Work Text:
Title: Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Morning - the Continuation
'Verse: ACD Books
Rating: G
Length: 1,795
A/N: Pining morphs into unadulterated tooth-rottingly sweet fluff. Read at your own peril!
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Morning
I crumpled up yet another abortive story attempt and threw it in the general direction of the grate and sighed, wearily scrubbing my hands over my face. The house was quiet - too quiet - and I was getting nowhere with trying to write. Reaching a decision at last, I pulled a telegraph form to me, addressed it, and scribbled a few quick words.
Have you holiday guests?. If not, may I come?
JW
Hastily, I rang the bell for Susan before I could change my mind.
When she appeared, I handed her the form and told her to have it sent immediately. She curtsied and left with it.
I poured myself another drink and awaited the reply with some trepidation.
Some hours later, Susan reappeared at the door with a telegram on the tray. "Your reply, sir," she said and handed it to me. I looked at the envelope for several minutes before I screwed up the courage to open it.
Come at once [it read] Train arrives ten o'clock am weekdays
SH
*********
I had not seen Holmes more than a handful of times in the several years since his retirement to the Sussex Downs and my subsequent remarriage. He had been invited to the wedding, of course, and had duly arrived, shaken my hand, kissed Emmaline's hand and departed. Oh, we corresponded occasionally and I had not meant to let the time go by, but there was Emmaline to consider and there always seemed to be some demands on my time that prevented me from going down to the country.
Having made the break, Holmes seemed not to wish to return to London at all, except on the infrequent occasion when he had some urgent business to conduct. We met for lunch, but our old easy camaraderie was missing. We seemed uneasy with each other, as if we were nothing more than polite acquaintances fulfilling some social duty.
In the old days, our conversations had been free-ranging, covering any and all topics that came to Holmes's brilliant mind. Now, there seemed to be so many subjects that both of us shied away from. It made for stilted encounters that devolved into banal small talk and trended to awkward silences. I mourned the loss of our old easy friendship, but I could not think of any way to regain it. When we parted, we always pledged not to make it so long until the next time, but the times between meetings grew longer rather than shorter.
Then a telegram came from Holmes at a time when I happened to be away from the house and Emmaline somehow misplaced it. When she remembered it, the time for our meeting had passed. Torn between loyalties, I was loath to try and explain to Holmes what had happened and so the distance between us became a yawning chasm.
In any case, Holmes seemed happy enough with his new life and I began to think that he missed me not at all. I certainly missed him - fiercely at first, then with a sort of steady slow ache, like the pain from a missing limb that never quite went away. Marriage, I found - at least to Emmaline - was no sort of substitute for the companionship I had lost.
In the beginning, I had optimistically hoped that she and Holmes might at least tolerate each other, or form some alliance as he and Mary eventually had, but that hope was dashed at the wedding when they took each other's measure at a glance and the hostility was as plain as if battle flags had actually been waved. Emmaline eventually began to resent my continued publication of our adventures together, even though the resulting revenue formed a large part of our income. It was that which drove the first wedge between us, although I suppose our separation was inevitable in any case.
Eventually, Emmaline, no doubt weary of my tendency to live increasingly for my writing - for there, at least, I could re-live some of Holmes's and my vanished closeness - announced that she was leaving for an extended visit to her relatives in America. Neither of us was under any illusions that she really intended to return. With myself as the sole occupant, I found the house too quiet and as the Christmas season approached, I grew increasingly low in spirits, until finally, driven to desperation, I chanced it all on a telegram to Holmes.
***************
So it was that I found myself, suitcase in hand, standing on a deserted platform in the small hamlet of Eastbourne, watching my train disappear into the wooded landscape and wondering if I had made a colossal mistake.
TBC…And this is where I left you hanging last year. Now at last here is the long-awaited conclusion!
I had begun to look uneasily around the deserted platform and wonder if something had gone wrong, when the stationmaster approached. Touching his cap, he enquired "You'd be the visitor for Mr Holmes, I suppose?"
When I assented, he continued, "Seth, that was to meet you, just sent the boy to say he broke a spring on the trap on the way here and he'll be a while at the smith's getting it fixed. I was just having a cup of tea and maybe you'd like to come in and have some while you wait?"
I accepted gratefully, for I was beginning to shiver in the wind that swept the platform and a few snowflakes were beginning to fall. "Snow by evening," the stationmaster volunteered unnecessarily as he shut the door. Inside it was blissfully warmer than the platform and I collapsed into one of the two wooden chairs with a sigh. "I'm Standish, stationmaster here for thirty-two years come March." he said as he handed me a mug of steaming tea.
"I'm sorry" I said, holding out my hand "John Watson and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Standish."
"Oh, I knew that," he chuckled. "Word gets around here pretty quickly and Mr Holmes hasn't many visitors. I imagine Seth'll be another hour or so, better make yourself comfortable."
As time passed with no sign of Seth and the trap, I had by now become acquainted with the histories of what seemed to be most of the inhabitants of Eastbourne. The snow continued to fall lightly and I began to worry. Surely Holmes had given me up by now. "How far is it to Mr Holmes's' cottage? I asked. "Might I be quicker just to walk?
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Standish replied with a frown. "In the snow and all, with the ruts frozen and you not knowin' the way, you'd likely take a fall. Seth can't be much longer - best if you wait."
Fretfully, I subsided back into my chair.
Finally, however, I could bear the wait no longer. Just as I was ready to announce that I would chance the walk, a lad came in with a message from Seth. "Smith says 'e can't fix the wheel today. Can you walk it if I guide you? 'E can send your bags on t'morrow. 'Tisn't more than a mile'n half."
Years as a soldier has taught me to travel light, so I readily assented to this proposal. Bidding Standish goodbye with thanks for his tea, I quickly set off with only my doctor's bag and stick in the company of the boy.
I was quickly aware that despite the fact that I had chosen to wear my thickest boots, they were more suited to London streets than to a stroll, however pleasant, through a country lane. The soles were slippery and my trouser-legs were soon unpleasantly damp.
I had to admit however, that the snowy lane was beautiful. The falling snow dampened what little sound there was and it was profoundly quiet; even our footfalls were muffled. To me, used as I was to the constant noise and bustle of London, it was otherworldly.
I was glad of my guide, for although I had visited Holmes once or twice before, it had never been in winter. The snow made everything somehow seem strange and mysterious and given the way the lane branched and turned, with little side paths leading off every so often, I would have been hopelessly lost without the boy to lead me.
At last we reached the wicket gate at the lane that led to Holmes's front garden. I paid the boy - generously, by his beaming look - thanked him and bade him farewell on his promise to see to it that my other bag was delivered the next day. Truthfully, I was none so sure how long I would remain anyway, or how welcome I really would be.
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and opened the gate. The path was unshoveled and unmarked by footprints, but a curl of smoke rose from the chimney to show that the cottage was occupied. Marching up to the door, I hesitated, hand raised to knock, a myriad of feelings running through my mind. Was I certain I was welcome? Did I really wish to do this? Ever since my marriage, the gap between Holmes and myself had grown wider. Could it still be bridged? Did I want to bridge it? What was I here for, in truth?
I took a deep breath and fighting the impulse to turn and run, I rapped on the door.
No answer came, so I tried the knob, knowing that here in the country, the door would likely not be locked. As I stepped into the sitting-room, a blast of cold air came from the back of the house and Holmes himself entered. He stopped dead at the sight of me. It is not easy to surprise Sherlock Holmes, but this was one of the few times that I had unquestionably managed it. The look of shock on his face, followed closely by sheer joy as he took in the fact of my presence answered all my questions at once.
"I, I was taking care of the bees," he stammered, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the back garden. "I had quite given you up."
Since he seemed to be rooted to the spot, I crossed the room to him with a few quick steps. I took both his hands in mine as he reached out at last to me. "Don't ever do that, dear fellow," I said. "Promise me you will never do that."
The next moment, we were in each others' arms and all my doubts had melted away. This was right, this was where I belonged. There were practical things to be dealt with, but tomorrow would be time enough. Whatever it took, I promised myself, we would be together again at last.
Tags:
author: tripleransom,
character: john watson,
character: sherlock holmes,
genre: fluff,
rating: g,
timeline: retirement,
universe: acd canon