thetimemoves:221bloodnun:A Different Kind of Folly - A 1920′s Johnlock Fic PromptFollowing a recent
thetimemoves:221bloodnun:A Different Kind of Folly - A 1920′s Johnlock Fic PromptFollowing a recent death in the family, Professor John Watson has retired from his work at the university, and come to investigate the estate where the death took place. He expects to find the usual past times at such a location: shooting, billiards, and possibly a folly. What he does not expect to find is the handsome and brilliant son of the estate owner, nor his developing attraction to the amateur sleuth determined to help him. It may be a folly of its own, so is John willing to take the risk?(Anyone may use this prompt. Please tag me on the fic, if you do!)I am 110% in favor. What a fantastic prompt! I hope someone runs with this one!*runs hands distractedly through hair* I swore, @221bloodnun, that I wasn’t going to get into another long fic. And yet. If there is one genre I know, it is 1920s mystery fiction. If there is another, it is English litfic about angst and landscapes and family secrets.Scene I: [interior, evening.] “And,” said the Master, “that business with your family… all sorted out?” Dr. Watson obtains leave for the Hilary Term. He departs for the country.Scene II: on the train, brooding and backstoryScene III: arrival. The taciturn butler manages to convey, by a shade in the neutrality of his tone, that Dr. Watson might be personally responsible for the fact that his arrival was not announced. But college life has rendered John Watson impervious to such august disapproval, and he shows no unease in response to if you’ll just wait here, sir. So he waits. The Palladian austerity of the exterior had not prepared him for the baroque extravagances of the hall. In the dim winter afternoon, the light from the cupola and that from the fire seem at odds, as if in a comfortless allegorical play. The acanthus leaves atop the columns are half-lost in shadow. Almost John can imagine that the diamond-patterned marble shifts, harlequin-like, under his feet. And then, out of the darkness at the top of the stairs, there comes a man – slim, dark, Narcissus-like. Before John sees his face, he thinks again, Harlequin. And then he sees the arrogant bow of the mouth, the wine-dark curls, and thinks, Dionysius. -- source link