Into the Attic

[impulsereader]

Sherlock, the bastard, giggled the entire walk back to the house. “Oh, don’t worry, John, that panto you did in uni will stand you in excellent stead. I’m not at all worried about your keeping up your end.”

“Neither am I, as I’m planning to find some unemployed West End swot and pay him to take my place.”

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New challenge – Sherlock is feeling a bit down; talking to John – in my head they’re outside, sitting under a tree – he remembers something from childhood and they set off into the attic to see if they can find it. What object are they hunting for? Also – things which John and Sherlock will find in dotty Uncle Rocky’s attic during the search. Go!

Comments

[f-m-r-l.livejournal.com]

The attic has been there for a while, right? How long a while? Because things accumulate. And this is a rather large attic.

Ivory game counters shaped like fish. Bifocals that are hundreds of years old. Gas masks. Plane spotting charts. A dress form. Trunks full of old clothing. The only stuffed dodo in existence. A mirror with mysterious carvings around the frame. A medical skeleton with one leg missing. A set of bagpipes. Some swords. Ice skates. A fly fishing kit that's too brittle with age for anything to be of use. A worn out wing chair, slightly too wobbly even for the servants when there were servants. Great Aunt Vivianne's collection of cigarette holders. A matching cigarette case, clock, pen holder (no pen) and lighter from her desk set. A matching set of badly done oils. A pair of old ski boots, the kind that lace on, with all the laces in knots. A book press. A glass display case of native insects. A cigar box filled with costume jewelry, half of the paste gems gone. A rug beater. A Victorian pump action vacuum cleaner. A bundle of children's writing exercises. A Spirograph. Galoshes, odd sizes, unmatched. A beautiful antique bottle, mostly opaque, sealed with lead. In a box lid slid under a dresser full of stuck drawers, a child's collection of river-smoothed oval stones. Great grandmother's compact.

[f-m-r-l.livejournal.com]

An old rug full of holes, some burned into it, some eaten into it. In a trunk, in a jewelry box, in tissue paper tied with a worn gold ribbon, some unworn baby's shoes. Yellowed go go boots. A creepy crawlers set, all the bottles empty. A scrapbook full of theater tickets. A hatbox full of small Victorian handbags. Paints (dried), paint brushes, palettes, artists papers, charcoal sticks, once-stretched canvas. One lone silver and crystal coaster used as an ash tray and still half full of filters. A razor strop. A box of mining lanterns. A glorious, life sized watercolor reclining nude, boxed up to keep her from the light but unprotected from the temperature. An astonishingly ugly coat rack. A wardrobe full of old furs and mothballs. A stringless harp.

[f-m-r-l.livejournal.com]

Because why shouldn't an attic be a place to learn about mysteries?

[impulsereader.livejournal.com]

This is amazing. I think this may be a separate tale altogether. Mysteries that even Sherlock cannot solve...and a few he can...there is something of the Endless in the attic you have created...

[f-m-r-l.livejournal.com]

Possibly some of it drifted up from Dream's library. I know that quite a few of the items fell out of books I read—The Chronicles of Narnia, perhaps the Green Knowe books or something by Edward Eager, a a poetry textbook, a book on Victorian technology, the odd science fiction story, etc.

A bunch of other stuff tumbled in from my past, including the archaic skis and the astonishingly ugly coat rack, so those things could have wandered into dream. :-)