#grassle

Exciting News

But oh, how his fingers itched to correct the punctuation. Was it possible John had reached the ripe age of whatever it was – fifty? - in blissful ignorance of the rules governing compound predicates? Even being ignorant, wouldn’t the law of probability dictate he’d get it right fifty percent of the time? No. Instead it seemed John stood over his page with a salt shaker of commas in one hand and a pepper pot of apostrophes in the other, flailed his arms about, and let his punctuation fall where it may. Sherlock cast his glass aside and stuck his straw straight into the bottle of Baileys for a healthy slurp.

Stone’s long lean legs ate up the pavement and sidewalk, read Sherlock aloud to the skull, rolling his eyes at John’s hedging of his linguistic bets and his notion – dangerous for a doctor – that legs were capable of ingestion. Sherlock tore himself away from form to content and decided he’d best go easy on John for his lack of commas between coordinate adjectives. If John hadn’t grasped this when Sherlock had kindly corrected his Blog posts, it seemed John and the comma were destined to remain as strangers.

DYING