A/N: Well, I know there's a few of these, but it seemed interesting to try and write from John Watson's point of view. As in, his blog. I hope you enjoy this, there will be more blog entries to come. Hopefully. c:

I don't own Sherlock. Not at all.

Fired the psychiatrist. I don't really need one now. And yet I'm writing this. I'm not exactly sure why. She said writing about things that happened would help, but really, nothing happened to me before. I guess everything happens to me now.

It's about 11:00 now, and I sure as hell can't sleep. Can't really eat, either, though I did miss dinner. Sherlock's left another head in the fridge. I really think we need another fridge of some sort, at least a bar fridge, for him to store his experiments. As brilliant as that man is, he seems to have no regard for my eating habits. I can't eat with a head staring at me, and there's no room in the fridge for any real food anyway. I would order something, but it's really too late for most places and I'm not sure I want to drive. I guess I'll just go hungry.

We've just finished another case. This is one of the few that I can't even think of naming. I'd say something like "Case In Point" because it dealt with a hostage at gunpoint, but the gun had been fake anyway. It was an open and shut case, one that I'm sure Sherlock would have been bored of if it wasn't for the traps the hostage-taker put between us and himself. It's dangerous if he gets bored.

Lately he's been assaulting the wall again, wondering when we'll get something worthwhile. I don't think the poor wall can take any more damage. Mrs. Hudson is definitely getting upset over it. A few bullet holes has turned into a gaping hole, which we've both been informed we need to pay for. Great. I'm still more than a little unemployed, and my pension really isn't going to pay for that. Sherlock doesn't make that much money himself, he only accepts what I accept for him.

Is it bad that I'm starting to feel the same way? About cases, I mean. Before I met him, I was just a citizen of London, and afterwards, I've seen through everything I looked at before. I'm slowly learning from him - yes, I'll admit that it's a rather slow process - but on the way I'm finding myself equally bored. It's not decent, as Mrs. Hudson says, but there's not much for someone like me to do on other days. I think I'm even more slowly starting to see into the mind of Sherlock. And I'm more than a tiny bit afraid of what I'll find there.

He's a brilliant man, of course. Far from the amateur I thought he had been. But there are parts of him I would never want to be like. He says he is uncaring, insensitive, and sometimes, I believe him. There's other times that I could never believe him, like the day in the pool when he'd been so stricken at the bombs strapped on me. I can remember all too well the earnest in which he forced them off me and threw the jacket across the floor. And then there's his ability to know someone before they even know him. Know things that they might not willingly tell him. He knew I was a military doctor from Afghanistan from just about the moment I'd met him. Of course, I suppose I would have told him this eventually, but my military service record is not something I would have offered to a near stranger. I probably would not have told him that my limp had come from being shot, either. Not right away.

I couldn't bare to see everything about everyone. He does say it must be boring in my mind, in the minds of everyone else, but he can be arrogant that way. It's one of those things one must put up with when living with Sherlock Holmes. I don't mind him, of course, you grow accustomed to his mannerisms. His boredom, his frustration, his ways of thinking - it's all part of getting to know the man.

I am slowly getting tired, and I suppose it's about time that I go upstairs to bed. I should have done so long ago. Even Sherlock, who I thought never sleeps, is asleep. But I suppose I should end this on something important. My important statement is simple:

Despite everything, I have come to realize that Sherlock is a great man, and a friend anyone would ask for. He will probably read this in the morning and wonder why I've called him arrogant, but I hope he realizes that his odd mannerisms and personality don't stop me from saying this again: Sherlock is a great man.

He's also asleep right now. I'm not sure which is more surprising to all of those who read this.

JW

(p.s. And now, look, I've started signing my name like him too. This is just spectacular. Or maybe it's the exhaustion talking. Either way, Watson out.)