Sunday, December 14, 2014

Rewriting Project #1: Sherlock 02x01

"Just the one," Mycroft handed his brother a cigarette.
They both had rushed to the morgue, in where they were now, right after Sherlock received a very special Christmas present from The Woman. John was not there, he was at the Baker Street with his new girlfriend, but Molly was. She didn't bother to go to work in the Christmas Eve. She'd just had enough of Christmas.
"Why?" Sherlock questioned his brother's odd act.
"Merry Christmas."

"How did you know she was dead?" Mycroft Holmes asked his brother about the thing that had bothered him since he got the phone call.
"She had an item in her possession," Sherlock explained. "one she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up."
"Where is this item now?" Mycroft asked. As if he barely knew his brother.


"Look at them," Sherlock said instead.
In another room, a family hugged each other and cried deeply in the sorrow. A doctor stood in front of them, who, most probably, was the one who delivered the bad news to them.
"They all care so much." He paused. "Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"
"All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." He gave his brother a glance to emphasize his last sentence.


"This is low tar," Sherlock said in disguise. Trying to escape from his brother's words.
"Well, you barely knew her."
There was no way he would talk about this any further. Not with Mycroft, not with anyone. Sherlock walked away and left his brother alone in the hall. "Merry Christmas, Mycroft."

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Saturday, December 6, 2014

The Little Prince p. 74

"Who are you?" he asked in amazement.
"We are roses," said the roses.
"Oh!" exclaimed the little prince.
And he was suddenly overcome with sadness. His flower had told him that she was the only one of her kind in the universe. And here were five thousands of them, all alike, in one single garden! [...]
Click for image source.
And he said to himself once again: "I thought I was rich, with a flower unique in the world, whereas in fact all I had was a common rose." [...]
And, lying in the grass, he cried.

Saint-Exupéry, A. 1995. The Little Prince. London: Wordsworth Edition Limited.

This draft was originally written in January, 2012.