The Bear and Barnacle

While she had all the symptoms, Mary would not admit to being driven to distraction while she worked out just what she and Sherlock should do for their promised day trip. It was not daydreaming and it certainly was not just fanciful imagining of just what sort of adventures they could have. With children, the air was thick with magic and all the world was just teeming with adventures to be had. But Sherlock had been so sweet with all of his attention and enthusiasm with the chemistry set, and she wanted to do something really special for him.

Besides, he was oh-so-serious and mature. There was a bit of mischievous appeal in the chance to see him off-kilter and showing him something really new.

After the fresh-fallen snow in the city park, Mary knew just what she was going to do. Sure enough, a day later there was an igloo in the park made by mittened hands and an afternoon of perfect pleasure. It's a truth that, where there are children and clean, soft snow, eventually, there would be igloos. The spirit of adventure that led ot endless treehouses and pillow forts on rainy days left Margate a perfectly lopsided but lovingly made igloo.

It would suit what Mary had in mind perfectly.

She had left him a note to meet her that afternoon in the park and to bring only himself.

Maybe he wouldn't come. Maybe he had a case to find or an experiment to watch, and he wouldn't be able to get away. But Mary believed he'd be here, so she sat on the park bench with her fingers curled into her lap and watched the clouds swirling overhead.

[Mostly for Holmes, but before they go on their day trip, anyone can find her hanging out on the park bench.]

Admittedly, Val was slightly alarmed when Dora handed him Mary Poppins' name, given that they've never actually spoken, but he spends a great deal of time in the pub, coloring with Dora and getting under Xel's feet and stealing Iago's liqueurs and staring at people until they get nervous and go away, so he knows what kind of tea she likes.

He weaves his way through the pub lugging a wicker basket, one of the ones with a handle and a double lid, perfectly sized for a small picnic, lined in cheery white and purple plaid. Inside the basket can be found a blanket and dishes for two. Val has occupied the remaining space with black currant tea; a jar of currant preserves; currant-flavored mustard, syrup, and balsamic vinegar; a black currant-scented candle; and a box of homemade black currant coffee cakes.



The basket is dragged to Mary's chair and Val plops down to sit next to it, looking up eagerly.

“I abhor idleness,” Holmes says, barely looking up from the microscope on the table in his basement laboratory. There is a sharp smell of carbolic acid and a Bunsen burner purrs quietly with a blue flame. “I cannot live without brainwork. What else is there to live for? And now, if you’ll excuse me.” He turns back to his analyzing.

Sherlock Holmes sat up and blinked in surprise. Why on earth was he on the floor? He looked around. He was in the basement laboratory, right where he should be. He frowned. Something had happened, but what? ( Read more... )

It was a cloudy day, but pleasant. Cool for August and made cooler still by the steady breeze ruffling flags and tugging at hats. Weathervanes were spinning wildly all through the morning until, rather suddenly, they all pointed to the east.

The wind was shifting and folks that knew how to watch the sky would be able to tell that something, someone was coming. This was something that had happened before when the wind turned to the east.

Soon enough, a tiny dot appeared in the sky. It passed through clouds and over villages and towns before finally starting to drop down right by the seashore. Eventually, and perhaps a little sooner for those with sharp eyes, it became clear as to just what the dot was.

It was a woman holding an umbrella that was being carried along on the east wind. In her hand was a carpet bag and on her head was a smart, sharp sort of hat. On her feet were comfortably and well-shined shoes that soon touched the gritty sand of the Margate beach.

Mary Poppins had been on this beach before, as she'd been almost everywhere, but it was a long, long time ago. This time the wind had found her place for her; she hadn't planned to come here. But then it wouldn't do to lose your head at just anything.

She closed up her umbrella as she looked around at the water lapping at the shore and the wooden building just down the way. Once she had her bearings, maybe that's where she would go. Hopefully, things wouldn't be too crowded- tourists can be so trying.

"Right," she said to no one in particular as she opened her compact to check her appearance in the mirror and nodded to what she saw there. "Off you go then."

Then she closed it with a snap and took off down the beach.