Author's note: Because of Meryl Lynn's comments I just had to go look up what a Mary Sue was.
A Mary Sue:
1. unbelievably beautiful (Like Watson, except for the nose)
2. extraordinarily talented (Like Watson, on the flute)
3. continually saves the day (Like Watson... uh, oh...)
4. Is the child or lover of the author's favorite (Like Watson, double uh, oh...)
5. Is named after the author (Like Watson...)
About this point I slumped over my keyboard, totally depressed. Watson, queen of the Mary Sues.
So I, too, have fallen into this category of mindless, pointless fan fiction. And I have something to say about it: What's wrong with a Mary Sue? I'm just having fun, writing my own little fantasies. Yeah, theses stories are cheap, soupped up and copy-catted. But so what? I'm enjoying writing them, I enjoy reading them, and I'll going to continue to do so.
And in the end, that's all that matters.
And now, back to my own personal Mary Sue:
I dragged my feet down the corridor, absolutely exhausted, and it was only lunch. I slumped over to the lunch line and paid for a tray, only half-awake.
That's why when I turned around and saw Holmes holding Marianne's hand, I closed my eyes, took and deep breath, and counted to five.
But when I opened my eyes again, they were still holding hands. I watched in disbelief as Holmes whispered something softly to her.
And then, and you'll never believe this, HE KISSED HER! On the cheek! IN PUBLIC!
With a crash, I dumped my grilled cheese sandwich all over the floor. Holmes glanced up at me and I knelt and began to pick up the spilled food. Angrier than I've ever been and trying to choke back tears, I peeled the rubbery cheese from the floor. It was ruined, but so was my appetite. I slammed the whole messy tray into the garbage can, and stormed to an empty table.
I pulled my latest Agatha Christie novel from my backpack and pretended to read, not noticing that I was holding the book upside down.
Holmes sat down across from me. "Watson," he began, hurriedly.
"Don't you 'Watson' me," I said, dangerously low. "You - you - " While I searched for a cuss word Holmes interrupted.
"Watson, I'm simply trying to stay in her good graces for this inves-"
"HER GOOD GRACES? YOU KISSED HER!"
Now the people around us looked up and stared. Holmes blushed furiously. "She's been through a lot and I was only trying to get information..." He trailed off. "I was just being sympathetic."
"You're a player!" I said. "A lousy, dirty player!" I practically yelled in his face. Now the entire cafeteria was watching. "I can't believe you," I said, very, very softly. I hefted my backpack on to one shoulder and got up from the table.
As I walked from the cafeteria, biting my lip to keep back tears, I saw Marianne watching me. I expected her to smirk or give me a V for Victory or something but instead she looked... weird... almost angry.
Brushing a hand against my eyes, I turned down the hallway. I would go to the library and hide in the fiction section.
"WATSON!" Holmes had followed me. His hands were tight into fists and he was speaking through clenched teeth. "You did that on purpose - you publicly disgraced me because you were jealous!"
"Jealous?" I scoffed, as I turned to face him. "I wasn't jealous - I had my heart ripped out and stuffed down my throat in front of the entire school!"
"Your heart?" Holmes laughed, a sound that chilled me. "I have your heart?"
I felt my face turn bright red, and I wished I hadn't said anything. I turned and began to walk away - Holmes stayed where he was.
I kept my head down as I entered the library, and made my way to the back shelves. Dropping my pack and sliding to the floor, I covered my face with my hands.
"Sara?" I looked up. It was Brad. Cute Brad, with that pretty blond hair and deep blue eyes. "Mind if I sit?" he asked.
I shook my head, and he sank to the ground. "I'm really sorry," he said, and I looked away.
"Listen," he said, after a minute. "Maybe sometime we co..." The bell rang, and I didn't hear what he said last. I stood, flustered.
"Um, yeah, okay," I muttered and ran from the library. I headed for my science classroom, hiccuping just like Marianne.
And speak of the devil - I felt my backpack caught from behind and I whirled around to face her.
"You!" Marianne said, shaking. "How dare you say such things to Sherlock? Do you know what he said to me? Do you?"
I stared. "No..."
"I asked him out and he said no. No because of you, Watson." She accented my name with scorn.
I gulped, and Marianne turned on her heel with a tsk! of disgust. I felt my stomach sink to my toes. No wonder Holmes had been so angry.
I slouched in to chemistry and didn't look at Holmes as I sat next to him. We didn't speak to each other the entire class, or for the rest of that day.
But before he could get on the bus, I grabbed his arm. "Holmes, I'm really sorry - I - I didn't mean to embarrass you like that."
Holmes looked down the bridge of his nose at me. "Apology accepted," he said, a little coldly. I looked up at my friend. He had grown several inches, I noted, irritated, and his face had become so serious...
"So do you want my help or not?" I mumbled.
"Watson, you are essential."
"Thanks... I think. Why am I essential?"
Holmes boarded the bus. "I'll tell you later."
"Aren't you walking home with me?" I asked, hesitant to get on the bus and break our tradition.
"I'd rather ride today. Be at my house at seven thirty. Wear your uniform, I've got a plan." With that, the bus doors wheezed shut right in front of me. Fuming, I turned and walked away.
Who does that Sherlock Holmes think he is, anyway?
A Mary Sue:
1. unbelievably beautiful (Like Watson, except for the nose)
2. extraordinarily talented (Like Watson, on the flute)
3. continually saves the day (Like Watson... uh, oh...)
4. Is the child or lover of the author's favorite (Like Watson, double uh, oh...)
5. Is named after the author (Like Watson...)
About this point I slumped over my keyboard, totally depressed. Watson, queen of the Mary Sues.
So I, too, have fallen into this category of mindless, pointless fan fiction. And I have something to say about it: What's wrong with a Mary Sue? I'm just having fun, writing my own little fantasies. Yeah, theses stories are cheap, soupped up and copy-catted. But so what? I'm enjoying writing them, I enjoy reading them, and I'll going to continue to do so.
And in the end, that's all that matters.
And now, back to my own personal Mary Sue:
I dragged my feet down the corridor, absolutely exhausted, and it was only lunch. I slumped over to the lunch line and paid for a tray, only half-awake.
That's why when I turned around and saw Holmes holding Marianne's hand, I closed my eyes, took and deep breath, and counted to five.
But when I opened my eyes again, they were still holding hands. I watched in disbelief as Holmes whispered something softly to her.
And then, and you'll never believe this, HE KISSED HER! On the cheek! IN PUBLIC!
With a crash, I dumped my grilled cheese sandwich all over the floor. Holmes glanced up at me and I knelt and began to pick up the spilled food. Angrier than I've ever been and trying to choke back tears, I peeled the rubbery cheese from the floor. It was ruined, but so was my appetite. I slammed the whole messy tray into the garbage can, and stormed to an empty table.
I pulled my latest Agatha Christie novel from my backpack and pretended to read, not noticing that I was holding the book upside down.
Holmes sat down across from me. "Watson," he began, hurriedly.
"Don't you 'Watson' me," I said, dangerously low. "You - you - " While I searched for a cuss word Holmes interrupted.
"Watson, I'm simply trying to stay in her good graces for this inves-"
"HER GOOD GRACES? YOU KISSED HER!"
Now the people around us looked up and stared. Holmes blushed furiously. "She's been through a lot and I was only trying to get information..." He trailed off. "I was just being sympathetic."
"You're a player!" I said. "A lousy, dirty player!" I practically yelled in his face. Now the entire cafeteria was watching. "I can't believe you," I said, very, very softly. I hefted my backpack on to one shoulder and got up from the table.
As I walked from the cafeteria, biting my lip to keep back tears, I saw Marianne watching me. I expected her to smirk or give me a V for Victory or something but instead she looked... weird... almost angry.
Brushing a hand against my eyes, I turned down the hallway. I would go to the library and hide in the fiction section.
"WATSON!" Holmes had followed me. His hands were tight into fists and he was speaking through clenched teeth. "You did that on purpose - you publicly disgraced me because you were jealous!"
"Jealous?" I scoffed, as I turned to face him. "I wasn't jealous - I had my heart ripped out and stuffed down my throat in front of the entire school!"
"Your heart?" Holmes laughed, a sound that chilled me. "I have your heart?"
I felt my face turn bright red, and I wished I hadn't said anything. I turned and began to walk away - Holmes stayed where he was.
I kept my head down as I entered the library, and made my way to the back shelves. Dropping my pack and sliding to the floor, I covered my face with my hands.
"Sara?" I looked up. It was Brad. Cute Brad, with that pretty blond hair and deep blue eyes. "Mind if I sit?" he asked.
I shook my head, and he sank to the ground. "I'm really sorry," he said, and I looked away.
"Listen," he said, after a minute. "Maybe sometime we co..." The bell rang, and I didn't hear what he said last. I stood, flustered.
"Um, yeah, okay," I muttered and ran from the library. I headed for my science classroom, hiccuping just like Marianne.
And speak of the devil - I felt my backpack caught from behind and I whirled around to face her.
"You!" Marianne said, shaking. "How dare you say such things to Sherlock? Do you know what he said to me? Do you?"
I stared. "No..."
"I asked him out and he said no. No because of you, Watson." She accented my name with scorn.
I gulped, and Marianne turned on her heel with a tsk! of disgust. I felt my stomach sink to my toes. No wonder Holmes had been so angry.
I slouched in to chemistry and didn't look at Holmes as I sat next to him. We didn't speak to each other the entire class, or for the rest of that day.
But before he could get on the bus, I grabbed his arm. "Holmes, I'm really sorry - I - I didn't mean to embarrass you like that."
Holmes looked down the bridge of his nose at me. "Apology accepted," he said, a little coldly. I looked up at my friend. He had grown several inches, I noted, irritated, and his face had become so serious...
"So do you want my help or not?" I mumbled.
"Watson, you are essential."
"Thanks... I think. Why am I essential?"
Holmes boarded the bus. "I'll tell you later."
"Aren't you walking home with me?" I asked, hesitant to get on the bus and break our tradition.
"I'd rather ride today. Be at my house at seven thirty. Wear your uniform, I've got a plan." With that, the bus doors wheezed shut right in front of me. Fuming, I turned and walked away.
Who does that Sherlock Holmes think he is, anyway?