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crack_van2008-07-05 10:36 am
rabidsamfan.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2008-07-05 10:36 am
Entry tags:
The Case of the Assured Assassin by Westron Wynde (Teen)
Fandom: SHERLOCK HOLMES
Pairing: none
Length: 18,000
Author on LJ: not that I know of
Author Website: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1507793/Westron_Wynde
Why this must be read:
Back to ff.n, letting my eye skip past the pleas for reviews and extra author notes that the site seems to foster, in search of small gems, however imperfect... I wade through so you don't have to!
When Watson and Holmes have a minor falling out, what was meant to be an apology turns into deadly danger for both of them.
It's the villain of this piece which makes me come back to it (so I can hiss at him). Well, that and the lovely Watson angst. Westron Wynde knows where to put a chapter break, and the story leaps from cliff to cliff with a merry disregard for how late the reader is likely to stay up wanting to find out what will happen next.
As it happened, patients were few and far between that afternoon, and I had intended to close early. With the clock striking four, I decided that it was time to leave. No sooner had I laid aside my pen than the maid informed me that a gentleman was asking to be seen.
With a sigh, I told her to show him in. In due course, a small middle-aged gentleman was ushered in and I invited him to take a seat. Dapper and impeccably neat in habit, he regarded me through a pair of thick-lensed glasses in a manner that reminded me of a quizzical bird.
“You are Dr John Watson?” asked he.
“I am, sir. How may I be of assistance?”
He sniffed, a little disdainfully to my mind, and I would not be lying if I said that suddenly I began to have misgivings about this potential patient.
“I had thought you would be older,” said the man.
It was a strange opening gambit and one that made me even more on my guard. I began to regret my practice of keeping my old service revolver in the chest of drawers in my dressing room rather than at hand in my desk.
“Your name, sir?”
“My name is of no import, Doctor. Do sit down and listen, sir,” said he, seeing my half-hearted attempt to rise from my seat. “You ask how you may be of assistance to me. Well, my dear sir, it is quite simple what I ask.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yes. I want you to assist me in the murder of Mr Sherlock Holmes.”
The Case of the Assured Assassin
Pairing: none
Length: 18,000
Author on LJ: not that I know of
Author Website: http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1507793/Westron_Wynde
Why this must be read:
Back to ff.n, letting my eye skip past the pleas for reviews and extra author notes that the site seems to foster, in search of small gems, however imperfect... I wade through so you don't have to!
When Watson and Holmes have a minor falling out, what was meant to be an apology turns into deadly danger for both of them.
It's the villain of this piece which makes me come back to it (so I can hiss at him). Well, that and the lovely Watson angst. Westron Wynde knows where to put a chapter break, and the story leaps from cliff to cliff with a merry disregard for how late the reader is likely to stay up wanting to find out what will happen next.
As it happened, patients were few and far between that afternoon, and I had intended to close early. With the clock striking four, I decided that it was time to leave. No sooner had I laid aside my pen than the maid informed me that a gentleman was asking to be seen.
With a sigh, I told her to show him in. In due course, a small middle-aged gentleman was ushered in and I invited him to take a seat. Dapper and impeccably neat in habit, he regarded me through a pair of thick-lensed glasses in a manner that reminded me of a quizzical bird.
“You are Dr John Watson?” asked he.
“I am, sir. How may I be of assistance?”
He sniffed, a little disdainfully to my mind, and I would not be lying if I said that suddenly I began to have misgivings about this potential patient.
“I had thought you would be older,” said the man.
It was a strange opening gambit and one that made me even more on my guard. I began to regret my practice of keeping my old service revolver in the chest of drawers in my dressing room rather than at hand in my desk.
“Your name, sir?”
“My name is of no import, Doctor. Do sit down and listen, sir,” said he, seeing my half-hearted attempt to rise from my seat. “You ask how you may be of assistance to me. Well, my dear sir, it is quite simple what I ask.”
“It is?”
“Oh, yes. I want you to assist me in the murder of Mr Sherlock Holmes.”
The Case of the Assured Assassin
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