#I had to use my brainpower and I am very easily distracted

[troop52]

do u !!! have any character theme songs for the troop boys? Like any songs you think really fits them (and why u think it fits)?

THATS A GREAT QUESTION!!

Before I get into it Im going to plug this collaborative Troop Playlist on Spotify, feel free to add onto it!! Continuing with my picks

I think a lot of the songs I associate with The Troop in general are just because I happened to listen to them around the same time I got into the book in the first place (So they could only be tangentially related BUT only if you squint hard) Example: Drunk by The Living Tombstone, cant really tie it into the story but in my mind its linked Some better, more fitting songs under the cut (Side note its LONGGG IM SORRY... Also its all YouTube links because some of these arent on Spotify :'^()

Disclaimer -Like 95% of my choices arent really a "These lyrics match up exactly 1 to 1" but more of an overall "the vibe/general idea its trying to capture lines up" type thing. If that makes sense.

Its Alright by Jack Stauber: Kind of self explanatory, I think its a perfect song for these guys. From "It's alright, I'm here, Everything's alright, Feels weird but calm, I wanna hear It's alright" to the whole sound of it- its all great. Equal parts distressing and sad with an almost eerie calmness to it. Despite it all theyre gonna be alright, right?

The Second Little Piggy by Worthikids: Another one that I think is sort of self explanatory- at least with the chorus. "If my brain turns to mush, If the shit hits the fan, Will you be my friend?" Kind of the falling apart of everything, specifically their relationships, in light of the incident.

Poor George by James Supercave: Another case of "listened to at the same time I read the book" BUT I was actually making a Troop PMV script with that song. I never finished it but maybe Ill revisit it... just for you

Cold Summer by Le Matos ft Computer Magic: I dont even think this takes place in the summer but the VIBES and also it came from Summer of 84, which is another good piece of murder boy media.

Treehouse by Alex G ft Emily Yacina: This is a Eef and Max type of song because they are bffs and thats final. Basic song because Im not creative, but I think its a nice heart to heart theyd have (with Eef doing the talking)

Fifteen Minuets by Nick Krol: On the flipside heres a song that goes with Eef and Maxs friendship fracturing, once again more from Eefs side than Maxs. THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGG

As far as songs for the boys as individuals hmmm thats a good one that I havent thought about as much...

MAX + The Ghosts by The Real Tuesday Weld: That survivors guilt... lyrics arent like a perfect match but I think it gets that sort of hollow feeling across. Hes haunted man... + Final Girl by Electric Youth: Ok its a little funny because har har Final Girl Trope but I mean HE IS ONE. ANd dont look at me its a nice song- "Others were gone, and you kept going on, You know they never really noticed, you were always different, One by one, They're all done, And you're the last one standing" + Going Grazy by Lonesome Wyatt and the Holy Spooks: HONESTLY this could go for all the characters but Im tagging it onto Max because hes the one who has to deal with the aftermath of losing everyone (sorry survivors guilt Max again </3) "Everyone's saying my mind is unsound, 'Cause I always see you when you aren't around" "They're gonna wrap me in a jacket of white, And lock me away in a room without light" is what cements it as a Max song for me

EEF + The Existential Threat by Sparks: Once again starting sad, I link this one specifically to his paranoia about the worms- especially with lines like "Can't they see the existential threat is on its way". Kind of exasperated no one else can see the danger (he thinks) hes in. + Wrecking Ball by Mother Mother: I know I know its basic but I cant help it!!! Eef anger issues arc we are shaking hands me too + Haunted by Laura Les: Eef struggles with people seeing him as "just like his father" and I think we can get some good angst out of this track if we keep that in mind. Especially the back half of the song with lyrics like "Do you think I'm frightening?" and "Mirrors shatter when I'm passing, broken glass and crashing" since he is just a reflection of his dad (to others at least). Also song good.

KENT + Goodbye Mr A by The Hoosiers: Mfw the disillusionment with authority sets in. I think the vibe fits when he had that little epiphany about how adults are fucked- not perfect but it gets the idea across me thinks. + I'm Gonna Win by Rob Cantor: Ties into his need to "win" aka be the best at everything, be in charge, all that jazz! Hell do whatever it takes to be successful, even if it hurts. That was a little emo + Toba the Tura by Forgive Durden ft Chris Conley: Not to be emo again but "They say you're gifted, well I just see a scared kid. They must have flipped it, your skills are latent. O, you snuffed the glow. Replaced it with coals. Threw away the throne... This mess that you've made, it's a six-foot grave. It's a home for your lonesome bones that remain. We'll disappear, but you'll stay here to rot" AND SO ON AND SO FOURTH representing his fall after it was revealed he was sick. He was referred to as "the uncrowned king" and was on top of the world but then POOF that all crumbled and it was made out that he basically deserved what happened to him. It would be fun to make a pmv of him with this song (Simplifying my thoughts a bit because Ive already written a LOT)

NEWT + I Earn My Life by Lemon Demon: Ok a little Kentcore but Im actually having a hard time coming up with songs for Newton so here we are, they can share. Newt existential crisis moment time I guess + Know How by The Crane Wives: POV Newt struggles with going through with the plans he makes to keep everyone safe (stopping Max from touching Kent, going back into the cabin, etc) "I am not brave, I am not brave, I keep my focus on what is safe, You drew a line, made up your mind, And now I'm struggling to realize" And also maybe struggling with his place in the group and as a person in general- all that living through his cousin thing. "I gotta wrap my head around, What my heart is telling me, I've been trying to drown it out, Just because I know what I am, I am supposed to do now, Doesn't mean I know, Doesn't mean I know how" + On The Outside by Oingo Boingo: Idk man. Hes on the outside lookin in!! Loner nerd!! Its ok though, we still love him

SHEL + Bad Blood by Creature Feature: The lyrics speak for themselves: "I can guarantee I will do evil things, The only way that you can stop me now, Is if you put me in the ground, Somewhere I'll never be found" + Frontier Psychologist by The Avalanches: Hinges on the fact that the principal or whoever was like "Your sons a freak" and Shels mom was like "HES PERFECTLY FINE" while Shelley was like dismembering an animal or something + Johnny by American Murder Song: The songs good but theres this ONE LYRIC that sucks so the link provided is an edited version and also a lovely Warriors oc video I think you should all enjoy and support <3 Anyway Shel would be Johnny I could see this song being a scene in the book. Field trip to Shels house and they find his murder garden

If anyone wants more for Im not opposed to making another post :^)

[claraoswaldfics]

Halloween Night, part 2

(Continued from part 1)

It took me a few minutes and a good chunk of breakfast before my memories had lined themselves up in an order I recognised. And let me tell you, there was one memory in particular in there I’m surprised I ever forgot. I still get a rush thinking about it now.

I’d love to tell you I was a suave and charming flirt that night, or a beguiling seductress, because I can and have been both before. Seriously, give me a little black dress or a tailored suit and I am an irresistible force. I’ve wriggled into a cocktail dress and draped myself over a piano once. What I’m trying to say is I draw confidence from the way I dress and tonight I was dressed as a sixties cartoon character. 

But that wasn’t the only reason I was nervous. There was a girl; strike that, a woman; strike that, a flame-haired goddess sat next to me, and the two of us were in a taxi back to my place. She was also dressed as a Scooby Doo character, but maybe not for much longer.

We didn’t go back to Amy’s in the end. Mine was closer anyway, and Priya, traitor that she was, had actually arranged a backup Halloween party for her to go to should ours fall apart. That left my flat empty for the night.

I wouldn’t describe myself as calculating per se, although I have been accused of it, and looking after children and travelling with the Doctor (the same activity a lot of the time) does mean I’m working out plans in my head a lot of the time. But finding out that no roommates would be home that night meant I did find myself shamelessly plotting and pursuing the little turns in conversation that might take me and her to where I wanted us to go that night. 

I picture myself as a chess player, and not just because I really fancy female chess players.

The Doctor always says it’s a matter of picturing your goal on the other side of a chasm and building a bridge as you jump. The problem is that picturing my goal very much distracts me from the general architectural effort, to put it lightly.

As a result, I don’t remember much of the taxi ride. I was too focused on not making an absolute blubbering fool out of myself to delegate much brainpower to long-term memory storage. Conversation with intent to flirt is a challenge, and not one I’ve had the time to perfect. And while I may not have been my best witty siren self, but I hadn’t stuck my foot in it, and I’d even made her laugh a few times, although not as much as she made me laugh. 

If there were times when I felt in control, it was all because of her. She was cool, she was calm, and her smile could switch from wicked to understanding in an instant.

We didn’t kiss in the taxi. I really thought we might; the tension was certainly there and I did a lot of really top-level pouts on the ride. But she seemed intent on putting me at ease first. So we talked. We talked about all manner of things – her modelling work, November 1st hangovers, her first kiss with a woman; that last one didn’t have the calming effect she was going for.

“I’d tell you about mine,” I quip, “but you were there for it.” 

“If you want, I can be there for your second, too.”

I blinked; is this really happening? 

As if to confirm, her warm hand graced my bare knee.

I leaned in.

Then the driver knocked on the divider to tell us we’d arrived, shattering a potentially magical moment. 

Amy gave me a pat on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. She left the taxi and paid the driver while I was momentarily stuck in my reverie. I had half a mind to cuss him out there and then, but in retrospect, I may have inadvertently gotten my revenge by leaving a damp sweaty patch on his back seat.

After that the night stalled for a bit. 

I had some problem with the locks that took a few minutes of fiddling with my keys in the biting cold to fix. And Amy had to pee the moment she got indoors. My train of thought went off the rails for a bit here, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d hoped she would press me against the wall and stick her tongue in me the second the door closed behind us. But instead it had gone like this:

“I might just go and freshen up a bit.”

“Maybe I’ll join you”

“Oh. If I’m honest, Clara, I just meant I needed to use the loo.”

“I thought you were talking about the shower.”

“No. Do you need the shower?”

“No.”

“Do I need a shower?”

“No, you’re very clean. And you smell very nice.”

“So the toilet is…”

“Up the stairs, yeah.”

And then I shut up for a bit.

Was this a ploy? Was she using this chance to put on makeup and make herself look nice? Was she trying to look less like she was in fancy dress? Should I be doing the same – making myself look less like Velma? Or… more like Velma? Maybe she was into it? 

Or maybe… Had she drunk too much? Was that why she was on the toilet? Or maybe the alcohol was why she was with me here in the first place? No, she’d only had two, and she’d been very articulate in the cab (although don’t ask me what about). 

Why did I say “I’ll join you”?  Obviously she meant the toilet! Come on Clara. Get your head in the game!

And stop thinking about toilets, I told myself, or else…

Amy slunk back into the room, framed herself against the doorway and leant against the wall. She’d mussed her hair up a little, and the hem of her dress was further up her thigh than she’d worn it at the club. I’d paid a lot of attention to that hem.

“So,” she asked, in a low, Scottish, purr. “where were we?” 

“Um,” I replied, one leg already shaking, “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I… y’know…”

“Oh, sorry, of course.”

“It’s just we only have the one and I had a bit to drink…”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She cleared her throat. “Hurry back.”

Mood ruined. Again.

From atop the porcelain, I looked down at the flagging fabric around her ankles. Sorry, bi panties, tonight might not be your night. Not while fate is twanging my libido like a guitar string. Vibrating my every thought to a melody of rapture and anxiety. What I’d give for a moment of clarity!

Pulling myself together, I fixed my face for the second time in five minutes. Okay, so the tone of the night was currently a bit more bathroom farce than I’d have liked, but did that mean there was no way to salvage it? That I’d have to let the fire in my loins die out? Hell no!

In a stroke of what felt like genius, I lifted off my jumper and shed the layers beneath it, stashing both bra and top in the cupboard beneath the sink. As I pulled the jumper back over my head, I felt practically gift-wrapped.

(I then had a brief flirtation with leaving even the jumper off. I decided against it)

When I returned to the living room, breasts freer than usual, Amy had already made herself at home, adopting a very relaxed slouch across the sofa, and was waving a DVD box at me.

“We’re watching this”

I didn’t have time to object or ask before the screech of bats came from the telly. The DVD was already playing. With something approaching horror, I realised what film was in the machine. The live-action 2002 Scooby Doo movie. 

I questioned briefly exactly what percentage of this woman’s identity revolved around Hanna-Barbera productions, and how high that number would have to be to stop me fancying her.

“Oh, come oon, sit down. It’s a laff.” Amy propped herself up by her elbows. “Look, I know I’ve been winding you up a little, making you nervous, but…”

“I’m not nervous.” I spluttered. 

“It’s okay to be…”

“I’ve never been nervous”.

 “Right. Okay. Good.” I got the impression she’d seen through my act. “So why don’t you sit down and we can watch the film and not be nervous together?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” I nodded, and started walking.

“If you like, we can even not be nervous on the same couch.”

“Okay, yeah.” And again, after a pause “yeah.”

I sat down on the other side of the couch. Not presuming to touch her but not far enough away to make it look like I was distancing myself from her. I pulled down the hem of my skirt, then took it back in a bit, to be flirty, then took it back in again. I wondered if I was overthinking this, and then how many times I’d already asked that tonight. It was a lot, but did that in and of itself qualify as overthinking? 

Had Amy seen all of that? I gave her my best “everything is fine, I’m relaxed” smile, and she smiled back. “Sure you are,” she seemed to say.

We made a reasonable dent in the movie that night. My fears that Amy might turn out to be a rabid Scooby-Doo superfan were assuaged quite early on, as she kept asking questions over the top of it. Small talk like that did set me at ease a little more. Yes, that actress was in ER. No, the CGI hadn’t aged terribly well. I don’t know why Mr Bean is here either. That sort of thing. It helped that I happened to know a lot of trivia about films from around this time. Young Clara had spent a lot of time on trivia quizzes after she’d learned the electric joy that came with being right all the time. And right now that feeling of moderate control was really helping to steady the boat.

“Wine?”

Amy was very receptive to the idea. Thankfully, Priya had a bottle of red in her half of the kitchen (it was a whole political situation, don’t ask) that I was very happy to leave an IOU for. As shaky as my hands were, I could still easily uncork a bottle, and I managed to carry both glasses in without spilling a drop. We sat, more snuggled up than last time, and raised our glasses “to Scooby Doo!” Everything was going to plan.

“Do you think Shaggy says Zoinks when he orgasms?”

I spat out my wine.

“What??”

“He says it every time he’s even slightly scared. You expect me to believe he doesn’t say it…” and then her voice went spicy and French “...in flagrante?”

“Yes, but scared and horny aren’t the same thing?”

“Are they not, Clara Oswald?” 

She put down her wine glass and centred me in her double-barrelled stare. I was suddenly very aware of her height. Parts of me began to boil under her gaze. She was right. Oh god was she right.

“So tell me, what does Velma say, in the heat of it all, when the moment comes?” She drawled, darkly.

All of a sudden, there were no words in my brain.

A switch had been flipped. Amy’s hand was on my knee. More accurately, the very tips of her fingers were, and they were delicately making their way upwards. I gulped as they traced their way beyond my knee-highs and onto my flesh. She angled her approach so that as her wrist brushed the hem of my skirt, her palm was gracing my inner thigh. And she showed no sign of stopping.

I responded in kind, wrapping my right hand around the inside of her left knee, our arms crossing each other, mine over hers. If I moved my hand further in, so would she. The sensation of her cotton tights on my skin thrilled me, the fabric barely concealing her warmth beneath it.

“Mmmmmm.” The sound of her voice was much closer to my ear than I expected. As I turned my face, hers was already there. “Not so nervous now, are you?”

The warmth of her breath on my lips was too much for me to take. I leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. Her hand paused on my thigh, as if contemplating how to proceed, mere centimetres away from my panties. I couldn’t see her reaction, but I pictured her blinking in surprise, before feeling her press right back into my face. She was returning my kiss with abandon.

Beneath my skirt, I could feel the squeeze of Amy’s hand on my thigh and I broke the kiss to gasp. I swear I felt the curl of Amy’s lips into a smile as we parted.

“Now that’s not fair. I was going to kiss you first.”

“Well you’ve got to be faster next time.”

“Faster, yeah?” She beamed.

With that she swung her leg over and straddled my right thigh. Her hands fastened onto both sides of my face as we once again locked mouths. Every part of me was clamped by her warm embrace. It felt like returning home after a long, cold night. My hands quickly found work snaking through her hair, her roots bunching in the gaps between my fingers; my palm graced her cheek on her left, and my other hand soothed its way up the back of her neck, exerting a small pressure to keep her lips on mine.

Amy pressed forward, shifting me sideways on the sofa. Her leg had moved up my thigh and was rubbing right up against my mound. The heat from it radiated up and through me, stirring every sinew like mulled wine. It was like I had a second, lower heart, thumping down below, pulsing want and need through my body. 

I moved my hips up so she could feel like this too. The chub of my thigh encountered some elastic resistance from her tights, but I was soon met by a warm damp patch as I made contact. She responded like a vice to that and was soon rolling her hips up against me. I tensed my wide but muscular thigh in a rhythm with her and soon we were both just as wet as each other. And with every movement, our cores came closer and closer together, the hems of our skirts forced back above the waistline. 

All the while I was thinking, I’m doing it! There’s a girl on me and she wants me as badly as I want her! And now our boobs are touching! Oh my stars!

Almost as one, our hands pawed at each other’s backs and pulled our midriffs into contact. While Amy’s hands pressed down, hoping to circumnavigate under my jumper, mine found their way upwards, having located the base of a zipper on the back of her dress, and chasing the potential that offered all the way up.

As my fingers gently tugged at the plastic zip slider at the base of her neck, she pulled her face away, but no more than an inch. A string of saliva still connected our lips. I could still feel her heartbeat on every part of us that touched.

“Don’t touch that zipper.” She said, her voice a mix of steel and cheek. “Not yet. Not while I’m still having my fun.”

I had visions, let me tell you, of biblical, pornographic revelations on that couch. Desperate visions of Amy taking me right there and then, her flinging me back down onto the cushions and spreading my legs with her glorious caber-throwing arms, of her diving in and ripping my panties off with her teeth, eating me out with my jumper and skirt still on, her glorious mane clamped between my thigh highs.

The thought alone could have got me off.

But then I heard keys in the door. My eyes sprang open. My bastard Judas roommate was back. Damn you, Priya!

But Amy was on the case. “Bedroom?” She asked.

“Upstairs,” I replied.

I shooed her through the hall and up the staircase as fast as I could. When I had opened my eyes for that split second, Amy’s eyes had been right in front of me, focused and dilated. No doubt mine were the same. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. Though the stairs were nearby, there was no way to get up them without going past the front door, and sure enough.

“Who’s this, Clara?” Priya, always so smug.

“Shut up,” I muttered, still hurrying Amy upstairs.

I could hear the giddy smile on her face as she shouted up the stairs.

“Where are you off to with your friend, Clara?”

“Shut up!”

I could tell Amy was stifling a giggle. Probably tempted to turn around and introduce herself, maybe give Priya a little wave. I’m sure they’d have got on like a house on fire, but the making friends part of my brain wasn’t in control at that time.

“I’m so sorry about my roommate.” I said, shepherding Amy through the first door on the right. “She’s cool, I promise, but I don’t want to spoil the mood and...”

Amy wasted no time. As I turned to close the door after us, Amy was behind me, pressing me into the door, her hands snaking their way around my waist and her words slithering into my ear.

“Oh Clara.” She exhaled, before giving me two quick pecks on the neck. “I think I’ve teased you long enough tonight, don’t you?”

With that, her hands went to work. Before I could believe it, her left hand was up my jumper, and her right was beneath the waistband of my skirt. I gasped as the tip of her middle finger made its first contact with the absolutely drenched fabric of my underwear, and as her left hand found its way to my uncupped breast she let out an “mmmmmmm” of admiration.

“You sexy thing” she drawled, part of a honey trap before grabbing my breast in a tight squeeze.

I squealed.

She continued her conquest of my body. Kissing my neck. Circling my nipples. Massaging me over my panties. I was at her mercy and all the better for it. I pressed myself back into her, hoping to feel her warmth from every angle. I could feel her breasts against my back and her core against my arse, and she responded in kind, pulling me in and strapping me against her with her arms.

“Amy” I squeaked.

“Clara” she moaned.

She gave my nipple a cheeky twist and I momentarily lost all feeling in my legs. I stumbled backwards, but she effortlessly supported my weight against her. It barely slowed her down. The elastic of my panties thrummed over her fingernail as she explored further down. She kept playing my body like a cello and I was more than happy to sound out her music.

When I next opened my eyes, there was a mirror in front of me. I must have stumbled back further than I thought. But what I saw in it- for a second it was like a different person.

The woman in the mirror locked eyes with me. Her hair a mess, her breathing haggard and primal, escaping between a sigh and a whine. Her lover’s hands under her garments created a pale diamond of flesh, its north exposing her shivering ribcage and its south teasing the peak of her pubic mound, all of it glistening with sweat. Over her shoulder, a curtain of sleek red hair, as a blood red mouth devoured her neck. With every desperate breath, the woman’s body shook, positively writhing in ecstasy. 

And her eyes…

Pupils dilated, between rapture and fear, gazing into the sublime, on the crest of a revelation.

The woman is me.

The woman on her neck is my lover.

And I am so irrevocably, irrepressibly, incandescently gay.

There’s a wisp of cold air on my throat and I notice that Amy has moved, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She has a sly purse to her lips; she knows the effect her fingers are having on me and has no intention to stop. But I can see I’m affecting her too. I can sense it in the redness of her face, the pressure between her fingers and the synchronous rhythms of our hips. 

“Liking what you see, eh, Velma?” She teased.

“Oh shut up”

I’m going to claim it was the breathlessness in her voice rather than the name Velma that set me off, but whatever the reason, every part of my body switched into overdrive. Lust controlled me bodily. Gripping the back of her skull, threads of hairs through my fingers, I pushed her open mouth onto mine and slid my tongue straight in. 

For a split second, her hand on my clit was shocked out of its rhythm, but I wasn’t about to allow that. Something was building under my skirt and I was going to usher it out. My palm gripped the back of her hand and steered her back into tempo. My fingers, like hers, were instantly sodden and they glided frictionless back and forth over me. Faster… Harder… Building up. Building up...

Oh God I was so close…

“Amy” I moaned into her mouth, not for a second letting up on our kiss. “Amy, Amy, mmmmmmm, fuck, Amy.”

Her voice cut through everything, clear as day.

“Cum for me, Clara”

And I did. Oh how I did.

The ball of passion inside me erupted, rolling up my body at a spine-snappingly fast pace. It shot through to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes, before contracting my whole body in convulsions. I lost control of the hand on my clit, but Amy’s soldiered on, her fingers compelling waves and waves of pleasure out of me.

I would have shrieked her name, if I could think at all in those moments, but all that escaped my mouth were guttural grunts, rising, rising, rising in volume. For minutes, for hours - I’d never felt anything this intense in my life. It was like I was pure electricity, nothing but sensation, and it was you, Amy, you that did this.

My vision went white.

“Jinkies”

And then I slumped onto her like a ragdoll. 

End of part 2.

[ebaeschnbliah]

FIVE  YEARS  AGO  WHEN  IT  WAS  CHRISTMAS

________________________________________________________________

PLAYING A LITTLE MORE WITH SYMBOLISM

FIVE YEARS AGO IN SHERRINFORD SOMETHING HAPPENED …..  AND THEN SOMETHING BEGAN  …..  AND THINGS STRARTED TO CHANGE

MYCROFT: This is my fault.  Moriarty. SHERLOCK: Moriarty? MYCROFT: Her Christmas treat: five minutes’ conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago. SHERLOCK: What did they discuss? MYCROFT: Five minutes’ conversation …. unsupervised.

MYCROFT: There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government. JIM: What, for, like, really difficult sums, long division, that sort of thing? MYCROFT: She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorist attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter. That sort of thing. In return, however, she requires treats. Last year it was a violin.

EURUS: Look at the violin. SHERLOCK: I need to know how you escaped. EURUS: Look at the violin. SHERLOCK: It’s a Stradivarius. EURUS: It’s a gift. SHERLOCK: Who from? EURUS: Me.

_____________________________________________________________

JIM: This year? MYCROFT: Five minutes’ unsupervised conversation … with you. JIM: Me?!  With me?! MYCROFT: She has noted your interest in the activities of my little brother.

GOVERNOR: You gave her a Christmas present. Remember her Christmas present 

It’s obvious when it all started. Well, she was never the same after that Christmas. It’s as if you woke her up

What is known about Eurus Holmes:

Eurus is different. She knows things she never should have known. Is aware of truths beyond the normal scope. And she  is exceedingly curious. (She doesn’t like not knowing?)

The abilities of her mind are described as ‘incandescent’ since childhood. (Glowing white …. wow! Surely, some people would envy her)

The 'Redbeard-Incident’ happens. Sherlock - a very emotional child before -  changes completely.

Eurus doesn't know about pain. ('You never felt pain’ - 'You always feel it but you don’t have to fear it’)

Eurus is locked away on an island …  in solitary confinement …  for more than 20 years? (That sounds horrible and also exceedingly boring for a curious spirit like Euros. It also sounds like: 'solitary confinement is locking you up with your worst enemy’)

Eurus is too clever to be a prisoner of her own meat. (Sounds a lot like 'The brain’s what counts. Everything else is transport (PILOT))

Eurus remembers everything becaus she has a big enough hard drive. ('This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful … really useful’)

Eurus has a special effect on people. She is able to affect them. 'Enslaves’ them … one after the other. Obviously she was captivating and faszinating since eaarly childhood. Also Eurus is able to manipulate people into doing things. Even killing themselves. Anyone who spends time with her is automatically compromised

Her 'era-defining genius’ (beyond Newton!) is occasionally used by the Brit.Government to prevent crimes. In return she gets treats provided by Mycroft. (To reduce the boredom?)

Five years ago something draws her attention and she makes a special request. Eurus noticed Jim’s interest in Sherlock. Eurus asks for an unsupervised meeting with Jim. Mycroft allows it. He takes a 'calculated risk’.

Eurus tells Jim about 'Redbeard'  After that meeting Eurus 'wakes up’ somehow and she never is the same again as before.

Obviously Eurus knows about Sherlock. But how does she know about Jim? Wherefrom can she even know that someone like Jim exists and that he is interested in Sherlock?

As mentioned before I don’t think Eurus is a real person. She symbolizes Sherlock’s extraordinary brainpower but cut off from emotions and empathy. His  ability to 'read’ people like open books … see through them and deduce them. But grounded solely on logic and reason.

And the Sherlock of S1 seems to fit that profile on several occassions.

Finally getting the opportunity to chase after a serial killer feels like Christmas to him

John has to remind him that a woman lying dead is no fun

Sally mentions that Sherlock isn’t payed for his work - that he likes it - that he gets off on it. And she fears that someday he could be bored enough to commit a murder himself.

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate to torture a dying man to get some information

Sherlock is absolutely fascinated by the 'great game’ someone provides for him. He doesn’t care for the people with bombs strapped to their chests. The only thing Sherlock is 'delightfully interested in’ is the mystery of the clever cases … the thrill of the chase … the blood pumping through his veins … finally not being bored ….

All of this (and there is more to find) leads me to Jim

Brilliant, dazzling, charming, fascinating, colorful, unscrupulous, dangerous, wicked, evil, insane and sooooo changable Jim Moriarty.  Sure, Jim is a master villain who is responsible for many crimes but compared to people like Magnusson or Smith he still seems to be different. Despite all the darkness gathered around him, Jim doesn’t feel as creepy and disgusting as Smith or downright repulsive like Magnusson. Dangerous, deadly, annoying …. yes … but nontheless … different.

Sherlock describes his own profession as 'cosulting detective’. Jim calls himself a 'consulting criminal’. Both get bored easily. Both want to be distracted. Both enjoy the thrill of a clever game of wits.

And on the roof of St.Barts we get this dialoge:

SHERLOCK: … I am you – prepared to do anything; prepared to burn; prepared to do what ordinary people won’t do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you.

JIM: I see. You’re not ordinary. No. You’re me

I AM YOU  &  YOU ARE ME …..  DO YOU MISS ME?  …. 

MARTIN FREEMAN (Unlocking Sherlock at ca. 1.45): “Sherlock is like a shark”

STEVEN MOFFAT (ASIP Commentary Sherlock’s backstory: “The way [the drug use] sits in the original stories is to make him exotic, you know–that he’s a creature whose brain is so powerful that he needs stimulation–needs to be stimulated the way a shark needs to keep swimming forward to breathe, his brain must be active.”

MARK GATISS/ANDREW SCOTT (Sherlocked Panel, Question 20): “… as Andrew says, Moriarty is the dark side of Sherlock, he’s like a shark I think, just silently moving, constantly moving.”

If Euros isn’t a real person but symbolizes Sherlock’s brainpower cut off from empathy ….. how far fetched is it to assume that the same might apply to Jim Moriary? Have we been told and shown already multiple times that …

Jim symbolizes Sherlock’s dark side? The ruthless genius who lives just for the thrill of game? Who is constantly looking for distraction to avoid boredom? Who flirts with self-destruction on a regular basis?

BLOODHOUND AND SHARK …….  YIN AND YANG ……. LIGHT AND SHADOW ……. TWO FORCES INSIDE EVERYONE……. GOOD OR BAD ……. GREAT OR GOOD ……. IS THIS THE FIGHT SHERLOCK FACES IN THE STORY WE ARE SHOWN ?

And this brings me back to the start and to 'The final problem’. We are told that 'five years ago’ Eurus noticed Jim’s interest in Sherlock. That Euros desired Jim for Christmas. And that Mycroft took a 'calculated rist’ and allowed it.

WHAT HAPPENED HERE AND WHEN DID IT HAPPEN ?

'Five years ago’ based on what date? And what other things happened 'five years ago’? This show likes to repeat important words and phrases:

SOO LIN: I had hoped after five years maybe they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave.

SHERLOCK: Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where – five years ago – you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity

Two characters - Soo Lin and Mary Morstan - who are both Sherlock mirrors - changed their lives dramatically  'five years ago’. But there is a little more: 

JOHN to DI LESTRADE: You know him (Sherlock) better than I do.

Looks like Sherlock Holmes began working with the police five years ere he met John Watson …. five years ere this story starts with the case of 'The study in pink’. Five years prior to ASIP Sherlock’s life too changed dramatically.

And in THOB there is this little bit of Dialoge:

SHERLOCK: Oh, this is Mycroft, isn’t it? LESTRADE: No, look … SHERLOCK: Of course it is! One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to … to spy on me incognito

This suggests that it was Mycroft who established the contact between his little brother and Scotland Yard - with DI Lestrade as intermediary.

And what has all of this to do with Eurus, Jim and symbolism?

It is known that Sherlock has a past as drug addict

His brain is constantly in motion and needs stimulation … needs work

He is easily bored and then even prone to self-destruction

Eurus got a Stradivarius from Mycroft. Did Sherlock get one too? To keep his brain occupied?

Eurus noticed Jim’s interrest and desired him for Christmas. Does this mean:

Sherlock’s extraordinary powers of deduction noticed an interrest in the dark sides of life … in crime? Did he express his interrest in solving crimes? And big brother Mycroft took a 'calculated risk’ and established some connections? To keep Sherlock away from boredom and drugs? To keep Sherlock occupied in the times Mycroft himself had no need of his brothers deducing abilities? And Sherlock woke up and began spreading his wings?

Sherlock being able to set his restless brain to 'rea'l work. Soving puzzles and mysteries. It must have felt like Christmas to him. Excited and enthusiastic like a big child: Like little Archie is excited about headless nuns and maggots in dead peoples eyes (but not able to see the pain, the suffering and the tragedy of victims as well as their relatives and friends)  Sherlock becoming independent and self-employed … at least on the surface … and playing the sociopath to keep people and emotions at bay. Like Mycroft taught him since childhood: 'don’t get involved …. all lives end, all hearts are broken … caring is not an advantage’. Working with the police must have confirmed this sort of philosophy. Constantly dealing with the dark side of life … be it small or big crimes …. it surely must have left traces too.

But investigating real crimes, deducing all sorts of people for work must also have sharpened and honed Sherlock’s already extraordinary skills even more. And when he makes the acquaintance of a discharged army doctor who reacts completely different to his 'deduction thing’ ... that normally pisses off anyone else …. Sherlock is …. interested. He starts pondering things he never thought of before. He starts asking himself questions, like:

Is something wrong with me?  What made me like this?  Who do I want to be? 

And Sherlock sets out for the quest:  WHO  I  REALLY  AM

On this quest Sherlock learns a lot of things. He discovers the concept of empathy, friendship and love - symbolized by John. He meets his own sexuality - symbolized by Irene Adler (and it doesn’t matter that she’s pictured female). He recognizes his own biggest enemy, his dark side - symbolized by Jim Moriarty.  Sherlock even faces his drug addiction which bears the ugly face of Culverton Smith. And finally he unearths - deep inside himself - the reason why he is the man he is.

He faces Eurus. Supressed and held captive - cut off from empathy -  through cleverly applied mental manipulation. As mentioned above I think Eurus symbolizes Sherlock’s deduction skills. That what makes him unique. But also that, what must appear to most people as a terrifying, mosterous skill …. looking through people and reading them like books. Laying open all the carefully hidden secrets in mere secunds and without any emotion. And now …deep down in Sherrinford … Sherlock starts deducing himself through his own deduction skills … through Eurus. Eurus sets up several 'tests’ to evaluate Sherlock’s reaction … meaning …. Sherlock is 'testing' and evaluating himself and it feels like vivisection to him. But still he contiunes. It’s all about Sherlock’s buried emotions, his cut off empathy. Eurus is holding the mirror up to Sherlock …. meaning …. Sherlock forces himself to look in his own mirror. Recognizing how other people must see him but also recognizing who he himself really is. And realizing in the end what kind of man he wants to be in the future.

Eurus and Jim - 'they got on like a house on fire’

The ruthless gamer joined with cold reason and logic. Reckless and dark Jim who knows about dark things … the forgotten things … knows the truth about Redbeard because Eurus told him. Eurus needs Jim to pass on the message. And Eurus needs Sherlock help her escape trom her prison. From the cabbie Jeff Hope to the pool and to Bart’s roof - from the padded cell to the victorian waterfall - on dvd’s and TV screens - from 'E’ to Faith Smith - and finally to Eurus … Jim is always there. Miss me?  From Hope to Faith!

Jim is always there - circling the deep, dark waters - always prodding and poking, teasing and luring. Guiding Sherlock deeper and deeper inside himself? To Sherrinford and Eurus. And there Eurus (logic and reason) tells Sherlock that Jim is dead. Has Eurus killed him? How? Eurus can kill with words, we are told. Did she talk to Jim and then he killed himself? Like Sherlock talked to Jim on Bart’s roof and then Jim shot himself?

That reminds me of the cabbie Jeff Hope in ASIP:

JEFF: I didn’t kill those four people, Mr. ’olmes. I spoke to ’em … and they killed themselves. An’ if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing. I will never tell you what I said.

Someone who talks to people and then they kill themselves? Sherlock is more than eager to lay his hands on this special case. He feels like it’s Chrismas. And at the end Jeff Hope reveals that Jim had been his sponsor. Coincidence?

But the most interesting thing is this:

The PILOT goes a complete different way. There is no Jim Moriarty in the picture at all and Jeff Hope has quite a differnet strategy. He offers his victims the choice to choose one of two pills and threatens them to force it down their throats in case they refuse. Quite simple.

Looking at the PILOT as the 'real’ story and ASIP as the first episode of Sherlock’s inner evolution …

…. isn’t it interesting that Sherlock’s subconscious mind supplies him right at the beginning with a case where the killer claims he is able to talk his victims into suicide? Which turns out to be a lie because Jeff Hope uses a fake gun to force his victims to take the poisoned pill. It’s just Sherlock he lures into his cab with this incorrect claim. And Sherlock can’t resist the mystery. Can’t stand 'not knowing’ …. and takes the ride. There it beginns …

If Eurus has really killed Jim then …

Logic and reason have eliminated Sherlock’s dark side

But I wonder if this is really true. Judging by the picture of bloodhound and shark on the T-Shirt  - portrayed very similar to the sign of Yin and Yang - I dare to doubt it. Maybe the shark belongs to Sherlock’s personality after all -  just like the bloodhound. Maybe he just has to find the right balance between light and shadow … between Yin and Yang. Because I just can’t picture a Sherlock Holmes who is not thrilled by the prospect of an intricate mystery, turned on by the chase, the blood ppumping through his veins … with John at his side.

I always know when the game is on!  Because I love it!

Ending this with Professor Dumbledor’s wise words:

“We’ve all got both light and dark inside us, what matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

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Reblogging this post from January because 'something' seems to have 'devoured' the original one. Thankfully there are such things as copies. :)))

January, 2017