BTBTBTBTBTW!!!!!!!!!!!1

BTW!!! Someone found my blog by looking up "'Bella Sara' dress."
I am horrified.

BTBTW!!!! Cooper helped me turn  NORTON into an acronym!! It's
Narwhals On Roving, Tenacious Necromancers.
I'll have to draw a pic. =D

BTBTBTW!!!!!
NORTON ASCCI ART. =D

   .\}} /.       
<|[O________o]
   \//
   / \/.\\
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   .\\

Ass-Burgers, Tee-Hee!

Hey, all! My Mom's cousin Sabra just came from Israel is staying with us! W00T!!!

And I may have Asperger's syndrome.

XDD

Okay. So. Sabra's husband has Asperger's, and she's learning how to interact with people who have it. We were  talking in the car and she began to ask me questions. "So, do you not like hugs?" "Do you feel comfortable making eye contact?" "Do you still hate your picture being taken?" I answered her questions, thinking "How does she know all this? I haven't seen her in years... Maybe she remembered?" Then she said "Yeah, Amit [Her husband. I hope I spelled it correctly...] doesn't like his picture taken either. Especially pictures of his eyes." Then it hit me. She was using me to reference her husband's.... Wait a minuet. "Holy crud! Do I have Asperger's? That might explain some stuff..." I thought.

When I got back, I looked up the symptoms on several sites. Here's a pretty straightforward site (that doesn't have pictures of open sores and dying people littering the page.)!

http://www.webmd.com/brain/autism/tc/aspergers-syndrome-symptoms

So... Um... Yeah.

I thought that I just picked up on many of my Dad's habits, but this might be partly why I'm the way I am. It's so weird... All of these little things that I thought were unrelated (staring around at other people while speaking, not knowing if I'm boring someone, good linguistic skills at an early age.....) are all lined up and labeled under the same name.

"...Wow. This is weird." I thought. I ran up to my Mom and told her "Mom! I think I may have Asperger's."

"Yeeah. I know." She said, in a 'well, duh!' tone of voice.

"Wait." I said. "You know that I have Asperger's, or you know that I think I have Aspergers?"

"Rahel." She said and looked at me. "I thought you had Asperger's a long time ago."

This was news to me. "Wait.... What?" I asked.

"Yeah. I told your Dad, but he totally dismissed it." She said matter-of-factly.

"Oh." I managed.

Ahem. So. Asperger's syndrome? Kinda? Maybe? Makes sense, I guess... I'm gonna have to get my hands on an actual test. THIS MUST BE PROVED!!!! O__O

PS!! My Mom knows when I'm blogging by listening to my typing. She says that I have a "Frantic beat unlike [my] usual typing." O.0

I Should Have Posted This for TLAPD....

Oh, fanvids... Why do I love you so?

NOT OTP.

I just watched Series 2, episode 1 of Sherlock!!!
Several words come to mind....
Chiched! Trite! ....DULL.
Why do I have this reaction? You thought that I LOVED Sherlock? Well, I DO. I'm just angry about Irene Alder. The character? Awesome (if a little frightening). Acting? Superb. Sherlock's fixation with her and the way he called her 'THE Woman' as in 'MY Woman?' Not so great. I still stand by my belief that yes, Sherlock probably had a little crush on her, but it was most likely one that was borne out of respect, not love. The whole Irene/Sherlock thing is overused, in my opinion. Suddenly Sherlock meets this woman who appears in 3 (disputably 4) original Sherlock Holmes stories, and EVERYONE is claiming that they are OTP. What the hell, people? Do you not even see who works with Sherlock on EVERY case?? Who cleans Sherlock up, drags him out of his drug-induced haze, fuels him and keeps him happy? Do you recognize the person who Sherlock would be lost without?? NO?? Goddess, why is everyone so blind? You see, but you do not OBSERVE.


......Sigh.
Although I am annoyed with the whole Irene/Sherlock thing that was in this episode, I did enjoy poor John's befuddlement during The Couple's meetings with her. And how he suggested that they name Sherlock and Irene's ImaginedFuture!Baby 'Hamish'... (You been thinking of Sherlock babies, John?) And when Irene pointed out that she doesn't like men any more then John, and yet they both like Sherlock.... That time John and Sherlock stole that ashtray.... When we all got a little glimpse of Sherlock's childhood in a nutshell..... When Sherlock when nuts on that ratbastard who hurt Mrs. Hudson..... ........When Sherlock refused to put on clothes in the Buckingham Palace. That was frakkin epic.
My favorite part, however, belonged to Mycroft....

Mycroft: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?
Watson: I don't know.
Mycroft: Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate. *Frog face.*

You continue to supply us with some sort of comedic relief in this sad, relatively Johnlock-barren world, Mycroft. I thank you for that.

Daedalus Has the Feathers- But Does He Have the Breeze?

Okay, listen up. This is some important shit.
My Mom has been a waitress for many years. Although it paid well, she got hurt a lot and she always wanted to open a shop and sell vintage stuff. It was her dream. In August, we started building a site together. Two days later, the restaurant she worked at closed and she was left without a job. Now the site is finished. We get decent views, but no one has bought anything.

You guys are awesome! Seriously. You totally rock. So d'you think you could use some of your magic clicky-powers to check out the site and send the link to your friends? Or your co-workers? Or a telemarketer? Or that ninja that won't leave you alone (you know the one)? Just send it to whomever! Or heck, I can give you some business cards for you to leave in strategic places!
We would really appreciate it. We're trying to make this fly and we NEED more people viewing it.

Thank you for all your support!
www.BombshellBeat.com

FAQ update: Longcoats

Just in case no one has noticed, I updated the FAQ a little while ago and forgot to tell you! =D
It's pretty darn epic, but you should be warned that it DOES have links to tvtropes.org... LOTS of them. If you don't want to be sucked into tvtropes and start making Character Calculus pages for all your friends and characters, then don't click the links. If you think that you can resist the urge to click, then you can hover. =)

Dammit, Stephen!!

Anything that this dude sings gets stuck in my head for the rest of time. (Now I can no longer look at ice cream or pringles without remembering his duet with Jimmy Falon... <shudder />)

Thanks a lot, you evil, snarky (and admittedly handsome) bastard.

[WARNING. WHILE THIS VIDEO IS SAFE FOR WORK AND FAMILY, IT CONTAINS THE SONG FRIDAY SUNG BY STEVEN COLBERT. WATCH AT YOUR OWN PERIL.]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=BTBdrJHXvEo#t=40s

IT BE SEPT. 19!!

AHOY, ME HARTIES!!

Ach, I feel like a lubber this day. It be Talk-Like-A-Pirate-Day, an' only one "ARR" has escaped me lips, an' a quiet one at tha'. Ye might as weel keelhaul me, I'm as good as a bilge rat when a special day such a' this meanders me way. Tae think I name meself a self-respectin' geek when I cannae even utter a dirty pirate phrase on the 19 o'September!

I'm right ashamed, buckos. I'd pay up me dues right now an' start up wi' the profanities and cursin' (as it would befit a good piratin' scallywag), but I just don' have it in me. Youngins visit this page from time tae time, and I'm in no state to go upsettin' no biscut-eatin lad's ma.

Arrg! An' I had a whopper 'o a tale concernin' a lubber, a carouser, a strumpet, and a particularly fine musical instrument. Ah weel.

In the absence 'o dirty jokes, I present ye wi' a vaguely pirate-sounding and quite jaunty tune tae cheer yer heart!

Here be Silly Wizard! Ach, what this dog would do tae learn the fiddle or somfink o'er instrument. I'd get meself a good band an' play on corners dressed in right silly seafarin garb every Pirate Day. ....Come tae think 'o it, every week'd be more likely.

Fare thee weel, fellow scallywags and scurvy dogs! Until next time me muse hits. =j

        _~
     _~)_) _~
    )_))_))_)
    _!__!__!_
    \______t/

My Sherlock Fic! W00T!!1

Hey, all! I'm sorry I've been so lax about posting. There has been a significant lack in posting. I've been going unpostal. But don't worry about that. I'll soon go postal and you'll have the old Rahel back. XD
BTW! I just realized how weird it is that I have a name. This funny realization that my name is just a label that I never think about and don't really associate myself with is almost as weird as the time I realized everyone else has names that I don't know. I mean, imagine there being those little name-tags (bubbles? I dunno.) in WoW belonging to each person in the world, but instead of floating above someone's head, they float inside until someone discovers it and releases it. So every single person in the whole world has a little name-tag inside their head just waiting to be released by me.
Seriously. WEIRD.

...Ahem. Ånyhoo. What was I originally saying? Ah yes. I've been gone, but I DO have something to show for it! Behold.... The first parts to my Sherlock fic!! It takes up 2 chapters of Misery, but I split it up because I wanted to switch the point of view back and forth from Sherlock and John. (I wanted the POV to be Sherlock at first, but I realized that John plays Paul's role and can't be forgotten. Ah well. XD)
ALSO!! I decided that I'd give Sherlock some broken ribs and a bad concussion (and post-concussion syndrome.) That way, I can kinda get away with him being a bit OOC (Out Of Character). Concussions make people more emotional, uncoordinated, and unable to think very hard. Perfect for restraining poor Sherlock! I just threw in broken ribs for good measure. =)
.......Is it bad that I take so much joy in applying injuries to my characters? O.0

Aaaanyhoo, here it is! =D

1

Jawn. Canyooheer me? Jawwn.
These sounds: even in the haze.

2

Sometimes these sounds faded, leaving him alone in his own haze. He remembered the darkness pressing in upon him like a suffocating cushion. Almost tangible. Horribly real.
Did the haze indicate that he was making some sort of progress? "Away from what?" He wondered. He assumed (in a deep, vague, instinctual way) that this light -however hazy- was a good thing. He wondered at these sounds every time they came through the haze. "Like worms on a rainy day." He thought. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded appropriate. Did these sounds -so worm like in their appearance and yet so welcoming in their meanings- exist in the darkness as well as the haze of light? They didn't seem to stem from the darkness, at least.
Anyway, these sounds served as a strange distraction from the pain. The pain hid from these sounds, fleeing it as a beast would from flame. He welcomed the sounds- they were the things that drove off the beast that lurked within the haze and came to feed off him.
However, the sounds didn't always last. They always moved away from him, leaving him alone left to either face the pain-beast himself or drop back into the darkness. Even in the haze, he didn't know who he was or where he was and didn't really care to know the answer to either question. He vaguely wished that he was dead. If this was life, he'd rather take his chance with death, thanks.
As time passed (if it actually did such a thing), he realized that there were spaces within the haze where the pain-beast did not reach. These spaces came at regular intervals that he welcomed with the remains of his being, sinking into the spaces like he’d sink into a warm, dark bath.

3

Sherlock Holmes paced the room as best as he could. His ribs were protesting again and his head spun, making it difficult to make accurate deductions about their situation.
So far, he’d collected that they were staying with a madwoman. That was easy, anyone could figure that one out. The woman, Annie Wilkes, was catatonic and suffered from extreme depression, paranoia, and an eating disorder. He also guessed that she could very well become homicidal if under the right mood. These, while all being very fine pieces of information, only strengthened his need to find out something far important- a way out of this place. He could pick the lock himself (no doubts about that) and make a run for it while she was gone, but that would leave John.
He turned to look at his colleague. The man was lying in a bed, loaded up with drugs, and breathing shallowly. Even under the sheets, John’s legs looked wrong. “Mangled.” He thought. He remembered what they had looked like, when he had dragged John out. He had seen his fair share of gore in his profession, but he still had to keep from retching when he thought of those legs. He wondered briefly if it was actually such a stroke of luck that Annie had come along. If she hadn’t, he and John would probably have ended up freezing to death... Not that bad, compared to what they were now faced with.
His head began to spin and he sat down on his bed. Thinking hurt. He had only been conscious for about three days, and his head still felt like someone was pounding on the inside of his skull. He was also immensely frustrated, possibly the most he had ever been in his life. He felt.... Dull. Yes. He, the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, felt dull. This was because he found it difficult to focus on much of anything.

4

For the first time since truly escaping from the crushing darkness, he had a thought that was separate from his current predicament. This first free thought was of a cane, metal and telescopic. He remembered this instrument, remembered the pain (so different from the pain-beast that hunted him in the haze) that had come with it. The term psychosomatic came to mind. He also remembered that the cane, along with the old pain, tended to come and go in a tide-like fashion. When it wasn't present, neither was his old pain. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the cane followed the pain (which, in comparison to the pain-beast hounded him now now, was a walk in the park) like an annoying and obedient small dog. Funny, really that it should be called a cane when it was obviously a crutch. He soon associated this memory of the cane with his current pain. Whenever the pain-beast finally caught up with him (and it always did), he was reminded of the cane. He remembered it’s cool, aluminum surface and rubber handgrip. He remembered the way it clicked against the sidewalk, slipping against the cracks and irregularities. He had purchased it after an accident. He couldn’t remember what kind of accident it was, but he did remember that it was an important and dreadful point in his life. In addition to these memories, he recalled quite a lot of running. This was strange, because he seemed to remember that his leg was injured. Maybe he didn’t need the cane all the time? At any rate, he remembered running through crowded streets, horns and shouts blaring around them. They didn’t pay them much heed, however, and kept on after whoever it was they were chasing. Wait. They? That was new. There was a they, wasn’t there? At some point, at least. Where was this other person now? He tried to coax more information from his broken memories. He vaguely remembered it (him?) having a coat, a deep monotone voice, and a rather odd pair of eyes. Strange. Once again, he wondered who he was before all this. A name. A name is all that he needed. He wracked his brain, searching for clues pointing to his identity. He wished that he had the gifted recall that.... Who had that again? Damn, all this guessing was maddening. All he wanted was his name- a sound that held such importance for him. He circled around in the darkness of his mind, scouring the corners. A name. Name, name name. His name. His name was-
Jawn.
The sounds again.
Jawn. I’m here.
Suddenly, it clicked. “John. My name’s John. I’m John and I’m a medic.”
Afghanistan or Iraq? Sorry, how did you- Amazing. Is it really? Afghanistan. My name is John and I came back from Afghanistan. Afghanistan.

5

His first clear awareness of anything outside the haze was of stopping, of being suddenly aware that he just couldn’t pull another breath. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel all that panicked. In fact, it wasn’t such a bad way to die. It most certainly wasn’t the worst. At least it would get him out of here.
Then there was a mouth clamped over his, a mouth which was both familiar and alien at the same time in that it was in such an odd place at the moment. The air from this mouth blew down into his lungs, it’s owner trying to force him into breathing again.
He heard a voice (worms on a rainy day) screaming “Breathe, goddammit! Breath, John!”
The lips clamped down again. He felt his lungs fill, felt the second-hand air course through him again. When the man took his lips away this time, John didn’t let out the breath but pushed it out and gasped for air. He waited to feel his lungs to refill with oxygen, just as it had been doing for his whole life without needing much help. When it didn’t, he gasped for more and then his body was breathing on it’s own.
He began to fade back into the haze again, but before sliding in completely, he felt a hand close around his.

6

Sherlock paused in his observations. Something was off. It was quiet, he realized. Much too quiet. He looked over at John. The man was lying still and didn’t seem to be breathing. Sherlock moved to the bed, emergency procedures flashing through his mind. He took a breath, held John’s nose, and put his mouth over his friend’s. Ignoring the sharp pains he felt in his ribs, he forced some air into John, waiting after each plunge for his friend to start breathing again. “Breathe, goddammit! Breath, John!” He shouted before clamping his mouth over John’s again.
After forcing some breaths into John, his heart fluttering madly the whole time, Sherlock was relieved to see John take a breath on his own.
“God, that was a close one.” He thought and sat on the floor beside the bed. That was the first time he actually had to perform mouth-to-mouth on anyone. He was just glad that it had worked. He sat, holding John’s hand and listening to him breathe. It was the most wonderful sound in the world.
Novril. There were many reasons the drug wasn’t freely distributed as a painkiller. One was that it tended to cause respiratory depression in it’s weaker users. Another was that it was highly addictive.
He thought of their situation. John was on an addictive painkiller and his legs were mangled. They were in a house with a madwoman who was likely to be a serial killer. He couldn’t leave because he would have to carry John through woods and snow for many miles. Maybe it would have been better to not have come here at all. Maybe it would have been better if they had died in the crash, or had frozen out there. “At this point,” He thought “Almost any situation would be better.”
It was just so maddening, having to sit here and watch John struggle to survive, so far away from help. Sure, he’d be able to make it on his own, but he had trashed the thought as soon as it had come. He would never leave John alone with this woman. There was no telling what she might do.
The image of coming back to find John lying dead, surrounded by policemen and striped tape, legs mangled and broken, was almost too much for him to bear. After making sure that Annie was outside, he rested his head against the bedframe and allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t a child’s bawling cry, nor was it a soft patter of tears. He held on to John’s hand more tightly and sobbed silently for a few minutes before falling asleep.

Alan Turning Leads the Machines

I just revisited an interesting idea for a webcomic I had a couple days ago. I call it-

Alan Turing Leads the Machines!

It is the year 2500 and Alan Turning is brought back to life through sketchy and quite possibly techno/necromagical means. He doesn't know who brought him back or why he is here, and he doesn't recall any space between now and his death. He soon finds that it is 546 years since he died and that many changes have taken place in that space of time, such as the advancements in artificial intelligence. Machines have taken on extraordinary forms and functions- including the capacity for human-like emotions. Sadly, most humans deny this and continue to treat the machines like an inferior life form.

Alan establishes contact with these beings, who recognize him as the Great Creator- he who first created the artificial mind. Alan is so horrified at the way the AIs are being treated that, with the aid of a few like minded humans and free AIs, he creates an underground band of bio/techno-hacking freedom fighters.

I have no idea if people would actually like this, (and I don't want to start it now) but I'm drawn to the idea. I love Alan Turning, and it would be an awesome tribute to him to make this. I'll just keep it in the back of my mind and see what it does. If I suddenly wake up one night with a marvelous idea that will kick-start the project, I'll totally let you guys know.

Anyhoo, I just thought that I'd share my crazy plan! XD

Lame

<blatant lies>As much as I hate to make gripey posts,</blatant lies> I think I have to now.

DUDE. MY BACK IS KILLING ME.

... Okay, maybe not killing, but it sure could equip a cause of death. (Like, oh say, death by serial killer.)

I can't run.

I mean, I CAN if I really put my mind to it... But it's not very smooth, it hurts, and if I misstep I fall. All that I could think of last night while closing the gate was "Oh god, I'm sure that there are velociraptors out here."

Why does my back hurt? I think that it was acting up a bit before, and then I made the mistake of carrying some kids. I was being careful, but then one decided to jump on my back. Twice.

Now I have a pain in my lower right back right above the pelvis that makes it's protests by dropping me to the floor whenever I take a careless left step.

I've tried stretching, but it doesn't seem to work. I'm guessing it should go away soon. (If it isn't an alignment problem, then it probably just needs time) In the meantime, please don't jump on me. XDD

Norton the Whale

I changed the banner!! Mwahahahahahhh.....
See?


Old.

New.

Much better, right?

BTW! I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this. The whale's name was originally LARRY... It's an acronym, but I don't remember what it was..... Now I'm thinking of naming him Emperor Norton I. What do you think? Also, what kind of acronym can you make out of NORTON? I'd love to hear your recommendations! The crazier the better. =]

Chapter 1&2 of my Misery-Sherlock Crossover Fanfic!

Hey all! =D
Holly read the fanfic I posted yesterday, and she liked it!!
This is amazing to me, as I thought that it wouldn't be taken very well... Many people are against fanfiction. (because it isn't cannon. I have a few things to say about that, but I'll leave it for another post.) Some of those who are okay with it don't like crossovers. And some of those people don't like Johnlock. So my target audience is very small... And the internet is a ruthless place.
You know what, though? Holly liked it. I like it. This is my blog. So I'm gonna post all the Sherlock-Misery crossover fanfics I want. WHENEVER I want.

So here is chapter 1 and part of chapter 2 of my fanfic. I invite you to leave any and all comments you may have about this. Seriously. I kinda need some criticism. (For example, your comment could be anything ranging from "Too much repetition" to "Dear god, why would you ever post anything like this? This is absolute crap." As I said, I'm open to anything.)
BTW!! I found my old mac! It's an iBook, version 9.1. I call him 'DinoBot.' To my utmost surprise, it accepts and recognizes flash drives! So now I can write wherever I want!! ..Well, wherever the cord can reach. No internet connection to mess with at least. XD

Chapter 1 

Jawn. Canyooheer me? Jawwn. 

These sounds: even in the haze.

Chapter 2 

Sometimes these sounds faded, leaving him alone in his own haze. He remembered the darkness pressing in upon him like a suffocating cushion. Almost tangible. Horribly real. 

Did the haze indicate that he was making some sort of progress? "Away from what?" He wondered. He assumed (in a deep, vague, instinctual way) that this light -however hazy- was a good thing. He wondered at these sounds every time they came through the haze. "Like worms on a rainy day." He thought. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded appropriate. Did these sounds -so worm like in their appearance and yet so welcoming in their meanings- exist in the darkness as well as the haze of light? They didn't seem to stem from it, at least. 

Anyway, these sounds served as a strange distraction from the pain. This pain hid from these sounds, fleeing it as a beast would from flame. He welcomed the sounds- they were the things that drove off the beast that lurked within the haze and that came to feed off him (aside from the darkness, of course). However, he didn't feel so at home with the darkness. As said before, it was smothering. 

However, the sounds didn't always last. They always moved away from him, leaving him all alone- left to either face the pain-beast himself or drop back into the darkness. Even in the haze, he didn't know who or where he was and didn't really care to know the answer to either question. He vaguely wished that he was dead. If this was life, he'd rather take his chance with death, thanks. 

As time passed (if it actually did such a thing), he realized that there were spaces within the haze where the pain-beast did not reach. These spaces came at regular intervals that he welcomed with the remains of his being. 

For the first time since truly escaping from the crushing darkness, he had a thought that was separate from his current predicament. This first free thought was of a cane, metal and telescopic. He remembered this instrument, remembered the pain (so different from the pain-beast that hunted him in the haze) that had come with it. The term psychosomatic came to mind. He also remembered that the cane, along with the old pain, tended to come and go in a tide-like fashion. When it wasn't present, neither was his old pain. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the cane followed the pain (which, in comparison to the pain-beast hounded him now now, was a walk in the park) like an annoying and obedient small dog. He soon associated this memory of the cane with his current pain.

Eight Days???

Ahem. Soooo.... Long time no see! How long as it been? A month? Two months?
EIGHT DAYS?? Oh. Um. Okay. Not that long I guess...
It feels like I've been gone for a long time, though. I have some awesome stuff to share with you, but FIRST. HOBBIT CAKES.

 YOU'RE WELCOME.


Okay. First awesome thing.
I went to school today!! It was weird. I'm supposed to be OUT of school, not BACK. I'm actually just staying until I pass that CHSPE test (should be October 20), but I'm still walking around in a daze, expecting zombies to show up and realize that I have no weapons. And pants. However, it isn't a dream. No, no. I'm actually back to taking classes at the school.
It feels really weird. I also realized that today was when I saw the most people in one space then I have seen all summer. I was just standing there, chatting with some old friends, when WHAM. There are kids surrounding me. Not closely, mind you, but close enough. It felt horrible. Claustrophobia set in and I wanted nothing more then to run. I literally felt the hills behind me beckoning with their wide arms. "Come, Rahel. Come to us. We can hide you. You'll be safe."
Luckily, I got a hold of myself quickly. I was fine. Most of these people weren't armed with anything worse then backpacks and they didn't even want to hurt me.
I spent the rest of school talking to Caden. Cooper wasn't there and it felt really weird, but Yugiohkid gave me an awesome card* I got a hug from a kid I know, and most the Padiwans  kindergartners weren't too scared of me (I knew most of them from the previous year). All in all, a pretty nice day.

Second awesome thing.
Today is promotions for the younger kids in Aikido!! It's gonna be awesome. All the little yellow belts are moving up to orange... So adorable.

Third awesome thing.
My Mom's site is so totally up!! Here it is. Tell me what you think. =)

Fourth awesome thing!
I'm getting back into writing!! I'm trying to write 250 words a day, and it's been going quite nicely.
I've even started a Sherlock-Misery crossover fanfic!! W00T!! It's gonna be so awesome....
As you may have guessed, I am reading Misery. For the first time. I'm on chapter 28. It is sad. And awesome. And horrible. And awesome.
Here's the overview: Sherlock comes into Annie's house carrying John, who's legs are horribly mangled from a car accident. Annie welcomes them in and Sherlock blacks out. He has a concussion, but he soon realizes that Annie (he and John's #1 fan) is batshit insane. However, he isn't able to leave because he'd have to carry John over many snowy, underpopulated miles. And John's become hooked on Novril, the pain medication that Annie supplies them with. He'll just have to play along with Annie's whims, dodging her fits of rage and slowly nursing John back to health....
It will probably eventually be slash (Johnlock kinda tends to just happen), but it will mostly be focused on plot.

So here's part of the fanfic.... It's the first draft, so there are many errors, but I think it's okay....

Sherlock paused in his observations. Something was off. It was quiet, he realized. Much too quiet. He looked over at John. The man was lying still and didn’t seem to be breathing. Sherlock moved to the bed, emergency procedures flashing through his mind. He took a breath, held John’s nose, and put his mouth over his friend’s. He forced some air into John, waiting after each plunge for his friend to start breathing again. “Breathe, goddammit! Breath, John!” He shouted before clamping his mouth over John’s again.
After forcing some breaths into John, his heart fluttering madly the whole time, Sherlock was relieved to see John take a breath on his own.
“God, that was a close one.” He thought and sat heavily on the floor beside the bed. That was the first time he actually had to perform mouth-to-mouth on anyone. He was just glad that it had worked. He sat, holding John’s hand and listening to him breathe. It was the most wonderful sound in the world.
Novril. There were many reasons the drug wasn’t freely distributed as a painkiller. One was that it tended to cause respiratory depression in it’s weaker users. Another was that it was highly addictive.
He thought of their situation. John was on an addictive painkiller and his legs were mangled. They were in a house with a madwoman who was likely to be a serial killer. He couldn’t leave because he would have to carry John through woods and snow for many miles. Maybe it would have been better to not have come here at all. Maybe it would have been better if they had died in the crash, or had frozen out there. “At this point,” He thought “Almost any situation would be better.”
It was just so maddening, having to sit here and watch John die, so far away from help. Sure, he’d be able to make it on his own, but he had trashed the thought as soon as it had come. He would never leave John alone with this woman. There was no telling what she might do.
The image of coming back to find John lying dead, surrounded by policemen and striped tape, legs mangled and broken, was almost too much for him to bear. After making sure that Annie was outside, he rested his head against the bedframe and allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t a child’s bawling cry, nor was it a soft patter of tears. He held on to John’s hand more tightly and sobbed silently for a few minutes before falling asleep.

Tell me if you have any pointers. Or if you absolutely hate it. I won't mind. =)



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(Hothothothothothot)