And then John's face!

Mary is going to say “Vatican Cameos” in a sing-song, malicious way right before she literally stabs John through the back while facing Sherlock.

There are multiple posts going on about this idea, so here’s my bet. Episode 3. Long after the divorce, Mary is found working freelance for the villain. She is given another chance to redeem herself. But again she proves to be heartless. This time she’s especially vindictive, excited to see Sherlock hurt the proper way: by watching his beloved die instead.

The bride stabbing Sir Eustace - the wife killing the husband - signals this. And how things come in threes… Private Bainbridge, Major Sholto, Captain Watson… three stab wounds for three military men. The sign of three, indeed. John’s gonna suffer but i bet he won’t be shot - He’s already been shot. He’s gonna get stabbed in the abdomen, to mirror the other ranking officers and to parallel the “cupid’s arrow” metaphor (“Mr Archer, on the count of three shoot Dr Watson” [ASIB]).

Once Upon a December (1/?)

 Story Summary: John wakes up in 1972 in the hospital thinking it’s 1964. Mclennon fic. Enjoy.

 So, instead of actually writing more of this fic, I decided to procrastinate by editing some html and putting it here on my tumblr. The title of the story comes from the Lynn Ahrens song of the same name, and the title of this chapter comes from the Rise Against song called ‘Savior’. Without further ado, this is chapter one.


1. It Kills Me Not to Know This

   John’s eyelids were heavy as he awoke. Sighing as he faced the inevitability of morning, he opened his eyes slowly and immediately shut them tight due to the unexpected bright light in the room.

We played a two hour show for 16,000 people last night and Eppy can’t even give me my 8 hours of sleep, he thought to himself, annoyed.

He grumbled out loud to show his anger, yet he was too tired to realize his surroundings.

“No, no, I’m telling you, he’s awake.”

Not for long, he thought, drifting off to sleep.

   He awoke a few times after that, only hearing snippets of conversations.


   “Now, we want you to know that he may not remember much about the accident.”


   “When he wakes up, we don’t want you to-”


   “Don’t freak out or anything if he…”


   When John opened his eyes again, his mouth felt dry, his hair stringy, and he felt as though he was being watched.

   He gasped slightly at his unfamiliar surroundings. No, he was not in a messy hotel room, rather a small, sanitary…hospital room?

A Japanese woman with frizzy, long black hair watched him as she sat in a chair next to his bed.

John began breathing heavily as he watched the petite woman quickly stand up and jog out of the room.  He was suddenly aware of a lot, like how the heart rate monitor behind him was getting faster and how he sure as hell wasn’t sure

Not even a minute later, the woman returned, this time with what he assumed to be a doctor.

   “Mr. Lennon, I see you are awake,” the tall man spoke.

   “Fascinating, innit?” John surprised himself with a sarcastic comment and a raspy voice.

  “We’re just going to run a few tests now that you’re awake,” the doctor explained, ignoring his remark.

  “I’d like to know where I am, first of all, mate.”

   “I have to apologize, I don’t know why he’s acting like this,” the unknown woman said.

   “It’s okay, Mrs. Ono, we’ve dealt with agitated patients before.” The doctor turned to John. “You’re in the Roosevelt Hospital, room 214,” he provided.

   “Who’re you, anyroad?” John turned toward the woman.

   The woman’s face fell slightly. Before she could speak, however, the doctor asked another question.

   “Mr. Lennon, do you know what year it is?”

  John looked up. “1492. I was in the middle of discovering the New World when I woke up here!”

   “Mr. Lennon…”

   John rolled his eyes. “1964.”

   The doctor, whose name tag read Dr. Brenchman, turned to the woman with a sincere look on his face. “Mrs. Ono, I’m going to have to ask you leave the room at this time,” he said, almost whispering.

   “No, I can’t leave him like thi-”

   “We need to run more tests on him.”

   John squinted his eyes.

   “Well I can hear just fine, you can check that off the list!”

   The woman, Mrs. Ono, looked to John once more, her eyes watery, before exiting the room slowly.

   The doctor turned toward John with an awkward look on his face.

“Ye have any hangover recipes, doc? I’ve got the worst headache.”

“Mr. Lennon -John, if I may- what is the last thing you remember?” The question was hesitant, as if he were afraid.

   John realized the seriousness of the moment. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder: where is the rest of the band?

“We had a concert last night, got drunk, played cards, passed out.”

“A-and, what year did you say it was…?”

John felt the anxiety stirring in his stomach and traveling up his throat. “1964, why?”

Though John could tell the man was nervous, he kept a steady voice. “Alright, sir, I’m just going to run a few more tests on you -just the basics.”

Dr. Brenchman proceeded to run tests such as testing John’s eyesight, hearing, reflexes, and more.

“Now, where’s the boys?”

The doctor swallowed before responding.

“Er, who?”

John’s face fell. “Y'know, Paul, George, Ringo…? The other 3 men with mop-tops? Are they at the hotel still?”

The doctor’s eyes widened. “Ju-just a moment, ehm, Mr. Lennon,” he said, his voice shaky as he exited the room.

   John hid his nerves well when in front of people. Strangers, especially. However, when he looked down after the man had left, his hand was shaking.

What is going on?

As he waited for the doctor to return, John began examining everything in the room, starting with his body. Why was he in a hospital? What had happened? He knew he had an IV in his arm, he had felt that part. The headache he could feel as well. He looked at his arms and legs and only noticed a few scattered cuts and bruises.

He looked and felt thinner than he remembered, though. That was strange.

He pushed his fingers through his hair. It felt…stringy, thin. Not like the mop-top he had grown accustomed to over the past few years. His hands worked their way down his face and his nose felt a bit more…protruding. His jaw felt more defined.

John began to panic and look around the room. Was this a dream?

On the table next to the hospital bed was a pair of circular glasses, bent and almost broken. But he barely paid any attention to that. Rather, he picked up the newspaper adjacent to the glasses and looked for a date.

The…the New York Times?

John searched the paper for a date, any indicator of the year, month, or even day would be of use to him.

His eyes moved rapidly, searching the paper for the date. His finger tracing the page, he looked for a year -or at least a 4 digit number.

The large folded stack thin papers fell onto John’s lap as his eyes danced upon the printed numbers of 1972.

He focused on his breathing, attempting to breathe deeply in and out but only actually inhaling sharp, shaky breaths.

How could this be?

The door opened.

John’s eyes were glued to the newspaper’s small printed date.

“Mr. Lennon, i-it appears you have a case of amnesia from a car crash you were in the other day. Temporary, of course, but we cannot predict how long it will take for all of your memories come back.”

John was silent as his eyes wandered the paper.

“I see you found the newspaper and, ah, you can probably tell the date.”

John remained quiet and he did not move as his hand shook slightly, producing a quiet noise as his skin collided with the paper.

“Mr. Lennon? Are you listening to me? I know this may be a lot to take in…”

   “That’s an understatement,” John whispered.

   “Aside from that, you seem to be recovering fine. You will have a few scars on your legs and arms and we believe you will experience migraines over the next few weeks, so I’ve prescribed some pills for that.”

   The doctor continued to speak, but John was still in shock. It was 1972. He wondered what he and the band had done over the 8 years of missing memories. Had they gotten even bigger or faded into obscurity?

He didn’t want to think about the third option.

“We will have to keep you here overnight, and tomorrow you’re free to go. You’re welcome to watch some television.” Dr. Brenchman tapped his pen against his clipboard before leaving John all alone again.

John grabbed the remote control and turned the TV on to a random channel -just to have some background noise. He took note that there was now color TV in 1972.

John sighed as he was left alone with his thoughts for the majority of the night.

***

John woke up early the next morning, eager to leave the hospital. He lived in New York now, which frightened him. Had all 4 of them moved to the city together…?

John swallowed his anxiety and shifted so he was sitting up in bed.

As if on cue, a nurse walked into his room with a fresh pair of clothes.

“Your wife brought these. As soon as you are ready, you can walk out this door. Your wife already filled out all the paperwork we need.” The young nurse smiled after she spoke.

“Thanks, love,” he said absentmindedly.

So he was still with Cyn. That calmed him down. He picked up the fresh clothes and headed to the bathroom to change and freshen up.

The hair on the back of John’s neck stood up as he looked into the mirror. He had scared himself at first, thinking there was someone else in the bathroom.

It was strange, seeing as what felt like yesterday he had a mop-top and weighed 15 more pounds. His hair was stringy, and longer. He put on the glasses that were on his bedside and looked into the mirror again.

It all felt so…wrong.

Taking in a shaky breath, he changed into his new clothes -a plain, white collared shirt and a pair of white jeans. He wasn’t going to comment on the strange wardrobe.

He looked at himself in the mirror once more. He didn’t know if he should’ve seen his amnesia as an interesting or frightening experience.

John splashed some water on his face before walking slowly out into the hallway, looking for Cynthia.

   “John, are you ready to go?” The hesitant voice was right in front of him.

It was the Japanese woman from the day before.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just looking for my-”

“I already filled out he paperwork. We can go home right now.”

John’s eyes widened as his mouth opened slightly.

“Oh, God, you don’t even know who I am, do you, John? The doctor told me it might be like this…”

John’s mouth was dry as he spoke. “You’re my…wife?”

The woman’s eyes were tearing up. She nodded.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Yoko Ono Lennon.”

“Do you, ah, know what happened to Cynthia?”

A tear forced its way out of the woman’s -Yoko’s- eye.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything. That was rude.”

The woman sniffed before replying. “No, no, I’ll have to get over it. You think you’re still in 1964, yes?”

John nodded quickly.

“The doctor told me to start answering questions only when we were home, so, um, let’s go.”


This chapter is a lot longer than most of my chapters, be warned. I know my writing is utter shit, no need to tell me that twice.

Defending your fandom like
  • Person:Doctor Who has bad special effects
  • Me:YOUR LIFE HAS BAD SPECIAL EFFECTS
  • Person:Supernatural has pretty lame characters
  • Me:YOUR MOM IS A LAME CHARACTER
  • Person:John Watson is not really important for the show
  • Me:YOUR FACE IS NOT IMPORTANT FOR MY LIFE *hits them with a chair*

“They set my face as the icon but you set the standard I couldn’t rise up to.”

dedicated to the fact that i always read accusations of gabriel being petty for severing his relationship with jack but apparently very few think jack had a part in it as well. (gee i wonder why)
i head canon that gabe set a standard for being commander, regardless of whether his methods were unethical or not, he did win the war and was the first to lead overwatch’s agents. jack had to live in the shadows of gabriel’s success but he never had a war to win, he had a peace to keep. because of this jack had a built up interest in trying to prove he could compete with gabe’s glory or do better; gradually pushing gabe away in an attempt to prove he was just as good a commander as him. in response gabe was hostile as well, most likely the two not willing to swallow down their pride.