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theemptyquarto · 4 years ago

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Abandoned WIP

This is a melancholy little entry that I stopped working on back in 2015, apparently, since Mary and John’s daughter is an “Amelia” rather than a “Rosie,” and Mary’s real name is “Angela” not “Rosamund” During the period in which I was writing it they announced, filmed, and released the film “Mr. Holmes” which deals with some similar subjects but which I did NOT rip off. I ripped off a Mitchell and Webb sketch:)

Age, eventually, makes mockeries of all of us. When I was in my sixties and seventies, I discovered that I did in fact have a heart. And a pancreas. And many joints, none of which seemed to want to work together properly anymore. And several other failing body parts that required me to take a dozen pills every single day of my life.

None of this happened to Sherlock. He remained more or less exactly as he’d always been, just craggier. He kept his hair, and when it changed color it started in elegant wings over his temples then became a flattering overall silver. Meanwhile I discovered that even once I gave up on blonde, I would have to keep coloring my hair, since it was an unattractive yellowish grey when left to its own devices.

Despite my array of minor ailments, our life together was… good. We split our time between the Sussex downs, where his bees were, and London, where our grandchildren were. He took cases, but only the most interesting ones. I wrote my novels, but only every three years, instead of the annual volumes I’d churned out in my prime. Sherlock wrote a practical handbook on beekeeping and was furious that nobody wished to buy it.

It was a snowy winter afternoon in Baker Street, and he’d just come in from the cold. He was flushed and excited to tell me all about what he’d been up to since he’d been gone for a week: a commonplace-seeming garroting that had led to the discovery of an active human-sacrifice cult with multiple sites across Europe. I vaguely considered putting it into a story but decided it was so wildly implausible that even my extremely patient readers wouldn’t believe it.

“Oh, you should have seen it, Mary!” he exclaimed, “There I was, tied to the altar below the statue of Czernobog, and the priest was saying the chant and holding the rope over my head, when all at once the door burst open and-“

He paused, then, and said, “Oh, hell. What’s his name? The detective inspector? Amelia’s boss? Black, muscular, gay?”

“Ted Gregson.”

“Yes. Right. Him.”

He didn’t continue on, but flung himself into chair and stared into the fireplace. I prodded, “So then what happened?”

“I believe something’s gone wrong with my mind, Mary.”

I rolled my eyes at that. For someone who was always as healthy as a horse he was a terrible hypochondriac.

“You had a senior moment. Anyway you never used to remember Greg’s name either… you may have some sort of block for DIs.”

“No. This is something different. And it’s been going on for a while.”

Sherlock was right. He mostly was. Like a lot of intelligent people, he’d been able to compensate for the earliest stages, but he was right. After that, the progression seemed terribly fast. We spent several months in a haze of scans and therapy, and he accumulated enough prescription bottles to rival my own collection. Some of them were highly experimental and provided by his brother’s network of mysterious scientists. None of them really seemed to do much.

Amelia, being the dear that she is, volunteered to take us in when it all started getting too much for me to handle by myself. But she had three young children and a husband to look after, a hugely busy career with the Met, plus far too many stairs for me to manage every day. Therefore I sold the house at Baker Street for an obscene amount of money to a city stockbroker, and we moved out to the downs for what I knew would be the last time.

I’ve spent my life moving on and leaving things behind me. I’d dropped the original version of myself with no real regrets. I’d quit my first two careers, both of which I’d been proud of and enjoyed. I’d managed to get through the death of a husband who I had loved so much that even thirty years later it still hurt to think of him. So it’s silly how many tears I shed over that dingy Georgian money pit.

But the cash I got for the place was very helpful. Despite the continuing success of the Jim Winston novels and the fact that Sherlock had softened up on taking dull cases for money as he aged, we weren’t exactly rich. Then, too, we had new expenses. I had to hire a nice young woman to help me look after the house, and a large young man to keep an eye on Sherlock in the evenings, since he tended to want to wander after dark.

Then I had to hire another nice young woman because Sherlock had deduced that the original one was unfaithful to her husband, and had of course done it to her face. Then another large young man since Sherlock, who took a while to experience any of the physical debility that comes with Alzheimer’s, got confused and shoulder-threw the first one across the lounge one evening. At a certain point I arranged for a local hippie couple to come by and look after the bees in exchange for the honey.

We carried on for a few years. He had his good days and his bad ones. On his good days he’d still consult, by email, since he had a rock-hard certainty that England couldn’t get by without him. I published “The Mountain of Fear,” which sold as well as any of my books but as always was savaged by the critics for popularist dreck.

I started work on my next novel and got about a quarter of the way through it. Then one day I realized that it was likely that it would be the last one I ever had time to write, and that after it was done, there would be no more Jim Winston stories. I could face not writing it, but I couldn’t face a world where John, even a fictionalized and imaginary John, wasn’t around, and so I put the MS in a drawer in my desk and turned the key. “Caught in transition from imagination to life” was the best epitaph I could have written for him, with my limited abilities.

We had fewer and fewer good days.

On a brilliant indian summer day, I went to London to have a new and complicated type of bone scan that couldn’t be done locally. This was mostly uneventful, although we incidentally discovered that I had finally shrunk to the point where I was less than five feet tall. The nurse said the radiologist would look over the films and be in touch in the next few weeks. I took Amelia to lunch and we talked about the grandchildren, mostly, and she promised to bring them out for a visit at the weekend. Then I took the train back home- I still drove, but didn’t care to do it in the city any more.

When I got back from the station, there was a long black town car parked on the gravel drive in front of our house. The driver, a lovely young woman and obviously a Secret Service agent, was leaning on the hood smoking a cigarette. She nodded politely to me as I passed by. I therefore was not surprised to see Sherlock’s brother sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea. He shared the Holmes tendency for turning up where he wasn’t expected.

Or wanted.

Like his brother, he was well-preserved physically, though in the case of Mycroft the adjective “mummified” always seemed more appropriate. He had to be nearly ninety but his eyes were as bright and judgmental as they ever had been. He nodded to me as Vithnya, the second housekeeper, helped me out of my coat.

“Mycroft.”

“Mary.”

We weren’t ever particularly friendly. He’d never trusted me, and had verbally disapproved of my relationship with Sherlock until it was so well-established that it had become a pointless gesture on his part. For my part, I despised the constant needling that was his preferred method of interaction with his younger brother. To the best of my knowledge he and Sherlock hadn’t met in person for nearly three years.

Even with all that, it was oddly relaxing to talk to him. We were both such skilled and professional liars that we never bothered trying it out with one another.

“How’s he done since I was out?” I asked Vithnya.

“Pretty well. He had a nice chat with Mr. Holmes – with Mr. Mycroft Holmes, that is - and now he’s out with his bees. But he was a little agitated this morning. He kept walking around looking for someone called Angela.”

I could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring in to me over the rim of his teacup. I smiled at the girl and said, “He was looking for me. It’s an old joke we used to have.”

She giggled, and I realized abruptly that she was relieved, that she’d worried I’d be hurt that my husband, in his confusion, wanted to see another woman. This was a thought that was so ridiculous on so many levels that I could have giggled myself.

Vithnya grinned, white teeth in her red lips, and said, “I don’t know about that. This Angela sounds like a most desperate character!”

“I was quite the firecracker when I was younger, my girl. Can you keep an eye on him while I chat with Mycroft, please?”

She poured me a cup of tea of my own and went off to do just that.

Mycroft said, “You don’t seem at all nervous of discovery now that Sherlock has lost what - minimal filters - he ever had.”

“I’m not.”

“No statute of limitations on murder.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He was the one, after all, who had replaced my rather half-assed false identity with something that could stand up to any scrutiny.

“She won’t think about it for more than thirty seconds after leaving this room. I am a little old lady. In the mind of a twenty-two year old, not only am I obviously harmless now but it is inconceivable I ever would have been otherwise. You ought to consider hiring some of us on at MI-6. We’re practically invisible.”

“Perhaps I ought.”

I took a biscuit, damn my blood sugar, and dunked it into my tea.

“Did you and Sherlock have a nice chat?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

“We did,” he said, eventually, “For seventy-eight minutes. Not once in that period did he recognize me. I could tell he was making his best deductions. Sometimes he thought I was John Watson. Sometimes Greg Lestrade, sometimes Victor Trevor. I didn’t realize-”

“Didn’t realize what?”

“That he had become so debilitated. That he was so far gone.”

I sighed.

“He’s dying, Mycroft. What did you think it would be like?”

He took another biscuit from the packet on the table and put it into his mouth. Chewed.

“I never thought that he would be the first to go. I always assumed that I wouldn’t be the one left standing. When he’s gone-”

He trailed off. But I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they’d been my own. When Sherlock was gone there would be no one left with the same sort of mind that Mycroft had… except the departure had already happened, and he’d missed it.

I had some sympathetic pangs – for Mycroft Holmes, of all people – and I said, “He generally perks up a bit in the evenings. I’m happy to put you up, if you’d like. Perhaps you could… try again?”

The British Government responded as I should have expected. He rose, brushed nonexistent crumbs off his lapels, and took up his hat and umbrella.

“I think that my presence is of no help to him any longer, Mary. I expect that I will see you again. At least once.”

He actually bowed to me on his way out.

I finished my tea, and looked out of the window. Vithnya was sitting in the grass, folding a basket of laundry. Sherlock was sitting on the bench that looked out over the garden. Both of them seemed contented, at least as far as one could tell from that distance. The sun was at a deep angle, and so I picked up a blanket and left for the outdoors.

I was glad I had done, as it was starting to get chilly outside and he was in shirtsleeves. Had I married any other man but this one I would have thought that his indifference to the elements was a sign of his decay, but frankly he’d done the exact same thing when he was forty. “Just transport,” is the motto he maintained, in far worse weather than this.

At some point in his life someone, presumably his mother, drilled some basic forms of politeness into Sherlock Holmes. He was terrifyingly, frankly rude in ordinary conversation but when you handed him a cup of tea or tucked a blanket around his body you would inevitably receive a gracious, “Ah, thank you.” It’d be in the tone of a king addressing his subjects, but you’d get it. I got just that as I settled the afghan around his knees, and sat down next to him to look over the hives.

“I’m expecting John and Mary to turn up. Have you seen them?” he asked me.

When he’d first become ill, he’d asked me to always correct him when he had his lapses. I’d agreed, but, again, I was such a natural liar that it didn’t much trouble me to say now that, “I believe they’ll be along shortly.” Awful, I know, but sometimes I just wanted not to see him upset.

“Ah,” he replied.

A drone, a late survivor of the autumnal purges, buzzed up and landed on the blanket over his knee. He gently nudged it onto his hand and raised it to eye level before setting it down on the ground.

“I’m a bit worried,” he said, conversationally.

“About what?” I asked.

“Occasionally John’s wife lets me shag her. And I’m not sure that’s right.”

I blinked. Occasionally? Thirty-odd years, and I’m not going to go into details about our sex life but it was really very acceptable, and occasionally is what he remembered? And that I ‘let him’? But all I said was, “I’m sure Mary wouldn’t do that if John objected. So it’s all right.”

“Ah, good. You know Mary, then?”

“I do, yes.”

He squinted at me, which, Gawd-help-us, was still terribly cute.

“You’re… one of her relatives,” he said, hesitantly.

I smiled. “I am,” I said, “How did you know that?”

He grinned at me. No matter what he’d ever said or how much he’d griped about the unobservant nature of most people, I knew that he loved to explain his deductions.

“It’s the ears,” he said, setting the pads of his fingers on my chin and turning my face to the side, “Not quite as uniquely identifying as a fingerprint but with a strong genetic component. The pendulosity of the lobes, the position of the pinnae… clearly you and Mary are closely connected. You’re too old to be the younger sister, and the mother is dead, but..”

He took hold of my hand and looked at my fingers. “There’s other things. You and Mary both have a minor congenital deformity of the smallest finger. It angles slightly outward. Not enough to disable either of you, but distinctive, and…”

He turned my hands in his. I have nearly perfectly matched scars on my palms… on my right hand, the souvenir of a Caracas knife fight when I was twenty-seven. On my left, the souvenir of reaching into a sink filled with dishwater and one broken glass when I was forty.

And then he stopped, still staring at my hands, and said, “Oh. Oh Mary. How could I have forgotten you? I had you off by heart.”

I lifted a hand and stroked his grizzled chin.

“It’s fine,” I said, “You have me back.”

He just tangled his fingers in mine and stared.

“That’s my mother’s ring,” he said. “Did I give that to you?”

I looked at the amethyst on my right ring finger and said, “Yes. When we got married.”

“I remember that. You were beautiful in your dress.”

I laughed, unwittingly. “That was my first wedding. You and I just went to a registry office at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.”

“Really?”

“We did. There wasn’t much time to plan a wedding. The exact words of your proposal were, “If I have to be Sir Sherlock you can damn well be Lady Mary.” It was the day before you got your KCBE.”

“By God. What a rubbish proposal.”

I smiled.

“Unconventional, definitely. But I wouldn’t have had you any other way.”

#quarto's fics #Marylock #retirementlock #Major character death #it's john #and in this story it happened decades ago

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notgonnarememberthis · 5 years ago

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A Compromising Engagement - Chapter 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you trust him?”

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

“Kitty too?”

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

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

“Thank you Hannah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nonsense, my son was engaged.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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nellie-elizabeth · 5 years ago

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Elementary: Their Last Bow (7x13)

Oh my goodness what the heck I'm crying! That was so lovely!

Cons:

It sure would have been cool to get Natalie Dormer back as Jamie Moriarty, but I understand why they couldn't. A part of me wishes that a bit less of this episode had been focused on her, because it kind of set up expectations that she might make an appearance after all. Next to the looming specter of Jamie Moriarty, the random NSA guy just didn't pack much of a punch.

I absolutely loath the narrative device of showing a coffin and trying to fake out the audience as to who has died. They've done it on Arrow, they've done it on pretty much every procedural show I've ever watched... I'm sick of it. This one was particularly annoying because it dragged on for a while, with Sherlock and McNally talking about a nameless "she" who had died. Obviously we're supposed to think it's Joan, but it turns out it's Jamie Moriarty in the end. Sigh. This was obvious and they dragged it out way too long.

Pros:

But whatever! This episode was so soft and lovely! My favorite thing about Elementary for all of these years has been how down-to-earth it is. We don't need to have insane drama at the last minute. We need a quiet story about relationships and love. That is exactly what we were gifted here at the end, and I adored every second of it. I'm a little unsure where to even start, actually.

The idea of doing a flash-forward in a finale episode is always slightly risky, but in this case I think it worked really well. We want to know how these people's lives are going to continue. We want to see their futures play out for us, or at least a little section of them.

Bell becomes Captain! And gets married and has a kid! I'm proud of him, and I love that Joan tells him (and Gregson) that Sherlock is alive. I get that Sherlock wants to protect people, but Joan was right to put them out of their misery. Bell's reaction to seeing Sherlock is to punch him, and honestly... right on. I like that Bell is hurt, but that he's still ultimately Joan's biggest supporter, and you know that he and Sherlock can patch things up.

Gregson is retired now, and Paige has passed away. He spends time with his remaining family and seems to be enjoying his retirement. He gets one of the best lines in the episode, when he wonders why Sherlock is leaving again. After all, there's only one person in the world that Sherlock truly loves, and she's in New York. That is just such a gut-punch and I love that Gregson is there to offer that perspective. He also betrays Joan's trust by telling Sherlock about her cancer, but under the circumstances, I'm not mad at him for that.

And let's talk about the creme de la creme - the reason I watched this show for seven seasons. Sherlock and Joan's relationship. I've never seen a show pull off a relationship like this. I trusted and believed that they'd never go the romance route with them, but there was always that fear in the back of my mind that they'd pull a Mulder and Scully or follow the precedent of pretty much every similar show on the air. When you have a man and woman team up to solve crimes, they're supposed to fall in love at some point, apparently. But Joan and Sherlock... they do love each other. They are family in every way. But they're not in a romantic or sexual relationship. They never were, and they were never going to be. I love it! I'm so excited! Last season gave us this understated sendoff for the characters that worked beautifully as a final episode to celebrate their partnership. This season managed to give another understated sendoff, one that I liked perhaps even more, because Gregson and Bell also got a chance for beautiful final moments.

Joan goes through with adopting a child, which I was really pleased about. I always loved the potential of that plot thread, and while it was mostly dropped from the show, it comes back here in the perfect way. Her son, named Arthur (ostensibly as a tribute to Arthur Conan Doyle), is just the cutest little guy. And Sherlock is in awe of him. He's so complimentary and so honored to meet him, and keeping Arthur safe is a big part of the reason he stayed away from New York. It might not be a totally logical impulse - after all, if Sherlock has enemies, it wouldn't be difficult for those enemies to find out about his relationships in New York. Joan and Arthur might have been targets no matter what. But the instinct is also really sweet, and selfless. We learn that Sherlock relapsed during his time away, and he's especially afraid of being a part of Arthur's life if there's the risk he might not be able to stay sober. I bet Sherlock is an amazing caregiver to little Arthur. We don't know if he becomes something like a father to the child or not, but knowing that he's with Joan, that their partnership remains, and that Arthur gets to grow up with Sherlock Holmes in his life, is warming my heart to no end.

We now need to talk about The Scene. You know the one I'm talking about. Sherlock learns what's going on with Joan, learns that she has cancer. He comes to her, horrified at the thought that she was going to let him leave and go back to his work around the world, without even telling him about it. Joan gets upset too, saying that she plans on beating this thing, that she didn't want him to feel like he had to stay... and then Sherlock hugs her, and says of course he's staying. The acting in this scene from both of them was beautiful. Sherlock was getting so choked up. He was so scared for Joan, and so upset at the thought that she would have kept this from him. See how it feels, Sherlock? Yeesh. In any case, of course Sherlock will stay with her. We even get that affirmation in the final scene of the episode, when Sherlock says that nothing else matters as long as they're together.

I want to talk about my favorite little detail from that last scene, actually. Obviously Sherlock's last words on the show being about his partnership with Joan, and how much he values it, is pure excellence. But it's earlier, on the elevator, that I think their relationship is demonstrated at its finest. Joan asks what Sherlock thinks of her wig, they banter about that for a moment, and then Sherlock asks Joan if she has the note from her doctor declaring her "cancer free." When Joan says she doesn't have it, and that Bell isn't likely to need an actual doctor's note to give her the job back, Sherlock replies that it doesn't matter, he has a copy of it in his email inbox.

It's just that little thing, right there. Joan forwarding the results of her doctor's tests to Sherlock, and Sherlock keeping it. Over the years, I've always complimented this show on the way it sweats the details. The little things, the proof of domesticity and partnership, that pervades their relationship. I love that even in this final scene, that dynamic was what was at play. Simply beautiful.

For this finale, I give a score of:

9/10

For the show as a whole... gosh. You know, in so many ways this show is just a procedural, and while there have been plenty of similar shows over the years that I've enjoyed in various degrees, this particular genre of TV show is not really my thing. In fact, I don't think I'll ever start another show like this again, unless there's something truly exceptional about it. I could do without the bajillion case-of-the-week plots. I'm never all that intrigued by the murder mysteries, the gathering clues, the capturing of criminals. But the core of this show was something more beautiful than I know how to describe. Just the joy of having a truly platonic love story between a man and a woman, the pleasure of watching them build a life and a relationship together over so many years, made this show one of my favorites to watch each week. I have to mark it down for the fact that most of its run-time was eaten up by procedural cop stories, and that's just not what I watched it for. But the rest of it was so good that I can't exactly give this show a negative rating. Over-all, Elementary gets...

8/10

#review #elementary #elementary review #elementary cbs #i can't believe it's over!

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whump-my-dear-watson · 5 years ago

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Whumptober day no.21, 22 +29

“laced drink” “hallucination” “numb”

Character: Sherlock Holmes

Fandom: Elementary

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Sherlock is drugged and he suffers a lot of guilt and self-blame while wrestling his demons of the past.

Warnings: drug use (unwillingly), mention of past addiction, hallucinations that aren’t that nice to him

Sherlock’s hands were numb, that wasn’t a good sign. His gaze drifted to Watson across the room, as she sipped her wine, mingling with the other guests at the party, which is what they were supposed to be doing.

Gathering Intel, learning, hopefully getting clues to solve their case, but in all honesty...the case was the farthest thing from Sherlock’s mind.

He knew this hazy feeling he knew almost instantly that he had been drugged, he fumbled with his glass before dropping it to the ground.

At the sound of the shatter, he became the center of stare’s, including Watson’s. She rushed to him, a concerned look etched on her face.

“Sherlock?”

He rose his eyebrows and nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Drawing his mouth tight he took a long breath.

“My drink. Watson, I’ve been drugged.”

Joan’s eyes widened at the new information, then her ex sober companion face made an appearance.

“Let’s sit down,” she said, directing him towards a coach outside all the wandering eyes of the party.

“Do you know what it is? Who did it?”

He shook his head, “You know my history, I’m not foreign to these things, but...no. As of right now, I can’t tell what it is. Didn’t see anything either,” he rushed, now talking in excess.

“Are you okay?” she asked tenderly.

“Okay? Watson, I’ve been struggling with my sobriety for what seems to be ages, and in one moment it was all wiped away.”

“No! You have been doing amazing Sherlock, this was not your fault- you are the victim.

“Yes. The victim of addiction,” he muttered unable to give up the guilt that he held for himself.

His head swayed in place, a part of him thought he saw Watson dial 911, but another part of him wondered if anyone was moving at all.

“Oh brother, you can’t do anything right can you?”

Sherlock looked up to see Mycroft standing in front of him, his outline blurry, but voice as sharp as ever.

“What are...what are you doing here?” he spat out.

Mycroft smiled in pity, “I’m always here when you fail little brother.”

Sherlock blinked and Mycroft was gone.

“Who are you talking to?” Joan asked, careful to keep her tone light as to not upset him any further.

“I-it was...my brother.” Sherlock said in a quiet voice realizing he was starting to hallucinate. Never his choice of drugs, too messy.

“Hey, hey, just breathe. Help is on its way. I let Gregson know too, that someone's got it out for you, all you got to do is breathe. You’re going to be okay.”

Joan’s steady voice started to fade into sharper, more clear words of someone else.

“You messed up again. Like always, but how could anyone expect you to solve anything? You didn’t even see who I was...”

Sherlock looked to see the beautiful face of Irene, his old love. She smiled cruelly down at him, “You really think you’re a better person? You’re still the same old, incapable... dumb...junkie.”

Sherlock recoiled at her words, but before he could even think of something to say, she was gone.

“Sherlock you need to look at me, okay.” Joan directed his gaze toward her.

“Keep your eyes on me. I’m real. I’m not a hallucination. You’re here, you’re real.” Joan repeated in a calming voice.

Sherlock couldn’t keep his eyes in one place, his heart pounding throughout his body. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t talk, all he could do was sit and confront his demons.

He fumbled a numb hand through his sweat soak hair, closing his eyes. He couldn’t handle much more of this. Suddenly it was as if all the weight of the world was crushing down on his chest, he couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Eyes full of panic he jumps from the coach, no longer able to sit still, his breathing erratic Joan tried to calm him down. Sherlock was unable to focus on his partner, he wasn’t able to focus on anything. Flashed of faces of everyone he ever had wronged raced through his head, his vision was blurry and spotted, and what terrified him to his core is he didn’t know what was real and what was just the figment of his diluted imagination.

“Sherlock, calm down, you’re okay. Take a seat,” Joan tried to help him over to the couch again but he wasn’t having it, he couldn’t trust anything, anyone.

Sherlock wasn’t sure how long he was pacing the room, or if he was even pacing at all, he only knew that he recognized that sound...sirens.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance and police filled the room, and guest of the party swarmed to exit, Sherlock still unable to tell what was real quickly started to lose his mind.

Overwhelmed by the sensations of it all and the drugs hitting his system full-on, Sherlock collapsed into himself. The thud of his body connecting with the ground echoed throughout the room.

***

Joan studied his face in the hospital bed, he didn’t look terrible. Maybe it was because this was his first time sleeping in the past week but he almost looked...peaceful. Compared to the party last night, it was a reassuring sight.

She smiled down at him as he opened his eyes. “Hey, how’re you doing?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus. Wonderful.” he said with a pained smile.

Joan nodded, not wanting to push him any further than he wanted to go, but refusing to let him face this on his own.

“Sherlock, if you ever need to talk….I’m here. This doesn’t have to be a setback.”

He nodded and looked down. In his head, he knew she was right. He knew that just because he had drugs in his system after all this time, it didn’t mean he failed. But he also knew himself. He knew it would take him a lot longer to accept that for himself. All in due time, he supposed.

“Thank you Watson.”

“Always.”

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leafenclaw · 5 years ago

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Elementary Sheriarty Fic Recs

I’m a picky reader so there’s a good amount of well-written stories that nearly made the list but in the end didn’t, often because of characterisation. If you want a list of those as well, or if I missed something you think I might like, please feel free to drop me a note.

Enjoy!

Sheriarty-centric

9:26 pm Friday, by makokitten [Sherlock/Jamie] His schedule is almost always clear where she's concerned. She's not so generous with him.

And Silver In Our Lungs, by paperclipbitch [Sherlock/Jamie] The London rain falls like an inevitability, and Irene Adler is waiting for her lover.

Burning Landscapes, by lonely_is_so_lonely_alone [Sherlock/Jamie, freeform poetry] After Jamie Moriarty is set free, Sherlock wonders just how like Irene she really is.

Фальшивые слабости (Fake Tell), by Elsfia [Russian. Sherlock/Jamie] She smiles, lips pressed in a thin line, and he, to his own chagrin, is unable to discern whether this is a bluff or a double bluff; he only knows that he cannot trust Jamie, and therefore always looks for the signs of deceit.

got a lot to not do (let me kill it with you), by kathryne [Sherlock/Jamie] “I dearly hope you'll write soon.”

hiding, by mine_eyes_dazzle [Sherlock/Jamie] But really, it is simple, is it not? She makes him human, and he will not admit it.

Inevitably, by 235413 [Holmes/Moriarty across fandoms] Various Moriartys and inevitably, their Sherlocks. (ACD canon, The Woman in Green, A Game of Shadows, Sherlock, Elementary)

Not Tonight, Josephine: a duet, by paperclipbitch [Sherlock/Jamie, Sherlock & Joan] There’s only one letter’s difference between ‘deduced’ and ‘seduced’.

post love, by singsongsung [Sherlock/Jamie] Sherlock, now, is post love. He is objective.

Pumpkin Spice, by TheTeaDetective [Sherlock/Jamie] In which Jamie is secretive about her drink order, and Sherlock finds out by accident anyway.

She Is, by luridCavum [Sherlock/Irene, written pre-reveal] She’s not like the drug, or the syringe, or the smoke. She’s not like. She is.

sorry i came to your party, by Rabbitt [Sherlock/Jamie] A list of things Sherlock Holmes no longer misses: London, cocaine, Moriarty.

Splinter, by Verbyna [Sherlock/criminal!Irene, Sherlock & Joan, written pre-reveal] The night before she was killed, Irene asked Sherlock if he’d ever seriously considered crime instead of law enforcement.

stealing away into the night, by 100demons [Sherlock/criminal!Irene, written pre-reveal] They play cat and mouse through fifteen different countries.

Subtler Tones, by Verbyna [Sherlock/Jamie, role-reversal] Consulting detective Irene Adler always suspected she’d wind up in love with her archnemesis. It seemed like the sort of thing that might happen to people who only live because death sounds duller.

The Moriarty Letters, by Danielle Shelton Walczak One, Two, Three, Four [WIP, Sherlock/Jamie, references to Sherlock & Joan] A re-imagining of the letters written by Jamie Moriarty to Sherlock Holmes, leading to their correspondence through season 2 to 5.

untitled soulmate drabble, by Writerly Ramblings [Sherlock/Jamie] Sherlock/Moriarty, mostly-canon-compliant soulmates AU.

waiting for a lover, by mine_eyes_dazzle [Sherlock/Jamie, freeform prose poetry] and you wonder how you got here / you were supposed to be above / such fickle matters as love / and yet here you are in the burning rain / waiting for a lover.

you can’t cry, by mine_eyes_dazzle [Sherlock/Jamie] Hunger Games AU. The conversation they had, that morning, comes back to her a lot - comes back because of the harsh truth of his words. They never did win anything.

Background Sheriarty

Other dynamics take central stage, but Sherlock/Jamie’s relationship is implied to be impactful/significant to the story and is treated respectfully, not as a stepping stone to another “better” relationship.

mornings after, nights before, by yonderdarling [Sherlock & Joan, mention of Sherlock/Jamie & Joan/Andrew] Joan and Sherlock in bed together on various occasions. and waking up together, on others.

not david bowie, by paperclipbitch [Sherlock & Joan, Joan/Marcus, mention of Sherlock/Irene, written pre-reveal] Slightly AU. When Joan walks into the brownstone, she nearly garrottes herself on a skein of yarn strung across the hall.

Sign of Three, by YourFairyGodfather [Unfinished/abandoned WIP. Joan & Jamie, Joan & Sherlock, Sherlock & Jamie, past Sherlock/Jamie] There was no hint of it in her letters, no warning of her coming. She simply arrived one afternoon in late September, the autumn wind tugging at her coat and a small suitcase at her feet as she waited patiently on the front porch for one of them to open the door.

Things They Don’t Talk About, by PhoenixFalls [Gregson/Sherlock, mention of Sherlock/Jamie] Tommy's hands on Sherlock's shoulders; Sherlock's inability to say "I'm sorry." Tattoos, involuntarily acquired, hidden away. Their silences speak volumes.

waltz across naïve wood floors, by paperclipbitch [Sherlock & Joan, mention of Sherlock/Irene, written pre-reveal] "You're wearing my underwear again, aren't you," Joan says.

With a Whimper (A Sexy, Sexy Whimper), by fluorineandsilver [Crossover with BBC!Sherlock. Jim/Jamie, mention of Sherlock/Jamie, hints at future Jim/Sherlock and Sherlock/John] All the universes that contain Sherlock Holmes are collapsing in on each other. It’s the end of the world. Jim Moriarty is not wearing any pants.

@dynamics-of-an-asteroid also insisted I added my own stuff to this list, so here you go. Hope you enjoy it!

Composite, by Leafenclaw [Sherlock/Jamie, Sherlock/Irene, Moriarty-centric, Sherlock-centric] Collection of 221b Ficlets in the Elementary universe. Currently very Moriarty-oriented, may eventually cover a wide range of characters and pairings depending on where inspiration takes me.

#fandom: elementary #ship: sheriarty #ship: shading & penmanship #fic recs #I feel like this is the best of what the fandom produced so far for that pairing #it's a shame there's so little stories exploring what their relationship is post early seasons though #but I'm happy to work on that myself eventually

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liggytheauthoress · 5 years ago

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trigger warning for mentions of school shootings in tonight's Elementary

Sherlock has no fucks to give when it comes to wealthy assholes and I love it

okay I understand wanting to replace your electronics but was shooting them full of nails really necessary

"I've seriously considered murder on at least two occasions." I'm pretty sure that number should be higher

I don't trust this lady but then again I never trust the first suspect

you'd think after over six seasons Joan going into deductive!mode would stop Upsetting me so much but NOPE

oh like the NSA is gonna be helpful

"Tell me you didn't wear that to your meeting with Agent McNally."

I immediately don't trust this guy but admittedly I never trust any of the white dude suspects

weeeeell that could have ended better

the wardrobe department might still be putting Joan in suits but at least they haven't been full suits with neckties. It's not a large consolation but it's still something.

"You're not pregnant, your hearing is heightened when you're pregnant." "...Are you pregnant?"

okay this doctor is a greedy unethical dick but I'm not getting murderer vibes from him

not sure I trust Tessa though but that's bc my brain loves it when the least likely suspect is the killer

dude I would not eat anything in Sherlock's house without knowing EXACTLY what it was

is Tessa is pregnant with the dead guy's child (yes I know this theory is ludicrous but it's fun so who cares) (but really they had to have made her character pregnant for a reason)

I really love Gregson's replacement

"You know what, this stuff is so good I don't care how much weasel puke is in it." same tbh

so theoretically the grove of coffee trees would pass to the dude's next of kin...say, a child... (I know I'm reaching but look it would be really cool if I had called this motive)

I was ready to be underwhelmed by Reichenbach (shudders) as a final villain but he's growing on me (and by that I mean I Hate him but, like, as a villain, not a as a character)

"SHE had a patient" MMHMMMM

FUCKING CALLED IT

"Did you become a member of Reichenbach's cabal before I came to see you or after?" saw that one coming

you mean the NSA agent COULDN'T be trusted???? this is completely out of left field

dude threatening Sherlock's loved ones literally never ends well

"Let's see, there's someone I'm forgetting, isn't there?" ESPECIALLY WHEN THE LOVED ONE IN QUESTION IS JOAN

"Yeah. Dr. Joan Watson. Be a shame if something happened to her." oh my god and that's gonna be the driving force for whatever Sherlock does this season, isn't it? protecting Joan and everyone else just fucking kill me

Sherlock. Sherlock no don't lie to Joan. I know you wanna protect her but no.

#elementary liveblog #spoilers

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airisuwatoson · 6 years ago

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my friends got me on a dgs2 high recently, and it got me thinking a lot about Iris Watson

(major, MAJOR dgs2 spoilers, right up to endgame)

*******

iris’s relation to her real parents wasn’t really a “big deal” in the grand scheme of things, and i’m okay with that.

despite this tumblr’s URL being her, i struggled with iris’s place in the narrative for a long time. while i adore iris a whole lot, and her familial bond with sherlock makes me cry for a million years, her place in the narrative was a complicated subject for me. her relationship with klimt felt a bit like an afterthought, answered at the end of the story. i didn’t know if it was “wasted potential” or not.

but, recently, as i went home one day after discussing the game and its writing with my friends, i finally have an answer. and yeah, i’m sure there’s people who won’t agree with me, but iris’s story is fine. heck, i love it, now that i’m given time to think.

- to me, iris’s involvement in the story is more character-driven; rather than providing us The Clue to solve the conspiracy, we would instead watch her develop as the story goes on and we jump headfirst into the swirling darkness of the conspiracy.

in the first game, we spent the first case solving her presumed father’s murder. when ryuu and susato go to london, they meet iris, who claims to be john watson’s daughter. we get an “Oh, Shit” moment as we now struggle to consider whether we should tell her about her father’s demise. during her conversation at the attic with gina, ryuu and susato, she expresses that she misses her father, even when gina expresses her grievances regarding parents.

in the second game, we get in depth about the mystery, and how iris feels about her missing father. we learn how desperate she was to find out who her father is, even going so far as to have stolen government documents just to learn her father’s name. she is crushed to learn that not only is john watson just a nobody to her, the man who wrote the manuscript for sherlock’s cases wasn’t her father either.

it’s important that we got the scene in the middle of chapter 5 where iris feels a bit sad that she wasn’t yuujin’s daughter (as that would’ve made her susato’s sister), showing how she is still yearning for that biological connection. after susato and ryuu tell her that they’re perfectly fine in being her siblings despite having no blood relation, that’s when she starts to change her mind.

plus, with this exchange, we get an astonishingly heartwarming scene about the baker street family’s bond, even though only two of them are tied by blood. (”ryuu: i’ve got the strongest family backing me, after all” “me: my eyes are sweating”)

and in the end, we see that iris, who has certainly watched how the trial went down while having tea with Queen Victoria (lol), finally decided to stop trying to look for her biological father. she stops yearning for someone who most likely isn’t coming for her, someone who may not be the good father she may have imagined him to be... because she has sherlock, an amazing father who has been by her side this whole time, even if he may be eccentric and flawed.

- (insert me crying for years)

- when iris has her talk about seeing sherlock as her father, she says how she’s caused so much trouble for everyone during her quest to find her father. and it’s true - in the first game, gina goes to the pawn shop to look for the manuscript and gets arrested for murder, while sherlock gets shot; and in the second game, she stole the document about klimt’s autopsy report, which is just?? a bad thing to do??? daughter no

speaking of that, i really appreciate that moment because it’s iris acting out of a strong desire to connect with her father. i’m so glad that it’s plot relevant that susato and ryuu gain access to the document (which also reveals who sherlock’s partner really is), and also a character moment of a sad little girl who’s desperate enough to commit a crime. it kind of reminds me of pearl fey in 3-5, when she does That Bad Thing for a “good” reason? yeah

- i also think that iris serves as another person linked to the overarching theme of “Family” in the dgs series.

we have asougi & genshin, susato & yuujin, barok & klimt. except for ryuu, who is the lens we see this story through, the core cast has a family member, and we seen how... troubling these relationships are.

genshin and klimt’s deaths, as well as their actions before those deaths, have haunted asougi and barok for many years. we also know that susato and yuujin has a rocky relationship, due to how he straight up left the family after susato’s mother passed away. genshin, klimt and mikotoba aren’t 100% good people - and klimt is a heck of an understatement - and it’s caused varying degrees of emotional harm to the younger ones.

i suppose the only one who doesn’t have that is sherlock. he is, instead, linked to iris as her adoptive father. and it makes for a powerful scene when iris, one of the people haunted by the idea of “biological family”, calls him her “papa”. he is genuinely touched by that, considering her gratitude to be the most moving of all, compared to the many thanks he received from people he met in the past.

also sherlock is dadlock and i love the baker street family so much

on a lesser note is gina & gregson. in the first game, gina comes from a lonely past, jaded by how her parents abandoned her. in the second, she goes under the wing of gregson, who is yet another person who has committed numerous atrocities, but is well-meaning in general. in a way, gregson is an unstated father figure for her, and even if he may be bad, he still contributes to her growth. basically gina & gregson also make me cry a lot

to conclude this point, the “found family” narrative is one we see time after time in many stories, but the way DGS expresses this is wonderful.

- another thing is that, the reveal that klimt was iris’s father, felt less like a reveal, and more like the answer to “why hasn’t sherlock and yuujin told iris about her father, despite knowing who he is?”. for me, when i got to the reveal, my reaction was “ahhh, so that’s why they didn’t want iris to know!”

it’s also precious characterization for Klimt van Zieks, the man who committed crime after crime because he felt despair towards the darkness of london’s evils. klimt refused to tell barok about his unborn child, instead trusting this secret to genshin and asking him to help his family. klimt didn’t want iris to be raised in the van zieks household, and then known forever as the professor’s daughter, in case the true identity of the professor is revealed.

it shows that he may have strayed from the path of justice, it also shows that he still loves his family despite everything. after all, vortex managed to blackmail klimt by threatening to harm his wife.

if the dgs games were localized, i have a feeling we’d get so much discourse about klimt, lmao. but to me, it’s nuanced character writing. and if you know me, you know how much i love my flawed characters. klimt is a murderer, and don’t get me wrong, let’s not excuse his crimes, but he feels very human. and this is something we can explore in fiction. klimt van zieks is a tragedy, a good man who faced evil with justice and became the villain in the end.

- in a way, it’s also characterization for sherlock and yuujin, the latter to a lesser degree. they didn’t want iris to find out who her father is at her young age, because they were worried that they’d find out about the atrocities her father committed in the past.

they never intended to let iris know the name of her father, either - it’s only through her discovery that she found the document signed by john watson. at that point, sherlock had to go along with the lie, because to him, that’s better than telling the truth about her murderer of a father, and let her shoulder that truth for the rest of her childhood. he cares about iris, as cruel as his actions may be.

of course, lying to a little girl and letting her believe that her father is a complete stranger isn’t GOOD. but like i said, it feels nuanced, that our good lovable cast is very much imperfect. imo sherlock holmes is Good when you show how hecked up he is as a human being alongside how good he is as the famous detective

- “but john watson WAS involved in the professor case!” the imaginary person in my head says. “iris could still be his daughter, and it could still keep the idea that iris’s parentage would be problematic to the public.”

this is coming from a place of hindsight and being able to see the big picture as a player, but, like. between one of the few people centrally involved in concealing the truth of the the professor’s crimes... and THE guy, the person who committed said heinous crimes? the man who, in this particular narrative, is much more important to learn more about? i’d give the characterization to klimt every day of the week, no question.

and maybe it’s because i don’t have as much of an emotional connection to the sherlock holmes canon, but i don’t really mind that the man named John H. Watson wasn’t as important in the narrative as takumi’s original characters. just because takumi wanted to write sherlock holmes fanfiction, doesn’t mean he has to completely rely on the characters and conventions of sherlock’s stories, i feel?

i mean, we have Mikotoba Yuujin. just because the guy named john watson isn’t the man we know and love in THIS story, doesn’t mean our “sherlock” and our “watson” isn’t still there. i’m okay with takumi and the writing team twisting sherlock canon to fit their narrative. and besides, i’m going to be vague because spoilers, but it’s not as if certain TV shows adapting sherlock holmes haven’t changed the characters to fit their own narratives.

*******

it’s funny to say this, but after writing all that, i feel like i have much more of an appreciation for iris watson’s story, and dgs’s narrative in general. it’s such a good game, and i’m so glad i got to experience this story myself.

#dgs azumisc #i just checked the word count and it's got 1.7k words....... amazing #i even got the '17' number like the idol trash that i am! incredible. astounding. i am unsurprised by my shamelessness #but yeah. i have a lot of feelings about iris watson

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consultingsister-aa · 6 years ago

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SHERLOCK SCOTT WILLIAM HOLMES. aka sherlock holmes. THIRTY-NINE. CONSULTING DETECTIVE. LONDON, ENGLAND. SINGLE / NOT DATING.

Sherlock Scott William Holmes is the middle child and second son born to Violet Earlena Reynolds and Morland George Holmes. Born in London, England eight years after his brother Mycroft Andrew Holmes and two years before his younger sister, Cecelia Violet Holmes, he has a very happy childhood up until the age of five, when his mother died. About a year after the birth of his younger sister, the family moved from their townhouse in London to The Holmes Estate in Sussex so the children would have more room to play and Violet would have the country air, due to her declining health. However, no amount of sheep shit or tractor noises could cure Violet and she died at home when her eldest was twelve.

Morland has always worried that Violet over indulged her younger children, and while Cecelia would stay at home to be homeschooled, aged five, Sherlock was sent to boarding school. It was a nasty shock to the system, being so far from home without his mother or sister. Mycroft did attend the same school however was in the high school and could not always be with his brother. Sherlock was clever, amazingly so, but his social skills were lacking and other children found him ‘odd’. Some boys, as some boys will do at that age, began to bully him and the months between his school holidays became the longest in his life. As he grew older he began to resent not just his school but the man who sent him there; his father. He was also sure, because of her rapid decline and mysterious circumstances around her death, that Morland Holmes had some hand in his wifes decline.

It was this first mystery perhaps that had him interested in, if not obsessing, over puzzles. As he crept into his teen years, he began to read the papers, keeping his ear to the ground for any hint of mystery or wrongdoing. Observation, he found, was key. Humans tended to ignore what was strange, or didn’t fit with the facts, even if it was right in front of their eyes. He wrote to the police on many occasions although never had much luck; who would believe a fifteen year old? Especially a fifteen years old who was doing drugs. He dabbled to begin with, finding certain stimulants quieted the chaos of his mind, but by seventeen he was using hard narcotics on and off.

While Mycroft did find him once or twice with a needle in his arm, Sherlock insisted it was for research purposes only and it would not affect his school work. In fact, it didn’t. After school he was accepted into Cambridge University to study Chemical Engineering. At University, he got on better. He made a few friends, although none he was all that close to. It wasn’t until he met Victory Trevor that things changed; since his younger sister, which didn’t really count, he was his first real friend. Best friend, even. It was also the first time Sherlock experienced a real crush. Although not asexual as some assumed, Sherlock had experienced sexual desire like most other teenage boys in his year, he has considered a waste of energy and time, and done his level best to suppress it. But what was university for if not for experimenting? Victor Trevor could not be more different than Sherlock; a proud bisexual man who took delight in flirting, teasing and getting laid. However, before anything could happen, Victor slept with Sherlock younger sister, and Sherlock considered the matter ended, not yet understanding the matter of ‘casual sex’. If only he had spoken to either, he would have found Celia uncaring and Victor actually hopeful that something might spring up between Sherlock and himself. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t, for his sister.

After graduation, Sherlock travelled. Unsure what to do with himself, he used his mother’s inheritance as well as a healthy trust fund to travel and learn the most about the world as he could. He paused in London only long enough to see his twenty-year-old sister get married and have baby, before heading to Africa. For the next four years he continent hopped his way around the world; getting quite the reputation as a sleuth detective. By the time he returned to London, aged twenty-five, he knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. A CONSULTING DETECTIVE. It was a phrase he had created himself; he would help the police to solve crimes, but not be part of the police. He also returned in time for the end of his sister’s marriage and the horrible realisation that he too, was only human. He has missed, in every phone call and meeting they had over the past four years, that his sister had been badly abused by her husband. And he wished to call himself a detective! It was this, not some matter of the heart, that assured Sherlock that he was right in the belief that alone was better. Because of his love and trust in his sister, he had missed the signs and she had suffered for it. If he really wanted to be a help to those around them, attachment was not possible. CARING IS NOT AN ADVANTAGE, SHERLOCK.

In 2008 Sherlock began renting a two-bedroom flat in Baker Street from a Mrs Hudson. He set up close ties to a few members in the police force; a Detective Inspector Lestrade who was always appreciative of his help, as well as a DI Gregson, who if not appreciative, was at least patient. However his life would be change again when in 2010 he met John Watson; a recently discharged army doctor with a stomach for danger and a need for a room to rent. The doctor moved into 221B Baker Street and Sherlock Holmes had a companion. Within a month or two, John was helping with more cases and he considered himself a consulting detective, like his flatmate.

Not long after, Sherlock Holmes would take on his biggest case to date and meet his nemesis in James Moriarty, a Mathematics professor at Cambridge University as well as being ‘the napoleon of crime’. Nothing evil or organised happened in London with Moriarty’s say so. It was because of his attempts to take Moriarty down that Sherlock’s niece would be kidnapped and killed, or at least in part. You cannot imagine the damage this does to a man who had recently discovered the benefits of attachment and friends. Sherlock through himself to case after case, perhaps believing that saving other’s could somehow save his eight-year-old niece. Life carries on like this; John meets and eventually marries a Mary Morstan; a clever and witty woman who Sherlock adores. Sherlock’s relationship with his family, which he believed would suffer, has only grown in strength in bond and his war with Moriarty continues, only down a slightly more personal path that before.

#( ii. sherlock fancast )#( iv. sherlock holmes )#fanc*

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boypussydilf · 2 years ago

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ok ur choice between homumiko or asoryuu (...or both??????) for the bingos GO

ABSOLUTELY BOTH!!!!!! LETS GOOOOOOO asoryuu first

OH RIGHT EVEN WHEN UR NOT MAKING AN IMAGE POST TUMBLR PUTS THE IMAGES, LIKE, NEXT TO EACH OTHER SOMETIMES. thats gonna make this post a LOT more tolerable !!!!

I don’t actuslly think “divorced” describes anything they have going on accurately at ALL, there’s just a lot of asoryuu divorce jokes and i think divorce is funny so I nod along, but they’re not divorced. I never talk about them ever but no one misunderstand: they are fucking everything. They’re incredible. Bromance of all time but without the romance (but with the romance). They cant be divorced bc they weren’t together and like not in a “characters who have never been married but are still somehow divorced” way theyre just more like. They got to the Awkward In Between Spot where neither of u is sure if this is like, romantic or not, or what you’re gonna do about it, or anything, and then they’ve just been stuck there for a year and are going to continue to be stuck there for a long time I feel bad for them. They’re really gay though “I dont trust myself so here take this, the sword that is a metaphor for my soul” Stop being gay in public…

FUCK I MEANT TO CIRCLE GAY AF TO HAVE A SWORN RIVAL !!!!!!!!!!! They’re not Sworn Rivals by any means? They’re not even really Rivals on a temporary basis? But also they kind of are. You get it. Right? You get it. It’s their vibes. Nothing about this is a rivalry, it’s just a defense attorney/prosecutor ship and also they’re two guys who go in really hard on the competition with each other which isn’t really anything special in itself lots of people are competitive for fun w close friends but. Idk. They’re doing something and they’re so funny. Asougi saw ryuu and went “what a LOSER” and then the guy Was Better At Talking Then Him and asougi went “i adore this man. I would give up my lifelong dream for his sake.” Kazuma asougi is like that stereotypical late teens girl whos like i DONT CARE that i just met him a week ago were getting MARRIED . asougi went This guy is not cool at ALL and also ive known him for One Year and also ill do almost anything for him. No talking stage mutual obsession and we see god in each others eyes or nothing.

I like asoryuu they are funny. Asougi may bully ryuu on purpose, but ryuu will always get the upper hand completely unintentionally via something dumb. Ok homo miku time

i debated on the “terrible in every way” thing but they do deserve to be called that what with all the. lying to people. guys do you. know ways to navigate difficult situations that arent just *hides information and then is evasive about it* *lies outright about something very major* Guys…………

homo of miko. Mikotoba tried to fix him Once and then went whatevers wrong with him is way funnier & sherlock actively made him worse. But its ok bc their worst crime is being annoying in public. also several dozen counts of breaking and entering.

related topic obsessed w the fact that , like. the only reasonable conclusion to draw abt The Finding-Jigoku Scene. THE Homumiko Scene. is that this is an accurate representation of What They & Their Investigations Were Like, Like, All The Time. mikotoba pulls the ONLY PULL IN VERY DRASTIC EMERGENCIES OR WE FUCKIGN EXPLODE YOU alarm & sherlockjust picks a lock so they can break in & then they fucking dance and insult each other i guess. Gregsons ghost is there screaming something about “lower me into my coffin so you can let me down one last time”. They are 1. silly 2. absolutely taking this seriously but fundamentally do not act like it 3. Breaking the law. Great Job!!!!!!!! I want to see 50 more hours of this. I want to see other characters’ impressions of Them As A Duo so bad. Like ok. again: mikotoba is so funny when u think abt it . absolute professional. regular seeming guy. even comes across as serious or stoic to some people. And then. *gestures to the above*. I just had the words gap moe pop into my head i am going to fucking throw up. Anyway. I just think it’s funnh to imagine some shit like. dr sithe- Oooh there are too many ways this sentence can end. *grabby hands* capcom give us the courtney sithe lore. Okay okay order of events. sithe is working at the same hospital where mikotoba is working & where sherlock moreso just kind of shows up to dick around with chemistry experiments. she knows mikotoba as a good respectable doctor who takes his work very seriously. she knows sherlock as an insane idiot who keeps burning himself. apparently they are living together. well rents high and mikotoba just moved here & hasnt been exposed to the insane idiot so much thats understandable. She sees them on a case. Mikotoba breaks into someones house through the window. And also they dance. She has to continue working with this man.

I don’t know if the timeline adds up in a way where sithe wouldve even been working @ that hospital when mikotoba First got there but you get the IDEA ANYWAY. on a note thats only related in my brain eberyone should read arthur conan doyles a study in scarlet but just the like, first 2 chapters, just to be amused by sherlock holmes. i got sidetracked there maybe lets go back to talking about homumiko.

Sorry to bring this up for th first time w them when it also very much applies to asoryuu but as we all know dgs2 was so fucked up for ending w “and then everyone is separated <3” Insanity. OKAY. okay. OKAY. OKAY. *once again wheels out the giant conspiracy board in my brain where all the homumiko information is stored* they both. like. mikotoba says he never expected to be able to go to britain again & sherlock is like Wow i never thought id be solving mysteries like this with you again!! Ever!!! In my life!!!! and i wont go on the other connected rant abt shit like mikotoba saying “our home” and themjust picking up like nothing has changed bc i think i already did that and also thats not the point i just . like . WHATS GOING ON WITH THEM !!!!!!!!! “WOW! AFTER 10 YEARS I GOT TO SEE YOU FOR LIKE. A WEEK. OK BYE FOREVER <3” HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!! *SHAKES THEM*ARE YOU OKAY WITH THIS? ARE YOU HAPPY WITH THIS? “MY CLOSEST FRIEND MY PARTNER MY OTHER HALF. I LOVE GETTING A LETTER A MONTH FOREVER” SCREAM !!!!!!!!!!! this is a fucked up decision. I’m normal.

*blinks like someone who just got woken up at 7pm* i dont know how fucking lomg ive been. writing this post. It seems to have gotten out of hand. i like homumiko. makes them sillyguys makes them halves of a whole makes them . uhhh. gay. *clinks glass* Heres to them impulse adopting many more children !!!!! HAS YUUJIN MIKOTOBA EVER MET GINA

#gina isnt sherlocks kid #but she IS iris’s sister #so thats. theres a connection #hi for the love of god hello.#basilask #dgs from my brain

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simplysherlockfanfic · 8 years ago

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Connection Twenty Nine

Connection. Read Chap One here. Two. Three Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty One. Twenty Two. Twenty Three. Twenty Four. Twenty Five. Twenty Six. Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight.

Sherlock x reader

An American forensic psychologist hired by Mycroft Holmes. You thought it would be more interesting and fulfilling than your previous job with a law firm in London but you had no idea how much it would change your life. Or really, how much one person would change everything.

Word Count: 4158

Your name: submit What is this?

Fingernails scratched against Sherlock’s scalp and he jerked. He lifted his head blinking as the light blurry mass took shape, white bed sheets and two long lumps under them. Legs. Her legs. He looked up and his bleary eyes took her in. Her head still wrapped in gauze but not as much as last week, it had been pulled back to her hairline three days ago revealing more healing bruises. Her body’s release of hemoglobin had already broken down to biliverdin giving the worst bruise on the left side of her temple its greenish hue.

A small smile softened her features tinted with yellowing bruises being washed away by the body’s final clearing agent bilirubin. It soothed him only slightly that she would soon be rid of the painful reminders and wouldn’t wince when she looked in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were clear and she brushed her fingers over his cheek. That familiar burst of warmth in his chest as he drew in an easy breath; she recognized him again. Two weeks since she was admitted and she was recognizing him consistently now.

“Hi,” she croaked with a fleeting wide grin.

He gently captured her hand and squeezed, “morning.”

Her eyes flicked to the window then back and forth between his before confusion colored her expression again and his heart stopped. “Sorry. I…” Her voice was still airy and she kept working her mouth like she was trying to swallow. Her hand went to the small bandages on the left side of her neck but she didn’t seem surprised when she looked at him, she actually looked guilty.

He shook his head as he grabbed the cup of water from the bedside table and brought it over, holding the straw to her mouth, “no apologies. Take it slow. You don’t want to get sick.”

She took several slow sips with a lessening wince each time. His own time in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound flashed in his mind but that had been nothing compared to what she had endured.

Dr. Gregson’s words bounced around inside his skull again, she’s been through a lot and it’s going to be a rough road ahead but I’ve seen worse cases than hers turn out great. She will walk again just fine if you keep up the rehab, the sooner we start the better. I hate to say this but she was lucky, they weren’t high energy impact fractures so she’s a lot more likely to recover well. It’s going to hurt like hell but she’s got more than the best chance. Just remember that.

She gave a little nod and he put the cup back on the table. “Come closer.” He studied her and she continued, “please.” Her brow furrowed as her hand moved up to her face then froze, her eyes focused on the bandages around her wrist. Her gaze darted to his and the worry that she would panic tightened his throat but instead her gaze softened and she touched her lips. “This… yours… here.” Her eyes still held the hints of her distress but the corner of her mouth quirked up, “never forgive myself.”

Kiss. The word she couldn’t think of echoed in his head. He shoved away the doctor’s mixed encouragement yet his mind spun with all the questions he’d had over the weeks watching her while she rested quiet and relatively peaceful. Her body slowly healed and the colors that marred her skin became harsher as her body released their chemicals to clear away the mess from broken blood vessels. Some days were harder than others but he could never bring himself to ask anything that might bring back memories he didn’t want her to have when so much good was already hard to remember.

“Sherlock?” His name once again held that familiar warmth and emphasis that always came across for those that mattered most to her. He looked up into her eyes, the only feature that remained the same, urged him forward and carefully he stood, leaned over, and brushed a feather light kiss against her lips. She whined when he pulled away and he chuckled before giving just a little more pressure with the next one. She hummed her approval against his lips.

A nurse walked in speaking softly and Sherlock pulled back, moving out of the way so she could check on her patient. Y/n’s gaze stayed on him as the nurse went through her mental checklist. The nurses monitored her vitals constantly from their station just outside of the room. He had gotten used to the routine ever since she first woke up. He waited as the nurse finished, still debating with himself if he should try asking. She never lasted very long in the mornings, especially when she woke just as the sky began to lighten and after her therapy in the evenings, she was exhausted even though she fought to stay awake.

The nurse left and he met Y/n’s clear, questioning gaze. “Something on your mind.”

He could still hear the humor in her scratchy croak but glanced away as anger flushed through him for being so transparent. He tried to think of a way to ask without bringing up anything that could hurt her but it seemed impossible. He should scrap it all together but then he met her gaze again. It would only compound her confusion and her frustration at not remembering simple things. She may not remember all of her training but she could still pick up on things without trying. “You said something to me… that I haven’t been able to get out of my head. You said that I gave you philia? Do you know what you meant?”

She smiled with heavy eyes as her fingers brushed over his hand. “I don’t remember much really…” He looked down and turned his hand over so her fingers danced over his palm but his eyes drifted to the healing marks around her wrist, the ones that extended past the gauze and bandages on her right wrist which was far less damaged than her left that was in a cast. The very injuries that added to her exhaustion. She didn’t have much time before her energy would wane and he cursed himself for even asking, but then her fingers stopped. He looked up and her brilliant smile took his breath away.

“But I know that Philia is friendship, mutual goodwill, one of the most… important types of love in my… opinion.” Some words still came slow but at least they were coming back within grasp now. Some more so than others just like when she didn’t recognize him. Her voice pulled him back. “Aristotle thought a friendship formed when… someone was useful, pleasant, and most importantly, was good, clearly rational and virtuous.” She glanced toward the water cup as her voice broke up and became more gravelly. He lifted it to her lips.

“So I gave you a rational and virtuous friendship?” He smirked, he found as much online when he’d searched the word but the search results had confused him. She swallowed then let out an airy laugh with a wince and shifted slightly in the bed. “You should rest.”

She squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes, “friendship based on good…ness with care would lead to companionship and trust. But Plato… believed the best kind of friendship is between lovers.” Her fingers began slow circles on his palm, “a friendship formed with or in Eros… affection… passion, and attraction that bleeds into or blends together with a… beneficial goodness with companionship and trust,” she glanced at the water cup and he brought it back to her lips without moving the hand she was painting invisible circles and infinity symbols on. She sipped with her gaze focused on his hand that had become a canvas. “Then it feeds back into Eros, strengthens and… develops a bond changing it from a lust for possession into a better… understanding of self, lover, and the world around you.” She seemed just slightly above them as she spoke then lifted his hand and intertwined their fingers pressing their palms together. She still hadn’t gained back the full strength in her hands but she was getting better. “A never ending circle that my father believed… created soulmates. Not something that happened right away but something that was sealed over time.”

“And I…” His brows furrowed as his gaze rose to find hers, “gave you that?”

She nodded, her eyelids drooping further and her words starting to slip into that sleepy slur. “Mmhmm. Good friends into lovers, a cycle repeats and strengthens as time passes. It’s one of those rarethings… I never thought I’d have. My dad, a dreamer in his own right, believed in soulmates. He tol’me once… his greatest hope for me… was to truly understand.”

Her eyes fell closed with a sleepy smile still hanging on and Sherlock dropped his gaze to their still slightly linked hands laying on the bed, her words rolling over and over in his head. A lust for possession into a better understanding of self, lover, and the world. “I know how that feels.” His gaze shot up but her eyes were still closed and her face had smoothed into a peaceful rest. He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand. “I understand.”

Something was tapping a constant beat against your head. You groaned as you stretched, leaning back in your chair. Your case files were still open on your desk, it was the first notion that something was wrong. You never kept them out overnight. The ache in your back traveled down and your legs felt heavy. “This fucking chair.”

You stood, your stiff muscles complaining and your head spun. You pressed your hands on the desk to steady yourself and glanced around, something wasn’t right. If you simply fell asleep at your desk you wouldn’t feel like this, groggy, aching, and tense, like you had been asleep for days. Your gaze froze on your water bottle. He wouldn't… he wouldn’t be so brazen. Your vision blurred as your chest tightened.

“She doesn’t need to know this right now.”

You snapped your head toward the door but no one was there. The voice was familiar, warm and soothing, but where was it coming from and why didn’t that familiarity come with a name. You moved to the door ignoring the stiff ache in your ankles and hips.

“I agree but things get out and if she…”

Another familiar voice, this one even more muffled than the first as you peeked around the doorway. The long hallway was empty and the lights were too dim almost as if the emergency lighting was.

“Enough. When she’s stronger…”

The voices were moving further but it was off. It was more like your ears were stuffed with cotton. You shook your head as you grabbed the bat beside your filing cabinets and stepped out into the hallway. It was silent, too silent. What time was it? You lifted your arm and glanced at your wrist. Your breath caught in your chest at the cast covering half your arm but when you blinked it disappeared. Just another unsettling figment of your imagination. “That sonofabitch drugged me.” Your voice echoed softly off the walls.

Had to be. It was the only explanation but you were not going down without a fight. You crept down the hall with the bat gripped in your hands and resting on your shoulder ready to swing when needed. The first corner you came to was darker than the rest of the hall. You glanced around and squinted from the bright light. It was a spotlight pointed directly at sparkling white double doors. Those fucking doors. Turning the corner, you lifted the bat from your shoulder and gripped it tightly in a ready position as you continued toward the doors you were sure would open any second.

Nothing happened. You waited in front of them with agitated nervous energy flowing through you. “Fuck it.” You ripped open the door and stepped inside. Two blood-red chairs sat on the altar with another shining spotlight producing a glare off the one empty seat but what you saw in the other couldn’t be right. Jay’s voice whispered through the air like a hiss, “believe me, this is something you shouldn’t miss.”

Professor Harding was limp, his arms hanging off the arms of the chair and his legs sticking out in broken angles with his head hanging to the side reaching for his shoulder. The perfectly round red dot in between his eyes staring directly at you. “No.” You fell back a step. “No!” You squeezed your eyes shut as your lungs screamed for air. “It’s not real,” you squeaked.

“Don’t play coy.”

You cleared your throat and gripped the weapon in your hands tighter. “It’s not real.” You felt the safety on the side of your gun and flipped it off then opened your eyes. Everything you had left drained from your body like the oxygen that rushed from your lungs. The second chair was now occupied by Shelly, her body just as doll-like as Professor Harding and the red dot stared like it had movement and choice.

Jay appeared in front of you but his face was older, his hair different, and his wardrobe greatly upgraded. James Moriarty, the man Jay would become. Those shark eyes devouring you as his lips stretched and you waited for his bite. “I said it was a little too on the nose but,“ he shrugged, “Holmes boys just love the drama and poetry. Either way, I win.”

All four windows behind him shattered outward as pain exploded from your ankles, hips, and wrists then your throat burst into flame. A scream was echoing around the room blending and clashing with the glass and some kind of siren. Suddenly, there was nothing. He was laughing but there was no sound except for the rushing blood in your ears then the tapping against your skull was back only louder and more shrill. The beat sped up and the tapping changed pitch until you realized it was you. You were the tapping, no beeping… your heart beat.

“Y/n. You’re safe, it’s me. I’m here. I’ve got you. Feel my hand, listen to my voice. I’ve got your back. I’m here.”

Vic. Shoot him! Do it now! You screamed but her stream of reassurance didn’t stop and James continued to laugh.

“Come on, deep breath, love. You’re safe. Everyone’s safe. Open your eyes for me.”

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath. It’s not real. It’s not real.

“We need to calm her down or she’ll hurt herself.”

Another voice but it wasn’t the one you wanted. What did you want? An earthquake shook the ground and someone was falling off a roof, his coat billowing out and then John was standing in front of you and knelt down, his chest heaving from some exertion and his eyes were wild. What are you doing?

“Moriarty. He killed him.” The sob ripped its way through your throat, “Sherlock.”

“No, it’s Vic. Sherlock is coming back in a little while but I need you to wake up. Please. I don’t want them to give you another shot.”

You sucked in a breath and opened your eyes. The room with the red chairs was gone but the bright light remained.

“Hit the lights.”

The room plunged into darkness until the points of light began to clear. The face in front of you slowly came into focus. Fiery red hair pulled back away from a smooth pale face with warm Hazel eyes watching you. “Hi.” She held your hand and squeezed, “it was just a dream.” But something flashed across her face, a meaning that seemed just out of your reach.

You glanced around the room as the beeping from the heart monitor slowed then became softer. A quiet constant in the background. Besides the nurse standing anxiously by the monitors, Vic was the only other person in the room and Will’s bed was gone. You met her gaze, “Will?”

“With Mrs. Hudson. Probably Mr. and Mrs. Holmes too. Things have been… stressed. Family is difficult.”

Your tried placing her worries, connecting the dots but it only made the throbbing in your head worse. “Why?”

“They’re so normal and lovely. It’s kind of funny seeing Mycroft and Sherlock with them. They’ve been by here a few times. Do you remember talking with them?” You shook your head and regretted it. Vic grimaced and squeezed your hand again, “right. Sorry.”

She lowered her head but you needed her to continue even though you didn’t completely understand why, “what’s going on?”

She lifted her head, her gaze shooting to the nurse who finished marking something on a chart and left the room. “Eurus hasn’t spoken since… they found her so we don’t know if she knew that Moran was actually Sherrinford but she probably did. What we don’t know is if she knew what he was planning at all. He had Moriarty’s feelers, one in the office like we thought although that Miss Me stunt wasn’t as much of a hack as we thought.”

“Wait, it wasn’t a hack?” It was infuriating to be completely lost one moment and then understand the next but you were trying to let it go. Right now, you were failing.

She grinned as she leaned forward, “the leak in the office.”

“Look at me, seriously?”

She frowned, “you’re no fun when your drugs are wearing out.” She leaned over and looked at your morphine drip settings.

“Stop being such a feckin wagon and get on with it.”

She let out a bark of laughter, “there she is. I was afraid your brain had rewired stuff and I’d never see you again.” She leaned her forearms on the back of her chair with a small smile that held a warmth that reminded you of so many late nights spent together. Cheeks warm from the alcohol and laughter as she taught you her favorite curse words or insults for each of the places you’d been and you shared what quirks you knew would be interesting for her. “It’s nice to see I didn’t lose you.”

Screams shot through your head and you closed your eyes. Sherlock’s shouting then his voice, pleading and agonized, calling, begging for you not to give up. You forced your eyelids up trying to distance yourself from the memory before the pain slipped in. “Nice to see you can still make the shot.”

She smirked then glanced over her shoulder, “you and Mycroft were right and you wouldn’t believe who it was. Or maybe you would, I still remember how you looked at him during that meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“The council meeting that sent Sherlock on his six-month eastern European death sentence?”

It only took a moment to grab the name of the man who held an odd and intense hatred for Sherlock. “Sir Edwin?”

“Yes, that arsehole had been feeding Moran information. Sherlock and Mycroft should be taking him down right about…” she glanced at the old timex on her wrist, “now, actually.”

Your mind was still foggy, lingering and maybe phantom pain mixing with real aches and the drugs to help heal and soothe. You liked to tell yourself that once you are off the drugs it would be easier to think again but you knew it wasn’t just that, the trauma to your brain could have lasting effects. If you were lucky it would get better and only bother you every now and then, but if it didn’t it could impact your daily life. One of the downsides to knowing enough about inner workings of the brain. You had to admit you didn’t know as much about brain trauma as the doctors and nurses who encouraged you and talked about the best outcome. Suddenly, Will’s face flashed in your mind.

Your gaze met Vic’s. “How is he? Truthfully.” Vic’s brow quirked, “Will?”

She smiled, “believe it or not, he took it better than sherlock and john. He never gave up hope, still the brightest kid I’ve ever met. His only concern is helping you get better faster. He even asked Sherlock to read some of the books he got on your recovery. It’s adorable.”

Once again your son was forced to be older than his age but then he’s always been a child out of his time. He’d been through enough that was for sure… what had you been thinking? If he…

Vic squeezed your hand and you opened your eyes. “None of that. Everyone is safe and Will is going to be just fine. He’s been learning all he can while hanging around the hospital. He’s even visited other wings with some of the nurses.”

You nodded as your vision blurred. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Hey, what’s a friend for, huh? While you’ve been taking your vacation here at least I’ve had that little munchkin to entertain me. Of course, I had to give John his turn.” She grimaced but you could still see the sparkle in her eyes, “I’m not used to sharing.”

Mycroft scanned his badge, pushed open the door to the back chamber, and strode into the room with Sherlock following a step behind.

Lady Smallwood stood from her desk, her intelligent gaze taking in Sherlock before commanding, “you’re late and I don’t recall a request for a guest.”

Mycroft went straight to her while Sherlock continued further into the room toward the two men staring. Mycroft pulled a sealed envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lady Smallwood. “Believe me, you’ll want to see this.”

Sherlock stopped barely an inch from Sir Edwin while he stood his ground, the other man backed away. Sherlock remained stoic, “can I borrow your phone?”

He glared, “I’m not going to hand over personal…”

Lady Smallwood looked up from the paper in her hands, “Sir Edwin, you will do as he asks.”

His nostrils flared as he pulled out his phone and handed it over. Sherlock smirked, “not that one.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” His lips narrowed slightly and his brows drew together.

Sherlock leaned in and whispered, “oh, but the anger on your face tells me you certainly do.” Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his brother and Lady Smallwood as he pulled a phone from his own coat pocket, “I love it when they make it more dramatic.” Sherlock unlocked the phone and tapped the screen a few times, “nope. No, no, no,” then he glanced up at Sir Edwin and grinned as he tapped the screen a final time. “Do you know whose mobile this is? Aren’t you curious?”

A beat of silence then a faint buzzing and Sir Edwin jolted, his eyes widened as he glanced at Lady Smallwood and Mycroft.

“What is this?” Lady Smallwood held the papers up toward Sir Edwin, bank records with the name Sir Alfred Porlock written in bold black letters in the top left corner.

Sherlock turned to her, “the trouble with your classified information getting out was not Mrs. Norbury as presumed, at least not most of it.” Lady Smallwood glanced at Mycroft and Sherlock chuckled, “I’m afraid this phone belonged to the man claiming to be Sebastian Moran and it’s currently calling the phone that is buzzing in your associate’s pocket here.”

Sherlock turned back to sir Edwin and stepped up to him, eliminating the small space he had gained while Sherlock was speaking. He leaned down into his face, “someone I care about was tortured very nearly to death because of information you passed off.” The man tried to back away again but Sherlock grabbed his tie and yanked him forward slamming his head into Sir Edwin’s nose. “An offshore bank account with your own codename as a pseudonym? Sloppy.” Sherlock slipped his hand into the inside jacket pocket and pulled out the buzzing phone. "Oh, and thank you for not cooperating." He turned away from the man bent over with his face buried in his hands and walked over to Lady Smallwood. “I believe you will find this extremely useful.”

“Oh, please do. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Mycroft’s voice was upbeat but held contempt. Sherlock turned and Mycroft had the end of his umbrella pressed against Sir Edwin’s chest. The short man was staring with unconcealed rage at Sherlock.

“I’d be careful, Porlock. Someone under his protection was hurt by your for-profit treachery.”

Mycroft gave the umbrella a good shove into Sir Edwin’s chest, “a few, actually.”

Lady Smallwood and two men strode over to Mycroft and Sir Edwin. “We’ll take it from here, Mycroft.” She touched his arm and he looked at her, “don’t you have somewhere more important to be? I can finish this.”

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock who nodded. He lowered his umbrella and straightened his jacket. “I trust you’ll see to his care. We wouldn’t want a traitor to the country to die in our custody.”

She smirked, “there are worst things than death.”

“Indeed.”

Next Chapter

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