Dr. John Watson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
damnmyleg) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trainingwings2011-12-30 08:06 pm
damnmyleg) wrote in trainingwings2011-12-30 08:06 pm
Entry tags:
Oh why am I doing this. [written / action]
[Three months since they first arrived in Luceti. Three months to adjust to this place, to having wings (John's were a bit beat up, but what could he complain about?), all the people here and - Good Lord -- the lack of money was rather intoxicating. He'd always been having trouble keeping it ever since he was discharged, now he finally didn't need it.
Luceti was quickly becoming a sort of haven for John Watson. Where in London he was going between wanting normalcy to wanting adventure in almost bi monthly cycles, here he had both and plenty of. Life was nice here, and when things got too...dull there were the drafts. (of which he disapproved but the danger was irresistible.) The mallynapping was the worst thing he could think of in this place and truly it was just as worse each time. John could only hope it wouldn't be his turn any time soon. What in the world could they do to him?
He didn't quite like to think about that.
John was, as it turned out, very good at distracting himself. He could do whatever really came to mind - which wasn't a lot but it was good. For him at least. He even managed to set up a little practice in the town, what with there not being a modern time doctor around.
That always weirded him out, the time differences. And the different realities people seemed to be from. You'd never see a walking, talking turtle in London but here no one so much as batted an eyelash!
Speaking of being weirded out - here he was at the library for nostalgia's sake (he really preferred reading books to computer screens too.) when he found a section with books titled completely with Sherlock's name. He didn't dare open them but he did open his journal up to write a question, hoping someone might know without messing with his head.]
Who's this Arthur Conan Doyle fellow?
----
Player Name: Kim
Are you new?: Nope
Character Name: Doctor John H. Watson
Character Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
Luceti was quickly becoming a sort of haven for John Watson. Where in London he was going between wanting normalcy to wanting adventure in almost bi monthly cycles, here he had both and plenty of. Life was nice here, and when things got too...dull there were the drafts. (of which he disapproved but the danger was irresistible.) The mallynapping was the worst thing he could think of in this place and truly it was just as worse each time. John could only hope it wouldn't be his turn any time soon. What in the world could they do to him?
He didn't quite like to think about that.
John was, as it turned out, very good at distracting himself. He could do whatever really came to mind - which wasn't a lot but it was good. For him at least. He even managed to set up a little practice in the town, what with there not being a modern time doctor around.
That always weirded him out, the time differences. And the different realities people seemed to be from. You'd never see a walking, talking turtle in London but here no one so much as batted an eyelash!
Speaking of being weirded out - here he was at the library for nostalgia's sake (he really preferred reading books to computer screens too.) when he found a section with books titled completely with Sherlock's name. He didn't dare open them but he did open his journal up to write a question, hoping someone might know without messing with his head.]
Who's this Arthur Conan Doyle fellow?
----
Player Name: Kim
Are you new?: Nope
Character Name: Doctor John H. Watson
Character Fandom: BBC's Sherlock
[audio]
Normally, Sherlock Holmes has no real interest in literature. Like astronomy, what others might consider "primary school knowledge" he considers "useless." But his name... Curiosity and ego both needed sating at seeing that on the library shelves. ...Admittedly, he'd looked up his own name in the library database for the same reason he plugged his name occasionally into search engines. He wanted to know.
And he had found this.]
"...Observation with me is second nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you had come from Afghanistan."
"You were told, no doubt."
"Nothing of the sort. I knew you came from Afghanistan. From long habit the train of thoughts ran so swiftly through my mind that I arrived at the conclusion without being conscious of intermediate steps. There were such steps, however. The train of reasoning ran, "Here is a gentleman of a medical type, but with the air of a military man. Clearly an army doctor, then. He has just come from the tropics, for his face is dark, and that is not the natural tint of his skin, for his wrists are fair. He has undergone hardship and sickness, as his haggard face says clearly. His left arm has been injured. He holds it in a stiff and unnatural manner. Where in the tropics could an English army doctor have seen much hardship and got his arm wounded? Clearly in Afghanistan." The whole train of thought did not occupy a second. I then remarked that you came from Afghanistan, and you were astonished."
"It is simple enough as you explain it," I said, smiling. "You remind me of Edgar Allan Poe's Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories."
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet, 1887.
[audio]
And that's -- [Ahem] -- that's in the books then?
[audio]
It begins--
[The sound of pages flipping, hurried. Whether through agitation, excitement or both... Sherlock isn't revealing in his tone. Not yet.]
IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and was already deep in the enemy's country. I followed, however, with many other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties.
The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.
And later--
"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?" he asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets. "You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut."
I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination.
"Poor devil!" he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my misfortunes. "What are you up to now?"
"Looking for lodgings." I answered. "Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price."
"That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second man to-day that has used that expression to me."
"And who was the first?" I asked.
"A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse."
"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone."
Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. "You don't know Sherlock Holmes yet," he said; "perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion."
[...Does he give a thought for reading pages and pages without explanation and possibly boring or confusing John?
Not at the moment.]
[audio]
[Kind of overwhelming to have the equivalent of your service years be told in a few paragraphs narrated by the 19th century version of yourself by your friend. Yeah he's just going to be reminding himself of the question he wanted to ask before:]
Why do you have this book handy anyways? [he could guess at the answer.]
[audio]
I've been reading it.
[audio]
[Yes, he really did just ask that.]
[audio]
[...Probably best not to ask what hour it was when he was going through the library.]
[audio]
What time did you even leave?
[audio]
[Though he didn't start reading for some time. And has put it down (and once thrown it into a wall) several times since then.]
[video]
[video]
But that's not the point right now.
The point is that I happened to see my name, found one of these... books... and brought it back to the flat. By then, you'd gone out yourself, so it wasn't as if I could tell you then.
I don't like it, John. It's... wrong. But it's not. It should not be correct. This man lived, John, in the eighteen hundreds. He wrote a story about -- called "The Final Problem" in 1893. I've only glanced at it, John, but it's there.
"Moriarty."
1893, John.
[video]
Anything useful in there?
[video]
We'll need to read them all. Fifty-six short stories, four novels. [Yes, he did just say "we."] Account for changes in the years and technology.
But it's possible. Yes. It's very, very possible that we might find something in these. Something to help us corner him.
[video]
Sherlock, we won't remember anything from here. Nothing. What's the point?
[video]
We have time. We have potential resources. We may have what we need to have him.
And you want to-- to disregard the opportunity because people claim-- with no evidence offered thus far-- we won't retain anything. If we don't, fine. We've only lost time we would have anyway, but if we do and we have done nothing. Then we've lost the time, the resources, and him.
Two of the most dangerous men in England, John. And for all we know, we have the information to snare them in the palms of our hands.
[Action] Late as hell, so idk if you still want to reply!
She also isn't exactly observant, but eventually, she does notice she has company. Oh, it's that nice man who came here a little while ago. Time to wander over!]
Hello.
[voice]