John Watson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stillhastrustissues) wrote2012-01-24 10:01 pm
stillhastrustissues) wrote2012-01-24 10:01 pm
Entry tags:
January 23rd
I think it might be stupid, keeping up a blog that doesn't technically exist here, on a case that isn't really a case and isn't looking easy to solve if it counts as one. The dates don't even line up properly. It was just March, for god's sake.
The shortest way of putting it is that I've somehow gotten kidnapped again, and that sexual intercourse is now apparently necessary to keep being alive. I'm very glad that I don't see my therapist anymore, and very, very glad that Harry will never read this.
Five days ago I woke up alone in an unfamiliar room, which really needs to stop happening to me. It was very well decorated and I didn't have a headache, which was an improvement. What made it especially different from any other occasion: I was also wearing a collar that wouldn't come off. Nothing fancy, and not chaining me to anything. Just a plain copper band with my address engraved into it. I was only wearing the collar, actually, which was very new. I'm not going into any more detail about that part. My clothes were just nearby anyway- but instead of my gun or my mobile being with them, there was just a strange little device I'd never seen before in my life. The same device I'm using to make this entry with, as a matter of fact, now that I've had time to get used to it. I didn't know how useful it might be, so I took it along when I left the room.
And nothing was there to stop me from doing it. Not even a note on the dresser.
I was unarmed, collared, and apparently I'd been out long enough to be transported out to the Mediterranean before I could even wake up, with technology I was only a bit sure I would be able to figure out at first. But I wasn't being guarded. Possibly watched by more than the maids, but nothing involving explosives or being shot at. Definitely an improvement. I was confused and more than a little angry about it all, so naturally, I tried to put in a call to Sherlock to get things over with. And to Lestrade. And one try to Emergency Services, which I suppose might say something about my priorities. But I hardly expected phoning an ambulance from out of the country would be all that useful. Eventually I realised that the calls weren't doing anything, so I stopped putting in numbers and started trying to pay more attention to what I could do with the blasted thing.
As it turns out, there's an entire communications network set up for this island, and I'm far from being the only captive. It's only safe to assume that I would have embarrassed myself past redemption if I'd never figured that out, so I'm glad that I did sooner rather than later. I put out a general call, asking where I was, how I'd gotten there, and very possibly requesting a knife to take to my collar, if anybody could spare it. Quite a few people were willing to let me ask questions and provide answers and helpful advice. I was politely informed that I was on an island controlled by Atia, the supposed goddess in control of everybody's collars. Which is to say, they all slowly but surely tighten until their wearers are strangled. And the only way to avoid dying was apparently to have sex on a regular basis and keep it from getting to that.
I don't know how it works. I didn't think to ask. I've seen terrible things and very recently hallucinated something very terrifying, but all of this... there are no words to describe what this is.
And as luck would have it, it turned out that not only am I really stuck on an island like this, but the other captives happen to include Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. Of course.
I spoke with both of them when they replied to my call: even had a cup of tea with Molly, which I think we both really needed. I have to give her credit, she's been coping better than a lot of people might in this situation. If there's one thing I've learned to respect it's courage under fire. After that, I went round to Sherlock's room- luckily enough, he hadn't found some reason to run off and nearly get himself killed while I was on the way there. We had a discussion about the state of things, what it all might mean, who or what this "Atia" really is, what our next steps should be, how long it takes these collars to kill a person. He very plainly refused to play along with Atia and shag somebody in order to live, so I refused to do it if he was going to refuse to do it, and we're now five days into an impromptu suicide pact. Typical fare, I think. He seems confident enough in the claim that death isn't going by the same rules here to risk brain damage from eventual lack of oxygen, at least, and I've hardly got that much for risking myself.
If we really do wind up asphyxiating and coming back, I think I might kill him again.
We spent the next couple of days after that settling in: started looking into jobs and going through whatever came up on the network. Sherlock managed to piss off a select number of people, to whom I still offer my apologies. More typical fare for him, really, so it was a bit of a relief to have to deal with it for once.
He's been acting strangely since I got here. Strange by his usual standards, I mean. One minute he's his usual self, the next he's being so friendly that I'm afraid to drink anything, and then suddenly he'll be off brooding. I don't know if it has to do with being here. I couldn't blame anybody for being off balance here, even someone like Sherlock who is very rarely off balance. I haven't been sure how to navigate around him lately: it feels almost like those first few months of living with him all over again. All I've really been doing is trying to keep an eye on him without managing to accidentally set him off, and that will have to do for now.
We went out looking at flats yesterday, though, and to get to know the layout better, and it seemed like he was doing better. Turning places down for things like hallway measurements and carpet color, and of course he made his final decision without calling for a vote. Molly and I deserve votes, I think, if we're all going to be living in the same building. I'll admit the place he wants is very nice. Quite possibly perfect. It's spacious, no signs of damp, and the furniture even looked sturdy enough to survive an impromptu fight, which I think we should always be prepared for. Even with three of us in the same area, I don't see how he expects us to be able to afford it. I'm going to ask about openings at the hospital, but I don't know how many hours I could manage to pick up there. Of course, I don't think we'll be seeing very many cases while we're here, so it might be that he expects to find a job... or possibly that I'll wind up looking for a second one.
I don't know. I'm sure things will somehow manage to work themselves out, they usually do.
The shortest way of putting it is that I've somehow gotten kidnapped again, and that sexual intercourse is now apparently necessary to keep being alive. I'm very glad that I don't see my therapist anymore, and very, very glad that Harry will never read this.
Five days ago I woke up alone in an unfamiliar room, which really needs to stop happening to me. It was very well decorated and I didn't have a headache, which was an improvement. What made it especially different from any other occasion: I was also wearing a collar that wouldn't come off. Nothing fancy, and not chaining me to anything. Just a plain copper band with my address engraved into it. I was only wearing the collar, actually, which was very new. I'm not going into any more detail about that part. My clothes were just nearby anyway- but instead of my gun or my mobile being with them, there was just a strange little device I'd never seen before in my life. The same device I'm using to make this entry with, as a matter of fact, now that I've had time to get used to it. I didn't know how useful it might be, so I took it along when I left the room.
And nothing was there to stop me from doing it. Not even a note on the dresser.
I was unarmed, collared, and apparently I'd been out long enough to be transported out to the Mediterranean before I could even wake up, with technology I was only a bit sure I would be able to figure out at first. But I wasn't being guarded. Possibly watched by more than the maids, but nothing involving explosives or being shot at. Definitely an improvement. I was confused and more than a little angry about it all, so naturally, I tried to put in a call to Sherlock to get things over with. And to Lestrade. And one try to Emergency Services, which I suppose might say something about my priorities. But I hardly expected phoning an ambulance from out of the country would be all that useful. Eventually I realised that the calls weren't doing anything, so I stopped putting in numbers and started trying to pay more attention to what I could do with the blasted thing.
As it turns out, there's an entire communications network set up for this island, and I'm far from being the only captive. It's only safe to assume that I would have embarrassed myself past redemption if I'd never figured that out, so I'm glad that I did sooner rather than later. I put out a general call, asking where I was, how I'd gotten there, and very possibly requesting a knife to take to my collar, if anybody could spare it. Quite a few people were willing to let me ask questions and provide answers and helpful advice. I was politely informed that I was on an island controlled by Atia, the supposed goddess in control of everybody's collars. Which is to say, they all slowly but surely tighten until their wearers are strangled. And the only way to avoid dying was apparently to have sex on a regular basis and keep it from getting to that.
I don't know how it works. I didn't think to ask. I've seen terrible things and very recently hallucinated something very terrifying, but all of this... there are no words to describe what this is.
And as luck would have it, it turned out that not only am I really stuck on an island like this, but the other captives happen to include Molly Hooper and Sherlock Holmes. Of course.
I spoke with both of them when they replied to my call: even had a cup of tea with Molly, which I think we both really needed. I have to give her credit, she's been coping better than a lot of people might in this situation. If there's one thing I've learned to respect it's courage under fire. After that, I went round to Sherlock's room- luckily enough, he hadn't found some reason to run off and nearly get himself killed while I was on the way there. We had a discussion about the state of things, what it all might mean, who or what this "Atia" really is, what our next steps should be, how long it takes these collars to kill a person. He very plainly refused to play along with Atia and shag somebody in order to live, so I refused to do it if he was going to refuse to do it, and we're now five days into an impromptu suicide pact. Typical fare, I think. He seems confident enough in the claim that death isn't going by the same rules here to risk brain damage from eventual lack of oxygen, at least, and I've hardly got that much for risking myself.
If we really do wind up asphyxiating and coming back, I think I might kill him again.
We spent the next couple of days after that settling in: started looking into jobs and going through whatever came up on the network. Sherlock managed to piss off a select number of people, to whom I still offer my apologies. More typical fare for him, really, so it was a bit of a relief to have to deal with it for once.
He's been acting strangely since I got here. Strange by his usual standards, I mean. One minute he's his usual self, the next he's being so friendly that I'm afraid to drink anything, and then suddenly he'll be off brooding. I don't know if it has to do with being here. I couldn't blame anybody for being off balance here, even someone like Sherlock who is very rarely off balance. I haven't been sure how to navigate around him lately: it feels almost like those first few months of living with him all over again. All I've really been doing is trying to keep an eye on him without managing to accidentally set him off, and that will have to do for now.
We went out looking at flats yesterday, though, and to get to know the layout better, and it seemed like he was doing better. Turning places down for things like hallway measurements and carpet color, and of course he made his final decision without calling for a vote. Molly and I deserve votes, I think, if we're all going to be living in the same building. I'll admit the place he wants is very nice. Quite possibly perfect. It's spacious, no signs of damp, and the furniture even looked sturdy enough to survive an impromptu fight, which I think we should always be prepared for. Even with three of us in the same area, I don't see how he expects us to be able to afford it. I'm going to ask about openings at the hospital, but I don't know how many hours I could manage to pick up there. Of course, I don't think we'll be seeing very many cases while we're here, so it might be that he expects to find a job... or possibly that I'll wind up looking for a second one.
I don't know. I'm sure things will somehow manage to work themselves out, they usually do.