This is a fic I found in my archives and thought I should post.
My muse is different from the muses you guys complain about.
My muse is a lazy boat dweller (Think Rick Simon from Simon&Simon) and he does whatever he feels like.
I wanted to work on two other projects that need finishing, but nooooo he likes the weekend prompt! So I gave in, exasperated.
This has notes of my Contestation fic, and it's Holmes and Watson once again at odds. I read so many Fics where Watson is a hapless victim of Holmes' mood swings, but I cannot seem to write the dear man that way. Mine has an edge and will not go gently into that good night without leaving Holmes with a limp LOL!
So I hope no one is offended by the following. Blame it on my muse who is currently going though my refrigerator fouling my kitchen with bad Honduran cigar smoke! GAH!!! Get out of there and back to work!
(muse shrugs unimpressed and asks where I keep my Mexican beer)
Living with the world's only consulting detective, and a genius, does have its excitement, but then again there are some significant drawbacks as well, especially when he is bored.
I awoke this morning; I could have sworn someone tugged on my foot. As I was rousing, I reached over to my lamp and found something in my way.
My questing hand ran over the object before I realized exactly what it was...
I let out a cry rolled away from the object as fast as I could, was tangled in my sheets and blanket and wound up in a wadded mass on the floor. I detangled myself as quickly as I could and took a better look at the object still in my bed.
I recognized it as a medical skeleton, and from the tool dents in the skull, it belonged to my flatmate.
The insufferable man himself sat in a chair he had pulled over in the corner, noting my reaction.
"Holmes...wha...what is the meaning of this outrage!"
He glanced up annoyed. "Doctor please cease your noise, I am noting your behaviour for a monograph on how drastic shock affects the awakening intellect.
I remember very little about what happened next but fortunately, I have his notes:
Subject awoke with signs of disorientation.
Subject had accelerated heartbeat, moved to extricate himself, from object.
Subject showed signs of irritated temperament.
Subject bellowed this scientist for nearly half an hour.
Subject told scientist to do things to himself anatomically impossible.
More study needed.
That last line sent a chill down my spine. I was terrified as to what I would awaken to next.
Therefore, I decided that I needed an experiment of my own.
Fortunately, I had just the thing.
I began the experiment later on at tea.
"Yes, Doctor, I trust you are no longer pouting about this morning's research?"
"Of course, I would never stand in the way of scientific pursuit!"
"I think this cream has gone to the bad, Doctor."
"Really? You nearly drank the entire cup before making that pronouncement. My sincerest apologies dear boy let me pour this out and get some fresh from the icebox."
"Deeply appreciated, old chap."
"You're most welcome Holmes."
We were sitting in the drawing room later that morning when I alerted to a strange rumbling sound.
Holmes held his abdomen with a look of abject misery.
"Watson, I think that milk was worse than I thought."
I reached beside my chair for a pad and pencil. "Oh no, Holmes, you are taking part in an experiment."
Holmes glared at me, clearly in distress. "What did you give to me?"
I turned to an empty page. "It is a new product, called Phillips Milk of Magnesia; it is an aqueous suspension of magnesium hydroxide. An English diet is difficult to digest for my older clients; I have been searching for a new more universally effective laxative. This has only been on the market since 1880, mostly in America, so I thought I would test it on you."
I began taking my notes:
Subject appears to be suffering from intestinal distress less than an hour after dosage.
Subject showing signs of irritation, specifically towards this scientist.
Subject has told Scientist to do something anatomically impossible to himself.
Subject has retreated, in a hasty manner, to the water closet.
Subject continues to make dire threats through the door.
After some time, subject has reached out the door waving a piece of toiletry in surrender.
Subject has agreed to no further experimentation.
I find that I am comforted that we declared a cease-fire. However, I thought I saw Holmes sneak in a package earlier.
If I awake tomorrow to some shocking bedmate, I have a powder, which will allow me to measure jock skin irritation.
Doctor John H. Watson M.D.
If you found this amusing, thank my muse.
My muse would thank you for reading but he's currently napping, cowboy hat over his eyes, with his boots up on my desk.