This is a sleep-deprived Hannah here. She just pulled her first writing all-nighter last night with her Firiel. And now she is apparently referring to herself in third person. O.o
So, in case you were wondering, I am extremely exhausted. Firiel came over yesterday afternoon and we played our Sherlock duet (it’s actually starting to work out! 😀 ) and chatted randomly and worked on our Wholock fanfiction ( 😀 ) and watched Doctor Who with my sister (“Love and Monsters” and “Fear Her”). And then at about 11 o’clock, we dished up ice-cream and started the long trek through the night.
I’m surprised we actually managed to stay semi-sane.
The night started out good, we word warred with each other and just kept plugging along pretty well. Then we started getting distracted by pinterest. But then we’d remember that the point of staying up all night was not to look at Sherlock pins or Reichenbach theories or pin things about Alpacapillars. 😛 And then we’d write more.
I think Firiel may have cracked first, but to be fair, I did at the same time. I can’t even remember what it was that was even supposed to be remotely funny… oh, yes, I think it was a video of a baby panda sneezing. Google it. I’m afraid to because then I’ll realize it really wasn’t that funny. 😛
So we kind of died laughing for a little bit. And then I showed her this gif, just because I wanted to keep dying of laughter I guess:
And I think I’m going to die if I watch that any longer, so ooookaay, moving on…
Anway. XD We made it through the night, more or less. We both ended up writing around 4,000 words, so while I’m still not caught up to where I’m supposed to be, I think I got a lot done. 🙂
And then at 6:00 AM this morning, after I had reached my approx. 4k word goal, I decided it would be fun to have another “Let’s See Who Can Write The Most Depressing Fanfiction in x amount of time”. (Can’t remember… did I post about the first time we did it? Maybe I didn’t… well, if you want to know what I wrote the first time, let me know and I’ll do a follow up post. I’m too tired now. :P)
Firiel decided to go with a funnier one (which was awesome, BTW). I wrote two sad ones though. O.o Don’t know why. XP
And maybe they aren’t really that sad. Because they were written at an un-decent hour of the morning, after no sleep the entire night. 😛 But here they are if you want:
The one I posted on my fanfiction. net account because it was a little more of a full story, the second one was just a random scene I’ve had in my head for a while so I didn’t post it there.
Firiel: Well, that was happy.
John opened his eyes. Uh… He had the most blistering headache… he forced himself to sit up. Where on earth…
And then he recognized the building across from where he was. He scrambled to his feet and then standing could tell.
He was on the rooftop of St. Bart’s.
A laugh came from behind him.
John’s blood turned to ice. He knew that laugh. He whirled around. “You!”
Moriarty grinned. “Me.”
“Why did you bring me up here?” John snapped.
Moriarty shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered over towards John. “Well, Dr. Watson, I need information. About Sherlock.”
John clenched a fist. “If you think that I would tell you anything….”
Moriarty shook his head. “No, no. It’s not like that Richard Brook thing. I don’t want information so I can further tear down his reputation- not like there’s anything left…” He smirked. “No, I want information on where he is now.”
John blinked. Was he serious? Did he really not know? “Sherlock is dead and buried in the ground,” he snapped.
Moriarty stared at him for a long minute, then sighed. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
John stared back, his eyes narrowed. What on earth was he talking about?
Moriarty shook his head. “Then you’re of no further use to me.” He struck lightning-fast, grabbing John’s scarf and shoved him backwards, pushing him up against the wall.
John didn’t have anytime to react. He started to struggle, but stopped when he realized that it only made his position more precarious.
Moriarty grinned. John stared at him, then looked down. It was such a long, long way down…
“You want to know why Sherlock jumped all those years ago, John?” Moriarty asked.
How many times had he wondered it during yet another sleepless night? How many times had he asked himself what he had done wrong, what he could have done to make him not jump… and yet, now something inside him wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“You forced him to,” John said, his voice hoarse. It was the only explanation. Sherlock wouldn’t have commited suicide. No. Moriarty had murdered him.
Moriarty cocked his head to the side. “Well, I guess you could put it like that.” He paused, looking like he was considering whether or not to tell John something. He made a face and nodded, then grinned sinisterly. “How do you think I made him jump?”
John frowned, thinking. What was he up to? “I don’t know,” he said, bitterness and anger rising in his voice. “You threatened him or something…”
“How? Threatened him how? Threatened him that I’d kill him if he didn’t jump?” Moriarty shook his head. “No,” he drew out the word. “No, not like that at all. Obviously that wouldn’t work. No, I threatened him with something much better.” He grinned and leaned into John’s face. “I had three snipers set up. One in Baker street for…?”
“Mrs. Hudson,” John whispered, a chill of horror running down his spine. She’d been there alone that day.
Moriarty nodded. “One in Scotland Yard…”
Moriarty nodded again. “And one right across the street from here.”
The chill worked its way into John’s heart. “For me.”
Moriarty grinned. “And I told him if my men didn’t see him jump, they’d shoot.”
John’s head spun. “He… he didn’t commit suicide,” he whispered.
Moriarty’s grin widened and he shook his head. “No, he didn’t. He died to save his friends. Isn’t that so sweet?”
John couldn’t get his head around it. Sherlock… Sherlock, he hadn’t… he had died for him?
John felt lightheaded, which he was pretty sure was a symptom of the shock and the fact that his head was hanging out over open space. He looked down at the street below, and the sidewalk, the pavement. This is what he had seen. This is what Sherlock saw when he had jumped…
Jumped to save his life.
John suddenly remembered something he’d told Sherlock that day, the last words he’d told him in person. Friends protect people.
And that’s what Sherlock had done.
Moriarty grinned. “And now the faitful doctor can follow in Sherlock’s footsteps.”
John realized what he meant, but he was still too weak from whatever drug they had given him to fight back. He looked down at the sidewalk opposite St. Bart’s. A cab stopped, and a tall, thin figure in a dark coat stepped out, looking around frantically.
John frowned. Sherlock? The drug must still be playing with his mind…
I’m coming Sherlock. I’m coming to join you.
The man looked up and saw the figures on the rooftop. He started running towards the building. “JOHN!”
Moriarty gave a final shove and pushed John over the edge.
Firiel: And that was happier.
So, yeah. XP Anyway, that’s a little random blurb about what I did last night. And sleep is nice. So that’s what I’m going to go do now. G’night.