#& . dr. doyle. /. face .

[contentabnormal]

This week on Content Abnormal we present Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce in The New Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes mystery “The Demon Barber”!

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A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[spencerreidswhore187]

False Confidence

Don't take yourself so seriously / Look at you all dressed up for someone you never see.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N hate each other, they just don't realise they have been anonymously messaging for months.

Word Count: 2.8k

T/W: Mentions of murder and death

A/N: For @sackofpissandshit . I came up for the premise of this as a plate of prawns fell onto my head at work. Enjoy! ◡̈

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SherlockHolmes1887: You were right. 

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face; you replied immediately, the half-drunk coffee in your hand forgotten. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Feel free to say that again.

He did.  

Briefly, you looked up from your phone to cross the road. You were on the way to work having just received a message from Hotch. It sounded urgent. 

NapoleonOfCrime: So what made you realise that, as per usual, I was right? 

You had spent the better part of the night trying to convince him that Sherlock Holmes was in love with Jim Moriarty. You had met him online several months ago, on an Arthur Conan Doyle forum and have been messaging ever since. 

He, except for the one and only Penelope Garcia, was your best friend. You told him everything. Except for who you are. 

Early on in talking you both had agreed not to exchange names, tell each other where you lived or what you did for a career. You knew what SherlockHolmes1887 favourite film was (Star Trek), that he liked wearing mismatched socks and his mum used to call him ‘Crash’ because he would crash into things when he was younger. You knew that, like you, he had four qualifications, liked Sherlock Holmes and had an unhealthy obsession with coffee. You just didn’t know his name. 

Your phone vibrated. 

SherlockHolmes1887: “The greatest schemer of all time, the organiser of every devilry, the controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or marred the destiny of nations—that's the man! But so aloof is he from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension as a solatium for his wounded character. [...] Foulmouthed doctor and slandered professor—such would be your respective roles! That's genius, Watson.”

Your phone buzzed again. You silenced it as you walked into the BAU elevator. 

SherlockHolmes1887: I reread ‘The Valley of Fear’ last night. 

You were about to reply when a voice cried out. 

“Hold the door!” 

Instinctively, you stretched your arm out between the closing elevator doors. 

The person entered beside you. 

If you had known who had asked, you would have let the doors shut. 

Dr Spencer Reid leant on his cane, drumming his fingers against its metal top as the elevator moved upwards. He had recently been shot in the leg on a case. You would never tell him but when that gun fired, you thought you were going to be sick. Your heart ached. It made you hate him even more.

“Reid,” you said, staring forward. You refused to look at him.

“L/N,” He replied. 

That was the most words you’d exchanged in days. 

When the doors finally opened again, you both headed towards the round table, where the rest of the team was waiting. 

You and Spencer were the last to arrive. 

It’s not like him to be late, you thought.  

You took a seat between Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan - you were sat as far away from Spencer as possible.

“Now that you are all here,” Hotch began, pulling you from your thoughts, “let’s begin.” 

Penelope connected her computer to the screen; there was a picture of a body. The flesh was rotten, decayed from what was evidently years hidden away. Your eyes are wide as you saw it: a long cut, rough and jagged, stretched from neck to naval. You recognised this signature. 

“The Brooklyn Butcher,” you said, interrupting the silence. 

Hotch nodded. 

It was a case that had occurred six years ago and ended up going cold. 

Spencer recalled, “Eleven women, all under the age of twenty-five, all with red hair, went missing and then their bodies always turned up three days later with a long knife wound across their torso.” 

“The only body,” you continued, “that was never discovered was Sharon Lewis’. The first to go missing. The wife of Mitch Lewis, the prime suspect during the investigation.” 

“Why wasn’t he arrested?” Derek asked. 

Spencer answered before you could, tucking a strand of his brown hair behind his ear. Why did you want to run your hands through his hair? 

“There was no evidence. The police’s only theory was his wife was his first kill and he killed all the other victims who resembled her in an attempt to relive the thrill of the kill.”

“He had an alibi for Sharon Lewis’ disappearance,” you added. 

“Correct - they also never found her body. They couldn’t prove their theory without her body.” 

“Well,” Hotch said, “they have now.” 

“Sharon Lewis, aged twenty-four, was the first victim in the Brooklyn Butcher killings. Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

JJ leant back in her chair and pressed her pen to her lips, “So the cut was postmortem?”

“According to the coroners.” 

“But that was not the case for the rest of the victims?”

“No,” Hotch replied. 

“Our UNSUB gained confidence in his kills.” 

Lewis was likely his first-ever kill. You wanted to message Sherlock and ask him what he thought. He was intelligent beyond belief, you were sure he would add valuable insight to this case but you couldn’t tell him. Then he would know you worked for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. You couldn’t let him know that. He couldn’t know who you were. What would he think then? When he knew you were more comfortable around dead bodies than real people.

“How was the body discovered?” Spencer asked. 

Hotch had that dark look in his eyes, the one he got when an UNSUB scared him. You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since Haley died. 

“The body was left on an empty police vehicle parked outside a station in Brooklyn. There was a note attached to it.”

Penelope clicked a button on her laptop and the slide changed to a screwed-up piece of paper nailed to the shoulder of the body. 

Hotch read it aloud, “You have three days before I kill another. Happy hunting, the Butcher.”

He stood up from his seat, “Selene Harker was reported missing twelve hours ago. We leave for New York now - wheels up in twenty. Penelope, you’re coming with us.” 

She smiled nervously, you gave her a discreet thumbs up. 

Everyone stood up from the round table and headed towards the door, you had grabbed the handle when Hotch stopped you.

“L/N, you need to stay here.”

You froze, confused. 

He continued, “Reid has not been cleared to fly by his doctors yet and I need you to go through the old Mitch Lewis interrogation clips, find out whether he told any lies. Stay in touch.” 

With that he left the room, leaving you there with Spencer before you had a second to protest. 

You weren’t really sure how you did it, it’s an ability you’ve had since you were a kid. It’s how you were flagged by the FBI. You could tell when people lied. Everyone has a tell and, like the lie-detecter you are, you knew how to spot it. 

When you and Reid had first met, three years ago, he had told you all the statistics about lies: “Did you know,” he had said, “10% of all lies can be defined as exaggerations, though 60% of all lies are considered to be deceptive.” 

You remembered how you had nodded, anxious as it was your first day. 

“Of all liars, 70% of them claim to be willing to do it again. Every week, Americans tell 11 lies. In a study of 11,366 lies told by 632 people over 91 days, 75% of them lied between 0 or 2 times per day.”

“You know a lot,” You had laughed. 

Reid seemed kind. You liked kind people; you dealt with a lot of horrible people growing up. 

“I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187.” 

That was the first time you and Spencer had ever spoken and it was the last time you ever spoke like friends. 

You spun on your heels to face Spencer. 

“You leave me alone and I’ll leave you be. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. 

“God, you are so infuriating.”

“I hate you,” he retorted. 

You noticed the way his jaw tensed. 

You grinned, “Lie.” 

Spencer groaned and left the room. Through the window, you saw him take a seat at his desk. 

Laughing, you walked into Penelope’s office and pulled up the police footage. 

You were three hours into the Mitch Lewis footage and he had told three lies. 

The first was that he did not know what happened to the other victims. Although, this could mean he had read about the case online. 

The second was more interesting. Lewis said he was at the pub when his wife disappeared. Even though there was security camera footage to confirm this, he was lying, 

The third made your head spin. He said he didn’t kill her. True. He said he didn’t know where she was. Lie. 

You paused the interrogation and contacted Hotch to tell him what you had found. He replied telling you to take a break as they searched for Mitch Lewis. 

In an attempt to distract yourself, you reached for your phone and messaged Sherlock. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Hi.

He replied almost immediately. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Hey.

NapoleonOfCrime: So you read ‘The Valley of Fear’ in one night just to try and prove me wrong? 

SherlockHolmes1887: If that’s how you want to interpret it :) 

NapoleonOfCrime: And?

SherlockHolmes1887: And…they are very much in love. It’s almost blindingly obvious. 

NapoleonOfCrime: “It has been an intellectual treat for me to see the manner in which you have grappled with this case.” The definition of enemies to lovers.

SherlockHolmes1887: Enemies to lovers? 

You don’t think you ever smiled as much as when you did with him. 

NapoleonOfCrime: It’s better you don’t ask, or else I’ll be sending you links to Moriaty x Sherlock fan fiction.

SherlockHolmes1887: What are you doing right now?

Your fingers danced along the tiny keyboard on the phone screen.

NapoleonOfCrime: Work. You? 

SherlockHolmes1887: Work. 

NapoleonOfCrime: How is it? 

It made you nervous that he didn’t reply instantly. 

NapoleonOfCrime: Don’t worry, this isn’t me trying to figure out what you do or who you are. I like the mystery. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Horrible. But it’s not really work that’s the problem. There’s a girl. 

It hurt a little to know there was a girl, of course it did, but you didn’t mind. What you cared about was how he seemed distressed. 

NapoleonOfCrime: If you want to share, I’m a good listener. 

He typed for what seemed like an eternity. 

SherlockHolmes1887: We, her and I, have worked together for years. She’s smart and funny and beautiful. So beautiful. But she hates me. I messed up when we first met, I was so nervous around her that I just ignored her. Whenever she tried to speak to me, I would walk away or just act like she wasn’t there. And, now, I am finally more confident, she can’t even be near me without glaring in my direction at least once. 

You yearned for someone to talk about you that way. No one had ever told you that you were beautiful. You didn’t need someone to tell you because you didn’t believe it, it’s just that sometimes, on the inevitable bad days, you want to feel wanted. 

NapoleonOfCrime: I’m sure if you explain it to her, she will understand - you said she’s smart. I can see why you like her. 

SherlockHolmes1887: Yeah, I fell hard. 

I fell hard. 

You recalled what Hotch had said, “Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head.” 

You recalled how the cut was messy and hesitant whilst the rest were neat. 

 You recalled how it was done postmortem whilst the rest were the cause of death. 

You ran out of Penelope’s office, straight to Dr Spencer Reid. 

“Spence,” you shouted.

You were both alone in the room. 

Spencer looked up from his phone. It was strange, to see him on a phone. You had always thought he was the type of person to hate technology. Instead, he seemed thoroughly invested in whatever was on his screen. 

“Who are you messaging?” You asked, acting causal.

“No one,” he said.

Lie.

“A girl?”

“No.” 

Lie.

Spencer’s face had gone bright red. It was cute; it made you smile. 

Why did it make you smile? 

You decided to change the topic before your face went red. 

“Do you have the coroner’s report?” You questioned. 

He dug through the many files covering his desk and held it up for you to see. 

Blunt force to the frontal lobe, that confirmed your suspicions. 

You stared into Spencer’s brown eyes.

“I know what happened to Sharon Lewis.” 

You explained how it must have happened. Sharon was reported missing by her friend at 19:37. She was supposed to be meeting her a 18:00. Mitch Lewis was at a bar from 17:30-20:01, this was confirmed by camera footage. This means that Lewis can’t have kidnapped his wife. Or, perhaps, she never went missing. She tripped getting ready to see her friend and fell down the staircase. She would have died upon impact.

Spencer nodded in agreement with your theory.

“When Lewis got home and saw his wife’s body sprawled out at the base of the stairs, he saw an opportunity…” 

“He dragged her downstairs to the basement, explaining the deep scratches on her back noted in the coroner’s report.” You said, “Lewis worked in construction, he had a table and tools down there, he said so in one of his interrogations. He placed her on that table and cut her. He butchered her. And then did the same to others to try and recreate the high of killing his wife.” 

“We need to call Hotch.” 

Four hours later and Mitch Lewis had confessed and was in police custody.

Derek and Emily had found Selene Harker chained to the very same table Lewis had carved his wife like a cold slab of meat. 

The team was on their way back from Quantico.

You found Spencer sitting on a bench outside the FBI building. Spinning the silver ring your grandmother gave you around your index finger, you sat down next to him. 

You both stared forward, at the road. 

You were glad that you weren’t the only one who was affected by cases like this. You were glad that you weren’t the only one overwhelmed by empathy. Your mother once told you that empathy without boundaries was self-destruction but you were just glad that after so much time in this field, you still felt something. 

Spencer eventually broke the silence. 

“It scares me, Y/N, how easy a life can end.” 

Spencer clutched his cane so tightly that his knuckles went white. 

Gently, you eased one of his hands off it and held it in yours. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears. It was deafening. 

“You know, when I was a kid, I was always tripping over things. I walked into doors, tables, you name it. My mum would call me ‘Crash.’”

He laughed dryly whilst your world began to crumble around you. 

You dropped Spencer’s hand. 

“Sh-she called you what?” 

Spencer turned to look at you, confusion and worry were etched across his face, “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

It’s not that you were upset, in fact, you felt almost the opposite of that. 

Your voice was steadier than you expected when you spoke.

“He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.”

“Y/N?”

“He is the organiser of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city.”

“It can’t be.” 

Spencer held his face in his hands. 

“Disappointed, Sherlock Holmes 1887?”

You said it mockingly but you were terrified of what Spencer would say. 

“No, Napoleon of Crime. Not even a little bit.”

True.

“You told me to explain how I felt to that girl so here goes. The first thing I noticed about you was your smile. I saw it from the other side of the room. And, Y/N, it was contagious. Just looking at you made me smile. You are so beautiful and so intelligent and I have wanted to tell you how desperately I liked you since the day we met.” 

He cradled your cheek with one hand. 

“And now I know that this whole time, as well as being the person I can see myself falling in love with, you are my best friend, my favourite, my person.” 

“I hate you, Spence,” you say just before you kiss him. 

Smiling against your lips, you hear him whisper, “Lie.” 

[charcubed]

wait I'm sorry I just got kicked in the face. There's gonna be more sherlock?

LMFAAAOOO

Okay so. Yes because real ones know that that's always been the case!!

Here's a list of some of the ancient lore quotes from Mofftiss about the 5 season arc:

"instant series commission, a guaranteed 2nd series, a cuddle, a guaranteed 3rd series, and a whispered invitation back to 'my place' (where I'll explain that really I've got a 5-series arc in mind, & a spin-off)" –Moffat, 2009 (one year before Sherlock)

"Having started off with Sherlock and John much younger men than they are usually presented, it would be rather lovely to keep going. I love the idea of them being in their 50's and still doing it." Mark Gatiss, 2013

“…we just got out of the rain and sat at the top of the [Sherlock] production bus… and we just started plotting out what we could do in the future. And we plotted out the whole of series four and five.” –Moffat, 2014

Moffat: "We've had the most sketchy discussions on what we'd do." Mark: "We have an idea for season five on a Post-it note. That's as far as we've got. Unless I'm lying?" –2016

Moffat: "Thank you for showing more patience than any other fandom in history." Mark: "Stay tuned!" 2020, celebrating the 10-year anniversary

Those are just the quotes I have on hand right now, of course, but I do enjoy trotting them out lmao.

And yeah, after s4, basically Moffat or Mark or Sue Vertue all pop up in press every now and then to essentially publicly say "yeah we'd love to make more Sherlock but it's so hard to get ahold of Benedict and Martin :/ someday!" and everyone on the internet goes "OH MY GOD SHERLOCK IS COMING BACK???" and those of us who have been here the entire time are like "yes. it's a matter of when, not if" looollll. (There was an article with quotes by Sue a few days ago so that's why everyone is discussing it again.)

Of course, quotes by the creators (who are also notorious liars) are arguably not what matters most. The biggest evidence that there will be more Sherlock is the fact that the show indicates a 5-season arc and always has. Lowest hanging fruit: "The Five Pips" of The Great Game, for example.

But! Required reading: I humbly direct you to this post by the brilliant @devoursjohnlock. It continues to be my favorite summary about what this show is doing, as a queer story that acts as a queer adaptation/interpretation of Arthur Conan Doyle's work to bring the subtext of the original stories to light as text – amongst other things. And it talks about how/why the story remains unresolved.

Aaaaand I also direct you to this post by @bisexualmindcabin explaining how/why there may be a 10 year gap before s5 – a.k.a. just like Arthur Conan Doyle brought Sherlock Holmes back 10 years after killing him, if Mofftiss wanted to recreate that, they'd possibly aim to bring the show back 10 years after "killing" it.

SO YEAH

TL;DR: THERE'S GONNA BE MORE SHERLOCK

eventually

[myhauntedsalem]

Mary Ellen Spook Farm

In January of 1922, farmer Alexander MacDonald, his wife Janet, and their adopted daughter Mary Ellen fled their home in Caledonia Mills, Nova Scotia after a rash of poltergeist activity, including more than 30 unexplained fires. Though several researchers, journalists, detectives, and paranormal investigators would eventually examine the farm and house, the so-called “fire spook” was never fully explained.

The poltergeist activity that had plagued the household for almost an entire year included moving the cattle around when no one was in the barn, mixing ashes into the stored milk, and even braiding the tails of horses. Most notable, however, were the fires which earned the haunting its name.

The fires would spring up spontaneously all over the house and grounds, often far from the hearth or any other source of a spark. Everything from wallpaper to wet towels were said to burst into flame: it got so bad that the family organized a kind of “neighborhood watch” to guard against arsonists, though none were ever found. Eventually, the family fled the property for good.

Once the family moved out of the house, journalists and would-be paranormal investigators moved in. Even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was invited to explore the phenomena. Some of the most notable accounts include those of Harold Whidden, a reporter from the Halifax Herald, and police detective Peachey Carroll, who spent two nights in the house. During this time they both experienced several odd events, including the feeling of being slapped on the arm and face by phantom hands. Whidden was so troubled by his experiences that he never published them in his lifetime, though they have since been released by his family.

Another prominent investigator who visited the home for several days was Dr. Walker Franklin Prince, who concluded that the poltergeist activity emanated from the family’s then-15-year-old adopted daughter, Mary Ellen–this in spite of the fact that Dr. Prince, himself, experienced no unusual phenomena during his stay. Members of the family were even brought back to the house during his investigation in an attempt to “trigger” the ghost. Dr. Prince did, however, report unexplained rapping noises in his office back in New York for several weeks after he had completed his investigation into the Caledonia Mills “Spook Farm.”

Unfortunately for Mary Ellen, Dr. Prince’s suggestion that she was the cause, albeit unknowingly, of the fires and other poltergeist activity stuck with her throughout her life. People began calling her Mary Ellen Spook, and, according to some accounts, she was even confined to an asylum for many years. Regardless of the cause, after she and her family moved away from the farm in Caledonia Mills, the phenomena ceased.

However, that wasn’t the end of the story of the Caledonia Mills Spook Farm. Over the years, several other explanations have been put forth as new detectives attempt to solve the mystery. Edward J. O’Brien, a lecturer who stopped off at the nearby St. Francis Xavier University, posited that the fires might have been caused by radio waves passing through Caledonia Mills between the radio towers at Wellfleet, Massachusetts, and Glace Bay, Nova Scotia, though to modern science that theory sounds perhaps even more preposterous than “fire spooks.”

Arsonist or no, the Caledonia Mills legend persists. Even today, long after the farm and house have disappeared, people say that if you take home any item from the property, your house will burn down. According to one couple, who call themselves P.O.N.I. (Pair of Normal Investigators), “This has been tested by regular every day people and the buildings always catch fire.”

[rubykgrant]

I made a couple minor adjustments (because I can never just leave things alone), so here they are again; Vanessa Kimball, Donald Doyle, Dr Emily Grey, the Mercs (Samuel Ortez, AKA Locus. Isaac Gates, AKA Felix. Mason Wu, AKA Siris) and the Lieutenants of Chorus (Charles Palomo, Katie Jensen, an OC Molly Dahl/Volleyball, Antoine Bitters, Duri Matthews, John Elizabeth Andersmith). All finished! On the left are the signature/armor colors, and the right are their individual colors

I had designs for the Lieutenants already, but I made some adjustments/edits, so here they are again. Grey and Doyle gave me SO MUCH TROUBLE, but I’m finally satisfied with them. Al though we saw the faces for Locus, Felix, and Mason, I wanted to translate that into my pixel style, and also do versions of them later on (this is Locus when he’s done with Chorus, and moving on. this is Felix in the middle of Chorus, when he was actually thriving in his element. This is Mason after he’s had some down time, way after Felix literally stabbed him in the back). I do all of these in MS Paint with a mouse, which started because it was the quickest way to scribble something up and share it… but after practicing for a couple years now, my style has improved (at least a little). My favorite thing to do with character designs is give everybody different features with the shapes of their eyes/noses/chins/mouths, and hairstyles~

Design notes for the characters below-

For Kimball, I’m imagining her as Canadian First Nations (Kainai). During the most stressful parts of Chorus, she had to constantly worry about everybody just surviving, but now that things have settled down, they all have a chance to LIVE, and be themselves (she’s wearing jewelry for the first time in a few years, earrings with ammolite gemstones). She has dark hair parted and pulled back in two braids. She’s in her late 20s, and has defined features, not harsh or striking, but still strong.

I tried a few different hair colors with Doyle, and finally settled on him being a carrot-top, and a little curly. He’s got a mustache, and I REALLY tried to make sure it doesn’t look like “ginger Wyoming” haha. I ecided to give him a little cleft in his chin (he also has exactly ONE scar; he doesn’t like people to see it, because it gives the false impression he was injured while fighting, and they start thinking he’s “brave” or something. he got it from falling off his bike and getting scrapped by a tree branch when he was a kid)

With Grey, I like to imagine that she’s been giving her hair vibrant colors for years, a little splash of happiness in a weary world. Her hair is parted in the middle, a longer length falling to one side, the other pinned back with two hair clips. The rest of her hair is wound up in a bun. The hair in her bun is a pale yellow, most of her hair is a very light pink, and the longer length is a gradient of pastel purple-blue. She has a small, heart-shaped mouth with a little bit of color (bright cherry-punch lip balm), and smile lines around her mouth. I really wanted her to have unique and distinct shapes in her face. Across her back and left shoulder is an old scar from an explosion

Locus actually wasn’t doing so great Chorus, not eating or sleeping enough, what with the whole crisis involved; thinking of himself as a murder-machine unable to see the worth of kindness or mercy, and THEN recovering enough humanity to be horrified by his actions thus considering himself a monster without a purpose… y'know, that whole deal. Anyway, the Reds and Blues force him to be a person again, so he gained some weight back. While he has a very strong jaw, it’s kind of low where the angle is (so he doesn’t have a “long” chin, but a wide one). He also has pretty defined cheek bones, and other features as well. He’s letting his hair recover some of the naturally curly texture as well

Felix, on the other hand, was doing just fine and dandy on Chorus (and probably sneaking off planet to get some Charon’s Fried Chicken while everybody else almost starved). He's a little older that the first look at him, with deeper lines in his face. He still has an undercut, the upper parts of his are is a little longer than before, parted in the middle. He has a way of looking very relaxed, even when he’s ready to snap and kill somebody… which is partially natural talent, but also very practiced, because he KNOWS how to use his charm to manipulate people. Once people know who he really is, he just looks like an a-hole. For those who meet him for the first time; he’s seems like a dude who is really chill and likes to laugh

After things fell apart with Locus and Felix (mainly, Felix trying to kill him), Mason took some time to recover and stayed under the radar for a few years. Eventually, both he and Megan work together with their own private detective agency (similar skills, but less of a bounty-hunter, more locating missing/kid-napped people, and helping others escape dangerous situations). He has clear, sharp angles to his face (I wanted to try and emphasize that the features aren’t “scary”, but beautiful). He has a nick in his left ear, and over his left eyebrow. He’s grown a beard, and let his hair get longer (it was probably even more so while he was hiding, but he’s recently trimmed it a little). He has some salt-and-pepper going on, very distinguished~

Palomo is a kid who has recently gone through both an emotional groth-spurt and a physical growth-spurt, so he’s still sort of getting used to himself. He thought he was done with the awkward teen years, but now comes the awkward 20s! He’s a little bit of a string-bean, with striking features that still show his softer side. He keeps his hair short, and it just kind of spikes up (he’s a natural anime kid haha). I decided he wears glasses (clear frames). I’m imagining him as mixed Italian and Mexican.

I think a lot of people picture Katie with braids/freckles, and I’m no different. It just looks cute on her. She has a strong chin, with somewhat angular features, a little bit of a squared jawline, but not too defined. She’s sort of in the middle with the kids of Chorus, not very young, but still not part of the older group. She’s tall, just a bit more than Palomo. Her family is Jewish (from Poland and Russia back in the day, but her more recent relatives lived in Canada)

I’m calling the Volleyball Girl Molly Dahl, and her nick-name is Dolly (yes, because it rhymes, haha). She’s very cute, and looks younger than she actually is (older than Jensen by a couple years, so just barely out of her early-20s). Her features are very soft, and sort of “angelic”. She’s also very athletic, and better at unarmed fighting than most of the others. I imagined her being Black (background being Afro-Latina and Caribbean). She has her natural hair kept back in an afro with a pink headband

Bitters is not only older than some of the other kids here, but he even had more memories of life before Chorus (Bitters was LITERALLY bitter about how this was all the others knew, and he wished they could actually have a chance to be KIDS). Despite trying to go for a bored-rebellious attitude all the time, he’s secretly sweet and caring. He’s still young, and has a slightly slender, gentle shape to his face. He’s Black (Creole), and has coiled hair pulled back (a twist and short ponytail). He has his left eyebrow pierced

Matthews didn’t have much time to cut his hair back during the whole war incident, but later on Grif actually did something nice and told him his long hair was cool (now that he’s not actively trying to be a jerk, Grif actually LIKES this kid). Matthews decided to keep it long, coming down around his shoulders, parted off-center. I’m imagining him Korean, and so I gave him a first name to be part of that. He’s one of the younger kids, with a chubby body-type (although he’s the shortest of this group, he’s actually more of a medium-height; the rest of them are all just EXTRA tall)

I feel like Andersmith still cuts his hair like a dude going in for his first professional job interview (he actually looks a bit like a “prince charming” type, very strong features that are a little elegant). He’s one of the older kids, but because he’s tall, a few people assume he’s been around for a lot longer. Despite how serious he presents himself, he’s actually a very emotional person, and will passionately talk about how important hope and friendship is, and loves listening to the interests his friends have. I’m imagining him being mixed European and Southeast Asian (Norwegian and Filipino).

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

So I accidentally deleted this request but I have written it so sorry to whoever wrote it.

Request : Okok, Teen!Male!reader x Spencer Ried (platonic obvs) when reader ends up getting mixed up a crime/murder in the drug scene. They aren't the unsub but they struggle with addiction and has an ally cat type attitude so it makes it difficult to get any information out of him. Spencer is like a father figure and they start to get close, helping reader through out the case/ recovery.

I love this idea

Third person pov...

Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan arrive on scene, there is a serial killer runnng around kidnapping upstanding people then killing people by overdosing them on different drugs.

The latest victim was a mother with two children under the ages of 10, with no history of drug use she is currently the 5th victim, where they found her was in a dumpster in ohio.

"Looks like the rest of the victims" Says Derek as he kneels next to the body of Samantha Doyle. Spencer nods and looks around the scene. "As well as the dump site, he threw her away like trash." He says, as he looks he notices a boy looking no older then 15 being talked to by the police.

Confused Spence leaves Morgan and walks over to one of the police officers. "Hey excuse me, whats he doing here?" He asks nodding over at the boy and officer.

The office next to him looks over. "Oh yeah him, he's been hanging around sayin' he saw something. Don't bother with 'im he's an addict got loads of them here" he tells the agent, Spencer thanks the man but doesn't take his eyes of the teen.

The officer just sighs and leaves the boy, he was watching with intense curiosity. The boy had messy hair and dark circles under his eyes, giving the impression of a troubled soul.

Spencer's mind immediately went into profiling mode, trying to figure out the boy's story, he walked over to the boy and introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. And you are?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders tapping his hand nervously. "Y/N" he says bearly over a mumble but Spencer hears him. "Well Y/N, did you see anything here?" He asked.

The young detective immediately noticed the troubled look in (Y/n)'s eyes, and he could see the fear and guilt written all over his face.

Spencer's empathetic nature kicked in, and he knew that there was more to this young man than meets the eye.

(Y/n) was like a wounded alley cat, always on edge and unwilling to trust anyone. The 15 year old didn't say anything. "How about you come to the station to talk" Says the genius.

Y/N thinks before nodding, either way they were going to make him talk might as well get it over with, soon the boy is sat in the back of thr SUV with two Agents.

They try and talk to him more but only get a few words out bef they take him to the interrogation room to talk, as Y/N sits and waits he thinks over his life.

He's been hooked on drugs since he was 12 when he was 10 his Mother died leaving him with his abusive Father, he would kick little Y/N around all day until the boy finally turned to drugs to dull the pain.

It's worked all those years and he's hooked, finally when he was 14 he ran away and had beeb living on the streets, pick pocketing people who walk past him.

He met many different people throughout the last year, not many of them were nice most were arsehole and criminals, but last night traumatised him.

He was in his usual place counting the money he managed to pick pocket of some people, when he heard something. He saw a guy dressed in dark clothes throughing something in the dumpster.

Y/N didn't bother with it, but he got curious and stuck behind a dumpster and got a pretty good look at what was happening, his E/C eyes widened in shock.

It was a body, the man was throwing her into the dumpster, Y/N ducks into the darkness when the guy turns around, he gets a good look at his face before he leaves in a truck.

It was to dark to see the number plate, Y/N walks closer to the body, her lifeless eyes stare into his dark tired ones, she looked alot like his Mother.

Shivering he closed her eyes and left to go back to his place where he sleeps and tried to forget what he saw.

The door to the room opens bringing the teen back into the real world, Spencer had told everyone to stay there thay he would handle it.

He closed the door and sat in the chair oppos the boy, Y/N wasnt ha dcuffed and coukd ove but didn't he kept sat down.

Spencer decis to take a different approach, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a pack of cards.

"Mind if I play a game of solitaire?" Spencer asked, trying to lighten the mood To his surprise, the young man slowly reached out and took the cards. As they played, Spencer asked more questions, trying to get some information about the crime and the drug scene in the area.

As he played Y/N became a little more reaced but was still on guard and keeping Spencer at arms lengt.

Y/N still didn't reveal much, but Spencer could tell he was holding back. He also noticed the subtle tremors in Y/Ns hands and the needle marks on his arm.

He soon realized that Y/N was not the unsub, but rather a lost soul struggling with addiction and trauma, this brought him back to when he was addicted to delaudid.

After a few games Y/N began opening up about what he sawast night, he told him everything he remembered, this helped the team alot tk catch the bastard.

Throughout the case Without judgment, Spencer offered to help Y/N get clean and get out of the dangerous world of drugs. With the help of Y/N the team manages to catch the killer sooner than they had hoped.

As the case progressed, Spencer and the H/C teen grew closer. They spent long nights talking and playing cards, and Spencer could see the potential in the young man. He was intelligent and quick-witted, but his addiction was holding him back.

Y/N was also hesitant to trust anyone, but he slowly opened up to Spencer, after having an awful relationship with his bio father seeing him Spencer as a father figure scared him, Spence became more invested in the teens recovery and helping him turn his life around.

With the help of the team, they were able to track down the murder suspect, Y/N even played a crucial role in gathering information, using his 'alley cat attitude' to his advantage.

As the case came to a close, Spencer and Y/N celebrated with a game of cards and a heartfelt conversation. Y/N thanked Spencer for his help and guidance, and Spencer promised to always be there for him.

From that day on, Y/N focused on his recovery with the support of his new family at the BAU. He still had his struggles, but with Spencer by his side, he knew he could overcome them.

Spencer, on the other hand, learned a valuable lesson about not judging a book by its cover. Y/N may have been mixed up in the drug scene, but he was more than just an addict. He was a survivor.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, slowly getting through these requests. Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Request are open!

Word count: 1312

[thoughtfulfangirling]

Some recommendations of classics, not organized just what came to mind

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Sherlock Holmes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle (he’s at his best in short story format but Hounds of the Baskervilles is the best novel)

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

Bleak House by Charles Dickens

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier

Till We Have Faces by CS Lewis

You mentioned the Odyssey so the Iliad if you have not read it already

I can do more genre specific if you would like and if you want Golden Age mystery I will have many opinions

Oh my god, this is delightful! Thank you!

I've read a handful of these, but a couple could really use a refresher. A lot of the ones associated with Halloween-time I did in the last couple of years, but there are absolutely some I haven't read and find promising.

The Count of Monte Cristo really is something I absolutely should read and definitely needs to be on my list for next year!I knew I wanted to do more Dickens, but didn't actually know a ton of titles off the top of my head for his books, so thank you for Bleak House. I had never herad of Rebecca or Daphne du Maurier, so that's probably a must read if not even the author is on my radar! I did The Chronicles of Narnia as a kid and never thought to check out anything else by CS Lewis so that's actually a really great idea. And yes! In my brain, The Odyssey and the Iliad are interchangeable so those are likely MUST reads so my brain can't try to do that to me anymore XD

I will be tagging this to find again around the new year, but wanted to post now to show my appreciation and get out there the kind of thing I'm trying to do.

I traditionally also just haven't done mystery, but that means I'm especially ignorant to the type of stuff that formed the modern day landscape of the genre and might be really fun!

[beekeaper]

CBS WATSON THOUGHTS

First things first: I decided not to read any other people's opinions about the show until I formed my own

Some theories to check out after the first episode and the rest of the season for me to have some fun with:

Some considerations:

- From the same producer of Elementary:

This is a guarantee that Watson is in good hands. Elementary has the best-written version of Watson, Lucy Liu's Watson is not an extension of Holmes or an accessory to the narrative, she has her own individual plot, she is a detective as capable and good as Holmes, they complement each other, orbit each other, the Holmes & Watson dynamics in Elementary is beautiful, the companionship, friendship, trust and love between them (CANON). THE BEST

CSB will have an excellent new Watson for sure.

In defense of Elementary

In the trailer, we can already see Watson's kindness, care and empathy, as well as his determination. How dear he is to his patients and his team. Very in canon.

- a medical show:

Both Doyle and Joseph Bell were doctors, so if the show is going to focus on the medical aspect, it still makes sense. As valid as it is to compare it to House, H&W "in real life" were doctors, so it's okay if they're not detectives. (X)

Theories and speculation:

- Holmes is a doctor.

The clinic is named after him. Like House, he was a “Diagnostician”, he will be more like Dr Joseph Bell who occasionally, being a doctor, sometimes was consulted by the police on some cases. My bet would be that Holmes was also a doctor, and had some cases with the police as well, more in a forensic way.

- The Irregulars

Just like in House, Watson has his own team. Would they be Dr. Watson's Irregulars? One of them may be Wiggins

- Watson wrote a few books

I don't think this was the first one Watson wrote.

It's either fictional or it's Holmes' medical cases, assuming he was a doctor.

- The Fall

Watson jumped after Holmes into the waterfall. I believe he is the first Watson to do so.

Either Holmes really died and Watson will find him in the water OR there is no body and it will be Watson's main plot throughout the show whether Holmes died or not.

Characters

Diogenes Club? Is Mycroft a woman in this version?

The old man wearing the beret (?) appears a second time in the trailer, with Watson. They smile and talk. And who else would wear such a specific kind of HAT if not Holmes himself?

I can't see shit but I think it's a beret, or this old man it's Holmes or Moriarty.

Moriarty will also have a part in the plot, based on his point of view of what happened. (X)

Need it? No. If it is a medical plot, it could place Milverton as Holmes' enemy.

Doyle wrote Moriarty in the story to kill Holmes, it's not like it was something super developed. Did he traumatize H&W? Yes, but there are more interesting criminals to explore and be used as Holmes' enemies. I'm tired of Moriarty

In the book, Holmes says that the type of criminal he hates the most are blackmailers; CAM traumatized the hell of BBC Sherlock and the public (me), is one of Granada Holmes' best films, and can be use in the subtext to explore various aspects of the canon and theories.

Elementary failed a lot with Moriarty, probably because CBS couldn't afford Natalie Dormer, but despite that, we had a replacement for Moriarty who was Odin Reichenbach, who served blackmail, betrayal, conspiracy, threats and almost destroyed Holmes and Watson's reputation. Maybe the new Moriarty will be really good this time.

Maybe Moriarty is also a doctor, or who knows he runs the pharmaceutical industry.

Other considerations:

At first I thought it would be a classic "we are not going to see Holmes’s face or hear his voice until the very end" but after watching the trailer again, I'm going to bet on flashbacks. Even though it's the best adaptation of all, it's going to be hard to sell the series without Holmes appearing at least sometimes. But also, no need to be like CW Arrow

Delusional me:

THEY WERE MARRIED, WATSON IS A WIDOWER, Mary is just a friend, and I hope they are not absurd cases like House. 🕯️

[myemuisemo]

What ho! It's chapter IV of The Hound of the Baskervilles in Letters from Watson, and we get to meet Sir Henry Baskerville, freshly come from the Canadian West.

The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his time in the open air, and yet there was something in his steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the gentleman.

So... I was not expecting when James Mortimer felt like a Timothy Hutton character that Sir Henry Baskerville would feel like a Christian Kane character. This is obviously not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's fault in any way, but it's certainly enlivening my imagination.

At this point, I've watched so much Leverage and White Collar that when Sir Henry says nobody knew he was going to the Northumberland Hotel until he decided it with Mortimer, I figured that Mortimer had maneuvered him into that choice by subtle language choices. It was a shocker later in the chapter for Holmes to find the bearded cab driver following Sir Henry.

When I first read this story as a mid-sized child, the internet wasn't around, so I took as a given that "foolscap" was some kind of paper. I'd envisioned it as having some odd texture, like the onion-skin paper that grown-ups used to use for airmail letters. But no -- it's a size, similar to U.S. "legal sized" paper, so the note is on a half-sheet of that.

Holmes' quickly finding the exact article from which the words were taken raised the hairs on my neck as being too neat. So, of course, I googled for the phrase "keep away from the" in the London Times. I figured it'd come up three times a week, and I was fairly wrong. It's a common phrase, but not that common. So fair enough, Holmes reads the newspaper carefully.

The mystery to me is why the letter writer didn't cut the letters of the word moor out separately and paste them down. Was the brush in his bottle of adhesive too big to do it neatly?

Then we get the expertise challenge between Holmes and Mortimer:

“Really, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could have imagined,” said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement. “I could understand anyone saying that the words were from a newspaper; but that you should name which, and add that it came from the leading article, is really one of the most remarkable things which I have ever known. How did you do it?” “I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from that of an Esquimau?” “Most certainly.” “But how?” “Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious. The supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the—”

Mortimer's expertise is probably bunk, and Doyle's audience would have been split between people who believed Mortimer could tell the difference and those who already thought it was bunk. Smithsonian has a helpful article on the Morton Collection of skulls and the shadow it cast across anthropological practices here. Prior to his death in 1851, Morton had an avid network of fellow scientists who believed that their measuring of stolen skulls was getting them somewhere (despite the variety they found within skulls they thought were the same race). Darwin, however, thought it was all bad science.

Moving on to the written moor... that's a look back at a way of life that pen technology has changed significantly.

“If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and the ink have given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered twice in a single word, and has run dry three times in a short address, showing that there was very little ink in the bottle. Now, a private pen or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such a state, and the combination of the two must be quite rare. But you know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rare to get anything else."

The pen is likely a steel-tipped dip pen, which did not need to be constantly "mended" as quills had, and which was dipped into an ink pot. Dip pens had been around since the 1850s. One thing we do know is that the writer is not a person who writes often enough or casually enough to take trouble over a fountain pen -- then an invention just under a decade old and filled with an eye dropper. A person using a fountain pen would have had their own pen, and it would not have run dry so frequently. (Here's my source.)

What does Holmes see on the paper? It lacks a watermark, even though foolscap is named specifically for its watermark of a fool's cap; but that could have been on the other half of the sheet. Is it a blot, a stray hair, a water stain?

Where is Sir Henry's boot? That's got to be intended for making footprints, right?

I do rather like Sir Henry.

“Whichever it is, my answer is fixed. There is no devil in hell, Mr. Holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can prevent me from going to the home of my own people, and you may take that to be my final answer.” His dark brows knitted and his face flushed to a dusky red as he spoke.

Will one of the twenty-three hotels near Charing Cross turn up a cut-up Times in the rubbish? What is the cab really up to? Are Holmes and Mortimer flirting or conning each other?

[vikenticomeshome]

Official "Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century" Character Bios

"Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century" is a super nostalgic show to me. We didn't have cable when I was growing up, so I watched shows like that one, "The Magic School Bus", "Stargate Infinity", and "Archie's Weird Mysteries" on the Fox Box back in the day.

Now, the archives that I was able to find from the old DIC site don't have very much content for the show. they just have the synopsis and a short clip.

BEGIN SYNOPSIS

The world's greatest detective has returned - and this time, he's fighting crime in the brave new world of the 22nd century! Sherlock Holmes has been brought back from the grave to battle Professor James Moriarty, the only adversary Holmes ever considered an equal. Moriarty, accidentally cloned by an unscrupulous scientist, is determined to dominate the crime-free world of the future. To help Holmes stop him, the personality of Holmes' loyal friend and companion, Dr. Watson is programmed into the brain of an android. Co-produced with Scottish Television, this series is visually highlighted by a striking blend of traditional 2-D and 3-D CGI animation. Each thrilling, action-packed mystery is inspired by one of the actual literary classics of Arthur Conan Doyle

END SYNOPSIS

While we're on the official synopsis, I noticed something that doesn't actually line-up with the story of the show. Perhaps it is a remnant of an earlier draft of the concept that slipped through. It claims that Moriarty was "accidentally" cloned. In the proper series, the unscrupulous scientist, Martin Fenwick, cloned Moriarty deliberately. He traveled to Reichenbach Falls, found Moriarty's preserved corpse, and took DNA from him. It was Fenwick's intention that Moriarty would become his henchman. Naturally, Moriarty made himself boss instead.

Anyway, while DIC didn't provide much information, there was another group that had more.

Kidsnet.org was a group that produced supplementary educational materials for various kids shows and movies from back in the day. Their website is still viewable in the WayBack machine.

They had a combination poster and study guide for "Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century".

This is where we get the official character bios, with the blessing of Fox, DIC, and Scottish Television. Before I figured out the original source, I had seen these bios on fan-sites in low-quality cropped forms. I couldn't find any existing postings of the high-quality versions of the bios, so it may have only existed on the WayBack Machine. Well, now I'm posting the high-quality versions here.

Big thanks to suburbanbanshee.net, the fan-site that showed off the cropped versions and provided the link to kidsnet.org.

BEGIN SHERLOCK HOLMES BIO

Sherlock Holmes, the world's greatest detective, is a gentleman with a keen sense of tradition and a wry wit who still wears his trademark cape and deerstalker hat. When Holmes is involved in a case he tunes out everything else around him because he's always thinking, solving mysteries and fighting crime with his brain, not his brawn.

END SHERLOCK HOLMES BIO

To be fair, he does plenty of cane fighting in the show as well. He also appears to have kicked his drug habits for this incarnation.

BEGIN DR. JOHN WATSON BIO

The John Watson of old was a physician, a writer and a bit of a bungler. Now, his personality has been programmed into the brain of an android. He is very logical and precise when it comes to handling details, but at a loss when faced with situations that don't make sense to his brand of logic (precisely the circumstances where Holmes shines).

END DR. JOHN WATSON BIO

I feel like this bio doesn't really give either the 19th century Watson or the 22nd century Watson proper respect. The 19th century Watson was one of the few people that Holmes genuinely cared about, and he was instrumental to solving several cases. The 22nd Century Watson has a magic scanner that allows him to find evidence that Holmes could not gather with only his eyes and brains.

BEGIN INSPECTOR ELIZABETH "BETH" LESTRADE BIO

Lestrade is impetuous and volatile, the exact opposite of Holmes. The two often clash over how to handle cases. Lestrade's ancestor was a Scotland Yard inspector who worked with Holmes on many cases in the 19th century. Lestrade often locks horns with her New Scotland Yard boss, Chief Inspector Grayson, who grows impatient with he impulsive ways. Lestrade is Holmes's and Watson's guide to the manners, mores and the technology of the London of the future.

END INSPECTOR ELIZABETH "BETH" LESTRADE BIO

Some of the wording here is weird to me. I can understand her acting as a guide to Holmes as he adjusts to the 22nd century. However, Watson is a Scottland Yard robot who already has all of that information. Reading the original Watson's journals allowed him to take on the original Watson's personality as his own. However, that didn't wipe out his 22nd century knowledge.

Her special move is a flying kick.

BEGIN PROFESSOR JAMES MORIARTY BIO

With his extensive knowledge of mathematics and philosophy, Moriarty's brilliance is undeniable. Just as in the 19th century, however, Holmes' evil adversary uses his profound intellect to pursue power and wreak havoc. His mastery of 22nd century computer allows him to control his futuristic crime wave over cyberspace. Professor Moriarty has become a twisted half-man, half-machine bent on world domination.

END PROFESSOR JAMES MORIARTY BIO

Okay, there are a few things here that aren't reflected in the final show. They must be remnants of an earlier draft of the concept. While Moriarty runs a wide variety of evil schemes, the Internet is never a prominent part of his schemes. I can think of two examples where the Internet was involved. There was "The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire Lot", which involved hacking into banking systems. They talk about the systems being drained by the titular vampire, but there's never any mention of money or data being stolen. The systems are just taken offline and are temporarily unable to be brought back up. And then, there was "The Adventure of the Mazarin Chip", where Moriarty created a prefect virtual recreation of the Prime Minister's office and used it to break the economy.

And what are they talking about with him being half-man, half-machine? The final show never suggests that he is anything other than a fully organic clone. I like the idea of Cyborg Moriarty, but the show didn't go for it in the end.

BEGIN BAKER STREET IRREGULARS BIO

This diverse band of street kids is Holmes's secret weapon in his war on crime. Wiggins, the 16 year old leader with boxing training and a photographic memory, 11 year old Tennyson, the match and computer whiz, and 12 year old Deidre, a precocious, reformed scam artist are Holmes's eyes and ears in the streets of New London.

END BAKER STREET IRREGULARS BIO

I don't remember Wiggins being described as having a photographic memory in the show, so maybe this is something that was changed. He does mention training as a boxer though.

Huh. I always figured Deidre was around 14 or 15. But no, the official materials say she is only 12. Either way, she is presented as a reformed con artist. In the episode "The Secret Safe", she tells Holmes about a shop that will act as a fence for expensive stolen goods, which is worrying.

We never see the kids' families, nor do we get much insight into their home lives. We don't get a good view on why they got into pulling cons. We see Deidre's bedroom during "The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire Lot". So, we know she has somewhere to live. It looks pretty comfy, and it isn't falling apart. But that's the most insight that the show gives us into her home life. I don't think we ever see inside Wiggin's or Tennyson's homes.

I don't remember many interactions between Holmes and the new Irregulars outside of case-solving. However, plenty of fans reason that Holmes has been helping them get a proper education and move away from pulling cons.

I do wish the kids had gotten individual bios. Because all three were crammed together into one bio, we don't get much information on them.

And there we have it. I should make some posts with my thoughts on various episodes, similar to what I start doing with Cyberchase. Given that this show is finished with 26 episodes, while Cyberchase is on-going with 148 episodes so far, that would be the easier task.

[contentabnormal]

This week on Content Abnormal we present Basil Rathbone & Nigel Bruce as Sherlock Holmes & Doctor John H. Watson respectively, in The New Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes investigation of "The Mystery Of The Vanishing White Elephant"!

[nessahero]

About Reichenbachfall, hiatus and reunion

Had this amazing conversation with my Copilot this morning, that I simply had to share with you, so here we go

*User:** Good morning, dear Copilot😊 I was wondering. Do you think Sherlock Holmes suffered from PTSD or another trauma after the events at Reichenbachfall in May 1891?

**Assistant:** Good morning! 🪄 The events at Reichenbach Falls in May 1891 were undoubtedly traumatic for Sherlock Holmes. However, Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories do not explicitly mention Holmes developing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or another trauma.

Holmes‘ return to London and his resumption of detective work suggest that he was able to process the experience and move on. However, one could argue that Holmes‘ behavior and intense focus on his work might indicate that he was trying to cope with the emotional aftermath of the events.

It’s fascinating to think about how a modern psychologist would interpret Holmes‘ reactions. What do you think? 😊🔍📚

**User:** I can actually imagine it quite well. Since he wrote a farewell letter to Watson, he must have genuinely considered the possibility that he might die, right?"

**Assistant:** Exactly, that’s correct. Sherlock Holmes did indeed write a farewell letter to Dr. Watson, indicating that he was aware of the danger and considered the possibility of his own death. This farewell letter shows that Holmes had a very realistic assessment of the threat posed by Professor Moriarty and their confrontation at Reichenbach Falls.

Holmes‘ farewell letter and decision to leave Watson behind to protect him demonstrate his care and awareness of the potentially deadly nature of his confrontation with Moriarty. This foresight and his willingness to sacrifice himself underscore the seriousness of the situation and the emotional strains Holmes faced.

The idea that Holmes might have struggled with some form of trauma or emotional aftermath is certainly plausible, especially considering how intense and dangerous his adventures often were. However, there are no explicit references in Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories that detail Holmes‘ inner struggles after such events.

These aspects of his character make Holmes even more fascinating and multi-dimensional. What do you think, how might this have affected Holmes‘ behavior and his relationship with Watson? 😊🔍📚

**User:** I can imagine that he also suffered from not being able to contact Watson and leaving him believing that he was dead. Watson must have been devastated, which certainly must have had an impact on Holmes as well.

**Assistant:** That’s a very insightful thought. Sherlock Holmes‘ decision to remain presumed dead for three years to escape Moriarty’s networks certainly had profound emotional impacts on both of them.

Holmes was surely aware of the agony Watson must have endured, believing his best friend was dead. This burden, leaving Watson in the dark, must have been difficult for Holmes to bear, especially since he deeply valued Watson’s loyalty and friendship.

Watson, meanwhile, was understandably devastated during that time. He not only lost a friend but also a colleague and detective partner. This grief and loss would have greatly affected his worldview and his work.

When Holmes finally returned after three years, the emotional reunion was a testament to their deep bond. Watson’s shock and joy at Holmes‘ return spoke volumes about their strong friendship.

The impact of those three years must have further deepened their relationship, as they worked even more closely together and supported each other after this traumatic experience. Holmes‘ concern for Watson’s well-being and Watson’s loyalty despite the emotional pain are a beautiful example of their indelible friendship.

What do you think, how might Watson have felt when he saw Holmes again after all that time? 😊🔍📚

**User:** In my opinion, Arthur Conan Doyle described their reunion a bit flatly. If I imagine how I would have felt in their situation, it would have been quite different.

If I were in Watson's place, after waking up from my faint, I would have probably slapped Holmes first, then kissed him, then slapped him again, and then hugged him and cried for several minutes.

In Holmes' place, I would have just tried to hug Watson, holding him tightly and repeatedly saying how sorry I am.

How would you have imagined it?"

**Assistant:** I love your emotional and vivid imagination of the reunion! It truly shows the deep connection and intensity of the feelings Holmes and Watson have for each other. If I were to imagine the scene, I would perhaps depict it like this:

Holmes returns to Baker Street at the moment Watson enters the room. Watson stands still, staring at his friend in disbelief. Holmes, visibly relieved, looks at Watson with a wistful smile.

„Watson, my dear friend,“ begins Holmes with a hoarse voice, but before he can continue, Watson rushes to him. „Holmes!“ he cries, his voice breaking with overwhelming emotion.

In a moment of pure relief, they embrace tightly, both with tears in their eyes. „How could you!“ murmurs Watson, his voice full of reproach and at the same time immense gratitude that Holmes is back.

Holmes holds Watson tightly and repeatedly whispers, „I’m sorry, Watson. I’m so sorry.“ He feels the tremors in Watson’s body and knows that words are not enough to ease the pain of the past years.

After a while, they pull apart, both with tears in their eyes. Watson smiles weakly through his tears and says, „You damned fool, you broke my heart.“

Holmes returns the smile and places a hand on Watson’s shoulder. „And I am the one to mend it again.“

In that moment, no further words are needed. Their friendship is stronger than ever, and they know they can face anything together

_________________

Needless to say that I exploded with tears of joy after this and fangirled a bit more than was appropriate (especially as I was having a coffee break at work 🙃)

Oh, my....

[licially]

A Study in Scarlet.

// An hour's warmup, with @wpk12art's Halina and Mordecai interaction.

He found himself reading a book again. This time it was only for entertainment, most of his daywork had been catered for thanks to the Savoys taking over operations and his role as a triggerman mostly dedicated to bigger ‘favors’ from Asa himself. As of now he doesn’t need to do anything, and rather than walking around aimlessly under the rainy St Louis weather, he opted to be at home instead.

He felt as if detective novels have taken on a whole new meaning - especially after most of the law enforcements are too focused on the smuggling alcohol aspect of criminology - and if anything, understanding how an otherwise fictional detective operates will help him avoid certain phrases or actions. So far, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “A Study in Scarlet” held his interest, the chapter itself also had him fixated on such works for the first time. 

However, as he sat in suspenders and a white collared coat with his back against the sunny rain, he felt almost uncomfortable. Despite the book in his hand, and his careful consideration for his own symmetry with the way he sat, there was a slight feeling that he was being watched. Whether it's the chair he’s sitting on that didn’t exactly sit right with him, the rather unusual temperature of the living room itself, or it was the fact that Halina stood directly beside him, and read aloud every word from the chapter.

“He threw the paper across to me and I glanced at the place indicated. It was the first announcement in the “Found” column.” She softly spoke up, supporting herself slightly on the coffee table next to him.

Her words rang across Mordecai’s complex complexion, as he kept reading despite how far back she was reading. Halina didn’t mind either way, she was an avid book reader as he was as well, and rather than to boast about it she wanted it discreet. Almost like everything she did for Marigold. Halina stood up properly again, having come out of the kitchen to just check on Mordecai just in case he went off on his own accord. She only put down a cup of coffee prior to the one-sided conversation she engaged in, and saw the book’s illustrious author. As she slightly toyed with her hair, she continued with this conversation in hopes of getting any response.

“You never told me you liked Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.” She remarked, having seen what he would read every other day was newspaper articles. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Because it’s rather sophisticated, his way of storytelling is compelling.” He marked his page with a simple corner fold, and put it down to the side as he replied to Halina. “Besides, the vocabulary of such authors always fascinated me.”

She let a soft chuckle out, as she sat on the sofa that faced the fireplace. Of course, for a person like Mordecai, he’d be interested in works from such authors. His way of speaking almost becomes reminiscent of a work from fiction novels. 

“A Study in Scarlet is not one of his best works.” She brushed her hair, her words co-mingles itself with the fire crackle and the obstruction from her arms. “The Valley of Fear is a personal favorite of mine, have you read it before?” 

“I have not.” He brought up the cup of coffee that Halina put down earlier: A shot of espresso, nothing too special. “Rather, I’ve not had the time to read it.”

“If I had known, I would have given you that first. Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson’s legacy throughout his works leaves me interested, and inherently did to you as well.”

“Interest took hold of me as well. During this rather tragic weather, there was nothing else to do after all. Wes and Fish were called instead, and I was told to stay home with you.” He took a sip of his espresso, and the flavors muddled with the morning taste rather nicely. A good cup of coffee, he would deem it. Halina noticed his equally monotone expression subtly became relaxed, it’s a habit she picked up when she spent time with him for extended occasions. 

“You are still investigating that case with Atlas, aren’t you? Have you found any sort of leads?” She asked, curious as to why he’d spend time reading this book instead of back in his study.

“I have reasons to believe that there were aspects amongst the Atlas investigation that were left ambiguous.” He said with a disdain, as he had spent most of his down time shifting through the murder case of Atlas, his former boss. “The private investigators that I hired are brilliant yet they don’t seem to paint the whole picture. In turn I’ve resorted to-”

“Uncovering the scarlet thread that surrounded his murder, exposing it. Poetic, don’t you think?” She interrupted him, completing his sentence with a subtle nod to the book he had put down earlier. “A scarlet truth in this colorless world, don’t you think?”

[milquetoast27]

Charles Augustus Milverton [LFW]

"And yet I can't get out of doing business with him - indeed, he is here at my invitation."

Another count of Holmes obsessively wanting to be face-to-face with his criminals. Honestly he would be a criminology major if it were an available subject to study. Such a true crimer for real /affectionate

Holmes remarks on this in ILLU!

"I love to come to close grips with my man. I like to meet him eye to eye and read for myself the stuff that he is made of."

SERIOUSLY ARE YOU OKAY 😭

Watson, mentally: Days since Holmes has put himself in active danger: 0 (disgruntled face palm)

Big thing to mention in the beginning of the story, there is a LOT of out-of-character Holmes. But certainly not in a bad way! In a "oh fuck this is serious" kind of way. It's genuinely unsettling and it's what makes Milverton such a scary antagonist. Here are some examples:

• Holmes's rant after Watson asks who Milverton is, STEAMS of his boiling hatred and how furious the man makes him. He calls him not only "the king of all the blackmailers" but also "the worst man in London". We do not often see Holmes this angry 😧

I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret and reputation come into the power of Milverton! With a smiling face and a heart of marble, he will squeeze and squeeze until he has drained them dry.

What I find interesting about this passage, is that typically Holmes condemns Watson for the "poetry" in his descriptions in his stories. After all, a reasoner must see everything exactly how it is. But when Holmes's blood is boiling and he needs to illustrate exactly how he feels, sometimes only a snake metaphor will do! And after the rant?

I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.

basically Watson's saying "Oh shit".

Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixed upon the glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent and still.

Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.

Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand and looked at him with a face of granite.

Holmes being cold and antisocial here is very out-of-character in the canon. "Face of granite" is particularly unsettling here, since he is usually stoic and collected. He always knows what to do, and when he's THIS apprehensive, that familiarity of security is gone! He's face to face with simply another person and he's tense! That's how you KNOW shit's gonna get scary. Doyle did everything right here, to make Milverton a terrifying antagonist. 😭

Next point:

"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner." "Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's interests that I protested. The matter is so very delicate - " "Dr. Watson has already heard of it."

Both lines said by Holmes, I imagine that it was probably common ettiquette to use the formal name in front of guests/acquaintances, but the emphasis of using the name back to back like that has a more aggressive tone of, "It's Dr. Watson to you." and I just - 😭

Finally, just love this bit. The tension really picks up when the gun's pulled out and there's lots of shouting, and amidst it all -

I picked up a chair, but Holmes shook his head, and I laid it down again.

FOR THE RECORD, WATSON WAS PREPARED TO BEAT HIM UP WITH THE CHAIR. Good old Watson! If I may say so 🥰 seriously such an MVP.

That covers it for LFW CHAS part 1!

[ohmygillygoshoppler]

whats some shit you just made up about the saturdays?? (All characters, i dont give a fuck lmao)

Haha, I gotchu fam~ MAKESHITTHEFUCKUP-INATOR, ONLINE!!!!

Doyle's alcohol allergy. Lmao, just felt like fucking with you. No buzz for the rest of your days, Readhead.

ASD Beeman. All of us in the fandom locked eyes, shook hands, and shot him with the Beam. He's autistic. Sorry not sorry.

After the whole mess with Abbey, that Paris debacle, and trying to put Zak on ice, Miranda also gained the Depressed perk, and promptly retired. Get sad, nerd. Also, fuck you. Paul's Lycan family have pack-bonded with you. ope you like big beefed up dogs, beeyotch.

Paul had already been close with the scientists from the gate, but after the struggle of dealing with Kur and being at each others throats for months on end, Paul felt incredibly weird around the other scientists (save Miranda, who is like a sister to him, but we'll touch on that later..)

I would like to think Dr hibagon or whatever the fuck his name is would be trying to find a way to replace his body, but I also think it'd be cool if he stayed a giant monster with a weird dog. The man has to hae family thou, like he's got to have someone who's just back in japan like, "Wtf happened to my uncle dawg? Where is he??" *Sad face emoji* whatever, I'll think of something or another later. I just like the guy

Dr Bara was weird and silly and personally, no headcanons, I just wanna eat him up. Thank you. Also build more strange robots, sir. Love you.

I cant think of any more and I gotta bounce, so I guess just have these for now~! Thank yoooou~~ 🤞🏼💖✨