#holmes and watson (umbrella)

[angryducktimemachine]

Finished watching the 1967 WDR Adaptation of Sherlock Holmes and that certainly was. An experience.

[ravenlilyrose]

Joan Watson was a guarded individual. She hid her secrets and her broken places so well that people didn’t even notice them, locked them away and then set her mind to forgetting where she’d put the key. Sherlock didn’t know many of her secrets, didn’t know the things that had broken her. But over time she had allowed him close enough that he could see where the secrets were hidden, could see the places where she’d rebuilt herself from shattered pieces or slapped bandaids over deep wounds. He didn’t know where the key was, he didn’t know what the secrets were, he didn’t know what had shattered her or how she had fixed herself, but he knew enough to know where to be gentle and where to push and where to simply be silent. Maybe one day she’d remember where she’d put the key and let him in, but for now, Sherlock guarded his partner’s secrets and broken places as fiercely as he protected his own, because he loved her and because he cared for her and because she protected him, too.

[skyriderwednesday]

Oh, hey Mary. That's a nice umbrella. Why are you holding it like that?

Oh, because it's actually a sword? Sick.

[phoenix27884]

BAHAHAHAHAAAA!! Brilliant 🥰🥰🤣🤣

May Prompts

It's the day of the Fall in the Sherlock fandom...needless to say that today's prompt is fall...

The Luckiest Girl in the world (chapter 4)

Summary: Rosie starts to interact with her uncle in earnest, much to Sherlock and John's delight. Mycroft is not that amused...

Four Years Old

Shortly after our seaside visit, things were set in motion by the British Government, aka Mycroft Holmes. Papers were signed, and a few months before my fourth birthday, I was Sherlock’s legal daughter. My Papa. God, how I love him. Just as much as I love Dad. And the adoption came with more benefits. I got an uncle and two grandparents as well.

My uncle Myc, as I call him, which he wrinkled his nose at in the beginning, is a complex man. Like his younger brother, but also different. The walls around him are thicker and not as easily penetrable as Papa’s. Gaining access to Mycroft Holmes’s heart, is no easy feat. Only a handful of people have managed it, and I’m the last one in line. Walls can indeed fall.

Dad told me how Papa constantly bickered, argued and fought with his brother, but Dad knew there was love there. Uncle Myc did anything in his power to keep Papa safe, and later Dad and me.

When I started to really interact with my uncle, Papa apparently had the time of his life, because at the age of barely four, I had no idea who Mycroft Holmes really was, or what he was capable of. I just saw a pompous man, always dressed in a three-piece suit, and carrying an umbrella. The latter spurred my brain, not to mention my tongue, into action.

“Why do you always have that parasol with you?��� I asked and pointed at his umbrella.

Papa rumbled and Dad chuckled. It was Papa who had told me the name of the item. 

“It’s an umbrella, Rosamund,” he said stiffly and glared daggers at his brother, fully knowing who had “taught” me the name.

I didn’t care what the damn thing was called, but stared stubbornly at him and waved a hand, as Papa used to do when he didn’t want to be troubled with trifles.

“Why?” I asked sternly, lifting my chin in challenge.

“Oh, John. That surely is the spitting image of what you looked like when you turned his offer down in that garage all those years ago,” I heard Papa say.

I had no idea what he was talking about, and didn’t bother asking, so I continued staring my uncle straight in the eyes, daring him to deny me an answer. 

“You got your stubbornness from your dad,” Papa always says.

Uncle Myc cleared his throat and sat down on the sofa, before he explained some nonsense, I didn’t believe for a second. How the British weather is unpredictable, that he sometimes needed it for support if his leg should, for some reason, give way. At that point Papa and Dad snorted in unison and I rolled my eyes. That got me a tiny hint of a smile. It probably reminded him of his brother when he was my age.

“When you’re old enough, I will take you to the shop that makes these, and let you choose your very own,” he offered in a tone that was supposed to be friendly, but his lack of training in that area, made it sound more like a threat.

***

“Did you see his face, John,” Papa laughed when everyone had left my birthday party.

Dad giggled and was almost unable to answer, clinging to Papa’s arm like it was the only thing preventing him from falling.

“I did! Please tell me he still got surveillance cameras in the flat,” Dad said breathlessly and looked up at Papa with a pleading expression.

Papa bent down and kissed his forehead, and whispered something I couldn’t discern. It clearly contained something sentimental, because Dad cupped Papa’s face and murmured “love you”, before they started laughing again.

The reason for this silly behaviour had everything to do with Nana’s gift. It was an umbrella. Light green, with yellow flowers, green plants, and a white bird with a large beak on the rim. That in itself, wasn’t what got my fathers into a fit of giggles, but rather my outburst after I’d thanked Nana for it.

“Look, uncle Myc! I got one too. Just like yours. “

Also available on AO3

Tags in the replies.

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 31 - Retirement (Epilogue)

“The bees were restless this morning. I think a storm might be coming through today,” Sherlock mentioned as he glanced over the print of his newspaper. He didn’t look at John. It was a habit of old. He would start a conversation but continue the task he was on.

“Oh?” John replied, removing his glasses and looking up from his book. He enjoyed this ritual of theirs. “I was going to suggest a stroll to the village for dinner tonight. It’s our anniversary.”

Sherlock let his paper drop down to look over at John. “It’s not. We were married in June, John. You’re too young to be going senile.”

John smirked. “Not that one.”

“How many anniversaries does one have?” Sherlock checked looking confused.

John pulled an item out of his pocket and held it up.

“You know my eyesight isn’t that good,” Sherlock moaned, not even bothering to squint to try and see it.

“And I’ve told you to go back to the optometrist, so it’s your fault entirely isn’t it?” John teased. “You will just have to wait.” He returned the item to his pocket with glee and put his glasses on to return his focus to his book.

Sherlock didn’t move. John could feel him glaring, thinking, brow furrowed, calculating but no retort came.

“In any case, let’s see what the weather does. We still have that lamb I can cook up if the weather is against us,” John suggested.

“I’ve heard they invented a fantastical object that you can hold up and it actually stops you from getting wet in the rain. Marvellous,” Sherlock said full of sarcasm, pulling his newspaper back into line with a smirk.

John snorted and shook his head, and the room returned to its original state - silent companion reading.

Twenty five years to the day, John thought to himself. But he waited. He waited all day.

The rain did come and had set in but the storm had eased off to a more gentle, steady rain. John decided that the stroll would do Sherlock some good anyway. His joints had been freezing up quite a bit lately and he needed to get out and move more. John found their two umbrellas in the cupboard beside the door and waited patiently for Sherlock to make his way down the stairs.

He was wearing a lovely suit. One of John’s favourites. He clearly respected the occasion even if he didn’t remember what it was for.

They strolled hand in hand down the road to the village, mostly in silence, looking around them. The occasional comment would surface, about their neighbour’s property, the farm down the road must have bought more sheep, had the little girl been riding the ponies again, she hadn’t been seen for a while, the pot hole at the junction had gotten bigger and they would need to be mindful of it when they had to drive out for Christmas with Mycroft and his partner. Just general conversation followed by comfortable stretches of silence.

John finally slowed his pace further, bringing them to a halt at the crest before the village. He loved this spot. From here you could see across all the fields. You could see the top of their cottage roof in one direction, and in the other, you could see the village row of shops below. The rain had slowed too, ever so slightly so he put down his umbrella and fished the item out of his pocket, settling himself under the edge of Sherlock's umbrella instead.

Sherlock watched him carefully unable to see what it was but excited for the surprise. John was cupping it secretly in his hand.

“Sherlock Holmes,” John began.

“Yes John Holmes-Watson,” Sherlock interjected with a cheeky smile.

John flashed him an irritated glance. He hated being interrupted. These days, he was likely to lose his train of thought.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he began again. He had practiced this. Over and over. “I was cleaning the spare room out the other day and I found a box of your things. I don’t think it’s been opened since we moved here, since we retired to the country. At least, the dust would say as much. And I found this,” he said, opening his hand and holding the item up so Sherlock could see it. Finally, Sherlock’s eyes began to sparkle with recognition, and a little mist, it seemed.

“I was reminded of the fact that it’s actually been twenty five years,” John continued. “Twenty five years ago you stole this mistletoe and held it above my head,” he said with a smile. “I didn’t see you grab it back out of the snow. I didn’t know you still had it.”

Sherlock’s eyes were glistening properly now. And for once in his life he was speechless.

John gave a gentle smile.

“You were the only man who could make me run without a cane in a matter of hours, or leave the city for a quiet country life together, or get married, despite all my arguments to the contrary. You have always been my exception. To everything. And I thank God every day you stole this bloody mistletoe and showed me how much you needed me. Because I needed you just as much.”

“I know,” Sherlock managed to choke out. He reached over and took the mistletoe from John’s hand. He moved it around in his own hand looking at it like a rare gem. “I forgot I had it, too,” Sherlock sighed. “Poor Molly.”

“She did just fine. Four kids, ten grandkids. She had a good life, Sherlock," John said, with reverence, remembering their friend, passing from cancer only a year ago. "And a much better life, I imagine without you.”

“Hey!” Sherlock grumbled.

“You weren’t meant for her,” John said gently. “You were always meant for me. It just took us a while to find our way.”

“It took you a while,” Sherlock teased.

“Well, maybe if someone stopped drugging my tea, or stealing my laptop, or turning my skin green, I might have noticed,” John said with a smile.

“Oh my goodness, I’d forgotten about the green!” Sherlock exclaimed, chuckling to himself as John rolled his eyes.

“And this is why we have retired. I feel you used those brain cells up at a faster rate than the rest of us,” John teased. “But I was certain you would have had a shelf in the mind palace for Elpheba-John.”

Sherlock snort laughed and John joined in. But then Sherlock stopped laughing and looked lovingly into John’s eyes. He lifted the mistletoe up.

He leaned in part way and John met him in the middle. Under the old, crumpled mistletoe, they shared a chaste, but loving kiss beneath Sherlock’s umbrella.

“There is no one else in this world I would have wanted to marry and retire to the country with, John Watson. It’s always been you. From the very beginning.”

“Watson-Holmes,” John finally corrected. “We agreed. After much argument, I recall. And you know I rarely get to win. So I will keep reminding you.”

“Oh yes. As ever, you are right, my love,” he said, returning the mistletoe safely to his own jacket pocket. "I love you John Watson-Holmes.” He held out a crooked elbow. “Dinner?”

John took it and then rested his head onto his husband’s shoulder as they shared the one umbrella. “Starving,” he said.

And so they began to walk to the village arm in arm to celebrate. Best friends, lovers, husbands, destined to find each other. Always.

The end.

Dear readers - thank you so much for sticking with me across December. I hope you enjoyed this story. It was a new adventure for me, to try and tackle a chapter each day and try to lead it in a direction that linked in some vague way without really knowing where it was going. I have a new appreciation for all of you who do these prompt months on the regular! I’m ready for a break now!! Navigating some Tumblr after all these years has been fun too. So thank you for everyone that engaged with me and made it fun! And thanks @notjustamumj and @totallysilvergirl for enticing me to try it!

Happy New Year to you all. May 2025 bring you new creative inspiration or more wonderful fics to read.

If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my writing on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/holmesian_love

I really appreciate the support xx

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

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@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter 

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: February 21/25

Happy Friday, everyone! I hope y'all had a great week and will take some time out of your weekend to check out this week's selection of fics I've been recced this week! And please be sure to give some extra love to the boosted fics! <3

SIGNAL BOOSTING

Water Is Another Matter by cathedral_carver (T, 3,903 w., 1 Ch. || Sick Fic, Pining, First Kiss, Heat Wave, Skinny Dipping) – He thinks it’s in trouble, his poor heart.

The Case Book Of Mycroft Holmes by carelesspeaches (M, 8,734 w., 5 Ch. || POV Mycroft, Protective Mycroft, Mycroft's Umbrella, Minor Violence, Drug Use/Abuse, Pre-Mystrade, Caring Mycroft, Big Brother Mycroft) – Sherlock would go to hell on earth. And Mycroft would always follow him there. A short Johnlock case fic that follows Mycroft Holmes. Who is, as always, following Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Brother, Mine

RECENT MFLs

Fear Not by couchbarnacle (M, 4,221 w., 1 Ch. || Meeting Sherlock's Parents, Fluff and Angst) – Ex-Army Doctor, Fluffy Kitten, Adorable Hedgehog, Three Continents John Watson meets the only person who has ever disapproved of him: Mummy Holmes. Part 1 of Fear Not Your Strength

Damn, I'm Good by atthebarricade (T, 8,219 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Sherlock's Lab, Mike Stamford POV) – Mike gave it a week, tops, before they were shagging. or: The progression of John and Sherlock through Mike Stamford's eyes.

The Last Court of Appeal by uCharlie (E, 49,397+ w., 51/? Ch. || WiP || Post-S4, Parenting, Triggers, Consent Issues, Alcohol Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues, Unreliable Narrator, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Doctor John, Character Study, POV John First Person, Texting, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence) – The future awaiting John and Sherlock turns out not quite as Mary Watson had foretold, because raising a growing child in a cramped flat while pursuing a job that’s both unstable and high-risk is difficult indeed. They still live together – but both must make compromises.

[jrow]

May Prompts (9)

Day 8 here. Day 10 here.

Intimidate

He doesn’t intentionally opt to intimidate, it just comes naturally.

Well, perhaps it’s a bit intentional.

It’s just become second nature over the years. The clothes, the umbrella, the walk, the sneer. They all send a clear message before he even opens his mouth. And when he does speak, he leaves no doubt that he is someone to be feared. It makes his life so much easier, so who can blame him for the overdoing it on occasion. For adding some colour to the otherwise grey days of those he interacts with, even if that colour stems from fear.

From intimidation.

Nearly everyone is susceptible. Even his brother has been known to fall victim on occasion.

But not John Watson. Never John Watson.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it early on, but it’s one of the reasons he now respects the good doctor. Few men can look Mycroft Holmes in the eye without flinching.

He now recognizes that John is a net positive for Sherlock. His brother’s love for his blogger certainly has its downside (nothing short of a broken heart), but John gives Sherlock’s life its colour. Its purpose.

Without John, Mycroft fears his brother will be lost.

And so, he will do all he can to use his (considerable) influence and resources to fix this.

Whatever this is.

Last night he thought he knew. He thought that all he had to do was secure the best medical care in the world and ensure his brother stayed tethered. A single phone call took care of the former while the mere mention of the younger Watson achieved the latter. But, the equation has changed. Someone wants John dead and Sherlock, the most brilliant detective in the world, has no idea why. That, combined with the extreme guilt that is quite obviously resting on his shoulders, means Sherlock needs Mycroft, whether he will admit it or not.

Mycroft straightens his tie and picks up his umbrella. It’s time to find some answers.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed. We'll see if the tag list works here today!

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @quimerasyutopias @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels

[thefisherqueen]

“Can we help you, Mr. Holmes?” “No, no! Darkness and Dr. Watson's umbrella—my wants are simple. And Ames, the faithful Ames, no doubt he will stretch a point for me. All my lines of thought lead me back invariably to the one basic question—why should an athletic man develop his frame upon so unnatural an instrument as a single dumb-bell?”

Sherlock Holmes' idea of doing science: sitting in the dark crime scene by himself, thinking and probably smoking way too much

Am so curious what he's planning to do with the umbrella

[a-different-equation]

I can’t unseen/unhear it now 😂

Fawx & Stallion Sherlock Holmes and Watson are the German 1967 series to me.

[dross-the-fish]

"He falls in love easily and sometimes will project that there is an emotional connection when really all the other person feels is lust because Adam doesn't initially understand lust and love as separate concepts and tends to conflate the two."

I shake Adam's hand very happily. I'm greysexual myself, but the way you explained your OC's sexuality really resonated with me. Always wonderful to see some ace rep, especially in the world of goth lit, which likes to add unnecessary love interests and weird sexual subplots [glares at a lot of old Jekyll and Hyde media].

If you have anything else you'd like to share about your ace and/or aro characters, I'd love to read about it! Or perhaps a drabble of Adam holding up the demisexual flag would be cute. :D

This made me tear up a little. I feel like I repeatedly have to justify making Adam grey-ace to some people and while I know it's not a big deal it has been really disheartening to have people reject and ignore that part of the character. Thank you so much.

Some more about Adam: While he does enjoy it sex is not a requirement in a relationship, he is perfectly happy to just have a companion and gets as much fulfillment out of just spending time with them and cuddling them as he would a sexual relationship.

Other aro/ace characters and relationships.

Jekyll/Hyde is on the aromantic spectrum and if he does form relationships they fall under the queerplatonic umbrella and he is not interested in being exclusive or monogamous.

Watson and Holmes are also queerplatonic in my AU with Holmes being aro/ace but Watson is his most important relationship and Watson, despite having conventional hetero relationships has something with Holmes he's never had with anyone else.

[ravenlilyrose]

Sherlock’s thought process:

I have acquired a child

Children benefit from having two parents.

Who shall I cast as this child’s mother.

Watson shall be the child’s mother.

[were--ralph]

yr current dilemma reminds me of a scene in sherlock holmes (the books) where it's revealed sherlock doesn't know dick about astrology (and is upset when watson tries to teach him). like, some things are just not Required to be Known

i mean astrology feels like tarot where it definitely is not real but humans found a way to make it kind of real in that faux way of giving it an explanation in every situation so like. yes it technically applies here and also there but its under such an umbrella that it's hard to disprove it.

but honestly like yeah my believing that its ai generated is literally not harming anyone but also not serving any purpose whatsoever because that's usually what opinions should do. like. who cares if i think werewolves are real (i do not) its not going to result in anything except me maybe going in the woods and being whisked away by a burly lumberjack who is alone and craves the touch of another but turned his back on society and lives in solitude with not even an animal companion to keep him company. like yes i can fix him, but that's literally no one's business besides ours

[jmauldin]

Happy New Year, IDSers! Let’s start the new year with an epsiode that features two of our dearest friends, Holmes and Watson. The episode is entitled, The Elusive Umbrella. Enjoy!!

[mariana-oconnor]

Black Peter pt 1

Haven't heard of this one either. Let's hope that's down to the fact it's a later story and not because it isn't popular anymore because of *looks at title* reasons.

I have never known my friend to be in better form, both mental and physical, than in the year '95.

Watson does keep waxing poetic about the year 1895. Must have been an epic year.

Holmes, however, like all great artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save in the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, I have seldom known him claim any large reward for his inestimable services.

Do we know the Duke of Holdernesse? I don't remember his name. How rude was he to Holmes that Holmes took his money? I feel like that must be arsehole tax.

So unworldly was he—or so capricious—that he frequently refused his help to the powerful and wealthy where the problem made no appeal to his sympathies...

More evidence for the Sherlock Holmes hates the rich theory. It's not that he's unworldly or capricious, Watson, it's that usually they're the bad guys (please see King of Bohemia). Not to put modern biases on a historical fictional character or anything.

down to his arrest of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer

What did he train the canaries to do?

Was it, like, an entire hoard of pickpocketing birds?

Did they murder people for him? What?

Google tells me it might have been a euphemism for brothel-keeper. Or a singing teacher. So... honestly that story could go any number of ways. I think I'll stick to actual canaries, though. Probably in Canary Wharf.

During the first week of July my friend had been absent so often and so long from our lodgings that I knew he had something on hand. The fact that several rough-looking men called during that time and inquired for Captain Basil...

Watson pining at home while Holmes is out with rough-looking men and having them call him Captain...

...made me understand that Holmes was working somewhere under one of the numerous disguises and names with which he concealed his own formidable identity.

Honestly, I feel like this is character development. Before Watson would have just been 'Holmes is away' and 'Who is Captain Basil?', two entirely separate lines of thought. Now he has connected the dots. Proud of you, buddy!

...he strode into the room, his hat upon his head and a huge barbed-headed spear tucked like an umbrella under his arm.

“If you could have looked into Allardyce's back shop you would have seen a dead pig swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that energetic person, and I have satisfied myself that by no exertion of my strength can I transfix the pig with a single blow."

Everyone needs a hobby.

I recognised him at once as Stanley Hopkins, a young police inspector for whose future Holmes had high hopes...

Oh hai, Hopkins!

"However, my friend Dr. Watson knows nothing of this matter, and I should be none the worse for hearing the sequence of events once more."

For the sake of Watson and us, the invisible audience, please to be info-dumping exposition policeman!

"In 1883 he commanded the steam sealer Sea Unicorn, of Dundee."

"He has been known to drive his wife and his daughter out of doors in the middle of the night, and flog them through the park until the whole village outside the gates was aroused by their screams."

Can't say I'm entirely sorry Captain Carey is dead. In fact, maybe just chalk this up as self-inflicted and leave it at that. Whoever did it probably had a good reason.

However, the nickname doesn't seem to really be racist, so that's better than it could have been. Swarthy, as far as I'm aware, refers to tanned/weather beaten skin usually, which makes sense for a longtime sailor.

"He had built himself a wooden outhouse—he always called it ‘the cabin’—a few hundred yards from his house, and it was here that he slept every night. It was a little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten."

The original man cave?

The description of him is not crying out the sort of man who would keep tobacco on hand just in case his friends wanted some. It's not crying out the sort of man who has friends, for a start.

“Exactly, Mr. Holmes. I appreciated that point, and I conjectured that it was dropped by the murderer in his hurried flight. It lay near the door.”

Hopkins really is the smartest of the police officers we've met. And I still haven't noticed Watson comparing him to an animal.

So we have a terrible man killed by a harpoon in his man cave and no one noticed for ages because no one wanted to talk to him. I'm kind of hoping that all the women were in on it and they just... harpooned him together.

[asexxxualerotica]

Last night I had the strangest dream—in regards to how coherent it was. Basically, I was in the middle of a Sherlock Holmes story (don’t remember if I was Sherlock or Watson) where in between cases Sherlock was a Kingsman-like super-spy who got into spy vs spy shenanigans—or at least he used to be. The dream started off with some pretty normal, routine Sherlock deductions, before suddenly bringing up that he didn’t do the crazy spy heroics anymore. Eventually Moriarty showed up, and he was clearly Sherlock’s old spy vs spy rival because he was expecting more of that—and when he didn’t get it, he instead tried to convince Sherlock to pick it back up again, before walking off with a threat of some wicked plan he has. Something about what Moriarty said kicked Sherlock back into action, and when we next see him he’s all tricked out in super-spy attire, including a new umbrella with interchangeably see-through or mirrored underside and bulletproof top. Also, throughout all of this was this theme of gadgets—the umbrella he got and refined from a street vendor that was selling super-spy accessories to tourists, and there was this whole B-plot of like my parents and my sister and her boyfriend competing in this couples’ costume competition where the focal point was oversized props—someone did Ghostbusters with a ghost pack that had glowing streamers shooting out of it, and another was some cowboy with a lasso mid-swing overhead that could spin and spark up because they were doing a play on a human dust devil? I think the climax was meant to be there was a bomb at this competition, and in the middle of dealing with it and taking out Moriarty, Sherlock and his Watson got mistaken for applicants and are awarded the win at the end, but I’m not sure because I woke up right after Sherlock showed back up and showed off his new get-up to Watson and Moriarty.

Also, it’s beyond important to me that you know that during the part where Moriarty was trying to convince Sherlock to come back, and when Sherlock did show back up in his super-spy outfit, The Other Side from Greatest Showman was being sung by the characters.