christmas. Your home is filled with the holiday spirit. Did you have a large family gathering?’
The question was innocent enough, but once it was spoken, the landlady’s delayed response caused Watson to regret its asking.
‘No, Doctor,’ she replied, ‘I have been dressing the house for Christmas in the same way I always did when the late Mr Hudson was still alive. He used to love the holidays; even more so when our boys were young.
‘Our sons, David and Robert, were twins and were very close. When they were fourteen, both were involved in an accident at school and David died. Robert fought with his father and they never reconciled. He left home when he was fifteen and I have not heard from him since. That was nearly twenty years ago.
‘Mr Hudson passed eight years ago. I’m not sure why I bother to decorate since I usually spend Christmas with my sister, with her children, and their children. This year they all were ill, so I stayed home.’
‘And you have had no word from your son? No word at all?’ Watson asked.
‘Four years ago, I received a letter from a woman in Halifax, claiming to be my daughter-in-law, informing me that I was a grandmother. I did not even know Robert had emigrated. I fear I shall never know my grandchildren. I, too, have had an awful Christmas.’
The angel figurine smiled beatifically down on the nativity scene laid out on the end table. Mary and Joseph rejoiced in the birth of the Christ child, the shepherds and the kings from the east knelt in adoration. Mrs Hudson appraised the young man in the ill-fitting suit and the world-weary eyes sitting opposite her.
‘Doctor, there is too much loneliness in the world. As long as little Gairie behaves himself, he is welcome to stay.’
In the armchair, the cat purred in her sleep. The old terrier snored softly in his fireside bed. The young pup gave a contented sigh. Looking around the room, the woman whose house was empty, and the man whose life seemed to him so bleak, took some small solace in that they were not alone in being lonely at Christmas time.
.oOOo.
Please forgive the art!flail and sign the guestbook
(Art!flail can be removed if it is too distracting)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-12-28 11:37 pm (UTC)Do you usually storyboard? or just decided to do so this time? I have no capabilities or refined tasted in the visual arts, so I would never start a story that way. I'm curious how other people do it.
Also, you've seen the RDJ Holmes, right? Because if you haven't, the fact that you have this line--"Patterned table cloths, china figurines, and lace doilies"--is too weird.
:-)
no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 12:10 am (UTC)Of course when I went to write it up, the story evolved into one about Christmas, and not just about the "bull pup". (Author has the attention span of a squirrel and must stay on track.)
Channelling the doilies line was no accident. I have a huge fan!girl crush on RDJ. He isn't my version of Holmes, but my criticism of the Ritchie film does not extend to the characterisations of Holmes or Watson. (Shakes fist at plot inconsistencies!)
no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 12:25 am (UTC)I have never really gone into Holmes for the stories, so if they get Holmes and Watson's interactions right, I'm happy. Therefore I was happy. :-) And I'm looking forward to the next one at the end of 2011!
RDJ is not my ideal Holmes, but I really liked him as a sort of foil/other side of the coin for Jeremy Brett's Holmes (I'm a Holmes heretic when it comes to Brett. I like season one, but you will get no rhapsodizing from me.)
Of course, Cumberbatch, in my opinion, managed to DO IT RIGHT! I thought he was everything right about both Brett and RDJ and nothing wrong. *sigh*
no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 12:38 am (UTC):D
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Date: 2010-12-29 12:41 am (UTC)I'm SO SO SO EXCITED.
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Date: 2010-12-29 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 12:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 12:35 am (UTC)Care to wallop it with the a beta?
I left the warm fuzzy Christmas fics up to others this year. This is more akin to my usual experience. As much as I love Christmas, it has rarely been the Hallmark event it is promoted to be.
no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 01:19 am (UTC)Thanks!
:D
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Date: 2010-12-31 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-04 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 12:18 am (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
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Date: 2011-01-05 02:02 am (UTC)nothing wrong w/ the story either. too many or lack of commas didn't trouble me at all. and i'm usually pretty picky about the commas. oxford comma = love.
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Date: 2011-01-06 12:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 03:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 03:39 am (UTC)I like the storyboard! Terribly cute! :-)
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Date: 2011-01-06 12:29 am (UTC)Thank you for commenting!
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Date: 2011-01-06 12:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 04:15 am (UTC)That is what I've thought EVERY SINGLE TIME I've clickede on this link...
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 12:36 am (UTC)I want to see a challenge where writers are challenged to draw, and artists are challenged to write.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 03:08 am (UTC)*ambles off whistling innocently*
Can one whistle innocently?
And that is a really good challenge idea which I shall put into my challenge ideas file in hopes that the Great_Tales comm gets off the ground!
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Date: 2011-01-06 03:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 07:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 07:40 am (UTC):-P
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Date: 2011-01-05 02:07 pm (UTC)This is the cutest thing--puppy angst makes my day! (An odd thing to say...) And your storyboarding makes me grin, it's so cute~! *flails* In fact, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS ADORABLE!
(Been too busy to LJ recently, so please accept my capslock and squees as recompence for the quiet Holidays. :3)
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 12:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-05 07:35 pm (UTC)You need to specify Halifax, Nova Scotia or Mass. (or whichever other you are thinking of) btw, as English readers immediately think of the original town in Yorkshire and go "emigrated?Huh?" (unless they are Lancastrians, lol)...
no subject
Date: 2011-01-06 01:01 am (UTC)I chose Halifax because by the mid 1800s Halifax, Nova Scotia, had developed into the world's 3rd most important harbour and had surpassed both its southern neighbour, and its original namesake in prominence. But you are correct to point out the disambiguity. My other choice was Boston!
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Date: 2011-03-29 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-31 09:41 pm (UTC)