#mary and holmes are having a grand time being Little Shits

[blistering-typhoons]

a fic that was supposed to be a fun exercise in writing some bisexual disaster watson and some fun mary & holmes bonding has now taken a turn for the INCREDIBLY PAINFUL

[imnotwolverine]

By the fireplace

Summary: Christmas Eve is not going as planned, when Mr. Holmes finds he’s not quite as home-alone as he expected. 

Author’s note: I know it’s the dead of summer. I know. But this fic has been gathering dust in my draft list for months now. I hope you may like a little bit of Sherlock-does-not-know-how-to-deal-with-women-fluff. 

Word count: 1563

Disclaimer: Nothing much. Fluff, with some mild Sherlock being a dumb nut when it comes to dealing with women. 

--

The winter whispered against the frozen window panes and the fireplace was hot with flames. The hour was late and despite his staff having left for family visits on Christmas Eve, Mr. Holmes was fairing well. With a platter of cheese and bread waiting, and red wine at his fingertips, he was nosing through a new file of paperwork that had come in from London. 

It was difficult not to work. Especially when other well-liked activities were little and few in offering. Horse riding and walking wasn’t quite the same when you were freezing your wits off; and so it was that Holmes remained in his oak-panelled office for most of the day. Here he was warm and well entertained. And alone - blessed be. 

With a puff from his pipe he raised up, deciding a break was in order. His fingers had grown cold despite the roaring fire and lest he not move, he might just be found frozen by his personnel when they’d return later tomorrow. His chair scraped the floorboards, and with a few strides he was out and about in the halls that stretched before him.

Mr. Holmes didn’t mind the lack of heating here. The heavy winter robe he had made by his maids was perfectly warm. Pulling the tie a little more tight, he started towards the Northern wing.

Whenever he walked here, he could hear Microft’s voice. What a perfectly sensible estate for family rearing. But that was simply not a thing Mr. Holmes expected from life. Women were the one thing he could never quite figure out. No books, scrolls or magic fairy dust could help him in that department. Mysterious creatures they were. Irene Adler for instance; marvelously splendid, but absolutely daunting to be near. These women all were so dainty and dazzlingly different from reason and words and..

*CLANG* 

Mr. Holmes stiffened. He was not a frightened man - not easily, but surely he had not imagined that sound just now, right? Halting his steps he cautiously looked out into the rest of the dimly lit hallway. He had to admit that he had not really paid attention when his personnel left. Too occupied with the new case to be bothered with who left, when and where-to.

He listened in on any further sounds: a soft swearing was heard. Female. Definitely female. A..female intruder? Perhaps stealing something? Ha! Wouldn’t that be the charmer. With a click of his tongue, Holmes set out to the source of his female visitation. 

A few steps later he was there, hand on the doorknob and shoulders stiff as he quickly switched the knob to enter. Inside it was not some smidgy burglaress, but a familiar face he found. 

Minnie.

She just stood there, wrapped up in all the clothing she probably owned, lips blue and hands awkwardly trying to clasp around her chest. Minnie had been at the estate for quite some years now, as part of Mr. Holmes’ staff. And thus it surprised Mr. Holmes to find her blue with frost in his library. 

‘I-I...’ Minnie’s jaw clattered with cold, hands gripping quickly to her chest. 

Mr. Holmes blinked. Minnie of all people. Why hadn’t she gone off to..whomever it was she wanted to see? Didn’t she have family around? 

With cautious eyes he eyed the rest of the library. No glass broken, no signs of intrusion. Just... Minnie. Minnie the quiet dear help -- it was why he hired her way back when. He enjoyed quiet staff. 

Returning his studious gaze to Minnie he quirked his head. 

‘You’re..cold.’ He stated. 

No shit Sherlock. 

Minnie gulped, teeth clattering and tears brimming at the rims of her eyelashes. ‘I’m - I’m sorry Mr. Holmes, sir. I - I..’ 

‘You need warming.’ Sherlock didn’t hear a word she said, hands quick to move to her upperarms, rubbing them with sheer focus.  

‘I didn’t mean to..’ Now she was truly crying. 

Goodness. The girl was practically freezing! Frowning, Holmes checked her pulse, complexion, pupils. Quite terrible indeed! 

The decision next taken was perhaps a shock to Minnie, but to Holmes perfectly logical. 

‘Alright. Up you go.’ With a swoop Mr. Holmes picked her up bridal style, his feet not once losing their stride. He quietly congratulated himself on keeping up with his physical well-being despite his love for the academic pursuits. Without much effort he had lifted the plump little woman in his arms, eyes focused on the flickering light that came from his study. 

‘I just..’ Minnie sobbed quietly, lips chattering loudly in the echoing hallway. She barely noticed herself how she held on tight to Holmes’ robes, her small fingers eagerly grasping onto the smooth velvet that carried his warmth. But, it was not the only thing she kept close to her. 

As Holmes returned the two of them to his study, the hearth still burning gently in the corner, his eyes noticed something else, sticking out from beneath her wrapscarf. It was either a book OR the poor woman had a particularly square chest all of a sudden. 

A book? Minnie with a book? The poor woman never even had a day of education in her LIFE! 

Lowering her to the carpet before the fireplace, Holmes continued to stare at her bossom. And though still cold, he did receive a first blush from her cold cheeks. 

‘Sir..’ She gulped, realizing just a touch too late why he was staring. Her blush became even more fierce, mouth falling open in a shocked little expression. ‘Oh..!’ 

‘You read?’ Holmes asked dumbfound. 

Minnie’s shivering worsened despite the warm room. ‘I- I. Oh sir please. I just wanted to..’ She doubled over before his feet, hands reaching up the book she had kept close. 

The Fairytale rendition his mother had once read to him. 

Sherlock frowned. ‘You wanted to ..what, Minnie?’ 

She swallowed harshly and looked up, tears now billowing down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry sir.’ 

‘No no no, none of that.’ Sherlock settled down before her, lowering himself to her haunched over figure. ‘I’m intrigued. Do. You. Read. Minnie?’ 

She blinked at him, thin eyebrows knitting together in confusion. ‘You are not mad sir?’ 

Sherlock carefully studied her a moment longer before he let his gaze return to the fire. Suddenly her female-ness became overwhelming with all the tears and blushing cheeks and..good awful dwellings up above he should STOP looking at her chest. 

Clearing his throat he dryly shook his head. ‘No, no. Not mad.’ 

‘Disappointed then? Sir?’ Minnie followed his gaze into the fireplace, curious what he was staring at with such thoughtful focus. 

‘You taught yourself?’ He finally asked, returning his gaze to her, then the book. 

Her shivering lip curled in a little smile. ‘Sir, not really. I mean. I wish to. I---’ She bit her lip and opened the book. With a tentative finger she stroked one of the richly adorned illustrations. Next up her finger moved to the text. With stunted focus she recited a few of the words she recognised. 

‘Ah.’ Sherlock sighed, nodding in understanding. He let Minnie struggle on for a few words more, turning his head ever so slightly so he could read along. The darling woman relaxed a little now repercussions didn’t seem evident. With more excitement she let her finger slide over the words. 

‘Then...s-a-i--d..said..the!..ehhh’ She frowned at the long word that followed. 

Sherlock puffed up his cheeks and tapped her hand. Minnie blinked at him. 

‘Sir are you alright?’

With still puffed up cheeks Sherlock nodded, then puffed up his broad shoulders as well, arms rounding like he was enormous. 

‘Grand?’ 

Sherlock released his puff and smiled. ‘Yes, yes.. And then..’ He made sure she paid attention to his right hand, which he stroked reverently over his belly. 

‘Hungry?’ 

Sherlock chuckled. ‘In a fact yes. But, no.’ 

‘Yes, but no?’ Minnie looked at him with confusion. 

‘That’ll come later. First “grand”.’ He pointed that part of the word out on the page. Minnie nodded. 

‘Then..’ He slid his finger over the next part of the word, before he tried again, this time using both hands to cradle an invisible child in his arms. 

‘Child?’ 

Sherlock chuckled. ‘Almost..but..’ He pointed his finger at himself before craddling his arms again. 

‘Mother!’ 

Sherlock beamed with joy. ‘Perfection!’

Minnie sniffled and blushed again. ‘Sir..’ 

‘Minnie?’ He felt his smile melt away as he noticed how her facial expression changed. This one, he could not quite read. Her pupils dilated, her lips parted and for a moment her gaze flickered to his lips. 

‘Sir.’ Her voice became more stern and with a swift move she raised back to her feet. ‘I’m so terribly sorry for intruding on your night. I’ll...’ 

He caught her hand before she could storm off. So small! 

With large eyes Minnie watched at the way his large hand encapsulated hers. Even now by the fire, his hand was still warmer than hers. Without words their eyes met. 

‘I can --ehh.. teach?’ Sherlock tried. 

Again they just stared for a moment longer. And though probably inappropriate, Sherlock held onto her hand without hesitation. 

Minnie sighed. ‘Perhaps some food first, sir? You said you were hungry?’ 

Sherlock released her hand. A dry chuckle escaped his lips. 

‘For books...’ He looked up and had to catch himself as his gaze drifted back to her now book-free chest. ‘..always.’

--

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[wolf-in-a-suit]

Advanced organic chemistry

Show: Sherlock

Summary: All you wanted to do was pass your exam, of course being the assistant of the famous Sherlock Holmes there is little time for petty little things like ‘graduate university’. Still, right now you start to regret ever having met the detective…

Okay, you could do this! Just one more exam and you were done for this semester, after this everything would be sunshine and rainbows – as much as lingering around various crime scenes could be described that way. But a certain detective would have a field day once he realized that he could drag you around London at any ungodly hour, without such ‘boring’ excuses as a math exam, or your potentially ruined future. Needless to say: You hadn’t told him yet. Your sole confidant had been John, Sherlock would figure it out soon enough and until then you hoped to get at least a good nights rest.

The heard of nervous students began flocking into the exam room like sheep to the slaughter. There was Caroline who, for weeks now, wore backs under her eyes like a fashion statement and Max who twitched every few seconds. Exams this year had been hell. Especially, as the educators had agreed on the fact that their students were lazy and had to pick up their standards. As a result the whole education plan had been overworked, rendering the old exam sheets form previous generations useless.

For many it felt like the smite of god, a punishment for their sins: Sleeping trough an eight o’clock s.t. chemistry lecture. You on the other hand, as the somewhat unwillingly assistant of Sherlock Holmes, had to conform on Sherlock’s standards for employees: Which included excellent chemistry, physics and mathematical skills, to just name a few. You were sure not even Albert Einstein would have the fitting CV. While wondering for the countless time why on earth Sherlock had chosen you, Caroline flapped into the seat next to you. Her eye started twitching when the test were passed around.

Both of you posed a humorous contrast, if one could find humor in such a dire, life threatening situation: She looked like she was going to pass out any second now, while you just peered through the grand windows at the left side of the room, slouching on the uncomfortable wooden chair.

“You have one and a half hour, starting-“ Professor Smith peered at his watch “-NOW!” The race had started and the fluttering of exam pages filled the room. First question: Derive the Van der Waals equation. Easy, though you had to admit the questions kept getting harder, and harder on the next pages. Caroline next to you had suddenly become very still after reading through each sheet, from her almost translucent complexion to her stiff posture you almost mistook her for a client – well technically not client, but ‘object of investigation’ seemed a tat impersonal.

The continuous scratching of your pen did little to ease her rigor mortis. Draw the Morse Potential, you had skimmed over that just yesterday. The diagram almost clear in your mind, but before you could picture it clearly a flash of black outside before window distracted you. However, it was gone as soon as you turned, scanning the window front. Perhaps you were a little stressed after all?

Scratch, the continually assault of bullpens on paper, or lack thereof, filled the warm, suffocating air for the next minutes. Until a new flash of black captured your attention once again. Looking back, you should have expected something like this would happen on your most important exam: Outside, waving like a madman, stood Sherlock, flanked by both John and Mary trying to capture each of his gesticulating arms – probably in order to drag him away. Just on the side, head in her hand, visibly ashamed to be part of the commotion stood Molly.

Sherlock however was oblivious to the petty feelings of his band of chaperones and started to ruck his head, black locks bouncing, mentioning you to come outside. The shuffling of papers ceased somewhat and a murmur of ‘What’s his problem?’ filtered through the room. Had it always been this hot in here? Though you supposed, no one knew that you were the sole recipient of the madman’s attention. Like always you would just ignore his antics, take your test and deal with the murder case, or whatever crime had him this anxious afterwards. Yeah, you could do this!

Just when you picked up your pen Sherlock seemed to get what you were trying to do. So, being the good friend and boss he was, he started pointing and mouthing directly at you. Now about three hundred pair of eyes were trained on you, a reminder of those nightmares were you showed up to class naked.   You looked down at yourself: Nope, not one of those dreams.

“Excuse, me-“ a somewhat snotty voice toned to your right. “- do you mind! I am trying to die here!” You faced Caroline, grateful for a reason to turn away from the window and replied sweetly: “No, I don’t. Just go ahead.” So, maybe Sherlock’s demeanor had slightly rubbed off on you, but that was the only thing enabling you to ignore the commotion outside, plus all these stares, continuing with your exam. Some poor chap of the faculty staff would try to take care of the situation outside soon enough.

Bam! The doors to the room burst open and in strode none other than: Mycroft Holmes himself.

His expensive suit and confident stroll marking him as an exotic particle in the microcosm’s of the university. Shit! What was he doing here? A sudden uneasy feeling washed over you, along with some shame. If Mycroft was here, then something was seriously wrong! Was Moriaty back!? ‘Dear god, please no!’

Professor’s Smith expression was murderous, his glare piercing the advancing man, possessing the audacity to interrupt his sacred chemistry exam. Sherlock’s brother however was, as always, ‘not impressed in the least’ and merely reacted with a raised eyebrow to the seething, small man trying to tell him off. Smith’s outburst was short lived, all it took were a few uttered words from Mycroft and the former defiant teacher folded and started nodding along with everything the British government demanded. Which of course led to: “Mrs.___, please finish your exam at once and come down here.”

At his point you didn’t care that all those eyes followed while you handed your half-finished test back, to great was your anxiety over the possible state of the empire. Judging by the short nod and worried look in Mycroft’s brown eyes it was at least national danger. An oppressive silence followed the exam room doors clanking shut behind the two of you. All you could do was watch the politicians back while walking after him through the entrance doors – that and produce a puddle of sweat. Had his shoulders ever been so hunched? They normally were set so proudly. ‘Please, don’t let it be a war!’

The cold rush of air hit your face and with it came the normal Sherlock intensity: “___, finally! None of these idiots was of any help.” With a flurry of his black trench coat the detective escaped the clutches of Mary and John, grasping your arms in a desperate manner. There was a deep concern in his eyes as well, which only resulted in your stomach making the jump of a cliff. You looked around helplessly and steeled yourself for the answer to your question: “So what is it? Moriaty is back, a hidden bomb, or World War 3?” “Nothing of the sort!” John tried to calm you. Mycroft helpfully added: “Much worse!”

“Come now, are you sure you aren’t just exaggerating?” Molly’s brow had never before been that furrowed. “For once, my dear brother”- Sherlock pronounced the word with such distaste, that by now it was an insult “- is not overreacting.” Shit, you didn’t even own a bunker, how were you supposed to survive a war? “Looks to me that the two of you just need to grow up already.” John’s sole reply was to cross his arms at the theatrical show presented to him.

“Hello! Would someone have the decency to tell me why the world is ending?” The Holmes siblings exchanged a look. “Our parents are coming to visit.”

Silence.

The only thing heard was the rustling of fallen leaves in the brisk wind.

You opened your mouth…

…and closed it again, because you were too astonished, or too angry to even compute how you felt.

Both brothers watched you with equal concern and impatience. Which soon turned to alarm, when you simply spun around and started stalking back toward the front doors.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” Mary addressed the detective who snatched your arm centimeters from the door handle and twisted you back to face him.

“They are coming tomorrow and someone-“ he send a smoldering glare to Mycroft “-promised we would cook for them!” Pushing down the black hole of hate, currently sucking at your guts, you sighed: “So, big deal! Your parents will see that they raised two adults who can’t cook! What about it?” Mycroft Holmes supported by his umbrella wore the look of a man fearing eternal damnation. “Once they realize that, Mummy will stay to remedy that particular ‘lack of skill’.” “Yes, and no one wants that!” It must have been Christmas, for never had you seen these two agree on anything before.

“Mrs. Hudson!?” you supplied. “I am not your housekeeper, Sherlock!” The detective’s impression was scarily near to the original. Your eyebrows rose when you mentioned to the band of friends shivering in the cold autumn air. Which just earned you a scoff: “You are talking about a man whose sole consolidation for his lack of cooking skills is that his wife, is as deadly in the kitchen as her former profession-” “Hey!” though Mary’s shout was rather meek, confirming the accusations “- and Molly who is in charge of the morgue, seemingly also not afraid to raise the demand for places in there, with her ‘chicken parmesan’.”

“It was just that one time, Sherlock!”

Everyone’s eyes were trained on you expectantly, while a sudden grin erupted on your features. This wasn’t going to be cheap. You turned to Mycroft and nonchalantly asked: “What exactly was my grade in that exam?” John and Molly looked somewhat confused at the sudden change of topic, while Mycroft’s eyes glinted, catching on instantly. He pursed his lips. “A C, I’d say.” A suffering sigh escaped your lungs. “So, the equivalent of pasta with plain tomato sauce, then?”

“It could also have possibly been a B.” “Hmm,-“ you pondered this for moment. “Casserole.” The British government erected itself to his full, imposing height. “Considering that we so crudely interrupted your examination an A would be in order.” You nodded at that and mused. “So we need to get all the ingredients for Coq au vin before tomorrow.” This statement was a relieve for all participants, an audible gasp going through John, Mary and Molly.

“So what are we waiting for?” Sherlock clapped his hands. “John still has to clean the dinner table from all his stuff.” “Hold up! The only thing littering the table is your chemistry set!”

And so the small band of misfits made their way through the cold wind to the next tube station. You already knew what your plan for this night was:

Googling ‘how to cook coq au vin for beginners’.

[leftlovetragedy]

Why BBC Sherlock was ruined by bad writing - Part 1

This post is a part of a long summary of some of the problems with BBC Sherlock which in my opinion ultimately caused the show damage which seems practically irreparable now. One of the related problems actually is that it seems Moffat and Gatiss didn’t get why S4 was met with disdain by fanbase, why reviewers picked it apart, why ratings dropped. It means they don’t want to learn from their mistakes or simply can’t. In fact Gatiss outright refused to believe ratings dropped and that does speak about very huge denial as ratings are facts, not opinions. Both Moffat and Gatiss also suddenly lost enthusiasm about ACD, Sherlock Holmes, although they were gushing  about it just not so long ago.

But let’s get back to the problems of the writing I wanted to talk about:

1)     The problem with Moriarty

Looking back at first two seasons after clusterfuck of S4, sadly, I could now notice some problems which were already planted in earlier seasons. While S1-2 were the best out of the show some decisions which were made by the writers indicated their true approach to the material even back then. But these problems would only grow like a snow ball and in the end would contribute to the undoing of the show in many ways. Mofftiss were overusing Moriarty from the start. In ACD’s canon he appears in one story (and is mentioned several times) like the nemesis to take down Sherlock once and for all. Since it’s TV series it was perfectly understandable and fair  to expand the role of Moriarty, however it was way overexpanded. Moriarty was connected with the cabby, was behind Chinese mafia, then arranged the whole Great Game with Sherlock and then meeting with him in person took place-all in the scope of all 3 episodes of S1. Had the S1 been longer perhaps it wouldn’t have looked so  jam-packed with Moriarty and would have been more subtle, but since the S1 is only 3 episodes long it did. S1 also told us that Moriarty killed the school boy, the only case which young Sherlock was not able to solve then, thus setting up Moriarty as this ultimate enemy of Sherlock literally for decades.  Then in Ep1S2 we find out that Irene Adler was also working for Moriarty and that he consulted her. Ep2S2 has Sherlock having hallucinations about Moriarty and Ep3S3 have the grand finale where Moriarty tries to destroy Sherlock and kills himself on the roof, and then Sherlock jumps from the roof, faking his suicide.

Honestly by the end of S2 Moriarty was made by the Mofftiss as this be-all and the end-all guy and that already looked over the top. But it still could have been ok, if the Mofftiss could stop there with Moriarty. And that’s exactly what they couldn’t do. They didn’t know how to stop and so they ran this character into the ground.  S3 teased us if Moriarty really died or not, with “shocking cliffhanger” final,  adding more hallucinations and flashbacks and fake flashbacks with Jim along the way.  But the result was that by the end of S3 Moriarty no longer looked liked some threatening dangerous villain, but rather as a self-caricature. S3 also told us that Moriarty had in fact a death wish and that he would have killed himself anyway, making his whole suicide on the roof pretty  weak.  Instead of some diabolically clever villain with diabolically bold clever calculated plan, we got the guy who just was crazy and wanted to off himself. Big whoop.  It got only worse when TAB special was literally dedicated to Sherlock trying to understand that Moriarty, who shot himself standing right in front of Sherlock in broad daylight, was actually really dead. No shit, Sherlock. Moriarty was again present in Sherlock’s Mind Palace,  grimacing all the way, which probably was supposed to look cool and edgy, but didn’t, and looked like a tired rehash. Then S4 finally completely killed any coolness or sense which Moriarty still had in the show (and there wasn’t much left by the time). S4 told us how Moriarty met with secret super powerful sister Eurus, spent 5 minutes talking with her or smh and even teamed with her, recording some dumb edgy videos for Eurus, which she used when Moriarty himself was already dead. Since Eurus is capable to hypnotize people after talking with them the question was left open if Moriarty was really compromised by Eurus and was just her puppet since then. Either way Moriarty was pretty much destroyed as interesting and effective villain in the show, because a) he either was hypnotized by Eurus, made into her puppet and lost any personal agenda or free will since then; or  b) he wasn’t hypnotized by Eurus, remained himself but was just really unhinged, mad dude, whose unpredictability didn’t seem like a result of his great intellect or scheming or an act, but rather a result of him being a psycho, who wanted badly to kill himself, also hoping that Sherlock would ~ probably~ kill himself as well—and if Sherlock doesn’t kill himself, hey, no biggie,  he got those great choo-choo videos for Eurus which she could  use against Sherlock, though Moriarty wouldn’t be able to see this anyway, because he will be dead by then. But surely choo-choo videos will work! Surely the world's only consulting criminal could always count on choo-choo videos! Great plan! 2)     The problem with women

I already talked once about how Mofftiss treat female characters on the shows and the short answer is: they treat them pretty awful as they pretend to write “strong female characters” while basically doing “Feminism for Dummies: The Male Edition”. 

According to Mofftiss strong female characters mean mostly villainous, dubious, criminal, weaponized psychopaths.

---Irene Adler – twisted rewritten version of ACD’s Irene Adler, here villainized cruel sex worker and blackmailer, who is told what to do by male villain, because she can’t figure it out on her own, loses  to Sherlock because she fell for him and later is saved by him. Moffat literally described Irene as psychopath, in fact he describes Sherlock as one as well, saying: ”He's a psychopath, so is she”. 

Moffat also considers ACD’s Irene boring, saying: “In the original, Irene Adler's victory over Sherlock Holmes was to move house and run away with her husband. That's not a feminist victory." Moffat is a very big fan of ACD’s stories according to Moffat. No comments here.  ---Eurus “Ebony Dark'ness Dementia” Holmes – OC, secret sister genius with super powers, who killed a child while she herself was a child, tortured her brother Sherlock and has been put to medical facility- prison for life (where she continued to torture and kill people, and even rape them-well, there was one case at least. She also was able to  leave prison at her will and kill people outside). A total psycopath, who fixed her multi-talents on playing some evil games with Sherlock. Turned out to be so, so very  needy, that the only thing she really wants is a hug from Sherlock, cause she loses the minute he hugs her. Obviously Mofftiss tried to build her as this greatest villain on the show who ever villain, but it didn’t work out.  --Mary Watson – practically an OC, since Mofftiss so heavily rewrote her, that she doesn’t resemble Mary Morstan from ACD’s canon. Even her real name is not really Mary Morstan here, she borrowed it from the grave slab of another person. She is ex-assassin who was murdering people for cash, but  retired now, who  lies and hides her past from everybody, then she shoots Sherlock almost killing him for good, in order to cover up the fact that she came to kill her blackmailer and Sherlock discovered her. Then Mofftiss make a big point that her main agenda in show is really a new life with a husband she loves and their baby (Mary shoots Sherlock while already being pregnant). Then Mary leaves her husband and little baby girl (the girl given to Mary by Mofftiss in the show, she doesn’t exist in ACD’s canon) when somebody hunts her ex-fellow assassins (yep, they still out there or some of them).  Then she is tracked down and returns, but then she is killed off because she jumped in front of the bullet meant for Sherlock leaving her baby girl without the mother and her husband as widower. Bye bye Mary’s agenda, it has been destroyed. (Also what an insult to professional  mercenary  getting killed by some institutional secretary, honestly).  Then it turns out Mary recorded some weird ass DVDs which are now regularly sent to Sherlock and John, and while she makes some kitch speeches there she barely remembers about existence of her baby daughter, if at all. In the process  we find out that John, while Mary was still alive, was already heavily flirting with another woman (it was Eurus “Ebony Dark'ness” in disguise)  and really wanted to cheat on Mary. Oh, and Amanda Abbington herself described Mary as psychopath.  --A small shout out to those Victorian ladies from TAB’s Mind Palace - they formed a secret sect in order to kill men, had creepy secret meetings and basically were an underground murder club on the loose,  even were referred to as “league of furies” at one point. Oh look, women are again portrayed as vile, criminal and agressive entities, with attached  aesthetic of KKK.  Straw feminism is strong with these ones. --Ok, let’s remember Molly Hooper, she is not a psychopath, she is not villainous, she is not a criminal, she is a nice, smart, normal, kind young working woman. At long last something different, right? Real potential?  Ehm, nope, Mofftiss still ruined it. Because she is kept in the show as a female character with a deep desperate unrequired crush on Sherlock who is ready to do a lot  for him, but repeatedly mistreated by the object of her affections. Sherlock humiliates, manipulates and abuses her emotionally several times during the show, when it gets better between them, but  Mofftiss make sure that poor Molly still can’t have personal life outside of Sherlock, her new BF/fiance Tom ins S3 is a poor copy of Sherlock, he even dresses like him (probably it was done for laughs in the show “ha ha, poor Molly, got replacement goldfish, can’t really move on�� only it wasn’t really funny), but they broke up by the end of S3. Then Molly is pushed aside for most of S4, and then there is that famous “I love you” scene, which deeply hurts Molly and makes her cry.....the scene, which according to Mofftiss was a last-minute addition to the script and was not about Molly or her relationships with Sherlock at all, but only about Sherlock and his emotional development and how he is more human now. Molly was simply used by Mofftiss as show-case of Sherlock’s manpain. There was no resolution to this scene and Moffat simply said that  Molly would get over it, by having a drink and shagging someone. That’s...deep. Not.

It really makes you wonder what’s Mofftiss’s problem with women and why writing for female characters on the show is such a trainwreck?  Well, according to Moffat: --“The original [Sir Arthur Conan Doyle] stories had a huge female following, which I'd never forgotten, and that's because the Victorian ladies liked the way Sherlock looked. (Laughs.) So I thought, use this massively exciting, rather handsome man who could see right through your heart and have no interest ... of course, he's going to be a sex god! I think we pitched that character right. I think our female fan base all believe that they'll be the one to melt that glacier. They're all wrong -- nothing will melt that glacier.”  --"Women are needy. Women are out there hunting for husbands."  Also his understanding of pregnancy and motherhood “Your wife turns into a boat, and shortly after that, you never sleep again and you clean shit off someone. It doesn’t seem like a very appealing prospect”.     Also the infamous “There’s a huge, unfortunate lack of respect for anything male.” I guess all of it sort of explains why Mofftiss write women that way. To be continued...

[sherl-watson-holmes]

Welcome to London (Sherlock x reader) Chapter 3

You woke up to the sound of a clattering bowl in your kitchen. Your mind immediately wandered to the worst possible scenario. Basically, there was an intruder in your house and you somehow needed to defend yourself or else you would die. You slowly made your way to the kitchen where you saw a figure hunched over near your fridge. He was about to turn around when you did the only thing you could think of to defend yourself, you threw your hardcover copy of (book name) at the intruder's head.

"Ow, What the hell was that for?" he yelled at you with an annoyed tone. You still couldn't see his face, as he was clutching it in pain, where the book hit him. Wait a second, you recognized that voice... and those curls "Sherlock?! What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in?" You screamed back at him. "I picked the lock to get some milk, John and I are out. And God, would you relax, You're voice is hurting my ears more than your book hurt my face." You're anger subsided a bit due to the guilt you felt when you saw the bruise rapidly forming under his right eye. "Oh, yeah sorry about that" you began "but really, you shouldn't have been snooping around my kitchen like a burglar anyways."

Just as you finished your sentence John came running through your front door with a broom in hand, eyes still squinting from adjusting to the brightness of your lights. "(Y/N) WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY?" he started screaming. You started laughing hysterically at his grand entrance to save you. "I'm fine Johnny, Sherlock was just being an idiot and scared me. Don't worry though, I got him back with a hard-cover book" you smiled at him "but John, if there was an intruder, I don't think a broom would help, maybe you could have made him die of laughter like I almost did seeing you pant-less and wielding that choice of weaponry." you started laughing again.

John went red with embarrassment realizing that in a panic he came running in only his boxers and a grey shirt. "Shit, sorry (y/n), anyways, Sherlock, why the hell are you in (y/n)'s flat?" John asked rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I came to get milk for tea, you forgot to get some from the shop." Sherlock pointed at John. "It's three in the bloody morning Sherlock, why do you need tea? Don't you take yours black anyways?" He inquired. "Couldn't sleep." Sherlock said in a bored tone. "Plus, the tea was meant for you, I was going to test a new fast acting sedative I made, but I guess I can't now." He added glaring at you. "You were going to" John paused to take a deep breath. "You were going to drug me on our second day of university?" "Yes John, do keep up, I obviously didn't have it ready the first day."

You giggled at the boys' antics. "You guys are so adorable." You smiled at them. "Now get out of my flat." You shooed them out, pushing them out the front door. "I'll see you in class." You called over your shoulder as you kicked the door closed.

The boys stood outside, staring at your door after it slammed in their faces. "We are not adorable." Sherlock grumbled. "Go to sleep Sherlock." John said, already climbing the stairs back to 221B.

You smiled to yourself thinking about the two goofballs living above you as you made yourself some coffee. You were wide awake now, so you thought you might as well work on your sketches. You pulled out your sketchbook from the luggage that you were too lazy to unpack and started drawing.  You ended up drawing a cute little cartoon hedgehog. "Kinda looks like John." You laughed to yourself. You wrote Johnny in cursive next to the little creature and continued drawing. You ended up making the whole gang as animals. John as a hedgehog, Sherlock as an otter,  Molly as a kitten, Jim as a bunny, and Mary as a puppy.

By the time you were done with all of them, you heard your 7:30 alarm go off. You groaned and stretched out your arms, maybe you shouldn't have stayed up all night after the boys left. You quickly put your sketchbook in your bag and went to get ready. This time you put your headphones in so Sherlock wouldn't come insult your music choice again. You were just done putting on your outfit and makeup when you heard someone banging on the door.

You opened it to find Sherlock standing outside. "Hey Sherlock what do you nee-"

"You didn't play your music today."

"Um, yeah, you told me yesterday that you didn't like it so-"

"Don't listen to me, you can play your music."

"Okay Sherlock, just keep contradicting yourself, just like that"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at your comment "I was only trying to be nice-"

John interrupted "Sherlock Holmes was trying to be nice? (y/n) what did you do, and can you teach me how to do it?" John laughed coming down the stairs. "Well, we're gonna be late if we don't leave soon, so let's go." he continued pulling you out of your flat and then pushing both you and Sherlock out the door. The entire cab ride there  John and Sherlock argued about whether or not Sherlock is nice at times. God, what were you going to do with these two.