It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do? Get out of bed and go wake someone else up, of course. If you're not getting any sleep, then why should they? i n s t r u c t i o n s • Post with your character (note the name and fandom in the subject).
• Other people reply to you by generating a number from 1 to 10.
• Have fun! o p t i o n s 01 • FEAR. Maybe you're hearing strange, indeterminable noises; maybe there's a severe storm happening outside; maybe you watched a scary movie before bed? Whatever the reason, you're terrified and it's keeping you awake. You just want to wake someone else up so they can protect you from the monster in your closet.
02 • HUNGER. Your stomach is growling and it just won't stop. Or perhaps your throat is so dry you could cough up a tumbleweed? Well, you've gone to the kitchen to remedy this and hey, that was a pan that just dropped on the floor. It was loud enough to wake the dead! Oops.
03 • PAIN. Your body is completely worn out, be it from exercise, battle, sickness, or what have you. Either way you're in enough pain to keep you from sleeping, so maybe someone else has a home remedy or something, or can at least help you take your mind off of it.
04 • SOLITUDE. For some reason, your bed just feels so empty at the moment. You're feeling terribly lonely and really just want someone to keep you company for a while. Maybe it'd be easier to fall asleep if you're with them...
05 • DISCOMFORT. Your room is an oven. Either that or a freezer. Or maybe this bed is just really uncomfortable? Who knows why you can't get to sleep, it feels like it could be anything. Why even bother trying? Maybe someone else can preoccupy you until you feel tired enough to ignore your discomfort.
06 • PENSIVE. Something's on your mind, and no matter how hard you try to focus elsewhere, it's just not going to work. Your body may be tired, but your mind is incredibly busy and it's virtually impossible to get to sleep. Surely, talking it out with someone else will help?
07 • SADNESS. Something terrible has happened that day, perhaps; or you could just be severely depressed. Either way you're trying your hardest not to cry yourself to sleep, and it's not working at all. Better find a way to get it out of your system somehow; you need a shoulder to cry on.
08 • ANGER. You are just... fuming. Who knows why - that annoying dog is barking again, or maybe the people next door are getting busy and keeping you awake. Whatever the reason for your ire is, you'd better put an end to it so you can get some damn rest already! Go wake up a friend so you can complain to them.
09 • RESTLESS. You're far too energetic to sleep right now. Maybe you're just trying to do so out of necessity - you have to be up early tomorrow! But you just don't think you'll be able to fall asleep for a while now, so why waste the time trying to sleep when you could be doing something else? Namely bothering someone else - you're totally jealous because they're getting more sleep than you.
10 • WILDCARD. Choose one of the options above, or make up your own scenario. |
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
makos_got_moxie) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
bakerstreet2014-01-03 07:41 pm
10
Really he should be going home. That was his intention when he left the whips' office an hour ago. But then that was before the weather drove him to duck into the nearest lit shopfront. It's absolutely fucking miserable outside, raining sideways, and now he's somewhere dry and warm he can't face the thought of summoning the energy to go home. The tube doesn't run this late and it'll be murder trying to get a taxi just now.
There's not that much point now anyway. The crisis of the moment has merely eased off slightly without actually being in any way resolved. He's spent the last two days frantically battening down the hatches against the incipient landfall of the biggest shitstorm since the fucking PWIP-PIP fiasco, and this one's without Malcolm's particular brand of magnificent bastardry on his side. It's going to be a fucking long week.
Really, how the fuck does an MP go fucking missing. Usually you can't get rid of the parasitic bastards. But no, Eilidh Robertson M-fucking-P just had to go and fucking vanish. And not bog-standard, missed-a-press-conference, MIA-vomming-in-the-loo-at-a-fundraiser missing. Full on hasn't-been-seen-for-days, panicky-coppers-running-in-circles missing. Fucking lovely. And of course it's Jamie's job to keep the press from getting wind of it.
Like bailing out the Titanic with a fucking teaspoon.
His phone, sitting on the stained and sticky tabletop under the fluorescent lights of the diner, has finally gone silent after 48 hours of constant frantic buzzing. In between sips of godawful coffee he'll take a moment, now and then, to eye it as though he expects it to bite.]
[ooc: Uh I heard you like detective shows so I got you a political intrigue? Making it up as I go along here, so go nuts running with it if you're so inclined. Relevant info in his journal if you're not familiar with The Thick of It canon]
no subject
The press might not know about this case of the missing MP but his brother who practically is the British Government and Lestrade do. Of course they both came to him asking for his help. He neither accepted or denied to help due to his number system assuming the MP would show up eventually. Of course it was now nearly a week and there was still no sign of her. Lestrade wasn't able to give him much information but he was given Jamie MacDonald's name.
Which is why instead of sleeping he was in this diner he'd never set foot in in his life, eyes on Jamie as he sips his coffee. Not one to beat around the bush Sherlock walks right up to the table, sitting opposite him and speaking in a slightly hushed voice.]
So, our missing politician. It seems you're not much further to finding her, are you? Honestly, do I have to do everything in this city myself? Now, of course I have a few theories but I'd be interested to hear what your people think.
[He looks at Jamie expectantly]
no subject
Not press. That was his first thought - it usually is, thanks to decades of well-justified paranoia on that front - but no, not press. He's got the entire party in a state of mortal terror over what he'll do to their careers if this leaks, and anyway, he would have heard by now if it'd broken. Polis maybe? Plain clothes or something like that. There'd been some chatter about them bringing in a specialist.
He sets his coffee down on the table and replies sarcastically;] Aye, I'll go right ahead an' spill everythin' to the first random fucker off the street who wanders by. Who the fuck are you supposed to be?
no subject
Oh finally, he speaks. Of course the sarcasm goes right over his head and he doesn't really dwell on it. Instead he'll speak up himself, as always saying the first thing that comes to mind.]
Ah, right...I forget not everyone knows who I am sometimes. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Now are you going to tell me what you know or not? I don't have all night.
no subject
It'd been the most relaxing period of his career since back in '97, when the Tories were so fucked they could have fronted a convicted serial killer as their candidate and still won the fucking election, as long as they'd pinned a badge saying 'not Thatcher!' on him. Good times.
So this was what the DI on the case meant by a 'specialist' then. Well no fucking wonder, the polis had been about as much use as a fucking fishnet condom so far. He'll take any help he can get]
Fine then [He raises his hands in a gesture indicative of abdicating all responsibility for determining whether or not this is a good idea, and reaches for the coffee again] She left London for her constituency up in Dundee on Friday night. She lives alone, so we never knew she hadn't made it 'til she never showed face at the office on Monday. We checked wi' the rail company - the ticket she booked never got used. Doesn't mean she's still in London, but she sure as fuck never went to Dundee. Don't fuckin' blame her. Dundee's a shithole.
[He slouches down a little further in his chair and takes a contemplative sip of coffee] As politicians go she's fairly fuckin' clean. No major scandals lurking in the wings. There was somethin' about her ex-husband having an affair, but that all came out fucking years ago, blew over after they divorced. No addictions worth mentioning either [Jamie prides himself on his ability to identify drug habit of choice at fifty paces. Robertson barely fucking drank]
She's no' been back to her house, an' her phone's off. The family haven't heard a word from her either.
no subject
Sorry for increasing your work load except no, he’s not sorry at all. This is what you get paid for isn’t it? And interesting comparison there…he’d be glad to hear that his help is appreciated. But of course it is. Everyone wants Sherlock Holmes on the case which is why he gets every idiot with a lost cat or a cheating husband knocking on his door, begging him to help them. Dull. Very dull.
Sherlock keeps his eyes on him as he explains everything, thinking over everything, of course.]
No scandals? Everyone has scandals whether they’re big or small though I suppose the best word to use would be secrets. The hard part is trying to figure out what those secrets are and it’s even harder when you don’t have anything to go on but I’m sure I can make do. I take it you know where she lived and you’ve completely searched the place. Don’t tell me it gave you no clues as to where she might be or might have gone. I’d find that very hard to believe.