#many of those thoughts are me thinking of ways to make steven moffat pay for what he did

[diningpageantry]

drinking hateraide tonight. unfortunately, that hateraide is manifesting directly into my aggressive and growing need to make longform video essays on YouTube.

[glass-rose-paperweight]

The Mysterious Case of Queerbaiting

BBC Sherlock

There’s one thing about BBC Sherlock that has never made sense to me. As I’m sure many of you are aware (and something I’ve talked about before), BBC Sherlock has been accused of Queerbaiting, of intentionally setting up John and Sherlock as being attracted to each other but never following through with that or even intending to do it. And it’s one of those things that has just always baffled me; I can’t make it make sense. A lot has already been said about the way things are portrayed in the show and what the subtext behind a million different things could mean (seriously, I love that I am part of a fandom with so many perceptive and intelligent people; watching the show is only half the fun) and how none of it makes sense. Today, I would like to use my powers of deduction get to the bottom of this mystery.

The way I see it, there are 3 possible explanations.

1. The Producers of the Show Queerbaited

I have to admit, this seems unlikely given that one of them is literally a gay man. Why would a gay man knowingly and intentionally engage in something like this? Why would a gay man write a script that constantly pokes at Watson’s sexuality if the only point was to make it into a joke? To say ‘oh, no, the poor straight guy is constantly mistaken as gay. Look at how defensive he is getting, hahaha, what a funny joke’. That just makes no sense. It makes no sense for Mark Gatiss to have gone to the lengths he has gone to within the show, from whatever direction he gave the actors so that they portray an obvious chemistry between Sherlock and John to having a jealousy trope at John and Mary’s wedding except it’s Sherlock getting Jealous over John’s ex commander to this interesting thing about the best man speech to Mary saying ‘neither one of us were his first’ or ‘the man we both love’ or ‘I know what the two of you could become’ to Sherlock putting John Watson face on The Ideal Man to all the gay artwork in TBB (I could not for the life of me find this meta even though I know I saved it, and I am so distressed) to a thousand other things that the fandom has discussed over and over and over again. Who puts that much effort into queerbaiting? Especially when you would have a vested interest representation? So, it just doesn’t make sense for those directly involved with the show the be the reason.

2. Higher Ups at BBC Told Them No

This seems much more plausible to me, however I still doubt it. I can’t say I know just a whole lot about BBC, but I do know they have tended to be on the more progressive side of things, and I just really can’t see any of the higher ups just flat out refusing to allow the writers to make Johnlock canon. The first season gets a pass because I’m pretty sure that openly same sex couples weren’t allowed in media at the time (I think it was allowed in 2011, but I’m honestly not sure. I’m in the US, not the UK, so if I’ve gotten this detail wrong, please correct me). But they had 3 other seasons and another 7 years to make it happen, and I just don’t think that the higher ups at BBC would have just flatly said ‘no’. So, that leaves the last explanation.

3. Someone Other Than Those Involved With The Show Stopped Them

The majority of the Sherlock Holmes stories are in public domain. Copyright expired in 1980 in Canada and in 2000 for the UK (X). This would seem to make it a pretty cut and dry case: in the UK, you can do pretty much whatever you want with the Sherlock Holmes stories. But it’s no quite so simple. The US works a little different because copywrite law isn’t the same (isn’t he US just great?). As it stands, there are still 6 stories today that the Conan Doyle Estate still has the exclusive rights to in the US. If I understand how the copywrite law works correctly, that would have been 14 stories back in 2010. But, that shouldn’t have affected anything going on in the UK, right? Theoretically, no. The Conan Doyle Estate wouldn’t have had any legal rights to coveting the characters and the stories in the UK. However, that doesn’t mean that those involved with the show wouldn’t have been extremely apprehensive of the power that the Estate wielded, especially considering the previous decade of legal battles. Only 3 cases are listed here, but the Conan Doyle Estate is very protective of its copyright of the work (as evident by the fact that they are literally trying to sue Netflix, among others, for portraying characters in a way they supposedly weren’t portrayed until later books). There were other court cases after 2010, however. A decisive court case in 2013 declared once and for all that the stories written prior to 1923 were completely in public domain and that a license wasn’t needed to create things based on any of the stories prior to those dates (something the Estate had convinced BBC of when they first created BBC Sherlock). However, an appeal by the Estate was later made, stating “Sherlock Holmes is a ‘complex’ character, that his background and attributes had been created over time, and that to deny copyright on the whole Sherlock Holmes character would be tantamount to giving the famous detective ‘multiple personalities.’” The appeal was, thankfully, thrown out. But it’s the attempt that matters. 

Oh, and here’s a fun little tidbit, the 2 stories that have, perhaps, the strongest evidence of there being more than just friendship (this quote, this quote, and this quote (which was said after Holmes stated that, if he had hypothetically loved someone, he would kill the person that killed the person he loved)) come from the stories The Problem of Thor Bridge (the first quote) and The Adventure of the Three Garridebs (the last 2), which both belonged to the Estate in the US until after the final season of the show.

So, let’s get into the minds of BBC, for a moment. Someone has decided they want to reimage Sherlock in a new and unique way: modern day. The Holmes Estate has been fighting legal battles in America for the past decade and has won all of them, and has also issued the verdict that to make stories, you need a license. You say ‘okay’ and go along with it because you’re a big corporation that can afford to do such a thing. When the first season of the show airs, it isn’t legal to have openly gay characters, so everything has to be regulated to subtext. You outright state that being gay is okay because you want to let people know you are in full support of homosexuality, even if it isn’t legal yet. The writers and producers of the show are huge ACD fanboys and BIG fans of The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, so, yeah, there’s some gay subtext. By the second season, hey! Homosexuality is legal! Except the 2 stories with the biggest indication of Sherlock and John’s attraction towards each other are still very much in the hands of the Estate, who has spent the past decade fighting legal battles. You may be able to pay for a license, but a lawsuit really isn’t something you’d like to go through. Whether the Estate has any legal standing to do such a thing or not, a lawsuit would be a long, messy battle. By the third season, a court case in America has decided that anything written prior to 1923 doesn’t need a license (damn, that’s 2 seasons of being successfully intimidated into a license). However, the two stories with greatest evidence still belong to the Estate, and the Estate tried to weasel their way into owning more of Sherlock than they should by arguing about his character. They probably wouldn’t take well to an openly gay Sherlock, would they? By season 4, the same problem still exists. Cut to 2020. Both of the stories with those quotes have entered public domain. But, uh oh, a month, a month before the 10th anniversary of your show, the news breaks that the Estate is filing yet another lawsuit, this time against multiple different parties, one of them being the mega corporation of Netflix (god, that’s some balls right there) that what they did broke copyright law because it portrayed characters in a way they supposedly weren’t portrayed until later stories, stories the Estate still owns (that is some balls right there). So you might feel the need to cover your ass a bit. Despite the past decade of saying that they characters you have portrayed are nothing but platonic, the fans don’t seem to buy it, and, in hindsight, there’s a lot of reasons not to. Maybe something needs to be created that subtly tells fans that they really are just looking too far into it. And, what great luck, a YouTube channel is asking you to make something for the 10th anniversary. 

Is this what happened? I don’t really know. I have nothing more than circumstantial evidence and guesswork here to go off of. I’m not privy to the private thoughts of Mark Gatiss or Steven Moffat or any of the head honchos at BBC. I don’t know what kind of executive decisions are made in the best interest of the company. All I know is that the Conan Doyle Estate is hanging on to whatever copyrights they can possibly manage, that they are willing to level lawsuits on, quite frankly, ridiculous terms, and that having a lawsuit put against you is no laughing matter and that those whose work revolves around Sherlock Holmes and creating stories about him would want to tread carefully. This explanation is, admittedly, far fetched. But it’s the only one that really makes sense. It’s the only one that would explain why a gay man and a generally progressive company would have a show that has layer upon layer upon layer saying that there is more between John and Sherlock than just friendship, as well as a rabid fanbase that they know ship it, and still not deliver, even attempt to squash such mindsets. 

There is, however, one final note I would like to end this on. I have talked before about how I think there will be another season, if the stars align and schedules allow such a thing. The best estimates of when another season might come out is 2022 or 2023, and I’m inclined to think the later year (god, that seems so far away). The year that the last story will become completely open to the public and the entirety of Sherlock Holmes will be public domain is 2023. So, maybe there is hope. 

[monstrousroommates]

Contract (Monstrous Roommates AU)

“Ah, Roman there you are.”

Roman side eyed the director, since he’d been told to report to the makeup artist for touchup. Where else would he be?

“How can I help you, Mr. Cove?” he said instead.

“Going over the script, and we’ll be shooting the shirtless scenes day after tomorrow, so you’ll need to reduce liquids.”

Roman narrowed his eyes and deliberately took a sip from his bottle.

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean ‘can’t’“

“I mean I have a medical condition, and I can’t get dehydrated.” he paused. “I understand it’s industry standard, but my agent makes sure it’s in all my contracts. Which I believe you read? Because I recall your signature was on it?” Despite the fact his voice was light, it came off as pointed. The makeup artist  was covering his mouth, but Roman could tell they were fighting amusement. He gave a friendly smile to the director.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” the director did not appear amused. “Whatever your problem is can’t be that bad.”

“It can get pretty terrible. I do not look nearly as pretty, for one thing.” Roman crossed his legs and rested his hands, still holding the water-bottle on-top of them.

The director pinched his nose and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘primadonna’

“It’s not about pretty, what kind of man wants to look pretty, it’s about how you’re expected to look.”

“I don’t remember anything in the script about my character being half dead.”  Roman countered. “Which I assure you would be a great deal closer than ‘hot’. Hector here is plenty talented, he can paint them on if my normally incredible physique isn’t good enough.”

“Don’t drag me into this.” Hector squeaked, though there was a repressed giggle in it.

“But I suppose if you’re breaking my contract,” for some reason, as Roman said that, there was a strange foreign lilt to the words, and the both the director and makeup artist repressed a shiver “Then I can be off set fast enough, and you can oh I don’t know, recast and reshoot the bits I’ve already done?” he smiled again, sunnily. “I didn’t get any kind of breach of contract clause in, so you wouldn’t have to pay me for the work I’d already done.”

“You really want to get yourself blacklisted for being difficult to work with?”

Roman blinked disingenuously, eyes wide.

“You’ve got no hold over live theatre, which I can gladly go back to-” he lied. “And I am a member in good standing in my union, so while there isn’t much I can do, if you chose to slander me, I can certainly take the time I’m not working to start a movement for more care being taken for artists' health.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “I mean, I’m not personally a big name, but there has been a lot of concern lately. I could gather support pretty quickly.”

“What the hell, Prince.” 

“I’m just thinking.” Roman protested, practically batting his eyelashes. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the opportunity of working with such a wonderful and esteemed director as yourself, but if that isn’t an option over such a trivial thing, something clearly outlined in my contract, I will have to do something else.” 

“... I’m going to be checking that contract.” the director left as suddenly as he’d come over and Roman exhaled gustily. Hector did as well. 

“Were you serious?” Hector asked.

“I do like doing live theatre, but I was really excited by this opportunity. I mean-” He tipped a hand up, and pinched his fingers together, trying to indicate how much he was actually enjoying working with this particular famed director, who was, by all accounts, kind of dick, and the best thing that could be said, other than how good his movies turned out, was that he was just as much of an asshole to the male talent to the female. “He could, regardless of firing me over this, make it very hard to find work in the industry. But B movies are at least fun to work in, I suppose.” he crinkled the water bottle in his hands.

“Have you been in many?”

“Uh,” Roman thought about how to answer that one. “Not recently.” before his accident, he’d been in plenty, and had just been starting to work his way into more prestigious movies. In this lifetime, he’d only been in a few.  Unless made-for-tv counted.  This opportunity would, if worked right, be a chance for more. 

If Cove didn’t decide to trash his career for not kissing his ass.  

Never mind. 

He’d deal with that if it came to it. They were halfway through shooting and while his character was a supporting role, not a main one- a ‘complication’ for the inevitable white heterosexual romance (personally, Roman thought the script would work better if he almost shared a kiss with the male lead instead of the female, but that was very much not his job, and given this confrontation not an opinion he was going to risk voicing.) but he was in a lot of scenes. Reshooting would be a disaster. So his role in this movie was fairly safe. A small perverse part of him that sounded a little like Virgil and Remy urged him to cause more trouble, and see how much his supporting role could be cut from the movie’s final release. Sensibly, he ignored it. 

After all, he wanted this job. 

“So what are you going to do?” Hector asked. 

“The best I can.” Roman grinned. “Not that I ever don’t, but I’ll make sure that he would feel stupid if he tried to cut me out.” 

“I don’t know, honestly Mr. Cove can be vindictive.” 

“Honestly, I’m not too worried. He’s probably already deciding it will make my character look like a worse romantic choice, and make Chris McWhitescruff look better.” Roman rolled his eyes then grimaced as Hector actually laughed. “Oh don’t tell Chris I called him that, he’s a nice guy!”

“My lips are sealed.” Hector promised. “My instagram less so. Chris McWhitescruff.”  He gave a laugh and picked up his brushes again.

“Starring as Sadman Deadwife.” Roman added slyly, making Hector snort with laughter. 

“Don’t forget how he’ll be hailed as an innovator for not having you do it.” 

Roman wrinkled his nose and Hector tapped a brush back against it, making him smooth his expression out. 

“Buggerment.” grumbled Roman.

“What part of Britain are you from, anyway?” Hector asked. 

“Oh, well.” Roman sighed, flapping a hand without moving his face. “The sun never sets and all that.”

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

Steven J. Cove - one of those asshat directors who torments their female stars, but people like the movies too much to say anything. Name from Steven Moffat, Joss Whedon and Michael Bay - after all I’d never slander Hitchcockpolucas.

[anncanta]

The imagery of BBC ‘Dracula’: mythology, alchemy, literature. Part 5

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

Literature

The classic horror novel by Bram Stoker, which formed the basis of Dracula, has gone through many adaptations. The new BBC series is one of the closest to the text of this work.

To begin with, the entire first episode, with minor changes, almost literally repeats the description of the story of Jonathan Harker from his diary in the novel, and those details that look different in the film are changed so delicately and embedded in the narrative so gracefully that when watching it, you get a complete feeling of the exquisite classical setting.

But this feeling is deceiving. Like much of what Steven Moffat offers to his viewers, this story is a complex text, saturated with all sorts of meanings and literary references. 

First of all, as I have already said, the film itself ‘lies’ on the material of the novel as a basic fabric. All its plot and psychological twists come from here, as much of the story, and – characters, which are recognizable even when their roles are changed. Further, as you move through the text, hidden ‘pockets’, motives, and whole plug-in plots are revealed in it.

The most obvious, of course, is the plot, parodying the novel by Agatha Christie Ten Little Niggers (And Then There Were None) about people gathered in a closed space from which it is impossible to get out, dying one after another.

What matters here is not so much what work is chosen for the parody as the way it is introduced into the text and creating a kind of crossover by the authors of the film. Absolutely in the spirit of fanfiction.

What if Count Dracula finds himself in a situation from Ten Little Niggers? How will he behave? What will the other people do? Will Count be revealed? And if he will, in what way this problem could be solved? In this sense, it seems to me that it is very important to pay attention to how the narrative structures from one genre (fanfiction) affect another (film) and how naturally these very structures invade today where it was difficult to imagine them thirty years ago (or they were forced then to ‘hide’ or disguise).

The teenage ‘vampire thrash’ that the story of Dracula and Lucy Westenra shows us is just as parody. Balancing on the verge of drama, comedy, erotic novel, this story consistently passes through all the stamps of films and books about bloodsuckers loved by young fans of the genre and turns them inside out.

Love watching a fragile and beautiful heroine meet a fatal man? Here the guy is for you, spectacularly appearing in red light in a nightclub. Do you like impudent girls who themselves throw into the arms of vampires and are not afraid of anything? Please, here's a date at the cemetery. Do you prefer romantic conversations and slow cuddling to a gentle neck? It's not difficult for us. And all this is lined with restrained, slightly melancholic, calm laughter of an adult, showing tricks to a child. With a final note that will show everything that is needed to the one who understands.

And finally, the most vivid, unexpected, and beautiful literary allusion, which gives the story an additional dimension and special meaning, is, of course, the finale. I didn't immediately notice the reference and realized exactly what it meant after the second or third viewing. Probably because it is too obvious.

Who first appears in your memory when you think of the great lovers in world literature? That's it. Only, unlike that one, this story does not seem sad.

But how elegantly done and played.

Romeo and Juliet were representatives of warring families, in fact, enemies that could not be together under any circumstances.

Who could be more antagonists than a vampire and a nun?

Romeo and Juliet fell in love with each other in spite of everything and against the will of their relatives, they strove for each other.

The entire episode on the ship is about how mutual attraction, interest, and love arise despite the circumstances, the wishes of the characters, and the frankly cruel behavior of one of them. And in response to Dracula's words that the kiss of a vampire is an opiate, the quote requested by, ‘You kiss by the book.’*

For violating the order of the Duke, Romeo was expelled but returned after learning that Juliet had died. Finding himself in the crypt in front of her (as he thought) dead body, he was poisoned.

One of the main plot conflicts and drivers of the third episode – is there Agatha here or not? Is she alive or dead? And if there is not Agatha, can she be returned?

And when Juliet, according to the plan of the priest, who undertook to help the lovers, woke up and saw the lifeless Romeo next to her, she stabbed herself with Romeo's dagger.

In the final episode, Dracula dies from the poison in Zoe's blood and Agatha – from the bite of his fangs.

Not enough for you?

Romeo and Juliet, Act II Scene II

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Conclusion

All the mythological, alchemical, and literary images we have considered here, in one way or another, ultimately work for the story. Not only to make it sound brighter and more original in a new performance but also to understand it. Because there is no Dracula without Shakespeare's heroes, without Agatha Christie's half-fabulous, hermetic detectives, without tension between the ‘vampire’ canon of the nineteenth century and the same canon one hundred and fifty years later, changed almost beyond recognition and made a new round in the story of Edward Cullen. And the better you understand them, the more voluminous and profound the story being told becomes.

So much the better you can see how far art has gone and how it today reflects what it feared yesterday and what it only briefly mentioned.

You see, after all, in Stoker's novel, Dracula is not so much a man or even a monster, but a certain mysterious incomprehensible element, chaos embodied, the personification of natural force, which is opposed by human reason and courage. It is no coincidence that the novel is constructed as a collection of written evidence – documents, newspaper clippings, letters, and diaries. The ‘screen’ of words, created by the author, allows the reader to distance himself from what is happening to the extent that he can perceive it calmly, without being captured by the emotions that are caused by the incomprehensible and supernatural. This is a very wise decision on Stoker's part, especially in the nineteenth century, when such stories were new to people and served in part as a way to ‘tame’ and make familiar their own fears.

Therefore, this novel probably gave rise to a whole genre. From this seed, almost all Western European horror literature grew. And the way the new Dracula is shown in the BBC film shows how long it has come.

From overwhelming panic horror through reckless falling in love (which psychologically can be considered an inverted fear – something like Stockholm syndrome) to the search for humanity. And love.

Because the stories of monsters and vampires are always about us. About how we look at the world and at ourselves. What we love in ourselves and what we hate. What are we ready to run headlong for, and what we turn away from. And what makes us who we are.

And if Sherlock Holmes helps us to understand how high we are ready to fly, then Dracula – how much courage we have to see who lives in the depths.

* W. Shakespeare Romeo and Juliet, Act I Scene V.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

ASM vol 5 #9/810 Thoughts

I wrote this before the arc had finished so please bare that in mind if you read on because I recognize some of it might seem weird or redundant in the wake of the conclusion tot he arc.

Kinda sorta mixed feelings for this issue.

 Okay so here are the aspects I DIDN’T like.

 The recap page implies that the general public is starting to forget Peter ran Parker industries and that the heroes all think Spider-Man is in the pocket of the Kingpin.

 Now recap pages aren’t actually part of a story so they don’t exactly count per se.

 But if that is the intention of the author then the series has done a poor job of conveying the former. It’s just ignored the elephant in the room that was Parker Industry.

 And whilst Spencer was saddled with that mess a mess it was nevertheless and he’s cleaned up a lot of other things. Whilst I didn’t consider it a mess necessitating any cleaning up nevertheless when Steven Moffat took over Doctor Who in 2010 (technically 2009 but that’s not important) very early on he established that the massive global Dalek invasion everyone on Earth knew about had been erased from everyone’s memories (mostly) meaning that now alien invasions could happen and new characters would react as though they were sceptical of the existence of wider alien life.

 Again, this wasn’t necessary but the point being was that Moffat put the work in to fix something he perceived as a big problem that resulted from the prior regime. Spencer has been doing some of the same here but not addressed that biggest of elephants in the room that from it’s mere announcement the fanbase was collectively calling out as something that would fuck over the series going forward. Because absolutely not would the general public just forget who Peter Parker was in regards to PI, let alone the company itself.

 As for the Kingpin thing, I never thought about it until just this issue but I kind of have issues with it now. Because even if the other heroes do not know Peter’s identity surely they DO know Spider-Man and/or Kingpin well enough by this point that they’d not presume Kingpin and Spider-Man to be buddies.

 I mean there ARE ways to explain their feelings, like if they presume Spider-Man to be an imposter or something but him being on the outs with the other heroes merely because Fisk put on an appearance of them being friends in spite of their years of animosity shouldn’t make the heroes automatically resentful towards Spider-Man.

 Again, it can work but Spencer needs to better elaborate upon it.

 Moving in I did have a few issues with Felicia here. At first Spencer seemed to have her acting vindictive akin to stupidity of Slott’s run after SpOck sent her to jail. But then he explained why she was actually miffed at him and it made more sense.

 Well sorta.

 On the one hand Felicia has always been in love with Spider-Man and so if in character Felicia should jump at the chance to sleep with him if he propositions her. On the other hand though she does say Spider-Man was being creepy which and we get a mere snippet of what he was doing, so presumably he might’ve gone further than that.

 The other thing I didn’t like was Peter’s attitude to Felicia. Hey I’m all for ignoring stupid continuity if you are trying to fix things, but here...that isn’t happening. Peter is treating Felicia as an old friend but she hasn’t been that since 2009 and he’s still lying to her. Maybe that will be fixed next issue and their old relationship established but right now it is problematic.

 Oh and also the issue seemed to treat their old relationship as being messed up due to Felicia’s criminal tendencies when that wasn’t it. They hooked up in a monogamous relationship 3 times and whilst that was why they broke up the first time that wasn’t what happened on the second or third occasions.

  Finally I wish Spencer wasn’t maintaining Felicia’s tendency to be evil. Being a Robin Hood style character okay sure. But here she is basically what she was like in 2009 (except not made into a vessel for Joe Kelly’s midlife crisis sexual fantasies) but if she’s still like that her character is still in need of repair.

 Now this isn’t to say I hated every moment they interacted. Far from it. it was more on point than it’s been in a long time and much improved over BND and Slott’s run. So within the context of post-OMD Spider-Man it was good but within a wider context there are still problems. It is at least written better than before, I especially loved the acknowledgment of them making for a good team.

 Finally I disliked the art. Common criticism by this point but it stands.

 That’s everything I disliked but on the more positive side of things I felt that the general plot of the Thieves Guild is still a fun idea.

 The Thieves Guild are an X-Men/Gambit concept but Spencer has put enough distance between them that this NYC chapter of them can be played enough as a ‘Spider-Man thing’. And the notion of them swiping all the paraphernalia of superheroes through the power of super thievery is a fun superhero plot.

 I also don’t mind Felicia being a member of their ranks. I mean I feel like if she always had that tattoo Peter would’ve noticed by now, but there are numerous ways to explain that. If nothing else I love the scene between Felicia and her Dad, because it humanizes her, touches on her origin and allows her to be more her own character. I feel there is so much potential to be exploited from exploring Felicia’s relationship.

 Now in spite of all those complaints I actually loved this issue because of the Mary Jane subplot. There are some feelings I’m wrestling with in regards to it though but on balance I think this was ingenious on Spencer’s part.

 Okay first thing’s first. The artwork by Michele Bandini looked really nice. If you are going to have two artists work on the same story dividing them up based upon the subplot and the main plot is actually a pretty clever idea. I didn’t know there was going to be two artists actually and so when I checked out the preview pages before the issue’s release I was confused as to why Ramos’ style looked so much better from one page into the next. I wish Bandini had done the whole story to be honest.

 But onto the subplot itself.

 To begin with it’s just lovely seeing Spencer actually give MJ a subplot of her own and focus upon her. And it’s good focus too. So far he’s not really mishandled her in this story at all so Spencer seems to be a decent MJ writer. I hope this trend continues and the relative lack of Mj/his use of MJ within his first two arcs was more about building up Peter and also paying tribute to Superior Foes which landed him this job in the first place.

 I didn’t see the Carlie twist coming. Honest of all characters that reveal could have been she was the farthest from my mind. For some reason my mind was fixated upon Bobby CCarr or Jonathan Caesar somehow.

 Now Carlie is...controversial of course.

 Carlie was one of the many lame Brand New Day era characters with her status made worse than many of the other ones because

 a)      She was at times a Mary Sue

b)      She was pushed hard as the new love interest. I mean really, really, really pushed hard

c)       She had an inconsistent character design

d)      She was at times bland and at other times just...not nice. See her considering getting a Green Goblin tattoo to piss Peter off. Yes she was drunk but I don’t care how drunk or angry you are that’s like considering getting a Nazi tattoo to piss off your Jewish boyfriend. You are just nasty at that point

e)      She was an idiot during Superior despite being the most sceptical person of Otto

 Carlie to say the least was HATED by the fandom.

 Now look let’s not sit here and pretend the fandom hate went beyond what was warranted by the character. She was treated as an 11 on the ‘this character sucks’ scale.

 But that doesn’t mean she didn’t score a very solid 7 or 8 if you catch my drift.

 Here though she is arguably written better than ever before, not in the least because most of those problems listed above are being avoided or addressed.

 Rather than being an overcritical and judgemental asshole like in her last appearance who either attributes blame to Peter for the horrible things happening to her or else makes it clear the nature of who he is means he’s doomed to misery because no one could put up with that, here she acknowledges none of it is his fault and he deserves happiness.

 Spencer does drop his continuity ball though by listing off the wrong reason for why Peter and Calrie broke up. According to him Carlie couldn’t handle dating Spider-Man but in reality it was the fact that he was lying to her that was the problem.

 Whatever though, nobody cares why Peter and Carlie broke up, so long as they did.

 Similarly, if Spencer wants to try and rehabilitate the character who neglected to inform her ‘friend’ and roommate that she might be dating a villain without realizing it, okay let’s give him and this character a second chance. If Carlie wants to say she always liked MJ in spite of her douche actions lets draw a line under it and try again.

 Now we move onto the meat of the subplot. The support group for superhero supporting cast members.

 This idea gives me some mixed feelings and it somewhat depends upon how it  is handled going forward.

 On the negative side, I do not want this to turn into a subtextually critical evaluation of how MJ handled life with a hero in a past or how older runs did. Also the story is somewhat ignoring how MJ DID have people she could talk to about this in the past, like Felicia and Aunt May. But currently neither character knows his secret, might not be finding out anytime soon so okay I guess I understand why Spencer is treating it this way.

 I think Spencer’s putting in little lines of dialogue and presents a resistance within MJ to joining the group which makes it clear to us that, whilst Carlie felt alone and unsafe keeping Peter’s secret, MJ doesn’t feel quite like that even though it might be a struggle all the same.

 Which is in character, remember she kept his secret for years beginning with AF #15. Similarly MJ has had issues opening up to people in the past and has seen first hand the cost of exposing Peter’s secret.

 Now in spite of all I’ve said, I cannot tell you how much I ADORE the idea of a support group for super hero friends and family.

 If Spencer plays this right it could wind up as one of the mainstays of the Marvel Universe’s architecture, like Night Nurse or what have you.

 It just makes sense as a piece of world building for the Marvel Universe and is an emotionally engaging idea that ANY comic book series can pick up.

 Moreover it highlights the innate quiet awesomeness that is Jarvis. Jarvis is like Alfred but to the whole Avengers and one of the most bad ass bad ass normals in the whole Marvel Universe so highlighting him as this proactive, helping and caring individual is appreciated.

 This idea is a great addition to Peter and MJ’s relationship too as it gives Mj something to do aside from wait by a window and counters one of the most frequent weapons in the anti-MJ/marriage brigade’s arsenal.

 “MJ can’t be with Peter because it’s worse than being with a cop because they get to talk to other cop’s families. It’s just so toxic for her!!!!11!!!”

 See Fred Van Lente’s piece of shit MJ story in ASM #605 for proof of this.

 But right here Spencer finds a solution to that complaint (which I’m sure the anti-MJ brigade just love  him for) and one that makes justifying breaking them up again a lot harder.

 Also guessing who all the people in the meeting was turned out to be really fun.

 Over all I loved this issue because in spite of my problems with the Felicia end of things the MJ end was brilliant.

p.s. Isn’t it a little weird for Spider-Man to not remember what ‘Spider-Man’ did when they were separate people?

I guess you could argue that his memories from ‘Peter’ might be hazy too. Or that this weird science comes with ‘rules’ like that, e.g. one side has to dominate the other.

[alphacentauriiswatchingyou-blog]

Steven Moffat Appreciation Day 2017: DWM Production Notes

With the end of the Moffat-era we are not just losing Steven’s writing talent on the screen, but also in the monthly DWM column in which he answers questions from readers of the magazine, sometimes serious, sometimes less so. Here are some of my favourites: 

Is the Doctor's accent innate or part of the TARDIS' translation system? While people and lizards from Earth hear the Doctor speak with a Scottish accent, would beings from other planets hear him speak with a totally different accent?

The Scottish accent is prevalent throughout the universe because it is so sexy. That's one hell of an evolutionary advantage.

How do you think the other Masters would react to Missy if they ever met?

Oh, I've given it thought! Surely there's fan fiction already? There must be - to your work, if not! The impossible one, of course, is the Delgado/Gomez simmer-fest - but oh, imagine! Hooded gazes at dawn! Sneers like sword slashes! Sexy prowls, cat-like circling! In no time flat, a country cottage, three kids and a Volvo.

One summer evening, as they both puff away in the cigar gazebo, watching the children (identical girl triplets, dead white and levitating) rebuilding the lawn mower into a nuclear reactor using Master Plan Q, the question inevitably arises...

THE MASTER: My dear, you've never exactly told me who you are.

MISSY: You're always so busy, trying to drain the world's oceans, or rob banks with dinosaurs - 

THE MASTER: I just want the kids to have a future. 

MISSY: Then why do you keep trying to blow up the planet? 

THE MASTER  Must we always take this attitude to my work? 

MISSY: Or freeze the polar ice caps. 

THE MASTER: That was a simple administrative error. 

MISSY: Don't you think there might be a clue in my name? 

THE MASTER: Missy? 

MISSY: Tiny bit of a clue? 

THE MASTER: I have long suspected there was some cunning word play involved. Some abtruse hint as to your true identity, of some fiendish complexity and subtlety that it eludes even my mighty Time Lord brain. Is it short for Mistress, though? 

MISSY: Yep. 

IN THE GARDEN, THE TRIPLETS OBSERVE THE TWO CIGAR TIPS GLOWING MORE BRIGHTLY FOR A MOMENT IN THE SHADOWS OF THE GARDEN. 

THE MASTER: My dear, do you think the triplets ever get lonely?

AND FROM THE HAPPY HOME, THE REST IS SILENCE. EXCEPT FOR THE NIGHTLY SING-A-LONG OF THE ADDAMS FAMILY.

In Kill the Moon Clara is very upset at the prospect of killing a big chicken. Yet in The Time of the Doctor she is seen gleefully roasting a turkey! How can she care so much for one type of poultry and so little for another?

Oh, for God's sake! It's not a turkey inside the moon, is it? It's a giant, pregnant space dragon and some spiders. Have you no grasp of physics?! Has Doctor Who taught you nothing?!

RUSSELL T DAVIES asks: I love your list in DWM 482 of the Doctor's many wives. Did you ever think we'd be having that conversation, 10 years ago? But... what's this? His marriage to Queen Elizabeth the First was unconsummated? But, but, but... in The End of Time Part One, the Tenth Doctor arrives on the Ood-Sphere to greet his old friend Ood Sigma with the words, "Got married. That was a mistake. Good Queen Bess. And let me tell you, her nickname is no longer... ahem." So, what does that mean, boss? What can it possibly mean?? Steven, what does it MEAN??? Thank you.

Oh for God's sake. PAY ATTENTION. You've gone soft up there in Manchester. Practically tofu, I'd say. Probably all that lazing about, never writing any episodes for me, even though I wrote six for you. Yes, SIX. Actually, no, SEVEN. Time Crashcounts too - and it was for charity. But never mind, oh no, I'll just type on and on and neglect my children, that's fine.

Okay, the facts. I said the marriage was unconsummated - and so it was. You saw for yourself in The Day of the Doctor - he ran straight off after the ceremony. Would we have put that on television if it wasn't true? But I never said - not once, not ever - that the relationship was unconsummated!

Yes, Russell! I went there. Even as you gasp and clutch the furniture for support, I am writing in the pages of Doctor Who Magazine about pre-marital shenanigans! I realise you've probably never heard of such unsanctified naughtiness - glancing at your resume, I see you write mainly about fruit and veg for Channel 4 - but it does go on, you know. Well, outside of Manchester.

So there you are. You may sleep again. The Doctor's boast in The End of Time (oh, and thanks for that title, just before I took over) and my statement that his marriage to Elizabeth was unconsummated are in no way contradictory. True fact! Accept my True Face. Back away in shame at your wrongness.

Actually, write me a story, and we'll say no more about it.

I read an article that said there was a TARDIS flooding scene in an episode of the 2012 series that was cancelled due to Karen Gillan being unable to swim. Could you elaborate on that further, please?

We decided not to drown Karen. There was a meeting. We voted.

Do you have any plans in store for the Cyber-Brigadier? Or will he just be left in limbo, protecting Kate wherever she goes?

Oh God, can you imagine. It's the spin-off: "My Dad's A Cyberman!"

KATE: Dad, please don't sit in my office. CYBERBRIG: Just sorting out a few things for you... KATE: Really, we're fine. CYBERBRIG: You've got far too many people. All you need is a Sergeant, maybe an occasional Captain, and a nice family car for you all to drive around in. Keeps the Earth perfectly safe! KATE: It's changed days, Dad. CYBERBRIG: And why don't have a big sign outside - UNIT HQ, with your name on it? Does you good to see your name on a big sign. KATE: Well, we are supposed to be a top secret organisation. CYBERBRIG: Yes, yes - you put 'Top Secret' on the sign. Have I taught you nothing about security?! And for goodness' sake, why do you have all these women about the place? How much tea do you need? KATE: They're scientists. CYBERBRIG: Scientists?! Have we been infiltrated? Evacuate the building, I'll lure them into a nuclear reactor. KATE: They work here. CYBERBRIG: They what?! You only need one scientist, Kate. A funny one, with silly clothes, that's the ticket. Give him a tiny little office and a table, he'll be perfectly happy. KATE: I'm a scientist. Science leads, that's what you taught me. CYBERBRIG: Exactly! Science leads! But only if you let it. Round them all up, put them in booths, waterboard any trouble-makers - KATE: Dad, you're getting excited again! Your moustache has slipped. CYBERBRIG: Oh, no, has it? It's this face, it's a bit slippery - like all aliens. I say, Kate - do you think people know my moustache isn't real? KATE: I think they always did.

Since the earliest days, whenever we viewers follow the Doctor into the TARDIS, he seems to take quite some time getting to the console before the TARDIS takes off. But when we stay outside, the door barely has time to close before dematerialisation occurs. What's your in-universe explanation for this quirk?

Oh, you and me both! I've worried about that for years. And in fact, decades before I got anywhere near Doctor Who, I came up with an answer. It's not in the show - it is not canonical - but I offer it up.

The TARDIS knows the future. Or rather, the TARDIS makes no distinction between past, present and future - for any time machine, time is all one long event stream, hanging there in causality, unmoving and unchanging. In other words the TARDIS already knows when its connection to real time and space will no longer be necessary, in any given part of the event stream. So as the Doctor and friends move towards the console, in the world outside the doors, the TARDIS has already fast-forwarded to the take-off the Doctor is about to perform.

Any good? Got something better? All head canons are equal!

How come the Doctor allowed River Song to go freely with her vortex manipulator but he kept disabling Jack's?

Every time he grabs River's wrist, it all goes very wrong.

[In Heaven Sent] who put the chalk marks around the missing paving slab, and who buried the slab in the ground? Was it whoever created the trap?

Oh, this is... wrong somehow. I figured out, in detail, how the Doctor's first few trips round the castle worked, but I deliberately buried it. I wanted atmosphere and mystery: for us to be trapped in the Doctor's nightmare, never sure what to trust. And I particularly liked (and still like) the idea that everyone would have a different theory about the logic. Peter Capaldi has one version, Rachel Talalay has another, and in a moment you'll have mine. But mystery and discussion is better, I swear.

So. What follows is not canonical. It's just the best I could work with from what the Doctor told me. Frankly, and with all my heart, you're better off not reading what comes next. Never trust answers - they're the opposite of conversation.

Okay...

The first time round the castle, the Doctor is there for many years - because there is no clue leading him to room 12. He's ancient by the time he understands that room 12 is important. It's a very old man who starts punching the wall...

After a few thousand years of this, he realises he's going too slowly. He needs to get the next version of himself into room 12 faster. But how to leave a message in a recycling puzzle box that a man like him would ever trust?

One ancient version of the Doctor doesn't punch the wall. He totters back out of the chamber before the veiled creature can arrive, and scratches the words 'I AM IN 12' in every nook and cranny he can find. He chooses that message because it sounds a little like a cry for help, and that always appeals to him. The next Doctor might even be fooled into thinking it's Clara. Oh, the cruelty of the Doctor to himself!

He knows that some of those hidden messages might just survive, because he knows the castle reset isn't perfect - the dust in the teleport room, the skulls in the water, the way the portrait of Clara he painted (of course it was him, the soppy old fool) has aged. Suspecting that objects moved from rooms, or added to them, sometimes can resist the reset, he pulls a scratched-on flagstone from the kitchen floor and buries it in the garden (later Doctors add the details of the arrows and the spade). It's this message - one of only two that manage to survive - that he always finds. The loop shrinks, the Doctor is younger as he punches the wall, and the Time Lords tremble as the storm grows closer.

The other message that survived? In my head - and I suppose, only there - 'I AM IN 12' is also written on the back of Clara's portrait. The trouble is, the Doctor draws too much strength from her smile ever to turn her face to the wall...

There are many more and I recommend to read them all. You can find a lot of them on reddit or on here. I really hope old chibs keeps this up, but I know it will never be as glorious as the answers of Steven “Master Selfcest Fanfic Writer” Moffat.

[the-desolated-quill]

The Witch’s Familiar - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

Now that we’ve gotten past the pointless and mindless prologue that was The Magician’s Apprentice, I was hoping that The Witch’s Familiar would be where the meat of the story would be. Sadly there’s barely any meat on this thing.

Yes, while The Witch’s Familiar has more narrative coherence than the previous episode did, sticking to one time and location for the most part, it’s in fact just as bad as The Magician’s Apprentice, if not worse.

Let’s start with the biggest problem. Davros. Specifically how he’s utilised. Seeing boy Davros on the Skaro battlefield was quite an exciting development and could have opened up some interesting directions for the character to go down. Unfortunately that’s not the case. Turns out the story is not about Davros at all. It’s, once again, all about the Doctor. What? You thought Moffat had finally stopped the introspective bullshit in Death In Heaven? You thought the Doctor’s speech about being just a guy in a box was the end of the matter? Well you’d be wrong, wouldn’t you? It looks like brooding angst is going to be a staple of the Twelfth Doctor’s tenure, so you’d better get used to it.

Good God, I’m so fucking tired of this crap. Not only has the Doctor’s constant, guilt driven introspection been serving as a detriment to numerous plots, it also doesn’t make a pixel of sense, especially when you consider who he spends most of his time talking to in this story. Remember in the episode Journey’s End back in the RTD era where Davros started flinging moral judgements at the Doctor? Remember how bloody stupid that was? Well The Witch’s Familiar is like that, but somehow even stupider (and I didn’t even think that was possible). Once again the Doctor’s good guy credentials are being criticised with no justification whatsoever, and it’s hard to take it seriously because it’s fucking Davros. Davros is the one waggling his finger disapprovingly at the Doctor. Davros. Forgive me if I don’t consider Space Hitler fit enough to judge the Doctor’s moral standing.

It’s such a shame because both Peter Capaldi and Julian Bleach really give it their all and you can tell they’re really trying for something hard-hitting and emotional, but it just doesn’t work because the whole thing is utterly ridiculous. At one point Davros asks the Doctor if he’s a good man and whether he did the right thing trapping his own race inside pepper pots, which is clearly supposed to mirror the Doctor’s question to Clara in Into The Dalek, but it’s so fucking daft because... IT’S FUCKING DAVROS! He’s a racist, genocidal maniac who performed brutal experiments on his own people and was responsible for the deaths of billions. Let’s just say Santa Claus won’t be paying him a visit anytime soon. That got quite possibly the biggest laugh out of me this whole episode. And it just gets even weirder when you consider the Doctor’s response. I could buy the Doctor visiting his deathbed, taking pity on him and even sharing a laugh with him (they’ve had a long history after all). But giving him some of his regeneration energy?

IT’S FUCKING DAVROS!!!

I know I must sound like a heartless bastard, but I honestly wasn’t moved by the Doctor and Davros’ interactions. Not even slightly. It’s just too stupid and too unlikely for words. And it just gets worse when you find out that the two have been lying to each other through their back bloody teeth this all time. Were you moved by Davros’ emotional pleas to the Doctor? Turns out he was lying the whole time! He just wanted the Doctor’s regeneration energy for his Daleks (they never explain why or how this would benefit the Daleks. Moffat was too busy trying to be clever rather than filling in that little detail for us) and didn’t mean a single fucking thing he said. But it’s okay because the Doctor was lying too! Yeah, he knew all along that Davros was lying and so played him at his own game, so not only does this have no emotional weight whatsoever, there’s also nothing even remotely at stake! Isn’t Moffat a genius?

I really wish the story had stuck with the Doctor and boy Davros because that was interesting. I even liked the idea of the Doctor giving up his sonic screwdriver due to his own guilt (although that’s later ruined thanks to the sonic sunglasses. Seriously?! Sonic fucking sunglasses?!?! Give me strength!), and had they left it with the Doctor abandoning boy Davros to his fate, it would have been fine. Instead Moffat had to take it one step further.

This whole scenario is clearly taking inspiration from the classic Who story Genesis Of The Daleks. Specifically a line uttered by Tom Baker’s Doctor during a pivotal moment of the story:

"If someone who knew the future pointed out a child to you and told you that that child would grow up totally evil, to be a ruthless dictator who would destroy millions of lives, could you then kill that child?"

Now if you haven’t already, I strongly urge you to watch Genesis Of The Daleks. It’s one of the best stories in the whole of Doctor Who (some even consider it to be the best) and every Whovian needs to watch it at least once. One of the many reasons why Genesis is so fondly remembered is because of the morally complex question at the centre. Terry Nation smartly chooses not to answer it, instead allowing the audience to come to their own conclusions. Steven Moffat, on the other hand, chooses to tackle the question head on. The Doctor is given the opportunity to exterminate boy Davros, but instead ends up saving him. But you see, by doing so, Moffat completely misses the point of Genesis Of The Daleks. It’s not about what the Doctor would or wouldn’t do. It’s about the question itself. Rather than expanding on the legacy of Genesis, Moffat ends up tarnishing it, sweeping all the moral complexity under the carpet and spoon-feeding us a neat and tidy answer. No of course the Doctor wouldn’t kill a child! Are you crazy? And all the millions of lives destroyed are very quickly brushed aside with some bullshit about mercy. Not only is it too simplistic, it also makes the Doctor come across like a complete hypocrite. While he’s busy trying to decide whether killing Davros is the right thing to do, he’s setting up the Daleks so that they can kill each other. Obviously this kind of manipulation is very much in character for the Doctor, but it’s ironic how he shows a lot of guilt and angst over a humanoid child, but doesn’t even so much as bat an eyelid at killing all the non-humanoid Daleks.

Let’s quickly talk about the Daleks. They always tend to suffer in Davros stories, and this is a perfect example of that. Yes we do get a lot of new info about the Daleks (most of which doesn’t make sense. Why dump old, decaying Daleks in the sewers? Why not just kill them? Isn’t that their usual MO? Obsession with purity and all that. And while the Dalek machine altering your speech sounds like a good idea and adds to the trapped and claustrophobic nature of the Daleks, it also completely contradicts what we already know about them. How did Ian Chesterton manage to have a conversation with the First Doctor, Barbara and Susan when he was in the Dalek machine?), but they’re also not in the slightest bit threatening, and that’s because nobody takes them seriously. You’ve got the Doctor whizzing around in Davros’ chair asking them if they want to play dodgems, you’ve got the Master back to her annoying, goofy self (the bitch is back? Moffat, may I remind you this is a kid’s show) undermining the Daleks’ authority at every turn. Add to that apparently it’s easy as fuck to cheat death thanks to the Master’s teleport and the TARDIS’ newfound superpowers, and the Daleks don’t really have a leg to stand on. If the show isn’t going to take them seriously, why the fuck should I?

Speaking of the Master, what are she and Clara even doing here? They contribute precisely nothing to the story at all. You could just cut them out of the story entirely and it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference. And why does the Master try and trick the Doctor into killing Clara? What’s the point? Didn’t she bring the Doctor and Clara together in the first place? And why did she even do that? That’s never been explained. I wasn’t kidding when I said Missy was basically Moriarty in a dress back in my review of Death In Heaven because they both share the exact same problems. With both Moriarty and the Master, Moffat is trying desperately to emulate this kind of Joker style madness, but there’s more to the Joker than just being insane. He actually has consistent motives and morals, with his insanity serving that. With the Master and Moriaty, Moffat seems to be using insanity as a way to excuse his own shitty writing. There’s no need to create a consistent character with clear goals or proper reasoning behind their actions because they’re insane. It’s just incredibly fucking lazy and it’s an utter waste of the Master. Neither she nor Clara have any kind of agenda of their own, hence why they feel so superfluous.

Finally there’s the series arc. Usually bad arcs from Moffat are to be expected, but this is the first time I’ve ever been truly worried by the direction he’s going in. It seems that Moffat is going back into Listen territory and trying to redefine the important building blocks of the show. So there’s a prophecy about something called the Hybrid and apparently that’s why the Doctor ran away from Gallifrey in the first place. Like with Listen, it seems Moffat is once again trampling over one of the most integral parts of the Doctor’s character. His mystery. We don’t really know who he is, where he comes from or precisely why he left Gallifrey all those years ago, and we shouldn’t know either. It’s like dissecting a frog. Yes you could cut it open and find out how the insides work, but then you’d just be left with a bloody mess on the table. I have no idea where Moffat is going with this Hybrid stuff, but it seems like we’re going down a very dangerous path indeed and after all the damage he’s already caused over the years, I’m deeply concerned about him potentially lifting up the bonnet and messing with the vital components of the show.

Overall The Magician’s Apprentice/The Witch’s Familiar is a pretty rubbish start to Series 9. Nonsensical plots, pointless padding, non-threatening villains, recycling of tired ideas and an attempt to expand on a classic Doctor Who story that ultimately misses the point by several galaxies.

[takaraphoenix]

Sherlock?

I’m not big on it. Like, I watch it, but it’s a casual watch for me like Navy CIS or Law & Order: SVU. It’s not something I get even remotely invested in.

I mean, the only reasons I got into it were three in particular:

1.) I watched Detective Conan as a kid and that was the first time I even heard the name Sherlock, because he was a “modern day Sherlock”, so to me when I was later confronted with the actual Sherlock for the first time, it was “oh, an old-fashiony Shinichi Kudou then” to me.

2.) The RDJ movies. That’s how I was first really confronted with Sherlock and I mainly watched those because of RDJ, that precious bean. And when I started watching the show, I was like “Oh, I liked that movie, why not try the show”.

3.) The fandom is terrifyingly big. Like. All the memes. All the Sherlock everywhere. All the quotes. All the Bernard Cucumberbear. I gotta admit, the buzz it got alone was enough to make me tentatively curious (that does not work for every huge thing. Nothing will ever make me watch The Walking Dead because I am terrifyingly uncomfortable with zombies).

So yeah, that much for the intro. That’s how I found the show and why I started watching it, with those three things in mind. And, what can I say, it was a huge let-down for me personally?

First of all, the sheer number of episodes. Nine episodes? You people throw such an intense party about nine freaking episodes? Half a season of basically any other show is already longer than that, for heaven’s sake, you barely get time to get invested, how did you people get that invested?

I mean, seriously now, I’ve heard so much of how awesome Sherlock is for literal years at that point and I braced myself for like at least 50 episodes to be watched, for like at least five season. But... three seasons and... a total of nine episodes?

That brings me to my first complaint. Apparently, it doesn’t bother many, but it bothers me. It’s a fucking ridiculous schedule, is what it is. I know that Moffat, because he’s been doing fucking ridiculous schedules on Doctor Who too and I know it’s the combination of “Whoops, both our main leads are kiiinda popular and keep making movies instead of solemnly focusing on this show. Damn it”. But to me, it just doesn’t compute to wait literal three years for a new season - and fuck that Christmas special they put in between there, it was still a three year wait for a new season.

With a standard waiting time of two years. Two years to get three episodes. That doesn’t compute with me at all. If I had been there from the beginning, I would have stopped watching after season two when it became apparent that they don’t give a fuck about delivering seasons in a reasonable time-frame because I ain’t got the patience for that.

It also never did anything to get me hooked. Plot-wise, sure, it was a cool different approach to solving crimes but not any more special or fun than say Psych or Mentalist or literally any other show who did the consultant thing. Which, yeah, people who read and loved the books may crucify me for because obviously, Sherlock did it first. But show-wise and for the way I met them, Sherlock kinda did it last.

And Sherlock himself is in no way or shape a likable or relatable character, so that’s where it lost me too, I suppose. He brings nothing to the table that justifies his attitude and behavior and all I do when watching the show is mainly feel bad for Watson. Also no, I do not ship them. At. All.

I like Sherlock’s brother Minecraft Microsoft. He’s oddly fun. And I do mean odd, because I don’t really understand my self why I find him so funny.

And Irene Adler. Really like that lady. She brought something new and intriguing to the show - and I’m not just talking about the BDSM element there.

I don’t understand the fascination with Moriarty. I don’t know, he’s not exactly an exceptional villain with an intriguing story or anything, I just... somehow, I expected more and then there’s the other thing but we’re going to get into this later on.

Ironically, the first time I actually got hooked on it was the second last episode that was available at the time. The wedding of John and Mary. Personally, I thought that was the best episode, closely followed by the one about the puppy of Baskerville.

I did not like the late pseudo-Christmas special The Abominable Bride. Not at all. For the first two thirds, it was just a confusing untill it became Not What I Like by being revealed as a drug-inducted fever-dream. I don’t approve of drugs at all and to use them to tell a very weird time-shifty story was... strange. Bringing back Moriarty, very weird.

Which brings me to the Moriarty-thing I wanted to get back at!

Season 4 was an abomination. I hate it. I hate it so much. I like to not use the word “hate”, but there just isn’t another way to describe my feelings for that pile of stinking garbage that they wrote there.

And by “season 4″, I namely mean Mary-Sue Holmes and how she was shoehorned and retconned into the plot.

Honestly though, literally naming her Mary-Sue would have at least been fun self-awareness and a better name than the Mary-Sue-esque name they picked for “sudden sister of the main character who was kinda there all along but we are right now figuring out how exactly that works but she’s also a genius and suuuper duper important and her name shall be Moonshine Emerald Potter-Holmes Eurus Homes”.

I’m sorry, but it is physically impossible to see her as a proper character because she is such a bad, bad, bad Mary-Sue. This is the kind of plotlines in fanfiction that make me scoff and keep scrolling. The sudden sister of the main character who was never mentioned before but is just as super-duper special in the same aspects as her brother (you know, like Jason Grace for The Heroes of Olympus...).

I have a problem with that kind of writing. If it’s fanfiction, I can scroll past it. I can even respect it, because let’s face it every fanfiction author started off in some kind of way with those self-insert Mary-Sue characters, even if it was just in your head as a kid.

But if canon, particularly a popular franchise that has come a long way, suddenly reverts back from intriguing and detailed story-telling into the most basic elementary school level of story-telling, that’s just pathetic.

And, to bring back Moriarty, she completely undercut him. If they had literally brought back Moriarty and he would have been behind it all, that would have even been cool and would have also sold me on him more. Instead, he was just a... better pawn for Mary-Sue Holmes and it, to me, made his plotline worth so much less than before.

The fact that we had to turn it all around and have Mary-Sue Holmes be a “misunderstood character in need of love” was just another overused, cheap trope that fell in line with the fanfiction cliches they were working into that one.

The fact that it were Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat writing it just... shocks me, to be honest?

I mean, I’m not a Moffat fan, personally I think that his plots are too convoluted and messy and go on for too long but let’s safe that in case anyone sends an ask for Doctor Who. But, despite all that, his stories have an amazing pay-off at the end of it all. He’s brilliant at that, I’ll give him that.

Mark Gatiss, not a fan of his writing. His episodes on Doctor Who are some of the weirdest, strangest, most boring and forgettable ones. So I’m very tempted to blame him for that one because with Moffat, I had at least expected a good pay-off for all that drama?

But that’s just my personal opinion on the matter. I guess it just didn’t bring any of the key-elements I’m looking for in a show to the table. Maybe that would have been different if it, ya know, would be a “proper” show that by now already had like seven seasons, each with 10 to 20 episodes, giving the whole thing more development. I just didn’t click with the characters, the format or the story and that last “big surprise reveal” just completey ruined it for me, so I’ll not be tuning back in if they ever in ten years get around to making a new season.

[duchess325-blog]

Saving Sherlock

This is an origin story, of sorts. We’ve seen how Sherlock and John met, but what if there was more to the story? What if their meeting had been orchestrated by a concerned Mycroft trying to save his beloved brother? I think this ties in nicely with Mycroft’s encounter with John in ASiP.

             Words in bold type are from ASiP and written by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat and are included to tie my story into the BBC Sherlock canon. 

             Mycroft Holmes picked up the file from the top of his desk. Inside were the doctor’s notes from the drug rehab facility where his younger brother was currently a patient. Sherlock was to be released in eleven days upon successfully completing his six-week program.

             Mycroft sighed as he tossed the file back onto his desk. This wasn’t the first time he had admitted his brother into rehab, and he was fearful that it would not be the last. Sherlock had a brilliant mind, he had to concede, but it was also a very troubled mind. Mycroft, from an early age had been his little brother’s self-appointed protector, and later his court-appointed protector. He realized early on that the protection that Sherlock most needed was from himself.

             In the beginning, it had been alcohol and marijuana, the things most easy to find in the elite boarding school that Sherlock attended. However, by the time he was in university, Sherlock had moved on to cocaine and eventually opiates, drugs he considered more “mind-opening.” It was Mycroft’s opinion that his brother partook of them not because they were “mind-opening” but because they provided an escape for the hurt that Sherlock was constantly trying to avoid. There were many demons chasing Sherlock; drugs kept them at bay.

             Now, once again, Mycroft found himself in the position of trying to do his best to chase his brother’s demons away and save him from himself. If he had his way, Sherlock would move in with him so he could keep a close eye on his little brother. He knew, however, that Sherlock, would never agree to live with him.

Sherlock insisted on being on his own and pursuing his ridiculous ambitions of being the world’s first and only “consulting detective.” Such a waste of a mind and talent, Mycroft thought. His brother had been a highly-trained agent for the British government and a successful one at that. Those were good years for Sherlock, in terms of his drug use. The work kept him busy and stimulated, eliminating the need for drugs to do the same jobs. Since he left MI-6, things had not been as well. Sure, the work of a detective was something that Sherlock found thrilling, but it did not always keep him occupied.

What was Mycroft to do? Sherlock insisted on returning to his work. He insisted on being on his own, despite the fact that he had been thrown out of his last flat following his latest relapse. Being a consulting detective apparently meant that Sherlock didn’t make any money; however, he did receive a handsome monthly allowance from his trust fund, which should have been more than sufficient to pay rent, bills, buy food, and leave enough for a generous spending stipend. Yet, despite this substantial allowance, Sherlock had managed to get behind on his rent for three months and had his electricity shut off the last month he had been in his old flat. It was mind-boggling the amount of money he could spend on drugs.

Faced with the probability that this pattern would continue to repeat itself if Mycroft didn’t take more drastic steps to disrupt it, he had decided on several things. First, Sherlock’s allowance would be decreased significantly. Second, he arranged for Sherlock to rent a flat from one of Sherlock’s old clients, a motherly woman named Mrs. Hudson, of whom his brother was very fond. It was Mycroft’s hope that Mrs. Hudson could help look after his brother, while still affording Sherlock a sense of independence. His rent would be paid directly from his trust fund to assure the money could not be used for any other purpose. Finally, Mycroft insisted that Sherlock must find a flat mate.

Sherlock had reluctantly agreed to Mycroft’s terms and only when Mycroft had threatened to have his stint at the rehab facility extended. Sherlock knew that Mycroft, as his Lasting Power of Attorney, not to mention one of the most powerful people in the British government, could make good on this threat and then some.

Mycroft began sifting through another stack of files on his desk. He had decided that if Sherlock was to find a flat mate, he would do all he could to assure that Sherlock would choose someone that Mycroft would find acceptable. He just had to make sure Sherlock didn’t know.

Finally, Mycroft found a file that looked promising: a recently discharged army doctor, formerly of Bart’s; medical discharge for a gunshot wound; possible PTSD; living in a cheap bedsit in London; no close family—only an estranged sister living in Sussex. Mycroft looked closely and saw that the doctor had studied with a Mike Stamford, who was currently employed at Bart’s and was an acquaintance of his brother as well. This could be promising indeed.

*******************************************************************************************

The next evening as Mike Stamford was leaving St. Bart’s a black sedan pulled up to the curb beside him. The driver rolled down his window.

“Mike Stamford?”

“Yes?”

“Please get into the car.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“The British government.”

Later, riding through the streets of London, Mike Stamford looked nervously at the man in the back seat with him. He was a very haughty looking man, tall and thin. He was dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit and silk tie. His shoes were expensive and polished to a shine. His face was narrow and his nose seemed rather out of proportion to the rest of it. His dark hair was clipped very short and his hairline was receding a bit. There was a black umbrella with a bamboo handle resting against his leg, though there had not been any rain in London today, nor any forecasted for the next two days.

The well-dressed man glanced over at Mike and finally spoke.

“Mr. Stamford, I am sure you are probably wondering what this is all about. I assure you that I mean you no harm. In fact, I am here to make you a proposition. My name is Mycroft Holmes.”

“Holmes?” Mike asked. “Are you related to Sherlock then?”

“Yes, he is my younger brother,” Mycroft answered him. “Therein lies my reason for approaching you Mr. Stamford. My dear brother has been convalescing away from the city, but will be returning in ten days’ time.”

“Convalescing? Has he been sick? I haven’t seen him around Bart’s in a while. I was wondering what he was up to. I had no idea.”

“No, it is a matter that we have tried to keep hushed up. As I was saying, he will be returning to London and in search of lodging in the city. We have decided that it would probably be in his best interest to find a flat mate with which to split the cost of rent and expenses.”

“I really don’t have room at my flat…”

“I know. What I am proposing are your services in assisting my brother in finding a suitable flat mate. I have secured him rooms in central London, and I think I have also found someone that would be compatible, however, my brother would scoff at my interference on this point.”

“So, you want me to introduce him to some stranger and pretend it was my idea.”

“You are catching on! But it will not be a stranger to you, fortunately. Does the name John Watson ring a bell?”

“John Watson? Yeah, he and I studied together at Bart’s. I haven’t seen him in years though. I think he joined the army.”

“Indeed, he did. He was just recently medically discharged for a wound he sustained in Afghanistan.”

“You’re kidding! Is he okay?”

“I’m afraid I don’t kid, and yes, he is okay. A limp, I think, but otherwise quite all right, physically. Now, as I said, Sherlock will be returning on Monday, the 25th. I am going to arrange a case for him solve which will bring him to the lab on Friday--”

“How can you be so sure it will bring him to the lab on Friday?” Mike interrupted him.

“Because I know this case and I know my brother. As I was saying, he will be in the lab on Friday morning. You need to be there as well and bring up his living situation; he will tell you that he is looking for a flat mate.

“At lunch-time you will be on a bench by the north side of Russell Square Park. John Watson cuts through there at approximately 1:00 each afternoon and that is where you will stop your old friend and engage him in conversation.

“Dr. Watson, with some prodding, will tell you that he too is looking for lodging in London and in need of a flat mate. This will open the door for you to suggest my brother.”

Mike chuckled, “All right, just supposing this all goes as you say it will—your brother come’s to Bart’s where I get him to tell me that he needs a flat mate and then I happen to run into John Watson at the park where I get him to also tell me that he needs a flat mate. Then just suppose I do introduce them to one another. You do know your brother, don’t you? You know he tends to rub people the wrong way. What makes you suppose that John Watson is going to agree, just like that, to move in with him?”

“Oh, I do know my brother, Mr. Stamford, and I know that when he needs to be, he can be very charming. And in this case, he needs to be very charming. I also have a feeling that Dr. Watson will be very intrigued by my little brother.”

“So, why should I agree to do all of this? I really don’t understand why you need me. You seem to know quite a bit about John Watson. Why don’t you just go to him and tell him that your brother needs a flat mate?”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t go over well with my brother, for one thing. He quite adamant against my interference. You, however, are just a helpful colleague. Also, I don’t know Dr. Watson personally, as you do. He might think it odd of me.”

“Trust me, mate, I am finding it rather odd myself.”

“Yes, well, I think you will find it more appealing when I offer you £5000 to introduce Sherlock and Dr. Watson.”

“Five thousand pounds?! Just to introduce these two? What’s the catch?”

“No catch, Mr. Stamford. I just require your discretion on this matter, that is, you will not discuss anything that I have said to you this afternoon with anyone, including Sherlock and Dr. Watson. You will not mention my brother’s illness or that you and I have ever met. You will not tell a soul or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else some very disturbing information regarding your inappropriate relationships with several of your students will come to light in a very public and very distasteful manner.”

“What relationships? I have never had a relationship of any kind with any of my students inappropriate or otherwise!”

“Hmm, yes, but when you are the British government, as I am, you can make anything the truth.”

“So, you’re threatening me?”

“No, I am offering you a handsome payment for doing me a small favor on behalf of my brother, your colleague.”

“Not really my colleague…”

“Will you accept or not?”

“Yes, I will accept,” Mike said with a bit of trepidation in his voice.

“Excellent. I will be in touch with you soon, Mr. Stamford. Ah, I think we have arrived at your flat. Good evening, Mr. Stamford.”

*******************************************************************************************

Sherlock stepped out of the taxi at 221B Baker Street and took a look around. It was in a good location, that was certain. He knocked on the door which was soon opened by Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson was a petite lady, a motherly-type woman. Several years prior she had found herself in a tough spot when her husband, who was running a drug cartel in Florida, was arrested, in connection with a double homicide. Sherlock was able to prove that her husband was indeed guilty and that Mrs. Hudson had nothing to do with her husband’s illegal activities. She was quite grateful and very eager to help Sherlock when his brother contacted her about renting the rooms upstairs.

“Oh, Sherlock! I’m so glad to see you! How are you doing?” she asked, embracing him in a loving hug.

“I’m well, Mrs. Hudson. I’m going stark raving mad because I’ve not worked for over six weeks, thanks to Mycroft, but other than that…”

“I’m sure you’ll be busy again before long. Come along inside and I’ll show you to your rooms. Mycroft has already had all of your things sent over.” She led him up the stairs and into the sitting room of 221B. “The boxes weren’t labeled, so I just had them put them all in here. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock glanced around the room and then walked into the well-appointed kitchen. “Very nice. Yes, this will do nicely.”

“And you’ll be getting a flat mate?” Mrs. Hudson asked cautiously.

Sherlock sighed. “Yes. As I’m sure my brother told you, it was one of the conditions of my ‘release.’ I am going to put an advert in the paper later this week.”

“Of course, dear.”

Sherlock began to open boxes and rifle through them, pulling out some beakers from one and a microscope from another. These he put in the kitchen on the table and then continued to open boxes.

“Well, I’ll just be downstairs if you need me,” Mrs. Hudson said, as Sherlock continued to unpack items, ignoring her.

“Oh, if you’re going down, would you mind making some tea?” he asked.

“I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper, Sherlock,” she answered.

“I take milk and sugar,” he said absently.

Mrs. Hudson sighed, “Just this once.”

***************************************************************************************************

Sherlock got a case right away, just as Mycroft had told Stamford he would, and just as Mycroft had told him, it brought Sherlock to the lab at St. Bart’s on Friday morning. That is where Stamford found him peering into a microscope.

“Good morning, Sherlock!” Mike Stamford called to him as he entered. “I haven’t seen you in quite a while. Keeping busy, then?”

“Good morning, Stamford. I’ve been out-of-town for a while, but I’m back in London now.”

“Yeah? Where are you staying these days? I imagine a busy bloke such as yourself likes to be where the action is?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I’m actually in a flat on Baker Street. A bit expensive, so I’ll be looking for a flat mate. Of course, I imagine it will not be easy finding someone who would want to live with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s someone out there for Sherlock Holmes.”

***************************************************************************************************

At one o’clock Mike Stamford put himself on a bench on the north end of Russell Square Park. Just as Mycroft had told him, John Watson came walking by, limping and leaning on a cane.

“John! John Watson!” he called out.

John Watson stopped and turned around as Mike hurried up to him.

“Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, sorry, yes, Mike,” he said, shaking Mike’s hand. “Hello. Hi.”

Mike smiled, “Yeah, I know. I got fat!”

“No.”

“I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?”

“I got shot.”

They stood uncomfortably for a moment. “Let me buy you a cup of coffee. I’d like to catch up. It’s been a long time since we haunted the hallowed halls of Bart’s together.”

“Um, I really need to be getting on…”

“Come on now! It’s the least I can do after putting my foot in my mouth!”

“Yeah, okay then.”

A while later they sat on a bench in the park sipping their coffees, an awkward silence between them.

“Are you still at Bart’s then?” John finally asked.

“Teaching now. Bright young things like we used to be. God, I hate them!” They laughed. “What about you? Just staying in town ‘til you get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford London on an Army pension.”

“Ah, and you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else. That’s not the John Watson I know.”

“Yeah, I’m not the John Watson…” his voice trailed off he switched his coffee to his right hand and clenched his left hand, which had started trembling. Mike looked away awkwardly for a moment.

“Couldn’t Harry help?”

John snorted, “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!”

Mike shrugged. “I dunno—get a flat share or something?”

“Come on—who’s want me for a flat mate?”

Mike chuckled.

“What?” John asked.

“Well, you are the second person to say that to me today.”

“Who was the first?”

“This bloke at Bart’s. He uses the lab over there for forensics research. He was just saying to me this morning that he was looking for a flat mate to share expenses on a place in central London. Said he imagined it would be hard to find someone.”

“Really? Unpleasant then?” John asked curiously.

“Different.” Mike replied. “He’s very studious, very particular, very observant. Quirky. I could introduce you, if you’d like. He’s going to be there for most of the afternoon, I should think. Molly Hooper down in pathology just got a corpse—donated for research—and she’s letting him do some experiments.”

“Experiments?”

“He wants to find out how long after death is bruising still possible, for one. Like I said, he does a lot of forensics research. Very studious.”

“Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to at least meet him. No obligation to move in with him, right?”

“Sure! Come on, we may catch him leaving the morgue.”

***************************************************************************************************

Sherlock was looking through a file beside his microscope in the lab when Molly Hooper, the pathologist, came in.

“Good news!” she said cheerily.

Sherlock grunted in response.

“I’ve got a corpse for you. Donated to us for educational use. You were asking for one yesterday, so I thought I’d give you first crack at him.”

Sherlock looked up with interest now. “Really! Excellent! Come along then, quickly now!” he exclaimed.

Molly followed Sherlock, who walked quickly and excitedly to the morgue. He struck such an attractive figure in his well-tailored suit. He was quite striking to look at— six feet tall, with dark, curly hair, piercing blue eyes, and high cheek bones that made his face seem chiseled from stone. Molly almost swooned every time she saw him, not that he would ever notice. She had known him for several years now, and he never noticed her. Today, though, she decided that she would make him notice her. She was going to work up the nerve to ask him out, just for coffee, but that would be a big accomplishment if he said yes. After all, Molly wasn’t even sure Sherlock dated or, for that matter, talked to girls.

After she had left him in the morgue with the body of one of her former colleagues, Molly slipped down the hall to the staff lockers where she found a tube of lipstick in the bag in her locker and applied it carefully. She looked at herself in a small mirror on her locker door and smiled. She hoped he would notice.

When she got to the observation room overlooking the morgue, Sherlock was pounding on the corpse furiously with a riding crop. He was always so absorbed in his work. She admired that. She entered the morgue just as Sherlock took his last few whacks at the body. His brow was glistening with sweat and he was breathless. He had taken off his jacket, and his fitted shirt showed off his well-toned body. Molly’s brain, of course, went blank as she searched for something to say to him.

“So, bad day, was it?” she asked him, instantly regretting that she had not thought of something more clever.

Sherlock jotted something down in a notebook, ignoring Molly’s chatter.  “I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me.”

Molly decided it was now or never. “Listen, I was wondering—maybe later when you’re finished--”

Sherlock glanced up at her and did a double-take. “Are you wearing lipstick? You weren’t wearing lipstick before.”

Molly couldn’t believe that he noticed. “I, er, I refreshed it a bit,” she said with a shy smile.

Sherlock looked at her for a moment longer before turning back to his notebook. “Sorry, you were saying?”

With renewed courage Molly answered, “I was wondering if you’d like to have coffee.”

Sherlock tucked his notebook away. “Black, two sugars, please. I’ll be upstairs.”

“Okay.”

***************************************************************************************************

             Back in the lab, Sherlock was working when Mike Stamford came in with a gentleman that Sherlock did not recognize. He barely gave them a glance, but that is all he needed. He listened as the stranger spoke.

             “Well, a bit different from my day,” he said.

             “You’ve no idea,” Mike said with a chuckle.

             Sherlock sat on a stool. “Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

             “And what’s wrong with the landline?”

             “I prefer to text.”

             “Sorry, it’s in my coat,” Mike told him.

             “Er, here, use mine,” the stranger said, offering his mobile to Sherlock.

             “Oh, thank you.” Sherlock glanced at Mike as he walked over to the stranger.

             “It’s an old friend of mine, John Watson,” Mike said, as way of introduction.

             Sherlock took the phone from John and began typing.

             “Afghanistan or Iraq?” he asked John without looking up from the phone.

             John looked startled as he glanced at Mike who just smiled knowingly back at him.

             “Sorry?” he asked Sherlock.

             “Which was it—Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked again, looking up briefly before he continued to type on the phone.

             John looked at Mike again, who was still smiling.

             “Afghanistan. I’m sorry, how did you know…?”

             Just then, Molly walked in carrying a mug of coffee.

             “Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you.” He handed John his phone as Molly carried the coffee to him. “What happened to the lipstick?” he asked Molly.

             “It wasn’t working for me,” she said, looking down awkwardly.

             “Really? I thought it was a big improvement. You’re mouth’s too small now,” Sherlock said, turning away and taking a sip from the mug.

             “Okay,” she said quietly and turned to walk out the door.

             “How do you feel about the violin?” Sherlock asked.

             John looked around and realized that Sherlock was speaking to him. “I’m sorry, what?”

             Sherlock, typing at a laptop, said, “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.’’ He looked up at John. “Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other.” He smiled awkwardly at John, who looked at Mike.

             “Oh, you…you told him about me?”

             “Not a word,” answered Mike.

             Turning back to Sherlock, John asked, “Then who said anything about flat mates?”

             Sherlock stood to put on his overcoat. “I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.”

             “How did you know about Afghanistan?” John asked him again.

             Sherlock ignored his question as he put on his scarf and checked his mobile. “Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.” He crossed the lab, heading to the door. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

             “Is that it?” John asked him.

             “Is that what?”

             “We’ve only just met and we’re gonna go and look at a flat?”

             “Problem?”

             John smiled in disbelief at this madman. He glanced to Mike who was still smiling, as if he was in on some kind of joke. “We don’t know a thing about each other. I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name.”

             “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid.”

             John looked down at his cane and shifted uncomfortably.

             Sherlock looked at him smugly. “That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” He started to head out the door, but leaned his head back in. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is two two one B Baker Street.” He clicked his tongue as he winked at John. Glancing at Mike he added, “Afternoon.” Mike gave him a small salute as he left the room.

             Mike looked now to John and said, “Yeah, he’s always like that.”

*********************************************************************************************

             Sherlock took a cab to his brother’s office at the Diogene’s Club. He found him sitting behind its massive desk reading over a file. Sherlock took the seat opposite his brother and crossed his legs.

             “Good afternoon, brother dear,” Sherlock said with a hint of sarcasm.

             “If you say so,” Mycroft responded. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, brother mine?”

             “I just wanted to let you know that I have found a flat mate, so you can stop threatening to find one for me. I’m meeting him tomorrow evening at Baker Street.”

             “A flat mate? That was quick. I didn’t even know you had put an advert in the paper yet.”

             “I didn’t, actually. I mentioned to one of the doctors at Bart’s that I was looking for a flat mate and he brought round an old colleague who was in search of rooms to rent.”

             “Well, who is he? What do you know about him? Is he a junkie, too?”

             “I am not a junkie, Mycroft,” Sherlock said softly.

             “Hmm, that is up for debate. The flat mate?”

             “He is a veteran, recently home from Afghanistan, wounded. Watson was his name.”

             “Is that it?” Mycroft asked him with a concerned face.

             “Isn’t that enough? I’m not marrying him.”

             “But you are moving in with him. Really, Sherlock, perhaps I should be vetting your potential flat mates!”

             “Oh, blow it out your arse, Mycroft! You said I had to find a flat mate as a condition of my release from rehab and to reinstate my allowance, and I have found one! You already have me living under the thumb of Mrs. Hudson. What more do you want?”

             “Very well,” Mycroft said, tugging absently at his waist coat. “Is that all then?”

             Sherlock stood up, realizing that he was being dismissed.

             Sherlock hailed a taxi outside and thought about what he was going to do for the rest of the day. He had finished the last case on which he had been working. He considered going back to Bart’s to take a look at the corpse he had been beating earlier and to do some analysis on some specimens he had recently collected for research. However, going back to Bart’s meant that he would more than likely have to interact with Molly Hooper, the pathologist. She was so silly and boring. In the several years that he had known her she had never managed to make conversation with him, never saying more than a handful of words within any of their encounters. He didn’t think he could endure such uncomfortable silence with her again today (silence was something he usually relished, but with Molly, it was always uncomfortable).

             He pondered Molly as he got into a cab and gave the address for Bart’s (the medical library would be a passable refuge for now). Just today he had tried to talk to her. He noticed that she had put lipstick on and commented on the fact. Then later he noticed that she had taken it off and told her that she looked better with it. After all, her lips were so small and the lipstick made them look fuller. She barely acknowledged him. In fact, when he told her that she looked better with the lipstick, all she said was “okay” and disappeared. Why did he even bother with some people? He started hoping that this Dr. Watson was more intellectually stimulating than most of the people he had to interact with on a daily basis. Perhaps even if he wasn’t he would at least have interesting stories to bring home about his work.

             His visit with Mycroft had frustrated Sherlock. His brother had threatened to not only leave him in rehab but also cut off his monthly allowance. While Sherlock could easily make ends meet charging clients for his detective services, he would not as easily keep up the creature comforts that his trust fund ensured, such as custom made suits; designer shirts, shoes, and coats; the newest laptops and iPhones; and, of course, a flat in central London. Mycroft was well aware of his expensive tastes, after all, they had grown up in the lap of luxury together. He was now holding Sherlock to this ridiculous task of finding a flat mate, yet was disapproving when he found one. Dr. John Watson seemed perfectly acceptable to Sherlock. He deduced that if Dr. Watson was an acquaintance of Mike Stamford, he must be of good, if not boring, character. Mike was one of the most boring people Sherlock had ever met. From all that Sherlock could tell, Mike didn’t even look at porn.

             But, Mycroft always found fault with everything Sherlock did. It had been this way since they were young. Mycroft considered himself superior in every way to his younger brother. He was fond of referring to Sherlock as “the slow one,” as if Sherlock’s intellectual prowess was that of an ordinary person.

             Mycroft had been especially perturbed with Sherlock since the latter left the MI6 five years earlier. The elder Holmes had plucked Sherlock right out of university, where the younger Holmes had finished as a master chemist, and dropped him into special ops training. Sherlock had been a quick study in combative skills, marksmanship, languages, code breaking, surveillance, breaking and entering, weaponry, and physical endurance and was soon one of Mycroft’s top agents. But, the life of a secret agent was one that quickly wore Sherlock down. While it was stimulating, he longed for something different. He longed to be back in London. Sherlock leaving the MI6 infuriated Mycroft. Sherlock becoming a consulting detective devastated him.

             Of course, Sherlock’s drug use had a big impact on the relationship between the brothers. Sherlock needed the drugs to stimulate his mind when his workload was slow. For many years Mycroft had come to Sherlock’s “rescue” when he thought that his little brother had lost himself in the drugs. Sherlock even had to make a list for Mycroft of the substances that he was using, should he accidentally overdose. Sherlock had tried to assure Mycroft that he was not an addict, to no avail. Three years earlier, Mycroft had successfully petitioned to become Sherlock’s Lasting Power of Attorney (not a difficult task for a man who was essentially the British government) stating that Sherlock’s “addiction” rendered him unable to take care of himself or handle his own finances. Sherlock was now at his brother’s mercy and had few personal freedoms. Because Sherlock had no friends (sentimental attachments were a character defect), detective work was the only escape from what he considered a mundane life.

             Sherlock checked his phone. He had been texting Detective Inspector Lestrade regarding a string of “serial suicides” that had been in the news. Scotland Yard, as usual, had everything wrong, but Lestrade would not let Sherlock look at the cases. He no doubt was being overly cautious about consulting with a civilian who had just done a stint in rehab for drug abuse relapse. The truth was, however, that Lestrade needed him, and when the public started to panic and doubt the police, he would give in and contact Sherlock. So far, that had not happened yet.

             Sherlock hung around Bart’s until early evening. He was careful to avoid the lab and the morgue, as well as the canteen—in other words, anywhere he might see Molly. Though he was eager to take notes on the corpse that he had been belting earlier, he was just too mentally spent to struggle through another awkward encounter with the pathologist.

             Back at the flat on Baker Street, Sherlock sat down in his large leather chair and pressed his fingertips together in thought. It had been a long, yet productive day. With no case to work, Sherlock went to his bedroom, where he dug through a box to find a blanket, and went to sleep.

***************************************************************************************************

             John Watson sat up late in his bedsit. He was on the website of Sherlock Holmes, The Science of Deduction, where Sherlock described himself as “the world’s only consulting detective.” It seemed a bit odd, even a bit arrogant. To read his case files only seemed to confirm his suspicions. Sherlock claimed he could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. John almost laughed at the absurdity of his claims. But, then he thought that this was the man with whom he had agreed to look at a flat. This was a potential flat mate, someone with whom he would be living, and that made it not-so-funny.

             John had to admit though that he was pleased with the prospect of staying in London. He hoped that with its location in central London that the rent was not too steep. Even splitting the cost of some places in that area was out of the question for John. His pension did not afford him many luxuries. He had retired from the Army after being wounded in Afghanistan three months prior. He still had nightmares of the battlefield, but strangely enough, he didn’t feel haunted by the war; in some ways he missed the action and the adrenaline. Of course, here he was now, walking with a cane, seeing a therapist. You couldn’t really call him much of a soldier anymore. He wasn’t sure you could even call him a man.

             What would Mr. Holmes think of him? Holmes certainly seemed like a very astute man, even if John was skeptical that Holmes was all he asserted himself to be. John did wonder how he knew about Afghanistan, his therapist, and Harry. After all, John had barely said two words to him and Holmes had “deduced” that he had been invalided home from the war. Afghanistan or Iraq?

             John decided that even if Holmes was a bit “quirky,” as Mike had put it, it would probably be worth it to give the flat share a go. Holmes did say he could go days without talking and Mike wouldn’t have introduced them if he didn’t think they could get on all right. Besides, John didn’t have to be best mates with the guy in order to split the rent with him. And if he went back to work as a GP, he wouldn’t have to see him much. John would stay out of Holmes’ way and, hopefully, Holmes would stay out of his.

   ��>�$��

[paperlacejane]

In the light of Season 4 of BBC Sherlock,

I’m going to post my archived reaction to S3 and the Victorian Christmas Special, and some thoughts about the state of things. Completely unwanted and unrequested, but I want to share.

I also feel I should say that there is some positivity amongst the torrent of negativity.

I initially wrote the reaction to The Abominable Bride for my own personal catharsis. I considered posting it, tailored it as a review of the episode, even, but ultimately decided that I didn’t want to spread the negativity. If people were still enjoying it, then I didn't want to spoil it (I'm a sensitive type, and seeing negativity can easily harsh my buzz, so I didn't want to do that with anyone.)

I also still didn't want to believe where the show was heading. But now, given S4, I feel it's inescapable. Right now, I feel like I'm jumping out of the wood-work now to say: "SORRY GUYS, I KNEW THIS WAS GOING TO END BADLY." But I also really do want to make a point about the direction that the series took with S3 and the hideous Christmas special. [There were some considerable insulting blips along the way before that, but S3 (my main problem is His Last Vow) and TAB were so concentrated in their shitness, that I feel I need to single them out.]

I just want to point out that this wasn't a sudden thing. I feel like I need to say this, because a lot of people I'm seeing have been saying: "how did it go so wrong, you fucked up, this season was horrible" as if there weren't signs before this. People much more eloquent (and concise/pithy) than me have highlighted some of the questionable shit that has cropped up in Sherlock. I'm not going to write out all those points here. What I focus on are the glaring bits that offended me the most, that jarred the hardest, that really hurt -- and which appear to have been dialed up to 11 for this last series/season. I haven't read any (?? I think?) critiques of The Abominable Bride, so I can't say whether people have commented similar. I hope they have. (I had read over a couple of positive ones before writing this, on the IMDB page for that episode. This 'review' was what I was going to submit as a review on that page, because I was frustrated with the positivity, but I decided it was too-ranty and too downer-like for there.)

Very very few people are going to see this, let alone read this. But I just want to let out something that I’ve felt for a long time. That the signs of the fall were there, and that the writers, the actors, they've been screwing with us for ages, and that they've been wronging us in more ways than the no-johnlock queerbaiting-turned-queerbashing thing (which is a huge WRONG.)

So, this is my cathartic rant from however many years ago. I titled it, because Evernote wanted me to title it, "Notes on The Abominable Bride and the Questionable Direction of BBC's Sherlock" (the original title, I recall was: "what the actual fuck," or similar.)

In two words? Truly repugnant.

There is an aggressive amount of sarcasm at several points in the following paragraphs. Just, be warned. It should be obvious, and I've switched some of it out for easier reading with fewer double-negatives, but.

Given the era that Conan Doyle's stories were written, sexism is evident. Even within the character of Sherlock Holmes. He is quite gynophobic in the original stories, I have no illusions there. And yet he still respects women. He respects them when they're intelligent, when they're clever -- and those are not 'masculine' traits. He defends women, and threatens righteous violence against people who prey on them - one of my favourite moments is when he literally goes to get his riding crop to whip a man who has been manipulating and catfishing his own daughter. But still, there is sexism in Sherlock Holmes.

But I have never felt so attacked and demeaned as a woman by a Sherlock Holmes story as I have while watching this episode of BBC Sherlock. Whose idea was it to dress feminists in purple KKK hoods? To have them adopt KKK methods? To have pretty much all the women of the series thrown into a cultish vendetta club who specialised in systematic terror and serial murder? Oh, bravo. I don't care if it was all in Sherlock's head, or supposed to be justified within the narrative, or if it's supposed to be 'real'. Why would they put that on screen? Why would they make those links, create those parallels? And who thought having Steven Moffat tackle the topic of women and sexism was a good idea?

The only truly respectable life-like woman I have seen in this series is Sarah - a simple doctor, everyday but exceptional, who was clever and held her own. And yet she was disappeared. To be replaced by vindictive hags, insipid would-be love-interests, charicature land-ladies, and a woman who shot and technically killed the most-loved literary character of all time - who we're supposed to have forgiven because she "didn't mean to kill him," because her killshot was supposedly "surgery." The writers of this series would do well to remember that this isn't Doctor Who. It's not a science-magical world where the audience is obliged to grudgingly swallow down all the unlikely and downright absurd rationalisations that are thrown at us. If you use that sort of bullshit logic for a story which is supposed to be more-or-less realistic, it just looks exceedingly lazy -- even lazier than it does in Doctor Who. Not only that, It's fantastically cheap, and, at least personally, your audience ends up feeling cheated.

It also looks immoral in the extreme. How is it that all the characters -- John and Mycroft particularly (a pragmatic but emotional man who is supposedly devoted to Sherlock, as well as Sherlock's own brother who tenderly takes care of him every time he ODs) -- how are they supposed to have forgiven Mary too? I could, maybe, believe that Sherlock's self-esteem is so low that he might try to rationalise Mary's actions away in order to not rock the boat and not lose the people that he thinks of as his friends. But why in fuck's name are John and Mycroft believing that crock of shit? Even if it were "surgery," you're telling me that they can both just let the bare fact that she shot Sherlock slide? No visceral rejection of a person who could do that to someone you care about? No wish to see them pay, or be brought to justice? They're not repulsed by her actions in any way? They still trust her, when that's what she's capable of? When "I'll shoot Sherlock in the chest and maybe/probably he'll die," is a perfectly acceptable risk for her to take? (I say 'probably' because he flat-lined. And if it weren't a TV show, everyone has a good chance of dying if shot near point-blank in the fucking chest.)

Sherlock may be portrayed unsympathetically in this series, particularly in this latest episode, but he's no Magnussen. I wasn't torn up when Sherlock shot him in the face -- there was common decency on Sherlock's side, which goes a surprisingly long way. Magnussen was a blackmailing creep who had a penchant for sexual intimidation and degradation after all. But Mary shot Sherlock. Sherlock still equals 'good guy.' Let me break that down for you: A deceiving unrepentant liar and serial killer shoots good guy in chest for no good reason except so that she can go on lying. But not only are Mycroft and John letting that slide with little to absolutely no fuss, they're then letting Mary make smarmy little snide comments about Sherlock and joking about the lacking security of MI5 (and yeah, of course Mary can hack Mi5 instantaneously on an iPhone. Why not! Who cares about believability when you have the opportunity for 'witty' banter?) Mary is all-round a despicable character who somehow gets away with being a piece of shit because... She's sassy? The result is that she is a bad guy who gets no repercussions for her actions, and appears as shallow as a shower to boot. (I'm reminded forcibly of River Song.) The whole thing makes all of the main characters appear void of all human feeling, all basic human reasoning. They have no principles. Given that the show's main characters are meant to be crime-solvers, justice-dealers, law-and-order types, and "the British Government," you'd think there'd at least be some sense of moral rectitude abounding. And yet, no. There's a difference between "just enough of an arsehole to be worth liking," and just plain old arsehole. There's also a difference between morally grey and morally bankrupt. I feel increasingly under the impression that the writers don't know the difference.

On a related note: the true Sherlock Holmes was never, ever a sociopath (the term "sociopath" hasn't been used by any respected psychiatric authority since the 1960s - Sherlock would know that, even if the writers don't.) He has been sexist, but he has never been devoid of moral feeling. He has occassionally been devoid of tact, and often focused on fact over feelings, which are clearly very very different things. It's often remarked that as a character Sherlock Holmes is admirable, but that it's hard to like him. That's never stopped me before. That is, it's never stopped me with the original stories. Even within other adaptations, I have a great deal of affection for him and the stories he inhabits. With this series, they've done a good job of twisting that affection into disdain and disappointment.  

Oh! And whose idea was it to harass a historically asexual/non-sexual character on his orientation? That was an added touch of pure ignorance - and that amidst the existing pool of unreason, it must have been the audience's birthday! Then, of course, they couldn't possibly forget to lean on the fact that Sherlock kept Irene Adler's photo in the stories! I mean, it's a given that he should be harassed for being non-sexual and non-romantic, but of ~course, if he were actually interested in sex and romance, he's obviously secretly definitely, ~definitely straight. Never mind that he also kept a bust and picture of Goethe. Nevermind that he has a picture of Poe in his bedroom. Nevermind that Irene was (in the original stories) a woman who just barely outwitted him, who ~just got away. Forget that it's perfectly conceivable that he might admire her resourcefulness and cunning -- they're just the things that as a character he always admires -- no, he obviously kept her picture because he wants to fuck her. Of course! God forbid a man admire and wish to remember a woman and not want to fuck her. Never mind all other evidence that he's content being a non-sexual non-romantic creature. Never mind respecting his orientation as valid. Never mind that Watson explicitly states that Holmes wasn't interested in Irene romantically/sexually, nevermind that he was willing witness at her wedding-- Oh, but they've found a solution for that as well! Watson was lying! Of course he was! How convenient for them!

I cannot adequately express just how disgusting it is that they are trying to suggest, in this same scene, that this particular interpretation/incarnation of the character of Sherlock Holmes is somehow the secretly ultra-accurate portrait of the 'real' Sherlock Holmes. They literally state that the original stories are glossed-over for the good of Dr Watson's reading public of the time. How narcissistic and power-hungry (and delusional) do you have to be to say that your adaptation is somehow a more 'real' or 'accurate' portrayal? "Oh, he's arguably one of the best-loved characters of all time? Well ours is more accurate and better and we have mobile phones!" The original Holmes is an icon, a simple character who is at the same time exceedingly complex, he's paradoxical and he's wonderful. He stands the test of time. And there was once a time when I would have defended this BBC portrayal of Sherlock as the most accurate adaptation I've seen - a rougher, younger Sherlock, but tactfully brought into the real and present day. Not anymore. They've ended up exaggerating Sherlock's flaws so that they consume his entire character - the drug-use/-addiction, the tactlessness. Then they have all the other characters hate on him, slap him, mock him because of the exaggerated character traits that once accented Sherlock Holmes, and that the audience once loved so much. I just feel like the entire series is being geared towards people hating Sherlock Holmes, hating this series. I don't understand what the intent is for making these narrative choices.

You cannot put your characters into situations, have them graphically violated and manipulated and slander them in-text, and then give a small throw-away line as if to forgive all trespasses. Audience engagement doesn't work like that. You're working towards your audience feeling violated. Offended. And we're given no justice, no closure. And rest assured: we remember everything. Why are there no repercussions? Why is there so much that doesn't add up, why is so much skated over, if this is meant to be the accurate depiction of the 'real' Sherlock Holmes and his world?

I don't trust the writers of this series. I don't trust them to give me closure, to take me on a journey or tell me a story that doesn't rankle in the wrong way -  that doesn't violate reasonable sensibilities and then shrug off the trespass in the following moment. I feel like I should be slapping the creators with a glove and screaming "I demand satisfaction!" Because this latest instalment (the latest two instalments) have done little more than alienate and aggravate me. Even to the point that I'm ashamed of having once been a fan of this series. Even saying that I ask myself: am I over-reacting here? But I reason with myself, and I still feel it's true. It's become a series that I truly don't even recognise anymore. It feels warped. And I don't know how they can turn it back into a story about Sherlock making the transition from great man to good one. I'm not convinced that they have an idea of what a good man is, given what they're letting their characters get away with.

Moral relativity is a thing, but surely it's not just me that thinks the BBC Sherlock bar for "good" or "acceptable" is severely and unrepentantly low. Like I said: there's a difference between morally grey and morally bankrupt. There's not even any in-depth critique about actions, no reasonable discussion - everything's allowed, everything's thrown under the rug of "I'm a sociopath! He's a sociopath! She's a sociopath! Everyone's a sociopath!" Not only is that boring in the extreme to watch, it's so unsubtle that it's infuriating. There's no examination of what someone's shitty remark or action means. There's no weight to any interaction. It's pointless banter. It's flimsy. And when anything goes, then by what basis can they be solving crimes and catching 'bad guys'?

The vision for the series feels shot to shit. It feels like the series' universe has become an absolute fiction, devoid of any consequences, lacking in insight, depth, and subtlety, and populated almost exclusively by characters who drive me to be empty of any sympathetic feeling. I know that it's perfectly possible to write hateful characters who are never-the-less engaging, who inspire sympathy and empathy. But this series does neither. Look at the characters on paper and they become nothing. They're empty. I struggle to find instances of cogent speech that reflect some semblance of a fleshed out character beneath the flaking veneer. It's like they're just spouting words, but the words themselves have lost all meaning. And even when I find a moment that seems like it rings true and clear to the character that's speaking (Mycroft asking Sherlock if he'd made a list of narcotics used was the first that came to mind), that poignant moment is directly contradicted by their actions in a multitude of ways (your brother's killer is sitting right next to you, and you don't mind). That's a man who loves his baby brother (emotional reasoning) who is fine with his brother's flippant murderer a) still breathing, b) un-punished, c) being all sassy and nonchalant about Sherlock's drug abuse, and d) hacking into government restricted records in front of 'The British Government'. THAT SHOULD TRIGGER A FUCKING EMOTIONAL REACTION. It results in the portrayal of an inconceivable level of self-deception and compartmentalisation that reasonable men with moral feeling wouldn't stand. The characters don't feel solid. There's no integrity to them. You examine their reasoning, their internal logic, their actions, and they crumble to pieces. That, or they're so two-dimensional that they don't stand up to scrutiny anyway. It's all contradictions -- but they don't make a beautiful paradox, they make a jumble of nonsense tropes.

Beyond my perverse observation of how... wrong they seem, how much they betray how they're straying from the vision of the first and even the second series, these last episodes have simply served to make me disinterested in practically every single character. This is a truly impressive feat when they were once among my most-loved. I feel so fucking jaded. But all of the crap is just piling up to the point where I'm literally just stepping away from this series. I'm figuratively and literally throwing my hands up and saying: you know what? Fuck off. I have a feeling it may be like a car-crash for me for the next few episodes -- "don't wanna look but you can't turn away" -- but I don't see how they could bring the series back from this. I can't be the only person that's feeling seriously, seriously wronged by this episode. I can't be. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me. Burn me thrice? Fuck. Off. I'm off to watch something that doesn't make me want to throw up and claw my own face off .

So yeah.

After quietly “breaking up” with the show -- think in the style of Jon Snow bitterly saying: “My Watch is Ended“ -- I semi-waited for S4. I say semi-waited because I wasn’t going to watch it. But I was still hopeful, at least a little bit, on the behalf of the people that I followed on here, that I met in real life, that still had hope for the series. I thought to myself: “maybe. maybe it won’t be shit. maybe they’ll explain what the fuck why the fuck how the fuck.“

As we've found, and as I've mentioned, from what I have seen from my tumblr feed tonight, it went about as well as I expected.

I still haven't seen S4. The last episode I watched was TAB. But from what I've seen on here, it's been a clusterfuck of queer-coded villains, and copious dashings of even bigger plotholes than before, logical blackholes, more morally reprehensible crap -- and so many inconsistencies, it'll make your head spin worse than the hammed-up cinematography.

So, I'm so sorry for the people that had such high hopes, and who were deceived and let down in a big way. I -- and all of us, I think -- know that in the greater scheme of things, one TV show that went to shit, as TV shows are prone to do, isn’t so horrible a thing. But this show meant a huge amount to me. It meant an enormous amount to many, many others. I think of the creative fan-community, so many hours making gorgeously complex filthy brilliant heartwarming heartbreaking fic (so so much better than what we received)... to have what spawned that creative storm of brilliance and engaging life-affirming work -- life-consuming and life-ruining (in the good way) in equal measure -- to have what brought these works about go so bad, it actually hurts. It hurts less for me now, because I'm much further away from it than I was a couple of years ago. But it still stinks. And if it hurts me, I can't imagine how much that'd suck to have the show you spent so long making intensive work around go down the gurgler. The fandom and the general community that surrounded this show, for the most part, were way beyond what it ended up deserving.

In further efforts to legitimise my (our) frustration and disappointment, I'll reiterate that engagement in fiction is a huge part of our modern lives. We care about what happens to these characters and these stories. It matters, for one thing, because representation matters (be that queer, female, moral). Media fucking matters. It mirrors and exaggerates reality, and they ended up giving us a steaming pile of bullshit. (In a positive metaphor, this bullshit may still be used as effective manure from which better works can spring. Just be careful handling it.)

But, I have to say, given the backlash, I am also giddy. Because people aren't standing for it.

People are still making up theories to excuse where the show has gone, and what they've done, but at this point it really is super-keen denial, which some have realised even as they speak it. But the denial, the desperate “surely this is a trick” reaction, while sweet in its idealism, is also really sad. Because I don't think 'The Show' is gonna come back from this. I don't think they can get away with what they have been putting on the screens anymore. How can they? I can't forgive them. And after S4? I'm getting the impression that most of the world who gave the slightest of shits about BBC Sherlock can't forgive them either.

But lastly, I just want to say: okay, it hurts now. It really hurts. I remember that I was going through some horrible shit when they first started fucking up this show. Really shit timing, Show. I don't remember much from that time, just snippets, because that's how the brain copes. But I remember saying to my sister in a fit of desperate honesty: "all the therapy things I read, they say you're meant to hold onto the little things that makes life worth living, that you live for, that you want to see and experience more of... But BBC Sherlock was that for me, and it can't be that for me anymore?" I remember so clearly it being a question because I was fucking lost and BBC Sherlock was my refuge, anchor, thing that I could cling to as a source of enjoyment and escape and engagement. And it disappeared, nonsensically. There was no beauty to the unravelling, it just turned to crap on me. So if I sound like I'm being overly dramatic, trust that it’s coming from a real place, of just... complete disillusionment and disappointment. And to be not only without that refuge, but to have it turn into something grotesque that appalled me on a number of levels... that was just insult to injury.

“Breaking up with the show“ actually felt like a real-life relationship breakdown. Recently, I remember reblogging that post by alecslightvood:

one of the saddest things is when a show you invested so much of your time into and became emotionally attached to seriously fucks up and you are no longer captivated by it whether it’s because of illogical plots with zero substance, ooc characters, sexist writing or because the show kills off and treats minorities horrendously, and all you have left is this bitterness at how things turned out because something that once made you happy now leaves you emotionally and mentally drained.

and I remember tagging it: "it feels like being betrayed, the mixture of heartbreak frustration and disbelief, 'why are you doing this?', 'you're not who I fell in love with', 'you're not who I thought you were', 'you're not who I'd hoped you'd be', BBC Sherlock, I'm looking at you." Because my god, that descriptor fits Sherlock to a tee. I don't know what show they were talking about (the original post is gone,) but god that fits Sherlock so well.

I’m glad I jumped ship when I did (I actually mistyped “shit” there, guys, Freudian slip,) because honestly, I’m so so sorry for you guys that stuck it out. I had some closet hope for your wishes and genius plots (the ones you wove, not theirs) to come together in a beautiful climax that would justify everything. That would have been glorious.

But as it is. You are allowed to dump this show. You are certainly not alone. And I highly recommend it. The reason I’m pleased with this shows catastrophic fall (hah,) amidst the outrage and frustration, is because to be rid of it is freeing. To be rid of the quietly-but-growing-louder queer-baiting queer-bashing woman-hating show that does everything it can to insult the majority of those minorities who watch it, that insults the intelligence of its viewers with stupidity while screaming that it's the best... That's a good thing.