FIC: The Soldier and The Sea
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unconventionalcourtshipTitle: The Soldier and The Sea
Author: Ingrid Matthews
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Downey Films)
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson
Rating: PG
Length: 1,223
Summary: (NOTE: Modified from Her Royal Wedding by Cara Colter) -- Lord Sherlock Holmes, younger brother of Mycroft, Duke Sheringford, has unwillingly followed convention in public, while in secret he's been a consulting adviser to Scotland Yard for one of their most baffling, and terrifying murders. When the Duke believes his younger brother's life is in danger, he sends him off to a secret seaside hideaway to be protected by Major John Watson, who is there for duty, not love. But being with the handsome soldier makes Holmes feel happy and free for the first time, but can he find love in the midst of danger with this hardened soldier?
Notes:
AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3789712
~*~
It was infuriating, of course, that his brother, the high and mighty Mycroft, Duke Sheringford had sent him away with barely a listen to Sherlock's explanation of the small problem he'd run into during the pursuit of his hobby, but worse there was now a very high likelihood the crime he'd been consulting on would go unresolved, at least as far as capturing the culprit was concerned.
Not to mention the fact that the culprit wanted Sherlock dead.
"When has it become appropriate for a peer of this house to start 'consulting' with Scotland Yard on the whereabouts and activities of criminals?" Mycroft had asked Sherlock icily. "Is this a new fashion going about London or is it something you've placed yourself into without my knowledge or permission?"
The question, it seemed, was rhetorical. Mycroft had imperiously waved him away and before he had time to get a letter off to the chief Inspector Lestrade explaining that his identity had been discovered, Mycroft's man Carruthers came into the room with the servants, carrying out Sherlock's trunk and necessary belongings to a carriage that was already waiting outside.
Mycroft was still berating him as they walked side-by-side to the hansom. "Not only that, but the murderers now have you in their sights as a witness that must be disposed of! This is unsupportable and as such, it will no longer stand. You are to go to our seaside estate and stay there until sent for. I have arranged for a bodyguard to watch you there until the danger has passed. Don't even think of escaping him."
The granite-like tone of Mycroft's voice left no chance of argument, so off Sherlock went to the 'sandy dungeon' as he had always called it, his arms crossed and lips pursed with anger. Of all the ridiculous things, to be sent away like a child, watched by an old army codger Mikey picked out of some dusty cupboard.
Sherlock brooded the entire ride, which was long and uncomfortable, no doubt as Mycroft planned it to be. The estate would likely be empty except for old Mrs. Hudson the housekeeper and his jailor which made Holmes groan in spite of himself.
He'd been nothing but the most excellent peer of the realm since his return from school except his one little enjoyment, which was solving some of the Yard's knottier problems. Barely more than a side hobby, except for this slight problem -- the one of the assassin Sebastian Moran and his vow to kill the man who exposed his multiple murders -- the man who happened to be Sherlock Holmes.
He was by far the most terrifying of all the criminals Holmes had uncovered -- his victims were many, all of them killed in horrifying ways, none of them aware of when the beast had struck. Holmes himself was frightened but if only he'd been allowed to finish the case! He had more confidence in his own abilities than that of the inspectors assigned to it -- Mycroft might actually be dooming him rather than otherwise.
What an unfortunate irony that would end up being.
"So unfair," Holmes muttered as the carriage rocked to a stop. He looked out and rolled his eyes at the sight of Mrs. Hudson waiting for him, frowning deeply as she curtsied.
"Welcome home, my Lord," she said. "What have you done this time?"
"None of your business, Nanny," he shot back. "You may have been my governess back in the day, but not anymore."
"Thank God," she replied airily, motioning for the driver to follow her with Holmes' luggage. "By the by, your bodyguard is in the parlor, waiting to meet you. I already gave him my deepest sympathy."
"Such a gem, I don't know why we've never tried to live without you," Holmes called after her. He entered the old pile and with a resigned sigh, straightened himself out, standing tall and buttoning his jacket properly out of years of habit.
Holmes forced a polite expression onto his face and entered the parlor expecting nothing more than some middle-aged military man, with stiff neck and sun burnt jowls. He'd be forced to listen to the old battle axe's great feats in foreign lands for the next fortnight at least and Holmes didn't think there was quite enough brandy in the house for him to survive the stupefying experience that was in store.
What Holmes wasn't expecting was the young man who was waiting for him, standing tall, yet relaxed in well-pressed army tans, with ash blonde hair and eyes that rivaled the sea for their shining blue. He had no jowls but was slightly sun burnt over his well defined, extraordinarily handsome features. He even boasted a flattering mustache which in Holmes' experience was quite the novelty and there was something about him, an air of sorrow that only added to his allure, forcing Holmes to be at a sudden loss for words, possibly for the first time ever.
In short, he was the most beautiful man, Lord Sherlock Holmes had ever seen. He'd heard what he'd once thought was nonsense about being able to fall in love at first sight, only to discover at this very moment, it was entirely possible as he'd just done it.
It was the most ludicrous -- and wonderful -- moment of his life.
Noting that Holmes was too goggled to speak, the soldier introduced himself with a short bow. "My Lord, I'm Major John Watson, recently of Afghanistan, Her Majesty's Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I've been hired by His Grace to watch over you until the threat from the fugitive Moran has been resolved by the authorities."
Holmes fought for enough air to reply, his heart beating with disturbing speed. "Right," he rasped. "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Major Watson."
If the Major was impressed with him, he showed no sign of it, much to Holmes' disappointment. "I'll be staying nearby at all times but will attempt to be as discreet as possible. Please go about your day as you normally would, there will be no need to acknowledge my presence."
Holmes swallowed past a dry throat, his pulse pounding through his ears. "Sounds rather rude. Since you and I and Nanny are the only people here -- and Nanny only likes to berate me -- I'd enjoy having someone to talk with, if you don't mind."
"As you wish." Watson bowed again and stepped aside to let Holmes pass into the sitting room where refreshments awaited.
Holmes noted immediately that Watson had a pronounced limp and used a walking stick as an aid. He wondered at the history of that injury for a full moment before the Major interrupted his observations.
"My slight infirmity will in no way compromise my duties here, my Lord," he said. "I am well prepared for any eventuality." With one quick motion, Watson grasped the handle of his cane and unsheathed a shining, razor sharp sword that had been lurking inside.
Holmes' eyes widened at the dashing figure the Major presented. "Well ... that's very impressive."
"I also have my service revolver. I don't believe your assassin will give us any trouble."
"I hope not." Holmes said, trying not to think about Moran's last victim, the one with the poison dart in his throat. "I thank you for your service here, Major. I appreciate your presence."
"His Grace was kind enough to hire me, sir. No need to thank me," was the perfunctory reply.
"See you at supper then?" It was hard to keep the hope out of his voice. "Six, tonight?"
Confused, Watson blinked. Obviously he wasn't used to be asked to dinner by aristocracy, Holmes noted, delighted at his sweet befuddlement. "If you wish, sir."
"Nanny is annoying, but she's a very good cook. I think you'll be pleased."
"I'm sure I will, thank you."
It would be very nice to have this man close by, Holmes thought, even if his beauty was marred a bit by the sadness that surrounded him. Perhaps it had something to do with his injury, maybe something that happened in Afghanistan. Holmes did love a mystery -- it was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place -- and it appeared that Major John Watson would turn out to be a most fascinating one.
If he lived long enough to figure it out.
~*~
Author: Ingrid Matthews
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Downey Films)
Pairing/Characters: Holmes/Watson
Rating: PG
Length: 1,223
Summary: (NOTE: Modified from Her Royal Wedding by Cara Colter) -- Lord Sherlock Holmes, younger brother of Mycroft, Duke Sheringford, has unwillingly followed convention in public, while in secret he's been a consulting adviser to Scotland Yard for one of their most baffling, and terrifying murders. When the Duke believes his younger brother's life is in danger, he sends him off to a secret seaside hideaway to be protected by Major John Watson, who is there for duty, not love. But being with the handsome soldier makes Holmes feel happy and free for the first time, but can he find love in the midst of danger with this hardened soldier?
Notes:
AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3789712
~*~
It was infuriating, of course, that his brother, the high and mighty Mycroft, Duke Sheringford had sent him away with barely a listen to Sherlock's explanation of the small problem he'd run into during the pursuit of his hobby, but worse there was now a very high likelihood the crime he'd been consulting on would go unresolved, at least as far as capturing the culprit was concerned.
Not to mention the fact that the culprit wanted Sherlock dead.
"When has it become appropriate for a peer of this house to start 'consulting' with Scotland Yard on the whereabouts and activities of criminals?" Mycroft had asked Sherlock icily. "Is this a new fashion going about London or is it something you've placed yourself into without my knowledge or permission?"
The question, it seemed, was rhetorical. Mycroft had imperiously waved him away and before he had time to get a letter off to the chief Inspector Lestrade explaining that his identity had been discovered, Mycroft's man Carruthers came into the room with the servants, carrying out Sherlock's trunk and necessary belongings to a carriage that was already waiting outside.
Mycroft was still berating him as they walked side-by-side to the hansom. "Not only that, but the murderers now have you in their sights as a witness that must be disposed of! This is unsupportable and as such, it will no longer stand. You are to go to our seaside estate and stay there until sent for. I have arranged for a bodyguard to watch you there until the danger has passed. Don't even think of escaping him."
The granite-like tone of Mycroft's voice left no chance of argument, so off Sherlock went to the 'sandy dungeon' as he had always called it, his arms crossed and lips pursed with anger. Of all the ridiculous things, to be sent away like a child, watched by an old army codger Mikey picked out of some dusty cupboard.
Sherlock brooded the entire ride, which was long and uncomfortable, no doubt as Mycroft planned it to be. The estate would likely be empty except for old Mrs. Hudson the housekeeper and his jailor which made Holmes groan in spite of himself.
He'd been nothing but the most excellent peer of the realm since his return from school except his one little enjoyment, which was solving some of the Yard's knottier problems. Barely more than a side hobby, except for this slight problem -- the one of the assassin Sebastian Moran and his vow to kill the man who exposed his multiple murders -- the man who happened to be Sherlock Holmes.
He was by far the most terrifying of all the criminals Holmes had uncovered -- his victims were many, all of them killed in horrifying ways, none of them aware of when the beast had struck. Holmes himself was frightened but if only he'd been allowed to finish the case! He had more confidence in his own abilities than that of the inspectors assigned to it -- Mycroft might actually be dooming him rather than otherwise.
What an unfortunate irony that would end up being.
"So unfair," Holmes muttered as the carriage rocked to a stop. He looked out and rolled his eyes at the sight of Mrs. Hudson waiting for him, frowning deeply as she curtsied.
"Welcome home, my Lord," she said. "What have you done this time?"
"None of your business, Nanny," he shot back. "You may have been my governess back in the day, but not anymore."
"Thank God," she replied airily, motioning for the driver to follow her with Holmes' luggage. "By the by, your bodyguard is in the parlor, waiting to meet you. I already gave him my deepest sympathy."
"Such a gem, I don't know why we've never tried to live without you," Holmes called after her. He entered the old pile and with a resigned sigh, straightened himself out, standing tall and buttoning his jacket properly out of years of habit.
Holmes forced a polite expression onto his face and entered the parlor expecting nothing more than some middle-aged military man, with stiff neck and sun burnt jowls. He'd be forced to listen to the old battle axe's great feats in foreign lands for the next fortnight at least and Holmes didn't think there was quite enough brandy in the house for him to survive the stupefying experience that was in store.
What Holmes wasn't expecting was the young man who was waiting for him, standing tall, yet relaxed in well-pressed army tans, with ash blonde hair and eyes that rivaled the sea for their shining blue. He had no jowls but was slightly sun burnt over his well defined, extraordinarily handsome features. He even boasted a flattering mustache which in Holmes' experience was quite the novelty and there was something about him, an air of sorrow that only added to his allure, forcing Holmes to be at a sudden loss for words, possibly for the first time ever.
In short, he was the most beautiful man, Lord Sherlock Holmes had ever seen. He'd heard what he'd once thought was nonsense about being able to fall in love at first sight, only to discover at this very moment, it was entirely possible as he'd just done it.
It was the most ludicrous -- and wonderful -- moment of his life.
Noting that Holmes was too goggled to speak, the soldier introduced himself with a short bow. "My Lord, I'm Major John Watson, recently of Afghanistan, Her Majesty's Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I've been hired by His Grace to watch over you until the threat from the fugitive Moran has been resolved by the authorities."
Holmes fought for enough air to reply, his heart beating with disturbing speed. "Right," he rasped. "Yes, it's a pleasure to meet you, Major Watson."
If the Major was impressed with him, he showed no sign of it, much to Holmes' disappointment. "I'll be staying nearby at all times but will attempt to be as discreet as possible. Please go about your day as you normally would, there will be no need to acknowledge my presence."
Holmes swallowed past a dry throat, his pulse pounding through his ears. "Sounds rather rude. Since you and I and Nanny are the only people here -- and Nanny only likes to berate me -- I'd enjoy having someone to talk with, if you don't mind."
"As you wish." Watson bowed again and stepped aside to let Holmes pass into the sitting room where refreshments awaited.
Holmes noted immediately that Watson had a pronounced limp and used a walking stick as an aid. He wondered at the history of that injury for a full moment before the Major interrupted his observations.
"My slight infirmity will in no way compromise my duties here, my Lord," he said. "I am well prepared for any eventuality." With one quick motion, Watson grasped the handle of his cane and unsheathed a shining, razor sharp sword that had been lurking inside.
Holmes' eyes widened at the dashing figure the Major presented. "Well ... that's very impressive."
"I also have my service revolver. I don't believe your assassin will give us any trouble."
"I hope not." Holmes said, trying not to think about Moran's last victim, the one with the poison dart in his throat. "I thank you for your service here, Major. I appreciate your presence."
"His Grace was kind enough to hire me, sir. No need to thank me," was the perfunctory reply.
"See you at supper then?" It was hard to keep the hope out of his voice. "Six, tonight?"
Confused, Watson blinked. Obviously he wasn't used to be asked to dinner by aristocracy, Holmes noted, delighted at his sweet befuddlement. "If you wish, sir."
"Nanny is annoying, but she's a very good cook. I think you'll be pleased."
"I'm sure I will, thank you."
It would be very nice to have this man close by, Holmes thought, even if his beauty was marred a bit by the sadness that surrounded him. Perhaps it had something to do with his injury, maybe something that happened in Afghanistan. Holmes did love a mystery -- it was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place -- and it appeared that Major John Watson would turn out to be a most fascinating one.
If he lived long enough to figure it out.
~*~
(no subject)
Date: 2015-04-20 07:27 pm (UTC)I'd totally buy this if it were available amidst the other romance novels on the bookstore shelves! \o/
(no subject)
Date: 2015-04-20 07:55 pm (UTC)