#charing cross hotel

[vintagepromotions]

Travel poster showing off the redecorated and refurnished Charing Cross Hotel and Restaurant (now The Clermont) (c. 1920). Design by McCorquodale Studio.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

"Let me have the Hotel Directory," said Holmes. "Thank you! Now, Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all in the immediate neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Do you see?"

"The Illustrated Sherlock Holmes Treasury" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

[immediatebreakfast]

It's so tragic to read how Jonathan's writing changed so much to the point that it feels as if another person took his hands, and erased his literary identity. In an epistolary novel where all of the characters have such distinct writing styles, and quirks this writing change is the only reflection of the amount of trauma Jonathan has gone through.

From early may:

Before us lay a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom—apple, plum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I could see the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green hills of what they call here the “Mittel Land” ran the road, losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the straggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame.

With the heart, and soul of a curious poet trying to capture the beauty of their surroundings.

To today in october:

We left Charing Cross on the morning of the 12th, got to Paris the same night, and took the places secured for us in the Orient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here at about five o'clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram had arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel—"the Odessus." The journey may have had incidents; I was, however, too eager to get on, to care for them. Until the Czarina Catherine comes into port there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world.

It's simple, technical, to the point, and nothing at all like the Jonathan we knew. There are no more heavy descriptions of the landscapes, no more curious details to study later, nor recording the kind of people to meet, all is left is the focused hatred that Jonathan has for Dracula, and his eagerness to either kill him with his hands or see him dead with his two eyes.

It's a reflection of the kind of mental state Jonathan is in right now, and the kind of expression that Mina must have noticed by now.

[ameliemaaaee]

The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(1) How you Meet the BAU Team.

Chapter Information Summary: Y/N finds herself enravelled in the depths of a puzzling case which can only be solved in conjunction with one infamous FBI unit. Content Warnings: Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer, Platonic Hotel Room Sharing. Word Count: 7,986. Read on AO3

Story Masterlist - (1) -

The London Underground was not your favourite place. Yes, you were grateful for London’s fabulous public transport system, especially on the mornings where bumper-to-bumper traffic would only frustrate you more. However, the constant work-day rush of people in business attire, provided a stark contrast to all the tourists in their flamboyant outfits, both equally surmounting your dissociative annoyance.

Not to mention the germs. There was a study done on that. It proved that, when swabbed, The London Underground was the dirtiest place in the city, with ninety-five different strains of bacteria found. In fact, you happened to be friends with this researcher, who in confidence told you that even a one-hour trip on the Tube is enough to raise the long-term risk of heart attacks. And this was simply due to the air pollution. It made you shiver just thinking about it. It was a shame driving in the city was slower.

You were rushed to say the least, evading the rush hour was top priority when you weren’t on call, however an interesting case had come in and your expertise was required. It wasn’t uncommon for you to be in high demand, despite your age you were renowned in London for your competency as a forensic pathologist.

Your life for so many years had resolved around the dead, those whom you had to pry the clues out of. Work remained your whole life, the ability to gather evidence from the silent witness, and bring justice to many was beyond comforting to you. The feeling of winning a case against someone you had scientifically proven guilty, defeated the solemn, and gruesome nature of your job by ten-fold.

Now, you focused on the rattling train below your feet as you timidly clutched the railing above your head. The shuddering sound of the train drawing to a halt beneath your feet, rocking you back and forth. This was it.

The platform was abnormally busy as you made a beeline for the exit, barely noticing the busker who provided the soundtrack to the mornings of so many, for so cheap. Bounding up the steps you surfaced alongside block-red lettering screaming ‘Charing Cross’, The Embankment was just a short walk from here.

You weren’t too sure of the details of your newest case, quite simply that it was ‘a big one’ and that it was a rather public disposal. Public disposals were common in London, however public disposals in busy Underground stations weren’t. Especially with the Night Tube services. A public disposal site told you that this kill was a threat. Whoever it was wanted their attention, they wanted their case to be public, the wanted London to shudder with fear. But alas, the closed station required more walking.

Brushing shoulders with strangers, much like the rest, your gaze was dead set on where you were going. And as The Embankment station neared you sighed. This was tourist London, The Embankment opened out onto the Thames, and once you reached the Thames, Westminster, and Big Ben was in View, and the famed London Eye. But you didn’t have time to take in the part of the city you never dared to enter, you had work.

As you reached the station the Mounted Police immediately caught your eye. Sat astride their horses were people attempting to control and direct the crowds back to Charing Cross; no wonder it had been so abhorrently busy. Ducking under the police tape you were greeted by an uninterested officer who guiltlessly looked you up-and-down. Plastering a smile on face you removed your identification and shoved it politely into his face.

“Dr. Y/N L/N. Home-Office Pathologist.” The officer remains stoic, thumbing you towards a set of stairs where a familiar face stood, ever-stoic, patiently waiting.

“Where’s the body?” You omit the greeting. Angela knew you too well, and you both were past the ‘good morning’s’ and ‘hello’s’ that seemed the ever-so-polite thing to do.

You were a tight-knit pair, ever since school, and bonding over your preferred use of the Oxford comma, you had both shared a solid friendship. It wasn’t based off greetings or words, nor a physical display of affection. It was based off the reliability and trust you felt for each other. It was a simple, and honest friendship. That allowed you to occasionally let-loose on your days off. But today would not be one of those days, in fact you wouldn’t see one ever again.

“The top of the stairs, it’s a male. He’s probably in his 30’s. He has a series of interesting tattoos.” Angela’s candour filled your ears, her level tone forever reassuring you of the collective, daily, London anxiety, which seemed to radiate throughout the city.

“Interesting how?” You raised a brow in curiosity, a small chuckle escaping your lips as Angela rolled her eyes, pushing her teal-ish hair behind her ears, mixing it with her original black-ish strands.

“Interesting as in, you-need-to-see-this-and-contact-the-appropriate-people. That kind of interesting.” She said it so nonchalantly, ‘call the appropriate people.’ That didn’t sound interesting, that sounded like ‘this-guy-has-tattoos-relating-to-some-form-of-terrorism-plans-and-you-should-bring-in-counterterrorism’. And boy, were you right.

“This is bad.” You deadpanned, you had no adjectives for how bad it was, other than it was very, very bad. The police officer a great distance behind you bit his thumb anxiously as you stood buried in a white HazMat-style SOCO suit, Angela kneeling beside you, silently shaking her head.

“Angela, I don’t even know who to call about this.” You gestured to the male lay ahead of you, his body scrawled with descriptive instructions on ‘blowing up the D.C Capitol Building.’

And that’s how you ended up at a bar, drinking with the FBI’s distinguished Behavioural Analysis Unit.

-

The thrashing of bass pounded against your chest as you sauntered through the doorway, away from the cool night air and into the warmth of the bar. You weren’t expecting there to be any live music, but you were pleasantly surprised by the quality of the music, that soon would be drowned out by cheap liquor.

The rest of the BAU trailed into the establishment behind you, slight grins on their faces. All of you had changed, ditching the work clothes. The FBI’s plane would be grounded until tomorrow evening, so they were officially off-duty, and allowed to have fun.

And by the looks on the group’s faces you all needed this, the tensions had run high during your latest case and there had been weeks’ worth of sleepless nights, that the medical doctor deep down inside you didn’t approve of.

“Let’s find a booth!” Garcia practically yelled down your ear over the music. You nodded pointing to a room that sat off the main stage area, where it would undoubtedly be quieter.

Heaving a sigh of relief you slid into a booth, in between the males you had come to know as Dr. Spencer Reid, and Derek Morgan. The men all chuckled lightly as Agent Hotchner stands.

“First round is on me!” You laugh quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face before giving Hotch your order, double vodka and Diet Coke, your drink of choice.

“You know, I’d never been to London until now.” Derek chuckles, as he leans forward, his elbow resting on the table. His gaze connected with yours.

“It’s a nice city.” Spencer chimes as you shake your head laughing.

“You haven’t even seen it.” You smile, leaning back against the plush backing of the circular booth, your gaze finding Hotch who was carrying a tray of drinks, making a beeline for the table. You hadn’t had a night out in so long, you were practically buzzing at the concept of alcohol.

The band’s melody had faded to a distant hum, your heart synching with the echoing bass that still rumbled the ground beneath your feet.

“I must say, you scrub up nicely Dr. L/N.” You turn your head to Derek who takes in your frame. Derek was an attractive man, you couldn’t lie, and you knew he meant no harm by his comment, but you couldn’t help but feel scrutinised.

You offer him a polite laugh, before turning to Hotch who was dishing out the alcohol. Gratefully you took your drink from his hand, taking a long sip. If you wanted to be able to actually hold a conversation without being too uptight, you would need to be at least tipsy. Plus, the alcohol made you forget about… well, the alcohol that was terrible for your health.

“So, Y/N, I assume this has been an interesting week for you?” You chuckle at Rossi, who raises his glass, before sipping on what appeared to be whiskey.

-

Due to the commotion at the Police stations, and the high-risk of having FBI agents in London they had been assigned to a more discrete location; and lucky for you, that was your lab.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to having FBI agents in your jurisdiction, in fact it was the opposite. You were fascinated by their work, in law-enforcement they were truly celebrated for their research, and work. You just weren’t too chuffed by the idea of new people, of which there were now seven.

They all looked, strangely, just how you would imagine a team of FBI agents looking, all but one. The flamboyant one. She was dressed in a way you could only describe as eccentric, her blonde hair curled at the ends, sections held in place by red-rose clips to match her dress. She seemed friendly, despite the sombre circumstances, a half-smile chopping her features.

The rest seemed to blend in. There was another woman, her slender frame, and long blonde hair somewhat reminiscent of the mean girls at school. The rest were all male. We had, the obvious team leader, he stood tall, clad in a black suit. How would you chase bad guys in that? Next, was the cliché buff guy, who spent too much time at the gym. Finally, the skinny, sweater vest guy, and an Italian?

“You must be Dr. L/N.” The team leader spoke up, making his way towards you, his hand outstretched. You found yourself staring at it for a brief moment, as if the action were strange to you, before you realised, he wanted a handshake. You offered a slight smile as you reluctantly gripped his hand, shaking it.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Aaron Hotchner, but you may call me Hotch.” You nod, keeping your gaze on the floor. You were in a room with a bunch of criminal profilers. That was scary. Could they profile you? Would they? Were they profiling you right now? You weren’t exactly keen on the gazes boring into you.

“This is my team, we have Supervisory Special Agent, David Rossi.” You wave awkwardly as he gestures to the Italian guy, unsure of what social conduct was required to meet criminal profilers. David Rossi smiles at you, offering a brief salute that would have made you chuckle in better circumstances. Perhaps you would be better, in better circumstances.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Jennifer Jareau.” The pretty blonde leans forward hand outstretched, as you smile awkwardly. Her grip was firm, irking you less that Hotchner’s handshake. However, you already felt inferior to these individuals, no number of correct-introductions or doctorates could save you. They hunt criminals for a living. Yes, it may not need a doctorate, in fact, you weren’t sure any of them were doctors. But they certainly weren’t cowardly in a mere social situation, like you.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Derek Morgan.” You react quickly this time, lifting your hand in a quick, but still awkward wave to the incredibly muscular guy in front of you. Derek Morgan seemed like such a fitting name for him, in fact, you weren’t sure there was a name more suited for him in all the 5,163 first names, and 151,671 last names commonly used in the United States of America.

“We also have our Technical Analyst, Special Agent, Penelope Garcia.” The eccentric techie waves her hand cheerily, a wide smile breaking out on her face. She seemed sweet, and you were glad to see a female computer nerd. There certainly wasn’t enough of them in this universe. Her grin was infectious as you attempted to hide yours with the floor.

“Last but not least, we have our resident genius.” Your head snapped up at that. ‘Resident genius’? What rendered this guy a genius? You supposed, he looked smart. But you couldn’t quite decipher if it was just the sweater vest. In fact, he looked more jet-lagged that smart.

“Supervisory Special Agent, Doctor Spencer Reid.” Ah, a doctor.

You smile slightly, glad the introductions were over.

-

“Yeah, I have worked a fair few high-profile cases in my time, but this probably tops them.” You smile at the group, your gaze connecting with JJ and Garcia who both offer you sweet smiles. You can feel Spencer’s gaze on you as he clutches a glass of water in his right hand.

“It certainly tops ours.” JJ smiles, leaning towards you, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I never thought we would see an international case, never mind this.” You smile, bringing your drink to your lips, taking a refreshing sip.

“I- How do you do what you do? I mean- the chopping and the blood and guts and-“ Garcia frantically waves her hands in front of her, very nearly knocking over her martini as she rants.

“Garcia- she’s used to it, just like we are.” You nod in agreement with Hotch, your ears tuning in the set change happening with the band next door.

You scan the remainder of the room you were in, the bar was fairly quiet, most of the younger crows would have moved onto nightclubs by now. You could see various groups of people seated in their booths, most of them appearing as if they were celebrating, which felt fitting for your occasion.

“You know-“ You turn back to Rossi who was pointing a finger at you, a sly smile on his face.

“-I thought this week was going to be a drag when you asked us to surrender out firearms.” You watch as small chuckles erupt from the rest of the team, allowing yourself to join in with them.

-

You watch the team, stare at you expectantly, kicking yourself into gear.

“I have a room for you, a conference room.” You direct your statement towards Hotch who nods his head sharply, gesturing for you to lead the way. And you did. You guided them towards your conference room.

It was a large room with glass windows. On the back wall was a large TV screen designed for presenting, in the corner a safe. It was quite simple by design; a room, a TV, a table, and chairs that surrounded it. You weren’t sure it was FBI approved with its scratchy carpet and simplicity, but it would have to do.

“I hope it’s okay.” You try to say it with confidence, as you stand by the door the agents filing into the room, but your voice comes out as more of a squeak. Typically, this causes you to make unnecessary eye-contact with the Doctor.

“Uhm- You are going to have to surrender your firearms.” This certainly got a reaction from all but Aaron Hotchner, who likely, was aware of this.

“Why?” The doctor spoke up, as the rest of the team curiously gazed at me.

“Fire-arm residue. You are gonna be around bodies that haven’t had post-mortems, and you could contaminate them. So, I take the arms.” You watched as half of the team swallowed harshly, obviously not-to-sure about not having a weapon, which was such an odd reality of Americans.

“You’ll get them back, don’t worry. It’s just anywhere beyond this room would count as an unnecessary contamination. I think your Unit Chief was informed?” Your gaze turned to Hotchner who nodded.

“Guys, the weapons will be retrieved if we are leaving the building.” The team nod, clearly becoming more willing to surrender as they remove their holsters. You reach for a plastic box, holding it out as you walk around the group, being handed the various heavy weapons.

“I don’t carry.” You nod politely at the technical analyst, moving finally towards the male you now knew as Spencer Reid. He placed a revolver into the box, odd choice.

“Okay this is your safe, the code is 62282. Please remember it.” You quickly place the weapons, and the plastic box into the safe, locking the door with a loud beep. Before you walk to the door, watching everyone settle in.

You stand uncomfortably at the door as you watch them lay their belongings down on the table awaiting some sort of response, or a cue to leave.

-

“Yeah, I don’t have a good track record when I’m not carrying a firearm.” Spencer chuckles, pulling his glass back up to his lips.

“Boy wonder here doesn’t do well in close-combat situations.” You watch as Derek reaches over you, ruffling Spencer’s hair, his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“Awh, it’s okay. I don’t think close combat would be much use against someone with a bomb.” You offer Spencer a friendly smile, as his gaze connects with yours. He offers you a shy smile as you nod towards his glass.

“No alcohol? Very responsible.” Spencer shakes his head, still grinning.

“Someone’s got to be sober.” You nod, laughing as JJ and Garcia stand, walking towards you.

The pair grab you by the arms, attempting to pull you over Spencer, you chuckle awkwardly as Spencer stands, allowing them to drag you out of the booth. They wrap their arms under yours as you stumble on your heels, feeling the alcohol hit you.

“We are dancing.” Garcia gently taps your nose with her pointer finger as JJ supports you on your feet. She laughs as you feel your face pale slightly.

“I-I don’t dance. Plus, this is a bar, not a nightclub.” Your gaze falls on the rest of the team who seem extremely amused at the girl who couldn’t stand properly after only one drink. You sigh slightly.

“I’m a doctor, I know how bad alcohol is, so I don’t drink often, okay?” You watch as the remaining men laugh at your dramatic statement as JJ slowly releases you from her grasp, satisfied that you would be able to stand alone.

An idea pops into your head.

“People don’t dance in bars over here, but I do know my way around London.” You raise a brow, watching as the team look at you inquisitively.

“You lot hunt serial killers. How about Jack the Ripper? Spencer you could be the tour guide!” You laugh as their faces morph into one of understanding, a look of excitement settling on Spencer’s face.

-

“Alright, we have work to do. We need to start brainstorming.” Hotch’s voice rang out throughout the room as he gestured for you to make your way to the front of the room.

“Okay, so there has been no post-mortem done as of yet, but I can show you pictures from the crime scene yesterday, and the close-ups produced by my lab tech.” You stand in front of the team, all eyes trailed on you. You quickly turned the TV on with the remote, leaning over the table and logging into the laptop.

“So, the unidentified male is assumed to be around 27 years old, he was found in a very public London Underground station, lay on his back. As you can see, he was shirtless with an intricate tattoo scrawled over his body.”

The team nods, as you pull up the picture. The screen filing with the photos of a dead man shot point-blank in the head. You notice the team’s tech analyst wriggle uncomfortably in her seat and you chuckle.

“I’m so sorry, feel free to look away if you need.” You smile at the woman as she gives you a small grin, opening her laptop and beginning what you assumed was some sort of research.

“What Underground station was he found in?” You smile as Rossi speaks up, leaning forward to your laptop, laughing.

“I have a map for you, I figured it would be more use than just giving you a name.” You pull up a map of the London underground system against the landscape, turning to see it on the television screen.

“Okay so, the male was found at The Embankment station which-“

“-The Embankment has a huge, empty substation attached to it, that has actually been abandoned since 1957. It’s called ‘Pages Walk’ and is located behind a blast door in the station.” Dr. Reid cuts you off, as you chuckle. You smile politely at the rest of the team, the male introduced to you as SSA. Morgan held his head in his hands, shaking it slightly.

“Right, you are doctor. I was going to say that it was notoriously ‘Tourist London’, and opens out onto the Thames, with all the tourist attractions, but that works too.” You shrug, offering Spencer a slightly awkward thumb up.

-

You widen your eyes at the sound of your name, making eye contact with the lanky Dr. Reid who was now making his way over to you. Work talk, you could do that. Spencer stood beside you as you watched the team settle for a moment more, before following you out of the door.

“How many times do you reckon I will have to remind you lot of the safe code?” You chuckle to yourself, trying to make simple, light-hearted conversation. He was a doctor, maybe you could level with him?

“I have an eidetic memory.” His reply was so simple, so nonchalant. But it caused you to furrow your brow. He was a resident genius, and you were not going to be capable enough to level with him. You open your mouth as if to speak but decide against it. No need to incite more awkward interactions.

Instead, he decided to incite it.

“How long have you been a pathologist for?” His question was simple, the answer was simple. So why were you panicking? You knew that you felt inferior, but that wasn’t something that bothered you often. Spit. It. Out.

“Uhm, around four years.” You reply, trying to keep your voice level, and even. Anything to illude to your oh-so-confident demeanour.

“You seem young.” It was a statement, phrased like a question, one that needed answering. You weren’t young, you were 29. But by normal standards, you were too young to be a pathologist of five years.

“Yeah, I guess? What are you a doctor of?” You quickly deflect the question, but almost immediately regret it.

“I have, uhm, three PHDs.” You try not to hold your mouth agape, resident genius ringing in your ears. You were only slightly glad of his hesitation. Surely announcing you had three PHDs wasn’t easy. That required admitting that you were a superior being. But then again, with an eidetic memory it was no surprise he had 3 PHDs.

“They are in, uhm, chemistry, mathematics, and engineering.” You nod, humming along in affirmation as if this were a normal thing, and frankly you surprise yourself. Once you got over the initial shock it wasn’t so hard to act like you were in the presence of a regular person.

-

The team stand from their seats fairly quickly, accepting the concept of a drunken Jack the Ripper tour. Despite the lack of alcohol in his system Spencer’s got a massive grin on his face, and practically shaking with excitement.

Dragging them out into the chilly London air you stop suddenly, gasping.

“We should get alcohol, to-go!” You turn to face the team, your eyes wide with a sense of wonder at your marvellous idea. Only being egged on by Garcia, Morgan, and JJ who cheer loudly at your proposition.

“Isn’t that just a liquor store?” Spencer’s brow is furrowed in confusion, trying to work out what alcohol to-go was, and he wasn’t too far off.

“…and a bad idea?” Rossi follows, pointing an accusing finger towards you.

“…and illegal?” Hotch follows Rossi with a chuckle.

“No, it’s actually perfectly legal here, and liquor stores are expensive, we’re going to Tesco.” You clap your hands jumping on the spot excitedly, before making a beeline for the Tube station.

-

Whitechapel was shockingly quiet, for this time of night with only the distant humming of the main roads to remind you that you were in fact in one of Europe’s busiest cities.

You and the rest of the BAU team ambled through the narrow alleyways that once housed one of the world’s most prolific serial killers, Spencer occasionally pointing to various street-corners and naming one of his five canonical victims.

“You know, In the Victorian era the basal population of Whitechapel was swelled by immigrants from all over, particularly Irish and Jewish. This poverty drove many women to prostitution; The victim-pool of Jack the Ripper.” You turn to Spencer who’s walking closely by your side, something he had obscurely insisted on.

“Yeah, In October of 1888 the Metropolitan Police estimated that there were 1,200 prostitutes ‘of very low class living in Whitechapel and about 62 brothels.” You pipe up, a smug grin settling on your face as you gaze at Spencer, eyes narrowed.

“I know my facts doctor.” You slur. Spencer laughs, reaching out for the bottle of sweet beer in your hand, removing it from your grasp, as you gasp, attempting to grab back the bottle that he holds high over his head.

“Hey!” You pout as Spencer tosses the bottle into a nearby bin. You are quickly distracted by the way your trip over your own feet.

“Woah, woah! Confiscating the alcohol was a good move on my part.” Spencer mumbles as he grasps your shoulders, steadying you on the pavement. You both stop, turning to see Derek stood with Garcia, staring right at you and Spencer, a glimmer in his eye.

You look past him to see Hotch, Rossi, and JJ slowly walking towards you both. Hotch and Rossi had drunk nothing since the bar and were both practically sober. They had allowed you, JJ, and Garcia to drink despite their apprehensions, and likely remained sober to ensure you were safe. Derek had managed to leave the bar with his pint of beer, still clutching the empty glass.

You yawn slightly, swaying on your heels as you turn to the team. Furrowing your brows as you lean back against Spencer who stumbles slightly in surprise.

Your mind is foggy, but not foggy enough to ignore the impending hangover that would undoubtedly kick your ass the next morning.

“I should go home now.” You finally feel the fogginess settling in your brain, like a sickly-sweet haze. But alas, you were running out of energy. You missed Hotch’s stern look.

“You’re staying at the hotel with one of us, we can’t let you go home alone.” You roll your eyes slightly at the solemn male.

“No thanks dad! I’m excellent at navigating my way home.” You chuckle, at your own joke, JJ and Garcia joining in a drunken chorus.

“Y/N, you’re drunk, and it’s dangerous out here.” Spencer chimes, in. His arms are still holding tightly on your shoulders as you drunkenly giggle. Your forehead rests on his shoulder as you teeter on your heels.

“Fine.” You take the arm that Spencer offers you, watching as Hotch and Morgan do the same for JJ and Garcia, Rossi walking closely behind you. You were by far the most drunk, and the most likely to faceplant against concrete.

-

“Who wants her? Because I really don’t mind.” Derek points his finger, raising his eyebrows at Y/N as she sits on the floor of the hotel corridor. Her fingers trace the patterns on the carpet, as she hums along to a non-existent song.

The team let out a collective sigh at Derek’s implication.

The world is fairly fuzzy to Y/N, and she has resorted to paying absolutely no attention to what was going on around her, hyper-focusing on anything that would appeal to her senses. She knew that she would regret drinking in the morning.

“Fine! Personally, I feel as if Spencer should do it.” Derek nudges the lanky genius, who simply rolls his eyes, his cheeks dusting a light shade of pink.

“That’s a point, two of us have two beds in our rooms. That’s Spencer and Derek.” Rossi quips, turning to face the two men who now stood, eyes widened.

“For Y/N’s sake, I think we veer away from Morgan as a candidate.” Hotch says, a slight smile on his face as JJ and Garcia burst into a fit of giggles, leaning against one another.

“You’re up Spence-“ JJ smiles, as Hotch and Derek reach out for both her and Garcia, ushering then towards their respective rooms. Spencer watches as Rossi, offers him a humorous salute before he turns, walking down the corridor.

“Okay, Y/N.” Spencer tries to keep his voice down, so he doesn’t disturb other patrons of the hotel. He helps Y/N to her feet, cautiously gripping onto her as she sways into his chest.

“How are you so smart?” She practically whispers as Spencer guides her towards his room, scanning the key card.

“I’m not sure, perhaps it was good genetics?” Spencer quips, pushing her through the hotel room door, watching as she gasps, making a beeline for the empty bed. He can’t help but chuckle as she dramatically flops onto the bed, splaying her arms out wide across the plush surface.

“You know, twin studies of adults have found a heritability of IQ between 57% and 73%, with the most recent studies showing heritability for IQ as high as 80%.” Her words are slurred, but her facts are correct which makes Spencer smile.

“Did you have smart parents?” She props her body up on her elbows, connecting her gaze with Spencer who digs through his suitcases, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Spencer’s head snaps up at the question as he offers her a solemn smile.

“I guess you could say that. What about you, were your parents smart?” She giggles slightly resting her back on the bed as Spencer walks towards her, fiddling with the straps of her heels in an attempt to undo them.

“My dad is really intelligent academically, and my mother was amazing at the arts and music. I got a combination of both I guess.” Y/N smiles to herself, allowing Spencer to take her uncomfortable shoes off, her mind distracted by the thoughts of her parents.

“You know, I never really considered myself smart.” She practically whispers, sitting back up as Spencer removes her first shoe, she reaches forwards, helping him remove her second.

“Why not? You’re a doctor.” She shrugs laughing lightly at Spencer’s straightforwardness.

“I never found school academically difficult in hindsight. I struggled to understand that it wasn’t the work that was difficult, it was all the social-emotional stuff. At that point, to me, school was just difficult.” Spencer nods, offering her a reassuring smile as he passes Y/N a pile of clothes.

“You can have these, or if you’d rather sleep in the dress, it’s up to you.” Y/N smiles, grabbing the sweatpants and shuffling them on underneath her dress, Spencer had turned away and was now fiddling with an Ice bucket.

“Y/N, I’m going to go get ice, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” She nods, watching him walk out the door as Y/N unzips the dress fully, pulling Spencer’s clothes over herself as best she could in her sluggish state.

The sweatshirt was massive on her, the sleeves covered her hands, but the sweatpants were a different story. Spencer was practically a whole foot taller than she was and that left the bottom of the trousers to bunch up around her ankles.

She quickly rolled the cuffs of the sweatpants up to a reasonable length, before collapsing back onto the surface of the bed. Inhaling the scent of his clothes she groaned, the alcohol was surely leaving her system, but left in its wake, a pounding headache.

So much so that she didn’t notice the sound of the door opening.

“Ah yes, is the hangover setting in?” Y/N whimpers slightly at the unnecessary noise, rolling over in the bed, onto her stomach. Smashing her head against the pillow.

She feels a meek tap on her shoulder, and turns to see Spencer kneeling beside the bed, his hand outstretched, two pills in his palm.

“Take these, so you don’t wake up in the middle of the night.” Y/N groans, rolling back over in the bed, sitting upright. Spencer’s hand steadies her shoulder as she gratefully takes the pills with a glass of water she had clearly placed on the bedside table.

“Okay, good. Now, get some rest.” Spencer pulls up the sheets allowing her to climb under them. Y/N’s eyes stay closed as she listens to Spencer shuffling around the room and entering the bathroom before the room goes silent. And with the silence she slips into sleep.

-

You walk the short distance from the hotel foyer to the entrance of the Underground station. JJ and Garcia trail behind you whist Spencer, ever eager, walks by your side. Spencer is bright and awake, as his gaze takes in what seems to be every little detail of the street, meanwhile you are simply glad you took painkillers.

You were also down a few team members. Turns out that Derek had managed to get a girl’s number from the bar, leaving him unavailable. Meanwhile, Hotch and Rossi preferred a ‘quiet morning.’ You would meet up with them later.

“Wait, this is Aldgate Station?!” Your gaze trails along the bright red lettering marking the entrance of the station. Spencer, JJ, and Garcia laugh at your dramatic halt. Quickly you do a one-eighty, turning and walking away from the station entrance, realising that you had an interesting place in mind.

“Did you know that over 1,000 bodies lie beneath this station, which is built over a plague pit from 1665.” You can’t help but laugh at Spencer’s fact as you turn to face him, walking backwards and trusting the oncoming pedestrian traffic to dodge you.

“Interesting, but the place I have in mind for you may be the sight of even more horror, beginning with the fact that we are walking.” Your gaze fixates on Jennifer who sighs dramatically, but Garcia simply hums, shrugging her shoulders.

You can tell that JJ is hung over, a pair of dark sunglasses are sat on the bridge of her nose, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She seems content however, the pain likely avoided with a healthy dose of paracetamol.

Garcia, on the other hand is awake and bubbly as ever. She also dons her sunglasses, but you wouldn’t know she was hungover. Her flamboyant outfit radiates a happy energy, that seemingly rubs off on you.

The sound of traffic fills your ears as you bustle past various other pedestrians trying to go about their regular lives. Slowly but surely, you guide the team down streets, alleyways, and pedestrian walkways that you begin to recognise.

“You know, sometimes I shock myself with my ability to navigate this city.” You smile to yourself as you see a familiar structure off in the distance.

“There’s nothing of significance here Y/N.” You can’t help but furrow your brow at Spencer’s quip, he was wrong.

“Spencer, how many times in your life have you been wrong?” You watch as Spencer’s cheeks turn pink, him shrugging his shoulders.

“Well, I suggest you add one more to your tally, because if you are patient, you will see that there is in fact something significant in the distance.” This causes Garcia and JJ to laugh. He follows your instructions, and you watch as his eyes widen, before turning back to you, a grin crossing his previously embarrassed features.

-

“Oh my god! It’s a castle in a city. Is that where the Queen lives?” Garcia’s voice interrupts the comfortable silence. Her voice is high pitched, laced with a sense of extreme excitement.

“Originally, it was built by William the Conqueror to be a residence for the royal family, and a fortress. But they soon discovered that it was as good at keeping people in as it was out.” Spencer’s hands flail about wildly and you can’t help but smile at the excitement plastered across his face, your hangover was long forgotten.

“Officially it’s called Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress, The Tower of London.” Spencer finds himself impressed, as you smile brightly, eyes fixated on the tower that was coming closer into view.

You walk along the perimeter of the grounds, towards the visitor centre watching as your three tourists gaze in wonder across the lawn towards the large medieval building.

“Only 22 executions have ever taken place inside the Tower of London. They include the two famed executions of Henry VIII’s wives, Anne Boleyn, and Katherine Howard.” You guide the team towards the visitor centre, watching as all the crowds ahead of you gather.

You walk towards the turnstiles that provide entry to the castle, spotting a beefeater watching over the people entering into the tower grounds.

You slowly walk towards the male, pulling a slip of paper out of your pocket. As you hand him the paper to read, he simply nods, allowing JJ, Spencer, Garcia, and yourself through, politely thanking you all for your service.

“-For our service?” Garcia pipes up as you walk towards the tower gateway, a look of confusion plastered across her joyful features.

“Yeah, uhm, I spoke to a few people.” You state simply, not really wanting to draw out what may create too much of a scene. Garcia certainly struck you as the dramatic type.

“What kind of people?” JJ pulls a strand of hair behind her ear, peering over her sunglasses at you. You can feel Spencer and Garcia’s eyes boring into you with curiosity.

“Well, The Tower of London is owned by Her Majesty the Queen, so-“ Your gaze falls on Spencer who’s face twists into an almost smug look as his brain begins to put the pieces together.

“You asked-“ He begins.

“No, no- well, I mean… She offered?” You chuckle, trying to hide your flustered sate as a look of shock crossed Garcia’s face.

“The-the Queen?!” You can’t help but laugh at her reaction. Both Spencer and JJ join her, eyes widened with shock.

Before you have a moment to think, Garcia walks straight towards you, engulfing you in a surprising hug. You can’t help but tense in surprise.

“The Queen knows we exist?!” She whispers into your ear, allowing Spencer to pry her off you. You simply nod, humming in response.

-

Slowly, you begin to make your way around the walls of the ancient fortress. From the tower above Traitor’s Gate, you had an excellent view across the Thames, of Bloody Tower, and the impressive White Tower behind you, housing the notorious Crown Jewels.

“I always found this part of the castle to be so weird.” You can’t tell if you are talking to yourself or the rest of the team, but Spencer makes his way towards you, his gaze curiously set on you.

You turn towards him, watching as Garcia and JJ excitedly stand on the other side of the wall, inspecting the expansive gardens where twenty-two whole lives had been taken.

“How so?” Spencer says quietly as you fix your gaze back on him.

“So many doomed people made their final journey by boat beneath our feet. They wouldn’t even had known at that point if they were sentenced to death or not.” You sigh, turning your gaze to the ground staring at your feet.

“You know, they had a way of communicating their fate right in front of them without even knowing.” Spencer nods, urging you to continue.

“The jailor would be abord the boat to transport them through the gate and he would carry an axe. If the axe was facing forwards, they were lucky, and if the axe was facing backwards… well-“ You watch Spencer’s brows pinch together as he nods in understanding.

“…People spent the worst days of their lives here.” Spencer murmured as you simply nodded, allowing your gaze to trail onto JJ and Garcia who were taking photos.

“-And the best.” You smile, nodding towards JJ and Garcia as Spencer hums in agreement, a small smile on his face.

“Are those men actually called beefeaters?” You smile at Garcia’s question, turning to Spencer as he interrupts.

“From what I gather, it’s a sort of slang name for what are officially Yeoman Warders of the tower.” Garcia nods as Spencer offers a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, we should do one of their tours!” JJ exclaims, pointing at a group crowding around for a tour due to start in just under 5 minutes.

“If you want- but those guys will slam you if they find out your American.” You smile, dragging the three agents towards the crowd, as confused looks crossed their face.

And boy, were you right.

-

The harsh, night air nipped at your skin, goosebumps crawling across your exposed skin, your dress from the previous night turned out to be a rather weather-inappropriate outfit. After The Tower of London, the heavens opened in a torrential downpour that caused our small group to sprint to a local bookstore café, where the missing team members caught up with you for lunch.

You spent around three hours in the quaint café, both you and Spencer eyeing up the large bookshelves lined with various graphic covers as the rest of the team talked. They truly were a nice group, and you were glad you had the opportunity to work with them. But it hurt to think that you may never see them again.

But alas, they tided you over by regaling tales of sadistic killers, and various – and frankly, hilarious – anecdotes from their time together. You could tell they truly were a family, especially since they didn’t fail to mention the fact their job is so demanding that they practically live in the FBI Academy together.

~

“You know, law enforcement was always a job that interested me. I just wish that I could see a case through, you know; studying the bodies is fairly detached.” You chuckled, placing your glass to your lips, and taking a sip.

“You want to chase Unsubs?” Derek turned to you, a smile on his face.

“I guess so, I always enjoyed travelling for specialty help, I was a bit more involved in solving cases then. I just feel so helpless once all evidence is processed, I must wait and hope that the police can work it out themselves.” You smile, reaching your arm out to fiddle with the napkin in front of you.

~

“Y/N?” The sound of a voice pulls you out of your dissociative reverie, pulling you back into the here and now, where the team all gathered in front of you.

“Thank you for everything Y/N.” You smile at Rossi, gasping as Garcia pulls you into another surprise hug. The end of her blonde hair tickles your nose as you let out a small chuckle.

“I will miss you Garcia- I will miss all of you.” You whisper as Garcia pulls back and you acquaint your gaze with the hardened concrete below your feet. Trying to hide the embarrassment you felt for becoming so attached to the people in front of you in such a short time.

“You don’t fancy a trip to America, do you?” Derek chuckles, nudging your side with his elbow, you lift your hands to cover your mouth as you laugh. Your gaze fixating on Derek as he offers you a wide grin.

“I could do with a holiday-“ You smile shaking your head.

“-but I’m not so sure my boss would like it.” You watch as the team chuckle to themselves, their gazes flicking between each other as they slowly realised, they would be leaving very soon.

-

Hotch stands, deep in thought as the team gather together, Y/N included, on the runway. He couldn’t help but notice how well Y/N functioned with the team, and how quickly they were able to solve an extremely complicated case with her expertise.

A notification snaps him out of his daze, gazing down at his phone he sees a reminder popping up, telling him that the jet leaves in 15 minutes and that they should all be ready to board.

“Guys-“ He breaks the giggles and chatter between his teammates, watching Y/N’s expression falter at the implication of his words. He knew she had bonded well with the team in the short space of time, and he knew that the team would miss her also.

“-you should say your goodbyes, we have to be on the jet in five for take-off in fifteen. I’ll be back in a minute.” Hotch disappears onto the jet as Garcia sucks in a breath, her eyes saddening as they land on Y/N. A soft smile rests on her face.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you all. I had heard so much about you guys-“ Y/N chuckles, her cheeks heating up as she turns her gaze to the ground scuffing her feet on the concrete.

“-you certainly -uhm- lived up to those expectations ten-fold. This wouldn’t have been solved without you guys.” Y/N’s gaze scans over the group, lingering on Spencer, who gives her a soft smile, his cheeks reddening.

Rossi was the first to step forward, offering Y/N a silent pat on her shoulder, before walking towards the jet, and disappearing inside.

JJ and Garcia stood forward together, opening out their arms as they engulfed Y/N in a group hug. The whispers of thanks making the other members of the team smile at the sight. But soon they disappeared into the comfort of the jet.

“Stay safe, okay?” Was the simple sentiment Morgan left Y/N with his gaze switching between her and Spencer suggestively, an expression they both missed.

Finally, Spencer steps forward his eyes stuck on the ground as he fails to meet Y/N’s gaze.

The pair both remain silent, gazes alternating between each other and the ground as they both relish in the awkwardness of not knowing what to say.

“I enjoyed having someone smart to relate to.” He practically whispers as Y/N let’s out an embarrassed chuckle.

“Don’t be mean to your teammates, you’re a bright bunch.” The quip makes Spencer laugh shyly, as he raises his gaze to Y/N who stands in front of him.

“You’re a brilliant mind.” Spencer’s voice is practically a whisper as he takes a small step forward, outstretching his hand to Y/N. She gladly takes it and shakes it with a chuckle.

“Hey Reid, I thought you said it was safer to kiss?!” The pair jump at the sound of a voice coming from the small jet. Turning they see Derek stood at the top of the steps, a smug grin on his face.

Hotch walks past him, making his way towards the now extremely embarrassed, frozen pair of doctors. Spencer quickly offers Y/N a small smile before dropping your hand.

Y/N turns her focus to Hotch. He stops in front of her.

“Dr. L/N, we’re running late, but I just wanted to let you know that I will be in touch over the next couple of weeks, as regards the case.” Y/N nods, immediately going into business mode, she straightens up.

“That’s absolutely no problem, I will forward you any of the paperwork on our end for reference.”

“That would be great. Excellent work doctor. As I said, I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, they were gone.

-

Story Masterlist - (1) -

[vintage-london-images]

The Grand Hotel Trafalgar Square.

The hotel was originally built on the site of Northampton House which had been built in 1605 by Henry Howard 1st Earl of Northampton. Later in the 1640s It was sold to the Earl of Northumberland when it became Northumberland House. Although no longer a fashionable address in the nineteenth century, the Duke of Northumberland of the day was reluctant to leave his ancestral home, despite pressure from the Metropolitan Board of Works, which wished to build a road through the site to connect to the new roads along the Embankment, now Northumberland Avenue. Strangely after a fire caused substantial damage, the Duke accepted an offer of £500,000 for the house and land and the house was demolished in 1874.

The Grand Hotel, on the corner of Charing Cross and Northumberland Avenue, was designed by F & H Francis and James Ebenezer Saunders and built between 1882 and 1887. The hotel had seven floors, 500 rooms, a large ballroom and was decorated with Antonio Salviati mosaics. The building was taken over by the British government in World War I to house military officers, and in the 1930s it became a retail headquarters. By 1972, not only had the stone facade weathered and was crumbling but the whole of the buildings foundations had been damaged by the new Jubilee Underground line. It was later demolished in 1986 and a new building erected in a similar style which still stands on the spot.

[ivytea]

curious... what are your favorite books, movies, or shows?

hi there! here are some of my favourite stories —books: yami-hara, lonely castle in the mirror, when marnie was there, 84 charing cross road, underland, piranesi, h is for hawk, guyabano holiday —writings of: jorge luis borges, tove jansson, pg wodehouse, tomas transtromer, edward gorey —movies/shows: the fall, grand budapest hotel, hannibal, midnight diner, mononoke, mushishi, billy elliot, the house, phantom thread, from up on poppy hill, song of the sea, the night is short walk on girl, spirited away i hope that some of these stories can resonate with you if you check them out :-) & if anyone has recommendations i'd love to hear about them too!! about to go on library holds spree

[ofbakerst]

I think I could show you the very paving-stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon the placard, and a pang of horror passed through my very soul. It was between the Grand Hotel and Charing Cross Station, where a one-legged news-vender displayed his evening papers...

[teaspoonnebula]

"Therefore I shall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on Saturday."

Ok look, look, I promise I'm not obsessed. I promise. But today I was in London for a work thing and I had some time to kill afterwards, and I accidentally stumbled across the Charing Cross Hotel which features in The Bruce Partington Plans.

So... I had to snoop inside.

Don't mind me I'm just sitting here like an absolute dork because a fictional character had a showdown with a fictional spy in this room.

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co Locations

Location, location, location. Are you like me and not a native Londoner? Are you also like me wondering how to visualize a place or, perhaps more importantly, how long does it take to get from 221B to the various locations and how much they're spending on tube fare?

Well then look no further! This is my masterpost with links to each location described in detail in each post made on those locations. Each post gives a bit about how far from 221B it's located (depending on travel method), how much it likely cost them to get there, photos of the location, and a bit of the location's history.

Every time we get a new locale I'll add a post and link it here. :) Lmk if I miss any and I'll add them. If you see a location and it has no link then either the link broke or I haven't made the post yet, but logged the location.

Cheers!

The Criterion Bar

221B Baker Street

Brixton

The Volunteer Pub & Restaurant

Regent's Park

Hampstead

Thor Bridge (Upney Ln)

Walthamstow (Morgue)

King George's Hospital

Barking/North Barking

Fortnum & Mason

Paddington Station

Hilton Green/Chatham

Berlin (John's Vacay Spot with The Boys)

Heathrow Airport

Hotel Cosmopolitan

Bailey's Street

Shoreditch

King's Road

Chelsey

44 Cross St., Croydon

Chiswick Flyover

The Fox (the swinger's pub)

Hanwell/Ealing/West London

Islington Tunnel

Eltham

Blackheath Common

"GAIL'S Bakery"

The Strand

'Saxe-Coburg Square'

Pinewood Studios

Embankment

Charing Cross

Opera House (?)

Barking Station

Walthamstow

Waterloo Bridge

Bank of England Museum

Camden Town

Living Room Club Cafe

'Gloria Scott' (Oil Rigs)

Ramack/Kosovo

St Dunstan

Little Venice

Satalfields

Brick Lane

Neal's Yard

South Kensington (Ice Rink)

[thefisherqueen]

Halloa! Halloa! What's this?” He was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the words were pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes. “Well?” “Nothing,” said he, throwing it down. “It is a blank half-sheet of paper, without even a water-mark upon it. I think we have drawn as much as we can from this curious letter; and now, Sir Henry, has anything else of interest happened to you since you have been in London?”

Holmes has found out something, and he's doesn't want anyone to know that

I'm suspecting dr. Mortimer more and more of sending the letter. Holmes' deductions about the sender would fit him, and it makes sense it would be made in haste if it was him. I searched for the location of the Northumberland hotel, to see if it was near Charing Cross and so could have been sent from there, and the hotel that's called that today isn't (it's near st Pancras and King Cross), but I found this on the wikipedia page about the Sherlock Holmes pub (which you should totally visit when you're in London. I was there last winter, very cosy place and I liked the upstairs recreation of the Baker Street sitting room even better than the museum one):

The Sherlock Holmes was originally a small hotel, known briefly in the 1880s as the Northumberland Hotel, and later as the Northumberland Arms, under the latter name appearing in the 1892 Sherlock Holmes story "The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor". The Victorian Turkish baths that Holmes and Watson used to frequent in the stories was located right beside the hotel at 25 Northumberland Avenue. The entrance to the adjacent women's Turkish baths can still be seen in Craven Passage at the rear of the men's baths. It has been conjectured by some Holmes enthusiasts and scholars that the present building was the Northumberland Hotel which featured in the 1901 novel The Hound of the Baskervilles.

And that one is near Charing Cross station!

[sherlockianscholar]

okay, fellow canon lovers! i have some points from a study in scarlet and "the resident patient" that i need help reconciling. so please share your thoughts!!

first, a study in scarlet: jefferson hope had been in london for maybe a week before he "applied at a cab-owner's office, and soon got employment." he also states, "the hardest job was to learn my way about, for I reckon that of all the mazes that ever were contrived, this city is the most confusing. I had a map beside me though, and when once I had spotted the principal hotels and stations, I got on pretty well."

NOW! starting in 1865 up to today, london cab drivers (then hansom carriages) have to pass a test known as "the knowledge." you must memorize all the streets and landmarks within a six mile radius of charing cross station. it can take about 3-4 years of studying in order to pass the test. so, mr. jefferson hope, how did you expedite this process and commit sacrilege by using a map?

second, "the resident patient": in this story, a man named blessington snitched on his fellow bank robbers and sent them off to jail. the guys get out of jail and commence working on their revenge. two evenings, back to back, two of the guys show up at the house under the guise of a patient and his son. while the "father" is being seen by the doctor, the "son" goes up to blessington's room. both times blessington is on his daily walk. holmes states that "they were not very well-acquainted with his daily routine" as they had come when blessington was not home.

okay, so i've always thought that it would make sense if the "son" was casing the place while blessington was gone. especially because they came two evenings in a row at the same time Both Times. however, it seems as though holmes is saying that they wanted blessington to be home. which begs an endless number of questions. why would they try to kill him when everyone's up and about? would it just have been the younger man to kill him? what about the rather formal tribunal of the three men as judge, jury, and executioner that occurred during blessington's actual murder? this has never made sense to me.

[stephensmithuk]

The Norwood Builder

Arthur Conan Doyle lived in South Norwood from 1891 to 1894 i.e. when he wrote the first two volumes. The area is 7.8 miles from the centre of London i.e. Charing Cross and was in Surrey at the time, although it was in the London SE postal district, being SE25 today. The area is a popular one for commuters, with Norwood Junction having no less than six operational platforms for services towards London Bridge; the Overground's East London Line also calls there. ACD does obfuscate some of the locations though.

Blackheath is located 6.4 miles SE from Charing Cross, on what is now the Greenwich/Lewisham boundary.

President Murillo forms a key part of "Wisteria Lodge", which we have already covered.

The Dutch steamship Friesland is also mentioned in The Lost World where it spots an escaped pterodactyl.

The Victorian era saw a massive boom in housebuilding due to a growing population that needed to live near their industrial workplaces - or in close proximity to a railway station so they could commute to their offices. Some of the housing was better than others, with the stuff for the poor being basically slums and mostly cleared away in later decades.

The Anerley Arms, located next to Anerley station (one stop up the line towards London from Norwood Junction), is still an active pub although no longer does hotel accommodation. I've been there quite a few times after events at the nearby Town Hall for an evening meal before heading home. They have a number of Holmes-related pictures on the walls, but don't make the canon connection explicit.

Anerley station itself is two platforms either side of a four-line railway; the original station buildings have been replaced.

It's rather hard to destroy all traces of a body with a wood-based fire set by an amateur. You need a functioning crematorium and England didn't exactly have many of those free for use.

The fire extinguisher as we know it today was around by this time.

[surprisinglyokay]

Having recently read a fanfic in which Sherlock and John catch trains to various parts of southern England exclusively from London’s Waterloo station, even when this is not the usual/logical route, I’d like to share this for writers who might not be familiar with the whole business of trains in/to/from London.

Let’s start with the history of how and when rail services came to London. This article explains how and why we have so many terminal stations (short version: because when they were built, the railway companies were privately owned and all needed their own terminus in London).

The main terminal stations are Waterloo (south), Paddington (west), Euston (north-west), King’s Cross (north-east), St Pancras (East Midlands and Eurostar), Liverpool Street (east), Fenchurch Street (south-east) and Victoria (south). There are others (see the article linked above and my husband’s comment below).

As we know, within London and the suburbs, these termini are linked by the London Underground (aka The Tube) network. There is also the Docklands Light Railway (DLR) - a driverless system - and other overground rail services. Here is a map of it all from Transport of London (TfL). Baker Street is served by five tube lines: Bakerloo (brown), Metropolitan (maroon), Jubilee (silver), Circle (yellow), and Hammersmith & City (pink). It’s also only a five-minute walk from Marylebone (the nearest terminal) which itself is just behind the Landmark hotel, which we know as the exterior for The Restaurant Scene.

Aside: I think Sherlock is unlikely to catch a bus unless directly related to a case - they’re just too slow for him. But you can find bus maps and all kinds of other TfL mappy delights here.

If you have characters using public transport in the UK, your best bets for accurate research are:

Google Maps (in public transport mode)

National Rail (see the page footer for all the useful stuff)

Transport for London

All these also have apps available.

I’m happy to do Sherlockian Britpicking (my day job is copy-editing) if that’s helpful for you.

If you want to go the full Howard Shilcott, I still very much enjoy reading the rail enthusiasts’ forums posts about the myriad tube-related continuity errors in TEH. I’ll let you Google those for yourself. 😉

———

Ran this past my husband (who is totally the full Howard Shilcott) and he made a few corrections (and a lot of faces!) before I posted: he wishes it to be known that he ‘remains unhappy about [my summary of] Fenchurch Street’ and thinks I should add Charing Cross to the list so people know how to get to Kent. So that’s all clear then. 😂

[prototypesteve]

ADHD Paradise

I was walking up Charing Cross Road to my hotel, from Trafalgar Square when I saw a much more interesting-looking street and decided I had to go there instead of listening to what Maps App was telling me through my AirPods. And that street led to a bookstore which exited onto another street, and that street led to another, and then an other, and I wound up in #ADHD Paradise. A place and a mental state where there’s finally way more stimuli than you can ever process, so it laps-around from emotionally noisy to emotionally silent. You can hear the effect in my voice in the last clip.

[vintage-london-images]

Here we have a series of photographs taken in Kodachome of Charing Cross Station and Hotel. The images were taken by Charles Cushman an American traveller in 1960/61.

In the foreground stands the Charing Cross or The Eleanor Cross.

On the forecourt of Charing Cross Railway Station is the sculptured monument known as ‘The Charing Cross’ or the ‘Eleanor Cross’ which is actually a replica of the original one that stood nearby. Erected in 1865, the sculpture is one of four such crosses to remain in England, although the other three are originals. It was named after Queen Eleanor of Castile, the wife of King Edward I, and was originally erected as a memorial to her in 1291 the year after her death at the age of 49. Queen Eleanor was later laid to rest in Westminster Abbey. However, this 70 foot (21 metre) high richly decorated monument replica which is constructed of granite and Portland stone is said not to be as good as the original one which was pulled down and broken up about 1647. Later a statue of King Charles I on horseback was erected where the original Eleanor Cross used to stand, near which is now Trafalgar Square.