So I don’t think I’ve ever directly posted to this site before. Directly, not through the text messaging. So, hello, I’m John Watson, although I think you all probably know that.
What you might not know is that I set up this website - well, had it set up - back in September to cheer up Sherlock Holmes. I can’t really discuss the details here, but he did sulk a bit after our first meeting with Irene Adler. He was still sulking when we made our first post. I wanted to show him how much everyone was interested in him and his work, and how you all cheered him on, and it sort of succeeded even though you all get pretty caught up in our personal lives sometimes. So thank you for that.
We haven’t had as much to say over the past couple of weeks. You can see my main blog for the details. Sherlock was already in a foul mood on Christmas because Harry came to take Griz away a couple of days before and he wouldn’t admit it but he missed her, and then Irene faked her death and that nearly destroyed him. But now that everyone’s alive and safe, he’s much better off. I think he’ll be fine.
What else have you missed? Jeanette (who I mentioned meeting in the last text) and I aren’t seeing each other anymore, but that’s sort of to be expected at this point. Sherlock and I did presents this morning since Christmas was interrupted. I got him a new notebook for his music compositions. He indexed my socks for me. I’m sure some of you would have seen that coming, what with him hoarding them for months. We all had a good laugh over it, though. Especially Mrs Hudson.
I think that’s all, I just wanted to bring you up to speed and thank you again for your continued support. I’m going to be re-opening questions now. I’m sure you have a lot. I do, too.
Happy New Year, everyone.
No warnings. Also here on LiveJournal.
John tries to sleep. Can’t. Too restless. He stretches his limbs, flattens himself out on his back, even rolls over onto his stomach. Nothing. Reminds him of the days following his return to London, almost, except for then he didn’t want to sleep for fear of dreaming. Now, he just can’t manage it. Too busy thinking himself in circles. He wonders if this is the way Sherlock feels all of the time.
Grizabella doesn’t seem to want to settle down either. The pet carrier was too impersonal to be long-term, so John got her a cardboard box and padded it with a ratty blanket and an old cushion Mrs. Hudson said she could spare. Griz manages to climb out of it on occasion, preferring the warmth of the pillow next to John’s head. John doesn’t mind. She keeps her distance tonight, though, just shifting the blanket around in the box, occasionally scratching at the box’s sides with her tiny paws. Maybe she can sense that John just isn’t in the mood.
After an hour or so, John caves. He walks across the room, bending down. “Come on, girl,” he says, carefully picking her up. He treats her like a dog—he’s much more of a dog person, really. Cats are funny to watch, but too standoffish to be permanent companions. Kittens are some sort of happy medium, though. Griz has enough energy to be a puppy. Maybe she thinks she is. “Come on, we’re going to go for a walk around the flat, you and me.”