Third Person: Sally woke up in the woods with a pounding headache and no idea how she’d gotten there, which hadn’t happened since she’d been seventeen.
Confused, a little thirsty, and harboring the horrible suspicion that she was late for work, Sally propped herself into a sitting position and looked around. Her surroundings were wooded and pleasant and all-around totally unthreatening, but the sense of foreboding wouldn’t go away, probably because she was supposed to be in bed at her house - and what on earth was she wearing? Sally had never owned a loose-fitting white dress in her life. Alarmed, now, Sally clambered to her feet and scanned her surroundings with her most critical and penetrating eye.
There. Her clothes; her proper clothes. Sally scrambled at them, pulling on her trousers and cursing quietly at the buttons of her shirt, because she was entirely certain this wasn’t meant to be happening. She was meant to be at home, groggily eating cereal and brushing her hair and finding clean knickers because she hadn’t done the laundry for a month due to all the overtime she’d been putting in and not being in a bloody forest--
Keep calm, Sally, she told herself, keep calm. There had to be - there was always - an explanation. She’d be drugged. She’d gotten so drunk, somehow, that she’d forgotten the previous day. She’d been knocked about the head. She was dreaming.
Most of Sally’s consciousness was voting for dreaming, on the off chance that hoping as hard as possible would make any difference.
Sally fingered her badge, having found it in her shirt pocket - comforting, if useless in this environment - and then gripped it hard, squeezing her eyes shut to decide her next course of action.
She heard water, somewhere off to the west. They always told you to follow the water in nature documentaries, right?
Still a bit dizzy with shock, Sally pulled herself together and followed the sound of the stream.
Re: Sally Donovan | Sherlock | Samples
Confused, a little thirsty, and harboring the horrible suspicion that she was late for work, Sally propped herself into a sitting position and looked around. Her surroundings were wooded and pleasant and all-around totally unthreatening, but the sense of foreboding wouldn’t go away, probably because she was supposed to be in bed at her house - and what on earth was she wearing? Sally had never owned a loose-fitting white dress in her life. Alarmed, now, Sally clambered to her feet and scanned her surroundings with her most critical and penetrating eye.
There. Her clothes; her proper clothes. Sally scrambled at them, pulling on her trousers and cursing quietly at the buttons of her shirt, because she was entirely certain this wasn’t meant to be happening. She was meant to be at home, groggily eating cereal and brushing her hair and finding clean knickers because she hadn’t done the laundry for a month due to all the overtime she’d been putting in and not being in a bloody forest--
Keep calm, Sally, she told herself, keep calm. There had to be - there was always - an explanation. She’d be drugged. She’d gotten so drunk, somehow, that she’d forgotten the previous day. She’d been knocked about the head. She was dreaming.
Most of Sally’s consciousness was voting for dreaming, on the off chance that hoping as hard as possible would make any difference.
Sally fingered her badge, having found it in her shirt pocket - comforting, if useless in this environment - and then gripped it hard, squeezing her eyes shut to decide her next course of action.
She heard water, somewhere off to the west. They always told you to follow the water in nature documentaries, right?
Still a bit dizzy with shock, Sally pulled herself together and followed the sound of the stream.