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John Watson internationally smuggles tea (imhisblogger) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2012-12-06 02:52:00

Entry tags:

florence trumper, john watson

Who:John and Florence.
What:Aftermath of the fighting and all the ptsd issues.
When:Thursday morning, probably 10/11amish
Where:His flat
Warnings:TBA

After all the fighting had died down and John checked on everyone he could, he escaped to his room without much of a word to anyone. Two days later he was still virtually MIA. He didn't leave his flat, hadn't said much of anything on the boards save for to check on Harry. He just didn't feel like talking. Kat had come to visit during the ptsd attacks and managed to help him calm down a bit. He was grateful but he still just felt like being alone. He was trying to sleep but nothing happened. He laid up on the couch for what seemed like an eternity but his eyes refused to close. A million thoughts ran through his head. From what had happened during the battle to what Jacen had said. There was no way he was getting sleep. He was trying. Genuinely trying to get back to normal. All he'd wanted to do was help Rose to keep moving, he hadn't told her to stop grieving or that she shouldn't. He just didn't want her to die too. Yet he ended up the one wrong. No matter what he did it was wrong and he was confused, angry, and hurt.

He felt bad that Rose had lost her friend and Jacen had lost his daughter, he really did and had said so but somehow it had only made things worse. He began to wonder if maybe Jacen was right. Maybe Sherlock had died to get away from him and John was tired of it. What was he supposed to do? He'd already said goodbye to his Sherlock, he knew he was dead and he wasn't coming back. So why was that not right? What was he doing that was so wrong? John had Sherlock's scarf in his lap. He felt better for a while. But not because of it, because he was emotionally shutting down. It was only providing a minor comfort.

John had turned off his phone two days ago. If Rose wanted to see him, she knew where he was. Other then that generally he just wanted to be alone. He got up from the couch with a slight limp and prepared a pot of tea. He hated this world. Right now he hated it more then anything. There were some people that were friends sure, but most of it just sucked. He waited for the tea kettle to whistle in silence, and that was the worst part.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-06 09:50 pm UTC (link)

It seemed, for the time being at least, that things had calmed down. And Florence couldn't have been more grateful. Fighting wasn't her thing. She'd taken the self-defense classes with Jo, she knew how to fire a gun and use a knife if she needed. But she wasn't a fighter by any means. She was a thinker. Strategy and planning, organization. That was the woman Florence Trumper was. And that was the woman she'd been as her home had been attacked. Making sure everyone fighting took some time to get the rest they needed, get some food in them. Getting supplies and ammunition where it was needed. Trying to put it aside as people she cared about took hits.

John had been injured. One of the few true friends she had in this place. She was worried, yes, and she'd seen what had gone down between him and Jacen Solo. But, to be honest, she didn't know how to deal with anything during all the fighting. Verbal sparring she could handle. It was what was going on aside from that that she couldn't deal with.

Still. John didn't deserve to believe that his friends didn't want to be around him. He had friends, that was something in itself, wasn't it? She wasn't going to leave him behind. Ever.

So she did what she did best when not dragging her husband to competitions on time. She baked. Sugar biscuits with jam middles. In other words, the perfect bribe to get her friend to open up to her. With any luck at all. And she arrived at the door of the flat he shared with Rose and knocked lightly, hoping he was already awake. It was late morning, but after all they'd been through, no one could blame him for having a lie-in.

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imhisblogger
2012-12-06 10:27 pm UTC (link)

John didn't sleep much since the fighting happened. But then that was nothing new. He rarely slept very well thanks to nightmares and memories. The medication he took for his PTSD only did so much, when he slept it was a new world all together. He wasn't sure which dreams were worse, the ones involving the wars or the monsters or Sherlock. After a while they all just blended together in a mess of one. That had even been one where Sherlock was a monster. His least favorite one. He hadn't eaten much since the fighting began, only a few bits here and there. When he got upset he often forgot about it. As a doctor he knew the risks, but that was why he also stepped back from being one. He was in no mental shape to be diagnosing other people. He knew that. So why was it so bad that he'd pulled out of the medbay when he did? He knew he was only making things worse, so he had to quit. It was the only logical thing to do. He knew he'd messed things up with Anatoly, they weren't even speaking anymore. He didn't know how or if he could make that right again.

He didn't know if he could make anything right, and very nearly sunk to a desperate level of wanting to just disappear. No matter what he did he was wrong. He tried to help with the monsters, tried to help Rose and he was wrong. So he isolated himself. His shoulder had been all stitched up by whoever was available and then he slipped away once released. Toby was on the floor sleeping until he heard the sounds of footsteps outside his masters door and was up in a flash. He was sticking his paws under the frame trying to figure out if the thing behind it was friend or foe and making excited scuffling noises. He'd heard her long before she knocked, but John very nearly ignored it. Toby was still a puppy, he was excited by bugs that skittered along the ground.

John was lost in a world of thought as steam from his tea pot began to spill out the spout. Finally it whistled and John picked it up. He was ready to pour the tea when Toby decided barking was the best way to get his attention. John made a face as he put the teapot back and went to the door instead. "Oh hush you silly mutt." John opened the door and raised an eyebrow. "Florence? Wasn't expecting visitors. Everything all right?" He tried to put on a less troubled look but was finding it difficult as he stepped aside to let her in and nudged the puppy back with his leg.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-07 07:09 am UTC (link)

Florence actually heard the tea kettle whistle just before she heard the sounds of Toby's eager barking. And she smiled. Oh, he was probably in a horrible mood. After what they'd just faced, who wouldn't be? But he was making tea and the dog hadn't been banished to the bathroom or anything. It was something. He was functioning at the very least.

The tin in her hand should've been his first clue that everything was all right. No one baked during a crisis. Well. Okay, she didn't typically. She might have, though. But she knew him well enough to know he was wary. Especially if any of the things Jacen Solo had said had sank in. She nudged the door shut behind her with her hip and knelt to greet Toby. "I know, you smell what I've got, don't you? Sorry, love, they're for your dad." And then she stood, wrapping John in a tight hug. "You weren't expecting visitors? Since when do I need an invitation, hmm?"

Her voice was teasing but her face was serious as she looked him over. He looked drawn and tired. Worse than she'd seen him in at least a month, maybe two. He'd been doing so well. What the hell had happened? "Course, if you really do want to be alone, that's all right, too. I just came by to drop these off for you."

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imhisblogger
2012-12-07 07:46 am UTC (link)

John really tried to use the Bathroom only as punishment, honestly Toby hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't deserve to be ignored, but John wasn't in the mood to really play with him either. John was very nearly tempted to lock the door behind her, but they were in an apartment complex. Most people seemed at least trustworthy enough to stay out unless invited, so he tried to relax a little and just gave her a small smile. "You didn't have to do that." As he said those words however his stomach betrayed him and growled. He hadn't been eating very well, but he imagined most weren't with all the attacks. "...What is it?" He asked as he peered curiously at the tin. He did like her cooking, after Sherlock had died she'd cooked often for him. Freddie was a lucky man, even in his lowest points he could rarely resist her food.

He didn't even tense anymore when it came to Florence hugging him, he wasn't a very touchy feely sort of guy but with her and Rose he didn't mind. He even hugged her back, for a minute just relaxing. He could be himself around her. At least he thought he could, some of the things Jacen had said however were still nudging the back of his mind. His friends were there out of pity. He didn't want to be some sort of charity case. "'Course you don't." She was one of the few who didn't. Anyone else save for Rose who lived there now would have been told to sod off or get out whatever came to mind first. He was angry at the world, but he hoped it really didn't show that much. Of course knowing Florence she'd be able to tell anyway.

Toby bothered Florence's feet for a while until he was given the attention he demanded and then padded off. "No, it's all right. How about a cuppa?" He looked over at her for a moment and then at the door. He was supposed to go to Sherlock's a couple days before and just hadn't been able to leave or even tell the man. Florence reminded him that there was still a world outside his flat. Sherlock's scarf was hung over one of the chairs on the table. It hadn't even been touched since at least a couple months ago, He'd been rather good at not going for it even though there were times he felt he still needed it. It just remained in the box that was now open on the kitchen table. Inside that box was a stained jacket, pair of gloves, and a few other clothing items Sherlock had owned. But John favored the scarf. He always had. It was taken care of meticulously. If anything ever happened to it, who knew what John would do.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-07 06:16 pm UTC (link)

She'd never planned on being the domestic sort. When she'd first fallen in love with Freddie, he'd been at the beginning of his fame and already in enough money that, for the most part, they ate out all the time. When they didn't, or when she wasn't with him, it was usually take aways. But marriage had changed her. Oh, she'd been raised at the height of feminism and didn't believe a woman had to cook for her husband in order to be good at the role. But this place had forced her into new roles and she'd found she quite liked it. It also made her connect to her mother, those rare moments when the two of them could bond without Florence being pushed to be the best, to compete with children who'd grown up in England and weren't looked at as an outsider. Those times long before she'd gotten disapproving looks from her mum over Freddie Trumper. Now that she had friends she cared for, she had no problem cooking for them, either.

Least she could do without a family of her own to pamper and coddle.

"Biscuits, of course," she replied, answering his question. The look on her face said, quite simply, 'well, duh'. Because she knew him and she knew the way into his good graces. And when he discovered jam in the middle of said biscuits, well, she'd be his favorite at least for a while. Until Rose returned home, anyway.

She didn't even bother letting him make her settle in. As much time as she'd spent in the flat after Sherlock's passing, she knew the place well enough to consider herself a part time resident. "I'd love one," she told him, but she didn't allow him to make it. She found where he'd left the kettle and poured two cups, then prepared his exactly as he took it.

Unfortunately, the kettle was in the kitchen. And in the kitchen sat that blasted box. And as she turned to take him his cup, she caught it out of the corner of her eye. And her perceptive gaze also caught that the scarf was actually out of the box. "Oh, John... No. You didn't." Her tone wasn't scolding, or even disapproving, really. Just sad.

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imhisblogger
2012-12-08 04:51 am UTC (link)

John had been planning to serve the tea, but before he could even get back to the kitchen Florence was bringing it to him instead. Raising a sandy blond brow he smiled faintly and sank into a chair. He didn't have to tell her no sugar, she just knew and he missed her for it. Rose was great, she was one of his best friends but things with her were also damn confusing. Just like the rest of the world at the moment. Florence's presence was familiar and he needed that right now more then she knew.

Sipping at the tea infront of him he savored it slowly and reached for one of the biscuits. He couldn't help it, despite not being very hungry Florence's cookies were his favorite things. He preferred them to store bought any day. John dunked one of the biscuits in the tea he nibbled at it and even smiled for a moment as he looked up at her. "These are brilliant." He'd never been any good at cooking. He was more for going out to eat and surviving on sandwiches so when someone did cook for him he appreciated it that much more.

Sucking idly on the cookie as she noticed the box, he shifted his eyes away. It'd taken him so long to put Sherlocks things up and away for storage, it was clear he was struggling with it again. The things Jacen had said made it all come tumbling back. It was his fault. Sherlock was gone because of him. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "He had to know." John said quietly as he finished the cookie a little more sadly then he'd meant to. The last few days had been hell. He tried not to think on it, but it was hard. Every time he turned around it was there plastered on his computer. John toyed with the rim of his tea cup and looked over at the box. Sherlock's was in there somewhere...

Part of him wanted to reach for it and dig, so he kept his fingers on the tea cup instead.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-09 04:51 am UTC (link)

The look on her face said it all, and John was one of the people who knew her well enough to know what her facial expressions meant. She wasn't angry with him. She wasn't one of the people in the city who was going to try and force him to move on. Obviously he was in a great deal of pain, witnessing his friend's death not just once, but twice. But she did worry for him. She accepted that everyone grieved in their own time. But he was taking a frighteningly long time to do so. It wasn't healthy.

But there he'd been doing so well. They'd finally packed up the apartment, almost all of Sherlock's things were finally in boxes and he'd even allowed Rose to take Sherlock's old room (though how awkward that had to be, Florence didn't even want to imagine). Lately he'd been smiling more, laughing occasionally, and even cracking jokes. When she'd seen him take the front lines in battle, she thought maybe, just maybe, he was at a point where she could call him healed. Never completely forgetting, of course not, and she wouldn't ask him to. But at least functional again.

Now? She really didn't know. The box being out was bad, the box being out and open was worse. And the scarf resuming its old place in John's life simply broke her heart.

"Had to know what?" she asked as she took the seat across from him, reaching out to touch his hand. "Come on, John. Open up. Talking helps, you know that." As he should.

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imhisblogger
2012-12-09 07:37 am UTC (link)

"He was a bloody genius he had to know Moriarty was setting a trap for him." He was sad, it showed in his eyes. He had been trying to find some kind of clue in the box to help prove Jacen wrong, but all he found was a blood stained red shirt, scarf and a few other items that told him absolutely nothing. Only frustrated him further. "Maybe Jacen was right and he just wanted to get away from me." He rubbed a hand against his face and looked down at the surface of his tea at his murky reflection. Jacen had hit one of his lowest points. In the beginning he'd blamed himself for leading him to death, and now it was returning. Now it was coming back to bite him again. He was angry he couldn't force it away. He couldn't stop hurting all because of a few sour things Jacen had said.

"It's never going to be right. No matter what I do, it'll never be right." Jacen had confused him. He was trying to get his life back in order and thought he was doing okay. Then that got thrown in his face all over again. "I never told her not to grieve, I would never." He could talk to Florence, though Freddie didn't much like it either. Florence was one of his best friends, he felt like he could actually trust her. She'd stayed with him through everything and even now still cared.

He looked down at her hand and then back at her with a strained smile. "I don't know what he wants, but I really don't think I care anymore. I thought he was my friend but who says that? Who does that?" Ranting, but at least he was talking. It didn't take nearly as long for him to talk this time as it had when Sherlock was taken away from him again. He knew Florence was his friend, he knew he could talk to her.

Being with her helped re-enforced that she was there of her own free will. If she didn't want to be there she didn't have to be, but she stayed. Some of John's nerves were slowly unwinding.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-10 07:11 am UTC (link)

As the pieces clicked into place, Florence's Eastern European temper flared up. It was a really good thing powers were back. Because she was pretty certain she'd be able to take Jacen Solo without them. Or, at the very least, put up a good fight. She was angry and she was worried for her friend, the fragile man in front of her who had fought so hard to get back from all the pain he'd suffered. Now Jacen had sent him right back. That bastard.

"You listen to me, John Watson, because I am only saying this once and if it doesn't get through your head, I will slap you with a newspaper. Sherlock Holmes was a lot of things, namely a prat. But he cared about you more than anyone. You are the only person in this city he would have died for. Maybe he did know it was a trap. Yes, he was a genius, he could have seen it coming. But he went to it not to get away from you, but to end the fight with him and Moriarty. If it was because of you, why wouldn't he have taken you with him? Let you get hurt, too? What would be the point of going out of his way to keep you safe if he didn't care so damn much about you?"

All right, so it was a bit of a monologue. But whatever it took to get through to him, she didn't care. Sometimes, it did take a lot of words for things to sink in for John. Especially when he was in his more depressive state. But her friend had worked his ass off to come back from the brink of suicide. Maybe he wasn't one hundred percent yet. Most people wouldn't be. He'd even gone so far as to get on those front lines fighting with the others, whether she'd wanted him to or not. And yes, it had cost him in the end. John was a soldier, but hardly a content one. And he was going to have trouble dealing with being back at war, it was to be expected. But dammit, he'd tried, and he shouldn't have to pay for that.

She gave his hand a squeeze before returning to her teacup. "Look, Jacen took one comment over the top. Even Rose acknowledged that wasn't how you meant it. She knows you, I know you, Jacen... He isn't your friend. Not now." Jacen didn't have the patience to handle John. And yes, Florence acknowledged that sometimes it took some effort with him. He wasn't okay, it was just how it was. "How does the saying go? 'If you can't take me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best'? Well. That's Jacen."

Because she knew John. She knew him when Sherlock was alive and she'd practically adopted him, then. Unlike Jacen, she wasn't going to turn her back when times got hard. Friends didn't do that. She knew Jacen had been grieving for his daughter, and she knew how badly it had to hurt. She'd have given anything to get just another day with her children. And to die so violently was a terrible thing. But he didn't deserve to take it out on John.

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imhisblogger
2012-12-10 08:57 am UTC (link)

John too had considered giving Jacen a piece of his mind while the powers were down but he knew better. He knew when and where to pick his fights, and picking one with Jacen was not the right thing to do. He knew Jacen had been grieving his daughter, he knew he was hurting. Yet still John was confused. He thought Jacen was his friend, but lately he just seemed cold and John didn't know how to talk to him anymore. So instead of thinking about it he nibbled into one of Florence's cookies idly. He didn't much care for chatting about feelings, but he knew she was right. If he didn't talk about it all it was going to do was to fester and honestly Jacen wasn't worth it. He'd made so much progress it would kill him to go back to that desperate place again.

So he focused on her and listened while she spoke, talking about Sherlock still hurt. Still brought a pain to his eyes that had for a while been gone. It still broke his heart to talk about Sherlock, but he tried to keep his composure this time. He tried desperately not to let Jacen ruin his memories of his friend. He believed in Sherlock. He always would. "He could have been a great man, maybe even a good one if he had a chance.." John traied off. His hand gripped at his cup and he chewed at his lip.

He had to loosen his hand from hers reluctantly to rub at his eyes as they threatened to tear up. "Damn steam." He blamed the teacup and returned his hand to where it rested on the table by hers. "I tried to help." He knew some people wouldn't want it, but at that point he wasn't asking. He was just doing, just reacting to a threat and if people didn't like it well it was their choice. He was going to keep protecting the ones he cared about. He was going to keep trying to do the right thing. "He would have wanted me to."His voice was uncertain and a little shaky but it seemed that Florence's speech had sunk in.

"He told me once I was a conductor of light. He could be so weird sometimes." It'd been quite a while since he'd even spoken about Sherlock, it was still hard. There had been a few weeks where he couldn't stop talking about the man, every thing he said had something to do with Sherlock Holmes. But now he'd been making strides forward. Sure some things still made him sad, he still had days where all he wanted was to lay in bed, but they weren't as frequent. He hadn't pointed a gun at himself in ages and wasn't planning on it any time soon. He took a shaky breath and another sip of tea.

"I haven't visited Sherlock in a couple months. That probably makes me a horrible friend.." John trailed off, he hadn't been to the graveyard lately at all. The truth was he didn't want to. It scared him too much to go alone anymore. He was afraid to go back to that state when he'd struggled so hard to get to where he was out of the shadow of his ghost.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-12 07:38 pm UTC (link)

Florence wasn't sure she bought the bit about Sherlock having the potential to be a good man. He was brilliant, yes. A genius of the most annoying variety. Most of the time she found him intolerable, and that from the woman who'd fallen for Freddie Trumper. Twice. But he wasn't a nice person by any means. He did what he did for the challenge, mostly. In her heart, though, she also knew he'd also done it for John. And she wouldn't dare take that away from him.

Steam indeed. She offered him a sympathetic smile and returned to her tea cup. "I don't care who wanted it and who didn't. This is a war we're fighting, John. They should be grateful for every single armed person they can find willing to take up the fight. You risked a lot doing that. I know that. And you know, Rose does, too. So does anyone else who truly cares about you. And that's all that matters." His sanity had suffered, partially from the fighting yes. But she knew Jacen Solo's words had hurt more than anything else.

She considered his words carefully. "You're not a horrible friend," she chided gently. "You don't have to live at his grave to be his friend. Want the truth? I've always found that a bit creepy. He's not in there. It's a body. You can talk to him just as much at home." She knew how that worked. Her father had been presumed dead almost all of her life, but she had no body to go visit, and her mother put her foot down at Florence even visiting Budapest. So she talked to her dad the only way she knew how.

Still, she knew the cemetery had been a point of comfort for John for a long time. So she stifled a sigh. "We could go later, if you want. Make sure it didn't get too damaged in all the fighting. Maybe take a plant or something for Christmas."

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imhisblogger
2012-12-13 09:47 am UTC (link)

John would defend Sherlock until his last breath, so trying to say anything negative about him would never end well anyway. He was almost painfully loyal to him. He could remember times even on cases where Sherlock would leave him outside while he broke into a house to look over a crime scene and he would wait. Sometimes for hours. Of course when he came back he would be burning mad, but he waited. Sherlock had reasons for keeping him out.

Talking about him still caused his chest to tighten and breathing to become difficult. He still had panic attacks on some occasions. Jacen hadn't helped there. He'd been doing so well until Jacen said those things, and then the attacks returned. John was insecure when it came to friendships. He hadn't had many in his life time. The ones he had now were dear to him. He didn't want to lose them just because of the sith.

John took another cookie to nibble on and raised an eyebrow. "Really?" He was getting tired from the emotional tidal wave that hit him. "I'd always just sort of hoped he was." It was stupid, and weird but John had hoped by going to the graveyard he could cling onto him somehow. Even if it was just a little bit.

"I think I need to." He agreed to going to see it, even if it was starting to bother him a bit just being there. "..I almost forgot about Christmas." He wasn't really in a celebratory mood these days.
"Sherlock hated Christmas, he insulted an entire party individually once." John winced at the memory.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-13 04:44 pm UTC (link)

"And you think that's healthy?" Florence pointed out gently, her expression sympathetic. "Hoping your best friend is still in there?" Sympathetic but brutally honest. She'd learned over the last several months of her friendship with John that that was how it had to be. If she was too soft, he'd wallow and if she was too harsh, she'd lose him. There had to be a fine line and she had to toe at it, but never cross it. "I don't know that I truly believe in an afterlife, John, but here, you kind of have to. It looks us in the face every day. And I'd much rather think he's up there pissing off some angel or another complaining that they're doing things wrong in Heaven."

Somehow, the great Sherlock Holmes disliking Christmas didn't really surprise her any. Father Christmas was nothing but a fantasy to him, probably had been even when he was a small child. Christmas wasn't logical, or something. She, however, loved the holiday. Desperately. Even growing up with a single mother who worked overtime just trying to support her daughter, she loved it. And she was not going to let Sherlock Holmes' memory taint the holiday for her. It was her first Christmas as a married woman, with friends instead of colleagues and people to care for. She was not letting this be a bad year.

"Well, that's just too bad, isn't it?" she scolded. "Because I'm thinking your flat needs holiday decorations, you need Christmas cookies, and I've heard there's a gingerbread tea and it has to be tried. Oh, and peppermint mocha cakepops are out. I'm thinking six dozen, personally." Which was a bit much, even for an entire Complex of people. That wasn't likely to stop her. She had the money to spoil people she loved, she was going to.

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imhisblogger
2012-12-13 05:39 pm UTC (link)

He paused and thought about it. "Suppose not?" It was no healthier then him clinging to the body for so long. He rubbed his face suddenly feeling a little anxious with all the talk of bodies and angels. He tried to stop a panic attack he could feel growing underneath the surface. His eyes closed for a moment as he rested his head in his hands and tried to just breathe trough it. Luke had said to let it come if it came, but John was still worried. Panic attacks were a sign of him worrying more then he should. Over thinking as Luke had said, so he tried not to.

John had no real feeling over Christmas, without Sherlock he had even less. Finally the feeling of panic seemed to pass and he looked back up at her with tired eyes. The attacks drained him at times. Physically as well as emotionally, but he was trying to deal with them. He'd been told he was skirting past emotion, but he knew what it felt like. They were wrong. He knew what pain felt like. Especially in the late night hours alone in his flat.

"Fan are you?" He asked with a faint smile as he sipped at his tea. He hadn't done anything to his flat despite the holiday being a couple weeks away. "Family never really celebrated it either. Harry was usually drunk on eggnog though." He shrugged and sipped his tea. "Cake pops would be better if they had jam in them. Maybe not with mocha though." There were some flavors that just didn't mix with jam and he could accept that. "What would we bring him?" John hadn't really thought to bring anything beyond the flowers he had the first time and he wasn't even sure that was appropriate. Sherlock didn't believe in that sort of thing either.

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notachesspiece
2012-12-14 12:30 am UTC (link)

She watched him carefully, recognizing the signs of the impending attack. He seemed to be handling it better than usual. Which, if he were truly still as bad off as Jacen had said, wouldn't be happening. She offered a small smile and simply waited for him to breathe his way through it. Ever so gently, she rested her hand on his arm, giving a light squeeze. She didn't speak. Once, she'd needed to. She'd talked him down from far too many figurative ledges for either of them to think on. But he'd come far enough to learn to handle them and when he did, she breathed a sigh of relief. He'd never know how proud she actually was.

"It's my favorite," she admitted a moment later with a slightly bashful smile. "Even when I was a kid. And everything is different this year. I'm married, Freddie's career is back in order, we're looking to start a family..." Her face lit up, that ridiculously annoying warm Christmas cheer washing over her. For someone who had always kept the world at arm's length, she was happier than ever. And it was almost scary. That was where Florence's panic attacks happened. When she was sure she was too happy, when she was certain things were going to go to hell because she had been given too much.

Jam. Always jam. "It's a miracle you don't turn into a giant berry. Like the girl in Willy Wonka." Still, she laughed and shrugged. "We'll see what we can do about jam in cakepops. Shouldn't be too hard." As for what they'd take to Sherlock's grave. Well. Despite her hatred of cemeteries, she knew there weren't really a lot of options. "We'll get a poinsettia. A little classier than taking a tiny Christmas tree, don't you think?"

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imhisblogger
2012-12-14 06:06 am UTC (link)

He really was trying. He wanted things to be better. Feeling miserable wasn't something he wanted. He wanted to be the way he was before, to be able to function without worrying about a possible break down, or walking around certain people on egg shells. He wanted to be himself again. For the first time in months he had been starting to until Jacen had set him back a bit. He was trying not to let him do it though. He really didn't need it. John hadn't even had a suicidal thought in the last month as far as he could remember until then. Several had crossed his mind when he was talking to Jacen, but he tried to remember if his friends didn't want to be there they wouldn't be. Florence had been telling him that for ages. It was her choice to be there, Kat as well.

When the attack threatened, he tried to work through it the best he could. Her being there helped and he knew this. Dealing with them alone was harder. He was getting used to the idea of having friends, people he could go to when he needed support. He also wanted to be there for them when they needed him. He wanted to be the person that could be there for others again, he just wasn't sure how. He was more confident when he was a doctor, but he knew he couldn't do that job anymore. He'd messed up, but not only with the staff with his own moral standards. He knew he had to pull back for a while.

"I get that reference." John mused, rather pleased with himself. He didn't watch many films or television, but he had seen that one once before. "I've actually been cutting back a bit. I know it isn't entirely healthy." He'd actually been working on his health, he knew when he'd been grieving initially he'd been pretty neglectful of it. He'd been trying to eat healthier and sleep as much as he could. "I don't think even he could hate that." John knew Sherlock better than anyone, he knew most people didn't care for his attitude but John couldn't help it. He'd grown to care for him as a flatemate and friend. There had been several times when Sherlock even addressed him as an equal, just assumed John would understand him. The truth was, even John didn't know everything about him, he was left unfufilled. Even considered studying the new Sherlock to see how they differed.

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