#i think its just up to how insane CF makes me wish for a happy ending

[hazinhoodies]

No Love Lost (Part 1)

Harrison Osterfield x CF!Reader

A/N: uh hi. so this is a lot. this was going to be a one-shot originally but then it hit 15k words so here’s some of that. I did as much research into cystic fibrosis as i could (thats what cf means btw). Thanks to @loverholland who helped me edit this (and future parts). Also this is my submission for @starksparker summer writing challenge. I had the prompt of “I know you. What’s wrong” and its used pretty bad but this will make up for it hopefully. its a whole mess of aus. there some fuck boy in there, some best friend. brace for impact.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: talk of death, talk of hospitals, talk of sickness, swearing,  messing with tenses, a ridiculous amount of parentheticals (yes they’re supposed to be there), cheesy writing

Harrison was sweet. You had to admit it. One of the nicest people you’d ever come by. He was your best friend all throughout school, he stuck by you through all the coughing fits, your plethora of medicines, and the multiple times you’d caught bronchitis or something along those lines, not to mention all the other things that come with being a teen in high school; drama, puberty, stress. You were insanely thankful that he put up with all his own problems as well as yours, health or otherwise, and everything that came with having cystic fibrosis.

You were diagnosed at five, after the third time you’d caught pneumonia. Most people are diagnosed before the age of two but either a) you weren’t screened for it at birth or b) your doctors missed something. Just your luck.

You didn’t really know what it meant at first. Just that now you had to take these medicines, pills, and use inhalers (which hurt on bad days). Your favourite part was always the gummy vitamin that you had to -no, got to- take. You heard your mom talking about how important it was that you cleared your airway every day and that you did some of, if not all, the exercise the doctors wanted you to take. They made your lungs burn.

Your mother, however, felt guilty. She blamed herself for your sickness, but her guilt was helping no one affected. She should’ve known that you were growing too slowly and that your breathing problems weren’t normal. She feels horrible.

But if she had and you’d been diagnosed earlier or later or exactly when you were, you would still have cystic fibrosis.

You started to understand what it was at the age of eleven after you’d decided to research it yourself. You knew better than to WebMD it. Long since being diagnosed, you weren’t looking for a cure, just an understanding of what this meant for you.

You found out too much. Things that you were certain a normal 11 year old wouldn’t know about. But you weren’t normal. Anything but.

You found out that the average person with cystic fibrosis died at the age of 37, it’s most common in Northern Europe and least common in Africans and Asians. Although not recognized until the 1930s, certain aspects of cystic fibrosis were identified as early as 3,000 BC, likely due to the migration of people, gene mutations and nourishment. One in Four people have cystic fibrosis. About eighty percent of people with cystic fibrosis die from it. There’s no known cure, if there is one at all.

Your first (and only, so far) double lung transplant happened about a year later. You remember the feeling of knowing something was wrong too vividly. Headed down the stairs, your twelve year old self had already run through your extensive morning routine but you couldn’t shake the feeling of something caught in your lungs. You had to breathe through your mouth to feel like you were getting anywhere near enough oxygen.

“Have you cleared your airways yet” Your mother had asked upon hearing how rough your voice sounded when combined with how much your chest heaved when you breathed. You nodded and she asked you to go to it again. It was on your way back down the steps when it had become instantly more difficult to breathe. Calling for your mom, your voice was weak and wheezed its way through the words. It felt like you were suffocating. You gripped the stair railing tight in your hand as you felt your vision start to tunnel. With whatever luck you still had, you made it to the bottom of the stairs without collapsing and she rushed you to the hospital.

You don’t know what they did to make it better temporarily but you remember being hooked up to all sorts of antibiotics to slow the mucus build up while they found a pair of lungs for you. A month later and they had found a pair. You spent the next while in the hospital from the surgery while the doctors monitored you.

Lung transplants either work or they don’t. There’s no in between. No ‘it works but could be better’. They do, or they don’t.

Your mother would tell you when you were older that yours almost didn’t work. You almost didn’t wake up, but you wouldn’t remember any of it when she told you so.

You were overjoyed when you got to go back to school, you knew you weren’t healed, you still had cystic fibrosis, but you were doing better. That’s when you met Harrison.

With Harrison, you felt like you could be somewhat. He didn’t know about your CF at the time, you held it back to not drive him away. You suppressed coughs as much as you could. He was good though. A good person, a kind soul. So good that when you were with him, you were normal. You felt like a normal kid. You forgot about the multiple inhalers that sat on the bathroom counter and the bottles of pills next to them. You forgot about the doctors, and your enzymes or lack thereof. With Harrison, you forgot you were dying.

He started to get curious when you were missing school a lot and played it off as a cold when you would cough a lot at one time, but Harrison isn’t an idiot and you’re his friend; he knew something was up.

So you told him. You told him you had cystic fibrosis. He seemed confused so you continued on. You explained that while it also affects your pancreas, intestines, and kidneys, it meant your lungs were weak and prone to infection. Mucus builds up inside your lungs and other parts of your respiratory system. You told him that if your lungs get worse then you’ll likely need a transplant.

He nodded along and promised that he understood but you knew he didn’t fully understand what it meant, just as you had.

You didn’t tell him you were dying.

Not then. Not at all.

He’d found out on his own that it meant you were dying. You never asked how. The pair of you were in your living room at the age of fourteen, in the middle of a game of Mario Party. The computer Boo was winning. You could tell that something was bothering him but weren’t sure if it was something to ask about, you did anyway.

“Haz? What’s bothering you?” You spoke as the Luigi on the screen moved 6 spaces.

“Nothing, I’m fine” He stared distantly towards the screen, it’s more likely he’s looking past it.

“And lying. I know you. What's wrong?" No response. "Harrison, tell me” You refused to press any buttons, letting the die on the screen roll above your characters head until he gave you an answer.

Harrison looked down into his lap, fumbling with some of the buttons on the remote. His voice comes out small and meek, “You’re dying”

“No, I’m not,” Some weird instinct told you to lie about it and protect his feelings, but the glimmer of hope he had when he looked at you made you wish that you hadn’t said that. “I mean, I am. But I’m not bad” You hesitate on ‘bad’, unsure of how you want to phrase things. You knew you had to be careful of what you say. “I’m not even on a transplant list yet,” His expression shifted to worry, “It’s a good thing” He somewhat relaxed. “It means that I’m managing it well. And I am. I take care of myself, take all the medication I need to. It’s a lot but I do it”

The look on his face made your heart go soft. Somewhere between worry and relief, happy and sad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner” You whispered, your gaze falling to the floor. You felt bad about telling him, that’s for sure. But for once you wanted to be normal.

“It’s okay,” Harrison’s voice was almost as quiet as yours, the overly happy game music playing in the background (it really didn’t help with the mood). He looked over at you and your expression made his heartbreak. “Hey,” he grabbed your attention, “This doesn’t change anything. No love lost, yeah?”

You nodded. “What I meant is that you don’t have to worry about me” That was the end of it. You rolled a five.

The next few months saw a shift in your relationship. It’s not that you spent any less time together, quite the opposite actually. Harrison wanted to spend so much time with you, most of which consisted of the two of you doing anything either of you could think of. More games of Mario Party (you won more often, he’d say he let you but he definitely didn’t), going out for food, bowling, laser tag, you name it.

He also took care of you. No matter how much you said you didn’t need it and you didn’t want to bother him, you’d get text messages at the same time every day asking if you’d taken your enzymes, or cleared your airways, or if you were close to running out of anything.

Harrison was sweet. He was sweet to you and you couldn’t be more thankful.

High school came and the world watched on as the two of you grew closer than ever. He was there as soon as he could be whenever you were in the hospital and even if you weren’t, he was at your house or you were at his as much as you could be.

Looking back, you weren’t sure how you didn’t see it.

While you were still Harrison’s best friend, he spent time with a lot of other girls. You weren’t dumb. You saw the way they looked at him. Their looks were anything from ogling or as if he was the moon. Their never-ending night light. The one that lit up the dark for them.

It was cheesy and sometimes (usually) gross, but he never looked at them that way. Even while his arm was wrapped around them in the halls he was either making some joke towards you (you’d say he was bullying you, but you weren’t that hurt) or laughing at something someone else had said or done.

Every two weeks there was a different girl on his arm. It didn’t really make sense to you. He was so nice and caring towards you but then these girls that he claimed to have feelings for barely got a second glance from him.  Even still, part of you wanted to be in their position, if only for the title that came with it.

You fell in love with Harrison slowly. Like when you come home late and don’t want to wake anyone, so you shut the door precariously, even the small click after it’s shut is too loud. Or like waiting for a flower to grow. Checking on it until you saw the first sprout and then the first leaf.

Your sudden realization, your ‘click’, was when you’d heard one of the girls talking about him after they’d ended things. You weren't sure if you could call it a breakup, we’re they even official? Who knows.

Water ran from the tap in the bathroom as you washed your hands, you couldn’t help but listen to the conversation she was having on the far side of the room. It was whispered and sobbed but you still managed.

“What’d he say?” Her friend, you thought her name was Olivia, places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“He just said he didn’t feel anything for me anymore” Harrison ex-thing, her name was Erica, (she was one of the “you are the moon” starers) barely got out the last word before sobs racked her body, her upper body and torso shook forcefully with each one. She was really hurt. “Said that there was something about someone else. I don’t get it. It was three weeks how could there be someone else”.

If it was three weeks then why are you so worked up over it? You fought not to roll your eyes.

“Erica, I told you that he was a bad idea. I told you that he’d hurt you. And you still…” Olivia trailed off with a sigh. Some best friend.

“I don’t know. Maybe I thought I could change him or something. Fuck, I don’t know. He’ll always be a fuckboy I guess. Can’t wait to see who he’s got next week” Sarcasm drenched her words. She sniffled, wiping her eyes.

You dried off your hands and left the bathroom.

It hurts to hear people talk so horrendously about your best friend. That wasn’t the Harrison that you knew, the Harrison you knew was gentle and caring and wore his heart on his sleeve. What about you made him that different?

Harrison came over that night, you helped him with his English paper and then the two of you retreated to doing your own things on your phones. He laid on your bed and you used his stomach as a pillow, lying perpendicular to him. Your legs hung off the bed a little, but you didn’t care.

The room was silent for at least fifteen minutes with the exception of the odd chuckle followed by the other asking to look at whatever it was they laughed at. That was until you piped up. Your mindless scrolling only lasts so long before you fall into your own thoughts.

“Heard Erica talking about you in the bathroom today” You let your hand fall to your chest, phone facedown against your sternum. Harrison didn’t really talk about the girls he was involved with. At least not with you. You weren’t sure why but never pressed.

“Yeah? What’d she say?” His eyes didn’t leave his phone.

“She was talking to Olivia, I think it was Olivia. The one who sits next to Tom in English”

“Yeah, Olivia” Harrison confirmed.

“Yeah her. And she -Erica-  was saying about how you broke up with her and said that there was someone else. And then Olivia said something about how she warned her not to go for you because you’re a bad idea and you’d only hurt her and shit like that”  

“Sounds like Liv” Harrison chimes in.

“Then Erica said that she thought she could change you or something like that? I don’t know. It was just weird to hear them talk so bad about you when what I see is the polar opposite” You started your scrolling again.

“People talk Y/N. She was just upset I guess. That’s okay” You nodded and there was a moment of silence

“Just out of curiosity. Why do you go through girls so fast?”

“I just don’t feel anything with them really. I know what I want, and sadly it’s things that I don’t think they’d ever be able to give, or have, or be”

“What do you want?” Your question threw him off guard and he had to pause for a second.

“I want pure love. It’s not driven by lust. A kind of love where I don’t have to worry about what I look like or how I act around them because I know they’ll love me just the same. One where we have electric conversations one moment and then the next we’re in silence but it’s fine. Because it’s comfortable. I want to have a connection. I want the kind of love where you’d die for the other person. I’d die for a love like that. And it’s something that I don’t think I could get from Erica or Megan or Hannah. No matter how long we’re together”

“But you’re not even going to stick around long enough to see if there is all that with them?”

“No. I know it makes me sound like an asshole but I know what I want. I just have to wait until that love realizes what they want”

You thought for a moment. Maybe it made sense? In some weird, twisted, ‘i’m an asshole but don’t want you to think so’ sort of way. “Okay” You trailed off.

“Also we were only a thing for like three weeks why is she this upset”

“That’s what I thought!” The two of you laughed and settled back into a comfortable silence.

You’d since learned to trust what you knew about Harrison, disregarding parts of what was said that night. He was kind, and took care of you, and cared deeply about so many things. You knew about his reputation, but you didn’t care. He was your best friend, and what kind of friend would you be if you changed your opinion based on what other people said. Certainly better than ones who date the guy who broke your heart (*cough* Olivia, *cough cough*) The same one who warned you not to date him.

And sure enough, the following week, Olivia and Harrison were together.

Olivia was the longest he’d been with someone that you knew about. A whole eight weeks was a record for Harrison. It almost made you think that maybe he was capable of finding love on his own. And that made you happy. Happy for him.

Then there was that damn click. That fucking leaf. The one that made you sad when you saw them in the halls, her hand in his. The same one that made your stomach drop when he'd kiss her cheek before class.

Although his time never wavered with you, you couldn't help but wish it was you under his arm. With his lips against your skin.

High school ended, Harrison went on to drama school. It fit, he’d always been dramatic (haha very funny Y/N) but you were proud of him for pursuing his dream of acting. You’d gone onto university as well. Although the two of you didn’t see each other nearly as much, you were still his best friend, and him yours. The texts to take your meds had changed from whenever you had to take one to only every morning, and the two of you would talk that night.

June Twenty-Second. You’d finished all your exams two months ago. Still riding on the high of being a university graduate, you didn’t expect for it to drop so fast.

You were put on the transplant list your sophomore year of university. But you were getting worse, you’d moved up significantly since being put on. June Twenty-Second is when your doctor told you that if you couldn’t get one of the next few lungs, you’d be out of time.

When you’d discovered that you were dying when you were eleven, you struggled to cope with it. Slowly but surely, you’d learned to accept that you couldn’t live forever, and if you’d been asked a month ago how you felt about death, you know how you would have answered. You would have said that it’s a part of life. That every journey has its end. You would have said that no matter what you did you couldn’t change anything and you were okay with dying. Maybe it was your time.

But when your doctor finally, officially tells you that they don’t know if they'll get you a pair of lungs in time, one thing comes to mind.

I’m not ready for this.

Immediately followed by another thought.

Harrison

Tags:

haz tags:

@summernykole @hjosterfield @imagines-andshizz @thequeensardine @artemisiaarm @sincerelymlg @butithasntkilledyouyet @bitchymathematician @ixchel-9275 @honeyyhuggs @nedthegay @ohyouremymedicine @awkwardfangirl2014 @parkerpeterholland @screeching-student-unknown

@osterfieldholland01 @happymagicbee @headsup-itsmostlypeter @starlightfound @spideyyypeter @empressdreams @isabellyduh

Others who i think might enjoy or hate me for it (or already do)

@wazzupmrstark @parkerpuffwrites @parrkerspeters @nnatasha @lamptracker (really i just want you to read this)

[roadswewalk]

Time to lay some ghosts

Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.

- Elizabeth (Bennet) Darcy in Pride & Prejudice

[Disclaimer: Though far from my usual content, this is not an anti-Johnlock post, and it is not informed by TFP spoilers.  It’s also not the new normal for my blog: we’ll be back to gifs and stupid jokes soon.]

I want to enjoy the possible last episode of my favorite show, and that means letting go of some expectations.  This is largely a personal post that I’m writing to clarify my own thoughts and prepare mentally for TFP, but perhaps it may also help anyone who is dealing with shaken assumptions and unwanted or unexpected developments from T6T & TLD.  If it does, then I’ll be glad.  Anyone can feel free to reach out at any time with questions or just to talk about the show.  I joined this fandom to engage with people, and I’m entering a strange interval where I have unusually minimal real-life obligations.

This post has two parts.  Part one: notes on some specific theories that I’m finally rejecting post-TLD.  Part two: thought process and personal attitude, for context.  Skip part two if you don’t care - unless part one pisses you off, in which case I’d appreciate the chance to explain myself.  That is, if anyone reads any of it at all.  ;)  All under the cut.

And yes, I realize many fans are well beyond this point mentally and emotionally:

Well, Watson, we can but possess our souls in patience and see what the hour may bring.

- Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Three Garridebs

Conclusion: Bring it on, dads.  You’re still pretty cool.  Just don’t embarrass me unforgivably.

Or, if you’re indeed about to jump the shark, please do it at the climax of an epic jet-ski chase, replete with risk, loyalty, danger, hair dye, big coats, romance, gorgeous smiles, splashy effects, lame puns, excessive guns blazing, and impossible physics amazing.  Well, you’ve promised the first few, anyway.

The ghosts I am laying to rest

Context: I am hiding from spoilers from the TFP screening (and apparently the Russian leak, WTF), so I don’t know as much as others right now, including what’s been confirmed or not.  A bit of mood has filtered through from my activity feed (e.g no one’s laughing at Eurus jokes, or laughing much at all, or engaging with vague new theories).   But I can’t draw specific conclusions from that, and otherwise I have no idea.

Knowing the nature of most of my followers, let me start by saying that I consider all of these theories to be logically separate from the basic possibility of canon Johnlock.  I know some people feel differently, and have more elaborate theories that depend on certain characters being revealed in certain ways, etc.  I won’t write “why Johnlock could still happen” for each item below.  In general, it’s just this: it can be simpler than that, and still work.  A hundred thousand fanfics have proven that.  As a reminder, I am not a committed TJLC believer, though that’s not saying much, as I’m skeptical of everything - see part two for explanation.

I have flirted with these theories to varying degrees, but never actually invited them out for a foot chase or Chinese food.  Most I’ve never even mentioned on here, primarily for lack of time, for coming too late to the fandom, or because I had nothing unique to add.  So my comments in dismissing them are accordingly brief, and may come across as blunt.  In all cases I’d be at least intrigued to be wrong - and knowing our writers, most likely pleasantly surprised as well.

Mary: She’s dead.  This was part of the consequences we were promised for Sherlock and John’s insane lifestyle.  And as awkward as the death scene was, John’s grief in the moment and throughout TLD was real.  I’m letting her rest in peace.  That includes leaving her murder case closed.  It was shocking (in part for not being shocking enough), but was heralded adequately by the episode, the creators, and television history.

Mary as villain, Moriarty associate, etc.: Speaking of peace, there is by now plenty of textual evidence for Mary as a sympathetic character.  The evidence for her villainy remains subtextual or subject to interpretation, and the challenges to her personality were always emotionally charged.  As I’ve said elsewhere, the explanation given by the show for her shooting Sherlock is entirely acceptable within the show’s established boundaries.  Even as a temporary romantic obstacle in a romance, she still wouldn’t qualify as a villain.

Anti-Johnlockary friendship: This is closely related to the above.  Sherlock genuinely liked Mary, valued her judgment, and wanted John to be happy with her.  This was clearly shown both textually and subtextually in TSoT and T6T.  In T6T when he was anticipating his death, he may have even hoped that she would pick up where he left off, after.  Her importance to John can’t be made clearer than in TLD.  Meanwhile her advice to Sherlock in that episode is not really more ridiculous than what Sherlock did to himself the day after he met John Watson.  The teasing between the three of them is pretty typical of mature, clever, close friends, in my experience.

Lazarus was false: The creators have said on a few occasions that they wished they had been as clever as the fans.  Perhaps this is one case of it.  But in the end, they wrote a television ending for a television show.  Again, it’s acceptable within the show’s established boundaries.  And after they dug up the characters’ feelings again but not the details of the act, I’m convinced the Lazarus explanation did indeed survive the fall (and the hiatuses).

Sherlock has been depressed and dabbling in drugs since TEH, and his increasingly elaborate mind palace sequences are the result: My own theory, though not something I’m desperately attached to.  Now that I’ve definitely seen Sherlock deducing on drugs, it’s clear the writers were just having fun with their own trope, previously.

Continuity errors, set choices, and plot holes indicate T6T and TLD are not real: My immediate instinct with T6T was reliable narrator, at least to the extent that Sherlock is capable of it.  Without adopting preconceptions based on other theories, that remains the most fitting explanation.  The twists in this episode were not as deep as usual, perhaps because the show had an extra agenda of “consequences” to communicate.  The housekeeping episodes are always a bit of a mess, anyway.  As for TLD, we now have textual examples of how the creators handle drug-induced hallucination and memory distortion.  We have the first serious misfortune contemplated by the show as well as massive character development in the span of these two episodes.  Audiences would not accept their reversal, and the writers knew and intended this when writing.  cf bullets below for opinions on the potential “mistakes”.

EMP or any other (TD12 etc.) massive retcon/rehash stretching into previous seasons: They wrote “it was all a dream” once, and even then, Sue and Benedict were hesitant to sign on, critics were unimpressed, and some casual fans were alienated.  Even with 26 pages of dialogue between Mycroft and Sherlock in TFP, with flashbacks throughout, it wouldn’t be possible to go back and re-interpret major events from multiple seasons.  The questions raised in T6T and TLD alone will be difficult to address in just one episode (because there’s still whatever new plot they devised, as well).  In the end, there’s also the simplest question: why would you want this now?  We have enough character development, enough beautiful moments, and enough mind-fuckery to be going on with.

Adlock as a central focus: This isn’t a popular theory, but it may be a common if unacknowledged fear.  The way Irene’s re-introduction in TLD was handled - as leverage for a scene about John and Sherlock’s friendship - makes me confident that anything further to do with her would be sideplot, comic relief, or tension release at best.  But (branching into pure speculation here) based on what the writers have said in the past, I think it most likely she’ll remain a mysterious yet absent symbol of the ambiguity that defines part of Sherlock’s appeal.

Mega flashbacks of Johnlock scenes: Honestly I’ve never really been on board with this.  The fact that the creators have had to remount expensive scenes like the fall and the tarmac for subsequent seasons proves that they just don’t plan this far ahead when writing and shooting.  In any case, logistically, there is simply not time to fit it in now.

Finally, the one that hurts the most.  Johnlock as television history / groundbreaking representation: If they’re not doing Johnlock, they’re doing it wrong.  But unfortunately, if they’re doing Johnlock, they’re also doing it wrong.  All the metas about romantic character arcs, slow burn, and audience manipulation to combat heteronormativity were absolutely right.  Series 4 was the time to draw this story together, or at least to build it to its climax.  At this point, a S4 Johnlock resolution would have to be addressed so quickly (because there’s so much else to address already in TFP), it would blindside casual fans, not convince them that it’s what they were seeing all along.  It would come across as one more rug pull, and would be derided with all the vitriol that this fandom has been intercepting in the meantime.  We didn’t join this game only to be met with a moving or shrinking target.  Could they still do it in series 5?  Maybe.  They introduced enough estrangement and other darkness that delaying relationship progression now makes actual emotional sense.  But the show is at its peak influence right now, they’ve never been assured of a 5th series, and the writers have admitted that their plans for series 5 amount to little more than notes.  Canon Johnlock is possible, but I think they’ve missed their chance to make history with it.

How I got here

None of you know me personally, and I almost never post this type of thing.  So if anyone’s reading it, some background is called for.  Let’s start with the impersonal bit, which you might have a chance of relating to.

As a television audience, we have to draw a line: where do we suspend disbelief?  Some shows make this decision easy, but Sherlock makes it nearly impossible.  We either draw the line generously, redraw it constantly, or commit to endless (fun?) mental anguish.  In defense of generosity, and to avoid the disappointment and evasion of declaring it all “bad writing”, it’s important to keep these facts in mind:

The show is written by committee, pass-the-pen style, so inconsistencies in characterizations and plot logic are bound to occur, even with the head writers vetting everything.

The writers’ commitment to shocking rug pulls and the attendant necessity of obsessive secret-keeping mean that some writing choices exist in a critical vacuum, unexamined and un-analyzed except by the core creators.   Market research is impossible here, and history illustrates the many potential pitfalls of this approach.

The show’s influence is outsize and its quality is tremendous in comparison to its relatively tiny budget and production team.  We ARE watching low-budget network television, so expectations need to align.

The fandom vastly outnumbers the production crew, and vastly outspends it in both (re)creative and analytic effort, so we’re bound to catch more details than they do.

Some members of fandom also vastly exceed the creators in cleverness and creativity.  I’m constantly astounded by the intelligence, imagination, and critical capacity of the fans, and between you and me, that is saying something.  Our creators are clever and imaginative, but they’ve got nothing on some of you.

At the core of that production team is a nepotistic hive mind.  It’s not nice, but it’s true.  There is definitely a virtuous circle, a positive feedback loop, going on.  Part of this is borne of the secret-keeping, part of the low budget, and part of the usual human tendencies to value our own, to seek comfort, and to submit to confirmation bias.

The writers and actors have admitted to not fully developing backstories before jumping into the scripts [BC] [AA].  I actually thought Benedict must have been lying in that NPR interview (or trying to wind Steven up) when I first read it, but later interviews have confirmed it.  Our best fanfic writers take backstory more seriously than this, so we should expect OOC moments.

The writers don’t often use consultants, even where they obviously should and easily could.  Plenty of unnecessary mistakes happen when you don’t ask for help.

Various breaks in the show’s own internal logic suggest that the writers also didn’t bother to map this out fully before they began.  They firmly believe that Sherlock “exists in a slightly exaggerated version of our own universe“, so they make assumptions accordingly.  Except, obviously there are huge differences between the Sherlock universe and the real world.  They simply go unacknowledged, with little or no explanation offered to help fans make sense of them.  We’re meant to let them pass unhindered over our suspension lines.  Rowling’s or Tolkien’s meticulously-planned fantasy world this is not.

Our creators are nonetheless at the top of their crafts, producing an entertainment product that never fails to be unique, surprising, visually stunning, mentally engaging, and emotionally wrenching.  The original reason we (most of us) are here is still this amazing show.

And now for the personal part.  First, it’s my policy to let entertainment enhance my life, but never to ruin it.  If that sounds flippant, know that it’s something of a self-preservation tactic: part of managing a tendency to depression.  It’s also my policy to believe nothing without proof.  I’m heavily influenced by scientific skepticism, and prefer “reliable and valid [conclusions] to ones that are comforting or convenient”.  That makes me an extreme outlier among humans, let along among conspirators, which is why I say that my non-belief in TJLC has little bearing on anything.  Theory-wise, I don’t have a lot of chips on the table - most of mine are partly crack or lightly researched.  I do have personal investment in queer representation in media.  I even have a little bit of money on the table for this show.  But not all my eggs are in this basket: I’ve always believed that it’s a larger battle than this one show can wage (again, self-preservation).

As for enhancing my life, I had a blast watching TLD.  But I was strung out, panicked, and somewhat disengaged watching T6T.  The quality of writing and nature of the episodes can partly account for it, but when I examine my own mind, I know that a huge part of that was expectations.  I came to TLD after a week of overwhelming work obligations.   I’d had to abstain from the fandom, had missed nearly all the theories and analysis, and brought mainly my own impressions of T6T with me.  By contrast, I came to T6T fully steeped in fandom culture and theory (mostly TJLC), having spent a shocking fraction of my December devouring meta, analyzing promo material, making a fanvid, rewatching multiple times, and even leaking a bit of content.  My first impression was “difficult to engage with”, and I was constantly distracted with thoughts of the fandom - this despite the fact that I usually have no problem forgetting outside life while I’m consuming entertainment.  It was depressing, and literally for my own sake, I can’t afford to get depressed.

The simple explanation is that my expectations were too high and too specific.  In a brief career in corporate America that included marketing work, I learned that the key to avoiding failure in almost any human interaction is managing expectations.  Cynical, but true.  It’s a valuable life lesson, though, and one that I guess I am lucky to have learned so early.  I am now something of a career traveler, and the same truth holds: when I travel to a new place for the first time with sketchy plans and low expectations, I never fail to be amazed.  High expectations frequently result in disappointment.  I do know to apply this truth to entertainment consumption, as well, but I was a little swept away in the fervor pre-T6T.  I’m trying not to make that mistake again.

The name of my blog is meant to represent how I engage with this show, and indeed with everything.  Challenging my own perspective frequently and rigorously is important to my worldview and self-worth.  Quotes to live by include “the un-examined life is not worth living”, “an echo chamber is a reassuring womb but no place to live”, and “the surest way to corrupt a youth is to teach him to hold in higher regard those who think alike than those who think differently” (paraphrased, you can Google ‘em).  I pursue multiple interpretations (roads) simultaneously, compartmentalizing to avoid cognitive dissonance. The demons beneath are the perils of committing to any one path without justification: dangerous to theorize without data and all that.

Over the years, so few fan theories have been borne out by the show.  That’s not any kind of shade on fandom.  If anything, it proves how wondrous and limitless is human imagination.  I’ve enjoyed reading theories so much, I wonder if there is anything to do with Sherlock, or indeed anything nerdy under the sun,  that wouldn’t entertain me.  (Yes, I used to read the dictionary as a child.)  But Moftiss have shown time and again that their idea of a great television story is simpler, more traditional, and more worthy of an old white man than what the fandom tends to imagine.  So I’m taking them at their word for most of the previous episodes, and resetting my expectations in hopes of at least being entertained, if not validated and delighted, by tomorrow’s episode.

(Actual conclusion is outside the cut, above.)