What Lies Beneath

August 12th, 2012

Therapy is not my idea of a fun Friday night, but it turns out I have no choice. Doctor-ordered journaling is even less fun, but apparently it’s necessary after you witness something traumatic and life altering. Who knew?

Well, Mrs. Heaton (who, it turns out, is able to read upside down and apparently isn’t happy with my entry so far) thinks it will help me move past my “depression”, and since I have to be here for another hour, I might as ramble on.

School is hell, and I don’t say that lightly. My senior year was supposed to be memorable, and it’s the worst time of my life. It’s only been two weeks, and I’m ready to leave that building forever.

Sherlock’s Sweethearts disbanded as swiftly as they’d come together. Anyone associated with Sherlock Holmes is an outcast now, which explains why I have no friends. None, not even Jeanette and Riley.

They’ve been dating for almost four months now, and ignoring me for nearly six. Six months…

February 12th, 2012. The day I lost my best friend. I haven’t talked about that day, and I don’t want to. Everyone thinks I should, but even the thought of Sherlock fall-

No. Not writing it. Not talking about it. Back to Jeanette and Riley.

After the… fall, everyone’s attitude towards Sherlock changed. Pretty much anyone that still supported Sherlock on February 13th was silenced by shame or exiled until they complied. Like I said, Sherlock’s Sweethearts disappeared overnight. And maybe I wouldn’t have been so publicly hated if I’d complied, but that’s just not how I am.

The second I walked into school, I was bombarded by Deanna, former leader of Sherlock’s Sweethearts. She – along with the rest of the kids in the hall – made it pretty clear that anyone supporting Sherlock would be treated as a conspirator. Of course, since I cared more about Sherlock than Deanna (more than the whole school, quite honestly) I told her a few colorful places I’d shove my pencil if she didn’t get out of my way.

It was at lunch that Jeanette came up to me, Riley on one side, Deanna on the other, and told me I could either pick Sherlock or her and Riley. I took a bite of my pizza and held her stare. She and Riley walked away, and I haven’t talked to her since then.

Lunch is actually not that bad when eaten alone. I’ve had worse.

On another note, John got me a job. A real job, not the measly minimum-wage cashier job I’d worked at the corner store over summer. I’m working as his part-time secretary at the doctor’s office. It pays well, and now I’m actually somewhat of a help with rent. Mrs. Hudson cut the rent in half, but it’s still pricey with groceries and other bills thrown in. We just can’t leave that flat, though.

I haven’t talked to Mycroft since February, and I don’t plan to change that any time soon. John told me the role he’d played in the Fall, and after getting one solid hit on him, John decided it was in Mycroft’s best interests that I keep away for a while.

I think I’m getting violent. Maybe. Nah. It’s not violence if it’s justified.

I still talk to Lestrade, though he doesn’t do a lot at NSY these days. He’s still on Sherlock’s side, and so of course he’s shunned by most everyone. Anderson is still smug, but when he smirks at me I can see the scar from the split lip I gave him six months ago.

Mrs. Heaton feels I’m not being expressive enough with my writing (I can read very well upside down- oh, and apparently so can she. Oops), so fine, let’s see:

This therapy session has been going on for fifty-three minutes too long (Mrs. Heaton just frowned), I don’t want to go to work because I didn’t sleep well last night and sleeping on the job is apparently not acceptable, and I’ll be eating dinner alone tonight because John has a date. She’s this girl that works at the little teashop he shops at. Mary, I think her name is. She and Molly grew up together; she introduced them, and he’s gone in there so many times just to flirt that we have months of tea in backstock now.

She makes him happy. He smiled all through work last night, so that makes my lonely night a bit less unwanted.

October 25th, 2012

I’m not good with keeping journals, and Mrs. Heaton wasn’t happy to see my untouched book. For the record, therapists don’t enjoy it when you tell them you’ve been writing for two months, only to find half the book filled with doodles. My bad.

Right, anyways, since I’m being watched like a hawk…

Riley and Jeanette still won’t have anything to do with me. She transferred out of the classes we shared. We’d picked them specifically just to put us together. I don’t even want to learn German. I miss her more than I probably should.

On a similar note, I was suspended from school for the first time in twelve years. As I learned, it’s definitely not okay to punch a classmate in the face. Even if said classmate Deanna calls you a traitorous whore and rips up your math book. I still feel justified, even if the principal doesn’t think so. John agrees with me.

He hasn’t been around much. He’s hardly in the flat, and when he is, it’s only to shower and grab a change of clothes. He’s spending a lot of time with Mary, and I think he’s pretty serious about her. He hasn’t forgotten her name once. She’s come by the office a couple of times to bring him lunch, and she’s always polite.

It’s not that I mind him spending time with her; I’m really glad he’s happy. I guess I’m just lonely. I’m not one to handle loneliness well. When John and Sherlock would be out on cases, I spent the time with Jeanette and Riley. I have no one now. I’d been watching tellie with Mrs. Hudson almost every night the past couple weeks, but now Mrs. Hudson’s found herself a boyfriend, and I’ve been alone.

I spend a lot of time at Sherlock’s grave. I do all the talking, which really isn’t different from the hours we’d spend in the flat, him in his chair, me chatting away to myself about my math homework. It’s nice, in a way.

I do miss the way he’d glance up every now and then; his lips would quirk up on one side, and he’d give me the answer to whatever I’d been working on at the time. He always listened, even when he acted like I’d bored him.

Sometimes I forget how much I truly miss Sherlock.

December 8th, 2012

Lestrade’s birthday was yesterday, so John, Mary, Molly, and I took him out for his birthday. We’d planned all week to surprise him, and in the end he managed to surprise us. Apparently, Lestrade and Mycroft had been dating for quite some time, and he’d brought the elder Holmes as his date.

It wasn’t finding out that Lestrade was gay that sent me out of the restaurant with a snarl on my face. His sexual preference didn’t bother me one bit- it was the man he chose to be with that nearly had me plunging the butter knife into Mycroft’s best suit.

I hadn’t been ready to talk to him; I’d been planning on avoiding him for the longest time possible. I’d been doing pretty well until then. Mycroft, however, had other plans. He followed me outside and down the block. I’d have kept going if I didn’t turn down one alley too soon. I’d run into a dead end, and I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t exactly climb the alley wall in my nice jeans, so I listened to what he had to say

At first, he just made me angrier. He started out defending his actions. I called him out on it pretty fast, and after nearly twenty minutes, I was crying, Mycroft was teary-eyed, and we were both hugging and sniffling.

The policemen that stumbled upon us were very, very puzzled.

Donovan stopped by for dessert, and Anderson didn’t make an appearance, so Lestrade’s birthday dinner went well. It was one of the first fun, careless nights we’d all had in quite a while, so when John found me crying in my room on his way out, I felt horrible for ruining the good mood.

I tried to play it off as Mycroft’s doing, but the ten months we’d spent together let him see right through my lie. I ended up telling him how I felt about staying alone in the flat all the time. I felt so bad for putting that guilt onto him, but he told me he was happy I had, and that I shouldn’t have held it in so long.

Twenty minutes later, Mary showed up at the flat with a bag of clothes, her shower things, and a bag of my favorite tea. It was the first night I’d spent with my friends in several months.

I went to bed smiling.

February 12th, 2013

It is the one year anniversary of Sherlock’s fall.

I left three things lying on his grave- a riding crop, a violin bow, and a single Queen Mary rose.

I did not go to school today.

March 31st, 2013

John proposed to Mary!

I’d never seen Mary so happy, and I’d never seen John cry. It was a great night, overall. The ring is beautiful- it was John’s mum’s, a diamond band with a garnet stone perched on top. It looks great on her, and I’m sure she still hasn’t stopped smiling.

Mary’s moving in tomorrow. She was going to last week right after the proposal, but John’s been stuck at work. We have everything moved around for her. She and John are keeping the bedroom upstairs, and I elected to move into Sherlock’s room.

It’s easier to keep the storage in the basement, and it’s nice to sleep in there again. I’ve moved everything of his into storage, save his bed, violin, and chair. The chair lives in the corner of the room now; sometimes it’s more inviting than the bed.

Mary and I have been spending a lot of time together. I consider her one of my closest friends now. She, Molly, and I are nearly inseparable. Mary’s decided that Molly and I (along with John’s sister Harry) are going to be bridesmaids. Mary’s determined to get me into a dress. John has twenty bucks that she won’t be able to.

It’s been good. Very good.

I stopped by Sherlock’s grave this morning and told him the news. Sometimes, I feel closer to him now than I did before. I miss him terribly, but the time I’ve been spending with the others has helped ease the ache.

May 18th, 2013

Finally, I graduated high school.

It was an interesting day, and not just because Deanna tripped and fell on stage. I may have laughed a little louder than necessary. I still have no regrets.

No, it turns out that Jeanette is pregnant, and it’s not even Riley’s. The father (some kid I met twice that spent most of the year in detention) broke the news to everyone at the after-ceremony gathering. Riley wasn’t very happy.

For me, though, the day was great.

Molly, Mary, John, Lestrade, and Mycroft took me out for a celebratory lunch, and afterwards, Mary took Molly and I to try on bridesmaids dresses. Molly tried them all, and I allowed myself to be seen in one, which was the one Mary ended up choosing.

Later in the evening, we all went by to visit Sherlock. I left my graduation announcement tucked under the riding crop (which has actually held up quite nice in the London weather). I wished he could have been there, but I have a feeling he was watching me.

June 13th, 2013

The wedding was absolutely beautiful.

Mary wore a strapless gown that hugged her torso perfectly and billowed out into a gorgeous skirt that swam down the aisle behind her. Seriously, for a war hero, he cried more than Molly did (which, trust me, says a lot).

Molly, myself, and Harry all wore garnet knee-length dresses, and John owes Mary twenty bucks. Mycroft and Lestrade were John’s groomsmen, and Sherlock’s picture sat at John’s side, his irreplaceable best man. I’m still denying that I cried. John won’t quit teasing me, though he cried about it too.

John and Mary are off on their honeymoon, and Molly is staying with me until they come back. She knows how much I hate being alone; she says she hates it too. I think she misses Sherlock as much as I do. Sometimes, I catch her talking about him as if he’s still here.

This weekend we’re going to visit his grave. I’m bringing a picture of the wedding for him. It’s one that Mycroft caught for us- John, Molly, Mary, and myself, squished together in the frame. John and Mary had just finished posing for their wedding portrait, and Molly and I jumped into them as Mycroft lifted his phone. It’s my favorite, and I want Sherlock to have it.

I miss him a lot, more than usual. He would have loved to see his best friend married to a wonderful woman. I think I’ll sleep in his chair tonight.

September 18th, 2013

Last night, after a lovely home-cooked meal, Mary and John gathered Molly, Lestrade, Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson into the flat and made an announcement that put molly to tears and gave the rest of us unbelievable grins.

Mary is four months pregnant!

She was hiding it well, but now that she’s got her maternity tops on, it’s easy to see the little Watson she’s got on the way. Of course, the lot of us got to talking about names. John and Mary want to keep the gender a secret, so we’ve all placed bets. Mycroft, Lestrade, Mary, and myself are pulling for a boy, while John, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly want a girl.

After John’s list of names - some of which being Ann, Elizabeth, and Jane – I told him he could manage to gather all the most common names in one family. He smacked me, and Mary laughed.

It’s nice. Everyone was in a good mood today, and tonight we’re going out to celebrate. I stopped by on my way to Mrs. Heaton’s office to drop off a copy of the baby announcement. Everything but the wedding picture was in it’s place. It’s missing, and though I’m sure the wind took it away, I’m still sad to see it’s gone. I’ll have to replace it.

February 12th, 2014

Not only is today the 2 year anniversary of Sherlock’s fall, it’s also the day that Hamish Sherlock Watson was born.

He arrived at 7:52 am, a healthy 6lbs 4oz blonde haired blue-eyed baby. I can see John in his face and Mary in his eyes. I never believed in love at first sight until Hamish opened his eyes and looked up at me while I was holding him. I’m hooked. Helplessly, helplessly hooked.

Mary and John are so happy. Everyone’s been by- Molly was there with me and John the whole time, right at Mary’s side. Lestrade and Mycroft showed up this afternoon, and Mrs. Hudson came by with gifts (and her new man, Allan Lawrence, the nice man that owns the deli at the end of the street). The whole while Mary and John showed off Hamish. It’s been a good day.

I’m writing this at the graveyard. Visitors had to leave an hour ago, and I wasn’t in the mood to sit in the flat alone. So I brought my blanket, a book, and my journal. It’s a nice night out.

Maybe it’s just because I’m at Sherlock’s grave and starting to fall asleep, but I’ve been thinking. I don’t know if it’s simply coincidence that Hamish was born today. I’m not saying it’s God’s plan, I’m not saying it’s destiny, or a sign, or whatever people could claim it is.

I’m simply saying that, despite the fact that the one man I love unconditionally has been buried for two years now, my heart doesn’t hurt as bad. We’re all happy. We’re all content. Hamish is the start of a new life.

April 29th, 2014

Hamish is wonderful. Mary and John named me his godmother, and Mycroft is his godfather.

On my days off, I take babysitting duty. Mrs. Hudson has him while John and I are working, but with her upcoming wedding (wink, wink) she’s been a little busy. It’s been a fast couple months, and life is constantly changing. Molly’s been seeing this new man at the hospital, Lestrade and Mycroft are officially partners now, and I got accepted to college for this coming fall.

For once, I think we’re all truly happy.

June 20th, 2014

Today, we buried Mary Catherine Watson.

The driver of the truck didn’t even see the stoplight. He didn’t hit the brakes. He didn’t see the little car trucking through the intersection.

It’s a miracle Hamish survived the accident when both the cabby and Mary were pronounced dead at the scene. The doctor’s think he suffered injury to the brain. We won’t know for a while yet, but there’s a good chance he could be mentally handicapped now. He hasn’t woken up yet.

I couldn’t find John when I left Hamish’s room, and it was just an instinctive, sick twist in my stomach that sent me up to the roof. He was standing on the ledge, a chain with Mary’s rings hanging from a hand, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

He didn’t hear me come up behind him, so when I tackled him back onto solid ground, he started to fight me. If it wasn’t for the self defense classes Lestrade had me take a couple years ago, I never would have avoided being knocked out. After I managed to get him pinned and (partially) back in his right mind, he told me he was done.

Done fighting. My John, John Watson, war hero, done fighting. He told me about losing his best friend in Afghanistan, and he told me when Sherlock died he was near ready to quit when he found Mary. Between Mary, me, our friends, and then Hamish, he had managed to push on.

Now Mary was gone, his son was on the edge of death, and Sherlock was never, ever coming back.

I think I was right with my speculation, back when Hamish was born. I think he was put here for a reason. Because if it wasn’t for that little boy, I would never have gotten John off that damned roof.

I told him what Mrs. Heaton told me: There is always someone on this earth that needs you. There is always someone that loves you. I told him to think of the pain he felt when Sherlock died, and I made him think how I would feel if he left me too. How Hamish would feel, an orphan growing up. I knew what it was like to lose a parent, and though I didn’t technically lose my dad, I never really had him.

I took him back down to Hamish’s room. He started crying then, and fell down over his son. He held Hamish to him, and though he was broken, though we all were, I knew that this too would pass.

I don’t let myself think about what would happen if I hadn’t checked the roof. I don’t let myself begin to think about the pain of losing John too. Mary is gone, and that has broken more hearts than I ever thought imaginable.

We need each other now, more than ever,

I asked Sherlock to look after her, and before I left the hospital today, I made a deal with Mary. I’d watch Hamish for her if she watched Sherlock. I think we’ll take care of one another.

August 12, 2014

It’s been two years to the day since I started my therapy, and Mrs. Heaton just informed me it’s my last day. I don’t think she’ll miss my sarcasm, but I’ll miss her. It’s weird thinking about how much I hated this in the beginning. Where would I be if I hadn’t had my journal to confide in?

In the two years since I started writing, a lot has happened.

Sherlock has been gone for two and a half years. I miss him terribly each and every day, but I know that he’s okay up there with my mum and Mary, and one day I get to see him again.

I don’t have Jeanette and Riley anymore. Riley’s in the military now. He sent me a card last week, and I replied. We’re starting to talk again, but I won’t see him for quite a long time, and we’ll never be as close as we were. Jeanette’s daughter is a year old. She came by the doctor’s office the other day for her checkup- she’s pregnant again. She still isn’t talking to me, so it was an awkward run-in.

Mycroft and Lestrade are very happy together. They’re looking into adoption. Not everyone is alright with them together (ahem, Anderson), but certain people have learned to keep their mouths shut.

Mrs. Hudson got married last month. She and Mr. Lawrence are very happy together, and the sandwich shop next door is booming now that they bought it out. No babies for them, but Hamish was enough for everyone to get their fill.

Speaking of the blonde bandit, he’s been doing well so far. The doctors – John included, of course – think that Hamish did suffer damage, but he’s been doing well so far. Babbling away all the time, pulling delicate things off tables and pushing the dishware down the stairs… he fits right in. He’s already started crawling, and let me tell you that kid can get anywhere on his hands and knees. It’s pretty impressive. Whether there truly is something wrong with him or not, he is loved unconditionally, as he always will be.

John is… well, he’s not bad. That’s for sure. He’s getting better every day. Hamish helps, a lot. We go to the park and spend hours feeding the ducks. Hamish is fascinated with them, and his laughter is contagious. There are bad days, though, where John hates the world and he refuses to be happy. So Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Lawrence take Hamish out for ice cream and John and I go visit my mum and Sherlock and Mary, and we cry and hate the world until our eyes are raw from crying and our hearts hurt just a little less.

We’re making it through, one smile and one heartache at a time. Life goes on, and we’re going with it.