Firstly, I ficced again. The Letter is the second in my “First In, Last Out” series that focuses on the back story of a John who trained as a GP and then changed careers and joined the Royal Marines as an officer in 42 Commando. It’s been over two years since I wrote the first story in the series – The Send Off, which was actually the first one-shot I posted in the Sherlock fandom – and I didn’t know it would be a series at the time. Currently there are two more stories definitely planned for the series (Smile, Smile, Smile and It is Sweet & Right) and a whole swath other possibilities. They are set post Series 2, from the reunion and beyond and are most definitely not Series 3 compliant.
The rest of this is going to be short and sweet because I’m once again on a train to London, this time for the whole weekend, for Hobbit-y goodness, meetings with friends and various items of theatre.
The last week has been busy with more Christmassy stuff – visiting the Birmingham German Market, finishing off the Christmas Crafting and doing another charity carolling amongst others – and I had a lovely evening with Cat on Tuesday in which we discussed fandom, life and she helped me fix the plot of a prompt fic I’ve been intending to write since May!
Work-wise, it’s been … well, all good up until yesterday when I had possibly both the worst and yet the most illuminating day I’ve ever experienced. To cut a long story short (and because I can’t say much in detail without giving away who employs me) there was money due to be paid over to us (we’re talking millions) that relied on a certain Piece Of Paper™ being provided. I had arranged all the paperwork that would allow that piece of paper to be issued last month and, as far as I was aware, there was no problem. Yesterday, when I chased the request I’d put in the day before for the Piece of Paper™ I was told that the papers I’d sent the month before to allow it to be issued were incorrect – not the agreed wording. Of course they weren’t I said, pulling up the documents, they’re all … Oh. Shit.
Because they weren’t. Somehow I’d issued an incorrect form of wording. And now everything was going to go hell because of me. Except it didn’t because instead of panicing my brain went all cold and logical and “what need to happen to put this right?”ish. Within an hour I had (with the help of two lovely secretaries) got a rather important and busy one hundred and fifty miles away to sign the correct document and had it couriered over to the people who needed it and the Piece of Paper™ was issued without delay, without any breaking of policies or processes and without holding anything up. Everyone else was happy – only my boss and the rest of the team knew anything had been amiss at all – and I even got a lovely email from one of the people who did know of the misshap thanking me for all my hard work. I on the other hand was a bit like a damp dish cloth and I’ve never felt so sick as I did when I pulled the document up and realised I’d got it wrong. I suppose the main thing is that I may have made a mistake (to say nothing of the people who had held the documentation for a month and saying yes – recorded for prosterity in an email – when asked then if everything was in order) but I also fixed the mistake, myself, without causing anyone else any problems. I also completed everything I needed to do before the long weekend so it didn’t even knock my timing out. I should be pleased about how I handled it, and I’m sure I will be in time, but right now I still feel like a complete idiot and have a sense of unspecified unease dogging me.
Ah well. You live and learn.