The Science Of Second Chances//Book Two

Chapter 2~ The Personal Blog Of Dr. John H. Watson

17 May
What's going on.

Just an update on what's going on here.
Teddy left hospital yesterday. She spent six weeks there to recover and became incredibly bored after the first three days stuck in bed. To pass the time she deduced all the hospital staff, causing two of them to cry and one to be fired after Teddy reported the fact that he had been stealing hospital equipment and medicine for his own uses. She ran away from the hospital four times in one week due to the 'lack of awesome things going on' but each time Mycroft found her, put her back to bed and then left again, ignoring Teddy's protest at being handcuffed to the bed. She played her music loudly while staring at a wall for a whole day. She went into the children's section of the hospital, stole some crayons and went back to her room. I found her drawing pictures all over the wall with her good arm.
We played chess sometimes, she would beat me easily. We spent half the day playing monopoly and I won. We tried to play Cluedo but she got frustrated and chucked the board at the window then went to sleep.
After three weeks in hospital Lestrade began giving her some cases to solve from her hospital bed. That seemed to improve her mood greatly. She spent the next three weeks solving cases for Lestrade with Sherlock's help.
I think she's forgiven herself for what happened at the pool, even though it wasn't her fault in my eyes. It was just really, really unlucky that the first guy she fell in love with happened to be a psychopath.

Myself, Teddy and Lestrade went out last night for some drinks (Sherlock didn't want to come, he had an experiment to finish) and Teddy ended up crashing at our flat. Actually, speaking of flats, Teddy's decided to move into 221c. She says that although it has been nice living the high life with Mycroft she needs a place for her own. She'll be moving in soon, in about two weeks time. I can hear Teddy and Sherlock coming upstairs now, Teddy talking about what kind of wallpaper she wants. I don't think Sherlock really cares about wallpaper but he's asking questions about what kind of patterns she might like to keep her happy I guess.

I haven't seen Sherlock this.... human before. It's really weird. Those two have been spending a lot of time together, talking about cases and experiments and blood patterns. Teddy's teaching Sherlock about blood deductions. It's quite funny watching him become frustrated at not being able to find out which blood pattern goes with which crime. In return Sherlock's been helping Teddy be even more thorough with her deductions and slowly but surely she's been getting better. It'll help her when she starts working at Scotland Yard next week.

I forgot to mention; when I came home from New Zealand the other week I found a picture on the mantle piece. An old one which looks a little tattered around the edges but still in good condition. It's a picture of a tree house. A small girl wearing tanned shorts and a dirty white shirt is sitting on the roof of the tree house amongst the branches, her short curly hair framing her face in a wild mess. A boy, a few years older, has upper body sticking out of the window as he begins to climb up onto the roof to join the girl. He's got a bright smile on his pale face, his hair identical to the girl. She's poking her tongue out at the camera and is holding up a wooden sword.
I've never seen a photo of Sherlock when he was younger. I've never seen a photo of Sherlock with another family member ever. I guess Teddy's making an impression on her older brother.

"Writing on your blog?" Sherlock asks from the kitchen. I nod, looking up. Teddy places a cup of tea on the table for me.

"Thanks," I say. She smiles at me then goes back into the kitchen. Sherlock looks at his sister then at me.

"About?"

"All of us," I reply.

"You mean me," he says.

"You always say that, did you know?" I say, rolling my eyes and turning back to my laptop, reading through what I have written. Teddy giggles.

"He's got a point, Sherly," she tells him.

"Well, it's the truth. When he writes heaps it's about me," Sherlock says simply.

Maybe for the first time ever Sherlock Holmes is wrong.

Comment and fave if you like this story! Thanks!
XOXO ~ DM