{ The Blog of Doctor Molly Hooper – October 30, 2008
Hello all! I had a good Thursday, how was yours? I must say, year twenty-seven of being on this Earth has gone a lot better than my past years. I've been working by myself at work for nearly five months and I have already been praised by the higher ups for my "precise and nearly flawless" work. While I (humbly) admit I was at the top of my class in school, and I take pride in what I do, and how I do it, I wouldn't say I am nearly flawless. Everyone has flaws. Some worse than others. But nevertheless, it was a really shining moment for me. Since my Dad died nine year ago, I haven't really had many people cheer me on and recognize the good work that I do enough to praise me for it. It felt really, really good. Like I was floating!
I was talking to Lanie today; she sometimes helps out in the lab when we are overrun and understaffed. It doesn't happen too often, but I enjoy seeing her. She kept teasing me about tomorrow. Halloween. In the morgue. Alone. The evening shift. OOOH, scary eh? I've thought about it, but I think I'm in the clear. If any vengeful ghost came out of one of those fridge compartments, I'm pretty sure I am not the one they would want revenge on, as I help them, not hurt them. However, we may have more of an issue in the case of zombies!
I'm just kidding, I don't believe in zombies, and only a teeny part of me believes in ghosts, or rather, angels. Kind of the same thing if you think about it though. Halloween is a fun holiday. I'm hoping I will be home in time to hand out candy to all the cute kiddos; I always enjoy seeing the costumes they wear. It makes me remember back when I was a tween, and teen. My dad and I would take my little brother Matty out trick-or-treating and then once he was in bed, we would watch scary movies or marathons of "The Twilight Zone". It was always a good time. I wish my childhood were more like my brother's, but not everyone is dealt a good hand in life. I'm just glad he was young enough to forget the bad days before my Dad got full custody. I'm glad he knew that at least had a father and big sister that loved him and cared for him.
Some people (Meena) have asked me if I hate or despise my mother for everything terrible she did. I don't think it's possible to carry hate in my heart, as it would only bring me down as a person, and I don't want any part of being even a tiny miniscule bit like her. However, memories of her scare me to this day, more so than any ghosts or zombies could. Maybe it's too cruel to say, but the real monsters in this world don't come in the form of ghosts, goblins, zombies, or skeletons, they are simply people like my mother. People with amazing disguises in public who are absolutely despicable behind closed doors. Granted, I know a part of it could have been her sickness, her alcoholism. But I think that is a very rocky strait, as I know that not all alcoholics or addicts are abusive, hateful people. Some of them are very kind people who just have struggles they need to work on. I don't talk about my mother much because there is simply nothing to talk about. She's not in my life, nor do I want or need her in it. That's all there is to the current story regarding her. Matty knows what she did in the past and he made his own decision not to go looking for her either. He can be very protective of me, and even though I'm older, he's taller and buffer from the Army! LOL.
Anyway, I hope you all sleep well tonight and have a lovely Halloween tomorrow! Spoil those kids rotten if you have them, because you are very lucky that they are happy and healthy (believe me). Even if you don't have kids, give them all a little extra candy. You never know what goes on at their home, and what could give them just a tiny bit more joy. Goodnight!
X X X Molly }
The next day, Molly shudders as the chill of the morgue seeps into her bones. Wrapping her lab coat tighter around her, she rolls the body back into the 013 fridge compartment and smiles. She snaps off her gloves and throws them into the waste bin as she heads back to her office. Slipping her lab coat off, she grabs her keys and locks up, heading to the women's locker room. She's glad the locker rooms have automatic lights, because knowing how clumsy she is, she would probably stumble around for ages trying to find the light switch. Walking to her locker, she unlocks it and grabs her fall coat, replacing it with her lab coat and retrieving her purse.
The floors squeak with every step of her shoes within that dingy basement level as she makes her way to the parking garage. Admittedly, she does feel a bit creepy, but it's probably due to all the looks she got from everyone today. They all know by now that she's the "morgue girl", or her personal favorite, the "woman of the dead". Molly chuckles softly as she unlocks her car and gets into it, driving back to her small flat.
Once inside, she empties the candy that she bought the other day into the pumpkin shaped bucket that she uses every year and changes into a cute unicorn onesie that she has. When she and Meena had gone to the mall a few years back, they had seen the most adorable adult animal onesies and dared each other to get one. Molly chose the unicorn, and Meena had chose a leopard. Molly giggles to herself, remembering how foolish they felt buying them, but hey, they make for a great, quick Halloween costume to show the kids.
Molly spends the next three hours handing out candy to the little children of the surrounding blocks, before changing into some pajamas and settling on her sofa with the marathon of "The Twilight Zone" playing. She munches on some of her favorite candy and wraps herself in her favorite fuzzy blanket, looking forward to having her weekend free.
{ The Digital Journal of Sherlock Holmes – October 31, 2008
Well, I feel the way I did three years ago nearly to the date. I am (again) currently four months into my drug program, past detox, almost finished with post-detox counseling, and I'll be out of here within two weeks. Lestrade has been checking in on me, which, as much as I despise most people, he's pretty tolerable. What has NOT been very tolerable today are the cheery doctors and nurses in disgustingly tacky garb walking around with candy that ISN'T laced. Halloween is just a lame excuse for adults to act like stupid children as if they aren't stupid and juvenile enough already.
So far I have evaded having to actually shadow Lestrade at his job, even though I had made a bit of a deal with him three years ago that I would. However, I have had plenty of time in here to think, and I have come to the conclusion that if I want to actually get a handle on my life, I should TRY to advance my skills. Unfortunately that may require keeping my end of the bargain from a few years ago. I like to think I'm a bit more mature than I was back then, but then again...if I truly were I probably wouldn't be back in rehab. I suppose I'll tell him that I will try the shadowing thing. I really do want to stop being dependant of Mycroft, and I believe dealing with Lestrade as a bit of a boss/helicopter big brother (as if one wasn't enough already) would be better than having to see Mycroft's smugness at my dependency every time I see his gruesome face. Plus, as I said, advancing my skills would be a plus, and one thing I could hold over Mycroft. More knowledge of crime, murder, and the dead.
I haven't typed much over the course of the last four months because I was busy vomiting my life away, or sweating so much someone could mop the floor with it. Then there was the shaking and the irritation...if people thought I was an ass before, they would not want to be anywhere in my vicinity when I am detoxing. I am an absolute monster. It's not like I set out to make the nurses cry…it just sort of happened. I suppose I should apologize. I may dislike the human race as a whole, but my mother still taught me manners. Then again, it's not like she could scold me because she doesn't know, plus I am a grown man.
You see, the thing about being high isn't /just/ the exhilaration and the rush I get from it. It's the fact that I get to stop. That's it, just stop. Everything. Thinking, feeling, trying, failing, being. I get to just stop. Being me isn't as easy as people think, nor as straight-laced. Yes, I am a genius with a superior intellectual ability and an unshakeable mindset most the time. But apparently (as Mycroft and my parents tell me) I was a severely emotional child. Emotion has always been taught to me by my elder brother as being a sort of evil, unnecessary, a fraying rope when you need it most. That it will always let you down and always get in the way of the intellectual core of everything, the important information normal people never see when they are clouded with it.
I began writing these digital entries at a suggestion from my old therapist...from the last time I detoxed. Something about letting my heart speak or some crap; ugh. But she wasn't all wrong. I won't outwardly express "feelings" to anyone ever if I can help it. Apparently, that's just the curse of being human. It's not only that though, it's the fact that when I write these, I feel as though someone is listening or rather, reading, even when they aren't. It's more sane than talking to a skull on the table of my tiny flat.
I'd never EVER admit this to anyone, or even let anyone read these, but the other reason why I type these is because I have always felt stuck. Never truly whole, but two parts of a person, two parts of two different lives almost. It's very difficult to explain. It's as if half of me wants so badly to be this cold-hearted intellectual with all the answers, and the other half of me feels like I could still be the child my parents speak of, even if I don't remember much from back then. I do still feel, maybe more than anyone, even myself will ever realize. But the good/bad (however you see it) part of that is that I don't want to feel. I'm sick of feeling. Because Mycroft was right—feeling makes my life worse than the reality already is. It adds a deeper, more depressing level to it. The drugs are blissful because they numb me. That's all I really want to be for the rest of my life, because it's easier. Unfeeling, cold, unattached, uninvolved, intellectual...numb.
SH }
Sherlock sighs as he puts his laptop away and taps his fingers on the table before returning to his room. He goes over and peers out of the window, looking at the fairly impressive view of London. He feels broken and lost, despite getting his sobriety back, and wonders what he will be like as a crime-solver. Or at least a shadow of a crime-solver, no doubt he will learn quickly, but will he enjoy it? Who knows.
He decides to roam the halls and put his deduction skills to use on as many people as possible, just to assess them, make sure they're at peak efficiency, sharpen them and hone them even more so he can stun all the morons at New Scotland Yard a couple short weeks from now.
Leaving his room again, he passes a few nurses and moves to the main area, many other residents are playing games, reading, or talking. He counts four…no, five of them that were made to come here due to some sort of blackmail, three that don't actually have a problem and just wanted a place to stay, and one who is having an affair with one of the nurses. All the rest of them do actually have a problem, and came here the way he did, of their own accord.
Sherlock shakes his head and rubs his face, wondering how his life had turned out like this; why he was like this. Of course he wanted to be successful, he wanted to use his mind for something he could really enjoy, really feel the thrill of. Unfortunately, he has no clue what that is quite yet. You would think at twenty-nine you would know what you'd want to do with your life, but no, not him. Not Sherlock Holmes. He's still the loser little brother depending on his big brother's money to pay his rent and drugs to feel invigorated by something. Bollocks.
"Lestrade had better teach me something productive when I hold up my end of the deal, or there is absolutely no hope for me in this dumbed down society whatsoever, and I may as well just overdose in silent, numbed glory", he thinks.