Title: Sir Arthur's Garden
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Rating: Gen
Length: 565
Content Notes: Crack, humor, satire of the portrayl of women in the Sherlock Holmes stories, references to canon stories "Thor Bridge," "The Sussex Vampire," "The Musgrave Ritual," and others, all dialogue, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle/Jean Leckie
Summary: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dreams of flowers.
“Good morning, my dear.”
“Oh, Arthur! You look terrible.”
“The dream I’ve had.”
“Fairies?”
“No, my dear, nothing so prosaic. Flowers.”
“That sounds like it would be a nice dream. Tea?”
“Yes, please. Thank you. It was a nightmare. The first was a purple orchid, a Cattleya labiata. Brazilian by origin, of course. Frilly creature of the tropics. It pursued me as only such blossoms of sun and of passion can pursue, in crazed frenzy, with the heat of the Amazon in its, well, whatever plants have for blood.”
“Oh, my goodness! Toast?”
“Yes, thank you, my dear. I eluded it, but then came another.”
“Orchid?”
“No, this time it was a Cantua buxifolia. A fierce red flower, worshipped by the Inkas of Perú, don’t you know?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t, my dear. How fascinating.”
“Well, it ran after me, with all the strength of its fiery tropical disposition, its red lips flapping, whipping its yellow tube like a crop. I fled, of course.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Then came the daffodils!”
“Oh, well, they must’ve been kind.”
“Excitable Welsh daffodils.”
“Oh. Welsh daffodils.”
“With a streak of madness in them by the way they hunted me. You know the Welsh, don’t you?”
“Not as you do, my dear. Poached egg?”
“Uh, no, thank you, my dear. Just tea and toast for me. Yes, well, in the end, I saw it, my salvation on the horizon.”
“And what was that, my dear?”
“An English rose on the vine. Oh, my heart sang! Pure, upright, virtuous, noble, hard-working—“
“Excuse me for interrupting, my dear, but how can a rose be hard-working?”
“Holding up the Empire is no easy task. It requires toil, my dearest.”
“Right. So you saw the rose, and?”
“I strode toward her, arms outstretched, ready to be cradled in her time-honoured, traditional embrace.”
“As befits one of your, uh, nature.”
“Precisely, my dear, but then all these damnable violets kept popping up!”
“Arthur!”
“Apologies. Not the kind of language a gentleman should employ at the breakfast table, but it was maddening. There were scores of them, tangling up my legs, blurring my vision, tripping me, blinding me, until I fell down amongst them and suffocated!”
“Oh, my dear! How frightful!”
“It was, it was. I don't know the meaning of it, but my nerves are shot!”
“Perhaps a stroll around the garden will calm you.”
“Garden! Return to the scene of the crime?! No, my good woman. I’ve been thinking that I should advance the dates for my tour of America.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, and I am thinking to include in the itinerary an excursion to the western territories. Desert. Mountains. Only rocks and sand as far as the eye can see.”
“I suppose if you think it’s best, but I learned at that Royal Society lecture they do have a bit of green. Cactus, I believe they’re called.”
“Ah, yes. Of the family Cactaceae. Succulents with spines. Quite right, my dear, a spot of green in a barren land.”
“I believe some of them even have blooms.”
“Oh, a cactus rose! With its hard, thick leaves and its sharp quills. Standing proud in the desert. Like a Comanche bride!”
“A what?”
“Oh, my dear, it is not for your delicate ears to hear of the savagery of the Comanche woman, when scorned she is the most vengeful of enemies. Oh, yes, a cactus rose! I’ll be in my study for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, dear.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Rating: Gen
Length: 565
Content Notes: Crack, humor, satire of the portrayl of women in the Sherlock Holmes stories, references to canon stories "Thor Bridge," "The Sussex Vampire," "The Musgrave Ritual," and others, all dialogue, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle/Jean Leckie
Summary: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dreams of flowers.
“Good morning, my dear.”
“Oh, Arthur! You look terrible.”
“The dream I’ve had.”
“Fairies?”
“No, my dear, nothing so prosaic. Flowers.”
“That sounds like it would be a nice dream. Tea?”
“Yes, please. Thank you. It was a nightmare. The first was a purple orchid, a Cattleya labiata. Brazilian by origin, of course. Frilly creature of the tropics. It pursued me as only such blossoms of sun and of passion can pursue, in crazed frenzy, with the heat of the Amazon in its, well, whatever plants have for blood.”
“Oh, my goodness! Toast?”
“Yes, thank you, my dear. I eluded it, but then came another.”
“Orchid?”
“No, this time it was a Cantua buxifolia. A fierce red flower, worshipped by the Inkas of Perú, don’t you know?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t, my dear. How fascinating.”
“Well, it ran after me, with all the strength of its fiery tropical disposition, its red lips flapping, whipping its yellow tube like a crop. I fled, of course.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Then came the daffodils!”
“Oh, well, they must’ve been kind.”
“Excitable Welsh daffodils.”
“Oh. Welsh daffodils.”
“With a streak of madness in them by the way they hunted me. You know the Welsh, don’t you?”
“Not as you do, my dear. Poached egg?”
“Uh, no, thank you, my dear. Just tea and toast for me. Yes, well, in the end, I saw it, my salvation on the horizon.”
“And what was that, my dear?”
“An English rose on the vine. Oh, my heart sang! Pure, upright, virtuous, noble, hard-working—“
“Excuse me for interrupting, my dear, but how can a rose be hard-working?”
“Holding up the Empire is no easy task. It requires toil, my dearest.”
“Right. So you saw the rose, and?”
“I strode toward her, arms outstretched, ready to be cradled in her time-honoured, traditional embrace.”
“As befits one of your, uh, nature.”
“Precisely, my dear, but then all these damnable violets kept popping up!”
“Arthur!”
“Apologies. Not the kind of language a gentleman should employ at the breakfast table, but it was maddening. There were scores of them, tangling up my legs, blurring my vision, tripping me, blinding me, until I fell down amongst them and suffocated!”
“Oh, my dear! How frightful!”
“It was, it was. I don't know the meaning of it, but my nerves are shot!”
“Perhaps a stroll around the garden will calm you.”
“Garden! Return to the scene of the crime?! No, my good woman. I’ve been thinking that I should advance the dates for my tour of America.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, and I am thinking to include in the itinerary an excursion to the western territories. Desert. Mountains. Only rocks and sand as far as the eye can see.”
“I suppose if you think it’s best, but I learned at that Royal Society lecture they do have a bit of green. Cactus, I believe they’re called.”
“Ah, yes. Of the family Cactaceae. Succulents with spines. Quite right, my dear, a spot of green in a barren land.”
“I believe some of them even have blooms.”
“Oh, a cactus rose! With its hard, thick leaves and its sharp quills. Standing proud in the desert. Like a Comanche bride!”
“A what?”
“Oh, my dear, it is not for your delicate ears to hear of the savagery of the Comanche woman, when scorned she is the most vengeful of enemies. Oh, yes, a cactus rose! I’ll be in my study for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, dear.”
About
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fan_flashworks is an all-fandoms multi-media flashworks community. We post a themed challenge every ten days or so; you make any kind of fanwork in response to the challenge and post it here. More detailed guidelines are here.The community on Livejournal:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif){kind=small}
fan_flashworks Designed by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chasethestars
chasethestars
Comments
He has no idea, but thank goodness he's too busy working on his next story (about a fiery Comanche!) to worry about it.
Some particularly favourite lines:
“Fairies?” “No, my dear, nothing so prosaic."
"It pursued me as only such blossoms of sun and of passion can pursue, in crazed frenzy, with the heat of the Amazon in its, well, whatever plants have for blood.”
“Excitable Welsh daffodils.” “Oh. Welsh daffodils.”
And all those damnable violets ^___^
"... but then all these damnable violets kept popping up!”
You win the internet!