Work Text:
Yellow pollen dusts the legs of honeybees weaving through the flower-strewn Sussex garden. Watson sits in the gazebo for hours, watching these peaceful non-combatants going about their work. Perhaps “bees” was not on the list of palliatives suggested by Major Watson's doctor, but all Holmes knows is that his friend has far fewer nights where he wakes up shrieking. Watson is getting better, and he thanks his bees for that.
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The Bristol seaside is bathed in sunlight, lovely and serene. But one of the sea-bathers has been found dead in his changing-tent, and an enthralled consulting-detective has rather forgotten that the purpose of a visit to the seaside is rest. Watson sighs, and heads into their shared tent to change out of his bathing-costume – which is more than Holmes has done, bent over the corpse and deducing possible murder methods whilst the police hide their inappropriate grins at his still-wet yellow-striped outfit.
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Yellow ducklings peep and paddle under the tutelage of their adoptive parents; Steve is currently teaching them to dive for tiny fish, a skill at which the penguin exceeds his partner. Duck does not regret hanging up his hat; his pride in his family is greater than any adulation from the idiot humans who begged for his skill even as they refused to stop their cruel jokes about birds.