The Personal Blog of John H. Watson

3 March

The Third Flatmate

It's good to be back on this blog. I've explained to you all how and why Sherlock came back, and how we stopped the terrorist attack, him and me. However, a lot of people have been asking about Charlene, so I'm going to dedicate this blog post to her. I've been given official permission to publish this.

Charlene Holmes. 33 years old. Twin sister of Sherlock Holmes, younger sister of Mycroft Holmes. Legally dead for 25 years. My flatmate for six months.

But she's so much more than that.

She helped me to heal after I lost Sherlock. She fixed me when I didn't even know I was broken. She's a friend. A colleague. A flatmate. A smart, brave, clever, funny, brilliant woman, who I am fortunate enough to call my fiancé.

That's right, we're getting married. It's official. Sorry to those who thought I was going to marry Sherlock, but that was never going to happen, let's face it.

That's all I have to say for now. I'll be posting some more of our cases soon, including the first one that Charlene solved. Until then, it's just me and Charlene and Sherlock, running around London and solving cases.

14 comments

Isn't this entry a bit sickly sweet, even for you, John?

Sherlock Holmes3 March

i agree

theimprobableone 3 March

I think it's sweet.

Charlene Holmes 3 March

Congratulations again, you two. Oh, I can't wait for the wedding!

Mrs Hudson 3 March

Thank you, Mrs Hudson.

John Watson 3 March

Congrats, mate! Want to meet up for a drink some time?

Mike Stamford 3 March

That's be nice, thanks Mike.

John Watson 3 March

Good old Three Continents! You finally got someone!

Bill Murray 3 March

Please don't.

John Watson 3 March

Three continents? What do you mean?

Charlene Holmes 3 March

Any time you want to stop talking is fine, Bill.

John Watson 3 March

Three Continents Watson, we used to call him in the army. Good times.

Bill Murray 3 March

Bill!

John Watson 3 March

John, we need to talk.

Charlene Holmes 3 March

Dear Kirsty,

How are things in New York? I'm sorry that I haven't written to you for ages, I've just been so busy.

Are we still on for NY in May? Even Mummy's looking forward to seeing New York. Greg can't come, so there's five of us going: me, John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Mummy. That'll be quite a trip.

Are you able to come back with us afterwards? Last I heard, you had to sort out something with your boss. It'll be nice to show you where I live now. Show you my life. It's so different from my life before.

Speaking of my life, I really have you to thank for that. All of it. You did so much for me, and I can never repay you for that. So thank you, Kirsty, really.

You know, it's exactly one year now. One year today. One year since Sherlock died, and I remembered. Nine months since I left New York, nine months since I met John. And three months since I married him.

We're still living in 221B, him and me and Sherlock. How could we leave? It hasn't quite gone back to normal, because there never was a normal. There's always been something changing, something going on. Mrs Hudson is as sweet as ever though. Scotland Yard (well, Greg mostly) is still relying on us to solve cases. The three of us. The two Holmeses. The two Watsons. I'm both.

The biggest difference, though, is in brotherly relations. Sherlock and Mycroft were frosty at first, when Sherlock came back (he was apparently in Serbia, taking down Moriarty's criminal network, but don't tell anyone). According to John, this was perfectly normal for them. But their behaviour's slowly been improving. Last week, for example, Sherlock actually smiled at Mycroft in a non-vindictive manner. It may seem like not much, but if you knew my brothers, you'd know what an improvement that was.

I've had time, in these past six months, to study the relationship between John and Sherlock. It's not love, but I can see why people thought it was. It's something subtler, stronger almost. Their relationship is built on absolute mutual trust and understanding, and they do care about each other, no matter how much Sherlock pretends not to. I don't think the English language has a word to describe the bond between them. It's sort of a mutual absolute trust and understanding, but so much more than that. They are complete opposites yet they love each other (no, not in that way).

But no matter what the bond is between John and Sherlock, I'm convinced that the one between John and myself is stronger. Ours is love.

God, that sentence sounded cheesy. Please pretend I didn't write that.

Seriously though, just being with John makes me feel all warm inside. He's the perfect man. He's smart and funny, and sensitive. He really cares. In fact, if he has a flaw, it's that he has a tendency to read over people's shoulders when they're writing letters to their friends!

Sorry about that, he's gone now. He was reading this, in case you were wondering. Now he's gone to 'help Sherlock with dinner', which really means he's going to do it all while Sherlock pretends to watch.

Anyway, I've become good friends with Molly Hooper again, the pathologist I told you about. Things were a bit awkward at first, though. She felt guilty about not only not telling us about Sherlock, but also about giving us the clues to help us find him. But it's all right now. She's still quite shy, but I think I'm beginning to draw her out of her shell a bit.

Life in general seems good at the moment. I have a loving husband and a good home. I've started part-time work with computers, so I don't have to rely on Mycroft to pay my rent. It's a 'mobile IT firm', which basically means that we go around and fix old ladies' computers. I never charge for Mrs Hudson, though. How could I?

Several people, including Mummy, have asked us if we're interested in starting a family. To tell the truth, I don't think we will, despite what Mummy wants. I don't think our sort of life would be suitable for a kid, you know? Too much instability. Besides, I'm not sure I can imagine me as a mother. Or Sherlock as an uncle, come to that. John would be a good father. But I digress. No kids, at least not yet.

Ever since John made that blog entry about me, the press have been having a field day. Several times in the past month, when we've been out on a case, there's been a photographer hanging around. We don't mind though: we make it a game, how long it takes us to lose them. The record so far is 30 seconds (Sherlock set that, of course), while the longest is more like 30 minutes (man, that reporter was determined).

The press have even come up with a name for me and John: 'Johnlene'. We both think it's even worse than 'Brangelina'. However, you must admit that it's better than 'confirmed bachelor'.

Anyway, I should go now. There's a lot of banging in the kitchen, which means that either Sherlock or John has got frustrated. Or possibly both. I should intervene before they kill each other.

I can't wait to see you again in a few months. Thank you so much again.

Bye for now.

-Charlene Holmes Watson

Find the sequel here: s/10157929/1/221B-Falls-No-More