What If?
Falling Down
Losing hope, losing faith. Becoming bitter. I'd given up my job at Speedy's, after Sherlock had persuaded me to take up being his "Second John". I was now the assistant of the world's only Consulting Detective. On the eleventh month to the day, I took Sherlock up on his offer, and gave up finally. I had moved into 221C, Mrs Hudson had allowed me to rent it after she was sure I could pay rent, we'd had a large number of cases in the last few weeks so we were earning more. Even though I was less the face of the set up, I wrote more of the blog than John did now. Even so much that I was even allowed to post the occasional updates on Sherlock's website. How he even let me touch it was hard to comprehend, I guessed that John had a role in it some how.
I got often lonely in the flat, and it only took around a week before I got a cat. I had checked with Mrs Hudson, and she couldn't see why not. She didn't want me getting lonely either, bless her. I realised much too late that the cat I had indeed selected was the grumpiest, most anti-social little shit on the planet. A ginger tabby that obviously had a habit of jumping on me as I slept and then running away from the scene of the crime and acting vacantly innocent for what ever offence had been caused. It was John who finally voiced my thoughts with out shame.
"Call him Sherlock. It's just like him, but an evil ginger nightmare." he muttered as he sat there watching telly in 221C, momentarily staring at the cat as I joined him on the sofa to talk to Molly. She sat opposite, in an old arm chair, still with her coat on. She shrugged it off, eager to tell me the purpose of why she was here. I tried being nice to Molly, but it was always some how tainted with a slight bitter resentment when ever I saw her with Rory. I wanted to be a good friend to her, she was so very, very nice. But my brain stopped me ever fully liking her. She had Rory, and I didn't. I wouldn't get past that, ever. And then she had to tell me the worst thing I could have ever heard from her pretty little mouth in my entire life.
"Um, Rory's asked me to marry him!" she gasped, smiling widely as shock hit my face. I tried to make it look gracious. Happy, even. John just stared after smiling in momentary congratulations, keeping a concentrated eye on me to make sure I wasn't about to cry or kill the woman sat in my living room. I held it together. Emotional detachment. Great, good for you, wow, marvellous. And then the killer. I just felt myself die inside.
"I was going to ask, now, I know that it's obviously going to be a while, but... Well, I can't think of any one else better than you!" she nattered, and then composed herself for a moment, before asking, "Will you be my maid of honour?"
I made the oddest noise I have ever heard. A grating "Uhhhhh" noise as I registered what she'd just said. My voice died away as I just stared at her, open mouthed, eyes happy and trying to hold back screams. I felt John's weight shifting on the sofa as he fidgeted awkwardly just out of my field of vision. I had to say something or my voice would give way to tears.
"Yeah, sure! I'd love to, it'll be great." I stumbled over the words, forcing them out of my mouth. I sat there staring blankly, giving nods or sounds of approval here and there as she outlined their gorgeously fabulous wedding and the house they were looking at and how pretty it was. Mercifully, her and Rory were to be moving to Leadworth. I thanked the powers that be that I wouldn't have to see them live here, married, have children, grow old. But the were moving to Leadworth. My home. Mine and Rory's home. I felt a nasty little stab of jealousy in my chest as she talked, and then regretted it instantly as I looked into her smiling face. Molly Hooper. Molly Williams. Amelia Pond. Amelia Williams. It fitted, it was right, Molly Williams.
She talked and talked, excited for her future as I sat there letting the tea on the coffee table go stone cold as I stared at it, wishing I wasn't here. Wishing I was any where. Any where in the whole of time and space. Any where but here, sat in this boring little flat in London in an alternate universe that threatened to kill every bit of hope I'd ever had that The Doctor actually cared about me.
Molly left shortly after, she had to visit a few other friends, notify bridesmaids and such. As the door slammed, I sat back in my place, staring at the tv for a few moments in silence as tears made their tracks down my face. And then I did the grown up thing. I sat there crying into John's jumper and sobbing about how life wasn't fair in the privacy of my own flat rather than telling the world and ruining things for sweet lovely Molly Hooper.
I got often lonely in the flat, and it only took around a week before I got a cat. I had checked with Mrs Hudson, and she couldn't see why not. She didn't want me getting lonely either, bless her. I realised much too late that the cat I had indeed selected was the grumpiest, most anti-social little shit on the planet. A ginger tabby that obviously had a habit of jumping on me as I slept and then running away from the scene of the crime and acting vacantly innocent for what ever offence had been caused. It was John who finally voiced my thoughts with out shame.
"Call him Sherlock. It's just like him, but an evil ginger nightmare." he muttered as he sat there watching telly in 221C, momentarily staring at the cat as I joined him on the sofa to talk to Molly. She sat opposite, in an old arm chair, still with her coat on. She shrugged it off, eager to tell me the purpose of why she was here. I tried being nice to Molly, but it was always some how tainted with a slight bitter resentment when ever I saw her with Rory. I wanted to be a good friend to her, she was so very, very nice. But my brain stopped me ever fully liking her. She had Rory, and I didn't. I wouldn't get past that, ever. And then she had to tell me the worst thing I could have ever heard from her pretty little mouth in my entire life.
"Um, Rory's asked me to marry him!" she gasped, smiling widely as shock hit my face. I tried to make it look gracious. Happy, even. John just stared after smiling in momentary congratulations, keeping a concentrated eye on me to make sure I wasn't about to cry or kill the woman sat in my living room. I held it together. Emotional detachment. Great, good for you, wow, marvellous. And then the killer. I just felt myself die inside.
"I was going to ask, now, I know that it's obviously going to be a while, but... Well, I can't think of any one else better than you!" she nattered, and then composed herself for a moment, before asking, "Will you be my maid of honour?"
I made the oddest noise I have ever heard. A grating "Uhhhhh" noise as I registered what she'd just said. My voice died away as I just stared at her, open mouthed, eyes happy and trying to hold back screams. I felt John's weight shifting on the sofa as he fidgeted awkwardly just out of my field of vision. I had to say something or my voice would give way to tears.
"Yeah, sure! I'd love to, it'll be great." I stumbled over the words, forcing them out of my mouth. I sat there staring blankly, giving nods or sounds of approval here and there as she outlined their gorgeously fabulous wedding and the house they were looking at and how pretty it was. Mercifully, her and Rory were to be moving to Leadworth. I thanked the powers that be that I wouldn't have to see them live here, married, have children, grow old. But the were moving to Leadworth. My home. Mine and Rory's home. I felt a nasty little stab of jealousy in my chest as she talked, and then regretted it instantly as I looked into her smiling face. Molly Hooper. Molly Williams. Amelia Pond. Amelia Williams. It fitted, it was right, Molly Williams.
She talked and talked, excited for her future as I sat there letting the tea on the coffee table go stone cold as I stared at it, wishing I wasn't here. Wishing I was any where. Any where in the whole of time and space. Any where but here, sat in this boring little flat in London in an alternate universe that threatened to kill every bit of hope I'd ever had that The Doctor actually cared about me.
Molly left shortly after, she had to visit a few other friends, notify bridesmaids and such. As the door slammed, I sat back in my place, staring at the tv for a few moments in silence as tears made their tracks down my face. And then I did the grown up thing. I sat there crying into John's jumper and sobbing about how life wasn't fair in the privacy of my own flat rather than telling the world and ruining things for sweet lovely Molly Hooper.