donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-16 05:39 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2016-07-16 05:39 pm
Entry tags:
As I Form
Title: As I Form
Fandom/Rating: Sherlock Holmes (ACD canon), rated G
Word Count: 221(b)
Summary: What he sees while he waits to be.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
watsons_woes JWP#16. Miss Havisham (Charles Dickens' Great Expectations), Eeyore (A. A. Milne's Winnie-the-Pooh) and Mole (Kenneth Grahame's "The Wind in the Willows") Holmes' description borrowed from STUD.
The waiting room is ethereal, shifting in scope and size as the characters within begin to take shape. A fully formed woman sits to my left, in a bedraggled wedding dress yet, oddly, only one shoe. On my right an animal is currently coalescing, slowly becoming an old grey donkey with a long, detachable tail adorned with a pink bow. My attempts to engage either in conversation are for naught, so it appears as there is to be no connection between us.
As for myself, my own attire is simple as it shifts into being. I feel almost commonplace; one man of purported modern dress among many, with only a fine mustache and a doctor's bag to set me apart. I find my attention drawn few feet away past where a mole is taking shape to a man so excessively lean that he seems considerably taller than his six feet. His features are striking: a hawk-like nose and a chin with the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. When his eyes meet mine I gasp aloud, for they are so sharp and piercing I feel they see right through me.
This is a man whose fate will be tied to mine and I anxiously await until our author calls to us to know what that fate might be.
Fandom/Rating: Sherlock Holmes (ACD canon), rated G
Word Count: 221(b)
Summary: What he sees while he waits to be.
Author's Note: Written for
watsons_woes JWP#16. The waiting room is ethereal, shifting in scope and size as the characters within begin to take shape. A fully formed woman sits to my left, in a bedraggled wedding dress yet, oddly, only one shoe. On my right an animal is currently coalescing, slowly becoming an old grey donkey with a long, detachable tail adorned with a pink bow. My attempts to engage either in conversation are for naught, so it appears as there is to be no connection between us.
As for myself, my own attire is simple as it shifts into being. I feel almost commonplace; one man of purported modern dress among many, with only a fine mustache and a doctor's bag to set me apart. I find my attention drawn few feet away past where a mole is taking shape to a man so excessively lean that he seems considerably taller than his six feet. His features are striking: a hawk-like nose and a chin with the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. When his eyes meet mine I gasp aloud, for they are so sharp and piercing I feel they see right through me.
This is a man whose fate will be tied to mine and I anxiously await until our author calls to us to know what that fate might be.