#is john a bad influence on billy? yes. does that stop either of them? no.

[cannotgiveafuck]

Shazam Week Prompt 2

I'm a day late and expect to do again, but I'm not quitting!

Heres prompt 2: Holidays

-

Halloween had always been one of Billy's favorite holidays. 

Before he was Captain Marvel, he would spend the day at the Fawcett Park Market, getting his face painted in preparation for trick-or-treating. The amount of candy he snagged would last him weeks, even far into December if he controlled himself.

Before he managed to permanently escape from his Uncle Ben, Billy enjoyed Halloween for the chance it gave him to be far away from the man. At least for the night. When he returned, he'd always have to hide a majority of his stash in his room, lest his uncle throw his entire loot into the garbage. 

Ever since becoming the Champion of Magic, however, Billy found no time for Halloween shenanigans anymore. He had a responsibility to uphold, civilians to watch over, monitor duty to attend. 

Billy Batson wasn't a kid anymore. 

"What do you mean, you're not going out? You're thirteen years old! Go throw eggs and TP at some old tosser's house, get sick from too much candy, and all of that!"

Billy didn't know where to begin, everything about what he'd said was just...wrong. "John, I'm twelve. And I'm on patrol tonight. Do you know how bad it would be if the League found out I… egged someone's house? I'd be toast!"

But the thought of throwing rotten eggs at his Uncle Ebenezer's house brought on a joy he was ashamed to acknowledge. 

On the other side of the mirror, Constantine took a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "Do you realize how mad what you just said was? You're twelve and you've got patrol for what? Fawcett? The entire bloody world?"

The familiar heat of indignation, of embarrassment, flared at his cheeks. "So what?"

When he sighed, smoke obscured part of his features, but his blue eyes - clear and crisp and so much deeper than others gave credit for - pinned Billy to his spot. It was an accusing stare. A look that challenged Billy, doubted him, was filled with more condescension than John's words could imitate. It was a look plenty of adults gave plenty of kids when they did something particularly exhausting. 

Billy hated that look.

He also knew that John hated the League, that Billy was even part of the League. Against all opinions of him, John was actually quite soft for children, became rather protective and reckless for them. Billy knew John thought of him as a child, heck, the magician looked out for him well enough, and Billy appreciated it, really he did. But…

"Know much about the spirit world and Hallow's Eve?" John asked, thankfully diverting the subject. At Billy's head shake, he continued. "The veil between alive, dead, and undead becomes thin, nearly open. All the planes of existence sync up. Get the most supernatural activity around that time. And I know the lot of em throw one killer of a ball."

Immediately, Billy had perked up, always interested in learning more about the magical community. But at the mention of a party filled with paranormal creatures?

Billy knew the glee on his face was evident as John chuckled.

"Unless, of course," he added, tone teasing, "you're too busy patrolling."

Ah, crap.

[[MORE]]

-x-

"Are you sure this will work?" Billy asked as he looked at John's handiwork. It was impressive and amazing, and Billy never got tired of seeing magic in action.

"C'mon now, lad, trust me here," he said with a face that did not at all look like John Constantine.

"It's not that I don't trust you, exactly…" 

They were currently in New York City, strolling down an alleyway that John was very certain lead into their destination. As they got ready earlier in the day, he had explained that the ball was a public affair, a yearly celebration that warranted total truce once entered. No murderous or underhanded conflict permitted on the property. The event was hosted by an affluent influence within the magical or supernatural community, though it took the effort of some key abilities to pull it off, to ensure the location was safe and secure. 

However, just because there was no guest list didn't mean anyone could waltz on in. Unless they were a plus one, a regular human or extraterrestrial could not enter the compound. Afterall, there was still so much that neither knew or understood about the world, about Earth and her inhabitants and patrons from all walks of existence. Only those immersed in the community and its secrets could be trusted to attend. 

Though, Billy was unsure how solid a definition of trust that they used. 

And then there were certain individuals or groups on a blacklist. No matter if they had attended before or were invited by someone going - once someone was banned, it took a great deal of influence to be welcomed back.

That is, unless someone was clever and crafty enough at magical tricks to sneak in.

Someone like the infamous and definitely blacklisted John Constantine.

"Think of it like any other Halloween party, yeah? Some folks go as themselves and that's fine, but boring, honestly, and others wear costumes. Nobody's gonna rip off someone's mask, right?" John smiled with far too many sharp teeth, with a face that was not his own. "That's how glamour is around these ilk."

It made sense, sure. But still, Billy couldn't help but feel...weird. Don't get him wrong, it was exciting getting to join in on this adventure, but looking into the mirror and instead of seeing himself, or even Captain Marvel, he saw a strange creature. It was creepy. 

Once John applied the glamour dust, Billy used his own magic to shape what he wanted to appear as - an aesthetic look inspired by his own Feyr. 

With Tawny's help, Billy became a tiger themed witch boy. Pointed ears and a gliding tail, sharp fangs and claws, wild hair and catlike eyes, a magically fitted black suit with striped markings that followed onto his skin, and eerie blood splatter across his hands and face - Billy so wanted to wear this for other Halloween parties.

(He doesn't actually believe he'd ever get the chance, but well, one could dream.)

Though, he admitted, he was sort of jealous of John's glamour. A full transformation into a stylishly decorated demon - large horns, full black eyes, fancy clothing and a grand colorful coat. He looked really, really cool.

"I could've gone as Marvel, you know. Being an adult seems easier for this," Billy commented. It would have also been safer. 

Great adventure aside, Billy wasn't stupid enough to ignore the dangers he was getting into. He may be magical inclined, but Marvel was the Champion of Magic. If things went south, he would prefer to have the Gods on his side. And great costume aside, something about attending a party as a kid, albeit a never aging one, seemed like it was asking for trouble. What if the glamour wasn't enough? What if his magic wasn't enough? What if someone saw right through them and realized Billy really was just a kid? If he got blacklisted from the coolest supernatural party of the year before he even turned eighteen, he would never live it down.

"You telling me that you want the entire place in chaos? That's what the Champion of the Gods would do. Half the party would swarm you for autographs and most likely try to pull you into rooms you do not want to go, and the other half would fall over themselves trying to leave the damn place. Some may even risk breaking the truce to get a piece of you."

"I thought that's what the glamour was for."

"A pretty costume can't hide the fact that he's the Champion of goddamn Magic. His energy alone would blind the lot like a beacon of divine fucking light." John stopped them before they reached a dead end wall practically oozing magical illusion. They kept a good enough distance, though he still lowered his voice. "I know you run with the big superhero league, but his reputation goes farther than you've been flying around in his cape. Near everyone knows about the Ancient Champions and their patron Gods, and half of those know about the Wizard and his lofty seat at the center of all Earthly magic. He's a bloody legend down here, so no shouting for your giant fuckall lightning, alright? You don't need to leave here with a massive target on your forehead."

Well, then. This was news to him.

"It'd be nice if you told me this before, you know, instead of when we are literally walking into the lions den!" Knowing that there could be powerfully magical beings who would want to hurt him… that seemed like important information.

"That's why I told you to stay as a kid, kid," John flicked at his forehead, infuriating and condescending all at once. Which wasn't an uncommon thing, unfortunately.

The response was immediate, Tawny's low rumble, warning John Constantine away.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," he lead them forward and to Billy is felt like walking through a curtain to see what was covered on the other side. "Now, stay within eyesight of me, and don't accept drinks you haven't seen the bartender make. And even then, keep to what you know," John said. 

Billy knew what to do, thank you very much. He's had talks with his neighbor Candy, and he's heard older teens whisper at foster homes, and him and Freddy have watched teenage party movies. He knows what to do and unlike John, he doesn't go pissing off every magical being he comes across.

He'll be fine!

-x-

He was not fine.

Billy was very much not fine at all.

He felt sick and nauseous and all he wanted to do was throw up, but he couldn't and that made it worse. Thanks to John's quick thinking, he managed to get them out before Billy's glamour wore off. Though, with how fast John was walking, he was practically dragging Billy along, making the sidewalk blur and the street lights flare painfully. 

"That's what you get for accepting a drink from the eternal witch boy," John said, voice teasing. It was salt in Billy's wounds along with everything else right now.

Words seemed to escape him for the moment, so he gagged and spat on the ground at John's feet to let him know how he felt about that.

"Didn't take you for a delinquent," John continued. He sounded more amused and Billy hated it. "Not that I'm judging, mind you. I had my first taste of alcohol when I was ten."

"Didn't know," Billy muffled out. He'd tried beer before, him and Freddy had snuck out with a can each one time. They'd stolen it from one of the foster dad as he lay passed out on the couch. It was the most disgusting thing Billy had ever tasted.

"Yeah, can't blame you there. Mead tastes deceptively sweet. Either way, it was from Klarion and that's where you went wrong."

Okay, he really did not need a lecture right now. It was Halloween and he nearly blew their cover and he may have become an ally to Klarion and they almost got found out by Zatanna and all Billy wanted to do was sleep forever.

Still incapable of words, because talking required thinking and that was not going to happen - Billy groaned.

"No, no sleep yet. Gonna need some water and greasy food first, or you'll be feeling even more like shit come morning. Good thing I know a place and they won't ask questions." 

At the mere thought of food, Billy felt his stomach turn and finally threw up. Surprisingly, it made him feel better. 

"Hmm. Good thing you don't have monitor duty tomorrow, you're sleeping in. And no patrol, either. Consider it an extended holiday."

Halloween had never been this eventful before, at least at a personal level, but it all honesty, Billy didn't feel an ounce of regret. This was probably his favorite year yet.

Vomiting in the middle of the street excluded.

[theshelbyclan]

Defiance

Summary: When your brothers went off to war, you couldn’t just sit and wait for them: you had to work, so as nurse Shelby, you started nursing in London

(Gif by @nofckingfighting​)

A/N: Anon requested: Hello, I saw that you write Shelby sister imagines? Is it ok for you to do me one please? I always imagine her being the same age as John and very close to Tommy. I was thinking along the lines of when the boys go to war she goes to a hospital in London dealing with soliders who need rehabilitation and help with PTSD. She doesn't come home until a year after the boys? Here's they are in trouble with Campbell and Billy Kimber Obviously take it wherever you like to I'm happy for whatever x I’m making this a two-part story, to be able to combine two different requests that had a lot of similarities. I’m using your request for the first part, and let me just say, this is such a beautiful idea that it deserves to be a film on its own. Hope I did it justice! :) Part 2 is Acceptance 

Warning: mentions of death, war and suicide.

Words: 3107

***

“I will not,” defiantly you stood in front of your superior, arms crossed in front of you and a rebellious scowl on your face. “Excuse me?” the head nurse turned around to face you, “This again, nurse Shelby?”

For a moment, you faltered. Going against a senior nurse was something that wasn’t tolerated, at all. And with good reason! The hospital wouldn’t be able to function properly. During the war, it’d been constant chaos, with men coming in and going out constantly. Dying was often a blessing, and there had been so much, so much death. But the war was over and still the men kept on coming.

“I’m not trying to rebel, nurse Miller,” you said, more meekly this time, “I just don’t see how this is going to help any of them.” “Doctor says it works,” nurse Miller replied matter-of-factly. “But does it?” some fire was coming back into you, “They are able to talk and walk again, sure, but that’s not the same as recovery, is it? The problem is not of a physical nature, it’s a mental struggle these men face.” The head nurse looked up from her work and turned fully towards you now, “Remember your place, nurse Shelby. Do as you’re told. Go on, off with you.” “What research has really been done concerning these…” you waved your hand in an annoyed manner, “methodsthat the doctors employ these days!” Thoroughly irritated now, nurse Miller dropped her work and one look told you all you needed to know: you were in trouble. Again. And so you were back to scrubbing bedpans yet again. All nurses were required to do this work and the long days without much sleep had hardened you all to the blood and filth. Still, some nurses were given this job more than others. Especially the nurses who couldn’t control their mouths around their superiors. Silently, you cursed your Shelby spirit.

But then your mind drifted off to the subject you had been discussing with nurse Miller and your blood began to boil again. ‘The soldier’s heart’, that’s what they used to called it. These were the men who could never sit still, felt anxious all the time and were constantly on edge. It had been considered a ‘normal’ condition for decennia, but it had taken on the form of an epidemic after the Great War. Brave men could no longer function and the severe psychological trauma haunted most of them still, even though the war had been over for several months now! ‘Shell-shock’ was now the popular term and doctors everywhere tried to fix the physical symptoms of the condition. You simply couldn’t fathom how none of them seemed to acknowledge that these were just symptoms: the real problem had taken root in the brain or the heart, maybe even in the soul.

“What did you do this time?” Daisy, or nurse Wells as was the proper term, asked you, when she saw you sitting on your knees in front of piles and piles of bedpans. You looked up and grinned sheepishly, “I disagreed with nurse Miller.” 

“Again.” “Again,” you admitted contritely. Daisy put down the towels she had taken in for washing, “If you’re going to disagree with anyone, choose someone less uptight! Might save your knees.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Daisy was the perfect nurse: she could function on two hours of sleep a night, see the most horrific stuff and still work on tirelessly, while aiming to make the others smile. Where you’d be without Daisy you didn’t even dare think about. “Alright,” she sighed good-naturedly, “Tell me. What did you argue this time? And tell me you’re sorry afterwards, just to practise!” Full of anger, you threw down the brush, “Electro-shock therapy doesn’t fucking help anyone! These men went to hell and back and now their brains are protesting against all the horrors they witnessed. Their minds are revolting, as they should be! The only thing ever accomplished by shocking the men into talking again or walking again is that you’ve taken away their last manner of protesting against inhumane practises. Bravo! You’ve made them into full human bombshells now, without a peep of opposition. How in the fuck is that even medically sound!?” Daisy waited a moment, “So you’re not actually sorry.” “Fuck, no.”

She looked around the door for a second and then whispered, “Fuck.” Your head shot up and you grinned broadly, “Nurse Wells, what did you just say?” “I suddenly felt brave,” she shrugged a little, “thought I might be brave enough to say the F-word, with just you here to hear me.” Full of theatrics you stood up and offered her your hand, “I congratulate you earnestly. You have now crossed a line. Welcome to the fucking party!” Beaming, Daisy tried to scold, “You’re a bad influence on me.” “You should see the rest of the Shelby clan,” and a sudden pang went through you the very moment you had spoken the words. Your friend noticed at once, “Y/N, when are you going back?” “Can’t abandon the men now,” you said briskly, leaving very little room for discussion. Daisy hesitated and finally asked, “They did all come back from France, didn’t they?” “Yes.” “When did you hear?” Scrubbing again, you replied, “I never heard, but I’d know if something had happened to them.” Daisy nodded: she knew you well enough to know your instincts never failed you, even if it got you in trouble. A lot.

***

You were lying in bed and even though the shifts weren’t as long as they’d been during the war, sleep was still scarce. Many of you got five to six hours of sleep now, which had been unimaginable during the war! Still, exhaustion wasn’t unfamiliar to any of you and when the nurses hit their pillows, they often slept at once. Still, you were wide-awake at this very moment. When the war started, it didn’t take long for the boys to sign up. Your brothers went, full of energy and bravery and all women were left grieving at home. Ada kept her mind off it, something you were never good at. You couldn’t bear the thought of all these men dying out at the front, and for what? No one seemed to know. But aunt Polly had really send you over the edge. Every morning she got up to pray and at first you had joined her, but unrest had grown inside of you and praying simply wasn’t enough anymore. So, just like your brothers, you had decided and left for training in London. There was no arguing with you and no one tried.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the things you’d seen during your time here as a nurse. The broken men, shattered limbs, blood and gore and death were easy enough to get used to. That thought alone made you frown in confusion: what has become of us, that we think that’s the easy part? But the endless streams of young men, hopeful men once, now broken and shattered like the fields of France themselves, that was the hard part. You fed them, nursed them, mended them, talked to them and held their hand if they went. And each and every face changed the moment just before they died: they were all one of your brothers. They were still alive. Aunt Polly had the gift of second sight and even though you weren’t sure what to believe, you had some of it too. Either way, you would’ve known if they were dead. But what were they like now? Because that was the real reason you daren’t go back to Small Heath. What is they were like some of these men, like ghosts trapped in the body of a once healthy human being? You wouldn’t be able to cope.

People always said that twins have a certain connection. You and John had never noticed anything of a special connection, apart from a certain gift for squabbling. But once he was at the front, when the bombs started falling, you could hear his screams in your mind. That’s when the connection had suddenly kicked in and it kept you up and made you tear your hair out for fear. God was cruel like that. “Are you a Shelby or not?” you suddenly whispered strictly to yourself. “Who is this, cowering away in London and fearing what she might see at home? Be a grownup and fucking face your family!” But something just stopped you.

***

For the next couple of weeks, you tried to get back into the swing of things. You worked harder than ever, with your exhaustion as a form of atonement. Daisy was worried and even nurse Miller told you to slow down at some point.

And then you sat next to a bed of a dying soldier. Your shift had finished already, but still you’d refused to leave him. And why? Because he reminded you of Arthur. “Nurse?” he asked feebly. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts roaming about, “I’m here,” you comforted him. “I can’t see,” he said, “Is that normal?” You took his hand, “I’m right here. Can you feel my hand?” He grabbed it a little tighter, “Yes. You have soft hands.” You smiled warmly at him. He asked again, “Nurse?” “Yes.” “When I get better,” he tried to sit up a little, “Can I maybe take you out some time?” He sure as hell wasn’t the first one to ask, so his request didn’t embarrass or shock you in the slightest. You tried to put on a chipper voice, imitating Daisy, “I don’t know. It depends, I suppose: where would we go?” The wounded soldier smiled, “I can take you to the movies. That’s what the Americans call it, did you know? The movies…” You couldn’t help but smile, “Which film would we go to?” “I’ll take you to that new romantic film, the one with that famous American actor.” “You quite like the Americans, don’t you?” you joked. He smiled again, suddenly revealing how handsome he actually was, “Americans, they have a way with women.” “So do you!” “Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“When you get better, we’ll go to the movies,” you confirmed. But he didn’t get better. The next day, he was back to his ailing and screaming. The trouble with his mind was that sometimes the fragments seemed to recompose again and he was as sane as any man, but at other times, the war bombed his soul. His physical injuries were extensive and his chances of survival were slim. Still, the doctor was adamant on trying shock therapy on him, thinking it might help with both his physical and psychological ailments. You didn’t agree, but kept your mouth shut for once. Still, you screamed into your pillow the next night, feeling so fucking helpless at the sight of pointless suffering. The next morning, nurse Miller send you over to that soldier once again to change his bandages. All light had left his eyes. Practically inaudibly, he said, “Nurse?” “I’m here,” you took his hand again in yours. “Would you’ve done it? Would you’ve allowed me to take you out?” “Of course!” you exclaimed, “Not every day a handsome young man asks a girl like me out!” He paused for a moment, “Honestly?” “Honestly,” you said. Suddenly, he relaxed and fell back into the cushions. You frowned a little though, slightly worried about why he was no longer sure of his recovery. But there was more work to be done and you had to be on your way again. When nurse Miller told you he’d gotten hold of a razor somehow and killed himself in the night, something inside you shattered. That was it. You were done. ***

On the train to Birmingham, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d changed. Once a Small Heath gypsy, being on edge about not being useful enough, you’d left full of innocence. Well, maybe not innocent, you were a Shelby after all. But you’d grown up being protected by young brothers, fighting them and others constantly, and still you considered your childhood a happy one. The amount of times you’d screamed at them, “I’m not a child anymore!” was insane, but only now you felt like that sentence was justified. The war had changed you too. Quickly, you’d send Aunt Polly a telegram before departing London. It said: ‘I’m coming home. Still alive. Make sure the boys save me some whiskey.’ She wouldn’t be pleased with a message like that, but you couldn’t wait to deal with the consequences again. Stepping off the train and back onto familiar ground felt like entering a dream. Oh, how you had missed the stench and noise! Without a thought, you took off your shoes and walked barefoot through the muddy streets. Watch out, Birmingham, you thought cheekily, the pauper princess is back! All nerve left you as soon as it’d come when you stood in front of your house at Watery Lane. And while you were still plucking up the courage to open the door, it swung wide open and nearly hit you square in the nose. A flash of green came rushing out and two arms squeezed the life out of you. “Where the hell have you been?” they demanded. Softly, you breathed in the smell of her perfume, “Fucking working, Ada, unlike you.” “Aunt Pol is going after you with the wooden spoon and I won’t lift a finger to save you,” she scolded, without letting go. You rolled your eyes into your sister’s hair. And then you suddenly noticed, “Looks like you’ve been busy as well!” Ada stepped back and looked down, “Seven months. Can’t even see my toes anymore, I’ve gotten so fat.” “Not much to look at anyways,” you commented. Ada slapped your shoulder and you winced. At least nothing had changed between you two.

With Aunt Polly it was an entirely different story. As soon as you walked into the house, she froze and fixed you with one of her stares that could make empires crumble. You could feel your shoulders slumping, your heart racing and you held your breath. Nothing had changed there either: it was like you were eight years old again. Slowly, she walked over to you and took a long hard look at you, never releasing eye contact. Then she grabbed your face and you almost winced, but instead she said, “You need to eat. Sit.”

Not hesitating, you obeyed at once. Without a word, she threw your telegram on the table. The silence was filled with anxiety-fuelled electricity and she let you calmly simmer in it for a few more moments. Then she spoke, “You have ten seconds to explain, before I slap you back to London myself.” So you took a big gulp of breath and explained, “I got into another fight with the head nurse and then everything went to shit and I didn’t know what to do, because I felt guilty, because he died and I fucking cannot with those doctors, because I knew work would be hard and I signed up for it, but all of a sudden I was just done, and I wanted to come back sooner, but I was scared Tommy and Arthur were dead and that John was, well I wanted to come sooner but didn’t know how to come back, and also I was you know scared that you might not take it well, and how I left, and yeah well, I was afraid this was going to happen…” “Leave her be,” Ada said to your aunt, “She’s worn out.” “It’s been eight months since the war ended,” Aunt Polly said, her face still not betraying any emotion, “We thought you were gone.” “I’m okay, Pol,” you said carefully. “How the fuck were we supposed to know?” She burst out, “No note, no letter, nothing. And now you think you can just show up, like the queen of fucking Birmingham, after writing some shitty telegram that made me drop my favourite teacup?” “Oh no, the blue one?” you asked. Ada glared at you, her eyes saying: not the right fucking response right now. So you cast your eyes downwards, “I’m sorry, Pol. The work, it just drags you in. I kept on seeing their faces in all the wounded soldiers I took care of. It was the only way I could cope.” Aunt Polly’s face softened a little, “It’s the waiting. The waiting almost killed the women.”

Images of wartime nightmares flashed in front of your eyes. Waiting was the thing you were terrible at, as it turned out. It ate you up inside, and now you’d done it to them. Finally, Aunt Polly’s reaction made sense.

“Forgive me,” you pleaded.

Your aunt walked over to the table and sat down next to you. She took your hand in hers and a wave of reassurance washed over you, “You’re like a working horse. They go crazy when they rest. You leaving shouldn’t have come as a surprise to us. It’s good to have you back. Welcome home, Y/N.”

No longer able to contain yourself, you flung yourself forwards and hugged your aunt. Tears fell from your eyes and finally, ease came over you.

Then you heard voices from the other room. Arthur’s voice first, loud and angry. He hadn’t changed much either then, perhaps a little angrier than before. Then Tommy’s reply, cold and business-like. He sounded like dad now. Finally your twin: John laughing like he was still playing in the gutter. For a few minutes, you didn’t move. You just listened to them and revelled in their sounds. These were the sounds of brothers, still alive, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“Billy Kimber has a bloody army!” Arthur shouted.

You looked towards Ada for some kind of explanation, but she just rolled her eyes. Aunt Polly sat back and lit a cigarette. The fact that she gave that one to you, before lighting another for herself, showed she now thought of you as an adult as well. The moment was brief, but so intimate.

With a bang, the door slammed open en Arthur came storming in. Tommy was sighing deeply and still cursing right behind him, and through the open door you could see John. They all froze when they saw you, all at the same time, jaws practically hitting the floor.

“Billy Kimber, eh?” you merely said, “Looks like I showed up just in time.” 

***

Masterlist

[meg-louise-giry]

Live(ish) Posting: Sherlock 4x02 - “The Lying Detective”

So, here I go with my first Live(ish) Posting. My thoughts as I view something. Today it’s the most recent episode of Sherlock “The Lying Detective”. I am watching it on the BBC iPlayer.

SPOILERS AHEAD

Background: The Lying Detective is an obvious reference to Doyle’s story The Dying Detective. Dr Watson is summoned by Mrs Hudson and told that Holmes is at death’s door, having neither eaten nor drunk for the past 3 days. Watson visits his friend to find Holmes disillusion (babbling about oysters) and unreasonable, keeping Watson in the room at gunpoint until 6 o’clock, when he must go and fetch Culverton Smith, a man who specialises in the illness Holmes has contracted. When Watson returns from his errand, Holmes tells him to hide in the room (”Quick, man, if you love me!”) and manages to extract from Smith that he has poisoned Holmes with the same method he used to poison and kill his nephew. Holmes requests Smith turn up the gas lights, at which point the police come barging in. Smith has confessed, in the presence of two witnesses, to the murder of his nephew. And Holmes is fine, by the way, having used beeswax, belladonna, Vaseline and the art of malingering to convince Watson he was at death’s door. The story ends with the two on fairly chilly terms, as Watson feels he has been unfairly used and that Holmes should simply have confided in him.

CULVERTON SMITH: Ah-ha! The villain of the piece, who turned up in a billboard advertisement last week and appears to be some form of business magnate. From the trailer, soundtracked by a maniacal laugh, and comments from the show’s creators, we can be assured of a good old-fashioned baddie. He’s played by Toby Jones, who for some reason, I tend to get mixed up with Timothy Spalding. 

And here we go...

00:00 - Smoking gun. Wow, they’re really not letting us forget Mary’s demise last episode even for a second. Poor John :(

00:27 - John has a new German therapist.

00:45 - there is absolutely someone else in that bed with John.

01:03 - Poor John seems to have taken to alcohol. Can’t say I blame him.

02:09 - Ghost Mary! This could either be a really nice touch or a very bad idea. Very nice with how she appears and disappears around him.

03:11 - “I haven’t see him. No-one’s seen him, he’s locked himself away in his flat. God knows what he’s up to.”

03:25 - and right on cue, here he comes in typical destructive Sherlock style...

03:44 - Wow, an Aston Matin. Where DOES the Holmes family money come from anyway? I mean, I know Mycroft is in Government, but back in Season 1, Sherlock could not afford to rent 221B Baker Street himself.

04:38 - And here’s out first look at Culverton Smith. Entrepeneur/Philanthropist according to the flashes of news coverage. I thought he would be a doctor like in the original.

05:03 - what’s with the scary nurses?

05:26 - “What’s the very worst thing you can do to your very best friends?” Betray them?

06:23 - this guy is creeping me out already.

07:04 - I wonder if DT 12 is the stuff they give me at the dentist when I have work done so that I don’t remember it afterwards? Also, I don’t think you need to wear a surgical mask just to enter an IV into someone’s arm.

07:14 - I would so not allow someone to stick an IV in me. But I’m a wimp.

08:14 - why is no-one leaving this creepy meeting?

09:20 - Guess this drug worked, judging by Faith’s wonky-visioned note writing.

09:38 - Toby Jones can run a marathon in a tracksuit? Seems very Savile-esque.

10:58 - Poor Faith.

11:16 - How does Faith still have the note 3 years later?

11:26 - Sherlock needs to shave

12:06 - “Something” is the hem of her dress

12:10 - Love this effect with the chalk

12:12 - Uh-oh, shaky hands 

12: 42 - Ah, he’s high. Has she not noticed the needle?

13:03 - “It’s like a reflex, I can’t stop it.” Is that guilt, Sherlock?

13:09 - How does this man not freak her out by flapping all over the place? Mind you, the creepy dad is worse.

13:19 - Is that Billy the chemist/drug dealer?

13:44 - The special effects here really are very good.

14:00 - Why is Sherlock turning down this case for tea? Needle-spiked tea, but tea nonetheless?

14:18 - Oh yes, it is Billy. There seems to be a Meth lab in the kitchen.

14:30 - Why be surprised when someone you’ve told to go leaves?

14:47 - "I’m still catching up with my brain. It’s terribly fast.”

15:38 - Women carry a LOT of stuff in their handbags, how does he know there’s a gun in there?

15:44 - I love that her cane makes him think of John.

16:03 - “I think I remember the way, it’s through there, isn’t it?”

16:24 - Nice tux, Mycroft

16:47 - Could have taken her to a cafe or restaurant, but no, a bus stop in the rain. I do like when he explains.

17:53 - Ah, Sherlock is being tracked. Interesting.

18:24 - Oh, this whole scene with the CGI kitchen is SO GOOD! Wonderful special effects and how we see differently through Sherlock’s POV and Faith’s POV.

19:33 - Why are the copter’s cameras only showing Sherlock and not Faith?

19:42 - Mycroft is an insensitive bastard.

20:06 - When was this filmed? I can only imagine at some point during the Queen’s 90th birthday celebrations judging by the flags all over Picadilly Circus. Also, I know I only visit London, but Picadilly is a fair old walk from Baker Street. Did they go on the Underground?

20:37 - “I’m not sweet, I’m just high.”

20:50 - Very clever, Sherlock.

21:01 - Why is Culverton Smith on The Voice/BGT?

21:23 - “It didn’t the last time” ... what last time? And who is Sherrinford? (Except an unused name for Sherlock Holmes)

22:07 - They really did walk all night.

23:58 - Oh dear, he’s getting worse and worse.

24:18 - Where’d she go? Did he just hallucinate the whole thing? Surely you don’t just leave the man who has talked you out of suicide and collapsed in pain?

24:59 - ANYONE.

25:58 - The effect with the backdrop falling behind him is just so theatrical.

26:20 - Wow, it’s like Inception in here.

26:32 - Ooh, serial killers, love serial killers, they always make a mistake!

27:03 - And back to the beginning we go.

27:41 - MRS HUDSON????

27:53 - I love how blase she is about all this.

28:13 - Poor Mrs Hudson has to put up with a lot

28:20 - Is he quoting Henry V?

28:56 - Ooh, shooting into the wall! That’s from The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual

29:01 - The game’s afoot. Pretty sure that’s Henry V.

29:21 - Sherlock is a little obsessed with Smith.

29:51 - You’re waving a gun, you psychopath, that’s what’s the matter with her!!

30:49 - Is this a reference to The Dying Detective, Mrs Hudson coming to John for help?

31:05 - How on earth did she get Sherlock in the boot??

31:40 - Oh. At gunpoint. 

31:59 - And the boys from the cafe.

32:00 - “They dropped me! Twice!”

32:25 - Mrs Hudson is a wealthy badass.

32:32 - How did Smith get John’s phone number?

34:07 - At least Sherlock admits he has a problem. Unless this is malingering, like in the original. But he really does look terrible.

35:55 - Molly! Yay!

37:08 - What must this poor therapist lady think of all these weird people invading her home?

37:30 - Since Mary is in John’s head, he is essentially talking to himself, which means he knows Sherlock’s methods and can apply them to work it out for himself.

38:20 - They’re not going for the cereal killer joke are they?

39:17 - I thought this was a trick too!

39:57 - I love how repellent Toby Jones is in this role.

40:36 - Yeah. They went with the cereal killer joke.

40:59 - Ugh, that assistant girl Culverton is hitting on looks about 15! They’re really not shying away from the Jimmy Savile parallel here.

42:04 - Sherlock is a pickpocket!

42:41 - How does this nurse not know John by sight?

43:33 - Kids everywhere... are they all potential victims? 

44:20 - Blessington the Poisoner! A link to the story The Resident Patient.

44:38 - Love Mary in the background here.

44:46 - I wonder if the multiple murders is a reference to Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, and the Killer Orangutan a reference to Edgar Alan Poe’s The Murders in the Rue Morgue?

45:13 - Is this really an appropriate topic for children? Oh, the nurse just said that. And got the death glare. She’ll either be fired or dead by the end of the episode.

46:19 - The staff are looking more and more uneasy by this line of questioning. 

46:48 - “No-one’s untouchable.” It’s this point when the audience (and Sherlock judging by the smile) know that John finally believes what Sherlock has been saying. Smith is a dangerous, dangerous man.

47:51 - Why doesn’t John know what TD 12 is? He’s a doctor.

48:58 - HH Holmes. I know about him!

50:52 - If we didn’t hate Smith to begin with, we do when he starts using a corpse as a mannequin. 

51:17 - So, we now have Dr Harold Shipman to add to Culverton’s influences.

52:49 - I love how Smith can manipulate John into doubting Sherlock -- and his own instincts.

54:40 - Uh oh, now Lestrade is involved.

55:06 - That’s not the lady we met earlier...

56:08 - That laugh could drive anyone mad.

56:42 - Is Sherlock actually having a mental breakdown?

58:05 - I love it when John gets physical. He did used to be a soldier, after all.

58:23 - “I might even move him to my favourite room.” Uh oh! But we know that his favourite room is the morgue!

58:47 - Wow, that is quite the beating John is giving Sherlock there.

1:00:16 - How many times have we seen Sherlock in hospital now?

1:00:35 - John still cares if he is leaving Sherlock his cane.

1:01:24 - And of course the secret entrance into the room. Very HH Holmes. Also, that blue wallpaper is really distracting.

1:02:12 - The note was real! Wait, how come the note was real if Faith was never there?

1:02:33 - “Oh shut up you!” - LOVE Ghost Mary. Can we keep her? Please?

1:03:08 - A third Holmes!

1:04:14 - Mrs Hudson has much more insight than anyone gives her credit for.

1:04:42 - Oh, John, please don’t watch this, it will break your heart.

1:05:12 - “Get out of my house, you reptile!” You tell him, Mrs H!

1:05:30 - OK, so the Smith/Holmes deathbed scene is in the original story. But why isn’t John hiding in the room? Is Sherlock baiting him like in the original?

1:07:21 - Does Smith talk to all his victims like this? 

1:08:51 - “I don’t want to die.” Cumberbatch is so good in this role.

1:09:10 - Come on, John, hurry up!

1:10:19 - Mary really knew her husband.

1:10:46 - “It just makes me... oh, incredibly happy.”

1:12:07 - OMG Smith is actually killing Sherlock!

1:13:05 - Saline! Wonderful!

1:14:22 - In the cane! It’s like John WAS there!

1:15:37 - How can Faith NOT have been there when we know the note is real?

1:16:03 - I love seeing John back in that chair,

1:18:02 - That’s Irene Adler’s text alert!

1:18:45 - Happy Birthday, Sherlock (January 6th, according to canon. 2 days prior to the air date of this episode.)

1:19:04 - “Is there nights of passion in High Wycombe?”

1:19:49 - I know this will be an unpopular opinion, but I hope Sherlock and Irene don’t become a couple. I like Sherlock Holmes, the asexual.

1:20:31 - Oh, John! Here comes the confession...

1:20:37 - ... to Ghost Mary! OMG this is heartbreaking!

1:22:11 - Martin Freeman is just so unbelievably good throughout this entire episode. His grief, repressed and out in the open like this, is wonderfully played. It makes me wonder what experiences he is drawing on to portray this. Maybe the breakdown of his own relationship with Amanda Abbington?

1:22:19 - Oh and this hug! This is just perfect! Awkward, well-meant, and perfect. Holmes and Watson would never have embraced like this in canon, but they do express their affection for each other in ways typical of their time period. Watson is wounded at one point and, seeing the fury in Holmes’ face, believes it is worth the pain.

1:23:25 - “I’m Sherlock Holmes, I wear the damn hat.” Yeah you do! (Although I thought the whole point of updating Holmes was to move AWAY from the hat).

1:23:30 - Will we ever see Mary again, I wonder?

1:24:22 - Ooh! The note! He found the note!

1:24:46 - Again with the sexual chemistry, between Smallwood and Mycroft. Why are they obsessed with the Holmes boys having sexual encounters?

1:25:37 - When did John mention the secret one to his therapist?

1:26:08 - OMG the therapist is Fake Faith???

1:26:56 - MISS ME? She’s not Moriarty surely? He’s dead.

1:27:26 - Fake Faith is also the texting E? 

1:27:34 - I like the mismatched eyes here. Reminds me of David Bowie.

1:27:45 - “She’s in a sack in the airing cupboard.”

1:28:07 - Eurus Holmes. There’s a secret sister?

1:28:28 - And fade to red. 

Well, that was a roller-coaster ride and a half. Given the trailer for the next episode I think we can assume John will survive the gunshot to the face... or will he? And who is Eurus? (Euros?) The notion of the East Wind is something that has come up before, and is referenced in canon in relation to the oncoming Great War (His Last Bow). And of course, E is for Eurus. We were even given a hint that she and Smith were working together in that shot of E in the bus shelter next to Smith’s advert. Most importantly, I know that Sherlock was, in his own words “off his tits” on drugs, but how did he spend a whole night with his sister and not recognise her?

I enjoyed this episode, though it’s not as heavily based upon The Dying Detective as I thought it would be. Heavy Jimmy Savile and Harold Shipman references throughout with Culverton Smith. Mrs Hudson was wonderful and I really thought the inclusion of Ghost Mary worked very well. I would like to see more Molly and Lestrade, and hope Hopkins, not seen in this episode, makes a return appearance. Roll on, Sunday!