#and Gregson told him he should stay with her

[mariana-oconnor]

The Greek Interpreter pt 3

Back to Mr Melas and his mysterious plaster-faced man.

...as he opened the door of our room he gave a start of surprise. Looking over his shoulder, I was equally astonished. His brother Mycroft was sitting smoking in the arm-chair.

Given the fact that it seems as though earth's orbit through space is more erratic than Mycroft's schedule, and easier to divert, this is quite astonishing. Also... didn't they literally just leave him? The man must have moved like the wind.

"Here it is," said he, "written with a J pen on royal cream paper by a middle-aged man with a weak constitution. 'Sir,' he says, 'in answer to your advertisement of to-day's date, I beg to inform you that I know the young lady in question very well. If you should care to call upon me I could give you some particulars as to her painful history. She is living at present at The Myrtles, Beckenham. Yours faithfully, J. Davenport.'"

Is she really living there at present? Mr Davenport? Is she? are you sure she isn't living somewhere else right now?

Also, lol at Mycroft being sure to put in the type of pen and the fact that the writer is middle-aged and has a weak constitution.

It was almost dark before we found ourselves in Pall Mall, at the rooms of Mr Melas. A gentleman had just called for him, and he was gone.

What? The man who was told he would be in grave danger if he told anyone, and then you broadcast the fact he had told people in all the daily papers is missing? I'm sure this is absolutely fine and in no way at all worrying. Definitely not connected to the fact that you broadcast the fact that he had told people the villain's secret in the newspaper.

Mr Melas is totally fine.

"He wasn't a tall, handsome, dark young man?" "Oh, nor, sir. He was a little gentleman, with glasses, thin in the face, but very pleasant in his ways, for he was laughing al the time that he was talking."

Well shucks. Who could have foreseen this? No way to have stopped it. Absolutely unpredictable circumstances here. No one to blame. No one at all. It was impossible to foresee this turn of events.

"He is a man of no physical courage, as they are well aware from their experience the other night. This villain was able to terrorise him the instant that he got into his presence. No doubt they want his professional services, but, having used him, they may be inclined to punish him for what they will regard as his treachery."

Excuse me? 'no physical courage', wtf is that supposed to mean? How is courage physical, for one, and secondly, did we listen to the same story? Where he managed to get information from the prisoner without alerting the bad guys even though he was scared. Then afterwards, rather than staying quiet for his own safety he brought the tale to the attention of people he thought could help? Wtf do you consider courage, Holmes? And then he just went about his day, knowing his life had been threatened? no physical courage?

Gonna have to respectfully disagree on this point.

Also 'they may be inclined to punish him for [...] his treachery'? You think?

So weird that no one seems to have seen this coming. Like, my dudes, you took an ad out in the paper. In the era when everyone (except Holmes) reads the paper. What did you think was going to happen?

On reaching Scotland Yard, however, it was more than an hour before we could get Inspector Gregson and comply with the legal formalities which would enable us to enter the house.

'We can't go in without a search warrant' is an age old complaint, it seems. I love that this is in here.

"You may have observed the same wheel-tracks going the other way. But the outward-bound ones were very much deeper--so much so that we can say for a certainty that there was a very considerable weight on the carriage." "You get a trifle beyond me there," said the inspector, shrugging his shoulder.

Little sad for Gregson that this is 'beyond' him. This is one of the clearest and simplest pieces of evidence we've seen Holmes provide.

"It is a mercy that you are on the side of the force, and not against it, Mr Holmes," remarked the inspector, as he noted the clever way in which my friend had forced back the catch. "Well, I think that under the circumstances we may enter without an invitation."

Yes. Because you got that search warrant... that you mentioned before. Not by name, exactly. But you got legal right to enter the property. So... you can enter the property? Unless you still needed an invitation even with that, but if you had an invitation wouldn't you already have right to enter? Or maybe they were legally only supposed to enter while someone was present.

He dashed up, the inspector and I at his heels, while his brother Mycroft followed as quickly as his great bulk would permit.

Did Watson mention that Mycroft is fat? I'm not sure he did.

Peering in, we could see that the only light in the room came from a dull blue flame which flickered from a small brass tripod in the centre. It threw a livid, unnatural circle upon the floor, while in the shadows beyond we saw the vague loom of two figures which crouched against the wall. From the open door there reeked a horrible poisonous exhalation which set us gasping and coughing.

Well this is horrifying. Slowly gassing people to death. These guys are really horrible. Such a terrible way to kill someone. Are they trying to make it seem like an accident?

"Where is a candle? I doubt if we could strike a match in that atmosphere. Hold the light at the door and we shall get them out, Mycroft, now!"

Because an open flame is... better than a match? I do not understand this logic.

The other, who was secured in a similar fashion, was a tall man in the last stage of emaciation, with several strips of sticking-plaster arranged in a grotesque pattern over his face. He had ceased to moan as we laid him down, and a glance showed me that for him at least our aid had come too late. Mr Melas, however, still lived, and in less than an hour, with the aid of ammonia and brandy I had the satisfaction of seeing him open his eyes, and of knowing that my hand had drawn him back from that dark valley in which all paths meet.

RIP Paul. They really fucked you over with that newspaper ad, didn't they? Your full name just out there in the world, being suspicious. Or maybe you outlived your usefulness to them.

Glad Mr Melas is okay, and it's nice to see Watson using his expertise to save the day a little bit. Even if the circumstances are pretty awful. This story is pretty dark, especially compared to the blue carbuncle goose chase (even with its brief commentary on the prison system) and the yellow face was pretty optimistic, even if I feel like everyone needed a lot of therapy. Here we have a man imprisoned, tortured and then gassed to death. And another almost suffering the same fate.

Watson's poetic turn of phrase softens it a little, but also makes it a bit more melacholy. Bleak, I think is the word I would use for this one.

His visitor, on entering his rooms, had drawn a life-preserver from his sleeve, and had so impressed him with the fear of instant and inevitable death that he had kidnapped him for the second time. Indeed, it was almost mesmeric, the effect which this giggling ruffian had produced upon the unfortunate linguist, for he could not speak of him save with trembling hands and a blanched cheek.

I am informed that a life-preserver is a type of bludgeon. And this little giggling man sounds utterly terrifying. I would absolutely do whatever he said if he threatened to bludgeon me to death. Watson seems surprised that Mr Melas is suffering from trauma. I get that Watson's a little... unhinged? regarding life or death situations, but between this and the lacking physical courage comment from before. Rude. Guy almost dies multiple times and it's definitely partially their fault for not trying to protect him. And they're busy judging him for going along with it.

And now we get a bit of an exposition dump.

...the unfortunate young lady came of a wealthy Grecian family, and that she had been on a visit to some friends in England. While there she had met a young man named Harold Latimer, who had acquired an ascendancy over her and had eventually persuaded her to fly with him. Her friends, shocked at the event, had contented themselves with informing her brother at Athens, and had then washed their hands of the matter.

A+ friends she has there. Wow.

'Acquired an ascendancy over her' is such a poetic turn of phrase for 'manipulated and controlled her'. This whole story is tragic and horrible. And so dark.

The brother, on his arrival in England, had imprudently placed himself in the power of Latimer and of his associate, whose name was Wilson Kemp—that through his ignorance of the language he was helpless in their hands, had kept him a prisoner, and had endeavoured by cruelty and starvation to make him sign away his own and his sister's property.

Seriously, this is horrible. Oh look, these people have no support system and no way to communicate, let's take advantage of them and torture them and no one will care. If it wasn't for Mr Melas, no one would even have thought to look.

...the plaster over the face had been for the purpose of making recognition difficult in case she should ever catch a glimpse of him. Her feminine perception, however, had instantly seen through the disguise when, on the occasion of the interpreter's visit, she had seen him for the first time.

'Her feminine perception'... i.e. the disguise was terrible and she actually knew what her brother looked like. Feminine perception. Maybe I should argue that in the next D&D session 'my character's female so I should get advantage on perception checks, Sherlock Holmes says so.' Lolol. This is made more amusing to me by the fact that I am both female and well-regarded as being one of the least observant people most of my friends and family know. My mother makes a game of it sometimes 'can you tell what's different in this room?'

No. The answer is always no.

Months afterwards a curious newspaper cutting reached us from Buda-Pesth. It told how two Englishmen who had been travelling with a woman had met with a tragic end. They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarrelled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged.

Fuck yeah, Sophy. Stab them. I hope they knew it was you as they died. There is at least a little satisfaction in that. There's a whole story in those last few sentences which would be an epic revenge tale.

I had genuinely forgotten how many of these stories end with things happening off screen without Holmes or Watson being involved. This is another case where the villains get their justice meted out extra-legally, but this time it at least seems to have been a result of their actions rather than divine intervention. The point of the stories is clearly the method not the resolution.

It's... not satisfying. And like I mentioned before, it's a really dark tale. I didn't not remember it ending so horrifically. Also Sophy's friends are all terrible and should be ashamed of themselves.

I watched Magpie Murders on the BBC this week and the whole thing revolves around the fact that the last chapter of a whodunnit is missing. They say multiple times that it's the most important part of the book, and I don't necessarily disagree, but its strange to see in these stories, which were not the first mystery stories but early in the genre's evolution where the emphasis lies. Whodunnit is important, but the comeuppance clearly isn't. And even the who isn't as important as how Holmes gets there.

The slight mentions of mesmerism are interesting, and could totally be rolled into my 'Holmes but supernatural' alternate universe, where Kemp is accomplished at mind-control. That would make it even darker, if anything though.

This whole thing is just a tragedy from start to end.

Copper Beeches next - and I've read that one many times. Copper Beeches and the Solitary Cyclist used to be my favourites as a kid. I'll be interested to see how much I remember. Also, it'll be interesting to see what current!me makes of past!me's taste.

[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 28: April 1922

Masterlist

It's time for the extravagant house party at Downton Abbey which culminates in a performance by opera singer Dame Nellie Melba. Ten are staying, and only three maids and two valets between them. Mr Carson must be in a tizzy. Among the guests is Michael Gregson, who is keen to win Robert's approval if he is to make a future with Edith. Emma has been recruited in their plan.

In the Great Hall, the guests are assembled, standing and talking in little groups with cups of tea. Robert and Cora are busy making the guests welcome. Emma stands close by Edith and Mr Gregson, who had told her to call him Michael though she finds it funny that it's the same name as her son. She's glad for the familiar face of Edith and the friendly one of Michael's as she's a bit nervous and uncomfortable to be surrounded and mingling with all these people of high society. Not her usual crowd at all.

"I seem to be outnumbered by your parents' old friends." Michael complains as he walks with Edith and Emma across the room. Emma glances over to see Robert and Mary mingling with a man around her, Edith and Mary's age.

"Oh, don't worry. You and Papa are really going to get to know each other this time. I promise." Edith reassures him.

Emma's eyes flicker over to Billy being pulled into a conversation with the elderly Duchess of Yeovil and looking incredibly uncomfortable. Emma had been introduced to the woman earlier and she had been nice enough but Emma could see the woman didn't know what to say to her. Tom is unfortunately conversing with a Sir John Bullock and Mrs Jefferson and looking like a fish out of water himself. Emma will go to rescue him in a moment.

Emma, Edith and Michael pause in their walking next to a group that includes Violet, Cora and some man. Cora turns to them and joins in on their conversation. At least one parent has warmed up to Edith's suitor.

Emma is pulled out of her musing by Robert speaking loudly, to the room at large, "Go up when you like. We'll gather in the Drawing room at eight."

——

Billy and Tom are both in white tie outfits. Tom had expressed to her how he thinks he looks like an idiot but Emma reassured him that she still loves him to which he smiled. Emma knows that three of them are walking a tightrope, she herself is wearing clothing that's more upper class than her usual.

A Sir John Bullock seems quite taken Rose, the two laugh and talk with one another as they walk through the room. Edith and Michael are murmuring to one another. Michael seems to have not been able to get a wiggle in on Robert's attention. Duchess has secured Billy's company again. Emma watches them out of the corner of her eye as she chats with Mrs Jefferson. They had gotten onto the awkward topic of child rearing.

"What do you mean you feed your children yourself?" Mrs Jefferson asks aghast.

"Oh, it's no problem." Emma tries to say as cheerfully as possible. She regrets mentioning her children; she had thought it was a safe topic.

"But a wet nurse is for that."

"Well, I-I want to be involved with my children's upbringing as much as I can considering the life I now lead." Emma defends.

"And you want to go back to work?" The woman asks in disbelief.

"Yes." Emma replies shortly.

"What on earth for? You're a mother. A wife. You shouldn't be working." Mrs Jefferson argues.

"Not until Michael doesn't need me as much and it's not as if they're being left on their own." Emma points out. This woman is acting as if she's left her children in the woods to starve! God, she hates this century sometimes. "They have their nannies, each other and Lord and Lady Grantham's grandchildren to keep them company."

"Is everything alright?" A voice interrupts.

Emma is relieved to see her husband. "Of course." Mrs Jefferson takes this as an indication she should move on and leaves the two.

Tom frowns as Emma smiles tightly at him. Then nods and grips her wrist loosely, squeezing it. Emma knows he's trying to show he understands. They're both fish out of water right now.

The Duchess moves on to talk to Mrs Jefferson and Violet then approaches Billy and, after a whispered conversation, she moves on, leaving Billy standing there looking crestfallen. Emma wonders over with Tom.

"Do you need cheering up?" Emma comments as they approach. She gives a sympathetic but also awkward smile.

Billy pouts. "I can't seem to do anything right."

Tom sighs. "I know how you feel." Emma winces as she recalls the awkward encounter with Mrs Jefferson earlier. Thomas walks past with some drinks on a tray. "Thomas, get us a drink, will you, for God's sake." Tom whispers desperately.

Thomas' reply is icily polite, "It's Barrow now, Sir. But yes, of course." He walks off.

"Should've known." Emma remarks to her husband. "And make sure not to drink too much. I'm still recovering from the Greys."

"That wasn't our fault as you well know and he never corrects you." Billy reminds her.

Emma shrugs with a grin. She sees Mary sitting on her own. "Well, now that the two of you have each other, I'll have a chat with Mary."

By the fireplace, Robert is talking to Sir John Bullock and Mr Sampson. Lord Gillingham joins the group. Emma hears them talking as she walks over to Mary.

"Are you surviving?" Mary questions teasingly as Emma flops herself onto a chair next to Mary's. Well, flops as much as she's able.

"Barely." Emma pouts. "Better than Tom and Billy though. They resorted to asking Thomas for drinks."

"Watch out." Mary remarks with a slight smile. Emma rolls her eyes. She's glad to have Mary coming more out of her shell, she had missed her so much.

They're then joined by Lord Gillingham, who brings up the idea of going on a ride.

"It's no trouble." Mary reassures him. "We have plenty of horses and Papa would be delighted. Have you anything to ride in?"

"We packed it all, in case."

"Well, that settles it. I'll send a message to the stables tonight."

"Will you come out with me?" Gillingham asks. Emma raises an eyebrow. This is basically upper class 1920s asking out on a date. Is quite funny how they can't be direct with one another.

"Actually, I might. Emma?" She looks at Emma with a hopeful look.

Emma winces sympathetically. "Mary, have ever actually seen me on a horse?" She had been at a couple of birthday parties in her childhood but she was definitely not a skilled rider. Better be safe than sorry.

"True. Though I haven't been in the saddle for ages. I'll be as stiff as a board the next day." She and Gillingham share a laugh. This man might not be much but he seems alright though Emma thinks it's still a bit too soon after Matthew. Mary turns to address the room at large. "Would anyone else like to go riding tomorrow morning? Sir John?" He shakes his head from where he stands at the fireplace with Robert and Mr Sampson. Mary turns to the latter. "Mr Sampson?"

"Must I?" He remarks. The men chuckle.

"Edith?"

Edith turns to Michael. "Do you ride?"

"Not if I don't have to." He speaks. Edith turns back to Mary and shakes her head.

Gillingham turns to Mary. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me." Which doesn't sound like it's a big problem for him at all. The man seems nice enough but Emma is really that impressed by him. Maybe her opinion will soon change.

——

The next day it's time for some breakfast. Emma had been able to feed Michael and check on her two children before joining the family.

Emma walks in to see Tom already seated at the table, eating next to Rose with Billy across from them with Edith and Michael Gregson next to him.

She's impressed by the spread on the sideboard. Gemma has told Emma how incredibly stressed Mrs Patmore has been. Emma hopes she doesn't put herself out. In other news, Gemma has also informed her that Mr Molesley is delivering for Bakewell's. Emma feels sorry for him as she knows he'll view it as a step down but hopefully he'll find something soon.

Emma, along with Robert, joins Lord Gillingham and Sir John at the sideboard.

"You played late. I hope you didn't think me rude for going to bed." Robert greets.

"No. Not a bit." Gillingham reassures.

"What's this?" Emma asks as Sir John walks away from the sideboard.

"Just a game of cards." Robert says evasively. He hurriedly turns back to Gillingham. Probably doesn't want to be interrogated. "How was the game?"

"Sampson is a very skilled player." Gillingham says pointedly. Emma frowns. What does he mean by that?

Sir John Bullock sits down next to Rose, looking despondent. Probably another player from last night.

Emma moves to the table and sits next to her husband while Robert sits down at the head and addresses Tom and Billy.

"What are your plans for today?" He asks.

"I thought I'd go to the South Wood, look at the new planting." Tom replies.

"And I've got to get to work." Billy answers.

"Won't you help me entertain our guests?" Robert asks, more like demands. The two men shift uncomfortably.

Emma quickly interrupts. "I think the most important thing is that they're abandoning me."

"What do you mean?" Robert asks, confused. "You have our guests to talk to."

Emma winces. The man doesn't truly get what she, Tom and Billy are feeling.

Tom turns to her fondly. "Just give me two hours off and I'll spend all my time with you."

Emma grins before turning to Billy. "See. He doesn't leave me."

"My job isn't optional!" Billy says exasperatedly but fondly.

Robert interrupts the joking mood. "Be sure not to be too long."

Billy nods tightly, begins finishing his meal and leaves. Emma looks on sympathetically. Tom has Emma to act as a barrier with Robert but what does Billy have?

Emma looks to Edith who has the same look on her face but then minutely gestures to Robert. Oh yes, Emma had promised to enact the plan.

Emma turns to Robert. "I was thinking of going on a walk with Edith and Mr Gregson after breakfast. Why don't you come?"

Robert looks at Michael awkwardly before dismissing the idea, "I don't think so. I've got too much to do, rounding this lot up. Coffee?"

"Not yet, thank you." Robert rises and walks off to get more coffee. Edith turns to Gregson, apologetic. Emma frowns annoyed.

Tom looks at her amused. "Have you been plotting with Edith and Mr Gregson?"

Emma shrugs. "Maybe..."

Tom shakes his head at her with a smile then pecks her cheek. "Well, I need to get going. I'll be back in a few hours"

"You better."

——

Michael, Emma and Edith walk into the Library after their walk. Emma had been concerned about third wheeling but the couple had made her feel welcome. They had come across the nannies taking the children out. It was quite funny having the two Michaels meet though the younger didn't contribute much as he's only two months old.

Other male guests are loitering about in the room, reading newspapers. Robert is at his writing desk. The women had gone to look at the gardens. It reminds Emma of when her own mother and aunt, whenever they were at each other's houses, they'd give each other tours of their gardens. Emma feels saddened when she thinks of her family. She wonders what happened after she fell into the past. Are her family looking for her?

"I'm getting quite fluent." Michael informs them. His comment brings Emma out of her thoughts.

"You're taking German lessons?" Edith asks in disbelief.

Emma lets out a strained chuckle. "Well, he does plan on going to live there." She really still doesn't like the idea, not in this era of German history.

"No, no. Of course." Edith turns to Michael as they slow to a stop. "I just can't get over the fact you're doing all this to be with me."

"Whatever it takes." Michael says with a smile.

"You two are disgustingly sweet," Emma remarks. Edith smiles shyly while Michael continues to smile.

They approach Robert at the desk. Michael and Edith exchange a look, Michael silently encouraging her to tackle the matter.

"Michael was admiring the Library." Edith says to her father when she walks closer. Emma and Michael trail behind.

"It's marvellous." Michael says as he walks to stand next to Edith. "Edith tells me there's a Gutenberg Bible."

When Robert replies, barely looking up from his papers, "Yes. It's a shame our librarian, Mr Pattinson, isn't here. He's the only one who knows where anything is." He rises. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I must go and sort out the wine for tonight."

He walks off. Michael crosses his arms, hiding his annoyance behind a wry smile. "He doesn't approve of me."

"He doesn't know you." Edith corrects.

"Nor is he likely to." Edith scoffs at his words.

"He will. One way or another." Emma declares.

——

After dinner, Emma, instead of joining the women in the Drawing room, had gone to the Nursery to look in on the children and is making her way down the stairs into the Hall when she comes across Jimmy tentatively flexing his hand.

"Jimmy?" She calls, startling him. She gets to the bottom and looks at him curiously. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course, Mrs Branson. Just had an unfortunate accident with my wrist." His eyebrows furrow as he rubs it.

"Well, let me see." She offers her hand and Jimmy gingerly places his wrist in it. Emma has a look over it before declaring, "You've probably just sprained it a bit. I recommend wrapping it in some bandages for now, let it rest and go to the Hospital tomorrow."

"Yes, Mrs Branson."

"Right come with me, I'll bandage it for you." Emma begins to pull him towards the Library.

Jimmy looks at her with wide eyes. "No, no, it's alright, Mrs Branson."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Come on." She hears voices from the Dining room and quickly pulls Jimmy, who reluctantly follows, away. She leaves him in the Small Library so she can dart upstairs to get the nursing kit she keeps in her room.

Emma slips past Gillingham, Sampson, Robert and Michael as they walk through the Hall and into the Drawing room and overhears some of their conversation.

"I'll join you if you like." Robert is saying to Sampson. Oh dear, seems he's being pulled into a card game.

"Is there a place for me?" Michael asks as Emma slinks up the stairs. His words give her pause. Maybe Robert will finally get to know Michael.

Emma turns away to go back up the stairs and accidentally collides with Rose.

"Oh!" Emma exclaims. "Sorry, I—" She then sees Alfred standing on the steps behind Rose and carefully carrying a large, heavy object covered with a dark cloth. "What's that?"

"It's a surprise!" Rose says cheerfully though can't help but think she looks like she's been caught red handed.

"A surprise..." Emma deadpans.

"Yes, please don't tell!" Rose pleads.

Emma sighs. "Oh alright. But only because I just don't want to get involved."

Rose beams. "Come on Alfred!" She calls as she darts down the stairs. Emma steps aside so the poor footman can make his way down without an accident happening.

She grabs the kit and makes her way back to Jimmy, who is perched uncomfortably on a chair and bouncing his knee anxiously.

"Here we go!" Emma declares when she steps inside, starting him. Is she really this terrifying?

She gets to work and to fill in the awkward silence, she begins talking. "I suppose this is why Thomas was playing footman tonight and looked like a child whose sweets had been stolen."

Jimmy winces looking genuinely guilty. "I helped opening a jar and it didn't go well."

"I can see that." Emma remarks with a smile, which Jimmy returns.

——

Emma has only just joined everyone in the Drawing room and is talking with Tom near where Billy sits with Cora, Violet and the Duchess when, suddenly, there is the sound of a gramophone from the Hall. Everybody looks up.

Rose comes walking in at the open door. "Is there anyone who wants to dance?" Emma huffs a laugh. This was what she was up to.

"I jolly well do. If it's with you." Sir John remarks as he eagerly follows her out into the Hall.

"I love dancing, but these days I haven't got a partner." The Duchess laments.

"Billy? You're dressed for it." Cora hesitantly suggests.

Billy looks like he'd like to be invisible, but, after a moment's pause, turns to the Duchess and says dutifully, "Would you care to dance with me, Duchess?"

"I should love it." The Duchess says enthusiastically. They get up. Billy offers her his arm.

Tom raises an eyebrow at Emma. "Well?"

Emma purses her lips; she isn't really a fan of dancing but she supposes that she can't miss the opportunity to be held in the arms of her husband. "Very well."

They link arms and pass Michael and Edith as they move to leave the room.

"I hate to pass up a chance to hold you in my arms, but..." Michael says.

"Why do you have to play?" Edith complains.

"Because I've said I will."

"Don't worry, you and Emma can share me." Tom suggests as they pause next to them.

Emma huffs a laugh and smiles at her husband teasingly. "You only say that because you don't want to be left to the wolves."

"So?"

They all chuckle and depart from the room. Emma glances back to see who's left in the room and sees Violet in her seat with Mary sitting next to her and Lord Gillingham approaching them. Hmm...

——

They are all in the swing of it when Mary and Gillingham come walking out into the Hall too and start dancing.

"What do you think about Mary's new beau? I can't help but think it's a bit too soon." Emma comments to Tom.

"Don't know. You know I've been trying to avoid talking to most of them." Tom says dejectedly.

Emma smiles sympathetically. "I know, but I can't help but feel Billy is having a worse time than you." The two of them glance over to see Billy really looking uncomfortable and replying with short answers to whatever the Duchess is saying.

"Hmmm..."

It is then that Emma and Tom, having not looked where they were going, accidentally collide with Mary and Gillingham, who had stopped dancing. Emma turns to apologise but then sees the stricken look on Mary's face. Emma pulls away from Tom and looks towards where Mary is looking and freezes. Alfred is in charge of the gramophone by the stairs, a gramophone that looks awfully like the one that was Matthew and Lavinia's wedding present. Oh, dear.

"Rose?" Mary then says, drawing the attention of a beaming Rose in the arms of Sir John and causing them to stop. "Where did you get that?"

"I found it in the attic. I got Alfred to bring it downstairs." Rose replies.

"I'm so sorry but I... I can't dance after all." Mary says shakily before stepping away.

"Perhaps–" Sir John begins to say but Mary walks away upstairs without another word.

Gillingham looks at all of them puzzled. "What was that about?"

"The gramophone. It belonged to Matthew." Emma explains. She harshly turns on Rose. "Rose, what were you thinking?!" She hisses.

"I'm sorry. I, I didn't think." Rose apologises. Rose looks massively guilty.

Gillingham looks massively disappointed. "What a pity." He walks away, too. After a pause, Rose and Sir John resume dancing.

Emma turns to her husband. "You go dance with Edith. I'll talk to Mary." Tom nods and Emma goes up the stairs after Mary.

——

Mary is lying on her bed, fully clothed, looking miserable when Emma opens the door to admit herself.

Emma hesitantly approaches the bed. "Mary? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Did you know that Rose had found Matthew's gramophone?" Mary says plainly. There are no tears on her cheeks but she does look sombre.

Emma purses her lips and slowly sits down on the edge of the bed next to Mary as she speaks, "No, but I did see her getting Alfred to carry something down. I should've asked more questions and she should've asked you."

"Well, you weren't to know and she didn't ask." Mary sighs. "I feel very sad tonight."

Emma reaches over and places a hand on her arm. "And no wonder. She shouldn't have had it brought down and set off your memories." She says reproachfully.

Mary shakes her head. "No, it's not that. At least, it's not only that. Sometimes I don't know whom I'm most in mourning for, Matthew or the person I used to be when I was with him."

Emma smiles slightly. "You're a fine person, Mary. Fine and strong. And you'll learn that for yourself as time goes by." She says sincerely. "You just haven't worked out how to show those qualities yet after the loss of Matthew."

Mary sits up on the side of the bed causing Emma to shuffle back to give her some room. "I made rather an idiot of myself in front of Lord Gillingham."

"He won't mind." Emma reassures her. "He seems quite interested in you, though you must know that you shouldn't feel pressured into anything. You know what's better for you."

Mary smiles softly. "Thank you."

——

Emma pulls Jimmy along to the Hospital to get him properly checked and treated. When they emerge, Emma spots Isobel and Violet talking in the square near the latter's car. Emma sends Jimmy off on his way and approaches the two women.

Emma passes when she hears Violet say, "Look, my dear, I don't want to be unkind, and you have my sympathy, truly. But it won't bring him back for you to sit alone, night after night."

Emma swallows tearfully. She knows what Violet means but the problem is not the day someone dies as you have things to do, but it's all those days after that they stay dead.

"I know. But you see, I have this feeling that when I laugh or read a book or hum a tune, it means that I've forgotten him. Just for a moment. And it's that that I can't bear." Isobel replies.

"'Better by far that you should forget and smile, than that you should remember and be sad.'" Violet quotes.

"But Rossetti was writing about her own death, not her child's."

"Isobel!" Emma calls cheerfully as she approaches them. "Are you coming to the concert after all?"

Isobel sighs but smiles slightly. "I suppose I must."

——

The family and guests, ready for dinner, are waiting for Dame Nellie Melba to arrive in the Drawing room.

"What on earth can she be doing?" Cora wonders to Violet, Isobel, Emma, the Duchess, Mary and Gillingham as they gather in a group; some sitting, some not.

"Should someone go up and see?" Mary suggests.

Violet frowns in confusion. "I thought she was going to sing after dinner."

"She is." Isobel replies.

"Then why would we want to see her before?"

Emma rolls her eyes at the response.

Mary and Gillingham drift off to talk to one another but Emma still stays with the others. She had looked in Lady Raven's direction earlier and felt a bit too scared to leave the safety of Cora, Isobel and Violet. Emma sees that in another part of the room, Sir John is trying to make small talk with Tom and Billy. It doesn't seem to be going well.

Cora calls over Mr Carson to ask him where Dame Nellie is and they learn she isn't joining them.

"She's in her room? How long has she been there?" Cora asks indignantly.

"Her maid took her some tea when she arrived." Mr Carson replies.

Emma frowns. She thought the singer had turned up too late for afternoon tea, but apparently, she's been here the entire time?!

"What?" Cora expresses in shock.

"And I'm about to send up dinner."

"Doesn't she want to eat with us?" Isobel questions.

Mr Carson looks affronted at the notion. "I didn't think it appropriate, Ma'am, and His Lordship agreed with me."

"You're kidding me?!" Emma exclaims just as Isobel huffs, "I can't believe my ears."

Cora sighs irritably and gets up from her chair. "Robert?" She waits for him to step closer to her so the rest of the room won't hear. After a hushed but angry conversation with her husband, Cora turns to Mr Carson, who has walked up behind her, murmurs to him then he replies to her before she quickly hisses at him then gives him a disdainful look and walks off, out of the room.

——

In the Dining room, they are being served dinner by Alfred and Mr Molesley, who is surprisingly wearing a footman's livery, in a perfectly tranquil and dignified atmosphere. Suffocating.

Dame Nellie Melba has joined them, sitting next to Robert. The man better behave.

Billy incorrectly turns to his right and murmurs to Emma, "When do you think we can make our escape."

Emma smiles awkwardly and apologetically to Lady Raven, who looks a bit put out that Billy has so rudely turned away from her.

"I don't think that's possible and you really shouldn't be talking to me." Emma murmurs.

Billy grimaces and turns back to Lady Raven while Emma talks to Rose, thank God. Cora turns to talk to her other neighbour, which thankfully means Emma and Billy can now chat with each other. Relieving Billy of whatever awkward small talk he was making.

At the other end of the table, Mary is talking to Gillingham. She laughs suddenly. Emma only catches it slightly and looks in Mary's direction in surprise.

She turns back to Billy, who murmurs, "I don't think she's laughed like that since Matthew died."

"No..." Emma frowns. "I am glad to hear it, but..."

"What?"

Emma sighs. "I'm not sure how I feel about Lord Gillingham of all people causing it."

"Don't you like him?" Billy questions.

"He's alright I suppose." Emma replies. "But I want to shake him and tell him that her husband hasn't even been dead for a year yet, what are you doing?"

"It's been a year and 8 months or so for me." Billy says quietly.

Emma looks at him sorrowfully. "And you have all the time in the world to find someone or not."

"Not anyone from this world." Billy huffs, downing another drink and Emma wonders how many he's had. "None of them would understand me. Not like Sybil."

"Then who?"

Billy doesn't answer her as Mr Molesley pours him a new glass of wine.

——

Emma loses Billy after dinner, which concerns her, but before long, it's time for Dane Nellie's performance and Billy has thankfully appeared once again.

Chairs have been set up for the audience in the Great Hall. Dame Nellie stands by the grand piano and sings 'Songs My Mother Taught Me' by Czech composer Antonin Dvorak, accompanied by a pianist.

By the staircase, at an 'appropriate' distance from the family and guests, chairs have been set up for the servants as well. In one section are Mrs Hughes, Mr Bates and Anna in the front row, while Mr Molesley and some visiting valets are in the back row. In another section are Daisy, Ivy, Mrs Patmore, Alfred and Dr Clarkson in the front row, with some valets, Lucy a kitchen maid and Anne and George in the back row. Mr Carson and Thomas stand listening in a corner, the former enchanted, the latter unreadable. Emma glances at him amusedly before turning her focus back to the performance.

The song ends and everyone applauds. Emma sees Anna get up and walk quietly out. Gemma had told Emma about a rambunctious game of cards in the Servants' Hall that Emma is sad to have missed. Perhaps all the yelling has given Anna a headache.

"And now for one of my favourites. 'O Mio Babbino Caro' by Puccini, from Gianni Schicchi. And I'd like to dedicate this to love and to lovers." Dame Nellie announces. Emma and Tom smile at each other and clasp hands as she begins to sing.

During the singing, Emma notices that Anna still hasn't come back. She frowns, Emma has a bad feeling.

She touches Tom's hand. "I'm going downstairs."

Tom looks at her in concern. "What for? Is everything alright?"

Emma nods, trying not to show her worry. She doesn't want to worry her husband when she doesn't even know why she's having this bad feeling. Tom reluctantly lets her go and she slips out of the room.

——

Once Emma is making her way down the stairs, that's when she hears it, distant screaming. Emma gets to the bottom and realises it's coming from what she recalls as the Boot room. She steps into the Kitchen and grabs a pot that's been left on the side, preparing for whatever she's going to face. It must be Anna and she's clearly in distress.

She opens the door to find Anna on the bench with lots of objects on the floor. Emma only sees the back of a man on top of Anna.

Emma can't bear to think of what he is doing and instead yells, "What on earth are you doing?!"

He spins around but she doesn't give him a chance to answer and whams him over the head with the pot. He staggers in shock and collapses to the floor. It is only then that Emma can see his face and recognises him as Lord Gillingham's valet. He seems unconscious and she doesn't spare another thought for him and instead turns her attention to Anna, who, thankfully, while shaken and teary eyed, has only a few tears in her clothes and her underwear completely intact.

"Anna?" She tentatively calls. Oh god, he almost- almost-

Anna sobs, breaking her from her thoughts. She looks at Emma with wide and tearful eyes. Despite not being raped as Emma had feared, Anna's entire appearance is a mess. Her hair is down making her look completely dishevelled. Her clothes are hanging loosely about her, her face and lips bruised and bloody. Anna overall looks extremely distressed and Emma doesn't blame her.

Emma sighs. "Come with me. I can patch you up." Emma gently wraps her arm around the shaking woman and guides her so she's standing upright on the ground. "Let's go to Mrs Hughes' Sitting room."

——

Emma is patching up Anna and treating her the best she can when Mrs Hughes walks in.

"Shut the door. She turns back to Anna." Emma says urgently. She doesn't want anyone to see Anna yet. Not until they've discussed what to do.

Mrs Hughes turns and looks at the scene in front of her in alarm. "Oh, my God!"

"Shut the door!" Emma sharply whispers before turning back to the nursing kit she had gotten from her room and packs up her supplies. She hates the fact that this is the second time in two days she's used this.

Mrs Hughes obeys. Anna gets up despite Emma trying to get her to sit down. "Will you help me? Will you find me some clothes?" She desperately asks the housekeeper.

"Of course, I will, but..."

Anna keeps talking, ignoring her. This is the first time she's spoken since Emma found her in the Boot room with- with-

"Will you see to Lady Mary? Say, um, just say I've gone home with a headache." She's completely beside herself. It's a wonder she can still think as straight as this. It didn't even happen to Emma and she's shaken and frightened, having used her nursing as a distraction.

"Anna, I really think you should tell someone." Emma suggests.

"I agree." Mrs Hughes speaks. "I can manage Lady Mary, but Anna, we must tell someone!" She totally knows what has happened. Emma and Anna don't have to explain anything.

"No, no, no!" Anna cries frantically.

"But you'll have to tell Mr Bates!" Emma argues.

By the look on Anna's face, this is clearly her worst nightmare. "Him least of all! If he knew, he'd murder the man who's done it and then he'd be hanged!" She says pleadingly.

"But surely..."

"He's a convicted felon! D'you think they'd spare him a second time?"

Emma looks down thinking she's probably right though isn't happy with this.

"No." Mrs Hughes quietly replies. There's a pause as Anna sobs. "Maybe the doctor's still here." She makes a move towards the door. Anna pulls her back by the arm.

"Will you listen?!" Anna cries desperately. "Please no Doctor, Emma has treated me. I'm fine. I just need your help, or I wouldn't have told you. Nobody else must ever know. You promise me!"

Mrs Hughes speaks with a deep sigh, "Wait here. I'll fetch you some water and a comb." She runs her hand along Anna's cheek in a comforting caress. "And see what I can find you in the way of a dress."

Anna lets her go, still crying, and retreats to a corner. There she sinks down against the wall, sobbing inconsolably. Emma sits on the floor and cradles her.

——

Emma sees Mr Bates walking along the corridor just as she and Anna step out of Mrs Hughes's Sitting room. Anna is now wearing a black white-trimmed dress, her hair redone neatly.

He steps closer with a frown; he's likely seen the marks on her face. "What happened to you?"

Anna replies, avoiding his eyes. "I was drinking a powder when I suddenly felt dizzy and I... I must have fainted. I think I hit the edge of the sink as I went down. Emma found me and patched me up a bit. It was stupid really."

Mr Bates looks at Emma questioningly and she reluctantly nods. He's unsure but nods.

"You've changed your dress." He observes. He's deeply concerned by her obvious distress, but he doesn't understand what's happened. Not yet.

"Yes. It's badly marked. I've put it in to soak, but I'm not sure I can save it. Mrs Hughes lent me this." Anna takes her coat and hat from the hook by the door. "Come on, let's go."

"What's the hurry?"

Anna doesn't answer and walks out into the Yard.

Mr Bates looks to Emma in question. Emma avoids his eyes. She can't look at the distressed face of a husband not understanding what's happened with his wife, why she's acting so strange.

Emma makes a quick excuse about her children needing her before hurrying away. When she reaches the stairs, she sees the valet that had attacked Anna emerging from the Boot room further down another corridor. He's staggering and holding his head in pain. She really doesn't want him to see her just in case he'd had enough time to see her face before she whacked him so she darts up the stairs hoping he hasn't seen her.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 4

Warnings: SPOILERS��for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see  Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

It’s time to take a close look at Episode 2 of the second game, The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro!

Episode 2-2: The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro

Remember how in the last episode we vaguely got Barok on our side near the end of the trial by proving Mrs. Garrideb was actually involved in the crime? … Yeah. Forget that progress. It's being undone. Case 2-2 is the first case of the second game which features Barok, which unfortunately means he needs to be 'reintroduced' to the audience and it takes him back several steps in his growth. It makes sense, I suppose, it would've been weird starting a new game with him already being lightly on Ryu's side. Even so, it's a bit insulting how this case acts as if the chronologically previous one accomplished nothing.

So anyway, this case flashbacks to something which supposedly happened right after the first game's fourth case. The day after Soseki's acquittal, even. Turns out, Soseki awoke to find one of the other tenants in his building dead and asked Ryu for help, but (S)Holmes tagged along. Gregson is at the crime scene, keeping an eye on the place and on Soseki in particular since he's suspicious. (Sure, Gregson. Sure. Has nothing to do with the Reaper's curse, probably.) After some investigation with (S)Holmes, Gregson has enough evidence to actually arrest Soseki, which definitely feels like a step backwards. A bit later, it turns out the victim is Not Actually Dead Yet. Again! The Great Ace Attorney really enjoys throwing us for a loop by pretending we're in for another murder case.

Anyway, during the course of the investigation, I found two mentions of Van Zieks. The first is when you investigate the broken glasses and bottles in the victim's room. Susato is immediately reminded of Lord van Zieks.

And when examining Garrideb's old army uniform, Susato points out it might suit Lord van Zieks.

Haha, as if his usual outfit isn't ostentatious enough already. So we learn that Susato doesn't have a very high opinion of him at all, and I should hope it's not still related to that time he called detective novels pathetic. It's fun of them to refer to him in an investigation that he's not involved in in any way, especially when they don't know yet that he's the prosecution again.

Speaking to Soseki in the gaol, we're once again told that he's had a dreadful time in England so far. He sees foreigners everywhere and he's sure they're all laughing at him. He's been so on edge the past year that he's moved 'more times than he can remember'. So once again, we're reminded that racial prejudice in 1900s England is a focal point of this game's story. Once the conversation is over, Gregson appears to let the gang know that the victim has regained consciousness and is accusing Soseki of poisoning him. We're going to trial for an attempted murder charge, y'all!

The next day, in the defendant's lobby, Susato comes bursting in with the dreadful news that Barok van Zieks has once again taken on the prosecution. It's definitely safe to assume now that either Ryu or Soseki is the reason he's taking on these not-really-murder trials when he normally wouldn't. As I mentioned before, this is his reintroduction in the second game and so the game feels compelled to remind the player of what went down in case 1-4:

He sure did! The game also once again reminds us what the Reaper's Curse entails, and that perhaps that's the reason why Soseki is on trial yet again. He's doomed, perhaps. Susato also informs us that (S)Holmes is running late, just as he was two days ago, and Ryu thinks that's a good thing because if the Great Detective were there, Ryu might come to rely on his help.

… I suppose? He already relies on Susato for help and I feel like that would warrant far more 'preying' from Van Zieks than relying on a male, adult British detective for help. Though knowing (S)Holmes, he'd end up stealing the show and taking the words from Ryu's mouth, but that doesn't seem to be what Ryu's worried about here. I suppose the main point to take away from this remark is that Ryu wants to do as much as he can by himself. He wants to appear strong in front of Van Zieks to avoid presenting an easy target, and I think this might actually be the first time we see a sentiment like that from him. Is he afraid of Van Zieks? Does he actually care about the man's opinion? Anyway, he swears to show Van Zieks what a Japanese lawyer can do.

Inside the courtroom, Van Zieks does the usual prosecutor spiel about how the defense needs to be ready for defeat. Ryu thinks to himself that Van Zieks has a particular animosity towards Japanese people for some reason.

Good thing we got a second game in the series, eh? So because the defendant was on trial only two days ago, the same jurors were chosen where possible. The only juror not returning is Mrs. Garrideb, who's too busy being in prison. Her spot is now taken by a very fancy lady we later learn to be the wife of the Altamont Gas Company's owner. She may as well be the CEO herself with how she's acting, though. Anyway, Van Zieks addresses the jurors directly.

“However, the innocent verdict afforded to this eccentric Nipponese before... has had dire consequences. Did the accused repent for his wrongdoing in that affair? Far from it. Instead, he used his freedom to perpetrate a most blood-curdling crime!”

Van Zieks makes record time by taking off his cloak immediately after this line. He's gone straight into overdrive. The witnesses summoned this time are Inspector Gregson and... Soseki? It's very irregular for the defendant to be testifying, especially this early in the trial and especially by the prosecution's request. I can't really make much of it. It feels like the only reason Soseki is testifying is for this joke:

Also found when examining the testimony is a remark from Van Zieks that I honestly found shocking in how ferocious and scummy it is.

Unnecessary, that remark. It didn't need to exist at all in my opinion. So after Ryu shatters the testimony and scatters Gregson's fish 'n chips, Van Zieks calmly pours himself a glass of wine. I have to be honest, by now whenever he does this I'm left wondering what he'll do next. Will he crush the chalice? Will he throw it? Will he actually take a sip? The versatility of the action and unpredictable nature of Van Zieks add a bit of suspense. Turns out, his mind wandered during the testimony.

And then he ends up crushing the glass in his hand anyway. Alas, poor chalice. We knew it. So after a bit of debating back and forth about whether Shamspeare drank the supposedly-poisoned-tea after Soseki left the room, Van Zieks suddenly falls silent. We get three different, consecutive frames of him going “......” and when the judge asks what's wrong, he says this:

Supersonic hearing, this one. That is, unless the carriage entered the courthouse and literally pulled up in the hallway outside the room? Haven't we learned our lesson from the last time a carriage was driven into the Old Bailey?! So Shamspeare was apparently subpoenaed by the prosecution and has shown up to testify (with his doctor's permission). Bad news for us, since he's the one accusing Soseki in the first place. There's also a second witness to support Shamspeare's insistence there were no other visitors to the room and therefore only Soseki could have poisoned him. After that testimony is over, Van Zieks gets his wish and all the jurors vote guilty.

Van Zieks really seems to think that Soseki is a terrible person deserving of justice, huh? He was right there during the previous trial, saw Ryu prove without a shadow of a doubt that Soseki was innocent and still insists that justice will be done “this time”. Calm the heck down man, you're the one who sided with us when Mrs. Garrideb needed to testify, remember? And here comes another example of the game pretending the previous trials didn't leave an impact; when the Summation Examination is brought up, it's with disdain and this remark:

Bro, we used the Summation Examination successfully like five times already. Sit your butt down and watch the show. The jurors once again give prejudiced reasons for their decisions:

And unfortunately, instead of changing their minds by proving Soseki is a morally upstanding, innocent citizen, Ryu instead gets through this Summation Examination by basically proving Shamspeare is a worse person than Soseki. That's... not the direction you should be taking here, narrative. After convincing four of the jurors that Shamspeare is a fishy liar, Van Zieks flings another chalice of wine in frustration. The judge still thinks he could technically pass a ruling on the trial, since the new information didn't exactly disprove that Soseki is the culprit, but the jurors have been influenced so thoroughly that they can't let this new info go ignored. Testimony from the Altamont Company is allowed! Van Zieks thinks it's a waste of time, of course, and if this were reality it would be. Since it's an Ace Attorney game, we know Shamspeare's gas thievery is bound to somehow be related to the incident. Van Zieks flings yet another chalice after hearing the testimony (how many has it been already? Five?) and very shortly after, he tosses the entire bottle over his shoulder. Susato points out that he seems to be in a violent mood. I feel like someone must've pissed in his oatmeal that morning, because I've got no real explanation for why his character regressed this badly in the course of what chronologically was only two days.

Van Zieks flings two more chalices as the testimony progresses to prove that Shamspeare made fake coins to fool the gas meter. At the end of it all, he supposedly 'throws his hand up in despair and happened to catch his hallowed bottle along the way', flinging yet another one of those into the gallery. I'm starting to feel very bad for the people seated behind him now. Is the game overdoing these quirky animations to compensate for his regressed attitude? Because I'm not sure it's working... Van Zieks continues to insist that the situation hasn't changed and only Soseki could have poisoned the victim, so he calls for immediate adjucation. The game gives Ryu the option to either object or wait and see, and I have to be honest, this gave me pause. After what happened with the penalties in case 1-4, I was sure Van Zieks might dish out more punishment for waiting and seeing. Turns out, he doesn't. Ryu points out that Shamspeare likely used the tea to make these fake frozen coins of his, meaning there's still tea left at the scene of the crime which can be tested for poison.

Head in my hands right now. Again, I get it, they basically had to reintroduce Van Zieks to newcomers of the game (however few there might've been) so they had to regress him a bit, but I really don't like this. He honestly felt like he'd grown at the end of 1-4 and the game's not only undone it, it feels like they've made him even more of a scumbag. This line and this gesture honestly doesn’t quite correspond with the character established in the previous game. Anyway, court adjourned till the next day so the police can test the tea for poison.

During the investigation segment, we get a conversation that I'd quite honestly forgotten even exists. Turns out, (S)Holmes and Van Zieks are acquainted! ...or are they? (S)Holmes says he 'must pass the time of day with Mr. Reaper again, as it's been too long' and when asked whether they're acquainted, (S)Holmes replies that there isn't a person in the world who doesn't know his name, expertly dodging the question. Naturally, a new conversation topic opens up about it, so we can still attempt to needle more details out of him.

He explains the history of the Reaper's curse a bit more. Previous defendants found not-guilty would 'disappear from the capital' by falling under a passing carriage, drowning in the Thames, succumbing to a sudden fever... Etc. Susato points out that if those rumors are true, then surely the obvious conclusion would be that they were killed by Van Zieks's own hand. (S)Holmes points out that's impossible, since Van Zieks was already investigated on the matter before and for every single incident, he had a solid alibi. (This... doesn't disprove Van Zieks had anything to do with it, but okay (S)Holmes. Sure.) (S)Holmes also rubs it in yet again that Van Zieks retired from the courts five years ago and didn't return until the day Naruhodo arrived. I honestly don't know why they keep bringing that 5 year hiatus up in every single case, because as far as I can recall it was never fully explained or relevant.

I love how “foul smell” is wedged in-between those two topics as if it's also related. Anyway the conversation continues when Ryu brings up that Van Zieks seems to have a particular disdain for Japanese people. Susato demands to know whether (S)Holmes knows a bit more about it and while he's silent at first, he relents and tells us a tale (which will apparently be forgotten by Ryu and Susato in case 1-5). Van Zieks “chose to enter the legal profession ten years ago, but before that time, the man's closest companion hailed from the empire of Japan”. Which is a wording that baffles me, because it implies that Van Zieks chose to enter the legal profession at the same moment that Japanese person betrayed him, which we know is not the case. He was already in training to be a prosecutor before that, otherwise how could he possibly have prosecuted the Professor trial? Ryu is shocked and asks to know more, but (S)Holmes says the veil on the events from the past will be lifted soon enough. I'll get back to the implications of what this means for Van Zieks's backstory when we hit this exact same reveal in case 1-5.

Van Zieks is mentioned very little in the rest of the investigation segments. We only learn that he tasked Gregson with finding new clues, much to Gregson's dismay, as there isn't much to be found. The Inspector does immediately leap at new information when we uncover it, which implies he's eager to either please Van Zieks or avoid being scolded by him. I'm assuming the latter, but it's also possible Gregson feels guilty over the whole Reaper thing and Klint's autopsy, and is now compensating by working his hardest to fulfill Van Zieks's requests.

At the very end of the investigation, when evening falls, (S)Holmes reminds us that “it'll be hard to escape the grip of our friend, Mr. Reaper”. The next day, in the defendant's lobby just before the trial begins, Ryu thinks to himself that he doesn't believe in the legend of the Reaper any more than he believes in the convict's curse Soseki keeps mentioning. What's interesting here is that Ryu isn't dreading the confrontation anymore. After the McGilded trial he seemed genuinely intimidated by the concept of going up against Van Zieks (not because of the racism but because of what happened to his first defendant), but now he's not so hesitant anymore. He's beginning to see that Van Zieks can be defeated, that the Reaper thing is nonsense and that protecting his client is a fight worth fighting.

Into the courtroom we go for day 2 of the trial! When the judge asks about the results of the tea test, Van Zieks is silent for a moment. He pours himself a glass of wine, asking for a moment to “savour a liquid of a more sanguine hue”, then refers to Gregson for the full report. Gregson confirms no poison was found in the tea remains, but the prosecution wouldn't be the prosecution (and the game would be pretty boring) if they didn't have a backup plan. When Ryu proclaims Soseki is innocent, Van Zieks accuses him of jumping to conclusions, “a typical Nipponese reaction”. It's also a typical prosecution reaction to be hypocritical, no surprises here. He throws his chalice (first one of the day) and summons Shamspeare back to the stand to testify about how Soseki's unpoisoned and undrank cup of tea had been used to make the ice coins.

There's some lines here that I thought I might as well include:

“Yet on occasion, tedium distracts me and I pour more times than I intended until the bottle is dry.”

You know, it occurs to me that this drink is pretty much confirmed to be wine. He's very extra when talking about it himself, but he had his silly little wine analogies in the previous case and Susato referred to his glasses as “wine glasses”. And you would think it's obvious that it's wine, but we know Ace Attorney's long history with 'grape juice'. Either way, this dialogue leaves a pretty harsh implication that Van Zieks drinks alcohol simply to distract himself from troublesome moods. Sure, he says “tedium”, but this is a stoic prosecutor in the year 1900. They referred to depression as “melancholia” back then, and since he doesn't appear to have any friends, I expect he experiences “tedium” quite often outside the courtroom. He apparently set a rule for himself not to fill his glass more than seven times during a trial which, in turn, implies he's aware any more would cause problems. All of this is moot, of course, since 80% of the wine he pours for himself ends up on the floor between shards of glass. Still, though... Zieks, are you okay?

I don't think he is, because he pulls a very dirty trick here. Ryu proves Soseki drank all his tea and therefore it couldn't possibly have been used, so Van Zieks insinuates to Shamspeare that perhaps he misremembered using the tea from Soseki's cup and instead used tea still left in the teapot. An excuse Shamspeare happily takes, of course. Not gonna lie, I got angry, not because it's a dirty trick but because it's inconsistent. This is the very same character who all but dragged Mrs. Garrideb down from the juror bench to testify when it became clear she likely threw a knife out the window. And now he's feeding slippery excuses to a man who's very clearly lying about all sorts of things? What??? And remember this incident, because I'm going to be referring back to it later.

He crushes another chalice, removes his cloak and continues to insist that we should believe this thieving liar at the witness stand. The jurors for some reason buy the baloney served to them on a tinfoil platter and even twist Ryu's sentiments around, with some bloke going as far as to interpret the situation as 'the lawyer lad believes anyone who steals gas deserves to be poisoned'. Summation Examination gets very funky this time around, with the outcome being that Shamspeare probably blew the gas pipes (s-snerk) and the poison was laced on the pipe.

Van Zieks pours himself a glass of wine and pretty much immediately flings it, saying these are all empty assertions without a shred of proof. When Ryu presents the picture with the skin prints, Van Zieks once again breaks the rule of the prosecution staying silent during Summation Examination to point out that skin prints cannot be used as evidence, since that method is not recognized by the court (yet). Aaand he crushes yet another chalice in his hand.

Susato claims it was never meant to be used as official evidence, it was only a tool to demonstrate a new possibility to the jury. Jumping through some loopholes here, we are, since the picture is clearly in our Court Record as evidence. But, well, the prosecution cheats too so what's the harm? Some jurors vote not-guilty, but there's still one more that needs convincing on order to keep the trial going. Ryu says he has a witness who's already testified that the pipe-blowing incident did indeed occur that night, as Soseki stated the other day before the court that his stove went out in the dead of night. (Hang on, is this why the narrative made him testify alongside Gregson?) With that the majority of the jury votes not-guilty and the trial has to continue, but Van Zieks is extra rattled now. (Another bottle goes soaring.)

He once again reminds the court that skin prints aren't admissible evidence and therefore, there is no real proof Shamspeare put his mouth to the pipes (ghghhh I'm sorry this is such a silly thing to have to type out). Ryu asks for an investigative team to test the mouth of the gas pipe for poison, but since it would've evaporated by now, that's a no-go. Also, Van Zieks says that “what appears to be simple is my Nipponese friend's mind” and that's a scumbag point. Ryu attempts to turn the trial around by claiming that Shamspeare attempted to kill Soseki, making the defendant the victim, but Van Zieks ain't having it. The aggrieved being the accused is an interesting notion, but doesn't change what actually happened. In fact, if anything, it establishes a motive for Soseki to lay a trap for Shamspeare. Because who else could have known about the gas pipe trickery and put the poison there, right? Why, the true culprit, of course.

Our man Van Zieks really doesn't like (S)Holmes, huh? A tidbit which the games will never bother to explain! Either way, Ryu raises the name of Olive Green, the victim of the previous case. And I gotta say, I do genuinely like the way they integrated these two Clouded Kokoro cases together. The chronology of everything that went down is very fun to decipher, but long story short, Olive Green was at Briar Road the day she was stabbed for a reason and knows more about the 'convict curse' Soseki and Garrideb kept mentioning, so let's drag her into court! Van Zieks agrees to subpoena Miss Green in order to 'see his Nipponese friend's farce through to its conclusion'.

So during intermission some more evidence is handed to Ryu and when trial resumes, Van Zieks continues to be his usual self.

“The prosecution has tried to extend every courtesy to this amateur newcomer from dubious Eastern shores.”

Ryu sweats bullets as he meekly thanks Van Zieks “(for his backhanded consideration)”, but once again the judge is the one to call Van Zieks out on his attitude.

Amazing. It's so refreshing to see a judge who actually disagrees with the prosecution's haughty attitude problems and acknowledges it has no place in a courtroom. Nothing against Udgey, because we all love Udgey (and his Canadian brother), but this man actually grows and learns. So Olive Green takes the stand alongside Shamspeare (maybe not the best idea since Ryu just accused her of trying to murder this man) for dual testimony. When Green brings up what a dreadful ordeal the knife to her back was, Van Zieks says this:

Hang on, empathy? He's giving her advice? This reeks of humanization! Green seems taken aback and thanks him for his words, so the sentiment was genuinely accepted. This in itself is a very nice scene to see in action, similar to Van Zieks allowing Roly Beate to keep his job. Unfortunately, Van Zieks's character is in a wild rollercoaster of moral inconsistency during this particular case which sours the experience somewhat. Case in point:

YOOOU hypocrite! This actively angered me, because at the very start of this same trial day he was personally feeding lies to Shamspeare. Now he's warning Green not to lie? It gets even worse a bit later on when Green gets cornered about stealing the note, she asks him whether it could all be some sort of misunderstanding, and he says:

ACTIVELY FEEDING SHAMSPEARE A LIE. THE VERY SAME DAY. I'm all for prosecutors using dirty tactics. It helps to juxtapose them further to the honest defense attorney we play as. However, it needs to be consistent. Either a prosecutor condones a witness's lies to help their case, or they feel that they're above it. The third, most used option is for them to start off condoning it, only to learn that truth takes priority over victory. This sloppy back-and-forth morality that Van Zieks has going on here is insanely frustrating, so it's no wonder some players end up disliking him. It honestly feels as if they rewrote this case so many times, they screwed up the exact growth trajectory Van Zieks has.

Anyway, it seems Van Zieks is suddenly fully on our side now to help Ryu prove that Green was in Shamspeare's room and laced the gas pipe with poison. And I mean help help. When the judge points out that if Green had laced the pipe the very same day she was stabbed, the attempted murder would have happened six days ago. Van Zieks is the one to say “Perhaps not, My Lord” and explain Briar Road was full of police at that time. At this point, Van Zieks and Ryu (and also Susato) actively start to take turns to explain the proper chronology of events. So the defense and the prosecution are in perfect sync right now, working together to explain the whodunnit. This is the ideal outcome to any trial, usually not seen until the last case of the game, so it's curious that this dynamic abruptly shows itself in a case like this. Van Zieks does still have one moment of gaslighting when he claims Ryu may have inhaled some dubious gas, causing his judgment to be clouded, since there's no motive behind Shamspeare's attempts on his fellow lodgers. A matter that's very easily resolved, of course. Once the name of Selden is brought up, Van Zieks continues our little game of back-and-forth-truth-reveal until (S)Holmes shows his face.

“Your usual haunts are the filthy backstreets of the capital, are they not?”

To which (S)Holmes replies that it's been too long, and Van Zieks's complexion has worsened since last they met. Alright, so Van Zieks and (S)Holmes definitely have met in person before, some undetermined amount of time ago. You'd think that going by (S)Holmes's friendly attitude they might've even been friends once, but our great detective is like that towards everyone. This is evidenced by an earlier encounter with Gregson where (S)Holmes insists they're friends and Gregson says that they're not friends, to which (S)Holmes quietly agrees. So really, this little exchange tells us nothing about the history between the great detective and the Reaper.

Some shenaniganry, a breakdown and admittance to guilt later, the court is finally ready to deem Soseki innocent. Van Zieks once again has some interesting lines here:

“And one I certainly didn't envisage walking... with you.”

Considering he attempted to trip us up for most of this walk up until the very last stretch, I don't like this remark very much. It feels very unearned. This is another one of those things that would've been more suitable in the last case of the game, but instead it's being crammed into a messy mid-game moment with the pretense that Van Zieks learned a lesson about being our ally.

In the defendant's lobby, the game basically gives the exact same dialogue as at the end of the original Clouded Kokoro case; that Soseki is returning to Japan and hopes to pen his own literature there, with the rest of the cast pointing out that the Reaper's Curse must factor into his decision to some degree. So we're still holding onto that question of whether Soseki will escape an untimely death or not. Anyone who's already played the last case of the first game will know the answer, of course.

So to summarize... I genuinely didn't enjoy Van Zieks's portrayal in this case. It really feels as if something went horribly wrong and they got some notes mixed up about where his character was already headed in the previous game. It's a crying shame. There was a lot of potential for a case set between 1-4 and 1-5, but they really dropped the ball when it comes to consistency and I've no doubt that it reflected badly on people's opinions of him. Though I think when we return to the first game for The Unspeakable Story, everything will right itself out again to some degree. Stay tuned!

[lykaokrios]

Arena Fears - M!De Sardet x Vasco

Fandom: Greedfall

Paring: Captain Vasco x M!De Sardet

Word Count: 2,047

Description:  Vasco fears losing De Sardet in his fight with a Champion in the arena.

(Poem quote from Tyler Knott Gregson)

Warnings: Mild swearing

My AO3

“I must warn ya, he’s a killer.” “Expecting you to last less than a minute.” The words kept repeating in his mind.

While Vasco had no doubt of De Sardet’s skill, the sinking feeling in his gut after those statements from the bookie and then Candy Cane refused to go away. Followed up with the fact he wasn’t even allowed to be in the arena with him.

He’d stayed quiet as they ran around setting up for the fight, but he couldn’t understand the excitement in Petrus’ voice or the confidence in the Legate’s.

He kept telling himself to remain silent. That everything would be fine. But as he watched De Sardet finish sharpening his sword and the sound of the games master calling his name, Vasco couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He throws himself at De Sardet, causing the man to drop his sword to hold onto him. Clutching onto his armor, the Captain whispers in his ear, “Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.”

“I- Vasco it will be alright,” the Legate assures him, stroking his back and holding him close.

“And if it’s not alright?” He demands, his grip tightening. “You’re going to make me watch you die for this?”

“You know my skill, you know I can do this,” he tries to reason.

“But I don’t know the other man, neither do you. All you know is he kills his opponents, and he’s obviously been a champion this long for a reason.”

“And I won’t be one of them,” he assures Vasco, who’s trying hard to control the trembling in his body. “It’s one fight, then it’ll be over. Please believe in me.”

“One fight,” Vasco repeats, stepping back from his lover. “I- will try to be supportive.”

“You don’t have to watch if it’s going to upset you.”

“I’d rather be there than waiting for someone to tell me,” the Naut hisses at him. “Finish this quickly, and let us not speak of it again.”

De Sardet nods before pressing a kiss to Vasco’s forehead, and motioning for Petrus to take him to the audience.

“Come my child,” Petrus says as he grasps Vasco’s arm. “Let us get into place and allow him to finish preparing.”

“Ok,” Vasco responds emptily. He glances at his lover one last time before allowing Petrus to pull him away.

Once they’re in place, Vasco’s mind continues to torment him with that one statement. “He’s a killer.”

He tries to calm himself, but it seems useless. The smell of sweat, blood, and alcohol thick in the air mixing with his anxiety make him feel like he’s going to be sick.

Either his Tempest wins and they continue on their way like normal. Or he’s about to watch the love of his life be slaughtered for sport in front of a crowd of drunk nobles betting on his life.

If the man killed De Sardet, he’d kill him, Vasco had already decided. Tack, laws, rules, guilds be damned. He’d rather rot in a jail cell than live a life free without him, and with the man who killed his lover walking away.

The game master starts his introductions. At this point it just sounds like noise, not actual words.

The champion jumps down into the arena. A bigger man than his Tempest. Not that he’d not fought massive creatures. Hell Vasco had seen him take down a guardian alone the day they met. But it did little to help his anxiety.

Next De Sardet jumps into the arena, his sword already in his hand. Within seconds they’re both at one another, the sound from clashing of blades echoes through the arena as the people around them cheer.

“Yeah, cut his head off!” The noble next to Vasco screams, his bottle of whiskey sloshing on to the floor.

He grimaces at the statement, gripping the barrier tightly to keep himself from punching the spectator. Petrus gives him an apologetic smile before gesturing back at the arena.

The larger man is obviously stronger. De Sardet was playing to his strengths of agility, but the man had caught him once and thrown him halfway across the arena with a thud. Vasco’s hand immediately snapped to his gun, his finger twitching as he holds it in his grasp.

The Legate was quickly back on his feet, and right back into his typical flips and handstands to maneuver around the champion.

Each close brush of the opponents blade has Vasco flinching. Any second could be his Tempest’s last. He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the battle.

After what seems like an eternity, De Sardet manages to stick the champion through his back, a gasp emanating from the crowd as Vasco finally lets out the breath he’d been holding. The Legate raises his sword in the air before heading toward the exit.

Vasco quickly races to the entrance, knowing that walk too well. He’d been hurt.

“See? Told you it would be fine,” his lover assures him, a forced smile clearly on his lips. “Hand out Vasco.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.”

Holding his hand out, De Sardet deposits a heavy bag of gold into his palm before stumbling past him to the benches.

“I- Tempest!” He responds flabbergasted. “You’re obviously wounded, and I’ve spent the last ten minutes watching you nearly die and all you have to say is you’re fine and give me gold?”

“I want you to have it,” he says simply. Grimacing as he sits down.

“I don’t need gold, I need you!” Vasco seethes at him. He hooks the bag to his belt and drops to his knees tugging at his lover’s boot. “Let me see it.”

“I’m fine,” he tries to insist, but the angry glare trained on him seems to shut him up.

Discarding the boot and sock, and rolling back his trousers, Vasco’s faced with a deep gash in his leg. “Tempest,” he breaths out quietly.

He pulls back his own coat to tear a shred from his shirt to hold against the wound, and shouts over to the Siora for her help.

As he does his best to stop the bleeding, Siora races over with magic ready. He trades places with her to give her a better view, and instead goes to sit beside him, gripping his hand in his own.

As Siora sets to healing him, De Sardet rest his head on Vasco’s shoulder, a sigh leaving the Captain’s lips as he leans his own head against his and grips his love’s hand tighter.

“When you are finished, we should go see Cornelia,” Petrus states as he walks over.

“Tomorrow,” Vasco snaps out before the Legate can respond. “He’s injured and it’s late.”

“Of course,” Petrus nods. “Do you want help getting back my child?”

“No,” he responds softly. “Siora will finish up and Vasco will make sure I make it back. You can head out.”

“As you wish,” the Bishop nods and takes his exits.

Vasco mutters under his breath, bringing a chuckle from the man beside him. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

“He is,” Siora responds cleaning the rest of the blood from his leg. All that’s left is a long angry looking scar where the wound once was. “But you need rest.”

“You are a miracle worker,” De Sardet thanks her, Vasco sending her a quick nod and smile.

“Let us get back then,” the captain says, helping put his lover’s arm across his shoulders, and his own arm around the man’s back. “Don’t put pressure on it.”

“I can still-“ he tries to argue but once again stops at the glare he receives.

Siora helps the two of them out of the fighting pit and up the stairs of the basement before commenting she will hang back on their walk back. “So you two may talk.”

Vasco nods and continues on shouldering most of the weight.

“So…” De Sardet says after a few minutes of walking.

“I’m angry, anxious, stressed, upset, and fucking relieved,” Vasco interrupts. “I could have fucking lost you just so Petrus could anger a noble.”

“It should help Constantin,” the Legate insists.

“Perhaps, or it was a non-existent problem the two of you were trying to solve for him. He’s a governor, I understand he’s your cousin but you can’t intervene on everything.”

De Sardet goes quiet at that, and they continue the walk in silence. Reaching the home, Vasco helps him through the door, then up the stairs with the help of Kurt who jumped from his chair.

“I’ve got the rest handled,” Vasco tells Kurt after they’ve help De Sardet to a chair.

Kurt leaves with a nod, and Vasco starts removing the Legate’s coat and various pieces of armor. Once all his upper armor is removed, he drops to his knees to get his boots off once again.

Once he’s stripped to his underclothes, Vasco goes downstairs to retrieve the water for a bath.

When he re-enters the room, he notices De Sardet examining his leg.

“How is the pain?” He asks as he pours the water in the tub.

“Manageable,” the Legate responds softly. “Did you really believe I would not win that fight?”

“I… don’t know,” Vasco answers carefully, helping De Sardet into the tub as he speaks. “You are skilled, but it was reckless.”

“We live reckless lives Vasco,” he answers, grimacing as he moves his leg to make it comfortable in the small space.

“No, we live dangerous lives. It’s dangerous enough without reckless and nearly pointless fights that could leave you killed with little to no good reason.”

“I thought I could win.”

“That’s the problem,” Vasco snaps back, “You thought about how you felt and how Petrus felt. You didn’t think about what would happen if you didn’t win. How Constantin would feel; how Kurt, Aphra, and Siora would feel. How I would feel watching you be murdered in front of me with nothing I could do, in the name of pissing off a noble and a sack of gold.”

“It wasn’t for just that!” he insists. “If this could even slightly help Constantin isn’t it worth it?”

“De Sardet don’t you just come into my life and show me love, show me everything I could feel, give me more happiness than I’ve had in my entire fucking life then throw your life away!” He hisses at him angrily. “If you were going to so casually toss away your life, you should have never let me get close to you.”

De Sardet goes silent once again at that, and Vasco sighs, pulling the tie from his lover’s hair and beginning to wet it.

Putting the soap in his hands, he runs his fingers through the hair deftly, lathering it in the tension filled silence.

“‘When you have swam in the sea, a lake will no longer do. Everyone else was a pond, but the ocean was always you,’” Vasco recites softly.

“What?”

“I’m scared to lose you Tempest,” he admits. “Completely and utterly terrified. The idea of going back to life how it was before after having known this, having known you…”

“Shut your eyes,” he commands, starting to rinse the soap from his hair.

“I’m sorry,” De Sardet says after he’s told he can open his eyes. “I… really didn’t think. And that wasn’t fair to you. Come here.”

Vasco leans in closer, and the Legate gently cups his jaw and pulls him in to give him a gentle kiss, “I will do better.”

“I believe you’ll try. Don’t promise what you can’t do,” his gaze drifts down to the water in the tub.

“Hey, look at me,” De Sardet states, carefully tilting his lover’s face up toward him. “We’ll discuss these things before I jump into them. I won’t rush into it without listening to how you feel. Actually listening.”

“That’s all I ask,” Vasco sighs, leaning his head into De Sardet’s wet palm against his face. “I’m going down with this ship Tempest, just don’t sink it this quickly.”

“That won’t do,” he teases, his thumb running along one of Vasco’s tattoos. “This tattoo says you’ve not lost a single crew member. I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of your face.”

“Oh shut up.”

“I love you too Vasco.”

[221brownstone]

ET: Elementary Boss on Why Sherlock and Joan Deserved a Superhero Ending

"We're certainly hinting that there are adventures ahead, but people who watched the show and cared about Sherlock and Joan can turn off their TVs on Thursday night knowing that the most important story we told, which is the relationship between Sherlock and Joan, is going to continue. That's always going to be moving forward. That's not going to end."

ET: It must be bittersweet saying goodbye to Elementary. What was your approach for the final episode in wrapping up Sherlock and Joan's story?

Rob Doherty: As you recall, we thought season six was our last season and it meant telling a lot of our stories in a certain way. Season seven was an opportunity to know that the end was coming, to go into a season and look ahead and try to build everything piece by piece. We had to talk a lot about the 13th episode before we could talk about the first. We knew that there were elements from canon that we wanted to utilize. Specifically, we looked at two stories in particular, "The Final Problem" and "The Ins and Outs," that we borrowed liberally.

In canon, Sherlock did drop off the map for three years. He was thought to be dead. His Watson was in the dark on that front. That felt too cruel to do to our Watson and it also felt inappropriate. I think she would've known better. We knew we wanted a three-year window where they were separated and changing, making new choices and then bringing them back together so each could do a bit of self-analysis. Who were they apart and who might they be now that they are together again?

It's very clear from the three-year time jump that a lot has changed for both Sherlock and Joan. Joan has a young son, Arthur, now. Why was it important for her to accomplish one of her main goals of having a family?

It was a story that we started in season six and it's a story we would've told a different way if we had known at the time that it was potentially the final season. When it did look like the end for us, that was something that we had to move away from -- not abandon completely, but pin it, for lack of a better term. Season seven was a great opportunity to revisit it and hopefully, punctuate it. It was important a year ago and it was important this year because it just felt so true to who Joan is. Becoming a parent seemed like a very natural progression for her. Despite the dangers that come with her job and despite living with an addict in recovery, we felt she could be an incredible parent. With just 13 episodes in season seven, it didn't feel like something we could start at the top. Odin Reichenbach took up a lot of real estate and so it became, in our eyes, more appropriate to return to Joan after three years and find out she has Arthur in her life in the finale.

It was surprising to learn that Joan had been diagnosed with cancer, something she chose to hide from Sherlock when he returns. Why did you make the decision to have her go through a major health struggle in the final episode?

We've seen their lives in danger on multiple occasions over the course of the series, but more often than not, they are threatened by criminals and villains. Not many of us are stalked by guilds of assassins. I liked telling a story about a real-life threat to one of the partners. We all worry about getting sick or we all worry about a loved one getting sick, and so many people go through it, fight it and come back from it. Sherlock and Joan are, in their own ways, superheroes. It was interesting to put them in a situation where they're dealing with a much more grounded threat.

Joan reluctantly telling Sherlock that she's sick also seemed to be the main catalyst for Sherlock's decision to ultimately stay in New York. Was that actually the case?

Even with three years of separation, I wanted them back together again. I wanted them to ride off into the sunset together. I didn't want fans to come out of the final episode feeling like they thought, "It's good we've been apart. Our lives are better for having been apart." The problem is, for each character, they worry that they're putting the other in a bad position. Joan doesn't want to tell Sherlock's she's sick because it appears to her that his life is going great. And when Sherlock looks at Joan, he sees the same thing. He sees someone who has drive. But, when someone's sick, all of that falls away. No one has to be polite at that point. It brings them both right back down to earth. It clears the decks. Especially for Sherlock, he sees what's really important, understanding that his partner, his greatest friend and virtual family member needs help. It doesn't matter what else is going on in his life. He's going to step away from it to help her.

Sherlock says he relapsed during his time away and that, like Joan, he was secretly struggling. Was it important to highlight that these two were better together?

As far as Sherlock relapsing, we never wanted to suggest that it was because Joan wasn't there. She's not his heroin-proof vest, for lack of a better term. He relapsed when they were together, he relapsed when they were apart. It was more than anything, us being true to the disease of addiction. And yet, I think it was important that it happened because it informed his concerns about staying with Joan. Potentially doing it now that Joan has a child in the house, Sherlock just can't wrap his head around that possibility. He doesn't want to expose her son to any of that baggage that he carries.

Was Sherlock always going to stay, even if Joan wasn't sick?

That's a great question. The short answer is yes, they would have gone their separate ways again if the captain hadn't shared Joan's secret with Sherlock,. Each would have returned to their lives, not because it's what they truly wanted. The way I always looked at it was, they're thinking about each other. Now, Sherlock is about to leave New York because he thinks Joan is better off without him. Joan is going to keep her secret to herself because she doesn't want to disrupt what appears to be success and happiness on his part. Of course, that's not the least bit true and it takes someone who knows them as well as they know themselves to shed appropriate light on the situation, which is, Joan is ill and could use help. Gregson is the one who can look down and see the truth of the situation. Gregson knows each one is not being entirely honest with the other and he knows it's because of good intentions, but also, he knows the veil has to fall away. Sherlock has to know what's going on and he has to make a decision that factors that unfortunate truth in.

You also did another one-year time jump in the finale and I was worried for a second that it was Joan in the casket, so you did your job there. But it's Moriarty's death Sherlock is mourning, even though he believes she's not actually dead. Are you leaving that as a mystery?

I don't have it in me to leave it a mystery. I guarantee you Moriarty's alive. We'll never see it, but Sherlock absolutely goes back and digs up that grave and finds an empty casket. The intention was for that to be the takeaway. My hope was that people would, when they think about all stories we're not going to tell, those stories will include lots of Moriarty. Sherlock and Joan should be going into this future with her as an adversary.

Did you try to get Natalie Dormer back for one last appearance as Moriarty?

As a staff, we talked about it very briefly at the beginning of the season and ultimately, the concern was we would be telling a last story about three people and not two. Nothing is more important, at the end of the day, than Sherlock and Joan's relationship and yet Moriarty carries so much history that in a weird way, it felt like she would distract from the ending Sherlock and Joan really deserve.

Earlier this year, I asked you about Lucy's blonde hair. In the series finale, we see her character, after the one-year time jump, rocking a short black bob of a wig. How much thought did you put in Joan's post-cancer remission look?

I wanted her appearance to speak for itself and remind everyone that she has spent a year fighting cancer, she had experienced hair loss and she fought through it. The wig helps tell that story a little bit. What was amazing to me was how good it looked. Very early in the series, we had Lucy in a wig, when we were showing a flashback to another part of her life and it's one of my great regrets over the course of the series, so I was a little nervous. I was like, "Oh, man, I hope this wig is better." But the team in New York found something perfect.

When did you know you wanted the final image of Elementary to be Sherlock and Joan walking into Captain Bell's office and asking to be consultants again?

The final image is probably something we didn't settle on until we were actually breaking the episode. I don't think it's something I had in my head for a long time, unlike season six where we thought, if this is the end, we wanted to see them walking down the street in London. Knowing this would be a story set in New York, at the brownstone and the 11th precinct, those sets take over. The only real question was which space would be the last one? While I'm extremely partial to the brownstone, the story dictated a final beat at the precinct.

Looking back at the last seven seasons, are there any lingering stories you wish you could have had time to tell or could have told?

One thing I would have liked to have done is seeing more of Moriarty. Over the course of the series there were bigger, more serialized stories we wanted to tell about her, Sherlock and Joan. But we made the grave mistake of hiring an outrageously talented and very in-demand actress for the role. Natalie has had an incredible seven years. Every success had been much deserved and yet, it made it hard for our calendars to jive with hers. We love the character. We love Natalie. Selfishly, it would've been so much fun to have a little more time with her over the course of the series.

Joan becoming a parent was really a story I thought would begin and end in season six. It was something I felt we could serialize in the course of a year; circumstances changed and we had to put it to the side. But one notion I was really intrigued by is the very unique living situation that would have resulted for Sherlock and Joan. It would've been interesting to have a kid in the house for a season, not just to see how good Joan is at being a mom, but to show that Sherlock can do this too. I wanted to see what it would do to the living situation and I thought it would have been fun to see him try to be helpful in his own way. He would have had a lot of plans for Joan's kid.

You talked about how you saw this season as a "blessing." I'm curious if where Bell, Gregson, Joan and Sherlock ultimately end up is where you originally envisioned the characters' final chapters would be when you first started on this journey?

More than anything, I wanted everyone at peace in the end. I'm sure peace could be made that separating Sherlock and Joan would be more dramatic than killing someone off. It might've made a bigger splash. But as we got into it, it just felt right to settle everyone, to show how they've changed and to put them in good places as the series came to a conclusion. We're certainly hinting that there are adventures ahead, but people who watched the show and cared about Sherlock and Joan can turn off their TVs on Thursday night knowing that the most important story we told, which is the relationship between Sherlock and Joan, is going to continue. That's always going to be moving forward. That's not going to end. Creatively, I get it when [showrunners want to shake things up]. Sometimes, it makes all the sense in the world but other times, it just leaves the audience cold and I wanted a happier ending.

At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if 10 years down the line an Elementary revival comes to fruition.

Hey, I'll take it! That sounds great to me.

[notgonnarememberthis]

A Compromising Engagement - Chapter 4

Well at least quarantine is good for one thing. It’s really kicked me in the ass to focus on my creativity again rather than allowing academics to crush me all the time. Like I’ve been making major progress on an artwork that I started back in January, baked a cake from scratch, AND finished this update. I am also looking to maybe possibly update The Lying Angel at some point. It’s gonna be a long quarantine so buckle up lads.

Throughout the night she could feel two pairs of eyes on her the entire time. The first were Sherlock’s, of course. His eyes never strayed far, studying the crowd among them every once in a while as faces cycled in and out of her vision all sharing the same words. Too many she doesn’t recognize, the few she could pinpoint were associates of Morland. He knows her sentiment, he’d more than an earful on the way there.

It had started with an envelope lying on their doorstep, the neat script of an invitation. The words are vague but with Morland’s signature at the bottom they’re not all too surprised. It was her mother’s call, however, that cleared the air real quick.

“Is there a dress code for tonight?” Her mother’s words catch her off guard as soon as she answers the phone. A familiar ache of dread spreads through her, could she be having a bad episode or worse did Watson herself forget their plans.

“Tonight?” She echos, eyes meeting Sherlock’s as his head peaks up from the cold cases he was studying. He tilts his head in concern but she simply waves him off. 

“Please tell me I didn’t get the dates mixed up. I basically forced your brother to cancel all his appointments tonight so that he could be there.”

“Mom what are you talking about?” She huffs a little impatient.

“Your engagement party of course.” Sherlock’s head snaps up this time, clearly listening in the entire time. He mouths a few words of panic which she returns in kind. “I know your step sister received one too because she gave me an earful over you not telling her about your engagement. Now I’ve never met Morland but your brother did look him up-” Her words drone off as the information clicks into place.

Morland has set up an engagement party for them, without their notice. Anger courses through her entirely before her mother’s rather cross words come back to her once again.

“Joan Watson, you are not missing out on your own engagement for a case do you hear me? The man or woman will still be dead tomorrow and I’m getting pictures.” She curses under her breath.

“No mom, there’s no case.” Sherlock drops his head into his hands rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I’ve got to go. Sherlock is calling.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Watson tilts her head back trying to summon every ounce of patience she has. It’s not her mother’s fault they’re in this situation. Well, not entirely.

“Wear your black dress that you wore to Oren’s wedding. Gotta go mom. Love you.”

It’s a test, that much they’d figured out together. Sherlock supplements the gestures of a happily engaged couple: kissing her on the top of her head, guiding her to and fro with a hand placed on her lower back, whisperings in her ear which were just nonsensical facts in order to get a laugh out of her. 

None of which could distract her from the other set of eyes on her. Morland bounces from person to person using this moment as an excuse to further his own relationships with various shady figures.

“Joan!” A familiar voice brings a brief sense of relief. The faceless crowd parts for Lin to strut through arms wide for a hug. “This party is… wow. I mean I’ve been to some parties in my time but I’m pretty sure I just saw John O’Hara.”

“I’ll go get us some water.” Sherlock excuses himself. For a brief second she wants him to stay. While uneasy, his presence brought a sense of safety. A unity together in a crowd of unknown. 

“This better not be some undercover stunt because I canceled a really high profile meeting just to be here. Not that this won’t look great on instagram but it was a lot of zeros.”

“No it’s real.” She feels a touch of guilt for lying to Lin, part of her thinks that’s why she tried to leave her out of this. The excitement in her eyes as she spots the ring is a little too much to bear as rapid fire excited words spill from her step sister’s mouth. A mix of talk about a dress, maids of honor, all of it too overwhelming and too fast.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Dark lined eyes pop into her vision. “Is your car the dark mercedes parked on the side of the road? I think you’re about to get towed.”

“What?” Lin screeches. “We’re not done.” She states before running off as fast as she can without plowing over ten people in the process.

Kitty throws her a glance, it’s enough to tell her Kitty knows everything. Whether it be that she’d deduced it or Sherlock told her everything she couldn’t tell. At that moment she didn’t quite care either. “Had to come in and save you. Looked like you were about to pass out.” She flashes a crooked smile scanning the crowd. “Where’s the lucky man? Do I have to go to his rescue too.”

“Thank you.” Watson sighs with a fond roll of her eyes. She can’t say much, not here, but she’s thankful for her presence nonetheless. “I take it you got the invite.”

“Of course, wouldn’t miss mom and dad’s engagement for anything.” Watson flashes her a warning glare but doesn’t correct her. “I’m not going dress shopping with you.” She warns.

“Hopefully I’m not either.” She keeps her voice low, Kitty probably didn’t even hear her over the crowd and the music but Sherlock taught them both enough about reading lips that she catches the meaning.

“Well you better get moving before Lin realizes she’s not being towed and uses the march back to plan your bachelorette party.” She nods, the words immediately kicking her into gear.

There are very few moments in life where Watson wished for a drink, she’d sworn off most when she became a sober companion. However, her patience is razor thin at the moment and it’s just waiting on a tipping of the scale.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand wraps around her arm pulling her towards the hallways and into an empty room. She doesn’t fight the movement, actually rather thankful for the few moments where she can drop the act.

It takes her a few more seconds than it should for her to connect that the face in front of her is no other than Hannah Gregson. She looks different out of her uniform, her hair curled over her shoulders and adorned in a red dress. Watson braces herself for yet another round of questioning.

“Do you want to explain why the hell my dad called me telling me to check on his two detectives on my one day off? Or why they’ve supposedly gotten engaged without telling my dad which I had to listen to him rant and rave about for an hour. Or the next call from Bell asking if I could take his place and stake out an engagement party tonight. Did I mention it’s my day off?”

It takes Watson only a few seconds to piece together a story. “We’re investigating Morland.”

“Sherlock’s dad?” Her spine straightens, the frustration sliding off her features and the professionalism of an aspiring detective taking over. “What are you two into?”

“He took over Moriarty’s empire after she stepped down. It was a method to protect us. Sherlock thinks he’s gotten in too deep. He didn’t trust his father before but now it’s worse than ever. He thinks he might be operating for bad people.”

“Do you trust him?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out. We set up the engagement story to get into his element. Let him think that we had no idea that he’d do all of this.” She gestures to the party just outside the doors. “Let him control the invites which is why Bell and Gregson got some. If it were up to me or Sherlock they’d be left out of this.”

“Kitty too?”

“Yes.” She casts a glance toward the door hoping with all of her power that he wasn’t standing right behind the door listening. She may have lost him in the crowd when she was trying to get lost herself. Just as the thought crosses her mind she watches a shadow approach and linger, blocking the tight beneath the doorway. “Tell Tommy and Marcus we’re both sorry. We wanted to tell them about the engagement sooner but everything’s been happening so fast. Sherlock wanted to keep it secret but now.” She gives off a half chuckle casting her eyes to the door so that Hannah can catch up to what she’s observed.

Morland? She mouths the name, not even giving Watson time to nod before she continues the conversation. “Fine but you’re getting me another day off. I’m not the consultant babysitting service.”

“Thank you Hannah.”

She lingers rocking on her feet for a second. “Am I supposed to say congratulations or?” Watson lets out a forced laugh shaking her head. A swift knock interrupts her response, Hannah’s face falls into the veneer of perfect calm.

“There you are Ms. Watson.” Morland greets with a smile.

“Congratulations Joan.” Hannah offers a smile before nodding to Morland excusing herself out of the conversation. She watches as the younger woman leaves closing the door behind herself with only a slight hesitation.

“How are you enjoying the party?” The question feels like a trap in itself. He knows exactly how she’s been faring. He’s had watch on her all night, be it himself or his lackies. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d planned it all along to separate her and Sherlock so they could speak alone.

“What do you want?” The question comes off colder than intended but her patience has wasted away. All of this: the people, the chatter, the monotonous orchestral music constantly playing; she can see how Sherlock needed to get as far from it as possible.

“Is it not enough to try to make my son happy?” She rolls her eyes moving to step past him but he steps in her way instead. “We are celebrating, are we not?”

“This is not celebrating.” She counters with a raise of an eyebrow. “This is business.” While the crowd blended together she knew the types; wall streets, politicians, CEOs. All the types that send her and Sherlock’s skin crawling and the furthest from their choice of company.

“Nonsense, my son was engaged.”

“Is.” She corrects narrowing her eyes, “And Sherlock spoke with you before and made our wishes more than clear. We are not pawns to be used in your game. We wanted to keep this private and instead you announced it to our family without giving us time to do so ourselves.”

“I was under the impression that you already had told your mother.” He shakes his head with an ‘apologetic’ sigh. “I’m only trying to do what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him?” She scoffs. “He’s a recovering addict and you’ve filled this place with alcohol and at least 22 people who are high and that’s only the ones visibly so. How is that what’s best for him?” She stops taking a steadying breath. “We’re leaving. You can keep your money, keep your protection, hell, keep the Brownstone. I want you out of his life.”

“You cannot keep him from me, he is my son.” The threat sends a chill down her spine but it’s not enough to sway her.

“He may be your son but he is my partner. Now move.” Truth be told in her head she’s hoping he doesn’t, for a moment she lets her mind linger on the image. He steps to the side allowing her to walk past.

“Does he know he’s not my only son you’ve slept with?” His words stop her dead in place. She spins slowly taking in his self satisfied smile. Before she can think better of it the sound of the slap resonates through the small room. She turns to retreat again only to find herself face to face with Sherlock.

His eyes are darker than she saw after Michael Rowan attacked her in their home, holding a barely contained anger vibrating just beneath the surface of his skin. He takes a step toward his father but she places her hands on his chest. 

“Please, take me home.” Her voice tremors, her actions settling in on her. His face softens as he looks down at her. His hand takes hers, the skin still stinging from the impact of the slap. Wordlessly he guides her out, shielding her from curious onlookers and concerned family alike. Later he would send a message to Mary and Lin both explaining what had happened, probably Kitty as well. For now, however, his main concern is the woman trembling in his arms.

It’s not until the cold winter air hits her face that the tears start sliding down her face. Guilt weighs heavily on her shoulders. They’d built up this story, this lie, to keep their home but she had to blow it all up. She gave Morland exactly what he wanted.

“Watson.” She doesn’t look up at him. She doesn’t ask how much of that he’d heard. Truth be told he’d probably been lingering since Hannah pulled her aside.

“He doesn’t know.” The words come out so raw that it hurts. “He can’t throw that in my face when he doesn’t know.” Sleeping with Mycroft was a mistake, yes. She came to terms with the fact that she couldn’t take it back long ago. However, he was kind to her. He felt like the first person other than Gregson and Bell united with her to protect Sherlock. Someone who’d do anything for him. When he died it- “He doesn’t know.”

“I do.” Sherlock whispers pulling her into an embrace. “Thank you Watson.” He places a kiss on the top of her head as her carefully pieced together front crumples.

As she mutters apologies into his jacket he only pulls her closer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@tamarknott @averageinside

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so i totally wrote about joan having breast cancer a couple years ago. here’s the bits i cobbled together, some of which also disappeared from my phone, which tells me i need to back my shit up more often!

~

The call comes while her stitches from her lumpectomy and lymph node removal are still in place and hurting like a mother and she's only too aware of Sherlock, his terror an acrid smell in her nose. She's told it's not what they hoped, but it's not hopeless, and she barely pauses at all before she looks at Sherlock, smiles, and says, "It's fine."

He's so grateful he takes her out for lunch. They go to a cafe with an outdoor area that he knows she's been eyeing for months.  She orders a giant salad with extra pecans and he wrinkles his nose before telling a story about Thomas Jefferson's penchant for giving pecans as gifts.

The call comes while her stitches from her lumpectomy and lymph node removal are still in place and hurting like a mother and she's only too aware of Sherlock, his terror an acrid smell in her nose. She's told it's not what they hoped, but it's not hopeless, and she barely pauses at all before she looks at Sherlock, smiles, and says, "It's fine."

He's so grateful he takes her out for lunch. They go to a cafe with an outdoor area that he knows she's been eyeing for months.  She orders a giant salad with extra pecans and he wrinkles his nose before telling a story about Thomas Jefferson's penchant for giving pecans as gifts.

[the truth comes out in a week or so!]

"We should talk about this."

He closes the file in his hand and tosses it on the stack. 

"I-I'm sorry I kept you in the dark. I needed to get the full results and figure out what to do next, without... I don't know. Background noise."

"It's not that serious. People with results like mine have a ninety-three percent chance of remaining cancer-free after treatment. Really, it's barely cancer." 

"I mean, yes. Several weeks of radiation, sprinkled with tests and maybe a PET scan or two. Still, not particularly life-derailing. I'm going to work. The only real change will be to my availability. And I won't be able to leave the city, except maybe on the weekends. Overall, we'll simply get more use out of face-time than we did before."

A series of short, shallow nods urges her to let the other shoe drop.

Joan adjusts her gaze to slightly beyond his left ear. "I've asked Lin to help me find a place to sublet for the next two months."

His only reaction is the barely perceptible droop of his shoulders.

"I'm not leaving you." The first time she meant to leave the brownstone, he abducted a contract killer, then tortured and stabbed him. The second time, he went back to London for almost a year with no notice beyond a short Dear Joan letter. She can't handle one of his signature extreme overreactions. "Sherlock, it's really important you absorb that, if nothing else."

"But you do plan on leaving."

"It's the least disruptive option for both of us. And it's only temporary."

[the next day, joan gets home and in the library there's a stack of books, dvds, and cd's on wellness-type things and other stuff, like a giant fluffy orange blanket on the couch. sherlock explains he did some research, orange is a calming color. also OK HE RESPECTS HER CHOICES but. she's not a disruption, she's family. also also moving is one of the most stress-inducing acts a person can put themselves through and it wouldn't be good for her recovery to do that twice in as many months. anyway, she stays.]

"We should formulate a safety plan."

Joan finishes the line she was working on and clicks save so she doesn't have to end up doing this report all over again. This has his second sponsor written all over it. Rashida, having completed her PHD, has been taking classes in behavioral science possibly with an eye for a new specialty. She means well, and she and Sherlock get each other like a pair of esoteric intellectuals only could. It's still strange to get confirmation that he talks about her illness with other people. "A safety plan."

"Yes! A short, memorable list of agreed upon actions in the case of emergent medical and/or emotional, um, turmoil."

"We never had a safety plan for you."

 "Didn't we?"

"Fine, so you'll let me pass out wherever I drop and just leave a protein bar by my head so I don't die of hypoglycemic shock when I wake up two days later."

"That's all you did?"

"So I'll let you know if I'm not feeling well and up to whatever's going on." His expression is unreadable, which is rare. "What? You implied pretty heavily that you wanted me to."

Incomprehensibly, his expression becomes almost sad. "That's why you remain so closed off, because of my history of resistance to..." 

"Okay, this conversation swerved past making sense. I tell you things all the time. This morning, with your cereal?"

"When *truly* bothered, you keep it to yourself and speak to no one, unless I draw it out of you."

"I speak up when I have something to say. And, I will."

-

"Have you considered cutting your hair?" 

"I'm not getting chemo, Mom. I told you."

"I know. It's just so much to take care of. My cousin Darlene, she had radiation. It drained her. You'll be tired."

"You've always wanted me to cut my hair."

Her expression grows softer, more wistful. "I do like it shorter." 

"I remember." Ruefully her entire catalogue of school photos scrolls through her memory. Mom's rule had been adamant and easy to follow: Never past the chin. "I'm not doing that again."

"Okay. Your choice." 

Joan doesn't rise to the hint of passive-aggression. 

A few hours later, she gets home from treatment, she takes a shower, and she tries to see tonight playing out in a possible near future. She adds imaginary weights to her wrists and ankles, and the almost unbearable weariness after watching a murderer get to go home scot-free. 

"Fine," she tells her reflection. 

She puts her mom on FaceTime, so she can see the results.

Her mom squints. "You didn't cut that much."

"Four inches." Just enough so she doesn't have to strain to get the brush through while she's blow drying.

“Hm.“

“Anyway, I’ll see you Thursday for tea, Mom?“

-

Lord save her from aspiring criminals who think they're too cool for the interrogation room. Anthony Raymond has been stonewalling them since Bell brought him in. What makes this especially annoying is he won't even ask for a lawyer. They'd tell him to spill his guts, or at least start negotiations for a deal. This nothingness isn't ideal when she has to take off for treatment soon. If she doesn't get this nut cracked before she goes, it'll be hanging over her head for the rest of the afternoon.

The door opens. Anthony doesn't move a muscle. Gregson enters bearing an extra-large fountain drink, a pen, and a piece of paper. He sits, thoughtfully configuring these objects around his immediate space. It takes a full thirty seconds, during which he doesn't acknowledge Anthony at all. He slides the paper toward Joan.

'Paige made you a smoothie. Not sure what's in this, but she swears by it.'

Joan glances at Anthony as though she learned something important, then looks back at the note. "Hm." She takes the pen. 'I'm good. Thank you both.'

'Holmes said you haven't really eaten yet.' He pushes the drink about an inch in her direction.

Joan makes two straight lines, one each for 'I'm' and 'Good'. 

[perp eventually cracks because their note-passing is freaking him out]

[slightly later, joan brings the smoothie into gregson's office. he asks what she thought of it. she says "i didn't try it" and throws it in the garbage.]

-

It's Saturday, the end of her first week of treatment, and there aren't any murders. Joan texts the guy she liked from TrueRomantix, the one who came to check that she was safe when Everyone doxxed her and hacked her profile. He's still cute. She can't remember exactly why they didn't sleep together the last time, something about it not feeling right. Meanwhile he fosters seeing-eye dogs and he has the best pectorals she's ever seen.

She takes off her bra, but leaves the camisole. It's dark in his bedroom, but not too dark for either of them to see her scars or the semi-circle constellation of radiation tattoos. At one point she guides his hand underneath to her right breast. When he goes for the left, she distracts with a move that almost has his eyes bugging out of his head.

"Wow," he breathes.

When they're done, he doesn't push her to leave *or* ask her why she isn't staying. They'll be doing this again sometime.

-

[another patient in the waiting room at the radiation clinic starts having a medical emergency. joan immediately jumps forward to help and the patient's mom looks at her like who the fuck are you. it sticks with her the whole rest of the afternoon.]

She's been in a position where people have doubted her expertise before, many times. But never because she was meant to be on the other side. She's a patient, that's her role now.

Briefly she considers lying. The Uber app is acting weird, something like that. She settles on a simple, 'Are you busy?'

She gets her reply in less than thirty seconds. 'Need a ride?'

When Marcus arrives at the clinic, he touches her arm and kisses her cheek, a note of intimacy between close friends. It feels natural, even though his customary greeting, usually at crime scenes or the bull pen, is a brusquely friendly "Hey." They communicate mainly in nods and smiles intended only for each other, cups of coffee as close to the way they like it as limited resources will allow. 

After they settle into the car, he doesn't turn the engine on right away. He waits, unobtrusively.  

"I don't want to disrupt any plans you might've had for today," she says.

He lifts one shoulder. "Just a pickup game. Nothing I can't put off for another week."

"Actually..."

He turns his head. "Hm?"

She was warned not to expect anything fancy. No bleachers, not much crowd. Kids of varying ages drift by, many popping in and out of the tiny storefronts. 

She can't remember the last time she simply existed in public when she wasn't jogging or staking out a criminal. The open air feels refreshing. Not one of these people care that she used to be a doctor.

After the first quarter, she asks to borrow the chair of a guy selling hats, scarves, and phone chargers from a folding table. He was spending most of his time at the halal cart talking to the man stuck inside anyway.

-

The chair is comfortable. The lighting tasteful. Joan's shoes feel fine. The mid-level exec at the other end of the table isn't stonewalling in the slightest. His voice could almost be called soothing. 

All those other things aside, if this meeting doesn't end in the next few minutes she is going to jump out the window. 

Her knee bouncing, she shifts her upper body in a way that's hopefully not that visible to anyone else. It doesn't help, in fact the resulting movement of her bra over her left boob makes her want to scream.

"We appreciate your elucidation on Mr. Wallach's movements last Tuesday." Joan nearly bites her lip at the growing light at the end of the tunnel. "Now if you could tell us about the lawsuit from three months ago. Sexual harassment, was it not?"

Joan gets to her feet with a repressed groan. Then she runs for the receptionist. "Restroom?"

She's just stepped inside the single stall and slid the lock into place when she hears the deathly urgent, "WATSON???"

She curses fluently inside her head and undoes the lock, just in case. "Sherlock! I'm o-"

And he's barreled through the open door.

"What the hell!" She pulls together the unbuttoned half of her shirt. 

"I thought-" Over Sherlock's shoulder, a security guard starts coming into view. "What-what are you doing?"

"Sorry." Her face will probably remain this garish shade of red for...ever. "I'm, uh, peeling. Itch is driving me crazy."

He blinks, adrenaline making him shake slightly and keeping him from comprehending. "What?!"

"The only emergency right now is my imminent death by mortification." Her left hand tightly curled to protect her modesty, she makes a shooing motion with her right. "Go away."

He turns toward the door, then stops. "I've done the reading. If you have developed a rash, or the beginnings of dermatitis, scratching is highly inad-"

"OUT."

-

Lin greets her at the bar in her signature neurotically enthusiastic way. After tilting her head a little, she agrees to sit at a booth rather than stay near the bartender, where she loves to try out her charms to get free drinks for the two of them.

"I've never seen you go hard like this." She's waiting on the server to bring her second martini and Joan's third whiskey. "You look tired."

Joan waits until after the drinks have arrived. "Thanks, I had cancer."

"What?"

"Had," she repeats. "Had. As of yesterday, it's past tense. When I'm done with this course of radiation, I'll be free." She knocks on the table. "Until the follow-ups." 

Lin gets up to go to the bathroom without a word. Joan downs her drink and orders another round. To Lin's credit, she beats the server back to the table.

"So those times you said you couldn't meet up because you had cases..."

"One, oncologist appointment and two, actually a case. Sorry."

"You told your brother, didn't you?"

Because Joan is three drinks in, she doesn't hold anything back from her eyeroll. Her siblings having no relationship with each other is not on her. "That's different."

"Because he's real."

"Because he lives two hundred miles away! I didn't have to see...that. That expression, in my face, all the time."

"You could've died and I would never have known you were sick."

Joan snorts. "I was never *dying*." There was that period between her biopsy and the results of her lumpectomy, when decades-old memories of various patients, poor souls fading in front of her eyes, resurfaced every hour. Lin didn't need to be there for that.

"Look." Joan kisses Lin noisily on the cheek. "I just got the best news of my life and I wanted MY SISTER here with to celebrate being Officially. Cancer. Free!"

A table of young men nearby let out a cheer. Lin smiles in spite of herself.

-

Joan wakes up naturally. 

She spends a few minutes watching him. Many people say they'll sleep anywhere, but Sherlock actually will. And he never shows a single sign of stiffness or back pain. She envies him that, even as she acknowledges that she'd still prefer a bed, even if there were no consequences to sleeping on the floor. 

"Is this just the first time I caught you?" Her voice is husky from sleep. 

He springs to his feet. "Oh!" He runs off, returning no more than six minutes later with breakfast.

After placing the tray on the bed, he stands at her side, stiff and silent like a brooding Lurch. "What, no speech?" she teases.

He takes in a shaky breath. "It has been quite some time since I lost the ability to imagine a life without you in it. Gratitude isn't sufficient enough to describe how it feels to know this is a concern I can put off for another day."

"Oh, Sherlock." 

"These past few weeks have been fraught, for you." She gives a start. This has taken an unexpected turn. "Full of pain and fear, the reopening of old wounds. You've conducted yourself so admirably. My respect for you, which had appeared to reach its zenith years ago, I find had untold heights yet to climb." He leans toward her, his hand cradling the back of her head while his lips press against her hairline. 

He disengages, turning his back and she makes a tentative grab for his hand. He freezes in place, not resisting. "I love you, too," she says thickly, shoving aside tears.

Joan doesn't remember having done anything remotely admirable. She's been tired and snappish, she forced everyone to cater to her, she stopped doing her fair share of the work. The one person she tried to help didn't need her. It's been weeks since she felt like she existed for any worthwhile reason. 

Maybe that's why it's good to see herself through his eyes, just this once. She squeezes his hand, then quickly lets go, taking pity on him. Plucking the cloth napkin from the tray and pressing it against her eyes, she laughs. "So this was your plan for my last day? Get my face all blotchy just in time to go in there and say goodbye to all those people?"

"What does it matter? You'll never see them again.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Chapter 8 of my Caryl fic Through the Storm is here! This fic takes place during & after ep 9x16 “The Storm.” Chapter 1 can be found here, chapter 2 here, chapter 3 here, chapter 4 here, chapter 5 here, chapter 6 here, chapter 7 here.

Through the Storm: Chapter 8 - Redressed (also on 9L)

“I hear home calling, whispering familiarly, beckoning me back.”  - Tyler Knott Gregson

_________________________________

Carol perused the aisles of the small warehouse that sat in the middle of the compound, a structure they’d built after the war, Michonne had explained as she’d shown her and Lydia around their new home. “After we raided that museum for farm equipment, everyone started calling things by antiquated names. Aaron’s still collecting car and bike parts and tools, and he keeps track of the tack for the horses…they call it the livery. The supply building is called the Merc—though I’m not sure if it stands for merchandise or mercantile. And as head of security, they call me the sheriff.” Michonne good-naturedly rolled her eyes.

“Clever,” Carol smirked as they’d approached the warehouse, amused at the moniker more than she’d ever been with her own. Michonne wore her title with honor; she’d suffered hers with barely contained annoyance.

Then why’d you put up with it for so long? a nasty voice inside chided.

She’d clenched her jaw, pushing the question aside as she opted to roam through the Merc while Michonne took Lydia around to introduce her to the rest of the community.

Well-stocked in some sections, nearly bare in others, the place did have an old-timey feel to it, with wooden shelving and note card-sized signs indicating where things belonged, a far cry from the large grocery and big-box stores from Before.

Michonne had let Carol enter without Maureen, the woman who manned the facility, knowing she’d only take what she needed. “You’ll find some strange things in there. We keep whatever we can find or grow, and when someone passes…we clear out their house and prep it for whoever might come along,” Michonne had explained solemnly.

Carol wondered who her house had belonged to.

She shook her head to chase the maudlin away and continued along the aisle, grabbing a few jars of preserved vegetables, no doubt from the Hilltop, and some peas, carrots, and winter kale. The groups, including the Kingdom, had done well with their year-round gardens, and she’d learned green vegetables could grow even through the harshest winter, something she tried to remember when the terrain of her life felt the bleakest.

She rounded the last of the food aisle to check out the far side of the warehouse where she found a random assortment of things: picture frames and kitchen utensils and jewelry, backpacks and blankets, candles and clothes, books and board games, and even paints, crayons, and sporting equipment.

Rifling through the women’s clothing, she grabbed a pair of pants, some socks, and undergarments, stuffing them into the backpack she’d claimed, careful not to break the few candles she’d grabbed, before moving to look through the shirts. Her hand instinctively went to the muted gray and brown shirts, wondering if there was a size that fit her. No matter, she’d make something work considering she didn’t have anything other than what she wore.

Suddenly a mauve shirt caught her eye, and her hand moved to the soft cotton, lingering as her mind wandered.

What had become of her? Not her as a mother or a wife or a faux queen, but her as a woman? Had she…had she hidden so deeply that she’d lost herself? Wearing drab pants and shirts that gave her no shape, her hair too long and lacking any style other than the times she chose to tie half of it back out of her face. When had she stopped acting as her own agent and fallen into yet another role of the dutiful wife skilled at invisibility?

Oh, she’d convinced herself she kept her distance from that old skin, but now knew she’d quietly succumbed to it. She could protest all she wanted with her mouth, but her behavior, her physical appearance, even her demeanor in the years prior to this mess with Alpha, spoke of a compliant, docile, obedient wife.

Carol retreated from the shelf until her back hit the wall, then she slid down to her seat, the backpack falling beside her.

She’d played the part. Like she had with Ed. With Tobin. And now she could add Ezekiel to the list. She’d thought she could be with those men and stay whole. But each time she’d slipped seamlessly into a costume and played her role, to the detriment of herself. Marriage had a way of suffocating her.

But no, she realized, it wasn’t marriage. It was marriage to the wrong person.

She’d revealed a small part of herself to Ezekiel all those years ago. And from that, he’d thought he knew her. Knew her. And she’d let him believe that lie, had perpetuated it for years.

He’d pursued her, and eventually she’d liked it. Liked that after all the years of hell she’d spent with Ed that someone kind, compassionate, and maybe a little too soft for this world—even though he’d annoyed the hell out of her at first, and still did at times with his charade—had chosen her.

She’d chosen Henry, and Ezekiel had chosen her.

And she’d lost everything in the end. Her friends and family. Her son. Her marriage. But more importantly, herself.

A burning took up residence in her chest, and she wanted to let it consume her, this fire of self-hatred. Maybe she’d combust right there on the floor in the place her latest pretense had begun so many years ago.

You gotta forgive yourself for wanting a place to heal. Daryl’s voice came to her, tender, empathetic, warm, compassionate. And oh so compelling.

He’d left with Aaron and Siddiq not two hours ago after stopping by to check on her.

“Heading to go get the animals,” he’d explained unnecessarily. “’Chonne said she’d come by in a while and show you and Lydia around.”

All bundled up for warmth, he’d filled her front doorway, a welcoming sight after the restless night she’d spent with memories of all they’d lost since the last time she’d stayed at Alexandria haunting her.

She gave him a small smile. “Sounds good. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

He nearly smiled himself. “Thanks. Should only be gone a few days.”

“Stay safe.”

The words slipped out just before the memories attached to them surfaced, and suddenly they were back at the prison, eons ago, lifetimes before. They’d said it to each other hundreds of times since he’d found her in that isolation cell and brought her back to their fold.

Just like he was doing now…

“Nine lives.” He said it with a hint of amusement, his tone giving away much more than his expression, and then he’d nodded and turned to leave.

She’d come back once before from the brink. Maybe she could this time too.

Forgive yourself.

She’d told him she’d try. Try to understand why she’d made such catastrophic choices, why she’d chosen to hide inside herself and behind the dull façade.

She didn’t have to do that anymore. Not here.

Her eyes flew to the mauve-colored shirt again, and she stood up, sorting through the clothing before her. In the end, she settled on a medium green sweater and two long-sleeved shirts, one coral, one red.

Folding them into her bag, she swung it on her back, making her way towards the front of the Merc, her eyes roaming the shelves as she moved.

She stopped abruptly in front of the jewelry, a strange mix of costume, kids, and faded real jewelry pieces all thrown together, though separated by type. Picking through the earrings, she grabbed a pair of small pearls.  

As she turned to leave, her eyes alit on a small collection of wedding rings, both men’s and women’s, bands and diamonds, and instinctively she reached into her pocket for the ring Ezekiel hadn’t let her give back.

She withdrew the ring and held it up, staring at the gold band that had adorned her finger for longer than it ever should have. Over the past few months, she’d come to understand she’d worn it for Henry, to give him a home, to become a mother again.

That life was over now. Ezekiel hadn’t taken the ring back, but she refused to hold on to the last vestiges of a life that once was.

Without a second thought, she set the band amidst the collection of rings and exited the dimly lit Merc into the bright, crisp morning, determined to discover herself again.

[aka-willow]

Heroes, Pt. 4

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Words: 1533

Characters: Willow Wren, Jessica Jones, Kilgrave, Trish Walker, Jeri Hogarth, Oscar Clemons

Prompt/Tag: “You need to see a doctor.” x  / @dewysbride​

Summary: Willow sticks around as Jessica brings in Kilgrave’s parents

Timeline: April 2015

Song: Fausta – Rupert Gregson-Williams

A/N: Part 4/4

—————————————————————————–

“They’re on their way,” says Trish, calling over to me. “Let’s go.”

I run after her and we go back inside the warehouse, waiting in a side hallway as the others show up. “Are those Kilgrave’s parents?” I whisper. “And is that a police officer?”

“Detective,” says Trish, checking her phone. “Stay quiet. Jessica needs us as insurance.”

We enter the room just as the detective pulls a gun on Jessica, threatening arrest. Trish then pulls a gun on the officer.

“Holy crap,” I say. “That’s a gun.”

Jessica rolls her eyes. The detective, with his hands in the air, glances at me. “That is a child.”

“She’s here as back-up,” says Jessica.

“Are you insane?” Hogarth asks Jessica while Jessica handcuffs the detective to a pipe. “You know, what don’t you just cuff me right now? Because I’m about to call 911.”

“Well, then I will make sure to tell them you’re an accomplice to kidnapping.” Jessica looks back at the detective. “Keep your eyes on that man in the cell. Your testimony is going to put him away.”

I’m standing next to the detective now, who looks absolutely bewildered. While Jessica was looking for Kilgrave’s parents, I ended up running to Dunkin’ Donuts to refuel, and I continue to guzzle down the large iced coffee I bought as Jessica prepares the group.

“Now, let’s give him something to witness.”

My stomach churns and I start to think that maybe all this caffeine was a terrible idea. Jessica leads Kilgrave’s parent’s through the sealed doors, and I fight every instinct to run. There’s no good way this could end. Right? Something bad is going to happen. It has to.

My mind is splitting in a million different directions. I wonder if Kilgrave’s parents mind their feet getting wet. I wonder if I should have added more sugar to the coffee. And I wonder if Jessica really knows what she’s doing.

His parents start talking, trying to be sympathetic. I almost feel for them, but my feelings are all muddled. Kilgrave then plays the sympathy card, talking about how Jessica taught him to save people. Bullshit. I take another gulp of iced coffee.

“THEN WHY DID YOU LEAVE?” Kilgrave shouts and I take a step back as Jessica leans in closer, her finger on the shock switch.

This is what we want. We need him to do something.

I eye the video camera and then pull out my own phone, silently recording below my hip. I don’t trust the video camera alone. We have to catch this.

“Release me now and I’ll overlook the assault,” says the detective. “We’ll call it resisting arrest.”

“It’s not over yet,” Jessica says.

As Kilgrave’s mom hugs him, I suddenly hear the swish of metal and before I can call out, she lunges at Kilgrave and stabs him in the shoulder.

“Get them out now!” the detective yells.

“Not yet,” says Jessica.

Kilgrave instructs his mom to pick up the fallen scissors. The air in our room stops moving as we all hold our breath. I feel sick.

“She did it,” Jessica says.

“Did what?” asks the detective.

“It’s on tape.”

“He didn’t see it. It’s not enough,” says Trish.

“This won’t work, pull them out now!” Hogarth yells.

“Jessica…” I start.

Kilgrave’s mom turns the scissors on herself as Kilgrave whispers instructions. Jessica, make her stop. Pull her out. She’s going to stab herself.

“Got him,” Jessica whispers and she slams down the shock switch.

It clicks twice and then there’s a buzz.

It’s not working. Fuck—it’s not working!

“Everybody out! Run!” Jessica yells.

“Go, go, run,” says Trish, pushing me towards the threshold.

“Get me out of these!” says the detective.

Hogarth takes off running down the hall, while Trish fumbles with the detective’s handcuffs. “Jess, the keys, I need the—”

I’m absolutely wired with energy, but I’m frozen on the spot as Jessica rushes to open up the sealed room. Kilgrave’s mother stabs herself over, and over, and over, the sound of the scissors piercing her chest thundering like a heartbeat in my ears. “Go!” Trish yells back to me.

“The keys,” I say. “Jessica put them in her bag.”

Just as I kneel down to rifle through her shoulder bag, I hear Kilgrave command his dad to stab himself as well. “No, not him, too,” says Trish.

I stand and watch in horror as Kilgrave’s father turns the tip of the scissors towards his chest. Trish pulls back out her gun and cocks it, aiming it at the glass.

“No, Trish!” I yell.

She opens fire on the glass.

I cover my ears, the sound of the shots assaulting my sensitive hearing and duck back down to the ground. One of the glass panels shatter.

“Get me out of here!” the detective yells.

The keys.

I dive back toward Jessica’s bag. “I’m trying to find the keys,” I tell him. “I—”

The gun fires again and Kilgrave cries out.

I should run. I need to run now.

But I can’t leave these guys behind.

“Cut your heart out, dad!” Kilgrave yells, and I hear him clearly now, his voice leaving the once-sealed room and filling the small space. “Put a bullet in your skull, Patsy.”

The gun clicks. I’m still on the floor. Trish gasps as the gun fails. I look up and Kilgrave is standing above me, a hand over his bleeding shoulder, his eyes bloodshot, and his face twisted into a leering mask. “Stop Jessica, Willow.”

I turn towards Jessica, who’s still trying to stop Kilgrave’s dad, and lunge at her, suddenly back under Kilgrave’s power. I slam into her and she grunts, tossing me back into the water. I get up again and she grabs my arm, throwing me towards the metal wall. I hear a sharp crack, and my left arm suddenly seizes in pain. I blackout for a moment, and wake in the pool of water.

Where’s Jessica? Where did she go?

Trish is sobbing on the floor, still trying to put the bullet through herself. My arm throbs.

I stand, just as the doors at the end of the hallway open. I run for the doors and barrel into Jessica, who grabs me. I’m jittering with energy, my hands vibrating like they did in that incident a few weeks ago. It’s that power. Kilgrave wants me to use whatever it takes to stop--

“Hey, Willow, kiddo, snap out of it,” she says. “Whatever he told you to do—”

“I have to stop you,” I say, struggling, thrashing around, even with my broken arm. I have to do this.

She grabs my shoulders and holds me there. “Look I’m stopped, okay? You did it. You did what he said.”

The spell is broken. She’s right. Okay. I stop fighting, my breath ragged, and my mind flooding with that what-ifs if Kilgrave had asked me to do something else instead. I then remember the carnage left behind in the other room. “Jessica, Trish is—”

Jessica hears Trish crying now, too, and runs into the room. “Trish! Stop that. Stop that.”

“I have to put a bullet in my head,” says Trish.

I take a moment to ignore the pain in my arm and run after Jessica. When I get there, Jessica is comforting Trish. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

The detective enters behind me, his hand bleeding and mangled. “Is anything broken?” Jessica asks us.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” says the detective.

“Uh…” I start. I dare to look down at my arm for the first time, and the angles are all wrong. All fucked up looking. “Shit.”

“Oh my God,” says Trish when she sees my arm. “You need to see a doctor. What—how did this…?”

“Kilgrave told me to stop Jessica,” I say.

“I told you to leave,” Jessica tells me. “Why did you—”

“I couldn’t leave you guys, okay?” I say. “I couldn’t.”

While the others debate whether to call an ambulance for the parents or not, and how to preserve the evidence, I pull out my phone from my pocket. The screen is cracked, and I scroll through a ton of messages from Marty before texting him back.

>Willow: Everything is fine. I’m fine. I’m with Jessica Jones and Hogarth. I’ll explain later.

I try not to cry, but my arm hurts, and I need to get it fixed soon, before it starts healing on its own, and healing wrong. Kilgrave’s dad wakes up and they bind him with duct tape to stop him from harming himself further. Jessica heads for the door. “I’m going to find you psychotic son.”

“Jess, wait!” says Trish, running after her. “You’ll lose. I’ve seen how powerful he is now. A couple words and you’re his weapon.”

“He can’t control me anymore,” Jessica says.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s time to get realistic,” says Trish.

“No, Trish,” says Jessica. “he said let go and I didn’t. I’m free.” She looks back at me. “Will you take Willow and Dad to his motel. Stay with him until the command wears off. Get… I don’t know… something to fix her arm. I’m going to find out where Kilgrave went.”

[firejugglinghobo]

‘Whisper Its Story’ Soundtrack Commentary

“A Stranger in the Night” - Main Titles, Marco Beltrami I felt that piano was the perfect way to introduce the rainy night that Meggie always remembers.  The slight apprehension of the piece gives us an immediate connection to Meggie, while the melancholy shows us a glimpse of the tragedy that has already taken place when she joins the story.  The harmonica in the end gives us a twang of Dustfinger’s theme as he is recognized and invited inside.

“Going South” - Rocket Launch, Bear McCreary I had originally chosen this piece as the theme for “Going Farther South,” but kept coming back to placing it here instead.  There is slight apprehension in the piece, but its instrumentation is homey and hopeful enough to allow Meggie to drift off to sleep in her familiar van with her father, as if they really are only going to see an eccentric aunt about some books.  At this point, the only magic in the story is the scenery.  The mood shifts at the end of the drive when they arrive at Elinor’s austere old house.

“A House Full of Books” - We Shall Go to War, Lorne Balfe and Rupert Gregson-Williams This is Meggie’s first introduction to Elinor, who is typified by staccato and pizzicato strings.  Although her perception of her aunt changes drastically during the course of the book, her first impression is of austerity and severity.  Something dangerous is lurking on the shelves, and there are a great deal many more rules in this house than at home.  Dustfinger joins her in her conspiracy to get ahold of the book, as can be noticed in the dissonance toward the end of the piece.

“Fire and Stars” - The Longing, Patty Gurdy This piece is part diegetic or source music from Dustfinger’s tape player on Elinor’s back lawn and part score depicting his fire show, which is wild and foreign-feeling to Meggie.  I chose to keep Dustfinger’s instrumentation dissonant throughout the soundtrack to emphasize the ways he does not belong in this world, and to tie him back to a place where these kinds of instruments and harmonies are more at home.

“The Lion’s Den” - Streets of New York, Rupert Gregson-Williams The instrumentation in this piece is mostly Dustfinger’s, with fiddles, banjo, and percussive instruments taking the forefront.  The bass undertones warn Meggie of the dangers that Dustfinger is describing in Capricorn’s village and hint that maybe he himself is not to be trusted.

“A Coward” - The Aerie, Andrew Lloyd-Webber This is a purely romantic theme for the book.  In this scene of Dustfinger’s infatuation with and yet fear of it, its power over all of the characters is typified.

“Going Farther South” - Now We Are Free, Hans Zimmer, Klaus Badelt, and 2CELLOS This is a piece for packing up and driving south to rescue Mo.  I have chosen the cello for Mo’s instrument first and foremost because of its beautiful singing voice, especially known for its similarity to the human voice.  This song is full of sadness and hope, as Meggie misses her father but believes she can get him back with the help of her new friends.

“Capricorn’s Village” - The Punisher Main Titles, Tyler Bates I made a somewhat unconventional choice to use mostly modern rock instruments when dealing with Capricorn and his minions.  I wanted to make a start separation between the instrumentation used for them and the protagonists, specifically Dustfinger.  The modern instruments allow me to give them a more gang-y feeling and exemplify the ways Capricorn has embraced this world for all of the outlets it gives for his darkness.

“A Mission Accomplished” - A New Chapter, Lorne Balfe and Rupert Gregson-Williams The repeated descending line in this piece depicts the sinking feeling Elinor and Meggie experience when they realize they have been betrayed, while soaring, dissonant strings may represent Dustfinger’s guilt.

“Once Upon a Time” - Coming Home, Jeff Russo This piece has an ethereal, misty feeling to it, as a story of long ago is told.  Triumphant, foreboding, and melancholy chords mix as the magic of Mo’s voice brings some uninvited guests into his living room.

“The Betrayer Betrayed” - The Starkiller, John Williams I considered going for an epic suite for this scene, but decided on a more emotional moment as Capricorn’s brutality is displayed for the first time against primarily Dustfinger and secondarily Mo.  The books burning are beautiful, but they are absolutely devastating.

“Treasure Island” - The Prince of Persia, Harry Gregson-Williams No Inkheart soundtrack could be complete without a nod to the Middle East in Farid’s arrival.  This piece, however, can be a companion piece to the entire scene of Mo’s reading.  Strings and choir paint pictures of the island cave treasure in the air just as well as Mo’s voice does, and after a momentary pause, he delves into The Thousand and One Nights and pulls Farid, who is distinguished from the other elements of the story by a solo pipe, out of his book to be examined and led off in the final third of the piece.  This is the first time Meggie has heard her father read aloud, and the first glimpse Farid gets of a brand new world.

“Gloomy Prospects” - Critical Article, Lorne Balfe and Rupert Gregson-Williams This is 100% a sneak song.  Dustfinger breaks the gang out and everybody goes tip-toeing out of the village.  Just when we think they’re safe, they’re spotted and must make a break for it by car!

“Basta” - Panic at the Bistro, Ludwig Goransson More musical telegraphing than an actual, this piece sounds like an erratic heartbeat and a struggle that could easily go either way, as every character is thrust into the fray in a fight for their lives.

“Fenoglio” - Crates of Books, David Arnold and Michael Price Enter Fenoglio, the lovable if a bit bumbling author of Inkheart.  His voice can be heard inside the house, and Meggie’s nervousness builds until he opens the door and reveals that he is quite a kindly old man, and not the intimidating figure Dustfinger’s fears may have led her to imagine.  There is a grandchild in the cupboard and cake on the table and the old writer can barely believe the story Meggie and Mo tell him.

“Shivers Down the Spine and a Foreboding” - The Impossible Planet, Murray Gold This is an other place where I considered a more epic theme but chose to go subtler.  Instead of feeling Dustfinger’s fear here, we experience an outside pity for him.  He feels betrayed and homesick, despite the revelation of what might happen should he ever go home.  This piece most belongs at the end of the chapter.

“Going Home” - Dance of the Knights, Sergei Prokofiev In a macabre, grotesque mockery, Elinor arrives home to find a red rooster hanging in her library and a pile of ash in her back lawn.  As the reader has begun to understand a bit more about Elinor, we realize that she is best identified with classical music.

“Capricorn’s Maid” - Martha’s Theme, Murray Gold I was very intentional to use female vocals for Resa, as her defining feature in Inkheart is voicelessness.  Nevertheless, she gives herself a voice through her kindness and tenacity to reach out and communicate.  The vocals are threaded with cello, as a subtle hint of her identity and a reminder that she is searching for Mo as much as he is searching for her.

“Capricorn’s Secrets” - Window Deduction, David Arnold and Michael Price Fenoglio in Capricorn’s church is the most unlikely of combinations.  He is of course enchanted with the way his characters have sprung off the page as he and Meggie are led through the village.  There is a slight thrill of foreboding when Capricorn himself appears, but Fenoglio couldn’t possibly be actually afraid of his own creation, and gushes despite the threats.

“A Quiet Voice” - Sprouting Potatoes, Harry Gregson-Williams As Meggie becomes more certain of her Silvertongue powers, I chose to have this piece start off with piano, which has linked us to Meggie and the feeling of night since the beginning, and blend into cello, a reminder of Mo and a sign of her growing to become more like him.  There is nighttime magic afoot.

“The Punishment for Traitors” - Burning the Past, Harry Gregson-Williams (Yes, another Gregson-Williams, I’m sorry.  I have a problem...)  In this chapter, Meggie looks up to see Dustfinger slowly emerge from the dark, hanging in a net from the ceiling of the church.  He is represented by the mournful violin, and is replaced by a high choir as Meggie looks past him and sees her mother for the first time.

“The Black Horse of the Night” - Annie, I’m Scared, Ludwig Goransson This chapter is another story of the past, and this time a ghost story.  Long, low, breathy chords punctuated by woodwinds send shivers down the spine as Fenoglio remembers the Shadow.  We can almost feel him coming out of the book with a sudden swell at the end.

“A Dark Place” - The Trial of Loki, Brian Tyler Dustfinger begins this scene as he is lowered from the net and led to the crypt with Resa, with low strings representing fear, evil, and darkness.  Toward the end, there are hints of a choir and even some cello as he tries to avoid Resa’s questions and turns to her for comfort.

“Woken in the Dead of Night” - It is Time, Patrick Doyle Piano and cello weave in and out through this piece as Meggie tests her Silvertongue powers and changes a story for the first time.  She sends the little soldier back into his own story, having changed the ending to a happy one.

“The Magpie” - His Name is Napoleon Solo, Daniel Pemberton Mortola is a character from Inkheart whose reaction to this world is somewhere between Dustfinger’s and Capricorn’s.  She doesn’t try to get home while her son is alive and in power, but when her reason to stay is gone, her main goal is to return home.  Likewise, the instrumentation in this piece is a cross between old, dissonant sounds and modern rock instruments.  The music keeps a rigid tempo, but limps slightly within it, just like Mortola.  She is commanding and terrifying in her subservience to her son.

“Basta’s Pride and Dustfinger’s Cunning” - Meet Oswald Kapelput, David Russo In this piece, Dustfinger’s twangy instrumentation plays lightly and tauntingly over increasingly erratic low strings and brass for Basta as predator becomes prey and tension builds.  In the end, everyone is on edge.  Dustfinger escapes with his own life before Basta’s voice has the chance to catch him, leaving his friends behind.

“No Luck for Elinor” - Danse macabre, Camille Saint-Saëns Again, the macabre infiltrates Elinor’s attempts at normalcy.  She is still represented by staccato and pizzicato strings, but her character has become more fleshed out with real emotion that we feel for her failed attempts to reconnect with a world where she feels safe.  Elinor is most at home in classical music settings not only because of her slightly pretentious taste and somewhat haughty demeanor, but because she is the character who most longs for the established safety of this world, although she would have told you otherwise herself.

“A Fragile Little Thing” - Science the S*** Out of This, Harry Gregson-Williams Dustfinger arrives out of breath at Basta’s house, where he is greeted by Basta’s low strings and the fairy that Meggie brought off the pages of Peter Pan.  He is not safe here, and is plagued by guilt for leaving Meggie and Resa behind and fear of what will happen to them.

“Fire” - Mana One, Harry Gregson-Williams (I literally can’t help myself.)  Farid’s solo pipe weaves in and out among the guitars and synths of the Black Jackets.  This is a high-intensity piece, but not an action drama, as things work out exactly according to plan for the pair of arsonists, despite their worries.

“The Shadow” - Mombasa, Hans Zimmer and 2CELLOS The finale is all Meggie’s nerves.  You can feel her hands shaking in this piece as she fumbles for the sheet of paper.  Mo’s crocodile tick-tick-tick signal plays directly into the rhythmic thrust of the piece.  Her heart beats more and more erratically as the Shadow actually listens to her words and comes out of the book to turn on his master.  Of course, this had to be played on cello, as the representation of the power of the voice of a Silvertongue.

“A Deserted Village” - A World on Fire, John Paesano With her task complete, Meggie is back in her own role as a young girl, the nighttime protagonist represented by the piano.  The ashes of the Shadow seem to drift away on the wind just as the memory of all the evil of the now-deserted village fades.  Well, almost all, as Basta grabs Resa in a last-ditch attempt to escape with his life, and leaves to haunt the fears of the protagonists until the next book.

“Homesickness” - The Aerie, Andrew Lloyd-Webber The theme for the book is back, in a mirror image callback to “Coward” at the beginning of the story.  Dustfinger, now aware of the ending to his own story, sneaks in and sneaks the book from its sleeping guardian.  He is no longer haunted by what it may contain and takes it, on the other side of many betrayals, determined that he will get home somehow, even without the help of Silvertongue.

“Going Home” - New Guinea Match, Lorne Balfe and Rupert Gregson-Williams The mist clears on the foreboding of this story, as Meggie and her family gather up the creatures and bring them home to Elinor’s house, now a much less terrifying and austere sight and much more homey and comfortable.  There are pieces to pick up and a life of love and daily adventure to live.

[oscar-isaacs-number-one-bitch]

“Aquaman” Movie Review

Aquaman is DC’s sixth and latest entry into their cinematic universe, and the first since the severely underwhelming box office results of Justice League made us all question whether or not this attempt at replicating Marvel Studios’ success was ever actually going to succeed post-Wonder Woman. This film finds Insidious and Conjuring director James Wan helming the story of Arthur Curry, the son of a lighthouse keeper from Amnesty Bay and the Queen of the underwater kingdom of Atlantis. After the events of Justice League, as well as a submarine rescue in which he encounters the man who will become Black Manta, Arthur returns home to his father. It isn’t long, however, before Princess Mera finds him, and warns him of a coming threat: Arthur’s brother, King Orm, means to declare war on the surface world, and everyone in it. If he is to be stopped, Arthur must put off the grudge he has against his people (whom he has denied because they supposedly killed his mother), and become the hero he is meant to be.

If there were a single word to describe what I felt sitting in the theater watching Aquaman for the first time, I wouldn’t know what it would be. I’ll say ahead of time that Wonder Woman is absolutely still DC’s strongest film to date, but the sheer level of commitment this movie has to its mid-2000’s levels of cheese and pulp give it an affecting charm not too many superhero films find themselves openly sporting in the modern day. Many superhero films, especially when it comes to those put out by either Marvel Studios or Warner Bros, have a particular dispensation towards either hard-hitting emotional drama or outright action comedy, so to see something so bizarre as Aquaman’s singular commitment to its premise that sounds like something a 10-year-old playing with action figures would have written significant portions of is really something quite special to witness.

This is all thanks to the visionary direction of James Wan, a man so adept at building worlds and creating wholly unique atmospheres for actors to play in that he might as well have actually gone underwater to the kingdom of Atlantis just to get some primary location photography. Seriously, the underwater worlds in this thing are genuine stunners with easily the best bioluminescent environments and effects on screen since James Cameron’s Avatar (not that anyone’s really tried all that hard since anyhow). Traveling through the kingdoms of Atlantis, the Brine, etc, is wonderous and somewhat frustrating, but only because you’re taken through it so quickly you never stay long enough to drink in every bit of visual beauty this movie has to offer. But if you thought the visuals and central premise of an Atlantian superhero having to find a trident and fight a war against his brother underwater for the safety of the world is the most absurd thing in Aquaman, you are not prepared for the hurricane that’s about to hit.

About one third of the way through the second act, there are a number of montages that occur all within about ten minutes of each other and feature the only three songs in the entire movie whilst the rest of its runtime is filled with a mostly workable but never-quite-finds-its-footing score from Harry Gregson-Williams. These montages begin with a sort of half-committed Baywatch tribute that features a cover of Africa by Toto (sung by musical artist Rhea), which is mixed in with a rap by Mr. Worldwide himself (Pitbull). Not even half an hour later, the film sports another fantasy tribute by setting a Tangled­-esque scene between Arthur and Mera in a shoreside town near the same beach. It really is quite something to witness this movie simply take a break from itself in the middle of the second act just to play three music video montages in a row and then get right back to the action that brought the characters there.

Speaking of action, this is some of the most unique and kinetic the DC Extended Universe has ever had. Given the premise that most of the fighting in Aquaman is based around one-on-one trident warfare and hand-to-hand combat, what of the action isn’t grandiose superpower grandstanding has to be very up close and personal bow staff style fight choreography, and the way it plays out is a beautiful thing to see. It’s wonderfully edited during the up close and personal stuff, and some of the tracking shots during the larger battles between civilizations are truly some of the best in DC’s pantheon. I suppose if there were any negatives to the action sequences, it would likely be that most of them start the same way, with the characters getting quiet and then an explosion rocking them back to preparedness, which wouldn’t be a problem except that it occurs four or five times throughout the film, thus costing each subsequent surprise attack its effectiveness by making it too much of a habit.

But enough about the action and visually stimulating underwater worlds; how are the characters? A film can have all the spectacle in the world, but without proper character, it’s going to flounder. The characters in Aquaman? They’re…fine. Truth be told, anyone who wasn’t already on board with Jason Momoa’s bro culture rendition of the title character isn’t necessarily going to be won over by his mostly stilted but badass-in-action-scenes performance here, but they do tone down a lot of his more annoying quirks he was introduced with in Justice League, and that should count for something. Momoa is a physically dominant force as Arthur Curry, but whether it was some of the line he was given or because maybe he’s just not been with the right directors yet, his performance here really only reaches dynamic screen presence levels; there’s not a lot of room for nuance in his acting, and while that may be for the best given the kind of performer he is, it does hurt the film a bit overall.

Showing up again as well for round two is Amber Heard as Princess Mera, who more than fits the part as the woman trying to get the reluctant hero to do the hero’s arc because it’s important for him to know he can do it on his own (and she easily has the best costume design in the entire thing), but part of her arc has to do with her relationship to Arthur, and it gets a little confusing because this had supposedly already been covered in Justice League. She does really well for what she’s given to work with, but unfortunately Momoa just doesn’t give off a lot. Also here is veteran Wan-man Patrick Wilson, turning yet another leaf in the journey of acting circles around everyone even with a somewhat messy script to work with. As King Orm, he’s act once fiercely commanding and brilliantly emotive, but he never takes his performance so far as to overshadow Arthur’s main narrative. Willem Dafoe is in…something, but it’s not Aquaman. Seeing him show up as Valko is a real treat to watch, but largely because he’s such an interesting performer, it’s almost like he’s brought back his Norman Osbourne character to teach Jason Momoa how to swim. I’m sure the character probably matters more in the comics, but here, he just feels unnecessary, despite the joy just seeing Willem Dafoe on screen brings.

The unsung hero of this movie, though, at least in terms of performance, is unquestionably Nicole Kidman, who runs the emotional gambit from motherly chiding/affection to kick-ass warrior queen to awestruck-but-terrified literal fish-out-of-water in just her first fifteen minutes of screen time so smoothly and so expertly you’d think she might actually pull an Oscar nomination out of this. She really is having a great year performance-wise between this, Big Little Lies, Boy Erased, and the upcoming Destroyer, and it’s really been quite something to see her come back mid-50’s and show up everyone on any screen she shares by her sheer level of talents and commitment to character. In fact, her part in this movie might not just be the most compelling of the character turns, but also of the plot threads – it actually moved me, and cut right to the heart.

Some negatives about the film (besides what I’ve mentioned already) would include fairly subpar editing and lack of narrative focus; it’s not exactly bad most of the time right up until the second act where the music video montages come in and feel incredibly out of place in this already two and a half hour long movie (that you absolutely do feel the length of during the transition to act three), but it is somewhat off-putting, especially when certain scenes seem to either just start right in the middle of what was probably a longer take, or they’re just strangely placed as if they’re out of order and the editor just forgot about it. It kind of seems like part of the time, it doesn’t know what it wants to be about, and this is particularly felt during the scenes with Black Manta, who (while cool) doesn’t seem like he really was necessary to include this time around. The sound design also sometimes makes things difficult to hear since a lot of it takes place underwater, and while I certainly understand the need to communicate that, it might have been better left to the visuals to communicate, as the effects sometimes blurs certain lines and entire character monologues get lost. In addition, some of the visual effects (while there are a lot that are incredible to see) are actually pretty subpar, particularly wherein green screen is used to give location background to actors that are clearly acting against nothing during a beach training scene where most of the close up shots are straight on rather than from the side or done with two people in frame.

Still, despite its somewhat obvious flaws, Aquaman is the sort of rock and roll good-time superhero movie 10-year-old me would have eaten up. It’s cheesier than a white man’s casserole and pulpier than Tarantino’s back catalogue, but its sheer commitment to the dumb fun of it all really makes it a charming wave to ride. The visuals and costume design are all (mostly) immaculate, and the overlong runtime, while noticeable, doesn’t overshadow the film’s fair share of crowd-cheer moments so cool you wanna jump out of your seat. It may be quite bizarre even for DC, but their innate faith in James Wan’s filmmaking prowess and risk-taking shows they’re taking a few steps (or swims) in the right direction.

I’m giving “Aquaman” a 7.8/10

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Talk to us about the personality traits, layers, contradictions, unanswered questions, etc you find most interesting, intriguing etc. about each of these characters: Cora, Thomas, Edith, Mary, and Baxter :)

Alright, the short answers go here. There will be essays on a couple of these characters later (and if you can't guess which ones, you've not been paying attention), but these are the short ones.

Also, since this is a public answer, for the random goers reading this I would like to clarify something about the term "contradictions" as used here. Contradictions in character personality are frequently pointed to by a lot of people as a sign of bad writing. Given how fond people are already of blasting Julian Fellows's absolutely non-existent writing skills that they watched six seasons of, I feel the need to point out to anyone with that perception that, no, actually, when intentionally done, contradictions in a character are signs of good character development, because people contradict themselves all the bloody time. The world is too complex for us to avoid it.

And, of course, your routine reminder that there were only three members of the household who were around for more than an episode  who I really disliked. Any other complaints about characters here are just recognizing flaws in my beloved cast.

Right then! That said, let's look at this.

Cora:

While Cora has many wonderful, admirable qualities, the first thing that pops to my mind when thinking of her is honestly how crazy gullible she is. I suspect this is a direct result of how utterly trusting she is of people. She's not the least bit suspicious of anyone. I mean, she slipped on soap after O'Brien told her it was under the tub, and still thought O'Brien was the best thing since sliced bread. Simon Bricker had to show up in her room before she realized he was trying to have an affair with her. Of course, all of this just makes one of my favorite scenes all that more memorable: Rosamund telling her that Edith wants to go to Switzerland to improve her French and Cora just absolutely dead straight faced "Why not go to France?" That was beyond beautiful! But yeah, that someone so intelligent and observant in other aspects of her life should be so easily lead around is a fascinating quirk. In a way it balances Robert who is generally unobservant, but tends to get a decent read on people who are up to no good (the Duke of Crowborough, Sir Richard, Simon Bricker, etc.).

Also, she hands down seems to be the person in the house with the best grasp on the concept of a punishment-reward system and the fact that it requires, I dunno, rewarding people for things? I mean, given the choice between punishing Thomas for lying about Baxter's past and rewarding him for running through a burning room to rescue Lady Edith, history shows that Carson would probably have sacked him for the lie, and even Robert probably would have just wordlessly not sacked him. Cora, on the other hand, had no problems going, "Okay, you know what? I have every right to be hacked off at you, because what you did was WRONG and I want you to know that, but damn. Saving my daughter deserves something nice, so as a reward, you can keep your job." It's not that she'll let him just get away with things, but she at least acknowledges his good behavior.

Thomas:

Everything.

Edith:

Probably a result of being a middle child and feeling that her sisters get everything and she gets nothing, the way to make Edith want something really is to tell her she can't have it. This extends to people. Sir Anthony is no longer a good match because his arm is injured and anyway, he's too old? Set a wedding date and don't tell me no. Michael Gregson is not an acceptable match because he get a divorce from his clinically insane wife? I will wait until the end of time for the situation to change, my darling. I'm not saying she's crazy clingy, it's just.....okay, yes, I love her, and I understand, but she's kinda crazy clingy. Fortunately by the time Bertie comes along she's starting to get over that a bit. I think having Marigold helped.

Speaking of Marigold, I've come across people out there who really, really like to rag on her for how she handled that situation, particularly where the Drewes were concerned. I wold like to point out that the entire arrangement with the Drewes was Mr. Drewe's idea, Edith's behavior was perfectly acceptable within the terms of the agreement, and the whole thing fell apart because Mrs. Drewe wasn't in on the scheme (and I understand why Mr. Drewe wanted to seriously limit the number of people who knew about it, but really, that was a major screw up right there, and by the end he knew it). If you want to point fingers about poor, abused Margie, point them at her husband, not Edith. Edith was just trying to find a way to be a good, responsible, supportive young single mother in an age and class where all Miss Manners had to say on the subject was "I don't care if you're engaged and he's willing to walk through fire for you, don't sleep with him until you're married, you light skirted hussy!"

(Fortunately, Robert and Cora are actual human beings with hearts and souls, unlike Miss Manners who can be reasonably determined to be the world's first automated character generator, invented by Charles Dickens to turn out overly moralistic antagonists for his novels.)

Baxter:

Most of the things I want to know about Baxter (outside of "how long is it going to take before she and Molsley actually get married? No hurry, just curious") relate to Thomas in some way, but that's because their stories are kinda super entwined. I'd like to get a better idea on her age (I'm a terrible judge, and you can't go off the actors). I would like to know more about her growing up - not in detail, exactly, but a bit more about her relationship with Thomas's sister - how did they meet? The past tense implies they're no longer friends. How did that happen? Then there's her family's standing. At least one comment made to Molsley suggested that they weren't overly respected (at least that didn't feel like just the prison thing), but Thomas's father was kind to her. I'd also like more of an idea on her actual relationship with Thomas. For instance, how did he even know she needed a position? Did she contact him? If so, why him? A lot of fanfiction authors cash in on their super-duper close relationship as kids, but she tells Cora she was his sister's friend, not his, and I know I was never terribly close with my friends' siblings. I mean, yes, we interacted a lot, and it was not bad interaction. I can certainly see her having babysat him or that sort of thing, but I don't see her having practically raised him herself.

Basically I really want a firmer grasp on how she got to the point where we meet her. One of the major flaws of serialized film as a medium is that it can limit your chances for backstory development, particularly when you have a cast as large as Downton.

Mary:

The more I work with Mary as a character, the more I'm interested in her relationship with Downton itself. Robert refers to the estate as "his third parent and his fourth child" and I kind of feel like Mary feels the same, but it's not always in a positive manner. She loves her family and her home, beyond any shadow of any doubt, but at the same time I feel she genuinely resents the pressures and responsibilities it puts on her. It makes her feel trapped and at points, I think, particularly in season one, a bit dehumanized. Her half of the "your grass is greener" syndrome she and Edith share is that Edith isn't continually being told "to marry the man she sits down with at dinner." She's permitted to fall in love with whoever she pleases (within certain societal standards), she has fewer responsibilities as far as behavior and protocol and all of that, etc. Also, since Mary is the oldest, it's probably been an expectation throughout her life (particularly when younger) that she set a good example for her younger sisters and make sure they stay out of trouble. That would be one thing with the significantly-younger Sybil, but Edith is only a year younger than Mary. That's not a huge maturity gap, so I feel that probably fosters a bit of Mary's resentment toward Edith herself.

I also find it interesting that in a lot of ways, Mary’s the member of the family with the best understanding of the servants. Sybil paid attention to them, of course, and was nice and helped Gwen and all, but Mary understands them. She apologizes to Bates for being in the men’s quarters in episode one. She’s the one who sent William to see his mother when she was dying. In season two, she recognizes Thomas’s ambition and - honestly - discontent. There is a level of observation and, in many ways, respect there that no one else quite gets.

I could, of course, go on a bit longer on everyone, but I think this covers the most important points.

[weekendwarriorblog]

WHAT TO WATCH THIS WEEKEND September 27, 2019  - ABOMINABLE, FIRST LOVE, JUDY, THE LAUNDROMAT

There’s only one movie in wide release this week, and it’s the second DreamWorks Animation/Universal animated movie of the year, ABOMINABLE, which is also the third animated movie involving some sort of Bigfoot, Sasquatch or Yeti (if you don’t include Monsters Inc. and Monsters University). 

I actually really enjoyed this movie quite immensely, even though I’m not sure I’m up for a full review. It features the voice of Chloe Bennet (from Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.) as Yi, a young Chinese girl who finds a young Yeti on the roof of her apartment building and goes on a magical adventure to bring the beast (she dubs “Everest”) back to his home (on Mount Everest) along with her two friends, one voiced by Albert Tsai from Fresh Off the Boat. DreamWorks has been somewhat erratic in my book as far as their recent animated films, but Abominable really offered a lot to enjoy, from some of the sillier humor to the magical fantasy elements. There’s also a lot of really touching and even moving moments that really hit me in the feels, partially thanks to the score by Rupert Gregson-Williams. (How this guy has not been nominated for an Oscar is beyond me.) So yeah, this is the third animated movie of the last year involving a Yeti, but I think DreamWorks and director Jill Culton really nailed the storytelling and visuals in a way that was lacking, at least in The Missing Link earlier this year.

You can read my interview with Chloe Bennet over at The Beat later today.

The movie that people should definitely try to find is Takashi Miike’s latest crime thriller, FIRST LOVE (Hatsukoi), released by Well GO USA in New York (at the Angelika) and L.A. (at the Laemmle Nuart) on Friday then expanding on October 2.

Besides returning Miike to his crime roots, being a movie that involves the Yakuza, it also is as much a love story as Ichi the Killer only without all the genre weirdness that made that one (and many of Miike’s other movies) such a hard sell to mainstream audiences. First Love still has a lot of fun and a tiny bit of weirdness, but it’s also something more akin to the work of Tarantino, at least with Kill Bill.

It stars Masataka Kubota as a young boxer named Leo, who learns he has a tumor and little time to live when he encounters a call girl named Yuri who being forced into paying off a debt to the Yakuza (played by Sakurako Konishi). They meet under the strangest circumstances, as the two go on the run, her trying to escape from being used by a rival faction as a scapegoat in a planned drug heist.

Despite the title, this isn’t a romance film although it definitely has romantic elements between the two characters. The film sets up an intricate cast of characters around them with various factions and double-dealings that unfold over the course of the movie. That’s partially what makes True Love such a breakthrough for Miike, who has been doing so much Manga-derived work in recent years. He manages to take the incredible ensemble of actors and give all of them some good screen time as we follow Leo and Yuri trying to evadde those various factions, most of whom want them dead. It culminates in one of the most amazing action-packed last acts that’s up there with anything in 13 Assassins and Blade of the Immortal, two of Miike’s fairly recent Edo-period films.

As someone who has seen a LOT, if not most of Miike’s films over the last 20 years – we’re talking almost fifty films, here – First Love is his best movie since Audition, and having seen that again recently, I think it’s even better than that. It’s just a brilliant action-thriller from the filmmaking vet that I hope people will look for, even if they’re not a fan of Miike’s work before this.

RATING: 8.5/10

The other movie worthy of note is the biopic JUDY (LD Entertainment/Roadside Attractions) starring Renée Zellwegger as Judy Garland, directed by British theater director Rupert Goold (True Story). I have to be honest that I was genuinely surprised by how much I enjoyed this movie, because I was never a really big Judy Garland fan—I’m not even sure I’ve seen many of her movies besides The Wizard of Oz– and I can’t say I’m really a fan of Zellwegger either.

Although Judy has a few traditional biopic elements as it flashes back to Judy’s dealings with Louis B. Mayer (one of the M’s in MGM) lording over Judy as a teenager around the time of “Wizard,” it mostly takes place in the mid-to-late 60s as she’s fighting for custody of her two kids with her ex Sid, falling for a young piano-playing entrepreneur played by Finn Wittrock and trying to maintain a comeback at a London residency that’s plagued by her bouts with drugs and alcohol.

In some ways, the movie reminded me a little of last year’s Stan and Ollie, another great film about screen stars of yesteryear in their later years based around a solid script. In this case, the script is by someone named Tom Edge (The Crown) who clearly did enough research that as you’re watching the movie, you’re likely to wonder “Did that really happen?”

One of those moment is when Judy meets two elderly gay fans and ends up spending the night hanging with them at their home, a moment that will play a pivotal part later. I also liked some of the rest of the cast around her including Jessie Buckley (who was amazing in Wild Rose) and Finn Witrock, as Judy’s closest confidante.

More than anything, it’s about how Zellwegger embodies Judy Garland, and it’s more than just an impression, as she pulls out some amazing emotions as she struggles with life without her kids, but as soon as she steps on stage in front of an audience, she goes through an amazing transformation.

Again, Judy really surprised me in how much I enjoyed it, but I won’t be even remotely surprised if Zellwegger wins her second Oscar

RATING: 8/10

LOCAL FESTIVALS

Before we get to the rest of this week’s limited releases, I need to talk about two great film festivals, one on each coast. Of course, I have to talk about Film at Lincoln Center’s New York Film Festival first, since I’ve been attending it now for almost sixteen years, and it’s another banner year beginning this Friday with the WORLD PREMIERE of Martin Scorsese’s long-anticipated return to crime and reunion with Robert De Niro and Harvey Keitel with The Irishman, which also brings Al Pacino into the fold as Jimmy Hoffa. (I’ll be seeing this Friday morning and reviewing for The Beatsometime over the weekend.) The closing night film is Edward Norton’s Motherless Brooklyn, a crime novel that he’s been trying to get made for nearly a decade or more, but this one also has a significantly incredible cast around him, including Alec Baldwin, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Willem Dafoe and many more. I’ll also review it for The Beat.

Beyond that, NYFF includes a lot of upcoming releases that I’ve missed by not going to many other festivals this year, including Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite, Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story (the Centerpiece) and a bunch of other movies that have played Cannes, TIFF and other festivals. There’s also a few docs in there that I’m looking forward to, including Michael Apted’s 63-Up, the latest in his ongoing series that began way back in the 60s with a television special about a group of schoolkids who the filmmaker followed over the course of their lives, revisiting every seven years without fail. It’s a pretty amazing achievement, and I’m definitely in until the filmmaker decides to stop (or more likely and sadly, dies). I hope to write more about the New York Film Festival both here and over at The Beatover the next few weeks, so stay tuned!

Over in Los Angeles, the 2019 Beyond Fest will be taking over the Hulu Theater at the American Cinemateque’s Egyptian starting Weds. and for the next few weeks, kicking off with the West Coast Premieres of Richard Stanley’s Color Out of Space in a double feature with Daniel isn’t Real, two movies from Elijah Wood’s excellent horror production company SpectreVision. The festival will also screen Taika Waititi’s Jojo Rabbit and Bong Joon-wo’s Parasite, two movies I still haven’t had a chance to see, probably making me the last person on earth to see both of them. (They both open in October, so I expect that to change soon.) Other movies playing Beyond Fest include The Lodge, Little Monsters (which is a lot of fun) and a few repertory screenings that I’ll mention in the appropriate section below.

LIMITED RELEASES

A few weeks back, I was a little remiss by forgetting to include the Bulgarian drama ÁGA (Big World Pictures) in my column when it played at New York’s Film Forum. I want to make up for it this weekend, as it opens at the Laemmle Royal in L.A. Milko Lazarov’s film is set in a yurt in the furthest regions of Siberia, and honestly, I thought I was watching a documentary at first, since it’s filmed in such a cinema verité way where you think you’re watching real people, but nope, it’s a scripted film with local actors. It revolves around a couple, Sedna and Nannok, living in that yurt, whose only connection to the outside world is their son Chena, who tells him that he’s found their daughter Ága after a family argument that made her leave home.  I won’t say much more but the way that the story is told and shot really takes advantage of the locale, and I was glad to hear that Bulgaria selected it for the Oscars’ newly-titled “International Film” category.

Another fun movie worth seeking out is Daniel Schneiber’s dark comedy THE DEATH OF DICK LONG (A24), the first solo feature from one half ofSwiss Army Mandirectors, “The Daniels.” Schneiber also plays the title character, essentially a corpse – I’m seeing a trend here –as the film involves two friends who are involved with the accidental death of another man, actually the drummer in their band. We won’t find out for quite some time how “Dick Long” died, and I’m not going to spoil it, because it’s the film’s oddest turn – maybe one where it will lose a few people—but I think it’s another creative film with a great cast, mostly of lesser known actors but ones that really deliver a fun experience. I’m not sure where this is all playing, but I do know that one of the places is the Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn on Friday night.

Similarly opening at the Metrograph this weekend for one screening only on Saturday -- but one where star Timothy Blake Nelson will be present for a QnA – is Chris Poché’s The True Don Quixote, which also stars Jacob Batalon from Spider-Man: Far from Home. It’s a new take on Cervantes’ classic tale that shifts it into Louisiana with Nelson’s Danny Kehoe accompanied by Batalon’s Sancho. It’s odd this is coming out the same year as Terry Gilliam’s long-in-development-hell The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, but I’m checking it out on Saturday for sure.

I won’t be seeing Stephen Soderbergh’s THE LAUNDROMAT (Netflix) until after this column posts, but I know a little bit about it. Like I know that it stars Meryl Streep, who plays a widow who is investigating insurance fraud and finding two law partners in Panama City (Antonio Banderas, Gary Oldman) who are exploiting the world’s financial system. Soderbergh’s cast also includes Will Forte, Jeffrey Wright, David Schwimmer and Sharon Stone, and it’s probably his The Big Short. It won’t be on Netflix until October 18, so if you want to see it, you’ll have to find one of the select cities where it’s playing, including New York’s IFC Center where it opens Friday.

Mini-Review: Let’s just get this out of the way, because I wrote the above before actually seeing the movie, but yes, The Laundromat is indeed Soderbergh’s attempt at making a Big Short-like examination of the world of finance and shell corporations and how the rich exploit the poor or “the meek”… and he has a cast full of well-known actors, many in a higher tax bracket, to tell what ends up being something that is probably more apropos for a documentary than an attempted comedy.

There is little question that The Laundromat is intended to be a comedy, beginning with the “wacky accents” sported by Oldman and Banderas as lawyers Jürgen Mosseck and Ramón Fonseca who begin to explain how the world of finance works. Before that, we meet Meryl Streep’s Ellen Martin and her husband Joe (James Cromwell) on a romantic anniversary get-away where their tour boat topsizes, drowning 21 people, including Joe. She then learns that she can’t collect from the boat company’s insurance due to a series of shell companies that she traces back to Mosseck and Fonseca in Panama. Before that, we see Jeffrey Wright appear as someone else involved in a way that is never quite understandable…. And that’s while the entire time, Mosseck and Fonseca break the fourth wall to try to make what’s happening EASIER to understand.

Frequent Soderbergh collaborator Scott Z. Burns is a fantastic writer – his screenplay for The Report, which he also directed, is proof-positive – but something about this one gets lost in translation. There’s clearly a desire to

The oddest decision is to cast two GENUINELY funny actors like Will Forte and Chris Parnell, and literally have them in one scene before killing them off. That’s just one of the many tangents that seem to come from out of nowhere and have very little to do with the overall “story” – and I use that term loosely. If I were watching this on Netflix, the first major tangent into the dalliances of a wealthy African businessman (Nonso Anozie) trying to buy his daughter’s silence about his affair was me sitting on the remote and actually switching to another movie. The second tangent to China – a complete waste of Rosalin Chao -- is even worse.

And yet, that’s still better than all of the shenanigans and silliness we’re forced to watch great actors like Oldman and Banderas (who is AMAZING in Almodovar’s new film Pain and Glory) get up to – it’s actually painful. Most people already know how little I care for Streep but to play what seems like a kindly widow trying to get through her grief only to have that not being entirely the case. (I won’t spoil it, but if you can’t figure out that it’s Streep under the make-up playing ANOTHER character, then you’re probably not going to get the attempted intricacies of the world of finance being explored.)

Despite being only ninety minutes long, this was a chore to sit through, partially due to the confusing tangents, but also due to some of the questionable filmmaking decisions which would seem below a filmmaker of Soderbergh’s caliber.

It feels like everyone involved with Soderbergh’s latest has grown tired of the Oscars on their mantle and decided to make a concentrated effort to go for a few Razzies. They might get their wish.

Rating: 4.5/10

One of the ACTUAL docs I’ve seen this weekend is Bill Haney’s new doc Jim Allison: Breakthrough (DADA Films), which follows the career of Jim Allison, an amazing geneticist who specializes in immunology, making huge breakthroughs into curing cancer by discovering that antibodies have a special nodes that help them fight against illness and disease and how cancer tumors shut them off. Allison won the Nobel Prize in Medicine last December. It’s a fairly brainy and scientific doc that at times seems more like an advertising for the pharmaceutical company who mass-produced the drug that came out of Allison’s research, but there’s a great case study of a woman who is diagnosed with myeloma and given only a few years to live. The doc is opening at a couple theaters in New York, including the Quad Cinema, and a couple in L.A., and then it expands to other cities next Friday. Oh, and it’s narrated by Woody Harrelson!

I’m a little more mixed on the doc Anthropocene: The Human Epoch (Kino Lorber), a combined effort by Jennifer Baichwal, Nicholas de Pencier  and Edward Burtynsky, which also opens at the IFC Center. I’m not even sure I can properly describe this world-spanning environmental doc… so I won’t try. It’s beautifully shot but not quite so obvious what the filmmakers were going for.

I haven’t had a chance to watch Chris Morris’ The Day Shall Come (IFC Films), which stars Anna Kendrick as an FBI agent who must go to great lengths to catch Moses Al Shabaz (Marchánt Davis), a Miami street preacher who wants to overthrow the US government who gets the backing of a Middle Eastern terrorist organization. And apparently, it’s a comedy? Okay, then.s

The last vestiges of MoviePass is their sole movie production, Bryan A. Miller’s 10 Minutes Gone (Lionsgate), an action-thriller starring Bruce Willis as crime-boss Rex, who hires Michael Chiklis’s Frank to lead a crew on as jewel heist, but when things go wrong and Frank wakes up with no memory of what happened (and no jewels), he must solve that before Rex has him killed. It will open in select cities but probably will be seen by most on Video On Demand.

I was kind of hoping I’d have a chance to see Fatih Akin’s new film The Golden Glove (Strand Releasing) as I’ve been a fan of the filmmaker for some time, but no such luck. This tells the story of notorious German serial killer Fritz Honka who terrorized Hamburg’s red light district – I’ve actually been there!!! – in the ‘70s, frequenting the “Golden Glove” bar and chasing after lonely women… and presumably killing them… cause he’s a serial killer. It’s opening at the IFC Center and presumably somewhere in L.A. as well?

Gilles Lelouch’s French comedy Sink or Swim (Level Film) stars Mathieu Amalric as one of a group of 40-something men who decide to form their pool’s first-ever all-male synchronized swimming team.

Samantha Buck & Marie Schlingmann’s Sister Aimee (1091/Obscured Pictures) stars Anna Margaret Hollyman as the title character, America’s most famous evangelist who is fed up with her success, so she goes on a wild trip to the Mexican border with her lover.  It opens in select theaters Friday and will On Demand next Tuesday.

Other films out this week in select cities (and On Demand) include Matthew Currie Ross’ The Curse of Buckout Road (Vertical/TriMuse Entertaiinment), starring Evan Ross, Henry Czerny and more. It takes place on New York State’s “most haunted road.” It should not be confuse with the Venezuelan thriller The Vampire of the Lake (Uncork’d Pictures/Dark Star Pictures), which only opens at L.A.’s Laemmle Glendale on Friday.

REPERTORY

METROGRAPH (NYC):

This weekend, the Metrograph will begin screening a restored 35mm print of Alain Corneau’s 1979 film Série Noir, which adapts a Jim Thompson novel for the screen. Welcome To Metrograph: Redux will screen Antonioni’s Le Amiche (1955) a few times over the weekend and Pierre Schoendoerff’s documentary The Anderson Platoon (1967), neither which I’ve seen or know much about. The series will also screen the 1955 film Artists and Models, starring Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, s and Fassbinder’s 1974 film Ali: Fear Eats the Soul, two movies which I ALSO have never seen. (I’m more likely to see the former.) Late Nites at Metrograph  will show David Lynch’s 2001 film Mulholland Drive, which is actually a rather boring choice for the usually innovative series. (Heck, I can go see that at the New Beverly one the one day they’re not showing Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood if I lived in L.A..) On the other hand, my favorite ongoing Metrograph series Playtime: Family Matinees will screen the 1979 film The Black Stallion this weekend, and that’s another movie I have never seen.

ALAMO DRAFTHOUSE BROOKLYN (NYC)

Since I’m sort of back on schedule, although tonight’s “Weird Wednesday” Tank Girlis already sold out. You can still get tickets for the weekend screenings of Joel Schumacher’s 1987 film The Lost Boys on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Claude Chabrol’s The Cérémonie from 1995 will screen on Saturday as part of “Cutting Class: Films Inspired by Bong Joon-Ho’s Parasite” – wait, shouldn’t that be the other way around? Oh, I guess maybe the programming was inspired by seeing Parasite, which I haven’t seen yet. Buster Keaton’s 1923 film Our Hospitality will screen on Sunday with “live theater organ accompaniment” – what is this? The Film Forum?  Kidding… Monday night screenings include Mark Wahlberg’s 1996 film Fear and (separately Millennium Actress (2002), the latter part of the “Anime-Zing” series. Next week’s “Terror Tuesday” is Tony Scott’s The Hunger from 1983, but earlier is a 4k restoration of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. Joseph Losey’s The Servant from 1963 will also play that night, as a movie that inspired Bong Joon-ho vs. the other way around. Next week’s Weird Wednesday is Hulk Hogan’s 1989 movie No Holds Barred, which is not sold out… yet.

FILM FORUM (NYC):

Although Robert Altman’s Nashville will end on Thursday, the Film Forum will begin a week-long run of a 4k restoration of Fritz Lang’s Indian epic with the two parts, The Tiger of Eschnapor and The Indian Tomb, both from 1959 shown with separate admission fees rather than as a double feature. (Sad trombone.) The movie was originally shown in the U.S. in an edited (almost cut in half) version, so this is a rare chance to see the full movie on the big screen starting Friday. This weekend’s Film Forum Jr. is appropriately Jim Henson and Frank Oz’s beloved 1982 fantasy film The Dark Crystal.

EGYPTIAN THEATRE (LA):

Although the Hulu(ween) Theater is being taken over by Beyond Fest (see above) much of this week and next, there’s a few repertory screenings including a 30th Anniversary screenings of Killer Crocodile and Luigi Cozzi’s 1989 film Paganini Horror on Friday and a 10th anniversary screening of Karyn Kusama’s Jennifer’s Body (with Kusama AND Megan Fox in person!) on Sunday. They’re also showing a screening of Al Adamson’s 1971 film Dracula Vs Frankenstein on Sunday.

AERO  (LA):

A bunch of non-rep stuff going on this week but on Saturday, they’ll screen a new 35mm print of Joan Tewkesbury’s 1979 directorial debutOld Boyfriends with Tewkesbury, stars Talia Shire and Keith Carradine in person! Sunday is the monthly “The Style of Sin: Pre-Code Film” series with a Marlene Dietrich double feature of 1930’s Morocco and the 1932 film Shanghai Express, both directed by her frequent collaborator Josef Von Sternberg. On Sunday night is a screening of Easy Rider (1969) in tribute to the late Peter Fonda. On Tuesday is a matinee screening of Fritz Lang’s 1931 film M, starring Peter Lorre, as part of “Tuesdays with Lorre,” free to Cinematheque members.

FILM AT LINCOLN CENTER (NYC):

FilmLinc is probably going to be pretty busy this week with the New York Film Festival starting Friday (see above), but it includes a few repertory screenings that I’ll try to mention. This weekend, they’re premiering a new restoration of Luis Buñuel’s 1930 film L’age d’or on Sunday as well as a new restoration of his 1950 film Los Olvidados. Béla Tarr’s 1994 film Sátántángo will also premiere in a new restoration on Sunday. On Tuesday, there’s a new restoration of Valerio Zurlini’s Le Professeur, while on Monday will screen new restorations of Three Short Films by Sergei Parajanov.

IFC CENTER (NYC)

Weekend Classics: Staff Picks Summer 2019 is Paul Verhoeven’s Black Book (2006), starring Carice van Houten from Game of Thrones, picked by “Carlos” in a rare 35mm print! Waverly Midnights: Staff Picks Summer 2019 is George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), a great choice by “Tashika.” Late Night Favorites: Summer 2019 ends with something new that hasn’t been shown all summer… the 1986 film Critters, chosen by “Shane”!

MUSEUM OF THE MOVING IMAGE (NYC):

“See It Big! Ghost Stories” continues this weekend with The Innocents (1961), which inspired Alejandro Amenabar’s 2001 film The Others, and the Japanese thriller Empire of Passion (1978).Also starting Friday is “Five by Forsyth,” as in Bill Forsyth, showing five movies including his 1979 debut That Sinking Feeling, as well as Comfort and Joy (’84), Breaking In (’89), Local Hero(’83) and Housekeeping (’87). On Saturday night, MOMI is also screening William Peter Blatty’s 1980 debut The Ninth Configurationas part of its ongong “Disreputable Cinema” series.

QUAD CINEMA (NYC):

Sadly, “Laws of Desire: The Films of Antonio Banderas” ends on Thursday, but it will end with a screening of Steven Soderbergh’s new movie, The Laundromat as it opens theatrically… at the IFC Center further downtown. (Waugh Waugh….)

LANDMARK THEATRES NUART  (LA):

Friday night’s midnight offering is the ever-popular Anime Vampire Hunter Dfrom 1985.

ROXY CINEMA (NYC)

On Wednesday night, there’s a special screening of the doc The Blank Generation (1976) about the New York new wave/pun scene with director Amos Poe doing a QnA afterwards. (The movie is also screening on Saturday sans QnA.) On Friday, they’re screening Susan Seidelman’s 1983 punk movie Smithereens. Otherwise, it’s all Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood. What the holy fuck?

THE NEW BEVERLY (L.A.):

Still showing Once Upon a Time …  in Hollywood most of the time so still relegated to the bottom of the repertory section ‘cause IT ISN’T REPERTORY! But at least October is looking more promising for the New Bev to get back on track. We’ll see. The New Bev is showing the 1949 Burt Lancast film Criss Crossas a Wednesday matinee and one of my most beloved Disney movies ever That Darn Cat! (1965) over the weekend as its “Kiddee Matinee” but otherwise, it’s all Tarantino all the time. (Kill Bill: Volume 1 is the Saturday midnight offering.)

STREAMING AND CABLE

Pretty excited to hear that Jim Mickle, who directed Stakeland and Cold in July has a new movie on Netflix called IN THE SHADOW OF THE MOON – part of Netflix’s “Netflix and Chills” series (har har). This one stars Boyd Holbrook from Logan as Philadelphia police officer Thomas Lockhart, who begins tracking a serial killer who keeps reappearing every nine years, his murders defying any scientific explanation. I haven’t seen it yet, but it also stars Michael C. Hall from Dexter and Cleopatra Coleman.

Apparently, Gwyneth Paltrow is in a new series called The Politician, but I know nothing about it, except that it’s Ryan Murphy’s first series for Netflix. Sorry!

I don’t have Shudder, so I can’t really say much about its programming, although this week, it will debut its new anthology series based on the George Romero anthology movie Creepshow, which might be a reason for me to subscribe. We’ll see.

Next week, it’s Joaquin Phoenix as Joker, a movie I’ve yet to be invited to see, as of this writing. Sad clown face…

[glimpseddarkness]

Sherlock Holmes

Character History

At the age of eight, he was sent to boarding school by his father because of his mothers drug addiction, where he was often physically bullied for being different due to his intelligent mind. 

Sherlock was previously a consultant detective for Scotland Yard, which is where he met Captain Tommy Gregson. When Sherlock interrupted several of Moriarty's plans of assassinations in London, she seduced him into falling in love with her as so she could study him, posing as Irene Adler. They dated for seven months until she staged her own death, making Sherlock believe she had been murdered by someone named M. 

Prior to her supposed murder, his drug use had been recreational or when he needed a boost during a challenging investigation. When Irene died, he lost control. He used various stimulants during the investigation of the identification of her killer. When the investigation trail went cold, and Sherlock couldn't find Irene's killer, he turned to opiates. Scotland Yard asked him to step aside when his use became known. He then went into hiding, and moved to New York City. One night, Sherlock showed up at the apartment of his friend Alistair in New York City, so high he could barely speak. Alistair got rid of his drugs, and looked after him for a day or so. Sherlock could barely stay conscious, and muttered Irene's name again and again.

After several months, his father found out about his drug problems, and forced him into rehabilitation. On the day after he had checked into Hemdale, he got sick, and planned a way to leave the rehabilitation facility without anyone knowing. He relapsed, and after getting the drugs he needed, he returned back to Hemdale, with no one noticing he was gone. He then spent six months at Hemdale getting clean, After breaking out of the drug rehabilitation center the day of his release, he moves into a brownstone owned by his father. He contacts, Captain Tommy Gregson of the New York Police Department, and gets a job as a consulting detective for the NYPD. His father hires Joan Watson to be his sober companion for six weeks, which he claims he has no need for and suggests she should take the six weeks as a holiday instead. After a fight, Joan says she'll request another sober companion for him, but she later decides to stay after all, even after the six weeks his father had paid for.

Sherlock later reveals he has known Joan stayed on as his sober companion even though his father told her not to. He tells her he is grateful for staying when he needed it, but claims that after some time, she stayed for herself, and proposes again that she should stay on as his apprentice. And tells her to take some time to think on it. She later accepts, and Sherlock starts teaching her.

[simplysherlockfanfic]

Connection Thirty Two

Connection.  Read Chap One here. Two. Three Four.  Five. Six. Seven. Eight.  Nine.  Ten.  Eleven.  Twelve.  Thirteen.  Fourteen.  Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.  Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.   Twenty One.   Twenty Two.   Twenty Three.   Twenty Four.   Twenty Five.   Twenty Six.   Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight.   Twenty Nine.   Thirty.   Thirty One.

Sherlock x reader

An American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word Count: 3686

The sun was still high when you finally zipped up your suitcase and glanced around the recovery room that had been your home for the last four weeks of your eight-week stay at the hospital. Mycroft had pushed it but you had to admit the recovery process had probably been easier here with the weekly visits with Dr. Gregson and the daily physical therapy with Courtney in the same building. Now that all the fractures had completely healed and your tendons, ligaments, and muscles were on their way, you could possibly tackle the stairs with the cane without too much pain.

You turned at the rap at the door and smiled at John standing in the doorway with his old cane.

“Your ride is here. Are you excited or terrified?” He walked over with a look around the room. “It’s like no one was living here.” You eyed him as he handed you the cane then stuck his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a DVD inside a clear sleeve. “I think this is for you.” He cleared his throat as you took the disc and looked at it, “she left two for us. This arrived yesterday and… I’ve had to stop myself from watching it more than a few times.”

It was a plain white DVD with Godmother scrawled in black sharpie. You looked up at John, “She?”

“Mary.”

Your gaze dropped to the disc again and you ran your fingers over her writing. “How do you know it’s for me?”

“Because of something she said once or twice.” He pulled your laptop out of its bag and placed it on the table. He started it up then turned to go, “I’ll just wait…”

You grasped his wrist and pleaded, “please stay.”

He glanced at the laptop before meeting your gaze, “you’re sure?” You nodded then released him. He picked up the second chair and carried it over next to the one in front of the laptop.

You sat down, loaded the DVD, hit auto play, and waited not quite sure what to expect but all you could hear were those cruel words you threw at her that Christmas that felt so long ago. We all have demons, Amanda. The pained look on her face that you had evoked because you knew her deepest weakness. What kind of person lashes out with something that was given in confidence, words shared only because she felt safe enough to open up to you? If only you could take it all back.

Mary’s face filled the screen just as you were about to slap the laptop shut and you gasped. John grabbed your hand and you turned it over then entwined your fingers with his. “Please don’t leave,” you whispered and John replied with a squeeze of your hand.

“Y/n.” Her smile reached her eyes, “I’m sure this is probably a shock to you or well, maybe not, you always were so intuitive when it came to behavior.” She sighed, “there are so many things I wanted to say to you that I didn’t get the chance to but you’ve probably heard them all before so I’m going to use this to tell you what you didn’t hear.”

She looked down and your heart slammed into your ribcage. When her gaze finally came back up, she pulled you in. “I’ve missed you. I missed you so much that I was shocked, believe it or not. And when Rosie came,” she blinked and looked up as she cleared her throat, “I never wanted you around more. When John and I were discussing Godparents I don’t remember which of us said you first,” she let out a watery laugh, “it was probably him, let’s be honest, but you were the first thought in my head. You were always so good with Will and whenever I was struggling, I thought what would she do? What did she do with Will when he’d cry all night or when she thought she may not make it til morning? Of course, you probably never had that thought. You were my inspiration. You were the mother I wanted to be, like my own, if I could ever pull it off.”

She smiled again and wiped away the tears. “So, obviously if you’re seeing this, I’m gone and if I could have my wish, Rosie would have you. Mrs. Hudson, I’m sure will be the fairy godmother that gives her everything she wants, and Molly will probably be a close second, but you would be everything she needs. You are her Godmother, the one I see raising her to be the woman we know she is meant to be.” She swiped at more tears as she chuckled, “motherhood has made me cry more than anything in my life.” She looked into the camera, into you, and her smile faded, “you saw all of me and still wanted to be my friend, still saw me as family. You are everything I would like her to be. Kind, caring, fiercely loyal, protective, forgiving, and most importantly, strong and smart. I never had a friend like you in my life and I am so thankful that John brought you into it. It’s just another thing John Watson gave me that I could never repay him for. The friendship you two have, I want that for Rosie. I want the world for her and I know that you lot will give her that. You, Sherlock, John… and for the love of all that is holy, don’t let John give up on that. Don’t let him give up on love.”

Her face lit up and she didn’t bother to wipe away the tears anymore then something else crossed her features, something darker before she shook her head and refocused on the camera, “please watch over them. I’m sure I probably don’t even have to ask but,” she shrugged, “it’s my last wish and I needed you to know just how special and important you truly are. Thank you for everything.” She was quiet but still gazing into the camera with those soft eyes and her mouth slowly curving into a smile. She was coming to some sort of decision, something solidifying and yet still bittersweet. “Everything.” Another tear fell and then the screen went blue.

You continued to stare as the screen blurred and more warm tears streaked down your face. John squeezed your hand, you turned and studied his watery eyes.

“She’s right.”

You looked up trying to slow the waterfall but it didn’t help. You saw her do the same in your head and suddenly wanted to watch the video again knowing you must’ve misheard, misunderstood. “How… could I?”

“You really didn’t know how much she looked up to you?”

You dropped your gaze and shook your head. “But the things I said to her that Christmas, the cold shoulder I gave her after she shot him. I was so mad.” Amanda. Next time, I won’t be so quiet.

He sandwiched your hand between his, “she understood your anger but she could never understand how you still called her family. She told me that you said you knew she would always be family and you just needed time. It was the only thing she couldn’t understand because if she was in your place she probably would’ve written her off, fuck her best friend’s opinion. I was better with Rosie and with her as a new mother because of you. She would ask every now and then what you did with Will and that,” he pointed to the screen, “that only proves I wasn’t the only one wishing you were here.”

You stared into his eyes and still couldn’t believe it. You weren’t that great, you still had to learn through trial and error, and you had those nights where you thought you weren’t going to make it til morning. You weren’t perfect or knew what you were doing and the things you said to her… Suddenly, you wished you had the chance to tell her she was perfect, that she was everything Rosie would ever want. “But I…” you shook your head, “she was exactly what Rosie needed. I went through the same thoughts and feelings as she did. I will only ever be second for Rosie, I will never be as good as… her.”

John smiled as a tear rolled down his cheek, “and that’s exactly why she wanted you to be Rosie’s Godmother and apparently, my life coach.”

You barked out a wet laugh, “you’re such a…”

“Arsehole, I know.”

You threw your arms around him and squeezed. “Oh, John. Thank you for bringing this.”

He wrapped his arms around you and patted your back, “thanks for making me stay.” After a beat, he pulled back then grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table and handed them to you. He stood clearing his throat, “we should get going though because I said I’d have you home in under an hour." He slipped your laptop back in its bag as you dried your face. "We don’t need half of Scotland Yard looking for us because we’re late.”

John lifted your suitcase and what he said sunk in. “Who planned the party?”

“Mrs. Hudson and Sher…” his eyes widened as he turned and pointed at you, “you can’t say a word. Shit! They’re going to know. You need to act surprised and don’t go over the top. Christ, she’s going to kill me.”

“Calm down. I’m sure I’m going to be a mess from those stairs anyway, they’ll all be too busy trying to help me to notice.”

“Right.” Some of the color came back to his face and he handed you the cane. “You sure you don’t need the wheelchair?”

You gripped the cane with a glance at you laptop bag, took a deep breath, and met his gaze. “Let’s do this.”

~~

Why in the hell did you ever tell John you could do this? Christ, those stairs were made by satan himself and you had no time to gather yourself before the door opened with a chorus of welcome home.

John led you to his chair and everyone took turns saying hello and whatever else they said that you barely heard over the screaming of your lower half. You smiled and nodded but within ten minutes, Sherlock intervened. He gave you a cup of tea, a pain pill, and suggested maybe you take a breather in the bedroom. Sherlock Holmes not only threw a party for you with Mrs. Hudson but he also read you like an open book and dealt with the crowd. Even though it was made up of family and close friends, still they had no interesting case to give him.

You walked into the kitchen clutching the cane and staring at the floor in front of you. You stopped just before you bumped into someone. “I’m so sorry.” You looked up into Molly’s brown eyes. “Molly, sorry.”

She flashed a shy smile and asked, “are you okay?”

“Yes, just… a bit worn out… maybe a little achy.” Her brow rose. “Okay, more than that, much more.”

“Don’t let me keep you. I was just about to leave. Death never takes time for tea.” She winced, “sorry, that was…”

You touched her arm, “nothing to be sorry about. Thank you so much for all your help with the boys’ gravestones. It really means a lot to me.”

“No, it was my pleasure. Truly. I felt terrible…”

“I know what you mean but still, thank you for all the work you did. I know it wasn’t easy with me being stuck in the hospital. Was that check enough…”

“Oh, please don’t apologize for that.” Molly brushed her fingers through her hair tucking loose pieces behind her ear. “And yes, everything’s covered. They should be buried before Christmas.”

You looked into her eyes and smiled, “when did we get so awkward?”

She giggled softly, “maybe just the time apart and… that body Lestrade and I found…” Her gaze darted away, “I couldn’t imagine another child…”

You grasped her hand and squeezed, “seriously, thank you so much. For everything.”

She blushed and looked down with a shrug, “what are friends for.”

You stepped forward and hugged her. “I’m always here for you, Molly. No matter what. I know we were never that close but you are important. I don’t have many friends but I do count you as one.”

She was still and stiff for a second but then she hugged you. “Likewise.”

You closed your eyes and squeezed her once more. “I’m going to go hide for a little while.” You pulled back, “keep my secret?”

She brightened and nodded, “sure.” She stepped out of your way and you waved before heading to the bedroom hoping you’d make it without seeing anyone else. You hustled past the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief once you were safely behind the bedroom door.

You sat carefully on the bed then laid back with a deep breath. Those fucking stairs. You were never going to be able to climb them every day. What were you going to do? Hide up in the flat all the time? What the hell were you thinking?

A soft double rap at the door made you freeze and the thought of keeping silent crossed your mind.

“Should I come in or are we feigning sleep?” Mycroft spoke through the door like it was a completely normal occurrence.  

“No.” You winced at the petulant sound in your voice and cleared your throat before responding again, “come in.”

The door opened, Mycroft slipped inside and closed it without a sound. “You’re not usually one to hide from conversation.”

“I just needed a moment.” You didn’t bother sitting up. Laying down just felt too good.

“Did you take your pain medication?”

“Yes, just not soon enough. I didn’t think those stairs would…” You looked at Mycroft, “you know what? Fuck those stairs.” You blew out a frustrated breath then stared up at the ceiling. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Mycroft walked to the window with a glance your way, “good thing I do. I made other arrangements.”

“There’s no way I’m going back to the hospital or a hotel just for an elevator.”

“I have an office on the first floor that was originally a second master bedroom. In light of your… injuries and the lack of options should those limitations extend past your time in the recovery wing, I had it re-furnished as a bedroom. William can stay in one of the other rooms if you so wish and your welcome to stay until you’re back on your feet without pain.”

You studied him then pushed up into a sitting position, “are you serious?”

He turned raising his brow, “am I known to joke?”

“I’m just… not quite sure you’re thinking clearly. You just invited a child to live in your house for an unspecified period of time.”

His open hand slipped into his pocket as he repositioned his umbrella in front of him. “William is not an ordinary child.”

“In some ways he is.”

“He’s family.”

“Mycroft, you don’t have to…”

“I’ve already had the room redecorated and it’s up to you if you would like to accept the offer.”

“I do as long as you’re completely aware what you’re doing.”

“It might be a challenge having my brother around but I think I can survive. I did live with him before.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You fell back on the bed then regretted it as the mattress hit reverberated through your bones down your legs. “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

“Refusing help or gratitude?” He grinned with a look of mischief all his own.

“Thanking people.” You closed your eyes trying to breathe through the pain so he couldn’t read you so easily. His words flowed through you and you amended, “both, actually.”

“Ah, yes. Trauma will do that. Grateful for life and all that. Of course, accepting help was not your strong suit before.”

“Shut it.” He chuckled and you snapped your eyes open. You took your time to really examine him; his stance relaxed, his hand loose around the handle of his umbrella, his mouth curled up at the edges without any tightness and the same went for his brows and the muscles around his eyes. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was completely at ease as if there was nothing to worry about but this was a man who worked with highly classified information and at any time could be juggling multiple international affairs and/or any number of operations running to protect Queen and country. Yet, he was standing in the bedroom you once shared with his brother as if he had no other place to be in the world. “Was there anything else?”

He grinned, “no. I just wanted to see how far you would take this.”

You threw your arm over your eyes, “I hate you.” But his rolling chuckle made you smile despite yourself. You had to admit it was nice to hear and the fact that you would only have to tackle those stairs once more to get out of here was an amazing thought. Maybe he did have concerns still weighing on him and you didn’t see it because the heaviest one on you was now gone because of him. The relief alone could make everything appear rosy and the fact that the throbbing in your lower half was beginning to dull was making you lean more that way except for one simple fact, Mycroft was laughing.

As the tension seeped from your muscles and the lightness spread through your body, you stopped fighting that full feeling in your chest and the warm tingling flowing out to every inch of your body. It was almost too much but in the best way possible. You didn’t bother hiding your smile as you declared, “to the best brother anyone could ask for.”

His laughter echoed around the room and you joined him.

~~

Sherlock forced a smile as his mother glanced his way in the middle of a conversation with Mrs. Hudson. He had no idea what they were talking about because he was looking over their heads at Courtney who was talking with Vic, John, and Lestrade on the other side of the room. She had noticed that the stairs had taken more out of y/n than they thought too and he wanted to pick her brain but had gotten waylaid by his mother. He turned and grit his teeth against the frustration of being polite and spotted Molly opening the door in the kitchen then stepped to the side and Mycroft walked in. They exchanged a few quiet words then Molly left and Mycroft made his way to the bedroom.

He started for the kitchen watching Mycroft slip into the bedroom wondering what his brother could possibly want to talk about with Y/n but he stopped at the kitchen door, his need to speak with Molly overrode his curiosity. He stepped into the hall and hustled down the stairs. “Molly, wait! Please, wait.”

She paused by the coats hanging from the wall, not bothering to face him. “What is it?”

“I’ve been giving you space because… well, because after… I knew that hurt you. That I hurt you and I… needed to tell you something if you would give me a minute.”

She turned as she slipped her coat on. “One minute, I have to get to work.”

He took a few tentative steps forward then stopped when she stepped back. “You are important to me and I do love you but it’s a love between friends. Different types of love are important and they all have meaning. I just, I wanted to apologize for what happened because I know it hurt…”

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, tucking further into herself. “I know what happened, Sherlock. It’s fine. I’m fine. Is that it?”

“You are fine but I know you’re not fine with this. If… being around me is difficult, I understand. I can make sure that we won’t cross paths when you’re helping Rosie, you won’t have to deal with me. Not at the morgue or lab either. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

She swiped her hand across her cheek before looking up at him. “I know. I…” She shook her head, “when Greg and I found that body I didn’t think it was her because she was too smart.” She looked away, her eyes flicking up the stairs and down. “She really is a good person… great really and she is always so nice to me and anyone can see how good she is for you, but for a really small moment that morning,” she got quiet and he moved forward, “I wondered what if that was her?” Her gaze flicked up to his, holding him with the obvious torment tightening her brow. “What kind of person does that make me?” She looked away again as a tear ran down her cheek and another quickly followed.

He touched her shoulder gently and when she didn’t pull away, he squeezed. “It makes you human.”

She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks roughly, “right. Unlike the great Sherlock Holmes.”

He pulled her in and hugged her then lowered his voice, “no, Molly Hooper, just like me. Only with less flaws.” She cried quietly for a few minutes and Sherlock didn’t say a word until she pulled away. “I can keep a distance for however long…”

She met his gaze and cut him off, “it’s fine. Really. You don’t have to jump through hoops anymore. I’ll tell you if it’s…” She forced a smile, “I’ll be fine. I made it this far, right?” Then she turned, opened the door, and swept outside. “Bye.”

Sherlock watched the door close then turned and slowly made his way back up the stairs. It would probably still be a little awkward for a while but that would pass just like it always did. Y/n was right, he just needed to be honest because the ones who mattered would understand and the rest… he chuckled as her voice finished the sentence in his head, fuck ‘em.

Next Chapter 

@missmotherhen , @run-your-cleverboy ,  @samanthasmileys , @panic-at-space-camp , @trash-trashaf , @whaledenwtf , @http-steve-rogers , @dead-lee-15 , @changingtimes , @hcndredwolves ,  @whatthehellisacastiel , @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked , @foureyedsiopao , @gurlwitafro , @redeyed-winchester , @unprofessional-inhumanbeing , @thatmoodindigo , @supernatural508 , auszimbo, @haeminhee

[notgonnarememberthis]

Beautiful- Chapter 3

Mentions of anxiety attacks are included in this chapter, please be wary if this could be potentially harmful to you

Okay so I have 2 sets of news, one personal and one fandom-ish related.

Personal: Please be patient with my updating schedule from this week on cause I’m about to move out of state in order to go to college which is a pretty huge move for a girl that hasn’t spent more than a weekend away from her parents so I’m begging you have some patience with me for the next 2 ish weeks I will try my hardest to work out some updates for you guys.

Fandom-ish: I’ve made a Pinterest account (which is weird cause just last year I vowed to never use Pinterest...) Anyways there I will post aesthetics for my fics that I’ve made so if you want to check those out in order to take a peek at my looks into the stories I write I’m “lgbtliu”. 

Do you guys like the layout of the story so far? 2 stories per chapter in order to build up to future narritive?

February 5, 2015 - February 19, 2015

Joan Watson is the epitome of secrecy. Not to say that she has a lot of secrets to keep but rather she keeps to herself. She’d quicker comfort others than allow others to comfort her much less even know anything is wrong at all. She talks to others in the precinct, sure, she even goes out of her way to talk to Not Marcus and Not Gregson. Joan has been lecturing Sherlock for weeks to at least learn the names of the other officers but he just can’t see the purpose when they seem to have a revolving door of them. The blonde with green eyes that’d joined just a month ago was transferred to the ninety-ninth precinct and his partner left shortly after finding out she was pregnant with her first child. Really there are a lot more things that deserve his attention. That’s not to say he doesn’t notice when Watson doesn’t throw her normal smile towards Glasses or when she denies the raspberry muffin Pink Tie offers her when they’d got his order wrong. Strange in itself because that is her favorite flavor.

He’s carefully studying a case when he hears the shattering of a glass echo through the nearly quiet Brownstone. The only other sound being Clyde’s quiet munching on lettuce. Watson had gone to bed nearly an hour ago. Judging by recent patterns she should be sleeping by now. It can’t hurt to check though. He softly pads up the stairs pushing open her door softly. The window is open, curtains billowing in the cool wind of the night.

In the gleam of the hallway light he spies Watson sitting up in her bed, one hand curled up in the sheets the other clutching her chest. She doesn’t look towards him but rather towards an invisible entity. It takes mere seconds to recognize that her body is trembling and she isn’t breathing. A glass lies shattered, likely knocked off her table in a fit.

He springs into action placing himself in front of her. Sherlock flicks on the lamp beside her bed showering the room in a yellow light. Her eyes are glassy and she still doesn’t seem to see him. He goes through a list in his mind of all the people who’d want to hurt her, hurt him… Memories of Watson coming home after Andrew had been killed flood through his mind.

He places a hand on her throat taking her heart rate without potentially startling her or hurting her more. Curiously her heart rate is rapid against his fingertips. At this stage her heartbeat would be slow and weak if it was Hemlock. Now he recognizes the panic reflecting  in her eyes. Woken by night terrors Watson is having an anxiety attack.

He switches his tactics rushing downstairs to fetch a bottle of water. He’s back up in seconds, his mind rushing to calculate the longest amount of time a woman of Watson’s physique could hold her breath before passing out. When he reaches her once more she’s taking shuddering breaths but she’s no more aware of her surroundings than she was before. He takes her hand gently placing the water in her fingers and guiding it to her lips.

She drinks greedily as if she’s been parched for days. Her body settles from uncontrollable trembling to the occasional jerk of limbs in shock. He holds her settling for talking about a case until she stops shaking. She’s not cognizant throughout the ordeal but she seems to be soothed by his voice. The jerking would start up once more as soon as he fell silent. Steadily into the night her body relaxes and she falls into a fitless sleep once more. Carefully he extracts himself from her bed and cleans up the glass. By morning she’s her old self once more and shows no signs of remembering any of the incident.

It becomes a habit now. He leaves something on her nightstand that she could easily knock over without damaging in order to alert him of another fit. He finds new methods to calm her every once in awhile. Once he takes Clyde with him and intertwines her fingers in his in order to trace the patterns of the tough shell. Another time he plays the violin for her. Those two are the more effective of methods. He tries incense, sensory isolation, calming sounds but nothing compares to her relaxation at the sound of his voice. She falls back asleep within fifteen minutes of listening to him ramble on about cases, Clyde’s antics, the whereabouts of Alfredo and Mrs. Hudson. It doesn’t matter what he speaks of as long as he speaks.

When her scream tears through the walls of the Brownstone he’s pretty sure his heart stops. It’s the kind of fear that has his heart sinking to his stomach as he scales the stairs two steps at a time abandoning the evidence lying in his lap. He forces the door open and surely enough Watson is sitting in the middle of her bed, eyes shut tightly screaming as loudly as she can. He leaps in settling his hands next to her in fear of startling her further. That’s the last thing he wants right now.

“No!” Her voice breaks as she sobs, shoulders wracking with pain. He assesses her body for injury and is relieved to find no obvious signs of worry. Of course other than the normally calm and collected woman to be curled so tightly into a ball he’s sure she’ll leave marks on her own legs.

“Easy Watson. It’s me.”

“Please.” She cries. He’s careful to have her meet his eyes. He takes her chin softly into his fingers coaxing her head up to look at him. “Make it stop.” She pleads. He winds his free hand into her hair pulling her close. She goes willingly clutching to the back of his t-shirt wrinkling the material in her fists. He pulls her until she’s practically settled into his lap, pressing a kiss to her hair he lays them both down.

He begins his rambling once more eventually landing on the tale of the one time he’d been with his father on a business trip to America. He’d met a woman with the hair the color of a raven’s wing and skin that was painted with stars dotting her skin. He brushes it off but at one point he swears he feels her spine shake a bit and a chuckle bubble against the skin of his chest where her face lies. He continues because she’s never remembered any of these talks anyways. He’s told her stories once more when she was more aware of her surroundings and no recognition flashed in her eyes. He tells her about the odd habits the woman had regarding the programs she watched. Eating habits that were certainly that of an American college student. He still shivers a little at the idea of kool aid and pickles combined like some Frankenstein concoction.

Suddenly she picks her head up and he swears for a moment he sees clarity flash in her eyes. “Sean?” She asks. His heart skips several beats as his eyes search his. He runs his options through his mind: take a gamble and confess, pretend he never knew her name, soothe her back to sleep and hope she doesn’t remember any of this in the morning like always.

“Sh go back to sleep now Watson.” He whispers pressing a soft kiss to the top of her hair. She doesn’t even protest her hair tickling his chest as she burrows deeper. Funny, he’d never taken Watson for the cuddling type. His eyes feel heavier as he tracks her breathing. So long that it’s even she will be fine he will be able to slip out safely.

In, two three four. Out, two three four. The pattern lulls him pulling him tighter into the sweet serenity. To the smell of lavender and sandalwood that is Watson. The light scrape of nails as she clutches to him as he shifts to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.

He can’t help it as his eyes fall shut.

When he wakes Watson is sitting up clutching the blanket to her chest. Her hair is disheveled and her clothes likewise. She can feel his eyes on her back. “How long?” Her voice breaks the silence. The question holds so many implications in it only furthered by the silence. There is a lump in his throat and he wonders how much she’s remembered.

“How long?” He questions.

“How long have I been having anxiety attacks?” She clarifies looking back at him now. Her eyes are red rimmed and her face a tad puffy. She’d been crying. “Answer me honestly.”

“Two weeks.” He confesses.

“Two weeks?” She spins around glaring at him accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me? You mean to say that you’ve spent two weeks in my bed without my knowledge?” She snaps.

“No.” He rubs his face trying to gain some of the clarity that was just dangling right in front of his face but at the same time just out of reach. “I’ve come in here every night since the first incident. You couldn’t breathe. I’d assumed…”

“March.” She sighs.

“You never know with her minions. Dead or not.” He frowns. “I got you a water and stayed with you until you settled then left. Last night was the first time the screaming started. I stayed with you until you fell back asleep like normal but it took longer than the others. I suppose I fell asleep in the meantime. I apologize.”

“Don’t.” Joan’s eyes fall to the bed sheets picking at a tear. “About seventeen years ago I got into a car crash with my roommate’s brother. He’d been asking me out for months and insisted. He was in and out of the hospital for a really long time. One day they just found him collapsed in the living room. He died hours later of an aneurysm. Sixteen years ago today. They said it was directly caused by the crash.” She lets out a long sigh and tips her head back to ward off the tears. “I was supposed to drive that night but he insisted. I walked out of it with nothing more than a few bruises and a broken toe. Michael had lasting brain damaged and died because I didn’t take the damn keys.” She turns from him now. He understands that she doesn’t want him to see her cry.

“I’m so sorry Watson.” He whispers placing his hand on top of hers. The tender moment is gone as soon as her phone rings. She picks it up quickly trying to expel herself from the conversation.

“Gregson needs us at a crime scene. Says it’s urgent.”

With a nod they separate once more from each other.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

December 2, 2015

“Truly you’re making a bad habit of lingering in doorways almost saying what you wish to say.” Sherlock turns over his newest project to find Watson standing in the door frame unbothered by the fact that he’d just caught her in the act of spectating him. He leans over his tattoo gun inspecting it thoroughly. They are currently working on a case that involved poison being laced in the ink.

The victim, Lily Morgan was a twenty one year old female who’d just desired getting a tattoo of her fiance’s name across the base of her spine. Of course that didn’t end well for Miss Morgan. Suspicions bounce between several suspects and they’ve no clue who to pin it on just yet.

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or am I going to guess.”

“You know I always thought of getting a tattoo.” The statement nearly made him drop his pen in shock. “I never found something with enough meaning I guess.” She shrugs.

“Do you trust me?” The question slips past his lips before his filter even has time to process it much less stop the words from spilling out. Her eyes flash between her own stage of shock then to playfulness. In the look he can see the younger Joan once more. Heat flashes across his body and before he can register she’s shrugging off that red cardigan she holds so dear along with the tank top. She remains standing in nothing but a sports bra and shorts. It’s a challenge, he registers.

“For my eyes only. I don’t want anyone else to be able to see it.” She says with a pointed look and a smirk. It’s as if she’s teasing him. Trying to see if he’ll go through with it. He lays a towel down on the sofa with a small smile.

“Very well.” He gestures to the couch. “Lie down on your left side won’t you?” She does as he says. He knows she commonly sleeps on her left side in order to turn herself away from the door when he suddenly barges in without question. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you trust me?” He pulls on a pair of gloves fiddling with the machine.

“With my life.” His hands stall for a second but he nods it off.

“Good. Now try to relax as best as you can.” He brushes his thumb over a pattern of freckles he could use as inspiration. Yes this will do quite nicely. He grabs a razor just to be safe carefully going over the area of question. He gets to work making sure at all times he isn’t causing her too much pain. Watson isn’t the first person he’s tattooed other than himself but he’s not willing to purposely cause her any sort of harm.

She’s grabbed a pillow hiding her face in it to muffle the quiet whimpers she can’t help from escaping her lips. He smiles softly once he finishes pulling away to gaze at his handiwork. She moves slightly in a move that he believes she intends to look at what he’s tattooed into her skin. He places a hand on her shoulder stilling her. Rather than having her move and cause potential discomfort to herself he snaps a picture of it using his phone and passes it to her.

“Sagittarius?” She questions. He’d used a pattern of her freckles to create a constellation of her zodiac sign just below her breast and on her side. “I thought you didn’t believe in horoscopes?” She teases with a small smirk.

“I don’t believe in them I believe in coincidences. A sagittarius is naturally curious, a clear thinker and tends to look at the bigger picture. Playful by nature they wish to experience life to the absolute fullest whether that be in learning to hone into a new skill or learning the truth. They are optimistic and inspiring in every single way.” Her eyes have not left his and suddenly he realizes the affection of which he was speaking.

“Sherlock…” A sharp knock cuts off what Watson was going to say next breaking the tense moment between the two of them.

“Ah that must be Marcus with the materials I need. I just can’t seem to synthesize the ink that was used in the parlor on Ms. Morgan. Stay put I’ll bandage you up once I get the things I need.”

“Wait are you saying that you used experimental ink on me?” She moves to sit up but the pain shooting through her side keeps her down.

“Of course not. Don’t you trust me?” He asks with a teasing grin before prancing off to answer the door.

“Sherlock!”