My blog was hacked.
Sorry guys, Mr. JM’s been along, and he destroyed all my posts. Not to mention the far worse things he’s done - …Sherlock…he…he’s gone…he’s dead. I can’t believe it…and I actually really don’t want to talk about it.
I’m getting rid of 221B. This is all just one big mistake, but I don’t know how to cope. Thanks for the support.
It’s time to move on, my therapist says. I suppose she’s right.
A Pottarian Dilemma
Sherlock has refrained to calling Harriet Harry Potter “behind my back”. I’ve decided to call him Severus Snape for the day, see how he feels about that.
Edit: Now I seem to be Lily. Not entirely sure what to say actually…
What you missed in the life of John Watson
Right. Starting off on Tumblr now. Soon after The Great Game and many more comments on Sherlock’s intelligence/ignorance I found my computer glued to the ceiling above my bed when I was going to sleep for the night. He’d taken off the internet. Typical Sherlock. He’s not someone you can really talk to. He speaks more with actions.
Since Sherlock and I became flatmates a number of things have happened. There was a Study in Pink, then the Blind Banker, and finally the Great Game. Sherlock has made me promise that I would no longer leak anything about his involvement with Mr. JM nor any of the things he said during those cases, and of course I’m not someone to break promises.
He did not mention anything, however, about future cases. Sherlock isn’t one to think about the future. He thinks he’s immortal, prancing about like an Hermès model in his trench coat. But well, fashion is on a different topic.
It’s been two weeks now since the Great Game. Sherlock is more restless than ever. Three days ago I found him in our living room skinning a cat he claimed to have found in the backyard and he was planning to perform brain surgery on. The day after that he was polishing his guns. And yesterday he was watching Law & Order all day. He’d ordered the full set on Amazon.
Today Sherlock got a text from Harry. Or, more specifically, Sherlock was texting Mycroft on my phone and then “accidentally” read Harry’s text. I haven’t spoken to her for about one and a half year now, since the time she’d mixed vodka in my morning glass of milk.
So, Sherlock read the text and got all excited. He almost started to fire things at the wall again, but I managed to stop him. Last time he’d done that Mrs. Hudson had threatened calling a psychiatrist. I don’t really want to know what would happen if you put Sherlock in a room with a psychiatrist. He’d probably drive the poor man mad.
This is the text Harry sent me:
hiya johnny! i know bout u and sh, crimesolvers! i have a crime for u to solve bro. talk to lestrade. hush hush. xox harry
And Sherlock’s reply (before I could stop him):
Dear Miss Watson,
I’m surrounded by lunatics.