*turns screen on at lowest brightness setting at 4am*
not being able to sleep at 4am so adding a few words to my “completed” essay x.x
This doesn’t feel entirely like my typical sciatica… Body, why.
Katie 13.5 hours is a bit longer than “an afternoon”…
A significant portion of my right bun is now covered with herbal patches
Sherlock has a small, flat wooden box he keeps better hidden than his cocaine. There are three photos inside:
The first is of himself as an infant, not yet a week old, in the arms of a 7-year-old Mycroft.
The second is of himself, ten years old, hugging Redbeard around the neck.
The third is of himself, age twenty, and his university boyfriend, Victor Trevor, both with cigarettes between their lips. When he looks closely, he can see the fingertips of their otherwise unoccupied hands touching.
They are Sherlock’s three admissions of sentiment, all past.
In the summer of 2014, he adds a fourth:
Himself, one month ago. She is cut away, and only the doctor remains. He stands almost at attention at Sherlock’s side, where he always ought to have been—where he will never be again.
At least my sciatica waited until after I finished my papers to flare up…
I have a very uncomfortable and painful feeling in my right bun.
Think I might marathon all 9 episodes of Sherlock next week
All 9. When 9 is all and a marathon. This fucking show.
fuck it, I’m calling it done
maybe I’ll get in two Avengers Assemble episodes and gifsets tomorrow to make up for the lack of any today…