A/N Purists might consider this a filler chapter. So if you don't like fillers, skip it. Honestly, I was mostly just playing around. This chapter is certainly not critical to the exciting (hopefully exciting) dénouement which is still several chapters away. (Yes, I just had to throw out the word dénouement. Yes, I am playing with words again. I am a very silly person :D)
Warnings, I think there is some swearing in this chapter, so rated M.
Also, I'd like to take this time to remind readers not to drink and read fanfic at the same time. We've been through this before gang. BTW, it is also illegal to drive and read fanfic in most states in the USA. It may be illegal in other countries too. Let me know.
And finally…
Chapter 39
The Blog of John H. Watson
Day 1 of my incarceration. I cannot post this on line, because someone blocked me from the Internet. Nevertheless I am writing this blog so that future generations will learn of the British government conspiracy that allowed a simple war veteran to be imprisoned on the bitter-cold altar of expediency. Maybe it will help some other poor sod who gets into a situation like this.
Although I doubt anyone except me would ever get into a situation like this.
Also, I should make this perfectly clear, the conditions of my incarceration do not follow the rule of law nor do they comply with the terms of the Geneva Convention.
So, back to day 1. I awoke alone in my bleak cell; after my last, best friend abandoned me. Then I struggled to the loo without benefit of crutches (Side note: no crutches=denial to medical care=violation of the law and the violation of most civilized moral codes). Anyway, I found that the door was locked. That's when I knew that I was truly a prisoner and in solitary confinement, despite my onetime friend's assurances to the contrary.
BTW, I haven't even been accused of any crime, yet here I am in prison (I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that this violates habeas corpus. If not habeas corpus, I know it definitely violates some other very important rule.)
The worst thing is, nobody (at least no one who gives a crap about me) knows that I'm here. Not even the Red Cross knows I'm here. (Which, yet again violates the Geneva Convention). I also haven't been given access to a solicitor. (Which is some legal violation, and if I had a solicitor she or he could tell me which of my many rights are being violated. But, as I said, I don't have a solicitor.)
I'm not sure if I'm a political prisoner or a prisoner of war, but criminal law and the Geneva Convention are both violated by the man ultimately keeping me in lock up, so it's definitely illegal and he should let me go.
I'd like to say 'thank you' for the laptop, but since I'm in solitary confinement, I can't. The lap top was just here on the desk with my name on it. No idea where it came from. But it also used the same password that was on my old computer. So I can guess who supplied it one way or the other and it doesn't begin to make things all right between us. Also there is no Internet access, there are no games and no music on the computer. So all I can do is write on this lap top so I'll write about my days in the Stalag. Oh, and I could take pictures of my prison cell. BORING!
Comments
Of course, since I can't get on the Internet, I guess there won't be any comments unless I comment to myself, which would be pointless and pathetic. JW
ps I started a calendar on the wall to keep track of the days of my confinement.
Of course, without a WINDOW, I'll just have to guess about the passage of days. Or use the laptop's calendar. That feels like cheating though. Besides, how can I trust the computers calendar or even its clock? I'm pretty sure my captors could mess with them as well.
That would actually be a very clever way of messing with someone's mind so that's probably what they are doing, like as a form of coercive persuasion. (Which is illegal and against the Geneva Convention-both). JHw
pss I haven't gotten any meals either (another violation), (aside from the bowl of fruit which is over half gone already and how the hell am I supposed to eat that honking great pineapple without a knife? I guess I'm supposed to gnaw on it like a rat trapped in a gilded solitary confinement cage.) And there's no tea or coffee so that may be why I'm rambling a bit.
Day 1.5
I sort of left out The Incident. At first I didn't think I should record it because someone might think it's a confession. But after I thought about it, I figured I was justified in all my actions so I'll write about The Incident. Besides, I have nothing else to do. Besides, I'm already in prison and how can this make things any worse?
The Incident
For reasons which I better not put down even in this private blog, I was concerned about the safety of my former best friend even after they betrayed my trust and left me here to rot in solitary. So I was left with no choice but to follow my former friend when that person left. So instead of hobbling over to the loo, I hobbled out the door which at the time was still un locked, (the part where I didn't have any crutches is still true and it's still a violation).
Once out in the bowels of this underground gulag, I could only see one way out. And that was to jump a guard, who was not paying enough attention or I would not have been able to jump him. I managed to subdue him (the guard) and I borrowed his clothes to try to escape this hellhole. Obviously, I had no choice in any of this because: a) I had to follow my friend whose life is in danger because I want to protect him and b) this is an unlawful detention anyway rendering every thing else moot. (I do believe that sounds very lawyer-ish.)
Wearing the guard disguise, (making this plan G), I made it to the elevator but I failed the retinal scan. Who'd have thought that there'd be a retinal scanner for an elevator? I didn't. Next time, I guess I'll have to cut the guard's eye out and carry it to the scanner. Anyway, alarms sounded when I couldn't pass the eye test.
The alarms were very loud.
Lots of guards arrived and were very upset that I had made it to the elevator unseen. They were also upset about the guard who I had left tied up in my prison cell, even though he was uninjured aside from his arms being tied up with strips of cloth from my sheets.
Between the yelling and loud alarms, I was left with a bloody headache.
Then the Commandant arrived. The shouting which followed was also very loud. I never heard the Commandant actually shout before. His voice gets sort of scratchy and squeaky. In addition, his face gets all red and blotchy when he shouts. That may be a trait associated with red hair. (He (the Commandant) has reddish-brown hair.) (I see that I'm using way too many parentheses). (I'll have to try to stop that).
Obviously, the very loud alarms dragged the Commandant up and his partner out of their bed, because they were both wearing really nice, thick, white, matching bathrobes. I wish I had a nice comfy bathrobe, but not in white. I wouldn't want to match the Commandant and The Assistant Commandant. That would be creepy. I wish I had my old robe. Or the blue one I used to borrow from my former partner, the one who dumped me here to die. I wish that I had any clothes aside from these old workout pants and an old jumper, both of which are pretty large. The gym pants keep falling down. I tried taping the waist band but it won't stay up anyway.
So, back to the Incident, the Commandant's partner started shouting too, and he took my guard's uniform away from me and it was all a bit high-handed. It was almost like an assault, and I'd like to lodge a formal complaint, if I weren't in solitary that is. I mean the assistant Commandant virtually tore the guard's uniform off me. That is just wrong.
Then Assistant Commandant locked me in my room which is when the solitary confinement formally began. So that is the real story of how my day started. All the bits about the violations of the Geneva Convention are true and they stand.
He (the assistant Commandant) yelled at me again a little while ago. His voice sounded hoarse, probably from yelling so much. He should not yell as much and he should try to get more sleep at night.
Anyway, he did not seem to understand that I need to protect this friend of mine from a hell-spawn lunatic. He also gave me medical advice, which I don't need from the likes of him, since I'm the one who went to medical school. And he told me that I was behaving childishly and irrationally. I responded reasonably, but may have raised my voice a tiny bit because I was justified. Basically, I demanded to be released at once. When he refused, I demanded a written copy of my rights under the Geneva Convention and my legal rights as a British Citizen and I also wanted to know why I hadn't been warned or seen a magistrate. I also demanded a solicitor. I also insisted on formal charges, in writing and in triplicate.
Then he wanted to know why I couldn't just "go with the flow". Then I told I'd go with the sodding flow so long as it didn't endanger my former friend's life. Then he told me to grow up. Then I told him to grow some. He left.
I should have lobbed the bloody pineapple at him. At least then the pineapple would have been good for something.
Comments
No comments, of course, since I can't get any Internet. I also can't get the news or watch NETFLIX. I don't get any DVD's either. No telly, except what is on in the Break Room and it's hard to get to the break room without crutches and especially when the door is locked. So what good does the TV in the break-room do me? Hell I don't even get a bloody book or radio or newspaper or even clean clothes.
And the lunch when it came...hours late... was rubbish and the tea was cold. I used the milk carton, foil, cellophane and the surgical tape from the medicine cabinet to make a crude ball. I can sit here and throw the ball against the wall a la Steve McQueen. At least the thunking sound will let me know that I'm still alive. JOhn
Day 1.75
No one around here can take a joke. The eyeball thing was from a movie. I forget which one. But someone hacked into my personal, unpublished blog and read about it ( the eyeball thingy) and decided that I was unstable. The madmen who run this joint have the nerve to call me unstable.
So I was forced to 'visit' with a so-called counselor, but it was really just Doctor Ramos. He isn't a qualified counselor (Believe me; I know when someone is a qualified counselor, cause I know several (counselors). In fact I even dated a counselor once (She was very pretty, and she did not ever think I was unstable. Quite the contrary, she thought I was spiffing, and we only broke up because I was re-deployed, and because she was nice but kind of boring after the first couple of dates), and I even saw one therapeutically (a counselor that is) for twelve weeks and she wasn't all that helpful, but she was better than Ramos who should stick to his practice of Internal Medicine) (her name was Ella) (I'm using too many parentheses again, aren't I?)
And by the way, Dr. Ramos also isn't a surgeon. So, I don't know why he's supposed to be in charge of my wound care when I need a surgeon not an internist. The man is nice enough, sure, but he forgot what compartment syndrome is (he thought I was talking about psychological stress from solitary confinement. HA!). He also couldn't tell me where the innominate artery is when I quizzed him. He clearly has very limited experience with treating trauma whereas I have lots of experience with trauma...especially bullet wounds. In fact, I have personal and professional experience with bullet wounds.
So anyway, he insisted on trying to counsel me. He kept going on and on and on about PTSD and paranoia. I politely reminded him it isn't paranoia if someone really is out to get you (or out to get your best friend). Still, he wouldn't leave me alone. I was even more bored with him, than I was when I was alone with my homemade ball. I finally had to tell him about not being allowed to have a dog when I was younger and about how I missed my dad and how all that is so traumatic. He thought this was a breakthrough moment. I almost felt bad for him.
Finally, it was over although he threatened, I mean promised, to come back tomorrow to explore my feelings some more. I think we were both relieved when he left. I strongly considered using Dr. Ramos for escape plan R, but since he really meant well, I did not go through with the plan. I bet it would have worked. For the record, I would not have cut out his eye.
Comments
Right. As noted, there won't be any comments. I just like putting the word Comments in because it emphasizes my isolation while in prison. And it makes it look like a real blog. JW
Day 1.8
One of the guards finally let me out of solitary around dinner time. Oscar gave me a fresh tee-shirt and gym shorts and another pair of socks and showed me the laundry room where I can wash my meager collection of donated clothing and the towels. This was good because I thought the towels smelled a bit off already.
It's a nice laundry room, with a couple of washers and dryers and even an iron. I probably won't need to use the iron, which is fine since I hate ironing. The closet housed lots of cleaning supplies too. So I threw my borrowed clothes into a washer and then spent the evening cleaning my room. (I wore the shorts and shirt that Oscar gave me. They're a tad small, but I didn't think to ask whose they were. Obviously they weren't Oscars cause he's really big.)
My room, aka The Cell, was a disaster before I cleaned it. There was pineapple everywhere; I mean the damn fruit just exploded when I tried to open it with blunt force trauma. There was no other way to open it. It was fairly tasty though. The blasted pineapple bits tasted loads better than the lasagna, which was the dinner in the break room. The lasagna was too salty and a bit dry; it was some frozen lasagna that BJ reheated in the oven. Also the salad was limp and brown and could have used some fresh veggies to spruce it up. Some fresh lemons or limes would be nice too, instead of the salad dressings, which were all fattening and too high in salt.
Honestly, it's bad enough to make me suffer with sub-standard food, but you'd think the Commandant would supply his own troops with fresh food, since they are stationed here for months at a time for security purposes.
I hope I'm not identifying with my guards already. That would be like the Stockholm Syndrome. Bit not good.
Day 1 in Review
On the plus side, I'm losing weight on my gulag diet, and my cell is clean again and also lemony fresh. And my laundry is clean and folded too. On the down side, the door is locked again, supposedly I'm a flight risk. It's too bad that I never learned to pick locks. I tried anyway and got a hanger stuck in the lock.
Well, if there is a fire, I will no doubt perish since I'm locked in here. Hopefully, this laptop will survive any fatal disasters (such as flood or fire or meteor strikes), because then the brief record of my incarceration will survive. Perhaps it will be instructive to someone in the future. Maybe I should write a full autobiography? I'll probably die before I can finish the book.
BTW, Oscar gave me a real ball; I shall bounce it against the wall like the Cooler King. It will pass the long, long hours as night falls on me like a…well like something. I'll think of it later.
Comments
Like a sack of pineapples. 'I'll pass the long, long hours as the night falls on me like a sack of pineapples.' JHw
And the movie was Blade Runner. I think. (The movie where I got the idea about the retinal scanner thingy and the eyeball-I'm not sure). JHW
Day 2
THE FIRE
Let me begin by saying, I have no idea how that fire started in my room. I was asleep when it happened. Must have been some bad wires in the spy-cam thingy in the corner. It's not as though I'd start a fire in a locked room and wait to die. I'm not that stupid.
I had fallen asleep after throwing the ball against the wall for a while. Then the fire alarms went off. There was smoke coming from the corner of my room, and then the sprinklers came on, almost dousing the fire. Everything got real wet; luckily my spare clothes were already folded and put away in the drawers in a plastic bag to keep the dust off of them.
Agents with fire extinguishers burst into my room. The alarms were really very loud, and there was lots of smoke and confusion.
Naturally, following basic fire safety rules, I ran to the stairwell.
In case anyone has forgotten what one is supposed to do when there is a fire, one is supposed to exit the building. This is primary school stuff; everyone knows this. Obviously, I avoided the elevator because a) one doesn't use the elevator in a fire and b) I didn't want to set off any more alarms and upset the people who were busy dealing with the fire.
Plus, I had smoke inhalation and probable CO poisoning, and so I wasn't in my right mind anyway, and can't be held responsible for my actions.
If I had a solicitor, they would support me on this.
Back to the stairwell, the lock automatically opens in case of fire. That's a fairly standard safety feature. With the door unlocked, I naturally ran up the stairs, because that's what you're supposed to do. There were a lot of stairs. This Stalag must be buried deep underground. I'm guessing two or three stories underground. That makes this an underground bunker.
I only got partway up the stairs. Because Detective Inspector Lestrade, aka the assistant Commandant, trapped me on the stairs. He was very angry. Of course I already knew, from earlier encounters, that he could shout. Well, in fact, he can shout louder than the alarms. He's also stronger than he looks; still, he needed help from one of those guards to stop me. I'm sorry that I punched him, but as I already mentioned, I wasn't in my right mind due to CO poisoning. I probably could've taken both Lestrade and the very large guard. But by this time, my leg had sprung a leak (although the blood looked a lot worse than it really was), and the damn leg also hurt quite a bit. The point is, I was having trouble using that leg, and I couldn't fight very well on just one leg and no crutches. He (the big guard, named Oscar) shouldn't have carried me down the stairs, but he did. He (Oscar) and the assistant Commandant were all up in my face over my leg, which was not bleeding all that much, and anyway, I had it all under control. My leg I mean, I had my leg wound under control; I just needed to put in a couple of new stitches.
Until my room dries out, I have to stay in the break-room, which suits me just fine since I can finally make some decent tea.
I'll have to put those stitches in myself, since I don't trust that internist cum therapist doctor. Besides, he's not here. I just need suture set and some betadine.
I know someone is hacking this blog and since you're reading this, I'd appreciate the suture set, betadine and some bloody crutches.
I have a meeting with the DI and the Commandant in a couple of hours. I wonder if they'll use coercive persuasion against me (which is against the Geneva Convention). I bet they will. They are nefarious.
Nevertheless, I shall demand my freedom. Barring that, I shall insist on access to a solicitor. I shall also demand crutches and fifteen minutes a day outside exercising. I think that's pretty standard. Oh, and access to a weight room and visiting hours. And time off for good behavior.
Comments
Hey John, wasn't your laptop damaged in the freak fire and subsequent flood (from the sprinklers)? JW
Well JW, glad you asked. It just so happens that my laptop was in a drawer. Coincidentally, I had put it in a plastic bag to keep the dust off. So the laptop is just fine. Thanks for asking. John
Yeah, I'm so bored that I'm making up my own comments. At least I can watch crap TV for now. JW
Day 2.5
THE MEETING
The meeting with the Commandant was brief. I was blatantly denied my rights as a citizen of the United Kingdom and I was denied my rights as a prisoner of war. I won't even get time off for good behavior or time exercising outside.
I refuse to apologize for breaking the Commandant's bloody umbrella. He raised it at me like a weapon, so naturally I snapped it in two. a) I thought he might strike me with it. b) How did I know whether or not the umbrella might not contain a secret weapon like a hidden gun or rapier or even a blow dart.
Well, I'll have to resort to a hunger strike now. It'll be easy since the fruit is all gone, and they keep forgetting to feed me. (I have been put back into my room, which is mostly dry but devoid of food. Nary a pineapple in sight. Or grapes for that matter.)
Comments
Oh wait, there aren't any comments unless I make them up, which is pretty lame. This is very, very boring. JW
Day 2.7 Oscar escorted me to the Stalag's gym late this afternoon. Oscar must be 6ft 4in and he's built like a tank. He has very short, dark hair. I asked, and he is ex-army too. He was a Sergeant in Iran. He didn't offer additional info, and I figured there was a reason and I can't really talk about me deployments either. So we didn't talk about the army much except in general terms. Like how the generals all had their heads up their arses. HAHAHA. Just kidding. HA Ha Ha.
I spent like an hour in the gym. It's a shame I don't have my phone and ear buds for some workout music. Or a CD player. A CD player would be nice.
After working out, Oscar and I discussed the pros and cons of my proposed hunger strike. I had to admit that the cons do sort of out weigh the pros. For instance, if I'm weak from the hunger strike, I won't be able to make my escape should the opportunity arise. Also, I need to be fit, so once I get out of this posh Stalag I can join up with some mercenaries far, far away from here. Like in Ulan Bator. Because I am going to join up with some mercenaries, rather than stay here where I serve no purpose. I'm a little upset about getting dumped and figure that travel would be good for me. Maybe I could join some private security firm in Kabul? We agreed that the Commandant probably wouldn't give a damn even if I did starve to death; in fact, Oscar hinted that the Commandant would welcome it. So the hunger strike is off for now.
Instead of beginning the hunger strike, we made pasta primavera for dinner. Oscar likes cooking too, so I didn't have to do all the work myself. We also made garlic bread and salad. The fresh food, which miraculously appeared in the kitchen, is an improvement for all of us. Paula joined us for dinner, as did BJ and Clancy.
After dinner, we watched a bit of football and then switched to Dr. Who. Oscar likes Tennant, and I like Eccleston. We agreed to disagree. Paula said she didn't have a favorite Doctor, but she watched Dr. Who with us until her watch started. (Clancy and BJ right left after dinner, the tossers. No doubt they wanted to avoid washing the dishes, even though there is a small automatic dishwasher.)
It was late when Oscar helped me back to my room (I still have no crutches). He said that my room, I mean cell, needs some decorating. He suggested posters on the wall and maybe a rug. The scratch mark calendar and the scorch marks on the walls don't count, or so he thinks. I think they give the cell a certain ambiance.
There's no way I can sleep, so I guess I'll have to throw the ball against the wall now.
Comments
You know you shouldn't be on that leg. Running around on an injured leg is just dumb. And exercising that leg in the gym is a very bad idea. Why can't you just rest and let that leg heal? Your doctor prescribed bed rest and you haven't rested at all. I don't think you even sleep at night. GL
Do you mean the doctor who thought I had 'compartment syndrome' because I was locked up in room? Do you mean the doctor who thinks I have PTSD because I made a joke about a stupid movie stunt? (I really think it was from Blade Runner.) Why on earth would I take his advice? I myself was a fully qualified trauma surgeon before the stupid injury to my shoulder. Not to mention, I somehow recovered from that bullet wound, which was much worse than my leg wound. So I guess I know what I can and cannot do. JHW
BTW, I know how to work out, without straining my leg. For instance, Oscar and I modified the rowing machine, and my mildly injured leg is resting while I work out. Besides, I've had worse injuries. Besides, everything is fine now. JhW
Besides, if I had crutches, I wouldn't be bearing weight on my injured leg when I'm running around. If I had crutches, I wouldn't have re-injured the leg during that fire, which I didn't start. JHW
Any chance you could stop throwing the ball against the wall, mate? It's 11:45
Yeah? Well, I can't sleep. If I wasn't locked in here, I could walk around or work out or something. If I had a book, I could read it. Who's asking anyway? John
It's BJ and I need to get up in a few hours. BJ
BTW, how are you getting onto my blog if I'm not on the Internet? Are you a hacker? JW
Just stop with the damn ball. Chris
Please stop with the ball. BJ
Fine, But really how are you people getting into my blog? JOhn
Day 3
Dead Men Tell No Tales
Well, my funeral was today, and I wasn't invited.
I hope that a lovely time was had by all. Who am I kidding? This whole thing sucks. I hate this.
Greg went. He says my former flat mate was there, so I guess he's still alive, not that anyone has bothered to tell me how he's doing. Not that he has bothered to contact me. Fine. I guess that's all water under the bridge. It's fine. I can deal with it.
At least we'll always have Paris.
Greg said there were lots and lots of flowers. He didn't find out who they were from. I would have liked to known. He did say there was a big wreath in the shape of a heart filled with roses. Creepy. I know where that came from. It was from the lunatic madman who will kill my friend. My ex-friend. Well, he's still my friend even if he doesn't want to be my friend.
Poor Mrs. Hudson was there. He (Greg) said she got teary-eyed. I feel bad about that. A few of my old army mates and some of my friends from medical school and a bunch of guys from my football team came to the funeral. Greg couldn't remember all their names. WOW, all these people who liked me.
Course they'll hate me when they find out I'm not dead. Lovely. I'll lose all my friends when I get out of this gulag. If I get out, which I probably won't.
I really don't know what to say about this. I can't write about it.
The hell with comments.
Day 3.5
A Brief Interlude
So I meditated for a while and threw my ball. I'm afraid it's left some dents in the wall. Later, Oscar and I rearranged the gym with the help of BJ and Chris and Mike. It's roomier now, and the new speakers sound great (Chris said we could use her CD player cause she has an i-Pod. The speakers were left behind when one of the agents was transferred like a year ago. The speakers were stored in the armory).
We hung some posters in the gym too. We found the posters in the armory. Just old targets and gun posters and stuff. Oddly, the girly posters offended Chris, and so we couldn't put them up. Ha ha.
I found out today that the Commandant doesn't like Black Sabbath. He really didn't like War Pigs. I don't know why. I suppose he thought it was about him, the vain man. Maybe it was though. Anyway, I don't think he even liked Iron Man. How could anyone not like Iron Man?
Personally I do not think that the music was on that loud. I also would have thought that if someone was building an underground bunker/gulag, then they might have soundproofed their posh living quarters.
I can't decide whether to call this a gulag or a Stalag. I'm leaning towards Stalag now.
Comments
You guys can put up all the girly posters you want. Right after you put up some beefcake posters. LOL :) Chris
I didn't see any beefcake posters. Anyway, I don't particularly care about putting up either kind of poster. John
Anyway, the posters were Oscar's idea. JW
ANYWAY, I'd rather watch John workout instead of looking at posters.
Who wrote that? JOhn
NO really! Who wrote that? And how are you guys even getting on my blog. It's not posted. I'm not even on the Internet. You can't all be hackers. JOhn
FIne, dont tell Me. JHw
Day 4 (very early morning)
Guns and Another Fire
So later yesterday, we went back to the armory. It's well stocked, but it was all jumbled around, very disorganized. Rounds were just stashed everywhere. And it's dusty.
First, we got rid of the junk that shouldn't be in a gun locker, like posters and stuff. Oscar was on duty so I had BJ and Christine help me sort things out. I think all the guns require maintenance. We just barely got started but then had to stop for dinner cause it was nearly 2100 hrs
I made vegetable curry and Christine made the rice. Actually she made the first batch of rice but it sort of caught fire.
The alarms were very loud.
I checked, just to see if the stairwell was locked. It wasn't locked, but it was guarded. Clancy suggested that I return to the mess. I did go back to the mess hall and then returned to give him some biscuits, which he appreciated. He seemed to think that I was going to try to get into the stairwell. He had called for back up. I just gave Oscar some biscuits too.
I don't think that they trust me.
For some reason, I got blamed for this fire too. This fire was definitely not my fault. Actually, neither fire was my fault. But this one was definitely not my fault. I was chopping onions when the pot overflowed and then caught fire. Christine was supposed to be watching the rice and not the telly, so Chris was responsible for the fire and not me. It may look like I'm grassing on her, but she threw me under the bus first.
In the end, I threw the pot of burned rice away; there was no cleaning that baby.
I made the second batch of rice, and it was fine.
Chris and I made up.
I thought it was going to be another boring night but Oscar, Lestrade and I went back to the armory and began to check the inventory. We talked about football, the recent scandal in Belgravia and troop readiness. It's going to take a few days to get the armory squared away, but apparently I have plenty of time. I tried to figure out which guns would get cleaned first and made a list.
Then we went to one of the empty rooms and threw down a bunch of mats and set up for some sparring. We're going to get everyone into sparring matches this week to improve troop moral and cohesiveness.
Hand to hand is not my biggest strength, and I got bruised up pretty good. Greg got really mad when I beat him, but he said he was mad because I made my leg bleed. I said he was just mad cause I won.
Then Lestrade had to go back to his 'love-nest'.
Oscar and I fell asleep watching ancient re-runs of the Twilight Zone.
When we woke up, Oscar was almost late for his shift, and I had to get locked up again. At least I took a couple bags of crisps and some apples from the kitchen in case they forget about me again.
Comments
No one stationed here will forget about you, mate. Promise. Thanks for the biscuits. Clancy
Damn right we won't forget about you. And if you don't stop throwing that damn ball against the wall, I'll come and put a stop to it. Paula
I'd like to see you try. JOhn
Please stop throwing the ball. It's 3 am. People are trying to sleep. Why aren't you sleeping? GL
Can't sleep. Nothing else to do. WHy aren't you sleeping, GL? JHW
Cause some wanker is making noise by throwing a ball against the walls of his room. GL
Why don't you read? I gave you a book to read. OM
Finished it. It was pretty good though, thanks. JHW
OM, you're supposed to be working. John, what's the whole point of the ball? GL
I'm on break. OM
You're supposed to call me JW not John. The point of the ball is Steve McQueen- The Cooler King-The Great Escape. JHW
You sign half your posts as John or JOhn, and it's John H. Watson's blog so what the hell difference does it make John or JW? Anyway, I still don't get the ball thing. Isn't Steve McQueen some old actor? GL
Oh, never mind. John
It's from a movie called, The Great Escape. McQueen plays an American prisoner of war in a special Nazi concentration camp for prisoners who keep trying to escape. McQueen has tried to escape like umpteen times or something. He gets caught trying to escape repeatedly from this new camp, then he gets sent to the cooler over and over, which the cooler is solitary confinement. When he's in the cooler, he throws a baseball against the wall to pass the time. It's a good movie. It's based on a real life escape attempt during WWII. We should screen the movie this week. OM
And cause he's in solitary so often, he's called the Cooler King. OM, I can't believe it, you actually watch movies? JW
I love movies. I love old movies. I hate to admit it, but my favorite movie is Monty Python and the Holy Grail. OM
OMG, that is a good one. For comedy I like Hot Fuzz and Sean of the Dead. Do you like action movies like Bond? Or how about Star Wars? J
Of, course. Do you ever watch the classics? Like Casablanca or It Happened One Night? OM
OMG! I love those movies. Oh, did you see The African Queen or Some Like it Hot or Arsenic and Old Lace? Oh and The Maltese Falcon. Too bad we can't get Netflix or streaming or DVD's. JHW
We can get DVD's GL
I thought you were trying to sleep? John
No, like I said, some prick was banging on the walls and waking people up. Now I can't get back to sleep. GL
GL, can you get us some DVD's. I have already have a DVD player. OM
Why not? I'll try to get some DVD's today, if work is quiet. In fact, I'll look for The Great Escape. GL
Hey JW, you know you sign your posts differently each time? OM
What? No I don't/ JOhn.
Well, yes you do. It's okay. It's cute. Gotta get back to work. I'll drop off a couple books and some magazines. And some tea, herbal tea so maybe you can get some sleep. OM
Cute? Perhaps you could pay attention to your work and mind your own business. Shezza
Who is Shezza? Jw
And you do sign your posts differently, Jw. Shezza
So what? JohN
So nothing. It's just a sign of how fickle you are, JohN. Shezza
I'm not fickle. 'Scuse me, OM's here with some stuff. Gotta go. JOhn
Fickle. Shezza
I'm back. OM brought me yesterday's paper, some tea, a prepackaged danish and a Tom Clancy novel. ANd I'm not fickle. I may have faults but being fickle isn't one of them. Also, I don't know who you are. JHW
We'll discuss it tomorrow. Shezza
We will? WHen? Jonh
FIne. Dont tell me. I bet Shezza is BJ. JJHW
Not me. BJ
Day 4.25
Nothing Happens to Me Anymore
Just to recap what was going on my comments, I threw the ball against the wall to pass the time last night. Someone started pounding on the wall. At first I thought they were trying to send signals. You know like Morse code. So I pounded back. I guess they just like pounding on the wall or something.
There were complaints about my ball throwing. So I stopped.
Then Oscar dropped off a book, a danish and stuff so I stopped throwing the ball and read the newspaper. The tea was much appreciated.
I think if people want me not to throw the ball at the wall, they should stop locking my door.
I also started a new calendar cause the old one was damaged in the freak fire.
Comments
So your affections can be bought with a cup of tea. Shezza
And a danish. John
Who is Shezza? Is this you OM? JW
No. OM
Day 4.5
Movie and Chili Night
The Great Escape will be shown immediately after dinner. Dinner is going to be chili and corn bread. Yes I do know how to make it. I spent a month in Texas, USA. I spent my leave with Charlene. She was a nurse anesthetist in the US Army. We met during my first deployment. She was great. She was hot. Dark curly hair, dark brown eyes and nut brown skin and she was all leg. 5'10". She introduced me to the two-step, took me to a rodeo and made me wear a cowboy hat. It was her uncle who taught me how to make chili and corn bread. We had a blast. Her uncle could cook and drink and he gave us a big pig roast/BBQ before out leave was over. God that man could drink. He was even taller than Charlene. He was a fireman. I'm sure he would have agreed that during a fire everyone should evacuate the building or bunker or Stalag. I loved that man. I mean as a friend. He was like twenty years older than me, and anyway I was sort of dating Charlene. Charlene and I broke up when she started dating this guy from California. But we parted as friends. I bet she's going to find out that I died and then she'll be mad when I come back to life. Her uncle will probably be mad too.
I guess I got off topic.
So, chili and corn bread at 1700 hours sharp. And salad. Then the movie.
Comments
I liked your short-shorts today, John.
Who said that? Jw
I did.
Ha Ha. Well, whoever you are, sod off. JOhn
Seriously, John, are you in a relationship?
Who is this? And how do you guys even get onto my blog since I'm not on the Internet? I even have the airport turned off. JJW
Idiot. Your initials are JHW, not JJW. And your laptop was undoubtedly tampered with. Everyone in the facility can access it. Shezza
So that means you're in the facility too, Shezza? John
Well, we're all still waiting with bated breath. Are you in a relationship, John? Shezza
What's it to you? Jw
Relationship yes or no? Shezza
Yes? Maybe? I was sort of seeing someone. I honestly don't know if it's a relationship or not. I never got a Dear John letter, but I think that I was dumped. John
Make up your own mind. Shezza
Fine. As far as I'm concerned, I'm in a relationship even if the other person isn't. JOhn
Damn! And I was going to ask you out.
Who is this? Who is going to ask JOhn out? Shezza
Yeah, who is not signing their posts? And would Shezza stop mocking my typos. JHw
So, John, this person you are dating sounds awful. He certainly doesn't treat you right. I don't think you should consider yourself to be in a relationship with him. OM
I didn't know you were dating! Who is it? Is it a man or woman, because OM says 'him'? Are you two serious, as in exclusive? I can't believe you never said anything about him...OMG I think I know who he is. We have to talk! Paula
Well, there was one good question in Paula's your relationship exclusive, JHw? Shezza
It's been fifteen minutes, JHw. We're still waiting for your answer. Shezza
I was busy thinking, if you must know. And why should I answer you, Shezza? I don't know who you are. Is this Chris? Jw
Back to the Jw's are we? Shezza
Are you dating exclusively, John? OM
Really, it's none of your business Shezza or even yours OM. But yes, I am in an exclusive relationship. If it is a relationship. Not that it's anyone else's business. It's a bit confusing, and I'm not sure I want to talk about it. JOhn
Whoa! I'm not this Shezza. I think Shezza is Oscar. Chris
I am not Shezza. I wouldn't mock John like this Shezza does. John, you shouldn't be in a confusing relationship. You deserve someone who would treat you right. OM
OM seems to have lots of bad advice. You should ignore him, John. Perhaps OM should spend less time admiring John and more time doing his work. Perhaps John should also stop working out while scantily attired in tight shorts and a tight shirt. Shezza
I am NOT scanily atttired! I don't have a lot of clothes to choose from, Shezza. For your information, I have not been given any real clothes. And I can't work out in the too-big pants cause they blooody fall off. Bloody Helll! JOnh
You should ignore this Shezza. He isn't nice, and you don't have to do anything he says. And I think your clothes are just fine, but I could loan you a couple of my shirts. They might be a bit large on you. OM
Stay out of it OM. Shezza
Make me. OM
I'm shutting off the computer. John
Day 5
No More Weirdness On My Blog
I had to stop the comments, because they were getting too weird. But I'll try allowing comments again and see how it goes.
Movie Night was great. Thanks to Anthea for the DVDs. Thanks to Oscar for moving the DVD player out of his barracks and into the mess hall.
You know, I can't believe half of you people had never seen The Great Escape. Personally, I love that movie. I always get a bit teary when Collin bites it. Christ, I get teary just thinking about it.
Thanks for the beer and popcorn, Greg. AND before the Commandant gets his knickers in a twist, only people coming off watch got any beer and they only had one each. I had three. Greg had four.
Later, Oscar insisted that I teach him the two-step. It didn't go so well cause, a) My leg is still a bit crap. b) I don't dance very well anyway c) I don't think we had the right music and d) I might have been a bit tipsy.
Okay, gotta run. Well, I suppose run is too optimistic a term. I'll have to gimp on down to the mess for B-fast and then to the armory. At least I finally have some bloody crutches to gimp around with.
Comments
You had four or five beers and that's why you couldn't dance. GL
Shove it, Lestrade. John
He's right. I carried you back to your room after you passed out watching Dr. Who. OM
Oh. I wondered how I got back to my room. JW
Thanks JW
Not a problem. Anyway, I think you dance just fine. OM
Thanks JW
So are we on for Casablanca tonight? OM
Yeah, sure. John
Did you figure out who Shezza is yet? OM
No. I'm assuming no one outside of the bunker can read this blog, right? John
Wrong. Shezza
Oh. Jw
You know what, I'm pretty sure Shezza is a bloody wanker. JOHn
We'll discuss this later, JOHn. Shezza
Really? Jonh
I think I know who it is too. You're busted aren't you, John? Paula
No. I've done nothing wrong. JW
So you know who Shezza is? OM
Maybe. John
Who is he? OM
Well, whoever he is, don't let him boss you around. You don't have to put up with him. OM
If you don't know who Shezza is, how do you know Shezza is a him? Paula
Cause John is obviously gay. OM
Is he? Paula
Am I? John
I thought so. Aren't you? OM
Whatever. Maybe. But only sometimes. JHHW
Well, now that you're out, do you want to go out with me, John? OM
What does that even mean, John. Sometimes? You mean you're Bi? We need to talk. Paula
No, John cannot go out with you, Om. Back off. Shezza
Why don't we let John choose? Anyway, who the hell are you Mr. Shezza? OM
I'm your worst nightmare. Shezza
Well, bring it on buddy. OM
Gladly. Shezza
Name the time and place. OM
Jesus Christ. I leave for a few minutes and this all gets bloody stupid again. this is riodiculous. Sod this , just sod this. Oscar, I think we need to talk. And Shezza, if you're wjho I think you war- you and I really need to talk. I mean this is alll crap it is so CRAP.
You forgot to sign your post, JOhn. And your spelling is atrocious. Getting flustered? Guilty conscience? Shezza
Leave John alone. If you're his boyfriend, you are a crap boyfriend. He deserves better. OM
Oh, he needs a big, dumb lummox like you? Shezza
That's it. Fore the record, I'm not flusterd and I don't have a guilty conscience and The blog is closing down. Rite now. Permanently JoHGn
A/N
I wanted to try a different format. It was fun to write, but this modern epistolary format is not my cup of tea. I know I didn't get around to editing the last chapter yet (BAD SENDAI), but I appreciate the corrections that several of you sent. Please keep sending corrections and advice! (But also note that there are intentional errors in John's blog so don't be surprised if I don't correct the JHw's and JOhn's.)
*I have now corrected the errors in Ch 38, thanks to my reviewers!
Thank you to everyone who reads, favorites or follows this story.
Thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 38 including dana-san, Erenem, Wicked Winter, 107602, Shadows Concealed in Darkness, Quiet Time, SamuelE8688, Snowphire! You reviewers are the BEST!
Disclaimer I do not own the rights to Sherlock but I'd gladly take them if they're ever on offer. Oddly enough, I also make no profit with these fics. :D