Happy New Year, Bluesky.

If you only knew the ways John and I have just taken each other apart.

Still horribly, sickeningly in love.

Bluesky, we’re counting down to Christmas. Enjoy. app.myadvent.net/calendar?id=...

He’s home. He’s home. He’s home.

Co-signed, or whatever it is people say.

Soaped up John under the shower this evening. I’m the luckiest bastard alive.

Hate being like this. Why am I like this?

Note to self: Case enjoyment drops approximately 60% when away from him beyond ten hours.

Would marry him again.

Dreamt I had head lice. You’d think that would be enough for a nightmare, but no. John then insisted I shave my head or he’d leave me. So I shaved it, and he still left me. Said I’m “nothing without my curls”. Happy Monday.

So beautiful when he laughs.

A consistently lovely thing. Him.

I’m not supposed to be like this. Not here. Not with them. Especially not with her.

Never imagined Father’s Day to mean so much.

It’s difficult not to believe in some form of fate when you consider how my entire happiness rested on one man limping into my life.

Happy Pride Month, Bluesky. As a lovely man once said to me: It’s all fine.

Not sure how, but I’m more in love with John than I ever have been.

Sun-kissed and smiling, recreating my grandmother’s recipes in her old kitchen. Yes, I am quite in love.

Apology coffee is acceptable. Apology pastries are better. Apology fellatio—oh, suddenly I can’t remember what I was cross about.

Watching John Watson pad about my family home is a sight I’ll never get sick of, or quite believe.

Mortifying.

The thought of him feeling inadequate is intolerable to me.

Created a holiday for me and brought me flowers.

This account is embarrassing.

Absence has a weight. I feel it when John leaves in the mornings. Half lost in sleep, I move into the warmth he’s left behind, press my face into his pillow, and let it reclaim me.

Cuddling doesn’t cut it, I need to be in his skin.

Control issues.

With him, my dear heart, I become soppier and soppier.

Sleeping. Gorgeous, gentle face at rest. Almost boyish. My heart aches.

There’s a certain kind of clarity that comes from being close to him.

He is a lovely thing to kiss.

She’s going to take one look at me and know that something is wrong. She always knows.

John is drinking tea and reading the paper. I’m watching John instead of the news because he makes a far more interesting study. John is pretending not to notice.

Cleaning out old screenshots. Let’s all enjoy this particularly amusing one.

Hazy memories of kisses stirring me, soft footsteps, the morning workings of the flat.

John. John Watson. John Hamish Watson. John Hamish Watson-Holmes.

Dear followers of @contactsh.bsky.social and @contactjhw.bsky.social ! If you want to know their adventures on Twitter, please DM me, I have all of them documented :) (I hope you don't mind, guys 👀 ) Warning! It's a long story, only the most dedicated fans will survive this read. 😉

John’s all uppity about me overtaking him in followers here. It’s quite adorable.

New blog post. Read it and then maybe contact us with a really interesting case. Thanks. www.patreon.com/posts/dry-ja...

Update: 55 days.

Despise this version of me.

John’s neck, my safe space.

Happy New Year, Bluesky.

John’s written up a new blog post. You should read it. www.patreon.com/posts/118892...

I have eaten far too much.

John’s playing cards with my parents. I am bored. I send him lewd messages. He mutes me.