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mhalachaiPreface: Yes, I know I've been AWOL since... *checks* April 8, 20 whole days. There's been a bit of a personal crisis, the hell of Writer's Block, and the evil of distraction that are old television shows on DVD.
But I digress.
Sussex Night
A Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes story
by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mhalachaiswords
Summary: Marriage isn't as easy as Russell thought it would be.
Disclaimer: The Mary Russell characters belong to Laurie R. King. No profit has been made from this fic.
Rating: G
Characters: Mary Russell, Sherlock Holmes
Words: 575
An entry on the Quasi-Drabble challenge entry.cissasghost Holmes/Russell [married, but any timeframe you want otherwise] . . . prompt "sleet"
Note: Set after A Monstrous Regiment of Women, early in the Russell-Holmes marriage.
~~~~~
I flipped the side of my newspaper, irritation in the crinkling of the paper. Across the room, the fire cracked merrily, warming Holmes' cottage on this abominable spring night.
No, I corrected myself. Not solely Holmes' cottage anymore. Our cottage. Our... home.
Not for the first time since I'd walked into this cottage as a married woman, over a week ago, I didn't know what to do with myself. How many countless hours had I spent in this place since I was fifteen? Nothing had changed since then. Only everything had.
I thrust my newspaper aside and stood. "I am going out," I announced to the room. Holmes, sitting in the corner, lowered his book a fraction of an inch long enough to give me a baleful stare, then went back to his pages.
More irritated than ever, I strode to the hall, swathed myself in layers topped by a waterproof cloak, thrust my feet into my farm boots, and slipped through the door into the maelstrom.
I made it to the bottom of the garden before the sleet and the wind penetrated the cloak, driving me to seek shelter against the wall. The night was dark as pitch, the only light coming from the cottage behind me.
I was being ridiculous and not a little childish, I knew that. Practically, very little had changed between us. I was still Mary Russell and he was still Sherlock Holmes, I was still at Oxford and he was still the cranky, brilliant pseudo-retired consulting detective.
Only everything had changed.
I rested my forehead against the stone wall, ignoring the dribble of ice water down my neck. I didn't understand how, after all these years, Holmes could still make me feel like a child, like an equal, in the space of a single moment. He'd done nothing more this night than pass me the newspaper after dinner, but my thoughts wouldn't stop racing around inside my head.
The cold finally drove me back inside. I shook a gallon of ice water off the waterproof and stumbled, dripping, back to the parlor.
Holmes had lit a pipe. The smell of the tobacco filled the room, and just as quickly as my irritation had risen, it dissipated in that familiar cloud of smoke. "I'm going to run a bath," I told him. He was still Holmes and I was still Russell and I could do this. I could be married, a partner to this aggravating, amazing man. Nothing had changed between us, only grown in complication and trust and... yes, I will say it. Love.
Holmes took the pipe stem out of his mouth and cleared his throat. "Russell," he began in a too-melodic tone, one that set my hackles up. This melodramatic lift of his voice usually always led to trouble.
"Yes?"
"You are dripping on the maps," was all he said, but the faint twist of the corner of his mouth told me more than I would ever hear. We had known each other too long to need words for the most important of conversations.
I straightened my shoulders and stepped back enough to cease the damage to the papers on the floor. "The maps, I am sure, will accept my apology." I turned and swept out of the room, a trail of water dripping in my wake.
Holmes' chuckle followed me down the hall. As I climbed the stairs to the first floor, I allowed myself a rueful smile.
fin
But I digress.
A Mary Russell/Sherlock Holmes story
by
mhalachaiswordsSummary: Marriage isn't as easy as Russell thought it would be.
Disclaimer: The Mary Russell characters belong to Laurie R. King. No profit has been made from this fic.
Rating: G
Characters: Mary Russell, Sherlock Holmes
Words: 575
An entry on the Quasi-Drabble challenge entry.
cissasghost Holmes/Russell [married, but any timeframe you want otherwise] . . . prompt "sleet" Note: Set after A Monstrous Regiment of Women, early in the Russell-Holmes marriage.
I flipped the side of my newspaper, irritation in the crinkling of the paper. Across the room, the fire cracked merrily, warming Holmes' cottage on this abominable spring night.
No, I corrected myself. Not solely Holmes' cottage anymore. Our cottage. Our... home.
Not for the first time since I'd walked into this cottage as a married woman, over a week ago, I didn't know what to do with myself. How many countless hours had I spent in this place since I was fifteen? Nothing had changed since then. Only everything had.
I thrust my newspaper aside and stood. "I am going out," I announced to the room. Holmes, sitting in the corner, lowered his book a fraction of an inch long enough to give me a baleful stare, then went back to his pages.
More irritated than ever, I strode to the hall, swathed myself in layers topped by a waterproof cloak, thrust my feet into my farm boots, and slipped through the door into the maelstrom.
I made it to the bottom of the garden before the sleet and the wind penetrated the cloak, driving me to seek shelter against the wall. The night was dark as pitch, the only light coming from the cottage behind me.
I was being ridiculous and not a little childish, I knew that. Practically, very little had changed between us. I was still Mary Russell and he was still Sherlock Holmes, I was still at Oxford and he was still the cranky, brilliant pseudo-retired consulting detective.
Only everything had changed.
I rested my forehead against the stone wall, ignoring the dribble of ice water down my neck. I didn't understand how, after all these years, Holmes could still make me feel like a child, like an equal, in the space of a single moment. He'd done nothing more this night than pass me the newspaper after dinner, but my thoughts wouldn't stop racing around inside my head.
The cold finally drove me back inside. I shook a gallon of ice water off the waterproof and stumbled, dripping, back to the parlor.
Holmes had lit a pipe. The smell of the tobacco filled the room, and just as quickly as my irritation had risen, it dissipated in that familiar cloud of smoke. "I'm going to run a bath," I told him. He was still Holmes and I was still Russell and I could do this. I could be married, a partner to this aggravating, amazing man. Nothing had changed between us, only grown in complication and trust and... yes, I will say it. Love.
Holmes took the pipe stem out of his mouth and cleared his throat. "Russell," he began in a too-melodic tone, one that set my hackles up. This melodramatic lift of his voice usually always led to trouble.
"Yes?"
"You are dripping on the maps," was all he said, but the faint twist of the corner of his mouth told me more than I would ever hear. We had known each other too long to need words for the most important of conversations.
I straightened my shoulders and stepped back enough to cease the damage to the papers on the floor. "The maps, I am sure, will accept my apology." I turned and swept out of the room, a trail of water dripping in my wake.
Holmes' chuckle followed me down the hall. As I climbed the stairs to the first floor, I allowed myself a rueful smile.
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no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 06:48 am (UTC)Even I, with my loathing of the teen!wonder, loved this series. Mary Russell is actually quite sympathetic and fun to read. She's challenging. I recommend her :) Plus, she quickly ages to 19 and is less annoying.