My Stupid Stories

When I glance over my blogs and photos of myself and Sherlock between the years ’04 and ’15, I am faced by so many which present strange and interesting features that it is no easy matter to know which to choose and which to leave. Some have previously seen light in my blogging, and others would not be deemed suitable for the musings about my dear friend, whilst a few would identify her kindly nature that betrays the aloof and analytical body that she wishes to portray to the world. This particular story will do just this.

The year ’15 had furnished us with a multitude of work, resulting in her resettlement in Ireland and my fast decline in health and the resultant confinement to this wretched perambulation contraption; these two facts bear no correlation, but remain noteworthy for the purposes of the scene. Sherlock had since purchased a substantial property, acquired some Strange objects to fascinate her and begun a collection of historical automobiles which in some otherworldly fashion crossed to the other side once in her possession. All these I may sketch out at some future date, but none of them present such singular features as the strange train of circumstances which I have now taken up my pen to describe.

It was New Years Day of ’16, and as a coincidence also my 36th birthday. All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the sheltered Downs of the South we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognise the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilisation, like untamed beasts in a cage. My mood had reflected that of the weather, having been detained from my bed by our guests the night previous to celebrate the appearance of the New Year. With much fuss and confusion, I agreed to join my gathered family members that morning and acknowledge the passing of another year on this earth. I was presented with a most unusual gift by Mr Geek containing a cryptic message within the intricate silver workings of a beautiful necklace. I identified the chemical composition as dopamine with haste and assumed that this was a reference to my current use of the painkilling substance morphine, to which dopamine is so closely linked. This necklace offered me a clue to things which I had not the presence of mind to see.

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As evening drew in, the storm grew higher and louder, and the wind cried and sobbed like a child in the chimney. I received a message from my dear absent friend wishing me well with a “I hope you have a happy birthday Sherlock”, supposedly alluding to the evenings entertainment as well as our pen names for each other. Perhaps it was my contrary mood, but with I as Watson, this was not wholly accurate. Being aware of the imminent requirement to leave my residence in order to attend a social event some miles away at the theatre, I was very much inclined to cry like the child in the chimney myself.

Looking directly at Mr Geek who was busying himself readying my clothes for the evening, I said “I am tired my dear. Do you think it wise to go out this evening?”.

“Watson! We have made fast plans and we will not dissapoint the others” He scolded, and continued to help me dress. I determined that I would wear both my new necklace and bracelet which was half of a whole that I had shared with Sherlock the Christmas hence. On affixing my necklace, I discovered that my bracelet had vanished from my bedside cabinet and was nowhere to be seen.

It was with a heavy heart, and an empty wrist that we departed for the theatre at which we were to watch the annual Moffat production which I had previously enjoyed each year with Sherlock. The loss of this simple silver piece ignited a sense of loss that had previously been well hidden.

The collection of my sister-in-law and her good man served to lighten my spirits as we travelled to our destination. “Will there be additional content, do you think?” Suggested Ms Bouffet.

“I would believe so.”

“I hope” she said, “that the content may be earlier than that for the general populous. Or at the least with additional detail.”

“The timing would indeed suggest so”

My conversation was lacking and as such was noted by my travelling companions who asked after my health. I was indeed in a substantial volume of discomfort and explained that my demeanour was due to the ineffectual medication. I did not allude to my earlier emotional state over a simple bracelet as this would have made me appear quite unhinged.

Upon our arrival at our destination, I spent some considerable time talking with Ms Bouffet’s good gentleman, discussing several shared interests and his plans for future detective work. Engrossed in this most fascinating of conversations, I was to be surprised my a pair of hands appearing over my eyes!

Initially fearful as my vision was robbed from me, my emotions were quick to change upon hearing a familiar voice from behind asking “Did you miss me?”.

Refusing to believe my own senses, I turned my chair around and discovered that trusting my reactions was a fruitful venture. “Sherlock!” Cried I.

“Hello Watson.”

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My beloved Sherlock had flown hundreds of miles over the New Year festivities at at the behest of Mr Geek to surprise me at my own birthday gathering. I could not have been happier.

The group, Sherlock & I located our seats at the first opportunity laden with a sugar coated feast that would see us through several performances and settled on to thoroughly enjoy the visual and cerebral on screen delights bestowed upon us by Moffat & Gatis. We were not to be dissapointed and whilst I may not be physically able to move to the edge of my seat anymore, nonetheless there I remained.

As the evening drew to its inevitable end, the mood remained high. It would seem that all were aware of this plan and had played their own parts, sending messages wishing a Happy New Year “from afar” and leaving discreet clues.
I had been the only one not to put each of the pieces together and deduce their plan.

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“And necklace with dopamine.” Explained Mr Geek, “So you will always be happy.”

Sherlock looked at me with her eyes as sharp as ever. “Elementary, my dear Watson”.

Footnote:

My Dearest Sherlock,

Thank you for flying all the way here just to see me on my birthday. I couldn’t have asked for a better present and seeing you utterly made my day. Extra points for spending the following day in ridiculous onsies and making plans to take over the world.

I also owe thanks to Messrs Geeks for buying tickets, looking after children & keeping such an enormous secret. I will be over to see you soon larger & hairier Geek and will give you such a hug! I miss you just as much xx

Putting several hundred miles and a sea between us doesn’t stop the four of us being the best of friends.

Yours as ever & without condition.

Watson.

For authenticity, and a particularly nerdy reference to the episode, some snippets were taken and adapted from The Five Orange Pips from the original Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

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Spoon Theory In Action – Ireland Part 2

Continued from part 1

Day 3 Friday

Spoon total : -10

I slept in until 9am this morning, not even hearing the kids. Mr Geek gently poked me and suggested that I may want to emerge as Beanpole was up and having breakfast (it’s her 11th birthday!). Still clad in pyjamas, I shuffled out to give my birthday girl a hug. 

Spoons +2 for lay in

The kids were far to excited to eat properly, and in true Enid Blyton style porridge was shoveled down necks and they raced off to tidy up and pack before the birthday cake was unleashed. As we waited for operation tidy up to actually commence, I sipped on the protein shake that has become my breakfast of choice (or rather necessity, as anything that isn’t smooth is now getting stuck before hitting my stomach, or just makes me feel sick). Whizzy asked what it was and asked if it was milkshake. “Sort of”. “Can I has some?”. I let her taste a bit and the facial reaction received was priceless. My 3 year old youngest goddaughter managed to convey with that one facial expression the difference between a real milkshake and a protein shake. 

Spoons -2

Next up was packing up our bits and time for air travel safe presents! Poor Beanpole was so tired she barely noticed the books and cards handed to her and was terribly weirded out by her birthday being completely unusual for her. She’s a creature of habit and likes to know what’s about to happen.

  
Spoons -2

The plan was to visit some of Mrs GypsyTree’s family as they were staying in a local holiday complex. What we had gauged was a 30 minute journey, was actually 50, but if nothing else gave the kids time to nap in the car, and nap they did.

Spoons -2

The place we were visiting was totally set up for outdoorsy kids and they almost instantly found the playground. And the mud. Oh, so much mud. But at least they were happy… Or just odd. I’m pretty sure they were happy though.

  

The kids played, we followed them about and chatted with Mrs GypsyTree’s lovely family, and I finally got a chance for a quick selfie with Mrs GypsyTree whilst we watched from the safe Tarmac by the playground. 

  

Selfie shot done, it was time to go.

Spoons -4

As we gathered our things, it dawned on the Beanpoles that time to go actually meant time to say goodbye until at least February. That’s a long time to miss out on seeing your surrogate sister. It dawned on me that the Beanpoles miss each other just as much as I miss Mrs GypsyTree.

  
Spoons -2

After another special day that meant a lot to all of us, we headed back to the house to collect our things then headed up to the airport for the trip home. Saying goodbye to the munchkins and Mr GypsyTree was hard and far too rushed, but we left them in a place where they’re happy. And that’s all you can ask for anyone. 
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Spoons -3

In the car, the kids regaled Mrs GypsyTree with every random story they could come up with, despite it being the end of a very long day. Dinner was junk food at the airport before a particularly eventful flight home.

We eventually landed and reached our car at 11.30pm.

Spoons -8

Once at the car, I dozed as we drove home having taken my evening meds 4 hours later than normal and beyond exhausted. 

Spoons -2

End of day total: -33
Saturday Morning

Getting out of bed isn’t happening. Even with my refreshed 20 spoons, I’m waking up with a deficit of 13 spoons. I feel like the walking dead and act like it all day, spending the whole day in my pyjamas clutching my reflux beaten chest whilst laying inside my mega pillow on the sofa. I briefly got up to attempt dinner, but decided that bed was a much better prospect. 

Thankfully, despite more painsomnia, Sunday was a much better day.
Someone needs to learn how to manage her spoons better.