(For John Watson 💕)
That right there is the mail. Now let's talk about the mail. Can we talk about the mail, please, John? I've been dying to talk about the mail with you all DAY, OK?
“Jim Moriarty” this name keeps coming up over and over again. Every day Jim’s mail is getting sent back to me. ‘Jim Moriarty’! ‘Jim Moriarty’! I look in the mail, and this whole BOX is Jim Moriarty!
So I say to myself, "I gotta find this guy! I gotta go up to his office and put his mail in the guy's goddamn hands! Otherwise, he's never going to get it and he's going to keep coming back down here."
So I go up to Jim’s office and what do I FIND OUT, John?! What do I find OUT?!
There IS no Jim Moriarty. The man does not exist, okay? So I decide, "Oh shit, buddy, I gotta dig a little deeper." There's no Jim Moriarty? You gotta be kidding me! I got BOXES full of Moriarty!
All right. So I start marchin' my way down to Mycroft at the British Givernment, and I knock on his door and I say, "MYYYCROFT! MYCROFT! I gotta talk to you about Moriarty."
And when I open the door what do I find? There's not a single goddamn desk in that office! There...is...no...Mycroft in the British givernment.
John. Half the characters in this fandom have been made up. This city is a goddamn ghost town.
(Chikachikaaa)
Oh...Out of all the literary cacophonies I’ve had the displeasure of reading in my entire life, this has to be the biggest - And, excuse my French - Clusterfuck, in the world.
First of all, I’d have to point out that you may think your name is Sherlock Holmes, but I assure you, it’s not, and nor are you a detective, or, most of all, a genius. This was just a persona you chose to take for yourself after somehow getting your hands on a Hercule Poirot novel ( which, fyi, it’s POIROT, not PINOT, you alcoholic...) and your therapist thought it might be good for your therapy an rehab, despite your hallucinations and the fact that you struggle realising the world you’re living is NOT real.
Your brother died when you were young, in a car crash, but you loved him so much that you projected him into this “Mycroft” character, after hearing about Microsoft, and you wanted him to be one of the most powerful people in the world, someone you could rely on...
But you wanted to be powerful as well, and somehow fight off the villain of your life - The car driver - So you created an evil genius called James Moriarty...Such an evil genius name...It sounds like you thought over the most British-Posh old noble family of bad guys you could think of...
I can only imagine the shock you had when the director of the insane asylum told you all the people you thought were real - Were actually only pigments of your wild and disturbed imagination - And that box? It was a TV. That letter mail? It was your new pill prescription.
Everything new for you is evil, therefore, James Moriarty.
No wonder you’re all alone, they toned down your treatment, thinking you were getting better.
You are worse.
Your mind is completely shattered.
You’ll never escape your ghost town.
Goodbye.
P.S. : Your real name is John Watson and you’ve been writing to yourself for 20 years - Since your brother died.
