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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

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Deathly Fun || Morgan & Dakota

TIMING: Recent, before New Year’s Eve

PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Just gals being pals

CONTAINS: mild gore, brief medical blood talk

Nine times out of ten, Dakota would have said no. To be more blunt, she would have said absolutely fucking not when Morgan invited her over… But wallowing in her own self-pity was just more fuel to her flames, and if she let that fire grow any bigger or brighter, she’d burn the whole damn town to the ground. So hanging out it was, apparently. And shit, if she were being honest… Bone carving actually did pique her interest, as much as she hated to admit it. So when Morgan invited her over, and Dakota found herself parked in her driveway, she figured it was worth a shot to try, even if getting her into the house was like pulling teeth. Just don’t be a dick. Make a friend. What’s the worst that could happen? They could get to know you. After fifteen or so minutes of just sitting in her jeep debating on pulling out and speeding off, she finally hopped out and made her way to the door, knocking three times… and praying that Morgan didn’t answer.

Morgan laid on the floor in her new studio, trying to remember breathing, or at least the way it had connected her to the world’s energy. Her chest rose and fell, the floor pressed against her back, the air circled around the ceiling fan and teased the fringe on her rug. She was here. She was whole. Each of these tiny perceptions was a cord binding her to this place, cocooning her against all odds in comfort. She was here. She was okay…

Knock, knock, knock.

She was late for meeting with Dakota. Morgan shot to her feet and stumbled to the door, smiling bright when she opened. “Oh, good! I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find me. This building is a little hidden from the driveway. But uh, come on and make yourself cozy? I actually have a lot of craft stuff you can play with and works in progress. I’ve got way too many pillows over there--” she pointed, “--but my table is in the sort-of-kitchen area. Do you need anything to drink? Snacks? I’ve got some pretty quality basics for guests.” Morgan sat down at her craft table and propped her legs up on one of the spare chairs, nudging one out for Dakota to take, smiling brightly. “You can say if that was a lot. I can mostly assure you the evening will be much more chill. It’s just, you know, a very long winded way of saying ‘make yourself at home.’”

As soon as the door swung open, it was like being blasted with a very small—but very real—beam of pure energy. The only way Dakota could truly and accurately describe it was as if Jessica Day and Arizona Robbins came together and created the woman that was standing before her—Morgan. Morgan… Something. The thing was, she probably would have been just as taken aback as she was even if she wasn’t hungover, but… Well, that was besides the point. Stop thinking about it.

The main objective was to get in and get out in under an hour, and if it took being an asshole to do it, well… Rest In Peace, Morgan. “Yeah, you just said more words than I’ve said in the past 24 hours,” she stated, shrugging off her coat and taking the seat she’d nudged out for her. If Dakota was anything, which… she was a lot of things… but if she was absolutely anything, it would be awkward. Hands folded in her lap, she looked around the room, taking in the decor as best as she could. Crafting wasn’t her thing, but bones? Bones were cool. She tuned back in when Morgan mentioned something about making herself at home. Honey, I’ve never felt “at home” in my entire life, she wanted to say. But she’d save that tid-bit for her friends Jack and Daniels back at her cabin.

“Uh, I’m fine, thanks. Also, I’m not a very ‘crafty’ person… So if you want to just skip to the part where we talk about death and I get to see some carcasses, that’d be great.”

Morgan scrunched up her face, amused and confused in equal measure. She got up and went over to the small fridge, blocking the view of the brain slices safely tucked away in their novelty pyrex containers as she took out what drinks she had available. “Do you want to talk about whatever’s behind all of this--?” She gestured vaguely to Dakota, slumped by the craft table. “I don’t know you well enough to judge you.” She brought the bottles over along with a water pitcher and a glass and set them down in front of the woman. “As for the carcasses…” She laughed dryly, swallowing the urge to say, well, you’re looking right at one if you feel like playing medical examiner. She climbed up her stepladder and retrieved Ratty and Squirrely from their shelf and brought them down. She brushed and dusted them regularly now, too fond of how helpful they’d been when she’d first died to let them gather dust. “There’s these little guys. And…” She untied a large velvet pouch from the table and carefully poured out a collection of bones. “These came from a raccoon, and these bad boys came from a buck.” She gestured to the antler pieces stacked neatly at the edge of the table. “What is it you like about death anyway?”

Dakota could have crawled out of her skin just at the words “do you want to talk,” period. Why the fuck would she want to talk to a complete stranger about her issues? If she wanted to do that, she would have gotten a therapist by now. But you do, don’t you? You’re dying for someone to listen. Why else would you be here? Why are you here? “What exactly is ‘this?’” she asked, helping herself to the bottle set in front of her. “Because I was under the impression that I was here to craft and maybe talk about murder, not open up about my feelings.” There was a beat of silence, mainly because she was taking a look at the animals she’d retrieved, and then her attention had shifted to the contents of the velvet pouch that was dumped onto the table. Dakota had no problem picking them up, examining them carefully. A female rib, part of a male radius… Multiple vertebrae, an antler. “I don’t like it,” she said, though it was a lie she didn’t know she was telling. “I’m intrigued by it. The intricacies of it. The decay of it. The symbolism of it… The way people who are living experience it all the time, even if no physical death has actually occurred.” she paused. Was she still talking? “What about you? Why do you collect all this stuff?”

“You’re not exactly being subtle about how upset you are right now, but somehow you’re still here,” Morgan beamed, pouring a glass of water for herself. “I’ve been on the wrong-ass side of depressed when you’d rather drop dead than show anyone you’re not okay. And I’ve been like this too.” She twirled her finger in Dakota’s direction, especially around the wrinkle in her forehead. “But we can wait, or just not. I just figured I’d ask.” She listened to Dakota’s vague answers as she started sorting through the bones on her table. A beaded bracelet might be interesting to make. Maybe a little time intensive, but it would look like some of the crystal beads she’d once made when she was done. The antler tips would be good for that too, but other parts would become pendants, or some kind of add ons to a sculpture. She’d save those for when she had a clearer idea. Morgan took up a delicate looking raccoon limb bone and started cutting it down to size. “Oh, no, you’re not getting away with something that vague,” she said, laughing softly. “It sounds like you like it. What do you think it symbolizes anyway? And what do you mean ‘experience it all the time.’” She took out a little drill and started evening out the hollow within the bone. “My girlfriend got me into them at first. But I feel an affinity with them now. Like we’re on the same frequency, and they understand something about me.” Being dead would do that. “I like repurposing them, letting them transform into beautiful things, or compost and nourish the earth, or simply decay and feed the crows and the bugs. It gives me hope.”

Oh, no. Dakota wasn’t going there. She wasn’t depressed, and if she was, she sure as hell wouldn’t be talking about it with Miss Sunshine over here. Just.. Focus the conversation on a morbid reality and maybe she’ll kick you out herself. “Death is all around us. It’s in my sentences, in yours… The things we do, what we eat. Our thoughts, our emotions, this conversation. A few hours from now when the sun sets. A relationship, a friendship. Ourselves. Death is really just the ending of something. Everything, actually, when you get down to it.” She said, still examining the bones before her. Dakota didn’t know why she kept humoring Morgan with her answers, but it was better than finishing the bottle at home. “I guess it depends on who you ask and what you read. It can symbolize renewal, rebirth, cleansing. Transition, opportunity, possibility…” she trailed off. There was a bout of silence that swelled between them, but only for a moment. Dakota didn’t know why she felt compelled to keep talking. “I think life is really just death in disguise because no matter what you’re doing or who you’re with, it ends up ending. I’ve felt that way since I was a kid. I don’t know why I feel that way.”

“You’re starting to sound like a real woo-woo mystic gal,” Morgan said, smiling wider. “But you know, I think everyone has their own relationship to death. Even if it’s pure avoidance or denial or something more thoughtful. I’d like to know what it symbolizes to you, if that’s not too weird or personal. At least recently. I appreciate that these relationships evolve, they die and rise again differently, like all relationships. They evolve. I used to be afraid of it, honestly. I lost so many people, watched some of them die, watched their caskets go into the ground, it just seemed so horrible to me. But then I had this uuhh…” How to put this delicately? “Really bad accident. And now it’s different. A lot of things are but that especially.” She took up a new section of bone and drilled through that one too, snowing thin spirals of bone onto the table in fluffy stacks. “You should get to know my girlfriend. She makes death sound like something beautiful when she talks about it.” Which wasn’t too often these days, but still dear to Morgan. When she finished with the second bead, she held up the pair for Dakota to examine. “What do you think? I need like, thirty more, but not too shabby side-by-side, right?”

Woo-woo mystic gal? So much for saying anything she actually thought, literally ever again. Dakota let Morgan talk—not really listening, of course, because now all she really wanted to do was get the hell outta dodge and probably never see again. That would really be the icing on the shit-cake that was her life. Sooner or later, Morgan held up a pair of the bones she’d turned into beads, and even her cynical ass had to admit that she’d done a good job. Part of her almost felt inspired to take up crafting in her spare time, but that fleeting moment of inspiration was quickly squashed—not for any particular reason, but it often took her several years to try anything new. Hence breaking off an engagement, moving half-way across the country, and sleeping with just about every single woman she could find that seemed desperate or hopeless enough to come back to her place… Or reckless enough to invite Dakota to hers. Out of all of the things Morgan had said, including something about how she wanted to know what death symbolized to Dakota personally, her interest was piqued at the mention of Morgan having a girlfriend. She thought she’d heard it earlier, but she couldn’t brush it off a second time. Fuck it, she thought. She called you woo-woo mystical. Ask her a question. “—Who’s your girlfriend?” Please don’t say Marley…

Morgan’s brow furrowed. Clearly her own brand of self-deprecation was lost on Dakota by her stiff silence. Maybe she didn’t know enough about the tarot cards on her bookshelves or the sigils on some of her book spines to know that she was as woo-woo as they came. But Dakota’s question puzzled her even more. It wasn’t exactly what she assumed the takeaway would be. “Uh...her name is Deirdre,” Morgan said. “She’s a life actuary, like a death accountant. She has a whole room dedicated to bones in the house. For her birthday, among other things, we articulated a deer skeleton together and went for a cemetery walk. Hambry is really beautiful right now, with all the snow on the ground. Have you been?”

That was true—Dakota was lost on anyone else’s self depreciation because she was so entombed in her own bullshit to care about anything anyone else said about themselves. Selfish bastard. But she hadn’t quite realized that yet...Or, if she had, she was ignoring it for as long as she possibly could, because she had an amazing track record in that department. Above all things, she was just glad Marley’s name hadn’t come out of Morgan’s mouth, ‘cause if it had, there would have been a Dakota-shaped hole through her front door. “Sounds nice,” she murmured. “I’ve never been, no. Never even heard of Hambry, actually.” Wow, you’re an amazing conversationalist. A beat or two of silence passed before she shot in the dark. She’d always been the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ sorta person. Except now she was asking questions first and thinking about it after the fact. “This is going to sound like the dumbest question in the world, but… When did you know? I mean—you know what I mean. That you’d rather date a woman than a man. Or.. That you were at least okay with dating a woman. When did you know that?” Okay, you’re officially never speaking to this person ever again.

Morgan set down her tools and took a moment to really look at Dakota. She had known from the start there was something apprehensive in her, but she hadn’t guessed the depth of her fear. Morgan’s fingers twitched, wanting to take her hand. “First of all, it’s not dumb. Secondly, It took me a while,” she admitted. “I had this best friend, Karen, and she had this amazing two storey house and thick plush carpet in her room, and a pool. I told myself I liked being over at her place as many days as I could get away with because of that stuff. But I also liked it when she played with my hair, when our legs would brush together in the pool, and when she held my hand or my arm in the school hallways I just felt so special…” Morgan sighed. “We were friends for about a year and I didn’t figure out a thing. But then she was kissing this guy in the hall and I was so furious and hurt and awful and didn’t tell her about any of it. And then I had a dream about kissing her, which was a big ol’ flag I couldn’t avoid. And...I mean, it was the 90s and I had these weird special circumstances that made me worry that...what if this is why bad luck seemed to follow my family all around? What if all those awful protest signs and President Regan were onto something and I was some kind of blight on the family. And then things got weird and we didn’t visit or talk so much and I worried she could smell the lesbian on me or something, but then one day we’re in the girl’s bathroom and I start to beg her to talk to me and then--we were kissing. And it was weird and awkward, you know, on a tactile level, but inside, all those dopey romantic things fell into the right key and made sense. I couldn’t un-know after that.” She searched for Dakota’s eyes and held her gaze, waiting for some piece of her own story to set itself free. Was that part of why she bristled so easily? Why she was so desperate to hide herself? Was it just too much of a habit by now,or did Dakota still feel the ghost of that old fear haunting her? “It didn’t end so great about two minutes after we got started, and I didn’t come out to my mom for another three years, because of all that fear. And didn’t date, not really, until after I got out of college. And Deirdre is my first really serious ‘we-moved-in-together and lasted-longer-than-six-months’ relationship ever. It’s been it’s own weird time and process. As far as I know everyone like us has their own weird and different time too. We’re just special like that, temporally clusterfucked.” She paused a moment and looked thoughtfully out the window: evening was coming, the sky turned all the grass blue, and Anya stalked the dead flower beds. “When did you know, Dakota? Is that something I can ask?”

Dakota listened, which in and of itself was a miracle, because she wasn’t just listening for answers to process and remember for as long as she needed them and then do away with them whenever she was done—she was actually just listening for truth, and that was something you don’t just do away with. And Dakota hated eye-contact more than anything, but she didn’t really care at the moment, because as annoying as it was, she had to hand it to her... Morgan didn’t pry. And that was nice. Because everyone always prys. When she looked out the window, Dakota’s gaze followed suit, and she realized she’d been there for a lot longer than she’d planned already. What the hell happened to that ‘one hour only?’ But, as conversations normally go, it was Dakota’s turn to share… If she wanted to, of course. And the thing was, she actually did kind of want to. “Two years ago,” she began, sort of straightening up in her chair. Old habits die hard, so maybe that’s why her gaze fell to the table and her hands fidgeted with the bones laid out on it. “That’s a lie. I knew when I was fourteen. I took my best friend to go see a movie, and I remember being so fucking nervous—I mean, I didn’t think my palms could get any sweatier, especially not in the middle of December. Detroit’s a big town, you know, but.. All those little neighborhoods that make up that city? They’re all like small towns, and everybody knows everybody. So it didn’t matter how bad I wanted to hold her stupid hand, because Michael and Tom from third period were two seats over, and I knew she liked Michael, and.. Well, the point is that it didn’t matter how bad I wanted to hold her hand, because I couldn’t. And I didn’t. And I pushed that so far back in my memory that when I met my ex at 25, I thought.. You know, just.. Run with it, ‘cause it’s the only fuckin’ chance you’re ever gonna see.” Dakota paused, then, because this was the part of the story she hated telling. She wished she could just avoid it all together, but… “Flashforward, we’d been together ten years on and off. He wanted to get married so bad, and I kept telling him I wanted to wait, and I wanted to be established in my career, and I wanted to do all of these things and.. And then, you know, I did them. I was established, and I was the investigative lead, and I was a mentor, and.. Well, to make a long story short, he took me to a restaurant and his dumbass got down on one knee, right there, in the middle of the restaurant, in front of everyone—you know, total strangers just.. Gawking and looking at me and waiting for me to say yes. And I should have. I should have just worked it out, and said yes. But I didn’t. I, uh. Stood up from the table, and I closed the stupid ring box thing that rings come in—why do they come in those stupid boxes?—and I just.. Left him there. At the restaurant. In front of everyone. And he had to stand up, get up off the floor, pay for a meal neither of us ate.. By the time he got home I was already in a studio apartment above a Chinese take-out place across town. So..” she trailed off, then let the silence swell, as she normally did. It felt like forever. “Yeah, I’d say fourteen.”

Morgan waited a little while, in case Dakota wanted to sit with her words, say something else, or just collect herself. When she was sure, she said, “It’s not your fault, you know. Knowing and admitting and being able to do something about realizing you’re gay are all really hard, different steps. It takes as long as it takes. And it’s not wrong or cruel to do what’s best for you, for both of you, really. I mean, if he was so great, he deserves someone who can love him enthusiastically the way he wants, right? And so do you. Going into that kind of lie just to spare his feelings in a moment would’ve just harmed you both, deeply, maybe irrevocably. Not that this doesn’t hurt either, I’m not saying that, but… I think you did the kindest thing you possibly could. Even if that’s not how you felt in the moment, that’s what you did.” She leaned in, knowing just enough from Dakota’s body language that she shouldn’t reach for her, not yet. “I am sorry, though. I know something about how carrying that knowledge around can hurt. How it can feel like the scariest or most impossible, awful, stupid thing. I mean, no one dreams of having their first serious relationship at forty, that’s for sure. But can I ask-- where are you now? With--this. Is it still on you, that guilt, that fear?”

Dakota scoffed—not meanly, not because she was upset, but because the question was almost funny. “Uh, yeah.” She shifted in her chair, clearing her throat a bit. “I’ve been screwing just about anyone stupid enough to say yes for weeks. Waitresses, bartenders.. I just fucked a coworker last night. Not just a cop, dude—a fucking detective. I mean, it was great and all, except for how we left things. And also how she left, actually. And then the fucking shitstorm I caused afterwards.” Dakota sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and rubbing her hands over her face. “Annnnd then I called in sick. So, yeah. I feel guilty. And I feel.. Just this raw fucking shame, all the time. And I feel fucking stupid because, you know, for maybe half a second, I wondered.. You know, what if we did it again? What if it could.. Turn into something? What if I finally just get what I’ve always wanted and what if it just.. Get to hold the girl’s hand? And.. and what if it just works, y’know?” Why the fuck are you sharing all of this? “But, you know, she kind of reminded me that that’s impossible. I mean, it’s not impossible for people like you and Deirdre and her and whoever she decided to run to after she left. Yeah, all that “hope” shit went right out the window because not two minutes after we were done she called it a mistake and high-tailed it out of there.” A beat. “But, you know, I’m meeting another chick at Dell’s later tonight, so. Anita something, I think?”

Morgan moved her chair closer, practically leaning against Dakota. “You know you’re allowed to put some of that shame down, right?” She asked. “And it’s not really impossible so much as it’s just...not right, not yet. If you’re really, really lucky, one time it will just work, and all the stress and the angst and the bullshit that comes after you get to hold the girl’s hand and kiss her goodnight will feel worth it.” Carefully, she brushed back Dakota’s hair from her eyes. Under other circumstances, or with a less strictly monogamous girlfriend, she’d try to ease Dakota’s hurt here and now. She hadn’t let herself alone long enough to figure out what kind of person she really wanted to be, but Morgan couldn’t help but feel like that would-be person was probably kind, or could be without too much struggle. “Be careful with Anita. She’s a friend of mine, and a lot of fun, but I have it on good authority that she’s still hung up on someone. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She wondered how Dakota felt about corpses and their startlingly cold temperatures, if she would be horrified, or stay still long enough to realize Morgan’s chest didn’t rise or fall and her pulse was silent. “I have a very weird question to ask you,” she said with a sheepish grin. “Is it okay if I touch you--very affectionately but sans romantic agenda? I feel very endeared to you right now and I'd like to be closer than we are right now. We can also, you know, go straight back to the dead things, or talking about literally any other thing…”

Part of her really wanted to be annoyed, or to ruin whatever the hell was going on by being an asshole somehow—it’s what she did best. Or, well, so she believed. Regardless, it was the best way Dakota could maintain her distance from people, maintain her invulnerability, keep the walls built up as high as she could, with the strongest bricks and the strongest cement binding them together so that way nobody gets in. But it gets so lonely in here sometimes. “Uh..” she began, not knowing how to respond. Maybe it was the fact that Morgan already took the liberty of brushing some hair from her face, and maybe it was because nobody’s done that to her in a while… And maybe this was the first time she’d been semi-vulnerable around anyone, so.. Did she really have anything else to lose? Her dignity, maybe… “Sure…?”

Morgan beamed, her whole face brightening up. “Thank you,” she said softly. She brushed back the rest of the young woman’s hair with a careful, tender touch, and scooted close enough to wrap her arms around her in a hug. “You’re still worthy of love, Dakota, even just like this,” she whispered in her ear. “And it’s all shitty and painful and unfair right now, and there’s no guarantee about any of it, but you’re not unworthy or broken just because things have been hard, okay?” She rose half out of her seat and pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of her head. “Now! Why don’t I show you some of the deathly craft work you actually came here for, at least for a hot sec, huh?” Her arms were still draped around Dakota and she reached over the woman for her carving knives rather than unfurl herself.

Dakota was torn—she enjoyed the physical touch, because damn, she hadn’t felt much of anything gentle in a while. It was sweet in a very genuine, kind way. Morgan was just.. Kind, so she guessed. But still, she was torn between just enjoying the small moment between them and questioning why the hell she was so cold. In fact, it was almost hard to enjoy the interaction because… Well, one of the reasons humans enjoyed physical touch so dearly was because sharing body heat was primal. But as soon as Morgan wrapped arms around her body, it was noticeable. Why the hell wasn’t her hug warm? Or even the kiss she’d pressed on the top of her head… I mean, she’s freezing. Before she really had time to process this, Morgan had already reached across her person to grab her carving knives. “Do you have circulation issues?” she asked, probably a touch offhand. “Or, like, low iron or something?”

Morgan laughed and snapped off a chunk of antler with one hand, too distracted to think of how weird that would look for a woman as small as she was. “That is probably the nicest way anyone has ever asked about my body temperature,” she said. “I can stop, if you want. I know it’s startling and unusual and not everyone wants to be close to an ice queen. But uh--yeah, circulation issue about covers it.” Being dead was kind of a circulation issue, right? She guided Dakota’s hands onto the table, careful to touch her sweater more than her skin. “I was thinking some of this would make a really cool pendant, but I think some designs would be better. So--” She snapped off another piece so they each had one. “You can sketch on the bone with a pencil, if you want, I’ve got plenty right here. Or if you already have and idea, you can just score lightly on the surface with this tool, before you start cutting deeper with this one ....” The larger blade was a little farther from her reach than she wanted, and as Morgan strained, the sharp edge sliced into the side of her finger, carving out a gash that did not bleed, but showed dark, liquid matter resting tepid beneath her skin. “O-oh shit! Uh--ow! Yikes, Sorry…” She pressed down on the wound, knowing it would heal soon, but the pressure of her fingers squeezed out more of her dark, dead blood onto her fingers, impossible to miss until she could wash them clean.

Despite the fact that Morgan just so happened to be unusually cold—more so to the point that Dakota was genuinely concerned for her health, to be honest—it was still nice to feel close to someone. Finally tucking away the emotions she’d let bubble to the surface, though, she truly was ready to let Morgan teach her a few things about bone carving. She was talented, to say the least, and Dakota thought it would be fun to just be creative with it. God, when was the last time she was creative with anything? Her attention was already drawn to the bone she had in her hand, and she had already started to think up a design she wanted to score into the surface, but everything came to a screeching halt when Morgan had reached for the larger blade. Almost immediately, mainly by instinct, Dakota jumped up to search for a rag or something to put pressure on the cut, but she’d only gotten halfway out of her chair before she was absolutely stunned by what she’d seen. “Jesus, Morgan! Did you—” she almost said hit an artery, but she’d seen too much blood in her life to know that whatever was coming out of her body wasn’t healthy. It sure as fuck wasn’t normal. She sat for a moment, clearly stupefied. All the science she’d studied was swirling around in her brain. Extremely low hemoglobin could be a possibility, but she’d never seen it so… No, that couldn’t be it. Early menopause affects menstrual blood, but even then… Well, that just didn’t make sense. Polycythemia vera..? No, it was too.. “What the fu— We should take you to the emergency room!” she exclaimed, finally snapping out of the shock she was in and grabbing the nearest dish towel she could find, running it under some warm water and bringing it back to Morgan, leaving the sink running in her haste. “Why aren’t you..? C’mon, dude, we need to go!”

“No, it’s fine! It’s fine! I just need to wash it off and uuh…” Morgan scrubbed her hand with the towel Dakota gave her, focusing more on the zombie blood stains on her hand than the cut. She ran to the sink and fumbled with the soap, hoping that maybe Dakota would think she was using disinfectant or something else human. Her skin had just started to stitch together and after a quick wipedown with her dish towel, it was good as new again. Morgan whirled around quickly and held up her finger. “See! Look, it’s not even that deep! You can’t even see it anymore!” Then, realizing she looked like she was flipping off her new friend, Morgan scurried over and showed her the proof. With the stains gone, you couldn’t even tell anything had ever been wrong. “It’s just a...uh...thing that happens to me sometimes. Everything looks way worse than it really is with me. I really uh….bounce back easy. I’m sorry to worry you, but look, it’s fine! See!”

Dakota never showed her true feelings, but she couldn’t not gasp when she saw Morgan’s finger. One moment it looked like motor oil was spilling out of her goddamn hand and the next, it was…? Her fucking finger was healed. Completely mended, as if nothing had happened, as if seconds ago she hadn’t needed to go to the emergency room. Given years of training herself to bite her tongue, Dakota still hadn’t mastered her facial expressions. She may as well just have said: what the ever living fuck? But instead, she started to back away, grabbing her coat from off the back of the chair she had just been sitting in, bumping into the table as she did. “I’m—Sorry, I just remembered, I.. Have a thing.” Seconds later, she was out the door, nearly ramming down the mailbox as she pulled out of the driveway like a bat out of hell.

“It’s really fine, you don’t have to go,” Morgan protested. She followed Dakota to the door, feeling helpless as she fled into the night. “You can stay, really, Dakota--Dakota?” But the woman was gone, and all the hope Morgan had built up for her vanished into the dark as well.

#deathly fun #wr dakota #wr chatzy #wr dakota chatzy #medical blood tw #gore cw #wickedswriting

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psi-psina · 7 years ago

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The Hounds of Baskerville read-through

Pt three, UMQRA. [pt one] [pt two]

(this is again a direct continuation of pt one & two)

Credit as always to Arianne DeVere for her transcripts :)

This is the final part of this read through that I wrote before intervening events, and I don’t know if/when I’ll be continuing as I’m quite busy now. This is also quite a bit longer than the other two posts bc I just CAN’T shut up about this part, sorry about that lol.

And we’re finally out on the moor! Night falls as they approach the hollow and as they enter the wooded area, John is distracted by some ghostly rustlings and wailings and he spots a tiny light blinking off in the distance. He exhales heavily and whispers after Sherlock, but finds himself suddenly alone. Sherlock never waits for him.

He thinks the light is someone signalling, coded in morse, and writes down what the morse spells out: UMQRA. The light then vanishes and John, stumped, goes after Sherlock and Henry.

Back with Sherlock and Henry, Sherlock needling about Frankland; he says Frankland seems worried about Henry, and Henry says Frankland’s a worrier at best, and that he’s been very kind to him (Henry) since he came back.

So thinking about Frankland as a Moriarty mirror; Frankland acts kindly and concerned towards Henry (Sherlock) but this is only in order to exploit him. Frankland is literally gaslighting Henry and making him doubt his grip on reality, in order to discredit Henry to make sure no one would ever take him seriously if he ever started to remember Frankland’s crime. Perhaps he was even hoping to simply push Henry to suicide. It is a clear foreshadowing of what Moriarty intends to do to Sherlock in The Reichenbach Fall in which he seeks to discredit and destroy Sherlock “inch by inch” in the most public and intimate ways imaginable, in his attempt to solve their “problem”.

This is also, however, the root of Sherlock’s fears about John that are explored in this episode, which is dealing entirely with Fear. This is why Frankland is heavily paralleled with John, and his two mirrors (Dr Mortimer & Dr Stapleton) throughout this episode. Frankland is the same physical type as the other villainous John mirrors (Jeff Hope and Culverton), he has a military past and is also a Dr who works at Baskerville with Dr Stapleton. He’s very worried about Henry just as Lousie is, but where her concerns are genuine, his are dishonest and exploitative. Which we will see very shortly is the exact gist of what Sherlock fears about John, and the nature of their relationship. Frankland as Moriarty is this episode’s embodiment of the fears Sherlock has projected onto John which, when understood make his behaviour throughout this episode extremely transparent.

ANYWAY.

SHERLOCK: But he worked at Baskerville, your dad didn’t have a problem with that? HENRY: Well, mates are mates aren’t they. I mean look at you and John.

Sherlock snaps suspiciously at this, clearly on edge about any insinuations about them.

HENRY: They agreed never to talk about work (Baskerville), Uncle Bob and my dad.

Hm. They agreed to never talk about Baskerville (❤️). And when they did, Henry’s dad ended up…dead. Henry points out the hollow as he and Sherlock arrive at the scene, and we cut back to John. As he’s searching for Sherlock he hears an odd sound, one that appears to be part of the soundtrack but he reacts to it (I could be mistaken but this also happens in The Blind Banker so I have a feeling it’s legit). There’s an odd pulse that is almost like an eerie distorted heartbeat, to which John reacts. And he looks for the source and finds water, dripping from an unknown source onto a drum. He looks a the oddly leaking water with no apparent source and seems curious and rather bemused, until his inspection is cut short by the Hound tearing through the woods behind him. This moment is mirrored a bit later in the episode with Henry (Sherlock) who’s attention is drawn to some carelessly leaking water in his backyard before he too is terrorised by the Hound. I’ll go into the symbolism of water a little later. Back with John, the Hound howls and John starts to run, the water forgotten, and we cut back to Sherlock stumbling down into the hollow as the Hound’s motif escalates. He fixates on huge paw prints in the mud before looking up at the sound of another howl.

On the edge of the hollow we can hear the Hound snarling and rustling and see it’s shadow on the forest floor but -

There’s nothing there.

Sherlock looks like he’s seen a ghost as a frantic Henry lurches up behind him, demanding to know if Sherlock saw it. Sherlock completely ignores him and pushes him aside brusquely, storming off. When they meet back up with John, Sherlock denies having seen anything at all.

HENRY: Look, he must have seen it. I saw it – he must have. He must have. I can’t ... Why? Why? Why would he say that? It-it-it-it it was there. It was. JOHN: Henry, Henry, I need you to sit down, try and relax, please. HENRY: I’m okay, I’m okay. JOHN: Listen, I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep, all right? HENRY: This is good news, John. It’s-it’s-it’s good. I’m not crazy. There is a hound, there ... there is. And Sherlock – he saw it too. No matter what he said, he saw it.

John escorts Henry back to his home and kindly prescribes him some downers to help him calm down after his close encounter. Henry (Sherlock) is having a strange experience however, he seems equally relieved as he is horrified at having actually SEEN the Hound. Because, as horrifying as it’s existence is, a confirmation at least allays his fears about his own sanity. We transition from Henry in the classic Holmes thinking pose as he contemplates and consoles himself, to a highly distressed Sherlock striking his own Holmesian pose by the fire back at the Inn. I love that transition, one of my many favourites. This show has THE MOST emotive transitions, it’s the BEST.

John takes the chair opposite Sherlock at the Inn, and we see them before an empty dinner table set for two, with a heart-shaped wreath of thorns hung right over the flames in between their bodies. This is one of my favourite shots in the whole show;

Like…this image speaks a thousand words. Visual poetry. I mean the entire show is but there are moments like these where they just… completely outdo themselves man. Obviously, a burning heart made of a wreath of thorns is evocative enough in itself, it also looks like another piece of Christian imagery. It brings to mind the Sacred Heart, which is a pretty well known symbol for divine and unconditional love…the cause of Christ’s Sherlock’s immeasurable suffering. :( All of which is…contextually relevant.

^ An accurate image of Sherlock’s heart, tbh.

JOHN: Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He’s manic, totally convinced there’s some mutant super-dog roaming the moors. And there isn’t, though, is there? ’Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works. …Er, listen: er, on the moor I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse – I guess it’s Morse. …Doesn’t seem to make much sense. …Er, U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean ... anything ... So, okay, what have we got? We know there’s footprints, ’cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something. …Maybe we should just look for whoever’s got a big dog. SHERLOCK: Henry’s right. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I saw it too. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I saw it too, John. JOHN: Just ... just a minute. You saw what? SHERLOCK: A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound.

John smirks. Sherlock blinks back the tears. This scene is absolutely excruciating. What is it with Mark writing these horrible inability-to-communicate scenes in his episodes. I mean I know why but...I hate it.

“Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we’d know. They’d be for sale. I mean, that’s how it works.”

Interesting, because even though the Hound is not actually real, the idea of the Hound very much is, and is VERY much for sale. The idea of the Hound is, literally, used as a ‘tourist attraction’, an in-joke that drums up business for the township, irregardless of the fact that it’s driving Henry insane. This is, undoubtedly, a meta comment on cultural gaybaiting, probably also an underhanded reaction in response to the criticism they themselves have received for it. I am not joking. Like in and of itself it’s excruciatingly poignant and incredibly well done purely in the episodes context, but as all their bullshit subtext has amounted to nothing remotely tangible, it remains an underhanded tantrum. >(

Anyway. John goes from disbelief to a weak attempt at pacification which only serves to embitter Sherlock even more towards him.

JOHN: We have to be rational about this.

This scene is an interesting role-reversal. This is, in a way, Sherlock getting a taste of his own medicine from John. This is basically John treating Sherlock the way Sherlock treated him in their argument in The Great Game (one of my favourite scenes EVER), and is absolutely 100% written as a parallel scene, simply with Sherlock the one having an emotional crisis, and John completely misunderstanding what he’s seeing. And even in these role reversals, John is still rather kindly, and Sherlock stiflingly cruel. Anyway, Sherlock is no more able to ‘be rational’ in this situation than John was as they started at each from their chairs in 221B (although again, John behaves, as always, far more rationally than Sherlock does lmao i WILL NOT discredit him there!!). And John can do nothing to appease him because they are communicating across a gulf so wide right now they might as well be speaking different languages.

The way Sherlock admits to having seen it is so sad; it’s like a concession, “Henry’s right, I was wrong. I saw it too. He’s always been right about it.” He’s always feared, deep down, that it was real and what they all say about it is true.

SHERLOCK: Look at me. I’m afraid, John. Afraid. *[1] JOHN: Sherlock? SHERLOCK: Always been able to keep myself distant...divorce myself from...feelings. But look, you see…body’s betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions. The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.

Sherlock looks at his shaking hands with disdain as he raises a glass of scotch and takes a couple of swigs. “Look at me, I’m afraid.”

What’s got him so wound up to be shaking and forcing back tears in a room full of people? Sure he’s been drugged, but neither Henry nor John react anywhere near this viscerally to the drug or their encounter with their Hounds. This is because John, and probably Henry, are both far better adjusted than Sherlock is lol. All this is has been just below the surface all along, the drug, the Hound, just knocked his defences down.You get a big hint in Scandal, in fact, as to the nature of Sherlock’s fear here.

In that scene in Scandal, we get the first appearance of the musical motif used solely in the aptly titled “Pursued by a Hound” which is exclusive to this episode bar that one moment in Scandal (another thing linking the Hound to Irene and the events of Scandal). In that scene, we see Sherlock drugged against his will by Irene, just as he has been now, in the Hollow. The scene above is the one in which Irene wholly defeats Sherlock, and she does so by drugging him. His defeat by her, the mirror of his desire and sexuality, is not intellectual, it is wholly physical, she imposes her will upon him with a drug. She causes his body to utterly fail him and leaves him entirely at her mercy. Drugged and completely physically vulnerable.

“…Body’s betraying me.”

So you could argue that this betrayal is fear itself, but it simply isn’t. Sherlock is not immune to emotions, he only pretends to be. He’s no stranger to fear. His desires got totally carried away on him, he fell desperately in love with John, and he is quite certain now that he was mistaken to do so. He does not hate emotions in and of themselves, he hates HIS emotions because they are not correct, they are doomed, unrequited, unfulfilled, a source of nothing but pain and suffering for him. He hates his emotions and he is terrified of his weakening body betraying his desires. To John. This fear, this visceral shame that can so easily grow and become basically synonymous with desire inside gay people living in ambient homophobia, is embodied in this episode by this idea of the Hound literally mauling it’s unwilling victims to death. It is embodied by mirrors, when Henry loses control and attacks Lousie in his home. It is embodied in The Reichenbach Fall by every man Sherlock touches being violently killed or committing suicide as a direct result of being touched by him. It is mirrored again by Eurus in The Final Problem, when she talks about raping one of her guards.

He’s on a(nother) downward spiral. Mind’s tearing itself to pieces, body’s betraying him. He feels like a monster.

”The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment.” But John can’t see it, and he has absolutely no chance of making any sense of it because he would never think in a million years that Sherlock is behaving like this because of him. He could never know that Sherlock’s cold disdain for emotions is an expression of the pain his own cause him, of the fear that John get a glimpse (or a faceful) of what Sherlock feels for him, even though John does suspect his friend is not alright. Like, this is certainly one of John’s uglier moments, he certainly could have handled this with more tact, and once you’re able to read Sherlock it’s so easy to fault John in this scene because once you’re in Sherlock’s head, John can appear to be a truly insensitive, oblivious dick. Which he sort of is, but you just can’t. You can’t truly fault John for being cynical and guarded at this stage, Sherlock has cut him dead and hurt him too much for John to be anything but lost when they’re in these situations now. This cynicism does grow into something uglier down the line, in Culverton, and I feel like this scene is where the seeds of that monster are first sown in Sherlock, which then properly bloom at the end of The Sign of Three.. :/

Jesus. Like I’m not joking, if I was a damaged robotic gay person having a nervous breakdown in front of my best friend with whom I was desperately in love only to have them inadvertently make a mockery of my self-hatred and inability to express myself I definitely would not be able to handle this any better. (I mean personally I would just start crying and run away).

John, getting more and more uncomfortable, tries to get Sherlock to rationalise, saying “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there, and got yourself a bit worked up.” Like you would to a child. Even with that slight smile. This sounds infuriatingly patronising to Sherlock, and Sherlock gets defensive, then angry, and inevitably lashes out the best way he can; with his deductions.

“There is nothing wrong with me, do you understand!? You want me to prove it yes?” **[2]

So he launches into an incredibly scathing and specific deduction about the widow and the fisherman sitting across the room from them: very blatant mirrors for Sherlock (the widow) and John (the fisherman). (They even have matching hearts hanging above them! Although the one hanging over the fisherman is made of rusty old tin or something, make of that what you will.)

SHERLOCK: We’re looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that’s your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start? How about them? The sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. The answer’s yes. JOHN: Yes? SHERLOCK: She’s got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we’re looking for. JOHN: Sherlock, for God’s sake ...

The widow (Sherlock) has a little Hound, of course…a West Highland Terrier. Like Bluebell, it’s not exactly a horrible monster. I mean. I mean look at this. Look at this monstrous Hound.

I just…I am going to scream and physically die, I’M IN TOO DEEP.

SHERLOCK: Look at the jumper he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern, suggesting it’s a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his mother’s good books. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small. That means he wants to impress her, but he’s trying to economise on his own food. JOHN: Well, maybe he’s just not hungry. SHERLOCK: No, small plate. Starter. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her pavlova. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off – you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes.

So, this is what’s going on in Sherlock’s heart right now. :/ The fisherman (John) is treating the widow (Sherlock) to a meal, and indulging her by wearing a jumper he clearly doesn’t like because it was a gift from her, but not because he just loves her and cares about her or wants to spoil her or just spend time with her or make her happy, but because he wants to impress her and get into her ‘good books’. Why? Almost certainly money. His actions aren’t sincere but manipulative and made purely in self-interest (RE, Frankland) and he gives himself away by ‘economising’ on his own food, in spite of being ‘hungry’. John suggests he just might not be hungry but Sherlock is adamant; he’s (John) definitely hungry and not well off, and remains certain that he’s only interested in exploiting her. Those earlier awkward moments between them about money? They hint at this well of resentment. Sherlock’s the wealthy, sentimental widow and John’s the scarred, threadbare, unemployed tradesman.

Left alone with his heartbreak and insecurity, it seems this is what Sherlock thinks about John in his ugliest moments, and now the ‘drug’ lets his fears run wild. It’s eating away at him. I don’t think for a second he truly believes this of John as a person, this is another product of his own self-loathing more than anything and it is WILDLY unfair to John. It seems this is the conclusion he draws about them when trying to figure out why John chooses to continue living and working with him, despite the fact that it causes so many problems in other area’s of John’s life, particularly romantically. He would never think for a second that John stays with him because he’s like, the love of his LIFE, because he doesn’t think that’s possible anymore. :/ All of the above is the reason Sherlock is such an asshole to John in this episode. He’s so insecure he’s convinced himself that he means nothing to John beyond the social/financial perks their partnership provides him. It certainly doesn’t make it okay, it just makes him very transparent, and…sad.

The stuff about the Christmas jumper is something because

I mean, if this possibly implies that Sherlock actually gave John that jumper for Christmas I would just…Die. That seems like a rather…unSherlock thing to do so personally I don’t think it was lol. I always thought that jumper was probably from Jeanette or Mrs Hudson before I thought about this deduction, so…I don’t know really.

SHERLOCK: Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive – fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Not much industry in this part of the world, so he’s turned to his widowed mother for help. “Widowed?” Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain around her neck – clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it – it’s sentimental. Now, the dog ... tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little bit too friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it’s a small dog, probably a terrier. In fact it is – a West Highland terrier called Whisky. “How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?” ’Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that’s not cheating, that’s listening, I use my senses, John, unlike some people, so you see, I am fine, in fact I’ve never been better, so just Leave. Me. Alone.

Where it get’s a little bit too friendly. ...I mentioned he hates himself right.

Anyway. John sits quietly and endures this tirade like all the others, looking more and more hurt as it goes on and Sherlock starts to mock him on top of everything else. When it’s over, he just sadly says “Yeah, okay. Okay. Why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.” Looking close to tears himself now and Sherlock twists the knife one more time; “I don’t have friends.” he says viciously and John just

😞

Honestly, the rejection Sherlock feels is mostly self-imposed, which is why his character arc thus far has culminated in him finding self-love, but John…god the rejection John has endured from Sherlock over the course of their relationship is just beyond. Sherlock is just so casually cruel to him so often. Like now. John tries to remind Sherlock that he is in fact his friend, and Sherlock essentially tells him “You are not my friend.” John does the only thing he really can, bitterly says “Naah. Wonder why.” And walks away.

John storms out of the inn to get some air, breathing heavily, trying to calm down, and then spots that light again. Signalling him off in the distance.

We get this sequence.

John sees the distant light and goes after it immediately and we transition to Henry (Sherlock) curled up rather pathetically on his sofa, a blanket draped over his face. He sits, looking pained and tired, then stands and walks to the window. As he reaches it, Liberty In (Death) crashes through his skull and he rubs his temples, holding his head in his hands and breathing deeply.

Liberty in death.

As this is happening to Sherlock/Henry we transition back to John as he hurries toward the source of the light. And what is it? What’s sending this garbled signal John can see off in the distance? It’s sex. Specifically it’s a sexual activity known as Dogging in Britain. Wow 😩

Like, if you were not convinced that Dogs are connected to and referencing sexuality in this episode, this really ought to put that matter to rest. I can’t imagine the agony it must have caused Mark Gatiss to figure out how to work this euphemism into the mystery in this episode in a meaningful way lmao. There’s nothing else to say.

Anyway, John, realising that the light that his curiosity thought to be a meaningful signal is just a product of some voyeuristic pervs bonking, believes he’s made a mistake, turns and heads back toward the inn, kicking himself. As he retreats, with the light flashing eerily over his shoulder as though it’s trying to call him back, his phone pings with a text from Sherlock, asking him to interview Louise Mortimer. John texts him back in all caps, Ajsdhfn I love him. And Sherlock just sends through a photo of Louise for him. 😩 I swear to god, Sherlock could not be any saltier right now if he were a literal puddle of brine. John halts momentarily as he looks at Louise and he mumbles, “Ohh you’re a bad man” and in my opinion he’s talking about…both of them. 😩 Useless jerks.

As John walks off, we transition back to Henry (Sherlock).

The simplest way to look at the following sequence is pure dream logic. It is almost certainly an actual nightmare that Sherlock/Henry is having, as all Henry says the next morning is that he ‘didn’t sleep well’ and not, y’know, that there was something lurking around his yard last night that was setting off the floodlights and scaring the living daylights out of him and would Sherlock mind taking a look. No, it isn’t real. The sole purpose of these scenes at Henry’s house is to show you what is going on inside the iron box. Emotional context, with Henry simply being Sherlock’s avatar so as not to give the whole game away.

Henry (Sherlock) is sitting listlessly and being plagued by Hounds on the television. No matter which channel he tries the Hound is everywhere. Then the floodlights flick on, drenching his yard in harsh white light. We see a hose on the patio leaking water everywhere, and as the lights fade out, the silhouette of the Hound tears across the screen. This moment is the dead ringer of John’s earlier encounter with water in the woods. The attention on this eerily leaking water (Henry’s resigned and heedless as he just lets his hose leak everywhere rather than do anything about it, John’s curious and benign as he’s drawn by this mysterious dripping of unknown origins [kind of in the same way he was drawn by the mysterious light]), which is promptly shattered by the appearance of the Hound. Interestingly, the second time we see the hose, after the Hound tears through the yard and the floodlights flash for a second time, the water has stopped.

We all know the symbolism attributed to water in literature and dreams, it’s all relative to emotions and energy:

“In most dreams water indicates emotions, moods and flow of feeling energy. Because of the nature of water it lends itself to depicting aspects of how you relate to your feelings. For instance you can ‘drown’ in or feel swept away by some emotions. At other times you can feel cleansed and refreshed. But because water is vital to your existence it can show how you long for or thirst for something, and feeling fulfilled.” [x]

Everyone’s picked up on how heavily and literally this symbolism is used in Sherlock (particularly drowning), especially in Series 4, but the focus in this episode is on leaking, and leaking water carries it’s own particular meaning:

A leaky hose faucet represents issues that weaken your ability to control yourself. Loss, disappointments, or frustrations may be distracting you.

To dream of a something springing a leak, or taking on water represents loss, disappointments, or frustrations that may be distracting you. Issues that were repressed or kept at bay may coming to the forefront. You may also feel that you are wasting your time or energy. It may also reflect an uncertain situation that is getting out of control.

Small problems that may have the potential to get out of control if you don't deal with them immediately. The potential for a problem to spiral out of control or become destructive if left unattended. Possibly a warning dream about procrastinating or ignoring problems. [x]

Leaking water in dreams represents a leaking of emotions or loss of power. Dreaming of a leak that you can't stop might symbolise an emotional situation in waking life that seems to be out of control. Passively watching a leak without taking action to repair it might be an indication that you are in a reflective stage and are not quite sure whether you want to repair the leak or just let it go. [x]

Leaking water: This can mean that your emotional energy is be used unwisely, possible through such things as anxiety or fear, especially if the water is coming through a ceiling or wall. [x]

So we have…

Loss of self-control - check.

Fear - check.

Disappointment, frustration, anxiety - check.

A(n emotional) problem spiralling out of control and becoming something destructive while left unattended - check.

So, I hope these flashing floodlights are bringing to mind another light we’ve just seen flashing in this episode.

This is what is happening inside Sherlock’s heart right now. Or just watch the full sequence tbh.

The Hound is all over the television, it’s in his home, it’s in his backyard, it’s in his reflection, it’s in his heart. It won’t leave him alone and he can’t get away from it. But all that escapes the iron box is

UMQRA. That bright blaze just a tiny light, glimpsed off in the distance, blinking in nonsense morse. An utter inability to communicate what is in one’s heart. “Every time I close my eyes…I’m lost…lost in the sky and…no one can hear me.” This is what just played out between them at the inn. And John is worried, because he picks up on the signals, he does notice, and he wants it to mean something, he wants it to be a code because that’d mean he might have a chance, however small, at cracking it, but it’s Sherlock’s own actions and endless rejections that make him doubt and dismiss his own perceptions and he will never be able to act on his instincts as long as Sherlock locks him out and refuses to open his heart.

We then transition from Henry, sunk onto the floor weeping, to John and Louise at the pub on a sort-of date, horror transitioning to mirth as she cradles her head in laughter at something John said, uttering “That’s so mean...”, as Henry (Sherlock), gun in hand, cradles his head in despair on his living room floor. Another one of my favourite transitions.

JOHN: Um, more wine, Doctor? MORTIMER: Are you trying to get me drunk, Doctor?

Doctor to Doctor. John chats with Louise and ply’s her with wine as he tries to get a rapport going, changing tack and asking about Henry’s father when she stays firm on her refusal to talk about Henry.

JOHN: Okay, what about his father? He wasn’t one of your patients. Wasn’t he some sort of conspiracy nutter - theorist? MORTIMER: You’re only a nutter if you’re wrong. JOHN: Mmm. And was he wrong? MORTIMER: I should think so!

Of course, like every other Conspiracy Theorist on the show (Sherlock, The Geek Interpreter boys, Anderson & Co, etc), Henry and his father are in fact right about everything. John then makes an appeal to Louise’s concern for Henry,

JOHN: But he got fixated on Baskerville, didn’t he? With what they were doing in there ... Couldn’t Henry have gone the same way, started imagining a hound? MORTIMER: Why d’you think I’m going to talk about this?! JOHN: Because I think you’re worried about him, and because I’m a doctor too…and because I have another friend who might be having the same problem.

John probably genuinely wants to talk to someone about this because he is worried about Sherlock and he has no one to talk to about anything, ever. :/ And just as they may have gotten somewhere, Frankland interrupts and sends it all to hell. Keeping in mind the connection between Frankland/John/Jaqui in this episode, it’s obvious Frankland is acting as John’s demon here. A vexing presence that pops up just in time to prevent John from gaining any insight into Henry’s/Sherlock’s state of mind, AND an annoying cockblock. In keeping with the theme, Frankland fucks with John by insinuating that Sherlock and John are Gay while making sure Louise gets that John’s only there to get information out of her.

FRANKLAND: Didn’t you know? Don’t you read the blog? Sherlock Holmes! Private detective! This is his PA! JOHN: PA? FRANKLAND: Well, live-in PA. JOHN: Perfect.

Wow it’s almost like, every PA we see on this show is a) a mirror for John and b) romantically involved with their Sherlock-I mean, employer. Commander. Except for Janine, who is a PA who is just involved with Sherlock himself. 😩

Frankland mutters to John about Stapleton conspiratorially and finally leaves. John looks back to Louise and makes an appropriately sheepish gesture. As she leaves, Louise snarkily suggests John buy Frankland a drink instead of her, then walks away. Awkward. John sighs, foiled again, as always.

The following morning Sherlock is back on the rocky outcrop alone, contemplating his Problem. We transition to Henry’s house, as he wearily approaches the door to Sherlock’s banging. Sherlock bursts in more manic than ever.

SHERLOCK: Morning! Oh, how are you feeling? HENRY: I’m ... I didn’t sleep very well. SHERLOCK: That’s a shame! Shall I make you some coffee? Oh look, you’ve got damp!

It’s like the shittier he feels the more manic he gets. And of course, they also have “damp”, from all that leaking going on. :/ He promptly storms into Henry’s kitchen and goes straight for his sugar, stealing a couple of sachets and then dramatically making out like he’s putting coffee on. Henry wanders in and tries to ask him what his deal was last night and Sherlock abruptly slams the canister down and cuts him off and tells us what’s REALLY on his mind. Hound; this absurd term for an ordinary love…..i mean . .. . .dog. He then abruptly storms off having got what he came for, leaving his exhausted Henry behind. As he’s walking back through the village he comes across John sitting alone in the cemetery, framed by 3 huge crosses:

So the morning after, Sherlock gazes at John through a field of crosses and they are so prominent in the frame it literally looks like they’re warding Sherlock off. Like a warning. Or reminder: John is off limits, remember that, b*tch. John, meanwhile, has situated himself amongst the dead, sending a pretty clear message about his current state of mind. He looks quite different from the day before as well. He’s gone from the striking (passionate!) combo of deep red and black, to this frigid khaki scenario that basically camouflages him.

An impressive change in mood.

Sherlock approaches him, chewing on his mouth like he’s about to swallow his own tongue, and with no preamble, awkwardly asks John if he got anywhere with Sherlock’s..I mean, that “morse code” from last night. John curtly says no and starts walking away.

SHERLOCK: U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it? UMQRA. U.M.Q... JOHN: Look, forget it. It’s ... I thought I was on to something. I wasn’t. SHERLOCK: Sure? JOHN: Yeah.

Thought I was on to something…I wasn’t. :(

YOU WERRREEEEEEEEEEE!!! HE’S EVERYTHING YOU WANT HIM TO BEEEE JOOOHHHNNNN!!! 😫

Sherlock tries to ‘break the ice’ by joking with John about his ‘progress’ with Louise Mortimer, basically confirming that his sending John to her the previous night was some bullshit self-hating gesture that seems simultaneously spiteful (towards himself), conciliatory (towards John) and deeply ashamed. I mean can you imagine. Actively alienating yourself from the person you’re obsessed with by nudging him towards a woman bc you hate yourself and feel guilty and disgusting for lusting after him because you think he’s straight but you know he’s a bit easy so you maybe feel like it’s a good thing to do by him as a MATE which is what you SHOULD be, but it’s actually just sad and makes you even MORE bitter and self-loathing because it’s pathetic, while it ALSO continues to push him away from you (the whole point BUT STILL) and give him the COMPLETELY wrong idea about your motives and feelings and just alienates him from you even more! Like there is literally No way in which Sherlock has not fucked things up with John! He’s doing his best but he is useless! UGH. Anyway, John isn’t having it, saying funny doesn’t suit him (NOT TRUE) so he should just stick to ice. Mr. ice-man. 😩 HE’S NOT!

Sherlock then gets serious, grabbing John by the arm and explaining that what happened to him last night was more than just fear, it was something he hadn’t really experienced before: Doubt. He felt he couldn’t trust his own senses. John says he (Sherlock) can’t actually believe that he saw a monster, and Sherlock says no, but he DID see it, so that leaves the question of how that could be. So this is a lame attempt at justification and also Sherlock spinning it trying to downplay the meltdown he had the night before while using his usual tactics when he’s trying to get John back on board with him after he’s fucked up: dangling the mystery and the danger and the intrigue in front of him, hoping John’ll bite and all will be forgotten. On the subtextual level, this is the emotional conundrum; Sherlock’s a rational person, he doesn’t (want to) believe the ‘monster’ is real and yet something has caused his own mind to turn against him to allow those fears and doubts about himself (the Hound), and about John, out of their carefully manicured iron box where he can no longer ignore them and pretend he’s above them. Sherlock thinks it’s the ‘sugar’ that has ‘drugged’ him and caused his senses to fail him. He’s an idiot.

The fact that he specifies doubt here I find interesting, specifically doubt with regards to his own senses, as this is another thing that rears it’s ugly head again in The Lying Detective: In which his own ‘memories’ are thrown into turmoil and he has a crisis of Faith (in John), then loses Faith (John) completely, when forced to assume Faith (John) was only ever a figment of his lonely, overactive and drug-addled imagination. He’s forced to accept his senses have betrayed him, as a direct consequence of his ‘addiction’. Here, he holds the ‘sugar’ he likes to have responsible for his close encounter with the Hound. He is wrong on both counts, a little sweetness never harmed no one (actually that’s a lie, Sherlock’s poisoned sweetness is about to hurt John a LOT) and Faith WAS always real.

So anyway, because Sherlock’s a fuck up and can’t deal with John being upset with him, John is just like hmm yes good, got something to go on with then have you, have fun with that and walks away again. Although I think at this point it’s already pretty obvious that John is struggling to stay angry with him (and is just as [if not more] angry with himself), irregardless of how hurt he is. Everyone’s made a lot of this moment and the way John’s eyes keep dropping to Sherlock’s neck as if he’s just so mesmerised by it (which, y’know, fair enough) but that was never what struck me about this scene lmao. John’s upset with Sherlock and here Sherlock is again getting right up in his personal space, putting his face mere INCHES from John’s and making intense eye contact with him. Sustained eye contact with someone at that proximity is VERY intimate and, I always felt like John’s wandering eyes here were more an attempt to break eye contact with Sherlock because it’s too uncomfortable. And, he’s upset with him! Sherlock shouldn’t keep getting away with this crap! He can’t afford to be gazing right into Sherlock’s big blue eyes like this! Dammit!!

Sherlock like...reel him in reel him in. Boy.... :/

As John is walking away Sherlock finally makes an effort at one of his awkward sort-of apologies, saying that he meant what he said last night, that he doesn’t have friends, in the plural, because John is his only friend, gazing at John like a PUPPY. :( It certainly does the trick;

Sherlock must see that tiny smile and nod. John clearly accepts this as Sherlock’s version of an apology, but isn’t quite ready to let him have it just yet, and abruptly turns away from him again, but with that out of the way Sherlock is on John’s heels immediately now showering him with praises because John’s just given him another brain orgasm.

John, you are amazing! You are fantastic! You stimulate me like no other! He literally calls John a conductor of light which is STILL one of the most excruciating things to ever come out of his trash mouth, but as always he tempers his earnestness with glib nonsense, causing John to prompt him to maybe not start ruining his apology QUITE yet (alas, he’s only getting started 😞). John asks what he’s done that’s so bloody stimulating (if only you knew…) and Sherlock turns around and holds up his moleskin, the word HOUND jumps off the page across Sherlock himself, as we look at him from John’s POV;

Beware the Hound, John!

Sherlock looks positively devilish doesn’t he. Why did they ever stop using Paul McGuigan??? A GOD DAMN mystery. This is an obvious marker, just like the moment in The Blind Banker in which Sherlock is marked as the Deadman; so he is marked here, as the Hound. This shot, like the one at the inn the previous day, is from John’s POV because in both instances it is marking Sherlock as John’s “Hound”. John is not tormented by the Hound that torments Sherlock/Henry, because, among other things, John is not gay. John is tormented by Sherlock. Sherlock is the thing that Hounds John. It is also, without a doubt, hinting at the monstrous thing Sherlock is about to do to him. HOUND!

Sherlock speculates that perhaps Hound is actually an acronym, when he turns and spots Lestrade inside the Inn and dramatically swans over to interrogate his presence. He looks put out as John warmly greets Lestrade as Greg, and continues to petulantly demand an explanation.

Sherlock deduces Mycroft must have sent his Handler (conscience, better part, keeper; whatever you wanna call him :P) to look after him “incognito” at the mention of Baskerville, and asks if that’s why he’s calling himself Greg, which John helpfully points out is actually his name. His own better part, his GOOD man, and he’s such a cock he doesn’t even know his NAME! (But John Does!!!) The homoeroticism latent in calling Lestrade Sherlock’s handler is already enough but like look at them...

Like, I am sorry but this is sexual tension aljkald. Greg indignantly says he doesn’t just do whatever Mycroft tells him, rather giving away the fact that he probably does just that. 😩 Then John chips in and halts their squabbling, bringing forth the invoice for all the meat apparently being gobbled by the owners of this strictly vegetarian! establishment. And off they go to shake down Billy and Gary and get to the bottom of this Hound business.

*[1] Another parallel in The Lying Detective that doesn’t really need any elaboration, they’re just parallels that add more context:

I’m afraid, John. Can’t do it, not now. .....Not alone.

Like...they’re begging you to actually LOOK AT HIM. SEE what’s right there in front you!

**[2] And another:

Aaaand of course...

tagging again @sarahthecoat, @devoursjohnlock, @inevitably-johnlocked, @impossibleleaf, @tjlcisthenewsexy, @gosherlocked, @221bloodnun, @northstargrassmaiden, @poisonousindigo (u get tagged in this one bc i remember u asking me about umqra which is what really set off this whole thing lmao), @love-in-mind-palace

hope ya’ll’s enjoy :) I sure did!!

#tjlc #sherlock #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock meta #my meta

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dazombi3fari3 · 5 years ago

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Hey doll hey!! How’s your day/night going? Great I hope. It’s raining here so naturally I am in a heap of pain. I got up at a pretty decent time (around 8 AM) but now it’s 4:17 PM and I feel exhausted… I really hate Fibromyalgia.

I will be doing product reviews in my Final Thoughts today.

Today I am wearing Bath and Body Works Rose Champagne (notes are Clementine, Bergamot, Apple Blossom, Pink Pepper, and Blonde Woods).

Now let’s jump into this Face of the Day ….

Base: I primed my face using Hourglass Veil Mineral Primer ($54 at Sephora) and just a tad bit of Tarte Clean Slate Timeless Smoothing Primer ($39 at Ulta) around the pores of my cheek area. I used the Charlotte Tilbury Hollywood Flawless Filter ($44 on the Beautylish website) in the shade #3 Light/Medium to give my skin that lit from within glow. For foundation today I am using DermaBlend Flawless Creator Liquid Foundation Drops ($40 at Ulta) in the shade 30 N (light skin with neutral undertones). I first tried this with the MAC Strobe Cream ($35 at Ulta) in the shade Goldlite (golden pearls) mixed in (3 drops of the foundation and 3 squirts of the strobe cream) and that just diluted the pigment in the foundation so I added another light layer of just the foundation over top of that. I took the Hollywood Flawless Filter up under my under eyes so I chose not to use a color corrector today instead I just used 2 dots of the DermaBlend Cover Care Full Coverage Concealer ($28 at Ulta) in the shade 15N Fair/Light. I contoured using Charlotte Tilbury Hollywood Contour Wand ($38 on the Beautylish website) in the shade 2 Medium/Dark… I used it around the perimeter of my forehead, hollows of the cheeks, and the bridge of my nose. I then highlighted the bridge of my nose, cupid’s bow, tops of the cheeks, center of the chin, and high points above my brows using the Charlotte Tilbury Hollywood Beauty Light Wand ($39 on the Beautylish website). I then set my full face using Believe Beauty Matte Blur Loose Powder ($5 only at Dollar General) in the shade Translucent. I am using Flower Beauty Light Illusion Perfecting Powder ($13.99 at Ulta) in the shade L4-M1 Beige as my setting powder.I then warmed up the perimeter of my face using Tarte Limited Edition Park Ave Princess Waterproof Face & Body Bronzer ($34 at Ulta).

Eyes: I primed my lids using P.Louise Base ($10 pound sterling/ $12.08 USD on their website… can also be found on the Morphie website for $15) in the shade Rumour 0.5. For today’s eye look I used the ColourPop Bare Necessities Palette ($34 on their website). I started with the shade Tabloid (deep caramel matte) from lash to brow bone. I then put a light layer of NYX Glitter Primer ($6.50 at Ulta) all over my mobile lids and then patted the shade Fuzzy (true red copper metallic) over the top of the primer. I then went into the shade Hot Gossip (toasted nude matte) and buffed that at the top of my eye lids in the transition area to lighten and buff out the shade Tabloid. I then deepened the outer 1/3 of the mobile lid and the outer v of the crease using the shade Taboo (deep brown matte). I then went into more of the shade Tabloid and buffed away any harsh edges of Taboo. I lined my upper and lower waterlines using Charlotte Tilbury The Classic Eye Powder Pencil ($22 at Sephora) in the shade Audrey (classic brown). I set my brows using Believe Beauty Eyebrow Styling Gel ($4 at Dollar General) in clear and then filled in my brows using Benefit Precisely My Brow Pencil ($24 at Ulta and Sephora) in the shade 4.5 and then I carved out my brow line using the BH Studio Pro Brow Highlighter ($5 on their website) on the matte side and set the brow line using the shade Full Expose (creamy vanilla matte). I coated my upper and lower lashes with 1 coat of Milani Dangerous Lengths Mascara ($9.99 at Ulta) and popped on a pair of Kiss Natural Effect Lashes ($11.99 at Ulta for a pack of 5) in the style Flirty. I highlighted my inner corners using the shade Idol Hour (warm ivory with a pale peach sheen metallic).

Cheeks and Lips: Since I did the cream highlighter and was really loving the effect of it I chose not to use powder highlighter today. For blush today I chose ELF Primer Infused Blush ($6 on their website) in the shade Always Punchy (a pink coral matte). I lined my lips using NYX Suede Matte Lip Liner ($4 at Ulta) in the shade Wipped Caviar (a reddish pink nude). I then topped my lips off with Il Makiage INFINITY LONG-WEAR MATTE LIP CREAM ($22 on their website) in the shade Gala (a dusty pink coral matte).

Final Thoughts: I forgot to mention yesterday that I have hit pan on a few of my makeup products this month!! It’s both very exciting and very sad to hit pan on loved makeup products. I hit pan on #1. Charlotte Tilbury Airbrush Flawless Finish Setting Powder ($45 at Sephora) #2. The color Soothe Matte in the Tati Beauty Textured Neutrals Vol. 1 Palette ($48 on her website) #3. Benefit Mini Hoola Bronzer ($17 at Ulta and Sephora) and #4 Believe Beauty Brighten Up Color Correcting Concealer ($4 only at Dollar General).

I’m hurting so bad today. It’s supposed to rain until Sunday so tomorrow I may just be doing another “no makeup” makeup look… just so that I can look put together without taking too much time sitting up… the longer I’m sitting straight the more pain I’m in so minimizing that would be best.

Now… Let’s get into the review of the new products I used today….

DermaBlend Flawless Creator Liquid Foundation Drops: Graded A++ : The formula is beautiful and the shade is perfect. The reason that I didn’t grade this an A+++ is that it is a bit temperamental when paired with a glow drop formula. I noticed that when I added this to my MAC Strobe Cream it kind of went streaky in some areas and cakey in other areas. However, when I used it alone over top of what I already had on it went on smoothly and was actually very pretty. I am going to try this one again but instead of mixing it with a glow drop I will just mix it in with my primer. It’s too early to tell if I would repurchase it but so far I like it.

MAC Strobe Cream: Graded B+: This glow cream is pretty, it just doesn’t pack the punch that something like the Charlotte Tilbury Hollywood Flawless Filter or BECCA Backlight Priming Filter does. I noticed straight away that this is not the type of glow product that can be mixed into a foundation… it’s more of a product to use under foundation. I’ll have to play around with it more to see just how best to use it … and I do not see me purchasing a full size or even another mini.

DermaBlend Cover Care Full Coverage Concealer: C-: This concealer is so thick. Even with 2 small dots it still was thick and settled into my fine lines, even after I powdered it. This concealer looked pretty before I set it with powder… very hydrated looking… but after I lightly (and I mean lightly) powdered the under eye area it just looked horrible. It was creepy, cakey, and dusty dry. It also still settled into the fine lines and I had to buff it back out and add more powder which just exacerbated the situation. The reason I didn’t grade it lower is throughout the day this concealer actually looked better. (more hydrated and less creppy). I’ll try and use this one a few more times but I really feel that I may be returning this one if I can’t get it to work.

Tarte Limited Edition Park Ave Princess Waterproof Face & Body Bronzer: Grade A- : This is a pretty bronzer. It pulls just a tiny bit orange on me so I have to be careful not to go over board. It has a pretty sheen to it that looks like a natural glow to the skin and less like I’m wearing a shiny bronzer. I’ll have to try this one out on a “no makeup” makeup day and see how it does on it’s own with no contour underneath it. I will definitely be reaching for this one again. It’s such a big pan that I don’t see me needing to repurchase it anytime soon.

NYX Glitter Primer: Grade A+++: This primer is the real deal!! I mean wow!! I use to use the Too Face Glitter Glue and that didn’t work as good as this one does. I used the thinnest of layers and it still packed a punch. Normally ColourPop metallics are pigmented when you apply it with a finger on just a bare lid but when applied over top of the primer it was as if I wet the shadow before laying it down and I only needed 1 layer instead of a few layers to reach ultimate opacity. I also noticed that ,without this primer, if I touch my lid the metallic shade transfers but, with the primer, when I touched my lid today there was no transfer of the metallic shade. It held fast and has not faded. I am super impressed and can already tell I will be repurchasing this product again in the future.

Il Makiage INFINITY LONG-WEAR MATTE LIP CREAM: Grade A+++: This is such a beautiful product! It’s comfortable, it’s lightweight, and it doesn’t get crusty. It feels like a satin on the lips. I also noticed that with most liquid matte products that it tends to pill up around the center of the lid area on me… this one hasn’t and I have not had to reapply it in the past 4 hours and I have eaten greasy food and had a coffee and a pop and still my lipstick is in place. This one is only a mini, but I have already added this to my shopping list for next month’s beauty buys. I want a few shades because this is such an amazing formula.

Well that’s all for now dolls. I hope you have a great rest of your day/night and that you are in the best of health and spirits. Remember …. Save a spoon for a bit of lipstick.

XOXO

Copper Smokey Eye Face of the Day and Mini Product Review Hey doll hey!! How's your day/night going? Great I hope. It's raining here so naturally I am in a heap of pain.

#Beauty #Believe Beauty #Charlotte Tilbury #ColourPop #DermaBlend #Face of the day #Makeup #makeup review #Product Review #Tarte

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