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skellywagTitle: Induced Epiphany
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skellywag
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes/His Dark Materials crossover
Pairing: Holmes/Watson (Holmes' daemon/Watson's daemon?)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Utter randomnosity, I suppose?
A/N: Written in response to a prompt I found atsherlockkink in which Irene Adler was to realize the nature of the relationship between Holmes and Watson through observing their daemons.
Irene Adler watched the two creatures interact with a certain amount of amused curiosity. She had been about to break in to 221B Baker Street when she'd noticed their movement and arrested her own. It wasn't that she was unwelcome at this particular residence, but rather entering through the door was so common, and she enjoyed making an entrance, especially if she managed to surprise one Mr. Sherlock Holmes in the process. Holmes and Dr. Watson, however, were nowhere to be seen. Judging by the presence of their daemons in the sitting room, she reasoned they could not be far away. It was not so late that they should have retired to their beds already, especially Sherlock, who kept all hours. The door to that man's rooms was open, while Watson's was closed. She supposed they could be collaborating upon an experiment, or engaged in solitary activities. It hardly mattered, since their absences allowed Irene the opportunity to observe the men's daemons uninterrupted, a privilege she had been denied on prior brief visits.
Watson's daemon in particular, a large steel-grey wolf, did not like to be watched. Or perhaps it was Irene's eyes in specific that he disdained above all others. Whenever she had visited in the past, if the good doctor was present, the man's daemon lay curled at his feet, staring at her unblinkingly. He was as protective a daemon as she had ever seen—they were all devoted to their counterparts, of course, but Dr. Watson's daemon had the presence, the teeth and claws to enforce his ferocity of demeanour. Irene Adler was a strong, confident woman, but when the doctor's wolf daemon stared at her, yellow eyes luminous against dark fur, she knew she would not cross John Watson. Not only for her respect for Holmes, but also simply because this creature would give her cause to regret it.
Now, however, the wolf was oblivious to Irene's eyes upon him. He wore a very doggy grin, tail wagging back and forth slowly as he spoke to Holmes' daemon in a low, dry voice, something half gravel and half growl and wholly incomprehensible from Irene's side of the windowpane.
Holmes' daemon was another thing altogether. It was covered in fur in a uniform shade of chocolate, possessed a streamlined body and a long, thick tail, and its whiskered face was an odd blend of canine and rodent—curiosity and shrewd intelligence combined to create something infinitely interesting. Irene had learned only recently that the creature was called an otter. Native to the Americas, or so she had heard.
The otter daemon was currently lying with his long body draped across the wolf's lower haunches, head upside-down against a muscular thigh. His eyes were closed and, though animal expressions were vastly different from human ones, Irene was certain he was smiling too. He seemed content to listen to the wolf daemon speak, though occasionally interjected in a smooth but animated tenor. His tail flicked back and forth enthusiastically when he spoke. The pair were obviously quite comfortable with one another, but Irene already knew that.
The last time she had been to visit, Watson's daemon had been carrying Holmes' around the flat on his back. The reason for that had been revealed quickly enough. Upon seeing her, the wolf had shrugged from beneath his burden to retreat to Watson's side. The otter had sniffed quite petulantly, but continued to Holmes' room, where they had been headed. The spectacle had been laughable, and Irene had covered a smile with her hand. The creature…well, he didn't walk very well. Honestly, he was downright awkward. His gait was an odd, hopping lope that folded the otter's long body nearly in half before he sprang forward. From the daemon's sullen expression as he sulkily hopped away, Irene had surmised that the otter had grown used to being ferried around. Or perhaps he'd simply been feeling lazy that day.
Later Holmes had explained to her that otters were aquatic creatures, and though his daemon's movement on land was awkward, he was quite graceful indeed when he was in his element. She supposed it wasn't strange at all for Watson's daemon to do what he could to aid his fellow, ease the discomfort of living in a largely dry and solid world, where aquatic talents usually went unappreciated.
Irene blinked. Well. Wasn't that something.
Holmes' daemon had taken up the brunt of the conversation now, eyes still closed as he regaled Watson's wolf with some obscure knowledge he'd probably learned from his detective. The wolf, however, was staring at Irene, and she decided it was a very good thing she hadn't slipped inside without looking around first. Very deliberately, the wolf turned his head, resting his jaw over the otter's soft belly. His gaze never left hers. Or it didn't until the otter lifted his head to look up at the wolf curiously, and then draped a small, dexterous paw-hand over his companion's muzzle before going on with his story.
The wolf met Irene's eyes again and blinked, once. She blinked back and inclined her head slightly in agreement, before backing away from the window. Silently, she dropped back down to street level. Her own daemon had been acting as a sentry and only would have joined her had she actually entered the apartments. The small, lithe raccoon materialized from the shadows, eyes glowing from behind his permanent black mask. He took her proffered hand and climbed to her shoulder. He was just this side of too heavy, but Irene didn't care.
"Were they out?" he asked, soft and slightly nasal.
Irene struggled with the epiphany that had been forced upon her. It suddenly made sense that these two men might have daemons that were also male, when so many others possessed daemons of their opposite sex. She thought about the fact that Holmes' door had been open, while Watson's had been shut. If Holmes was in his rooms, the door was nearly always shut, for one purpose or another. There were quite suddenly a few more possibilities for where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were, and what occupied them.
She remained lost in thought until her daemon reached out to tug a lock of her hair, a reminder that he was still waiting for an answer. Voice a little strangled, she finally managed, "They were indisposed, I imagine."
Author:
skellywagFandom: Sherlock Holmes/His Dark Materials crossover
Pairing: Holmes/Watson (Holmes' daemon/Watson's daemon?)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Utter randomnosity, I suppose?
A/N: Written in response to a prompt I found at
sherlockkink in which Irene Adler was to realize the nature of the relationship between Holmes and Watson through observing their daemons.Irene Adler watched the two creatures interact with a certain amount of amused curiosity. She had been about to break in to 221B Baker Street when she'd noticed their movement and arrested her own. It wasn't that she was unwelcome at this particular residence, but rather entering through the door was so common, and she enjoyed making an entrance, especially if she managed to surprise one Mr. Sherlock Holmes in the process. Holmes and Dr. Watson, however, were nowhere to be seen. Judging by the presence of their daemons in the sitting room, she reasoned they could not be far away. It was not so late that they should have retired to their beds already, especially Sherlock, who kept all hours. The door to that man's rooms was open, while Watson's was closed. She supposed they could be collaborating upon an experiment, or engaged in solitary activities. It hardly mattered, since their absences allowed Irene the opportunity to observe the men's daemons uninterrupted, a privilege she had been denied on prior brief visits.
Watson's daemon in particular, a large steel-grey wolf, did not like to be watched. Or perhaps it was Irene's eyes in specific that he disdained above all others. Whenever she had visited in the past, if the good doctor was present, the man's daemon lay curled at his feet, staring at her unblinkingly. He was as protective a daemon as she had ever seen—they were all devoted to their counterparts, of course, but Dr. Watson's daemon had the presence, the teeth and claws to enforce his ferocity of demeanour. Irene Adler was a strong, confident woman, but when the doctor's wolf daemon stared at her, yellow eyes luminous against dark fur, she knew she would not cross John Watson. Not only for her respect for Holmes, but also simply because this creature would give her cause to regret it.
Now, however, the wolf was oblivious to Irene's eyes upon him. He wore a very doggy grin, tail wagging back and forth slowly as he spoke to Holmes' daemon in a low, dry voice, something half gravel and half growl and wholly incomprehensible from Irene's side of the windowpane.
Holmes' daemon was another thing altogether. It was covered in fur in a uniform shade of chocolate, possessed a streamlined body and a long, thick tail, and its whiskered face was an odd blend of canine and rodent—curiosity and shrewd intelligence combined to create something infinitely interesting. Irene had learned only recently that the creature was called an otter. Native to the Americas, or so she had heard.
The otter daemon was currently lying with his long body draped across the wolf's lower haunches, head upside-down against a muscular thigh. His eyes were closed and, though animal expressions were vastly different from human ones, Irene was certain he was smiling too. He seemed content to listen to the wolf daemon speak, though occasionally interjected in a smooth but animated tenor. His tail flicked back and forth enthusiastically when he spoke. The pair were obviously quite comfortable with one another, but Irene already knew that.
The last time she had been to visit, Watson's daemon had been carrying Holmes' around the flat on his back. The reason for that had been revealed quickly enough. Upon seeing her, the wolf had shrugged from beneath his burden to retreat to Watson's side. The otter had sniffed quite petulantly, but continued to Holmes' room, where they had been headed. The spectacle had been laughable, and Irene had covered a smile with her hand. The creature…well, he didn't walk very well. Honestly, he was downright awkward. His gait was an odd, hopping lope that folded the otter's long body nearly in half before he sprang forward. From the daemon's sullen expression as he sulkily hopped away, Irene had surmised that the otter had grown used to being ferried around. Or perhaps he'd simply been feeling lazy that day.
Later Holmes had explained to her that otters were aquatic creatures, and though his daemon's movement on land was awkward, he was quite graceful indeed when he was in his element. She supposed it wasn't strange at all for Watson's daemon to do what he could to aid his fellow, ease the discomfort of living in a largely dry and solid world, where aquatic talents usually went unappreciated.
Irene blinked. Well. Wasn't that something.
Holmes' daemon had taken up the brunt of the conversation now, eyes still closed as he regaled Watson's wolf with some obscure knowledge he'd probably learned from his detective. The wolf, however, was staring at Irene, and she decided it was a very good thing she hadn't slipped inside without looking around first. Very deliberately, the wolf turned his head, resting his jaw over the otter's soft belly. His gaze never left hers. Or it didn't until the otter lifted his head to look up at the wolf curiously, and then draped a small, dexterous paw-hand over his companion's muzzle before going on with his story.
The wolf met Irene's eyes again and blinked, once. She blinked back and inclined her head slightly in agreement, before backing away from the window. Silently, she dropped back down to street level. Her own daemon had been acting as a sentry and only would have joined her had she actually entered the apartments. The small, lithe raccoon materialized from the shadows, eyes glowing from behind his permanent black mask. He took her proffered hand and climbed to her shoulder. He was just this side of too heavy, but Irene didn't care.
"Were they out?" he asked, soft and slightly nasal.
Irene struggled with the epiphany that had been forced upon her. It suddenly made sense that these two men might have daemons that were also male, when so many others possessed daemons of their opposite sex. She thought about the fact that Holmes' door had been open, while Watson's had been shut. If Holmes was in his rooms, the door was nearly always shut, for one purpose or another. There were quite suddenly a few more possibilities for where Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were, and what occupied them.
She remained lost in thought until her daemon reached out to tug a lock of her hair, a reminder that he was still waiting for an answer. Voice a little strangled, she finally managed, "They were indisposed, I imagine."
