Fics for Elementary
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land_deduction. Prompts in italics.
Sherlock’s Correspondence: A Series
Rated: PG, no spoilers to speak of, and a little bit of swearing
I. Registered Letter, Subject: Sober Companion (262 words)
Mr. Holmes: This is Charles Goodacre, secretary to Mr. Siger Holmes, writing on behalf of your father, who sends his regards. He wishes to inform you that he has engaged a professional to assist you over the next six weeks. I’m sure you will forgive my familiarity in clarifying that this is in relationship to your sobriety, and your transition from the rehabilitation center into living independently.
It is the policy of the supplying agency to provide minimal information on the individual at the outset, preferring the provider and client to broker that information for themselves. However, I can let you know that her name is Joan Watson and is between the ages of 35-55. She has extensive experience with the role of sober companion, which will include the functions explained on the enclosed document. I should highlight that she will be serving in a live-in capacity. Please let me know how I or others of Mr. Holmes’s staff can assist to ensure that your current domicile is amenable to this arrangement, including furnishing ongoing service providers such as cooks or cleaners.
Mr. Holmes asks me to add that, should this arrangement not work out as planned, he will be unable to continue to support your living situation as it currently stands. I have taken the risk of not conveying his exact words on the matter, but ask you to imagine that I have, and that he is quite vehement on this requirement.
Do not hesitate to contact me should you have questions about this new arrangement at any time.
Sincerely,
Charles Goodacre
II. Letter from Jamie Moriarty (166 words)
My Dearest Sherlock: I can’t tell you how I enjoy your missives, intermittent as they are. Or perhaps you are writing more frequent, licentious, incriminating screeds that are dutifully being censored by my keepers. Any rate, it is an enormous comfort to me to hear of your musings in the great wide world while I am currently indisposed. Or perhaps “disposed” would be more apt. There is no more bracing way to take the shine off of one’s vaunted individuality than to live out one’s hours in an institutional facility. Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve spent my entire existence honing my nature to stand out from a crowd. To assert my individuality, or rather, individualities. And yet here am I, shuffling about, just one of a thousand shuffling about in scrubs. Fortunately, I look rather marvelous in dull mint green.
Now, let’s test the censors, shall we? In my lonely cell cot, I often think of ourxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
Believe me, at these times I am again your…
--Irene
III. Voicemail from Randy (335 words)
“Hey, Sherlock, it’s Randy. You know, ‘Randall.’ Don’t worry, I’m using a different phone to leave this message, because I know you got mine on super-secret ring-through for those special situations, which this isn’t one, so you can sit back down or whatever. Yeah, I’m not trying to make a joke out of it though, well maybe I am, but this is all about letting you know again how sorry I am that I let us both down, and how much I appreciate that you told me I was being stupid, because I was, and you were right, and maybe someone else wouldn’t have told me that, so it’s all good.
“Yeah, I’m actually here at the store looking for a card, and can you believe it? They do have cards that are all, like, thank you for being a great sponsor; ‘world’s greatest sponsor’ – that one has a king’s crown, I bet you’d like that one; ‘I Heart my sponsor’—that’s a little too quick, right?, and ‘Soberlicious’ which is kinda fucked up, if you ask me.
“But none of ‘em seem quite right, hahaha, so I got my buddy Marin to let me use his phone so’s I can just talk it out. You’re really helping me, man, and I want you to know it. Sure you’re not perfect, but I know Alfredo was right in picking us together, since I don’t work too well with people who seem wiser than me. I mean, no offense, you’re way smarter than me, but it’s not like you got this decades of sobriety Obi Wan Kenobi thing going on, which I wouldn’t like, because after all, he always made shit sound too easy, and it ain’t easy, and you know that, and you don’t care if you say it, so for that, man, I’m grateful. I’m really grateful, Sherlock. So …. thanks.
“See you tomorrow night at the meeting, huh? And try to get some sleep beforehand, man, last time you looked terrible. Love you, bro.”
IV. Note from Ms. Hudson, coffee table (219 words) [Wildcard prompt entry]
Dear Sherlock: I did a final sweep on the library, but as you keep obtaining new books, you naughty man, we may have to rethink the structure a bit, so as to not have to keep shifting everything from the center to the outer edges, but likewise not have to madly intersperse new shelves in between the old. Perhaps you can be importuned to only add books written by very erudite people whose names start with A, or very unreputable people starting with Z? Consider it, won’t you? ;)
I also want to ask you for two weeks off starting next week. I apologize for the late notice, but it’s all due to a rather whirlwind alliance—and is there any better kind, she asks coquettishly?—with a gentleman I met at a recent gala. He is traveling to Greece, well, to be accurate, around Greece, in a borrowed yacht, and is engaging my services (stop smirking, I know what you’re thinking) as an interpreter, both of the language and the ancient cultures on his many and illustrious stops. It’s such a marvelous opportunity that I know you won’t begrudge me this rather belated change of plans. I will see you again in June, sporting a Mediterranean suntan and hopefully some Grecian silver. Wish me luck!
Yours,
Ms. Hudson
V. Email to Sherlock and Joan from Det. Marcus Bell. Subject: Police League Softball Game this Saturday (194 words)
Hey, you two, just another reminder that you promised to show up and help out our team this Saturday. 10:30 am at Inwood Hill Park. I know “promised” is stretching it, especially with the bitching you did, Sherlock, but come on, we really need you, we’re two games out of first place, and the Captain’s got a groin pull—don’t ask me how, I don’t wanna know—and Anderson says he has a bad back, but that’s no loss, since like all medicos he’s so touchy about his hands and getting hurt that he’s not much good on the field anyway. No offense, Doc Watson, you know I don’t mean you.
Come out early and we can have some warm-ups, and shut up Sherlock about how you hate organized sports and baseball is a boring American affectation, because anyway you are freakishly strong, quick, and got good hand-eye, no matter how old and cranky, and the Doc can swing a mean stick and run the basepaths, so you’re gonna be two of the best we got going.
So see you there, and the beer and Arnold Palmers, after, are on me. Thanks, guys.
--MB
.
.
land_deduction. Prompts in italics.Sherlock’s Correspondence: A Series
Rated: PG, no spoilers to speak of, and a little bit of swearing
I. Registered Letter, Subject: Sober Companion (262 words)
Mr. Holmes: This is Charles Goodacre, secretary to Mr. Siger Holmes, writing on behalf of your father, who sends his regards. He wishes to inform you that he has engaged a professional to assist you over the next six weeks. I’m sure you will forgive my familiarity in clarifying that this is in relationship to your sobriety, and your transition from the rehabilitation center into living independently.
It is the policy of the supplying agency to provide minimal information on the individual at the outset, preferring the provider and client to broker that information for themselves. However, I can let you know that her name is Joan Watson and is between the ages of 35-55. She has extensive experience with the role of sober companion, which will include the functions explained on the enclosed document. I should highlight that she will be serving in a live-in capacity. Please let me know how I or others of Mr. Holmes’s staff can assist to ensure that your current domicile is amenable to this arrangement, including furnishing ongoing service providers such as cooks or cleaners.
Mr. Holmes asks me to add that, should this arrangement not work out as planned, he will be unable to continue to support your living situation as it currently stands. I have taken the risk of not conveying his exact words on the matter, but ask you to imagine that I have, and that he is quite vehement on this requirement.
Do not hesitate to contact me should you have questions about this new arrangement at any time.
Sincerely,
Charles Goodacre
II. Letter from Jamie Moriarty (166 words)
My Dearest Sherlock: I can’t tell you how I enjoy your missives, intermittent as they are. Or perhaps you are writing more frequent, licentious, incriminating screeds that are dutifully being censored by my keepers. Any rate, it is an enormous comfort to me to hear of your musings in the great wide world while I am currently indisposed. Or perhaps “disposed” would be more apt. There is no more bracing way to take the shine off of one’s vaunted individuality than to live out one’s hours in an institutional facility. Ironic, isn’t it? I’ve spent my entire existence honing my nature to stand out from a crowd. To assert my individuality, or rather, individualities. And yet here am I, shuffling about, just one of a thousand shuffling about in scrubs. Fortunately, I look rather marvelous in dull mint green.
Now, let’s test the censors, shall we? In my lonely cell cot, I often think of our
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Believe me, at these times I am again your…
--Irene
III. Voicemail from Randy (335 words)
“Hey, Sherlock, it’s Randy. You know, ‘Randall.’ Don’t worry, I’m using a different phone to leave this message, because I know you got mine on super-secret ring-through for those special situations, which this isn’t one, so you can sit back down or whatever. Yeah, I’m not trying to make a joke out of it though, well maybe I am, but this is all about letting you know again how sorry I am that I let us both down, and how much I appreciate that you told me I was being stupid, because I was, and you were right, and maybe someone else wouldn’t have told me that, so it’s all good.
“Yeah, I’m actually here at the store looking for a card, and can you believe it? They do have cards that are all, like, thank you for being a great sponsor; ‘world’s greatest sponsor’ – that one has a king’s crown, I bet you’d like that one; ‘I Heart my sponsor’—that’s a little too quick, right?, and ‘Soberlicious’ which is kinda fucked up, if you ask me.
“But none of ‘em seem quite right, hahaha, so I got my buddy Marin to let me use his phone so’s I can just talk it out. You’re really helping me, man, and I want you to know it. Sure you’re not perfect, but I know Alfredo was right in picking us together, since I don’t work too well with people who seem wiser than me. I mean, no offense, you’re way smarter than me, but it’s not like you got this decades of sobriety Obi Wan Kenobi thing going on, which I wouldn’t like, because after all, he always made shit sound too easy, and it ain’t easy, and you know that, and you don’t care if you say it, so for that, man, I’m grateful. I’m really grateful, Sherlock. So …. thanks.
“See you tomorrow night at the meeting, huh? And try to get some sleep beforehand, man, last time you looked terrible. Love you, bro.”
IV. Note from Ms. Hudson, coffee table (219 words) [Wildcard prompt entry]
Dear Sherlock: I did a final sweep on the library, but as you keep obtaining new books, you naughty man, we may have to rethink the structure a bit, so as to not have to keep shifting everything from the center to the outer edges, but likewise not have to madly intersperse new shelves in between the old. Perhaps you can be importuned to only add books written by very erudite people whose names start with A, or very unreputable people starting with Z? Consider it, won’t you? ;)
I also want to ask you for two weeks off starting next week. I apologize for the late notice, but it’s all due to a rather whirlwind alliance—and is there any better kind, she asks coquettishly?—with a gentleman I met at a recent gala. He is traveling to Greece, well, to be accurate, around Greece, in a borrowed yacht, and is engaging my services (stop smirking, I know what you’re thinking) as an interpreter, both of the language and the ancient cultures on his many and illustrious stops. It’s such a marvelous opportunity that I know you won’t begrudge me this rather belated change of plans. I will see you again in June, sporting a Mediterranean suntan and hopefully some Grecian silver. Wish me luck!
Yours,
Ms. Hudson
V. Email to Sherlock and Joan from Det. Marcus Bell. Subject: Police League Softball Game this Saturday (194 words)
Hey, you two, just another reminder that you promised to show up and help out our team this Saturday. 10:30 am at Inwood Hill Park. I know “promised” is stretching it, especially with the bitching you did, Sherlock, but come on, we really need you, we’re two games out of first place, and the Captain’s got a groin pull—don’t ask me how, I don’t wanna know—and Anderson says he has a bad back, but that’s no loss, since like all medicos he’s so touchy about his hands and getting hurt that he’s not much good on the field anyway. No offense, Doc Watson, you know I don’t mean you.
Come out early and we can have some warm-ups, and shut up Sherlock about how you hate organized sports and baseball is a boring American affectation, because anyway you are freakishly strong, quick, and got good hand-eye, no matter how old and cranky, and the Doc can swing a mean stick and run the basepaths, so you’re gonna be two of the best we got going.
So see you there, and the beer and Arnold Palmers, after, are on me. Thanks, guys.
--MB
.
.
