Hellooo!
So, here is my Lovestory I talked about before. And how I expected it’s a Johnlock story! I am so excited to share it with you. I was to be honest a bit nervous to post it because I wrote it in German and to translate it was not easy at all. But here it is and I hope you like it!
I thank YOU for the inspiration in our great roleplays!
Letter: 06.03.2010 10:47 pm.
The war. Cold, hard and brutal. One shot, another. I hear it everyday. Screams, gunshots, rats running over our metal beds. Our bread is hard, almost completely mildewed. Our water is dirty and dead people make the air smelly. I need to treat the shot men’s wounds, cut off their body parts, because they are black and already dead. Their screams sound like a terrible thunder of suffering. A world full of sadness and desperation. They beg me to stop. I have no painkillers, no clean surgery instruments. I tell them that they were good humans, that everything will be better when they die. I hold their hands and when they are dead I throw them away. As an army doctor, the only one who is still alive in our fighting group, I am the one they take care of. But sometimes I wish that they wouldn’t. I don’t only treat the sick people, no also the ones who are sad and need some distraction. They come to me and expect me to sleep with them. I agree with that. But the only thing none of them gets is a kiss. A kiss on the mouth. I never liked any kind of intimate relationships, but I need to it that it distracts me too. Nevertheless, I hate it to sleep with so much men. I don’t love them. I wish I would. I wish I would love someone and kiss him on the mouth. Sleep with him out of love not out of desperation. There was a boy I loved. Julian was his name. But not as a boyfriend, more as a son or something like that. He was the youngest fighter here. Fourteen years, just a kid. I talked a lot with him, laughed with him and hugged him when he cried. He was homesick. Wanted home, forced to fight. But now he is gone. Today they had a terrible fight. Nine of our soldiers died. And so he did. A shot in his stomach. Seven hours he was there in my arms, suffering, screaming, having terrible strong pain. I stroked his cheek, his hair. I told him that god would make everything better and that his family and I loved him. Then he died. In my arms. I couldn’t save him. I hated it. Now he is with god, if he even exists. Since that happened I want home. I beg for coming home or even for the dead. I want away from the war. Tomorrow we have another big battle. Troops from are on their way. But I don’t want to treat more people. I don’t want to see them die. I want to die. Please god, let me die.
Captain Doctor John Hamish Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers
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