skarabrae: (Default)
Skara Brae ([personal profile] skarabrae) wrote in [community profile] sherlocknanowrimo 2012-11-07 01:18 am (UTC)

here's mine...

From my belatedly concluded intro

Then the speaker raised his arms over the table, fingers delicately quaking. “Gentlemen, madame, I would ask that you remain still and silent, insofar as you are able. ”

By some indiscernible trick-- perhaps that of his own mind-- the doctor observed the candle flames rising with the old Spiritualist's voice.

“Each of you must take the hand of his neighbor, and must under no circumstance release it.”
Watson took the hand of one of the journalists to his right, and grasped the detective’s at his left. Holmes’ hand was clammy-- trembling as if with an electric charge.

The speaker closed his eyes, and surely the licking candle flames were no trick of his expectations, now-- swelling as if doused with kerosene, making the little room hot and stuffy.

“I am not going to show you ghosts,” the old man continued, smiling.

“I am going to show you yourselves. I, as a humble conduit of narrative, shall reveal to you the broadest picture of existence-- of which you would otherwise live and die content to see only in part.”

He opened his eyes again, to look directly into John Watson’s face.

“Tell me, Dr. Watson; if I had pointed to only one of you, would you both have come?”

The words were nonsense, and everything before them cobbled philosophical vagaries-- yet the doctor felt himself fixed in place and struck dumb. Quick and quiet, close enough to feel each word as a damp breath in his ear, John heard Sherlock gasp:

“Whatever happens, John, do not lose hold of my hand.”

The candle flames rose and rose until the light outpaced the heat, swelling until everything was yellow and blinding as the sun. It all happened to quickly to shout, or stir. Through watering eyes, John could make out the speaker bringing his hands down against the table with a slap that reverberated throughout the whole room.

Then the light went out altogether.

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