Categories > Books > Sherlock Holmes > The Personal Blog Of Dr John Watson
The Personal Blog Of Dr John Watson
0 reviewsModern day Sherlock. Based on TV Series by Steven Moffat and Mark Gattis. Starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman
0Unrated
15/02/12
10:34
Sherlock was there looking at me like he usually does; eye brows slightly raised, lips slightly parted, challanging me to contridict hie theories or facts. Generally a cocky look, amplified by his curly dark hair and teenage face. Of corse, the fact that i was struggling with this time that that he was sitting there not, as he was supposed to be, a mile away. Under ground. In a coffin. Dead. He sat up in the chair, brough this knees to his chest and rested his chin on his hands which were closed as if in prayer. I wanted to yell. I wanted to punch his straight on those carved, mysterious cheekbones, if i was being perfectly honest. But at the moment i was struggling to breathe. Why? Why pretend to be dead? Why come back now? A whole month later?
"Thought you could get rid of me that easily, well i say easily..." He asked darkly. I snarled.
"You were dead. Dead, Sherlock. You jumped of a 6 storey building. I watched you, I saw you, splattered on the pavement. You were dead. Your dead." The last bit came out as if i were convincing my self, not the mad man on the sofa. He picked up his mobile phone and studied the screen, ice blue eyes scanning back and forth. As usual, Sherlock Holmes, super-slueth and modern day genius, was completely oblivious to everything i said. After watching him ignore my presense for 5 minutes, I let out a hysterical laugh and began pacing, trying to process the situation. I had wished for a miricle. Yelled at his grave, demanding him to come back. But i'd never expected it to happen. Because that was impossiable. Even for the great Mr Holmes.
"When you have eliminated to impossiable, what ever your left with, however mad it mat seem, must be the truth." The line, overused by Sherlock, echoed through my brains. But eliminating the impossiable, that Sherlock was back, was not an easy job when he was lying, completely unharmed, upside down off the sofa in the middle of my, our, flat.
"Mollys" The deep voice took me by suprise.
"Urm, What?" Head still upside down, Sherlocks eyes flicked open and scowled at me.
"I've been staying at Mollys flat. That what the question was going to be sooner or later. Thought i might answer it and save us some time. A cup of tea would go down great now, thank you John." I stared at him the skulked off into the kitchen, which for the first time in over a year, was void of heads in the fridge or a chemistry set on the dining table.
10:34
Sherlock was there looking at me like he usually does; eye brows slightly raised, lips slightly parted, challanging me to contridict hie theories or facts. Generally a cocky look, amplified by his curly dark hair and teenage face. Of corse, the fact that i was struggling with this time that that he was sitting there not, as he was supposed to be, a mile away. Under ground. In a coffin. Dead. He sat up in the chair, brough this knees to his chest and rested his chin on his hands which were closed as if in prayer. I wanted to yell. I wanted to punch his straight on those carved, mysterious cheekbones, if i was being perfectly honest. But at the moment i was struggling to breathe. Why? Why pretend to be dead? Why come back now? A whole month later?
"Thought you could get rid of me that easily, well i say easily..." He asked darkly. I snarled.
"You were dead. Dead, Sherlock. You jumped of a 6 storey building. I watched you, I saw you, splattered on the pavement. You were dead. Your dead." The last bit came out as if i were convincing my self, not the mad man on the sofa. He picked up his mobile phone and studied the screen, ice blue eyes scanning back and forth. As usual, Sherlock Holmes, super-slueth and modern day genius, was completely oblivious to everything i said. After watching him ignore my presense for 5 minutes, I let out a hysterical laugh and began pacing, trying to process the situation. I had wished for a miricle. Yelled at his grave, demanding him to come back. But i'd never expected it to happen. Because that was impossiable. Even for the great Mr Holmes.
"When you have eliminated to impossiable, what ever your left with, however mad it mat seem, must be the truth." The line, overused by Sherlock, echoed through my brains. But eliminating the impossiable, that Sherlock was back, was not an easy job when he was lying, completely unharmed, upside down off the sofa in the middle of my, our, flat.
"Mollys" The deep voice took me by suprise.
"Urm, What?" Head still upside down, Sherlocks eyes flicked open and scowled at me.
"I've been staying at Mollys flat. That what the question was going to be sooner or later. Thought i might answer it and save us some time. A cup of tea would go down great now, thank you John." I stared at him the skulked off into the kitchen, which for the first time in over a year, was void of heads in the fridge or a chemistry set on the dining table.
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