pipmer1

Title: Private Entry
Author: PipMer
Characters: John Watson, Mystery Character
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, angst, friendship
Spoilers: Reichenbach
Word Count: 856

Summary: As he sits in a cafe updating his blog, he is surprised by the appearance of someone unexpected.

A/N: If this looks familiar, that's because this is a revised scene from one of my WIP's. The setting and POV have been changed, but the effect should be the same. I wanted to see how it would work as a one-shot, and I was curious to see how this version would be received. Just trying to flex my writing muscles a bit. Thank you for the indulgence.

15 December, 2012

Private Entry

Well. It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything here, and this one will remain private. I don‘t know if I ever will get back to publicly posting anything. Nothing seems to happen anymore.

I’m still not acclimated to the London weather, it seems. All those years in the Afghan desert must have convinced my body that sun and dry air should be the norm. The dampness likes to insinuate itself into my bones at the most inopportune times.

It’s not just the weather anymore that I find… unsettling about the city. It seems to lack vitality and purpose now, the very things that used to make my blood sing. Was it really only six months ago that I had possessed everything that I could ever want? Now it’s just… gone. I think I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that the miracle I had begged for is never going to happen.

I’ll be the first to admit that, after his suicide, I rapidly spiralled out of control. My bouts of drinking could have rivalled a certain family member's. It was only after having woken up in a pool of my own vomit for the third time that I decided it was time to return to therapy. Yes, therapy. I can hear him in my head even now, in that distinctive voice of his.

Tedious. Unnecessary. You didn't need it then, and you don't need it now.

Whenever this happens, I shrug it aside as best I can. He’s dead, he can no longer tell me his opinions on the way I live my life. At any rate, it seems to be helping, a bit. I’ve even started going to group therapy; been meeting some people who can relate to what I’ve been going through. I can’t tell people the whole story, of course. Who would believe me? But I’ve found a touch of solace among people who can understand the crushing grief that has been consuming me.

It surprised me, at first, the effect his loss had on me. I’ve been a soldier, both in Afghanistan and London – both of them battlefields, in their own way. I’ve lost friends before, many of them good friends, many of them close friends. I know what it’s like to have a band-of- brothers’ bond, a comrade-in-arms mentality, where everyone is willing to both die and kill for each other. My life had been saved more than once, and I saved more than one life.

But somehow, this was different. He found me when I was broken, and he breathed life back into me. It was just the two of us, living and working together, for the longest time. My life started to revolve around only him, and he quickly became my best friend.

I have lost many people to death, but I have never before lost a best friend.

Sentiment.

Yes. Sentiment indeed.

Well, at any rate, I think I’m going to try and move forward. I leave for my group therapy in a few minutes, and I’ve met someone there. She’s petite, with short russet hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her name is Mary, and she’s an au pair. A year ago she lost her husband of just three months to a rare form of leukaemia. So not recently bereaved, but still struggling with grief and its aftermath. Enough commonality without taking advantage of her in a weakened state.

Good God, I’m starting to sound like him.

Anyway, tonight I’m going to ask her out. No reason not to, and there’s no longer any mad genius around intent on sabotaging me. Could be good.

So, until next time. Who knows, maybe I’ll make the next entry public.

-------------------------------

He leaned back in his chair, legs thrust out in front of him and arms raised above his head as he let out a drawn-out yawn. He rolled the kinks out of his shoulder as he settled back in his chair, one hand reaching for his coffee and the other snapping his laptop shut. He glanced around the café as he took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. Really, London coffee left a lot to be desired. The cup was set off to the side as he stuffed his computer into its case and slung it around his shoulder. Reaching for his cane, he started to rise from his chair, his eyes meeting those of the person just entering the building. The man nodded politely at him before making his way to the counter.

He froze as recognition dawned on him. His legs turned to jelly as he forced himself to sit back down. He had never expected to cross this man’s path again, although he really shouldn’t have been surprised. They did reside in the same city, after all.

The last time he had seen this man, it had been through the sights of his sniper rifle. The man he had been ordered to kill if Sherlock Holmes didn't take a swan dive off of St. Bartholomew's rooftop.

The man known to have been Holmes's 'heart', otherwise known as Dr. John H. Watson.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

swissmarg

Oh, you totally had me! Brilliant twist.

From:

pipmer1.livejournal.com

Thank you, I'm glad it worked ;)

From:

melodywilde.livejournal.com

I second the previous comment--that was a brilliant and totally unexpected ending! I went back to read it twice more, just to appreciate what an excellent job you'd done in the misdirection. Thanks for sharing!

From:

pipmer1.livejournal.com

I consider it a great success when a reader goes back to re-read in order to catch what they missed before! Thank you for commenting!

From:

shadowturquoise.livejournal.com

I remember reading this as part of your fic and thinking "God this is brilliant! It should be a one shot!" the slight rework makes it stand alone beautifully.

From:

pipmer1.livejournal.com

Thank you, I'm glad it worked! I didn't get many comments on this twist on my other story, so I'm glad that this version seems to work.

From:

kalypso-v.livejournal.com

I like the idea very much, but it didn't quite work for me, because I finished the story unclear as to whether the blog was Watson or the sniper (Moran?) I thought about it for a few minutes, and decided it had to be the sniper; I think my difficulty was rereading the head interruptions in Moriarty's voice, probably because I'd already heard them in Sherlock's voice. I'm not quite sure if there's a way to make that work better for me; larding those lines with italic might be too obvious (maybe just Tedious?) And I'd have been inclined to fuzz the parallels very slightly, maybe using "My bouts of drinking were in the family tradition" rather than specifying a sister, but that might not be appropriate if the sniper has a sister in the WIP.

I have gone on thinking about it for an hour, however, which must be counted as a success. I wondered whether, in the WIP, Moriarty had picked ?Moran specifically because of his parallels to John, as part of his general obsession with Sherlock, and if so how his "friend" reacted on realising why Moriarty was interested in him. I also wondered if he'd been a mercenary rather than a regular soldier, since he'd missed the London winters - though aren't the Afghan winters rather colder than ours? (Try this (http://www.mapsofworld.com/afghanistan/weather-in-afghanistan.html) for weather conditions.)

From: (Anonymous)

Did you read the entire fic? The ending clearly states whose point of view it's from:

The last time he had seen this man, it had been through the sights of his sniper rifle. The man he had been ordered to kill if Sherlock Holmes didn't take a swan dive off of St. Bartholomew's rooftop.

The man known to have been Holmes's 'heart', otherwise known as Dr. John H. Watson.

From:

kalypso-v.livejournal.com

That was absolutely clear, and I'm sorry if my comment ("whether the blog was Watson or the sniper") didn't make it clear what confused me; I was initially uncertain whether the sniper was writing the blog entry we had just read, or whether he happened to be writing his own blog at the same time as John Watson. After some thought, I decided that the former was the correct explanation. As I said, the story interested me enough for me to go on thinking about it, and eventually to comment, which I don't normally do.

From:

pipmer1.livejournal.com

Hi, thanks for commenting. The fact that you rarely comment, and that you were thinking about this for an hour afterwards are signs that I did do something right ;)

Yes, the blog posting is indeed being done by the sniper (in my headcanon, Moran).

You have a very good point about making the parallels between John and Moran more subtle; I agree that that would probably improve upon the story, perhaps making it more believable and delivering more of an impact at the end. I'm always happy to receive hints that would improve my writing.

Thank you for providing a link to weather conditions; perhaps I'll change it a bit so that it's the dampness rather than the cold that John has difficulty with.

From:

kalypso-v.livejournal.com

Yes, it certainly made an impact. Re the parallels, I think part of my problem may have been that we don't know Moran yet, though we can surmise that if he turns up he will still be an ex-soldier who had a close connection to Moriarty. The last misdirection story I read involved two established characters, so I got to the end thinking "Gosh, how clever, that really would work for both of them!" But because Moran is still a bit of an unknown quantity, I didn't have quite the same sense of everything falling into place; it was more "Yes, that will probably work, though maybe giving him an alcoholic sister is overplaying the hand slightly." That was what prompted me to start wondering whether Moriarty had gone out of his way to recruit a doppelganger.

From:

pennswoods.livejournal.com

*screaming*

I had to reread this a bit to get it. Awesome, awesome twist.

From:

pipmer1.livejournal.com

*giggles* Awesome, I made someone scream ;)

Thank you for the kind words.

From:

ariadnechan.livejournal.com

I was convinced it was watson until the building part, because John six month later was still living in221b

And then the last part was disconcerting, i read it again and no sens at all until i read the comments and i reread it and think the part of his thoughts of Mary, because Sherlock would never thought that of her, he would thought she was dull and he was better with him thinking on cases

But i think the sister thing is maybe too much, you could put sibiling so you misleed anyway and it could be a brother in the end

But i love it because i always thought that Moran and John are the other side of a mirror like Sherlock and Moriarty are.

So both John and colonel Moran are loyal to their mad men, they really need them when they came into their lifes... And they both will equally grieve them as a widow, because there is no one who can be like Moriarty, no one like Sherlock, how can you possible replace that especially in a crack shot adrenalin addict, Loyal soldiers needing of porpuse, of war and broken in a world were no one would possible understand them, until Sherlock and Moriarty were the solace the lifeline of this two men.

And i really like the idea of Moran wanting to date Mary Morstan in steed of John, maybe he won't want to marry her, but i understand the same appeal for him

This was brilliant

What is the wip?
Now i want to read it!!

Edited Date: 2012-08-16 09:42 am (UTC)

From:

regan-v.livejournal.com

Oh, this worked perfectly---you had me right to the very end. And yet it was easy to figure out that all of this could apply to Moran as easily as to Watson, once you got to the last bit.

Very clever---and the writing is polished. Thank you!