It is the
29th of January, and I am eighty-nine years old, sitting in the
garden of my Sussex cottage and watching the world’s only consulting detective
play the violin. Her blonde hair is a mass of curls and the heels of her shoes
are sinking into the grass as she sways and dances with the instrument.
Sherlock has been dead for two years and missing him is an ache in my chest,
except for those brief moment when I close my eyes and listen to Rose coax his
instrument to life, and dream.
Daddy,” comes the soft murmur as the music stops. “I’m going to have to go
soon. Miranda said she might need me to look at this really interesting murder
I nod and
smile and get to my feet and-
I’m standing in a lab at Bart’s and the most
unearthly man I have ever seen asks to borrow my mobile and I say yes, and I do
not understand in that moment that I will never stop saying yes to this man.
under my cheek and Rose is crying as she turns me
I am strapped into a bomb and I am telling him
to run, and I do not know that I have just carved out his heart and taken it
for my own.
haloes her hair and tears fall on my face.
I am standing in front of a grave and asking
for another miracle, not knowing that my miracle is making his way toward me as
I stand there.
I try to
tell her not to cry. I am not sure if I succeed.
I am standing in front of the man I love with
tears on my face, and he draws me close and enfolds me in his boundless
at me and throws her phone to the ground and holds my hands in hers. The sky
behind her is fading to grey, and it occurs to me to wonder if I am dying.
I am wordless and at the end of my rope, and
Sherlock has mercy on me and kisses me and I know that I hold his heart in his
hands and he, mine.
speaking but I can’t hear her. There’s a sound like a train whistle, like a summons
bell, and I can’t hear her.
I am on my knees and I have just asked Sherlock
Holmes to marry me, and he falls to his knees with tears in his eyes and says
yes yes yes like a prayer or a song or the only word he knows.
her hand across my brow and smiles at me again, and the whistle fades.
I wake up every morning for a thousand days and
he’s there, sleep-rumpled and happy and smiling at me as though I’d hung the
“I love you,
Daddy,” she murmurs as her hand cups my cheek. “Thank you for staying so long,
I love you but it’s time to go.”
I’m watching my daughter get married and my
husband is at my side and we go home and cry tears of joy on each other’s skin
and make slow love in front of the fire.
Sherlock I love him, and I’ll see you again someday,” my daughter says and
kisses my forehead.
I’m standing at the foot of a hospital bed, and
monitors are screaming and doctors are shouting but they needn’t bother, he’s
already gone. Always rushing ahead, my beloved, leaving me to tag along behind
him. Well, no matter, I’ll catch up.
I am adrift
in whiteness but there, there is a tall shadow in the distance. A man, perhaps,
running. He has his coat collar up so he looks cool, and he’s shouting ‘Come
on, John!’ and I follow. I will always follow. My legs are young and strong as they haven’t been in forty years or more, and the head of the man in front of me is dark as the midnight sky, and I am young and he is young and we are young here, together. Forever.
I just watched the Molly Sherlock scenes in the empty hearse again…. I just…. omg! The flirting! The way he looks at her! Ahhhhhh!!!!
Okay, collecting my thoughts. I’m going to break it down as I see it. Note* this is just my opinion/interpretation of those scenes… I do not pretend to have any clue as to the motivations of the writers or actors during these scenes.
1. Sherlocks welcome back: Sherlock goes to Molly right after he sees John. Why is this significant? Well, Molly knows that he is alive, so she shouldn’t be a high priority on his back from the dead tour, but he goes to her straight after John. (I’m even toying with the idea that he sees her first… see bottom of post for more on this.) we have all seen the gif (I don’t know how to make it or find it or I would add it lol) when they first see each other at Barts in the locker room. The focus is on Molly but you can still see him smile in the reflection of the mirror.
2. When he is waiting for her to come over to ask her to go crime fighting: he is nervous. You can see him mouthing words to himself. (Figuring out how to ask her?) note* at this point I think he already knows about her engagement, I think he knew that from their first meeting.
3. That whole scene when he asks her: like omg! When have you ever seen him be so diplomatic? It reads so much like him attempting to ask her out I’m not surprised she thought he was. And when she finishes his sentence for him, the look he gives her! His eyes! (Okay at this point my nose was literally an inch away from the screen as I watched on slow motion) he looks at her like: well, yes. Obviously.
4. The cheating husband case: “Your not being John your being yourself.” ….. do I really need to say more here? Come on! Okay fine: she is sitting next to him! John always sits opposite him, and the clients sit on the desk chair and get judged. This time the client sits in John’s chair with her husband standing next to her. Sherlock is deliberately creating changes to his routine so not to make Molly feel like she is a substitute.
5. The catfish case. Again, Sherlock seats the clients in another part of the room….. look at his history people! Every case, he always sits them in the same spot. Except for when he is with molly… not only that but look at his face as he holds the client’s hand… also he holds the client’s mother flipping hand!!!! Could you get more out of character??? This case is a 2 at best, but he looks so much like he cares. Why would he do that? Why would he waste time talking to the client, she is obviously upset and irrational.. traits that Sherlock detests, and yet there he is. “And you really thought he was the one didn’t you…. the love of your life.” *looks straight over to molly* Even as he explains the truth to Molly he does it quietly, with caring in his voice. Rather then his usual MO of just blurting it out… (also notice that all these cases are around lovers, cheating or not being what they say they are…. like maybe he wants her to think about her relationship…) and then he serves up the clients dad. Which again is out of character, he wouldn’t care.
6. The case with lestrade: he is totally showing off for her! Okay head cannon, John talking to him? That’s his own self doubt sneaking in. Eg. M: “Your on to something aren’t you?” S: “maybe.” John’s voice: show off… he is actually showing off then lestrade asks him about Molly and he says he is giving it a go. He says that because it’s not his choice if this continues, it’s hers. When lestrade asked him about John he answers diplomatically and walks over to stand near Molly. *Note: the ongoing proximity thing he continues to stay by her side the whole day. So then she goes over to the body and he heads straight over next to her again, she notices he proximity and steps back apologising. He reassures her and John tells him he is jealous. Jealous of what I ask you? How does that work any other way? He is jealous because she steps away, because she is with someone else. That’s why he’s jealous. When he picks up the manifesto he blows the dust off away from Molly, just another little thing I noticed that shows he cares. He also shows it to her first before lestrade. When she tells him it’s impossible, he leans in and says “welcome to my world” the intensity in his eyes is just fantastic! Then John calls him a smart arse. This is because Sherlock is trying to get Molly excited by the work, like he did with John. Because having her around solving case with him is the closest thing he can get to being with her. Then John tells him he forgot to put his collar up, he forgot to look cool so she would want him…. when he accidentally calls her John, well he’s done that before. Plus he has John in his head at the time. (I don’t really have anything for this if anyone else wants to add in their own head cannon I would love to hear it)
7. The train case: so much flirting, I’m just going to repeat that SO MUCH WITH THE FLIRTING! He spends the whole time paying more attention to Molly than he does the case, eg. The girlfriend joke. Someone posted on here once that they were surprised that Sherlock didn’t pick up on the missing car straight away. This is because he’s not looking at the footage, he’s looking at her…… I watched like 6 times. (I know I’m totally obsessed!) but he really does, you can actually see him looking at her not the tape.
8. When he comes out of his mind palace: he talks about maps, but as he goes past Molly he changes the subject and asks her out…. yes he was asking her out, it’s Sherlock…. he is the master of subtly….. this is the moment where he sees if he has managed to sway her…… this whole day, the cases he chose, the showing off. All of it was to show her that he was better than the man who gave her that ring. So he makes his final play and asks her out…. but it doesn’t go well does it. She calls him out on the day. Molly Hooper is not an idiot. She knows what he is doing and she asks him point blank about it. He knows he lost the game so he does one more very unsherlock type thing…. he tells the truth. “The one person he thought didn’t matter at all to me, was the one person who mattered the most.” He never breaks eye contact here. And then, he lets her go….. his face when she starts to talk about Tom, that wistful smile! Be still my beating heart! He tells her he is happy for her, that he wants her to be happy. He didn’t even do that for John with Mary! But lets just take a look at that for a second shall we…… it’s established that Sherlock hates change. He has always found fault with every relationship around him, John’s girlfriends, Molly’s boyfriends. Even mrs Hudson’s relationships are not off limits. When he met Mary he deduced her and found her acceptable. But he has never met Tom. He would never let his friend date someone without judging them first. But he lets her, because he doesn’t think he deserves her. And then oh my goodness the kiss, right up until his lips hit her cheek you cannot be sure he isn’t going to kiss her properly. His face is completely open and without manipulation, he never breaks eye contact. How could anyone see that moment and not realise he loves her? How?
Okay back to my head cannon that he goes to Molly before John. First of all, his nose is fine, if he went straight after John it would have at least been red… but it wasn’t, and then there’s the cut on his lip, the obvious cut on his lip…. also missing.and then there’s the lighting. We know that it was late at night when he saw John but it was bright at the hospital. You can see the light coming in from the windows hitting the lockers. But when he goes to see lestrade it’s dark again. Therefore he goes to see Molly first.
Ok so that is my head cannon break down of Molly and Sherlock in TEH let me know what you think! Do you agree, disagree? Have anything to add? Did I get anything wrong?
I love how when Paul describes his first meeting with John it’s all about how great John looked.
I remember John looking - we used to think that John looked pretty cool. He was a bit older than us and he would do a little more greased back hair than we were allowed… so John was quite groovy. He looked like a Ted then - he had a drape. He had nice big sideburns.
I played a bit of 20 Flight Rock and I knew a lot of the words, and that was very good currency in those days. Then I got asked to join the group - I think on the strength of knowing 20 Flight Rock.
Also how at the beginning he changes it to a random ‘we’ so it’s not as personal, but then just goes into loads of detail about John’s hair.
Summary/Prompt: After the death of Sherlock’s wife, fifteen years ago, Sherlock can’t cope with a newborn daughter.
Word count: 1963
Anon asked: Hi I was wondering if I could request an imagine wherein reader is Sherlock’d daughter. Sherlock’s love interest died because of Moriarty and Sherlock’s too broken to take care of his daughter that John and Mary became her parents. Ending is the reader had the deduction skills and deducted that Sherlock is her biological father??? If it’s not too much to ask. Thank you! Xx
The scene inside 221B Baker Street at that time could only have been described as catastrophic. A tall, thin, curly haired man, tear tracks running down his face, with a needle in his arm. And a baby girl, barely a year old, screaming blue murder, alone in her crib.
Sherlock had let his guard down, for once, tried to create a family, and this is where it had gotten him. Alone, in his flat, injecting deadly substances directly into his bloodstream until the world around him started swimming and darkening, and the baby in the crib grew weak and tired from hours of fruitless screaming.
Sherlock was woken rather abruptly by a firm slap across the face, and shocked into consciousness, he shot up from his horizontal position.
“John? What’s going on?” he mumbled, pressing a cool palm to his stinging face.
“Hours, Sherlock.” John hissed, red in the face with anger. “She was alone in there for hours. Y/N is not even a year old, you can’t just leave her there like that!”
Sherlock became dimly aware of Mary, stood by the door, with Y/N on her hip, a look of fury gracing her features.
“We’re taking her.” said John firmly.
“What?” asked Sherlock with furrowed brows.
“You’re neglecting your daughter through your own sorrow, Sherlock.” said Mary. “But you have to remember, that just as you have lost a wife, she has lost a mother. And it’s not fair on her.”
With that, John and Mary left. No more words were exchanged that day, at 221B Baker Street. Y/N never went back.
*fifteen years later, present day, Y/N’s POV*
“Mary, I’m going out!” you called, shrugging on your coat which was hanging by the front door.
“Wait a sec!” Mary yelled in reply, and you sighed, tapping your fingers impatiently as she came down the hallway towards you.
“All of my homework is completed, and I ate an apple about ten minutes ago.” you assured her, before she’d even opened her mouth.
“An apple is not a meal, Y/N.”
“John said I had to eat ‘something’, he never specified a full meal.” you insisted.
“Okay, okay.” she sighed, shaking her head. “And your homework? You can’t have done it all.”
“Basic, basic priciples Mary, you should know that by now. It took me an average of six minutes and forty-three seconds for each subject.”
“You’re a smart arse, you know that, don’t you?” she smiled, wrapping her arms around you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Be safe, and don’t be home too late.”
“I’ll be back by eleven.” you assured her, hugging back breifly. “Bye!”
With that, you were out in the cold, crisp, London air, and you breathed it in, exhilarated by the noise and the smells, the quiver of the city itself. London was your turf, you knew every alleyway and shortcut, all stored away in a huge mental map. Exploring was your way of clearing your head, deducing random strangers as you passed, telling yourself their life story, walking down sketchy side streets and narrow alleyways, avoiding those who would recognise you, from school or otherwise.
It was often on these walks that your mind wandered to your biological parents. Had you wanted to know their identities you could have done - ten minutes on the internet would have given you that answer - but you’d never felt the need. John and Mary had raised you almost from birth, and in your opinion, that made them the only parents you’d ever need.
Soon, a shouting snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly registered your surroundings. Baker Street, central London. And it was John’s voice that had broken you from your thoughts, you were sure of it.
“Sherlock? It’s bloody freezing out here, will you come and unlock the door please?!”
As you rounded the corner, you saw John, looking up into the open window of one of the flats. Approaching silently, you began to hear music drifting from the window, an exquisitely played violin piece.
“It’s beautiful.” you whispered once you were right behind John, and he almost jumped out of his skin.
“Jesus Christ, Y/N. What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he asked, a badly disguised urgent look in his eyes.
“Life advice, John: never become an actor. You’re shit at it.” you quipped. “Now hush, I’m listening.”
John made to open his mouth again, but you quelled him with a single look, and he fell silent. The music drifting from the window reached its crescendo, and you allowed the soft, dulcet tones to wrap around you, as if warming you from head to toes. Once the piece had finished, there was a moment of silence, before you heard the bolt on the door being slid back, though the door itself remained closed.
“Who were you shouting to up there, a second ago?” you asked John.
His eyes searched your face for a moment, before he sighed heavily, rubbing his forhead, muttering something about how Mary was going to kill him for this.
“What’s going on?” you asked, brows furrowed. “Your pulse rate has quickened and your palms are sweaty. Your hair is slightly scruffy, but superficially so - you were running your hands through it as I was distracted by the music. Simply put, you’re nervous, and suffering from internal conflict. What is happening?”
After a long, hard stare at you, he finally spoke, though quietly, and with a slight waver to his voice.
“Y/N, there’s someone in this flat whom I would like you to meet. He’s a very close friend of mine, and there’s no doubt you’ll find him… Interesting to deduce.”
Without waiting for an answer from you, he stepped quickly towards the door and pushed it open. He knew without checking that you’d follow.
The hallway into which you stepped was dimly lit, but had a homely feel to it. Walking closely behind John, you ascended a set of stairs, until you came to the door of an upstairs flat, which was open. John strode in as if he owned the place, revealing to you a tall man, with curly, brown hair, holding a violin.
“I’ve brought someone to meet you Sherlock.” said John, the waver still present in his voice. “I’m going to go down to say hello to Mrs Hudson… Y/N, if you need me, just shout. I’ll hear you.”
You nodded, barely registering what was said to you until the door clicked shut behind you, and you were left alone with this stranger.
“Bach.” you said suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Excuse me?” asked the man, without turning to face you.
“Johann Sebastian Bach, Sonata number two. In A minor, I believe. It was beautifully played.”
The man spun on his heel to face you, and your eyes flickered over his form, cementing ideas forming in your head. He placed the violin onto the desk, and held out a hand for you to shake.
“Sherlock Holmes.” he said. “And you are?”
“Y/N Watson.” you replied. “Although, and correct me if I’m wrong, would it be more factually accurate to say Y/N Holmes?”
Sherlock’s expression remained unflinching, until he sighed, very slightly and almost inaudibly.
“Indeed it would.” he agreed. “Care to tell me how you came to that conclusion?”
“Well, for starters there’s physical appearance - the frankly unmanageable curls, the uniquely coloured eyes and the bloody cheekbones. Not to mention the slim physique and practically identical body shape.” you said, raising an eyebrow in defiance.
“That could just be coincidence.” he replied.
“The universe is rarely so lazy.” you shot back.
“But there’s more, I know there is.” he insisted, the corner of his mouth twitching as if a smile was tempting. “Please, do continue.”
“Posture,” you said, “the way you hold yourself. You weren’t raised in a privileged household where those sorts of characteristics were valued, that’s clear to see from your appalling lack of taste in internal decoration and the size of the flat you’re living in, not to mention the fact that you had to share with a roommate for a number of years. No, maintaining posture comes naturally to you, as it does with me, for no particular reason other than it just feels right.”
“Good, very good. Anything else?”
“Your entire flat is baby proofed, in such a way that shows you care, or cared, deeply for a child. But there are no signs of a child living in this house, no pictures or drawings, no toys. Anyone who was that sentimentally attached to the child would at least have a picture of them in their flat, which tells me that a baby was living here, but that circumstances changed very quickly. You’ve been plagued with guilt ever since, and instead of completely forget about it, you’d keep the flat baby safe, convincing yourself that one day they would come back, and that everything would be okay.”
You finished your speech with a choked voice, failing to detach yourself from the situation. Sherlock seemed to be holding back tears - his blinking rate had increased slightly - and you reached forward tentatively to place a hand on his arm. He tensed slightly at first, but then relaxed, closing his eyes breifly.
“You’re so like me, but you have her way with people.” Sherlock smiled faintly. “She could do that as well, your mother. Just one touch and you’d feel okay again.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and breathed deeply.
“And where is she? My… Mother?” you asked.
“Dead.” he replied eventually. “Barely four months after you were born.”
“She was kidnapped by someone called James Moriarty. It took me three days to find her, but I was too late. She was already dead.”
“That’s why you gave me up.” you whispered. “You let Mary and John take me because you were heartbroken.”
There was a moment of silence as the hand still resting on his arm slid down to his wrist, turning it over to reveal distinctive scarring patterns.
“And the drugs?” you asked, biting your lip.
“Clean for three years.” he replied.
There was silence once again in the flat, before you sighed slightly.
“I don’t know what’s meant to happen now… You left me.” you said quietly. “You left me when I needed you the most, and you never came back to get me. John and Mary are my parents, and that’s all I’ve even known.”
“I’ve never forgiven myself for that.” he retaliated. “Every single day that I went without you, having to see John every single day and knowing that he was raising my daughter. It killed me, Y/N.”
A sob escaped your lips, and Sherlock’s heart wrenched, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he saw the body of the woman he loved, lying dead, fifteen years ago. Without knowing what overcame either of you, he opened his arms and you fell into them, sobbing your heart out, tears flowing down your face. He stroked your hair as you held onto him, a feeling of belonging so strong that it made you feel weak.
“Whatever you want, it’s up to you, Y/N. But I’m never going to let you go again.” whispered Sherlock.
Alright I’ve got a headcanon that John and Wrex met each other years before ME1. John was still a kid (let’s say 12) and he was running away from some thugs who wanted to beat him up. Wrex was on Earth hunting some guy and this small human bumps into him in the streets. Wrex growled at him but John was panicking and asked him if he could hide behind him. Wrex didn’t understand but then he let him, then the thugs came and asked him where John was. Wrex revealed him which made John panic but for some reason he felt bad for John so he chased them away and told them not to touch him. John thanked him and told him how cool he was, Wrex couldn’t help but grumble as a response. John was about to leave when Wrex stopped him and asked him to stay a bit longer, maybe walk him home so he’s safe. For some reason he really felt for this small squishy human. John agreed and they walked a bit, talking about some random things, even introduced themselves to each other. John showed him what a fist bump is (imagine the scene between Hiro and Baymax from BH6) When John had to leave Wrex felt really bad, those scared big blue eyes were etched into his mind after John left. They were haunting him even after he left Earth, he always wondered if the kid is doing okay and if he didn’t get killed. Fast forward to ME1 and Wrex hears the name ‘Shepard’, though he doesn’t know if he is that Shepard he’s met on Earth all those years ago. But when he sees him standing in front of him, the same blue eyes looking at him but filled with strength and determination he can’t help but feel happy. He was so proud seeing that small squishy human all grown up and strong. He didn’t tell him, because John clearly forgot their encounter (he repressed most of his childhood memories). But during one evening in a bar Wrex does the fist bump and something clicks in John’s mind, he remembers everything. And then they get drunk and start a bar fight, they almost got arrested if it weren’t for Shepard being a Spectre.
this got longer than I wanted but @omegastation said I only write angsty stuff about John so here’s something happy :D
I’ve been getting a lot of attention as the new Gypsy but it’s not just me, folks. This is the magic duo behind the new, drop-from-the-top-of-the-SOL Gypsy: Mr. Tim Blaney + Rebecca Hanson are the movement + sound behind the purple lady. You can see the harness/rig he wears to attach himself to the scaffolding above the set to make Gypsy operate from above this season. He’s one cool cat, with the handsome looks of leading man John Slattery + a low velvety voice not to mention the fact that he is/was freakin’ JOHNNY 5 from freakin’ ‘Short Circuit’!!! Talk about being star struck working with this gentleman! It’s his birthday today - so please celebrate him + all he’s given to us! Happy Birthday, Tim Blaney! (Thanks to puppeteer, Carla Rudy for directing + taking these 📸) We have fun! So glad Number 5 is Alive!!!
Write-A-Thon Day One: AU day (waking up in vegas au) John Laurens x Alexander Hamilton Words: 1540
i’m so excited for this week guys and i hope you are too!
originally, my disneyland fic that i posted the other day was going to be my au day fic, but i changed my mind last minute so here we have the waking up in vegas au!
i’m kind of tempted to make this into a series, but i’m not sure yet so let me know what you think.
the write a thon is going to be awesome. you can join in if you want! i just reblogged the prompt lists.
requests are open and i hope you’re all doing great xx
see you tomorrow for femaslash! day
The pounding hit him like a tonne of bricks.
With every tiny movement, he felt the pain intensify. He let out soft whimpers until he decided that the floor was where he would stay.
His freckly cheeks rested against the cool, damp tiles. John figured he must’ve passed out in the bathroom while trying to go to the toilet. And it seemed reasonable, because he’d woken up in weirder places after crazy nights out.
He opened his eyes slowly and let the light appear in his morning. He ignored his better judgements and sat up slowly, resting his head against the wall. He tried his best to ignore the pounding in his head as he took in his surroundings.
It seemed John had been right about the bathroom, but this wasn’t his bathroom. He couldn’t remember anything from the previous night… he wasn’t even sure if he was in South Carolina anymore, or who he was with.
He flipped through fragmented memories of the previous night. For moments, he saw his friend Hercules, and he had reason to believe that he had stayed the night at his house. But Hercules’ bathroom was warm and his house was comforting… this whole situation felt like some kind of unholy nightmare.
The weight on his finger was the thing that woke John up fully. The only jewellery he would keep on him was his mother’s necklace…
His hands flew to his neck and he let out a sigh of relief when he felt the secured clasp of the familiar metal. He relaxed, licking his dry lips.
He was still under his mother’s watch… that meant he was safe… but so many questions remained unanswered. Where was he? What was he doing here? What was the strange ring around his finger?
The door next to John swung open, revealing a shirtless man that looked a mess. Dark circles under his eyes hollowed out his face, making it look incredibly pale. He stumbled towards the sink, turning tap on and splashing his face with the warm water.
John stayed silent. Strangers had never been his friends… so coming face to face to this one in a strange place was not the way he wanted to spend his Saturday. Or at least, what he thought was Saturday. He wasn’t sure of anything right now.
He took a deep breath before deciding breaking the silence was the best thing to do in the situation. “Who are you?”
The man at the sink jumped, grabbing the closest thing to him (which happened to be a bar of soap), and pointing it at John. The soap slid out of his hands, landing at John’s feet. He felt around behind him, grabbing a toothbrush and holding it out in front of him.
“W-Who are you?” He replied, a red blush spreading over his cheeks.
John stood up slowly. “I asked first, so you should answer me first. I’ll ask again, who are you?” He asked, leaning heavily against the wall.
“My name is Alexander. Alexander Hamilton. I don’t know why I’m here. Your turn,” The man, Alexander, replied.
“Do you mind if I call you Alex?”
His question was returned with a glare, which John simply shrugged off.
“Well, my name’s John Laurens. And I remember leaving the house with my friend… but that’s the end of it. I don’t even know where we are now,” John stated, walking to the sink and checking his face in the mirror. He too carried a sleepless appearance, prominent bags staring back at him through the mirror’s reflection.
“Vegas. We’re in Vegas,” Alex stated, turning from the mirror and heading back out to the bedroom area. John raised his eyebrow, following.
“You mean like, casinos, strippers and creepy people in character costumes Vegas?” John replied, sitting on the edge of the bed where Alex had laid down on.
“No, I mean the Vegas where everything is rainbows and we’re all friends. Peace on earth, kumbaya!” he snapped, continuing to glare at John. “Could you just shut up for a few seconds? I’ve got a terrible headache.”
“So do I. We can complain about it together,” John stated, lying on the opposite side of the bed and staring at Alex. “What are your theories on last night’s happenings? I feel like my friend Hercules thought it would be funny if he set this whole thing up for me… I am surprised he didn’t find a girl though. Man, I would shit myself if I woke up next to a female.”
“I’m assuming you’re gay then,” Alex stated, picking up the room service menu on the bedside table and squinting at it as he flicked through it.
“Well, yes. I mean, I have experimented a little throughout my life, but I’m as gay as they come,” John stated, smiling proudly.
“Congratulations. I’m bisexual, but I have a girlfriend so don’t get any ideas,” Alex replied, putting the menu down and looking at John. “Personally, I think this is some kind of weird, reality TV social experiment. Or it’s a very strange dream. I hope it’s the second one. I’d like to wake up in bed next to Eliza… instead of being in this strange one.”
John scoffed. “At least you had a bed. I slept on the bathroom floor… or passed out there. I’m not completely sure honestly. All I know is that my neck hurts like a bi-“
“Didn’t I tell you to shut up before?” Alex asked, starting to go through the drawers in the bedside table.
“Well, you did continue the conversation so I had assumed-“
“You said your name was John Laurens, right? John “Jack” Laurens?” Alexander interrupted, looking at a piece of paper he had found in horror.
“That’s me,” John replied, sitting up and turning on the TV. “Why do you ask?”
Alexander gulped. Maybe if he didn’t tell anyone, it wouldn’t be real. “N-No reason. We should focus on finding a way out of here, don’t you think? Do you have any money?”
John patted down his pants, shaking his head. “While I’m as gay as they come, I’m also as broke as they come. I haven’t made a solid income in a very long time.”
“Productive. And I don’t have my wallet either, which means we’re pretty much screwed. You said you had a friend, right? Do you have a phone? Can we call them? Maybe they can-“
“Look, Hercules isn’t the best at dealing with hangovers. He mostly just sleeps them off. So, if he drank as much as I did, we’d find he’s pretty much useless to us now. Didn’t you say something about a girlfriend?”
Alex’s eyes widened. “Of course! Eliza will help! But I am without a phone currently so unless you have yours…”
John sighed, taking his phone out of his pocket and passing it to him. “Here. Be as brief as possible. I don’t want an expensive phone bill,” He stated. Alexander nodded, dialling Eliza’s number.
It took three rings before she picked up. Alexander could hear her yawn, and he imagined he had woken her up.
“Hello?” She mumbled, yawning after she finished her sentence.
“Eliza! Thank the heavens. Listen, I’ve just woken up in Las Vegas with this other guy and I have no idea how I got here. My wallet and phone have disappeared, so all I have is you. All my hope is rested on you. Could you please come and pick me up? Or buy flight tickets or something. I promise to pay you back as soon as my card is returned,” Alex rambled, tapping his fingers against the bedside table anxiously.
“If I do any of those things, will you be quiet for just a second? This is a lot to take in first thing in the morning,” Eliza mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Who’s this other guy? Do you know him? Does he know you? Did you have some weird kinky sex?”
“What? Of course not. All I know is I’ve gotten myself into the worst situation possible. I’ll explain what I can when I return home. I love you more than words can say,” Alexander said, biting his lip. Had he had sex with this strange man he seemed to have accidentally married?
“I love you too Alexander. Stay strong, my love.”
The line went dead, and Alexander was left alone with the silence between him and John who was now standing by the window.
“The sky looks nice today. The clouds are round… and they look like cotton candy. It’s pure, don’t you think?”
An eyebrow was raised. Alexander went to John, standing next to him and staring out the window. Indeed, the clouds did look nice. Alexander’s eyes moved to John’s ring finger, staring at the golden ring that wrapped around his finger tightly.
They moved back to Alexander’s own hand and he gulped, seeing a similar ring on his own finger. He knew he had screwed up, but surely this man who daydreams about clouds wouldn’t notice. Surely, he would keep daydreaming.
Alexander decided it was best to dream the terrible situation away. Perhaps once he was home, this would all fade away and be nothing but a bad memory.