Max Bialystock Has Done it Again!

I’ve done it again.

I have this blog, I wrote some things, and then I left it. Forgot it existed.

We can’t believe it!
You can’t conceive it!
How’d [she] achieve it?
[She]’s the worst [blogger] in town!

So, here I am again. Ready to promise that I’ll attempt this blogging thing one more time. I’d like to believe that I’ll do it this time, but that’s how I feel every other time. I’m excited to write, I want to write, I am writing, but will I continue? I don’t know. My life seems to always be so busy.

For example: the community theater production of “The Little Mermaid,” that I choreographed, just closed yesterday. However, I have wedding planning, holiday planning, school planning, and school (starting on 9/25) to work on. All every exciting, and time-consuming, things. And one of the wedding things is choreographing the first dance (which I can’t wait to do!).

We shall see how this goes. I’m not sure who “we” is in this situation, considering the fact that I don’t think anyone has ever read this blog, but it works.

Here’s to writing a lot!

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

Maybe I should change the title to “Worst. Writer. Ever.”

I created this blog forever ago with two hopes: to keep up with writing to keep the creative juices flowing and to post the occasional short story or fan fiction I write.

As it is has been over a year since I last wrote, I’m clearly not doing so well.  I haven’t even been able to write a short story, let alone any of the novels I have sitting on the backburner of my writing stove (or whatever).  I may have words, but I am certainly not expressing them.

I even started a blog about living on the community theatre stage and never being home.  I wanted to document my time doing that.  Guess who only has an introductory post written by WordPress on THAT blog?  And I have done three more shows since I first created the blog.  There will undoubtedly be some summary blog posts written for that one later on today.  Or sometime in a year from now.

I always set these writing goals and then never meet them.  I have countless story ideas that start with a big burst of energy and then peter off into nothing.  I have a jukebox musical about the absurdity of teenage angst, a novel about a boy who must meet his magical destiny because of a tree, a story (that could be a book, that could be a series) about people with superhuman powers who must get away from the man experimenting on them within a mental institution, an historical fiction about Shakespeare (that is turning out to be too ridiculous and romantic for me, honestly), and a one-act play about an office relationship.  Not to mention the one Teen Wolf fan fiction I wrote that has started gathering a large following.  And I still haven’t written Chapter 4.  I wrote Chapter 3 about 10 months ago.

Like I said before: worst writer ever.  I have the passion and the ideas, but I think I lack the motivation.  And, after a point, the stories start to get lost and I don’t know where they’re going, so I stop writing.  I will inevitably revisit it and wish I had kept going, then get excited, make plans to write more, and finally become distracted by something else.

I’m not going to lie: reading you blog, Laura, inspire me to take a look at mine and maybe do something with it.  So, if you’re reading this, thank you.  And if I start neglecting my blog again, it’s definitely not your fault.  I’ll keep reading yours, though.

Long story short, even though it’s a little late for that, it’s fun to put my thoughts and ideas up here.  In month-long spurts that are revisited at least once a year.  So, despite being the worst blogger ever, I’ll try to keep blogging.

Maybe if I do this regularly, it’ll become a habit and I’ll finally finish writing something on my list.

Shakespeare is Taking Over

Not that he wasn’t a huge part of my life before, but now that I’m writing this, he’s all over the place.  

I’m really excited about this.  I’ve still only written two pages of the story, but there is so much going on in my head and in my notebook!  At the moment, I have some pages filled with information, thoughts, and little pieces of drafts of moments, all jumbled together.  In multiple ink colors.  All indicating something different.  Hopefully, I’ll continue to keep it all straight! 

I’ve also figured out that the story will begin in 1591, just before the first performance of Henry VI Part 1 by Lord Strange’s Men at the Rose Theatre.  The tentative end of the story might be in 1603 when he prints Hamlet.  Maybe.  

I love this.  Researching the people he was involved with, the timeline of when he might have written things…  It’s interesting to see what might have happened between himself and other people.   What would have inspired him to write what he did and when he did.  Really, it’s all hypothesizing, but that’s why it’s called historical fiction.

Announcement.

Let this always be known as the day I decided to write an historical fiction about William Shakespeare.

A Doctor Who Nightmare

I had this Doctor Who dream last night.  Honestly, though, it was more of a nightmare.  Pretty scary.

I was Amy Pond and the Doctor and I were in some weird town somewhere and we couldn’t find Rory.  Then, we either got a phone call, or a note, or some kind of announcement that the Angels were coming.  You know, the Weeping kind.  That’s when we heard them behind us, so we started running. 

We’re running through the middle of town and we can hear the Angels behind us, rustling trees and bushes.  People are coming out of their houses and the Doctor and I are trying to warn them.  WE end up in front of this church and the Doctor is telling this crowd of people the dangers of the Weeping Angel.  Meanwhile, I’m looking at the town around us, trying to keep the Angels away.  I’m not blinking.  Then, I see these people partially obscured by a tree in their front yard disappear.

That’s when I catch sight of an Angel out of the corner of my eye, just down the street, with a woman.  The Angel touches the woman, who crumbles to the ground.  The Angel turns into that woman and turns to look at me.  Someone hits her on the head with a shovel and she’s gone.  

“Doctor!  We have to go!”

We start running again and I tell him about the transforming Angel.  We open a garage door and hide in there.  But, the town seems to be all facades.  This garage building is only a few feet deep and there’s another garage door on the other side.  Someone we know knocks on the door and we let her in.  But, she looks funny and we realize she’s an Angel and I punch her in the face and she runs away, I think.  Then there’s a voice over some loud-speaker system telling us that there is no escape anymore.  The Angels have adapted and we’re all going to die.

We try to run, but this giant, squishy person opens up the other garage door and picks me up.  I know there was some long exchange with him, but we trick him into dropping me.  The Doctor and I start running again.  I shout, “Rory!”  

Then, I wake up.

I had the song Manta Rays, by Ludo, stuck in my head when I woke up.  Manta Rays, if you listen to the lyrics, reminds me of the Doctor and River, actually =]  And, looking for the audio so you can listen to it, I found a wonderful little fanvid of them with the very same song.  AND THEN I JUST DISCOVERED, READING THE COMMENTS THAT THIS IS THE VERY VIDEO I INSPIRED ALMOST A YEAR AGO WHEN I POSTED THIS SONG ON TUMBLR AND SAID I’D MAKE IT IF I COULD!!!!!

THIS IS WHAT THE DREAM MEANT!

Also, I’m pretty sure I had the dream because I’m nervous about Amy and Rory’s last episode.

The Hunger Games – Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough

Appropriate title, no?  

Well, if it’s not for everyone else, it definitely is for me.  I’ve read the whole series twice.  I’ve been tempted to read it a third time.  And I couldn’t handle not seeing the movie for a whole week after its release!

I did finally see it Saturday night with my friends.

And I walked out not entirely sure how I felt about the whole thing.  You see, it is a movie based off of a book, so it was never going to be quite complete (I mean, not even the amazing LotR movies could quite capture the books).  At the same time, it was amazing to watch the story I had only seen on paper and in my mind.  So, I’m not exactly surprised that I don’t know what to think.

The movie was unable to capture the nature of the relationships the way the book did.  I was really struck by this when Rue died in the movie.  I found myself relying on how I felt when she was killed in the book to truly feel something while watching the movie.  The screenplay did not allow enough time for the audience to connect to Katniss and Rue.  After the movie, I was talking to a friend who hadn’t read The Hunger Games and, when I brought up Rue and told her that Katniss was attached to the little girl because of Prim, she said, “I think that I may have gotten that from the movie, maybe, but, yeah, I guess that makes sense.”  Plus, normally, the death of a character leaves me beside myself and in tears.  Reading the book, I was sobbing.  Watching the movie, I shed a tear because I got all worked-up about the fact that she was going to die.  Then, I was back together again by the time Katniss was placing flowers around her.

As for Katniss and Peeta, there was something…off about it.  I think they were more connected in the book.  What with Peeta telling her the story about hearing her sing.  Or the fact that she feels that she owes Peeta for saving her and her family’s lives years ago.  Or when she tells him the story about the goat.  Or when she nursed him back to life when he was lying on the cave floor dying from a terrible infection.  The movie missed all of that.  Everything that absolutely connected them.

However, Jennifer Lawrence and the director did an amazing job showing how conflicted her emotions are.  I was particularly impressed by some of the moments when they used little dialogue and more action and camera.  For example, at the very end of the movie, when Katniss and Peeta return to District 12.  At this point, they’ve been holding hands a lot.  It’s natural.  Katniss feels the need to hold his hand and we don’t need her inner dialogue to see this anymore, like we had in the book.  They’re holding hands and everything’s okay.  Then, she sees Prim on Gale’s shoulders.  There is where we see the dialogue they cut out earlier.  You know the part.  The heartbreaking scene when they’re about to get off the train and Katniss explains to Peeta that her affection was all a show and that it all meant nothing to her.  Instead of telling, they showed it on the characters’ faces and in the camera direction.

Continuing on the relationship vein, I’m upset they chose not to include the Madge storyline.  I liked the story that was created around her.  Her friendship with Katniss and giving her the mockingjay pin.  My favorite part about Madge was that she showed how Katniss grew as a person through the story.  She also humanized Katniss just a tiny bit more and made her likable.  In general, Katniss doesn’t think much of herself and doesn’t believe anyone wants to be her friend simply because she’s from the Seam and her dad died and she was forced to grow up and become the food supplier for her family and half the town.  But it’s her realization that Madge was truly her friend that starts to make her think that, maybe, she’s not a pawn in everyone’s life story and people actually like her and aren’t using her to get what they want.  Madge was important in Katniss’s growth as a person. 

Away from relationships: I despised the fact that they bastardized the salute.  In the book, the three finger salute was a District 11 thing that Rue shared with Katniss, who, in turn, used it to show respect and to honor Rue and Thresh when she visited District 11.  It also showed how two entirely separate districts were brought together by one little thing.  Instead, they used it as some universal thing that, to the viewer who’s never read the book, means nothing except maybe ‘goodbye,’ or whatever.  That upsets me a great deal.

In other news, I’m a little sad the movie didn’t give enough time to explain the significance of the dog muttations at the end.  They were important in the development of our understanding of how the Capitol works.  Though, the fact that they put the things in there in the first place definitely adds to that.  As do the President Snow/Seneca Crane exchanged.

The Cornucopia was the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen before and the complete opposite of what I expected.  I mean, what?  I actually laughed.

Cato, Clove, Thresh, and Foxface, in my opinion, were great for secondary and tertiary characters.  Seriously.  I was pretty impressed.

Stanley Tucci.  Stanley Tucci wins every award.  I love him.  He was hysterical and absolutely perfect as Cesar.  I enjoyed seeing what happened outside of the Games because Tucci’s/Cesar’s commentating was great!  I like that they used him to explain things like tracker jackers and such.  (One of my favorite parts is when he shows up in Katniss’s hallucination.  That was awesome!)  Plus, Stanley looks great in blue hair.

Another favorite was Lenny Kravitz as Cinna.  Perfect casting, in my opinion.  I don’t think I need to say more.  If you’ve seen the movie, you understand how astoundingly perfect he was.  I’m 100% sure that I will be a blubbering mess in the third (or fourth) movie when he gets beaten and dragged away.

Elizabeth Banks as Effie Trinket was inspired.  I love how they dressed her, wrote her, everything.  Then, when Elizabeth stepped in and portrayed her…wow.  She’s almost exactly what I expected Effie to be when I read the book.  Manners.  Also, that is maHOGany!

Haymitch.  He was almost the Haymitch I wanted him to be.  Woody Harrelson was great and I’m certain he will play the more drunk, more damaged Haymitch we see later in the series brilliantly.

I don’t have much to say about Jennifer (Katniss) and Josh (Peeta) themselves, right now.  I think that they did a good job with what they were given.  Undoubtedly, now that the first movie and all of the set up is out of the way, the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th movies will be given better screenplays and will allow the two of them to delve deeper into their characters and deliver stunning performances.

(Additionally, I loved the Gamemakers’ room.  AWESOME.)

I realize there’s a lot more to talk about, but I don’t have the time or the space to get into every detail or every character.  I intend to watch the movie again, though not in the theater, unless someone wants to buy me a ticket!  (See, the thing is, I’m broke!)

I’ll see it again when it’s released on iTunes.  Expect me to write about the movie again at that point!

Overall, I enjoyed the movie, but I think I walked in expecting more than I got.

Call Me Catchy!

I can’t get over how much I love this song. I mean, I hate it, but I love it. It’s such a fun song that just sits there in your head and pops up wherever, whenever, and as often as it pleases.

Donna is having a bad day.

“Damn. Damn, damn. Bugger-all and damn!”

Donna stands in the car park, still holding tightly to her ripped grocery bag.

“Bugger, damn, damn!” she adds for good measure as she kneels down to get her food. This day cannot get any worse. Shaun woke up in the middle of the night and got sick. Then, little Christie got sick in the morning, only five minutes after Donna had gotten back into bed after taking care of the husband. The dog, Spartacus, peed on the carpet. Mother called and insisted on talking at length about her night out with “the ladies” in her new neighborhood. Meanwhile, Christie was ill on the floor next to her bed, where Sparty suddenly decided he had to walk around.

And now, this. This stupid bag has to break and spill her groceries all across the car park.

As Donna shifts to grab a loaf of bread, her foot kicks a stray orange and it rolls quickly away.

“Oh, come on!”

A man steps up to the fruit and snatches it quickly up from rolling under a car.

“I believe this is yours?” he says, offering it to Donna.

“Yes. Thanks,” Donna says, still preoccupied by trying to get all of the food in her arms.

“Here, let me…”

“No, no, I’ve got it.”

Still, he grabs the items she can’t and stands with her.

“Well, if you’re helping, then the car is that way,” Donna says without even looking. She leads the man to her car and begins to fumble for her keys. The bread and a can of soup fly out of her arms. ”Bugger!”

The man runs to the food, almost tripping over his long legs. ”I have it! I have it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Donna says, distracted as she pulls at the keys in her pocket. They burst out with a jangle. ”Finally.” She unlocks the car and begins to throw the food, unceremoniously into the back seat. ”There, it all goes there,” she directs, waving her hands at the car.

The man bends over and places what he has, neatly, onto the seat. ”There you are! Bags are never very trustworthy, are they? Always willing to split, or open at the most inopportune moment.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess,” Donna says, finally getting a good look at the man who helped her.

He’s tall, lanky, and wearing a strange brown suit with a bow tie. His hair hangs dangerously close to poking his eye.

“A bow tie?”

“Cool, no?” He looks almost as though he wants her approval.

“Yes. Cool.”

Then, Donna notices how he’s looking at her. Like he’s appraising her, or he’s finally found the remote, after a long search, hidden deep in the couch. How could he have found her? She doesn’t even know him.

“Have I got something in my teeth?” he asks.

“What? No. Nothing.” There’s something about his eyes. ”Do I know you?”

He looks surprised. ”Me? No. Just a stranger, passing through, helping redheads with spilt groceries, taking care of crying children, and such.”

“Yes…oh! Crying children. I really have to go home. Thanks so much for your help…”

“Do you have children?” he asks suddenly. He looks genuinely interested. And proud?

“One. A little girl. Christine Jennifer. Christie, really. Everyone calls her Christie. She’s sick right now. Along with her dad. Stomach flu, I think.”

“Christie? I bet she’s a spitfire little redhead, like her mother.”

“Oh yes, always getting into trouble that one. But, she’s much too adorable to punish properly. Mother says we’re spoiling her. Granddad says she’s perfect,” Donna realizes she’s rambling. ”Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t mean to spill my life story at your feet.”

“No worries. It sounds like you have a lovely family,” the man says with a smile.

“They are. They really are. Make awful days worth it, you know? Have you got a family?”

The man looks like his mind has gone somewhere distant, though he still looks at Donna. ”In a way, yes. A wonderful family, full of…well, full of people like you, if it’s not too bold to say.”

“Your family must get into loads of trouble, then!”

“Hole in one!” the man says, laughing.

“That sounds lovely. And I would truly love to spend more time talking in the car park, but the family is sick. You should come have dinner with us some time. When we’re all healthy, of course.”

“Maybe. Maybe, I will,” he says, shaking her hand.

Without even thinking about it, Donna hugs him. He holds her tight and, for a moment, it’s the safest and most calm she’s felt in days. Then, she backs up. ”I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. That was…I’m sorry.” She quickly opens her door and gets into the car.

He doesn’t answer. Just stands there and watches her fumble with her keys.

“I, um…I do really mean that dinner invitation. Here’s my business card. The address is right there for you.” She reaches into the glove box and pulls out a card. ”Call me and we’ll set a date!”

“Yes,” he says, absently, looking at the card.

Donna closes her door, starts the car, and rolls down her window. As the man walks away, she leans out and calls, “Goodbye, Doctor!”

The man turns, looking bewildered. ”What did you just say?”

Donna, confused herself, replies, “I’m not sure. I think I called you a doctor. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the bow tie.” She shrugs.

“Yes,” he says with a smile. ”Maybe. Goodbye, Donna.”

I’m Not Being Paid Yet (but that’s not important)

As of Saturday, I just finished my run with a community theatre production of The Wizard of Oz.  In which, I played Dorothy!  Absolutely wonderful experience.  Even the really crappy parts of being part of a community theatre.  At least, this specific theatre.

First of all, the director was very disorganized.  Though, one should expect that from the creative mind, I suppose.  But, he was also cocky and power-hungry on top of that, so the disorganization got that much harder to get over.

Second, there were, I guess, a lot of little things that kind of added up throughout the whole rehearsal process.  Then again, these are things I expected.  So, I hated and loved all of them so much.  So, very much.

But, the one thing that made it a little sad, was the politics between the board and our, admittedly, easy-to-anger-and-overractive-drama-king director.  This lead to one of the worst performances of our 13-show run, the banning of our director from the theatre, and a promise from all of the adult cast members to refuse to do the show if he wasn’t allowed back for the rest of the run.  

In the end, though, we got what we wanted, the director came back, and the show finished without much  of a hitch.  

But, I think that the best part of the whole thing was meeting all of the people.  Everyone completely trumped the entirety of the drama behind the scenes.  I made so many close friends throughout the whole process, especially, this one little group of friends that I don’t think I can live without now.  All of the children were so talented and friendly and lovable.  And almost all of the adult cast were so completely amazing.  We all sincerely hope to do a show with each other again someday.  

Without seeing them for hours and hours every week, I’m not sure what to do with myself.  I’m a little lost without Oz!

This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I don’t think I’ll ever have it again with any other cast.  Not to say that any other shows I do won’t be important to me, but this one was just the right combination of people and enthusiasm and musical.

The Tuesday of our final week, I auditioned for another theatre’s production of Fiddler on the Roof.  The whole Oz cast told me that I had to send an email to let them know whether or not I got the role.  THree days after our final performance, I was called and told that I had been cast as Tzeitel.  After telling my parents and calling my Mom-Mom, I emailed the whole cast.  They’re all so excited and have already started planning to come see the show….in July!  In turn, I can’t wait to see those that were cast in Bye Bye Birdie this coming June, because we miss each other so much!

This Saturday, we’re going out to see The Hunger Games.  I can’t wait!

The point of this post is, I love this theatre thing so much, I don’t care that I’m not being paid yet.  One day, I will be.  I will make this my career.  It will happen.  But, for now, the stage and the connections I’m making are more than enough.

An Evening Out

John Watson was going to the horse races.

It had been three days since he had heard from Holmes and, by God!, he wasn’t sitting around waiting for him like a lost dog or an obedient housewife.  Besides, Holmes hadn’t left him any instructions or details about the case, so it didn’t concern him.  Why worry?  Why wait all day and night for Sherlock to come back when he didn’t even have a toe in the mystery that the man was off solving?  He had Baker Street and his days to himself.  He might as well take some enjoyment in it.

As the cab dropped him off, he could barely keep his wits about him.  What a day for the races!  It was perfect.  The weather was agreeable and the air was…well, it was questionable at best, this close to the stables, but it smelled of possibilities and freedom.  John Watson was sure he could feel the excitement in the air as he stepped through the doors.

Everyone was bustling about, arguing about the horses’ chances, debating how much money would make a proper bet, and twittering away about this and that.  It was marvelous.

“Horse races are the entertainment of uncultured thrill-seekers.  They refuse to risk themselves, so they watch others do it for them and then throw money around to make it seem like they’re adding to it all.  Rubbish,” Sherlock had once said to one of John’s invitations to join him.

You don’t know what you’re missing, my dear Holmes.

A few sorely placed bets later found Mr. Watson sitting along in a corner, staring at his empty hands.  His head ached and now the chances of the horses and how much money they could earn just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Gambling – a waste of money you don’t actually have,” was ringing in his head.

Why was Holmes always right?

A flask appeared in his hands.  He looked up and a beautiful woman sat across from him.

“Looks like you need a little liquid pick-me-up,” she said with an American accent.

John examined the flask – silver with a begonia adorning its front – and took a sip before handing it back.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Isbon.  Anne Isbon,” she said, extending her hand in greeting.

He shook it.  “Dr. John Watson.”  What was an American woman doing here at the horse races?

“Good?” Miss Isbon asked.

What a beautiful voice.  John had never been partial to the American accent, but he might be warming up to it.  Such a clear bell she spoke with.

“Oh, yes.  Thank you very much.”

Her brown eyes sparkled intensely in the fading sunlight and her smile crinkled them ever so slightly over apple-red cheeks.  What gorgeous dimples.  Simply breathtaking.

“Miss Ibson, I am curious.  What brings you here?”

“To England or the races?” she asked with a coy head tilt.

“Either.”  If she decided to tell both, so much the better for him.  He would listen to every word that could ever issue from her lips.

“I like horses.  And I’ve done and seen everything else in this city already.  Why, Dr. Watson, are you here?”

What a disappointment.  She wasn’t going to tell him about her travels from America to England.  What a long and beautiful story that must be.

“At the races,” Miss Isbon added when he didn’t answer right away.

“Ah, yes, sorry.  My room-mate is out of town.  And I like horses.”  What perfectly clear, white skin she had.

“Clearly, not the right horses.  Try Adelle’s Aurora this time.  He worked very nicely for me before.”

“I can’t.  Every horse I look at loses today.”

She looked away.  John worried.  All the negativity was going to send her to another man.  He had to say something to bring back her attention.  Maybe he should thank her for the suggestion.  But, then, she pulled out the begonia flask and slid it across the table to him.

“You can do it, Dr. Watson.”

He hesitated, then took a gulp.  “Please, call me John.”

To his surprise and her delight, Adelle’s Aurora won and Watson began to regain what he had lost.  He took a celebratory swig from her proffered flask and bet again, with her guidance.

John won again.  Miss Isbon offered the flask once more, but instead, he ordered them each a drink.  They bet again and he toasted her.

“To my lucky charm!”

This was turning out to be a far more fantastic expedition than he had expected.  Just as he had won back a little more than he had lost, though, the races were over and night had settled on the city.

“But, John, that does not mean the evening is over!” Miss Isbon said as she finished her last drink.  “We should go somewhere else.  I am enjoying your company.”

“I don’t know.”  John reciprocated the feeling, but he couldn’t be sure it was in their best interest.  He didn’t want to give this country’s visitor the wrong idea.

Something tripped her and she fell into his arms.  She laughed and looked up at him.  “Now you’re my lucky charm, John.”

He was holding her.  John Watson was holding a beautiful American woman in his arms.  “I know a nice pub just down the road.  We can continue our evening there.”

“That sounds lovely,” Miss Isbon said, now getting back on her feet.

They quickly found a nice table together and began ordering drinks and some food.

John could hardly believe his luck.  He was spending an evening drinking and talking with, easily, the most beautiful, enchanting, and intelligent woman to ever come out of America.  She could not be more perfect.

Who needs Holmes?

Somehow, the conversation did manage to land on Sherlock anyway.

“You said earlier you have a roommate, yes?”

“Yes.  One Mr. Sherlock Holmes.  A brilliant man with a penchant for observation, disappearing, and frustrating me.”

“Hm.  Sounds charming.”

“True, but when I’m not seeing patients, we do enjoy solving mysteries together – sometimes for the police, others for private hires.”

“That sounds exhilarating!”

He told her all about Holmes and the excitement they encountered and that was all well and good, but they were both getting on in their drink count and he was still curious about how she came to be in England.  And if she would be staying for some time.

“I’ll tell you the truth,” she said when he finally asked her.  She leaned in, inviting John to do the same.  “I…find English men far more fascinating,” and she began giggling.

What a preposterous notion!  Coming to England simply for the men.  Though, it did start to seem like a perfectly marvelous idea and he found himself laughing as well.

The bartender walked over to their table.  “I think you two best be off now,” he said.

Still laughing, John said, “Of course, yes.  We’re going.  Miss Anne?”  They stood and he put some money on the table.  “Thank you, kind sir.  Good show.”  He took Miss Isbon’s arm and they stumbled from the empty pub.

He somehow managed to hail a cab.

“221B Baker Street,” he said as they climbed in.  “Where are you staying, Miss Anne?”

“With you, Mr. John.”

How tempting.  “But, you…”

She leaned against him, put her head on his shoulder, held his hand, and said, “With you, Dr. John Watson.”

Oh.  Her hand.  Her head.  Her little body leaning on his.  “Just Baker Street, then, chap.”

Soon, they were at the door.  She held onto him as he tried to understand the intricacies of lock and key.

Miss Anne began giggling again.  “I thought you had a roommate,” she whispered.  What a scandal that could cause, being caught!

“Yes, but he’s away for….business.”  John unlocked the door and helped her inside.

She leaned into him and whispered, “How lucky.”

He shut the door.  Lucky, indeed.

John lead her to the stairs.  “Up we go.”  She giggled more as she attempted to make her way up.  He followed close behind with the intention of catching her should she fall, though in his equally intoxicated state, he’d be a very ineffective catcher.

At the top of the staircase, Anne turned around and put her back to the door.  He cleared the last step and she grabbed his jacket to pull him in.

“But what if Mrs…” he was cut off when she began kissing him.

Oh God.  Oh my.  They could be heard.  They could be seen.

“Mmmmmf,” he tried to say something.  She took it as encouragement and pulled him closer.

John worried at the hour, where they were, who might hear, but he also admired her…mouth.  At that moment, her mouth was quite a lot more important.

Suddenly, the door opened and they were on the floor of the flat.

“Have a good time at the horse races?” Sherlock said.

“Holmes!” John exclaimed, rolling off of Anne.  “You’re home!”  He jumped from the floor, wiping frantically at his face.

“So it would seem.”

He felt someone grab his leg and looked down, almost surprised to see Miss Isbon still there.  He helped her up rather clumsily.

“This is…this is…uh, Miss…” he tried to gain some composure, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Lovely to see you again, Miss Adler.”

She smiled and stroked John’s shocked face.  “The pleasure is all mine.”