dr. john h. watson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
confidente) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisa2012-06-17 11:22 am
confidente) wrote in paradisa2012-06-17 11:22 am
Entry tags:
ᴛᴇɴ
( private )
[ When he wakes it hits him all like a truck--long string of girlfriends, the Woman, visit to Buckingham Palace, that blasted phone (Sherlock's new ringtone), watching his best friend struggle with losing someone he may or may not have cared for--and it feels like his head is going to crack open, spilling all the new and shiny memories being crammed into his head. Sitting up the room spins and his stomach jerks, good thing he hadn't eaten anything recently or else he'd be worried about staining the nice clean floor.
The Hound, Greg, hallucinogenic fog, sentiment, "I meant what I said before. I don't have friends -- I've only got one.". The room spins again, this time John doesn't wait pushing himself off the bed a little too quickly. Christ his entire body hurts, to be expected he did survive a bloody bomb blast. Not to mention, if he understands this right, he has been in a coma for an entire week. (that is usually how it goes right?) He stumbles when his feet touch ground, hissing as he grabs a hold of the bed for support. He really shouldn't be moving, he should be resting, giving his body the chance it needs to kick start itself. But he can't stay here.
He just can't.
Reichenbach, Bachelor John Watson, Moriarty, "I don't want the whole world thinking you're a fake.", kidnapped children, Hansel and Gretel, "You can't kill an idea.", the moment it starts it doesn't stop it can't stop and suddenly everything is spiraling out of control the world starts to crumble and he can't stop it he wants to stop it--don't say that, don't try and tell him everything was a lie, don't you ever dare no no! stop! Sherlock!
It's too much. He feels like he is watching it all over again, like some sort of bad movie playing over and over in his head. So he runs. ]
----
[ Somewhere along the way John opens his journal and stares at it, he's not sure what to say at first. What the hell is he even supposed to say? Hi, I'm back from the worst month of my life? ]
Hey, it's John Watson. [ A beat. ] I'm back. [ It's a start. Sounds ridiculous but it is a start. He doesn't bother to hide the exhaustion in his voice. He's tired and drained. So hi Paradisa, your resident blogger is awake. ]
( room filter )
[ So who is the first person you seek out after losing your best friend in the worst possible way ever? Duh, House of course. And that is exactly who's door John finds himself stand in front of, knocking a grand total of three times before dragging his hand over his face. He still feels terrible. More than terrible. Gatecrashing House's place is not likely to make it better and yet here he is. ]
----
[ When he wakes it hits him all like a truck--long string of girlfriends, the Woman, visit to Buckingham Palace, that blasted phone (Sherlock's new ringtone), watching his best friend struggle with losing someone he may or may not have cared for--and it feels like his head is going to crack open, spilling all the new and shiny memories being crammed into his head. Sitting up the room spins and his stomach jerks, good thing he hadn't eaten anything recently or else he'd be worried about staining the nice clean floor.
The Hound, Greg, hallucinogenic fog, sentiment, "I meant what I said before. I don't have friends -- I've only got one.". The room spins again, this time John doesn't wait pushing himself off the bed a little too quickly. Christ his entire body hurts, to be expected he did survive a bloody bomb blast. Not to mention, if he understands this right, he has been in a coma for an entire week. (that is usually how it goes right?) He stumbles when his feet touch ground, hissing as he grabs a hold of the bed for support. He really shouldn't be moving, he should be resting, giving his body the chance it needs to kick start itself. But he can't stay here.
He just can't.
Reichenbach, Bachelor John Watson, Moriarty, "I don't want the whole world thinking you're a fake.", kidnapped children, Hansel and Gretel, "You can't kill an idea.", the moment it starts it doesn't stop it can't stop and suddenly everything is spiraling out of control the world starts to crumble and he can't stop it he wants to stop it--don't say that, don't try and tell him everything was a lie, don't you ever dare no no! stop! Sherlock!
It's too much. He feels like he is watching it all over again, like some sort of bad movie playing over and over in his head. So he runs. ]
----
[ Somewhere along the way John opens his journal and stares at it, he's not sure what to say at first. What the hell is he even supposed to say? Hi, I'm back from the worst month of my life? ]
Hey, it's John Watson. [ A beat. ] I'm back. [ It's a start. Sounds ridiculous but it is a start. He doesn't bother to hide the exhaustion in his voice. He's tired and drained. So hi Paradisa, your resident blogger is awake. ]
( room filter )
[ So who is the first person you seek out after losing your best friend in the worst possible way ever? Duh, House of course. And that is exactly who's door John finds himself stand in front of, knocking a grand total of three times before dragging his hand over his face. He still feels terrible. More than terrible. Gatecrashing House's place is not likely to make it better and yet here he is. ]
----