#i think I'll paint Sherlock after this

[fogdraws]

He is coloured now!!

[janeofcakes]

One Night in Palermo: Chapter 6

Hello, Friends! First, I want to apologize for the extra long wait. I have so many balls in the air right now and more are being added. It's a long chapter, at least. I'll try as hard as I can to post the next one according to schedule, but packing has begun with painting and moving next week. Thanks for your patience and support. 💜

----------

Anthea? Anthea.

Sherlock rolled the name around in his mind, but the confusion did not abate. He was protecting John, saving him, and she put him right back in danger. He wouldn’t put it past Mycroft to carelessly toss John in harm’s way, but not Anthea. Sherlock knew her better than that after the last eighteen months. His brow furrowed before he even finished saying the denial in his head. Anthea was a complicated and very thoughtful woman, and she could be ruthless. Ruthlessly honest was actually how Sherlock thought about it. She was brutally honest with everyone, including herself. If she was really responsible for this, it was for very good reason, and one she believed he would agree with. Sherlock racked his brain for such a motive and could think of nothing. Irked though he was, Sherlock was flummoxed. He needed more data.

“It was all to protect you,” Sherlock said aloud, though more to himself than to John. “Why would she put you in danger? It defeats the whole purpose.”

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was quiet and grave. It caught his attention immediately and he fixed his ever-changing eyes on John with intense focus. “How much do you know about that first year you were gone?”

Sherlock drew up to his full sitting height and considered the specifics of the information he had been given. Mycroft had always said John was “coping”, his word for expressing nearly any sentiment. Sherlock had disregarded it out of course. Anthea had informed on John from almost the beginning. As soon as Sherlock asked after his friend, she made a point of telling him about John each time they spoke. However, she did so in very general terms, which had never struck Sherlock as odd. He knew John had struggled, very much so. He knew he had grossly underestimated the effect his death would have on John, but had never pressed Anthea for details. Perhaps he was afraid of what she would say. He felt like a coward now.

“I knew you were deeply hurt,” Sherlock began uncomfortably, resting his hands on the table and averting his eyes. His shame was evident no matter how hard he tried to hide it and he didn’t want to see what John thought of him. His cheeks burned with the beginnings of anger though, anger at himself. He knew he had to face the judgment. He deserved it. Sherlock had hidden for almost two years and he would do it no more, especially from John. He owed John that much for his cowardice.

Sherlock raised his gaze to meet his friend’s eyes and found an overwhelming tenderness that stole the breath from his lungs. John leaned forward a touch.

“Mycroft told you this?” he asked.

“Anthea,” Sherlock corrected.

John said nothing, but a small smile colored his features and he huffed a nearly imperceptible laugh. His blue eyes shifted to the side as he considered this information. Watching silently, Sherlock felt like he should elaborate, but didn’t know what to say. He had no concrete examples, no test results, no real evidence to speak of, and he hadn’t even asked Anthea for any. He had ignored his own nature and manner of conduct because he wanted to hide the truth from his own mind. Sherlock closed his eyes slowly at the weight of it, regret running hot through his veins.

“She didn’t lie,” John’s voice echoed hollowly in the darkness. “It tore me apart and I didn’t know how to put myself back together. I couldn’t.”

Sherlock heard his words, but wasn’t really listening. The growing anger in his heart had suddenly tipped its blade from himself to point directly at Anthea. She cast aside his efforts so easily, never giving him any reason to doubt her. Meanwhile, she pretended to look for the mystery assassin’s identity when she knew all along. Sherlock’s mind, furious and swift, forced memories of their conversations to the forefront. Her accounts of John went from moderately descriptive and saddening to extremely vague and somewhat positive. By the time John was acting as the assassin, she must’ve thanked her lucky stars that Sherlock didn’t ask for more details.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, sharp and piercing. His chin raised defiantly and he glared across the table at John.

“I gave up everything, risked everything, and she knew it was you,” Sherlock snarled, clenching his fists on the table. “She threw you in the fire and played like you were doing better, that you were safe.”

“I was better,” John replied emphatically.

Sherlock stared at him, fury unrelenting, and breathed heavily. John slid to the edge of his seat and leaned over the table until the tips of his fingers were mere millimeters from Sherlock’s fists.

“Tearing apart Moriarty made me feel alive again,” John continued in a measured tone. “It gave me purpose and direction. Everything was so meaningless until then and I felt…good. Ah god, which is not something I want to examine too closely either.”

“You’re not a murderer, John,” Sherlock assured him solemnly.

“Neither are you,” John said with certainty.

They were quiet for a long time, each man lost in his own thoughts. Before Sherlock knew what happened, John’s words had faded away and the fury was back. It darkened his eyes and clouded his mind, bubbling through his body and blood. He had just opened his mouth to curse Anthea’s name when three points of warmth touched the knuckles of his right hand. So angry and used to being alone, he had forgotten someone was in the room with him and froze at the sudden shock of the touch. Eyes wide, Sherlock shifted his gaze down slowly to see the tips of John’s fingers pressed lightly against his own. He swallowed thickly and blinked back up to look at John.

“She did the only thing she could do, Sherlock,” John told him gently. “You’d have had nothing but a grave to come back to if she hadn’t stepped in.”

Sherlock stared into John’s face as the words sank in and the anger faded away. Simultaneously, every conversation with Anthea came back to him as he threw open the door in his mind palace and drank in all the details he had purposefully ignored. The set of her mouth, tone of voice, the look in her eyes and what she hid behind them; every last one spoke to John’s state of mind and her concern for him. Sherlock had been afraid. He hadn’t wanted to see what was right before his eyes.

His hand turned of its own accord and folded over John’s. It felt warm and welcome under Sherlock’s palm. He never wanted to let go and shuddered at the thought that he may have never felt it had Anthea not taken action. Idiot. He was such an idiot.

“John, I’m sorry,” Sherlock croaked, his voice broken. “If I hadn’t left…If I… She saved you.”

“You both saved me,” John corrected emphatically, turning his hand in Sherlock’s and grasping tightly. He squeezed back just as firmly, but still chastised himself.

“I created the problem,” Sherlock shook his head, eyes glistening.

“You had little choice,” John insisted. “He forced your hand. He is the asshole and you are not to blame.”

His final words were slow and decisive, brooking no argument. Sherlock knew John spoke the truth and vowed to work toward believing it for himself one day. He also noticed John had not said things between them were fine. While that hung heavily on his heart and mind, Sherlock understood. They would revisit the subject in the future, no doubt, but John seemed content to leave it for the time being and Sherlock did not want to press too hard.

John gave Sherlock’s hand one final squeeze before pulling away. He reluctantly let it slip from his fingers and watched John scoot back in his chair.

“We ought to finish before it gets cold,” John said lightly, clearing his throat and nodding down at their plates.

“Right,” Sherlock answered quietly. “Of course.”

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable silence, each man contemplating his own thoughts. Sherlock tried to think about something productive, like how the two of them would get to the next safehouse, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his own long-buried feelings for the man before him. He had never acted upon them, or even let on that he had them. John had always insisted that he was not gay. Didn’t seem much point in trying, but now, with his supposed death behind him and his motivation laid bare, Sherlock wanted nothing more than to come clean.

Sherlock had not realized just how deep in thought he was until John pushed his chair back to rise. Wondering how much time had actually passed, Sherlock cast a look at his plate and found it empty. He cocked a brow. At least he had eaten while his mind was occupied.

“What I can’t figure is, why now?” John said conversationally.

“What?” Sherlock frowned, putting his own thoughts aside. He felt oddly wrong-footed and wondered briefly if he had ignored some previous part of the conversation.

“Why Anthea arranged for us to meet now,” John clarified. “She knew both our assignments. Hell, she probably orchestrated all of our near misses. You can’t tell me it wasn’t all planned down to the letter. The question is why. Why didn’t she just tell me you weren’t dead?”

“Would you have honestly been ready to hear that?” Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” John admitted.

“I wouldn’t have accepted your being in constant danger like this,” Sherlock stated plainly. 

“Oh, so you’re okay with it now, are you?” John inquired with a grin playing at his lips. “Because I was ready to refuse any drinks to keep from being drugged, never to wake until my arrival at 221B.”

“That does sound like me,” Sherlock couldn’t resist a grin of his own, though it didn’t last long before he sobered, “but knowing what you experienced, how you felt…”

“I needed to heal first,” John said quietly.

“We both did,” Sherlock added. They were silent for a moment before he continued: “Anthea is a very clever woman. I’m sure there is a method to all of this.”

“Can’t disagree with that,” John stood, picking up his plate. “Come on, let’s clean this up.”

Sherlock rose, picking up his dishes as well. They walked to the kitchen island together and wordlessly divided the labor. John transferred leftovers to storage containers and placed them in the refrigerator while Sherlock loaded the dishwasher. Sherlock considered his friend as they worked. There must surely be endless thoughts and emotions hidden under the surface. Much as Sherlock had always railed against sentiment, he was full to bursting with it. He tried to push it aside since Costa’s office, but could not seem to escape the need to express his feelings or the desire to know John’s. Mycroft’s insistence that Sherlock tamp down and ignore his emotions had come to naught, just as Sherlock knew it would. In spite of his best efforts, even since he was a boy, he was simply too human to succeed.

Sherlock stood near the dinner table and watched John walk towards the door to the bedroom. A thousand questions consumed him, the dam threatening to break. He knew John had questions too. He could see it in his posture, hear it in his voice; the barely contained desire to know everything. And yet, here they were, dancing around one another after a night spent jumping from roof to roof.

“John,” Sherlock began, stopping as the man turned to face him. He wore the lopsided half smile Sherlock had oft dreamt of, the one that stole his breath away.

“Yeah?” John replied, the smile fading a bit when Sherlock simply stared back contemplatively. John’s brow furrowed with concern after another moment. “What is it?”

“You have questions,” Sherlock answered without hesitation. If John was surprised, he didn’t show it. He watched Sherlock thoughtfully, as if sizing him up, and pulled his shoulders back minutely. Into battle then.

“True,” John nodded sharply. His voice was tight, but good-natured.

“And you’re angry,” Sherlock continued.

“Also true,” John agreed.

They stood facing one another, neither of them saying a word. Sherlock didn’t know where to begin. He had hoped John would ask him something, anything to get the ball rolling. It appeared he had no intention of making any part of this easy.

“John, I…” Sherlock started, but John swiftly thwarted him.

“We need to get some sleep,” he interrupted, his body tense. “I assume we have a big day ahead. You need to be somewhere else to contact Mycroft, yeah?’

“Yes,” Sherlock confirmed weakly.

“Right then,” John gestured back to the door behind his back. “You want the shower first?”

“Go ahead,” Sherlock said and then walked toward the man. “I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

He entered the bedroom and approached a chest of drawers. Opening the third drawer, he pulled out a white tee and a pair of light blue pajama pants.

“The trousers will be too long, but they’ll do,” Sherlock remarked, handing the clothes to John. He gestured to the two smaller drawers that were side by side at the top of the chest. “Pants and socks are here.”

John moved forward and opened a drawer when Sherlock side-stepped out of the way. He shuffled around before selecting a pair of pants and sliding the drawer closed. Sherlock tried pointedly not to look at the garment.

“You should find all you need in the bathroom,” Sherlock told him. “Feel free to search any cupboards and drawers.”

“Thanks,” John said, heading for the ensuite. “I won’t be a minute.”

“Take as long as you need,” Sherlock answered with a wave of his hand. “No rush.”

“Ta,” John gave a half smile before closing the door and leaving Sherlock to stand alone in the bedroom.

Feeling a little awkward, Sherlock left the room and walked to the desk in the flat’s other room. His eyes roved over its spartan contents; a small lamp, desk calendar, and two ballpoint pens positioned neatly to the right of the closed laptop in the center. Fixing his gaze on the laptop, Sherlock bent forward and placed a palm on either side of its smooth surface. Leaning over the desk, his elbows straight and supporting his weight, he blew out a long sigh. He was still torn between berating Anthea and thanking her, though he knew the final decision would be the latter. He owed her so much. To have John back in his life, alive and well, meant everything. Her actions had saved John and brought Sherlock back from the brink. He hadn’t even realized how close he had been to losing himself until he saw John’s eyes glaring at him in Costa’s office. He truly did owe Anthea both their lives.

As his thoughts turned away from Anthea and moved toward John again, Sherlock became aware of a pressing problem he must soon deal with. There was only one bed in the flat. He turned his head slightly and slid his eyes to the rather comfortable-looking couch tucked in the corner with a flat screen. He knew how absurd the thought was, even as he considered sleeping on it alone instead of in the bed with John. It was ridiculous, which John would definitely point out. They had slept in the same bed many times before. Always for a case and usually in a king size bed, however. The queen size he recalled seeing in the next room would make it more difficult to keep from bumping into one another in the night. Not that incidental contact had ever been a problem in the past, but everything felt different. Perhaps because Sherlock rather unintentionally allowed his mind to admit that he loved John, he thought with a derisive snort. He had already known his own feelings long ago, but had stored it away in his mind palace where it wouldn’t cause trouble. It resurfaced now and again, but throwing himself into dismantling Moriarty’s network had occupied his mind for the most part. Sherlock had also never formally thought it out loud and, now that he had, it wouldn’t go away. This new state of mind, of being, was going to make a lot of things more difficult for him. He was just worrying his lower lip over his tendency to flail long limbs across the bed when a voice from behind startled him.

“Sherlock,” came a soothing voice that spun him on his heel. Wide, blue-green eyes fixed on a somewhat rumpled John Watson standing only a few feet away. He had not even heard the man enter the room and scolded himself for being so distracted. The corner of John’s mouth was curled up in amusement and his eyes twinkled as he studied Sherlock’s look of surprise.

“Bathroom’s yours,” John said, quiet laughter in his tone. “You, uh, okay then? You seem a little out of sorts.”

“M’fine,” Sherlock said quickly.

The other side of John’s mouth turned up and a knowing look spread across his face. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. Against his better judgment, he let his eyes run the length of John’s body. His blonde hair was combed, but still wet and ever so slightly tousled. Was that something he had started doing since Sherlock had left London? The t-shirt he wore was just a bit small, stretching across his broad shoulders and clinging in all the best places. Conversely, his pajama bottoms were loose and much too long, pooling around his ankles and leaving only his toes visible beneath. Sexy and adorable. As dichotomous as the man himself and Sherlock absolutely loved it. He loved John. Now that it was out of the closet he had shoved it in, the thought obviously planned on popping up at any moment it saw fit, no matter how inconvenient it was for Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” John tested curiously.

“Yes, good,” Sherlock blurted. “Thank you.”

He wove his way around his friend and walked swiftly to the bedroom. He kept glancing at the doorway as he gathered pajamas and pants, expecting John to walk in before he made it to the ensuite. Whether John was giving him some privacy or fetching himself a glass of water, Sherlock did not know. Thankfully, John did not enter until he was safely in the next room.

Sherlock cleaned his teeth first and then stripped down. Reaching past the curtain and flicking on the taps, he glanced in the mirror above the sink and what he saw gave him pause. He looked the same way he had that morning and yet, completely different at the same time. His eyes were brighter and his face less drawn. Everything about his countenance appeared fresher somehow, like someone had given his old black and white a dose of technicolor. John’s influence. It was obvious. His conductor of light. Sherlock had certainly missed him, but had not fully comprehended how much until that moment and he was struck by the enormity of the realization.

Shaking it off, Sherlock stepped into the shower and under its warm spray. The water sluicing down his body felt heavenly, already taking with it the sweat and stress of the day. Sighing deeply, he leaned forward and bent his head directly into its path. He rested both palms on the wall before him, somewhere between the nozzle and taps. With his elbows straight, his body slanted forward, he let the spray pelt his scalp and melt away his thoughts. Warm water ran down the sides of his face and neck. Droplets wound their way down his back and sides, his buttocks and thighs. Their meandering paths almost tickled as they trickled over knees and down his calves.

Sighing, Sherlock turned under the spray and nearly moaned aloud when the force of the water danced along his stiff neck and shoulders. The streams massaged away the tension like skilled fingertips applying delicious pressure to just the right spots. Sherlock tilted his head slightly and allowed his mind to think of John’s clever hands doing the massaging until his cock gave a twitch of interest.

His eyes flew open with a start and Sherlock straightened his spine. He wouldn’t deny that he had touched himself while thinking of John before. He didn’t even feel guilty about it, but he wasn’t about to masturbate to thoughts of John while the man was in the next room.

That firmly decided, Sherlock smoothed back his dark hair and grabbed the shampoo to his left. He lathered and rinsed his hair quickly before applying a thin layer of conditioner to the strands. He ran his fingers over and through it to rinse out the viscous liquid, leaving his wet curls silky and smooth. He picked up a flannel hanging from the rod on the opposite wall of the shower. Obviously built to house a towel while one showered, though he never understood that particular practice. The principle made sense, providing easy access to the towel, but it always got wet when he tried it. Perhaps he was simply too reckless with the water. Wouldn’t be the only situation in which he did not exercise enough caution.

Once the flannel was properly lathered with the sandalwood scented soap, Sherlock washed his body thoroughly and rinsed off the suds. He considered luxuriating under the spray, which was still surprisingly warm after two showers. John’s had been quite fast though, an after-effect of military life. Sherlock himself had no such tendencies. His marathon showers were one of the things John used to tease him about most, in fact, and the memory made Sherlock smile to himself. Despite the temptation to linger, Sherlock turned off the water and pushed the shower curtain aside. If he stayed in much longer with John on his mind, he would risk breaking his earlier resolution not to indulge.

Sherlock reached for a towel as he stepped from the shower and dried himself off quickly. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and blue, striped pajama bottoms in minutes. His did not bunch around his ankles with six inches of extra fabric the way John’s had. A smile unexpectedly spread across his face at the thought of John objecting indignantly to six inches in the legs alone. He laughed quietly to himself and placed his hand on the doorknob, but stopped before turning the cool metal. John was out there in nothing but pajamas, probably in the bed. Sherlock pressed his lips together into a thin line and stared at his hand on the spherical knob. His fingers were wet with condensation from the steam in the air. His eyes widened in anticipation of opening the door and seeing the scene beyond. Maybe he would be lucky and John would be asleep already. It was rather late and they both had a stressful day, especially at its close. Either way, Sherlock couldn’t delay any longer. A wakeful John would seek him out and that would be much worse.

Swallowing first, Sherlock turned the handle and pushed the door open. The room was dim. John had switched off the overhead lights in favor of the two small lamps on either side of the bed. Speaking of which, he was sat on the left side, his legs hidden under the covers. His back and pillow leaned against the headboard, and he looked up from the book in his lap as Sherlock entered.

“Hey,” John greeted softly. “I hope there was enough hot water for you. Forgot you take such long showers.”

“No problem there,” Sherlock shook his head once.

He intended upon moving his feet and approaching the bed, but his legs did not seem willing to lift them. John did not move either, nor did he shift his eyes from Sherlock’s. They simply stared while the air slowly electrified around them. God, Sherlock wanted to touch him. He wanted to press his lips against John’s and sweep his tongue inside when they opened on a moan of his name. John had said his name so many times and in so many ways. How would it sound in a gasp filled with want and need and pleasure?

Sherlock’s crystalline eyes widened and he nearly panicked when his nether regions began to express an interest in his line of thought. He lurched toward the bed suddenly at the first stir and jumped under the duvet, pulling it up to his waist quickly. John almost jumped out of the bed and let out a short laugh at the acrobatic performance. Sherlock stared straight ahead, ignoring him at first, but eventually turned his head to look at the man next to him.

“What?” Sherlock tried to sound irritable in hopes that John would let it go.

“Anxious to get in bed, are we?” John stifled a chuckle without hiding his smile.

Sherlock did not answer. He gave an impatient sigh and rolled his eyes, scooching himself down to lie on his back. He tucked the duvet up under his arms and then bent them to rest his hands on his own chest. He wove his fingers together and cast his eyes to the ceiling. John hadn’t moved and was still looking at him. After a moment, Sherlock turned his head to meet the man’s eyes with an air of annoyance.

“Won’t bother you if I read for a bit, will it?” John lifted the book minutely. He was only a few pages in and must have selected it from the shelves in the next room. “Helps me sleep if I can relax first.”

“Please do,” Sherlock told him. “I go to my mind palace in the same vein.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” John gave a nod and went back to his book.

Sherlock straightened his neck and looked up at the stark, white ceiling once again. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he released it. Entering his planning room, he began to revise the following day’s travel to Rome to adjust for John’s presence. Given the ferry and train system in Sicily and Italy, it wouldn’t be difficult. The two of them being seen together could be risky, however, and created the need for another disguise. Sherlock had only just begun to sort through this when John’s voice echoed through the palace. While he would normally berate his friend for this, John’s precise choice of words eradicated such a notion.

“Don’t ever leave me again.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open, his head turning sharply to look at John. His friend still sat beside him, book in his lap, but his knuckles were white where he held it tightly and his blue eyes were closed. As if feeling Sherlock’s eyes, John opened his own and returned the gaze. His face was full of tension and pain, his jaw clenched and working. His eyes were hard as steel and yet, pleading.

“EVER,” John said loudly, angrily. “Especially like that. I can’t… do that again.”

His voice broke in the middle and Sherlock honestly couldn’t tell if it was from anger or desperation. John was torn between the two and his resolve to hide it was cracking. The tether he had so carefully kept on his emotions was fraying and ready to snap.

“Why did you do it?” John’s voice was suddenly deadly quiet and it felt strange in the room after the volume of his previous words. His eyes were closed again and he had turned away as though he would never truly want to look at Sherlock again. “Why did you make me watch?”

Sherlock didn’t know whether John had intended to say fall or not, but he hadn’t needed to. Sherlock heard it anyway and the word echoed through his mind. The pain in John’s voice was unbearable. It broke and shook as he spoke, and he still could not look at the man in the bed next to him. Sherlock felt completely gutted. All the air taken from his lungs and no words to speak. His heart ached for John, his chest clenching painfully around it. He opened his mouth, but his voice died on his lips. How does one explain to the love of his life that he knowingly hurt him deeply without realizing just how deeply the pain would run?

“I… had to,” Sherlock forced the words from his throat. “I’m sorry. I never intended to hurt you so deeply.”

“Had to?” John barked, ignoring the rest. “You had to make me watch you jump off a building?”

John bit out the words, his teeth clicking in fury. His hands closed the book in his lap and placed it on the bedside table, seemingly of their own volition. His eyes had snapped open with his words and he glared at Sherlock coldly.

“You couldn’t just let Greg or some other cop tell me. I had to see it,” John was louder now. The emphasis he put on ‘had to’ spoke of his hatred in the moment. “You fucking called me to say goodbye. Make it worse. Leave a note. God, do you know how long I heard your voice in my dreams? No, not even just then, when I was awake too. I heard it wherever I went. ‘This is what people do’, you said. You listened to me beg.”

“John!” Sherlock pleaded suddenly, grasping the man’s hands. He knew he deserved this. He should have every word hurled right at his head, never to be deleted, but he couldn’t bear even one more. “John, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t touch me!” John jerked his hand away, icy blue eyes boring into Sherlock’s. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry. I want to know why. What twisted reasoning in your mind could possibly justify that?!”

Sherlock stared at him with wide, beseeching eyes. He had recoiled when John tore his hands away and kept his distance, but wanted desperately to take John in his arms and explain. It was all to save their lives; John, Greg, and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock could not live knowing his actions had killed them.

“Don’t,” John ordered suddenly. 

Sherlock felt his body lurch back, away from the man, but he forced himself back. He could not hide behind cowardice and must face John’s ire head-on.

“I know about the threats,” John muttered angrily. “Anthea told me you had to jump to save the three of us. I get that, I do.”

“It had to be you,” Sherlock interrupted. He had to fix this. John needed to understand, he had to. “You wouldn’t have believed otherwise. If you hadn’t seen me fall, hadn’t checked for a pulse and found none… If you hadn’t heard me say the words, you never would’ve believed and you wouldn’t have let it go.”

John glared, never taking his off Sherlock, but he remained silent. Sherlock took it as permission to continue.

“You would have harassed Mycroft, searched for me as best you could, even told the press you didn’t believe I was dead,” Sherlock told him and John finally tore his eyes away. “Moriarty’s men would have killed you. All three of you. You know it’s true.”

John raised a far different gaze to meet Sherlock’s, one that was soft and wet. Sherlock’s heart squeezed in his chest. John understood. He knew Sherlock’s words were true and, much as he may hate what the man did, he understood his decision to do it. Unable to look at John another minute, Sherlock bowed his head and looked down at the duvet. A tear slipped from each eye as he closed them, running down his face to land dark on the light blue blanket.

“I knew it would hurt you,” Sherlock’s normally polished baritone was rough and broke over the last word. He lifted his head to look at John, “but I had no idea it would be so much.”

John’s eyes widened with incredulity and he let out a disbelieving huff that dislodged pooling tears. Wiping them away quickly, John inhaled sharply and held it a moment. He let the air out slowly, trying to calm himself. Sherlock pushed on, not wanting to lose his nerve.

“We were, are friends,” Sherlock continued.

“Best friends,” John corrected with a mutter.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed with solemn trepidation, “but I had no idea that meant you would… I’ve never had that, John. I thought you’d feel it with the same intensity as Greg or Molly or maybe even Hudders. I thought you’d be sad and then move on.”

John visibly bristled at this and lifted his chin defiantly.

“I am a genius, John, but when it comes to emotions, I am severely lacking,” Sherlock admitted mournfully, ashamed at his ignorance. “I severely underestimated our friendship and what it means to you. I was an idiot. I am an idiot.”

John huffed again as tears trickled down his cheeks. These, he did not stop and his mouth curved slowly into a small smile. He reached for Sherlock with his left hand and placed it on his friend’s larger one. His palm was warm and comforting on the back of Sherlock’s.

“You’re my idiot,” was all John said.

The flat was quiet. They watched one another, studying, taking note of every detail. John’s thumb absently stroked Sherlock’s hand with a feather touch. It felt peaceful and affectionate. Sherlock wasn’t even certain that John realized he was doing it. In spite of the calm in the air around them, it also felt heavy and Sherlock could feel the specter of words unsaid. He swallowed and steeled himself for what was to come. If they were going to do this, they had to do it all.

“You have more questions,” Sherlock said quietly, but without hesitation.

John gasped nearly inaudibly, his eyes widening. He watched Sherlock for what seemed like a long time before giving a single, shallow nod. Sherlock placed his free hand over John’s and waited. He knew what John wanted to ask. It was written all over his face, especially since the previous question was washed away and would give rise to more. How did Sherlock come to follow this plan? Why did he do it the way he did? He had one simple answer.

“It was the only way,” Sherlock said and if he thought he had to explain his words to John, he was sadly mistaken.

John’s eyes lit with anger and his features hardened right before Sherlock’s eyes. He did not move his hand from where it was sandwiched between his friend’s, but it stiffened and felt cold now instead of the warm weight it had been.

“Was it?” John queried sarcastically, his temper biting. “And whose brilliant idea was it, this amazing answer to all our problems? Whose choice was it to leave me in the dark again, hm?

“Surely, not Mycroft,” John answered his own questions without pausing. He pulled his hand away and rose from the bed abruptly, tossing the duvet toward Sherlock. He gestured with his hands as paced next to the bed, acting out mock consideration. “You never listen to Mycroft. Unless…”

John spun on his heel to face Sherlock with an accusatory finger. Sherlock narrowed his eyes minutely, already anticipating John’s words and hating them. The man really was becoming far too clever for his own good. And how many times had John said that about him? He’s learning from the master, Sherlock, Mycroft’s voice chided in his mind before he silently told him to fuck off.

“You were so overwhelmed that you listened to him,” John accused with unmistakable disgust that immediately raised Sherlock’s hackles.

“I wasn’t overwhelmed, John,” he said defiantly in a loud tone before snapping his mouth shut. Swallowing audibly, he continued: “I was fucking terrified.”

John froze. He could probably count the number of times he had heard Sherlock curse on one hand. Admittedly, the naked honesty of his own words surprised Sherlock as well. It was not what he had planned to say, but it was the truth. Now that he’d said it, there was no turning back.

“I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t lose you, not after you swept into my life and changed it in every way,” Sherlock explained unapologetically. “You were everything. I couldn’t think, couldn’t reason. My thoughts were so focused on you and my own fear that I agreed with whatever Mycroft proposed. I couldn’t get my brain to think of another way.”

“No?” John snapped, unaffected by Sherlock’s growing desperation. “Because I can think of a few right now. You couldn’t have let me in on it maybe? Given me a say in my own damn life?”

“You’re a terrible actor and have a dreadfully honest face,” Sherlock said before he could stop himself. “They wouldn’t have believed your reaction was genuine if you had known.”

John stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Right. You’re right. ‘Nevermind poor John. He’s too stupid to join the ranks of genius.’, John replied sardonically. “You know, I thought everything we’d done together, all the cases, meant something. I thought you trusted me, but obviously not.”

“No!” Sherlock denied, but John spoke over him.

“Fine. You know what? I couldn’t know. We’ll go with that. Sure,” he fumed. “What about after, hm? You could have told me after the fact. Sent me a message or a clue. I know how you love those.”

“They would have intercepted it,” Sherlock interjected.

“Just one bloody word, Sherlock, is all I would have needed. Anthea could have said something,” John didn’t stop for breath, “or bloody Mycroft could’ve told me, for Christ sake. He came around often enough.”

“If they had any reason to doubt my death, even the slightest, they would have killed you to draw me out, or they would have tortured the information out of you,” Sherlock shot back, jumping to his feet. John glared at him from across the bed. “Both are unacceptable.” 

“But lying to me is fair game, yeah?” John countered. “Damn it, Sherlock, I could’ve left London. I could’ve helped you all this time. We’re at our best when we’re together. We protect each other, help each other. Side by side, the two of us against everything else.”

Sherlock didn’t say a word when John finally ended the diatribe. Both men were breathing heavily, their chests heaving, blood full of adrenaline. John was clearly gearing up for another round, but Sherlock had no desire to join him. The voice of reason shone through John’s shouted words and filled Sherlock’s mind palace with a whole new understanding. It had been right there from the beginning, but his fear had hidden it and no amount of his own searching could dislodge it. John had found it. John had helped him find it. He should have told John everything the minute he suspected Moriarty’s plan.

“You’re right,” Sherlock admitted calmly.

“We’d be in the same place we are right now, taking down Moriarty’s netwo…”John trailed off, his face veiled in confusion. “What?”

“I should have told you,” Sherlock clarified. He dropped his hands to his sides and looked down at John thoughtfully. “If I had brought you into the fold, told you my suspicions, we would have finished this months ago.”

John straightened his spine and rested his hands on his own hips. His rapid breaths slowed as he watched his friend, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“I hurt you so badly and put you in more danger by keeping the secret,” Sherlock continued remorsefully.

“You didn’t know,” John said after a moment, “and don’t give me that ‘I should’ve known’ rubbish. That big brain of yours can’t know everything, even if it seems like it does.”

Sherlock closed his mouth slowly instead of voicing that exact protestation. Contemplating the man before him, he wondered if he had ever given John the credit he deserved. He was brave, intelligent, and strong. Sherlock had always acknowledged some of those characteristics. He supposed two out of three wasn’t bad, but it was not enough.

“We are at our best when we are together,” Sherlock repeated.

“Yeah,” John replied, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Silence filled the room and the two men stood on either side of the bed, watching one another. After a long moment, Sherlock couldn’t help but notice that John’s pajama pants rode particularly low on his hips after all the pacing and flailing. Grand arm gesturing had drawn his t-shirt in quite the opposite direction and Sherlock could just see a black waistband peeking from beneath the overly long pajamas. Trying desperately to keep his thoughts in check, Sherlock forced his eyes away and concentrated hard on John’s face.

“I am…” Sherlock began, but shut his mouth with a click when John pulled the hem of his shirt down, a sheepish look on his face. He must have seen Sherlock looking and been offended. Sherlock suppressed a frustrated sigh and cursed himself. Goddammit, he would have to lose himself and make a mistake just when he and John were on good terms, fragile though they may be. He briefly wondered if their friendship would ever again be the way it had been. Sherlock sincerely hoped he had not caused irreparable damage, but before getting far in that line of thought, his mind jumped to another topic. 

When they could finally go home, would John return to 221B or find a flat of his own? Would he want to live with Sherlock again or was their friendship ruined? The thought was soul-crushing. Sherlock could not even imagine the flat without John, even though they had only lived together a few short years. He would rather not go back at all than live alone.

“Hey,” John’s voice said from the void.

Sherlock blinked a few times until he came back into focus. He had not meant to slip into his mind palace and the quick descent must have been truly startling, if John’s worried expression was anything to go by.

“What?” Sherlock spluttered inelegantly.

“Are you okay?” John asked with concern. His blue eyes were soft as they studied Sherlock’s face. “You’re white as a sheet.”

John was standing right in front of him. When had he gotten so close? Sherlock quickly took stock of the situation and did not like what he found. Something was wrong. He felt unsettled and nervous. His skin was tacky with a light sheen of sweat and his pulse was accelerated. He nearly flinched away when John’s hand touched his shoulder gently. 

“Hey,” John said again, his brow furrowing. “Why don’t we sit down? Just right here on the bed.”

Head feeling lighter than normal, Sherlock nodded slowly and allowed John to guide him down onto the edge of the mattress. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled from his mouth, just as John instructed. John’s arm wound around his back and one hand rested on each of his biceps. Sherlock would normally shrug off such coddling, but found John’s touch a grounding comfort. So much so, that he felt rather bereft when John let go after a few long minutes. He felt some measure of satisfaction, however, when John rested his right hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Feeling better?” John asked, already sounding relieved. “Got a bit of your color back.”

“Tired,” Sherlock’s mind provided unhelpfully. For god sake, was this what he had been reduced to? One word responses? He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“Yeah,” John pressed his lips together into a pensive line and exhaled through his nose, “it has been a long day and will be again tomorrow. You said we need to get to Rome by evening, yeah?”

“Yes, we have plenty of time,” Sherlock answered in an even tone, feeling like himself again. “The ferries and trains take time, but are easy enough to use.”

“That’s an understatement,” John laughed and Sherlock’s heart warmed at hearing it. John’s eyes shifted to the bookcase. “Think Anthea will mind if I grab a couple books for the trip?”

“Not at all,” Sherlock answered with a small smile.

John’s hand was still on Sherlock’s shoulder and he seemed to have no desire to move it. Sherlock didn’t mind, not in the slightest. John could keep it there for the rest of their days. Sherlock would never complain about being permanently attached to a John. They would live side by side, inseparable and content, happy. It sounded perfect to him. It wouldn’t be, of course. They would bicker and argue and disagree. He would still do experiments and John would scold him. The microwave would blow up, but they would be happy. They would love every moment. And each other too? Sherlock wanted that. God, he wanted. He looked into John’s eyes, delighted in the smile on his face, and suddenly it became imperative that John knew everything in Sherlock’s heart.

“I will never leave your side again, John,” was the best Sherlock could do. What he wanted to say was ‘I love you’, but still unsure if it would drive the man away, he settled for this. It expressed the same emotion, just in more abstract terms.

John’s eyes, his entire face, softened and filled with fondness. He looked at Sherlock for a long moment and then lifted his hand. He moved the other one from Sherlock’s shoulder in tandem until they both rested on either side of the man’s face, cupping his cheeks. Sherlock gave an involuntary gasp, his eyes widening. John just gazed at him, tilting his own head thoughtfully. His palms were deliciously warm on Sherlock’s cool skin and he could feel a flush spreading over his face.

John blinked slowly and gave Sherlock the barest of smiles. Sherlock was mesmerized. How had he stood to be away from this man for even two minutes, much less eighteen months? Lost in the moment completely, Sherlock would not have noticed that his own lips had parted ever so slightly, except that John’s eyes lowered to track the movement. Sherlock’s heart shuddered to a halt and he could do nothing but stare. They had shared many intense stares in the past, especially on cases. None had ever felt like this one. Any romantic intent was never there, at least not that Sherlock noticed. Looking into John’s face now was a different story. His eyes were black as night, the color nearly overtaken by pupils. He looked wistful, almost dazed, like he was present in the moment and also thinking of something else entirely. 

John’s thumbs were slowly stroking along Sherlock’s cheekbones now and he melted into the touch. His angular brows arched, climbing to his curls as he watched his friend curiously. His hands ached to reach for John and pull him close, but he held back. Hugging was not something they did, even at the worst of times. It was for the better though. Sherlock wasn’t sure he could keep his own emotions separate from affectionate touch and that would not be good for either of them.

They remained frozen in time and quite wordless. John was still gazing at Sherlock warmly, head tilted in thought. Sherlock, on the other hand, held his breath. He had no idea what to do or what would happen next, and he dared not move for fear the spell would break. With a fond smile, John cradled Sherlock’s face gently and shifted the man’s head slightly as he swooped in to press their lips together softly. Sherlock gasped when their lips met, completely undone. Everything was in slow motion. John moved his lips minutely, carefully testing the waters. Sherlock still didn’t know what to do, but found his lips responding of their own volition. It was a sweet, soft kiss, perfect for a first. 

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed when they parted. His mind was utterly blank. All of the languages he spoke failed him, except one. “Je t’aime.”

He whispered the words against John’s lips before he could think better of it. John said nothing as he pulled back only enough to look into Sherlock’s cerulean eyes. Both men remained silent, just looking at one another, searching and asking, finding answers. John leaned in again and Sherlock welcomed him, responding immediately as their lips met. His hands floated up John’s back, stopping somewhere in the middle and pulling him closer. His whole body was alight with sensation and trepidation. He had dreamt of this for so long and it felt absolutely transcendent, and also tentative. Part of him feared that, at any moment, John would push him away and demand to know what he was on about. That moment never came, much to his relief and delight. Instead, John tilted his head more to deepen the kiss. Sherlock parted his lips slightly to sigh into John’s opening mouth. The kiss was still chaste, even as they panted and breathed each other’s air. John’s left hand slid down to Sherlock’s neck and he couldn’t help but angle it further to increase access, shivering when John’s tongue licked wantonly across his jawline.

Abandoning all of his carefully curated control, Sherlock dove in. He pushed his tongue into John’s mouth and twisted it to reach every possible surface. John responded in kind, licking into Sherlock’s mouth and teasing mercilessly. Sherlock’s right hand came to rest on the back of his neck as they pressed into each other, chests touching as much as their seated positions allowed. Long minutes passed and every one of them was incredible. Their kisses were urgent, but not frantic, growing in intensity with each touch. 

John was the one to break off when he pulled away to kiss Sherlock’s left cheekbone and then circle to his earlobe where he nibbled and sucked. Sherlock gasped in surprise and then moaned, deep and throaty. His hands roamed up and down John’s back, fingertips and palms alternating like a dance. He wanted John. Right now and with all his being. He needed him. He needed to feel him.

John mouthed down Sherlock’s neck. His touch was amazing, both firm and gentle. Even in Sherlock’s most erotic fantasy, he would not have imagined such pleasure as this. He let out a disgruntled growl when John stopped where neck met shoulder and lifted his lips off the warm skin. Before Sherlock could voice his objection, however, John licked the spot so obscenely that Sherlock’s toes curled. His whole body shuddered and John smiled against his skin right before he bit it gently. 

“Oh!” Sherlock cried out, his body tense and his mind whiting out.

“You okay?” John panted, a touch of concern to his voice. One hand came back to cradle Sherlock’s cheek with a caress so soft it eradicated any doubts he may have harbored. With that reassurance, Sherlock let go.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, gripping his hips and squeezing. “I need you. I need to feel you.”

He grabbed a handful of John’s t-shirt hem and pulled up, revealing tanned skin and a navel. Sherlock nearly died on the spot under the force of his desire. He wanted to press his lips against every inch, licking and nipping as he went. John, clever John, understood immediately and lifted his arms so Sherlock could pull the shirt up and off. He threw it to the floor and kissed John again, wrapping his arms around bare flesh. A moment later, he felt a tug at the bottom of his own shirt and eagerly threw up his arms for John. The fabric whisked over his head and landed near the foot of the bed. Sherlock’s hands were everywhere while John slid his up Sherlock’s chest, skimming over flat plains and skirting around nipples. Their lips kissed and mouthed at earlobes and necks, anywhere they could reach until John pulled back just enough to look Sherlock in the eye. They both stared from under heavy lids and then John kissed him again, leaning forward as he did, easing Sherlock backwards slowly. Soon he was lying flat on the mattress with John’s body against his from top to bottom.

John pressed his hips hard into Sherlock’s and they both moaned loudly. Sherlock thrust back and John tipped his head back with a gasp on his lips as their cocks touched. That was all it took for their desires to take over. They rutted agaist each other a few more times, quickly finding a rhythm together. The friction was incredible. They were skin to skin from shoulder to waist. Sherlock could feel every muscle, every bead of sweat on John’s body as they moved. 

“Oh god, John,” he gasped, almost unable to believe it was really happening. He had always wanted this and had been certain he would never realize the fantasy, but here they were and nothing could stop them. Heat pooled in his belly and it was so good, just this side of overwhelming and he wanted more. More.

Suddenly, without warning, John stopped. He was still for a moment as though he needed to think. Shit. Shit. John pulled his weight from atop Sherlock, gazing down at him with dark eyes. Sherlock looked at him with lust and worry, holding tightly to his sides, not forcing him to stay, but making it known that he did not want the man to go.

“Wha’s wrong?” The words came out in a rush. Sherlock had to know what was going on. What had stopped John? How could he fix it?

“I jus’ want to…” John didn’t finish, his words cut off by a wanton moan when he aligned their cocks and dropped his hips so they rested on Sherlock’s once more. “Christ.”

“Oh, god,” Sherlock groaned at the same time. “John, you are a goddamn genius.”

His large hands slid to John’s ass, fingers gripping his cheeks firmly. He held fast and thrust up into the man, taking both their breaths away.

“John. John, I need you. Now.”

He was panting and thrusting slowly, torturously. God, it was perfect. Sherlock could already feel his release coiling in his belly, teasing his loins with the most intense pleasure. He would come harder than ever before, he knew, and it was going to happen embarrassingly quickly, but he really didn’t care. He needed this with John, loved him with every fiber. Somewhere in his mind, even in this state, he thanked the fates that John couldn’t speak French because he could not guarantee that he wouldn’t mutter something in the language again.

“John,” he almost pleaded and John nodded his understanding.

“Yes,” the man rasped. “Oh, god.”

Both men thrust at once and paused for just a moment to bask in the spine-tingling pleasure of their groins pressed together. Even the clothing they wore couldn’t dampen the sensation. In an instant, frenzied movement overtook them. John’s hips snapped mercilessly and Sherlock met him thrust for thrust. Their motions soon became erratic, their bodies twitching and lurching as they chased release. Finally, Sherlock could hold back no longer and he jerked up at John, his whole body rigid as wave after wave ripped through him. John’s climax followed as soon as Sherlock’s began, and quite by surprise, if his expression was anything to go by. They both thrust against one another again, but more gently, muttering the other’s name as the ultimate pleasure washed over them. Sherlock’s whole body tingled and his mind went white, floating through every thought and emotion. He cataloged them all.

When the orgasms began to abate, John slowly opened his eyes to look down at Sherlock. He was breathing hard. He wasn’t the only one. John gave the man a smile and collapsed onto his damp chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” John exclaimed, his breaths coming fast on Sherlock’s left pectoral. “That wa… was incredible, Sherlock.”

He lifted his head, a radiant smile on his lips. Sherlock swallowed with difficulty around his own panting and grinned back. He had absolutely no idea what to say, so he kissed John instead, softly and sweetly. It felt like magic. What happened when their lips parted was unreservedly out of his control. The words tumbled out unbidden.

“Ma vie t’appartient. Je suis et demeurerai à jamais ton époux,” Sherlock blinked his eyes wide in panic as soon as his mind caught up to his mouth. What the hell was he thinking?

“What?” John asked with a laugh. “That sounds beautiful, especially from you. God, your voice is criminal. I’ve no idea what it means though.”

“Flannel,” Sherlock rushed to say, already cursing himself. “We need a flannel.”

“We need much more than that,” John couldn’t stop laughing now. “We need all new pajamas.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and Sherlock’s bare chest felt bereft in the cool air. He kept his hands on the small of John’s back, having no intention of letting him go. Words in English seemed beyond him after this colossal cock-up. Fortunately, his silence didn’t seem to bother John.

“You want a quick shower first?” he asked brightly.

“Go ahead,” Sherlock managed with a nod towards the bathroom.

“Yeah?” John answered and winked. “Won’t be a minute.”

He rolled off Sherlock and headed for the door. A rather large, wet circle that he made no attempt to hide stained the front of his pajama pants. Sherlock looked down at his own once John was ensconced in the ensuite and saw much the same. Unfazed, he relaxed back into the soft mattress, raising his arms to tuck his hands behind his head. He was so very glad John did not speak French. It was the only thing that saved him this time. He really must investigate his propensity to declare his love to John in French before it got him in trouble, but not now. He had more important matters to attend to at the moment. He closed his eyes and entered his mind palace fervently. He wanted to catalog this experience so he would always have it no matter what happened next.

What would happen next? Surely, John would not want a relationship, much as it pained Sherlock to admit. John was not, as he so often pointed out, gay. The question of orientation, however, was unclear. Before disappearing into the bathroom, John did not exhibit any signs of existential crisis of sexual identity. He seemed completely at ease with the situation. Unless, of course, it was happening now behind closed doors. Sherlock huffed in disapproval when he involuntarily hoped that was not the case. Sentiment had begun to weasel its way into his psyche during his absence from John. It was part of him now. He could easily switch it off while on assignment, but was unable to do so reliably when off the clock. He was certain Mycroft knew, though he never said a word. Thank god for small miracles.

What Sherlock found strangest was that sentiment was not the weakness he had been led to believe. In fact, he felt more complete than he had since he was a child. Even when he and John had lived together in 221B, solving crimes and bickering over experiments, Sherlock had not felt at peace with himself. Had something positive actually come out of the fall? Had his brother been wrong all along? The longer he thought, the more he saw no other logical conclusion. Sherlock smirked smugly. He couldn’t wait to share that particular piece of information with Mycroft at their next meeting.

“Hey,” a voice tore Sherlock from his thoughts. His eyes flew open to see John standing next to the bed with his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t remember the best approach. It’s been a while.”

“The best approach?” Sherlock questioned, raising a brow.

“Yeah. When you’re in your mind palace,” John supplied. “I always used to touch you first, I think. I don’t think you really noticed, but it kept you from getting so startled. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock didn’t move a muscle, save cocking his brow a fraction more at John’s words. After a few minutes, John shifted and brought his left hand to the back of his own neck.

“Well, uh,” he cleared his throat, abashed, “shower’s yours.”

Sherlock blinked.

“Yes,” he agreed, sitting up. “Yes, of course.”

He stood and walked straight to the chest of drawers for new clothes. Once he had them, he crossed to the bathroom.

“Laters,” Sherlock turned to say with false bravado and then closed the door firmly behind him. He leaned his back against it and sighed, wondering what would happen now. Would John choose to ignore what just happened, and if not, how long would it be before he insisted they talk about it? Sherlock tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He would have known the answers to all his questions with minimal effort before the fall and their time apart, but both he and John were so different now. His past self never would have let this happen no matter how much he wanted it. 

Sherlock didn’t know what to think anymore. He could not discern whether or not his interpretations of John and the situation were leading to the correct deduction or if it was all wrong. Some part of John had honestly, secretly always confounded him and now that part was even larger and harder to deduce. Sherlock certainly knew what he wanted to do in light of this new development, but did John want the same? Would John ever want that? Sherlock just didn’t know.

------------

I know what you're thinking: "Well..... we have but one thing to say to that. SMUT, JANE, BLESSED MFING SMUT!! Thank you so much." But will it happen again? Will they talk about it? Will John come out of the bathroom and insist it was all a big mistake? Who's to say??? The Shadow knows, and by The Shadow, I mean me. Mwahahahaha! Love, Jane

[gregorovitch-adler]

My thoughts about The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes:

Let's start by summarising the movie -

No crime-solving happens in the first 34 minutes. The first act is all about Holmes and Watson's dynamic, exploration of the nature of their relationship with each other, etc. If you're the type of person who only watches/reads Sherlock Holmes for the cases, you'd believe this portion is skippable. Only the blink-and-miss detail about the "Midgets' case" is important as far as Holmes' detective work is concerned.

However, if you think exploring Holmes and Watson's interpersonal relationship and their casework are both equally important, like I do, the first act is GOLD. Most of the Tumblr gifs about this movie are from the first 30-35 mins lol.

1.) Holmes enters and they bicker like an old, married couple.

H: Oh, come now, Watson, you must admit that you have a tendency to overromanticize. You have taken my simple exercises in logic and embellished them, embroidered them, exaggerated them ---

W: I deny the accusation.

H: You have described me as six-footfour, whereas I am barely six-footone.

W: A bit of poetic license.

Not only is this whole scene just delightful in general but the theory about Watson being an unreliable narrator in ACD canon is actually being supported throughout the movie, starting right here.

--

W:It's those little touches that make you colorful...

H: Lurid is more like it. You have painted me as a hopeless dope addict - just because I occasionally take a five per cent solution of cocaine.

W: A seven per cent solution.

H: Five per cent. Don't you think I'm aware you've been diluting it behind my back?

This exchange was lovely. Way to slip in their closeness through a few words.

2.) Watson doesn't think it's odd to barge right in when Holmes is completely naked and taking a bath?

Also, why the hell does Holmes bathe with his bedroom door wide open?

And what's that thing he's taking a bath in called? Does anyone know about this stuff? Was this thing common in that timeline? It doesn't seem to fit a grown man like Holmes.

I have so many questions and I'm speechless at the same time. I'll just drop this here:

3.) Then Watson persuades Holmes to go to The Swan Lake ballet.

Watson enjoys that ballet, a little too much at that, mostly because he's staring at all the women on stage. (We'll get back to this later.)

Holmes on the other hand has dozed off. All he can admire about the most beautiful dancer, Petrova, is her strong arches. Which is... 🏳‍🌈

Then that whole scene about Nicholai and Petrova and Holmes in the dressing room. XD

Petrova offers a Stradivarius violin to Holmes in exchange for sleeping with her for a week, so that her child would be beautiful like her and brilliant like Holmes.

Holmes gets out of the situation by lying to both of them; saying he's in a relationship with Watson.

Honestly, that whole bit. Just look at the lines:

N: She has been dancing since she was three years old, and after all, she is now thirty-eight.

H: (gallantly) I must say she doesn't look thirty-eight.

N: That is because she is forty-six.

And:

Nicholai: (about Tolstoy) Too old --- Then we considered the philosopher, Nietzsche --

H: Absolutely first-rate mind ---

N: Too German --

Etc. They're all so funny. This whole scene is something else.

In fairness to Holmes, he did try to get himself out of the situation by lying about having hemophilia in his family, or saying that he's unromantic because he's English, etc but Petrova was having none of it.

Watson coming into the room all of a sudden gives so much clarity and calmness to Holmes. He just knows what to say to help himself because of Watson.

This unforgettable exchange:

N: You mean, you and Dr. Watson - He is your glass of tea?

H: If you want to be picturesque about it.

On a side note, I absolutely loved Nicholai's face journey throughout both scenes - in the dressing room, stuck in the middle of Holmes and Petrova's awkwardness, and later on when he asks about the alleged Holmes-Watson romance to Watson after having spread the rumour in the whole room.

I just loved his reactions a lot.

According to this movie-

Caprice of Mother Nature = Gay.

Half-and-half = Bisexual.

Watson comes to know about the rumour, after having had the time of his life with both men and women in the ballroom. Watson is pissed off, he goes home and confronts about the whole thing to Holmes.

They have a row at Baker Street, in which Watson is being extremely heteronormative again. Thinking too much about his reputation without stopping to question his own feelings and his weird fixation on Holmes' love life.

There's that famous line again:

W: Holmes, let me ask you a question. I hope I'm not being presumptuous -but there have been women in your life?

H: The answer is yes -- you're being presumptuous. Good night.

Awesome.

This marks the end of Act I.

The existence of these 33 minutes of the movie is proof that the writing team in this adaptation knows that exploring Holmes and Watson's characters and what they mean to each other is as important as Holmes' casework. Billy Wilder takes this seriously, even though there are some jokes here and there about it.

The whole of Act I is filled with raising questions about Holmes and Watson's preferences, etc. Does Holmes feel love or is he just a machine? Does Holmes feel love for Watson? Does Watson know about Holmes' feelings for him? Does Watson feel the same way about Holmes?

In my opinion, all the answers to the personal questions about Holmes are as clear as a day. What's really questionable is whether Watson knows and/or feels the same way about Holmes or not. Different viewers might draw different conclusions/inferences after watching this movie.

After this, the movie takes a turn because "Gabrielle" enters the picture, and the actual crime-solving begins from here. The tone becomes a bit more serious in this act.

A young woman, completely wet and in shock enters 221 B. Watson has to pay for her fare to the cabbie before he and Holmes take her upstairs to take care of her.

She can't remember anything at first, then from her wedding ring, Holmes gets to know her name: Gabrielle Valladon. Her husband's name is Emile Valladon.

She appears to have temporary amnesia because of getting hit on the forehead and almost drowning in the Thames.

She reveals info about herself that she's from Belgium, her husband was here in London for a job, they used to write to each other, and after some time, the letters from her husband stopped coming. She'd gone to the London police first after coming to this city. She says the police had advised her to consult Sherlock Holmes.

Now, this should make the viewer skeptical of her. Scotland Yard does consult Sherlock Holmes when they need him, but they aren't going to let him have the whole case if there's a situation like this.

Besides, that woman ending up at Baker Street specifically seems to be planned, anyway. Also, there's always this man who keeps waiting for her or someone else's signals on the outside.

I know what we see on screen comes from Watson's drafts on loose pages, but this movie's narration seems to be Third Person Omniscient POV to me. Where the viewer is privy to more information as compared to the characters.

The three of them keep looking for her husband's whereabouts, and she pretends to be helpless, needy, and fragile (to stroke the ego of the men around her, I believe. I mean that could be one of the reasons...) with temporary amnesia throughout most of the movie. Holmes and Watson don't suspect a thing about her as they keep working for her and she keeps sending cryptic messages to the "Trappists" (German government) with her parasol.

The thing I love about this act:

Ilse von Hofmannsthal aka Gabrielle Valladon is actually a competent character who happens to be a woman. We can see something shady is going on with her even though we don't know her real name, but one of the most brilliant people on the planet doesn't suspect anything. He thinks she's just a woman looking for her husband's whereabouts. He thinks her back story is real.

He keeps on thinking that until Mycroft basically tells him in the third act which is why we're able to see for ourselves that Ilse was genuinely able to outsmart Holmes. We don't have to be told by the narrative voice about Ilse's strengths (*cough* unlike BBC Sherlock and a lot of female characters written by Steven Moffat *cough*).

I, for one, felt respectful of Ilse or "Gabrielle" for real. It was quite refreshing to me after having watched some modern Holmes adaptations.

Holmes, Watson, and "Gabrielle" go looking for the cause of Emile Valladon's death after they've found his coffin in the graveyard, in the guise of having a picnic. Holmes and "Gabrielle" pretend to be a married couple - Mrs and Mr Ashdown, and Watson is their valet. The scenes after this point are delightful mainly because of Watson's reactions (which could be read as his jealousy over Holmes, too).

Also, me when Holmes calls Watson 'John' in an archaic Holmes adaptation:

Because of his sort of stupidity, Holmes takes Ilse, a German spy, right in front of the submersible (which he thinks is a mechanical 'monster' that lives underwater) in a boat, along with Watson.

Ilse was trying to grab as much information as she could about that secret project because she was working for her country. Who knew someone would show her the live version of that model so readily (albeit unknowingly)? :P

The three of them are obviously unable to find anything about Emile Valladon, so they go back to the inn room they're staying in.

That's when one of Mycroft's men comes to pick Holmes up and take him to his elder brother. Here's when the third act begins, I think.

Mycroft had warned Sherlock not to pursue "Gabrielle's" case any further during the second act. But Sherlock didn't listen, because a.) he's an empathetic man, and b.) Mycroft can't just order him to do or drop something just because. Sherlock is not a child anymore.

I know Mycroft was only trying to protect Sherlock, and that he couldn't have told him the real reason to stop him at that time, but still.

Either way, months of planning and testing the submersible have gone to waste because Holmes did not suspect at any point that his client, "Gabrielle Valladon" might have just been lying to him since the start. Can't blame Holmes for that. Ilse was meticulous.

Mycroft shows the model to the queen and she strongly disapproves of the model and curses it a lot. Personally, this seemed to be a shitty decision on her part, and I felt so frustrated and annoyed at her in that scene. She didn't even care to hear about its features. She just rejected it on the spot! :(

Mycroft decides to 'give the submarine' to the German government. It's implied that the Trappists were drowned along with the submarine itself in the deep waters. (That's what I gathered from that scene - correct me if my interpretation was wrong).

In conclusion, while Ilse is genuinely able to outsmart Holmes (unlike some writers forcing us to believe it in their adaptation because they told us so), the German government isn't able to go anywhere with the info they've gathered through Ilse because of Mycroft's last move. Moreover, the English government would have sent her to jail, if Sherlock hadn't suggested Mycroft send her back to her own country.

So, in the end, it's a lose-lose situation for all of them.

1.) Sherlock Holmes didn't know that Ilse was faking her name and her whole identity for a long time, so he unknowingly helped a German spy, thinking he was just helping an ordinary client. Ilse almost had him and the viewers could see for themselves that she'd outsmarted him.

2.) Even after Ilse von Hofmannsthal has got what she wanted for her government, as a spy, they aren't able to make use of that info because of Mycroft. And she has to get out of England anyway.

3.) Mycroft Holmes also fails, to some extent, because ages of effort to plan the submersible, hide the plans, and test the model in secret - all of it has gone to waste. The queen doesn't even want to hear him out in the end.

But even if it was a lose-lose situation, the battle was damn intriguing because of the high intellect on both sides - Holmes brothers and Ilse.

Months later, Holmes receives a letter from Mycroft about Ilse's arrest and execution by the Japanese government. Reading that, he's so moved that he can't even finish his breakfast. He gets up and asks Watson for his cocaine supply. Watson tells him, and then Holmes grabs the bag and goes to his room. Holmes shuts himself in, Watson gets up from the breakfast table too, sits beside the fireplace, and begins to write something on a piece of paper. Probably about the case, but for nobody to see.

End of Act III and the movie.

--

I loved the background score of this movie. It's quite touching and refreshing to listen to.

A lot of dialogue exchanges in the movie are so deep if you stop to think about them. It's unbelievable how much writers can convey through a few words. Some of them are quite funny too - particularly from Act I. There's a thin line between being funny and mocking, and TPLOSH didn't cross that. It was nice.

I love this portrayal of Sherlock Holmes. It's clear how deeply they've understood him from the original canon. Pretends to be dismissive and closed off but actually cares about everyone way too much.

I also liked Mycroft in this movie, even if he didn't have much screen time.

About Ilse von Hofmannsthal - I loved her. Seriously, this is how you write female characters, modern writers! People say ASIB is a direct adaptation of TPLOSH, which is true, but I'd prefer TPLOSH over that episode any day, and one of the reasons is the way the female lead has been written in the former. Not exactly a fan of how Moffat wrote her in his adaptation. He did her dirty, I'd say.

Characters like Ilse make me think that the writing team of this movie knew what feminism is. I can't say the same for the modern Holmes adaptation that has been heavily inspired by TPLOSH.

I loved the plot of this movie too. The case in itself was also pretty interesting and kept me hooked throughout. Even if it wasn't exactly resolved finally, and the ending was melancholic.

I wasn't expecting the movie to be this good. Which is why it took me so long to sit down and watch it.

I only have one complaint about this movie - Watson's characterisation.

I mean, Watson wasn't half as bad as I'd expected (I thought he was going to be horrible, based on the snippets of the movie I'd seen before), but still. I like how he doesn't fall into the bumbling idiot stereotype. As far as the casework is concerned, Watson is also quite competent and observant in his own right. He can handle the medical work too.

I've got problems with his heteronormativity, and the fact that when it comes to deducing what lies in Holmes' heart, he's dumb as bricks. It's annoying. Like, it's one thing if he doesn't feel the same way about Holmes, but he doesn't have to be so weird and homophobic about it. Also, I think Holmes should've told him about the truth related to Ilse and the 'mechanical monster'. I've had enough of 'keeping Watson in the dark for his own good', damn it! He should be more in the knowledge.

Watson's character was the only element in the movie that didn't receive justice from the writer. As a Watson-centric fan, I need this to stop happening in future Holmes adaptations. People should see more from his POV too, and stop to actually see where he's coming from, and properly understand his character in the next show/movie/whatever they make.

What I gathered from the movie about the characters and their interpersonal relationships-

Holmes is in love with Watson but doesn't admit it... for valid reasons this time. (side eyes at Watson's homophobia).

Watson is deeply attached to Holmes but sees him as a close friend. I wish he felt the same way about Holmes in this movie, but alas! Though if he doesn't feel that way about Holmes, why the hell does he seem so jealous of Ilse in Acts II and III? This is beyond me.

I think what they've tried to show is that Watson is too close-minded to confront his possibly repressed feelings for Holmes, deep within his heart? Maybe. It could very well be my wishful thinking lol.

But as far as Holmes' feelings for Watson are concerned, it's not even wishful thinking. It's just... right there. I wish the subtext about Holmes' pining were spelled out. I know why it couldn't (the Doyle estate was being a pain in the ass at that time), but still. It's quite clear what they wanted to write as far as Holmes' emotional side was concerned, but they dropped it from the scripts after Act I and decided to focus on the case instead.

Holmes is dismissive of 'Gabrielle' at first, but he becomes sympathetic for her after some time. He reaches out to help her with her situation, and as the plot moves forward, he grows affectionate for Gabrielle/Ilse, which is why he doesn't hold a grudge against her when he realises he's been outsmarted by this woman (even though his ego was mildly hurt for a while).

The way they maintained a balance between the plot and the characters is commendable. I love seeing well-written women in fiction and this movie showed me that.

I was surprised to see how good this movie turned out to be, as compared to my preconceived opinions. The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes has officially become my comfort movie now. Miles ahead of BBC Sherlock, in my opinion.

Thanks to my discussions with @jamielovesjam in a previous post about this movie lol. I wouldn't have wanted to watch the movie if not for the long talk I had with them. Also tagging @gaypiningshit and @helloliriels for further discussion.

End of my unnecessarily long rambling.

[thegildedbee]

Journey: May 30 Prompt from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3.

(I'm a bit distant at this point from May, I know! . . . and there's one more prompt still to go, but then I'll finally be caught up with everyone else :-) ..................................................... As the train moves through the wintered fields, stations shuttered long ago flicker past, punctuated bits of expired time. An hour out from London, they begin to slow on the approach to Swindon, coming to a stop in a four-minute flurry of going and coming. Gathered round the door are a dozen or so lads in football kit with red dragons across their chests, waiting for the woman and the little boy who had been a few seats down from John to step off from the carriage. They scramble aboard, noisily pleased with having won their match, bringing in a blast of cold air that reaches in and chills John underneath his neck. They muck about as they jostle each other, eventually more or less coordinating their sprawls amongst extra rows of seats beyond what's necessary, some of them popping up to take selfies and shoot videos.

A faint smile whispers and shuts in an instant across John’s face at their exuberance, and he plugs his earphones into his mobile. He dithers about what to listen to, finally settling on a playlist that comes up after he types “welsh music” into the search bar, and then closes his eyes and slackens against the back of his seat as the train pulls away from the station and they resume their journey.

He’s vaguely bemused by young people's social media, especially their attachment to filming their lives; quite different from people his age, who've never been much fussed about having a camera to hand. He does regret, though, that he doesn’t have many photos of Sherlock; he always felt he needed to be surreptitious about taking shots, as if doing it in plain view would disturb their balancing act as flatmates. There are two amongst the small number that he likes very much: one of Sherlock facing the window while playing his violin, sunlight bringing out coppery glints in his dark curls; a second of him laid out on the sofa, allegedly in his mind palace, but actually taking a kip like an ordinary mortal. He doesn’t think Sherlock knew that he had a small set of photos – they were transferred to his laptop and sequestered several levels down inside a folder titled “Household Chores”– but since the git seemed to think that whatever was John’s, was his as well, he wouldn’t be surprised if somehow Sherlock had come across them one day when he was poking his nose about where he shouldn’t.

That thought begets another (didSherlockevertakeanypicturesofJohn?) although he decides to duck out from under that one straight off and leave it behind.

As the soft, plaintive reverberations of a pavane-like harp play inside his head, he recalls with chagrin how he jollied Sherlock into attending the media events that occurred in that last span of their time together. Clients had wanted to thank Sherlock for his successful efforts on their behalf: the rub was that they wanted to do so in front of the press. There was an auction house director for whom he’d retrieved a stolen painting worth nearly two million quid, and the big cheese banker who had been kidnapped, and then rescued by the detective.

The amount of interest Sherlock had in attending these: nil.

But he eventually complied, as he usually did when John asked him to do something; that hadn’t meant, however, that he’d play nicely. He had been cuttingly deductive, peevishly stating at the first event that the gift box held out to him contained diamond cufflinks – adding dismissively, “all my cuffs have buttons!” – and offering a similar pronouncement at the second, giving the box a shake and sharing the reveal – “tie pin!" – adding dismissively: “I don’t wear ties.”

John had intervened, correcting and redirecting Sherlock to concede to propriety and conform to convention, saying pointedly to the auction house director: “He means thank you,” to which Sherlock had snarked, “Do I?” to be countered by John pushing back: "Just say it.” In the second event he just gave it up as a bad job, and . . . shushed him.

The regular way of their world, right? Sherlock being an arse, John trying to save his arse.

As time had passed, however, John had begun to think that his attitude had been flirting at condescension, in a way that hadn’t been there at the start of their work together. When had he shifted to focusing on Sherlock as being deficient as a human being in social situations, as opposed to seeing Sherlock’s idiosyncrasies as indicative of degrees of comfort (or not) with those he perceived as outsiders?

To be fair, Sherlock’s disdain for the gifts was defensible: he didn’t sport the posh affectation of cufflinks for every day; nor had he ever been seen to wear a tie. If it was “the thought that counts,” then the thought appeared to be that, beyond his utility, Sherlock-as-individual was a human-as-null-placeholder.

In being thrust into the spotlight, abetted by John, Sherlock had been diverted from his own circumspect path, onto the one controlled by the ravening press, where it was they who decided on the right of way, whether there was safe passage to be had, and, if so, at what cost.

What if, in running interference in a way that placed John close to the side of propriety and conformity, he’d instead put his thumb on the scale for Sherlock?

It might have gone perhaps something like this: [Sherlock speaks] [John: subtle nudge, subtle nudge] [John (sotto voce): “What a wanker, eh?”] [Sherlock smiles at John] [John smiles at Sherlock] [John and Sherlock are pleased with themselves, and each other, two-of-a-kind people who laugh together at crime scenes, without giving a hang about proper decorum] [Sherlock feigns politeness] [Social order is maintained . . . a bit].

And, actually, for whose benefit were these thank-you events? Looking back with a skeptical eye, John sees them now as highlighting the givers: it was the poncy auction house director and the illustrious banker who were preening in front of the cameras – Sherlock was a pretext, surplus to requirements. Neither of the worthies needed to stage a press availability to thank Sherlock: appreciation could have been conveyed privately.

The simp of an art dealer, smarmily posing beside the “masterpiece by Turner,” with Sherlock off to the other side, while the public relations cameraman snapped images suitable for public distribution. Turning that skeptical eye on the whole scenario, the painting would now command likely a doubled sold-at-auction price, given the publicity and the story surrounding it having juiced up the intangibles that make up any artwork’s value on the open market.

The self-important banker, posed on the stairs within the embrace of his loving family – several steps higher than the detective, turfing him out onto the pavement. The journos gossiping that Mr. Something-or-Other-in-the-City was ready to climb the greasy pole, to one day get himself slotted in as Chancellor of the Exchequer, a launching pad for Prime Minister, as Major, Brown, and Sunak had done. Among the side effects of the kidnapping as media spectacle had been the boost it had given to the financier’s perceived significance, valor, and . . . name recognition.

John’s mind is expletive-strewn as he speculates how it was that these Sherlockian triumphs were choreographed by the hand of the consulting criminal, who likely pulled off a doubled win: had he inveigled the auction house to allow its painting to be stolen, and the aspiring government minister to allow himself to be kidnapped? (And therefore pocketed a tidy fee for the planning and execution of these gambits?) These events set in motion by him toward achieving the objective of setting up Sherlock to be sucked into the publicity maelstrom, as the “hero detective” became giddily glorified by the press? The bastard had probably even conspired with the unscrupulous publishing baron, Magnussen, to stage-manage the journalistic hue and cry to his specifications.

The ramping up of the press frenzy was the piece de resistance: all the fawning adulation naming Sherlock as a hero pivoted on using the Met as a foil, painting them as hapless and ineffectual, turning the table upside down by portraying them as the true amateurs, and Sherlock as a professional disguised as an amateur. Sherlock's overnight overnight celebrity ensured that his detractors at Scotland Yard would become ever more enraged at Sherlock’s existence, increasing their seething resentment and desire to take him down. The deerstalker was the Yard’s I.O.U.

John allows that he may be on the verge of losing himself in the land of the paranoid, but he wonders if Moriarty even stage-managed the thank-you events himself, through a word in the ear of those in charge, ensuring the planting of certain details. To wit, Moriarty, in his Vivienne Westwoods and beyond-bespokes: his shirts were fastened with cufflinks, his always-tied-up self flaunted tie pins. Moriarty knew that eventually Sherlock would wonder if these two data points were taunts that meant Moriarty was lurking just beyond view. And Moriarty would have felt as blissed-out at Sherlock’s sartorial humiliation as his target would have felt beleaguered, cursed as he was forevermore to be crowned by the misbegotten deerstalker in press photos.

He suspects now that Moriarty had drilled down into John’s psychology with a cleverness equal to his emotional profiling of the public, the press, and the Met, and had foreseen that he could steer John into unknowingly working with him, prompting him into facilitating Sherlock being fed into the maw of the beast by providing a platform that tapped into John’s desire to see Sherlock get his due in public.

As twisted as the maggot was, he seemed to know more about John’s and Sherlock’s emotional landscapes than perhaps they did themselves.

What had Moriarty known about John and Sherlock, the each of them? What had Moriarty known about the two of them together? And when? And why had they been blindsided?

............................... p.s. The shooting script at the BBC for S2E3 uses the term "auction house" at one point, and I've used that tiny blip for my between-the-lines jumping off point use of "canon" here, in case anyone wonders :-)

......................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

[mylifebeingautistic]

book review: Keedie by Elle McNicoll

Set five years before Elle McNicoll's debut A Kind of Spark, this book follows Keedie in her mission to confront the bullies in her school. The book addresses topics such as teenage popularity, standing up for what is right, and complicated relationships between siblings.

Before this book I had already read A Kind of Spark and watched its TV show adaptation, and Keedie was my favourite character of both. So I was very excited about this book from the second I first heard about it. And it didn't disappoint! This book gave me almost everything I could have wished for.

I loved getting to meet Keedie's friends, Bonnie and Angel, who are also autistic, but have different support needs to Keedie. I would have liked to have seen more of them!

Keedie's relationships with her sisters, Nina and Addie, change throughout this book. I thought their dynamics as siblings were written very well. Nina's role in the story was particularly interesting, painting a very realistic picture of what it might be like to be fourteen years old and trying to fit in.

From this point on, I will be discussing spoilers for Keedie. If you don't want to see those, stop reading here!

Firstly, I loved this scene with Keedie and Mr Allison in the library. Keedie tells Mr Allison how she didn't like the books he'd recommended to her, which were all about the main characters having an autistic sibling, rather than autistic people getting to be the heroes themselves.

"Well, I'll be on the hunt for better. The school wants more representation in the library." "Oh, there's some good stuff," I tell him. "Sherlock Holmes. Vincent Van Gogh. Mr Darcy. Jo and Beth March. Mr Dick from David Copperfield." His eyes dance with surprise. "I'm impressed. And they're all autistic?" "Sure," I say, heading for the exit. "They just don't have the paperwork."

I loved this part because it referenced some characters that I also think are autistic. Especially Beth March and Mr Darcy. I've always found them so relatable and thought they would be autistic if they were real and living in a time when they were able to express themselves and get a diagnosis. Maybe I could make another post about book characters I think are autistic. Would you find that interesting?

It crept up on us, this loss of how things used to be. People are now swept up in what other people think of them. From the choking taste of hairspray in the bathrooms to the group chats, something has shifted.

I really liked this description of the change that happens in school as you enter the teenage years. It's such a shame that it happens. Imagine how much nicer the world could be if we were all free to be ourselves, without worrying what others would think.

In the scene where Keedie speaks up for April when she is hit by the snooker ball, I liked how her differences that might be seen as a bad thing by some were useful in doing something good.

Other people have stops in their heads, like the barriers that come down to block a car from driving across train tracks. Other people keep certain words and behaviours inside, the barriers come down and they don't act. They wait. I don't have those barriers. Never have.

When Keedie confronts her sister after Nina's friends bullied Bonnie at the Founders' Day celebration, Nina says this:

"I did nothing!" Nina shouts, suddenly animated. "As usual, I did nothing wrong!"

Which I think is such an important point about how compliance and being a bystander to bullying is actually just as bad as doing the bullying itself.

"Exactly," I say coarsely. "You did nothing."

At the same time, I do feel for Nina, because I remember what it was like to be in her situation. You feel as if you have to go along with the bullies, because if you don't, they will turn on you too. And I'm glad she saw the error of her ways and apologised to Keedie at the end.

At the birthday party, this happens once again:

I silently challenge Nina with a glare. She can make all this go away. She can check her friends. She can take them somewhere else. She can stand up to them, stand up for us, for once. She can make a difference and choose not to be a bystander to her friends and their bullying tactics. But she says nothing.

I thought it was really accurate how in this scene, the type of bullying that Nina's friends use is one that might not seem like bullying to an outsider. Patronising tones, saying horrible things whilst smiling. It becomes worse later, but it is still the type of bullying that is difficult to report. Targets of bullying like this might not tell anyone because of how difficult it is to explain, or they might question whether to report at all, whether the problem is even real or if they're just overexaggerating it. I know this because it happened to me.

"Want to know the worst thing about being autistic? It's not the autism." I throw the napkin down and push back my chair. "It's people like you."

I really liked this ongoing metaphor of the North Star, as Keedie's reason to keep fighting.

If I'm a voyager of sorts, Bonnie is my North Star. I keep one eye on her at all times, no matter the state of the current, and I keep sailing towards it. She's my only North Star and that will never change.

When Keedie tries to give Angel's dad money so that Addie can go to his school, she doesn't have enough. But Angel's dad tells her:

"You be the person you needed at her age. Be her rock. Be the tree that doesn't move in the storm. You can do that, I know you can, you already are!"

I think this really influences Keedie to become the person we know in A Kind of Spark. She realises that she can't change her past, but she can change Addie's future, to make Addie's experience of growing up better than her own.

It's time to stop hunting sea monsters and start rescuing sharks. To keep gazing up at that North Star. Polaris never was just one star in the sky: it looks like a single bright light but it's made up of multiple stars.

Have you read Keedie? What did you think of it? Did you find it relatable in the same ways I did, or in different ones? Let me know in the comments!

[sygneth]

IMPORTANT (TW&INDEXES)

First things first:

Don't hesitate to ask me things, DM me or suggest drawings, I don't bite (usually).

DON'T repost my art without credits, reblogs are very appreciated. You can use it for personal purposes (icon, wallpaper in ur phone, printing it out and eating putting on your fridge ect.) (and if it's the icon/header/ect. kinda thing please credit me).

If you are here for art only, you may be interested in my art archive sideblog @sygneth-archives

About me (meet the artist): 2023 - 2024

WARNINGS

I am and will be posting content that is not suitable for children and sensitive people. My current and future posts for both fandom stuff and OC content may directly include or mention topics such as:

graphic violence, death

mild gore; body horror, blood

swearwords, slurs (censored), in-universe slurs for fandoms

anxiety, depression and other mental disorders and their consequences

suicidal thoughts, suicide

abusive relationships, toxic relationships, trauma

sexual jokes/talk, suggestive talk and posing, soft NSFW content (occasional frontal nudity but rather not in sexualised way)

use and abuse of alcohol, cigarettes and other substance

addiction, co-addiction, codependence and people not always dealing with them the right way

If you don't want to see this kind of content, please unfollow me or consider taking some measures that will help you filter out those posts. Stay safe.

Second things second:

BLOG INDEX

I'm a multifandom mess and I'm not in charge of whatever my brain decided that I am going to hyperobsess over. Fortunately my obssessions rather stack than die away so sooner or later I will probably come back to whatever era you've found me at.

My recurring topics are for sure Undertale/Deltarune, ACD Sherlock, Good Omens, Disco Elysium, and whetever else that I forgot to mention.

I am currently handling a few projects:

ACTIVE:

Echoes of Elysium (a Disco Elysium comic where Harry tries to stay sober and sort out his relationship with people, set directly after the events from game, with some retrospections) - AO3 - ComicFury - INFO - Page 1

Sherlock Holmes and Victor Trevor College Adventures (a short comic series about friendship/QPR between the two of them, retelling/filling in the events from the story) AO3 - Masterpost - Chapter 1 (finished) - Chapter 2 (finished) - Chapter 3 (in the making)

HIATUS (let me believe I'll come back to them):

Postcards from Revachol (a postcard series + my thoughts to it, where I paint over my photos of my hometown bc it reminds me of Revachol and here is why)

Postapo Disco Inferno (a stupid silly AU where I do not think too much. Revachol got bombed 20 years earlier and Harry, Kim & Jean have a dog Dolores) - here

Sonnaá (my OC universe that may turn into something with some chronology one day)

Aside from those I am sometimes drawing or writing unrelated things in mentioned fandoms or in other fandoms too.

General tags:

#my art , #my writing - the names say it all

#holmes collage adventures - a mini-series exploring Holmes' and Victor Trevor's friendship

#echoes of elysium - for the Echoes comic

#echoes talking - for the Echoes lore

#postapo disco inferno - for postapo silly content & Dolores the dog

#jeanalysis, #jeanposting - special tags for a special man

#conversations with the void - my shitpost tag

#[fandom] scribbles, #[fandom] talking, #[fandom] meta, #[fandom] analysis - pretty self explainatory, I assume (including them here to keep the order)

Tags for other things are generally corresponding but forgive me if I suck at keeping them in order (I probably do).

Third things third: If i come up with anything else, I will update this pinned post. Have a nice day!

[asherloki]

Princess and the saviour knight

Part 2

Part 1 part 3

Knight! Sherlock x princess! Reader

Summary:- Summary:- y/n is a princess going through something difficult! A knight is hired for her. Her protection, but protection from what?

They went infront of his palace and there he was, "Lucian?" She found him walking in his palace garden.

"Princess y/n , what a surprise, come in." He invited her.

"Do you have any suitor?" She asked getting down from the horse.

"Who told you?"he asked back.

"Doesn't matter who told me where you should've told me before anyone did." She yelled at these last words.

"Yes I have, if you remember I told you, loving me comes with pain, you replied oh I can bare any of it for you, I couldn't tell you the reason because then you'll be going through same you had to with mathew."

"Still didn't change anything... Oh my goodness," she broke into tears, she stumbled a few steps. She couldn't believe it's the same story again, it was like re reading a tragedy.

"Your royal highness " Sherlock came running to hold her.

"Make sure she's safe." Lucian said to him.

"You think I believe you care for her well being?" Sherlock snapped forgetting he was talking to a prince.

"I do, not being able to marry her doesn't mean I want bad of her." Replied Lucian politely.

Sherlock didn't reply to him, instead he scooped her in his arms and took to the horse he held her with one arm and the rope tied to horse in another. She just kept on leaning on his chest, silently. The failure in love was getting unbearable. Even after coming back to her palace Sherlock carried the young princess to her room. She stayed silent just leaning on him. He placed her on her bed as carefully as possible. He kept holding her hand as she never let go of it.

"You'll be married off to someone better than them." He said softly. This is the first time she felt like opening her mouth to speak.

"And I'll never love anyone again, it's not for me, no one chooses me over other woman."

He could see the pain in her eyes. He cared for her way too much to see her in such pain. To change the subject he said, "tonight I heard that your friends are coming, they'll be able to cheer you up."

Saying this wanted to get up but she kept on holding his and he felt a tug, he looked back at her and she only uttered one word, "stay". It was rather a whisper. How could he refuse her. He came to protect her. But now, she's much more than that. Her laughter, her talk, her cheerful nature everything caught his attention, her talent in literature and her interest in music and painting, everything fascinated him. He was a mere knight, he shouldn't cross his line. So he kept quiet, also he wasn't a man of something she wants so dearly, a marriage of love. He sat beside her as she drifted off in misery.

In evening when she woke she heard a knock at her door. She got up and couldn't find her knight,

"Come in." She said annoyingly, it was her hand maiden. She brought dress and jewelry as her friends were already there. She sat infront of the mirror and started putting on jewelries. Y/n disliked that anyone would dress her up, she thought no one knows how to make her look pretty but she herself.

"May I come in your royal highness?" The same heavy voice called from the outside.

"Yes come in."

He pushed the door open and entered. "Your friends have arrived and..." He was stunned the moment he saw her in the mirror, she looked way too beautiful than usual. she turned to see him properly, "and?"

"Oh yes" he was startled, as he was lost in her beauty, she was always pretty to him, no matter what state she was in, but this time? She dazzled, even though she was heartbroken still, her shine was intact, she shone like moon, serene and pure in all those diamonds she wore.

"And, they're demanding to see you, should I let them in?"

"No, tell them I'm coming."

"Very well." Saying this he went outside. After she was ready to go out, she heard few laughters of girls, apparently her friends and one laughter that was her knight's. What was going on? She burst the door open to find all her friends clinging to her knight and making jokes and laughing. He was very much involved in it too, apparently he was being polite to all the ladies and princesses those were there. They all looked at her and were awstruck. And Sherlock as well, "may I dare say how dazzling you look your royal highness".

"Ofcourse you may, if you get a little time from all the jokes that's been made here." She snapped, ofcourse she was furious with him. And she noticed amongst all friends, sabrina who's father was a Duke being very much interested in him. She asked her friends to come with her and Sherlock stood there alone. Later that night when she was taking off her jewelries Sherlock asked for her permission to come in.

"Hmm" was the reply.

"Your highness? What's wrong?" He enquired.

"Nothing, what can be wrong, except for the fact that you and Sabrina were too close to eachother tonight."

"But Sabrina was..."

"Lady Sabrina for you, you're a knight don't forget that, not a Duke." As she was at her most vulnerable self at that time she was also pretty hurtful too.

"My apologies your royal highness, lady Sabrina was simply speaking to me".

"May I know the simple talks?"

"Ofcourse, about my family and my adventures and..."

This time she turned and interrupted saying, "oh, you told her about your family and not to me?"

"You never asked ". He replied, he always have an answer to everything. Y/n thought he was right, she's always been so self centric. So she thought she should ask him now.

"Who do you have in your family?" Asked she politely, or trying to be polite.

"Parents, brother and sister."

"No special friend?"

"A close friend named John but no one else."

"How come?"

"Married to my work, your highness ".

"Good, anyway I have to change, good night "

"Good knight, princess y/n , I'll be here outside if you need me." Saying this he went. And he stayed right infront of her doorstep all night long.

[thelunaticonthegrass]

Hey there! this is my first published fanfic and I'm so excited(more nervous)about it. English is not my first language I'm still learning it and it's my first English work so sorry for any mistake. And please let me know if you liked it I'll be overjoyed

Warnings:SPOILERS! Sherlock BBC series( Richen Bach fall episode) ,Mentions of depression and using medicine to sleep , Angst(happy ending)

(Let me know if there are more)

Summary:it has been two years since Sherlock died .but you still have dreams about him.

But is it a reasonable thought to assume that they have a meaning?

(Images are not mine)

He stood in front of you. His eyes were filled with tears and a new emotion that you've never seen in his face, perhaps regret.You just rushed into his arms. His heart was racing under his ribs, making him alive and very real. His hands drew you closer and you ran your fingers through his curly hair, revealing how much you longed for him

"I'm right here. look at me" He whispered softly into your ear.

As you lifted your head to look at him, your body went numb and he began to vanish. You woke up to the sound of the window banging.

it was a dream,again...

When the painful truth finally hit you, your eyes brimmed with tears.After two years,two years of grieving and struggling with depression because of his loss, many sessions of therapy,moving to different part of London because you couldn't bear his absence in that in that messy flat, after enduring Many nights of insomnia and and sleeping with the aid of the pills, you believed that 'acceptance' was finally within reach, but dreams like tonight always found a way to haunt you. To bring back the memory of how it felt to feel safe in his presence.

To remind you he was now laying six feet under ground. It was 3:00 am.You didn't care if you had to go to the work tomorrow ,just laying there and staring at the ceiling thinking of that joyous dream.you made a sad smile.after two years you had that hope in your heart, that he would finally stop this joke and breaks to your house and laughs at your stupid surprised face,just like the way he used to be, mysterious and all.What a foolish hope....

...

You woke up to the sound of your phone alarm.

You looked at the clock in your room...god you overslept.juat imagine a day when you overslept, went to work looking like you survived from a fire to see Anderson in your office.

You groaned when you saw him wandering around your desk. You almost slammed the door out of annoyance

"Anderson what the hell are you doing here?" You hissed

Anderson looked at you.if stupidity had a face it would be his you thought. "y/n don't get mad I'm here to tell you something really important about Sherlock" He said

You froze in place as you thought about how thoughtless someone could be.

"get out Anderson..."  you muttered under your breath

"No no you don't understand I was thinking..."

"do you even think?since when you have a brain?how dare you disrespect his memory like that?how dare you mock me?you saw when my life falling apart...how can you...how can you be like this?..." you almost shouted

You took a deep breath and pointed at the door

"go Anderson...you were one of those who doubted him. You believed that he was a fraud from the beginning, and now he's gone.You cannot heal your conscience like this."

Anderson didn't say a word, he just grabbed his jacket and quickly left the office knowing that if he says another word you would gladly slap him in the face.

You lay on your chair,your body shaking from shoke and anger. an interesting scenario playing in your head, which you actually slapped Anderson in the face in it and spat all of curses you knew they existed in vocabulary, and blamed him for what happened to the man you loved...

Unable to control your tears,Why memories were so alive?you asked yourself. as if you could see Sherlock's body on the ground, The pavement painted in red by his blood. that picture was engraved in your head forever. you felt sick in your stomach when you remembered his hand was still warm when you took it in your own,The last touch you had from him...

The day was tiring and terrible. you drove home as you bought some food from a small restaurant.You've been starving yourself the whole day with not eating a proper meal.

You laid on the couch not wanting to do anything.

You just turned on the TV so the silence wouldn't suffocate you.

Your eyes were getting heavy as you turned off the TV, too tired to go to bed you just sat there, but suddenly you heard a knock on the door.

It was 11:00 pm and you had no one to come to your house at this hour.

You held the door knob in your grip.

"Who is it?" you called out

"An unexpected guest" a familiar voice responded. Your whole body trembled when you heard that voice.your mind went like an empty refrigerator as you opened the door.

At first,you were one hundred percent sure you were dreaming again.

"Hello y/n" His voice brought you back to the earth.

He cleared his throat as the color started to drain from your face "Ok I know it's a bit scary...but here I am" He smiled. his stupid smile

"You just have to wake up y/n...you can do it just wake up" you whispered to yourself, but then your feet couldn't bear your weight anymore. He was quick to grab you and sat on the floor with you, that stupid smile replaced by a deep look of concern

"y/n are you ok?hey look at me it's alright" He said while getting closer to catch your face in his warm hands

"Why?...why are you doing this to me?...w

Why don't you leave me?I need some peace I want to be happy...I...can't I just sleep one night without you in my dreams?

Wasn't it enough to watch you die?

What am I paying for?..."you struggled to breathe,Your voice was so weak that he was afraid you would choke.

"y/n...fortunately or not... you're not dreaming...it's me" He murmured as he held your face, trying to hide his pain under a sarcasm.yes...it pained him to see you like this.

In this two years he never felt guilty about what he did. He couldn't understand the reason why he should, but when he saw your face white as a sheet, your whole body shivering because of shock, and the pain in your eyes when you were trying to breath, he suddenly felt some guilt, maybe more than that. the feeling rose from his chest to his throat and brought tears to his eyes.Yes, he had done this to you and that was his punishment.

You tried to put the words in an order to understand his sentence. were you not dreaming?

You grabbed the hand which were cupping your face, feeling his warmth. His hands were warm you thought, like two years ago when you tried to hold them but they didn't even move. No it wasn't like one of your dreams because you couldn't feel the warmth of his touch in your dreams. Sundden realization was too much.

You looked at him with the knowledge that he wouldn't disappear. You didn't know how to react or even feel. Should you have slapped him in the face?No, you just wanted to hold his beautiful face and wipe his tears with your fingers, To bury your face in his chest and feel his heart beat.

Should you have told him to go to hell?but your lips just wanted to say 'I love you'. There was a inconsistency between what you wanted to do and what you had to do and this silent battle took your whole energy.

By looking at your pale face Sherlock could tell you were going to faint.

"Let's get back in the house. You don't seem well" He said as he gently pulled you up with him and helped you walk.Your body was firmly pressed next to him. He was there,he came back...those words repeating in your head were only things you could understand.

You sat on the couch and he brought you a glass of water and knelt on the ground before you, not letting go of your numb hands.

"Why did you do this to me?" This was the only question you could manage to ask.

Sherlock froze in his place,not expecting to hear this. "You...your life was in danger...Moriarty had threatened your life..."

"And it took you two years to explain this"you interrupted him.

"The world had to believe that I'm dead.this was the only way to destroy the empire that Moriarty built..." He tried to explain,but he couldn't... it was the first time in his life that the great Sherlock holms couldn't defend himself with words. 'What have I done?'he thought. You were the only person he thought about in this two years. Day and night, even when he was being tortured, just a memory of of smile was enough to numb the pain. and now he saw how he had hurt you...

Every time he fell asleep he saw your face, no matter how hard he tried, he could not forget your horrified screams when he lay on the ground pretending to be dead.

And even though he knew his absence would be long he could not think of the day that he'll return to you, of course he had his own fears, most of his nightmares were about someone else who might have entered your life, taking his place in your heart...

Of course he wanted you to be happy more than anything in his life and he knew it was selfish to expect you to wait for him(when you didn't even know he was alive),but he couldn't bare the idea of coming back and seeing you're with another person. No, he wanted to make this up to you at all cost.

"I'm sorry...I...just wanted to protect you. I know I messed up, but y/n please...." he surrendered, not knowing how to apologize so that you would accept it, accept him. like you always did.

The hatred he felt towards himself for seeing you like this was not something he could take .He would've punched himself if it wasn't a stupid action, He would've ripped his heart out of his chest so you wouldn't have to read his feelings from his cold face, the mask that he had shown to the world with pride but he wanted to tear it so you could touch his naked feelings.

"You messed it up Sherlock, you really did"

You didn't know how you spoke so calmly

"You messed up, you left me to suffer like this.

But all I can think is how much I've missed. I don't know why am I so stupid?...stupid enough to love you even now...I don't even know why I'm telling you this"

"y/n, I'm the idiot one. I thought I could just come here and win your trust and heart again with an apology...y/n, please look at me"

He begged. He knew you could read him if you just look at his face, so you could know that he's telling the truth. You had done this so many times.

He didn't know how you do you do it but it was like a magic trick to him, it was his last gamble to prove how he really felt.

"I know you don't trust me anymore. but all can do is begging you to listen. Just listen to me and I'll leave you alone after"

You took a deep breath. 'why are you doing this?' your mind was yelling at you, but you just nodded, like your heart was searching for an excuse to let him in again.

"Y/n...what I've told you, was the truth, and I know it's not enough for you if I tell your life was in danger or I had to leave for an undercover mission. I know it won't ease your pain, and yes I'm not blind to see what I've done to you and you won't believe If I say it pains me so much that I subconsciously wish I was really dead...

But if it's my last chance to tell you how I feel I don't wanna hide it.

I know what I am y/n. I'm not the man you deserve, cause you deserve much better than a monster like me.

I thought about us from the moment I left you.

every single day I woke up just to see you're not by my side.

I...I just wish I could hold you while we sit on the couch, to see you run to my flat with your loud happy voice that brought me a joy that I didn't know it existed.

You taught me how to love someone, how to remember small things, because that's what we have...that's what we're made for. Whether you want or not I need you more than I should, and it burned me for two years. It's not a trick nor a show or for some bloody case It's just me...the man you saved...and I...I love you even if you want me to leave you alone for good"

His ocean eyes were teary and regretful now, just like you saw them in your dream...He lowered his head again like he was praying for your mercy. you couldn't take it anymore, you could not hate him even now, you loved all of him, even his inability to love the others normally, his mistakes and The way only he could amateurishly glue the broken pieces of your heart together. You slowly knelt from the chair to the floor to meet him at the eye level and placed your hands on his face.not looking at him directly, you kissed his wet cheek bones, his eyes, forehead and then, his lips. you just kept your lips there,pressing them on his. you just needed this remedy, to keep him right there.

It was like your heart suddenly started beating again after two years, like someone took your hand and pulled you up from the grave you were digging for yourself, and it was him.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you couldn't let go.not now...

"The double bed is still in my room" you finally spoke,your voice barely above a whisper

"Ok...that's good" he rubbed your back, soothing your exhausted muscles

"Wait until I wake up, don't leave" You murmured weakly

"you have my word, from now on, I'll be here every time you wake up." He promised

You just tightened your grip in response. no more dreams, finally the reality was worth living.

[johnlockifconvenient]

Johnlock lyrics I think about all the time that nobody asked for:

peace - Taylor Swift

POV I think about it from: Sherlock during/after Reichenbach. Maybe thinking that John is with Mary because he wants some kind of peace and safety. Definitely thinking that he's constantly putting John's life in danger.

Bolded lines are the ones that make me want to cry and throw up

Our coming-of-age has come and gone Suddenly the summer, it's clear I never had the courage of my convictions As long as danger is near And it's just around the corner, darling 'Cause it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Your integrity makes me seem small You paint dreamscapes on the wall I talk shit with my friends It's like I'm wasting your honor

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences Sit with you in the trenches Give you my wild, give you a child Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother Is it enough?

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

[kalakilo]

guy who watched all of Sherlock for the first time in the year of our lord 2024 needs to rant episode by episode

they put Benedict Cabbagepatch Sherlock™️ on the netflix in my country so me and my roommate watched all of it. i've heard so much about it and it was one of those big things in internet history so i was def intrigued!! not to mention my biggest incentive to watch this show was to see Andrew Scott play Moriarty. i love that guy so much i will say maybe 90% of the reason i wanted to watch this was because of him.

general thoughts: my overall experience is that it's exciting for the first two seasons. you're still on board with all the little sweet twists and turns and it's fun to see Sherlock and Watson solve their crimes. side characters like Mrs Hudson and Molly are nice, Moriarty is a GREAT villain and most other episodic villains are kind of enshrouded in mystery which i really enjoyed! during season 3 i thought the show was slightly declined in quality but still fairly interesting and different enough to keep me entertained, and season 4 just takes an absolute nosedive into "oh this is bad. oh Gatiss & Moffat have lost the fucking plot." even season 4 has its moments but mostly it's bad!!

now i'll go through each episode one by one because no one can stop me and i love talking to myself on tumblr rest of the long post is under the cut

a study in pink:

a very strong start to this show. this genuinely got me excited and sucked me into this world. the case in itself is so weird and cool and it feels impossible until they explain it. they also leave the tiniest bit of mystery as the man doesn't reveal whether or not Sherlock was right in his choice and i LOVE that!! honestly wish the show did more of that. the Moriarty name drop at the end is so good.

they also build John and Sherlock's partnership very well in just one episode which i do think is an achievement! i also hadn't realised how silly this show is from my outside perception although now that i'm thinking about it maybe i should've known?? the first episode does set the tone very well

the blind banker:

the case in this one is slightly more boring to me....maybe it's also pretty rough having this episode right after what is perhaps considered the best episode of Sherlock? i do think the symbol system is genuinely interesting and having something like that to decipher here is what makes the case most interesting to me. as a viewer you're also still sort of in the process of getting to know all these characters and that's sweet!!

the great game:

now THIS IS CINEMA!!!!! i love everything about this case, i love that Moriarty uses other people's voices for his own benefit, i love the way he toys with Sherlock and sort of exploits his passion for solving weird crimes by literally forcing him to do that on a time limit or someone will die, i love the pressure in the countdown from 10 to 1 when Sherlock tries to figure out how the painting is a fake, i LOVE the start of the pool scene where John walks out and you realise oh fuck now JOHN is speaking as Moriarty and then the man, the myth, the legend himself walks out of the shadows and it's the same guy who appeared for like a minute in the same episode as gay Jim. this episode is imo a perfect balance between the drama / crime-solving and the sweet occasional humour of the show. i always prefer the drama and the tension (plus the spooks) over the comedy as the jokes kind of tend to repeat themselves a little especially as the show goes on.

this episode puts an actually clever little twist on the structure of the last two episodes, where there is one crime to be solved and they spend the entire episode solving it along with minor subplots that serve no purpose to the solving of the crime itself. that's why i almost wish they'd done this later?? the structure and humour etc weren't all too familiar or felt old and used yet, which is why i feel like season 1 could've easily been three episodes all in similar structure. that's not to say anything bad about the episode in itself!! it's maybe my favourite one, but in the entire structure of the four seasons something like this might've saved the later seasons.

can't move on without diving slightly deeper into Moriarty's first appearance: Andrew Scott is actually phenomenal?? he is silly and just kind of fucks around for fun whilst actually being a weird and dangerous criminal. when he screams "that's what people DO!!!!!" bro. bro. there's something about the way that man plays any character but specifically Moriarty in this case where you're just mesmerised by him and whatever he does and the choices he makes. even when we don't actually see him and he speaks through other people Moriarty generally as a character has such a commanding air about him. only gripe here is that the cliffhanger is a cheap trick but i get it we have to keep the tension up ig

a scandal in Belgravia:

the tension in the cliffhanger is cut by a joke and Moriarty essentially disappears for the rest of the episode. was not the biggest fan of this choice but alas!! they made worse since then!!

i don't know how i feel about Irene Adler's portrayal here. i know jackshit about the original Sherlock stories but from what i have read it feels silly to sort of downplay her character to a dominatrix who's in love with Sherlock. and the goddamn "i am sherlocked" being the answer to the problem.............just felt like a giant joke to me lmaooooooo

this episode does feel messy in general but has a lot of fun moments!! it can also be very confusing with all the sort of branching paths they go on here, not to mention in the same episode they imply TWICE that Irene is dead and both times she doesn't actually die? i think some of the problems that start to arise later have their roots here. this episode is not the worst case of it but i just remember feeling confused a lot here. maybe i was just tired. but there are a lot of weird ups and downs that really broke the tension for me and that was perhaps my biggest issue with this one. the case in itself is just kind of weird but honestly this episode is def entertaining and considering how far they fall later this one's pretty solid. i feel like it's more my personal preference that's keeping me from liking this as much as opposed to like. genuine gripes and mistakes they make

the hounds of Baskerville:

i looooved this one's weird and spooky vibes!! i really liked the sequence where Sherlock uses Mycroft's keycard to open all the doors. all the lab shit is cool as hell and this is also truly the first episode where we see Sherlock kind of lose his shit and doubt his abilities which brings an interesting drama that doesn't feel forced or out of character. unethical science experiments are also always an interesting subject to explore in fiction

it also ends on one of the only cliffhanger on this show i actually liked. they leave enough questions for the viewer, you wonder why Moriarty was locked up but also why Mycroft let him go and then they allude to this certain obsession Moriarty has with Sherlock by showing what he carved on the walls. it works so well in getting the viewer excited but not frustrated that they cut at an important moment.

the Reichenbach fall:

my god the DRAMA of it all. what an intense episode altogether! the Moriarty hacking sequence is such a cool way to start an episode and although it's a little silly at times the stakes are high!! i love Moriarty's presence this entire episode and how he haunts Sherlock, while it makes me sad he dies here i also love how his death opens up the opportunity for him taunting Sherlock from beyond the grave later in the series. love that type of shit

now what brings this episode's quality down a little for me is honestly just the dramatic ass ending. idk if Gatiss & Moffat genuinely thought we would believe Sherlock is actually dead, i think it showed their arrogance and looseness with the entire show by this point when apparently they thought they outdid Conan Doyle in how they did the fall and how him surviving makes sense?? i think publicly stating you surpassed an original work in your adaptation is just kinda......disrespectful to me! while this is a great episode, i also can't help but think about its effect on the rest of the series. it feels like they just wanted to amp up on the shock value and pulling the rug out from under the viewer's feet. having Sherlock survive such a long fall is such an inconceivable thing, so after this when they try to do twists nothing really holds the same weight anymore.

the empty hearse:

now the end of season 2 brings about this series' first problem: you don't just come back from faking your fucking death. that is a BIG deal. it feels like they almost immediately cut right back into business and the only thing that needs redeveloping is Sherlock & Watson's dynamic. also, in a show like this with very limited episodes, having to spend an entire episode that's dedicated to Sherlock & Watson getting back on their bullshit is a lot. that's what makes this feel just a bit like a filler episode. i feel like if i were watching these episodes as they came out, having to wait two years to find out what happened and getting this??? goddamn right i'd be disappointed. like was there really no way they could maybe tell John he was alive. was there really no other option than let him grieve for TWO fucking YEARS!!!!!! seems illogical to me idk

the sign of three:

when we see Mary at the start of season three i think it's fair to say a lot of us probably thought there's no way she's sticking around. they've fallen too far down the queerbaiting pit now they need John to be single by the end of this show. but then the second episode is entirely dedicated to this wedding?? Mary starts to feel like an important character?? i was confused and, honestly, was lulled into the false sense of security that oh there's no way they'd kill Mary off. more on that later lmao

this episode feels like a bit of an offshoot to me. it's so heavily cloaked in the humour elements and not so much on the crime solving and the DRAMA and the PRESSURE. because of this it also feels like they just come up with the case out of nowhere.

i will say though, while my thoughts on season three are mostly negative, i think they keep the general core of the show secure, all the characters feel like themselves and the twisting and turning is not TOO tiring yet. i think season three is just slightly worse than 1 and 2, but to me the cases being slightly more boring is the problem there and that's maybe a personal preference. the structure and all is the same and that's good!! it's a good structure

his last vow:

as a whole this just personally doesn't hit, the villain did not bring about anything new to me?? i mostly think the villain is kind of boring and the Mary twist feels like it's done for shock value only and to add some drama to her and John's marriage. however there are a lot of bits and parts here i do like!! the weird ass death dream sequence is absolutely cool as hell. Molly helping on medical shit, Moriarty in the back of his mind taunting the shit out of him, Sherlock running those long flights of stairs...it is absolutely very cool and sick. it's just different enough to bring a weird vibe into the episode the viewer hasn't seen before but doesn't feel out of character or anything. if anything it's a peek into that so-called mind palace and that is cool. i also love the awkward sibling smoke break that Mycroft and Sherlock have on christmas. i haven't really brought up Mycroft because i hate his bitch ass but he does have his moments

as the Andrew Scott guy, i was of course incredibly pleased to see him back in the final twist!! i felt that if Sherlock somehow survived that dumbass fall via planning, then Moriarty isn't dead either. of course he eventually does turn out to be dead (rip!!!!) and if we're trying to look at this objectively it is kind of a cheap and stupid twist. but by this point i should honestly just accept that this is just a bit trash (affectionate).....especially considering they set up Sherlock having to go undercover and leave John only to reverse that shit like three minutes later. absolutely pointless

the abominable bride:

i seem to go against public opinion on this episode (at least according to the letterboxd reviews) where i actually enjoyed this and liked a lot of the elements here??? this episode is most definitely weird and a little bit all over the place but i think this manages that very well. it being a "special episode" and not part of any season also definitely helps its case for me. maybe i just like dream sequences and almost this entire episode takes place in one lol

the episode is almost horror at points?? i think there are similar elements in baskerville and the series finale for example but this one feels most like it's trying to spook you. also. what if i said. i think this is Moriarty's best appearance in the series..........he's weird and spooky and has a hole in the back of his head and he also beats the shit out of Sherlock by those waterfalls which is sick

some people found the plotline confusing especially with how they switch between the sort of unreality of what happens in Sherlock's head and what's happening in the real world but i think it was interesting seeing Sherlock so obsessed with this weird fictional case in his head. if you want to find some layers in it i think it kinda mirrors how Eurus is the kid in the plane that's crashing. i suppose my personal solution to season 4 now is they should've leaned more into this & whatever they do in the final problem because if you're gonna fuck up everyone's characterization at least go weird and psychological with it

the six thatchers:

oh i hated everything about this. i wanted to give season 4 such a fighting chance even though i heard that its ratings were significantly lower than the seasons before it, especially since the special also underperformed critically and i liked that one!! but then they did.....this??

i already kind of didn't care about Mary's past because the whole twist felt like a push for more drama and friction in John & Mary's marriage so to have the whole episode essentially center around her agent past made me feel a bit iffy but i can understand that some people maybe did find it interesting to learn about her. i can give them that. but her dying feels incredibly stupid. i mentioned before how all the twists and shocks lose their value when they try crank out new twists constantly, and that's what makes this infinitely more depressing: i did like her character and felt she was a good balance for John and she just gets reduced to a twist? that feels like nothing anyway? and now we have to put John through even MORE grief and heartbreak because fuck him i guess??????? it's so dumb!!!!!!

and i haven't even MENTIONED how out of character John "cheating" on Mary is........that doesn't make any sense to me especially since that woman ends up being Eurus god this is so stupid!!! this episode probably has its moments but my judgment is very clouded in how atrocious the bad moments are

the lying detective:

i will say, there are a lot of good moments in this episode and it's definitely better than the opening. the case and the villain feel more engaging to me, this guy building a whole death castle is kinda terrifying and puts that scene with the kids in a whole new perspective. i also liked Sherlock and Faith's fun little walk on the town, my only gripe HERE is that they obviously hint at Sherlock hallucinating Faith multiple times during the scenes when he's with her so them double twisting it so that he WAS with someone and it was Eurus feels like they didn't think that one through. unless Eurus along with her other skills can be invisible for everyone except visible for one?? who knows man

also they could've done John being haunted by Mary SO much better this was such a boring way of doing that and the constant "i am in your head you're not arguing with me you're arguing with yourself!! i am your thought process personified!!" got very old very fast...it was also kind of fucked up of Mary to encourage Sherlock to essentially almost kill himself just so John could save him was that really the only way to repair their partnership.....okay.......oh and the bit where he fucking BEATS up Sherlock????? they fucked up John's character in the absolute worst way.

the final scene with Sherlock and John is very sweet and i do wanna bring that up. Sherlock's line where he says "it's not a pleasant thought, John, but i have this terrible feeling from time to time that we might all just be human" is way too good to be in such a shitty episode. they have this sweet moment and then because we need ONE! MORE! TWIST! they introduce the Holmes sister for literally only the finale of the entire show. why introduce such a character that you can only utilise in one episode???

the final problem:

goddamn we finally made it to the last one. the name really checks out on this one this really is the problem child. and i'm not just talking about Eurus!! it is possibly the most different and most weird episode of Sherlock altogether. someone called this a Saw ripoff which is probably accurate (i have never seen Saw), i was heavily reminded of Alice in borderland though!! like the having to solve death games under a time limit was very Alice in borderland to me. all this to say i actually kind of enjoyed this.......like it's still a bit shit if you really think about it but i feel like it does have the same effect that the abominable bride has on me where it actually doesn't really even feel like a normal Sherlock episode and i end up kinda liking how they fucked it up. the characterization issues are also not really present here! Moriarty's one scene slayed he deserved that Queen needle drop. king shit

will also give them this: it's definitely top 3 sickest Sherlock episode openings ever. the plane scenario is something i would've had nightmares about when i was a kid so that was already anxiety-inducing BUT the fucking Moriarty introduction with "welcome to the final problem." like that's my avengers assemble except far more deranged!!!!

however!!!! many gripes with this one!! Sherlock and John jump out of windows while their apartment explodes and are seen in the next scene seemingly not affected whatsoever. Mycroft is said to be in hospital but nothing happened to him either. the Moriarty "miss me?" essentially has zero payoff unless you want to consider that was all planned by Eurus......idk i'm lost on that one. the Molly incident is also never resolved. we leave her so fucking hurt and alone and in the end montage she is seen smiling and friends with everyone. Eurus also has so much potential it's unfortunate she was only introduced for this episode!! she could've saved the show💔

to be honest. my actual biggest pet peeve with this episode is them implying that Moriarty actually did jackshit and Eurus was the brains behind the entire operation........i'm choosing to pretend that's not what happened and Eurus just ended up using clips of him to fuck with Sherlock season 3 finale onward!

the actual ending also just feels like a queerbaiting cop-out. like that can be interpreted as Mary being like admit your true feelings for each other be who you aaaare for yoour priiiiide OR it can be interpreted as omg besties!!! the best of friends need to stay friends forever you guys are such great friends!!!! it's also just....silly????? they could've just had Gatiss & Moffat come on screen to be like thanks for watching our show and the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson! we've had the best of times we've had the worst of times! and that would've literally served the same purpose lmao

to sum up i will quote the wise letterboxd user Ade, who said this as a review on the final problem:

"Gatiss and Moffat are so concerned with constantly removing the rug from beneath your feet, that after a while you learn not to stand on the rug in the first place."

thank you i'm done now i promise

[captainclickycat]

And, ok, let's entertain the idea for a second that anon is correct. I don't think it's very likely, and the whole idea definitely smacks of classic "it was Bad All Along" revisionism, but ultimately there's no way of really knowing for sure what's going through someone else's head when they sit down at a typewriter, so let's entertain it for a second.

... What is our takeaway from this supposed to be, exactly? That people can create art that seems to be very well-crafted and thought-provoking, to be created with talent and dedication, with only sinister motives in mind? Ok. Depressing thought, but sure, I'll accept that.

So how exactly are we supposed to differentiate between art created with genuinely good intentions or for love of the craft, and art that's created with unsavoury motives in mind? Is there any 100% reliable way to do that? After all, it would be very easy for a predator to intentionally only create art with "wholesome" messages that ostensibly condemns predatory behaviour, in order to make themself seem more trustworthy, and any fiction writer worth their salt is capable of convincingly writing from a perspective that isn't theirs.

And conversely plenty of perfectly decent people with overall good intentions can write something tone-deaf or with questionable implications that they didn't take the time to really think through. But the reverse is true too - people can write stories with positive and "wholesome" messages which they fully believe and try to live by themselves, and sometimes the questionable implications in a piece of work really do reflect the deeply-held values and biases of the creator.

And that takes me to my next point. Frankly, I do not trust people on tumblr (or the internet in general) as a collective to make that kind of judgement call, because it's been repeatedly demonstrated that people on the internet collectively will cherry-pick evidence for the express purpose of painting anything or anyone they personally dislike in the worst possible light, or to gas up and act overly defensive of anyone or anything that they personally like.

There are people who delight in putting on a Sherlock Holmes hat and painstakingly combing the works of a given author under the assumption that they can deduce someone's entire personal life based on their work (or their body language, or the people they're seen leaving the pub with, or anything that seems to back up an existing assumption.) And they might be lucky enough to be proven correct once or twice, but there's a lot of potential to come to entirely wrong conclusions, which can have consequences ranging from just annoying to actively harmful.

People will come to wild, incredibly bad-faith and insubstantiated conclusions based on "vibes", often in ways that are specifically harmful towards certain marginalised groups. Most of us have, at some point or another, seen someone call something "sus" or accuse someone of being "probably a paedophile" based on some petty bullshit or reasoning they made up out of whole cloth. Which, let's be real here, makes it much more difficult when people try to draw attention to actual genuine red flags or real-life allegations, because so many people are sick of hearing "umm it's sus to write about teenagers having feelings when you're an adult" and get into the habit of just tuning out.

So, yeah. I don't think all of NG's actions - including the fiction he wrote - were all part of a nefarious scheme to take advantage of young women. I think that seems like a big reach and denies the possibility that people can have complicated and multifaceted reasons for doing things, and real-life cartoon villains who do everything for Evil Reasons don't exist any more than 100% pure good "unproblematic faves" do. But ultimately think that getting bogged down in speculating over that is a pointless exercise that won't get us anywhere. And "vibes" based on an author's work continue to not be a reliable foolproof way of determining what kind of a person they are, or what they might be capable of.

Don’t hate yourself for liking someone’s works. Something to remember is that Neil Gaiman wrote his stories to target young, vulnerable people. He was writing his stories to attract fans, and interacted with the fans to entice and groom them. Some of his victims met at book signings. All were fans of his books.

The stories were written with your admiration in mind. It’s not your fault he wants to hold the admiration of people of your demographic.

First, I don't.

Second, I think you are making up a story here bro. I think once upon a time there was a teenager in england who worked in journalism but wanted to write books, and then he was the one-in-a-million lucky soul who wrote his books and they became wildly famous and successful. and then after he accrued power and fame he started exploiting it. I'm not saying people who abuse power don't tend to try and get themselves into positions of power, but "famous author" is a pretty difficult career path and one likely to fail.

with this narrative you've concocted, you've removed his humanity from him, as well as any sort of genuine love of storytelling or creation he definitely has. like he's just as human as the rest of us, and I simply do not believe that he is a monster who only cares about attracting 20-something women and does this by crafting beautiful stories for the page and screen.

there's a concept I've talked about before, the Fetishist. as someone with a widely hated fetish, I've thought a lot about how people think people with my fetish are not humans but Fetishists, monsters who look human but only care about fulfilling their fetish, and see all other people as Objects They Can Use or Nothing. you've turned gaiman into the Predator, which is the same thing just a bit broader. the Predator is a monster shaped like a human, but unlike a human who cares about a myriad of things and has a three-dimensional personality, the Predator only cares about Preying On [usually young women or children], and every human being is, to them, either a Target To Prey On or Nothing. neil gaiman is not the Predator because the Predator doesn't exist. I don't think he had a long term plan. I don't think 19yo neil gaiman was going "hehehehe I can't wait until I become world famous so I can use that to coerce women into sleeping with me!"

turning ng into something evil is easy. because then you don't have to think about the good he's done. then you don't have to think about how he's been a supporter of queer people since the 90s. then you don't have to think about how he's supported refugees or ukraine. you don't have to think about his works of tzedakah or tikkun olam, and you don't have to think about the beautiful art he's made (and while we're here, let's think before dehumanizing a jewish man, hm?). it also handily makes it so you never have to worry about your own behaviors. because you're a three-dimensional person! so of course you could never be the Predator. or the Abuser. or the Fetishist. or the Narcissist.

until I see proof debunking this, I am going to continue believing he made the art he wanted to see in the world out of a genuine wish to be an author, and not primarily to put himself in a position of power to abuse women. maybe he always had tendencies towards manipulation. maybe part of him always knew that if he became famous then there would undoubtedly be women falling over themselves for him. because we all know that. we all know that if we became famous there would be people who we could exploit for sex. that's not a secret. part of me would like to be famous. I wanna work in the film industry. I have silly dreams, of course. but I'm not pursuing this difficult line of work in order to someday abuse people, I'm pursuing it because of a genuine love of making movies. neil gaiman was a guy who wanted to become a writer, and then he did, and then he abused that position, repeatedly. we have three examples now. I wouldn't be surprised if more women started coming out about their experience, because three is absolutely a pattern, and because claire did the brave thing of being the second one to speak out (since scarlett and the other one whose pseudonym I can't remember atm came out at the same time). and now that there's been two exposés, two podcasts, three stories total, more are going to come. I'd be more surprised if they didn't. but that doesn't make neil gaiman the Predator. it makes him a man who did shitty things repeatedly.

[marlowe1-blog]

"Peppercorn Rent" by Roberta Rogow (Teddy Bear Cannibal Massacre)

Honest, I'll go back to Cheever soon enough

This one is a cute one. It is so cute in fact that the author told me that she didn't like the anthology and I can totally see why. Roberta is a filk singer, a Sherlock Holmes fan fiction writer and a children's author. Also a children's librarian.

I can see why she did not appreciate seeing her story after a story about The Big Bad Wolf killing himself in a vomit filled apartment because Little Red Riding Hood is having an orgy with the three little pigs (and before a story about mutant rats). Seriously the more stories I read in this anthology, the more I wonder why I bought so many stories about hopeless losers living in filth? Granted, at this point I wrote my first novel-length manuscript where the main characters are named Dogshit and Trash and Dogshit leaves Trash asleep in a pile of dirty diapers in the alleyway in the opening chapter (I would have to become much much more famous for it to ever see the light of day. The best I can say about it is that I learned a lot. Also "Let's Live Suddenly Without THinking" is a great title. Yeah I did steal it from e.e.cummings)

And the main reason why this one is in this anthology is because I lost the rights to a story about a guy who could paint people's souls to the point that they lose the most vital part of themselves (causing a suicide before he's killed.) My (ex-)friend wrote it and since he presented femail at the time I figured that I needed another woman written story for balance. So I reached out to Roberta as a friend of a friend (aunt of an ex-girlfriend to be exact) and here we are.

This might be the first time I re-read the story since I published this anthology (this is true for a lot of these stories. By the time I finally put out the book I didn't even want to look at it again. Especially when I had to fix the typos twice (like I went through and fixed all the typos I could find. Then found dozens more. It's still full of typos. Pro-tip, running a spell check and grammar check is NOT copyediting).

I appreciate this story a lot more. I didn't know about the convention of peppercorn rent as a British thing and the main character is obviously a werewolf. The main thrust of the story is the fact that the peppercorn rent is that the daughter of the house needs to spend the night with the lord and since Ms. Lupine (get it?) is renting a very cheap upper room, she wants to make certain that it gets paid.

Meanwhile the new lord wants to sell the land in order to put a burger chain store on it. The rest of the story is a comedy of errors as the lord continually tries to run away from the protagonist and they keep ending up stuck in restaurants and punk clubs. And jail.

Also she's a werewolf.

One part that I might have been less enamored with when I published but I rather enjoy now is the "doesn't quite get the current times" part. I think I learned to appreciate this in the works of other authors and artists. The club is too loud and the band fronted by a singer who calls himself Lime Green Jello is a little broad - not as broad as the punk rock episode of Quincy, but definitely silly enough to forgive the fact that one doubts that the author has ever been in a punk club. Also Lime Green Jello is the CEO of the burger franchises? That's a bit of a stretch. LIke CEOs are usually too busy figuring out ways to screw their workers and not pay taxes to have a side gig fronting a punk band, but ok, we'll go with it here.

Overall, this is a silly story with decent characters and enjoyable plot contrivance.

timlieder.com

patreon.com/timlieder

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

My husband, being as he is a sort of professional clown thing, is currently in Edinburgh doing the festival, which means I have found a new series to binge watch in his absence: Elementary.

All I can say is, I presume all the amazing subversion and wonderful interpretation of Sherlock Holmes and fantastic and healthy Holmes/Watson relationship that everyone raves about happens after the first series, because I'm halfway through and so far it's a less slick and only marginally less abusive US-crime-show version of BBC Sherlock and I am absolutely desperate for Watson to leave his ass in a sewer somewhere. The deductions are exactly as myopic and boring (I see your 'Only drunks would have scratches around their phone charging ports' and raise you 'The only reason you might need two alarm clocks is because you hate your job and life, and if your job becomes interesting you will magically overcome this need and be transformed into a morning person'), the relationship is exactly as one-sided (with the slight bonus that Joan does actually contribute occasionally, especially medically, but mostly her role is to have her boundaries pissed all over and react each time with a shallow female-lead-in-an-American-tv-show-dealing-with-the-zany-male-main-character exasperation that leads to no resolution at all), the crimes are only marginally more interesting but are also more formulaic and easy to solve (oh look! It was the secretary/janitor/teen daughter! Why the fuck did the genius not spot that). It's a misogynistic show. Super sex-workerphobic as well, if I have to listen to the supposed hero throw around words like whore and strumpet without anyone correcting him - or even giving a token protest! - one more fucking time...

I just finished episode 12, with its Moriarty name drop. It was supposedly a very emotionally stirring episode, too (by design, anyway), with Sherlock running off to torture and murder someone in revenge for a pre-series fridged Irene Adler, except it was such an intensely boring painting-by-numbers version of the 'Hero wavering in his journey because of his manly feelings for his dead lady-love' trope (and for a character who has yet to be humanised or even made vaguely likeable for us to care) that it actually made me angry. Vinnie Jones announced his employer was Moriarty and I said "Oh, fuck off" out loud at the screen.

And don't get me started on the shitty treatment of Watson from both Holmes and the show itself. So far, every single time bar one that he's said anything remotely nice about her, or acknowledges her contributions in any way, there's a ~plot twist~ that he said it to manipulate her for some Tortured Genius reason; or, he pretends after the fact that he manipulated her so he can take credit. But the show apparently forgets these plot twists and revisions, and thinks that the original compliments therefore still stand, with the result that Joan is just. An unbelievable doormat. Currently lacking in any personality beyond what Lucy Liu is managing to bring regardless (Lucy Liu is of course amazing).

Does it get better? Or were you all lying to me? Because I'll persevere a bit if y'all can look me in the eyes and promise me it gets better, but right now this is a pile of wank.

[space-blue]

Hello, I happened to come across today the post you made about Jinx and Silco's relationship and you mentioned that you dislike Cait. It's not a really common opinion in the fandom, and because I more than dislike her a little I would love for you to elaborate on it.

Thanks for the ask, Anon. I'll try to elaborate without painting too big a target on my back for Cait lovers, who, as I understand it, are a majority in the Arcane fandom.

This answer is 2.8k words, so have fun, and I'm hiding the rest because nobody needs that much on their dash.

First off I'd like to stress I don't hate Cait as a character, and that I'm capable of making the difference between what I'd like to see and what the show runners wanted us to see. A lot of my distaste for her lies in that in-between space. None of this applies to fanfic Cait, as of course people can take her any direction they want.

Cait, as a concept, is an interesting character. There are ways for her to develop in season 2 that can make her more loveable for me... But I admit I'm sort of pre-disposed to dislike her.

I think there are some ways the script could have been doctored to make her inherently more likeable, and for her to not ruin Vi's character so much. That's right, I'm showing my soft belly for Caitvi lovers to bite into: I actually don't like Caitvi as a season 1 ship, and think Cait contributes to making Vi's act II-III character worse.

Ok, let's take it slowly.

Cait is the top 0.01% of the uber rich in universe, in a show asking us to sympathise with the people who are being controlled, exploited and killed by that ruling class. (And polluted!)

Cait is a cop. Cait went out of her way to become a cop, it's clearly not what Cassandra wanted for her. I'm rather on the ACAB side of the fence, so again she doesn't quite recommend herself.

She is shown to be more of an investigator at the start, so I was actually curious at first. Would she be some sort of Sherlock type? But no. Turns out Cait is the entitled kind of vigilante.

So, like, of course the show frames this as good. It's good that Cait goes to investigate, because Marcus is corrupt. The truth would never air, and she'd never figure out who is behind the bombings if it weren't for her private investigation. Private detectives who go rogue are typically the heroes of their stories, and we usually root for them.

But the issues pile up with Cait: She refuses to take her firing as having any meaning. She keeps wearing her uniform after she knows she isn't on the force, and forges documents (and Jayce's seal) to get what she wants.

Although she acts "for good", that's not her actual stated motivations. Cait's only stated motivations are to catch the perp. Funnily enough, she's a lot like Jinx. She wants to prove herself. She thinks she's right, she's close to wrapping her case and she doesn't trust her colleagues to do it, so she goes and usurps power and impersonates an officer to do it herself.

My issue here is she does all that NOT KNOWING Marcus is corrupt. This would be a totally different vibe if she knew he was a pawn for a powerful undercity "industrialist".

There is also the aspect that she studies Zaun and its criminal underground extensively... And yet never went?

I've been told "her parents must not allow her!"

And I reply: So what? The moment she has a good reason to go, she just straight up goes, and suffers zero repercussions for doing so! She never voices any complaints or anything about the Undercity being off limits to her.

She doesn't know about the suffering in Zaun. She says she had no idea it was this bad... How sheltered can you get, that you study a place and its rampant crime, fill up a map, get called "obsessed" over it, but you somehow never had the motivation or curiosity to go there?

This ties into another aspect of Cait which I dislike, which is again completely involuntary and an artefact of the show's strict timetable.

She doesn't share anything about herself. Not even to Vi. We virtually know nothing about her except that she likes to shoot guns and looks up to chief-ACAB Grayson (my beloved). Even on the bed scene with Vi, it's only ever Vi opening up and sharing. And you may say, "yeah but we only see a glimpse, I'm sure Cait shared stuff too". And yes, sure... But Vi is making a comment about the place when they break in... That reveals she has NO idea it's Cait's home!

That's one of the thing I'd suggest editing out to give the impression that Cait has explained things and that Vi doesn't learn she's a Councillor's daughter until after breaking her into her own home.

Cait learns about Vi's past, again and again, and shares nothing about herself. Even when faced with the Firelights, she "knows a friend on the Council" but fails to mention her mom is there too. In front of Ekko, I get, but... What does Vi know about Cait? Canonically???

Back on track.

Cait being surprised that a city riddled with violent crime is actually a miserable place to live in left me feeling like she needs to see the misery to feel it, and somehow failed to extrapolate and empathise from all her "obsessive" research.

There's lots and lots of good reasons for her to not have gone there yet... But it's half her city and again, she's a cop!! I've once been told "Maybe her parents don't allow for her to be sent to Zaun" and I'm like, all right, so her colleagues were totally right for making fun of her, she's an over-privileged and sheltered kid.

And HEY, that's a fine character trait. My issue with it is that it doesn't come across as intentional. It comes across as the writers showing their hand through her. Cait needs to show shock at the poor Zaunites... A real world Cait would probably not be shocked, because she could hardly discover such stuff at her age and station. The show also doesn't expect us to criticise Cait for being the way she is. Show Cait is "naive" and at the start of her character arc, but I really didn't get the feeling she was meant to be seen the way I perceive her. She's very much "uwu good girl protagonist, also she's hot and smart, please don't think about her actions too hard haha".

On to the meeting with Vi.

I feel like there Cait shows us that she also doesn't have a very strong sense of Justice or Fairness. Again, that might be intentional, but I doubt it. She knows that Vi is in the worst prison around because "No reason actually, there wasn't even a trial".

This is as unfair as it gets. She asks, Vi gives her a flippant answer, and bam, Cait doesn't show enough interest to get to the bottom of this. Vi wouldn't help, so fine, Cait just leaves.

She won't free Vi out of her good heart, but only once her fear makes her act, when Vi threatens that the Undercity will eat her alive.

My fix, to start Caitvi on a better footing, would be this:

Vi is flippant and refuses to answer. Cait shrugs and leaves, and when Vi says the undercity will eat her alive, she leaves ANYWAY. Cut to Vi hearing the Warden come and tensing... And she's actually being released. She walks out of the prison, and down to the dock, perplexed. Cait is waiting there next to the boatman she hired. She waves Vi over and says she may as well share the ride.

Vi is surly and silent for a while, before asking Cait why she had her released. Cait would shrug, say it was the fair thing to do, considering she was never even tried.

THEN Vi would accept to guide her in Zaun, knowing that it might lead her to her sister. Mutually beneficial thing, but on a better footing. This would establish that Cait has a moral compass, and give a basis for Vi to trust that maybe this enforcer is not entirely rotten.

Because in the show, so far, we only know that Cait is a cop because SHE LIKES SHOOTING GUNS and the one woman who could out-shoot her showed her the way. It's never established that Cait has some great inner sense of Justice, or a drive to save the people or anything. Grayson, in that one speech about why she needs to know how to shoot, inherits a greater sense of her dedication to peace and being a Good Cop TM than Cait ever gets. Cait is show to want to solve mysteries, and does the right thing in the fire... but so do all the asshole cops, rushing into a burning tent to rescue a little girl.

Cait becomes a vigilante to prove she "can do it". She's not a Good Cop TM.

Right, on to caitvi specific grief.

For me, I see absolutely zero reasons for Vi to be anything but hyper-wary of Cait. She's an enforcer, literally the type of person she has all the reasons in the world to hate most, and we're shown and told all of those reasons. She's spent her entire late teens being beaten in prison thanks to an enforcer. She's seen enforcers shoot people point blank. She considers her mother killed by enforcers.

Do you think anyone IRL would have this level of hate for authority/oppression tools such as enforcers, come out of a multi years stint in the worst prison possible, and fall in love with one such enforcer overnight?

"But Cait is hot and Vi is horny, and Cait is a good cop and—"

And canonically it's never shown that Cait is good actually, just that she abuses her power, is entitled, and has terminal main character syndrome (meaning she does all that while it being cast as a "good thing" by the show. We're meant to consider this all Good-and-Fun).

And I'm sorry, but I can't. Cait finds Vi in prison, being chronically abused, and that budding relationship starts within hours of her freeing her. I can't associate that with "healthy".

I don't think it's Good or Fun that Vi immediately starts having feelings for an enforcer (and the 1% to top it off), no matter who that enforcer is, or how cute they are, and that this enforcer would allow it/go for it without having the wherewithal to see how potentially unhealthy this is, and that this person (Vi) needs time to find themselves outside of prison first.

I just don't buy their relationship on that spectrum. Begrudging, hard earned respect, I can get into. But the show doesn't give us time or opportunity to get there.

I think the show chickens out of taking the time to make Vi scary and broken. To make her hate and distrust Caitlyn, who is the pretty face of oppression, who didn't even think to release her on her own after finding she was wrongfully imprisoned, and instead needed to be threatened.

They unrealistically sped up their relationship, most likely because they wanted to give the fandom an (implied, F/F) relationship to keep everyone buzzing until season 2.

Anyway, a better caitvi dynamic, imo, is a dark Vi who hates and distrusts Cait, and a naive, entitled Cait but with a strong sense of justice, who earns Vi's respect by not falling into the typical cop or one-percenter grooves, or trying her best when called out on it.

Leaving Vi's warming up to Cait for season 2, and for them to actual common grounds besides "you're hot" and "we spent 48h together" would have been ideal.

Cait going on to not become Sheriff (maybe more of a PI?) and Vi not becoming an enforcer, would also be ideal, but I guess I'm demanding too much. Especially when it comes to Vi, who was all over the place in that last act.

Poor Anon, you'd also be shocked to know how much I dislike act II-III Vi, considering how much I write her myself. But Vi is an interesting character who gets shafted by the narrative and its time constraints, and is a pleasure to write in fix-its, while Cait is a 1% cop gone vigilante as the core of her narrative, so, yeah...

The firelights come in as a final point of dislike... They muddy the waters in the show, casting Silco as a moral-free villain while offering no solution for the whole of Zaun in their rebellion against him and Piltover both. They also give Cait a safe soundboard to tell a Zaunite to please "not do violence because violence is not the solution uwu". Try saying that to Silco's face lol

I just... really disliked that from the show, not only from Cait, because it felt like this was the middle ground message I was meant to accept. Both Silco and Piltover get vilified, and the Firelights and Cait are these half baked middle grounds of true goodies, who offer nothing tangible.

At the very least she has no ground to stand on to tell Ekko, or any Zaunite, that violence isn't the solution. The show went out of its way to establish that piltover and the Council will stop at nothing to keep Zaunites oppressed and working for them. It's in every arc.

IMO that justifies Silco's revolt. I mean his violent revolution plans, not whatever undefined stuff he has going on in act II-III. But then I'm French and I grew up being taught that decapitating kings was a Good Thing. And I strongly believe that violence CAN be a necessary part of revolution. The show proves that protests, violent or not, were not even cutting it.

Cait comes down to Zaun, sees the misery, hears from Vi about losing her parents to enforcers... and tells another Zaunite to chill and not attack her people.

Yeah, to me, that looked like no arc at all. She's justified in her actions by the reveal that Marcus was a mole/owned by Silco... So everything she did to uncover Jinx was justified.

Then there's this one good thing, in the final bit, where her story for a brief moment mirrors Vi's.

Remember how Vi makes her first grown up decision, to take responsibility for her actions and stand up to protect her family... And Vander takes it away from her, throwing her down into the basement?

Then Vi and Cait face the Council, and Cait steps up and looks like she's about to LIE to the Council to protect Vi. She's about to ruin the entire point of her going on a vigilante trip in the first place by hiding the truth she's learnt about Jinx...

But Vi stops her, pushes her hand (and her help) away, and throws her own sister under the bus by naming her to the Council. (Yeah, for the LIFE OF ME I cannot comprehend what Vi is meant to think she's doing there. She's basically condemning her sister to death or the rest of her life in Stillwater. What other things does she think she's achieving? A question for another time).

Finale Cait is very much used to just play with Jinx's projections and doesn't do much as a character that would make me feel either way.

As a result I'm left with a Cait who has no great personality. She likes shooting. She liked science a bit, maybe, as a kid? She doesn't mind forgery or abuse of power if it's done by her. She's got a good analytical mind (reconstructs crime scene) but very low empathy (literally can't fathom people would be miserable in Zaun despite years of obsessive research). And that's it. Jayce has more character than her. Heck, we know more about Heimerdinger than Cait, and he's at least fun to hate lol.

She comes off as an entitled brat who doesn't do a whole lot of growth, doesn't learn any valuable lessons, and doesn't see any issues with falling in love with someone like Vi, despite the insane power imbalance between them and Vi's crazy baggage.

And most of this is not "her fault" but the way the writers characterised her, in a show with a shit ton of characters with very complex plot intermingling.

But it's also a show from a game that has her as a sheriff, has hot police skins, and used to have a bunch of police brutality jokes as Vi's voice lines. So yeah, I don't think her creators consider people like me Cait's target audience.

I have, however, read some excellent fics that made a great use of Cait, though not often because I simply don't browse the Caitvi tag. But plenty of fans like her without liking her sheriff/cop side and have done fabulous work to characterise her away from that and give her... Depth, personality, all of that.

So yeah, not holding my breath for season 2, but who knows.

[lucere-aeresta]

lol sorry I just saw this @ and...this is kind of interesting. VV being M is def some way to go but I think FW already got how M is in their mind hmmm....

(I dont' know much about Lord Henry / Dorian Gray or Will/Hannibal so I can't talk about that sorry but I'll contribute in my point of view.)

As for Vogel, there is a wide range of theories from he is in love with Sherry to he wants to manipulate him to he is a sociopath who just wants to see him suffer... he is such an interesting character and there is a lot of interpretation and projection potential! I think that's the charm of the character.

As for who is right or wrong I am not sure it's even relevant or useful. Like yeah he has a point but so does Sherlock. Ultimately it is nothing but personal choice and personal meaning. He is a well-written character because he makes a point but also a master in manipulation--he doesn't rely on lies but truth, and pushes the truth to the extreme to prove himself. That's why he is dangers but interesting.

From the perspective of the game narrative, Vogel's interest on Sherlock is a mirror, a continuity of his brother's (Dr. Ritcher) interest in the child Sherlock. They somehow both want to find the falsehood of Sherlock's personality and point of view- being that Jon (he is just an imaginary friend, a hallucination) or his obsession with truth. Yet in a sense Jon IS not real but the truth is there. They analysis or even attack him from two opposit point of views, to prove that in the end, nothing he holds true is real, be that the subjective (Jon) or objective truth. It's a way to show Sherlock's state of being alone and not known or understood by most of the people (which in the artbook FW articulate clearly).

If we analyse Vogel as a person, as I said, there is a range of ideas about his motivation. In a simple point of view I kind of can see how he is fascinated with Sherlock, such an interesting person, yet fundamentally different from him. He is confident and self-centric, he wants to be right, and he wants to get close to Sherlock, and he is older so he feels obliged to "teach" the young man something, which actually sort of comes nature with aging. I mean who doesn't find Sherlock interesting? Vogel is not stupid after all. In the game it is kind of vague of the nature of his interest in Sherlock, but if there is even a trace of (probably more than that lol) ramantic/sexual sense in there (I find the basement of the art gallery very suggestive, with the bed and the covered painting....you know), it's only natural that Vogel goes all the way to mess with Sherlock like he does in CO and all the letters in TA.

BTW I love Vogel as a character, if not necessary as a person. He is not a master of lies but truth. Yes he lies about his motivation and intention and all that but who can say what the true intention of a person is? Perhaps not even themselves. Most of the things Vogel says really makes sense. All he knows about Sherlock's mother is true too. That's one of the points of the game--the truth hurts (Vogel), and the falsehood comforts (Jon), but at the end Sherlock finds a way of himself (in a sense he rejects both of them). It's a story about finding the true self.

Sorry for rambling so much lol but I mean so happy to see there are still people interested in this game! Love all the discussions!

Am I the only one, who thinks Verner Vogel‘s whole relationship with Sherry gives off some serious Lord Henry / Dorian Gray vibes?

Of course, the plot is different, Sherry isn’t like Dorian at all (ok maybe a little bit at the beginning before Dorian became a total asshole). But an older, hedonistic and cynical man obsessed with a young, kinda naive and innocent man in his very early 20s? The older man trying to corrupt, manipulate and shape the younger one? Of course, in VV‘s case, he followed different goals, and he also took over Basil‘s role. But the vibe is still there imo.

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

State of Grace

Click here for my masterlist.

Click here for Red (Taylor's Version) masterlist

Add yourself to my taglist.

Prompt - ‘I never saw you coming and I'll never be the same.’

Notes - We're celebrating Red (Taylor's Version) here and I'll be doing imagines for each song on the album so if you have a request (any fandom I write for) send it in!

You never saw him coming. It was like one day the universe had decided it was going to stop screwing you over and finally give you something good. Everything about him was so amazingly unique, he was everything you’d wanted in a person, everything a person should be and somehow he had decided you were something special too.

That morning you made the short walk to the cafe you frequently went to before work, passing a blur of cars only slowing down as the traffic lights changed. The streets were busy despite the earliness, shades of red painted the sky in the morning hours and birds could barely be heard chirping over the noise of the cars.

Despite the music in your ears your thoughts were on the failure of last night's blind date. It was one of many, your friends determined that you needed a partner but after your last relationship, dating was honestly the last thing you wanted to do but you relented and went out with the guys they found. Your last boyfriend had been horrible. He was sweet in the beginning but as time went on… You’d tried to leave the relationship so many times but you just couldn’t. Eventually you had managed to leave, packing your bags and leaving for good.

And now you were stuck being set up because your friends thought a relationship would help, it had been long enough they had told you. Sure they were right, it had been a while since you left your ex but each date they set you up on was just…boring. None of the men were able to hold an intellectual conversation, all of them were just very plain. The last guy was a creep to say the least, something about him made you feel very uneasy. It wasn’t even anything in particular he said but just a feeling, the way he looked at you…it set all the internal warning alarms off.

Thankfully you were able to politely decline his advances for him to come to your house and get back home safely. You had told yourself that was the last date you were going on and that’s when he came into your life and you’d never be the same again.

-

“Excuse me,” A soft voice said, interrupting you from the page you were reading. Looking up you saw a man, his eyes were bright and kind and there was a gentle smile on his face. He looked down at you, fidgeting with the bag on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, I was just wondering if it would be ok if I sat here?” He asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from you.

You scanned the cafe quickly, taking note of how it had filled since you’d walked in before turning your attention back to the man in front of you. He was a handsome looking man, with sharp cheekbones and long hair that looked soft. He was wearing a suit and you guessed he was on his way to work and, like you, was early enough to enjoy a hot drink in the small cafe. He seemed kind, there was something about him that seemed trustworthy.

You smiled up at him and gestured towards the seat, “Of course.”

“Thank you so much.” He smiled, shrugging his bag off and sitting down opposite you.

You didn’t want to stare at him, you tried to turn your attention back to the book in your hands but it was near impossible. Biting your lip, you risked a glance up and saw he was looking out of the window at the different people passing, his drink warming his hands, before he turned in your direction. You were quick to look away but he continued to look at you, glancing down at the book you had been reading.

“Sherlock?” He asked, a grin spreading across his face.

“My friend suggested that I read it,” You smiled back.

“What do you think so far?” Somehow, just from looking at the man across from you, it didn’t surprise you that he was a reader, of course you wouldn’t know yet just how much he read but right now it just made sense.

“I’m actually really enjoying it. I was a little apprehensive considering it was written so long ago but it’s really good.”  You watched as his face lit us as you spoke, eyes wide as he listened to yours words, nodding along with you.

“I think Doyle’s writing, despite being written in 1892, is very much still readable to this day. That’s one of the many great things about his writing…” And with that the man began to ramble on about how the writing style, the use of imagery and how well the plot develops.

You rested your chin on your fist, leaning forward in your seat as the man spoke. You couldn’t help but smile as his hands gestured widely in front of him, the passion he spoke with was beautiful to watch. The man before you was so unashamedly expressive in sharing his thoughts and opinions with you and you could do little more than listen, captivated by him, nodding along as you took in his words.

Your eyebrows knitted together as he cut himself off abruptly, his cheeks turning red as he looked down at his lap.

“I’m sorry, usually people stop me when I start rambling. I’ve already distracted you and here I am now not letting you read-“ He was saying but you cut him off.

“Hey, I was actually enjoying listening to you. Not many people are able to hold a conversation about classic literature, yet alone with the passion you have.” You told him, smiling softly as his cheeks flushed some more but the frown was gone and a smile made its way back onto his face. Good, you thought, he looks so much better when he’s smiling.

“Yeah,” He said with a bashful laugh, “I quite enjoy reading, though I rarely get a chance to talk about the things I’ve read.”

“Same here,” You told him, though you doubted you liked to read as much as him, the man seemed like the type to have full bookcases and then more books scattered throughout his house.

The man went to speak but was cut off by the ringing off his phone, he shot you an apologetic smile before fishing the phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” He answered, the smile dropping from his face as the person on the phone spoke. His face grew serious as he nodded to whatever information he was being given, “I’ll be in soon, alright, bye.”

“Sorry about that.” He said, turning back to you.

“No problem, I should get to work too.” You smiled and began to pack your phone and book away. The man stood when you did and the two of you walked out of the cafe together, you smiling as he held the door open for you to step out first.

“Hey, um, I don’t,” the man began, clearing his throat and he shuffled on his feet, “I don’t normally do this, ever,” here he paused to let out an awkward, breathy laugh, “but would it maybe, and totally say no if I’m overstepping, but would it be ok if I gave you my number? I’m really curious to see what you’ll think about the book.”

You couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your face. The man in front of you was charmingly awkward right now, making it obvious that his statement of not doing this much was true. Though you had said you were done with guys and dating, you wanted this one to give you his number and you wanted to speak to him again.

“I’d like that.” You told him honestly, laughing as he looked at you in slight shock for a second before nodding. You pulled your phone out and let him enter his phone number.

“It really was great meeting you…” He said before trailing off, looking at you curiously.

“Y/F/N, Y/F/N Y/L/N.” You told him, watching as he smiled before repeating it to himself.

“It was really great meeting you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid by the way.” He told you with a dimpled smile.

“It was great meeting you too.” You said, shocked by how much you meant it. The two of you stood outside of the cafe for a moment, just smiling at each other before you cleared your throat. “I should let you get to work.”

“Right, right, you too!” He said, still making no move to leave causing your smile to grow.

“I’ll call you.” You promise, watching as he nodded.

“I hope so.” He said softly before wishing you a good day and heading in the opposite direction to you.

You had never saw him coming and things would never be the same.

-

You called Spencer that evening, filling him in on the latest chapters you’d read, him happily listening with a grin on his face and adding his own thoughts and opinions throughout. You were surprised with how easy it was to talk to him, it felt like you had known him for your whole life, like meeting an old friend who you had fallen out of touch with before being thrown back into each other's life again.

The two of you spoke for at least two hours, both with wide smiles on your faces and butterflies in your stomach.

As the time began to dawn on the two of you, you both began to say your goodnight but before you could hand up the phone Spencer stopped you.

“Wait,” He said, louder than either you had been speaking, causing you to raise an eyebrow. “Would you like to go out for dinner?” The way he asked made it sound like he was shocking himself.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. You had meant it this morning when you said you were done with dating, the men your friends had set you up with were either dreadfully dull, only there to get in your pants or creeps…or a mix of all three. But Spencer, there was something about Spencer that immediately put you at ease, his non threatening demeanour made you feel safe around him and, as shown through the two and a half hour phone call tonight, he was anything but boring. The way he spoke, even across the phone, was lively, it was endearing and you found yourself wanting to see him again.

“I’d love to.” You told him honestly.

“Oh,” he said, causing you to laugh, “that’s great, really great. Um, I’ll let you know when I’m back and we can figure something out if that’s ok with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you said before pausing, titling your head in confusion, “Wait, where are you?”

“I’m in California. I work for the FBI’’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He told him, causing your eyebrow to furrow together before it clicked.

“You’re a profiler?” You asked.

“Is that ok?” He asked back, knowing that this could be the dealbreaker and he’d understand, he really would, this job was dangerous and he knew that would take a toll on any partners.

You thought it over for a moment, as dangerous as the job seemed, you wanted to get to know Spencer.

“Let me know when you’re back in town.” You said, causing him to smile widely to himself.

“I will,” he told you softly, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Spencer.” You before hanging up the phone and throwing yourself back onto your bed with a grin.

Spencer had a smile on his face that he could wipe off if he tried and he held the phone tightly in his hands. He was sitting outside, the sun had just been setting when you had first called him. He was in his hotel room with Derek but upon hearing your voice he excused himself to go sit outside the hotel he was staying at, a jacket thrown over his shoulders to combat the slight chill of the autumn air.

He sat there for a few minutes before he made his way back to his room, fully prepared for the grin that Derek shot him as he walked in. Derek let Spencer go about his nightly routine and waited until the younger profiler had sat down on his own bed before speaking up.

“C’mon kid, talk to me.” He exclaimed, watching as Spencer rolled his eyes but a smile worked its way onto his face, “Who’s the girl?”

Spencer debated it for a moment before sighing dramatically causing Derek’s grin to widen, if it were possible.

“Her name is Y/N, I met her this morning before we got called in and I’m taking her out when we get back.” He told Derek who let out a laugh of disbelief.

“Spencer Reid, my man!” He laughed, standing to clap a hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer couldn’t help but grin up at Derek. They both knew how something like this was not something Spencer did…ever but it felt right with you. He wanted to get to know you, even if it meant stepping outside of his comfort zone.

“She must be one hell of a girl.” Derek said, making his way to the bathroom with a grin firmly in place. He was happy for the kid, it was about time he got a break.

Spencer didn’t disagree with Derek’s statement as he settled into bed, already planning on what to do for your date.

-

“Wow,” Spencer said, feeling speechless, “you look stunning.” He said, finally causing you to blush widely.

“Thank you,” You smiled, looking him up and down, “You’re looking pretty stunning too.” You told him, watching as his own blush spread across his cheeks.

“Thank you,” He smiled shyly, looking down before looking at you, holding an arm out for you to take before leading you to the car and holding the door open for you. You smiled softly at him before climbing in, smoothing your dress out nervously as he made his way to the drivers side.

It wasn’t long before the two were seated, conversation flowing easily between the two of you.

“He gave your number to the press?” You asked through your laughter, Spencer sat opposite you laughing himself, dimples on full display.

“Yeah, gave them my name and everything and Morgan’s a, he's good with women so obviously my phone was ringing constantly.” He continued, watching as you smiled brightly as you laughed along.

“Did you at least get him back?” You giggled watching as Spencer smirked.

“I went to MIT and let’s just say never wage a prank war on an MIT graduate.” He laughed, causing you to groan.

“What did you do?”

As Spencer continued to tell you about his and Derek’s prank war you couldn’t help but laugh along. You couldn’t remember the last time you had this much fun, though you tried to pretend you were happy when you were with your ex you knew, if you were being honest with yourself, that you were lying. You wanted so badly to make it work that you managed to fool yourself for a long time, bending over backwards in order to please him and it still wasn’t enough. No amount of effort was enough.

But here, now, with Spencer…you felt so much better than you had in a long, long time. It was like a weight had been lifted off you, a weight you didn’t know you were still carrying. Sitting here with tears of laughter in your eyes rather than tears of anger, tears of sadness…it was a feeling you had long forgotten.

“I had a wonderful night, Y/N.''  Spencer smiled, once he had pulled back up to your house he was quick to open your car door, taking your hand delicately in his before leading you up to your door.

“Me too.” You told him sincerely. It had been so long since you’d felt this genuinely happy, you were shocked with how easy everything with Spencer was, he really did have a way of soothing your nerves, making you feel safe and calm around him, like you had known him your whole life.

You hoped that he was sincere when he said he’d had a good time because you wanted to see him again. God, did you want to see him again. Everything about him was so unique, he made it easy to be yourself, made you want to be yourself.

“Can I see you again?” He asked and you beamed up at him, the smile one that you couldn’t hide even if you tried. Spencer mirrored the expression, taking it as a good sign.

“Yeah,” you said with a giggle, Spencer's grin fading into a soft smile as he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’d really like that.”

He took a moment to just look at you, the soft light of the moon and the street lamps created an amber glow making you look beautiful.

Spencer leaned down, slowly to give you time to move, before he pressed his lips gently to your cheek, letting them linger for a moment before he pulled away.

“Goodnight Y/N.” He said softly, not wanting to break the atmosphere between you two.

“Goodnight Spencer.” You said, smiling softly and matching his tone, before turning to open your door and waving him goodbye.

-

You may not have saw Spencer coming into your life but you were so glad he had. As time went on and the two of you went on several more dates you could feel the armor, the walls you’d built up, beginning to fall with each conversation, each text through the day asking how you were, each night he walked you to your door, kissing you softly, each time he listened to you, each time he let you be yourself. It was so different to anything you had ever experienced before.

Right now you and Spencer were in his apartment, your head resting on his bare chest with his arm around your waist, fingers absentmindedly drawing patterns against your skin. The air was hot but a window had been opened, letting fresh cold air in.

Being with Spencer felt like the slate was clean, you never thought about your ex anymore, you didn’t feel the bone aching sadness you tried to deny, you just felt…happy. It was like being in a state of grace. Your heart was broken after the pain and suffering at the hands of your ex but being with Spencer, it was like your heart had healed itself, all the pieces slotting back together to create a mosaic heart.

You knew you were in love with him, it would be impossible not to be. Spencer Reid was everything good in this world, even though his experiences were enough to turn anybody down a dark path, he stayed good, he stayed honest, he stayed a genuinely decent person.

Here and now, listening to Spencer as he read to you, voice low, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear…you knew love could be a ruthless game, you’d been hurt before but if you played it good and right you knew this relationship could be the best thing in your life. So far everything was going great and you didn’t intend for that to change.

It was like fate had brought the two of you together, both of you had gone through so much, you with a borderline abusive relationship and Spencer with all the horrors and torments he had gone through on the job, all that and fate decided to give you a break and bring you into each other's lives.

Your relationship with Spencer was like the golden age; it was great, it was happy and it gave you both a sense of peace. Being with each other, it was easy, sure there were arguments and there were struggles but it was a worthwhile fight to end up with each other.

Spencer looked down at you, eyes closed and lashes resting upon your cheeks. You looked beautiful despite your messy hair and flushed cheeks that remained from your earlier activities in the bed. He had known how he felt about you for a long time now but he kept putting off saying it aloud, he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted everything to be a certain way when he finally said those words. It was only after a conversation with Rossi that he realised it would never be perfect, it just had to feel right to him.

And here in this bed, you tucked against his side, this was right. This was what he wanted for the rest of his life. He wanted you. And wasn’t that an overwhelming thought at first, wasn’t that a thought that drove him into Rossi’s office to begin with, utterly panicked because he had never felt like this before. But wasn’t it an amazing thought, wasn’t this what most people spent their lives only thinking about and here he was, somehow lucky enough to find you, somehow lucky enough that you wanted him too. Wasn’t it a breathtaking thought?

Spencer had paused abruptly, causing you to look up at him. He was already looking at you, his eyes soft and a smile playing at his lips. You raised your eyebrow up at him in curiosity.

“What are you thinking about, Spence?” You asked quietly, reluctant to break the peacefulness that had settled between the two of you.

Spencer remained silent for a minute, pondering whether or not he should tell you. You watched as he raised his hand, running his knuckles along your cheek softly before turning his hand so his palm could cup your cheek, his thumb running along your cheekbone.

“I love you.” He said softly, watching as your eyes widened before a smile took over your face. He could feel your entire face shift under his hand, could feel your cheeks heat at the words.

You leaned up, softly letting your lips connect with his. Spencer didn’t hesitate in kissing you back, his other hand coming up to cup your other cheek whilst your arm lay across his waist. The kiss was slow, soft lips moving against each other, the two of you completely relaxed in each other's hold.

Though the kiss was soft and slow the two of you pulled away breathless.

“I love you too.” You confessed before attaching your lips to his again, trying to convey just how much you meant those words.

Again the two of you pulled away, breathless. Spencer pulled you against him, letting his lips rest against the top of your head before he turned and let his cheek rest there instead.

“I still don’t know how I got this lucky.” Spencer told you quietly, causing you to tighten your hold on him.

“I’m the lucky one,” you chuckled, “The day I met you I had sworn off dating, I never saw you coming and I’ll never be the same again because of you.”

Spencer pulled back, looking down at you with bright, shining eyes.

“God, I love you.” He murmured before pressing his lips to yours, the complete opposite to how he had before. This kiss was like the best kind of fireworks going off all at once, it made you hot and you kissed back with as much passion as he was given.

Thankfully both of you had the day off and spent that time showing each other just how much you loved the other.

You’d never intended to fall into a relationship again, you had thought you weren’t ready, thought you were too damaged but Spencer Reid had come along exactly when you needed him and showed you how wrong you were.

-

-

Spencer Reid Taglist - @asherhunterx, @ilovespencerreidmarryme, @canadailluminate, @nomajdetective, @reidsbookclub, @filmsbyblair, @ready-4-spencie, @mrs-scottmccall, @roseslovedreams, @j-cat, @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29, @onlyssca, @memories-from-a-nerd, @chickensrule, @classyunknownlover, @fanf1ctionwrit1n, @frickin-bats, @grccnaway, @averyhotchner