Amanda | 22 | Toronto | RN | Habs Fan | This blog is one big cornucopia of what I like, what I love, what I find beautiful, what I find inspirational, what I find hilarious and everything in between. Anything from hockey to TV to cats to photography. It's me. Sometimes I watch TV (Elementary, Rookie Blue, Shameless, Teen Wolf, Doctor Who, Greys Anatomy)
Random scene/idea that came into my head and I had to write it just to see if I could. About Joan leaving and Sherlock calling her by her first name for the first time.
Joan has most of her belongings out of the house already. She has slowly been moving them out, piece by piece. This evening though is the last few personal things she has to take with her.
Sherlock is sitting by the fireplace in a chair. His body is resting against it in an almost lax way but the feelings inside him are sharp, straight, tense. He hears Joan’s footsteps down the stairs. She’s heading for the door.
She is upset and exhausted with everything that has been going on. But she is also hurt and sad. That it has come to this - to her having to leave the Brownstone. Before she makes it to the bottom of the staircase, Sherlock sits up straight, in an outward display of what he is feeling inside. She puts the box down and looks at him in the chair. A sigh escapes her. He makes to stand up but she interjects, “Sherlock, I can’t do this anymore”. He sits back down, back straight as a pin. His throat begins to tighten the frog starts from the bottom and works it’s way up. “I will call you, ok” Joan says trying to offer some reassurance. He still hasn’t spoken. He doesn’t even know if he can.
All she sees are his blue eyes staring back at her. No attempt to stop her, no attempts to speak or to try and make her think otherwise. Has he accepted this as a consequence of what he has done?
She doesn’t want to prolong this anymore so she reaches down to pick up her last box. She gives him a glance before she walks to the door. Before she can make it though, his words stop her dead in her tracks. “Joan, please”.
Sherlock is sitting there, hasn’t moved an inch. The frog has made it’s way up his throat so that he can barely swallow. Little pools of salty tears form at the bottom of his eyelids. When was the last time he cried? Or even teared up? There is a hint of desperation in his voice. It almost trembles when the two words leave his mouth.
Joan is in shock. She makes a face that causes the familiar creases in her forehead to appear. It is simultaneously both incredibly familiar and alien to hear him say it.
He called her Joan.
She nearly dropped the box that was in her hands. There’s is a drawn out silence between them. Her heart feels heavy but she knows that this is something she has to do. Those two words cut through her more than any other hundred words he could have said. More than ” I need you”, more than ” I love you”, more than ‘Don’t go”. But really, that’s what the two words are saying. All of those things and more.
I don’t know where to go from here =/ that’s all I got.
I love trains, and they have always loved me back.
What does it mean to be loved by a train? Love, it seems to me, is that condition in which one is most contentedly oneself. If this sounds paradoxical, remember Rilke’s admonition: love consists in leaving the loved one space to be themselves while providing the security within which that self may flourish. As a child, I always felt uneasy and a little constrained around people, my family in particular. Solitude was bliss, but not easily obtained. Being always felt stressful—wherever I was there was something to do, someone to please, a duty to be completed, a role inadequately fulfilled: something amiss. Becoming, on the other hand, was relief. I was never so happy as when I was going somewhere on my own, and the longer it took to get there, the better. Walking was pleasurable, cycling enjoyable, bus journeys fun. But the train was very heaven.
Tony Judt, “In Love With Trains,” The New York Review of Books March 11, 2010.
This is so on point for me it’s like they spoke from my soul.
I just can’t wait until that moment when he calls her Joan.
I was thinking about the inevitable change that’s going to occur in my life (don’t I always) and I came to realise something. Within the near future I will be leaving my part time job at the store. I was there for over two years. Now, to some, that may not seem like a long time but to me, it’s a long while; especially within the context of how I “am” ( I guess).
That place and the people I interact with there have become part of my social life and my socialization. I have formed relationships of varying degree with the people there. I have long since established it’s importance to me. I could see it’s importance right off the bat when I started and I felt a sense of belonging.
It absolutely terrifies me that I’ll be losing that part of my social life. It was almost like a high school (or even university) experience that I never had. It takes time for me to build relationships with people. And I have trouble establishing them. And having anxiety makes this a lot harder than it should be.
I really am going to miss that social element of working there and after not having felt that in a long time, it is daunting to think that I will have to start over again.
There’s just so many thing I’m afraid of right now that I’m not even sure what are fears and what are anxieties. Or maybe they are each causing the other and vice versa and it’s a vicious circle.
"My recommendation to the commissioner will be that Mr. Holmes and Miss Watson be terminated as consultants to the NYPD."
women are better than men = misandry
men are better than women = misogyny
men and women are equal = feminism
everyone is equal but also shit = misanthropy,
everyone’s equal when they’re dead = lesmiserables
everyone’s dead = supernatural
everyone’s important = doctor who
everyone’s an idiot = sherlock
everyone’s food = hannibal