#That is what I mean by normal people didn't get what Sherlock was doing but any with medical knowledge would and they would be afraid

[shieldofapollo]

Thank you. I had a whole fascination with Sherlock Holmes for a while. It's the only reason I know about the Sherlock Society. Also, don’t ask me how I know this; I think it’s because of my work in drug rehabilitation. But cocaine only lasts for about 10 minutes.

Oh my gosh, Tim would try to join them pass all the tests to call them losers. Sorry, my mind went to the fact that there is an official Sherlock fan club. And just how much of Entitled Elite they are.

Oh yes, I agree that Sherlock's issue was not solely the drugs; it was that he was so consumed by them that he resorted to making his own. Now that you’ve explained it, I realize I have fallen into Jason's trap. I can now envision Tim secretly reading the books. He either hates John Watson or loves him because he reminds him of someone special. There's also the caffeine pill incident where Dick almost takes one, and everyone is trying to stop him.

Darn me so Tim minded. Well now you know if I fall for so would Tim. So good job.

Tim Drake has a hatred for Sherlock Holmes, has he ever read the books? No but his dad used to insultingly call him Sherlock as a kid when he was being too nosy or curious and now even when people say it as a compliment it just irks him

Jason being the resident classic literature nerd is dead set on at least having Tim read the books so he can either A. Actually like the books and accept that Sherlock is actually a pretty cool guy to be compared too, or B. Give actual tasteful criticism and insults based on the contents of the book

Jason could care less which happens he’s just tired of Tim ranting about his hatred for Sherlock despite not knowing a thing about Sherlock

——

Tim: Sherlock this, Sherlock that, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that stupid hat

Jason: The hat really isn’t even mentioned in the books, You’d know if you read them

Tim: I’m not reading them, they really can’t be that good in fact Sherlock was so bad even his literal creator wanted nothing to do with him

Jason: Your dad wanted nothing to do with you and you’re still a pretty good detective

*Cue Dick yelling at Jason cause “that wasn’t nice”

[etherealily]

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 2 : 9 Lives

Part 3 : Blessed

Part 4 : Shards

Part 5 : Eighteen

Part 6 : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breaching every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what you thought he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffle bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

[strangesthirdeye]

ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ (sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ x ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: Born in a wise family does not mean that one person is the same.

Warning: IT'S SHERLOCK AS A DAD! WE LOVE HIM! medium angst, sad, not so bad achievements, stress, Sherlock being a great dad, struggling to achieve better results, comparison, inadequate feeling, fluff, love.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not good enough. That's what you think in your mind when you see the exam trial results on the school's official website. Passed but not enough. No A's, no B's but lots of C's. That's it. Passed but did not achieve excellence.

You don't know whether to feel relieved, happy or sad. Because all the feelings are mixed inside you. You just stare at your laptop screen with a blank face. Is this what you got after a long effort? Is this the result of your hard work? What is missing? what needs to be added? what else do you need to do to get the best results?

More importantly, is this the result you will show your father in the hope that he will be proud of you? You are just dreaming. Your body doesn't move and everything is quiet in your bedroom. Only the sound of your father's and John's voice can be heard in addition to the sound of traffic outside the flat. You let out a shaky breath and slowly closed your laptop. eyes are closed tightly and both your hands are clasped in front and placed on your face. You then lean your head on your hands.

Tired, disappointed, sad and the feeling of failure in yourself is bubbling up in your mind. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Born in the Holmes family that has intelligent family members makes you feel like you are the lowest in the family. Although your grandmother is a genius woman, you are only close to your grandfather because you feel that your grandfather is the most normal person for you because he understands and is quite familiar with everything. No wonder you'll just stick with your grandfather every time you go to Musgrave Hall.

Not only that, Your uncle Mycroft and your father inherited your grandmother's wisdom making them a successful and genius in all things. Your uncle Mycroft works with the Government while your father is a consulting detective. Isn't that work only for geniuses?.

After a few months of hard work that's all you got? What will your father say later? did he scold you because you didn't get the best results? Oh god, now you think you are the weakest in terms of wisdom in the Holmes family. Lots of your friends get the best results in their exams even though they don't have genius family members. But you?

you sighed in frustration before getting up from the chair and plopped down on the bed face first before wrapping your head with both of your arms as if you were trying to hide yourself. You father and uncle John are still arguing about God knows what. Probably about the cases they receive. You are not someone who likes to know about other people's affairs. It's just none of your business so you just leave it alone.

But right now you care about what your father would say and do if he knew your achievements. Your bad performance.

The arguing between two adult men seems to have subsided, which makes the flat peaceful and quiet. Probably they are tired of arguing again so they just decided it would be better if they both shut up. At least you have time to cool down from feeling disappointed and anxious.

The two men seemed to be whispering about something that you can't catch with what they are talking about which is okay because well it's probably about cases. You don't always follow them solving a cases because that's not what you're interested in. And one more thing, you don't possess deduction ability like your father so you think you better stay behind. You let out a small sigh that seemed almost to cry.

Yes, you are crying but you don't want your cry to be heard by the two grown men outside your room. Your father is not the kind of man who always shows his affection to others, which is a little difficult for you to deal with. So mostly all your problems will be told to John as John always gives good advice.

You raised your head and wiped your tears with your sleeve before returning to your position before. Maybe you were too busy crying because you didn't hear the knock on your door followed by your father's voice calling your name.

"Y/n, dinner is ready" Sherlock said behind the door.

"In a second!" you replied loudly, managing to hide the hint of sadness.

The other side is silent Probably your dad has gone. You sighed heavily before getting up from the chair and brushing yourself with your hands trying to get rid of the wrinkles on your shirt. You wipe your tears with the sleeves of your shirt several times. You saw your face in the mirror, you sighed again when you noticed that your eyes were red and slightly swollen from crying. Well, you can't hide this.

"Dammit" you cursed under your breath. Ignored that, you moved yourself toward the door.

There your dad is standing motionless in front of your door with his neutral face. You jerked in shock and took a few stepped back. You looked up at him in skepticism.

"What are you doing?" You frowned, looking down, wiping your wet cheeks with your sleeves.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowed at you. " you've been crying"

"I'm not" you denied, walked past him after trying to close you door room but then Sherlock put his hand on your door room with his hand. Blocking the door slammed shut.

"You are" Sherlock replied, walking into your room, ignoring your protested. His eyes scanning your room, looking through the cause of your sudden emotion. His eyes suddenly stopped at your laptop that still on. He bowed slightly to looked at you laptop screen, he squinted his eyes at the brightness.

You pursed your lips. "dad, can we just-"

"what's this?" Sherlock muttered, eyes still focusing on the screen.

You were silent. Not brave enough to answer what your father asked. It's like the sentence you wanted to say has disappeared like dust in the wind. Nothing. Your mind goes blank.

Sherlock turned his gaze on you. "Y/n"

"It's-" you paused. "can we just have dinner? please" You pleaded.

"Why are you hiding this?" Sherlock replied, ignoring your previous question.

You are silent again. Sherlock looked back at your exam results.

"Yo-"

"I've tried my best!" you cried out.

Sherlock became silent upon hearing your confession.

"I tried but it's still the same. I studied day and night really hard but it's the same. All those revisions and studying I did didn't yield the results I thought. It's like I'm destined to fail in everything even though it's very simple. Seeing my friends getting good results and being able to make their family proud makes me wonder if I can make my family proud, especially my own dad. I mean, he's a detective and he's very smart. He probably has a daughter who is also smart like him but not. His daughter is just a teenage girl who works really hard to fail again and again. Why? Because she does not possess the same wisdom as her other family members. She just.. Normal" you confessed.

Sherlock stared at you for a moment. You pursed your lips as you tried not to cry, tears started to form on your eyelids. You looked at your dad who was still silent and stared at you with an unreadable reaction. You sighed.

"nevermind about that.. I'm just overreacting.. I'm too emotional. You don't need to do anything.. I can handle it.. I'm just going to dinner" You walked closer to your study table to close the laptop .

Sherlock grabbed your hand making you stop moving. You pulled your hand to let go but you dad just tightened his grip making you stop struggling. You suddenly feel like crying. You don't know why you suddenly felt like you were returning to the body of a little girl under his gaze.

"Sweetie.."

Hearing that old nickname you were given as a child brought tears to your eyes. Sherlock then pulled your body closer to him. Hugging you as if you were still a child. A little girl who is always tailing her dad no matter where.

You sniffles as Sherlock rubbed your back a few times to coax you. He may not be good at expressing his sentiment towards others but he will show it in his own way even though it is a bit eccentric but he tried.

" I know you work hard to make dad proud, I know you spend time studying to achieve good results. I know you are always smart but in your own way. Failing is not forever, you can try and try again. Even if you don't being good at something doesn't mean you can't try to succeed. I don't care if your results are lower than your classmates or you don't get the high results you want, you still make me proud, you are still able to stay standing even though reality doesn't allow it. Being a Holmes doesn't mean you have to be intelligent. You are you. You have your own way of expressing your wisdom to everyone. Even though the exam results disappointed you, it still made me proud" Sherlock said in your ear as he keeps rubbing your back.

" I'm scared that you're disappointed with me.." you muttered while sniffling.

"No I don't, you will never disappoint me. I know you will try and try to succeed. I may seem not to express any sentiment to others but I will show it in my own way. Especially when it comes to you" your dad replied as he kisses your crown of hair.

You nuzzled against his neck. "I don't know what to do if you are disappointed with me, that's why I try to hide it from you.. I'm sorry"

"No, don't be sorry for things you can't achieve. You've tried, I won't be disappointed or angry with you. If I'm angry and upset with you, probably your uncle John will shoot me in the head with his gun" Sherlock smirked.

You smile at that as you keep hugging your dad. Head nuzzled against his neck finding comfort in his arms.

"I love you, dad" you whispered early, loud enough for your father to reply.

"I love you too, sweetie"

[jawnscoffee]

hiiii

after AGES, i‘ve finally gotten back into writing *yayyy*

this is a sequel to the oneshot Serenity After the Turmoil by @lisbeth-kk (go read it!!! It‘s such a lovely idea) aaaand yeah :) it would mean the world to me if you checked it out!! (also, hope you like it 🙉)

Serenity After the Turmoil (part 2)

Even though the living room light was dimmed, John had to squint his eyes as he walked towards the door, which revealed what lay behind it with a small gap. Luckily, he'd oiled the door pins a few weeks ago, because it would have been really unfortunate if its loud squeak had interrupted the gentle melody Sherlock was playing.

John carefully opened the door a little further and then stopped. Sherlock was standing in his usual place when he played the violin, with his back turned to him. John had often wondered why he always played in front of the window - if people saw him showing off his double chin, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on any notes. Not that he could read sheet music - he was about as musically gifted as a whining dog. And double chins weren't a bad thing - actually, most people had them. Except Sherlock. He didn't have a double chin, as John knew, even though he couldn't see his face right now. And his musical talents more than surpassed his own. His blue dressing gown swayed gently with the soft movements he made as he played, seemingly absorbed in the music. Until he suddenly stopped moving, put the bow between his teeth (or at least that's what it looked like from behind) and pulled a pencil out of his pocket with his free hand and scribbled something on the sheet of paper on the music stand.

"You don't have to stand so stiffly in the doorway, John."

Of course Sherlock had noticed that John had come. What else.

John cleared his throat, ignoring the warmth slowly rising up the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you," he said, taking a few awkward steps into the living room.

Sherlock just shrugged and mumbled something unintelligible before slipping the pen back into his coat pocket and turning round. His dark curls looked a little more messy than normal, indicating that he had been in bed, but his eyes were wide awake.

"Did I wake you?" John asked, guilt creeping up inside him. Maybe he should just get some sleeping pills. Or wait, he was a doctor himself. Maybe he should just prescribe-

"No, I couldn't sleep either," Sherlock replied, shaking his head. "And then I heard you...", he seemed to search for the right word for a moment, "...making noises from your room that didn't sound like you were having a good dream."

John lowered his eyes, unable to stop the heat from rising in his cheeks, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind the obvious reference to sex dreams.

"Since it calmed you down the last time I played the violin, I figured I might as well use a sleepless night to do it again," he continued unaffected, shrugging again.

John had now raised his gaze again and didn't know what to say for a moment. So Sherlock had actually heard him and played the violin for him. To calm him down. Wow.

"I, um..." John put a hand on the back of his neck and cleared his throat again. "Thank you," he then said. "What you played was really nice. Did you write that?"

Suddenly it was Sherlock who seemed a little uncomfortable in his own skin, because he lowered his eyes and placed his violin and bow beneath his armchair.

"Yes. In a way," he then said. "It's inspired by…someone."

"Someone?" John asked in surprise, raising his eyebrows. "Are you going out with someone?"

[cushfuddled]

I saw your Sherlock post from a couple of weeks ago just now and lol greetings from the other direction. The show died for me in season 3 when Sherlock tricked his only friend into thinking they're about to die in an explosion so John HAS to forgive Sherlock for... what is ultimately another mean trick against that friend (Reichenbach), which Sherlock didn't do to save John/Mrs. Hudson/Lestrade since Mycroft had that covered, but only because he thought John would blab. AauuuGGGHHHH.

DUDE I am passing you an "I survived Sherlock BBC" T-shirt through the screen.

Also.

YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY "SHERLOCK BBC IS A TOXIC YAOI SIMULATOR" TRAP CARD! WOE, A SHERLOCK BBC VENT BE UPON YE!

What pisses me off is that, like, Moftis could've leaned into the bullshit at least. They could've made it a CHOICE.

IMO Sherlock BBC was a horror story about homophobia and codependency. Moftis made it very clear that John is "addicted" to conflict; to danger; to Sherlock. Throughout the show John furiously stresses his heterosexuality to anyone who'll listen. He breaks himself to conform to a "normal life" with a woman and a child and a steady job. But he can only play pretend for so long. I'll never recover from that wildly on-the-nose scene where John goes to sleep next to his wife and dreams about Afghanistan (a parallel to the first scene of episode one) and his life with Sherlock.

SHERLOCK (in the dream): Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths? JOHN (in the dream): Enough for a lifetime. (In the Watsons’ bedroom there’s a pounding sound nearby, as if someone is knocking on the front door.) SHERLOCK (in the dream): Want to see some more? JOHN (in the dream): Oh, God, yes. (The banging sound comes again and John jolts and sits up in bed. Half asleep, in his mind’s eye he can see Sherlock looking intensely at him.) SHERLOCK: The game is on. (He smiles.) (John wakes up properly and throws back the covers.)

This transcript neglects to mention the shot of John ripping his hand from his wife's as he races out of the bedroom. He throws the front door open, and expresses clear disappointment when it's not Sherlock on the other side.

John DESPERATELY wants to be a normal heterosexual dude with a normal heterosexual marriage, but he can't escape his nature.

SHERLOCK (louder, talking over her): John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You’re abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people … (his voice becomes quieter again) … so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you’ve fallen in love with conforms to that pattern? (John grimaces briefly and then, with his eyes still fixed on Sherlock, he points towards his wife at the other side of the room.) JOHN (his voice full of suppressed tears): But she wasn’t supposed to be like that. (Mrs. Hudson looks across to Mary in shock. Mary lowers her head.) JOHN (to Sherlock, pointing again across the room, his voice a little stronger): Why is SHE** like that? (Sherlock looks away towards the sofa wall for several seconds and then turns to look directly into John’s eyes.) SHERLOCK: Because you chose her. (John stares back at him, his face unreadable. Sherlock holds his gaze. Finally John turns away, speaking conversationally.) JOHN: Why is everything … (he walks towards the dining table, holding up a questioning hand and shrugging) … always … (his voice raises to a loud shout) … MY FAULT?! (He furiously kicks one of the dining chairs across the floor. Mrs Hudson jumps and flails. Even Sherlock jumps a little, but Mary remains still.)

**The unspoken sentiment here is "I did all this to get away from you/what you represent. Mary was supposed to be normal. She was supposed to make ME normal. So why did she turn out to be just like you?" And of course Sherlock goes, "Because you are YOU, and YOU chose her." No matter how hard John tries to be a different person with different needs, at the end of the day he's still John Watson, and John Watson can't help but want what he wants. As furious as he is at Sherlock and Mary, John is ultimately more furious with himself for his inability to shapeshift into a "normal" man who doesn't need the war/Sherlock.

As the series went on, it got harder and harder for me not to read John's outbursts as him taking out his self-hatred/internalized homophobia on Sherlock. John fucking HATES how much he loves Sherlock. He HATES that he needs Sherlock in his life. He HATES that he couldn't find happiness with a normal life and a normal wife. Sherlock tore John's shot at normalcy away from him. He is the face of everything John can't stand about himself. And so we end up with this:

And then...holy fuck, Sherlock's not exactly a ray of sunshine either. Like you pointed out, a part of Sherlock enjoys putting John through these cruel, elaborate life or death simulations. It would've been easy to construe a scenario wherein Sherlock HAD to keep John out of the loop post-Reichenbach, but Moftis opted for a much more fucked up timeline where Sherlock let John believe he'd committed suicide for years because he...kinda wanted to fuck around Europe on his own for a while? Or didn't trust John to put on a good show?

I can massage the story enough to like, come up with a kinder excuse. If John were to find out about Moriarty's web he'd bite and claw his way to Sherlock's side like he always does, and that would put John's life (even more) at risk (a la Sherlock's eventual capture). Maybe on some level Sherlock understood John's desire to escape, too, and thus opted to "free" John from his leash.

It's more difficult to soften Sherlock's decision to reenter John's life when/how he did.

If memory serves...since the show premiered, Sherlock seemed like he was always on the lookout for new and creative ways to hurt himself (whether on John's behalf, for the sake of "the game," or as a kind of release valve for his pain).

Sherlock's constant need to sacrifice (or punish) himself conflicts with his hunger for John's approval. Sherlock would die for John's happiness...but he also needs John around to make him feel smart/loved. He likes to keep John in the dark until the last possible second—to put John in situations that leave him totally at Sherlock's mercy/dependent upon Sherlock's brilliance—to more or less blunt force engineer these moments of awe and intimacy. He's addicted to John as much as John is addicted to Sherlock, and sometimes that manifests in grand gestures of selfless devotion...and sometimes it manifests in fucked up manipulation games that reassert John's dependence on Sherlock/Sherlock's control over John's life.

So yeah. It's all very fucky IMO. And I wouldn't have suddenly loved the show if Moftis had leaned into that reality, but at the very least I'd have felt a lot less gaslit lmao. Sherlock BBC beat me over the head with the toxic yaoi paddle only to scream at me, "THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS AND THEY WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER AND YAY AREN'T YOU HAPPY THEY'RE SUCH A GREAT TEAM YAY IT'S ALL GOOD THEY MADE UP AND THEY'RE GOOD NOW IT'S GOOD FOREVER AND EVER YAY!"

Like I'm sorry, but that finale was not a happy one. It wasn't even bittersweet. It was tragic. Mary literally ends the show with, "Who you really are doesn't matter. It's all about the legend." Sherlock and John represent a refuge to people, Mary says. Their story represents hope. We're told the manipulative, miserable, codependent mess of Sherlock and John's reality "doesn't matter." What matters is the front they present to their audience. If I thought this doublespeak was intentional, I would've applauded Moftis for their commitment to the bit at least. It takes balls to look at a legendary package deal like Doyle's Holmes and Watson (I cannot stress enough how cottage-core soft these two are with each other) and say, "What if I made that relationship super fucked up?" But the whole show stinks of empty promises, like Moftis MEANT to tell a story about a fraught but ultimately beautiful (platonic) partnership. What we GOT was a gay horror story about two very traumatized guys who couldn't escape each other's gravitational pull. I mean...pick a lane. Don't TELL me these two love each other like a couple of pals and then SHOW me John catapult between yearnful dreams of Sherlock's face and like, punting Sherlock's broken body into a wall of metal lockers.

Okay, rant over HHHHHHH

[ghost-guard-13]

You Have My Sentiment, My Affections, and My Every Reguard

Sherlock Holmes x John Watson

Summary: Sherlock realizes he is in love with John, so he distances himself because surely he wouldn't feel the same-

John isn't having any of it.

Sherlock had come to the dreadful conclusion that he loved John Watson.

And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd deduced that he was also in love with him.

He'd carried sentiment for people before of course. An awful, taxing thing that made sure he'd pay the price. And he did, time and time again. He'd felt affection and fondness towards them as well, a strange twist in his gut different from when he was ill or everything about himself just felt wrong for even just a few hours. But never before had he felt this thundering, fluttering, blustering stutter of his heart every time John so much as looked his way or did anything even slightly endearing.

So, as he was taught to do by Mycroft and encouraged by himself, he began distancing himself. He quieted himself around the man, making excuses to leave the room or ignore him completely.

And John, the brilliant, wonderful man that he was, was catching on.

At first he just chalked it up to one of Sherlock's silent periods where he didn't see the point in talking or physically couldn't for hours - sometimes days - on end. But it had been two weeks of minimal interactions and snapping responses his flatmate usually only reserved for the folks at Scotland Yard.

So John began to wonder if he'd done something wrong, rubbed Sherlock the wrong way, came on too forward - which he wasn't sure was possible, with how oblivious the man was to normal social cues.

It only got worse when they were on a case. Sherlock would put effort into avoiding John, constantly keeping himself in check and trying to stay guarded. When he would begin his usual enthusiastic ranting, he would catch himself in the middle of a word and pinch his lips closed, looking away from him before finishing his thought with a final few words. Those words usually being "nevermind" or "ignore me".

And so here they are, one month after Sherlock's revelation, standing on opposite ends of their flat at 221B Baker Street and bickering like feral cats. Or an old married couple. Take your pick.

"What is your problem? Have I done something wrong? What was it?" John asked, desperately searching for an answer.

Sherlock had distanced himself behind a dining room chair, eyes darting around the room and fingers digging into the wooden back before twitching and flexing, repeating the process in his distress.

"Not a problem John. No problem. Why would there be an issue?"

"Well obviously there is!"

"It's fine John. Really, it's nothing."

"Sherlock-"

"It's nothing!" The man insisted irritably, rocking back and forth from behind the chair, eyes trained down and away, burying the urge to begin pacing because that could lead him closer to John and he wasn't sure what would happen if he did. His gaze flicked from his chemicals sitting on the counter to the rain pounding on the flats window, the repetitive sound both grounding him and setting him even more on edge. But he kept his eyes away. Anywhere that wasn't John's glistening blue eyes that always struck Sherlock Holmes in a trance.

"It's not nothing! You've been ignoring me and pushing me away! You're shutting yourself off and at this point being plain cruel! I tried to give you space but it's getting ridiculous!"

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from apologizing and explaining and exposing his disgusting desires.

"I'm your friend, mate, you can tell me anything." John coaxed after another minute of silence, seeing as he wasn't getting anywhere.

"I can't." He blurted, slightly quieter but just as insistent as his previous outburst.

John stopped short, hurt and desperation clawing behind his eyes.

"What do you mean you ca-"

"I just can't! I can't- I can't-"

Sherlock was working himself into a meltdown, his shouts turning into a stuttered mumble as he stared at his hands, his rocking much more obvious now, going from his heels to his toes, one hand leaving the back of the chair to bury itself painfully in his disheveled curls.

"Can't what, mate?" John asked softly, taking the gamble and slowly beginning to approach Sherlock. "Sherlock it's alright, I promise I won't get-"

"Hm, you can't promise. You can't promise not to be mad, not about this."

John's veins felt frozen over.

"What do you mean? Sherlock what did you do?"

"I didn't though! I didn't and I won't and I can't, I can't, I can't-"

"Sherlock," John tried to sooth as he would a child, voice calm and soft despite the tightness in his throat, the worry strangling his lungs. "I promise. You can tell me. What can't you do?"

Sherlock had surrendered his chanting to simply shaking his head aggressively, neck curved where he pushed his chin into his chest, eyes squeezed shut in a poor attempt to leave this conversation behind.

John wasn't giving up so easily.

Pushing himself from the spot he had rooted himself to when noticing that Sherlock was distancing himself in the beginning of the evening, John took long, deliberate steps towards the consulting detective, putting effort in making his expression calm.

"Sherlock." He called out again, now just on the other side of the table, standing behind a dining chair of his own. His friend just shook his head. "Sherlock, please." He allowed vulnerability in his voice, let the tears stinging the back of his eyes well forward but remain unshed.  He allowed it because it hurt and he needed Sherlock to know he cared.

"Please, just open your eyes at least. Please, just look at me." As if physically commanded to do so, Sherlock opened his eyes, peering up at John with tears gathering at the edges of his lashes, but not one was permitted to fall. The tactic of being aloof in the beginning of their growing argument had fallen long ago, now replaced by nothing but fear and hurt.

It took John off guard, because his friend was usually so good at hiding his emotions, so insistent that he didn't even have any to begin with. A 'high functioning sociopath' as he called himself. But John had seen sociopaths, worked with them, and he knew that Sherlock was far, far from being one. He knew that Sherlock felt so much and felt so deeply, but wouldn't ever admit it. Wouldn't let himself acknowledge this because it wasn't important.

John wanted to call bullshit.

"Sherlock, whatever it is, I won't be mad. I care about you so much. You're my best friend, mate. Whatever it is, you can tell me. Anything at all." John took a moment to steel himself, breathing deeply through his nose. "Sherlock, what can't you-"

"I can't stop thinking about you!"

And then it was like someone had stolen the breath straight from his lungs, his brain going just a bit fuzzy.

"I can't stop thinking about how selfless you are, or how careless you can be with your own life. I can't stop thinking about how much you care, or how good you are, or just how hard you try. I can't stop thinking about how brilliant you are John. How smart and clever and quick you are. You're so strong and determined and kind and it's frankly overwhelming." Sherlocks voice broke away then, his eyes darting across the room, knuckles white against the wood. But now that he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop.

"John, you are just so good, and- and I hold your opinion very dearly. You are quite literally the only person I can stand having around every hour of every day. You don't bore me, you don't aggrivate me, and somehow, for some reason, you've stayed. You've stayed through all of my moods and unsavory tendencies. You've helped me on cases when literal detectives are just as useless as civilians with zero experience. You've helped me when no one else would have bothered. You- you've never given up on me.

"Even now- this last month, today, I've treated you horribly and still you- you stayed. You gave me space because you know I have a tendency to to ignore everything and everyone around me. But you kept trying and I just kept pushing you away but you didn't leave. You stayed and you fought and you demanded answers and- and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, John. I haven't been able to stop thinking about how much I love you."

The tears had fallen by this point. The tears had fallen a long time ago, tracking down both of their cheeks, irritating both of their eyes and suffocating both of their chests.

John stood at a loss for words, just as many questions being answered as they were appearing in Sherlock's head. His mouth was agape, mind grasping for at least one of his racing thoughts so he didn't have to watch his friends growing hurt and regret appear before his very eyes.

Because he wasn't just his friend. He wasn't just his best friend and flatmate and coworker. Sherlock was  a brilliant man that meant the world to him. He was blunt and sarcastic and felt too much but showed too little and didn't care how others felt about him but cared so much what John thought. Cared so much how John felt, how he worked, and relied on him to explained metaphors he didn't understand and pick up on cues he couldn't deduce and to get a second opinion when John replaced his human skull on the mantal that fateful day he decided to agree to a flatmate.

Most of all, Sherlock was his family. He was like a second half, his soulmate, if he were to believe in such things. Sherlock Holmes was John Watson's everything.

And John Watsons everything was currently shrinking in on himself and drawing his own conclusions because he still hasn't said anything.

Heart clenching with guilt, John finally found the strength to move his feet, because for the life of him he couldn't form a coherent thought, and surged towards Sherlocks end of the table. The man had gone from watching his every move to clenching his eyes shut and bowing his head to the table, and John regretted taking so long to respond.

He was by the detectives side in the next second, hands sliding to his shoulders and rubbing circles on the sides of his neck with his thumbs. Sherlock startled, but didn't pull away, shimmering eyes rimmed with red and tears as they finally looked into his own. His breath caught, muscles tensing under the doctor's fingers, waiting, watching, questions clear in his tear-smudged expression.

John trailed his thumbs up Sherlock's long neck and settled his palms against his cheeks, holding him there, swiping the tears away as he brought his forehead to meet his, observing Sherlock from beneath his lashes with an earnest gaze.

"Sherlock, you stupid, brilliant man." He murmured before bringing his lips to his.

At first it was just the press of his lips on his, just the thought of being there, just the notion that his feelings weren't unreciprocated. John's whole body thrummed with the feeling of Sherlock so close, so pliant in his hands as he melted into John's touch, so awkward but eager as he moving his mouth clumsily along with his.

John pulled away just barely, breathing hard as he heart raced from the slight contact. He didn't move far, and opened his eyes only a little to stare into Sherlock's own.

"Sherlock Holmes, I am completely and utterly in love with you." He confessed breathlessly, taking joy in the way his eyes widened and his lips broke into a grin he hadn't seen since before this agonizing month began. He couldn't help it, he pecked a kiss on his nose, earning an adorable squeak of objection from the man. "And I will pull you back as many times as I need to." He kissed his forehead. "As long as you'll let me."

"Okay." Was all he managed to say, before being kissed senseless by the ex-army doctor. John took his time, expressing the truth of his words through his actions, persistent in his love and care for the detective as he held him, the taller man grasping at the hair at the nape of his neck and his good shoulder for purchase.

They stayed like that until their lungs burned, until they couldn't bear another second without oxygen's aid, and broke away panting, still holding each other, still watching each other, still professing their love even as the rain pounding outside filled the silence.

"I love you." John felt the need to say.

"I love you." Sherlock whispered, fear turning into hope, hurt turning into adoration, his words turning into their third kiss.

I love you, was said and left unsaid many times that night. As it would continue to be.

[moriartyluver]

ARE YOU MINE CHAPTER V

"THANK YOU AGAIN for bailing us out, Mr Moriarty," (Name) said as she entered the front seat of Albert's Bentley "We can't thank you enough.." 

"Yeah, thanks.." the other band members, who sat at the back mumbled in agreement

"It's no problem," Albert smiled "I'm happy to help a band like yours...And don't worry about the lawsuit, I've got my men on it." 

"Lawsuit? What lawsuit?" Sherlock asked, but he didn't seem to be the only confused one. 

"Who from?" (Name) asked with wide eyes "Is it about last night..?" 

Albert had a mischievous grin on his face for a moment "The family you played for last night was being charged for allowing underage drinking and recreational drugs, etcetera, so they're filing a law suit against your band in an attempt to blame you for it." 

"But we weren't doing anything illegal." She said "We played our music a little too loud maybe, and some of us may have been drunk, but we didn't do any drugs, or encourage those kids to do it. We were just hired to play at a birthday party!" 

Albert sighed as he started the car "that doesn't necessarily make you exempt from a lawsuit. Forgive me if I sound insensitive and potentially classist, but you and your band seem to lack experience with the entitlement of the upper class." 

"Sherlock, John and I all went to a grammar school, for secondary and sixth form." (Name) furrowed her eyebrows "we've interacted with a few rich people in our lives" 

"To be fair, our school did get a satisfactory rating on OFSTED once, and they were pretty low on the league tables," John chimed in. 

"Yeah, our school was like the grammar school for the kids who didn't manage to get into the good ones. We were practically a comprehensive," Sherlock added, folding his arms over his chest. "Are your lawyers any good, Bert?" 

"Sherlock," (Name) hissed, as if reminding him to be polite in the rich guy's presence. 

Albert chuckled  "I trust them with my life, you're all in good hands." 

After taking a nap following the bail, (Name) was sat on her bed, her laptop open and blasting a Type O Negative playlist whilst she searched far and wide on Instagram for the mysterious blond man she saw a week prior. 

It wasn't like she was a stalker or anything, she had just had the idea to find him on instagram, considering most people her age didn't use Facebook anymore. But after looking through multiple 'William's, she had started to believe that this guy didn't have social media, I mean, of course he didn't. Why would he? He was definitely the mysterious type, but not in an intentional way to seem cool or anything. He was just..normal, surprisingly. 

ding

(Name) groaned, pausing the song that was playing. She opened up her email, where the notification came from. 

From: AlbertJMoriarty@MoriartyIndustries.com 

 Subject: none 

I had them drop the lawsuit :)

'Well isn't that ominous..' She thought to herself, brows furrowed as she drafted a reply. 'Did he get a hitman on them or something..?' 

Still, at least the lawsuit was dropped. Now they wouldn't be any broker than they already were and they'd get to keep the hefty sum of money they had already split. £500 each was pretty damn good for just one gig. 

"Thank you so much.." she spoke aloud as she typed away "Is there anything I could possibly do to thank you?" 

A few moments later she received her reply. She scanned over the screen, reading out the response. "The pleasure is all mine..bla bla bla..please send footage of any music performances if possible...shit."

She grabbed her phone, opening up the band group chat and texting so fast it was unitelligble. 

(nickname)

dp yio guts hace anny videps of anu of out gifs????

Sherly poo 🥰🥰

what.

Here's Johnny 👹

I think she's asking for gig footage 

Yes I am 

Guess who just texted me 😍

Hi sisters! 👻

the toe sucker guy?

Sherly poo🥰🥰

Lolll I remember him

u should have sent him my way, I would've done anything for him a grand 😇

whore

and no it was not the toe sucker guy

remember Albert? 

Here's Johnny 👹

what did he say? 

apparently we don't need to worry about the law suit anymore

on the condition that he lets us manage him

aaaaannnddd I need to sent him footage of us playing 

Hi sisters! 👻

most of the stuff I have is shit but I can send you a few videos of us doing covers 

idk if that's what rich guy is looking for

THANK YOU THANK YOU 

After a few minutes, (Name) had sent many videos of various lengths to Albert via her email she never used. One of her favourites was of her playing the guitar solo  in "I don't wanna be me", arguably one of her bests covers today, as she had thought, although she was a pretty good guitarist, if she did say so herself. Honestly, it was a fair opinion considering how much of a perfectionist she was, no wonder she was the band leader.

She had waited a while before she  eventually got a reply after what she had assumed was Albert watching about an hour of the best footage she had. Eventually, she had another reply whilst she was playing fire boy and water girl by herself

Upon reading the short message, she let out an audible squeal of joy, before murming a 'ew' right after. She picked her phone back up and texted the group chat 

9am, monday 

Meet at my place

we have a manager

please don't fuck this up

"From what I've witnessed, you all seem to be a very talented, erm, band," Albert smiled as he sat in his big fancy chair across from a nervous (Name), a tired James , a disinterested Sherlock and a politely smiling John. Nothing unusal. 

He continued, playing a clip from one of their gigs, specifically the last one, which seemed to not be one of (Name)'s but rather one of the kids who weren't drunk or high. She was singing 'Arabella' with a completely slurred voice, and she looked a mess, god she forgot how terrible she looked, her mugshot was probably hideous. "One of my colleagues found this video on a social media platform, TikTok I believe, and the audience has received it quite well," He said. opening up the video's comments as they projected on the large screen. Comments ranged from (Name) being reffered to as Lana Del Rey coded, a few 'hear-me-outs' for Sherlock and some even suggested they collab with Artic Monkeys. It didn't have that many likes, only a few ten thousand, but it was something, something to remind (Name) that she was made for this, that she didn't have to regret anything. 

"I understand you don't have a manager," Albert continued, hands intertwining together as his elbows rested on his wooden desk "And you would be interested in having one.."

"Yes, we are," (Name) nodded, a smile creeping up on her face.

"Good," Albert  nodded "We, Moriarty Industries, have been looking to expand to the entertainment industry, this may be convenient for the both of us, don't you agree?"

"Yes, yes of course."  She stuttered, nudging James awake. "Um, do we like sign a contract or..?" 

"I have connections to Milverton records and-" They were disrupted by a knock coming from the other end of the blurred glass door, a sillhette of a tall man being the origin. Albert seemed to recognise who this was based on the very outline of the features. "You  wouldn't mind if I..?"

"No, not at all." 

Albert nodded, prompting the person to come in whilst the door swung open. (Name) was usaully quite the nosy person, curious as to who THE Albert Moriarty would be acting unprofessionally for, so, she turned around to see none other than him.

They made eye contact, his red ones briefly fixed on her (eye colour) eyes. He was the blond boy she saw at Q's, the one who was plaguing her thoughts from that day a few weeks ago, the one who had indirectly inspired and motivated her and now he was here, again, just when she was convinced he may have been a vision, or a phantom or most likely an angel considering how gorgeous and flawless he seemed. 

He remembered her too. She could tell by the way his lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, and he certainly did. It was a surprise they even crossed paths again, almost like fate or something. His cheeks seemed to heat up but he shut his mouth, clenching his jaw in an effort to hold back from saying something stupid, because he certainly felt stupid enough. He snapped his gaze away from (Name), turning to Albert. 

"Did you, erm.. have you seen the uh.. my copy of 'Julius Caesar..?" William asked, his throat feeling dry "I think I may have left it in your office, the last time I was here." 

"I haven't seen it no, but I'll let you know if I do," Albert chuckled "I can always send you an identical copy if you'd like, anything for my little brother." 

'Little Brother..?'

And as suddenly he came, he left, but not without a lingering gaze. Her eyes followed his until the moment the door shut.

Once they had all signed the contract to fall under Albert's management as a band, the group had left, exiting the tall glass building and pushing past all the bustling employees that worked there. 

"Did you know that blond twink?" Sherlock suddenly asked out of the blue. 

(Name) turned to him with a raised brow, "What?" 

"The guy," He repeated "You know, the blond guy you couldn't take your eyes off. An ex boyfriend?"

"God no," She shook her head "I thought you weren't even listening during that meeting." 

"He was just born looking like that," James chuckled, running his hand through his hair. "But really, were you checking him out or something, I don't blame you." 

(Name) sighed, recalling the last time she had mentioned the mysterious blond whilst likely drunk. "I..well, he was um, you remember the guy I was talking about, you know, the one I met in Q's, playing the piano," They nodded. 

"That was the guy."

A/N: finally got that chapter out lol. Anyways Liams back, so now they can start interacting properly 🙄

[icantthinkyandere]

I LOVE your sherlock fic -i was the one requesting it LMAO 🍰

and i was wondering if you can do yandere kadoc or daybit?? Like imagine insted of the servants its the other MASTERS??!?

Keep it up and i love your fics, i read them every time you publish them and i love to re read your fics too! Your like the only writer i know that writes for fgo, thank you for all your hard work and i cant wait to read more!!!

Wow! Thank you so much! This means a lot, especially since I was nervous about balancing both how the characters are naturally and the yandere traits. I'm really surprised that people actually found and started requesting things since Fgo Tumblr is already kinda niche and so when I started doing what felt like a niche in a even bigger niche I thought no one would find me lol. I even more didn't expect people to find me because I actually made this blog so I could write stuff for my friend. Which I have yet to get to their requests!Wow! Thank you so much! This means a lot, especially since I was nervous about balancing both how the characters are naturally and the yandere traits. I'm really surprised that people actually found and started requesting things since Fgo Tumblr is already kinda niche and so when I started doing what felt like a niche in a even bigger niche I thought no one would find me lol. I even more didn't expect people to find me because I actually made this blog so I could write stuff for my friend. Which I have yet to get to their requests!

{Kadoc Zemlupus}

At the start of Chaldea, whether it's with another master or with staff, Kadoc is a very distant person. He's so in his own head and not used to having romantic feelings that he just assumes that his newfound feelings for another master are just his normal dislike for other mages. Him gaining feelings for a staff member would be a lot less likely unless they did something standout to him or someone/something around him, so in that case he'd just think it's because they're weird

You can't imagine how flabbergasted he was when Pepe started teasing him about his "longing looks," and Wodime started to encourage him to go over and talk to them. He denies what they say so fast, and with so much emphasis, it just conforms to that that he's just shy about it. This also spreads to the other crypters, which, of course, just upets him more.

After they point this out, he starts to notice just how often he thinks about you. He wonders if they'd like the same music as him, if they dislike the food here as much as him, what they do like, once he realizes it he has to walk to go walk it off since nothing else works to get them off his mind.

The events of the game sadly happen before he or anyone can really do anything. Once he finally gets time to think about everything that happens, he doesn't get why he feels so sad. He knows other masters and staff died, but your death makes him extra sad for some reason. He wonders if it's because he can't see them anymore, and if maybe God can allow him to just remake them... (Even if he knows nothing about them since he only stared at you wondering what you were like.)

All this sadness goes away immediately because of Anastasia. He goes into denial master or staff darling. He didn't think they'd be the/one of the surviving masters and he's especially surprised a staff member is still alive. After everything, they're still here, still loyal to Chaldea after the Singularities and now destruction of Chaldea.

He rants all the time to Anastasia. It's about how stupid and ridiculous this all is. And she just sits there and listens. She, just like the crypters, points out that they're on his mind all the time, and he only talks about them. Nothing else. Making him freak out and deny her claims but also prove her right now when he states that when he was in Chaldea, he stared at them all the time and were always on his mind. Plus, having a relationship isn't realistic in the first place.

Having a crush on a master of Chaldea hurts him a lot even if he doesn't admit he likes them. He hates how they're nice to him even though he's currently their emeny. He channels his bitter longing into his goal of defeating them for the Lostbelt.

When the time comes that Chaldea wins the battle, he's ready to come to terms with everything. They've won, and he lost. They weren't even good master in the first. Maybe that's why he got feelings because of their strong will to push on and do what they believe. Anastasia helps him sement that what he's been feeling is some type of love instead of just dislike or something negative. Before she fades out, she tells him she hopes that their future together goes well.

Waking up in Chaldea is very strange. He doesn't know what to do being their ex emeny and having a creepy crush on one of them. Even worse, finding out that he now has to work with them as well as them making sure servants and staff aren't to rude him. They're so nice to him it makes his heart hurt. Especially since he doesn't deserve it, he doesn't believe that this is even their true color either.

He wants to act on his feelings he just doesn't know how to. He starts to right now his feelings since apart of him being allowed in Chaldea is going to counciling sessions with each other staff or medical servant that fits him. He does get really into writing his thoughts then once he realizes what he put down, he thinks what he writes is so stupid and cringe, he doesn't notice that it's also creepy in some places.

During Traum, he tries to stay back and not do even though a voice in the back of his head yells at him to protect him. But they are so bad at being a mage that he can't protect them, pretending that it's just advice from someone more experienced.

Sherlock notices. Yes, it sounds like advice, but he can tell it's more. With how Kadoc only looks at them, making sure he's always by their side to make sure they get advice at every little thing, as well as how his suspicious of everyone they meet is more than just because they might be an enemy.

Kadoc isn't an obvious yandere, mainly because most of the time, he's in denial. Once he's out of denial, he's so focused on how he's not used to being in love that he doesn't notice how creepy his thoughts can be. He's one of the safest yanderes out of the crypters. He wants to have a normal relationship and doesn't have the will to harm others like most servants do.

[neon-green-reagent]

Buyer Beware: Cushing Curiosities

I don't normally do this. My aim is to keep things positive in this space, as much as possible. But I need to talk about the new Severin Films box set dedicated to Peter Cushing and basically beg anyone who loves Peter Cushing to not waste their money on this. When I saw they were, after multiple Christopher Lee sets, finally doing one for Cushing, I admit I got too excited and impulsively pre-ordered it. I have regretted it ever since. Okay, that's too strong. It was way too much money and time wasted on something that's about one-third good. One third is not enough, and even then I'm probably being too generous. 

The box art and presentation are beautiful. If that's all that matters to you, then you'll be delighted. The GIANT book that comes with it is also really awesome. It's informative and thorough with a lot of really cool images. I can't deny that they really went above and beyond, turning a booklet into an actual book that is well worth owning. These are a couple of the highest points you're going to experience with this set. Let's dig into the movies. 

Cone of Silence. Jesus, what a waste of fucking time. This thing was a slog. An absolute bore. If you care a whole lot about planes... Fuck, even then, you probably won't be able to sit through this, because it's so old-fashioned and drags its feet. Is this what thrillers used to be? I shudder to think. Cushing's role is small and that of a misguided villain character. He shows up to accuse a pilot of being bad at his job, gets put in his place at the end, and that's really it. I'll go ahead and make a blanket statement now that he's always good, always worth watching, but that doesn't make most of these movies worth sitting through. 

Suspect. Here's a movie that goes around and around, struggling to get to the point, trying to imitate Hitchcock but without any of the style that goes along with that. Just stationary middle shots of people talking. But don't you worry, it's not just boring! Multiple characters make cracks about how women shouldn't be working in science (Cushing's character included, which makes this an utter loser of a movie to watch for his role). The "villain" is a man with a disability who eventually kills himself, and that's treated like a GOOD OUTCOME. Some movies are old. This movie is old-minded, and it brought what was already not very engaging down to a pile of shit for me. And again, a theme you'll notice, Cushing is a side character who isn't given hardly anything to do and little screen time. Oh, and Donald Pleasence shows up and makes this face: O.O

The Man Who Finally Died. So this was at least engaging. Maybe by this point the bar was just VERY low for me, but I actually enjoyed this. It had lots of twists and turns. Despite being pre-giallo, it had a lot of those storytelling conventions, so I found myself, you know... actually watching the movie instead of struggling to stay awake. The rewatch value feels low, because once you've experienced those twists and turns, they won't shock you next time. But at least it wasn't a total wash. AND ONCE MORE CUSHING WAS BARELY IN IT, SO REGARDLESS OF THE QUALITY OF THE FILM IT WASN'T REALLY A CUSHING FILM, WAS IT? 

Sherlock Holmes. Ohhhhh God. This was not good. I managed one and a half episodes before shutting it off. I couldn't believe how shoddy everything about this was. It's a BBC Sherlock Holmes show! What happened!? I mean, I'm still not clear, but after some googling I did find out that Cushing was a fast replacement for another actor who was leaving in a huff. And the reason he left in a huff was because everything about the production truly sucked ass. It shows. And it didn't improve when Cushing came on. Everything was so clearly rushed. You can feel how everyone's just trying to remember their lines and where to stand, because they were given zero time to rehearse and prepare. I thought this would be a highlight of the set, but it's probably one of the worst aspects. At least Cushing is the main character? 

Bloodsuckers. This was great. I can finally say something was GREAT. What a relief. Cushing is still barely in it, but at least it was entertaining. It's your standard, early seventies, vampire romp. With some psychedelic weirdness thrown in toward the beginning and lots of overly sexual shenanigans. In particular, Johnny Sekka gives a great performance, and in a more modern movie, they would have made the character gay as he should have been. Also, Edward Woodward shows up for a single scene and steals the entire movie. Definitely worth watching, regardless of Cushing's ten minutes of screen time. Even though I thought the point was for it to be a CUSHING box set... 

Tender Dracula. Last but actually the best. This is an absolute ride of a movie. I loved it. My problem is this is such a crazy film, with tonal shifts galore and an unsensible plot, that I could actually see people hating it. It's a movie that is not for everyone, not by a long shot. It breaks the fourth wall, plays with stereotypes and tropes, throws out humor that sometimes lands and sometimes doesn't, and leaves your head spinning. Plenty of viewers might find the experience frustrating and not rewarding. I happened to love it and got a lot out of it, but it feels very poor for a movie like this to be probably the best thing about a shoddy box set. That's not exactly promising your customers the best they could get. BUT CUSHING IS THE STAR! Finally! One (arguably) good movie where he's the main attraction. Christ, that took long enough. 

So what do we have after all that? A set of movies that, for the most part, only tangentially involve Cushing, with his name slapped on the side of the box. Trotting out a beloved actor who isn't here to approve of what's being done for a quick buck feels pretty damn gross. Severin has made a multitude of mistakes over the years in how they've conducted their business, but this is by far the worst of them. Even with the compliments I've given this set, do not buy it. It isn't even close to being worth the price point. The fact that I spent as much as I did on this leaves me shamefaced. 

[saintedbythestorm]

Despite only like 4 hours of sleep... I did manage that psychologist call!

All in all, it went well. She was open to hear that some things may have been misinterpreted by her about when my big teenage depression went away. She listened to a bit more about my gender feelings, and completely understood how I had a hard time to pin point all these things that made me feel the way I do about it, as I've had 17 (fucking) years to think about it. How all these small things that paint the big picture in how i feel are just... normal to me now? Like I've done my questioning around it for all these years and it's pretty clear to me where I fall on it and such. She totally understood that, and how it's hard to explain all of that. Did ask if despite all the alienation I've felt I'd still be uncomfortable with my body and such and I was like oh yeah no doubt. So it was all clear there, and she wasn't questioning my feelings on it and such.

She did seem a bit reluctant to listen to what I had to say about how she mentioned gender affirming surgeries though. I did bring up to her how not all trans people end up doing these and how the surgeries were like 10 years out so it just seemed odd to mention them. But she just kept repeating how she only mentioned it to be about how the gender stuff wasn't all of my issues (yeah no shit sherlock) and how I also had psychological issues. Which like yeah duh, but that doesn't mean that it didn't make it sound like she was poorly informed about trans care?? Which she seemed to have a hard time taking in. So in the end I just had to give up on that one, she clearly wasn't receptive to what I was trying to say. Felt a bit defensive on her part if I'm gonna be completely honest (I've heard a lot of people can struggle with that though when we trans peeps try to teach them about our experiences so can't say I'm super surprised here...)

On a funnier part, she was kinda baffled by my giant headphones that I had on. I was listening to music during the whole thing. She seemed to find that odd 😂 "while we're having this call?" She said. "Yep, helps me keep calm. I get very nervous talking to doctors and such." I told her back. I think it definitely befuddled her, in a sort of funny quirky way. She let it be after asking though. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Helped me A LOT though. Nothing like a Shut your mouth to keep me calm ✨️(imagine if she had known that was what I was listening to 😂😂😂)

Started the.. test? Questionnaire?? Fuck if I know what to call it... but that thing that was requested by the gender clinic. Was the one I found online, and so far so good. We couldn't finish it today, but what we did do felt ok. The depression part made me laugh several times though, cause I had to technically split my answers which is part of the issues I have with being labelled as depressed so fucking quickly by professionals. Cause it literally went "yes as a teen" or "yes after whatever the fuck that thing at 18 years old was" or "only on those meds i just got off" 😂 Like it's soooo spread out and incoherent. And the only time I can say 100% for sure it is depression is during the teenage years. So that part was just a darn mess c:

Starting to think she is open to my idea of it being PTSD though, cause she even apologised for the part about that being like "have you witnessed or been subjected to (only physical things)?" and like completely ignoring even the possibility you may have it due to psychological trauma. Basically she acknowledged that the system is quite broken there, which felt awesome cause I've been saying that for like 10 years lol.

But yeah, other than that we also had time to talk about OCD (with what matched not really seeming like a concern) and social anxiety (which I do have so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). After that we were out of time so we will see what we end up with in the end lol.

But yeah, it went a lot better this time at least and we will continue the test thingy next time. We will see what happens with that.

So now, all I can do is wait for the next call and hope that goes well too.

[pathofreason]

I genuinely get triggered and I know this is insanely embarrassing for me but I genuinely get triggered when I hear that some rando is getting a bachelor's degree in anything to do with cinema or journalism or literature or philosophy or anything like that even linguistics the only one I don't get triggered by as much is mathematics because I know it was my choice to go into software engineering especially because of the remote job options but still even if I did do mathematics what would I do be a fucking teacher? Hell no many children disgust me of course a lot of it is the parents' fault no shit and they disgust me even more but I could never work with children and being a professor in college is not something I ever wanna do either so the only option I had left was software engineering. Realistically it wasn't my "only option" I could choose any of the degrees I wanted to pursue and also just because I have a degree in something doesn't mean that's gonna be my actual job but it will help with job offers no fucking shit Sherlock. So basically I want to blast myself in the head with a bazooka because these people either don't gaf about their life or their parents are loaded or they actually want to do the things I want to do more than me and this one I really can't live with lmao so I'm consciously blocking that possibility from existing in my head. But really all the bitches I know who went into these fields I actually like are pieces of shit who know people from their respective fields through their parents. So what the fuck was I supposed to do with my physicist engineer chemist-ish mother and software engineering math professor father go into fucking philosophy and be broke as shit for the next 3 years after college living paycheck to paycheck hell fucking no. Not saying it's not an option still with this degree but it's not exactly a very likely one. And it's not like I'd have to work my ass off for barely any money with a film direction degree for example I believe in myself and I believe that I could actually do something with that or any other degree like a normal regular good for example in this case film director and actually do something good for myself but clearly I don't believe in myself enough because clearly I didn't pursue that degree or any other of the ones I actually would've wanted to pursue

[rey-jake-therapist]

One thing that baffles me with this fandom (well, Tumblr) is the number of people who interpret the joke "No, I helped him put up some shelves" in TEH as Sherlock telling Molly, "years ago I had sex with the guy who sells chips and now I always get extra portions of chips."

For those who don't know, "put up some shelves" is a British euphemism for "have sex". I think it comes from a show involving a straight man pretending to be gay for some reason, where it became a joke (the put up some shelves thing) but I'd need a British person to confirm that.

Like, it doesn't make any sense whatsoever. First it would be completely OOC of Sherlock to say out of the blue that

he had sex

he had sex FOR CHIPS. I mean, hello, that's BBC Sherlock Holmes. This man didn't have sex with Janine to secure his access to Magnussen, but he would sleep with someone for chips? He's not even poor! And he probably never was, his family's rich...

he had casual sex, in a so casual way as if it was the most normal thing for him to admit. I can see Elementary Sherlock do and say that, tbh, but BBC Sherlock? Uh, nope.

Also, it's supposed to have happened years ago so wow, the sex must have been really good! Did you notice that Molly doesn't look remotely shocked, and is even amused? She's still in love with the guy, shouldn't she look jealous or something...

But just for the fun of it, let me analyze the sentence: he didn't say, "I put up some shelves with him", which would indeed translate as "I slept with him". No, he said, "I HELPED him put up some shelves".

I had fun looking at the original dialogue from where the joke seems to originate from. It's from a movie called "There's a company". An older man, who believes the protagonist's gay because that's what he said to justify that he lives with two women, complains about his demanding wife, and cites an example that she always wants him to, "put up some shelves ".

Mr. Roper: You know, you're lucky Jack. You can be pals with a woman, you don't have the same problem that a regular man has. Jack: Like what? Mr. Roper: Like you'll never have a wife nagging you. Not that I have anything against marriage. But, wives can be very demanding. They're always asking you to, er, to, to…to DO things. Jack: What kinda things? Mr. Roper: You know! Things! Things! Jack: Like? Mr. Roper: Like, er… Jack: Like putting up shelves? Mr. Roper: That's it! Like putting up shelves. That's it. And they're never satisfied. I mean, it's not like I never put up a shelf... maybe, I may not put up as many shelves as, er, some husbands, but… [nods, ‘macho-ingly’] I put up shelves. Jack: I'm sure you do. Mr. Roper: If Helen had her way… I'd--I'd be putting up a shelf every night. Jack: That's a lot of shelves! Mr. Roper: See, women don't understand …

I only read once an interpretation of that scene that I found satisfying and in character, saying that it rather should be understood as, "I helped him to get laid" aka he probably gave him some insight about a certain person to help him seduce this person. I doubt that he gave him dating advices, that would be the blind leading the blind.

Honestly I think this interpretation makes much more sense than the idea that Sherlock had sex with a rando to get extra portions of chips for the rest of his life. It explains more who why he smirks like he does (no I didn't get him out of jail but thanks to me he got laid), and why Molly giggles.

[astrophobica]

the one where patton and remus get married and nobody’s happy about it (logince)

warnings: emotional turmoil

Logan's hand stopped millimeters from pushing the venue bathroom door open. Why would he do something like that? Because on the other side he could hear someone crying.

Not normal crying, either. They were heartwrenching, bitter sobs that sounded like they were trying to be muffled, though the attempt wasn't working too well by Logan's determination. He hesitated a moment longer, then made up his mind and pushed inside.

Roman Prince, brother to the groom and best man to his now-husband stood hunched over one of the pristine sinks with a tearstained face that betrayed him even as he scrambled to hide it from Logan and look casual. "Oh- hey."

"If you don't mind me asking," Logan said slowly, not moving from where he blocked the exit. "Are you alright?"

Roman snorted, though the effect was lost on his blotchy complexion. "Take a wild guess, Sherlock."

"I'll take that as a no." Logan stiffly started to raise an arm as a halfhearted offer for a hug, but lowered it gratefully as Roman just stared at him. "Would you like to talk about it to a stranger?"

The other scrubbed at his face with the heel of his palm before replying, "And why should you care?"

"There's a kind of simple grace achieved through letting problems go to people who aren't affected by it," he replied. "It seems you could use someone to tell it to."

Roman studied him for a few seconds, then sighed and looked back at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. "...I was in love with Patton," he admitted, in a voice so soft that Logan had to strain to hear it. "Oh, who am I kidding- I still am."

Oh, Logan thought.

"I imagined this as my wedding, my big day with the love of my life and a happily ever after," he said, fingers curling on the edge of the porcelain sink. "What kind of a fool was I?"

"The worst kind," Logan whispered, throat closing as he thought of sleepless nights spent on frivolous DIY science kits, of yelling facts over documentaries playing on cable, of stolen jam and pineapple anchovy pizza and blue hair dye that came out looking sickly green. "The kind of fool that loves with all his heart, loves to the point of watching them go with a smile on his face and an ache in his chest." Roman blinked, looking back over at Logan with a curious expression.

"...You wouldn't happen to be speaking from experience, would you?"

"I am." He didn't meet Roman's gaze. "Quite coincidentally, it was one of the grooms from today as well."

"Patton does have a way of making people fall for him, doesn't he?"

"Not Patton." Logan left him to connect the dots.

"...My brother?" Much to Logan's chagrin Roman started snickering, and while it was an improvement over crying he found he didn't much care for it. "You fell for Remus?"

"Stop it," Logan snapped. "I should've known better than to try and help-"

"No- wait, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry," Roman hastily amended, reaching after him as Logan turned to leave. "I just- I thought it was funny- we're two sides of the same coin, aren't we?"

He hesitated. "I...suppose we are."

Roman looked at him for another moment, then pulled out a pen from his breast pocket and snatched a paper towel from the dispenser. He scribbled something on it, then handed it to Logan. "My number," he elaborated, looking sheepish. "If you wanted to talk after the whole...yeah."

Logan folded the brown paper into a neat square and tucked it into his pocket with a tiny smile. "Duly noted. I'd suggest washing up a bit before going back out to deal with the wolves," he added, motioning at his cheeks.

Roman flushed in embarassment, turning back to the sink to splash water onto his face. "...Thank you."

[warningsine]

Ok. So.

Walter has a Hannibal mask and loves Sweeney Todd.

Two references to cannibals so far and a meat based diet. A nerd? Bait for Misty? Or something else?

Other reasons that make me think there's a twist coming and he's not just a weird and boring dude that happens to be infatuated with his female alter ego:

"Everyone is hiding something." He's already said multiple lies.

"Maybe I'm a Moriarty looking for my Sherlock." He could have said Watson and Sherlock, who are partners and friends. Moriarty is a criminal mastermind and Sherlock's enemy.

He mentions that he survived a pretty horrible brain injury. This may be a stretch, but there are cases of people with frontal lobe injuries that become aggressive and violent. When he hits Randy, he smiles. He gets pleasure from it.

"What matters is that I win [the game]."

He tests and baits Misty by mentioning his murderous grandma.

He knows that Misty is a murderer, and yet, he is not afraid to be around her at all, which--given what happened to his grandpa, he should be.

He also suspects that Misty has recently killed someone. Unlike Kristen who was horrified and scared [a normal reaction] when Misty told her what she had done with the flight recorder, Walter's very, very calm about Adam's murder. At first, the writers created parallels between him and Kristen, but in 2x05, they made it clear that he's her opposite.

He mentions that killers usually possess certain traits. He has some of them. Whether he is charming or not is in the eye of the beholder, but he's certainly smart. He hacked Misty's account in order to find out her real name, then didn't hesitate to present a random woman as his mother so that he could meet Misty.

Misty and him are not over yet.

Why?

Because he is her carbon copy. What does Misty do both times her current love object [Natalie] tells her to "go home"? The exact opposite of that. Which means we'll see him again soon.

[mariana-oconnor]

A Case of Identity pt 1

If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on

Sherlock Holmes Peter Pan crossover! Also this sentence starts with them being normal size and then halfway through suddenly they're able to 'gently remove ... roofs'? It's a sweet little scene, though.

We have in our police reports realism pushed to its extreme limits, and yet the result is, it must be confessed, neither fascinating nor artistic.

Weird to see here the dichotomy of Holmes the romantic and Watson the realist. So often depictions of Holmes have him being so factual and without whimsy, and yet the start of this story is the opposite. It's Holmes who has the 'flight of fancy' and finds the fascination in life, and Watson who is arguing that real life is common and without interest.

There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me. There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the sympathetic sister or landlady. The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.

Also Watson not showing any empathy here. 'Oh, domestic violence is so run-of-the-mill, it's so dull.' He's very jaded in this story. On one hand, I agree with him that there's no delight or artistry in domestic violence, on the other hand, he comes off as a bit callous here.

he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which, you will allow, is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story-teller.

...I can't remember this story. It may be one of the ones I have not read before. But this made me blink and do a double take. Seriously? His false teeth? That's so oddly specific. Also, taking a moment for ACD to pat himself on the back there. I see what you're doing, sir.

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the centre of the lid. Its splendour was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it. "Ah," said he, "I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks. It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia in return for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers."

Oh hai, Irene!

Weird that Holmes is displaying all the bling he got from a man he doesn't respect and didn't want any reward from.

Oscillation upon the pavement always means an affaire de coeur.

Well, that certainly is a sentence.

When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man she no longer oscillates

I have never seen the word 'oscillate' used this much outside of a science textbook.

Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy courtesy for which he was remarkable

This is fascinating from the perspective of someone who has seen so may adaptations. 'easy courtesy for which he was remarkable' this isn't just a one time chance of Holmes being courteous. Watson himself finds Holmes' manner remarkable and to specify that it comes easily. Don't get me wrong, I love a lot of different Holmes adaptations, even the ones where he's rude, but this sentence makes it so clear that Holmes is polite and that it at least appears to come naturally to him.

for it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr Windibank—that is, my father—took it all

I had a 'why do you refer to your father as Mr Windibank?' moment, then read the next few sentences and went 'oh'. Stepfamilies are complicated. Honestly, this bit reads like it could be an excerpt from an AITA post. Which leads to me thinking of modern day Sherlock hanging about on Reddit and asking really random questions before telling people that clearly the meaning of the cat hair on the third cushion is that OP's life is in imminent danger and they must at once leave the house and block their best friend on all social media.

I believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of about 60 pounds.

And the illusion of modernity is shattered. I bloody well wish. Hey inflation calculator, what's that in real money?

£6,033.44

(I put this around 1892, but that was my estimate based on when the other stories have been set. I might be out by a few years)

Yeah... I know she's living at home, but that's Holmes' estimate for any single woman, not only those being supported by their parents.

so they have the use of the money just while I am staying with them. Of course, that is only just for the time. Mr Windibank draws my interest every quarter and pays it over to mother

Hello motive! Fancy seeing you here. I do not trust Mr Windibank at all, for all I may find his name amusing to say and read. This coupled with his insistence that nothing is wrong is very fishy. Mmhm. I am getting a distinct whiff of 'greedy, thieving stepfather' here with distinct notes of 'manipulative arsehole'.

Mr Windibank did not wish us to go. He never did wish us to go anywhere. He would get quite mad if I wanted so much as to join a Sunday-school treat. But this time I was set on going, and I would go; for what right had he to prevent?

Please add 'controlling' to the list above, forthwith. Guy's a massive dick. Good for you, Miss Mary Sutherland for calling him out on it.

And he said that I had nothing fit to wear, when I had my purple plush that I had never so much as taken out of the drawer.

Anyone else getting Cinderella vibes from this line? I'm surprised he didn't accidentally ruin the dress as well, or spill a bowl of rice into the cinders of the fire and make her pick them all up.

"I suppose," said Holmes, "that when Mr Windibank came back from France he was very annoyed at your having gone to the ball."

"Oh, well, he was very good about it. He laughed, I remember, and shrugged his shoulders, and said there was no use denying anything to a woman, for she would have her way."

I hate this guy. I really do. ACD was very good at writing men I loathe even when they haven't appeared in person.

Oh, and I remember this story now, btw. It's all coming back to me.

He wouldn't have any visitors if he could help it, and he used to say that a woman should be happy in her own family circle.

Abuse tactics really haven't ever changed, have they. The flags were as red in the 1890s as they are in the 2020s. Ugh. I hope this guy dies in a shipwreck too. Fingers crossed.

The fact that I keep reading the 'gasfitters' ball' as the 'gaslighters' ball' feels very fitting.

"What office?" "That's the worst of it, Mr Holmes, I don't know." "Where did he live, then?" "He slept on the premises." "And you don't know his address?" "No—except that it was Leadenhall Street."

In the immortal words of Gytha Ogg: Always get the young man's name and address. (And never trust a dog with orange eyebrows)

Mr Hosmer Angel came to the house again and proposed that we should marry before father came back. He was in dreadful earnest and made me swear, with my hands on the Testament, that whatever happened I would always be true to him.

Not suspicious at all. Absolutely normal behaviour. You should definitely swear on your holy book of choice to always be true to people 'whatever happens'. This is entirely rational and not worrying at all. Not a bit.

The flags, they are scarlet.

Mother was all in his favor from the first and was even fonder of him than I was. Then, when they talked of marrying within the week, I began to ask about father; but they both said never to mind about father, but just to tell him afterwards, and mother said she would make it all right with him.

Not remembering all the details, but knowing the general gist of this story, this part actually makes me feel a bit sick. Does the mother know what's going on? I don't remember. If so, I think Miss Mary Sutherland needs to take her £100 a year and go on a world tour. Honestly, she should do that anyway, just... nausea.

"Oh, no, sir! He was too good and kind to leave me so. Why, all the morning he was saying to me that, whatever happened, I was to be true; and that even if something quite unforeseen occurred to separate us, I was always to remember that I was pledged to him, and that he would claim his pledge sooner or later. It seemed strange talk for a wedding-morning, but what has happened since gives a meaning to it."

Mary, Mary, Mary... no. Just no. This is not good or kind. This is weird and suspicious and controlling. I'm sure your wedding dress is lovely, but I cannot see it because all the red flags are in the way.

Above all, try to let Mr Hosmer Angel vanish from your memory, as he has done from your life.

Holmes giving excellent advice here. The trash took itself out.

"You are very kind, Mr Holmes, but I cannot do that. I shall be true to Hosmer. He shall find me ready when he comes back."

Oh Mary. I'm so sorry. You really should take the advice.

This absolutely could be written as a reddit post, btw.

[loser-man-central]

Now that Undead Girl Murder Farce season 1 is over (Season 2 is hopefully coming but there's only a couple volumes of the novel out so maybe it won't work for a couple years)

Now time for my expert review

First Arc the Vampire one was great. Showed us who the trio is and their personalities. It established that Tsugaru is willing to kill anyone if Aya says I mean we already knew he would kill people but we didn't know he'd kill a child and then tell the father a JOKE about it. Without this arc we would probably be lead to believe Aya didn't really care for Tsugaru's jokes but she actually loves them, and it established Shizuku hating Tsugaru but we didn't know for sure why till later. And the mystery here is the only one I was close to solving I thought it was the girl maid and Raoul not realizing that he could cut off his fingers

It's a solid 8/10

The second arc is my favorite. Lupin and Erik's relationship is so interesting and one of my favorites in the show. I didn't care for Sherlock and Watson i'd like them more if they had epic mind battles with Aya but they are fine. They're just my least favorite in the show. But the real stars of the show were the Banquet. Carmilla and Allister had interesting fights with Shizuku and Sherlock. Shizuku and Carmilla fight here sets up their rematch in the Werewolf village and Allister is just cool! He's a completely normal human hanging out with a Vampire, Frankenstein's Monster, and Jack. Speaking of Jack his fight with Tsugaru is so interesting it alone made me love Jack so much! It added a sort of tragedy to Tsugaru who is usually so comedic and I loved it I feel like there is more to both of them we don't know! I love this Arc so much there isn't much mystery here since we know that culprit but we don't know how Lupin and his gay crush Erik would steal it since it seems so impossible and they did successfully steal the sliver box. I wonder what their gonna do with that in season 2 besides have it look pretty.

9.5/10

And the final arc the Werewolf one

I liked this one also It is what made me like Shizuku and Jutte is so great I hope we see her again some time. I knew some sort of fuckery was happening in the villages but I excepted it to be the Doctor but it seems he feels bad questioning what they have done when raiding the werewolf village. The mystery in this arc is my favorite so intriguing and I'm glad some of the Werewolf girls are safe now. Something I didn't expect was Aya to get the deduction wrong and Tsugaru to be that silly. I expected him to be silly but not "Be a furry" silly

And the finale

I felt like the art direction in the final season wasn't as grand as the others and then that fight with Jutte happened I loved that the finale is my favorite epsoide for sure

9/10