#may i say how magnificently john watson he looks here

[mrtinfreeman]

MARTIN FREEMAN in Breeders: 4x01, Noël

[otakufrenchfries]

Secret

Summary : Sherlock's wife works abroad, how is their reunion going?

WORDS : 555

Everybody knows Detective Sherlock Holmes and his consultant Dr John Watson. Then into this merry band we can introduce Sherlock's brother Mycroft Holmes and his habit of always arriving when you don't expect it we get the most difficult to manage magnificent mix in the world in my humble opinion. It must be nearly 5 years since I've been part of it although John is the only one who doesn't know me after all my marriage to Sherlock has allowed me to discover a whole world that I sometimes regret knowing because we all know that the great London detective is quite special in his own way.

Today was a special day, I was finally coming home after months abroad for my work. In front of the door of 221 Baker Street I stopped for a few seconds after all seeing the door of his home after several months is quite unsettling. Raising the point in front of the black and varnished door, I didn't have time to knock that it opened revealing Mrs Hudson's smiling and relieved face.

"Ooh my beautiful (Y/N) how nice to see you again, it's a relief now that you're back Sherlock will be a little more bearable, at least I hope so" she murmured.

"Mrs. Hudson I'm so glad to see you again after all this time," I said as I hugged her.

Once the hugs and kisses were over she informed me that I could find my husband upstairs with Dr Watson and Mycroft. What a coincidence that I come home on a day when Mycroft is visiting Sherlock although I suspect it is not a social call. I went up the stairs to the flat on the first floor, knocked and it was John who opened the door.

"Hello, can I help you?"

"You must be John Watson, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes?"

"May I know who you are first?"

"Yes, of course. I'm (Y/N) Holmes. How do you do?" I said, reaching out my hand.

He looked at me frozen with big eyes for several seconds. His open mouth shocked me.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"My love" I shouted as I threw myself into his arms.

"(Y/N) I told you not to call me like that in front of others..." he said. "I'm glad to see you darling" he whispered.

I parted from his arms to say hello to Mycroft, I have known him as long as Sherlock has and in truth it is because of him that I am married today, he has allowed me to meet Sherlock. The discussion went on, I got to know John in particular, I may have heard a lot about him but I never got to know him personally, in conclusion he is a very nice man and I am very happy that he is here to help my husband.

"How can a person like her be married to Satan, she is so nice to everyone? And just how long has he been married?!"

"John, I'm not Satan, he's a biblical entity which I'm not, I thought you knew that."

"Of course I know, Sherlock. I'm not stupid."

"It's true what you said is a bit far-fetched, Dr. Watson."

"Seriously Mycroft, personally I think "Sherlock" and "Satan" mean the same thing."

[missdaviswrites]

13--Family

Sherlock was sitting quietly in the kitchen, drinking tea and minding his own business while he waited for John to come downstairs with Rosie, when he was rudely interrupted by Mrs. Hudson. She let herself into the flat, as usual, calling out to announce herself and then strolling right into the kitchen.

"Oh, Sherlock, good! I was hoping you'd be awake."

"Why?" He wrinkled his nose at her—she wasn't holding any baked goods, even though she'd made Christmas stollen yesterday.

She was, however, holding a folded-up newspaper, one of the gossip tabloids that she enjoyed so much; she was clutching it to her chest, as if hugging it. "Now, I know what you're probably going to say when you see this, but there's just the most precious photograph in today's paper."

"Hm. Precious. Is it a pile of diamonds and gold, or a kitten?" He picked up his cup of tea again, prepared to tune her out.

She giggled and then stuck the newspaper in front of him. "Go on, take it."

He put his tea back down and plucked the paper from her hands, deducing that the quickest way to get her to stop bothering him would be to humor her. "What am I looking for?"

"Oh, you'll know it when you see it." She giggled again.

Sherlock sighed and moved his tea cup so he could spread the paper on the table, then began turning pages, only half-looking at them. Until— "What...how?" The photo was in full color, apparently snapped last evening when he and John had taken Rosie out for a stroll after dinner. Sherlock was holding her on one hip, a smile on his face as he pointed to something out of the shot—Christmas lights, lit up in every color of the rainbow, he recalled. One of Rosie's arms was in the air, too, waving in delight at the sight, while her other hand clutched tightly at his coat sleeve. John was next to them, an arm around Sherlock's waist, looking not at the lights but at Sherlock and Rosie, his expression unguarded and warm.

"Read what it says!" Mrs. Hudson said.

"I am." The caption beneath the photo was ridiculous, clearly pandering to the paper's audience of women of Mrs. Hudson's age. Famously Furious Detective Sherlock Holmes lets his softer side show in the company of his partner, Dr. John Watson, and daughter, Rosie, 2. "Famously furious? What does that even mean? And softer side? This is libel."

"No, it's magnificent!"

Sherlock sneered in disgust. At least it was buried inside the paper, further than he hoped most people would bother to read. He slid it away from himself so he could return to his tea. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would go get her homemade stollen for him, now that he'd looked at that preposterous photo. Before he could ask, he felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his dressing gown. A text alert he recognized but rarely heard. He frowned and pulled the phone out—yes, it was a text from Mummy. He tapped it to open and was greeted with an image of the same newspaper photo, along with a message: Wanted to make sure you saw this, Sherlock.

"Oh, God," he said aloud, and then his phone buzzed again. Do you think if I call the paper, they would send me a copy of the photo? I'd like at least a 10x8, for the wall in the front living room. Sherlock put his phone face down on the table and sighed in frustration.

Fortunately, John chose that moment to come down the stairs; Sherlock could hear Rosie babbling to him, still excited about the "wights" she had seen last night. He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her as John carried her into the kitchen. "Good morning little rosebud. Are you ready for some breakfast? I think Mrs. Hudson has some Christmas stollen that you would enjoy."

Mrs. Hudson failed to take the hint. "John, you have to see what was in the paper this morning. It's the most beautiful photo of the three of you together." She put her hands out for Rosie, who happily let herself be passed off.

Once she was out of his arms, John rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, then leaned over to look at the photograph. He didn't say anything, but Sherlock saw his sleepy morning look clear up into a genuine smile.

Sherlock huffed. "The picture may be acceptable, but whoever wrote the caption couldn't even be bothered to accurately identify whose daughter she is."

"You're right." John stepped closer and settled his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "It should read 'their daughter, Rosie'."

Sherlock inhaled before he could stop himself. John should know better than to be so sappy in front of...well, he supposed it was fine if Mrs. Hudson saw. He brushed his hand over John's and then reached to relieve Mrs. Hudson of Rosie, who had begun to squirm.

"Sh'wock!" Rosie announced, and threw herself into his arms. He tried to lower her to the floor—she could certainly walk when she wanted to—but she wrapped her small arms around his neck, her head butting against his chin. "Sh'wock," she said again, more softly this time, and he exhaled against her hair. Maybe having the photo appear in the newspaper wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Rosie might enjoy having a copy of it when she was older. As long as the general public didn't start to believe that nonsense that said he had a softer side.

__________________________________

Read all the ficlets here: So This Is Christmas

[mxsinistir]

Photogenic pt. 2 (Sherlock x Irene)

-Not Requested-

Part 1 

Summary: Model AU! Irene Adler arrives at Baker Street Studio, preparing and beginning for her photo shoot with the infamous photographer, Sherlock Holmes. And she is making it very clear that she likes photos . . . and photographers. 

Warnings: n/a

Word Count: 1,471

“Was that the doorbell?”John perked up, “That’s her then? Our new Woman?” as he ran downstairs to beat Mycroft to the door. It went without saying that Mycroft didn’t run in turn. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes dismissively, his feet kicked up over the arm of his seat and his laptop screen filled with the same photos of Sally Donavan that he’d been staring at all night in hopes to edit away the flaws that Molly could not wash away with her magic. But as the door to Baker Street Studio croaked open, the photographer said a quiet goodbye to any semblance of quiet for the coming day. 

“Miss Adler,” Mycroft greeted her, from the sounds of it, muttering something to her - and probably a talent agent or whoever she would have probably brought along - as he led her upstairs. “Sherlock, get up and introduce yourself.” His older brother scolded under his breath, ashamed that he had to make that statement in front of other adults. 

Sherlock groaned audibly, to Mycroft’s complete embarrassment, but reluctantly tossed himself onto his bare feet. The Baker Street producer cringed out of Irene’s sight. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” he introduced himself, straightening his back and extending a long-fingered hand. “I’ll be your photographer.”

“Yes, I’ve been told.” If he hadn’t been so utterly exhausted from his previous all-nighter, he may have noticed how alluring her voice was. “I saw your work with Mary Morstan last month. You make her look stunning.”

“Credit goes to our makeup artist on that front.” He at least gave credit to Molly when credit was due. “Speaking of which - if we’re done with introductions - Molly will get you started.”

The ginger woman glanced up from arranging the products on her vanity, “Did you come with a bare face?”

“I have a base coat on,” Irene mentioned, “Nothing I wipe can’t clear for you. I wouldn’t want to arrive here looking like an utter wreck, now would I?” Molly and Irene laughed away.

“Well, while you girls handle that: Kate, you and Anthea get together and discuss whatever you need to. Make sure we’re all on the same page with Moriarty as well.” Mycroft addressed his assistant, as well as Kate, Irene’s talent agent. “While that’s happening; you take a nap, Sherlock.”

“No, I need to set up. I-”

“I’ll handle that. John, how’s the written part looking?”

“With how she looks in pictures? No one’s going to be able to look away long enough to read this.” John drooled, but Mycroft’s flat demeanour quickly pulled him back to business-mode. “I mean, it’s coming along. I’ll get with PR sometime today.” “Sooner rather than later, Watson. Tell Eurus to announce our collaboration with Moriarty on Social Media before she talks to any real News people.” 

The conversations about foundation colour and social media strategy faded into the background. Sherlock had moved his laptop onto the table after saving the changes he’d made to them, and curled into a fetal position with his curly head rested on the arm of the seat. 

When the photographer finally stirred, he found that it was not Mycroft who had woken him up - it was Irene Adler, wearing a smirk and practically nothing else. He wondered why he wasn’t in the dressing room - and then realized that she was fresh out of it. 

Moriarty’s new line was a bit more revealing than Mycroft had informed him. 

“Molly, her lips.” He couldn’t think of any way to address her, so he immediately turned away from the gaze of new muse and sought harbour from more familiar ones. “They look small. You’ve underlined them.” “Sherlock, you can critique my job whenever you get a degree in this.” The makeup artist and the photographer - gods of the aesthetic of their studio’s focus - certainly weren’t unfamiliar with the friendly bickering that came with an unfamiliar face.

“Miss Hooper, I might agree with the photographer.” Kate piped up, looking away from whatever she was discussing with Anthea at the table behind the set. “Save the colour you used; try something lighter for this outfit.”

“Now, Kate,” Irene huffed, “I don’t do light lipstick.” She said, the matte crimson pulling across her smirk. Sherlock clapped his hands and sought the attention of those debating over the model’s shade of mouth. 

“I was a desaturated colour of what you have on her,” Sherlock demanded, “I think I’ll play with low lighting; John, help me set up a grey background.” 

“Do you want the fan?” John inquired, pointing to his own, un-intentional windswept hair. 

“Possibly,” Sherlock considered, “Let me get used to how she photographs before we try anything with her hair.” 

“How does she look now?” Molly spun Irene around in that high chair of hers. The vanity lights cascaded over porcelain skin and spun itself through the deep brown entanglement of her hair.

“Stunning.”  Sherlock breathed, “Utterly magnificent. You really do work wonders, Molly. Now, set it exactly how it is and let’s begin.”

Sherlock Holmes - with the help of John - set up their set, lights, and camera. Irene stepped onto the Baker Street set as if it were a red carpet that she’d practically walked grooves into. 

She was a natural.

Sally Donavan, though gifted with beauty, did not stand against the force of nature that was Irene Adler. Her trained smirk, her still poses. The way she twisted in the light for a camera angle without Sherlock uttering a word to her. The day, it seemed, would flow by. 

Except she was simply too good. 

At first, he wrote it off as a habit for her; after all, she’d worked in a BDSM magazine. (Or still was, actually). It was to be expected that it would carry over; stretching to expose her neck, to display the full flesh of her bosom, the desirable curves that Moriarty’s textiles made no effort in hiding. 

See-through grey lace, puckered matte lips, collarbones jutting through the transparency of her clothes. 

“I think I’ve found the right one.” Sherlock would say that only when he was sure that he had a thousand “right ones”. And then, like clockwork, Kate would help zip her up in another piece, Molly would touch up the colours of her matching face, and John would stare obviously from behind set as she pranced back in front of Sherlock’s camera. 

Nothing, Sherlock thought, could be worse than the way that grey dress fit his model. The black was worse; the cocktail dress and the tailored crop jacket. 

The green gown that dipped to her ankles and sank her neckline far below her chest.

The thick white cloth that would have been conservative if it weren’t for the way that Irene pulled attention to those blood red lips that Molly had equipped her with. Sherlock wondered if having Molly decide on a different shade would have made his job more bearable. 

“Now, I know we didn’t take a long break for lunch-” Mycroft announced, because what else would the manager care about? “But I think it’s time for us to wrap up for the day.”

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” Irene approached him, kicking off the white heels that surely hurt like hell. “I can’t thank you enough for spending your time on this photo shoot.” “Thank Mycroft, he tells me what to do.”

“Regardless, I hope we get to do this again.”

“With actual clothes on, I presume?” “Moriarty is an artist.” “They all say that.”

“Minimalism is the new sexy.” 

“Nudity has been sexy since the beginning of human evolution,” He picked up her bag for her, “Good night, Miss Adler.” 

“Oh, you’re funny. I think that’s what made this fun.” “Standing in the light in half-clothes all day?” The taller man’s blue eyes rolled in sarcasm. “Yes, sounds like a party.” “It’s always fun when I like the photos,” She leaned in close; so close that he wondered if she’d leave that damned red lipstick smeared over the shell of his red-flushed ear. “And when I like the photographers.” The fact that it was too quiet for anybody else to hear made it worse for him, but not for her. She smiled and only ended her torture of the man to turn her attention to Mycroft. 

“I do hope you enjoyed this, everyone.” He looked between Kate and Anthea. “We’ve received word from Moriarty’s staff . . . this shoot may last a little longer than intended.” No no - this was always intended to be a one-day shoot. Two at most. 

“How long?” Sherlock and Irene demanded at once.

“I hope you all will get used to treating Irene and Kate like members of Baker Street.” Mycroft clasped his hands in front of him, “Because they’ll be working with us for another month.” 

[smoljohnlock]

THE FINAL PROBLEM (PART 1)

“May be the hardest case of your career” 

1. THE GREAT GAME

JIM: D’you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock, to you? SHERLOCK: Oh, let me guess: I get killed. JIM: Kill you? N-no, don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway some day. I don’t wanna rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you. I’ll burn the heart out of you. SHERLOCK: I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one. JIM: But we both know that’s not quite true.

2. A SCANDAL IN BELGRAVIA

Making Sherlock aware of John’s feelings for him & making John jealous. So The Fall will have a bigger emotional impact on them.

IRENE: And somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too.

IRENE: The key-code to my safe. JOHN: What was it? IRENE: Shall I tell him? My measurements.

You quote the whole episode but the Battersea scene is the key here (the conversation between John and Irene which Sherlock eavesdrops)

SHERLOCK: Oh, you’re rather good. IRENE: You’re not so bad.   JOHN: John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names.

(Sherlock’s monologue shows him opinion on love at that point but it’ll also be important later on) SHERLOCK: I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for but you just couldn’t resist it, could you?  I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage... Thank you for the final proof. 

3. THE REICHENBACH FALL

SHERLOCK: So how’re you going to do it ... burn me?  JIM: Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet? What’s the final problem? I did tell you... but did you listen? How hard do you find it, having to say “I don’t know”?   SHERLOCK: I don’t know.  JIM: Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; awfully clever. 

Okay, let’s stop here for a minute... Sherlock geniuely didn’t know what The Final Problem was, and he didn’t even get it on the roof (SH to Jim: I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn.), distracted by the ‘code’ and Jim’s fairytale stories. The suicide was exactly what Moriarty wanted, because TFP was all about the consequences of Sherlock’s ‘death’.

“What’s the final problem? I did tell you... but did you listen?”

Back to TGG:  I’ll burn the heart out of you. SHERLOCK: I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one. JIM: But we both know that’s not quite true.

The heart is John Watson. Jim’s (or Mycroft’s really, but I’m not gonna get into that here) plan was to break John. By ‘killing’ himself Sherlock saved his friends. But.. did he really?

JOHN:  You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. There were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There. I was so alone, and I owe you so much. No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t ... be ... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. (He gestures down at the grave.) Stop this.

4. THE EMPTY HEARSE & THE SIGN OF 3

John trapped in an unhappy relationship with Mary, pining for Sherlock

I’ll burn the heart of out you... literally.

MARY: Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him? SHERLOCK: Okay, John, I’m suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of an apology. JOHN (in a whisper): Two years. I thought ... (He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock.) JOHN: I thought ... you were dead. Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that? How?

In TEH, Sherlock still hasn’t figured it out. He accuses John of overreacting and plays a trick on him to force forgiveness. Although the realization of all the pain he put John through starts to slowly sink in.

The wedding, both John and Sherlock pining for each other, Mary stands in the way. There’s no hope for Sherlock to be with John anymore, even though he wants to.

MRS HUDSON: I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad. 

(He walks through his bedroom to his wardrobe, where a morning suit is hanging from the open door. He looks at it.) SHERLOCK: Into battle.

SHERLOCK: Ah, that’s why he’s bouncing round him like a puppy. MARY: Oh, Sherlock! Neither of us were the first, you know.

MYCROFT: Oh, by the way, Sherlock – do you remember Redbeard? SHERLOCK: I’m not a child any more, Mycroft. MYCROFT: No, of course you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock. 

Just... the whole episode, It’s all p a i n

5. HIS LAST VOW

John’s just back from the honeymoon, already missing Sherlock. Sherlock finds relief in drugs, sells John a lie it was for a case. In TRF, Moriarty talks about pressure points, so does Magnussen in HLV.

MAGNUSSEN: Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes. The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you? But look how you care about John Watson. Your damsel in distress. JOHN: You put me in a fire... for leverage? MAGNUSSEN: Oh, I’d never let you burn, Doctor Watson. I had people standing by. MAGNUSSEN: I’m not a murderer ... unlike your wife.

(In S4, Mary is a mirror for Sherlock. If you think S3 is EMP as well, you could say Mary is a mirror here, as well)

Mary shoots Sherlock. Forwards or backwards? Backwards. So from now on, we’re going through everything that has happened before.

6 .THE ABOMINABLE BRIDE

This episode is extremely important, because Sherlock finally realises what’s The Final Problem, then S4 is solving it. 

In TAB, Sherlock tries to figure out how Moriarty survived and what happened on the roof. (Funny thing is, we’ve got three final problems in BBC Sherlock - TRF, TAB and TFP. Proof that it’s what Sherlock is still working on)

HOLMES: Gun in the mouth; a bullet through the brain; back of the head blown clean off. How could he survive?

Deep waters, going deeper into his mind (will be important in S4)

I shall have to go deep. Into What? Myself.

These are deep waters, Watson, deep waters. And I shall have to go deeper still.

You're in deep, Sherlock, deeper than you ever intended to be.

H: Still not awake, am I? Moriarty: Too deep, Sherlock, way too deep. Congratulations, you will be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.

MORIARTY: This is how we end, you and I. Always here, always together. HOLMES: You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty. I admire it. I concede it may be even be the equal of my own. MORIARTY: I’m touched. I’m honoured. HOLMES: But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice you’re going in the water short-arse. MORIARTY: Oh, you think you’re so big and strong, Sherlock! Not with me! I am your WEAKNESS! I keep you DOWN! Every time you STUMBLE, every time you FAIL, when you’re WEAK ...: I ... AM ... THERE! No. Don’t try to fight it. LIE BACK AND LOSE! Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn’t it? At the end, it’s always just you ... AND ME! WATSON: Professor, if you wouldn’t mind stepping away from my friend. I do believe he finds your attention a shade annoying. MORIARTY: That’s not fair. There’s two of you! WATSON: There’s always two of us. Don’t you read The Strand?

What’s different here is that John saves Sherlock, rather than Sherlock being like ‘alone protects me’. Sherlock should have trusted John in TRF. He finally gets it. And we get this beautiful moment:

HOLMES: Thank you, John. WATSON: Since when do you call me John? HOLMES: You’d be surprised. WATSON: No I wouldn’t.  Time you woke up, Sherlock. I’m a storyteller. I know when I’m in one. HOLMES: Of course. Of course you do, John. WATSON: So what’s he like? The other me, in the other place? HOLMES: Smarter than he looks. WATSON: Pretty damned smart, then. HOLMES (smiling): Pretty damned smart.

This is a huge turn, because from now in Sherlock will be aware of the consequences of TRF and what it did to John, then he’ll solve The Final Problem.

7. THE SIX THATCHERS

There are so many parallels in S4 not because the writers are ‘lazy’ but because Sherlock’s going ‘backwards’. Lemme bring a few lines from TAB: 1. MORIARTY: Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real. None of it. This is all in your mind. 2. MORIARTY: Doesn’t it remind you of another case? Hasn’t this all happened before? There’s nothing new under the sun. What was it?

Btw, I listed the deep waters quotes form TAB. Now think about water in S4.

S4 is just a cont. of TAB.

What’s important in S4 is that Mary is a Sherlock mirror.

MARY: My darling. I need to tell you this because you mustn’t hate me for going away. I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life. I’m not running. I promise you that. I just need to do this in my own way. but I don’t want you and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm. I’m sorry, my love. I know you’ll try to find me, but there is no point. Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate the roll of a dice. I need to move the target far, far away from you and Rosie, and then I’ll come back, my darling. I swear I will.

Isn’t it familiar...? Yes, this is a reference to Sherlock hiding after TRF. Many Happy Returns. Just replace ‘you and Sherlock’ with ‘you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade’.

MARY: I didn’t know what else to do. JOHN: You could have stayed. You could have talked to me. That’s what couples are supposed to do: work things through. MARY:  Yes, of course. JOHN: Mary, I may not be a very good man, but I think I’m a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time. MARY: All the time. You’re always a good man, John. I’ve never doubted that. You never judge; you never complain. I don’t deserve you.  All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that’s all.

Sherlock’s trying to untangle the mess he’s done.

SHERLOCK: What did you hear, Ajay? When you were a prisoner, what exactly did you hear? AJAY: What did I hear? Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo.  Ammo.

SHERLOCK: How’s your Latin, brother dear? MYCROFT: My Latin? SHERLOCK: Amo, amas, amat. MYCROFT: I love, you love, he loves.

Sherlock tortured by love/thinking of John when in Serbia...

NORBURY killed Sherlock Mary

SHERLOCK: If you ever think I’m becoming a bit full of myself, cocky or over-confident would you just say the word ‘Norbury’ to me, would you?

Wasn’t he cocky and over-confident on the roof? He definitely was and as it turned out, he had no idea what he was doing. Idk about you, but I’m amazed at the character development.

Sherlock Mary dies - and it breaks John.

Sherlock asks Ella for help: I need to know what to do about John.

He finds a CD - MISS ME? 

I’m giving you a case, Sherlock. When I’m gone – if I’m gone – I need you to do something for me. Save John Watson. Save him, Sherlock. Save him.

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

I’ll post the second part as soon as I have some free time & energy. Didn’t want to squeeze everything into one post, because it’s too long anyway. I didn’t reread it, so sorry for all the mistakes. Transcripts x

[dizzyscene]

tbh, the waterfall scene of The Abominable Bride is so so gay

--

Sherlock: Oh, I see. Still not awake, am I?

Moriarty: Too deep, Sherlock. Way too deep. Congratulations, you'll be the first man in history to be buried in his own mind palace.

Sherlock: The setting's a shade melodramatic, don't you think?

Moriarty: For you and me? Not at all.

Sherlock: What are you?

Moriarty: You know what I am. I'm Moriarty. The Napoleon of crime.

Sherlock: Moriarty is dead.

Moriarty: Not in your mind. I'll never be dead there. You once called your brain a hard drive. Well, say hello to the virus. This is how we end, you and I. Always here. Always together.

Sherlock: You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty. I admire it. I concede it may even be the equal of my own.

Moriarty: I'm touched... I'm honoured.

Sherlock: But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice, you're going in the water, short-arse.

Moriarty: *hiss*

*both grunting*

Moriarty: Oh, you think you're so big & strong, Sherlock? Not with me.

*more fighting*

Moriarty: I am your weakness! I keep you down! Every time you stumble, every time you fail! When you're weak! I-AM-THERE. No, don't try to fight it. Lie back and lose! Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn't it? At the end, it's always just you and me.

*John clears throat*

*cocks gun*

John: Professor, if you wouldn't mind stepping away from my friend, I do believe he finds your attention a shade annoying.

Moriarty: That's not fair, there's two of you.

John: There's always two of us. Don't you read "The Strand?" On your knees, Professor. Hands behind your head.

Sherlock: Thank you, John.

John: Since when do you call me John?

Sherlock: You'd be surprised.

John: No, I wouldn't. :) Time you woke up, Sherlock.

Sherlock: *looks*

John: I'm a storyteller, I know when I'm in one.

Sherlock: 'Course. Of course, you do, John.

John: So, what's he like? The other me, in the other place?

Sherlock: Smarter than he looks.

John: Pretty damn smart then.

Sherlock: Pretty damn smart.

Moriarty: Ugh, why don't you two just elope, for God's sake?

John: Impertinent.

Sherlock: Offensive.

John: Actually, would you mind?

Sherlock: Not at all.

*John kicks Moriarty off waterfall edge*

Moriarty: Ohhhhhh *fades*

John: It was my turn.

Sherlock: Quite so.

John: So how do you plan to wake up?

Sherlock: Ohh... I should think like this.. *walks to edge*

John: Are you sure?

Sherlock: Between you and me, John, I always survive the fall.

John: But how?

Sherlock: Elementary, my dear Watson.

*throws hat*

*spreads arms & jumps*

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

All Hallow’s Eve 1896

I would like to specifically gift this to @strangelock221b <3

               On a dark stormy night on All Hallow’s Eve, family and friends were gathered at the Watsons’ residence. Sherlock Holmes was in attendance but he did not care for social calls. He did, however enjoy the holiday. Everything about it reeled him in.

               “Holmes, I didn’t think you would make it,” John greeted him.

               “Yes, well, it is obviously important to you,” Sherlock replied flippantly. “Though I’d much rather be at home, I suppose it is a sacrifice I must make.”

               “Sherlock,” Mary smiled, “I have someone to intro—where did that girl go?” She looked around and spotted her. “I’ll only be a moment.”

               Molly Hooper slipped away from Mary, too nervous to approach the man she was to be introduced to.

               “Molly, dear, whatever is the matter?” Mary asked.

               “I know you think we would have a connection, but Mary, look at him,” Molly replied. “He is much too posh and looks extremely disinterested. Why ever would he even give me a passing glance?”

               “Now, now, I know Mister Holmes quite well, Molly. I think he would be very much interested in you. I would not attempt this arranged courting if I did not think you two were suitably matched,” Mary explained. “Come along and meet him. He can be abrasive at times, but I’ve seen him be sweet before.”

               “Okay,” she agreed meekly.

               “Ah, Lestrade, anything interesting come up?” Sherlock asked.

               “Surprisingly, no,” he replied, “though the night is still young.”

               “I hope I’m not interrupting,” Mary cut in.

               “Not at all,” Sherlock replied.

               “Well, as I was saying before, I would like to introduce you to my cousin, Margaret,” Mary encouraged Molly to approach him. Sherlock did well to keep his wits about him, as Miss Hooper was a vision in her pinstriped dress and black corset. She was about to open her mouth before he stopped her.

               “No, do not say a word,” Sherlock instructed. “Your name is Margaret, but you prefer Molly. You are, most impressively, a pathologist in training, soon to be starting at St. Bartholomew’s. Quite a magnificent feat considering how awful society is to women. You are above average in intelligence, quite close to being a genius; possibly a prodigy of your career field. You own a cat and will be staying here at the Watsons considering your father recently passed. Sorry for your loss, Miss…”

               “Hooper,” Molly provided. “That was quite amazing, Mister Holmes.”

               “Undoubtedly,” he remarked.

               “Would you care for a game of Halloween pudding?” Mary asked the both of them. They answered her simultaneously.

               “I do not believe in those superstitious frivolities.”

               “I’d love to!”

               “Actually, I suppose one game would not hurt,” Sherlock changed his mind. There was something about Molly that intrigued him. She was quite becoming, and though soft-spoken, had a confident strength about her.

               “Gather around all of you,” Mary announced. “We need three more people for Halloween pudding.” Miss Janine Hawkins, Mister Philip Anderson and Doctor Watson joined Sherlock and Molly in the sitting room. “Just to reiterate the rules, there are five objects hidden in this cake; a ring, a coin, a thimble, a button and a key. The first words spoken after the cake is cut are prophetic for the year. Each item has a different prophecy attached; marriage, wealth, becoming an old maid or bachelor, finding your true love and going on a journey. The oldest person playing has to cut the cake.”

               John stood and carefully cut the cake in five different slices and served a plate to each person including himself.

               “Interesting,” Sherlock spoke. Everyone looked at him, as he spoke the first words since the cake had been cut. So now, according to the rules, it was prophesized to be an interesting year.

               “I found my object,” Janine spoke up, holding a coin. “If it is to be true, I would love to have a cottage in Sussex.” Anderson ended up with the thimble, doomed to be a bachelor forever.

               “Well?” Mary asked Molly, “go on.”

               “It is just a game, Miss Hooper,” Sherlock encouraged. Molly picked out the glittering object and held a ring between her fingers.

               “Marriage,” she spoke in disbelief.

               “Ah, well, if the so-called prophecies of this inane game are to be true, I shall congratulate you now. Any upstanding gentleman would be lucky to have you,” Sherlock told her. Molly felt herself blush underneath his gaze. “I have a button in mine…what does that mean?”

               “You will meet your true love,” Molly answered.

               “Perhaps I already have,” he smiled. Mary was thrilled at how well Sherlock and Molly were getting along.

               “What journey could I possibly be going on?” John asked, holding up the key.

               “Perhaps a fantastical land with dragons and gollums,” Mary joked.

               Molly mingled with the other party guests as Sherlock stood on the sidelines, admiring her. She had a glow about her that made him want to kiss her. Her happiness and enthusiasm rubbed off on you even if you were in a foul mood beforehand. He left for the kitchen to have a drink with John, but when he came back to the sitting room, there was a new game being played. Sherlock joined the circle forming around Molly who was now blindfolded.

               “The Pickety Witch, the Pickety Witch; who’s got a kiss for the Pickety Witch?” She twirled around and her fingers came in contact with a pair of beautifully chiseled cheekbones. “You.” It was spoken in a whisper.

               Sherlock held still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Molly reached up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek but he turned his head last minute, their lips pressing together in sweet surrender.

               “Mm,” they sounded in unison, but quickly broke the kiss, realizing it was quite inappropriate to carry on for much longer. He watched as her breasts rose and fell with the heavy breaths she was taking. John, along with the rest of the guests, looked on in shock. Sherlock Holmes did not do romantic entanglements, but yet, here he was, obviously wanting to kiss her again. Mary had a smug smile on her face, as she knew those two were meant for one another. The crowd soon dispersed and moved on from the scene.

               “Thank you, Miss Hooper,” Sherlock spoke suddenly.

               “You are quite welcome,” Molly giggled. “Though there is no need to thank me, Mister Holmes.”

               “Oh?”

               “I very much wanted to kiss you,” she admitted. “I hope that is not too audacious of me.”

               “No, not at all, Miss—“

               “Molly; you can call me Molly,” she told him.

               “Well, Molly, shall we join the others for the ghost stories?” he asked.

               “I thought you did not believe in such things,” Molly pointed out.

               “I don’t, but you enjoy them, do you not?” Sherlock questioned rhetorically.

               “I do,” she answered.

               “Then we shall see if John would tell the one about a ghost case we were on,” he smiled.

               “Really? How fascinating!” Molly exclaimed. With a kiss on her cheek, Sherlock led her to the parlor room.

               “This is the story of The Abominable Bride,” John nodded towards Sherlock. “Holmes and I were approached by Detective Inspector Lestrade…” As he recounted the events, Molly was entranced by the story. The fact it was true intrigued her even more. Sherlock felt her grab for his hand when John talked about coming face to face with the bride.

               Afterwards, the musicians started up the music and Sherlock took Molly’s hand in his, silently asking her to dance. He found that she was very light on her feet, as he was. Sherlock was enamored by her.

               “You’re thinking too loudly, Mister Holmes,” Molly smirked. “What is it that has your mind in a tizzy?”

               “You,” he replied simply. “I have only spent one lovely evening with you, and yet, I am besotted with you. It is most illogical.”

               “What’s wrong with being a little illogical every now and then? I must say I feel the same way,” she told him.

               “May I kiss you again?” he asked, his face softened and he looked almost like a nervous puppy.

               “You may,” she answered, tilting her head up to meet his lips.

               Exactly a year later, Sherlock carried his new bride over the threshold of 221B, her arms around his neck. They were laughing together in between kisses as he continued on toward the bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed and kissed her firmly.

               “Welcome home, my darling,” he murmured as his lips trailed down to her neck. They lost themselves in each other for the night with immense passion. As he held her in his arms afterwards, her head on his chest, he asked her a question reminiscent of their first Halloween together.

               “Do I get a kiss from the pickety witch?” he smirked cheekily. Molly laughed softly before pressing her lips to his. Sherlock was in pure bliss with his wife. Thank heavens that John and Mary practically forced him to go to their party.

               “Guess what?” Molly asked.

               “Hm?”

               “Our prophecies came true,” she smiled. “I did get married.”

               “And I met my true love,” he added. They fell asleep quickly, peaceful in their slumber. All Hallow’s Eve would always be celebrated together now.    

Molly’s Dress

fanfiction.net | ao3

[oosteven-universe]

Sherlock Holmes in The Vanishing Man #01

Sherlock Holmes in The Vanishing Man #01 Dynamite Entertainment 2018 Written by Leah Moore & John Reppion Illustrated by Julius Ohta Coloured by Ellie Wright Lettered by Simon Bowland     Michael Williams is a family man. A reliable man at both work and home. When he disappears, there are no clues left behind. Now, it is up to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson to find out what happened to him and what danger may be lurking around every corner, in the case of The Vanishing Man!     I got excited when I saw this one on the shelf. Leah and John have written some amazing good and fun adventures featuring Sherlock and Moriarty over the years for Dynamite and I always know I am in for a good time. I also know that I can never try and second guess what they are going to do with these stories either since for all my vaunted intelligence, okay I say that about myself I know it’s a half truth but hey, I don’t see the ending ever playing out like I imagine it would. That is a huge part of the fun though trying to sleuth it out as we go along.     The opening is definitely something that captures the attention and of course would entirely coincide with the title of this case. I do like the fact that we as the reader see that he is being abducted so we know right off the bat that this isn’t simply a case of a man running off for some odd reason. Then of course it’s when he’s taken and how that really get the mind going. Right off the bat we’re looking at reasons why this man would be of significance to anyone.     The way they structure this book is so solid and has that flow to it that feels like a comfortable old recliner which envelops you and lulls your senses. Then there is the narration and if you haven’t had the distinct pleasure of reading one the adventures these two write then it’s a great jumping on point because you get a little history of the time and are introduced to our dynamic duo in a way that most will find familiar. Yes even with the remake as popular as it is holds similarity to the characters as does this. Though this Holmes is a bit more of rapscallion and doesn’t mind sending his Baker Street Irregulars off to get him his drugs.     At first I was a little taken aback by the interiors. I thought they looked different but soon I settled in and started seeing this really nice attention to detail and how Julius manipulates the weight of the linework to create subtle and bold lines. His utilisation of the page layouts and how we see the angles and perspective in the panels proves he’s got a good eye for storytelling. His rendition of the buildings and the streets bring both to life in very different ways but both make an impact nonetheless. I love the use of backgrounds here too and the way we see the pattern on the wallpaper is magnificent. Of course it doesn’t hurt that this version of Holmes is also a strikingly handsome fella.     A bored Sherlock Holmes is one who is wont to be high as a kite. So as usual the voice of reason in Dr. Watson pulls him from his funk though this time he has a little help. I love the banter, the dialogue and the way it all puts the characterisation through their paces. It’s wonderfully done and I feel like I am visiting with old friends who have been on holiday much too long. ​     The game as he says is afoot and it won’t be long before the myriad of aspects to this case collide and old friends, see enemies, rise up from the shadows once more.