So far, yes. Unfortunately I am still a stranger to it all. She only let herself create this so-called "journal" for me a few days ago after over a month's longing so I can't yet say what silly plans of hers will befall me.
But you, my dear Mary, are as new to your own writer as I am mine. I hope you don't share that space in her head with any unsavory characters.
She is obviously very sensible. [Anyone who picks Mary over Sherlock is though. Probably. wait that wasn't supposed to be a reflection of Watson's own sensibleness.]
[Huh, why would... a girl expect him to recognize her...?]
Oh I see, so you're John's new one then. That was quick. I'll do my best, but quite honestly, you're all so difficult to separate--the success rate is astonishingly low.
Engaged? You'd have to know him for more than a few days, first, and it seems unlikely that will happen considering that you seem to be verging on a psychotic breakdown.
I suppose there's a space somewhere that I could store it in, but from what I've seen of my other self's existence, nearly everything happens differently, so I doubt it matters.
You'd really prefer him to remain with you and your adventures for the rest of your lives, wouldn't you? [There's no judging tone, she's honestly curious.]
I noted to your counterpart, once, that he cared for my John as much as I did. [She smiles a little, relieved that, whatever else might change, Waston will still have Holmes to look after him.]
Really. What a strange assumption; to think that I have the capability to care for him at all. [He tries to keep that as under-wraps as possible, goodness Mary.]
Without your skill, Mr Holmes, assumption is all I have to work with. [She lifts a finger to her lips, still smiling. Your secret is safe with her, Mr Holmes.]
I did mean to ask: my writer tells me your John doesn't have Gladstone with him.
A dog small enough to live in a flat but tough enough to compensate for that and aid in his everlasting quest for masculinity. Not a dog which sheds profusely, though, because he has to deal with patients. [That cuts out a lot of small dogs--leaving the more wiry-haired ones, out of which he pulls...] A bulldog, naturally.
Not every mind is capable of the perspicacity necessary to hold mine.
[Brief smile. That's nice, right? That's polite. Complimenting yourself is better than insulting someone else, especially when it has the benefit of being true.]
Many people find that Mr. Holmes is more to their taste from a distance than at quite such close quarters. And it's fortunate that that is the case, otherwise where would the rest of us be?
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[jk, Sherlock, wherever you are.]
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[She knows how much you like him, don't try to front.]
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[He's actually meaning to say he's quite happy you're here, Mary.]
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[There's no need to say it, and she doesn't have to be Sherlock to read it in him.] Has you writer been treating you well?
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But you, my dear Mary, are as new to your own writer as I am mine. I hope you don't share that space in her head with any unsavory characters.
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I'm not sure whether I find that comforting or more worrying!
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My writer promises I am in no danger, dearest. She says she will put the fear of you into them.
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[He's joking, of course.]
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wait that wasn't supposed to be a reflection of Watson's own sensibleness.]I think you're in good hands.
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/THREADJACKING YOUR THREADJACK
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My name is Mary, Mr Holmes. Mary Morstan. I'll thank you not to forget it again.
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Oh I see, so you're John's new one then. That was quick. I'll do my best, but quite honestly, you're all so difficult to separate--the success rate is astonishingly low.
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But she'll smile instead. She'll leave the violence to John.] I'm certain our engagement will give you plenty of time to remember it.
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Engaged? You'd have to know him for more than a few days, first, and it seems unlikely that will happen considering that you seem to be verging on a psychotic breakdown.
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Not your Watson, Mr Holmes. [Not yet.] You pride yourself on deduction. Deduce which John Watson I am engaged to.
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I suppose there's a space somewhere that I could store it in, but from what I've seen of my other self's existence, nearly everything happens differently, so I doubt it matters.
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You'd really prefer him to remain with you and your adventures for the rest of your lives, wouldn't you? [There's no judging tone, she's honestly curious.]
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I don't expect him to. [That was his clinical-resigned tone because yes he would prefer it ;_;]
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I noted to your counterpart, once, that he cared for my John as much as I did. [She smiles a little, relieved that, whatever else might change, Waston will still have Holmes to look after him.]
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Really. What a strange assumption; to think that I have the capability to care for him at all. [He tries to keep that as under-wraps as possible, goodness Mary.]
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I did mean to ask: my writer tells me your John doesn't have Gladstone with him.
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Gladstone? No, he doesn't have any of that with him--he must have left it in the last century.
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Not it, who. Gladstone is John's dog, whom you are very fond of killing on a regular basis.
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[
trololololol <3]no subject
A dog small enough to live in a flat but tough enough to compensate for that and aid in his everlasting quest for masculinity. Not a dog which sheds profusely, though, because he has to deal with patients. [That cuts out a lot of small dogs--leaving the more wiry-haired ones, out of which he pulls...] A bulldog, naturally.
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[Brief smile. That's nice, right? That's polite. Complimenting yourself is better than insulting someone else, especially when it has the benefit of being true.]
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