#i mean we all know watson is matching holmes in energy

[lumilescense]

Listen I know Holmes is weird alot but i got to thinking about it and like... does anyone ever notice how much time Watson spends in the stories just quietly listening to people and staring at them while jotting down notes? Like youre having this heart to heart breakdown with Sherlock Holmes and then you glance over and remember there is just Some Guy over there staring at you intently while feverishly writing down everything youre saying??? I think watson should get to be that, as a treat

[areyougonnabe]

guess who

[ON AO3 HERE]

The two men stared at the note, lying flat on their kitchen table.

The shorter one tentatively reached over to pick it up. “ONE OF YOU IS AN ANGEL, AND ONE OF YOU IS A DEMON,” he read out loud, for the redhead to hear, “BUT WHICH ONE IS WHICH? YOU HAVE HALF AN HOUR TO FIGURE IT OUT. IF YOU GET IT WRONG, THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.”

The reader looked back down to the table, where a small golden hourglass was dropping grains of sand smoothly and implacably into its lower half.

Then he looked at his companion. Like the reader himself, he was dressed in comfortable heather-gray pajamas, but embroidered above the pocket of his shirt was a small white C.

The reader looked down at his own shirt front, and noted a matching letter A.

“This is weird,” said C. “Isn’t it?”

A. nodded. “A bit,” he admitted. “But it shouldn’t be too hard. Angels and demons are very different, after all.”

“They are,” agreed C.  He squinted at A., lines on his face crinkling around deep brown eyes, and A. noted with a jolt that C.’s eyes were— wrong, somehow, false, he was sure of it.

“There’s a sort of—glamour on you,” A. said cautiously. “Stopping me from seeing— certain things, that would give it away.”

“Same with you,” said C., after a moment. “Part of the game, I suppose.”

“Is it a game? Seems rather more like a punishment.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said C. airily, though A. could see the beginnings of tension building in his face and shoulders as he considered the idea.

“Let’s start with the basics,” said A., trying to be practical. “What do you know about angels?”

“Well, they’re big, and powerful,” said C., “they’ve got glowy halos, swords of fire…” He gave A. an appraising glance, and A. felt all at once rather small and unimpressive. “What do you know about demons, then?”

A. had to think for a moment. His head felt uncomfortably half-full; the rattle of the remnants against the insides was distracting, calling attention to what was missing as he tried to focus on what wasn’t.

“Demons are... evil, certainly,” he said, “dangerous, dastardly beasts, with claws and tails and such…”

He trailed off, looking at C., and then on impulse, reached out and grabbed C.’s hand. He led him out of the room, down the hall to a small bathroom, where they stood in front of the mirror, observing both reflections lined up next to each other.

With some relief, A. was able to confirm that he, like C., was a rather normal-looking man. He had perfectly straight white teeth, and blue-greyish eyes wide with concern.

“Don’t see any claws,” said C. quietly.

“Nor any halos,” confirmed A.

“The glamour, then?”

A. rubbed at his forehead in frustration. “Must be. How on earth are we supposed to be able to tell?”

“Come on,” said C., “think of it like a mystery to solve. We can be like— Holmes and Watson! Elementary, my dear A.—”

“Oh, of course you think you’re Holmes,” scoffed A.  

C. shot A. an offended look at that, and A. was struck with a distinct sensation of deja vu, like they’d run through this argument hundreds of times before.

He looked back into the mirror for further inspection, and C. followed his lead, tugging at the lock of scarlet hair falling onto his forehead. “Very red,” he said. “A demon would have black hair, wouldn’t it? Greasy like an oil-spill, you’d think.”

A. ran a hand through his own fine curls. “Mine’s… sort of bone-colored,” he mused. “A bit spooky.” He held up his hands, examining them. The nails were very manicured; almost vain in their neatness. Well, there was another clue to add to the demon column for himself.

As soon as that thought came to him, he realized they needed some sort of practical organizational system, if they were going to go about this properly.  He led C. out of the bathroom, back to the table where the note and the hourglass were, standing in the middle of a quaint but expansive kitchen. Then he rifled through a few drawers until he found the requisite basic supplies.

The two of them then sat down, and proceeded to fill out a full sheet of A4 paper with a chart, C.’s chicken-scratch mixing in with A.’s neat print.

Under the header labeled C = ANGEL, A = DEMON were notes like A shorter (demons shorter, closer to Hell) and C skinnier = ascetic? like monk.

In the A = ANGEL, C = DEMON column were an equal number of ideas, such as A hair = white like halo and C is very pointy (sharp = dangerous?).

Eventually, after the hourglass had ticked away nearly all of the allotted time, C. frowned down at the paper and its assorted scribblings.

“... It could be a trick question,” he said slowly.

“Sorry?”

“Maybe we’re both angels.”

A. fiddled with his pen. C. being an angel he could believe— there was something so simply lovely about him— but his view of himself, even from just half an hour of conscious experience, felt quite far from the kind of perfection he felt an angel ought to exist in a permanent state of. He was soft, and rather snippish, and he’d definitely grown a bit hungry since the game began.

“Or both demons…?” A. ventured to suggest.

C. raised his right eyebrow, in a majestic feat of facial control. “I don’t know about that,” he said.

"Well, there are lots of things you don't know. Obviously."

Then, and only then, did A. see something that they’d both missed. He was watching C. write down A is very mean under the A = DEMON heading, and as his long fingers moved, the light glinted off something small and shining.

“Ha!” exclaimed A. “We’re married!” He grabbed C.’s hand and held it up, pointing at the gold band around his ring finger.

C. stared at the ring, and then at A., a delighted grin appearing on his face. “Oh— that’s brilliant!” he said.

He leaned forward and, without another word, kissed A., deeply and happily. A. melted into the touch, C.’s mouth fitting perfectly and sweetly against his own.

“Oh— thank you,” said A., when at last C. pulled away. He wished they had time for a bit more of that, but when he glanced over at the hourglass, there was barely a minute left. “But that’s not— you see, that’s the answer! I’ve figured it out!”

C. tipped his head, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Angels and demons don’t get married,” A. said confidently, tapping his own matching wedding band. “It’s basic theology, my dear. You see, it is a trick question after all— just not the way we were thinking—”

Comprehension dawned on C.’s face. “Neither of us are the angel, or the demon,” he said. “...But what about the glamour—?”

“That,” said A. confidently, “was a red herring!”

C. nodded, his expression nervous, but absolutely open and trusting. A. wondered what he’d done to deserve to be married to such a lovely man. Hopefully, he’d be finding out soon.

C. began, “If we’re wrong—”

“We’re not, I’m sure of it!”

“—I know, I think you’re right too, but if we are,” insisted C., and he took A.’s hands in his, “and we don’t make it out of this— if we face consequences, like it said— I just want you to know—”

His mouth fought with itself, failing to form words, and eventually he just gave up and kissed A. again, a swift press this time, the goodbye to the earlier kiss’s hello.

Then he let go, reached for the note, and flipped it over, scribbling something down on the blank side.

He stood up, and so did A., their gaze meeting for a single second, dense with tension and hope and expectation.

At that moment, the last drops of sand in the hourglass fell away. There was the sound of a gentle chime from all around, then a bright flash of white light, splintering into rainbow fractals that burst around the both of them in jagged sparks.

When the light cleared, nothing had changed at all, except for the color of Crowley’s eyes, and the uncloaking, in an invisible dimension very close by, of two sets of gently folded wings.

Crowley looked down at the paper, where BOTH HUMAN! had been written in his own handwriting just seconds before.

“Wow,” he said, not having much else to say.

Aziraphale blinked to clear away the flash of light that marked the expiration of their temporary spell. “Well. That took quite the turn,” he said.

Crowley only had a wordless noise of affirmation to add to that. Aziraphale dusted his hands off, like he’d just tried a new recipe that had turned out horribly wrong, but wasn’t really all that put off, because he’d get to primly call it a learning experience if anyone asked.

“A no-score draw,” he said, with a gentle, knowing smile.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, you're allowed to be a little mad that you lost!”

“I could say the same to you,” Aziraphale retorted. “seeing as you also lost. I suppose next time we construct this kind of wager for our Sunday morning amusement, we’d best account for options other than the obvious two.”

“You’d think by now we’d have learned that,” Crowley laughed, and he gathered Aziraphale close to him, slotting the angel’s head below his chin. Aziraphale hummed into Crowley’s chest, sinking into the well-known warmth of it as Crowley ran a gentle, casual hand through his hair.

“I really thought you were so beautiful, you know,” Aziraphale said quietly.

“Thought?!” Crowley cried in mock-outrage. “What’s this past tense?”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” said Aziraphale. “I didn’t know a thing about you, or me, or what we were, or who we are, and I still thought you were the most lovely thing I’d ever have the pleasure to see.”

“Mmm,” squeaked Crowley. “I— yeah. Felt something similar, I think.”

Aziraphale felt that there was probably further discussion to be had regarding the conclusion they’d come to, in their altered state, but he was content to leave it be, for now. They had plenty of time. And right now, he had other priorities— the miracle required for their little gamble had been a hefty one, even with Crowley supplying half the necessary energy. He could absolutely go for a snack.

“Shall we get dressed?” Aziraphale suggested. “The farmers market is about to get very crowded, I think.”

“Would hate for you to miss out on your precious pears,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale smiled at that. It was going to be a good day, he thought. They’d eat some, read some, kiss some, and then at the end of it, possibly even sleep some.

BOTH HUMAN, indeed.

[citrucentric]

Cranberry

The ideal Holmes is tall and dark with sharp edges and an intelligent look to him, but also posh and with a sense that you could fold him into origami if you really tried. Dresses well, but wouldn’t look out of place sprawled dramatically over a couch in a dressing gown with a pipe and surrounded by drug paraphernalia. Once made a pillow fort and sat in it to think. Caught somewhere between handsome, pretty, and weird looking. Emphasis can be on any of the three. CANNOT have facial hair.

Holmes Adaptations

S-Tier

Miss Sherlock (Yuko Takeuchi) - 95%

You’ll notice, of course, that nowhere in the earlier description did I say Holmes needed to be white, a man, or even human. None of those qualifiers or the lack-thereof prevent someone from looking the part -- it simply becomes necessary to compare them to the characters around them. And when I picture a female Sherlock Holmes, Yuko Takeuchi embodies the exact image in my mind. Her sharp edges, piercing eyes, and impeccable fashion, along with the powerful weird energy she brings to the role, fit Sherlock perfectly. She does look more than a bit like she could kick my ass, but more in the manner she dominates the room, which is perfect for the character.

Sherlock Holmes (Jeremy Brett) - 85%

I haven’t watched this adaptation, though I’ve been meaning to get around to it. So this ranking is based solely on screenshots and promotional images. And honestly, as ugly as i find this guy, he totally nails it. He even kind of looks like the illustrations in the stories. I won’t give him a perfect score because his hair could be darker and his face is a little small, and there’s just barely something missing. But as far as “canon” Holmes adaptations go, he’s the cream of the crop.

A-Tier

Sherlock: The Abominable Bride (Benedict Cumberbatch) - 80%

Definitely the more accurate of the two Cumberbatch Holmes designs, the sleek fashion and slicked back hair complement Cumberbatch’s angular build and “somewhere between pretty and just weird” face. He’s tall, dark, and posh. If there’s anything holding him back it’s simply that even dressed up properly, there’s something still a bit modern looking about him.

Fate/Grand Order - 78%

Given that his design and presentation are a direct reference to both Brett and Cumberbatch’s portrayals, it’s a given he’d place so highly. It’s really hard to nail down a 2D Holmes, especially in the anime style this game employs, since it has a tendency to prettify characters by default. True to form, FGO Holmes is far neater and more precise than I’d like. But he’s by no means a bad design, and depending on the image he can really hit the spot for me; he’s definitely a chart topper in the realm of 2D Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes: The Furtive Festivity (Gregory Johnstone) - 75%

There aren’t many Holmes that we only get to see as an old man, in no small part due to the ACD estate’s notoriously malicious copyright practices. Johnstone ranks so highly not due necessarily to the details of his look, but the overall feel he embodies. This Holmes is soft, affectionate, more than a little floppy. His hair and costume portray a man well grown into his eccentric life, and his face is sharp and mature enough to suggest the brains underneath; even if that’s more wisdom than intelligence in this particular story. This is a Holmes designed by someone who really loves Sherlock Holmes, and it definitely shows.

BBC Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch) - 75%

Cumberbatch’s features still naturally suit Holmes well, and he’s tall and striking enough to cover the rest. But this isn’t a rating of his acting performance aside from the visuals it supplies; it’s hard to modernize Holmes, especially since it makes perfect sense for Holmes to gel well with the changing times; he was always a man ahead of his era. BBC Holmes’s trademark trenchcoat and curly locks aren’t traditional Holmes, but they suit him well enough.

Yuukoku no Moriarty - 73%

The long hair is an unorthodox take, but I'm certainly not complaining. YnM's Holmes definitely nails the youthful scientific exuberance of an early Holmes. It's clear they were going for a sort of BBC/ACD mix, but with their own spin. Pretty -- he is an anime boy, after all -- but all sharp edges and full of energy. Decent, way better than most anime Holmes designs manage.

B-Tier

Basil of Baker Street [The Great Mouse Detective] - 70%

Comparing the character to those around them is especially important when it comes to non-human characters, who naturally don’t have the same features. Putting Basil next to Dawson makes this abundantly clear, as they make a perfect portrait of Holmes and Watson. For a mouse, he’s thin, angular, even a little ratlike; all decisions that suit Holmes well. I have some complaints about his ensemble, though; while the dressing gown suits him well, his normal brown coat and hat don’t work so well with his fur; the monochrome look makes him come off a bit scruffy and unrefined.

A Study in Black - 68%

Rules are made to be broken, they say; here’s a Holmes with well maintained facial hair and who’s shorter than Watson, and yet I can without question say they were the right decisions. This Holmes takes a very different design approach than any other on this list, even the other modern takes, but he embodies the spirit of Holmes much more than if he’d tried to match every detail. Holmes is still gaunt and striking, eccentric and fashionable. He looks absolutely great.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (Robert Stephens) - 62%

Stephens in this role is, I have to say, far too soft. But he’s playing a different sort of Holmes, and I can’t resist keeping him here. There are some parts of the look he has down; he certainly looks high class, and the softer elements of Holmes’ character look good on him. Holmes’ traditional costume, the hat and coat, look out of place on him. But that suits the message of the film, and may very well have been intentional.

C-Tier

Dai Gyakuten Saiban - 58%

Not the only blond Holmes on this list, but it doesn’t suit him as poorly. From a character design standpoint, it looks very good. As a Holmes, it’s unorthodox. He’s not gonna be a chart topper with it, but I wouldn’t rule it out. This Holmes’ real problem isn’t his coloration, merely that he’s much too conventionally attractive. His jaw is a bit too wide, curls a bit too lovely, the peek of lavender under his coat a bit too rich, and I can’t look at him for too long without blushing. Do some cocaine and get back to me.

Sherlock Holmes (Basil Rathbone) - 55%

Now, this one might be controversial. I don’t think Rathbone Holmes looks very good. I can’t put my finger on why; his head is the right shape, his nose very sharp, though his face looks very smooth and he seems overall vaguely packed in. Like he was plucked out of the sky just before walking on set. The shapes are all right, it just seems off to me. I guess what I’m getting is that his look is too obviously produced. He looks too much like an actor portraying Holmes, rather than Holmes. But I know he’s gonna be the guy a lot of people swear by, so I won’t defend this placement too hard.

Sherlock Hound - 45%

Really, what is up with the monochrome design on some of these cartoons. Sherlock Hound has the darker hat to make up for it, though, so it’s a little better. Applying the same rubric as Basil to him... doesn’t get the same results. As far as I can tell, this just looks like a normal dog. And a scruffy light-furred one, at that. There’s a contrast between him and Watson, sure, but it could’ve been pushed further. At the end of the day this is an average guy dressed as Sherlock.

D-Tier

Herlock Sholmes [Code: Realize] - 40%

This is a very pretty anime boy. I’d pick him first in whatever dating sim this is. ...Wait, this is supposed to be Holmes? How can you tell? Look, I know it’s hard to make an anime boy Holmes. Holmes’ key design elements aren’t his costume or his hair, they’re the things that make him unpolished. And anime dating sim boys don’t like to be unpolished. But really, this is just a steampunk boy who likes tea. Nothing here reads as Holmes to me.

Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr.) - 35%

Now, I love this movie. RDJ got me back into Sherlock Holmes when I was younger. And as this character, he has a very specific and well designed look. ...Does that look gel with canon Holmes? I don’t think so. He’s rough, he’s scruffy, he’s short and wide and strong-jawed, and he refuses to go for a clean shave. I like him a lot, but he’s not very Holmesian. He does, however, nail the eccentricity and his costume design works for him well. I do like a messy Holmes. So I won’t go any lower than this.

F-Tier

Basil [Blush Blush] - 28%

So, he’s got the outfit. There’s that. But otherwise... This is just some soft ugly anime boy cosplaying Sherlock Holmes. He doesn’t have a single trait that works in his favor. On top of that, he’s got the same problem the other Basil on this list had -- the all monochrome light brown just looks weird, and not Holmesian at all. And this boy doesn’t have the excuse of literally being a mouse. This is just an ugly design.

Elementary (Jonny Lee Miller) - 25%

Now, I've only watched a few scattered episodes of Elementary. Partially because I'm morally opposed to shows that only gender-flip half of the duo, partially because I’m absolutely outraged by the travesty they made Moriarty. But this isn’t a bad character, per-se.

But, like, this is just some dude. This isn't Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes [Clue] - 23%

I love Clue so much. That probably doesn’t surprise anyone. I have the season pass in this game, which automatically gives me every DLC character they add for free. So I was super excited to hear there was gonna be a Sherlock crossover. ...But this is just ugly. Another light haired square-jawed monochrome asshole pretending to be my favorite character. There’s nothing Holmes about this. (The rest of the designs in the pack are no better, but this isn’t about them.)

Skylar Holmes [Blossom Detective Holmes] - 20%

Now, Blossom Detective is a show that I famously disliked so much I immediately sat down and screenwrote my own Holmes cartoon on the spot. And Skylar certainly feels like she should be in the “part 2″ of this list, but a Holmes she is.

She's cute and she accessorizes well, but she's just not Sherlock Holmes by any stretch.

Sherlock Shellingford [Milky Holmes] - 10%

Now, look how cute she is! Sherlock Shellingford, present and accounted for. She’s got TWO Sherlock names so you know she’s the real deal. Now, this is just an objectively good design. She's exactly what she needs to be to serve the role she plays!

And that isn't Sherlock Holmes. Sorry.

Holmes & Watson (Will Ferrell) - 0%

Get out of my house.

Holmes Archetypes

Not all Holmes’ are meant to be the Canonical Sherlock Holmes, of course; some are just neat references, or characters who naturally fit into his role whether the author intended it or not. Let’s address them here, and remember that not looking the part doesn’t really reflect negatively on these ones as they’re stand-alone.

S-Tier

Dylan Reinhart [Instinct] (Alan Cumming) - 90%

Dylan is so point for point Sherlock Holmes that it’s hard to call him an archetype and not a straight adaptation, or possibly a rip-off if I’m being harsh. But I’m not supposed to be rating him by portrayal, just looks - and he’s really good. He’s the exact right blend of weird looking, though not as angular as he should be. His sharp eyebrows and nose and high hairline work fantastic, and he wears a suit very well. He’s a perfect little bundle of posh and nerves, and though he’s not perfect the fact that this isn’t actually supposed to be canon Sherlock Holmes makes this placement very unsurprising. He wouldn’t look out of place on the other list.

Hubert von Vestra [Fire Emblem: Three Houses] - 85%

Oh? What’s that? You don’t think Hubert von Vestra is a Sherlock Holmes archetype? Okay, then explain to me why he uses the word “sentiment” exactly twice in his supports. Atheists 1, Church of Seiros 0. Anyway. Let’s start with the obvious. Hubert looks like Benedict Cumberbatch. But, he looks like a vampire Benedict Cumberbatch who did a lot more cocaine. And if you don’t think Sherlock Holmes should look like a vampire, youre lying.

A-Tier

None yet. Please submit your Holmes and I will add them.

B-Tier

Heinwald [Dragalia Lost] - 67%

I would never look at this design and think "well, that's Sherlock Holmes". Heinwald looks more like a zombie or the bride of Frankenstein, very Halloween. His look being so specific does come at the expense of his Holmesness, but he's still got more than a few traits down and he’s an absolute treat.

L Lawliet [Death Note] - 65%

This is a very, very weird looking man. Key points: dark hair and eyes. gaunt, sharp, and mostly angular (though with a softer face). Extremely foldable. This man could 100% pass for Holmes, if someone else was dressing him. Put him in a suit, comb his hair? Yeah. It’d really work. But until then, he’s just most of the way there.

Kyoko Kirigiri [Danganronpa] - 63%

Kirigiri really gets jilted here, because she could be much higher. Unfortunately, she has to be part of a series that with only a few exceptions just reuses the same face and body for most of its female characters. Kirigiri definitely has the sharp and focused feel she needs to pass for Holmes, and she dresses well. The white hair is the opposite of the dark he usually touts, but it’s striking. Unfortunately, put her next to any other character in her series, and she blends back in.

Miles Edgeworth [Ace Attorney] - 60%

Feels a little weird to put Edgeworth on here when the actual Sherlock Holmes is in his game, but he fits the character much better if not the narrative role. So let’s go over the looks. His jaw is a bit wide, but he’s very pointy, and I certainly have never gotten the impression he’s a physically strong man. He’s very fashionable, and with his big cravat and sharp hair he makes a cutting silhouette. I’d say he needs a bit more to really nail the look, though.

C-Tier

Will Graham [Hannibal] (Hugh Dancy) - 45%

Despite being a noted Hannibal Lecter fan and possible homosexual, I still haven’t watched Hannibal. I’m taking people at their word that Will is a Sherlock; I definitely would have assumed otherwise looking at him. He reminds me deeply of BBC’s John Watson, and it’s hard to see anything else. But I don’t hate his look; he reads as clever, he looks good in darks, and I wouldn’t complain to see him cast as Holmes. He’s better than some of the lower-tiered canon Holmes actors, anyway.

Ranpo Edogawa [Bungo Stray Dogs] - 40%

This is another submission, and I don’t know who this boy is. I really doubt he’s actually a Holmes, given that he’s named after a real non-Doyle writer, but I was begged to include him. Let’s go. I really like his outfit. He’s got an aesthetic I like. Is it Holmes’? No. This kid looks like he’d fit way better as a Baker Street Irregular; maybe he should audition.

D-Tier

Gregory House (Hugh Laurie) - 35%

Take everything I said for Robert Downey Jr, and just mess up his hair a bit more. House is scruffy, poorly put together, and not wearing anything that costs over $100. As a Holmes, he’d work as one of his disguises; I wouldn’t be super surprised if this guy suddenly cleaned up and looked the part -- but it would take a lot of cleaning. I love his look, though -- again, he isn’t trying to be canon. House is an explicit Holmes parallel, but he’s still his own character.

F-Tier

Walnut Cookie [Cookie Run] - 20%

Given how much “Holmes costume” and “Detective costume” are conflated, it’s possible this gingerbread baby isn’t even supposed to be a Holmes reference, but I’ll take her. She’s an excellent design - but a standalone one. Shes too soft, warm, and curly looking to pull off canon Holmes.

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 5

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Chapter 5- Fungi

~~~

Despite the initial tension regarding Jessica Reynolds, things seem to be progressing well with Amelia’s case. Sherlock was able to pull a number of shipping manifests from the assistant’s computer, each bound for the manufacturing factory in Manila.

It was fortunate that it confirmed almost every compound Amelia had noted when she stole the data set, at least in the cancer drugs.

The problem was the secondary product bound into the cancer drugs that caused adverse effects. The details on the manifests were less than helpful…

~~~

“Psilocybe mushroom components,” Amelia read the computer screen out loud for the third time since Sherlock had passed it to her, annoyance in her tone. “That’s it?”

“Magic mushrooms?” John asked, passing her a cup of tea, she immediately set it aside, scrolling through the computer logs further. “Seems straightforward enough.”

“John, there are over 200 different types of Psilocybe spores,” Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “Sherlock, please tell me you have an idea for how we can possibly narrow it down?”

“How many did you use in your research?” The detective asked, reaching for his own tea cup.

“47,” she answered. “Two were almost identical hybrids, so maybe 46.”

“There you go,” he smirked over the rim of his cup. “Narrowed down.”

“You know we’re going to have to get samples, even if we run the equations, some might work but not technically be the component. Not to mention the cancer drugs might be different,” she groaned and set her cup aside, throwing her head back against the sofa.

“Sherlock, it might be time to contact your brother,” John suggested quietly, earning a glare from the brunette.

“You have a brother?” Amelia asked, her head still flung back with her eyes closed. “Please tell me he’s a reputable drug dealer because it’s going to be a pain in the ass getting these things.”

“Even better, he’s a member of her Majesty’s Royal Government,” Sherlock chimed back. Amelia snorted, remaining still.

“He could also order seizures of the shipments,” John reminded the group coolly, sensing the rising tension between the group.

“Unhelpful if we can’t properly determine the malicious components, John,” Sherlock shot back, picking up on Amelia’s frustration. “The idea is that Chemco’s random samples are unable to be traced, and random.”

“Certainly a shipment would contain some variations?” he asked the pair. Amelia threw her arms up hopelessly, and he frowned. “Sherlock, don’t tell me you’re at a loss?”

“Short of breaking into a hospital, stealing their current supply, and testing it against the 46 varieties of mushroom Mia has worked with, this doesn’t lend a more efficient solution,” the detective hummed, drumming his fingers on his chin in thought.

Silence fell over the group, each person thinking through potential solutions.

“Monty!” Amelia shot up, nearly startling John into dropping his tea.

“What on earth-?” The doctor grumbled while Amelia fished out her phone.

“Ruthie’s brother in law, Monty, he’s an, er, herbal enthusiast,” she explained, tapping into her phone. “I bought a few illicit plants from him when I first moved over. He’s basically got everything you could think of. If not, he’ll know someone who does.”

“Is he in London?”

“Canterbury, lives down the road from Ruthie and her husband,” Amelia got a ping back. “Says we can swing by tomorrow if we’d like. I know offhand, I saw at least a dozen spores in one of his cold storages. I’ll dig up my research list, I can probably narrow down the list from 46 to something more reasonable if I look through what moved to the second stages of trials.”

“And then we go shopping for illicit drugs,” John replied dryly. “And what about the cancer medications?”

Sherlock and Amelia exchanged humored glances. There was certainly something that the doctor was missing.

“What?” John gawked between the pair. “You’re not actually breaking into a hospital, are you?”

“We wouldn’t need much, maybe one or two treatments?” Sherlock asked Amelia, who nodded  after doing a quick calculation in her head.

“The binding components are easy enough to track down over the counter, though we might need a better equipped lab than what you’ve got in the kitchen,” she noted.

“That’s not a problem,” Sherlock waved her off, skimming through the list of components from the shipping logs. “Easy.”

“I don’t like it when you two conspire together. It always leads to some sort of trouble,” John pressed, frown deepening.

“John, you’re a doctor,” Amelia reminded him excitedly. “Prescribe poor Sherlock Holmes a chemotherapy treatment for the tumor in his ego.”

“No, absolutely not,” John stood up. “That violates so many ethical rules- besides, you’re a licensed pharmacist. It’d be easier for you.”

“Not here, not yet. I mean, we can let innocent, immune compromised patients die,” Amelia shrugged, leaning back into the sofa. “What a shame about the little babies with leukemia. All because my wicked mother wanted a second mega yacht.”

“What truly is the core of medical ethics Dr. Watson?” Sherlock inquired, slowly closing his laptop, his gaze boring into his friend. “Is it not to protect life?”

John Watson, caught between an American and a hard place, was less than thrilled when he finally, begrudgingly, scribbled his name on a prescription pad and passed it to Sherlock.

“If my license is revoked-,” he threatened, holding it away from Sherlock briefly.

“Will you kill him?” Amelia asked, grabbing her crimson scarf from the back of the sofa and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Because I’d be very interested in seeing that.”

“Don’t think you get off that easy,” John turned his attention to Amelia while Sherlock scampered to his coat, mocking Amelia over John’s shoulder with a smirk. “You’re equally responsible for anything that goes wrong.”

“That’s not fair, I’m an innocent bystander to your collusion,” she pouted, catching her navy pea coat when John tossed it at her head.

“Careful John,” Sherlock warned, passing the doctor his jacket, shielding his friend from Amelia’s sad eyes. “Keep her pouting like that and she’ll convince you to clean her hair out of the shower drain.”

“Just go,” John shoved the detective through the doorway, not bothering to wait for the grumbling Amelia as she pulled her boots on and stumbled her way out the door behind them.

~~~

“And you’re going to be administering the medications at home?” the chemist studied the prescription order, glancing over the paper to John with a quirked brow.

“That’s right,” he answered with a curt nod, his hands stuffed in his pockets to try and stave off the nervous energy that radiated through his core.

“To a Mr. William Holmes?” the chemist looked to Sherlock next to him. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” he pulled out his ID and passed it to the woman, flashing a quick smile.

“Did you guys know that Beyonce is pregnant again?” Amelia held up a tabloid to Sherlock. “Oh wait, never mind. Just a rumor.”

“Who is this?” the chemist paused, looking up at Amelia.

“His fiancé,” she replied, setting the magazine aside and looping an arm through Sherlock’s. “Here for moral support. He’s just starting treatment and is nervous as all get out, isn’t that right, love?” For added effect, she snuggled closer, pressing her cheek against his arm.

“I wouldn’t have made it in one piece without her,” he nodded, giving her cheek a quick peck. “Just an absolute blessing.”

“We’re just so lucky to find Dr. Watson,” Amelia continued with a long sigh. “Not a lot of doctor’s are willing to do home treatments within the NHS, you know. And of course I’m completely out of my element with all of it!”

The chemist chuckled empathetically, asking how the pair met as she typed up the order for the supplies. Sherlock and Amelia shot back and forth, exchanging little tidbits about their “relationship” enough to almost convince John it was real.

“The order will be ready tomorrow morning,” the woman smiled at the trio and reached for Amelia’s hand. “I’ll be praying for you both.”

“You’re an angel,” Amelia replied, giving them a squeeze before ushering the group out of the pharmacy with a final wave at the woman.

Back on the street, Amelia slipped a hand into Sherlock’s pocket, pulling out his wallet.

“I did not know your name was William,” she studied his ID, trying to memorize the details before he snatched it from her. “And you’re only three years older than me? I don’t believe that.”

Sherlock grabbed the wallet and ID out her hands, returning them to his coat pocket with a huff.

“Is there no privacy with you?” he grumbled. “And what’s so surprising about how old I am?”

“I just figured you were older,” she shrugged. “I mean, I’m almost thirty, right? I figured you were like, almost forty or something.”

John sputtered out a laugh.

“That’s spectacular,” he threw an arm around her shoulders. “How old do you think I am?”

“John, in all honesty, I have no idea,” she answered. “Sometimes I’m convinced you’re fifty, other times you have to be my age.”

Sherlock snorted under his breath.

“It’s a fair assessment,” she insisted, frowning apologetically at John. “You get very grumpy in the mornings, and the matching flannel pajamas don’t help very much.”

“They’re warm.”

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Amelia smiled, patting his arm in a placating tone. “I’m just a terrible judge of age apparently. I should have know how old you actually were with all of the part-time super models you bring by.”

“Mia, you’re digging yourself into a hole you’ll regret for the foreseeable future,” Sherlock warned.

“Shush,” Amelia swatted his arm.

“That reminds me,” John glanced down at his phone. “I have a second date with Ann tonight.”

“Is she the one with the Pomeranian?” Amelia asked hopefully. He shook his head and she sighed. “I liked that one.”

“You liked the dog and I’m very allergic,” John reminded her. “Ann is a barrister.”

“Maybe you should make sacrifices for your relationships, John,” she countered. “Have fun with your boring lawyer date.”

“Ann is the boring one, that’s right,” Sherlock perked up.

“She is not boring,” John insisted, flagging down a taxi.

“We’ll call with an ‘emergency’ in a bit,” Amelia promised earnestly. “Get you out of talks about law and order. Blegh.”

“I’m turning my phone off,” he called, slipping into the backseat of the taxi.

“If it wasn’t so cold, I’d be half tempted to follow them,” Amelia mused, continuing down the street with the detective.

“Don’t, they’re seeing that action movie that just came out,” he sighed dramatically. "Boring."

“Movies never make sense as an early date,” she noted. “You can’t talk. How do you get to know anything about the other person? They could be a serial killer for all you know.”

“Exactly, hardly an intimate setting,” he shook his head in disappointment. Amelia looked at him in surprise, stifling a laugh. “What?”

“It’s hard to picture you trying to take someone on a date,” she confessed lightly.

“You’re one to talk,” he countered quickly. “You never leave the flat.”

“You literally don’t let me?” she replied with another laugh. “And arguably, I’ve gone at least one more date than you in the last month.”

“Jessica Reynolds does not count,” he shot back.

“She has the remnants of my favorite shirt on her bedroom floor,” Amelia shivered at the memory. “She counts. John’s been on half a dozen dates since then, yet I’m fairly certain I heard you making love to your calculator the other night.”

“Why did I allow you to move into my building?” Sherlock kept his focus forward. “And I’d be a wonderful date, assuming I knew who i was meeting and could plan accordingly.”

“You’d stalk your date for ideas,” Amelia bit back a smirk. “It’d almost be endearing if it wasn’t super illegal.”

“I do not have to stalk someone to take them on a decent date,” he insisted. “What about you? What would you do aside from a bar?”

“First of all, I would never take someone to a bar on a first date,” she held a hand up, stopping in front of him. “It’s tacky. Would you want to date someone tacky?”

“Ok, where would you take me?” he offered, folding his arms across his chest. Amelia considered his challenge, pulling out her cell phone and tapping at the screen. Grinning at the device, she looked up at him.

“I get a little leeway because I’m not from here,” she warned, flagging down a passing cab.

“What are you doing?” he watched her chat with the driver, and look up at him expectantly.

“I’m taking you on a date,” she answered. “Get in Mr. Holmes, and prepare to be wooed.”

~~~

The Barbican Conservatory wasn’t very busy at midday in the middle of the week, so they were able to secure entrance and tour around the large space without too much interruption from other guests.

“There are over 1,500 different plants in 23,000 cubic square feet of space,” Amelia tucked her hands behind her back. “And the ponds feature koi and carp from Japan and America respectively.”

“Did you just read the pamphlet?” Sherlock asked, looking over the informational packet. “Because you quoted the first paragraph verbatim.”

“It’s because I’m well versed in what I sought out,” she answered with a grin. “Look, flowers.”

She pulled him toward a large selection of tropical flora, naming the species as they moved through in both their common names and scientific ones.

“This one is particularly rare,” she gestured to a bright red flower, the pamphlet long discarded in her coat pocket. Sherlock listened intently, occasionally chiming in his own facts about the flora that surrounded them. He could tell she was pleasantly surprised at his own knowledge on some of the more obscure plants.

“Waitwaitwait,” Amelia pulled him by the wrist toward a large swath of sunflowers. “They’re taller than you, that’s so cool!”

“Does that make them extra haughty?” he retorted, letting her shove him in front of the flowers. She snapped a picture while he continued to quip, ignoring his comments a moment while she saved it to her phone. “Do not show that to anyone.”

“I would never,” she promised. “It’s a good picture, though.” She held her phone up, and sure enough, she’d captured a flattering angle while he’d been laughing.

“I’m not haughty,” he quickly stated.

“You know that isn’t their only meaning,” she hummed, tucking the phone away. “They also mean strength, happiness, confidence… I think they sum you up perfectly.”

“Happiness?”

“Oh that’s right, you were happy once and it was terrible,” she replied coyly. “How could I have forgotten? Happiness can mean bringing it to others as well, Sherlock.”

She turned to look at some lilacs, absently chatting while he stood frozen in place, the words running on repeat in the front of his mind.

Who did he make happy?

~~~

Amelia had a mouth full of falafel when Sherlock decided on where he was going to take her next.

“Mmwha mwean?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Dwon’t swteal mwwy dawte!”

“You did an adequate job,” he answered. “But I still think I’m the superior date planner.”

She swallowed her food, eyeing distrustfully.

“I’m only interested if it’s a very old cemetery,” she replied, stealing one of his chips. “And it better be nighttime and there had better be ghosts.”

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” Sherlock clarified sharply.

“Consider this date over,” she stood up from the public bench they’d settled on. “It’s not me, it’s definitely you.”

“Amelia, come back,” he called, but she continued down the road, night starting to swallow the city. “They’re theoretically impossible.”

~~~

Amelia had to admit (though never out loud), Sherlock Holmes did know a thing or two about impressing a date (despite his disbelief in ghosts).

He purchased her a pink peony, her favorite flower, from a street vendor.

Next, they went to the aquarium, where they wandered away from the main tour and Sherlock gave his own version of the tour, naming the fish and telling her random facts about their origins. Together, they came up with complex names and origin stories for all of the fish.

“The puffer fish is obviously fed up with the whale shark’s nonsense,” Amelia laughed, pointing out the fish blowing up as the white shark passed it in the tank. “He’s probably having an affair with the puffer fish’s wife.”

“I don’t know, the whale shark was eyeing the sea turtle…” Sherlock mused, watching the mesmerizing scene next to her.

Every once in a while, Amelia would steal a look at him. The way the light reflected around them, and how it flickered through his blue eyes- should almost wished she had a paint pallet to try and capture the almost perfect cerulean color.

They left the aquarium chuckling about an octopus that had escaped during a demonstration, night having finally swept over the city.

“Ok,” she relented. “You win this round.”

“I’m not done yet,” he pulled his phone out and glanced up. “We have a final stop.”

“What else could you have planned on such short notice?” she asked, letting him grab her hand and pull her along.

“I told you, I know what I’m doing,” he teased, stopping after a few blocks, looking up at the glowing carriages of the London Eye. “It’s not a cemetery.”

“Might be better,” Amelia admitted.

And it was.

Amelia had never experienced anything so spectacular in her life. The lights over the Thames and the London skyline were unlike anything she’d seen before. The old city had a different energy to it compared to New York, and from the top of the famous Ferris wheel, she could see it all.

“I can’t believe we live in the same city as all of this,” she gestured below them. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“It looks like stars,” he agreed, looking over the edge.

“And the reflection on the river?” Amelia continued to gush in excitement, practically jumping around the edges of the capsule as they moved through the sky.

It was over far too quickly, though Amelia knew they needed to get back. John was probably long home from his date.

“You win,” she sighed. “You definitely win, but only for today.”

“That means there’s a second date?” he smirked, offering her his arm as they walk. She took it, falling in step while they tried to track down a taxi.

Amelia knew he was teasing. It was more of an outing between friends, a means to prove a point with no real intimate feelings involved. A challenge.

She repeated this to herself as she stared at the peony in her hands on the taxi ride home. Or when Sherlock made a quiet quip about extra marital whale shark affairs.

He had to prove his point, and he did. She was sufficiently surprised, and very much felt conflicted about it.

When they returned, Amelia cut into the conversation before John could ask where they’d been. He told her all about his date, and that while Ann was very nice, there probably wasn’t a third date in their future.

“Because she’s boring?” Sherlock joked, pulling out his laptop and checking his email.

“We have different interests,” John clarified sharply. “I think I’m going to take a break from dating for a bit. What about you two? What did you do all day?” His eyes fell on the peony in Amelia’s hand, and she froze, not sure how to respond.

“We went on a date,” Sherlock spoke up confidently from his perch, eyeing John and waiting for a reaction.

“You… on a date?” he looked between the pair. “Both of you? Together?”

Admittedly, it was a bit fun watching their friend process the information. Amelia just braced herself for when Sherlock clarified their challenge with one another.

“Yep,” he answered, popping the “p”. “It was a lovely day, wasn’t it Mia?”

Dazed, Amelia choked out an affirmative, her head still catching up with the fact there hadn’t been any specifications as to the motivation behind everything.

“A long day,” she forced out a yawn. “I’m going to put this in some water and head to bed. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, don’t forget. I have our train tickets already, but one of you needs to get the chemotherapy into the fridge before we go.”

Both men said goodnight and she slipped downstairs to her apartment, sneaking a final glance over her shoulder, in case he was going to add anything else to the date conversation.

“A date?” John waited until Amelia was out of earshot. “You never mentioned being interested like that. In fact, you mocked me.”

“We were merely getting to know one another,” he shrugged. “Initially we were trying to prove a point, but it turned into an enjoyable afternoon. Though, I wouldn’t get too excited about it, John.”

“And why not?” John asked. “She’s been here for two months now, you two get along in your weird, mad scientist way, it could be a good match.”

“I’m far too busy to have time for romantic partners,” Sherlock shot the suggestion down. He stilled, his hands resting on the keys of his laptop. “And she seemed odd just now, didn’t she?”

“No more than usual,” John replied. “Worried she didn’t enjoy herself? You got her a flower, I’m sure she was enthralled.”

“A peony,” Sherlock corrected quietly. “She likes peonies. They’re in the perfume she wears.”

“Maybe she’s just deep in denial, much like yourself, and needed to sleep to get her head straight?” John snorted, standing up from his chair. “Speaking of, don’t stay up too late.”

Sherlock waved him off, staring down at his computer and re-reading the same sentence over and over. He couldn’t focus on any of his cases right now, his head was all over the place.

Grabbing his violin, he plucked away at the strings, trying to find a sound for the chaos in his head.

Meanwhile, laying in bed with her eyes closed, listening to the soft sounds, Amelia decided she had more important things to think about besides date challenges and eccentric roommates.

Things like corrupt CEOs and fungi.

Chapter 6

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink

Chapter Five

Dad leads us into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is pulling on a coverall and points to a pile of the same.

"You need to wear one of these," he tells Doctor Watson as I take off my gloves and replace them with some latex ones.

"Who's this?" Lestrade asks, gesturing towards John, clearly not recognising him from the flat earlier.

"He's with me," dad replies as Doctor Watson pulls off his jacket.

"But who is he?" Dad looks up and meets Lestrade's eyes.

"I said he's with me." Looking uncomfortable, Watson picks up a coverall and looks to me and dad.

"Aren't you gonna put one on?" I look at him in disbelief, and he shakes his head at his stupidity. Forensics would have a field trip if we wore one of these, plus it's harder to make deductions if your entire body is encased in cheap plastic.

"So where are we?" Dad asks Lestrade as he takes a pair of latex gloves for himself.

"Upstairs," he answers, leading us to a circular staircase going up the centre of the house. 

As we climb the stairs, I get a distinct feeling of deja vu and I look up. If I remember correctly, there's an old nursery at the top of these stairs. 

"I can give you two minutes."

"May need longer," dad says casually. We can only find basic information in that time - the more useful stuff takes a little longer.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her."

They still use this place, even after what happened with me?

Lestrade leads us into a room on the second floor which is desolate apart from an old rocking horse in the far corner. This is my room. Emergency portable lighting is the only thing that lights up this room and scaffolding poles hold up the parts of the ceiling which have started to deteriorate.

The body itself is situated in the middle of the room, face down on the worn floorboards with her arms either side of her head. She's wearing an overcoat in a bright magenta and matching dress, nails and high-heeled shoes. As dad hangs on back, I walk over to take a closer look. The room is silent, apart from the fast-paced thinking of me and dad, and the slower brains of Watson and Lestrade who are struggling to draw even one conclusion. Their floundering is so loud it's almost audible.

"Shut up," dad says suddenly, looking accusingly across to Lestrade and John who both look startled at his outburst.

"I didn't say anything," replies Lestrade.

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

Lestrade and Doctor Watson exchange a look as dad steps forwards to stand beside me. I turn back to the body, but my eyes are drawn to an engraving in the floorboards which is scratched to her left side. The nail varnish on her middle and index nails are chipped and rough compared to her other, spotless, nails. She's left-handed, I establish.

I look back at the engraving and see that it spells 'Rache.' Instantly, I think of its meaning in German - revenge - but quickly dismiss it as a theory. Why would she write that in her last moments? It would have caused her pain. Her index finger lies at the bottom of the 'e', suggesting to me that she died before she could finish writing. How could this word be finished? I cycle through the alphabet: Rached? It's a name of Indian origin, so could it be the name of our killer? Unlikely - serial killers usually target people unknown to them; its improbable either party knew the other's name. Or Rachem - a Hebrew word for mercy? Again, why would she use up the last of her energy writing a plea for mercy - especially as 'mercy' would not only be shorter and therefore quicker to write, but something that she would have voiced orally to her killer (unless she was mute which may not be impossible but is certainly improbable considering her profession). Rachel, then? Another name, but it's unlikely it would refer to her killer as it's obvious this was a man's job. Poison may be a "woman's weapon," but I have no doubt in my mind that it was a man who did this. Perhaps Rachel was her daughter or sister - someone special to her. But why write that in her last moments?

Not particularly happy with my conclusions, but not having much luck with the rest of the alphabet, I move on and kneel beside the body to check over her jewellery - a good way of getting to know her relationship status and an indicator towards her personal hygiene habits which can sometimes be of use. I pull out a small magnifier from my coat pocket and use it to examine her delicate gold bracelet. It's clean and has been regularly cleaned since it was given to her; the same can be said for her earrings and necklace, but not for her rings. No: both her engagement and wedding rings are both dirty. She's married, but unhappily. The scratches on her rings suggest that she's been married for at least ten years, but now she's growing bored of him. I work the wedding ring off of her finger and hold it up for further examination. I can see now the difference on either side of the ring: the inside is as clean as the rest of her jewellery, but the outside is in huge contrast to it. Her partner wasn't satisfying her needs, so she went elsewhere. One affair couldn't have lasted this long, so a string of lovers, then? The ring would have been cleaned each time she slid it off her finger to seduce another man.

Next, I move onto her clothes to see where she comes from. I run my gloved hand down the back of her coat and it comes away wet, but it hasn't rained in London today so she must have come from out of town. Digging into her pocket, I find an unused umbrella and conclude it must have been too windy - a theory that's proven as I run my fingers along the underside of her collar. I pull out my phone and start to search through the recent weather forecasts for the last three hours - a time radius that would mean her clothes wouldn't have time to dry from the rain. Cardiff! She's from out of town, then, so she would have needed a suitcase. I scan down her legs to look for a splash pattern to show me what size bag she would have had before spotting a few specks of mud on her tights. There's only a few on her right leg and none at all above the calf or on her left leg which suggests that she was only wheeling a smallish case behind her. She seems quite fashion conscious so she would only have used a bag like that for an overnight trip. She never reached the hotel, as we can see from the fact that her hair is still tangled from the strong wind in Cardiff. So where's her case?

"Got anything?" Lestrade asks, obviously trying to pull a conclusion from us so they can get off their butts and actually do something. I must say, I'm rather pleased with my deductions today; they're getting better.

"Not much," dad answers indifferently, and turns to me, "Sophia?"

I smile and answer. "Only a few things here and there, but I believe I've covered the basics."

He nods and stands, peeling the gloves off his hands so he can start typing, maybe trying to work out where she came from, or something else which I've missed.

I take another look around the room as I wait, an uneasy feeling still in my stomach as the shadows of the numerous, heinous, crimes play through my mind. I shake it away dismissively.

"She's German," says Anderson, appearing at the doorway. "'Rache': it's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something ..."

Dad walks quickly over to him and slams the door into his face before can inflict any more torment to our ears. "Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" Lestrade asks.

"Of course she's not," dad scoffs. "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ... " he smiles smugly, and it's evident that he's finally found the weather forecast for Cardiff. "... before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry – obvious?" Doctor Watson asks, looking lost.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asks, but dad ignores him.

"Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?" he asks.

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside," Lestrade intervenes, and I roll my eyes. I thought rule one was 'do whatever Sophia and Sherlock tell you to do' which means just go with it. This is how the arguments usually start between other senior members of the police force. I thought Lestrade knew better.

"They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting you two in here."

"Yes ... because you need us," dad says and Lestrade stares at him for a few seconds before he drops his gaze, helpless.

"Yes, I do. God help me."

"Doctor Watson," dad says, and the doctor raises his gaze from the body.

"Hm?" Doctor Watson looks towards Lestrade, seeking permission from the Detective Inspector.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself," Lestrade replies, rather tetchily as he turns around to open the door. "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes!" As I look back, I notice he's slipped out of the room for a minute - probably so he can avoid putting this in his report.

We walk over to the body and I squat down above her head as dad and John take opposite sides. Doctor Watson winces as he lowers himself to the floor, leaning heavily into his cane to ease the pain of his psychosomatic injury.

"Well?" Dad asks quietly after a moment, looking for Doctor Watson's opinion on the cause of death.

"What am I doing here?" Watson asks softly.

"Helping us make a point."

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this is more fun."

I grimace: Watson is a moral and empathetic man - not exactly the type of person who would respond well to us enjoying this.

"'Fun?' There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

Lestrade reappears at the door as John drags his other knee into a kneel so that he can look closer at the body. Putting his head next to hers, he sniffs for any signs of alcohol before drawing back up and checking her skin. Finally, he kneels back up and looks across the body to us.

"Yeah ... Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers," dad says.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth ...?"

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said," Lestrade says, calling time. "I need anything you've got."

We stand up to address him as Doctor Watson struggles to his feet. "Victim is in her late thirties," dad starts. "Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asks, looking around. I spin around, but I can't see any sign of the case. Forensics must have taken it for evidence.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

Lestrade raises his eyebrows. "Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up ..."

Dad squats down to point at her ring as I continue to search for the missing case. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for?" He says, standing back up, and moving towards Lestrade, his analysis speeding up as he reaches his conclusion. "Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant," Doctor Watson says admiringly and dad looks around at him. "Sorry," he apologises, his eyes flicking towards Lestrade.

There is definitely not a suitcase in this room.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade asks, folding his arms.

"It's obvious, isn't it?"

"It's not obvious to me," says John slowly.

Dad pauses as he looks at the other two. "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring."

"Sherlock!" I scold, and I turn back to them to explain. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" I pull out my phone and show them the weather page. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" Doctor Watson remarks loudly and I turn to him, my eyes narrowed.

"D'you know you do that out loud?"

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

I shake my head slightly, frowning, unused to the compliments. "No, it's ... fine."

"Why d'you both keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asks, bringing us back on topic. Dad spins around in a circle to get a look a proper look at the room.

"Yes, where is it? It's not in here, Sophia would have found it by now. The victim must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is."

"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

"No," dad answers sarcastically, "she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asks, and dad points down at her tights where the small black splotches are.

"Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." Dad squats down by her legs so that he can look at them more closely. "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade says shrugging. I look up at him to meet his eyes. If he's correct, then the murderer has made his first mistake.

"Say that again," dad demands slowly, clarifying that he heard right.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." I bolt for the door and start checking all the rooms on this level.

Dad follows me out onto the landing and leans over the rail as he hurries down the stairs. "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" There isn't a reply.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade calls from the top.

Dad starts to slow, but keeps moving. "But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them."

"Right, yeah, thanks!" Lestrade yells sarcastically as I join dad on the stairs, my search unsuccessful. "And...?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – serial killings." Dad claps his hands in delight. "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?"

We stop in between levels as dad looks up. "Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case." He drops his voice, now talking to himself and me. "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." Doctor Watson suggests and I shake my head.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking like that."

"Oh," dad says suddenly, coming to some realisation as his eyes he claps his hands in delight. "Oh!"

"Sherlock?" John yells, sounding concerned for my father's sanity.

"What is it, what?" Lestrade asks, leaning over the rail.

Dad smiles to himself with joy. "Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!" Lestrade yells down to us, annoyed.

"Oh, we're done waiting!" Dad shouts as we start moving again. "Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" We reach the bottom of the stairs, and Lestrade and Doctor Watson disappear from our view.

"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade calls after us, and dad backtracks, climbing a few stairs.

"PINK!"

[kyndaris]

Marching Band

I did not know what to expect when my mother bought tickets for the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo so many moons ago. She simply told me that tickets had been bought and I would be in attendance. In fact, I near forgot it was something on my calendar until my mother reminded me at the start of October. And so, on a warm spring day, I reluctantly settled into the car. Our destination: ANZ Stadium, located at Sydney Olympic Park.

Admittedly, it’s a rare situation where I’m seated in stadium seats. Most of the time, they’re for sport events. The last time that I can recall being inside a stadium was when there was a soccer (although I much prefer the term ‘football’) match in Sydney. Back then, I had brought my huge omnibus of Sherlock Holmes stories and spent most of the evening reading. Occasionally, I’d glance up when the excitement peaked as Australia looked close to scoring a goal. Otherwise, I kept myself busy with the nail-biting deduction adventures of Mr Sherlock Holmes and his erstwhile companion, Dr John Watson.

But back to the event at hand: The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. Suffice it to say, I was pleasantly surprised by the skilful marching and the flamboyant  displays by the various military bands around the world. in fact, right in the middle of the stadium, they had even erected a facsimile of Edinburgh castle - adding to the atmosphere. Flying up top were flags for Australia, Torres Strait Islanders, Aboriginal, Scotland and the United Kingdom. With the addition of fireworks and lit sconces, I could not shake the feeling that it would have been better to witness at night. At the very least, I wouldn’t have been sweltering under the sun.

The event began with some pre-show chatter. Much of it was a quick summary and brief history of military tattoos. I can’t quite remember the name but a very important pitch drove onto the pitch. With a red carpet, it could not have been anyone less important. Plus, they met with many high-ranking officials and a representative of Australia’s First Nations.

With the formalities out of the way, it was time to properly begin. First up was Scotland. It was a rousing display with some excellent precision marching and enthusiastic highland dancing. The narrator of the event also provided some interesting anecdotes on the history of tartan and what it came to represent for the Scottish people.

Unfortunately for my mother, she had used the opportunity to buy my stepfather and I a couple of caps, as well as locate a rather large dollop of sunscreen to be shared among the whole family. By the time she came back, much of Scotland’s first outing was over.

Following afterwards was France. And sticking true to stereotypes, the music piece was Galop Inferno, which is often associated with the CanCan dance. There were many outrageous flashes. Better yet, the French also played a rendition of Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars - showing that not everyone in military bands listened to songs from centuries ago.

Next up was Indonesia. Rather than focusing on precision, their performance was very much high-octane energy and colourful demonstrations. There were many among their number dressed in animal costumes and many of the leaders felt like cheerleaders as they twirled around batons. Certainly, it was the most entertaining of what we had seen thus far.

A combined English and Irish parade came next, before the Swedish took to the stage. Though their numbers were small, they were able to show precise choreography with their flag staffs. There was also some nice sword fighting with the drummer sticks. More mock fights please. 

It was not long before Scotland returned. This time, the dancers had swords in hand and the prop was used to great effect. 

Afterwards, a conglomeration of countries came onto the field. Papua New Guinea, Fiji, Samoa and Tonga, to name a few, were there to represent the Pacific Islands. 

Once the intermission was over, Scotland reopened the military tattoo before New Zealand brought in some some more modern music - ranging from This is Me and The Circle of Life before descending into a hakka performance. Because New Zealand, I suppose. It did not help that they also had a more cultural performance by their Maori contingent. 

Then, surprise, surprise: there was a performance that was meant to encapsulate the frozen south of Antarctica - known as the Lochiel Marching Drill Team. I thought the music piece here was, by far, the best orchestral one we had heard thus far. Most of the other pieces had been proper military with a much stronger focus on drumbeats than on any actual melody with strings and brass.

Australia rounded up the military tattoo. And in this performance, several singers actually graced us all with renditions of Staying Alive, Down Under and The Greatest Show to name but a few. Fuelled by the energy, the entirety of the cast flooded back into the stadium for several other songs that they could not do without. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hear a live rendition of You’re the Voice by John Farnham - with actual bagpipes?! And of course, yours truly knew all the words because my Year 6 teacher had our class marching to it for a performance back in primary school. Ah, memories.

Once it was all over, we were all able to enjoy Auld Lang Syne - a song that I know but can barely pronounce, or know what it means.

Lest I forget, interspersed throughout the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo were also several performances from our Indigenous Australians. 

All in all, it was an enjoyable few hours and much more entertaining than I had initially thought it would be. My mother, unfortunately, seemed a little disappointed. I suppose she wanted it to be a bit more extravagant with cavalry and other such nonsense demanding our attention. True, some horses would have been added to the awe, but I think it was excellently put together with a mixture of classic pieces melding well with the current. 

[thepokyone]

Superwholock Extravaganza: Eleventh Doctor Edition

Gif not mine

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Reader

Content/Warnings: fluff; angst

Set post Sherlock’s fall

Words: 3856

A/N: Part 3 of my Supernatural Extravaganza is here! I hope you all are enjoying this miniseries, as I’m having fun with it. The last pairing will be with Sherlock, so stay tuned!

Episode 3: Itsy-Bitsy Spider

“So, where should we go?” The Doctor asked enthusiastically, bounding around the TARDIS console. Sometimes you wondered if the man ever got tired, with how much energy he always had. “Earth, alien, past, future, what do you say?”

“Surprise me,” You said to him with a smile, legs dangling back and forth from where you sat on the railing. “Are we going to get Amy and Rory?”

“I figured this one could just be the two of us! Is that okay?” He asked with a dazzling smile.

You sent him a matching one in return. “Of course! I love spending time with you.”

“Oh, brilliant!” He said, somehow getting even happier as he turned back to the console. “I know just where to go! Here, pull that lever!”

You hopped off the rail, pulling the one he pointed to. “Do I get to know where we’re going?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” The Doctor said as the TARDIS settled. “Now, just close your eyes and -”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You blinked. “Is that the phone?”

“Why yes, I do believe it is!” He said. “Probably just Amy, I’m sure she left something on the TARDIS again. Hello!” His eyebrows quickly drew downwards, and you had known him long enough to know what that meant. Someone was in trouble. “What? No, no, we weren’t doing anything very important. We’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone and clapped his hands together. “So, Y/N, bad news. We’re going to have to go on a surprise adventure some other day, there’s a bit of an emergency in London. Bit ahead of your time, this London, but unfortunately you’re not allowed to get the new iPhone.”

“I didn’t want -” You sighed. “Never mind. Who was it, anyways?”

“An old friend!” The Doctor said happily. “You’ve never met him, but he’s really quite brilliant. Almost as smart as me, and twice as observant!”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” You said with a smile as the Doctor pulled levers and pushed buttons around the console. “Who is it?”

“Only the most famous detective to ever live!” The Doctor said, giving your nose a tap as he went by. “Sherlock Holmes, of course!”

“Who’s Sherlock Holmes?” You asked, scrunching up your eyebrows. “I mean, he sounds familiar, but…”

“Oh! Right, you came aboard a bit before his rise to fame.” The Doctor twiddled his fingers upwards for effect. “Really, brilliant, a bit rude though! Rude, but brilliant. Brude? Rilliant?”

“Doctor?” You interrupted, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’m sure he’s waiting.”

“Yes! Right!” The Doctor said, doubling back to grab your hand and pull you out of the TARDIS. “Here we are! 221B Baker Street, home to the most brilliant human mind in the world!”

“You flatter me, Doctor.” The door opened, revealing a tall man with pale eyes and a mop of dark curls. He wore a long blue trench coat, which reminded you of the coat the Doctor wore in his tenth regeneration. “Please, come in. Something has happened, and this seems to be more of your area.”

“Well, what sort of thing?” The Doctor asked, following Sherlock inside. “I love things! All sorts of things. Odd things, normal things, stuff-that-happens-only-on-Tuesday things -”

“Doctor,” You interrupted his excited rant.

“Yes! Right!” The Doctor said brightly. “Sherlock, meet my companion slash girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N.”

“I had deducted,” Sherlock stated, looking unfazed by the Doctor’s rant. You wondered how long they had known each other (and how you hadn’t known that they knew each other). “Pleasure.”

He led you upstairs, through a door and into a sitting room. A blond man was in an armchair, reading a newspaper, and glanced up when the three of you entered, his eyebrows flicking upwards. “Sherlock?”

“John, this is the man I was telling you about. Doctor, Y/N, meet my friend and flatmate, John Watson.”

You and the Doctor gave identical, awkward waves. John returned with one of his own. “Hi.”

“Hello!” The Doctor responded, not missing a beat. “I’m the Doctor! The last time I saw Sherlock, he didn’t have an friends. Good job!”

Sherlock gave the Doctor a look as said man gave him two enthusiastic pats on the back. “Right. Anyways, Doctor, I didn’t just make a social call.”

“Of course not, you never were one for human interaction,” The Doctor said, pulling out his sonic screwdriver and wandering around the apartment, still talking as he took readings. “So, what seems to be the problem?”

“Moriarty,” Sherlock said gravely.

“Oh,” The Doctor breathed. “Oh, now that is interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” You asked. “Who’s Moriarty?”

“A genius, just like good ol’ Sherlock here,” The Doctor said, smacking his screwdriver in the palm of his hand. It seemed to be acting up. “An evil one, at that. What’s this, 2014? He’s been dead for, oh, two years ago now.”

“Then explain to me, Doctor, how two days ago he showed up in my living room,” Sherlock said.

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Did he really? Where was he sitting? What did he want?”

Sherlock nodded towards where John was seated. “He sat right there. Moriarty said he had, and I quote, ‘moved on to bigger prey’. I suppose he found someone smarter than me - in his eyes, anyways. Because, Doctor, let’s face it. There is no one smarter than me.”

John snorted. “Great, Sherlock. Very humble. I’d say the only one smarter than you would be the Doctor here.”

“You know what the oddest thing of all is, Doctor?” Sherlock said. “Something I have absolutely no explanation for?”

“What?” The Doctor asked, his interest peaked.

“His eyes,” Said Sherlock simply. “Before he left. They turned black. Completely. He steps out of the flat, and then he was just,” Sherlock snapped his fingers. “Gone.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed, deep in thought. “Oh, you do have a bit of a problem on your hands, don’t you?”

“What are you thinking, Doctor?” Sherlock asked, pacing back and forth. “Moriarty died. I saw it, there’s no way he could have faked that.”

“No, no, of course not. Bullet to the head? He’s definitely dead. So they question is… What was in your house?” The Doctor asked, sonicing around John’s chair.

“Doctor, I don’t know,” Sherlock stressed, looking displeased to utter such words.

“That’s a first,” John muttered.

The detective sent him a glare before continuing. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have called you here.”

“Right!” The Doctor said, clapping his hands together. “Right. Y/N, you haven’t said much, what do you think?”

“Me?” You repeated. “Doctor, I don’t know -”

“Oh, come on!” He said. “It doesn’t hurt to have a second opinion. Or third, in this case.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but when Sherlock said the thing about his eyes, being black - my first thought was demon. Like in the movies,” You said with a grimace.

The Doctor froze, turning to look at you. “Say that again, but slowly.”

“I said, my first thought was demon. Like in the movies.” As someone long used to the Doctor’s oddities, you found no point in asking why.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re absolutely brilliant!” The Doctor exclaimed, kissing you in his excitement before bolting out the door. He popped his head back in when he realized you hadn’t been following. “Well, come on! We have a trip to make!”

“What?” You asked as he disappeared once more. You shot Sherlock a confused look before chasing after him. “Doctor, wait up! What do you mean, we have a trip to make? You can’t actually believe it was a demon! Doctor!”

You finally caught up to him, slipping into the TARDIS and pulling the door shut behind you. He shot you an excited grin. “Oh, the eyes were the clue! I can’t believe I missed the eyes! Off we pop!”

“Where are we going?” You asked as he danced around the TARDIS console, the time-traveling box wheezing to life. You grabbed the railing to steady yourself, and the TARDIS settled after a few more moments. “Doctor!”

“Demons!” The Doctor said, flinging open the door to the TARDIS. “I need to consult a professional!”

“Doctor, demons aren’t -” But he had already disappeared outside, and you hurried after him, beyond confused. “Doctor, what’s going - oomph!” In your rush, you had ran straight into a man who easily towered over you. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The man chuckled. “It’s alright, don’t worry about it. You okay?”

“Yeah,” You said. “Nothing bruised but my pride.”

“Oh good, you found her!” The Doctor’s voice distracted you. He was half-jogging over to you, followed by a man slightly taller than him who was dressed in flannel. “Sam, Dean, meet Y/N, my companion slash girlfriend!”

You weren’t sure which one was which, but the shorter of the two raised his eyebrows. “Of all the men in the world, and you choose to date him?”

“Well, he has a certain charm,” You said with a shrug. “So, are you Sam or Dean?”

“Dean,” He answered, flashing you a movie-star smile. You blushed in spite of yourself, causing the Doctor to frown. “Sammy here is my younger brother. So, Doctor, what can we do for you?”

“Bit of a demon problem, actually,” The Doctor said, quickly losing his frown. “Over in London. You have heard of Sherlock Holmes, I’d imagine?” Dean said no at the same time Sam said yes. “Most famous detective in London. Now, I wouldn’t call for just anything, but said demon has come back wearing the skin of his old nemesis, Moriarty. Died a couple years ago.”

“You came to the right hunters, then,” Sam said with a slight grimace. “We have a bit of experience with demons.”

You glanced confusedly at the Doctor. “Wait, demons are real? Seriously?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all real, basically every legend you’ve ever heard is real, do keep up,” The Doctor said. “So, boys, mind taking a quick vacation to London?”

The brothers glanced at each other and shrugged. Sam answered. “Sure, Doctor, we just need to grab our gear then we’ll meet you at the TARDIS.”

“Brilliant!” The Doctor said with a giddy smile. “We’re parked right over there!”

“Other way,” You said, nudging his arm in the right direction.

“Yes, right, over there!” The Doctor said. “Just making sure you remembered. We’ll meet you there, Winchesters!”

Dean gave a half-salute as the Doctor grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards the TARDIS. “Interesting family, the Winchesters! Clever, too, in their own way.”

“It’s all real?” You repeated. “All the legends about werewolves and vampires and witches and stuff - they’re all real?”

The Doctor nodded, giving your hand a squeeze as the two of you walked back into the TARDIS. “Yes, it is a lot to take in. I was in a bit of shock myself, when I found out.”

“I had no idea,” You said, still in shock. “And Sam and Dean, they, what? Hunt those things?”

“Well, someone has to do it,” The Doctor said, standing awkwardly by the TARDIS console. “They’re good at it. And not bad looking, either.”

Now that got your attention. You wondered what reaction the Doctor was looking for, and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

The Doctor pouted. “More attractive than me?”

“Doctor,” You said with a grin. “Are you jealous?”

“Oh, no,” He said, shaking his head. “Just curious. For science.”

You refrained the urge to laugh, knowing how the Doctor tended to be. “You are jealous! Doctor, believe me, you have nothing to worry about. I prefer aliens to the supernatural anyways, I think.”

“You, ah, you think?” The Doctor stuttered as you grabbed his suspenders.

“I do think,” You affirmed. “Do I have to prove it?”

“Does it involve kissing?” He asked, looking both flustered and pleased.

“I do believe it does,” You said, pulling him down to press your lips to his. You felt his chest hum happily and smiled against his lips. After several moments you parted. “Good enough for you, Doctor?”

“Oh, yes, um…” He stammered, cheeks slightly pink. “I may need a reminder later, though!”

“Whatever you need,” You said with a wink, causing his cheeks to darken more in color.

The Winchesters opened the doors to the TARDIS at that moment, and Sam gave a cheeky grin. “Hope we aren’t interrupting anything.”

“Nope,” You said, waving them inside. “Feel free to set your bags down wherever, just be warned that they’ll probably roll around when we travel.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ve traveled by TARDIS before,” Dean said, swinging his bag down from his shoulder and on to a chair. “It was a while back, though. Dear ol’ Doc looks a bit different now.”

“How’d you know it was him, then?” You asked curiously. The Doctor’s eleventh regeneration looked nothing like his tenth, much less his ninth.

“Anyone that dresses that oddly has got to be the Doctor,” Dean said, causing the Doctor to give a pout. “Seriously, though, who else travels around in a blue telephone box? We saw you all arrive, and were headed your way before you bumped into Sam.”

“Literally,” Sam added, causing you to send him a sheepish smile. “So, we’re headed to London, you said?”

“To visit the great Sherlock Holmes!” The Doctor said, the TARDIS humming to life. “Apparently, Moriarty is back from the dead!”

“As a demon?” Dean clarified. “I didn’t realize hell let them topside so soon.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam said. “Moriarty’s back, and from what I’ve read, that’s not good. He’ll be even worse as a demon.”

“I bet the bastard will give Crowley a run for his money,” Dean said, re-shouldering his bag. “C’mon, let’s get this over with. Sam has got a knife that’ll gank the demon, if we can get close enough.”

“Good, good!” The Doctor said. You had never heard him pleased about killing anything, though you supposed demons fell under a different category than alien. “Here we are, back at 221B! Come come, Sherlock is waiting!”

“Is he always this…” Sam trailed off.

You smirked. “Hyper? Yeah.”

“Wow,” Dean muttered, before following after him. You came last, shutting the TARDIS door behind you and giving the box a pat before going in to 221B.

“Good, you’re back,” Sherlock said, eyebrows raising as he caught view of the Winchester brothers. “Who are they? Americans?”

“Professionals, Sherlock. Professionals!” The Doctor corrected. “They can help with our little demon problem, that is, if you can get Moriarty back here.”

Sherlock pursed his lips. “I can try.”

“Do you really think this will work?” You asked the Doctor dubiously. The Winchesters were setting their devil’s traps, several of them littered throughout the flat. Moriarty wouldn’t be able to walk through to door without being caught by one.

“I would think so,” Sherlock said. “Hope so. Hopefully. It will hopefully work.”

“That’s very comforting,” Sherlock said. “But we still don’t know how to get him here. I don’t think he has a cell phone anymore.”

“You’re going to summon him,” Sam said. “If he’s a demon now, he can’t refuse.”

“Oh,” John said, looking as if he’d rather do the exact opposite. “Great.”

Sherlock was finishing the chant to the summoning spell. You and the Doctor were hidden in John’s room, waiting for Dean’s signal. The Winchesters were hidden just out of sight in the hall, where they’d be in easy striking distance. You had to admit, the six of you made a pretty good team. Though you still weren’t sure how okay you were with the whole supernatural thing.

“Sherlock!” A giddy voice not belonging to any of the members of your party said. “You called! And to think that I thought you didn’t know how! See, always impressing me. Unfortunately, I’m still not interested in my game with you. Not anymore. See, I’ve moved on to bigger things. Greener pastures.”

“I know what you are,” Sherlock said calmly. “I want to know how you got out so quickly.”

“What?” There was the sound of shoes against the floor. “See, now how could you know that? I was assured that you didn’t! How interesting. Have you got other friends helping you, Sherly?”

“Do you see any?” Sherlock asked, sounding unruffled. You wondered if anything could rattle the man.

“No,” Moriarty half-sang. “But that doesn’t mean nobody is there. Say, Sherlock, I must ask, I’m simply dying to know. Well, not really dying, but you get it. I have to ask: have you heard of a man called the Doctor?”

“Only in passing,” The detective said. You heard more movement as the two conversed. “Why?”

“Sherlock, I know how you are. You want to know who I think is smarter. Smarter than you. Smart enough to outthink me!” Moriarty giggled. He really was crazy. “And this man, the Doctor, the man from another world - from the moment I heard about him, he had my attention. Can you imagine, after so many centuries, the things you would see? The things you could learn? The cleverness you’d gain?”

The Doctor gave a quiet scoff, and you sought his hand, giving it a squeeze once you found it. He didn’t let go after that. You tuned back in to the conversation. “Your game is over, Moriarty.”

“Come now, Sherlock, don’t be like that,” Moriarty pouted. “Don’t be like that. The game isn’t even about you anymore, why should you be concerned?”

“Because there’s a demon walking around,” Sherlock said. “The demon of Jim Moriarty. And that, I think, is more dangerous than the you that was human could ever be.”

Moriarty gave a dark chuckle. “Here’s the thing, Sherlock: I was never very much human to begin with. After all, remember your first case. I did start rather… young. The demons only had to torture me for a day, before I took the knife and got my own hands dirty. I did that for centuries. And for me to find out that it had only been, what, a few years here? Of course I was pleased. It meant you were still around. Not that I cared very much, as I said, the game isn’t about you anymore. Jim Moriarty doesn’t even exist anymore, not in the literal sense. I just liked this meat suit so much, I had to -” Sherlock started chuckling. You could hear the anger in Moriarty’s voice. “What? What’s so funny?”

“It’s just, Jerry was it - oh, no - Jim. You see, Jim, you’ve just walked straight into our devil’s trap,” Dean said.

“The Winchesters,” Moriarty spat. “Funny thing: you don’t know Sherlock. At least, that’s what the word on the street is.”

“Maybe you should spend more time finding information out for yourself,” Sam said.

“Before we kill you,” Dean said. “There’s someone we want you to meet.”

You nudged the Doctor out, knowing that was your cue, and you followed behind him into the living room. Moriarty wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. His eyes were pitch black, like Sherlock had described, and everything about him was a bit like a snake - poised, tense, and ready to strike at any moment.

“Doctor,” Moriarty breathed. His eyes cleared, going back to their normal, dark-colored irises, and somehow that was scarier than the demon eyes. Because these eyes felt like they were cutting you, dissecting you, cataloging your every weakness. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. “You’re younger than I expected.”

“Not really,” The Doctor said, walking carefully around the devil’s trap. “You see, after a while, a long life isn’t a blessing. It’s a curse. Because you may get to live, but everyone you love, everyone you care about, or even remotely like - they all die. Then the game is really over, Jim, for real, because there’s no one left to play the game with. It’s only you, staring at the smoldering remains of humanity. And then you will wish you stayed on that rack instead of taking the knife, because now, it is just you.”

Moriarty gave the Doctor a scary smile, one that said he could care less. “Oh, you’re wise, Doctor. But I will be too. I will stand, staring at the smoldering remains of humanity, and laugh. Because none of you were really that spectacular. You just thought you were.”

“Bad news,” Dean said, stepping into the circle. Sam did the same, grabbing Moriarty and easily restraining him. “You won’t be around for the end of humanity. You won’t even be around for the end of the day. We may not be spectacular, but you are less than that. You are a demon, a monster. You are nothing.”

And Dean plunged the knife into Moriarty’s chest.

You were leaned against the TARDIS console, reading the manual. You had already said farewell to Sherlock and John, and had dropped Sam and Dean back in the Americas with the promise that the three of you would keep in touch. The brothers were actually pretty cool, supernatural stuff put aside. The Doctor had disappeared after that. In fact, you noticed he had seemed quite shaken up ever since Moriarty, which was unlike him. Sighing, you pushed yourself off the console, setting the TARDIS manual on the seat in favor of finding the Doctor. It had been several hours since everyone had parted, and you decided that was a long enough span of time to leave him alone.

You found the Doctor in his room. He was laying face-up on his bed, just staring at the ceiling, though he glanced over when you entered. “I thought I locked it.”

“The TARDIS likes me,” You said, offering him a smile as you padded over to the bed. “Doctor, what’s wrong?”

He heaved a sigh, looking like he didn’t want to talk about it, though when you sat down on the bed beside him he seemed to realize you weren’t going to go away. Sighing again, the Doctor sat up, scooting over so that he was next to you by the edge of the bed. “It’s just something Moriarty said. About staring at the remains of humanity and laughing. And it just made me think that I could end up like that.”

“But you won’t,” You said instantly, grabbing his hand. He stared down at your entwined fingers. “You want to know how I know?”

“Yes,” He said, glancing over at you.

“Because you’re sitting here, worried about it. Because you’re so compassionate that you would jump back into a crumbling pocket universe to save a being that had attacked you. Because of the shine in your eyes when you get excited and the tears that you cry when people die and you believe that somehow, it’s your fault, even though no one can save everyone, Doctor. Not even you,” You said. “That’s how I know you won’t end up like Moriarty, Doctor. You’re too good.”

“Thank you.” The Doctor gave you a genuine smile, looking reassured, and he pressed a kiss into your hair.

You returned his smile. “Of course.”

[aheartofwood]

the king arthur movie is SO BAD, guys.

imagine a baby and a kitten got together and tried to edit a movie with only the vaguest idea of arthurian legend based on the backs of the VHS of the disney version and also the lion king for some reason, and also the barest idea of how human brains can accept and understand editing and narrative. imagine a pretty good video game opening for 2001, but watched thru the haze of a really strenuous flu and it’s rented and ancient and was chewed up by at least two dogs so it’s glitching a lot. imagine a knight’s tale……………Reimagined™ (needlessly) by a team of randos who only speak italian and their ideas are being translated by jen from the IT crowd in that one episode where she pretends she can speak italian. imagine a movie with a budget of four dollars (except the budget was HUGE). imagine an opium dream within a dream of robert downey jr’s 2009 sherlock holmes where jude law becomes a boring, leathery king who has a bad habit of constantly sacrificing the silent women he supposedly loves to an undulating pile of lovecraftian horror water ladies that live in his shame toilet in his penis tower basement ONLY to super saiyan into a really bad DnD dude with a motorcycle-insignia-metal skull head and the torso of two The Rocks smashed together (sorry, The Rock) instead of (a much better) watson. imagine eragon, but somehow exceedingly, fremdschamenly, schadenfreudingly worse. not many things get both german expressions, in a gleefully terrible adverb form at that, but this movie——oh, THIS movie——-deserves them. 

the letters of the opening credits roll (or creep?) across the screen. the kerning is bad. all the T’s have a phallic, buffylike, sword motif going on and it renders the names unreadable. the colors and the blurry shots look like something out of monty python. again, who hired this editor? who watched this movie, kissed their fingertips like an italian grandma, and gently set this eldritch horror adrift on the tides of eternity to be received with fear and loathing by millions of human eyes? the elephants from lord of the rings attack the bridge from legend of zelda, and that red flamey eye guy from eragon (mordred, for some reason, in a shake n bake wig) ?? or possibly from inkheart?? is defeated. remember, we know nothing about these characters. feel nothing for them. and the trend continues. katie mcgrath appears, of course, in her standard and splendid emerald green, and then immediately dies. none of the shots in the first 20 minutes of the movie match up, we go from scenes with several people to ultra close ups of faces—-it’s like the “mmmm whatcha say” SNL skit, but serious. the movie continues to not know if it’s playing itself seriously or if it knows how bad it truly is (how bad me be?)

finally we get ONE establishing shot of a sweeping wall (maybe? the camera never stays still enough to tell) and the audience (five people) grounds ourselves, sort of. we get a whip-fast, but not whip-smart, super evolution of arthur’s childhood, in which he shoves coins into a wall (see kids!!! if u just put YR COINS IN YR WALLS instead of BUYING GODDAMN AVOCADOS, U COULD HAVE A CASTLE!!!!) and hearkens back to his character in pacific rim, bc he’s just a scrappy, vaguely appropriative white guy that loves 2 fight stuff. oh, his mom is killed when he’s young ofc. charlie hunnam eventually fucks off to the island w the sword in the sort-of stone (none of the physics makes sense in this movie?? the sword in the stone dropped into a lake, but is now in a chasm on a different island which shows no sign of the ruins of arthur’s childhood town?? in the final fight scene, charlie hunnam is several floors up from scythe-y jude law, but then suddenly they’re fighting on the top of saruman’s tower  scuse me at the whipping sea-level, then suddenly BACK IN THE TOWER bc i guess it wasn’t destroyed????? bc then it gets destroyed again??) of course, charlie hunnam is the One Man who can Grip the penis sword, even though in an interesting turn of events, They are Testing Everyone by shipping them in boats to the island (this seems like an egregious waste of resources). charlie hunnam got in this unfortch sitch bc i forgot, but the guy who put him on the boat chuckled darkly and said he was “”””getting on a different boat””””, but like, doesn’t everyone end up there?? it had the air of the DMV, on purpose, so why was this a threat? how did he avoid it for so long? are there that many people in the kingdom??? also, if i was him i’d straight up pretend i couldn’t lift it tbh and come back for it when They were getting donuts. oh, another inkheart thing—the BLONDE MOM SURVIVES (!!!??? somehow???? unexplained? she had a HOLE THRU HER BODY??) and maybe has memory loss or something and spends her days being somehow indispensable to jude law despite doing nothing but moving a plate. 

i cannot explain the rest of the plot, because i do not understand it. charlie hunnam just EXPERIENCES things with a world-weary, almost kingly worldliness, despite flashing in between being an innocent farm boy who doesn’t wanna do anything and a self-assured wisecracking hustler. there are some good jokes about boring white dude names in a medieval setting, and no more humor forever is allowed in this movie or any movies ever again. a chris parnell lookalike with a hat says he can shoot 75 yards but not 175, then shoots 175 with absolutely no introduction/buildup/continuance/jokes and spends the rest of the film as robin hood. there are some other dudes?????? more women (the brothel ladies that rescue arthur from the river ((not unlike….the prince of egypt…..)) are killed to further manpain, including lucy, who is Special for an unexplained reason. jude law murders his daughter (i guess???), who has a russian name and a tendency to sit around and stroke birds and stare sappily out the window (i feel u, johanna). everyone is wearing medieval versions of suits. there are many iterations of snake, ranging from economy-sized snake to a Giant Fuckmaster Snake Mother. at least five cloaks are cast off. eric bana becomes a literal rock. everything has the vague, shuddering feeling of an improv show where everyone wants the final word/bit. there is grit, there is dirt, there is snake blood, and there is clanking. so much clanking. charlie hunnam is bravely hurling one-liners but no one is listening. what is the sound of only one hand on excalibur???? apparently not as powerful as…………T W O hands on excalibur. 

the editing continues to be bizarre. they keep trying to do the inception thing where they talk about the plan while showing the plan, therefore (in inception, correctly) allowing us to get to the good parts, but there ARE NO GOOD PARTS or even parts at all and they don’t fully commit to the dang method anyway. the shining light of the film, an unnamed mage woman with good bone structure and sweet harem pants (and who COULD have at least been set up as morwen but was not) who can possess animals and also make a lot of dust fly around behind her, becomes charlie hunnam’s spiritual guide?? sort of?? maybe love interest??? she seems to have no interest in him or inhabiting the worldly narrative/plane of this movie. i do not blame her. anyway, she’s got the eagles from LOTR on her side. she dopes the shit out of charlie hunnam (again, why) with a literal snake and he solves his daddy/uncle issues (line @ jude law: “”””you created me”””””) in an incomprehensible nonlinear part of the narrative (she was captured, but i guess jude law let her go before hunnam got to the castle???? bc he’s Not So Bad After All? bc he was bored? eating a sandwich? fuck idk so she could have met him in the middle of fuck knows? i mean if they have medieval lyft or medieval twitter DMing or something??)  also, he may or may not have gone to a ””””””DARK””””””””island, but he did NOT solve his daddy issues there. he did, however, fight some rodents of unusual size from the princess bride. 

ok that is all the energy i have; this movie has sapped me, i am nothing in the great maw of its terribleness. other stuff happens. we have a happy ending, with 4/6ths of the Round Table built (literally and figuratively), and some Vikings conceding to charlie hunnam for no other reason than he’s a bro, i guess. line: how do u scam money out of a viking? u talk to them. SEE MILLENNIALS ALL U HAVE TO DO IS TALK AND PPL GIVE U MONEY or be born the true heir to the throne of (fake england). 

the worst part is that i don’t understand how jude law, who is 44, looks the same the entire movie and watches as charlie hunnam, who is 37, grows up and eventually challenges him. eric bana, who is 48, doubtlessly had fictional charlie hunnam arthur at like 27-35, making jude law the same age in that fiction. i guess men can just ???? play any age????????? forever??????? honorable mentions: the soundtrack, jude law’s eyeshadow, and the preview for atomic blonde. 

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #110 - The Great Mouse Detective

Spoilers Below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: DVD

1) When it comes to Disney animated films, there are certain “ages” you can divide them up into. This film technically falls into what is known as The Bronze Age, the films released after The Jungle Book (after Walt Disney’s death) but before The Little Mermaid. In many ways though The Great Mouse Detective laid the groundwork for the Disney Renaissance (The Little Mermaid to Tarzan). It is one of the standout films of the Bronze Age, introduced us to the directing team behind many Renaissance classics (The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, Hercules), and according to an article published by Oh My Disney, “it had great music, utter commitment to its concept, and a willingness to innovate technologically,” all of which are concepts which would define the Disney Renaissance.

2) There are some obvious parallels between this and Sherlock Holmes story, mainly that Basil of Baker Street (the titular great mouse detective) lives on 221 1/2 Baker Street under the famous Sherlock Holmes. When I was a little kid I thought Dr. Watson was named Dr. Dawson because this film’s Watson is named Dawson.

3) Olivia is a nice character.

She is wonderfully curious, chipper, intuitive, but without being annoying like so many child characters can be. She’s a nice character to enter this world with.

4) Basil of Baker Street.

Basil is the Sherlock Holmes equivalent of this story without being a carbon copy of the character. He has Holmes ego, distaste for other people, and obsessive nature. But because this is an animated film for families Basil is filled with an animated energy. He is expressive and passionate, qualities which are found in Holmes but not in such exuberance.

5) Our first meeting with Basil has him matching up a bullet he just fired from a gun with another bullet to see if they match. As a kid I had no idea what he was trying to do.

6)

Basil [after Olivia says her father is gone]: “Surely your mother must know where he is.”

Olivia: “I don’t have a mother.”

Without the text, this is Basil’s reaction:

And I feel like in his mind he’s just like, “Well, now I feel like an asshole.”

7) Basil has a framed portrait of his archenemy?

That seems very telling of him as a character.

8) Vincent Price as Ratigan.

Vincent Price brings SO much to Ratigan. According to IMDb:

Vincent Price realized a life-long dream with this film. He had always wanted to be the voice of a character in a Disney film.

During the recording of Vincent Price's lines, animators sketched his exaggerated Shakespearean gestures and worked them into the animated poses for Ratigan.

Vincent Price realized a life-long dream with this film. He had always wanted to be the voice of a character in a Disney film.

You can tell that Price is having a lot of fun with the role and that makes it fun for the audience to watch! He gets to sing two songs (something Price didn’t get to do) and Price’s best asset was always his voice and it is on full display in this film. Price’s work in this film makes Ratigan great and one of the Mouse House’s most underrated bad guys.

9) Let me get this straight: the plot of this film involves the bad guy...

Kidnapping a father away from his daughter...

To build something which will allow him power in the empire?

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

10) “World’s Greatest Criminal Mind”

This is a great bad guy song which tells you a lot about Ratigan. It tells you about how much of a bad guy he is, the things he’s done, as well as his ruthlessness and self loathing when it comes to being a rat. Also there’s a cameo in here from Alice in Wonderland!

Bill the Lizard has the privilege of showing up in two different Disney films separated by 35 years! Raises a lot of questions about the film’s continuity if you think too much about it (like I do) but still a lot of fun!

11) So Basil has help from a dog named Toby who lives in Sherlock Holmes’ home.

Toby is from the Holmes stories and is used sometimes by the detective, and most recently showed up in the season 4 premiere of the Cumberbatch led “Sherlock”. I thought it was just a random dog but it’s kinda cool to learn that he has a deeper connection to Holmes mythology.

12) While Basil shares the same name as the actor who played Holmes repeatedly in the 30s & 40s Basil Rathbone, we hear a little of Holmes actually speak in this film and while it is Rathbone it is NOT from one of those films. Instead, according to IMDb:

Sherlock Holmes speaks with the voice of Basil Rathbone. Although it is often erroneously claimed that the lines are taken from one of Rathbone's 1940s performances as Sherlock Holmes on film or radio, this is not true. The cameo is edited from Rathbone's reading of the Sherlock Holmes story "The Adventure of the Red-Headed League" by Arthur Conan Doyle for Caedmon Records in 1966, just months before his death. This explains why Rathbone's voice sounds older and less crisp than in his famous films, and more importantly, why the voice of Rathbone's co-star Nigel Bruce was not used for Dr. Watson's brief cameo. According to the text of "The Adventure of the Red-Headed League", this would mean that the film takes place sometime in the autumn of 1890.

13) Dumbo cameo (sort of)!

14) I thought this line was awesome as a kid.

Fidget [after Olivia stomps his foot]: “Ah! My foot! My only foot!”

15) So Basil and Dawson go to this seedy sailor bar in search of Ratigan and as soon as he says they’re looking for him EVERYONE gasps. Then the waitress responds with, “Never heard of him.”

16) The “Let Me Be Good To You” song in the bar is weird.

The "Let Me Be Good To You" segment was almost cut because though brief, the lyrics and some animation was considered "too risqué" for a Disney animated family film, the animators avoided a PG rating and got the scene kept in by appealing to the censors on the grounds that the segment was a Caberet song and harmless in lyrics, and because the character animated singing it was a mouse, not a human and thus not questionable.

17) So Ratigan outsmarts Basil and traps him and Basil just is so defeated and beast himself up. I thought of something watching this I wanted to yell at every Sherlock Holmes character I’ve ever seen: “GET OVER YOURSELF!!!!!”

18) Ratigan leaves before Basil’s death trap is set off and I can’t help but think of this line from Emperor Palpatine in a recent “How It Should Have Ended” video.

Palpatine: “We look forward watching your demise. But unfortunately we won’t be able to see it. As standard villain practices go we must now conveniently leave the room and assume the killing device achieves its desired purpose.”

19) This line from Ratigan when it looks like he’s going to be the queen’s aid reminds me of a certain world leader who shall remain nameless.

Ratigan: “I have the power! I am supreme! This is MY kingdom!”

20) The best part of this film is the clock tower climax.

Many hand drawn animated films from the 2000s and late 90s are marked with mixing CGI and 2D animation, but The Great Mouse Detective is one of the first to do this. It is a callback to the iconic scenes from the Golden Age of Disney animation and sets a precedent for scenes like the Wildebeest Chase in The Lion King for the upcoming Renaissance. It’s memorable! Big, tense, fun! It has an incredible element of fantasy and imagination to it which is the hallmark of all great Disney animation. A great action climax to the film and just a joy to watch.

The Great Mouse Detective is a truly joyful treat from Disney animation, and one of their most underrated pre-Renaissance films. If you’re a fan of Disney, animation, Sherlock Holmes or even Vincent Price I think you’ll like this movie.

[roselirry]

an anon told me i should do this so why not (but we’re gonna act like @stylesmyth tagged me)

rules: choose a couple of fave photos/gifs/manips/etc of your ship! copy and paste the questions down below! answer as if you’re the characters that have been tagged! then tag some more of your fave ships/characters to answer next!

I tag isla and Harry @beggingforfics (BECAUSE SHE STILL HASN’T DONE IT YET) (I don’t think)

WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO:

Make breakfast: Lucy wakes up first but she’ll lay in bed until she absolutely can’t hold her bladder any longer and that normally is enough to wake Harry and he gets his day started immediately with some lovely egg white scramble with cheese and tomatoes and chorizo. 

Cuddle the other for no reason: Harry. As we all know, Lucy doesn’t cuddle while she’s asleep, and while she’s a big fan of cuddling while conscious, she doesn’t really think about it all that often, so more often than not it’s Harry that just like “budge over.” and suddenly they’re cuddling. 

Sleep on the couch after an argument: Neither! 

Drive and who is most likely to ride shotgun: Lucy is much better a riding a bike than a car and she still doesn’t understand the whole “right side of the road” thing, so she just kind of lets herself watch Harry constantly. Or she’ll drink gingerale because she gets a bit nauseous during long car rides. 

Choose the music in the car: After that one time where Lucy only played one direction songs that should’ve been singles and should’ve been given more of a chance...Harry still lets her pick the music. 

Get jealous: Harry. But like not extremely so. 

Break the expensive gift rule: Always god damn Harry. (”Harry, Franklin me and you do not need matching Burberry rain coats!” “Harry I don’t need an ice cream maker!” “Lucy, I got us a trip to Italy!” “HARRY!”)

Remember anniversaries: Harry, poor Lucy has too many dates in her head. One time she wished him a happy anniversary on the anniversary of one of her characters and it was embarrassing as fuck. 

Sneak sweets in the shopping cart: Who do you think? (”Lucy we have ten pints of ice cream”)

Hog the covers at night: Franklin. He sometimes will go under their covers and move around so much that he ends up pulling the covers off of them some nights and then they both wake up frozen and have to disentangle their dog from the bed spread.

1. What do you do when the other is upset?

Harry: I calm her down. Always. I let her get her mind off of things with writing or talking about her stories. Or I’ll let her vent. Sometimes she just needs to vent.    Lucy: I give him space, unless he gives me the puppy dog look then Franklin and I cuddle him up real nice. But normally just me making him laugh works. 

2. Who is more romantic? Give examples.

Harry: Lucy’s pretty romantic, writes all these love letters about me and let’s other people see them online so I guess that’s pretty romantic.  

Lucy: I can’t even look at you right now. 

Harry: But Lucy really is pretty romantic, she’ll share her ice cream sometimes and she started buying me dairy free ice cream and she even makes me protein shakes or fruit smoothies if she knows I’m coming home from a long morning of workouts. 

Lucy: Harry does my laundry, and carries my groceries, he also holds the umbrella over my head when it rains. 

3. What do your families think of your relationship?

Harry: My mum loved her from the moment she saw Lucy, of course it was probably because I talked about her like she was sent from Heaven and my mum really appreciates, and I quote, “someone who never lets the dimple take a break.” 

Lucy: No comment. 

4. If you had to wear a couples costume for Halloween, what would you go as?

Harry: We tried to do fruit salad one year, but Lucy then decided we have to go as the couple from 101 Dalmatians and find our dog a dalmatian costume. 

Lucy: We also discussed Sherlock Holmes and Watson with our handy dandy pooch investigator. 

5. Are you both earlier rises? Or do you both sleep in? Or is there one of each?

Harry: I’m an early riser if I’m working out, otherwise I sleep in until like 9 or 10. Depending on how much I love the sleep. 

Lucy: Early-ish definitely. 

6. Do you have any routines at night? Before bed, in bed, etc.

Harry: Honestly, I just tend to read, or I write in my journal. But more often than not I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. 

Lucy: I read fanfiction as my bedtime story. 

7. What nicknames do you have for each other?

Harry: Honey Bee, Lucy Bee. Interchangeable. 

Lucy: Normally boring things like love, babe, and the occasional baby. 

8. Say you had a child, who is the strict parent and who is the lenient parent?

Harry: Haha, funny that you mention that since we’re actually expecting...twins...but um, I’m not really sure. All I know is it’s going to be a lot of working together because those two; little chocolate chip, and sprinkle, they are quite the rambunctious kickers. 

Lucy: I don’t really have another answer, all I know is that Harry is already spoiling them. 

9. Would you rather go to a fancy restaurant for a date or stay at home and watch movies with pizza?

Harry: Staying home. Always staying home. 

Lucy: Ever since these two came into our lives about 6 months ago, it’s been a lot more of staying home because I can’t ride a bike, nor can I really find the energy to go out unless we’re going to dinner at Niall’s. Niall is always fun. Ooh, and when Liam has us over too. For his garden luncheons. Always the best food. Louis throws a mean barbecue. 

10. What first attracted you about the other person?

Harry: Her clumsiness, and what was on her computer screen. 

Lucy: The curls. Which sounds incredibly superficial but I started out as a fan and like his entire face was nice to look at!