#i need to have more connection to sherlock holmes than i already do as well y'know

[zaphodbeeblebroxssecondhead]

queerplatonic johnlock is so important to me i don't think you understand

[colormepurplex2]

ColorMePurplex2's Jeon Jungkook Masterlist

RATING: (regardless, this space is not for minors) G - general audience | PG - strong, suggestive language | PG-13 - frequent use of strong language, grittier subject matter | R - large amounts of vulgar language and adult references | MA - strictly for adults 18+ WARNINGS: please do not take these lightly, if it’s listed that means you can expect to encounter it DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to own any part of BTS. All members of BTS are faces and name claims for these stories. Every post is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in my works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

▻ Make You Mine ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): A/B/O, Enemies to Lovers ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, mild fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [2/2] WC: 11,231 Summary: Alphas might rule the world, but Jungkook finds himself being ruled by the need to make you his. Omegas are rare, precious, and pliant. At least, most are. When you present late, well into your twenties, you’re already set in your headstrong ways; a challenge even for a commanding alpha like Jungkook. Add to that the centuries-long feud between your families and the last thing anyone expected was for him to claim you as his soulmate. ⚠️ Angst, shit-talking, praise kink, breed kink, knotting, creampie, marking/claiming Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻Chasing Shadows ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): Modern Day Sherlock Holmes, Best Friends Brother ⤜ Genre(s): fluff, smut, angst ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [4/4] WC: 21,511 Summary: Your job gets you into trouble sometimes. Who would have thought crime journalism would put so many targets on your back? But, it’s happening again, someone’s threatening you. Only, this time, it’s not just you that’s in the crosshairs. Your best friend, Enola, is out on an assignment and can’t help like she usually does. So, what does she do instead? She sends her brother, Jungkook, armed with a magic bag, a charming smile, and deductive reasoning skills that prove his worth as one of the best PI’s around. With more at stake than ever before, what lengths will you go to in order to connect the dots and catch the bad guy? ⚠️ Death threats, breaking and entering, descriptions of violence, stalker behavior, talk of crime/criminals, oral f receiving, vaginal fingering, protected sex, nipple play, dirty talk, imagery that reflects choking but isn’t, guns, lots of foul language, scare tactics, talk of a car accident from drunk driving, minor injury, mention of blood/wound, an allusion to mild depression/self-reflection Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ On Wings of Mist & Memories ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): High Fantasy, Exiled Royalty, Enemies to Lovers ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [3/3] WC: 39,753 Summary: You’re a Psion—disguised Field Scribe—of the Golden Kingdom of Bolas, attached to the Front Wing Infantry. After an ambush from the sky rips down the safe walls around you, you find yourself at the mercy of a brutal man, his dragon, and his shadows. ⚠️ Crass language, combat/violence, minor character deaths, talk of war, brief nudity (nonsexual, mostly), sexual references and feelings, flashback minor character death, mild sexual tension, suggestive inner thoughts, lots of sexual tension, crude banter, fingering, kissing, dirty talk, teasing, shadow penetration/sex (it’s exactly what you’re probably thinking it is: fun af), lots of praise, sexual pleading/begging, endearingly awkward sexual tension, shameless flirting, oral m. receiving, shadow clit play, nipple pinching/teasing, v. sex, mild cum play & eating, multiple orgasms, sad feelings/thoughts of the future, fighting, mild violence, implied minor character death, minor character terminal sickness that leads to off-page death, talk of forced bonds, heartache, pregnancy, off-page childbirth Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ Now I'm Yours (follow-up to Make You Mine) ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): A/B/O, Established relationship, Soulmates ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [2/2] WC: 14,064 Summary: Jungkook is terrible at feelings. He’s possessive, reckless, and most definitely an Alphahole; you were once his sworn enemy for a reason. But, after he claimed you as his mate during your designation celebration, how do you even begin to navigate the dark waters of such a precarious relationship? Especially when there is darkness creeping over the horizon, threatening to blanket your world in permanent shadow. ⚠️Vulgar language, semi-hate sex, fingering, knotting, creampie, discussion of violent acts, drinking, fighting/physical altercation, alpha challenge, knife violence/attack, blood, injury, bond sex, dick licking, slick eating, biting/marking, blood/wound licking, surprise pregnancy Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ Shatter With Me ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): Best Friend's Husband, Surrogacy AU ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [3/4] WC: ~46,420k (ongoing) Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure. ⚠️Crass language, talk of infertility, drinking, very mild bullying and references to cruel behavior/words, talk of surrogacy, at-home medical procedure, genital touching (non-sexual), planned pregnancy, talk of pregnancy termination/abortion, BIG hurt feelings, open palm slapping, accusations of infidelity, rejected/unwanted drunken kissing that could be viewed as dubious infidelity, lies/deceit about fertility, broken marriage, infidelity, talk of divorce/filing for divorce, legal separation, kissing, fingering, cunnilingus, mild dirty talk, mild begging, sex while pregnant, creampie Please check the beginning of each chapter for specific warnings.

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Pairing: x f.Reader ┉ AU/Trope(s): A/B/O, Best Friend's Fiancé, Soulmates AU ⤜ Genre(s): angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA Chapters: [1/1] WC: 11,742 Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

WIPS: Smoke & Mirrors - mafia, single dad All Night Long - music festival turned fuckfest

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Check out my other Masterlists: OT7 x Reader/OT7 Kim NamjoonKim SeokjinMin YoongiJung HoseokPark JiminKim TaehyungJeon JungkookMulti-Member x Reader/OCMember x Member

©️      2021-24    ColorMePurplex2  

[possiblyimbiassed]

Metaphorical musings about BBC Sherlock

ETA: I now realise that this rambling got rather difficult to follow, so here’s a TL;DR with the points I’m trying to make:

Redbeard could still have been a dog - Victor’s dog - with all its metaphorical implications.

I think the ending of S4 is based on ages of nostalgical thinking from Conan Doyle’s audience, where ”it’s always 1895”.

But too fit in a truly modern adaptation, paradoxically, I think BBC Sherlock needs to align more with ACD Canon.

Canon didn’t end with Mary and two arguing men in 221B - it ended with Watson driving Holmes to a hotel in London.

This show seems to go in circles, but if we’re inside Sherlock’s head, he needs to wake up, get out of that loop and start living in the modern world (discarding the hetero norm of S4).

The recurring theme of “pilots” does, I believe, remind us of Sherlock’s and John’s relationship as it was presented in the Unaired Pilot.

The ‘pilot’ is also John Watson - the driver. He needs to live up to that.  

This was at first going to be an addition to @thewatsonbeekeepers’  excellent meta series about S4 from an EMP perspective, which ended with this little gem of very interesting metaphorical interpretations of TFP (X). But my addition got so lengthy that I thought it would be next to a crime to highjack their thread with it. :)  

@thewatsonbeekeepers‘ analysis makes a lot of sense to me on various levels, giving context and suggesting plausible interpretations to a lot of things that have been baffling me for a long time. But it also inspired me to look a bit closer on some running concepts of this show, as well as its (supposed) ending in relation to its very first beginning - the Unaired Pilot - and try to connect them metaphorically. Here are some of my own musings regarding their meta:

The Redbeard conundrum

We left off with about 20 minutes to go, as Sherlock is sinking into the black depths of his mind – the deepest we’re ever going to get as well as the darkest in colour, chiming with the rest of the series. And then – flashes of Eurus, Redbeard and young Sherlock bleeding in through his memory. @sagestreet’s meta argues that Victor Trevor could genuinely have been Sherlock’s first love even at that age, and I don’t dispute the possibility, but I do have an alternate reading for slightly later in age, based on one image alone. Jump back in your mind to TAB, when Mycroft tells Sherlock he was there for him the last time – we get a shot of a teenager in a drug den which is never repeated again, but which has a sense of absolute past trauma attached to it.

I totally agree with @sagestreet that every dog in this show represents homosexuality – every one of them, including Redbeard. But I also agree with @thewatsonbeekeepers that Victor Trevor could also have meant trauma to Sherlock a bit later in life than what we see in TFP. A metaphorical reading does not necessarily exclude a textual reading, I believe. I do have some problems, though, with the concept that was presented to us at the end of TFP: that Redbeard was supposedly not a dog, but rather Sherlock’s little friend Victor Trevor who died as a child. Because this doesn’t quite fit with the data, does it? Why couldn’t the name Redbeard have meant both the dog and the friend – and be a metaphor for Sherlock’s internalised homophobia?

I’m reluctant to buy the idea that all the flashbacks that Sherlock had of the word ‘Redbeard’ and/or this specific Irish setter with red fur - in HLV, TST, TLD and TFP - would exclusively be his mind’s substitution of a childhood friend who was murdered. The data we’re given seems rather more complex than that. Here’s a resume:

The concept of Redbeard was introduced already in TSoT, when Mycroft (Brain!Mycroft?) was warning Sherlock to ‘not get [emotionally] involved’ with John’s wedding. Sherlock answered with “I’m not a child anymore”, which suggests that ‘Redbeard’ occurred in his childhood.

In HLV the word “Redbeard” is assumed by Magnussen to be a trigger word for Sherlock. That would perhaps work if the dog were the thing in Sherlock’s life he had cared the most about. But if the thing that would trigger Sherlock’s psyche was actually his friend, why wouldn’t “Victor” be an even stronger trigger word?

Then we see the actual dog in Sherlock’s mind palace after he’s shot in HLV, where it’s implied that Redbeard was ‘put down’ (just like the inn-keepers in THoB claimed to have done with the Hound). 

In TAB we don’t see the dog, we only hear the muffled whimpers of Redbeard distracting Holmes in Sherlock’s drug-induced mind palace scenario, when Watson asks him about his feelings for women. 

The word ‘Redbeard’ is also scribbled on Mycroft’s note in the plane scene in TAB, after Mycroft (brain!Mycroft?) has declared that he will always be there for Sherlock.

In TST, when Sherlock is (supposedly) drugged by Mary, we see a dreamy scene with the Irish setter: 

and then we can see Victor Trevor playing pirates with little Sherlock and hear the dog bark at the same time. We can see from Victor’s checkered shirt in TFP that he’s the same little guy, but in TFP he wear’s the dog’s handkerchief:

In TLD, when Sherlock is on the brink of throwing himself into the Thames, we catch a very short glimpse of the same scene, repeating Eurus’ song from TST and TFP, as if to hammer the whole idea in: little Sherlock played pirates with a dog and a friend.

In TFP, Sherlock claims that Redbeard was his dog, who little Eurus locked up somewhere. But then adult Eurus reminds him in another scene that their father was allergic to dogs, so they were never allowed to have one.

Considering all these flashbacks, it seems rather as if Eurus – Sherlock’s gay trauma according to @thewatsonbeekeepers​  – is simply trying to get rid of the ‘dog’ – homosexuality – and claim that Victor was dead anyway, drowned in that same well where she was trying to drown John, so why keep bothering about the dog?

I strongly suspect that one of the main purposes with BBC Sherlock is to encourage the audience to actually read Conan Doyle’s stories about Sherlock Holmes – all 60 of them if possible. :-) Mofftiss haven’t exactly been true to ACD canon textually – in fact I think they have deviated miles and miles away from the original stories, especially in S4 (Watson never had a child, for example, and Mary Morstan was never an assassin. Watson naturally never ever beat up Holmes so he was hospitalised, that was extremely absurd). But on the other hand the subtext is very similar, I believe. I even think some of the metaphors are exactly the same, which our show might want to point out.

The name Redbeard is not mentioned in canon as far as I know, but Victor Trevor is, in The Gloria Scott (GLOR), and he’s not a child. Trevor was, according to Holmes, “the only friend I made during the two years I was at college”, so @thewatsonbeekeepers​’ reference to the scene in TAB with teenager Sherlock in a drug den as a traumatic event, possibly connected to an older Victor than in TFP, is very interesting. Holmes describes Trevor as “the only man I knew, and that only through the accident of his bull terrier freezing on to my ankle one morning as I went down to chapel.”

This is evidence that Victor Trevor did in fact have a dog, even if its name is not mentioned, and Holmes got bitten by it, which effectively tied him to Trevor. This seems to fit extremely well with @sagestreet​’s analogy. So if in our show Sherlock’s father was ”allergic” to dogs (meaning that Sherlock wasn’t allowed to express homosexuality), then Redbeard might actually still have existed belonging to Victor, right? And Victor may have named his dog after the pirate character he used to play with Sherlock. Maybe Sherlock loved Redbeard as if he were his own, and his friend too, but Redbeard might have been put down for some reason, symbolising the repression of Sherlock’s love for his friend? In GLOR, though, Victor Trevor doesn’t die; he moves to Terai, India, to a tea plantation… ;-)

Apart from playing pirates as a boy, in TFP we also see Sherlock hijack a fishing boat and actually become a pirate. I don’t think piracy is ever mentioned as such in canon, but the closest ACD comes to this is probably the story about Victor Trevor’s father – also referred to as ”the Governor”(!). In his youth, Mr Trevor (whose real name was actually James Armitage) got involved in criminality and ended up hijacking a ship – The Gloria Scott – where he participated in a mutiny which eventually blew up the ship in the middle of the ocean. Armitage was among the survivors, but so was Hudson, a man who later caused his death from fear when he threatened to expose his great secret. Considering that homosexuality was regarded a crime in Doyles’ time, I think this points to Victor’s father being a gay man pressured with exposure.

The need for a new start

As for the ending of TFP, I’m still totally baffled by it, after all these years. I think it has been likely to produce cognitive dissonance (X) in the audience, which is probably one of the reasons that so many fans felt uncomfortable after S4. To me, it’s hugely contradictory in a logical sense, and I’ve always had problems trying to wrap my head around the very different messages that I think it sends out.

On one hand, as @thewatsonbeekeepers so brilliantly explains in their meta, Sherlock has finally managed to connect his heart with his brain, going through all the mental trials from his metaphorical sister in TFP. He has also re-built his home and he and John are symbolically running out of ‘Rathbone Place’ (and by association all the old adaptations) in the final scene. Which points to there being room for new, modern things to happen in their story, no longer just ’business as usual’.

On the other hand we have comphet!Mary’s final voiceover about the legend and the non-importance of who Sherlock and John really are, which didn’t at all ring true to me in a logical sense. Why would Sherlock go to all this trouble of finding his true self, connecting heart with brain etc, if it didn't even matter?  And why would a ghost, who didn’t even experience TFP while alive, be allowed to take over the role as storyteller and have the final word? I think this speaks for some huge un-solved problems and ‘lose ends’ that are not at all tied together properly - neither on the text-, subtext- or meta-levels.

And - what’s even more important in my opinion - Sherlock and John seem to be frozen in time in the final scene. 

We’re told by comphet!Mary that “...there are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat... like they’ve always been there... and they always will.” In TFP, the address 221B Baker Street is described as a kind of eternal institution which people - even Mycroft - turn to as a last resort, when everything else fails. The flat is rebuilt and some piece of furniture is changed, but nothing is modernized. Even the smiley face on the wall, on which Sherlock shot holes in his fit of frustration in TGG, is painted again and done the exact same thing to. But as everyone loves the place, no one protests. Status quo is reestablished.

This may be the conclusion of many adaptations, but it’s not what happened in canon, is it? This is not even remotely similar to the original ending. In ACD canon, it’s not “always 1895″, as so many readers through the ages have nostalgically claimed. Canon’s LAST ends in 1914 - almost 20 years later - with Holmes and Watson driving away together in a car, with Watson at the wheel. Byt that time, Holmes is no longer living at Baker Street - he has retired. In fact, there’s a whole story (LION) where Holmes is now living in Sussex close to the sea, in spite of his earlier statements about how much he dislikes the countryside. So in canon, he spends his time there (when he’s not on super-important spying missions for the government). And in LAST there are even some indications that Watson and Holmes are heading for a hotel room in London - not 221B. I have tried to expand on these conclusions in a recent comment on @sagestreet‘s last meta (X), providing some circumstantial evidence that might be interesting. ;-)

I’m not sure about @thewatsonbeekeepers’ claim that their meta has “just been an academic exercise”. While we don’t have any solid evidence of a pending S5 at this point, logical reasoning - and ACD Canon - still tells me that TFP must not necessarily be the end of the show. If Sherlock is in a coma, any future new content needs for him to wake up, he needs to open his eyes in the show’s reality, for TFP to ever make sense on a plot level. For what’s the point of having a story go in circles? (I tried to analyse the significance of time in BBC Sherlock here (X) some time ago).

Sherlock Holmes and codes

I really like @thewatsonbeekeepers’ musings about Greg Lestrade’s name and the implication of Sherlock suddenly having it right in TFP:

This is tied into Sherlock’s inability to move beyond the mistakes of canon – we see this weird inability to stick in modern Sherlock’s universe in other ways too, like the slightly old-fashioned nature of his costume (passed off as ‘timeless’, but clearly belonging to old as much as modern times), the deerstalker situation, thinking England has a king, not knowing the earth goes around the sun, not knowing Madonna, seeming to forget who Thatcher is – the list goes on, but Greg is the most constant one. Calling him Greg is a symbol that Sherlock has broken out of the confines of all of the past Sherlocks and has completely slipped into the modern version – which is exactly where he needs to be.

I totally agree that this is where he needs to be, and I also agree about Sherlock’s clothing here. I seem to recall ACD’s Watson talks about “a certain quiet primness of dress” in Holmes, which most probably meant a suit, something that our modern Sherlock seems to still use as signature clothing as well, which might appear a bit unnecessarily formal today. But let’s not forget that in the Gay Unaired Pilot, Sherlock was wearing black jeans and a rather more casual shirt with rolled-up sleeves:

Overall, I got a more “modern” feeling from Sherlock’s looks and behavior in the Pilot than in the rest of the show. I think code is significant in BBC Sherlock, and this goes for ACD Canon as well. And I believe that “pilot” might be one of the more important code words, as I tried to explain in this meta about codes a couple of years ago (X).

In TFP, the “Golf” in “Golf-Whisky-X-ray” (the message that Sherrinford picks up from Sherlock’s and John’s highjacked boat) literally means “I require a pilot” in marine signals - a marine pilot, that is. Which metaphorically might suggest that Sherlock needs someone to help him navigate their ‘ship’ through the dangerous waters (= emotions).

There’s also the sleeping pilot in TFP, who little Eurus - probably representing a part of Sherlock - can’t seem to wake up. She requires a pilot to land safely, but for some reason she calls him “the driver” instead of “the pilot”. 

A pilot’s uniform with four stripes on it means the rank of Captain, right? (X) And who do we know who is a military Captain? Why, Captain John Watson, of course, from Fifth Northumberland Fusillers! :-)

In the unaired Pilot Jeff Hope - one of several John mirrors in this show - drives Sherlock home in his cab, instead of to Roland Kerr’s Further Education College as in ASiP. This journey ends at 221B where Hope tries to kill Sherlock with poison, which is stopped by John who shoots Hope (and we don’t see Sherlock stomping on his wound in the Pilot, probably making his aneurysm burst; in Pilot it’s just John). So that would basically be ‘John killing John’, which @thewatsonbeekeepers​ presents as a risk in TFP - the risk that makes Sherlock realize that he needs to open his eyes and save John Watson from killing himself. 

I agree, but I also want to focus a bit on John killing himself being a clear risk already from day one in BBC Sherlock. In their second meta of the series (X), @thewatsonbeekeepers​ also mentions this:

‘Did you miss me?’ works for both of those layers – the danger John is in from criminals is something that was really apparent in s1 and 2, but John’s endangerment from suicide is also something that was there at the beginning of the series. Sherlock changed these things – and didn’t realise he was the changing factor, but something in his subconscious is telling him that with him gone, John Watson is once again in danger.

Most of us probably thought that John had found a far better use for the gun in his drawer in the first episode of the show when he killed a villain instead of himself with it. But looking at it metaphorically, this course of events maybe wasn’t that good either. In canon’s first story STUD, Jefferson Hope dies from an aneurysm - close to the heart; not to the brain as in ASiP, and not from a gunshot at all. Both metaphorically and literally, Hope died from a broken heart. Rather than a villain, he was an avenger who killed two criminals who had caused the death of his loved one and her father and got away with it.

As far as I can recall, in ACD’s stories neither Watson nor Holmes ever shoots anyone, with one exception: they shoot Tonga, the little guy threatening them with poisoned arrows in SIGN. Who I feel pretty sure is meant to represent Cupido, the little guy with the love arrows, of whom ACD wrote this poem (X).  They shoot Tonga, the Agra treasure is lost and as a result of that, Watson marries Mary Morstan instead of staying with Holmes. And then she becomes Mary Watson (representing the heteronormative concept of ’marry Watson’). Love (between Holmes and Watson, I presume) is presented as a bad, toxic guy in canon. 

And in BBC Sherlock Jeff Hope is presented as a bad, toxic guy. The little guy with the arrows being a villain is also mentioned in TSoT, which is drawing from SIGN. In a flashback related by Sherlock at John’s wedding, we see a very small guy chasing John and Sherlock over a rooftop, trying to hit them with darts from his blowpipe. This case is never explained in the show, but from John’s online blog (case called “The Poison Giant”) we learn about a very short jewel thief called James Swandale, who had killed people with poisoned darts. He and his giant friend also tried to kill John and Sherlock (note the symbolism here), but they never got to know why. Metaphorical meanings throughout canon, picked up by BBC Sherlock. 

Already in ASiP Sherlock claims he can identify “an airline pilot by his left thumb”. In the unaired Pilot, however, the pilot’s thumb for some odd reason was instead “a retired plumber’s left hand” (the rest of the quote is identical between the Pilot and ASiP). And, as @kateis-cakeis pointed out long ago, the whole filming of the Pilot is mirrored in ASiP; every single scene these two similar episodes have in common is reversed and reflected like a mirror. As far as I can see ASiP references the Pilot.

And then we have the female pilot in TAB, who comes to ask Sherlock if he had a “pleasant flight” after his OD trip on the plane. 

Four stripes = Captain, right? John. Turns out she very much resembles Lady Carmichael from his MP adventure. (And still I think we have good reason to believe that both characters were only occurring in Sherlock’s EMP).

All in all, I think this points to the concept of “pilot” being an important element to set things right in this show, and that of course has to do with John; he’s the ‘driver’. Some of us have even been discussing that this show seems to go in circles with lots of recurring themes. Canon doesn’t end with 221B; it starts with it. So the full circle is closed with TFP, unlike canon. But returning to the Pilot and things as they were between Sherlock and John at the end of that episode, could also mean the beginning of a new course of their relationship. A version that was never allowed to be shown before because of homophobia, but that new course would ultimately be more consistent with canon, rather than with people’s nostalgic perception of canon for 100+ years. 

@thewatsonbeekeepers mentioned in their other meta about TFP (X) that the Governor of Sherrinford is a John mirror, who lost his authority when Eurus - the ‘gay trauma’ part of Sherlock - managed to manipulate him. The Governor ends up shooting himself - ‘John killing John’ (again). And indeed John’s character seems a bit weak as a doctor in S4. For example is his competence questioned by both Culverton and Sherlock in TLD (but Sherlock still wanted to be examined by John earlier in TLD :) ). This is consistent with canon’s DYIN, where Holmes horribly manipulated Watson to believe he had a disease that was “contagious by touch” and even insulted his competence (“you are only a general practitioner with very limited experience and mediocre qualifications”), in order to set a trap for Culverton Smith.

So my conclusion is that Sherlock’s manipulations of John - especially faking his own death after TRF - might have played a part in John’s lost authority and even in him being suicidal. But my point with all this rambling is that maybe John is meant to regain the lead now, to “buck up a bit” as Mrs Hudson puts it in TLD, before he’s finally allowed to be behind the wheel of her fast sports car. Maybe things will sort themselves out once Sherlock starts to break out from the circle and finally be honest with John, even let John take the lead, without fear of losing him to the villains, and once John starts to regain confidence in himself and who he really is. If they (and we) don’t need any ‘further education’ at Roland Kerr’s, John can simply drive Sherlock home now, wherever that is. :-)

@raggedyblue​ @sarahthecoat​ @gosherlocked​ @sagestreet​ @ebaeschnbliah​

[mariana-oconnor]

The Five Orange Pips pt 1

the adventure of the Paradol Chamber, of the Amateur Mendicant Society, who held a luxurious club in the lower vault of a furniture warehouse, of the facts connected with the loss of the British bark Sophy Anderson, of the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons in the island of Uffa, and finally of the Camberwell poisoning case

Another round of 'look at all the fun cases I won't be talking about today 🤣. I feel like the Amateur Mendicant Society is a bit like Neville St Clair, as mendicant means beggar, so it feels like a group of people who dress up as beggars for the fun of it. Paradol is apparently a chemical found in peppers and ginger that makes it spicy, but I have no indication of when that chemical was first named, so whotf knows what that was about.

It was in the latter days of September, and the equinoctial gales had set in with exceptional violence. All day the wind had screamed and the rain had beaten against the windows, so that even here in the heart of great, hand-made London we were forced to raise our minds for the instant from the routine of life and to recognize the presence of those great elemental forces which shriek at mankind through the bars of his civilization, like untamed beasts in a cage.

I love this description. It's so extra. Also the phrase 'equinoctial gales' is lovely. Watson, you should have taken up poetry.

My wife was on a visit to her mother's, and for a few days I was a dweller once more in my old quarters at Baker Street.

Watson can't be left alone for more than a day at a time. Mary had to ask Sherlock to Watson-sit for her as she went to see her 'mother' *winkwink*. He needs enrichment in his enclosure.

He stretched out his long arm to turn the lamp away from himself and towards the vacant chair upon which a newcomer must sit.

Interrogation lighting! WHO DO YOU WORK FOR?!

"You have come up from the south-west, I see." "Yes, from Horsham." "That clay and chalk mixture which I see upon your toe caps is quite distinctive." "I have come for advice."

Sorry, Holmes. This guy does not gaf about your creepy knowledge of clay and chalk mixes.

AH... hello racism. All the racism... So much racism. I mean, I know the story so yeah... but dear god if ever there were a literary character who deserved to die, it's this one. Fuuuuuck Elias Openshaw.

'My God, my God, my sins have overtaken me!'

The world's tiniest violin was unable to perform because it did not give a fuck.

" 'I wish you, John,' said my uncle, 'to witness my will. I leave my estate, with all its advantages and all its disadvantages, to my brother, your father, whence it will, no doubt, descend to you. If you can enjoy it in peace, well and good! If you find you cannot, take my advice, my boy, and leave it to your deadliest enemy."

Well that's one way to say you always hated your sibling. And also to tell your nephew you hate him too. This guy is the absolute worst in so many ways. Like he just keeps piling on more reasons that he's the worst onto the already huge steaming pile. Yes, the people hunting him are even worse, but he's still just a terrible terrible person.

We found him, when we went to search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay at the foot of the garden.

A fitting place for him to be.

No, I will not be feeling any sorrow at his passing.

I'm sorry that his brother's getting the same treatment, though. He doesn't seem like the most pleasant person in the world, but the fact he doesn't know what the initials stand for already puts him head and shoulders above his dead brother.

The attitude of his son to Elias and his war record and postwar activity doesn't exactly indicate that the pair of them are not-racist, though. But they don't appear to have actively murdered anybody or fought in order to perpetuate slavery, so... the bar is low. The bar is really really low on this one. Is there somewhere lower than the centre of the Earth's core?

And the threat of death for something they know nothing about... which, why did Elias not tell people what the fuck was going on? Why did he not...? Well, we'll get onto that bit. Just fuck Elias. Really, truly, Fuck Elias Openshaw.

[fictionadventurer]

AU asks, for all eleven of the AUs you mentioned in your tags (including the Blackberry Bushes one because why not!), mix and match for whichever one you like: 2, 5, 9, 10, 11, 13, 17, 18, 20, 21, 24

2. Summarize this au in 5 sentences.

Psmith Star Wars AU: Mike Jackson is a cadet at an Outer Rim Imperial Academy whose dreams of flying an X-Wing for the Empire shatter when he learns of the Empire's atrocities. When his brother defects to the Rebellion, Mike and some of his fellow cadets decide to leave the Academy and join the rebel cause. The boys are nearly captured during their escape attempt, but they're saved by Mike's eccentric roommate, Psmith, who turns out to be a former Jedi youngling who's been hiding from the Empire. After they make their escape, Mike and his fellow cadets have to decide whether they can trust this sly, arrogant boy with these unnatural powers, and they need to find a way to find and help the Rebellion.

5. What is something you kept the same?

Lord Peter Wimsey Telepath AU: I've kept the setting and situations as close to the originals as possible. It's still 1930s England. Harriet's still accused of murdering her lover. Lord Peter's still an aristocrat. The only difference is that various superpowers are a known and accepted part of society, and Peter's ability to literally know Harriet's thoughts adds a whole new and more difficult dimension to the power imbalance between them.

9. Is there a scene you wish you could've included, but couldn't? Why?

Sherlock Holmes Pushing Daisies Crossover AU: I wish I could have figured out what the actual mystery was for the first snippet I wrote for this AU. Unfortunately, my mystery-writing skills don't extend that far.

10. Is there a character you wish you could've included, but couldn't? Why?

Queen's Thief AU of Psmith: It would be really fun to have Queen's Thief versions of Billy Windsor and Bat Jarvis, but I can't think of a great way to fit them into the story that I've outlined--as I've laid it out, Psmith takes Attolia's throne mostly through his cunning and convenient connections.

11. Is there any relationship that's different in this au than in the source material?

Supergirl "Kara raised by the Kents" AU: Since Kara's actually raised by the Kents in this AU, she's got a much deeper and more complicated relationship with them. Her relationship with Martha is rocky, because she sees Martha as competition for her role as Kal's primary caretaker. Taking care of Kal is the only purpose Kara has left in life, and it takes a lot for her to let other people into that relationship.

13. Write a lil snippet set in this verse.

From Powers and Prejudice:

"Lizzie, Jane's on TV!" Lydia shouted. Lizzie rushed into the living room, where her sisters were gathered around the set. Headlines blared BREAKING NEWS beneath live footage of a supervillain attack downtown. The Blur was already on the scene, speeding innocent victims away from danger. The Archer--outside of Pemberley--was even lending a hand. And among them in pink spandex was unmistakably-- "Jane?" Lizzie shouted. "What's she doing there?" Mom was so excited that sparks crackled around her hair. "She did so well the other night that I couldn't let the Blur fight this one alone. It was my duty to send Jane to help." Lizzie was horrified. That had been a skirmish, easily dealt with. This was turning into a battle. One of the criminals had some type of fire manipulation ability, and flames filled most of the screen. To see Jane among that-- "Are you nuts?" Lizzie shouted. "She could die out there!" Lydia rolled her eyes. "What are you so worried about? It's not like she can get hurt." Not externally. Jane's skin was invulnerable, and there was nothing that could overpower her strength. But her respiratory system was as delicate as anyone's, and there was a lot of smoke out there. Jane acquitted herself well, but eventually, Lizzie's fears were realized. Just as the last of the criminals was neutralized, Jane collapsed to the pavement. The Blur, in bright blue, was at her side in an instant. He checked over Jane and gathered her into his arms, a look of panic on his masked face. In less than a second, they disappeared from the scene. While her mother and sisters exclaimed over the scene--did you see the way he looked at her?--Lizzie headed toward the door. Mom asked, "Lizzie, where are you going?" "I don't know if you noticed, but your daughter is injured. I'm going to help her. "She's in the care of one of Netherfield's Defenders! She's perfectly safe." "I'll believe that when I see it." Kitty, fretful, said, "The Blur's so fast. They're miles away by now. Hidden away in his secret headquarters." Lizzie shrugged. "Then I'll find his secret headquarters." Ignoring their protests, she went out the door.

17. What important events have you 'translated' from canon to make sense into this au, if any?

Milo Murphy's Law Star Wars AU: Murphy's Law makes a lot of sense as an out-of-control connection to the Force. And I've turned Diogee into a droid (DO-G) because there don't seem to be many dogs in Star Wars.

18. Is there any theme or motif in this au that isn't in the original work?

Politically-realistic Princess Diaries 2 AU: There's a much stronger exploration of the theme of duty vs. love, because we have multiple characters who have dealt with this conflict. There's also a thread exploring religion, because Mia's priest uncle is a prominent character.

20. Share THREE headcanons! But about different characters.

American Hallmark Royal Romances:

The princess of California was a candidate for an arranged marriage with the crown prince of Maine until a Spunky Commoner came along and stole his heart. She was actually rather hurt by this, until it sparked her own romance story.

The Spunky Commoner met the crown prince of Maine while working on some artistic endeavor for his family. She was rather baffled by this whole royalty thing, until her relationship with the prince provided some cultural background.

Sam, the crown prince of Texas, is a bit ashamed of his nation and especially the over-the-top Texas-ness of his father. He's an excellent code-switcher, and has a bit of trouble straddling the cultural expectations of Texas and the outside world.

21. What makes you most excited about this fic?

Lord Peter Wimsey Star Wars AU: What's there not to get excited about? The Scarlet-Pimpernel-ness of Peter as a double agent within the Empire! The drama of Peter dealing with Force-visions of the future. Force-sensitive Dowager Duchess. Peter having Thrawn as both an art-and-culture buddy and an increasingly-suspicious-of-him nemesis. He's just such a fun character to throw into the structure of this universe.

24. Ramble about something you haven't gotten to talk about yet.

Blackberry Bushes Superhero AU: It says to ramble, so I'll ramble. First off, I feel guilty even claiming this an an AU, since this was really your idea and I just added some stuff to it. But it's such a fun concept and it comes to mind as an AU quite a bit because there are so many fun ways this story warps the typical superhero plots. The Superman character marries a former villain who has good reason to fear him and be suspicious of his fellow heroes. The former supervillain dictatorship is undergoing reform, and it's a legitimate thing, and we get to see the politics of that and see the ruler's children growing up in this system. Delclis' father used to be one of the great heroes, but his memory is tarnished because of the collateral damage his extreme powers caused, and now Declis has to deal with getting the same powers. Antavia's plotline of walking away from the throne become her walking away from her superpowers and inadvertently leading to the creation of her best friend's most dangerous nemeses. They're stories you couldn't come up with under the usual superhero tropes, but combining it with this very different type of story creates new and interesting angles that wouldn't ordinarily come to mind, and that's so fun.

[detectivenyx]

Even though you had a advice for writing a murder mystery, one thing just as important is writing how that mystery will unravel. In Danganronpa's case, everything gets unraveled at the class trial where the characters must put to clues together and solve it. Got any advice for that?

when you start writing a class trial, your mystery is already unravelled to you - it's your job to weave the tapestry into shape. if you do not know exactly how your murder occured, go back and sort that out until you do - that's your blueprint and what you're working back from. (i write my Climax Inference first every time - i can slot it in where it belongs later.)

from there, you need to have your characters talk about the murder based on the clues they found during the investigation. they do not know how the clues connect together (well, the culprit does, but they're not going to help), but they have the clues and presumably enough deductive reasoning to determine at least a few starting points. consider where trials usually start in murder mysteries - the victim's body, the murder weapon, where the body was found. from there, things tend to open up, especially if the culprit left red herrings to frame someone else - consider how Trial 1 starts. they discuss the state of the murder scene, what weapon Sayaka was stabbed with, then start discussing the fact that the crime happened in Makoto's room and the implications of that. through that discussion they eventually determine Makoto isn't the killer and deduce a few more clues that eventually lead to Leon's implication.

also, consider how characters would naturally react to the trial. people really love to joke about how 'useless' half the characters are in a trial - ignoring the fact not everyone randomly dragged into a life-or-death closed circle mystery is going to be a regular Sherlock Holmes and being "useless" is a fault of the writer rather than the character. consider Gundam, Ibuki, and Akane - all three are considered 'useless' in trials because they're not regular trial brainiacs. but Gundam and Ibuki provide vital information in Trial 1 to implicate Teruteru, and Akane provides a vital instinct in almost every trial, ESPECIALLY trial 2, where she figures out that Peko leaned her bamboo sword against the wall and used its guard to climb the wall. all 3 remain in-character while providing this information.

additionally, the 'useless' characters provide what makes the trial fun - character. i actually really find later trials to be a lot harder to sit through because by virtue of how they're designed, they're both a lot harder than the first trials AND you have less voices filling the courtroom. effectively, their commentary keeps it from being as boring as a real court case that's set in a complete kangaroo court. your other characters should be commenting pretty regularly - they'd want to be heard in a fight for their lives, and even if what they say seems useless to you or irrelevant, the way their mind works, it might be very relevant to them (or they may be trying to lighten the mood so they aren't crushed under the weight of the actual horror of their situation).

tl;dr, have exactly how things written down first, pick a natural starting point and branch out from there, and have the characters interact with their own personality and others regularly and be sure their 'voice' makes it in.

[beekeeperspicnic]

@eardefendersI get where you're coming from but the Brain Attic thing is a real method of memory/memory retrieval called the Method of Loci. Humans have been using this method since ancient times. It comes up in Greek myths & all sorts of treatise & whatnot over the centuries. Since they started the Memory Championships in the 90s, consistently the winners have all had mind palaces to help them win. I think that's why he always has the brain attic in every adaption, cause it's real.

Sorry for answering this as a reblog, I just know I'm going to end up needing more space than you get in comments!

The brain attic as described in A Study in Scarlet isn't the Method of Loci, and it's not a 'memory palace'.

Holmes is talking about how he doesn't pay attention to anything which doesn't have immediate application in his work (like the fact that the Earth orbits the sun) and to demonstrate his point he uses the metaphor of his mind being like an attic to try to explain his philosophy to Watson:

“I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. (...) It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. ”

Now, I think if you were to ask a neuroscientist their opinion on this, they'd say it is (unsurprisingly) an old-fashioned way of thinking about memory. Our brains are actually very elastic. If you refuse to learn basic science, that doesn't give you more space in your brain to memorise lots of different types of tobacco ash, or whatever.

Perhaps Arthur Conan Doyle realised this, or perhaps he figured that it didn't make for an interesting character, because this element of of Holmes' personality dropped fairly quickly - in later stories he has weird little hobbies/special interests that aren't connected to his detective work. He uses the metaphor one more time in the Five Orange Pips, but in a toned down "I try to full my mind with useful things!" way.

And it's definitely not something in 'every' adaptation. None of the big 20th century Holmes adaptations ever mention the 'brain attic'. Basil Rathbone doesn't, Jeremy Brett doesn't.

So, where does this idea that one of the defining characteristics of Sherlock Holmes is his 'memory palace' come from?

Yup, it was BBC Sherlock.

And I think that's a really clever bit of writing! Managing to revive and update this really odd moment in Study in Scarlet with a more legitimate strategy for memorising facts, which works really well visually on screen.

You can tell they were onto a winner with it, because it managed to add to the mythos of a character that had already been around 120 years. And it totally stuck. Like the Meerschaum pipe and the deerstalker and saying "Elementary, my dear Watson!" it's something not in the source material which I think your average person now just accepts 'memory palace' is a core Sherlock Holmes Thing.

But anyway, long story short and to go back to the original post, I like the re contextualisation of the brain attic idea in BBC Sherlock, I think it can get a little silly when later adaptations now go out of their way to try to include it because they feel like they *need* to, but making my game showed me that depicting a character's mind visually is really fun, and now I understand why lots of people do it.

One thing that keeps striking me while making this game is how often I have to go back on personal quibbles about Sherlock Holmes adaptations - I keep having moments of "...ok I can see why people do that so much."

I have always found the whole "brain attic" thing a little silly, and I find the fact that it's become an intrinsic element of the character a bit strange considering it's mostly just a bit of early-installment weirdness in Study in Scarlet.

But then as part of a game I wanted a screen where the player sorts information, and the idea of visualising the inside of Holmes' mind, and showing how it changes over time, was just far too good to pass up. So, brain attic.

Doyle implies that Watson joins up with his old regiment during WW1, but the idea of this beloved author going off to the front in his 60s never makes much sense to me and I know it is basically propaganda. My headcanon tends to be that Watson's war service would be in an unofficial capacity in England.

But I needed an instant way to signify to the player that Watson had been away, and he's had a tough time, and he needs rest and healing.

So, he shows up in an army uniform, and he has at least been to France (I imagined him in a hospital away from the Front).

Silly little thing that came up today reading His Last Bow is that Holmes in it has white hair. I love the idea of him with white hair in old age. It just didn't look good in the pixel art. So he has grey hair.

I think in adaptation you need to consider the strengths of the medium you're working with and the story you're telling rather than headcanons, but it still feels strange and frustrating sometimes.

[jin0]

🌨 with right person, wrong time prompt!

okay so i put off this one for a whole day cause it'd been simmering in my head for a little. i had the story but not the guy but NOW ??? now i got both and im kinda proud of it so here you go babes !! :

right person, wrong time with sherlock holmes from enola holmes !! :

watching as enola skipped away towards her new, the count of tewkesbury, you tensed, feeling the eyes of your on you. you could feel his large body get close to yours, but you kept your composure. your eyes stayed fixated on the landscapes, letting the sun and the wind blow through your gown.

"and old friend ? is this how you present me nowadays ?" he started, placing himself by your side.

you smiled slightly, still looking off in the distance and letting the sound of the wind and the chirping birds echo before thinking of a response. this place was absolutely magnificent, as beautiful as you remembered it. you didn't want to ruin it with useless debates and fights.

"i do not need to present you. you are well known on your own, sherlock. and why complicate the presentations with an explanation on what we used to be ?" you said, your voice sounding distant as the wind carried it.

you could feel his eyes on you and for the first time since he came up to you, you looked back at him. you always looked ethereal to him and the man who found pride in being very controlled failed to keep his admiration for you an unspoken fact.

"you speak of our connection in the past tense, as if we were nothing for each other today." pointed out the man in a monotonous tone to hide his inner turmoil. he could feel the emotions you brought out in him fill up and reach the limits he put around himself.

"we are nothing sherlock. our paths separated long ago. before they could even truly be crossed." you responded simply, admiring a bird bring food to its

turning towards you fully, he frowned at your words, feeling physical pain at the implications you were making so easily.

"nothing ? is it how simply you forget us and what we were ? is this what your disappearance has done to you ?"

"you call it a disappearance, i call it an adventure. you should be proud, i took the same road as you love. took a train and never looked back. looking back is embracing regrets and regrets have been too present in my life, from a very young age." you chuckled, lifting your dress and playing with the fresh, green grass.

"am i one of them ?" he muttered, trying to prevent you from seeing the sorrow on his features.

for a few seconds, silence settled between the both of you. each passing moment was another defeat for the detective, trying to comfort himself with the memories you both shared. when things were still simple and already prepared and perfectly planned for the both of you. the times where you were his and he was yours. these were the good times.

"no, love..." you smiled tenderly. the use if the nickname made his heart jump in joy and grief. he'd gotten used to hearing this word uttered out if your beautiful lips before and each time felt better than the last, bringing him back to life with a soft kiss of true love but without the kiss. "i could never regret what we had. it brought me the biggest lessons and adventures I could ever seek. you've done more for me than you give yourself credit for love, you made me realize how great and full life could be."

"without me. how great it could be without me."

"oh sherlock..." you sighed, shaking your head and walking away from the man who was quick to follow after you.

"you speak of us as if we shared nothing. we were to be wed but you refuse to speak of it, as if it was a great secret that needed to be kept hidden from the rest of the world."

the tall man stopped in his track when you spun around suddenly, looking at him with that determination and fire he had to discover as he met you again after all this time separated.

"no woman wants to let the world know that she has lost the man she loved to another. and no woman deserves to be humiliated in such a way that she would have to explain what the other turned out to be." you spat, looking at him with unwavering eyes.

"you never lost me dear. i was yours entirely."

when you scoffed, starting to laugh loudly, he frowned in both confusion and annoyance, vexed by your behavior. you were never one to mock him but after all this time, you'd changed so much, he could never tell what you were or weren't anymore.

as you whipped a stray tear that had been threatening to fall from your laugh, you caught your breath and looked at him in disbelief.

"oh dear... you are fooling yourself if you believe that you've ever been mine. i was yours, mind body and soul but you were never mine sherlock. you cannot be mine when your heart was never here." you declared, shaking your head slowly and staring at him in confusion. he seemed to believe his own lies deeply.

"are you saying i did not love ?"

"obviously you loved sherlock. every man loves at some point in time."

"then what is it that you're saying ?"

"i am saying that you never loved me."

at your declaration, the restraint he'd put around his emotions and reactions crumbled all around him, revealing the empty shell of a man who'd desired for someone for years without ever getting the chance to find her.

smiling, amused by his reaction, you started walking again, kicking your feet like a child would.

"you said we were to be wed and that we shared moments. i could never deny them, they are now engraved in my heart and will be for the years to come. but love, you never loved me. at least not like i loved you. you could never love like i loved."

"how is it that you love then ? and how is it so different from my way of loving you ?"

"sherlock, you do not love like i love because you never longed for anything." you started reaching a hand towards him to pull him in slow spins, dancing at the rythm of the air and letting your eyes close to take you to an imaginary ball. you often daydreamed your wedding and the first dance, this was the closest thing you'd get. "I long for a man who would love me so much, the vision of me would blind him to the rest of the world. i long for a man who would everything he's ever learnt as soon as he sees me, running and hugging me so tightly that i could feel my bones against my skin. i long for a man who would never leave, so distraught by the idea of leaving my side that he would need the comfort i could bring him to feel whole again. i long for a man who, even when away , would never love anything more that he's loved me." you mused, dreaming of the perfect man and ignoring the many images of your fiance that would show in your mind.

watching you, he frowned harder, taken aback by your words and the meaning your poorly tried to hide behind them.

"i do not see how i have not loved you exactly like you desired. my heart was yours the moment i layd my eyes on you dear. you were the one who disappeared when i came back."

once again, you scoffed, still twirling around the man and humming a soft tune.

"you never truly loved me sherlock. and that is the problem you have but could never voice. you were not in love for me but the idea of me. a woman, loving and waiting for you at home while you ran off to find adventures and the beauties and wonders of this world. your only true love was the world and whatever was hidden out there. you desired the adventure but also desired the comfort of a loving home. one that you would never be here to build."

"and is something wrong with desiring the adventures of the world and the comfort of a home ?" he asked, holding your fingers softly and dancing with you without thinking.

you shook your head, opening your eyes and looking into his own deep blue pupils. you raised yourself on your toes and kissed the tip of his nose and then his cheek before going back down to twirl a little slower and closer to each other.

his hand found your lower back, pulling you to his chest and inhaling your scent, the one he'd desperately missed in the past years of your absence.

"someone taught me a french saying while i visited paris over the last months : you cannot ask the sky for la pleine lune and desire the croissant de lune in the same night. you have to choose and you've made yours. the adventure you so dearly loved, i could never take it from you. i could only try to see what you loved so deeply and i will never regret my decision."

raising your hand to caress his cheek, his instinct pushed him to nuzzle his face on your skin, reaching for your warmth.

"your adventure is over, so why is it that i feel like you're saying goodbye again ? like we'll never have each other again."

"because we can never sherlock. with time, I've learned that forcing you to love me more than you loved the world was bound to break us apart. I've moved on now love, the world calls for me like it called for you. can you hear it ? the lands that were never explored before ? i can, they need me." you muttered, looking around you.

"i need you too. i need you to stay and teach me how to love like you love. i need to have you by my side." he pleaded, probably for the first time in his life.

you leaned your forehead against his, running your skin on his nose and kissing his cheek again.

"you never needed anyone love. today will not be the start. but one day, you'll meet the person that can make you stay and love without any shame. you'll find the person who brings you to a place you can call home. just know love, that i would've been more than proud to be this person for you. the only regret i will ever have is not being able to bring you home, sherlock."

you kissed his cheek one more time, walking away and allowing him to relieve his return from another successful case, the return that had sealed his fate, potential losing you forever. he watched you walk away, further and further away each passing second and felt his heart shatter once more.

he watched the woman who was both his compass and his final destination disappear in the distance. once again, leaving him with the memories of what they used to be and the dream of what they could’ve been.

[luxwritesfanfic]

Always Attract

The strobe lights won’t stop blinding him and Sherlock can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s missing out, until he realizes he isn’t. Or, the one where the reader reminds him that they’re [Sher]locked for life. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

Sherlock knew very well what it meant to be lonely.

He spent most of his life alone, physically and mentally. Before John, he had no one and he resigned himself to that fact. He didn’t need anyone else. They were too stupid, too vacant, they could never keep up with him. He would never allow them to.

As Sherlock looked around John and Mary’s reception, he wished he was able to mingle and chat aimlessly with people he didn’t really care about. He was willing to try, but it seemed no one could acknowledged his effort for what it was. He thought about calling for John but he knew he couldn’t monopolize all of the newlyweds’ time. That didn’t stop him from wishing that John would be so bored with everyone else that he’d come and talk with him. Things could go back to how they used to be just for a moment, and he could take the time to adjust.

He watched as everyone migrated to the dance floor and began pairing off, laughing and smiling and enjoying themselves as they should be. People walked around him like he wasn’t there and he wondered if that was how it had always been. Sherlock had always kept his distance from most people, they either could never compare intellectually or they couldn’t take his personality so he was used to being singled out. Most of the time it was by his own doing, but in cases like this all he wanted to do was fit in. He couldn’t recall a time, if there had been any, where someone truly wanted to know him.

And then there you were. He hadn’t a chance in hell when it came to you. You burst into his life and tore everything he had built in your wake. You were everything he wasn’t and still no defense system he had was enough to keep you, and ultimately his feelings for you, at bay. With one last resigning glance around the ballroom, Sherlock decided that he’d just go home. He would be the person to leave the wedding early if that meant he could go home to you, and you’d dance with him and tell him he’s brilliant and he’d get to hold you a little closer to him than necessary.

“The most handsome man in the room and I don’t have to steal you away from anyone on the dance floor? Guess I could’ve left the brass knuckles at home.” You walked up behind him and you don’t know what made you smile more, the way his face lit up when he saw you or how the stress left his body when you reached for his hand. He should have known by now that you would always come for him.

You had been late to the reception from being on-call at the hospital but you were finally off for the night and you came ready to celebrate with the most important people in your world.

He tried to hide the upward twitch of his lips but he couldn’t hide that from you if he tried.

“I didn’t think you would make it.” He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. The strobe lights were shining all over and people were dancing around you but it felt like you two were the only ones in the room. You thought it was selfish to think that at your best friends’ wedding, but the more pressing concern was how sickeningly in love you were with everything Sherlock was at that moment.

“And miss seeing you all dressed up? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You were sure if you waited just another moment he would have asked you to dance, but you didn’t have a moment to spare. You had already missed out on so much. “Dance with me?”

You assumed his answer was yes because as soon as you asked and started to walk away from him and towards an open space, he was hot on your heels. He stops as you turn to face him and he looks like he’s about to speak but he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs your hands and places them where they should be and you two begin to slow dance.

He wants to tell you that he’s spent the whole night trying to connect with people and it failed every time. That he doesn’t understand why people don’t react to him the same way they do you, someone who lights up every room they’re in.

“You’re far away from me, aren’t you?” You asked as you continued to dance, your voice no louder than the music playing but Sherlock had heard you all the same. He nodded as he continued to lead you around the dance floor. To everyone else he seemed as he always did: composed, graceful, arrogant. But you could tell by the way his eyes looked past you and his lack of commentary that he wasn’t really with you. Sherlock was grateful that you knew him so well. He often found answers when he was lost to his thoughts but there were also times where he couldn’t find his way back. He’d get lost in everything he didn’t understand, everything he missed out on, everything he got wrong.

As if you read his mind, you cupped his cheeks between your hands and brought his forehead to yours, dancing an afterthought to you both now. You smile at him and he swears he sees the light. “Sherlock,” you whisper like you’re telling him the secret to everything, “I need to tell you something.”

You move your arms back around his neck and he pulls you closer as you two begin to dance again with the everyone else. The room  was glowing with love, and you were so happy to see that so many people showed up to celebrate your closest friends’ day.

“You were the one thing I got right. Seriously, you were the obvious one. I don’t think it could be anyone else if I tried. It’s you. I love you so much.”

It was then that it hit him that you could walk away from him at any moment and take with you the light of the only love he’s ever truly known. He also knew then that you would never hurt him like that because when you told him you loved him he could actually see it. In the way you were looking at him, holding him. In the ways that you always showed up for him. You were never shy with showing it, he just wasn’t observing.

Sherlock looked at you with so much admiration you thought you’d melt on the spot. “You mean that.” It wasn’t a question.

“You know I do.” It was as simple as that. You looked around to see that John and Mary were free and you started to pull Sherlock towards them. You hadn’t seen them all night and you wanted to shotgun champagne and get your family pictures. As you pulled Sherlock through the crowd, people you knew approached you both and for once Sherlock felt a sense of normalcy. He thought he’d hate it, but he found he was a perfect fit at your side as he reveled in that fact that you’d replaced a lot of your “I’s” with “we’s”. You included him as an integral part of your life and he had never thought that anyone would see him as an extension of themselves. He decided to never let you go.

You and Sherlock eventually made it back to Baker street a little more drunk than you meant to be and a lot happier than you thought was possible. As you went to start untying his tie, his hand grabbed your wrist.

“Is that,” he cleared his throat, his eyes moving around the room nervously before finding yours again, “is that something you want? A wedding, I mean.” Sherlock was fumbling over his words at this point and you couldn’t tell if he was really that nervous or if that final tequila shot was starting to make his brain numb and he couldn’t keep his words straight. 

You freed your wrist from his grip and smoothed your hands over his shirt and under his blazer to push it off his shoulders. It was quiet for a few minutes before you finally spoke. 

“If we’re being honest, the only person I see myself marrying is you. And weddings aren’t your thing. As handsome as you are dressed for battle, I think we’d probably be better off doing a nice dinner. Maybe at Angelo’s with our friends. We can go to the courthouse and then take our own very special holiday. I’m thinking somewhere warm, Bora Bora?”

“Y/N, I think I’d burn.” Sherlock smirked and all you could do is laugh at your ridiculous man. Your ridiculously lovely, handsome, out of this world man. You thought about coming back with something witty, but the way he was looking at you was screaming, “I think I just told you I wanted to marry you, I love you, please kiss me” so loudly that your ears were ringing and you thought you’d be doing the world a disservice if you didn’t answer to your true calling: loving Sherlock Holmes with every fiber of your being. So of course you kissed him. Again, and again, and again.

Sherlock kept your answer tucked away in his mind and it came to surface everytime you walked Northumberland street. He wasn’t even sure you remembered the conversation but he’d never forget it. He’d talk to Angelo about the dinner and leave it up to Mary to decorate the room and he’d ask you and you’d say yes and then you’d get married by whoever could officiate it the quickest. John would get the chance to be Sherlock’s best man and his mother would probably cry and you’d be looking at him like you love him, because you do. And he’d look like he loves you too, because he does.

[butterysalt]

Fun | Sherlock x platonic!Reader

Pairing: Sherlock x platonic!gender neutral reader

Request ( @a-paper-cut​ ): 

Word Count: 2,202

Contains: Mentions of child abduction, platonic fluffiness and banter :)

A/N: AAAAAAA thank you so much, lovely! This was my first request and I was SUPER excited to write it hehe. I’ve been on a slight creative block lately and I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope this fic does justice for what you wanted and I hope that you are doing amazingly 🧡🧡

It was an early, snowy winter morning in London. You and Sherlock Holmes have been mind-boggled by a puzzling case for the past week. The detective proposed that the two of you go on a walk to allow some fresh air in the brains again. This suggested that even his extensive mind palace and composing weren’t helping the genius. Not that you were complaining about sharing a nice stroll with Sherlock. It had been years after all since you two had spent any casual time together. Like what people normally did in their free time, anyway.

The two of you stepped side by side, feet planting in the thin sheet of snow on the ground in unison. You grinned a little at the matched body language. You and Sherlock always had special ways to subtly communicate with one another. It was like a part of your minds were connected.

“Anything yet?” the tall brunette questioned. Your lip twitched upward. “Don’t rush the process, Sherlock. Just enjoy the moment. Live in it a little.” Sherlock’s long drawl could be heard next to you. His walking strides were growing longer as his patience began to thin out. You could practically hear the subtle gnawing of his teeth.

“We’ve only been walking 5 minutes,” you flouted, “Loosen up a bit.” Sherlock snickered to himself, messing with his gloved hands. “You’re already trying to read me?”

“You’re walking like you’ve got a stick up your arse. It’s clear you’re agitated,” you jested. The curly-haired detective sneered at you and kicked a clump of ice out of the way. “I can’t think, Y/n. We have potential homicide to solve and we’re here drudging in the snow.”

“Remember, this was your idea, genius. Unless you can come up with something else, this is all we’ve got.” Sherlock went silent, chewing the inside of his cheek. His mind wandered to try and come up with something snarky to throw at you. Perhaps a witty comeback that would leave you in doubt. The headache he was dealing with was enough to strike him in his train of thought. He shook it off and his focus returned to the matter of urgency. Unsolved case.

Sherlock lifted his face to the sky, blowing a hot cloud of breath into the chilly London air. He tugged his scarf a little closer to his neck, shoving his gloved hands down into his thick coat. The breath cloud was a common habit of Sherlock’s during cold weather. It mimicked the effect of blowing cigarette smoke, just without the tar and nicotine. Fortunately, the only time the detective abused drugs anymore was when cases had him horribly stumped; thanks to you and John’s efforts, his drug use was much more controlled now.

“Five missing children. All between the ages of 7 and 9. We know that the connection is tied to their private schools. Three different religious private schools within a 10 kilometer radius — so, fairly close together. The parents reported their children coming home with expensive gifts from a mysterious donor shortly before they went missing. They referred to the perpetrator as ‘Ray’. Anyone handing out shiny trinkets to naive children is either a philanthropist or a predator. I’d like to bet on the latter.”

You sighed, mentally reviewing all of the evidence from the case in your head. “But all of the children knew basic safety protocols: don’t talk to strangers, never accept anything from strangers, the whole package. Their parents are terribly traditional. They never would have let any of them see the light if they broke any of those rules. So the chances are near impossible that they would have fallen for such typical child abduction tricks.”

“Near impossible, L/n. That means there’s still a possibility and possible is all we need to screw this up,” Sherlock tutted. He blew another large cloud of air, shaking some light snow off his curls. You frowned, “The suspects. We’ve interrogated the popes, teachers, parents… who are we missing?”

Sherlock stopped walking. You turned to check up on him, finding him with his eyes shut. “Maybe we’re asking the wrong questions…”

“Of course we’re asking the wrong questions! We have all the pieces in our hands but no instructions, Sherlock. We’re running in circles with this case,” you walked over to a public railing, leaning against it and looking out across the long white blanket that stretched to the horizon.

He joined your side shortly after, bending down to pick up some rocks to toss down the snowy hill and watch as they made skinny trails in the frosty powder. Sherlock sighed out, exasperated and worn out. “We’re not getting anywhere by mulling over it, are we?”

You smiled at him and shook your head. You pulled your coat a little tighter around yourself. “That’s why I’m here to keep you in check. It’s good to get some air, you know? Christ knows when’s the last time you did that simply because you wanted to.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow perked up and he faced you with a blank expression. “How do you mean?” Your eyes widened a little, unsure of how you should pick out your next words. “Well… you know, you don’t exactly, uh…” Nervously, your eyes flicked up to his. He was watching your expression very carefully.

“You don’t spend a lot of time for yourself,” you said simply. Sherlock frowned in disagreement. “I spend a lot of time by myself. I thought you knew me better than that,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your back against the cold railing now, crossing your arms. “In your mind palace, Sherlock. I mean you don’t do things you enjoy.”

“Who said I don’t enjoy things?” he countered your query. You found yourself forming a cold sweat, debating on how to deliver your message. “Hobbies?”

“Violin.”

“Meh. Parties?”

“You disturb me.” Your best friend’s disgust made you cackle. “See, that’s my point! You don’t know how to have fun anymore. What happened to old Sherlock?”

Now this was a personal offense against Sherlock. “What? You don’t think I’m fun?” Sherlock sounded incredibly appalled by your claim. A hot cloud of air rose to the sky when you scoffed.

“Holmes, you are probably the farthest thing when it comes to the definition of fun!”

“Well, probability-wise, that’s highly improbable when Mycroft exists.”

“His poshness makes up for it. You’re just irritating.” Sherlock puffed out his red cheeks, nudging you playfully. “Oh, come on. You must admit that I’m at least an interesting character?”

You pondered in fake thought, scrunching your face together. “Interesting is debatable. Fun? That’s foreign territory, Sherlock.” The tall man grimaced deeply at your bluntness that he clearly had issues with. “What do you mean by ‘Old Sherlock’? What was good about the ‘old me’? I consider myself much more refined in the present day.”

Old memories of the two of you hanging out with one another as teenagers came back to you. A smile melted on your face from the warm feelings of nostalgia, the chilliness from the snowfall leaving your body.

“You used to prank Mycroft all the time. Everything was always a competition with you and me; we would go from racing down the neighborhood to reach my house first or rush to finish homework and claim the telly before the other could. Oh! We would always make up fake cases, too, trying to entertain a mystery that didn’t even exist,” you laughed to yourself, “Look at us now.”

Sherlock grumbled at the reminder of your old shenanigans. He wasn’t always the fondest of his younger self. But he had to admit he was reckless, even as a child. It was a simpler time and kids didn’t have much to fret or fear.

“Now you’re all enigmatic and stoic with your flipped up coat collar and scary cheekbones. The difference is so disappointing, it’s sickening,” you gagged. Sherlock slipped off his glove and jabbed his freezing hand against your neck, making you exclaim at the coldness and shove him backward. He wore a victorious smirk at your suffering. You pointed a hard finger at him, holding back your own laughter to prove a point.

“NO, that’s not being fun, Sherlock. That’s torture- sadism! You’re just an arse!” He threw his arms in the air, tossing his glove in your face. “It’s subjective! I can be fun,” he insisted.

“You’re predictable, Holmes. You don’t remember what good humor is and it shows in your actions. You pick everything up from books and telly. You can’t surprise me anymore,” you declared. Sherlock’s expression contorted into shock as he stared at you in disbelief. You had left the great Sherlock Holmes baffled. The silence was deafening — music to your ears.

When you thought you were winning this argument, a special glint quickly shone in Sherlock’s eyes. Your expression dropped and then you were pushed backward. There was no railing behind you anymore to catch you.

As you were falling, you naturally grasped for something to hold on to. In this case, Sherlock’s coat. The evil smirk on his face was immediately replaced with shock then fear as he was crashing hard into you. Gravity did the rest of the work. With the momentum you had already begun, dragging Sherlock down with you was one of the worst possible outcomes of the situation. A crude curse slipped past his lips and both of you latched onto each other because there was nothing else to brace with.

What was initially meant to be a playful fall down the snowy hill turned into a rolling battle full of frantic thrashing and screaming as both of your bodies thumped and tangled with each other. The two of you occasionally bounced a few inches off the ground and crashed back into the ground, knocking the breath out of both of you. The wild human avalanche down the hill was finally put to a stop when you rolled into a tree. With a loud OOMPH, you and Sherlock flopped into the ground, groaning and croaking in pain. Neither of you moved for the first passing moments, unable to process what just happened.

Your fall was broken when you landed on top of Sherlock, his body sprawled out in the cold snow, rasping heavily. Some snow fell off your form and your arms shook as you propped yourself up, no longer caring about the fact that you applied all the pressure in your friend’s ribs.

“You alright, mate?” you panted, checking up on Sherlock, eyes analyzing him for any serious injuries.

“You take my breath away.” You sputtered and shook your head at his ridiculous humor. “Aren’t you just romantic?” He squinted his eyes and flashed a sarcastic smile but groaned out, “No, really. Please get off my chest.”

“Oh God, sorry,” you scrambled off of him and he rolled over into the snow, gasping for air as he clutched his side in pain. You punched him in the shoulder. “You bloody twat, Sherlock Holmes! Pushing me down a hill by Jove’s sake!”

“I remember it being much more fun when we were younger,” he grunted out, pushing himself onto his forearms. And just then, his eyes burst wide open. His face slack-jawed as his brain computed at top speed. He was onto something.

“Sherlo-”

“FUN, Y/n,” he articulated, scrambling over to you and grabbing you by the shoulders. You stiffened and backed away, startled by his abrupt realization. 

“Oh, Y/n, you are brilliant! This is why we work together!”

“What?! What are you-”

“The kids were abducted because they were having fun! ‘Ray’ is Remus Stooge, another private school kid in the area. The Stooge family owns several of the land plots around this corner of London and they’re the ones funding all three schools — The Stooge’s are plenty wealthy. The children were going to Remus’s home, ditching class time to get a personal house tour of his daddy’s money. The fancy car rides, luxurious delights, shiny sneakers and tailored clothing… Who wouldn’t pass up on an opportunity like that? It only makes sense why they were lured in so easily! Their rich best pal Remus has been the one inviting them right into the trap!”

“What- Sherlock! Where is this all coming from?! How do you even-”

“Trust me, Y/n!! I have it figured out- It all makes sense!” he interjected again. The look on your faces was bizarre. You tossed a handful of snow at him as he blocked it with his hands. “NO?? It doesn’t! This is so sudden-”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant, brushing off the powder from his coat and yanking you up. His eyes were gleaming with excitement. “We have to go tell Lestrade, now! Call John and get over to the Stooge’s place!”

“To arrest the kid?!”

“No, the butler!” He grabbed your gloved hand and dragged you up the steep white hill. You shook your head wildly, “Holmes, you better have a bloody good explanation for this in the cab or there will be hell to pay.” Sherlock smirked triumphantly and squeezed your hand.

“Come, L/n! The game is on!”

Requests are open! <3

[neverlet]

Do you know what the L in Mark L. Gatiss stands for?

I think you saw my memes-

I don't have time for introductions, I have to explain everything before the FBI arrives.

We all know that the information that Mark Gatiss has a middle name came out on July 25, when he published a post about the lost Doctor Who script:

What's interesting is that the first episode of the Sherlock series also came out on July 25, but that was more than 10 years ago. To understand what the L in Mark's name means we need to dig a little deeper. And so. I made a scheme:

From this scheme we can see that Mark is just a clone that Colonel Black created (let's assume he created the cloning machine). He cloned himself many times, but right now we are only interested in his main clones. That is, Alexander Mycroft Chad Holmes, Richard Lazarus, and Mark L. Gatiss.

As we know, Mycroft became ruler of the country, which means he made sure that no one found out about the cloning and rejuvenation of Richard Lazarus. Except me, of course.

Damn, I can hear the sirens already..! God, I've got to do this faster...

Let's move on. We know that Mark L. Gatiss is a 3-word initial. Which means it's three connection points. And what has three points? That's right, a triangle. And the triangle as their symbol was used by the Illuminati.

Over the years, the Illuminati have changed their goal, but now they come to one thing: they spread their religion by holding weekly rituals called "Gatiss Wednesday".

Who performs these rituals? It's a certain @lavenderandvanilla, whose nickname, oddly enough, begins the same way as Mark's middle name. That's hardly a coincidence.

More and more people are joining the movement. And everyone is being greeted nicely:

There are more and more of them and Mark is about to achieve his main goal of ruling this world and everyone will worship him.

Things get worse when you find out that his butt has fans, too. Here's the proof.

Probably @sexygatiss is the craziest fan alive... We should be afraid of them.

Likewise, his followers believe that today is clone’s Mark's birthday. Along with that, they write about how wonderful Mark is... I don't think we can save the planet from them... They're all out of their minds.

Oh, I'm forgetting the main thing... The scheme also says that Mark is connected to Lucifer. I wrote that for a reason. It was written by Mark's chief preacher:

Which means that Mark or Colonel Black is Satan himself or Satan was their ancestor. Unfortunately, there is too little information on this as well as time.

They're already breaking down the door! God! They're gonna kill me!

The L in Mark's name stands for-

Hail Mark L. Gatiss!

[thomaslightwood]

Blackthorn Detective Agency - Part 1

KitTy Sherlock AU!

It's set in 1930s, slow burn & will have a few parts!

I'm not 100% sure where this is going but I'm already writing the second part, so we will see

Words: 3 862 (I know it's long, sorry, this part is more about the plot and the surroundings)

Kit looked at the grey sky above his head and frowned. It was going to rain. Of course.

He hasn't been in London for over a year now but he wondered how he could forget that. The bad weather, the noise, (and true to be told - very dirty) streets, the men in suits and cylinders, the women in pretty dresses, sometimes with pants. He wondered what happened to the few closet shops he was passing by. One of the many mysteries of life.

And talking about mysteries…

Kit saw at the other side of the street what he was looking for. A grey showcase, thorns all over the frame with a few simple words in the middle - "Blackthorn Detective Agency". There was a small bee on its left.

Kit fastly crossed the street, holding his hat. Some man angrily shooted, cursing the sudden wind that scattered many leaves, newspapers and even a few hats. Kit laughed. He missed London even though it wasn't the most awesome place.

He stood up in front of the agency, hesitating. He knew the guy who ran it is young, very good at what he does and known among people as Sherlock Holmes. Kit didn't know almost anything about him. What if he was a criminal? Or another kind of dangerous person?

But he remembered the look on his father's face. The empty package. Kit needed the money, no matter what kind of guy was this Sherlock.

He quietly opened the door and looked around the room as he was entering. It was kind of a lobby but a lot smaller - there was space only for two comfortable-looking armchairs, mahogany mass and a portrait hidden behind a curtain. The walls were in nice, warm colors, mainly grey and brown, a turned off radio on the desk. In the right corner, almost unnoticeable was a polished ajar wooden door.

Kit cautiously stepped towards it but then he heard voices. He stopped, grateful he was quiet while coming inside.

“... think so?” this was a woman's voice, perhaps a girl's.

“Look. All I know is that my friend disappeared a few days ago,” this was definitely a woman's voice, probably older than the first one. “He didn't show up for our meeting the next day. He didn't send a note. And…” she hesitated.

“What is it?” this time it was a male's voice.

There was a minute of silence, then:

“The only reason I come here is not because I can't do investigation on my own. It's because…” she sighed. “The last day we saw each other, exactly the day before our appointment, he told me there is a secret that was passed to him to protect. And he told me about it. Not everything, not enough details, but I'm sure he told me because he knew he may be… attacked. I think his… attackers may know about me and this would impede the investigation.“

“I understand,” the male voice again. It was a nice voice. Melodic. Kit could listen to it for hours. “I suppose you can't tell us this secret.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I definitely can't. It's not mine to say.”

After this no one said anything but Kit thought he heard a pen writing fast on a paper.

“Is there anything further you want to share?” asked the male voice.

“I don't think so,” the woman said. “Just… be careful. Find my friend. The money is not a problem.”

Kit swallowed. Money. This woman had money. Kit should get the job at all costs.

“Thank you, Miss Loss. We will do everything we can to help.”

This was followed by silence and noise of moving clothes. Tracking of heels. Kit jumped off the door, hoping he wouldn't be caught eavesdropping.

A woman with blue skin and white hair came out of the room. A warlock. She suspiciously looked at Kit but didn't say anything. She walked past him and frowned at the sky.

“London's weather is terrible, isn't it?” Kit chuckled. “Sometimes I forget.”

A shadow of a smile crossed the woman's face. “It is, indeed. That's why I brought an umbrella.”

“Lucky you. I always forget and I'm supposed to live here.”

Then a real smile appeared on her face. But she didn't say anything - just put on her gloves, took out her umbrella and went outside. As she opened her umbrella right in front of Kit her skin and hair became darker and she wasn't warlock anymore - just a regular woman in the rain.

Kit watched after her for a second then turned around. On the door's frame was leaning a girl. Not much older than Kit probably, with bright blue-green eyes that was watching him curiously. She was wearing gloves, white shirt with puff sleeves and coffee brown wide leg pants, almost as dark as her curly hair. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. Kit noticed a necklace around her neck, with a gold chain and a slim disk of metal on it. On the front was a wreath of thorns - probably the family symbol.

“How can I help you?” she asked politely.

“I'm here for the job. I heard that… Sherlock… is looking for a partner.”

“Yes, that's right,” she said. “Very well. Come in.”

She turned around and got back into the room she and the other woman were in. Kit followed.

It was an office. The shelves on the walls were filled with books - some of them about mathematics and the morse code, about the body language and animals, others - mysteries and classics, fairy tales and mythology, most of which Kit didn't recognize. It was surprisingly cozy - the room was warm and smelled like ink and paper. There were a few maps on the walls - of the world, of England and of London. Three armchairs like the ones in the lobby and surprisingly many tables (at least three) on which were a few little toys and tons of well organized paper - on one was even a disassembled watch. Right against the door, no more than 5 meters away, was a big desk - it was a little messy, with a rotary dial telephone and two chairs on both sides. Probably for the clients.

There was also a board, standing close to the desk - big, see-through board on wheels with paper and written things on it. A young man was cleaning it right now.

As Kit saw him everything around faded a little and his gaze was focused only on him. How beautiful.

This was probably the most good-looking man Kit has ever seen. He was tall, taller than Kit, with messy black hair which showed he probably runs a hand through it a lot. His eyes were grey like the sky outside, carefully reading a piece of paper. He was wearing gloves, a silk white shirt, a little loosened on his neck and black trousers with braces.

This should be Sherlock, Kit thought. He didn't expect him to be so young. Hell, he probably wasn't much older than Kit.

“We have a job candidate," the blue-greened girl said and sat on one of the armchairs.

The young man lifted his gaze to look at Kit. Kit felt embarrassed. He was wearing his favorite overcoat and cap - he wasn't as elegant as the two of them.

“Hello,” he said, trying not to sound too nervous. Or desperate. “I'm here for the job. I heard that Sherlock is looking for someone helping him.”

None of them said who Sherlock was or if the guy in front of him was Sherlock. The black haired one just nodded.

“You can sit if you want.”

Kit sat. The boy took a notebook from one the piles on the desk and a pen.

“My name is Livvy. This is my brother, Ty. We run this place. Nice to meet you.”

They, Livvy actually, asked him a few basic questions - his name, age, occupation. Kit came here prepared to lie for them all. But watching the boys' - Ty's - face while he was writing down the information, he couldn't make himself tell all the lies he had prepared. Kit ended up telling them the truth. His father would be disappointed in him. Well, if he knew his son was here.

“So, Mr. Rook,” the girl started.

Kit shivered. “Please, Mr. Rook is my father. You can call me just Kit.”

“Kit, it is,” she smiled. Kit had a feeling the serious questions begin now.

After almost 30 minutes the interview was at its end.

“Final question,” Livvy said. “Tell us Kit, why do you want to work in this agency?”

Kit paused. “True to be told, it's mainly because I need the money.”

“Oh,” clearly this wasn't the answer she expected. Even Ty looked up. “Really?”

Kit shifted uncomfortably. “Well… I want to help my father and for this I need to find a job. And when I saw the inquiry in the newsletter… I told myself this is what I want to try to work.”

It wasn't the greatest answer, really. But it was the truth.

“Very well,” Livvy said. Ty wrote something in his notebook - he was doing it the whole interview. “Please, leave us alone for a few minutes.”

Kit nodded and got up. He smiled at them and turned around.

When he got out of the room the door closed tightly after him.

•

Livvy turned to him with a playful smile.

“What do you think about him?”

Ty looked at the notes he had made during the interview. Christopher, also known as Kit Rook.

“He looks like he can do the job,” Ty said.

“Oh, come on!” Livvy stepped away from the door and approached Ty's desk. “I know you liked him.”

It was true. Ty did like him. He had a nice smile.

“You're not wrong,” Ty said. “But.”

“But?” Livvy raised an eyebrow.

“I don't think he'll keep up around for long. You heard him. He's here only for the money. When he is financially stable again he'd quit.”

“Ty,” Livvy sighed. “We talked about this. We're looking for someone who will work here, no matter how long. We can't find a full time worker that fast.”

Ty ran a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and breathed. He looked at the empty board. He already imagined how he filled it with paper, the possible connections and people, places and details, the web of the case - could this stranger help him solve the board?

“I know you don't like strangers,” Livvy said quietly. “But at least give him a chance. From all the people that came, he is… I don't know. Most reliable-looking, I suppose. He would talk with people and he's smart. And I have a feeling he may know a thing or two about London's criminals.”

Ty looked suspiciously at the door, even though he couldn't see Kit through it. “Do you really think he would be helpful?”

Livvy sat on the chair in front of the desk, looking amused - Ty wasn't sure why. “I think he is worth a try.”

Ty looked at his notes one more time, tapping with the pan on them. He looked at Livvy. Sighed.

“All right,” he said. “Let him in. He must hear the good news.”

Livvy smiled at him and got up. Ty almost didn't hear their conversation. Still tapping with the pen on the papers, he read again all the information Catarina Loss gave him. He should talk with some people. Check some places. To think about it.

“Ty?”

“Yes?” he looked at Livvy.

“When is Kit starting?”

Ty thought about it for a second. “Right now.”

•

Well, Kit thought. These guys are intense.

He watched, sitting on a chair, as Ty and Livvy together "prepared" for the case. Ty cleaned up one table, while Livvy moved the London's map closer to the see-through board. At some point they were finished and Livvy sat on the same chair she was sitting on during Kit's interview, while Ty remained standing.

“Let's retell get the case from the beginning,” Ty said and grabbed his notebook. “Before four days, on 10th October Ragnor Fell arrived in London, around 2 p.m. After that, around 4 p.m he and Catarina Loss met on George Street, in a restaurant whose name is unknown. They sat there no more than three hours and left between 6 and 6:30 p.m. This is the last time Catarina sees Ragnor. The next day, 11th October, they should have met at Arthur Street at 11 a.m. but Ragnor never appears.”

He looked up from his notebook and said, “Do I miss something?”

“I don't think so,” Livvy, who had written fast while her brother was talking, shook her head. She turned to Kit as she was handing the paper to Ty. “This is the 'skeleton' of the story. The very basics we know. The details come after this.”

Kit nodded, fascinated by the team they were. What was Kit even doing here? It was obvious the twins worked well together - they didn't need a third wheel.

“Now,” Ty said slowly, looking at the paper with the information Livvy wrote on. “Ragnor told Catarina the secret during their meeting on 10th, correct?” On another list, which he pinned next to the first one, he carefully started to write what he just said. He was making a timeline, Kit realized.

“Correct,” his sister said. “Also, in the same conversation he mentioned he's going to meet with a person named Raphael Santiago, but it's unclear when and where.”

Ty wrote that too.

Then he stared at it, tapping the pen on his hand.

“Do we know when he comes from?” Kit suddenly asked.

They both turned their heads at him at the same time. A little creepy but impressive.

“What do you mean?”

“I was talking about Ragnor and his train. Do we know where the train started from? Or from where Ragnor was before arriving here?”

Ty intensely searched his journal. “I don't think so.”

“It's probably not important anyway…”

“It may be,” Ty just said and took one more paper, wrote something on it and pinned it on the other side of the list with the 'skeleton'. “This is the first thing we're going to check tomorrow.”

For a few more hours they discussed the case. It was Ty mostly and Livvy. Kit was only following their conversations (and Ty's monologues), adding some little details time to time.

He was amazed. After spending a few hours in their company he could understand why "Blackthorn Detective Agency" had this reputation.

Kit looked at the clock on his hand and stood up. “I'm sorry but I have to go.”

It was almost 6 p.m. His father would wonder where he was.

“All right,” Livvy said. “Come here tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. Or earlier.”

Kit shivered. So early. But he only nodded and left.

•

Kit was running down the street. The wind was blowing in his face, his lungs were burning. He could barely stop in front of the door of "Blackthorn Detective Agency". Kit took one deep breath and entered.

Ty was in the lobby, sitting on one of the armchairs. He was reading his notes, in one hand holding a calabash pipe and in the other - his journal.

He glanced at Kit. “You're late.”

“I'm sorry,“ Kit said. It was his first day - it was a bad impression to be late, wasn't it? “I didn't correctly estimate how long it would take me to get here. I promise it won't happen again.”

“Good,” Ty said, closing his notebook. He got up from the armchair and grabbed the overcoat that was on the other.

He was as tall and handsome as yesterday. Under the overcoat he was wearing clothes similar as the day before - only the shirt was green. The braces remained the same.

“Let's go.”

“Shall we not wait for Livvy?”

“She is not coming with us.”

“Oh. All right.”

Ty eyed him as they were leaving the building. “Are you disappointed?”

“Well. No. Just surprised I suppose.”

Ty seemed like he accepted his answer. They walked side by side on the street.

“Where are we going? To the train station?”

“We shall,” Ty said. “But our first stop is Ragnor's apartment because it's closer. Then we'll take a taxi to the train station.”

“Sounds good.”

They walked together in the chilly London. Kit could see his breath in the air. The streets were rather empty. Maybe it was because it was too early? Anyway, he liked it this way. It was calm.

“So,” Kit said. “Why do you choose to call yourself Sherlock? Where does it come from?”

“Livvy came up with it,” Ty said, glancing around the street. Maybe he was searching for Ragnor's apartment. “And I'm not Sherlock.”

Kit was so shocked he stopped walking for a second. Then he caught up with Ty and asked, “Wait, you're not Sherlock Holmes? Then who is it?”

“Well,” Ty said and turned towards the street on the left. “It's Livvy and I. Although she probably will disagree.”

“Interesting,” Kit said absently. This explained some things. Like why no one could tell how Sherlock looked or his age. Even if he was male or female even though most people thought it's a man.

“This is it,” Ty said and they stopped in front of a tall but narrow building, reminiscent of a tower. “I believe Ragnor's apartment is on the third floor.”

Instead of entering the building from the main entrance, they went around to the rear entrance. While they climbed the stairs (because around the elevator too many people would see them), Kit asked, “Do you have a key to the apartment?”

“No,” Ty simply said.

“You say we're going to break in?”

“Well, technically, yes. But Catarina Loss said we should do everything we can to find him. Even if this includes "some not so legal actions", in her words.”

“Dear god,” Kit murmured. “So, we, kind of, have her permission to break in her friend's apartment?”

“That's right.”

Does he know how to do that? Kit thought but didn't say it. He probably knew. This was Sherlock Holmes (or at least half of it).

They quietly sneaked throughout the floor, until Ty stopped in front of room 66B.

He frowned at it.

“What is it?” Kit said.

“It seems that the lock is not... what I expected it to be,” Ty sounded deeply displeased when he said it.

Kit signed. He didn't want to seem like a criminal but desperate situations require desperate measures.

“Have you brought some instrument to open the door?” Kit said, already looking at the lock. “Small screwdriver perhaps? Or something like it?”

“I did,” Ty said absently, tapping with his foot. He was probably thinking of other ways to open the door without breaking it. Well, with a bit of luck Kit was going to do it for him.

“Can you give it to me? I want to try something.”

For a second Ty just looked at him but did as Kit asked.

Kit took the little object and kneeled in front of the door. The lock was better than he expected from a place like this but nothing unbearable.

After a few minutes, a few clicks and pressure on the mechanism Kit unlocked it. He stood up and gave the screwdriver back to Ty.

Ty was looking at him with amused eyes. “Unexpected but very helpful. Thank you.”

Kit felt warm and smiled. He wasn't used to people complimenting him. Shyness he didn't know existed in him woke up and he just said, “Nothing special. You're welcome any time.”

Ty gave him a thoughtful look for a second but didn't say anything.

They walked in the Ragnor Fell flat. It was a rather simple room. Pale red wallpapers, boring green sofa. A dresser and a desk with a few books about Spanish language on it. Bookshelf and a few plants. In the end of the room was a door, as boring as everything else here, that was probably the bedroom.

“This doesn't make sense,” Ty said, looking around the room. He approached the desk and looked at the books.

“What? That this flat is awfully boring for a warlock to live in? If so, yes, you're right.”

“No. I mean,” Ty ran a hand through his hair. “You have a point. I suppose. But I meant that such a warlock as him would protect his own flat at least. We get into it too easy. There were no spells, no protection, nothing. This is strange.”

Kit closed the door to the apartment and stepped in it. “Maybe he just didn't have the time?”

Ty shook his head, opening a drawer in the desk. It was empty. “Between his meeting with Catarina and his arrival in London are two whole hours. After that too, if we guess he hasn't been kidnapped right after meeting her.”

“Fair point.”

Kit looked around as well, approaching the door. There really wasn't anything interesting. Most of the books were classics, the sofa looked old but unused. Kit opened the door to the bedroom which creaked quietly.

This room was even simpler. One big bed, two nightstands on both sides of it and one more wood door, probably for a bathroom or closet. At one of them though there was a frame. As Kit took it in his arms he saw it was a black and white photograph. In the middle Kit recognized Catarina Loss - she was smiling quietly with crossed on her chest arms. On the right was a tall guy with cat eyes and a big smile, maybe a little drunk.

Kit decided the man on the left was Ragnor - he couldn't imagine a guy like the other one would live in place like this. Maybe-Ragnor looked grumpy and annoyed but Kit could see in his sparkling eyes that he was happy. He probably loved his friends but would never admit it.

On the right corner with a thick pen was written 'Peru,1890'.

“Did you find something?”

Kit looked a little startled at Ty. He almost forgot they were here to investigate. Almost.

“Something,” Kit repeated. He handed the frame to Ty and watched as his grey eyes were running through the photo.

“Peru, 1890,” he said thoughtfully. “This photography is from more than 40 years ago.”

“It's the only personal piece here. Probably in the whole flat, except the Spanish books.”

“You have a point,” Ty agreed. “But this is not his-”

A sharp sound interrupted him. It was the front door. Someone was trying to break it.

Kit breath stopped. Before he could do anything Ty grabbed his arm, opened the wood door and dragged them both inside.

Ty closed the door to the narrow dark room. Kit couldn't see anything. The only material thing was Ty's body against him. A moment later they heard how the stranger broke the lock and their steps as they came inside.

To be continued...

[sunnysidekit]

Summary: All is fair in love and war. And boxing, too, apparently.

Pairing: Ben ‘Benny’ Miller x F!Reader (no y/n, reader’s boxing nickname is ‘Nyx’)

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence.

Word count: 2.2k

My masterlist

Everyone likes a good mystery. Don’t even try to deny it; whether you like Sherlock Holmes or if you’re more of an Agatha Christie fan, none of us can really escape the allure of a good conundrum every now and again. Some people can stare in the face of their mystery and not recognize it for quite some time, while others can practically smell them from a mile away. Ben Miller is part of, well, both groups.

Personally, he likes mysteries and surprises and such, but his army days have taught him all of those are a bad thing. A mission can collapse after the smallest detail changes, after all. Sometimes those missions are called off; other than the fact that he can’t do his job when that happens, he’s not really bothered by it. But when something catches him and his team by surprise during a mission and they have to get on with it anyway, things tend to… let’s say, not end well for everyone. And that’s gently put, of course.

Which is why when he’s at home between deployments, he likes his simple habits. They provide joy and adrenaline, and boy does he need both to function well. One of those habits is boxing. He likes it because of its simplicity; you punch your opponent, they punch you back, and so on and so forth until one of you stops. He’s good at it, too. Will always says that’s because he practiced a lot on him when they were younger. Ben says he’s the one with the good genes. Their mother was a fighter, too, after all.

The other reason he likes boxing is because your opponents always try to surprise you with a little mystery move. It’s fun for him to figure out how to respond in a split second, and the rush he gets when he does so successfully is almost unparalleled. Today, though, the only real surprise is the sudden appearance of his very own mystery. And, hey, you might know where this one’s going: it appears in the shape of a woman…

Benny whoops when he kicks open the door to his old high school gym’s changing room, but it sounds a bit less enthusiastic than it did after his last match. He knew he should have listened to Will and gone somewhere, anywhere else than back to Red Feather Lakes, but he’s not about to mention it when he can already imagine the smug grin spreading across his brother’s face.

He won, that’s what counts. And it’s not that bad to have done so after what is sure to be America’s easiest boxing match. That just means he’s good at it. The crowd went just as wild as it usually does, even though there were significantly less attendants than two weeks ago. Somehow, none of the arguments he tells himself really convinces him.

“All right!” Catfish says triumphantly from behind him. “Looks like all that training paid off, didn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Benny trails off as his slightly blurry vision comes back into focus. There’s someone sitting on one of the benches, someone he doesn’t know. It’s a woman; her aura tells him she’s all business, but her clothes tell him she also definitely plays. “Who’re you?”

The woman doesn’t respond immediately; only after half a minute of casually typing away on her phone does she look up and meet his eye. “Name’s Val,” she says, her facial expression one he can’t quite place. “And I’m about to ask you something you won’t be able to ignore.”

It’s important to notice that Benny isn’t particularly patient in his post-fight high, something Frankie knows very well. He becomes a bomb of electric energy that, once set off, won’t stop until every single muscle in his body gives out. And he’s about to be set off.

“Val, is it?” Frankie smiles at the woman, swiftly moving his friend to the showers. “Why don’t we talk while he cools down, hm?”

“You’re not the one I want to ask a question,” she says calmly, not taking her eyes off Benny. “You’re a Delta boy, aren’t you? I can see it in the way you fight. It takes regular boxers years to develop such a sensitive, quick response capability.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And that makes me think that oaf out there’s a long way from even thinking of acquiring your skillset. It’s impressive how easily you had him on the mat.”

“Ma’am, if you want an autograph-” Frankie tries, sensing the ticking time-bomb next to him is about to blow, but Val immediately interjects.

“Which is precisely what caught my eye. These men are no challenge for you anymore, but I think I know someone who could be. Should you accept their invitation, that is.”

“Do I know him?” Benny narrows his eyes at her, trying by god to figure out her angle in all of this. She smirks and closes her eyes a few seconds longer than a normal blink would take; touchy subject, maybe? Or perhaps he’s right and he has seen the guy before.

“You might have seen them around, sure. But I doubt you’d remember them.”

“So, what? I say yes and I’ll fight your friend here next week or something?” Benny snatches his towel from his bag and snaps it against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m afraid my friend’s a little more… complex than that, Mr. Miller.”

“Hey, uh, no thanks,” Frankie cuts in, waving his hands as if to dissipate the words in the air. “He doesn’t do illegal fights.”

“He’d have plausible deniability,” Val says with a slight tilt of her head, then turns back to face Benny and hands him a business card. "Anyway, the choice is yours, Mr. Miller, not your friend’s. I don’t need an answer right now. Do take your time to think it over, sleep on it a bit. Once you’re a little more comfortable with the idea, give this number a call. I’ve got a feeling they’d very much like to bruise that pretty face of yours until it looks like a Monet.”

She gets up from the bench and walks out of the changing room without looking back. Benny slips the business card into his jacket pocket, something that catches Frankie’s attention.

“Don’t do it, Ben,” he sighs. “I’m serious. You could get arrested, get your ass thrown in jail. You’ll get kicked out of the army.”

“Stop whining, Fish. I’m not gonna do it anyway.”

Despite explicitly telling Frankie he wouldn’t do it, here he is, standing outside his local gym with his phone in one hand and the curious looking business card in the other. There’s not a lot of info on it, but, hey, what did he expect? That an illegal streetfighter would publish their own name, address and contact info on a bunch of business cards?

There are only two things printed on the grey little card: Nyx, which must be the fighter’s nickname or something, and a phone number. It’s been in his jacket pocket ever since he left his old high school, but it felt like it’s been burning a hole in it the entire time. It’s exactly as Val said it would be. He can’t get her proposition out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries.

She’s right about the competition. They’re no match for him, not the ones here in Red Feather Lakes. And, sure, he could always just sign up for something three towns over, but it wouldn’t matter much. How she found out he’s in the Delta Force is beyond him, though. It’s policy not to broadcast such a position if you want to stay in it. Maybe she has connections in the army…

That’s another thing; his place in the army. It would be gone as soon as he gets caught, and it’s not like he’s got great job prospects waiting for him back home when all he’s done for the past ten years is train to get where he is now. No college degree, no other jobs to list on his resume, no wealthy parents to fall back on… His whole life would go up in smoke.

But it does entice him. He technically does illegal things for his job all the time, and the matches he engages in when he has some down time aren’t really scratching that one particular itch anymore. Let’s face it: one phone call can’t hurt, right? He can still refuse, say no, put his foot down. Maybe even convince this guy to go legit.

He pushes the little green receiver on the screen, then puts his phone to his ear. The dial tone beeps three times before someone picks up. He opens his mouth to say something, but the person on the other side is quicker.

“Ben Miller, I presume?” It’s… a woman. But not Val. “Val told me you’d be giving me a call.”

“And you’re…” he quickly flips over the card just to be sure, “…Nyx, then?”

“Got it in one. I do so hate it when Val forgets to mention my name in the initial interview.”

Benny huffs out a confused laugh. “Interview?”

“You aced it, by the way. Not saying too much is best when talking with my… let’s call her my associate,” the woman says. Her voice is softer than Val’s, and a lot smoother. It sounds like what taking a sip of hot chocolate feels like. “Shall we get on with it and discuss the rules of this little arrangement?”

“I don’t-- rules? I haven’t even given you an answer.”

“Oh, don’t fool yourself into thinking you’ve got any restraint left,” she chuckles. “You want to tell me you called just to say hello to a total stranger?”

“No, but-” Benny splutters, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Then your answer, even if you haven’t given it to me yet, is as clear as the Pope’s Holy Water. Now then, the rules. In order to keep you in the warm, sunny, light side of the law, I’ll arrange a time and place. All you have to do is show up.”

He can’t help but grin. She’s clearly on top of this whole cloak and dagger operation, that much he can tell. Who she is, though, he can’t say. Not yet. Maybe he’ll recognize her when he sees her. “What about my gear?”

“Do take it with you, please. I’m not a charity, giving away free gear to any John, Charles or Mary.”

“All right,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Anything else?”

“Val will pick you up and get you back home safely, so don’t worry about the whole transport situation.”

“This doesn’t sound very... safe. I mean, you do realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping, right? Or murder, or something like that?”

The woman laughs. It sounds like the melody to a song he knows but has never heard at the same time. It’s the kind of laugh that makes everyone around laugh as well. “Why would I tell you all this and then still proceed with it if my intent was malicious? You can easily call the cops and have my dear Val arrested for whatever crime you think me capable of, and that wouldn’t be very good for my business.”

“Fair enough.”

“Speaking of Val, she’ll pick you up next Wednesday at nine.”

Benny kicks a piece of gravel onto the street next to him and swallows away the last of his pride and dignity. “All right, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Good lord, I can’t believe Val forgot to tell you that, too,” she laughs again, then clears her throat and continues a lot more seriously. “I only dance in the dark. Have a good night, Mr. Miller.”

Usually, waiting takes ages, but not this time. For Benny the rest of the week practically flew by him and before he knows it, it’s already Wednesday. He went training with Frankie just like any other week, only this time he accidentally forgot to mention his fight with Nyx. He told himself that the less people know about his, uh, date, the better, but he also knows Frankie would have immediately pulled the plug.

Val arrives at nine o’clock sharp in the front seat of a cab, which is no surprise. The drive that follows doesn’t take very long; he also isn’t blindfolded or anything like they do in the movies. The car stops in front of an old warehouse in the east side of town, and that’s when Val turns around in her seat and very concisely tells him to get his ass out of her cab himself, since she’s not going to hold open the door for him.

Instead of driving off, Val simply pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him, calling it his ‘insurance policy’. Then she waves her hand as if to tell him to hurry up and get inside, which he promptly does.

Well, that whole dancing in the dark reference seems to have been meant literally; as soon as the warehouse door closes behind him, an inky, suffocating darkness envelopes Benny and makes a shiver run up and down his spine. He takes a few tentative steps, holding out his arms and moving them around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything while he walks.

Suddenly, a voice calls out to him from a bit further into the sole, big room this warehouse seems to consist of.

“Good evening, Mr. Miller. Let’s get swinging, shall we?”

A/N: Hey there, you made it to the end! Thanks for reading through the whole thing, I hope you liked it. If you’ve got any suggestions or spotted a mistake or two, don’t hesitate to tell me so that I might fix it. I hope you’ll stick around for round two!

[therealsaintscully]

Mary and butterflies - the inevitability of death, murderous calling cards and collectors

Some ramblings with links to other people’s excellent meta, in which I suggest that butterflies (and/or moths) symbolize Mary as Moriarty’s reincarnation and or calling card, while also hint at her inevitable death.

Disclaimers: credits are below the cut. I’m not an expert in any of these topics. Thank you, @thewatsonbeekeepers​​ for the beta. In this post I’ll be using moths and butterflies interchangeably, apologies to any entomologists.

Mary’s appearance in the show brings with it new imagery we haven’t seen prior to The Empty Hearse - butterflies. Once Mary’s in the picture, there are butterflies in some very strategic locations, all are either visually or subtextually leading to her. The show has done that previous to season 3; Moriarty is connected to some well established symbols like magpies, apples and IOUs. 

When I first started reading meta I used to think these themes were a bit of a stretch, but I’ve since accepted  that this is a show that puts barely noticeable phoenixes in a restaurant scene that shows us Sherlock rising from his death.

Here are some of the butterflies I spotted so far:

Butterflies (and in the case of this piece of meta, moth) symbolize most commonly resurrection, change and renewal. Behind the symbolism stands the transformation of a small, ungainly creature into something full-grown and unbound. In that case, in the simplest way, one could argue that butterflies were chosen to symbolize her because the ‘Mary Morstan’ persona was a stillborn’s identity that was stolen and used ‘reborn’ to create a new person.

But more than this simplistic idea; butterflies carry multiple symbolisms. When it comes to Sherlock, I and many others tend to look at Victorian symbolism, considering the detective’s Victorian roots. 

I find the appearance of butterflies interesting in Mary’s context, much like I find the skull interesting in Sherlock’s. The skulls, in Sherlock’s case, serve plenty of purposes, but one of them is the idea of memento mori.

Memento mori (Latin for 'remember that you [have to] die') is an artistic or symbolic reminder of the inevitability of death. These are representations that can appear in any form of art such as paintings, literature, poetry etc. It’s a concept that existed in many ancient cultures but is also deeply rooted in early Christianity. It serves to remind people of the inevitable; that even if we choose to ignore it, not think about it, it’s always there lurking, and the purpose is not to scare us but to encourage us to make good use of our time when we’re alive. Memento mori was the philosophy of reflecting on your own death as a form of spiritual improvement, and rejecting earthly vanities.

Victorians were obsessed with the concept (weren’t Victorians obsessed with everything?). They would take photographs of the dead and keep locks of hair of those who died in mourning brooches. It is said that they found these practices comforting. 

Another expression of the ‘remember that you must die’ concept was vanitas art;  vanitas is a symbolic work of art showing the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. The Latin noun vanitas (from the Latin adjective vanus 'empty') means 'emptiness', 'futility', or 'worthlessness', the traditional Christian view being that earthly goods and pursuits are transient and worthless. It alludes to Ecclesiastes 1:2; 12:8, where vanitas translates the Hebrew word hevel (הבל), which also includes the concept of transitoriness. 

This concept reminds me, most especially, of the skull used in The Abominable Bride, which is actually Charles Allen Gilbert's 'All is Vanity' Illusion art.

Back to butterflies - butterflies are a staple component of vanitas art - paintings executed in the vanitas style were meant to remind viewers of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure, and the certainty of death. They also provided a moral justification for painting attractive objects - in a way, it’s a justification for the vanity, or the human need of enjoyment of beautiful things.  Below is a vanitas by Jan Sanders van Hemessen:

But butterflies are also considered an omen of death: 

“Butterflies and moths were associated with death, sometimes merely as omens, sometimes as the soul or ghost.” These butterfly omens came in many ways.  For example, in the nineteenth century United States, some people thought that a trio of butterflies was an omen of death.” [x]

Oh.

But I also think there’s more to the butterfly symbolism than Mary’s imminent death; I suggest that, in keeping with @loudest-subtext-in-tv​ M-Theory (suggesting that Mary was planted in John’s life by Moriarty), they symbolize Mary as Moriarty reincarnated following his death in TRF. That Moriarty had indeed not disappointed Sherlock - there was a posthumous game after all! That Sherlock was supposed to understand that while one form of Moriarty died on that roof, another had emerged, continuing the mission of burning Sherlock’s heart. Mary is Moriarty’s calling card, left behind in the crime scene. They’re different, but not separate, which is why Sherlock is so obsessed with Moriarty between HLV-T6T; he’s both wrong and correct at the same time.

So far, what I’ve suggested is that in Sherlock, skulls are Sherlock’s symbolic memento mori - the skulls are associated with Sherlock in some very significant ways. 

However, Mary’s character was doomed from the start - she dies during Sherlock’s hiatus in ACD canon. I believe many fans assumed Sherlock’s Mary expected the same fate when she was introduced to the show. Although the story of Samarra is told by Sherlock, who expects his own death in T6T, Mary is the one who ends up dying. 

Butterflies in ACD canon

Searching for the significance of butterflies in the ACD and BBC canon led me to a number of interesting directions in meta written by others. 

The first and probably the best place to start is this meta post by @tendergingergirl​​, which I strongly suggest you read in full: Butterflies, Sexual Deviancy & The Bloodline Theory in The Hound of The Baskervilles. 

Stapleton also has a hobby. He collects bugs…Butterflies, to be exact. This can often be seen as purely academic, but depending on the actions of the hobbyist, they can indicate more disturbing things. That of holding something vulnerable captive, treating it as your hostage, pinning it down. The torture of animals has come to be a good indicator of someone who would do this to a human. He had already shown callousness by laughing as he recounts to Holmes of ponies wandering onto the Moor, becoming trapped, and dying. In 1974, there was a release of a new edition of Sherlock Holmes stories, with the forward of The Hound of The Baskervilles written by British author, John Fowles. He is responsible for several well-known works, including The French Lieutenant’s Wife. Another, was a novel that Mason finds himself wondering why Fowles doesn’t mention in his introduction, since the villain is such a close parallel to Stapleton.(but as we have learned through the study of ACD, most writers will not come right out and say where they got their inspiration. They like for you to guess!)

A lonely young man, works as a clerk, and collects butterflies, becomes obsessed with a pretty young girl, Miranda, an art student. He chloroforms, and kidnaps her, taking her to his cellar basement, to add Miranda to his collection. That book was called The Collector. But what else does it sound like?

“So yes, I googled. From an article on the release of the movie’s Documentary. "The docu proves a poor reference point for anyone who wants to understand the literary and movie links for “Lambs.” There’s no mention, for example, of how Harris partly based the butterfly-loving Bill on John Fowles’ kidnapper in “The Collector” …And here I thought Mofftiss added allusions to Silence of The Lambs into Sherlock just for fun. SMH.”

@tendergingergirl​ also added this photo to their post:

So what we have here is a chain of metatextualities/inspiration, starting with ACD’s THOB, where Jack Stapelton inspires a book about a disturbed butterfly collector (The Collector by John Fowles), which inspires a the author of Silence of the Lambs in creation of his character Buffalo Bill, a serial murderer who inserts a death's head moth into the victim's throat because he is fascinated by the insect's metamorphosis. Silence of the Lambs served as inspiration for Sherlock  as analyzed by @garkgatiss​ in Bond, Hannibal, and Holmes (I suggest you read the whole Hannibal section) . 

Let’s look again at some imagery from His Last Vow. Mary shoots Sherlock’s heart, essentially burning his heart out, and who does Sherlock meet in his Mind Palace in a very cocoon-like straightjacket? Yes, the dead dude who encourages him to die already (“one more push, and off you pop”).

What’s the next thing we as an audience see once Sherlock opens his eyes? Mary coming to the hospital to hear that Sherlock had, in fact, survived. And what is she wearing? Her butterfly scarf, one which will another appearance later in the episode, during the tarmac scene.

I also find it interesting that in the context of Sherlock and Silence of the Lamb, there’s an element of gender-switching between Moriarty and Mary. Buffalo Bill, the murderer from Silence of the Lambs, skins bodies of women to create himself a woman’s 'suit’; in Sherlock, Moriarty is a man-villain who transforms into a female-villain in the form of a bride and/or Mary. 

By the way, who else is obsessed with his suits?

Also, let’s not forget the worms, maggots and other such crawlers in the grave scene:

Now, let’s go over some of the photos I included in the beginning of this post a bit further.

Mrs. Hudson’s butterfly tea set is first shown in TEH - she uses it to serve John tea when he comes visiting her and tellis her about Mary. We also see it near John’s chair on the day of the wedding. This isn’t Sherlock’s set - his set is different, featuring the British Isles. Moriarty drinks from it in TRF. The next tea set we see, now that Moriarty is dead, is the butterflies one. In TLD, Mrs. Hudson uses Sherlock’s tea set - the butterflies are gone.

Mary’s bedroom wallpaper is very feminine, with flowers and butterflies, both complementing symbols while also very common in vanitas art. Much like Mrs. Hudson’s wallpaper in Baker Street, Mary’s wallpaper is supposed to show the contrast between Mary’s flat/Mary and Sherlock’s flat/Sherlock.

There’s an interesting moth reference in The Empty Hearse, which in my opinion, is Mary & Moriarty related. In short, in a previous piece of meta I wrote, I suggested that the Jack the Ripper case in TEH is subtext alluding to Mary’s skeletons, which Sherlock ignores because he’s upset by his reception by John. And what’s one of the first things Sherlock notices about the skeleton? New mothballs smell, hinting at an attempt to get rid of moth/butterflies - maybe a hint to  the fact that Sherlock has a chance to discover the truth about Mary but misses it. Also, in the context of Mary and the Jack the Ripper case, notice this transition:

Transitions are important on Sherlock - they’re nearly always there to draw our attention.

This, I think, is perhaps the most telling about a possible connection between Mary and Moriarty: we have both magpies (a Moriarty hint) and butterflies together here. This isn’t the only hint of Mary’s past we get in the wedding; there is, after all, the telegram from CAM.

Mary’s scarf is colorful, and it appears by the time Sherlock’s subconscious suspects Mary. Mary’s black butterfly dress - an ominous dress, I’d say - is the one she wears during the labour scene in the car. The third photo is a behind the scenes photo uploaded by Amanda Abbington, although I’m unsure whether this necklace is AA’s or Mary’s (but I couldn’t pass on including this).

Interestingly, the butterflies do not appear in Rosie’s context - either because it’s a telling sign that Mary won’t be with us much longer, or because Rosie is spared being considered a part of the ‘burning Sherlock’s heart’ plan. Sherlock, on the surface, seems to love Rosie and accepts her.

Also, another BTS photograph I came across during my research which I’ve never seen before and ties nicely to the vanity topic is this one (found here):

The Death's-head hawkmoth and ‘Death with Interruptions’

You’ll recall that I referenced The Collector and Silence of the Lambs, both featuring butterflies on their cover art. 

The Silence of the Lambs cover features Acherontia atropos, otherwise known as the death's-head hawkmoth. It gets its name from the sinister-looking skull shape on its back. In many cultures it is thought to be an omen of death. In a bit of another coincidental but stunning piece of symbolism, all three species of the Death's-head hawkmoth are commonly observed raiding beehives of different species of honey bee; A. atropos only invades colonies of the well-known western honey bee, Apis mellifera, and feeds on both nectar and honey. They can move about in hives without being disturbed because they mimic the scent of the bees and are not recognised as intruders.

Anyway, the use of Acherontia atropos reminded me of the book ‘Death with Interruptions’ by Jose Saramago. Interestingly, this is another book about a deathly collector with a butterfly on the cover:

In Death with Interruptions death is a woman, and she falls in love with one of her future victims. She decides to spare his life: Every time death sends him his letter [notifying him of his imminent death], it gets returned. death discovers that, without reason, this man has mistakenly not been killed. Although originally intending merely to analyse this man and discover why he is unique, death eventually becomes infatuated with him, so much so that she takes on human form to meet him. Upon visiting the cellist, she plans to personally give him the letter; instead, she falls in love with him, and, by doing so, she becomes even more human-like.

It’s pretty common to read theories about Mary who maybe was one of the assassins due to kill John both at the pool and in front of Barts. So we have a death harbinger trying to kill someone twice and failing. She then falls in love with him.

But how does the butterfly fit in?

Well, at some point in the story, death (that’s her name, sans a capital d), contemplates that using the death head butterfly, instead of a violet piece of paper, would have sent a much stronger message to those whose death is coming for.

And here’s another last bit of coincidental reference to Sherlock: I’d argue shades of purple, among them shades of violet, are associated with Mary and her secrets. There’s the purple dress she wears in TEH, her bridesmaids’ dresses include various shades of purple (including what I would argue was a violet sash) and let’s not forget:

Oh and, by the way, remember the song Donde Estas, Yolanda from TEH, about a woman called Yolanda? Always thought it was a bit of an odd choice for a song?

Yolanda is a female given name, of Greek origin, meaning Violet.

:)

Thoughts?

Credits: thank you @lukessense​ for directing me to @tendergingergirl​ meta about butterflies. Episode screenshots are from kissthemgoodbye.net.

@sarahthecoat​  @tjlcisthenewsexy​ @devoursjohnlock​ @inevitably-johnlocked​ @shylockgnomes​ @possiblyimbiassed​ @raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​ @waitedforgarridebs​ @helloliriels​ 

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Foolishly Intelligent

Based on this request:  I love your imagines! I would like to request a Sherlock imagine if that’s alright? Something along the line of the reader being Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s far younger sister. She tries to connect with her brothers but often feels left out. She started in her teens by Learning everything about murders, investigation and politics in order to find common ground with her brothers. Ad an adult this leads to her being part of Scotland Yard and always giving Greg an heart attack due to jumping into dangerous situations. He’s had enough and decides after one close call too many to involve her big brothers to chew her out.

Here you are! *Familiar Characters are NEVER mine!*

Fandom: BBC Sherlock

Warnings: Angst, arguing, Caring big brothers that pretend not to care because one is a high-functioning sociopath and the other is Mycroft XD, mentions of possible crush??

Pairings/Characters: fem!reader, brother!Sherlock Holmes, brother!Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade

Greg Lestrade had had it. You were a wonderful detective, that much was true, but you had a bad habit. You liked to put yourself in dangerous situations ALL. THE. TIME! You would often quite literally throw yourself into harm's way to get the job done or to protect others. Greg normally wouldn't say anything even though it gave him a near heart attack every time. But since learning of Sherlock's fake death, it had become worse.

         The man could sort of understand where you were coming from. You had big shoes to fill with your brothers being who they were. Even as a child, you'd had trouble connecting with them. You had gone out of your way to learn and do things to help your relationship. And it wasn't that they didn't love you or respect you. It was that they could often have full conversations just through a look or that they would play their little deduction games and you would feel left out.

         You'd told Greg, after having a few drinks one night, that you had been trying since your teens to connect with Sherlock and Mycroft. You were just as intelligent as they were so you began learning about murder, investigations, and even politics from an early age. Still, nothing seemed to help you connect with them. You'd even joined the Yard to spend more time with Sherlock.

         But this last time was one too many for Greg. You had nearly died and the DI had a soft spot for you. In fact, you were the only Holmes the man could stand being around for more than a few minutes at a time. He didn't think he could take it if you kept running head-on into danger, but he knew you wouldn't listen to him. So, as he sat there next to your hospital bed waiting for you to wake up, he contemplated who you would listen to. There were only two people that popped into his head.

         With a soft sigh, Greg stood and left your room to make a call. "Hello, Gavin. Has there been a murder?" Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't lose his temper now. "No, Sherlock." Sherlock scoffed on the other end of the line. "Boring. If you've nothing interesting to offer me, I'll say goodbye now."

         "WAIT!" Greg shouted, then a little more softly added, "Your sister's in hospital." For a moment, there was only silence. Then Sherlock spoke again, "Watson, call Mycroft. St. Bart's?" Greg confirmed and was promptly hung up on. You were going to hate him when you woke, but at least your brothers might be able to talk some sense into you.  

         Sherlock burst through the doors a little while later, with Mycroft sauntering in a few moments after. "Would someone care to explain why I have been dragged from an important meeting?" Mycroft asked, prompting Greg and John to glare at the younger Holmes brother. "You didn't tell him?!" Greg hissed before turning to Mycroft, "Long story short, your sister's here. She decided to go into a hostage situation, alone, with no sidearm." Mycroft's brows furrowed briefly before a look of pure rage came over his features for a moment.

         "And you didn't stop her?" Greg opened his mouth, but it was Sherlock who answered, "Oh please, Mycroft. Y/N would never listen if the lives of others are in danger. Not to Gordon anyway." Greg once again rolled his eyes. Would that man ever call him by his actual name?

         "He's right. She doesn't listen. She's always throwing herself into situations like this. I thought, when she wakes up, the two men she looks up to the most could talk some bloody sense into her. Maybe then she'll listen." Both Holmes brothers merely stared at the DI, causing him to huff and walk away with John at his heels. He couldn't deal with them any longer for the moment. He needed to return to your side.

         Just his luck, you were already awake when he pushed the door open. "Inspector," you greeted tersely. You had seen John behind him so you knew Sherlock wasn't far behind. "Don't look at me like that, Detective." You scoffed. "Like what? Like you betrayed my trust by calling them in? I know they're here. Might as well bring them in so I can hear all about how disappointed Mummy will be." Greg's brows furrowed in confusion. "Y/N…I just want you to be safe. Your brothers do too."

         "Oh? Which brothers? The one who chucks himself off a building and pretends to be dead for 2 years? Or the one who knows about it and says nothing? Or the ones who refuse to let me into their lives, no matter how hard I try? I know I'm not brilliant like they are, but I try, dammit. And this is the only time I ever seen them away from home. When I'm in hospital."

         "Fine," Greg soothed, "Fine. Don't talk to them. I don't care. But you have to stop being so reckless and stupid, Y/N. For my sake." Greg gaze your hand a little squeeze before leaving the room and allowing your brothers to walk in. For a moment, you said nothing, watching the space Greg had just been occupying. You were trying not to cry. Your brothers didn't do well with hysterics.

         "Sherlock. Mycroft," you said. "Look at me, Y/N." You sighed softly. You knew you weren't exactly acting like an adult at the moment. That would get you nowhere with them. You swung your (e/c) eyes over to them. Sherlock stood with his hands in the pockets of his coat while Mycroft stared intently at you. They were both trying to deduce something about you. "Stop it," you ordered sharply, "Stop trying to deduce me and just ask me the question you want to ask." They exchanged a glance before turning back to you.

         "Inspector Lestrade informed us that you threw yourself in harm's way yet again." You shrugged a bit. "I would again too. There were children in there. The elderly." Sherlock let out a scoff. "And that makes it okay for you to be so monumentally stupid?"

         "I'm NOT stupid! Just because I'm not as callous as you are doesn't mean I'm an idiot, Sherlock! God, now I see the problem. It was never my fault we never connected. It was yours. You never tried." Your brothers stared at you in surprise. You had never spoken to them that way before. You rolled your eyes and groaned when your head began to hurt again.

         "Just go. Both of you. You can tell John and Inspector Lestrade that they are welcome here. I don't want to see you two again for a while." You turned your head away from them both, indicating that you were done with the conversation. You heard them open the door to leave. "Oh, and don't you dare call Mummy. I'll tell her myself when I know I'm alright." Neither of them said anything, but left the room.

         When you heard the door close behind them, you let a few tears finally fall. You hadn't wanted to blow up at them and you'd mostly likely end up apologizing later, but for now you were upset. You didn't have long to stew in your anger though before the door opened again. You turned to look and sighed. "I thought I told you to go."

         "And we did. You failed to specify just how long you consider to be a 'while'. We listened to what you said and now it is your turn to listen to us. Despite what you may think, you are no closer to 'connecting' with Mycroft or myself by running head-long into danger." You arched a brow at him. "Oh, you mean like you do?" Sherlock didn't look impressed, but you could see Mycroft trying not to smirk.

         "The point, little sister, is that, in spite of everything, your welfare is important to us. We need to know that you are safe. The career you've chosen lessens that likelihood, but deliberately putting yourself in situations where you could die destroys our hope for it completely."

         "Oh gee, Mycroft, you do care," you replied sarcastically. You let out another sigh, "Look, I'm sorry. I know you're right. Just…please. Please stop letting this be the only reason you even check in with me. I know I'm not like you two. I never have been, but stop shutting me out. Okay? If you can promise me that, then I will promise to try and be more careful. For Mother and Father's sake. And for Greg's." You tried not to let your face show any emotion. Nothing to give away anything.

         "Who?" You laughed lightly while Mycroft arched a brow. "We will discuss that topic at another time. I suppose I can agree to your terms. Sherlock?" Sherlock's blue eyes met yours and he nodded. You smiled; a genuine smile for the first time since they walked in the room. "Good. Now could you please leave? I'd really like to sleep now that I've been yelled at by both my brothers and my boss."

         They opened the door again and you sat up. "Oh, and seriously. Don't tell Mummy." With a chuckle, your brothers left and you laid back to get a little more rest. Mycroft and Sherlock nodded at Greg when they exited the room, knowing he'd heard everything anyway. Greg breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully things would get better now. Greg looked in at you and smiled when you gave him a tiny wave.

(a/n: I hope this does your request justice!)

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #173: Sherlock Holmes

Yes we’re going out of order, but I have a very good reason for this! ...Well, not really. We were already in the geniuses section, and any excuse to not think about summer while it’s still 40 degrees out is one I’m going to take.

Anyway, today we’re making the man famous for discombobulation, Sherlock Holmes! Track down mysteries, show up everyone else in the party, and kick ass with Baritsu. Easy stuff.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: Chaldea’s other resident genius.

Race and Background

There are some theories about Sherlock’s race, but for simplicity’s sake we’ll call you a Variant Human, giving you +1 Dexterity and Wisdom. You also get Sleight of Hand proficiency for some close-up detective work, and the Keen Mind feat, giving you +1 Wisdom, the ability to always point north, perfect time telling, and the ability to recall anything from the last month in-game, a.k.a. the DM’s nightmare.

You know a lot yourself, but you also know how to build and maintain an archive, so the closest background to match would be the Cloistered Scholar background, giving you proficiency in Nature and Religion. Arcana and history would suit you better, but I’ve got something in mind for that, and good things come to those who wait.

Ability Scores

As you’d probably expect, your Wisdom and Intelligence are pretty freaking high. You are Sherlock Holmes after all. You’re pretty strong, but the reason you’re so scary in a fight is because of your technique, so we’re going with Dexterity here instead. You snort cocaine like it’s going out of style, so your Constitution has to be able to keep up. This does mean your Strength is a bit low, but you’re practically an anime protagonist, there are some things we just can’t get in a balanced build. Finally, dump Charisma. Half the reason you drag Guda along on your cases is to talk people out of thinking you’re the murderer, honestly it’s kind of embarrassing.

Class Levels

1. Rogue 1: You’re a skilled guy, and rogues get skills for days. You get proficiencies in Dexterity and Intelligence saves, as well as four skills- Deception for disguises, and Insight, Investigation, and Perception for cases and clue-catching. You also get Expertise in two skills, doubling their proficiency bonus. Right off the bat I’d suggest Insight and Investigation so you can hopefully get to the bottom of things quickly. Foiling a plan at the last second is thrilling and all, but utterly shutting down a villain is so satisfying.

To help with that, you can use a Sneak Attack once per turn if you’re using a ranged or finesse weapon and either have advantage against a target or a friend within 5′ of them. You also learn Thieves’ Cant, it’s a language that will be especially helpful when you have to navigate the criminal underbelly of a city.

2. Monk 1:None of that was Baritsu though, so we’re bouncing over to monk for some Martial Arts. You can use Dexterity instead of Strength on monk weapons (this does not make them finesse), and spending an action to attack with one also lets you make an unarmed attack as a bonus action. Your unarmed and monk weapon attacks also do at least a 1d4 of damage.

You also get Unarmored Defense, making your AC 10 plus your dexterity modifier plus your wisdom modifier. I don’t care how hot it looks, that corset isn’t armor.

3. Cleric 1: Last multiclass, I swear. Since you can literally make clues appear like magic, we kinda need a bit of magic. Clerics get Spells that they cast and prepare using their Wisdom, which you might have noticed is becoming a pretty important ability for you.

If you want clues, you’ll need knowledge, at least enough to know that the Knowledge domain can help with that. At first level you gain the Blessings of Knowledge, making you proficient in History and Arcana and doubling those proficiencies as well (hey, see what I said about waiting?).

You get three cantrips for joining the clergy, Light gives you some of those cool magnifying spotlights you carry around, Thaumaturgy for some parlor tricks, and Guidance for when you really have to focus.

For first level spells, Command gives you a basic command spell, and Identify teaches you all about the magic affecting an item or creature. Normally that would be more of a research montage, but some times you’re in a hurry. 

As far as actually prepared spells go, anything with “Detect” in the name is a good pick.

4. Rogue 2: Now that we’ve got our spread, let’s build some of these classes up. Second level rogues can make Cunning Actions, Dashing, Disengaging, or Hiding as a bonus action. If you already spent your action rifling through someone’s files and they’re about to burst into the room, you’ll thank me.

5. Rogue 3: There’s really only two possible picks for your subclass, and we’re saving the Mastermind for Moriarty. As an Inquisitive, you have an Ear for Deceit, giving your Insight rolls a minimum of 8 on the die. On top of that, your Eye for Detail lets you make Perception and Investigation checks as a bonus action, further speeding up the process. On top of that, your Insightful Fighting uses your bonus action to make an Insight check versus a creature’s Deception check. On a success, you don’t need advantage to make sneak attacks against that creature for up to a minute. Finally, your Steady Aim uses your bonus action to get advantage on an attack if you don’t move that turn. I’d just use your insightful fighting, but your rival might push you to your limit.

This is a lot of stuff to do on your bonus action, and it’s only going to get worse from here.

6. Monk 2: Back at the school of Baritsu, you gain Ki Points that you can spend to make two unarmed attacks, dodge, disengage, or dash as a bonus action. Doing either of the latter two also doubles your jump distance for the turn. You also gain Unarmored Movement, increasing your movement speed by 10 feet while not wearing armor.

7. Monk 3: We need the most technique in the fewest levels, so that means we’re turning to the Way of the Open Hand once more. Your Open Hand Technique gives extra benefits to your flurry of blows. On each hit, the creature either can’t take reactions for a round, must succeed on a dexterity save or be knocked prone, or must make a strength save or be pushed 15′ away.

You can also Deflect Missiles as your reaction, catching an incoming attack and reducing its damage, possibly sending it back at the enemy if you bring it down to 0.

8. Monk 4: Our first Ability Score Improvement will instead be used to make you Observant, bumping up your Wisdom by 1, giving you +5 to passive perception and investigation, and allowing you to read lips. You can also Slow Fall as a reaction to take less fall damage. Hey, any help to survive the Reichenbach is well appreciated.

9. Rogue 4: Back in rogue now, your second ASI is going towards your Dexterity for stronger and more effective attacks, as well as a higher AC. 17′s pretty good for a corset.

10. Rogue 5: Fifth level rogues get an Uncanny Dodge, allowing you to react to an incoming attack and halve the damage. 

11. Cleric 2: You didn’t think we forgot about this one, did you? Knowledge clerics get two Channel Divinity options each short rest. Turn Undead is your bog standard option, or you can gain the Knowledge of the Ages, spending an action to gain proficiency in one skill or tool for 10 minutes. Protagonist powers, activate!

12. Cleric 3: Third level cleric, second level spells. Suggestion is a more open ended command spell, and Augury is more “telling the future” than deduction. That being said, you do get Calm Emotions to keep your cool, as well as Find Traps, Locate Object, and Zone of Truth. 

13. Rogue 6: You know I’m a sucker for quadrupling things, so for this round of Expertise double up on History and Perception. You’re good at everything, but especially current events.

14. Rogue 7: At this level you get the powerful Evasion feature, turning your failed dexterity saves to avoid damage into successes and successes into no damage at all.

15. Rogue 8: Use this ASI to bump up your Intelligence. It’s a shame we had to wait this long for it, but better late than never.

16. Rogue 9: Your Steady Eye gives you advantage on perception and investigation checks as long as you’re moving at half speed. Unless your DM’s really keen on mapping out rp situations, this is pretty much permanent advantage.

17. Rogue 10: Another ASI, another bump to Intelligence. Does it really do anything? Probably not, but you can feel smug about it regardless.

18. Rogue 11: Your Reliable Talent means you skill rolls are always 10 or greater on checks you’re proficient with. And thanks to your knowledge of the ages, you can be proficient in just about anything.

19. Rogue 12: Use your last ASI to max out your Wisdom for more AC, stronger spells, and more skilled Baritsu.

20. Rogue 13: Your capstone ability is your Unerring Eye, an action to sense illusions, shapechangers, and the like around you. You can sense something’s off, but will have to investigate yourself. You can use this a number of times per long rest equal to your wisdom modifier.

Pros

Your minimum rolls in Insight and Investigation are 27 and 26 respectively, making you an ace detective. Your ability to root out lies, plus your photographic memory, will make any mystery you play through a breeze. (You the player still have to connect the dots, though.) Also, literally being able to see through illusions is a big plus.

Maxed out wisdom also means your open hand techniques are as strong as possible, giving you a good amount of battlefield control to beat down enemies and push them around.

Knowledge of the Ages plus Reliable Talent equals you being really good at everything when you need to be, and you’re much faster a switching things up than Hundred Personas. 

Cons

Since we only splashed into monk, your baritsu isn’t that great an option for damage. It also comes with the caveat that you can’t use your sneak attack unarmed, so you will have to carry the murder weapon around with you.

Despite being a melee fighter, your hp is pretty low, making straight confrontations a bad idea.

We really wanted Unerring Eye, but as a consequence we could only get a couple levels of the other classes. This means your ki points and spell slots are rather limited. But I mean, you’re Sherlock freaking Holmes, you’ll know when you need to use them and when you don’t.