#book bar

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Yes. I accept the reality where I am book Thor.

*slams down book*

ANOTHER!

[irrec]

Would you love me if I was a cyborg?

[dancingtotuyo]

Set up at the local book bar (YES! A book bar! I’m living my dream) to work on part 4 of Build you the world!

Peep the Part 4 title in the corner 😉

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The fabulous Milk & Roses Book Bar in Brooklyn, NYC. 

flavorwire.com

[betterbooksandthings]

Polyjuice Potion

Scarfes Bar, London

[a-different-equation]

The first change after Sherlock had left, was that my sister Harry started bombading me with text messages. Obviously, she had followed my blog and had read the entry about Sherlock.

Just come back, I was thinking. Live with Clara and me. Have a home again.

Some messages were almost pleading. I checked if she indeed had sent them. My world was really spinning when I got messages like this:

You have been gone long enough. Just come back.

There were not typing errors, no exclamation marks, no punctuation faces. I did not reply. However, she persisted. For the first time, she was the older sibling. A week after she changed her strategy.

Don’t mop around, Johnny! Do something!

Or, as if she knew that it was a Friday and I felt again as if nothing ever happens to me, she texted:

You turn into the old man from our town. Do you want that, Dr. Watson? Get your fat arse up from the sofa! Hell, maybe yell after children if it helps.

Seconds later:

Don’t tell Clara that I suggested that.

Some days, when the demons did not have me too tight in their claw, I could hear her voice through the words. The snarky comments, the teasing, the concern.

I had not seen her in person for a decade, so it was all imagination, but some days it was as if I could almost see her. As if me leaving home forever, going to medical school and joining the army afterwards, only happened yesterday, or had never happened at all.

On good days, I imagine not running into her by fate like it happened with Mike Stamford after I had returned to London, but with intent. We would meet, maybe I would invite her to the book bar I had found by accident, and maybe we would not only talk but laugh and maybe even sing-along when “Two Steps From Heaven” would be playing in the background.

Harry would be older. We both are. Lines on her face, time and demons paying tribute; I could not imagine her being the type to dye her hair, so grey it is; short, of course; hopefully, Clara fed her up a bit; isn’t that what girlfriends do? We were never from money; we never cared for style. Therefore, practical clothes, plain, simple.

But what do I know? I am not the same man I used to be when I left home.

She never called. Maybe she knew that I prefer to text. It would be nice to think that Harry still knew me. Maybe, one day, we will meet again  in person. A second chance, a new beginning. I had worked too long in The Dead Letter Office to turn the communication with my last remaining relative into a dead letter, too.

It won’t happen today, or tomorrow, but one day, it will.

Read more here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11233392/chapters/26772378

[tempest-melody]

North Texas: My Favorite Bookstores

North Texas: My Favorite Bookstores

[percolatingnorth]

Coffee and books from a building built in 1774 on the oldest remaining corner in the US.

The Four Corners- Stockade District.

📍 Kingston, NY.