[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
Class was over and done and settled, thank God, and that meant that John was making arrangements. Graduation would be soon, and after that, he and Sherlock would be free to make a trip back to London for a bit.

Time away from the city still didn't sit right by him.

So today? John was humming behind his laptop as he ordered Portalocity tickets and emailed Mrs. Hudson. They were going to go back home, at least for a few days, and it was good.

Even the nurses were a little surprised by his disposition today.

[[ open! ]]

FTEC, Friday (4/8)

Friday, April 8th, 2011 01:04 pm
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
One of the nurses had a cough. Not a worrying cough, not a 'this will go on forever and be the start of something more serious' cough. Just a cough.

A very, very annoying cough.

"Oh, for the love of God," John cried, "Take some bloody mints! Please!"

He was a bit on edge today. But, in his defense: it really was an incredibly irritating cough.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
John wandered into the office late that morning - he'd overslept, after Sherlock had dragged him through the Baltimore sewers-- er, nevermind about that. Anyway, he was there, after taking about four showers.

He spent his lunch break buying air fresheners, too.

And the nurses? Not getting anywhere near his station. They might have even been disapprovingly muttering about hygiene.

"Look," John wound up muttering, "If you'd like to light me on fire and decontaminate me, then go make one."


[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
Yesterday, John had been green.

Green. He'd immediately started paging through all of his medical almanacs and finally flung one at... a chair, because this was really ridiculous. And just when he thought he was through with it, he had to go and have a clinic shift.

So this was John, on the phone, fielding phone calls from people who were worried their five-minutes-to-one-hour fit of pigment might be pointing to some greater ailment they just didn't know about yet. And was it possible that their livers would remain green for up to three weeks, despite the fact their skin had gone back to normal...?

"No," John said, fighting the urge to hammer his head against the desk. "No! I said, no!"

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
This was the second Parents' Weekend John had had to cope with, and so far, the second time that he'd been succesful in keeping Harry from visiting him here. Not that he didn't think she couldn't handle it, but for a start he was still angry at her (and she seemed to be intent on drinking and sleeping her way through half the London gay scene at the moment - though he might have ben exaggerating about that) and for a second thing--

Well, the mockery, mostly.

So John would be manning his post at the clinic fairly contently. He had a feeling that if this Parents' Weekend would be anywhere near similar to the last one, it wouldn't be long before Sherlock would be trying to swim to the mainland.

He'd cross that bit of drama when he got to it.

[[ open! ]]

FTEC, Friday (4/3)

Friday, March 4th, 2011 12:56 pm
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
One thing had to be said for spending a week in London chasing at least two seperate serial killers: it gave you something to write about.

And hum about.

And... well, let's just say John was generally in a good mood as he tap-tap-tapped away on the clinic computer. No amount of snarky commentary from his sister would wreck his mood now.

He should probably be worried about the effect Sherlock was having on his conception of 'good fun'.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
John had had about a week to get over the Kasei thing. And he had-- or at least he wasn't actively grousing about it anymore. Instead, he was spending his time seated behind his desk, attempting to put the whole incident into words without a) seeming like he'd lost his mind and b) encouraging Harry to make any more insinuations.

It was enough to drive any man mad, which would explain why he was suffering from writer's block on a massive scale.

Maybe he should try writing about Lacey instead. Lacey was nice, and uncomplicated, and not quite as liable to make him want to chunk his laptop through the clinic window like he was currently sorely tempted to do.

One of the nurses passed him by. "The cord won't go far enough to reach the window, dear."

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
Well, Valentine's Dance night tonight. John wasn't actually going (perish the thought) but he had been thoughtful today and put a package of free condoms out. He didn't necessarily feel any urge to look the children in the face if they took some, but at least he had done his part as a professor of sexual education.

He was, however, trying to figure out whether he should be bringing Lacey something on Monday, or would that be a bit too much too soon, or...

... John, it was Lacey. As long as it wasn't balloons, she'd be happy.

Which didn't stop him from brooding in an affably stereotypically English way all over the condoms.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
The flu was obviously back out in full force this week, or at least it certainly felt that way, with at least three different people showing up asking for cough medicine. It said something, John reflected, that that made this in essence a busy day at the Fandom office.

Good on the general health side of things, sure.

But he was getting bored.

And so John, whilst shilling his fourth portion of cough medicine, was browsing the newspaper for hints of a murder. Or a maiming. Even a maiming would do.

... he was turning into Sherlock, God help him.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
He had finally managed to sit down and write out a - very, er, altered - account of his first two or three months in Fandom last night, for his blog. Checking on his responses, John was already starting to wonder if it had been such a brilliant idea.

So you and Sherlock are shacking up on an island now, are you?? That's not news. MORE DETAILS!
Harry Watson, 21 July 10:23

John rubbed at his forehead until the headache abated.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Harry. Just following a job, I told you.
John Watson, 21 July, 11:11

Half an hour later, he got another ping back.

What?? You ARE on an island. BOTH of you. You told me months ago. You're still not back. What's REALLY going on?
Harry Watson, 21 July, 11:40

John was sorely tempted to send her his first response back - the smattering of keystrokes that had accumulated after his forehead had hit the keyboard. He sighed, and erased them, then composed another civil response to his sister.

What is happening is that I have been talking with a lovely lady called Lacey. And before you ask, it's early days, please don't.
John Watson, 21 July, 11:43

He swore he was going to throttle her some day. ...Right after he kept the nurses from spilling the address of his blog to everyone else in the clinic.
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
The clinic was out of toilet paper. John couldn't even begin to fathom what had led to that dire situation, but his awkward attempts at hailing the nurses hadn't exactly brought relief. He sighed, hanging forward over his laptop.

Maybe there was an online company somewhere who delivered...?

Whatever the case, he was fairly sure he was spending his lunch break back at the hotel, where at least generally the manager would let you know if something had just gone impressively pear-shaped.

He was also fairly sure that this wasn't going on his blog.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
Back to work, back to... well, a reality that did not involve talking to children about sexual education while Sherlock scowled in the background. John had never known just how relieved he could feel to be back in the clinic until right the moment he stepped in and one of the nurses smiled at him.

... Okay, relieved for several reasons.

Musing on that, he finally got out his phone and started a no-doubt futile series of messages to Sherlock about the shopping.

Still, it was a good start to the day, he reflected, as he settled in behind the desk. The only thing that could make it better was if it turned out to be Fandom's sandwich materialization day, or something like it.

(Sadly, it was not. He was probably going to figure this out after his phone started taking voicemails today.)

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
Well, at least John wasn't asleep at the clinic this week, nor had anyone gotten horribly injured over the past week. That was the upside of it all.

The downside was John's sandwich. He wasn't entirely sure it hadn't strayed towards one of Sherlock's more esoteric experiments in the refridgerator, and, well. That kind of thing could get a man killed.

He lifted it. He put it back down. He lifted it again. He put it back down.

Finally he threw his hands up and called in for pizza. Maybe not the healthiest of foods for a doctor, but he was hungry.

[[ open ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
John had not, in fact, left the clinic for any job other than making sure Sherlock had enough food about him for whenever his inevitable come-down from the current mystery was. As a result, he was now fast asleep, and had been for quite some time.

He was snoring into the palm of his hand, in fact. Though at least this time, he'd taken the liberty of lying down before snoring away on the job.

He'd be happy to help if you needed him, of course. You'd just have to wake him up first.

[[ open! my feet hurt. ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
The hat was ... floppy. And irritating.

John kept having to push it away from his face because it would dangle in front of his eyes as he attempted to do the crossword, like an incredibly red instrument of chaos. It ... dangled, it swung, it flopped, it drooped, it...

Was being yanked off his head and tossed at the small pile of santa hats on the other end of the room. "Thanks," John said, to the nurse, "Very much thanks, but you do know it's--" Plop! "--useless, right?"

The nurse shrugged and swayed away.

The hat flopped again.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
It was a fairly calm and peaceful day. It really should have rattled John some, knowing, especially, the way this island could work out. But he was enjoying it. Last week had been odd, but not entirely unenjoyable, and he'd at least met a few nice women who were, for lack of a better word, nice.

The nurses were mildly suspicious of his whistling. John couldn't be thwarted, and set in on some of the Beatles' back catalogue.
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
All right, so John was a bit late to work today. It wasn't his fault he'd gotten distracted; the island was being... ornery.

When he finally did get in, he might have snagged a medical almanac or two to read. Something about hormones, pheromones, the stimulation thereof... Neuroscience was not really his field, but he was suddenly driven to figure out exactly what was going on there.

It had the additional benefit of keeping him busy, and at least allowed him to make an attempt not to flirt with the nurses.

[[ open! ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
John had already gotten acquainted with the day's insanity that morning. He wasn't fond of it, and he was hoping dearly no one would stop by the clinic this week, but he had to turn up. He'd already nearly lost his last job over falling asleep on it, and he hadn't been able to avoid that.


He left the nurses unbothered for once, and simply set his bag down on the counter. He was singing under his breath as he did so, pointless, minor things, nowhere near the chaos of that morning. "Davenports and kettle drums, and swallow tail coats, table cloths and patent leather shoes." Really - it seemed like the island's singing tended to the nonsensical. "Bathing suits and bowling balls, and clarinets and rings..."

Pointless things. He wasn't even sure it was a song. Couldn't figure out why. He set his laptop down on the desk. "And all this radio really needs is a fuse; a tinker, a tailor-- A soldier's things..."


And everything's a dollar in this box...

[[ open ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
John was busy. Not with medical work, mind - there was precious little going on - but with his blog. He was typing up an entry labeled The Gift of the Cardboard Box, featuring last week's rather gruesome adventure in Baltimore. If nothing else, it gave him something to write about, although he could already anticipate the many, many comments he would get from Harry, on the topic of his continued association of Sherlock and the implications thereof.


The nurses mostly ignored him, which was probably a good thing, because flirting with them tended to end in disaster.

[[ open ]]
[identity profile] justhisblogger.livejournal.com
This week's shift was a lot less eventful, John noted. He'd tried to keep his eye open for anything suspiciously vicious coming at him, but there had been... nothing. (Well. The flamingoes looked like they could be up to something; he just chose not to think so, barring some odd pecking murders showing up on the island.)

So he went about what he hoped would become his routine: get in, smile at the nurses, get out some case files. Try not to boggle too harshly.

Possibly check on the news back home via his phone.

Calm and quiet. Yes.

[[ clinic is open! ]]

Fandom High RPG

About the Game

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