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The v., v. secret diary of John Hamish Watson, MD
I do not even know what the Hell happened here. Apparently, I had a dream about poor Watson being imprisoned into a mind of a teenage wannabe emo kid. This is for janeturenne, for all the Twitter missings.)
MONDAY
Terrible loss still pierces my tortured bleeding heart, even now, three years after that fateful deadly afternoon in the land of lederhosen-clothed fiends. Fresh agonies keep seizing my whole being at most inopportune moments. Am I never to get a moment of peace?! Best friend & sweetheart = DEAD. Wife = DEAD. Careless maid = my goldfish Godfrey FLUSHED INTO THE PLUMBING FACILITIES. Mistake, she says!!!!! WHYYY must I suffer so.
TUESDAY
That son of a son of a son of a HELLHOUND is BACK. What have I ever done to deserve this?!?! Just when I decided - in considerable agony, I would like to note - to become a pure monk in a Tibetan monastery, forsaking dark lure of human flesh for EVAH, here he comes, prancing around and flinging disguises left and right. I mean, like, what would YOU do?! Swooned for the first time in my life. TOTALLY.
WEDNESDAY
Coldly refused any sort of intimacy to take place as self madder than wet hen. Holmes accused me of sulking (as IF!) and went to his room to sulk. Youngling. I will show him sulking as done by a MAN.
THURSDAY
News about Holmes´s comeback apparently flooded the town without him advertising. Though I would not put it above him, the poncy tosser. Nefarious sorts of all kinds promenading beneath our windows in pathetic (attention seeking!) attempts for furtiveness. Am playing spitting target practice on their hats.
Holmes sulks in his room. AM NOT BOTHERED BY THAT!!!
FRIDAY
Holmes out of his room, apparently trying out a new tactic. As IF. Won´t work.
That vulgar Adler woman been prancing around Baker Street again, shoddily disguised in man´s clothing. In a fit of pique, poured a bottle of claret on her head from the window, as water pitcher full of disarmingly charming green carnations from Holmes (The Bastard). She tottered away drunkenly.
SATURDAY
Am getting srsly fed up with Holmes pretending to flirt with Mrs Hudson, of all people. Am I never to get a moment´s peace?! I MEAN, FOR REALZ NOW.
SUNDAY
Holmes getting like, srsly aggressive due to frustration over my inhuman aloof coldness. Caught me drawing rainbows, unicorns and some initials which may, or may not, be his and mine, with coloured pencils in my medical appointment journal. Next thing I knew, was thrown on the sofa and most perverse acts been performed on yours truly. In view of such undisguised ardor and his sweet confessions, my ice cold heart finally melted.
Have been LOST without my JOHNSON<3!!11!!
The Awesome Secret Secret Diary of Sherlock Holmes, The One and Only Consulting Detective
MONDAY
So bone-weary am I from my travels and from a long fight with an iron-minded ruthless enemy, that even a timid thought about my long longed-for companion and a possible return to him fills me with a child-like awe. Trembling affects my lean limbs and a deep thrill of yearning fills my love-starved heart.
Oh, precious wisdom of cultures of the Ancient Orient! During these long years, you have become such a firm column, holding up the very base of my soul. Nothing could ever force me to part with my inner peace which my studies with the head Llama granted me. Now that I know the teachings of moral law of cause and effect ensconced in creation of Karma, surely I will never again allow my temper to get the better of me :o)
TUESDAY
WHY FOR THE BLEEDING FESTERING BOWELS OF HELL DO I EVEN BOTHER?!!!??! Blast me if I know!!! I try my best. I put on a sodding SHOW for him. I rehearse it (fool that I am!) in the train all the way from Montpelier to thrice-damned London, having to fight off an overzealous conductor who thinks I have an attack of Saint Vitus´s dance.
Once there, I hobble twelve inches behind him for HOURS before I give up hope that he might ever notice even if I hobbled ALL THE WAY TO HIS LIVING ROOM AND DRANK ALL HIS BRANDY, and have to tackle him to the ground with Catullus. He apologises (…!!!...) I hobble away, my heart bursting with tragic love.
Then I Perform and he swoons into a dead faint. Now, one would call it an appropriate response, since I am still something of a looker, but then? A SULKING FIT…! I ASK YOU…!
WEDNESDAY
Dressed in my prettiest dressing gown in an interesting murine shade and went to try my luck. Was stunned to find MYSELF accused of sulking (as IF!) and returned proudly to my room. After all, even the most handsome, silky… close-trimmed… military… stern… moustache… is not… everything. No. No. Nonono. Indeed. I will show him how a grown man can BROOD.
THURSDAY
Either the City of London is even more lively than I remember, or the news about my return got out. There is a veritable ocean of crooks flooding Baker Street and the adjacent areas. Almost all of them are trying to toss little notes with jaunty greetings and threats into my window. Looks like a snow in the middle of spring. Rather poetic, really.
Ah, to be home again. Relaxed by the familiar clinking of lockpicks from below and muffled screams as the crooks attempt to rob each other from the force of habit, a cunning Plan is forming in my coldly ticking machine of a brain. Soon, I will have my hands on you, moustache!
FRIDAY
This morning, Lestrade called with a bouquet of green carnations for the „esteemed Doctor“. Took them and rewrote the note on the card.
This-Will-Not-DO. Apparently, poor lamb Watson needs someone to keep a stern though indulgent eye on him. Luckily, I know JUST the person for the task. Muahahaha.
SATURDAY
I have made a fortress (EDIT: plz hear the soundtrack here) in the largest armchair near the fire and locked the door for a good measure. I should like to catch someone trying to harass my dear husb Watson without my watchful consent!
Have drawled with my most sarcastic warning voice upon hearing woman´s voice behind the door, until realised that it was Mrs. Hudson. Good Lord, I need to PAY ATTENTION! This unrequited lovesickness needs to end. Also, I am SO going to get my hands on that moustache again! NOW.
„WATS-er.“
Oh.
Or tomorrow, since he has gone to sleep. Apparently. The dear tired man.
SUNDAY
I have tackled him first thing in the morning. His naife drawings made me remember another reason why I love him so, and I found I just cannot hold myself back. Not anymore. Not now, not ever. WE DO NOT CARE A FIG WHAT DOYLE OR ANYONE ELSE SAYS!!!!
Have been LOST without my MOUSTACHE<3!!!
The Secret Diary of Stanley Hopkins, Good Friend of Mr Sherlock Holmes...
...or „Sherry“, as I call Him (never out loud,mind you, but constantly in the secrecy of my mind) during our MANY informal conversations, in which He teaches me the Art of Detection by way of Sarcastic Remarks (He is Funny!!!!)
MONDAY
I have been observing my features studiously with the help of a magnifying glass for several engrossed weeks and today, I have come to a Decision. I am sure that I must be a secret long lost son of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. We are SO very alike.
I will honour His name (which I also had engraved secretly on the back of my badge) forever and act Bravely to revenge His terrible death!
Keep looking into the mirror and searching for clearer signs of hereditary features. Maybe if I broke my nose? Interesting possibility is not without merit:D YAY!
TUESDAY
I have painted a new picture with watercolours. It is a portrait of Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Oh, art! My innocent hobby of lonely mornings, forlorn tea-times and night-shifts spent in complete solitude in the busy headquarters of the Yard. I flatter myself that my ability to capture the austere aquiline features has reached the near-photographic resemblance. I have to pin it to the Scotland Yard bulletin board again. Every time I add a new one, it is gone in the morning. Someone keeps taking them off! Likely stealing them to keep for their pleasure. Well, one can hardly blame the chaps. After all (as I keep telling them), He was a Genius!
While on the subj., wonder why the other men of the Force not inclined to take me with them on the „prowl“ (as we, Men of the Yard call it). WHY?? I am friendly! I am garrulous! (or „chatty“ as we, Men of the Yard call it). And I always have SUCH a range of v., v. highly interesting stories about my adventures at the side of Mr. Sherlock Holmes to convey!
They should all take an example of His proficient Mastery. I told them many, many, many times.
WEDNESDAY
Today, Lestrade made me really hot mad. After I told him a particularly hilarious story about my small insignificant appearance in 1889 case of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, he told me nastily that I keep on saying the full name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes all too often. The last name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes is enough, he said!!
(Well, he did not say his full name, disrespectful yob that he is. He also said some disgusting rude name(s), which I will not write in you, Journal, as to do so would sully your pristine white pages.)
But anyway, he is wrong. I do not.
Say the full name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes all too often, that is.
On a sad and still disbelieving note, I found no less than *eight* of my portraits of Mr. Sherlock Holmes crumpled in the rubbish bin by the back door of Scotland Yard today. SACRILEGE!!! Jealousy, the green-eyed Monster, is gnawing deep within the hearts of London police officers. Now, if only they could be as noble as Mr. Doctor Watson! I keep telling them ALL THE TIME. Maybe I will paint his portrait next time instead. That will make them THINK!
THURSDAY
Boring day. One light moment was that we got to arrest bunch of criminals on Baker Street - you know, where He lived, when He was still alive. *sob* I wonder why the dastardly types decided to congregate HERE, of all the streets of London. No clue comes to mind, though I strain my hereditary mind close to snapping. Fickle Fortune!
FRIDAY
I have just now realised that me and Mr. Sherlock Holmes have the VERY SAME INITIALS!!! I have discovered this while drawing our names on a back page of a warrant card in eye-pleasing patterns.
Sherlock Hopkins
Stanley Holmes
Sincerely, Stanley Holmes
With many kind greetings, Stanley Holmes
Though it has been my pleasure to solve the case, Your Royal Highness, I have to inform Your Majesty that I will be proudly refusing the Order of St. John knighthood peerage you have offered. I will, however, remain ever ready to Serve my King and my Country!
With Fond Wishes of Your Good Health,
Stanley Holmes
I have to admit, it has a nice ring to it. Now, I am sure about my ancestry. It is a Clue, left by the Master! I am the only one who could have EVER solved this. I will fight anyone who doubts the last sentence!
SATURDAY
MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have just Deduced it from the highly Obscured Trail of Clues!!!! In fact, this trail is still „smoking hot“, (as we, Scotland Yard „hound dogs“ call it in our Secret Slang).
The trail begun ONLY TODAY when His foe (curse him!) announced his BOLD INTENTION to mysteriously vanish from locked prison. It came to me RIGHT AWAY. He must have decided to vanish because Mr. Sherlock Holmes is BACK!!!!!! I am sorry not to have any other evidence, since the other „coppers“ (as they call us, the Men of the Yard, in the "lingo") will likely not believe me, but I have my Heritage, and it gave me inhuman instinct for nefarious types. I am sure of my facts. How fortunate that I am the very first to realise. :D\o/ My father will be so proud. I have to go and visit him in Baker Street at once!!! Hopefully he will not be too annoyed to see that mere young puppy of an Inspector unveiled his Secret.
SUNDAY
Went to see Mr. Sherlock Holmes last night. When he saw me at the door, he got sort of an anguished look on his sharply-cut face and a tic in his left slate-grey eye and he gave a quiet groan with his narrow lips. He worries about me! Likely sorry he has not seen me for such a long time. Possibly ashamed that he did not drop a word sooner. BUT NEVER MIND, MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES, I AM NOT ANGRY<3!!!!:DDD!!! You had Reasons. Yes. The World must never know. I shall come back tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. And on Wednesday.
I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU AGAIN, FATHER!!11!<3<3!
!
A week in afterlife of Mary Watson, née Morstan (Deceased)
by janeturenne and who_is_small
MONDAY
THERE IS A FULL MOON TONIGHT. YAY!
As I am floating beside my dearest ex-husband´s bed (I call him so even though technically, it is me who is „ex“ in this relationship - mere trifle, I can assure you), guarding his repose with my bloodshot eyes, I monitor him crying in his sleep. Again. Blast it. I really wish I could find a way to tell him that his „best friend & sweetheart“ (one of the perks of being a corpse is the ability to snoop in other people´s diaries :DDDD) is not only alive and perky as a flea-ridden bushy-tailed squirrell chock full of Bolivian marching powder, but that I can feel his Aura of Bombastically Enormous Crimson BLASTED EGO moving closer to London with every God-forsaken passing minute.
He is probably on a train, on his way to reunite with my ward.
WELL WE WILL SEE ABOUT THAT.
On the positive side, my spirit was joined today by a most charming little goldfish. Its name used to be Godfrey, but I think I shall call it Hopkirk.
TUESDAY
I WAIL IN FAIL.
Holmes is back, behaving in his usual disgusting fashion. He made John FAINT and then fed him ALCOHOL. THE BASTARD.
Could not attempt retaliation since Holmes´s monstrous Crimson Ego Cloud is stifling me! It has hobbled here and there and finally settled heavily over greater part of London, like a massive, dense phallic-shaped tower, disturbing public transport (if I were not a lady, I would say that all the hound dogs and faster hansom horses went bloody bonkers with excited happiness) centered over my and John´s house. Of course, the center shifted after John grabbed his toothbrush and five pairs of socks and moved back into the Baker Street pronto. UNDIGNIFIED, if you ask me.
He thinks nobody has seen him furtively smuggling his old army uniform into his medical bag.
He is wrong.
WEDNESDAY
Something MUST be done. My dearest John is in terrible danger of being OUTSULKED by that blighter. This will NEVER DO. I will not see the Watson name so sullied!!! Have done my part to add air of gloom to my dear John's surroundings, though it is an inexact science, and I must be very cautious. If I lay it on too heavy, it makes his moustache droop, and I have tribulations enough--what with being dead--without having to know that I caused such a catastrophe!
I am stretching myself very thin indeed, I must say, as I've also been hanging about Mrs. Irene Norton's bedside at nights, implanting the subtle suggestion that she ought to make a beeline for Baker Street; I have hopes she may distract that blasted Holmes long enough to give him the advantage he needs. That spouse of mine needs SO much looking after *longsuffering sigh* It is a good thing I am practically a saint.
THURSDAY
Have been deeply moved by the plight of poor Inspector Lestrade. True, the man DOES look like a ferret, but well do I know how easy it is to fall prey to the charms of my own dear lovey-poo and his flawless facial hair. I may have nudged a few dozen criminals into his clutches--oddly enough, causing dramatic and, if I may say so myself, hilarious pratfalls is one of the first skills taught to the newly deceased and I am QUITE an adept at it by now--and his pathetic joy was rather touching, if I do say so myself. If he actually succeeds in laying a finger on my John I may have to hurt the man, of course. As a matter of principle. But a crush here or there hurts nobody.
Mr. Holmes' campaign of seduction getting him precisely nowhere. HA.
FRIDAY
Caught John staring at Mr. Holmes today with the oddest look in his eye. Can it be that he is in LOVE with that insufferable, arrogant...oh, who the hell am I kidding. I have known it for years. Denial was nice while it lasted. Granted, the idea of them together is not ENTIRELY unpleasant. The thought of all of Mr. Holmes's pale white skin...and my dear John's broad shoulders...and their long legs all tangled together...their lips dueling for supremacy...their hips straining...one or two other parts straining...
Oh! My goodness, I had no idea I could even DO that here in the Great Beyond! Hum. This will need some exploring. John and his problems will just have to wait. I must do SOMETHING to keep things under control on Baker Street in the meanwhile, however. I believe I will send Hopkirk to fluff up John´s moustache with his dorsal fin whenever the situation gets dire. While I stay here, and figure out just what ELSE I can do with this ephemeral not-quite-body of mine...
SATURDAY
In a very, VERY good mood. In the interest of research and scientific experimentation, have visited Irene last night (after some investigation, found her in a guest room of Mr. Mycroft Holmes) and revealed myself with help of aerial currents and a gossamer curtain. We had a lovely conversation in which I have discovered a WHOLE BRAVE NEW WORLD, for my Irene has very open and WONDERFUL mind. WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED THAT "TO SLASH" SOMEONE CAN MEAN MORE THAN "TO CRITICIZE STRONGLY"?
I have never been more joyful than last night. Her hair was smelling sweetly of claret and after we fell silent, me still wide-eyed and overcome... our lips may have touched once or twice...
Oh, sweet Providence, I am so happy as to weep with joy of it all. My heart is bursting and my soul is FREE AT LAST, to do what I will. I feel like rising to the top of the tallest tree of Battersea Park and singing all the songs of the world at once.
Finding a new power within myself, upon my leave, I conjured a rain of rose petals, gently falling on my sweet Irene´s body, sleeping innocently upon the crisp white sheets.
I am in love all over again.
I will now go to Baker Street and put things right. Everybody deserves to be happy in their lifetimes, and by George, I am going to see it DONE.
SUNDAY
Decided that ENOUGH is ENOUGH where all that unresolved tension was concerned. Put my pratfall-inducing skills to good use to send Mr. Holmes careening literally into John's arms. Well, I couldn't very well trip JOHN. A man with such a moustache would never do something so undignified. At any rate, with all that lust positively choking the air of Baker Street, well, you can imagine the results.
GOOD LORD, it was better than a theatre premiere! I have rarely laughed so much ever since I snuffed it. The faces they were making! Pure comedy gold. Though I confess that I felt a little peevish upon seeing that when John shares a succesful carnal congress with Holmes, he is ready again under ten minutes, which certainly never happened in OUR household. Ah, well.
Shall whistle on Hopkirk to stop flirting with his successor - a very small clownfish from Inspector Lestrade - and together we will check on Irene. Have learned some techniques tonight which I am keen to research further. Dorsal fins may, or may not, be involved...
HAVE LOVELY LIVES, EVERYONE! :)
-the end-
Thank you for reading the whole thing! In case you are interested, link to the rest of Holmes diaries is here.