Inspired by the fabulous @dragonnan's Blood and Romance (included by permission)
*
Too old for this: my first half-thought as I flail and thrash my way back to consciousness. I’m underwater, aching to breathe, but I’ll die if I do; but it isn’t cold enough, I’m not wet, where the hell I hurt all over and something’s wrong, it’s dark where is Sherlock
If I’m not under water, I can breathe; I open my lips a hair and no water floods in, so I take a careful breath and it’s air. Not sweet, God no, tastes like mould and sewage, but definitely air, and shakily I suck it in.
I blink and try to focus but can’t see anything. Where the hell am I, and where is Sherlock? There—a second complete thought, even if it’s just the ragged scraps from before stringing together into sense, that’s got to be a good sign.
Okay. Okay. Stop, where am I. Listen.
In a silence so loud, a darkness so complete, I can hear my racing heartbeat even over my ragged panting—but nothing else, not close by. I can’t breathe through my nose at all. I try to shift to generate some sound, get some idea at least of what kind of surface I’m near or on. Take stock: everything hurts but I can’t tell from what, I can’t gather any sensory data to extrapolate anything from. (Sherlock would say, deduce. I’m not Sherlock. He’d know what to do to get some clarity here; I’m just starting to panic.)
finish reading on AO3
*
A Thousand Words: A picture's proverbially worth a thousand words and often inspires them, though the words may be many more or many fewer, as the Muse decides. Each chapter is a one-shot, inspired (so far) by @kettykika78, @justanobsessedpan, @stephdrawsjohnlock, @bluebellofbakerstreet, @petite-madame, and now dragonnan: more to come.
Thank you to all the artists who do fanworks: you are a constant inspiration. And to the betas (@copperplatebeech for this ficlet) you are a godsend. And to the readers: we wouldn't be posting our stories without you.
Thanks for reblogging! Let me know whether to tag or untag you.
Seeing as we still have one room available, the registration deadline for the European Fic Writers' Retreat, which takes place in Germany 13-16 August, will be extended until 15 June.
Click here for all further info and registration link.
There's another bedroom upstairs!
Please send a chat message if you have any questions!
Tagging some people below the cut, please help signal boost!
Seeing as we still have one room available, the registration deadline for the European Fic Writers' Retreat, which takes place in Germany 13-16 August, will be extended until 15 June.
Click here for all further info and registration link.
There's another bedroom upstairs!
Please send a chat message if you have any questions!
Tagging some people below the cut, please help signal boost!
Why does nobody tell women what an absolute bitch perimenopause can be? I feel like nobody told me anything about it, save for hot flashes. I also feel that doctors don't know enough about it as well. I basically had to diagnose myself.
Like, seriously, women should be educated about their own bodies.
So if you're on the other side of 45 and suddenly everything is twice as difficult, you get more migraines, your blood pressure goes funny, you can't sleep and you feel like your entire psyche is unstable, you might be experiencing perimenopause. My gyn was like,oh, like think of it like reverse puberty, your entire body rearranges itself. I was like, Great, nobody ever told me it can be this bad. My GP didn't even ask me about my period or hormone levels or anything. He just told me I was probably depressed and sent me to a psychiatrist, who also didn't ask about my period or my hormones. If I hadn't experienced something akin to postpartum depression and therefore know what my body does when its hormones are out of whack, I would have had no idea.
Seriously, nobody tells you how much hormones fuck you up as a woman. Nobody prepares you for this.
I've been trying to talk openly about what's fucking me up right now, and I've discovered that it's a lot more common than I thought it was. I feel like every phase of life finds another way to fuck women over. Puberty: have fun with your period as it adjusts itself. Childbirth: prepare for a hormonal rollercoaster. PMS: oh, it can get BAD. Like, BAD. After birth: hormones out of whack for months, maybe longer. Perimenopause: can fuck up everything. Like literally everything. Osteoporosis is also hormonal. Post menopause: supposedly things get better, but they don't have to.
And I feel like we're left pretty alone dealing with all of it. And we know so little about it that we're left wondering why suddenly nothing works anymore. So we flail about and feel terrible about our sudden inability to cope with life, when it's in fact our bodies screwing with us. Again.
So. Let's talk about it, let's be open to each other and learn from each other. Thank you especially to anyone who shared experiences with me. It helps to feel like you're not alone.
Can I just say, to everyone who's replied and reblogged and shared stories and resources, thank you. We need this. We need each other. And more importantly, we HAVE each other. It makes me sad to read so many stories of people being left behind by their health care providers. But at least we can support each other.
A candle (💗romance💗); an offer (YES); a party (is it my birthday?) The future begins (with a dance).
It's been such a pleasure to revisit John and Sherlock in this universe, and to have you along for the journey. Thank you for reading, thank you for your comments 💕
You know, it's great fun sitting peacefully on my sofa on a quiet Sunday morning while my nervous system is convinced I'm being hunted for sport. Awesome experience. 10/10, no notes.
Summary: The tension in the kitchen is almost palpable. It's caused by two Frenchmen Mycroft has seen snooping around the neighbourhood. Things are getting serious and Sherlock is about to panic.
Rosie’s tantrum is about to reach epic proportions, and John needs to intervene. Immediately.
“It’s impossible! I will never be able to make it before he gets back!!!”
“Rosamund Watson, you can, and you will.”
“I only have one more chance, Dad! He’ll be here in less than fourteen minutes.”
God, do you even know how like him you are?
John looks fondly at his daughter, but she’s too distracted by her distress to observe it.
“Alright, sweetheart. Put that away for a second and come here.”
“There’s no time, Dad!”
“Yes, there is. Trust me.”
Rosie sighs dramatically, puts down the instrument, and approaches John tentatively.
“Take my hands.”
Another sigh, but the girl surrenders.
John squeezes the small hands in his own and smiles down at the tense and slightly anxious girl in front of him.
“Inhale as deep as you can. Hold until I say so, then exhale.”
“Is this a doctor procedure?”
Her smile causes her body to visibly relax, and the tension in the room eases.
“Go on, now.”
After a few minutes, John is satisfied, and releases his grip.
“Try again,” he says softly and places a kiss on her forehead.
***
Sherlock is dead tired and just longs to get home to his two Watsons. He’s been in Paris for nearly a fortnight; hired by one of Mycroft’s associates to solve the theft of the crown jewels in the Louvre. The case had been excellent, apart from one significant thing: John didn’t have the opportunity to come with him.
Another thing that had irked him, was the timing regarding Rosie. A week before his departure, he had started to teach her La Vie en Rose. Tomorrow, she was supposed to perform it at school, which he knew she wasn’t capable of now, due to his long absence. Instead, she had to play one of the easier pieces she already knew by heart.
He feels like he’s failing her, even though John has assured him he’s doing nothing of the sort.
“It’s the Work, Sherlock. And you’re not the first parent who must travel and be away from – “
“But I’m not her parent, am I?”
“Perhaps not officially. Yet. But to her you are. And to me.”
***
His timing could not have been better, John thinks. Rosie has played through the piece nearly flawlessly two times already, and when she’s stretched and had a swig of water, it’s time for the last rehearsal of the day.
“Ready?” he whispers conspiratorially.
“Three is a charm, Nana says,” she replies.
“That’s my girl.”
Rosie lifts her bow and starts playing La Vie en Rose the second the front door closes behind Sherlock. John strains to hear if he’s ascending, but he also needs to pay attention to his daughter’s playing, so he nearly misses Sherlock’s appearance.
“Oh,” Sherlock breathes almost inaudibly as tears stream down his cheeks.
Rosie prefers to face the window just as Sherlock does when he plays, and John isn’t sure she can see her Papa in the reflection of the glass surface.
John moves over to Sherlock who seemingly can’t avert his eyes from the playing girl. His hand covers his mouth, which probably is agape, and John decides to slide an arm around the man’s waist in case his knees give way.
***
Rosie, his beloved girl, is playing La Vie en Rose far better than Sherlock thought she would be able to do if he had stayed home instead of running off to France. How she’s accomplished that is a topic for another day or hour. For now, he revels in the beautiful music and how Rosie moves with it instead of standing ramrod straight like a pillar.
He feels John’s arm around him, but Sherlock is too absorbed in the music and the miracle that is Rosie Watson. Next month, his surname will be added, which he still can’t get his head around.
When the last tone has faded away, Rosie sets her violin and bow on the table and runs toward Sherlock. He falls to his knees and opens his arms to her. John mitigates the impact to prevent Sherlock from falling onto his back, by placing steady hands on his shoulders.
“I’ve missed you so much, Papa!”
“And I you, my heart. Your playing was extraordinary.”
“Yeah? Uncle Mycroft helped me a bit, and Dad found a tutorial video online who was really helpful too.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t be angry with him, alright?”
“I promise. For once, his aid was… noble.”
John chuckles behind him, and one of his hands – the left – ruffles his curls affectionately.
***
Later, when Rosie is tucked up in bed, John tells Sherlock about their daughter’s dramatic outburst.
“One more chance? Really, John?”
“Cross my heart. She takes after you, in my opinion.”
“Rude!”
“Truthful!”
“You are insufferable!”
“If you say so. And yet…”
“Yet what?”
“Aren’t you a genius?”
“Of course, I am.”
“Well, then?”
Sherlock sighs mock exasperated, buries his nose in John’s neck and whispers: “And yet, I am marrying you in sixteen days.”
Summary: Martha Hudson's favourite place to dine is (obviously) Chez 1895. The staff treats her like royalty and one of them reminds of her of bygone times.
Why does nobody tell women what an absolute bitch perimenopause can be? I feel like nobody told me anything about it, save for hot flashes. I also feel that doctors don't know enough about it as well. I basically had to diagnose myself.
Like, seriously, women should be educated about their own bodies.
So if you're on the other side of 45 and suddenly everything is twice as difficult, you get more migraines, your blood pressure goes funny, you can't sleep and you feel like your entire psyche is unstable, you might be experiencing perimenopause. My gyn was like,oh, like think of it like reverse puberty, your entire body rearranges itself. I was like, Great, nobody ever told me it can be this bad. My GP didn't even ask me about my period or hormone levels or anything. He just told me I was probably depressed and sent me to a psychiatrist, who also didn't ask about my period or my hormones. If I hadn't experienced something akin to postpartum depression and therefore know what my body does when its hormones are out of whack, I would have had no idea.
Seriously, nobody tells you how much hormones fuck you up as a woman. Nobody prepares you for this.
I've been trying to talk openly about what's fucking me up right now, and I've discovered that it's a lot more common than I thought it was. I feel like every phase of life finds another way to fuck women over. Puberty: have fun with your period as it adjusts itself. Childbirth: prepare for a hormonal rollercoaster. PMS: oh, it can get BAD. Like, BAD. After birth: hormones out of whack for months, maybe longer. Perimenopause: can fuck up everything. Like literally everything. Osteoporosis is also hormonal. Post menopause: supposedly things get better, but they don't have to.
And I feel like we're left pretty alone dealing with all of it. And we know so little about it that we're left wondering why suddenly nothing works anymore. So we flail about and feel terrible about our sudden inability to cope with life, when it's in fact our bodies screwing with us. Again.
So. Let's talk about it, let's be open to each other and learn from each other. Thank you especially to anyone who shared experiences with me. It helps to feel like you're not alone.
I'm coming up on this myself, and sadly one of the reasons your doctors don't know anything about this is that, along with most other women's health issues, it's had so little research. There are slow improvements, but the situation is still dire.
At 54 and having hormone-related perimenopause symptoms since my mid-40s (and still going strong--this year's primary one is crying; I have not cried as much in my whole life as I have in the last six months, over so much dumb stuff, like commercials and rabbits in the backyard and my kid mouthing off to me [she's just started having periods so we're a real pair]), my whole social media feed is women complaining/nurses and doctors talking about peri/menopause so maybe just watch one or two related reels and you'll have more info than you need.
Most of this is mind over matter. You can let it ruin yr day or week or month or (as in my case, decade), or you can just cope with it. Supplements don't help. Walking outside does. Recognising yr body is doing weird stuff you can't really control will also help. Approaching it with curiosity rather than panic or a sense of "how do I fix this?" can help you feel less like you're having a psychotic episode.
You lose a lot of hair (like half its volume) pretty quickly. Brain fog is real (wordfinding is suddenly very difficult for me). I needed daily naps for a few years. Sometimes you get worse PMS symptoms than you've had in yr whole life for a week, but then don't get a period that month. Sometimes you bleed for 17 out of 20 days, get ten days off, then bleed again for two weeks (in the year before yr periods start becoming less frequent/stop, cycles often get shorter--mine were 21 days instead of 28 or the blissful 35 day cycles I had for the first half of my life as a menstruater). Sometimes you don't have a period for 4 months and start to get cocky about it, then have to reset the clock. Hot flashes suck. Oh! I almost forgot the weirdest one: you lose a sense of where you are in space such that you bump into things you used to easily avoid (I have smashed into door knobs, chairbacks, and light switches a lot the last few years). All of this is manageable. Women pretty much ignored it/coped silently for generations and they all got through OK. We can, too.
Honestly, the two that are kneecapping my ability to cope are the insomnia and the constant anxiety. Not being able to sleep is torture, and it's making my life hell right now. And my nervous system constantly feels like I'm in active danger, also not fun. I have to fight for calm all day, basically. And coupled with the sleep issues it's not been fun.
Why does nobody tell women what an absolute bitch perimenopause can be? I feel like nobody told me anything about it, save for hot flashes. I also feel that doctors don't know enough about it as well. I basically had to diagnose myself.
Like, seriously, women should be educated about their own bodies.
So if you're on the other side of 45 and suddenly everything is twice as difficult, you get more migraines, your blood pressure goes funny, you can't sleep and you feel like your entire psyche is unstable, you might be experiencing perimenopause. My gyn was like,oh, like think of it like reverse puberty, your entire body rearranges itself. I was like, Great, nobody ever told me it can be this bad. My GP didn't even ask me about my period or hormone levels or anything. He just told me I was probably depressed and sent me to a psychiatrist, who also didn't ask about my period or my hormones. If I hadn't experienced something akin to postpartum depression and therefore know what my body does when its hormones are out of whack, I would have had no idea.
Seriously, nobody tells you how much hormones fuck you up as a woman. Nobody prepares you for this.
I've been trying to talk openly about what's fucking me up right now, and I've discovered that it's a lot more common than I thought it was. I feel like every phase of life finds another way to fuck women over. Puberty: have fun with your period as it adjusts itself. Childbirth: prepare for a hormonal rollercoaster. PMS: oh, it can get BAD. Like, BAD. After birth: hormones out of whack for months, maybe longer. Perimenopause: can fuck up everything. Like literally everything. Osteoporosis is also hormonal. Post menopause: supposedly things get better, but they don't have to.
And I feel like we're left pretty alone dealing with all of it. And we know so little about it that we're left wondering why suddenly nothing works anymore. So we flail about and feel terrible about our sudden inability to cope with life, when it's in fact our bodies screwing with us. Again.
So. Let's talk about it, let's be open to each other and learn from each other. Thank you especially to anyone who shared experiences with me. It helps to feel like you're not alone.
I'm coming up on this myself, and sadly one of the reasons your doctors don't know anything about this is that, along with most other women's health issues, it's had so little research. There are slow improvements, but the situation is still dire.
in a way john watson is a fantasy (what if you had this brilliant enigmatic friend and what if he liked you in particular and what if he offered you the excitement of youth and adventures and a way out of boring society life and all without having to actually give up your status as a gentleman so you could have the best of both worlds) and in a way sherlock holmes is a fantasy (what if someone never got tired of you despite your various strange habits and mood swings and instead of simply tolerating you they genuinely liked you and what if you didn’t have to live alone forever and what if you never had to give up doing the things you love) and of course there’s the most fantastical part of it all (what if you could afford london housing prices)
Summary: Molly thrives as Chez 1895's master mixologist. Her creativity is never questioned, and she no longer feels like the freak everyone thinks she is. Having Sherlock's support helps immensely; she will never say a bad word about him to anyone, something that tonight's unpleasant guest gets to experience to the fullest.
Why does nobody tell women what an absolute bitch perimenopause can be? I feel like nobody told me anything about it, save for hot flashes. I also feel that doctors don't know enough about it as well. I basically had to diagnose myself.
Like, seriously, women should be educated about their own bodies.
So if you're on the other side of 45 and suddenly everything is twice as difficult, you get more migraines, your blood pressure goes funny, you can't sleep and you feel like your entire psyche is unstable, you might be experiencing perimenopause. My gyn was like,oh, like think of it like reverse puberty, your entire body rearranges itself. I was like, Great, nobody ever told me it can be this bad. My GP didn't even ask me about my period or hormone levels or anything. He just told me I was probably depressed and sent me to a psychiatrist, who also didn't ask about my period or my hormones. If I hadn't experienced something akin to postpartum depression and therefore know what my body does when its hormones are out of whack, I would have had no idea.
Seriously, nobody tells you how much hormones fuck you up as a woman. Nobody prepares you for this.
I've been trying to talk openly about what's fucking me up right now, and I've discovered that it's a lot more common than I thought it was. I feel like every phase of life finds another way to fuck women over. Puberty: have fun with your period as it adjusts itself. Childbirth: prepare for a hormonal rollercoaster. PMS: oh, it can get BAD. Like, BAD. After birth: hormones out of whack for months, maybe longer. Perimenopause: can fuck up everything. Like literally everything. Osteoporosis is also hormonal. Post menopause: supposedly things get better, but they don't have to.
And I feel like we're left pretty alone dealing with all of it. And we know so little about it that we're left wondering why suddenly nothing works anymore. So we flail about and feel terrible about our sudden inability to cope with life, when it's in fact our bodies screwing with us. Again.
So. Let's talk about it, let's be open to each other and learn from each other. Thank you especially to anyone who shared experiences with me. It helps to feel like you're not alone.
I put off writing this for the last twelve hours, but I have no choice now, and I can't sugarcoat it. I was braced to move into my car indefinitely tomorrow, with my plan to park at various McD's, Dunkin's, and the Barnes & Noble in town, hanging out inside so I could have bathroom and electricity access, to keep my phone charged. Had a wee errand to run today, but my car wouldn't start. Long story short? I can't move my car anywhere now because the alternator died. Estimates for replacement & labor are $500-$1,000. So basically, I'm screwed.
I got two nights grace from a relative who can't really afford it, to allow me a couple nights more in a room before I'm out on the street. There's no way I can live in my non-working car in the motel parking lot. To try to walk to the nearest public restroom as needed is out of the question with my heart condition, let alone the heat. I'm nearly out of time and nearly out of hope. So here I am again, begging for the kindness of strangers--honestly, I'm so worn down by the Struggle to Survive, there are moments I just want to lay down, fall asleep, and not wake up.
Hey, but don't worry, I could never take my own life. First, because as I'm sure I've mentioned, I'm the most stubborn b*tch that you might ever meet. And more importantly, there's this quote that has stuck with me my whole life since reading it in my teens, from Samwise Gamgee in The Two Towers:
"...but where there's life, there's hope..."
Yeah, a Hobbit's wisdom. Tolkien's wisdom. Keeping me hanging on by a silver thread.
Anyway, if anyone can help, I'm setting the goal at $600, fingers crossed the job can get done, and soon, for less. Amen, Lord. AMEN. And bless anyone that answers this plea!
$0/$600
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