#but I hope she stays with Sherlock eventually

[calaisreno]

Save John Watson

1098 words / Prompt: Chaos

“Go to Hell, Sherlock.” 

The DVD shuts off. He remains fixed, staring at the screen. 

Miss me? He’d thought it had to do with Moriarty. Definitely an attention-getter. He’d needed a diversion. But this…

Mrs Hudson sighs. “Sherlock…”

Her voice startles him, reminds him where he is and that she’s been watching too.

“What are you thinking, dear?”

“Hm?” He looks up at her, standing above him, arms crossed, a frown on her face.

“I’m thinking… how to save John.” 

How to go to Hell…

She takes John’s chair, opposite him. He remembers putting it away, then bringing it back. He never can make up his mind about John. What to do about John getting married, what to do about his own vow, now that he’s failed to protect Mary. 

You promised. You made a vow.

He never could make up his mind about Mary, either, even before he knew what she was. He’d chosen a dramatic way to let John see for himself, hear her confess what she’d done, and then hoped he was right. John was stubborn, but eventually yielded. But then she died, the thing he hadn’t foreseen. 

Days have already been wasted, trying to solve this. Even in death, she presents him with puzzles.

But what she means here is obvious. John is the person they love most. Both of them understand that it’s not in John’s character to allow himself to be saved. He will stubbornly go to hell, insisting that he’s fine. Sherlock must get there first.

Once, Sherlock saved him. He got in a cab with a murderer—and John came to life, followed the cab, and saved Sherlock. The cane was forgotten and never reappeared. 

There’s no murderous cabbie this time, no Moriarty threatening to burn his heart out. But there are other ways to go to hell. 

Another sigh, a hard look in his direction. “Sherlock, I know you think I’m just a dotty old woman, but I need to say this: going to hell is not good advice. I have no doubt that she loved John, in her own way, and considered you a friend, but she is wrong.”

“In what way?”

“You and John— well, you’re both lovely people— but you have a terribly dysfunctional relationship. Coming from me, a person who’s had her share of relationship disasters, this may not sound like good advice, but who better to recognise a disaster in the making? Mary thinks that if you get yourself in trouble again, lose your mind, risk your life, John will rescue you. That’s his role in your relationship, to save you. Yours is to be brilliant and to need saving from your recklessness. But it’s not healthy. What Mary said is wrong, Sherlock.”

“But she knows John.”

She shakes her head. “Mary was one of those people who needed things to be chaotic. How else would she have become what she was? Assassins aren’t exactly homebodies, you know. She wouldn’t have lasted as a stay-at-home mum. Chaos was her first love, and she married John because he loves danger. And because of you.”

“Me?”

“Because she saw the potential of being a chaos agent between you two, disrupting the partnership you’ve always had. Look what she did to the two of you! Making you both jealous, putting herself between the two of you all the time. Shooting you, then getting John to forgive her because of the baby. And here she is, reaching her hand up from the grave to stir that pot again. She couldn’t help herself. You two have done nothing but abuse one another since you returned.”

“I’ve never hit John. And at the restaurant, he did hit me, but he had reason to be angry. I don’t blame him for his reaction.”

“I’m talking about emotional abuse. Bruises and cuts heal, but when you let people think you’re dead for two years, that’s abuse as well. Yes, Sherlock, it is. When you make him believe things about himself, that he’s not good enough, not loved— that’s abuse that doesn’t easily heal.”

“You think I gaslighted John?”

“It doesn’t matter that your intent was to keep him safe. She encouraged it, always teasing him about you, making herself out to be the smart one. He believes you didn’t trust him, that he wasn’t good enough. He believes you don’t love him.”

“He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does. It’s as plain as day.”

“I killed his wife.”

She huffs, crosses her arms. “You did not shoot her. It was her choice.”

“No, but I goaded Vivian Norwood into shooting me, and Mary took that bullet.”

“And why do you suppose she did that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it constantly, and it doesn’t make sense. John loved her—”

“John loves you. She was no idiot, and she knew whose death would destroy him. Remember, she knew him when you were dead and understood what it would do to him if you took that bullet. She put herself in its path out of love for him. And he’s angry, of course. He’s lost his wife, and has a daughter to raise alone. But he loves you, and his anger is really guilt: when he saw you alive, and his wife dying, he felt relieved that it wasn’t you. That made him feel guilty.”

Sherlock is shaking his head. “Mrs Hudson, I know you’ve always seen us together romantically, but John isn’t gay. He—”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter,” she replies, leaning forward. “We love who we love, and he loves you. Now, I’m not saying you meant to harm each other. Things have been out of kilter, and neither of you has dealt with it. He’s angry, and your feelings are hurt. Making it worse it not the answer. The only way to escape this is to step out of it.”

Sherlock stands and walks to the window. He stares into the street for a long time, thinking. 

They were broken when they met. He’d been out of rehab for a few months, and was trying to learn sobriety. A junkie is always a junkie, and substituting cases for cocaine was healthier, but not a cure. Every day, he’d struggled to distract himself, and felt himself weakening. The case of the pink lady was an excellent distraction, but John— 

He’d seen it that day in the path lab. A man with a cane for a psychosomatic limp. A doctor whose heart was still on the battlefield. 

He turns to her. “What should I do?”

--

Another chapter of "Things Somebody Should Have Said in Canon." Sherlock's question will be answered (eventually) in another story.

@keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @raina-at @friday411

[the-126-family]

It’s Wednesday!! Hope you’re having a good day! This ask is a bit easier 😉 Do you have any personal headcanons for the 126? Can literally be anything!

Happy Wednesday and Happy New Year as well!! Did you do anything exciting today?

Today I'm feeling very emotional about the 126 family and how much they all love each other and have grown to be such a family. So this is very cheesy, but I'm going to say that they will ALWAYS stay this close, no matter what life brings them, and will always be a big part of each other's lives. I'm also feeling so full of love knowing that Jonah will grow up being a part of this huge, crazy, loving family.

Jonah looks at Paul, Marjan, Mateo, Nancy, Judd, Grace, and Tommy as his aunts and uncles. Tommy's girls often babysit Jonah so that Carlos and TK can go out on a date. Jonah and Charlie become really good friends and they often stay over at each other's houses. Whenever Jonah is in something like a school play everyone from the 126 is in the audience, cheering loudly for him. Jonah loves playing with all his cousins (Carlos's nieces and nephews), and Carlos brings him to the Reyes Ranch when he's a little older to teach him how to ride a horse. Owen adores Jonah and constantly spoils him. He calls Owen "Pop Pop" because Owen refuses to be called "Grandpa," claiming it makes him feel way too old.

At some point, Jonah will definitely let Lou II out of his cage. Carlos will have a heart attack. It is inevitable. Jonah will carry on the Strand gene of loving animals, so Carlos will always have to stop him from bringing bugs and critters he finds into the house. (It can get hard when TK sees whatever Jonah has found, and also wants to bring it in the house because "It's so sad and lonely out here, Carlos! It will be so happy in our house."

Another random headcanon I love (which I think I've said before, so apologies if you are sick of this) is that Paul has two cats named Sherlock and Watson. This is very important to me. I feel like Asha has a cat as well, so when she and Paul eventually move in together they will have three cats in total.

[tea-stained-notes]

Steve Rogers x OFC - Waiting On a Miracle, Chapter 7

After catching an infamous serial killer in the act, Julie Castillo is in line for the witness protection program. She is sent to a temporary safe house with U.S. Marshal Steve Rogers to protect her. Both of them scarred by trauma and tragedy, they find solace in each other. But how far will they dare to go?

Somehow, another two months have passed - whoops. But you're being rewarded with an extra long chapter that is mostly smut FINALLY lol Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6

Series warnings: violence, death, angst, trauma, smut

Chapter warnings: anxiety, smut

Chapter word count: ~3250

Song(s) referenced: -

When I entered the kitchen the following morning, Steve looked as if he had slept as much as me: not at all. We mumbled our greetings, a tension in the air that felt nothing like the one from the night before. He was washing his breakfast dishes while I prepared my tea and porridge. Our usual easy dance around each other was awkward and clumsy, apologies given and accepted with eyes cast downward. Eventually he muttered something about chopping firewood, pulled on his boots and jacket, then practically ran out the front door. I folded myself into a chair, trying to soothe the burning ache in my stomach with sips of chamomile tea. Like countless times during the night, silent tears began running down my cheeks. His rejection stung so much worse than I could have imagined. The urge to run from this place, where every detail was infused with him, was overwhelming. I was only now realizing how lonely I had been before him. How much I had longed for the kind of connection I had been denying myself after my mother’s death. How easily and quietly he had made my heart his home. For the first time in weeks I desperately wished for my phone. To call Finn, Samira, Emerson, my dad. To catch up with all the other people I had pushed away over the years. Once I was back in the city, I would do better, would learn to lean on others without the constant fear of losing them. Because even the pain of Steve’s cop-out wasn’t enough to make me regret all the beautiful moments I had spent with him.

When Steve came back inside two hours later, I was mindlessly watching a movie, rubbing my jaw that had once more started hurting from constant clenching. “What are you watching?” he asked quietly. “You’ve Got Mail.” “Missing New York?” I nodded, marveling at how well he could read me. “Wanna join me?” My voice was uneven, breathless. He hesitated for a moment, then gave me a crooked smile. “Sure. Let me wash up and I’ll be right there.”

It became easier again. Little by little we rediscovered our groove, despite the extra distance on the couch, despite his excuses to escape the cabin, despite the constant craving in my chest. Our conversations stayed light, no mention of our impending return to the city. But underneath it all lingered the almost of that one evening. And after three sleepless nights I found myself waking from a deep, satisfying slumber, engulfed in warmth and softness and — his scent. I startled, then locked eyes with Steve above me, his face entirely unreadable. An episode of Sherlock was running on the TV, but definitely not the one I remembered watching, so only God knew how long I had been asleep and how on earth I had managed to burrow into his side like that. Pushing myself up and kicking off the blanket, I stumbled to my feet. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Between blushing and fighting a dizzy spell, I could barely press out the words. “Goodnight.” I rushed towards the bathroom, slammed the door shut and took the first breath in a minute. My heart was pounding and still aching from having torn myself from him so rapidly. Only when I was rubbing soap and water over my face did I realize that his arm had been around me. Holding me tightly to his chest.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind still reeling. I had to talk to him. In the morning I would force him to have the conversation we had been avoiding. This game we were playing was killing me and I could no longer bear the thought of leaving him and our little world behind without at least trying one more time. Suddenly a small shift in my periphery drew my eyes to the door. The sliver of light beneath it was obstructed by two shadows. Feet. My breath caught in my throat. I hadn’t heard any noise from Steve in over an hour, he must have long gone to sleep. Sweat broke out on my forehead as my pulse began to race. Parker was here. He had found me after all. But this time I refused to let panic take over. It would do nothing to save me. Instead I focused on the adrenaline, on the way it sharpened my senses. And the first thing I realized against every instinct was that my bed was the least safe place right now. Soundlessly, I slipped out from under the covers and set my feet on the floor. I glanced around the room, desperate for some sort of weapon. God, why hadn’t I thought this through before? How could I be stupidly unprepared? Then my eyes fell on a heavy brass candlestick on the dresser. Perfect. Straining my ears for any kind of noise I tiptoed across the room. While I was glad Parker was biding his time, the horrifying plans probably running through his brain right now chilled me to the bone. Focus. My hand closed around the cool metal and I jubilated on the inside. If my luck served me well, I might just make it over to the door. And if I could lock it, that should buy me enough time to call out for Steve before Parker could try to force his way in. Silent second after second ticked by while I crept forward, praying the wooden floor boards wouldn’t betray me. Finally my fingers touched the key and with a deep breath I hastily turned it. Thank God. I almost cried from relief. But just as I opened my mouth to shout Steve’s name, a voice rang through the door.

“Julie? Please don’t lock me out, it’s dangerous. Please, I—“ My fingers acted on their own, turning the key back and ripping open the door. And there he stood. Eyes wide, hair ruffled, hands raised. “It’s you,” I choked before the tears overwhelmed me. “Of course it’s me.” Steve’s face fell. “God, did you…? I’m so sorry, did you think I was him? Oh, sweetheart.” My heart didn’t have time to leap at the pet name, too busy being flooded with pure serotonin at the sight of him. Then I sank into his arms, clinging to him through the sobs that racked my body. “It’s alright, I’m here,” he said softly, caressing my hair. “I was so scared.” “I know, I’m terribly sorry. But you did so well, arming yourself and locking the door. And I didn’t hear you during any of that. I’m really proud of you.” I relished his words and closeness for a moment longer. Then anger slammed into me. I pulled back abruptly, stumbling away from him, the candlestick landing on the floor with a harsh clang. “What the fuck were you doing anyway? Why would you just stand outside my door like that, creeping me out?” “I-I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammered. “Of course you know! What were you doing?” I roughly brushed off my tears while staring up at him in defiance. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “I was… trying to talk myself out of something.” “Out of what?” Something in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. “This.” And then his lips were on mine, almost searing with heat and longing. A moan escaped me when he wrapped his arms around my waist and molded my body to his. Every inch of me was on fire, the adrenaline from earlier still coursing through my veins and heightening every sensation of the kiss. I sighed his name as his lips traveled down my neck and he groaned in response. He lifted me up, my legs immediately locking around his hips. A second later my back hit the wall and the dull pain only intensified the impossible need for him. “God, Julie,” he panted while trailing kisses along my collarbone. “What are you doing to me?” A string of curses left his mouth as I buried my fingers in his hair and ground my center into his. I was ravenous for him in a way I had never been for anyone. All my brain demanded was more, more, more. “Wait.” My stomach dropped. Fuck. He had come to his senses and the pain after this would be even worse than before. His eyes sank into mine. “I don't want to rush. Not this. Not with you.” Fresh tears of relief formed as I pressed my palm to his chest, connecting to the thundering heartbeat beneath his skin. My other hand caressed his neck, then drew a soft line from his brow along his jaw. I brushed another kiss against his lips, incredulous at finally being able to do this. “Me neither.”

Steve carefully let me slide back onto my feet, then took my hand and walked backwards to my bed, never breaking eye contact. The light from the hallway painted his features in a soft glow. He was perfect. A small tug on my fingers and I was cradled against his chest once more, his mouth seeking out mine. My hands found a sliver of warm, smooth skin beneath the hem of his shirt, which drew a soft moan from him. Still a slave to my greedy heart, I slowly pushed the fabric upwards and he lifted his arms for me, so I could cast the shirt aside. I only took a second to marvel at his torso before pressing my lips to the revealed skin. Overwhelmed by all these new sensations, I barely noticed his own hands carefully unbuttoning and removing my pyjama top. “Are you cold?” he whispered as he ran his fingertips over the goosebumps on my arms. I shook my head, then gently pulled him into me, both of us gasping when skin met skin. We stood like that for a long moment. Lost in each other. “Will you lie down for me, darling?” he finally murmured. I obeyed almost in trance, still scared that if we lost contact for even an instant, everything could shatter. Steve kneeled between my legs. His gaze swept over me, growing evermore mesmerized. Then he leaned forward, placed his palms beside my rib cage and kissed me again. Unhurried but deeply. I melted beneath him as his lips and tongue trailed down my neck, then across my chest and stomach. “God, Steve…” My eyes flew open when his mouth left my skin. He was looking up at me, his hands on the hem of my pants. “Yes. Please, yes.” With a soft kiss to my hipbone he disposed of my pyjama bottoms and underwear in one fluid motion. His mouth and fingers traveled up my thighs, closer and closer to my overflowing wetness. When he finally licked through it, I startled myself with a desperate groan. He briefly caught my gaze, a sparkle in his eyes. Then he pushed my legs further apart, moaning as he buried himself between them and driving me crazy with the soft reverberations. I lasted merely a couple of minutes, hands tugging at his strands, sighing mindless words of praise. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let go.” Right on cue my insides shattered and I floated away on a cloud of pure bliss. Steve slowed his movements, then pulled away to lick his lips clean.

I pushed myself upright and brought his face to mine to kiss off the smug smile. “Happy with yourself?” “Very. But more importantly: Are you?” “I think you know the answer to that, Mr Rogers.” He let me maneuver him onto his back and I took a minute to catch my breath and lose it all over again at the sight of him under me. “You’re gorgeous.” A soft blush dusted his cheeks. “Ditto.” “Thanks, Swayze,” I chuckled. “No, I mean it. You’re incredible, Julie.” With a fluttering pulse I captured his lips once more before pressing urgent words into his neck. “I need you.” “You have me,” he sighed. I reverently ran my hands over his chest, then slowly peeled off his remaining clothes. When my fingers closed around his length, Steve made a strangled noise, his brows furrowed. “You okay?” “God, yes.” The small grin vanished off my face when he suddenly sat up and panted “Condom.” I blinked at him. “Oh, yeah, good thinking.” It felt anything but. I was not special at all. He had packed condoms, like this was a regular occurrence. Like taking a woman to a safe house would inevitably end in sex. Before I could spiral completely, Steve raised his hands to my face. “I didn’t bring them,” he said softly. “Natasha slipped me some the other day. ‘Just in case.’” A relieved laugh escaped me. “Of course she did.” “But I was crazy enough to actually put one in my pocket tonight.” His thumbs drew small circles on my cheeks. “We can still stop if you want to.” I turned my face to breathe a kiss into his palm. “Never.”

A minute later I was safely dragging my wetness across his erection while Steve caressed every bit of me he could reach. The momentary hurt was forgotten and when I brought him to my entrance, he slid into me without a trace of resistance. By the time he bottomed out we were both panting. His hands on my thighs burned into my skin. I gave us a moment to adjust before settling into a lazy rhythm. “You feel so good,” he breathed. “So perfect for me.” One of his fingers traced a line from my throat to my navel. I leaned back at the slight pressure and moaned deeply at the sensation of the new angle. Heat was swirling around my stomach and chest as I increased the tempo. Everything was too much and yet not enough. Steve seemed to sense this, so deeply in tune with me after the intense few weeks behind us. He let his hand glide down until his thumb reached my clit and began drawing tight circles on it. I gasped, tilting my hips forward. But just when I started tightening around him, Steve placed both hands on my waist and stopped my movements. “No, please,” I whined but he just smiled with an unexpected twinkle in his eyes. “Trust me, it will be even better if you’re patient.” I hovered on the precipice for another second before the sharp edges of frenzy slowly blurred, leaving a sweet, tingling tension. Maybe he was right. I took a deep breath as I traced his cheek with my fingers and his softening gaze tugged at my very core. He pushed himself up, then pulled me into him. I winced as he slid deeper, but his embrace was warm and tight, calming me after that brush with ecstasy. My arms wound around his neck as I pressed a long kiss to his forehead. With our sweat-slicked skin fusing together and his hard length reaching unknown depths inside of me, we felt like a single entity, sustained entirely by heat and closeness. I love you. The words flashed through my mind with such force and conviction, I feared I had spoken them aloud. But my lips were still molded to Steve’s hairline. Relieved, I drew back slightly to find his mouth with mine and pour everything I did not dare confess into the kiss. My heart ached at almost feeling it in his response, the yearning, the need to hold him like this forever that rippled across my whole body. Could this be real? Could this ever exist outside these walls?

All worries paled when his tongue traced a path along my jawline to my pulse point where he began sucking softly. I took a shuddering breath as the fire inside me flared up. “Julie,” he whispered. My voice was no longer my own, so I guided his face to my chest and once more started to rock into him. Within moments I was on the brink again. Steve’s mouth was hot and eager while his hands guided the rolling of my hips, taking us both to new heights. “Fuck, Steve, don’t stop,” I rasped and his approving hum vibrated through the nipple he had latched onto. Everything about this was just right, the friction, the pressure, the angle — and suddenly I was screaming. White flashes overtook my vision and I shook so violently Steve pulled me even closer to steady me. He was panting almost as hard as me, visibly straining under the effort of holding back his own climax. Then he flipped us over to push my back into the mattress. I whimpered at the overstimulation but couldn’t help admiring the incredible sight of him above me. His golden skin glistened as his muscles worked tirelessly for every thrust. One of his hands found mine and they locked together tightly, a connection that almost felt deeper than the one stoking flames inside my belly. The pleasure curling down my spine was laced with a strange sense of belonging and I only hoped he was too lost in his own lust to notice the tears trickling down my temples. I love you so much. My heart tightened once again with the intense realization. “Come for me, darling” I said instead. “Please.” He groaned and redoubled his efforts, once more triggering my orgasm that hadn’t fully subsided. We cried out in unison as he finally let himself go. “Julie,” he croaked. His arms were shaking, barely holding him up, and I wondered how much of it was physical exhaustion and how much might be emotion similar to the one overwhelming my own heart. The shock and relief of having given into something at last. Given something unexpected a chance. Whatever it was, I didn't want him this far away anymore. The few inches between us were still too much, my skin prickling with the urge to pull him close again. So I did. And when I wrapped my arms around his shoulder blades, he melted into me with a deep sigh. As if, at least for a moment, he was too weary to fight anymore. He became perfectly pliable under my hands as they ran up and down his smooth back, his face fitted into the crook of my neck. The sensation of everything Steve crashed over me so rapidly that I had to press my lips into his temple to keep them from betraying me. I couldn't tell him. Not yet, not now. He had wanted me, yes. And he still lingered, seemingly content in losing his control and laser-focus for a little while. But that didn't mean any of this would last past our stay at the cabin. Even past that night.

I had hoped, however, that we could remain in our perfect bubble until dawn at least. Had still found unconditional affection in his eyes as I had led him into the shower. But even while his fingers gently rubbed soap into my skin, I could feel him slipping away from me, drawing further into his own little safe house with every passing second. And I had no idea how to bring him back. He stood by my bed when I settled under the blanket, his eyes once more unreadable. “Go to sleep, I'm just gonna get some water.” “Hurry back,” I yawned. He nodded once, the smallest of smiles on his lips. I sank into the sheets, letting his scent engulf me as sleep pulled me under.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

CHAPTER 8

MASTERLIST

Tag List: @multifanworld @peguem-o-pombo-agora @cvanstagram @yslvtre @wandasrogers @littleredone88 @before-we-get-started @sophham @missaprilt23 @chrissusmissus @dvmb-whxre @daddydraco0 @quicksilversthings @thechoosenonecreator @rosellia-hudsons @lokirogersgirl @nekoannie-chan @readawaythereality2 @yal1d @hyperfixationhovel

[moxiebustion]

I had an idea for the Old Guard and Sherlock Holmes a few months back, which goes like this.

John Watson is an immortal.

He doesn't remember the year he was born, but it was after Andy and just before Quynh; and in any case the calendar has changed over more than a couple of times since then.

He is, in an incredibly unlikely scenario, killed by Andy the first time, because this was way back in Andy's crusading days and there have been plenty of invaders to Albion. They kill each other and dumb chance has one of them getting washed away by a river or something and hey, look at that, no dreams, because technically they have met before. Hardly a meeting to engender the warm fuzzies in any case. Life goes on.

Andy goes back to her wandering.

Watson, after many aimless years believing himself to be cursed to be a walking ghost, watching all the people he falls in love with die, falls in with a leader of men - a truly unique mind - and it lights a spark and gives him a purpose, finally. When the king dies, he makes John swear that he will defend his lands and his people until his last breath, which, you know, might be a while. Watson vows it, and Watson is not a man who breaks promises.

Sometime in the ensuing centuries and far to the east, Andy finds Quynh (or more accurately, Quynh finds her) and oh, hey, those dreams were about an actual person, they're real, Andy is not alone. There is much rejoicing, etc, etc, and Quynh says hey, we might have to go find the other one.

And Andy is like... what the fuck?

So they head back west and lo and behold, it's the damn random soldier that wouldn't quit and got tossed into a river for his trouble. And he's amazed, astounded, enthralled. Well, he is after they've clashed swards a few times; in Watson's defense, he has no idea what the fuck is happening. He's been haunted by weird dreams of a lady getting it on with his murderer for years and, you know, this is centuries pre-Jung, he has no explanation at all for this except that he might be going ever so slightly, benignly insane.

So, anyway. Blood is spilled, then swords are disarmed, explanations are had, amazed, astounded, enthralled etc etc.

Andy says you should come with us.

John, channeling his inner Hobbit two and a half millennia before JRR Tolkien was even conceived offer her a polite thanks ever so much, but, um, no.

Andy's like, what the fuck?

And Watson is like, well, I made a promise, and you don't break promises, do you? I swore to protect these lands and by gum, I'm going to do just that, thank you.

And Quynh says, aren't you bored though?

And Watson just give her a slight smile because at this point he's had three wives and two husbands and has raised innumerable orphans and says well, no. Not really. Wherever I go I find interesting people. Truly unique minds. My king rises again, you see. And so do all my friends. They rise again and again. I see them everywhere, in every genius, every artist, every eccentric who takes a chisel to the universe and cracks it open. They're always there if you care to look. And I swore I would protect them and I'll keep my word, so I will.

Andy looks at him like he's insane, but shrugs and says, well, when you change your mind come and find us, we'll be out there doing some actual good.

And Watson just gives her a little smile and said gods go with you then, Andromache the Scythian. You'll have a hope and a sword arm with me if needed, but otherwise I'm staying right here, thank you very much.

And that's that.

Andy expects Watson to join them eventually. He never does. It drives her fucking mental, which means she respects the hell out of him for it.

Time goes on. Life goes on. Seven husbands and three wives later, Watson meets the new guys. He adores Nicky and Joe - he's known as Galvagin by this period of history, and Nicky and Joe are fascinated by this immortal who has travelled every continent in earth (and married on them), but never wanders. He has a home. He has people who know he's immortal in his home. His spouses all knew, so do most of his children. They keep the secret. He becomes a local cryptid of sorts. Oh, yes, that's just the old soldier's house, ha ha, they say he's immortal, ha ha. And no one ever examines the joke too closely. Besides, some old-fashioned jingoism helps keep the secret too. He's their immortal, isn't he? Proper British and all that. It's not as if he's some foreigner.

The Old Guard come and go through the years. Sometimes Watson will join them on a grand adventure or a fight for a few years, but he'll always head home. Sometimes they'll lodge with him and explore every nook and cranny he knows of the isles. Andy and Watson's relationship becomes strained after Quynh is lost, because look at you, why do you defend them?? But Watson gave his word and he will not break it, even for Andy. What people are without sins, he asks, without treachery and cruelty and ignorance? The Old Guard has helped plenty of pretty shady regimes in their time. They can only be made better, only helped to change. He will search every inch of the coast, he promises, he will chase every rumour and every hint that comes to him. He will sail every boat that might conceivably travel across where she might be. He will try. But he will not leave.

He does help search. But eventually the others, grieving and in despair, must leave again. Watson promises to keep his eyes peeled in the meantime, a solitary watchman.

Watson doesn't see them again - except for letters - until the advent of Booker. He connects with Booker over his grief - oh, how many children has Watson lost! Spouses too! And over an astounding number of stories of unique minds, his resurrected friends, that Watson has found over the years. Watson is himself a very interesting man, and a good storyteller and Booker shares this love of stories. He tells him if he ever needs respite, he can come to Watson's home for a while.

Booker opts to stay with the Old Guard only because he still doesn't like the English very much, and also because running into jobs and missions sometimes distracts from the wailing grief inside his head.

When they finally all meet again, Victoria is on the throne, steam trains are ascendant and Watson has shacked up with another unique mind at 221B Baker Street.

He's an interesting one, Watson, who is now Watson properly on paper. And he smiles. He has found another friend, risen again.

Why John? Andy asked.

Boring, Joe says, who is still somewhat smarting over Joseph Jones.

John shrugs and says: There's enough Johns to make it commonplace, and I'm pretty commonplace. And Watson because, what son am I, where is my father? I do not remember.

Besides, he adds ruefully, no one uses Galvagin these days. No one east of Wales can pronounce Gwalchmei correctly...

(Booker nods in fellow feeling).

And Gawain just sounds pretentious. So... John.

It is a good name, Nicky Smith smiles.

And in the corner Sherlock is losing his goddamn mind because he had a) no fucking idea what kind of mismatched pidgin they are speaking and b) every single logical deduction he tries to make about these people all make perfect sense until they open their mouths and start talking about their lives, and then it's like OUT OF CHEESE ERROR, REINSTALL UNIVERSE AND REBOOT.

The problem with John Watson is that you have to eliminate the impossible, and the marker for that keeps fucking moving.

(Mycroft, on the other hand, as this era's Copley, sweats bullets every time John gets within spitting distance of the Stone of Scone)

[terikanae]

the hound of the baskervilles with werewolves (stole the idea from ao3)

When Hugo Baskerville kidnapped a maiden, he was cursed by Satan, and since then every man from his family has been the bearer of this curse. Thought the first time turning into a hound is activated by severe stress - fear or anger, so not all of his descendants were werewolves, the majority of them has a very calm, privileged life, nothing threatens, and even not everyone believed in the legend. Sir Charles never turned into a hound in his life, but one of his relatives - yes, it was either his brother (Stapleton's father, not Sir Henry's), or his grandfather, so he believed that the legend was true, but he and the rest of the family did not spread that this was not just a hound from hell that was haunting them, but always one of the Baskervilles themselves. Stapleton turned when he fled Brazil - he then stole a large sum of money, and his life was at great risk. Having realized that the family curse was not a fiction, he decided that he could use it for his own purposes. Having already arrived in England and having met Sir Charles, he still bet on Sir Charles's sick heart, but was also ready for the fact that he could also turn, hoping that he would defeat an opponent who was no longer young. I really want to put Mycroft into this au, because I want their interaction with Sir Henry. In the beginning of the story Sherlock will consider that Sir Henry may be in danger in London (maybe not without reason) and send him at least for a day to Mycroft in Diogenes club, and Mycroft will almost go crazy with this talkative man, but then he will say that he will go with Watson to Baskerville Hall, Britain will survive without him for a week or two. However, I don’t want to do an open romantic interaction between Mycroft and Sir Henry, they will end up breaking up anyway, because Britain will actually last without Mycroft for two weeks, no longer than that, and Sir Henry needs to stay in Baskerville Hall. But if sparks fly between them, it will be great. it would also be possible to add more Stapleton, I would like at least one conversation between him and Sir Henry, when Sir Henry already knows who Stapleton is and what he was up to. And a final battle of werewolves (because the stress will eventually turn Sir Henry into the hound), but I don’t want Sir Henry to kill Stapleton, he’s already suffered enough, and it’s too much for him. So the final battle, to which Mycroft, Sherlock and Watson rush, ends with Stapleton, seeing the numerical superiority, trying to escape and drowning in the moor. Story may end with Sir Henry asking Beryl Stapleton to stay with him after all, if she doesn’t like him - he has money to take her home to Brazil, but she will say that she has had enough of this family and will sell the house, then she will have the money herself. I also drew art - the moment when Mycroft, Sherlock and Watson find Sir Henry, who has turned for the first time, is a full moon, and the werewolves are not fully conscious then. So Sir Henry tried to attack them, but Mycroft broke an oil lamp on his face - this scared the werewolf and he rushed away. Regeneration will allow Sir Henry to avoid scars all over his face pity that I will never write it

[fancyfeathers]

heyyy I wanted to know what is the general dynamic of the darlings with eachother? Like a deeper look into their opinion of eachother and their interactions?

Well for the darlings of the Moriarty brothers, they are all technically sisters in law. Albert’s and William’s are the closest as they have been there the longest, and they get especially close once Albert’s darling has the true nature of the household revealed to her which she was absolutely shielding from seeing under the guise of a happy marriage. So when William’s darling isn’t being dragged off to Durham with him when he goes to go teach for a term or so, the two are spending almost every free moment they have together, and when Albert and his darling do visit William and his darling when he is teaching at the university it is such a pleasure for the two ladies. Even though they are from completely social classes, they understand what the other has been through, both have been abused and manipulated by the others around them to be someone or something that that they don’t want to be, I would almost describe them as found family if they were not forced to be family.

Then when Louis’ darling comes into the picture everything changes because she knows things she should not know. She was the only one kidnapped in the classic sense because she snooped about, and the only reason she was not killed is because of the affection Louis had for her. so things a become a bit tighter around the house which is strange for the other two darlings. They don’t get to know her for a while because is kept under lock and key for a long time when she first comes to stay with the Moriarty family. But when they finally meet her, she is a bit more cold and distant, distrusting, but no one can blame her, honestly the other two don’t want to be in this situation either. She doesn’t talk to the other two much, often keeping to herself, but eventually she cracks under the pressure when she needs human contact besides Louis. So she joins in on their conversations, adding a bit more of a perspective to them. She is the only one out of the trio who settles the least in her situation, choosing to distance herself in hope that she can get out of this if she plans correct and perhaps she can convince the others…

But if that hope is crushed by perhaps a failed attempt then she may warn up slightly more to the others, but it doesn’t hurt to have your cards close to your chest.

Bonus

I haven’t really talked about them much, but Sherlock’s darling was hired by Mycroft’s darling to write about and bring to light the murder of her parents, who also happen to be the parents of Albert’s darling as well. The two are from very different social standings, one is an aristocrat and the other is a working class crime journalist. Over the course of Sherlock’s darling’s more casual investigation of the case the two become very close friends, platonic soulmates if you would. Their friendship is quite the shocking comparison to the current relationship between the Holmes brothers.

Louis’ darling and Von Herder’s darling are best friends. The two were college roommates and some of the first women to get such an education because of their intelligence. Before Louis’ darling went missing, they would often go out for drinks after work or visit each other at work when they had breaks at the same time or even favors of each other here and there. They were the bestest of friends and if one goes missing the other is certain to look.

[moldybonessmell]

Okay, but can we talk about this one Christmas scene in BBC Sherlock S2E2?

Let's take a look at this one dialog that occured when John needs to stay with Sherlock to comfort him after Irene's death and his girlfriend is upset:

"You're a great boyfriend!" "Okay, that's good. I mean, I always thought I was great-" "And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man." "Oh, Jeanette please"

John has his priorities and it's very obvious to everyone involved (even tho I do think that staying with your best friend after the death of a person who was important to him is a valid reason to miss a celebration) I suppose it just was the last straw for her

"No, I mean it. It's heartwarming. You'll do anything for him. And he can't even tell your girlfriends apart!"

The fact that John's love is so unconditional he doesn't even care if Sherlock returns it reminds me so much of this one episode of Doctor Who where River Song compared loving Doctor to loving sun: "You don't expect the sun to love you back!" or something like this, I don't remember the quote and it breaks my heart so much.

(Yes I did a wholock reference, what are you gonna do about it?)

And I also see here how much he tries to move on knowing that sun will not love him back but he just can't.

"No, I'll do anything for you, just tell me what it is, I'm not doing, tell me!" "Don't make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!"

This quote is so important because even Jeanette knows and understands the entirety of the situation John's in.

Compete with Sherlock Holmes is something nobody can do (all his enemies get defeated as we know) but not only villians are a threat, even loved ones will always be on a second place for John. The first place is forever taken by this one nerd not knowing the Earth is moving around the Sun (even tho he's the sun himself).

"I'll walk your dog for you. There, I've said it now, I'll even walk your dog." "I don't have a dog!" "No, because that was the last one- Okay."

Even John himself admits his defeat and realises what he got himself into.

(He did marry Mary eventually, and even tho I love her character, I can't help but see her being another one of "escapes" for John.)

Please don't witchhunt me for "hating on straight ships" or whatever, complain at the directors and writers who made John so unbearably closeted any other of his ships just doesn't sail (pun fully intended).

All I see here is a man desperately stuck in his one-sided feelings and fear of being out, he goes through the struggle a lot of queer people experienced in their life.

Yes, it's been done many times before, but I can't help but say that the production crew are cowards for not making John canonically queer when his writing is so authentic it makes me experience almost physical pain.

Coming back to the topic of Mary btw, I think it was fucking lame in the way her destiny turned out to be. She deserved to have a good life with loving husband and a child, but writers put her in the story just to make John not so openly queer coded (bi and pan people exist btw but it's a topic for another conversation unfortunately) and they just killed her off to "sail" the johnlock ship in the end because they are cowards to actually follow through with queerbaiting (that's what the quotes for, because they haven't actually sailed it). I hate, and I mean HATE when a woman is added to a story just for a man's character development and gets killed off and BBC's Sherlock situation is exactly like this. Why even add her to the story if you don't plan on making her stay with John? The last season makes no sense and makes me so angry I often pretend it doesn't exist "BOO TOMATOES TOMATOES-" (it's the reason I don't want any new Sherlock seasons tbh)

Okay, this post is all over the place, at this point I'm more just ranting instead of doing a proper topic analysis but I hope you liked it anyway. Share your opinion if you have any, ig the Sherlock tag is too full at this point I don't really see people taking about stuff while checking the tag (saying this as if the first season didn't come out like 13 years ago)

Have a good day :)

[taleeater]

Its 2:55 am (now done typing at 3:39 am) but before i sleep, i had a shower thought:

Wot if there was a crime/thriller novel written with a sherlock kinda detective - amazing at solving the shi and wtv (but is a woman bc we love that idk i do) and her partner admires her and looks up to her and sees her as the perfect role model, and everyone likes her and she makes friends wherever - even petty criminals etc cant get too mad bc shes such an amazing and relatable person.

And so theres this serial killer or smth going around for years and it cant be solved and it drives everyone crazy (like Red John kinda), always 6 steps ahead in everything, toying with everyone, fucking with everyone and all these others and it takes the whole book - even longer maybe, to find out who this serial killer is. They have no motive, no direction, no pattern - just pure whimsy, almost - their kills marked to ensure everyone knows who did the job.

At first it seems like it's only young men, then adolescent girls - then the elderly, parents, babysitters, caretakers, random loved ones, lonely people - different marks all mixed up into some sort of twisted and bloody salad, hand picked like a name from a raffel to choose what kind of mark is next, creating a trail then destroying it as soon as it's caught onto. They also use all forms of killing and torture and whatnot - different mm guns, old medieval devices, rifles from the 18th century, waterboarding - anything to fuck with those investigating.

The detective stays up all night all the time to work it out, growing tired, impatient - almost defeated, but the hope of everyone else and their belief in her powers her on to solve it.

She will if its the last thing she can do, she tells them - coworkers erupting in cheers, families hugging her and thanking her through broken sobs and wails, young children asking if their friends and babysitters are in heaven, the nursing homes sitting solemn.

And her partner watches her with a heavy heart, their admiration burning and their love blossoming, watching as she breaks under the smiles she gives everyone, almost collapsing from the sheer pressure she's put herself under, almost regretting her choice of words to all those people before realising her thoughts and changing her train of thought.

Her partner sees her resolve cracking, and assures her that no matter what, she is the detective everyone believes in, that they believe in, and no matter what, that fact wont change.

With their reassurance and forced breaks, occasional sleeping over, and an eventual date, she powers on and grasps at straws with their help - any new leads she can find, any suspects, any idea of who this person could be.

Their relationship flowers into a strong bond, almost unbreakable, as they finally anticipate the killer's next move and close in.

And at the end of the story, the killer is revealed.

Oh our dear detective is relieved and so done. The team splits up to search every inch of the premises, of course pairing with her beloved.

She allows her loving, bright eyed partner to make their first big arrest. Holding their gun, they lift it to the killer drawing their mark, and a gunshot rings in the air.

The cuffs hit the floor with as much clarity as a pin would and the partner's body thuds onto the floor. Their gasps for air are loud and ragged as they clutch their chest, their lungs on fire as they fill with blood, the other fist clutching nothing in a pitiful attempt to ground themself.

The detective places her gun at her side, and steps over her partners body - their eyes darting over her figure in hurt confusion and shocked betrayal - how could she do this? Why? What is all this?

Her lips curl into smile, her eyes grinning at her partner devilishly as she turns to them, almost mocking them, "you seriously trusted me? Silly little gullible pawn, haha~"

Watching the life leave her partner's eyes, along with the mixed emotions, she extends her hand out to grasp the killer's, who seemed eerily similar.

As her partner draws their last, desperate breath, she keeps her eyes on them, turning, and embraces her mother.

Dang that’s wild 👀✨ very very good idea. I’d love to read some scenes from that!!! Thank you so much for sharing with me!!!

[lunammoon]

I love how you implied that throughout the Entirety of Series 5, Amy thought The Doctor and Marion were in a Will they Won't they situation.

I really wanna see how that Affected her Actions.

And I kinda Hope you delve into Trial of a Timelord, where The Doctor went "If I Wanted to take down Corrupt Civilizations, I should've stayed Home!", with Marion doing a Whole Reason You Suck Speech to the Judges as a representation of the High Council.

That whole area of media 2010s-2016s ish was a period in which a lot of mainstream media hadn't caught up to the fact that gay people wanted to see themselves represented and ended up doing a lot of ha...maybe...but they say they don't like each other like that...but maybe....(<-the writers have 0 intention of making this an actual couple) Sherlock, also by Steven Moffat is an example of this and so when I was coming up with rough ideas for the various dynamics in different TARDIS teams I thought:

"hey what if a young Amelia spent her whole childhood thinking the man and woman she met were a couple and when they weren't kept trying to get them to see that they were the ones for each other even though neither was interested in anything romantic or sexual with the other"

Her flirting with the Doctor is to get Marion to react while Marion’s main reaction is "Hey? Rory deserves better than that."

So a subplot of season 5 is Amy (and Rory to a lesser extent mostly from being dragged along) is trying to get The Doctor and Marion together with the two of them being varying degrees of oblivious and apathetic.

The joke is that I'm straightbaiting or at least Amy is being straightbaited. I would hope the audience would understand what's going on.

On the topic of Marion and Gallifrey.

Have you ever had a friend, who every now and when would causally give anecdotes about their family, and you never really said anything, because their anecdotes paint a really concerning picture about their homelife, but the tone of voice in which they tell you this clearly thinks that they think what they're telling you is, like, not normal EXACTLY but not so out of the median range of familial behavior to be worth getting upset over and you don’t want to ruin their day, but when you happen to see their mom in public you don't say anything but are visualizing blowing them up with your mind? Maybe you want to tell them off but you don't want to make your friend's life hander.

This is how Marion feels about Gallifrey.

That's not to mention I'm pretty sure Tectun triggered the Flux bc the Doctor found out so Marion’s eventual blow up is less a furious stream of consciousness as she is wont to do and more of a series of very clipped very angry sentences.

[emetoniche]

Ok, well guys, I’ve reached 100 followers!! 102, actually. In celebration, I’ve decided to do a little face reveal/background for each of my OCs. Hope this is good and gives some real substance to my people.

Roan (pronounced Rowan) Callahan: Roan is a fitness trainer at a local parkour gym. She never went to college, but it was simply because she never felt the need to. She has always had a knack for athletics, and has taken parkour classes herself since she was very little, so she thought the natural career path for her was to train others. Personality-wise she can tend to be a bit aggressive, but isn’t actually mean, just blunt and a tad sarcastic. However, when it comes to Justin, her boyfriend, she is the exact opposite of her regular self. She would die for that man, and is the sweetest, most caring person towards him. She is very loyal to those she cares for, and isn’t afraid to get in a fight to defend them. Roan grew up in a middle-class neighborhood. Her dad is a chemical engineer and her mom is an elementary school teacher. She is an only child, and she is okay with that. She’s seen how some of her friends’ siblings act and has no regrets about not having a sibling of her own. Roan’s passion for animals led to her having many pets as a child, including a rosy boa named Sherlock and two rats named Fred and George. Now she has a ball python named Reaper and a border collie called Phantom. Roan met Justin through work; he was one of her clients. Originally they were simply trainer and client, but as they got to know each other, Justin eventually got up the courage to ask her out, and now they have been dating for almost two years.

Justin Caruthers: Justin is a Biology major hoping to go into med school soon. He is a senior in undergraduate college, so he is nearing the point where he can get into med school officially. Justin is something of a big teddy bear. He’s sweet, kind, always tries to stay positive, and hates confrontation. His personality is the perfect ice to Roan’s fire, and he can calm her down if she gets too heated. H be this as it may, he never tries to control her, because he knows that she is an independent woman and respects her. Justin was raised in London, England. His mother is American but his father is English, and his mother moved to England to be with his father. Raised in a British schooling system, American college is a completely new experience. He is enjoying all of the American foods as well, though he has found that he doesn’t like hot dogs very much. He has one brother named Ethan who is four years older than him and is working in a local hospital. Despite wanting to go into medicine, Justin has a naturally weak stomach and gets very easily motion sick. His anxiety also has a tendency to make his stomach turn.

Edward (Eddie) Harrows: Eddie is a Marine Biology major whose true passion is surfing. He grew up in California, along the coast, where he started surfing at the age of four. Since then he has won many competitions, including three national competitions. His natural competitiveness lends nicely to his chosen sport. He is virtually fearless, and once narrowly escaped a tiger shark along the Australian coast. Eddie I has a very goofy personality. He loves to have fun and makes fun of his friends, playing pranks and joking around, almost ceaselessly. However, through his playfulness, he can also be extremely tough, and will stand up for his friends and family without a second thought. Standing at 6’5, he’s quite intimidating when he wants to be. Eddie was raised by his dad after his mom died in childbirth. He never really missed his mom per-say, because he never knew her, but he was sad at times that he didn’t get to have the relationship he saw his friends having. He has no siblings, and his father never remarried.

Callum Ulrich: Callum is a Biology major alongside Justin, his best friend. Instead of medicine like Justin, Callum wants to go on to be an environmentalist, protecting the habitats of animals around the world. He loves planes though, and has a pilot’s license, so his main goal is to fly himself around the world helping whatever animals need him. He has his own biplane that he has named Falcon Eye, due to the paint job on the outside, which portrays a falcon in flight. Callum is Irish, raised on, of all things, a wool farm. He used to run around in the fields with the sheepdogs for hours, just weaving between sheep and warding off predators. He has seven brothers and sisters, three older and four younger. In order of age, their names are Killian, Saoirse, Lorcan, Rourke, Róisín, Faolen, and Caoimhe. Callum has a similar personality to Eddie, his boyfriend, in that he always has a joke on the tip of his tongue. However, unlike Eddie, Callum will do almost anything to avoid a fight. He hates getting in the middle of people’s arguments, and hates having arguments himself.

Darius Wolff: Darius is a hard-core rocker. Sort of. He acts all hard and cool on the outside, but he secretly loves cuddles with his girlfriend. He does know how to play guitar like a fucking pro, and he plays lead guitarist and singer for his band, Eternal Hardships. Yeah, he knows the name is beyond dramatic, he didn’t choose it. He was outvoted by the rest of the band. Darius was born and raised in Germany, so English is his second language. Mistakes happen on occasion, and he does have an accent, but he is generally fluent in both languages. His dad is an oil tycoon who cycles endlessly through wives, each wife next in line to run the company since Darius has no interest. His passion is actually canids, so he is earning his Zoology degree so that he can run a Canine sanctuary one day. He has a pet fox named Adler.

Ariadne Sangster: Ariadne grew up in an underprivileged community, often going without one or two meals in a day. She didn’t have very good resources in her school, but she still managed to score a perfect score on her ACT and made it into her college with a full ride. She is now on her senior year of pre-med, going into medical school next year with more money than she ever had growing up due to how she could save any money she earned instead of spend it on college. Ari was raised by just her mother because her father was killed in a car crash when she was five years old. She has three older brothers, one of whom died in the same crash that killed he father. The remaining two work together at their own mechanics shop, which is doing quite well. Their names are Perseus (Percy) and Orpheus (Ori). They were all named after Greek myths because their mother always found those myths inspiring, and she hoped that if her children were named after great heroes they would grow up to do great things. During Ari’s freshman year of college, her mother remarried a very nice man named Richard, who takes very good care of her mother and brought his own daughter, Sasha, into the family. Sasha is twenty five and works as a nurse practitioner. Ari loves animals just as much as her boyfriend, Darius. She owns two cats, who she named after characters in her favorite television show, Supernatural. The white on is named Dean, and the black one is named Sam.

[empressawesomecoolness]

Doctor Who: The Ultimate Speedrun Marathon - Series 2 (2006)

Woah. I mean, what a Series! I didn’t know how Tennant and Piper would follow up Series 1, but they did a great job, not just in carrying over aspects from Series 1, but doing new things and carving out a new niche for the 10th Doctor. A lot of fun from all angles.

General Thoughts

I’ve always really loved David Tennant as an actor. Even before I properly started watching Doctor Who, he was my personal favorite Doctor (that might change over the course of this marathon, but that’ll come much later). Now having actually fully seen him in action as the 10th Doctor, I’m really happy that he met my expectations and more. He’s fun and snarky, same as McGann and Eccleston, but he brings this new sorta wide-eyed manic energy that one would probably expect from a 900+ year old time/space traveler. His look is also really fun and iconic, with pinstripe suits, long trench coats, and spiked-up hair. It compliments Tennant’s already tall and slim figure, giving 10 a lanky look reminiscent to a sort of alien Sherlock Holmes. The converse are a fun touch, too.

He’s definitely different from his immediate predecessor, but in a good way that makes sense given his new found attachment to Rose after Series 1 (or at least that’s my reading of it). He’s got a bit less angst, although it does peer through in good dramatic moments. Overall, Tennant’s able to juggle what made the recent previous Doctor’s special and memorable with his own acting sensibilities and personality. He really lends himself well to a character like the Doctor.

In companion news, Rose is just as strong and likable a character as ever. I knew new companions would show up eventually, so this whole Series I was just dreading the moment when it became clear that she’d be gone for good. Although I didn’t expect her departure to be THAT devastating! I mean holy fuck. Despite that ending though, Rose never stopped being an intensely compelling character, despite my assumption that her time as a companion was coming to an end.

As for the other campions, we only see Mickey return in this Series. When the Cybermen return to the show in a parallel universe, Mickey decides to stay behind there and help fight their invasion. It was another welcome surprise moment of character development from Mickey, especially when he finally realizes that he has a life and agency outside of Rose. However, when he’s able to return and help Rose and the Doctor fight the invading Cybermen and Daleks, it feels really truly earned on his end.

Also, how cool was it to see Sarah Jane Smith (played by Elisabeth Sladen) and K-9 (played by K-9) again?! That was a really cool and welcome surprise for me. It also avoids being a plot line of mere fan-service, since we get really cool insight into the life and mind of companions left behind by the Doctor decades before. However, they do eventually reconcile with the Doctor in their own bittersweet moments towards the episode’s end. Although, that reconciliation is a little bittersweet, given Rose’s fate at this Series’ end. I hope she gets something similar later in the show.

Favorite Episodes

Tooth and Claw

New Earth

School Reunion

The Girl in the Fireplace

Love and Monsters

Favorite Moments

Queen Victoria’s hemophilia being explained as a strain of alien lycanthropy was very funny and very Doctor Who. The running gag about Rose trying to get her to say the supposed “We are not amused” line was funny as hell too.

The 10th Doctor meets alien Satan.

Cassandra returning was a shock. I know she got a bit of a redemption arc in this Series’ premiere but I don’t really care. fuck her

I felt so clever picking up on the little references to Torchwood before they were properly revealed towards the end teehee. Making up for not noticing most of the Bad Wolf hints in Series 1 ig.

Madame de Pompadour getting a whole episode to herself in order to fight against evil French masquerade nightmare robots from the future was a welcome surprise.

Alright, that about wraps up everything I wanted to say about Series 2. A great Series itself and an amazingly solid start to Tennant’s iconic tenure as the 10th Doctor. Now, onto Series 3.

[calaisreno]

Consequences

Prompt: Family

This is a small sequel to While You Were Dead . It might be a bit confusing if you haven't read that story, so here's a very brief summary: While Sherlock is dead, John, working a late shift at the A&E, meets a much younger Sherlock who has inadvertently time-travelled to 2012. They sort out a few things.

This story happens after Mycroft picks Sherlock up from the A&E.

...

Mycroft takes him home. 

“Little brother.” He’s given the speech many times, understands the futility. But he can’t not tell him what he needs to hear, even if he refuses to listen. “Mummy will be told. Last time I swore I would, and I always keep my promises.”

Sherlock doesn’t speak. He’s probably still coming down off whatever it was this time. He’ll read the doctor’s notes later. It’s not the what so much as how often. It’s becoming a habit that will eventually destroy his younger brother. 

He gives Sherlock a sidelong glance. No earphones, so he must have lost his device again. Mummy will buy him a new one; for some reason she always thinks that kindness is the best consequence. He accepts that it’s the lot of the older brother never to see the younger one held to the same standards. Parents are like that; the firstborn is raised by strict principles, never indulged. Not that Mycroft ever wanted indulgence. His own life is turning out well, thanks to self-discipline. Coddling doesn’t teach that.

But Sherlock is an amalgam of different traits: impetuous, withdrawn, needy, with a restless brilliance that is in some ways more impressive than Mycroft’s. He hates to think of such an extraordinary mind wasted on things like drugs. And caring. 

“You know what will happen now,” he says. 

Sherlock turns his head, focusing those pale eyes on Mycroft. He looks sleepy, almost confused. Presses his lips together, thinking. “I’d like to go to rehab.”

Mycroft maintains control of the car. “You would like to? Why?”

His eyes are closed now, his head leaning back against the headrest. “Maybe… things can be different.”

“It won’t be easy, brother mine.”

“I know. But it might be worth it.”

“You surprise me. What’s changed?”

He opens his eyes, turns to Mycroft, smiling. “Sentiment. Caring. You’re so fond of telling me those things don’t matter. But maybe they’re the things that matter most. I don’t believe I’ll ever be perfect, but I care enough to become better than I am.”

They ride in silence for some minutes. Mycroft pulls up in front of his building. “You’ll stay with me until I make arrangements.”

Sherlock nods, steps out onto the pavement. He looks tired, Mycroft thinks, but not as unhealthy as the last time he saw him. Something has changed.

Inside, he drinks the cup of tea that Mycroft makes him. Yawning, he begins pulling off his clothes, dropping them on the floor as he makes his way to the bath. 

Once he hears the water start, Mycroft opens the envelope with the discharge papers. 

Cocaine, obviously. Not an overdose; he brought himself to the A&E. Dehydration, skin pallor, nausea. No seizures, confusion or anxiety. Slight tachycardia, BP and temp normal. He was given fluids, the doctor noted, and observed for several hours. 

Doctor’s signature: John Watson, MD. Dated: 20 November 2012

He frowns at the date. A tired, overworked doctor might misdate a record, substituting a digit or turning two around. But to write a date that’s fifteen years in the future… 

He makes a note to himself. Contact Dr John Watson. Maybe it won’t be worth the time it takes to find him and question him, but Mycroft doesn’t like untidy details. 

On the other hand, Sherlock has agreed to rehab, a hopeful development. Perhaps he shouldn’t probe. Ordinary goldfish do make mistakes. 

Wearily, he rubs his eyes. Sherlock, wrapped in a blanket and nothing else, is stretching out on the sofa, preparing to sleep. He works himself into a comfortable position and gives a great sigh. “You worry too much,” he mumbles.

Mycroft stands and stretches. A long day, and tomorrow starts early. He’ll think about this later, when he’s more rested. He heads towards the bedroom, picking up Sherlock’s discarded clothing. Piling it on a chair, he studies the lump on the sofa that is his brother.

“Good night, Sherlock.”

There’s no reply, only deep breathing. 

@lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @raina-at @bertytravelsfar @momma2boys @jrow @helloliriels @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @elwinglyre @mydogwatson @thetimemoves @jobooksncoffee @lhrinchelsea @peanitbear @gregorovitchworld @7-percent

[tastyfishistasty]

13 years on Tumblr retrospective

Having looked through all the posts I personally made since 2010 I can see so many changes and so many things that have stayed the same. It's been sad and interesting and also some good bits!

The world spins ever on.

Followers and Following

My lovely lovely mutuals and followers have always been so kind and so helpful 💜💜💜, so many posts and conversations that I forgot, but were like little treasures to find!

It makes me so sad to know some of the people I interacted with so often are no longer here and I have no way of finding them. I miss them and I hope they are happy and doing well.

I've still never broken into having 100 followers, but those that do follow me are the best 🎉

Fandoms etc

I miss some of the fandoms I used to care so much about! Merlin, Bluestone 42, HTTYD, supernatural, Sherlock, Doctor Who, Brooklyn 99, Narnia...

Some I will watch occasionally, some not with a barge pole.

Then of course the big two that I can't touch anymore that make me sad because people are awful.

There's a post I saw about the first RTX UK which I couldn't go to in the end and I'm gushing about you know who and it makes me sick to remember how much I loved them. I watch Jeremy on twitch and I love him, but I can't watch the back catalogue anymore and I used to watch them on repeat.

I used to have the tag "Achievement Hunter is saving my life". And it did. It gave me things to look forward to and it was good and happy and positive and safe. But it wasn't. It's ruined and it's never coming back.

For the other one... I wrote fan fic, it was how I got into fandom at all! I made my own fandom merch (embarrassing as fuck now), but all that care and effort was not deserved by the creator and I hope she rots away and stops hurting people I care about.

Dragon age has been around for me such a very long time and I wish it worked on my old laptop now EA has updated their app thing.

My MCs have really changed and grown and I see so many mistakes and misunderstandings in my own view of the world, seeing how they've changed and I've changed is really rewarding!

Me!

Looking back at some of my OG posts, I was so good at hiding that I was ace. I assumed I was normal, I'd had a serious boyfriend!

Yeah no. You can track my nonsense as I figure it out, the "thirst" posts disappearing and my Sherlock phase was getting worse (yes, that's how I figured out what Asexual was, when someone said Sherlock Holmes was... the shaaaaaaame 🤦).

And by "thirst" posts, I mean "isn't X pretty? I like his face". That's it.

My dude, that is aesthetic attraction not romantic or sexual. You are asexual as fuck, stop trying to not be.

Then there's the "I'm double A not triple A, what a shame!" posts. Shockingly, wanting to be Agender too but feeling it can't be you, because it's only for people who know exactly what they are... is a sign you might actually be Agender.

It's both more complicated and not complicated at all with my gender, but Agender works and I like being a tiny battery, so I got here eventually.

Most recently there's the mental health side. I use a side blog for that, but it's still on Tastyfishistasty. It's so sad to look and see me trying so hard to fight my "atypical cyclic depression" and feeling so lazy and broken.

It was ADHD and emotional dysregulation, doc, not a fancy depression.

If my ear doctor hadn't said anything, I don't know if I'd ever have realised. It's scary to know how much of myself was revealed because I didn't actually have hearing problems, I have attention problems and auditory processing issues...

Thank you to anyone that has been on this journey with me, either my lovely followers and mutuals or just for reading this long post!

I'm not going anywhere unless they kick me out as they close the building, this post was born from finally receiving the "made 100 posts" badge and wanting to see how many I'd actually made. (It's 210 original and 15,090 reblogs... so Tumblr needs to learn to count.)

I wish I had time to back this blog up, or at least go through and find the important stuff I don't want to loose, but that's a lot of work and Tumblr does not like me going too far on my own blog, so unless there's a way to put it somewhere else to look... who knows.

Anyway

Thanks everyone 💜

And Tumblr:

[frost-queen]

Its been awhile since weve seen you write something enola holmes x bridgerton sibling related so i hope you dont mind if i request something ❤️ sherlock holmes x bridgerton sibling that would be about the reader being into mysteries and solving crimes much to her brothers dismay that one day when shes exploring a certain thing they run into sherlock and enola first sherlock didnt want her there and they started bickering throughout the entire time theyve been looking for clues but then eventually she grows on him and lets her stay (the rest is up to you.)

It has indeed been a while since I wrote for this crossover. Glad to see you are still interested in it 🥰🥰🥰 aww one with Sherlock such a cute idea 🩷

[doctors-journal]

21 September

Justin is gone and I don’t know what to think.

Last night we stayed in Geneva. He was even more restless than in Brussels, pacing across the hotel room for most of the night. I’m afraid I snapped at him, but I think he did eventually sleep.

This morning, we took a series of trains through a valley nestled between the Alps, to the small town of Meiringen. We checked into the inn there, and then Justin insisted on hiking out to the falls. This late in the season, the town was quiet and we had the trail to ourselves.

However, before we reached the falls, a boy came running up the trail from the inn with a message from the innkeeper. It said there was a woman who had suddenly fallen ill and was dying and I was the nearest doctor. So, I went. I tried to get Justin to come with me, but he refused. I should have dragged him with me, like he’s been dragging me all around Europe, but he’s too stubborn. I passed a young woman on my way back. I don’t know who she was. Maybe she was his Moriarty, for all I know.

When I got back to the inn, there was no woman. The innkeeper didn’t know anything about the message. Someone set me up—the question is who. I felt it like a stone in the pit of my stomach and fearing the worst I just about ran back up the trail to catch up to Justin. I got all the way to the falls. There was a plaque memorialising Sherlock Holmes, but no sign of Justin, just the walking stick he bought in Interlaken leaning against the rocks, and next to it, a cigarette box.

It would be just like him… I wonder how many people have tried to follow in Sherlock Holmes’s footsteps and plunged off that ledge, even though he wasn’t even real. But I can’t believe that Justin would really…

I grabbed the walking stick and the box and ran back to the inn, hoping I had somehow missed him along the way, that maybe he had followed me back to Meiringen after all. I got all the way back to our empty room at the inn. He wasn’t there. Everything was just where we had left it before our hike, except for one of his Sherlock Holmes books sitting open on the desk.

I don’t know what made me glance at it. Maybe Justin really has rubbed off on me—that even the smallest detail has to be there for a reason. This one couldn’t have been an accident. Just glancing at the page it was open to, it was clear—it was about Sherlock Holmes’s death. I read it. I don’t know what else I could have done.

I half expected it, but it was just as bizarre as when Liza showed me how Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson met. It was the same. It explains every backtrack and detour we made. They were all there. All the disguises, and half of everything Justin said through our whole trip. It was all on purpose. All of it.

I can’t believe that Justin would just… Maybe I just don’t want to believe it. But the way he talked, he seemed to think he was leading his Moriarty into a trap. That he wasn’t sure he would survive. Maybe it was that woman on the trail, but there’s no evidence, and I don’t even know where she went from there.  There’s got to be something else going on… And why would these books end on such a damn depressing note?

I have to call Liza.

Please pick up, please pick up…

When she showed me that Sherlock Holmes book where Dr. Watson fainted, it was because Sherlock Holmes came back from the dead. He can’t have died that many times, right? I have to know what happened there. The detective wouldn’t do it by halves, would he?

“What? Why?” is Liza’s response to the whole mad thing. I can’t blame her for being confused.

The explanation of what’s going on sounds even more absurd when I say it out loud: Justin dragged me across Europe fleeing from a criminal he calls his “Moriarty” and now he’s stranded me in the middle of nowhere in Switzerland and disappeared and he better not have jumped off of those damn falls or I’m going to kill him.

“He what!?” At least Liza gets it. “This is a bit much, even for amateur theatre… But if he’s really following it, he shouldn’t really be dead! Let me find it!”

He’d better not be dead. My heart feels like it’s going to burst, like I’m having palpitations. Liza just said he may be alive. I’m so going to kill him…

She has me on speaker phone now. “Here it is… Spring of 1894… Ronald Adair… Park Lane… The Origins of Tree Worship! There we are!”

“The what?”

“So, basically, Sherlock Holmes shows up three years later out of nowhere, disguised as a poor old bibliophile. First he bumps into Watson on the street in front of the place where a murder just happened, and then he drops by Watson’s house and reveals himself, and that’s when Watson faints.”

“No, I’m not waiting three years to find out if Justin is dead or alive. Is there anything about what he did right after?”

“I’m just getting there… Let’s see… ‘You were never in it…’ There we go! The note was genuine, Sherlock faced Moriarty on the path, they wrestled over the fall, and then Sherlock pulls some baritsu moves and tosses Moriarty off.”

“What? Justin doesn’t know jujutsu… does he?”

“I don’t know, but Sherlock Holmes did, apparently. So, he throws Moriarty into the falls and then decides he’s going to fake his own death anyway so that Moriarty can’t catch him or anything—and definitely not because he’s moping about Watson getting married. Sorry, trying to find Justin, this is just so crazy…”

“I know. I’m the one living it.”

“Sorry, if I’d known he’d pull something like this, I wouldn’t have dumped him on you like that.”

“It’s okay. Even with everything, I can’t bring myself to regret it. For all his weirdness, he helped me get back on my feet when I wouldn’t let anyone else, maybe because everything was so weird with him. Now it’s my turn to help him out. When I find him, I’m dragging him to a hospital whether he wants it or not.”

“Did he get hurt while you were running around Europe?”

“No. His health has never been great, but it took a serious decline after I left. He needs serious help.”

“We’ll find him. Let’s see, this says Sherlock climbed up the cliff face, hid there while Watson found the scene, and then scrambled back down after. Also, one of Moriarty’s henchmen was throwing boulders down at him like something out of a James Bond movie—or maybe that’s Indiana Jones.”

“Justin couldn’t’ve climbed up and down the cliff. He may have had enough energy to drag me across Europe, but that’s too much, even for him, in that state.”

“Okay, well, then he ran through the mountains and ended up in Florence a week later.”

“I can’t chase him around the rest of Europe. I haven’t the slightest how his Moriarty tracked us from city to city.”

“Wait, what about this? There was someone he told where he was—his brother, Mycroft, who has some important government position.”

“Do you know if Justin has a brother?”

“Beats me.”

“I assumed it was Justin who picked me up and drove me to the station in London, but maybe it could have been his brother… Apparently, it was supposed to be Mycroft…”

“He does strive for accuracy.”

“Yeah… Thank you, Liza. Next time, lunch is on me, wherever you want.”

“Bring Sherlock home first, then we’ll talk lunch plans. Good luck, Solomon.”

“Thanks. You’re better than I deserve.”

“You know it!”

It’s time to go back to London and find Justin’s brother.

[onceinawhilemoon]

Pardon me as I go on another ramble, but this is the nasty byproduct of being infested with these two tragic nitwits who consistently score poorly on EQ tests. I have to find outlets......

Adding your tags also for that extra delicious commentary :

We don't know what happened before Sherlock set off for Cordona. We can assume they had an argument in which Mycroft tried to dissuade him from going back, even if only to pay respect to their late mother, because, as you said, he was certain that as soon as Sherlock set foot in Cordona, he'd unearth the whole truth and the total traumatic mess wrapped around it, and then the fragile birdhouse that Mycroft spent years carefully constructing around Sherlock would come crashing.

But Sherlock was resolute, and Mycroft let him go, maybe because he hoped that Sherlock would see "the big picture" and understand Mycroft's perspective and why he'd done what he'd done, and that's where he falls short in his understanding of his brother—when his high regard for Sherlock's gifted mind borders on overestimation. He gambles on his brother's genius to somehow understand his motives without having to communicate them. But Sherlock isn't a freaking mind reader. Sherlock sees and reads into things differently than Mycroft, and I think Mycroft has a hard time understanding that.

Mycroft lives by "If it hurts, shove it under the rug, stomp it with your heel, and never speak of it again." He even says it outright to Sherlock while his brother is literally having a mental breakdown over shooting Jon—basically what can be described as Sherlock's self-love and innocence materialized—out of existence: "And all this—it stays here."

That was the only way for Mycroft to survive the insane pressure that was forced onto him at such a young age. That was the only way he knew how to move on—from his father's unexpected death, from his mother's derailing and abuse, from the hell house in Cordona, from his mother's eventual death, from Sherlock's almost-death, from Otto fucking Richter, from the case proceedings, from all of Cordona… Just shut off and detach, put it all behind you, and put all your mind and heart into diligently doing what is expected of you. Take care of your family. Take care of the house. Take care of Sherlock. Think of the greater good. Think of the nation. Make the Empire proud.

In turn, he expects Sherlock to do the same. Alas, his brother does not fit into the same mold that shaped him. Mycroft doesn't get Sherlock's need "to remember" and sees it as a waste of time and potential. The past is past. Why should one go out of their way to seek out what hurts them? Except, how could Sherlock have known that the truth would hurt so much if Mycroft never said a word?

Depending on who you ask, it was either selfish or selfless (or both) of Mycroft to keep the truth from his brother. Selfish, because he kept him in the dark when he deserved to know and would much rather Sherlock found out the hard way than be vulnerable and talk with him about it. Selfless, because he wanted to spare his brother the pain he knew would hurt him so much because he had been through that pain himself. Let him be burdened with the truth; Sherlock should be busy living and achieving untroubled.

What's also interesting is that, had he never returned to Cordona, Sherlock seemed like he had perfectly moved on from what happened. Even the way he talked about his mother and her death with Vogel seemed... somewhat detached, matter-of-fact: "She died of consumption. Drowned in her own blood," like it was only unfortunate, not particularly devastating. That was, of course, in large part due to him suppressing his traumatic memories and using Jon to guard his psyche against remembering that pain. But to Mycroft, it seemed like his efforts had paid off; Sherlock had moved on and was heading towards the promising future he was made for. In reality, Sherlock never moved on because he never had the chance to confront his trauma to begin with.

I also wonder when Mycroft arrived in Cordona. It seems like he'd been in the manor's front garden for quite some time before we met him. The agent we met at the gate told us that he was on his way. And I wonder where he was staying and where he came from when Sherlock had that breakdown. I honestly doubt he stayed in the manor; I just don't see him wanting to be inside that place again. He's a master of his craft—he could have been anywhere. He could have been hiding in the trees, for all we know... His coin quest makes me think that he likes trees; he hides a lot of things between their roots... 

pls excuse my english cuz im having an insomnia atm.

It is cool to play SHCO from Sherlock's perspective, but sometimes my brain asks me if I ever think about the entire thing from Mycroft's perspective...

Thinking about everything that happened to Sherry and also to Mycroft, losing his parents in his 20s is even harder. He also acknowledged the fact that his mother prefer his younger brother. After everything happened, Mycroft stayed strong, became a real man and raised Sherlock. That is impressive.

After the death of Siger Holmes, Mycroft had to take care of his ill mother, watch Sherlock, and keep him away from the doctor. He knew the truth and yet still standing, unlike Sherry almost blew his shit life away.

Mycroft is the true hidden figure.