#gotta do my part for my second favorite doomed lesbians

[riccissance]

just started a new lottielee fic and am mostly in the editing stage for the most recent chapter of my jackishauna fic. i only started writing last year and it's completely taken over my life omfg i can barely think about anything other than the soccer cannibals. this show definitely rewired my brain lmao

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Autistic Sherlock is also Ace

I just rewatched “A Scandal in Belgravia” which is possibly my favorite Sherlock episode, because brainy is indeed the new sexy and I love me a strong, confident female character. I’m rewatching the series because I feel that Sherlock is actually autistic, despite his claims of sociopathy. But this episode deals specifically with sex and relationships, and I was always torn regarding Sherlock’s behavior when I blithely assumed he was in fact sociopathic as he claimed. Silly me, I gotta stop taking characters’ words for things. #unreliablenarratormuch

Let me preface my observations by saying that, as an ace person myself, it’s embarrassing that I didn’t pick up on Sherlock’s acery before now. However, that’s likely due to the fact that ace folks of any stripe just do not get portrayed in mainstream media and storytelling. Sex sells, and we don’t want any. Alas, a lament for another time. Because Sherlock is, in fact, ace. The Virgin, by choice.

But I’ll tell you, as an ace, I have gotten my share of squishes. Squishes are basically aesthetic crushes, where a person’s style, personality, etc, just clicks with you, like love at first sight sometimes, but you don’t wanna bed them or even date them. You just wanna hang out and bask in their presence, where snuggling or dramatic pulse-taking are optional. That’s a squish. IMHO it stems from the same place as other people’s crushes and lust. It’s an expression of our desire to be social, to be with someone who is like us in some way. It’s an impulse driven by our drive to connect as a social animal. We just wanna be with someone in a way that makes us feel not alone.

Sherlock, being autistic, has possibly never in his life felt a squish before. He’s very different and he knows it. What connection could he possibly have, especially with a non-autistic, non-genius human being? But don’t despair, Sherlock. You don’t actually know everything. 

See, Irene Adler gets a squish on him, too. She’s gay. She doesn’t want to topple Sherlock into bed for her own personal pleasure. That’s just her job talking. That’s how she usually expresses connection. Sex is her most common connection to other people because of her work. But she’s really clever, and that cleverness doesn’t really fit into her day job--it just keeps her alive. She prepares carefully for her first meeting with Sherlock, because she wants to connect with him on a level she rarely gets to share with anyone.

An asexual autistic genius and a lesbian dominatrix. Most people might think that’s a romance doomed from the start. But they’re not looking at all the clues. It’s a relationship of appreciation and connection and respect. They see each other as they truly are, and they accept each other, flaws and all. 

You won’t find a relationship better than that, sex or no. It’s not doomed. It’s complete.

All the parts where Sherlock and Irene lean close Do Things To Me™, because seeing them revel in their shared squish is the happiest thing I can imagine. Sherlock literally doesn’t know what to do with a gorgeous, interested female, though. He sounds like he’s honestly piecing his sentences together one word at a time because he’s calculating them and judging her reaction at every step. 

“She’s awfully close to my face right now. But she said she’s gay. Was that a lie? I’d better check her pulse to find out. Solid information will help me make better decisions here, because I’m entirely out of my depth. And I’d better slide my hand onto her wrist softly because she’s used to being the one in charge and I don’t want to get smacked with a riding crop a second time. That hurt.”

At the end, when Sherlock practically begs John for Irene’s phone, just as a souvenir, and he stretches his hand out, all long fingers and open palm and slender wrist, God. She’s climbed inside his soul. He needs to keep her there. Her phone is a talisman, protecting and reinforcing all his memories and impressions, his recollection of her every word. She is The Woman™ because she’s the only person he’s ever squished on in his life. She is special. She saw him for who he was and never judged him harshly, never disappointed him, never struggled to keep up. Even John, bless his good soul, hasn’t been that accommodating. 

It literally does not matter to Sherlock that Irene betrayed him and partnered up with Moriarty the whole time. She acted to save his life by contacting Moriarty just before he was going to shoot Sherlock at the pool. She never put on a mask to hide her true self out of fear or for the benefit of those around her. She lived truly, embracing all of herself. Sherlock does the same. In his mind, they are cut from the same cloth. A stylish coat and its flamboyant scarf. They match.

Sherlock’s experiencing the ace version of falling in love. He’s connected with her on every level that matters to him. No one could ask for more.