InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "You will always be young."

John Watson internationally smuggles tea (imhisblogger) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2012-09-22 16:06:00

Entry tags:

john watson, rose tyler

Who:John and Rose
What:being adorable.
When:Tonight
Where:Roses flat.
Warnings:Idek!

Moriarty lurking about had caused some high stress in the doctor. There were a few he'd mistakenly snapped at, a few he'd glared at, and others he'd panicked at, but throughout it all Rose stayed with him. Moriarty had tried to tell him nobody cared anymore, but Rose was still there. She didn't tell him to get over it, and didn't try to stop him from stabbing the ghost of the man in the face with an iron poker infact encouraged it. He was getting attached. She remained by his side when he needed her the most and didn't pitch a fit if he texted at random hours of the night.

Sherlock's new face had set off alarm bells in his head. The man was going to be reckless and get himself killed and John couldn't do it a third time. It'd sent him pacing across the livingroom of the fat many times that night. Enough likely to make his puppy dizzy from watching. John was anxious as hell. Using his cane again and over thinking, he paced. He couldn't watch Sherlock die a third time. He couldn't stop him from wanting adventures as Florence had put it, but he could remove himself. He could put so much distance between him and that man that he would never get hurt again and that was looking extremely appealing.

As was the thought of getting entirely faced and not having to deal with the constant worry that suddenly plagued him. He shouldn't be worrying. It wasn't his Sherlock. He was still a Sherlock. Could he really just sit back and do nothing?

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plusone
2012-09-25 04:31 am UTC (link)

Rose had lived with the Doctor for quite some time. First traveling with him for all that time and then being there in Lawrence. She was used to being irrationally snapped at and dealing with people who were practically bipolar. So really, nothing John did or said was likely to drive her off. He'd been through hell. And she knew that better than most. Losing someone you loved was hard, yes. Everyone knew that and accepted it. Losing them twice was just unfair. But three times? No one could ask her to walk away from that with a smile.

But she was. On the outside. Where anyone could see, Rose Tyler was just fine. She was dealing beautifully with her loss and she was being social and cheerful and taking care of others because they needed her. What they didn't see was how very much she was avoiding dealing with her feelings. Taking care of John was just one thing on her list of all the things. Helping with the business end of Eponine's Inn, opening the Youth Center, traveling when she could, doing schoolwork and going to classes... Her ultimate goal was to make sure she never had a spare few minutes. That caused her to think. And she couldn't think. If she did, she'd break.

John was doing the pacing thing when she walked in from the kitchen, holding two mugs of tea. She didn't comment right away, simply raised her eyebrows and made her way to the couch. She placed the extra mug on the coffee table and then curled up in the corner with hers, patting the spot next to her for the poor, confused looking puppy to join her.

"You're going to wear a hole in the carpet," she pointed out, looking a little amused. "I may be rich but that doesn't mean I want to redecorate the place for you."

In the corner of the room, away from the Moriarty induced salt circle, Pete Tyler's eyebrows lifted. She sent a glare in his direction, nodding towards John. All her father did was give her two thumbs up. Prat.

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imhisblogger
2012-09-27 09:39 am UTC (link)

John didn't know what to think anymore. Some people told him it was okay to grieve, others told him he needed to move on. He wasn't sure if he could do either. He wanted to be there for his friends, to live in the world, but how could he with a constant reminder of everything that he lost arriving in town all over again? Two reminders really. Moriarty and Sherlock. It was like his nightmares had somehow found a way to claw there way out of his brain and back into reality. Moriarty was in the corner of the room trapped in salt, John didn't even look at him.

He knew Rose was going through things as well and the world kept spinning with or without Sherlock, but to John it felt like his entire world stopped that night. Just talking to Sherlock was hard, brought on a string of panic attacks. It didn't matter how many things John filled his day with anymore, the seal threw things back in his face like his life was some sort of universal joke. Sherlock was dead, and it brought this new one that everyone liked. That he was supposed to befriend. There was no Sherlock Holmes without John Watson, but nobody could ask him to relive his nightmare again. Nobody. He was angry and hurt at the mere suggestion of it all but he held it inside the best he could until that night he snapped and paced Roses flat like a crazy person.

The sound of her voice broke his train of thought. He looked up at her with furrowed brows. and rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "Sorry." He was miserable. He'd come a long way from suicide, but he was lost without his Sherlock. He only ate the minimum amount of food his body required, he rarely smiled, and there was a look in his eyes of a broken man. When he did smile there was still a sadness on his face that hadn't faded since Sherlock left him. He knew what they all said, there was nothing he could have done. Maybe they were right, but John still felt like a horrible person. Sherlock shouldn't have died alone. He should have been there, even if he couldn't have stopped Moriarty he should have been with him.

The most he could do was chat on the damn cell phone, what sort of comfort was that? It weighed on him like a sack of bricks and he tried to move on. He really did, but he just couldn't. John joined her as well as the puppy, jumping up onto the couch between them both exactly where John hadn't wanted him. He put his face in his hands and just rubbed at his eyes. "It's never going to end."

Being with Rose helped, but Moriarty did not. He tried to focus more on Rose instead, but he really had difficulty focusing at all on anything. He hadn't written hardly anything at all save for internet posts, and he barely left the flat anymore unless it was required or he was pressured into it.

Part of him longed for adventures with Sherlock again, but the other was terrified. It was an inner battle of poorly played chess, neither side was really winning it was just doing what was necessary to get by without getting hurt anymore.

He reached out for the teacup, his hand shaking some with stress.

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plusone
2012-09-28 07:24 pm UTC (link)

Her heart broke every time she saw him. And, really, did Rose Tyler need more heartbreak? It was part of the reason she'd attached herself so readily in John. He knew, more than anyone, what she was dealing with. He simply dealt differently was all. Everyone seemed just fine with forcing him to heal, but that wasn't how it worked. She knew it would take time, and it wasn't his fault he kept getting setbacks. And she knew about setbacks, too. So close to getting her life back together and then there was an exact replica of her fiance, dropping into her life. And then all but disappearing from it. Her father appearing, wanting all the details of the last twenty-three years of her life and her nearly breaking down with every detail. It wasn't quite the same, but she could still understand where he as coming from.

Particularly given she knew who it was imprisoned in the salt circle in the corner of her flat. Bastard. Knowing he knew she couldn't see him but feeling better for it just the same, she occasionally shot an evil glare in the direction of the Irish bastard who'd reduced her friend to this. And yet in some ways, she owed him. Tearing John apart this way was what had caused her to latch on to him so desperately. Oh, they'd been good enough friends before it all. But now, now she really understood him.

And it was so much easier focusing on his hurt than her own.

She'd mastered the fine art of balancing a mug filled with steaming liquid and a wiggling dog who did not understand the desperate need and comfort of tea. Her knees curled up and the puppy plopped himself in her lap before lying down so his head could go in John's. Smart dog, no matter what his 'dad' said about him.

"Maybe," she admitted, forcing down her own emotions to focus on his. Because the fear that it would never end gripped her far too often for her to be the voice of reason. "Or maybe this place is just testing you. And right now it's winning. And after all this is said and done--" another well-placed look in Moriarty's corner of the room--"you have to pick yourself back up. It's the only way."

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imhisblogger
2012-10-02 10:16 pm UTC (link)

"How? How am I supposed to.." His voice trailed off shakily as he sipped at his tea and closed his eyes. Tea was one of the few things that soothed him anymore from the hurt. Tea and Rose. To the others he felt like a bother, but Rose kept reminding him that he was not. Even though he doubted this occasionally she didn't leave him. He wanted to talk to Florence, but she was off in Russia. He partially wondered if it was his fault, and then he remembered Freddie. Freddie was in a Chess tournament there. The timing was shit. John wanted to see Florence, but having Rose around was also putting him a little more at ease.

Resting his head back against the couch he looked at her tiredly. "Dun how much more of this I can handle."He was trying to be strong. Trying to be the man Rose and her father thought he was, but with Moriarty staring down his neck he wasn't sure it was possible. He felt ready to break into a million pieces knowing he was behind them trapped in a circle of salt. Just one thin see through barrier between them. A reminder of all the hurt and pain he caused. He was ready to cry, but he couldn't all the same. Wouldn't with Moriarty there.

He'd already let him win once and let him see just how drunk he could get to forget the pain, but this ghost was taking it's toll on John Watson. Draining what little happiness he was regaining over the last few days with Rose practically attached to his flat.

Then there was that question. Did he deserve to be happy? He couldn't save Sherlock. So loyal and he couldn't save the person who meant the world to him. What if the same thing happened to Rose? Moriarty had told him they would all leave. He couldn't bare to lose her too. The idea was crushingly painful. He placed his hand on his face and rubbed it tiredly.

It was almost as if the dog sensed his distress and tried to nip at his hand when he put it back down on his lap nervously. Moriarty had shot him, taken away his best friend twice, and was now draining his soul. It was almost like he'd been the one burned in the end instead of Sherlock.

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