#move over sherlock its time mycroft gets his own movie

[neonacidtrip]

No joke Mycroft Holmes founded a society where you’re not allowed to talk to each other. It’s called the Diogenes Club. It’s for “unclubable men”, meaning men who abhor social interaction or are just poor at it, that normal social clubs are nightmare! So it’s a location for people to just exist in silence and not have to engage with others with no judgement. And also comfy chairs and books. There is a game room but no talking allowed. I expect the complete silence but for the clicky clacky of billiards is very appealing to people.

He lives there, at the club. He leaves for work every morning where he looks over government finances and returns in the evening to his curated sensory safe room. He’s living his best life.

My gosh, that sounds like heaven. It's like he turned a library into a club. I'm in love

[sips---tea]

Filing // Mycroft x reader (smut)

Warning: smut (vanilla)

1154 words

You and Mycroft had decided to take the opportunity for him being home by spending some much needed time together, although you knew Mycroft could never have a day off as one call could pull him back to work.

You laid on your partner as you both watched a movie, it was his choice so it was some strange back and white cop movie which you found slightly boring. Instead, you ended up just listening, your face snuggled into Mycroft's chest.

The movie ended and you looked up at Mycroft. "When will you next have a day like this?" you asked, your hands moving further around him.

"I am not entirely sure" Mycroft said, moving to get up but you didn't move from your position making sure he could not get up. Mycroft raised his eyebrows and tutted slightly. "If you wish for me to find the date you must let me get up"

"You can get it later" you said. "I am warm and comfortable"

Mycroft sighed, one hand going to the top of your head and stroking your hair gently while another went to your hips. You sat there for a while, enjoying each other's company and how you held each other. It was nice for Mycroft, being usually touch starved.

You could tell something was up with Mycroft, he had shifted a little and you could feel something poking up through his trousers. You raised your eyebrows and Mycroft huffed. "Unavoidable my dear" he muttered, disliking his body and it’s natural inclinations.

"We have an opportunity" you murmured. "You are on holiday"

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and a small smile formed on his lips. One arm left your waist, checked his phone and placed his phone back down. He smiled, the hand lifting up your chin further, allowing him to press a long and gentle kiss against your lips. You kissed back and smiled into his lips as he turned you over with his body so that he lay on top.

Your lips left each other's and you grinned up at Mycroft who's lips soon returned to yours.

One hand went up to his waistcoat and unbuttoned it, pulling it off his shoulders. His hands went back again, this time to unbutton his shirt, letting it hang on his shoulders.

Lips left yours and Mycroft looked down at you, his forehead slightly furrowing as he reached down to your shirt, his hand slipping under and finding the edge of your bra.

"New" Mycroft commented.

"Yes new" you confirmed, catching his lips in yours with a quick kiss.

"I will be sure not to damage it" he murmured, pulling off your shirt and in turn the new bra, placing it carefully on the side. "It is rather fetching" he commented, tearing his eyes away from the bra and to your face.

With one hand he reached down and unzipped your trousers and saw your pants.

"Also new" he said, feeling the fabric between his fingers and thumb.

"Your eyes always catch everything" you say, reaching down to play with his fly. Mycroft's hands met yours and he batted them away, undoing his own trousers. He breathed heavily for a second and watched your face as he pushed inside you. Your breath hitched and you grabbed Mycroft's hand, squeezing it as he began thrusting in and out of you.

Mycroft's eyes stuck to your face. He usually did not like partaking in sex, not having the time or being slightly disgusted by it. However, when the time is right he will do it with you and it will both remind him why he does not enjoy it like a normal person does but also shows him that sometimes sex is worth it both for yours and his pleasure.

Mycroft panted above you, not used to the certain exercise his pace was faltering, but that was also due to the building pleasure which was almost ready to blow. You also were close, holding onto Mycroft's now Sweaty hand with yours like at any moment you would fall.

"Mycroft" you moaned, closing your eyes and breathing harder, Mycroft faltered slightly and you slowed your thrusts which you had been doing with him, one hand had been fiddling with your clit and increased its movements, accommodating for how he slowed.

"I love you dearly (y/n)" he murmured.

"I love you also" you said back, feeling Mycroft orgasm into you, you groaned, laying your head back as your own pleasure filled your body, together you held each other, a moaning mess together. Suddenly the phone went, bringing you both out from your highs. Immediately Mycroft went for it, the man still inside you as he answered.

"yes? What, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, he was still panting from the sex and his throbbing member was still nuzzled inside you.

"Why are you out of breath?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft looked down at you. "Filing" he sighed. "What do you want?"

"I need your answer Mycroft, as a matter of urgency"

"Ansswer?" he asked impatiently, Mycroft wanted to get back to you, the usual after sex treatment was cuddling until you both felt the need for sustenance.

"Even at the eleventh hour, it's not too late, you know." Sherlock said.

"Oh" you both groaned.

"Cars can be ordered, private jets commandeered." Sherlock carried on saying.

"It is today" you murmured as Mycroft said the same thing down the phone. "No Sherlock I will not be coming to the night-do" Mycroft carried on "as you so poetically put it" you pouted slightly, a night-do sounded rather fun, especially as it was the wedding of John and Mary.

"What a shame, Mary and John will be extremely""Delighted not to have me hanging around" Mycroft interrupted.

"Oh, I don't know. There should always be a spectre at the feast, and I am sure that (y/n) would love to mingle with at least one human today" Sherlock said. Mycroft huffed. "I should let you and (y/n) get back to it then" he chuckled. "I cannot wait to meet my new niece or nephew" and at that, the phone was put down.

Mycroft placed it down on the side and got out of you, and laid down on the bed, sighing loudly.

"It would be fun to go" you promoted, slightly pouting.

Mycroft looked at you out of the corner of his eye. "Now really (y/n)" he muttered. "I do not mingle and do not do well in parties" he turned up his nose at this and faced you, shaking his head.

"Not even for an hour?" you asked.

Mycroft frowned and rolled his eyes. "If you must" he muttered. "But we shall be there only for only thirty minutes, you are lucky that the wedding is close"

"An hour" you bargained.

"forty minutes"

"forty-five"

"Fine dearest" Mycroft said, slowly standing. "However if you get drunk on their cheap alcohol you will only have yourself to blame"

[possiblyimbiassed]

The lying liars who lie

Years and years late to the party, I’ve finally gotten my hands on all the DVDs of BBC Sherlock, and I thought it would be fun to watch the extra material carefully, one piece after another, and also listen to at least some of the show makers’ commentary of the episodes. But at this point, after S4 where DVDs seemed to be a constant lying device in general, I tend to look at them with a bit more suspicious eyes...

I still love the show of course, but now that I’ve taken this deep dive into all the special features, I find them a truly hard thing to try to wrap my head around. Even this long after the fact, I’m amazed by the amount of shameless, self-congratulatory BS in the DVDs, where the people involved can’t have enough of complimenting each other and their show, while they skillfully avoid to discuss anything actually meaningful about the plot line. ;) For example, Moffat claims in the S2 DVD that “In fact, you’ll never see a more obsessively authentic version of Sherlock Holmes than this one”. But if we follow their light-hearted commentary, which basically takes the show at face value, I’d call that not just hyperbole, but an outright lie. If you want to see the ‘authentic’ stories from ACD’s work in this show, you’ll definitely need to go much deeper into the subtext and meta levels - neither of which are mentioned on these DVDs of course. Here’s my own (rather subjective) ‘review’ of the whole thing, trying to pinpoint why I view most of the commentary of the show from its own makers as an advanced art of deception. 

(My musings under the cut)

Series 1 - a wealth of extra material

First of all - as many of you probably knew already - the whole of the Unaired Pilot is added to the DVD of S1. In the extra material about the making of the series, they (Sue Vertue, Mofftiss and others) talk about what things they changed between the Pilot and ASiP, claiming that many changes were necessary improvements once they knew that they had a whole series and a lot more time at their disposal. 

Which I can perfectly understand and agree with in general. But I think what’s missing in their discussions is more interesting than what’s actually there (”Mind the gap” ;) ). Things that I would expect from the show makers when they go to the trouble of comparing the pilot version with the aired product. There’s not a word, for example, about the fact that they added both Mycroft and Moriarty to the story in ASiP - two characters who later turn out to play major roles and appear in almost every other episode until the end of TFP. Or about the choice that one of the screenwriters would play Mycroft. 

Neither do they discuss why they chose to relocate the place where Sherlock was challenged by the cabbie from 221B to Roland Kerr’s School of Further Education. Instead they focus on the details, like for example the new design of the interior of 221B.

Not to mention the fact that almost every scene in the Pilot is mirrored in ASiP (as pointed out long ago by @kateis-cakeis X), but at Angelo’s in the Pilot Sherlock follows the events with the cabbie while looking in an actual mirror. I even noticed that in the Pilot the cabbie is offering Sherlock dark-coloured bottles with the pills in them, while in ASiP those bottles are transparent, as if the cabbie is offering Sherlock to play Black or White in the chess game that he is simulating. What’s with all these mirrors, though? Not a word on the DVD... ;)

Now, even though these rather remarkable choices are neglected together with a great bunch of minor ones, I still think that the most interesting fact about all this is that they actually included the whole pilot version within this DVD, which is sold by the franchise. Why even do this, when it raises far more questions than it answers? The only logical reason I can come up with is that they’re laying out a track of little hints that anyone with a deep enough interest in the show to actually buy the DVDs can try to follow. And it seems to me that lying by omission is one of the first steps in the long line of cryptic and misleading author comments on this show. But at the same time, they clearly want the fans to have access to it all, even the abandoned version.

Moving on to Series 2, time for bigger lies 

In the extra material of this DVD Benedict himself describes how his character "faces one of his deadliest enemies in the shape of Love, and it comes in the form of Irene Adler, who is this extraordinary dominatrix [insert here a bunch of superlatives regarding Adler]...”. And then we see how Adler whips Sherlock with a riding crop (without any kind of consent, I have to add) while he’s lying on the floor, and we have Lara Pulver telling us how it was to have a go at Benedict on set. So Holmes whips dead bodies and Adler whips living; seems like a match made in hell! :))

Gatiss claims, grinning with his whole face, that “they’re clearly, absolutely made for each other”. OK, so I think we can see Sherlock being intellectually impressed by Adler, and even trying to protect her from Mycroft, and we can see John acting jealously. We can also see her being dressed and styled as a perfect, female mirror of Sherlock. But I’m still at a loss what all this has to do with love on Sherlock’s part? Especially since he’s not even responding in any fashion to her various attempts at seducing him. 

And there’s more: Paul McGuigan, the director of ASiB, claims that the scene where Sherlock has a conversation with Adler inside his Mind Palace about the crime case with the car that backfires "is a part of a kind of love story, if you like...” No, I don’t. Maybe it’s just me, but if their aim really was to convey to their audience a love story between Sherlock and The Woman, I think they failed miserably. All I see is a guy ’mansplaining’ to a clever woman how to use her brain, while she’s trying to flirt with him by expressing her admiration (to no avail, though) and make deductions at the same time. Nothing new under the sun, really. John did the same thing repeatedly in ASiP (without making own deductions) and got far more attention from Sherlock, but I’ve never heard any of the show makers call that ”a love story”. But by ’lie-splaining’ the scene with Irene to the audience, they try to manipulate us all to see it as such...

In all the direct commentary of this episode, where Steven, Mark, Sue, Benedict and Lara are present, I get the impression that every time they even touch on the relationship between Sherlock and John, they hurry to add the term “friendship” or “man love” or similar words in case they forgot them at first, avoiding even the tiniest possibility that there could be anything more going on between them. They even explain that when Irene calls them “a couple” she does not mean anything romantic. This whole approach feels almost paranoic in the midst of all the laid-back jokes and light-hearted talk about the filming. It’s as if a sort of restrictive, heteronormative filter or blanket is being constantly applied, to teach the audience the ‘no homo’ lesson of it all. And the more I listen to this, the more tiresome it becomes.

In the commentary Moffat does reveal an interesting detail, though: that the ‘Flight of the Dead’ in ASiB was inspired by a cut out scene in the Bond movie On Her Majesty's Secret Service. To me this is just one more reason to question the ‘authentic’ quality of this scene, as opposed to possibly taking place in Sherlock’s Mind Palace. But I digress... 

Listening to the commentary in general, it’s like it’s aimed to distract the attention from what’s going on at the screen rather than highlight it and try to explain their intentions. They do mention that Irene didn’t actually ‘beat’ Sherlock in the end of ASiB, but there’s no explanation of this obvious deviation from canon, where Adler does indeed fool Holmes, taking advantage of his prejudices.

The rest of the extra material of S2 is mostly about technical stuff, special effects and such, and also about filming techniques and Benedict’s delivery of fast deductions. But the part I really do love is the one where Andrew Scott talks about how much he enjoyed playing the scene where Moriarty dances before breaking into the Crown Jewels. That’s one of my favorite scenes of he whole show. :) Also, the takeaway message from this DVD is Moffat’s words at the end: 

“These are still the formative years of Sherlock Holmes, and the most important thing about this series is not that it’s updated; it’s the fact that those two men are still young and they’re still at the beginning of what they don’t yet know is gonna be a lifelong partnership”. 

And then comes Series 3... 

...and its extra material, with the most blatant attempts at deception so far, I believe. At this point Sherlock is called a “psychopath” by both the show’s characters, John’s blog, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman as if it were true, which is a big deviation from ACD canon. That simply doesn’t happen there; while Holmes is sometimes described as eccentric, no one in the books is ever claiming that Sherlock Holmes has some kind of mental illness leaning towards cruelty and egotism - not even his enemies say this about him. In the show, however, they begin in ASiP with making him torture a dying man for information (something that is not included in the Pilot). And in S3, where they avoid discussing the reason why they turned Mary Morstan into a ruthless assassin, this major shift is glossed over by the fact that in the same episode (HLV) they also turn Sherlock into a murderer, who cold-bloodedly blows the brains out of a blackmailer for threatening to make said assassin’s crimes public. 

But without ever getting into the “why” of it all, the cast and crew seem overly happy and smiling describing these rather morbid choices as something positive; “fantastic”, "fresh and new” and "amazing” are their choice of words. Benedict claims that Mary, who has literally shot and almost killed Sherlock in HLV, is now "a new best friend of Sherlock’s”. Amanda claims that Mary “is protecting John” when she shoots Sherlock in the chest. Now they’re both psychopaths, and poor little John is forced to stomach them both because he’s addicted to danger. In Amanda’s words, Mary also “kind of gets in between the two of them, but she wants them to be together as well”.  Which is a load of BS considering that Mary tries to kill the protagonist of the story.

Lars Mikkelsen thinks it’s “such a good script” because “you’re mislead as an audience”. But he never gets the chance to expand on what the misleading actually contains, because then Mofftiss cut in to express how much they love playing with “what ifs”. As if this whole mega-budget project of a show were just a big experimental playground without any actual story to tell. 

Benedict repeats his line from HLV that Magnussen “preys on people who are different” and Moffat also says he “exploits people who are different”. Which is really confusing, considering what we can see Magnussen actually do in the show. Lady Smallwood and John Garvie are two well-established, powerful governmental politicians whom Magnussen blackmails by finding their respective pressure points. In Garvie’s case his pressure point seems to be alcohol problems in his past, but according to media he’s later arrested on charges of corruption. Lady Smallwood is blackmailed on the basis of her husband having sent compromising letters to a minor many years ago, in spite of later claiming that he thought she was older and stopped when he found out the truth. And then Magnussen is blackmailing an assassin who recently threatened to execute him but shot Sherlock Holmes instead, in order to try to get at Sherlock’s brother Mycroft, another powerful governmental figure. 

But what does media seeking out dirt on certain people in power and their families have to do with “people who are different”? Despicable as the method may be, isn’t this unfortunately how political power play usually works in our society? Or are TPTB somehow a repressed minority group now? Unless this whole “people who are different” accusation is actually about something entirely different, something that none of the show makers even cares to mention... ;)

In these DVDs, none of the involved persons is ever discussing the change of roles with regards to canon, though, or the (lack of) logics in this turn of events, or even a hint about the narrative motivation behind them. It’s all about the great Drama, the extraordinary visual effects and the aim to endlessly “surprise the audience”. Which is fine by me to a certain extent, but when this is all that’s being said, it feels extremely superficial, as if the audience is merely seen as a bunch of consumers that have to be triggered more and more by horror, special effects and cliff hangers to be able to appreciate the show. (“Warm paste” indeed, like Gatiss has later criticized some viewers of wanting...) While the "why”; the idea behind this surrealistic adaptation, made by self-proclaimed fanboys of ACD, is not even touched upon. Around this, the silence is total and therefore totally confusing.

Maybe I shouldn’t even go into Series 4...

...but why not, since I’ve already started? :) 

First of all, there’s a lot of extra material on this DVD and I particularly love the parts about the music and composing and Arwel Wyn Jones’ work with the design and build-up of John’s and Mary’s flat and the interior of 221B. Those bits are truly enjoyable. What I could live without, though, is the leading commentary that kind of instructs us, the audience, how we should interpret the show. 

Benedict is on it again on this DVD, telling us that in TST they picked up where they left off in S3 and “It’s a very happy unit of three people that then become four.” Why does he feel the need to make this statement, considering how S3 ended? Actually, if there’s anything I totally fail to see in S4, it’s happiness. The banter between the three  of them may seem entertaining for a while, but who could have a relaxed, warm relationship with someone who tried and almost succeeded to kill you less than a year ago? Without any sign of remorse? Now there’s a dark tone of discomfort and mean jokes that feels forced and not even a bit happy to me. 

But Martin tells us how excited John and Mary are about starting a family and Amanda mentions how much they’re looking forward to the baby. Again and again it’s repeated, as though trying to rub it in: “they’re in a good place, they’re a loving, married couple”. Yeah, right - a child that (judging by TSoT) wasn’t at all planned and now with an assassin for a mother... Twice we see the new parents complain that their daughter has the mark of Satan on her forehead and debate which horror movie she’s from. The clichéd hypocrisy of it all is sickening, and I’m willing to bet that it’s really meant to be. ;) 

But Gatiss chimes in, deciding for us all that the christening of Rosie is “a funny scene” and “they’re enjoying each other, enjoying being on adventures as a three”.

An interesting detail is that Gatiss also tells us that the working name of this episode was “The Adventure of the Melting power Ranger”. So this little blue guy was that important? :) And - even more interesting - is when he says: “Cake is now the code for violent death”. So how should we interpret Sherlock, John and Molly going out to have cake in TLD then, on Sherlock’s (supposed) birthday? 

These might be jokes, though, but when they tell us that Sue cries every time she sees Mary’s death I strongly believe they must be joking. How could anyone feel truly moved by this overly sentimental long monologue where far more efforts are put into reacting to Mary’s speech than saving her life? And John’s mooing like a cow, is that also moving? :)

One thing Martin says about TLD that actually disgusts me is regarding the morgue scene where John assaults Sherlock and Sherlock lets it happen: “From there, really, their relationship can only sort of rebuild, that’s the absolute worst it can get”. As if outright physical abuse would be something that makes you want to rebuild a relationship? Wow - just wow... How far can they go with this crap?

Anyway, when we finally arrive at the absurdity of TFP and Sherlock’s ‘secret sister’, everything is of course discussed as if she actually does exist on the given premises, and everything she does is ‘real’, no matter how impossible it would be in real life. The abandonment of any attempt to have the story line make logical sense is skillfully covered up by more distraction with fascinating technicalities of the film making process. This is where Gatiss makes his now almost classic statement that after Sherlock and John jump out of the window at 221B when a grenade explodes there, it’s just “Boop! And they’re fine.” 

Of course there’s no serious attempt at explaining this logically. Except perhaps Gatiss claiming that they both landed on Speedy’s awning - whatever good that would do to them, since the awning is leaning downwards, but never mind... But we never even saw that happen, did we? A great deal of time is then dedicated to show all the precautions to have Martin and Ben jumping safely at low level onto a madras supported by empty cardboard boxes.

Sian Brooke did say something interesting about Sherrinford, however, that got me thinking. She said that Eurus “wants revenge for the years and years that she has been held captive” there, isolated, and that in TFP the Holmes children are now “lab rats” and “it’s an experiment”. On a meta level, I think we can indeed see this episode - and maybe the whole show - as a kind of experiment, but maybe we, the audience, are also lab rats? Since Sherrinford is slightly shaped like a film camera (not commented in the extra material, of course), it leads my thought to all the adaptations through the years and years where Holmes and Watson have not been allowed to be together. A whole century when Sherlock Holmes has been held captive, restricted by the very same sort of heteronormative filter that all this extra material imposes; it’s like Sherrinford, isn’t it? Which gives all the more meaning to Moriarty’s arrival to the island, accompanied by Freddy Mercury’s “I want to break free”...

I think I’ll let the final words in this little exposé come from Mark Gatiss in The Writers’ Chat (my bolding):

“Moriarty is a fascinating thing in that in our sea of ongoing lies, one thing we’ve genuinely been completely consistent about is telling people he’s dead. But no-one believes it! And it’s a rather brilliant thing.”  Again - self-congratulatory statements. But instead of providing some actual evidence of the death of this character, who has kept popping up in almost every episode since his supposed demise, they think that the more a confirmed liar repeats something, the truer it gets? And the more we’re supposed to believe them? Well, all we can do is wait and see. :)

Tagging some people who might be interested: 

@raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @sarahthecoat​ @gosherlocked​ @lukessense​ @sagestreet​ @thepersianslipper​

My earlier meta on a similar topic (X)

[malereader-inserts]

Something Worthwhile

Fandom: BBC Sherlock Pairing: Mycroft Holmes & Brother!Reader & Sherlock Holmes Summary: It’s hard being a Holmes sometimes, especially when you’re alone Word Count: 1,470 Request:��Holmes brother who is having difficulties fitting in with his two smart, intelligent and brilliant brothers. He feels left out and alone and ends up isolating himself further. Somehow John is the only one who notices this but Sherlock and Mycroft dont believe him because they dont think a Holmes brother is capable of such feelings so John has to properly lecture them on feelings and stuff and then they search for reader and help him out of the slums. Sorry if this is too long A/n: Y’all be linking brotherly holmes stuff.

“I could be greater.”

John looks at you, at the doorway, watching you stretch your back, moving boxes surrounding you. You get out a groan at the sweet release of stress leaving your tense muscle, clicking parts of your body as John just stares at you.

He came to visit, check up on you, you had been awfully quiet for a while and he got worried. What he had not expected to see you packing your belonging to move houses. 

“What?” He looks at you confused as you looked at him, a smile but it wasn’t comforting.

It was a smile of tiredness, you shrugged your shoulders.

“I could be greater, you know? Compared to Sherlock and Mycroft, I could be painfully greater.”

“You’re already great.”

“Are you sure? I can hardly keep up with Sherlock and Mycroft, one of them is one of the greatest detectives and the other one is working with the Government. And me?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “I’m not as great as them.”

“So, you’re moving?”

“Uh, isn’t that obvious?”

John looks around, you’re a lot human, easier to relate to as a Holmes. But, he understands to be the odd one out. He can’t fault you for feeling that. He asks you if you need help, you smile and shake your head, waving he off. John tells you that he’s off, if you ever need him he’s only a phone call away - you looked grateful for that.

After that, he doesn’t see you or hear from you. He goes to check your old apartment, it’s cleared out, empty almost as if it’s getting ready to get renovated. It was abandoned and the warmth you gave the house, was washed away. John doesn’t know what you’re thinking, but you’ve disappeared.

It worries John.

You hated your brothers, just as much as you love them. They were ahead of the game, ahead of life. They’re producing such brilliant works, but you were left behind. You were three steps ahead of the game but your brothers were nine steps ahead. You were walking with life, whilst your brothers are running past it. You could never be your brothers, and it was hard for you to understand that.

Your mother and father have had high expectations after both Mycroft and Sherlock being ahead of their classes, they expected you to be the same. But, you weren’t. You were top of the class, but that hardly meant anything to them. It got tiring to try to keep up with them.

So, you found yourself a place, across London, furthest away from Sherlock’s apartment. It was small but cosy, it was your safe space, plants everywhere, handing from the ceiling, all content in your loving presence. Your cat that lounges around the house currently draped over the back of the sofa. 

The living room was clashing with different colour, but you like that, it was vibrant, you don’t do dull things. If you’re going to take your time with life then you might as well think the world is in bright colours like an indie filter on Instagram. 

You have to romanticise your little life if it means to distract you from your brothers. That means thinking every time you cook, you have to believe you’re in a Studio Ghibli movie, where all the food looks mouth-watering.

You were happier, being away, isolating yourself away. 

It doesn’t settle well with John. 

So, when he had returned home from work and saw both Holmes brothers, he sat them down, his arms crossed over his chest looking angry at them. Though, to Sherlock that’s how John looks all the time. He gave them a good earful, even Mrs Hudson went upstairs to investigate what was happening. Even she gave her own opinion as well.

But, with both brothers, they took nothing in.

They look at them blankly.

“That’s not (Y/n),” Sherlock breaks the silence with a chuckle, a smile that could freak anyone out, but John was too pissed off with him that he wanted to punch it off.

“Yes, our brother is fine, but I do thank you for the concern,” Mycroft says politely as he flinches at John’s intense glare, “Anyway, (Y/n) doesn’t feel that, if he was, he would have told us.”

“Really?” John asked, scoffing, shaking his head with an unsettling chuckle that made both Holmes brother sit upright, “Why would he tell you what he’s feeling when you constantly dismissing him when he feels anything but confidence?”

“I-”

The brothers wanted to intervene, but this has ticked John off beyond belief. It had prompted him to rant to them that both brothers were afraid to interrupt because after all, John was making sense for once. For once, an average smart man was talking so intelligently that they felt like they were reduced to nothing.

“He tells you that his emotions have been overwhelming, you tell him to get over it. When he can barely get out of bed because he feels like the world is resting upon his shoulders you tell him to grow a thicker skin. When he cries, you tell him its a sign of weakness, he looks for his brothers for guidance but his brothers tell him to look for it himself.”

“John-”

“For God’s sake, he told me he was in therapy because he doesn’t want to tell you because you’d see him as a disappointment. He’s trying so hard and every achievement he does - it gets brushed under the rug. He thinks he has already disappointed your mother and father, God only knows what he’s thinking now to know that his brothers have abandoned him.”

“But, we haven’t,” Sherlock mutters out so softly, John could tell that he was ashamed in himself.

“I don’t even know where he is. He hasn’t been picking up my calls or replying to my messages, I don’t know where he moved.”

“He moved?” Mycroft asked, astounded, as John sighs.

John rubs his forehead, hand on his hip, looking exhausted and stress. Nodding sheepishly. John has been trying hard to locate you but London is a big city with various different apartments. He doesn’t know if you had moved far from your old place, he doesn’t have a brain like the Holmes, he couldn’t deduce where you intend to go.

“Yeah, so while to try to find him. Both of you are going to think of a good apology.”

“How are you so calm? He could have killed hi-”

“He told me that he wouldn’t do that because the thought of his cat thinking he had abandoned her hurts him more than ending it all.”

With a statement like that, the brothers wonder how bad they caused your pain.

Sherlock and Mycroft walk up to your apartment, the stairs were nice - both brothers noticed, you like that because you hated stairs, especially steep ones. They knocked on your door, hoping it was you on the other side.

They can hear your record player playing some songs, though with the door shut it was hard to tell what was playing. They knock again, before hearing your footsteps and the door opening.

“Why are you here?” You asked, your brothers hurt with no greeting and no smile to come along with it.

“John expressed his concerns,” Mycroft says, swallowing his pride, “It has made up realise that we have-”

“We have fucked up as brothers,” Sherlock completed.

“Charming,” Mycroft mutters bitterly.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” You were about to slam the door but Sherlock was strong enough to keep the door open with just the strength of his left arm, “Leave me alone.”

“No, we’re not leaving until we fix our mess. We’re brothers, our parents have given us hell and it’s not fair for you to go through their hell all by yourself,” Sherlock says firmly before eyes softening, “Please (Y/n).”

“You don’t have to talk, you can just listen,” Mycroft says as a compromise, to meet you in the middle, “We know that you’re not going to forgive us right away, but, we don’t want you to be alone again.”

You stand there in silence, before huffing out, opening the door wider and standing to the side. Your brothers entering your home; it smells a lot like you. You shut the door behind them, your cat seeing your brothers and instantly stretching and walk towards you. 

Jumping up in your arms, your cat stares his sharp glaring eyes towards your brothers as if he was warning them.

Your brothers seemed unsettled as they sit down, they’re not prepared for the talk ahead of them. They don’t expertise in the subject of feelings and relating to others, but if it means to keep you around longer.

It’s something worthwhile to do.

[ladyfloriographist]

Prompt: 13. “Can we just make a decision? Please?”

Pairing: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) x femme!voluptuous!Reader

Warnings: night drives to a video store, fluff-ish stuff, flirting, cursing (because it’s Adam), and would vamps love the idea of temperature play? I think they would

XXXX

“Oh, my God. Adam, stop. Pull over.”

Adam glances out your window for the briefest moment. “What is it?” his vaguely interested baritone drones.

“Look!” It’s an old video store, a movie rental place, a relic from a time gone by. “Please please—oh! We’re past it.” You sigh and slump back in your seat, staring out the window as the next-to-deserted moon-lit city rolls by.

Slowing to a stop before a red light, Adam looks to you. “Really?” he says, with the faintest smile—like he could humour you, if you were sweet about it.

You put your hand on his where it rests on the gearshift. The chill of his flesh is comforting, somehow, and he feels the same about your warmth. You run your thumb over the exposed back of his hand. “I haven’t seen one of them in so long. I didn’t even know they still existed. Will you take me, baby? Can we go?”

Ever so subtly, the corners of his mouth tug upward, like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Five minutes,” you attempt to persuade him further, “that’s all. And we could have a movie night!”

His brows raise, and you shuffle a little closer to him in your seat.

You adjust yourself, pushing your chest out and pressing your arms together to exaggerate your ample cleavage. Then, you drop your voice and murmur huskily, “You could watch me eat a choc-top—”

The traffic lights turn green.

“—feel my mouth get all cold.”

Adam tears his gaze from yours and throws a u-turn, spinning his old Jaguar around and following the road back the way you’d come.

He smiles slyly at you out of the corner of his eye as the engine rumbles down the desolate street, and you grin at him. No more words need be said.

Adam pulls into the carpark, and an old neon ‘open late’ sign flickers and flashes in the large window.

“Wow,” you whisper, ripping off your seat belt and stepping out of the car. “I can’t believe this place is still here. I thought they all closed a few years ago.”

Adam huffs a shallow laugh as he shuts and locks his door. “Time in a lost place is a funny old thing.”

You whip around to face him, and find him glaring at the old building with thinly veiled disgust. The large windows are a little grimy, and two nearby rubbish bins overflow with garbage. Inside, one of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickers, and another one is cracked and broken, illuminating nothing beneath it.

“Fuck’s sake…” Adam murmurs quietly.

You stretch your arm out to him. “Come on, grumpy.”

Slowly his gaze lands on yours, looking every bit the part of a sullen teenager.

“For me,” you beckon him closer, offering your hand. “We won’t be here long.”

Begrudgingly, Adam stalks towards you and slips his gloved palm into yours. “They’d better sell that fucking ice cream here,” he growls, slipping on his Oakley shades.

“I’m sure they will, baby,” you croon, smiling back at him as you push open the large glass door.

It’s stale inside, the damp and dust only just kept at bay by whirring air conditioning that churns out crisp, cold, recycled air.

You shiver a little, and Adam finds it delightful.

The young clerk behind the counter looks up, slightly surprised but mostly disinterested. “We close in ten,” they grumble.

“Midnight?” Adam questions, and the clerk nods, going back to their phone. He squeezes your hand and says, “Make it quick,” – but your attention is already elsewhere.

“How much for a slurpee?” you call to the sales clerk eagerly.

They look at you with a blank stare.

“Sorry,” you gesture at the machine, rotating crushed, watery ice artificially coloured a deep pinkish-red. “For a slushie?”

“Two-fifty for a small, four bucks for a large.”

You glance at Adam, smiling sweetly. “It’ll make my tongue red,” you murmur breathily.

Adam regards you with an intense, lingering stare.

“I’ll taste a little sweeter,” you whisper.

He looks deep into your eyes, and when he glimpses your lips his nostrils flare very, very subtly—but enough for you to know, your whispered words are affecting him.

After pleading and paying you and Adam find yourselves strolling into the paranormal and supernatural section.

You break from his palm to grab at one of the selection, and hold it up to his face.

“This,” you say emphatically, “this was so popular, babe.”

Adam tilts his head to the side as he scrutinises the cover. “’True… Blood’?” he says slowly, turning over the concept in his mind.

You nod. “It’s what the vamps drink. This manufactured kind of…” you search for the word, “synthetic blood.”

“Hm.”

“Based on books.” You hand the Blue-Ray to him and he peruses it further. “And HBO made it, so,” you wrap your lips around the clear plastic straw and suck more of the icy treat into your mouth.

You keep your eyes locked with his as you do, and Adam watches from behind his black sunglasses, rapt. You swallow and finish your sentence. “So, it’s very sexy.”

Adam looks set to lunge for you and tackle you to the musty, un-vacuumed carpet.

You think quickly, having bitten off more than you can chew and needing to pump the brakes on your teasing. “Here,” you grab the first thing you see and hand it to him, “another option.”

Adam takes the DVD case and his features soften. Gently, he trails the tips of two fingers over the cover art. “Vlad,” he murmurs, and his mouth breaks into a small, wistful smile.

Your gaze flicks back and forth from Adam to ‘Bram Stoker’s Dracula’ in quick succession. “You know Gary Oldman?” you squeak, incredulity lacing your voice and your features.

Adam smiles. He places the DVD back on the shelf. “By another name.”

You stare, gobsmacked, as Adam picks up another movie—continuing on as if no revelations have been divulged. His smooth forehead creases as he inspects the DVD and he flips the case over in his hand.

“Handsome,” he says softly. “Was this popular too?”

“’Twilight’?” you raise your brows. “Very.”

The furrow creasing Adam’s brow deepens, and he slides the movie back into its place on the shelf.

After a few more minutes of browsing, the clerk calls out from behind the counter, announcing to the pair of you that the store is closing.

You spin on your heel to face Adam. He’d been getting lost in small moments of nostalgia, disdain, and melancholy. Perhaps bringing him here was a bad idea.

“Come on, baby,” you take his hand in yours, “they’re closing. Pick one and let’s go.”

Adam grumbles an inaudible growl of a word and looks up from the DVD he’d been holding. He stares at the shelves, and clenches his jaw.

This isn’t good. “Can we just make a decision? Please?”

“Is this what you thought of me and my kind before we met?” Adam says in the dull, drole tone of someone particularly unimpressed. “That I could, fucking, sparkle and glimmer in the sunlight?” Unceremoniously he drops the movie back onto the shelf, and his lip subtly curls in distaste. “How terrible for you to realise the truth. Fuck, you must be bitterly disappointed.”

You cock your head to the side. Though you couldn’t possibly have foreseen Adam confronting his own undead immortality at a Blockbuster in the middle of the night, this was definitely a bad idea. Adam was dipping his toes in the cold, dark, rippling pool of vampiric existentialism and no, you will not try this again, lest he fall in.

The clerk calls out to you again, impatient and tired.

You switch tacts, trying on something that all men fall prey to, living or undead. “Well, the truth is stranger than fiction, my love.” You step closer to Adam, and place your palm on his chest. You step up on your tip toes, and let your hot breath fan over his neck. “And far more… seductive.”

Like dropping a cube of ice into warm water, the press of your hand thaws his surly mood.

Adam gazes at your face. “Look at you,” he purrs, eyeing how the crushed, syrup-laden ice has changed the colour of your tongue. “You look like…” he licks at his bottom lip, “you’re just like… my little strawberry.”

You smile. “A strawberry, hm?”

“Yes,” he murmurs darkly, backing you against the shelves.

“Hey! Hey—excuse me. Look, I’m locking up and I really need y’all to leave,” says a voice off in the distance.

“Well, come on then, baby,” you murmur with a soft, breathy voice, “take me home and eat me.”

Adam’s almost never moved faster.

XXXX

Come and let me know if you have a prompt you’d like me to write! There are some lists on my blog, and at this stage I’m happy to write for the Enola Holmes versions of Sherlock and Mycroft, and any Tom Hiddleston character b/c I’m in love xx

[autolenaphilia]

Granada Holmes (series review)

The 1984-1994 Granada series of Sherlock Holmes adaptations, starring Jeremy Brett as Holmes are regarded by fans as a milestone among the many adaptations of Sherlock Holmes that were made. Brett is said to be “the definitive Holmes”. And I would largely agree with that, despite it not being my favourite version, and it having some flaws and weak episodes, especially as the series went on.

The first thing that set this show apart is that it went back to the original stories and adapted those. Now, it isn’t the first version to do so, as some people (including Brett, apparently) claim. The 1920s silent film series with Eille Norwood was fairly canon accurate, and the 1960s BBC tv series with Douglas Wilmer and Peter Cushing also followed the canon. There is also the 1979-1986 Soviet Russian series with Vasily Livanov. And on radio you have more canonical dramatizations, such as the British John Gielgud 1950s series and the BBC Carleton Hobbs series from the 50s and 60s. People have an unfortunate tendency to ignore radio in favour of screen adaptations.

Still, it must be granted that Granada at its best is probably the supreme screen adaptation of the canon. The production values and acting are far superior to what the 60s BBC tv series had.

Jeremy Brett was a revolution in Holmes performances. The previous era defining Holmes, Basil Rathbone, as great as he was, made Holmes into too much of a straightforward hero. Brett brought back the eccentricities (including the drug use), the nervous energy and the character’s general moodiness and emotionality that was there in the text.

Holmes in the Granada series was ultimately on the side of good and a benevolent figure (if occasionally rude), but fictional justice perhaps had never an odder champion. He did everything from sitting weirdly, jumping over couches to taking drugs. Holmes felt neurodiverse, and indeed Brett used his own experiences with bipolar disorder in the performance.  And it was true to canon, in a way we seldom had seen on screen before.

Jeremy Brett’s performance as Holmes is extremely influential and often imitated by later screen adaptations, but has never been surpassed. The portrayal of Holmes in BBC Sherlock and the movies with Robert Downey Jr. is clearly inspired by Brett’s nervy eccentric genius Holmes, but ends up a bad parody. Holmes in the Granada series can like his canon counterpart occasionally be rude or careless towards other, but it was lapses, not a general trend. They seemed to be caused by an eccentric brain on another wavelength from the people around him, rather than any malevolence. Holmes in BBC Sherlock is a male nerd wish-fulfilment fantasy, where the character’s eccentric genius are allowed to excuse any crimes.

At its height, Brett’s Holmes is an awe-inspiring performance, with the actor pouring everything of his skill and energy into it. You could criticize it as melodramatic over-acting, but it makes for great viewing and fits the man who said “I never can resist a touch of the dramatic”.

The Granada series gets much credit for rehabilitating the role of Watson. Both of the actors playing him depicted as very much intelligent and capable. It is somewhat overstated of course, the turning away from the comedic figure Nigel Bruce portrayed started already with Andre Morell’s Watson in the 1959 Hammer Hound of the Baskervilles. Still, the Watson depicted by the Granada series is still one of the show’s chief draws.

The series had a switch in the actors playing Watson, with David Burke portraying him in the first two seasons of 13 episodes  and The Empty House featuring Holmes return to a Watson portrayed by Edward Hardwicke. And honestly it is hard to choose between them, because they are both great and there is a consistency in the writing that makes them feel like the same basic character. 

Burke’s Watson comes across as younger and more energetic of the two actors and has perhaps the better comedic dynamic with Holmes. He is perhaps my pick, as despite his actual age while playing the part, he feels closer to the young Watson of the canon.

But that is no serious slight against Hardwicke’s performance, which is still first-rate. Hardwicke’s Watson feels older, despite the difference in age between the actors being but a few years. The performance is also defined by an effortless charm and warmth, giving Watson an avuncular aura. But Watson is not at all infirm and is still an intelligent medical man and an experienced soldier, ever ready with his revolver.

An interesting change from the Canonical stories is that Watson never gets married and moves out of Baker Street. The Sign of the Four features Mary Morstan, but at the end she walks out of the story without any romance between her and Doctor Watson. The reason this was done, is that it simplifies the set-up of the stories. With Watson in 221B, he is always on hand to join Holmes. No need for a scene at the beginning of Holmes taking Watson away from wife and practice. Also it saves them keeping track of when Watson was married or not, something that Conan Doyle himself got into a serious continuity tangle about.

As producer Michael Cox (quoted in David Stuart Davies’s book Starring Sherlock Holmes)  noted, Conan Doyle himself probably regretted marrying off Watson, considering The Empty House has Watson suffering from a “sad bereavement” and then moving back in with Holmes. So it is a very much acceptable deviation from canon.

It also frees the writers to focus on the most important relationship in the canon: the friendship between Holmes and Watson. The canon has been called “a textbook of friendship” by Christopher Morley, and the chemistry and relationship between Holmes and Watson is vitally important to any adaptation. And that aspect of the stories is wonderfully conveyed here, with both actors playing Watson working together with Brett as Holmes well to convey the odd but close friendship between the two men.

Rosalie Williams plays Mrs. Hudson, and she is excellent in the role. The Granada series has a lot of little scenes of Mrs. Hudson added into the canonical cases, and they work excellently, giving her more of a presence. Many of them are comedic, making jokes about how a difficult and eccentric lodger Holmes is, but there is a clear undercurrent of affection throughout their interactions.

The recurring cast members include Charles Gray as Mycroft Holmes and Colin Jeavons as Inspector Lestrade.

 Gray as Mycroft is close to ideal, fitting the character of the overweight, lazy and intelligent canon character perfectly. He was such a good fit for the role that he had actually earlier played the part in the film adaptation of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.

Jeavons fit the part of Lestrade and his acting is superb, capable of showing the full extent of Lestrade’s character, having both smug over-confidence at times, yet also having genuine respect and affection for Holmes.

The acting skills of the actors playing characters who only appear in one episode is also generally very high. And that is part of the general high quality of execution the show had for most of its run. The period sets and the directing was of a similar high standard. The music by Patrick Gowers is excellent, and I suggest any fan take a listen to this Youtube playlist of his soundtrack.

The scripts are quite excellent, for the most part sticking close to the Conan Doyle stories. Of course there are always infidelities here and there, and sometimes the episode would go on non-canonical tangents.

Usually it was to make the story work better on screen. For example, the villains in The Greek Interpreter escape from Holmes and Watson, ending up being killed “off-screen” as it were. So the Granada version of the same tale has a non-canonical ending of Holmes, Watson and Mycroft confronting the villains on a train, something that works rather well. Another example is The Musgrave Ritual which entirely ditches the original story’s framing device of Holmes telling Watson the story of an early case of his. In the Granada version Watson is with Holmes on this case, and it works better that way.

And with all of these elements working together, for most of its run, the Granada series is perhaps the definitive screen adaptation of Sherlock Holmes. The first four seasons of 50 minute episodes, which were broadcast under the titles of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and The Return of Sherlock Holmes from 1984-1988 plus the feature length adaptation of The Sign of Four are pretty much all great. It went from strength to strength, consistently making very well-made adaptations of the canon.

The Sign of Four is probably a good pick for Granada’s peak, due to its epic nature. And it is definitely the best of the five feature-length films they did. Outside of leaving out any romance between John and Mary, the film is faithful to the book, although it goes too far in that direction in keeping in the racism of the story. But it also has all of the book’s virtues as a story too, and fine acting from Brett, Hardwicke, and John Thaw as Jonathan Small make for an enjoyable viewing experience.

There was however a decline in the series later years. The lynchpin of the series was Jeremy Brett, and his health began to seriously fail him by 1987, leading to his death in 199 (my source of information on Brett’s health decline and general behind the scenes things is mostly Davies’s book Starring Sherlock Holmes) Once lean and looking remarkably like the Sidney Paget illustrations of Holmes, his conflicting medications for his heart problems and bipolar disorder caused him to retain water and bloat, causing him to no longer look like the lean figure he once was. His looks wasn’t really the problem, what was however was that his health problems drained him of the energy that he once was able to put it into his performance, creating through no fault of his own a more lethargic and weaker Holmes.

There was also a growing lack of care shown towards the series by Granada itself. The budgets began to shrink by 1988, and while the series looked good for the most part, it did impact the show.

Probably the first disappointing episode is the double-length adaptation of The Hound of the Baskervilles from 1988. You would expect the Granada series, with their excellent leads and excellent track record up to this point, to create the definitive version of this often-filmed story, but it just isn’t. It isn’t bad, but it is ultimately mediocre in a way that is hard to pinpoint. My guess is that the direction and cinematography doesn’t manage to create the suspense the story needs, resulting in a slow-paced and slightly boring experience.

It also ends up show-casing the problems the show would now begin to have, with the production crew not having the money to do location shooting on Dartmoor and Brett obviously showing the signs of his failing health.

The Hound film was followed by a season of six 50-minute length episodes, called The Case-book of Sherlock Holmes. And these were mostly fine, considering the circumstances. The budget had been reduced compared to earlier seasons and you could tell the writers sometimes lacked a first-rate canonical story to adapt.

There were one or two weaker episodes, but those were due to the original story being weak. For example, the season ended with a faithful adaptation of The Creeping Man and it is as good and well-made a tv adaptation you could ever hope to make with such a bizarre plot. The result is of course pure camp, but so is the original story. When the show had a good Conan Doyle story to adapt, like The Boscombe Valley Mystery, The Problem of Thor Bridge or The Illustrious Client, the results are indeed up to the standards of its past.

The real nadir of the series came later, however, when in 1992-93 the series decided to do three double-length episodes. Granada wanted the Holmes series to copy the success of Inspector Morse and its 100 minute tv film format. The problem was the show would still adapt Conan Doyle’s short stories into a format that was far too long for them. So the scriptwriters had to pad the stories out with their own inventions.

This sort of worked for the first film of these three films, The Master Blackmailer. It was based on Charles Augustus Milverton, which is one of the shortest stories in the canon, but one of the most rich in dramatic potential. Writer Jeremy Paul’s script decided to show in detail what is merely mentioned in the story, such as Milverton blackmailing people and Holmes courting Milverton’s maid in order to gain access to his home. The end result works, it is somewhat slow-paced but is ultimately coherent and at its best feels like you are watching the backstory to the canonical events.

The same can’t be said for the second and third of these films, The Last Vampyre and The Eligible Bachelor. The Last Vampyre is an almost completely incoherent non-adaptation of The Sussex Vampire, where elements from the canonical story probably make up less than 5% of the resulting film. There is an attempt to create intrigue and suspense around the original character Stockton, but the film is so vague about what he is and what threat he poses that the resulting film makes no sense.

The Eligible Bachelor is a similar adaptation of The Noble Bachelor, where the canonical story elements that remain is entirely subsided by a new bizarre plot where Lord St. Simon is now a ruthless Bluebeard-like villain. It is slightly better than The Last Vampyre, simply because the villain here poses an identifiable and somewhat coherent threat. Still, the film has to pad things out with bizarre subplots, like Holmes having prophetic dreams, which ultimately doesn’t lead anywhere.

Wisely, the series returned to the 50 minute format for the last season of six episodes, which aired in 1994, under the name of “he Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. It was with this season Jeremy Brett’s health problems and the lower budgets really began to seriously affect the show. Brett was in a bad state at this point, and the description of the production in Davies’s book makes for sad reading.

During the filming of one episode in this season, The Three Gables, he had to use a wheelchair between takes and supplementary oxygen to ease his breathing. His performance is naturally lacking in the energy he once had, but the fact it is a performance at all is testament to his commitment. The Three Gables is actually one of the better episodes of this season, as it actually manages to improve on one of the weakest stories in the canon.

Edward Hardwicke was unavailable to film The Golden Pince-nez, and they couldn’t re-schedule the shooting dates (which I suspect was a budget issue). So the writer wrote out Watson and replaced him in the role of Sherlock’s assistant with Mycroft, since Charles Gray was available. The result is well-made otherwise, with guest stars Frank Finlay and Anna Carteret giving great performances, but the lack of Watson is sorely felt. It is fun to see Charles Gray’s Mycroft again, but it feels contrary to his character to accompany his brother like this.

And before he could film The Mazarin Stone,  Brett’s health gave out on him and he was hospitalized. Again Charles Gray was called in by the producer to play Mycroft as a substitute. It is nice to see Mycroft for a fourth time, but Mycroft doing this doesn’t feel true to his character. And this episode is one of the weakest in the series, due to the script. Not that I blame the scriptwriter too much, The Mazarin Stone is one of the worst stories in the canon. The efforts to improve on the story by combining it with another weak story  The Three Garridebs don’t at all manage to rescue it.

However, there are still some rather good episodes in this season . The Red Circle is good and The last ever episode of the series, The Cardboard box manages to close out the series on a good if dark note.

Jeremy Brett died in 1995 due to heart failure, ending all hope of any future series.

I might have delved too much on the series failures in this essay. Because all of that is outweighed by the consistent high quality the series managed to achieve in the first four seasons, and with a few failures, still managed to sometimes achieve again in the later ones. Those adaptations are perhaps the peak of Holmes on screen.

It is not my favourite adaptation, that is the BBC radio drama versions made starring Clive Merrison as Holmes from 1989 to 2010. Those were just as consistently good, with Merrison and Williams/Sachs as Holmes and Watson being on the same general level as Brett and Burke/Hardwicke as performances. In fact, the BBC version is more consistent, never going off the rails as the Granada version sometimes, and it actually managed to achieve the goal Brett had hoped for: adapting every canonical story.

Still that doesn’t take away from Granada’s great achievement in adapting the Holmes stories with such quality. It is an achievement that later movie and tv adaptations haven’t been able to surpass.

[kissmyassloves]

The Selected Enola Holmes: Chapter One (1)

Fair warning! This fic is not mine. It belongs to my frined ‘multifandomkingdom’ on AO3. I asked her to write it and thankfully she said yes Heres the link if you want to read it there. Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004441/chapters/65919898

.Enola should have known that this would probably be a bad idea. Yes, she had run away from her brothers to avoid a life that she thought would strip her of her liberty, but even  she  could admit that she should have thought this one through just a little more. No matter. She would wing it and make the most of the situation at hand. Even if she was about to enter a competition that could eventually make her the future Queen of the United Kingdom.

To be fair, she knew that she had to simultaneously hide in plain sight and in a place that her brother Mycroft would least expect her. And that was in this superficial excuse of a speed dating chalk up for Prince Reese. A prince that she did not even care to know. Granted, she'd never even seen him. But she was sure that he was just another aloof prick that preferred to be pent up behind his tall walls of privilege. Plus, she hated the idea of someone having their pick of the litter and thought it a bit shallow. But the young women that lined up at every available stall that took submissions didn't seem to. To each their own, she supposed. For most of them (at least from where she was standing in a bustling London), it was a free pass to being rich, famous, and of course, a future ruling queen. Still, to her, it was merely a meal ticket and an overt hiding spot. Pricey and elaborate but a hiding spot nevertheless. And at the time, it seemed great because, on the off chance that she got selected, she'd be practically unreachable to her brothers. Even if she was plastered on screens everywhere because of the competition from that point on. Her brothers couldn't get past the palace walls unless a royal gave the say so or an event was planned. She knew that much.

All of that would have been ideal. But rationalizing now, Enola was sure she wouldn't even get a double-take from the said prince. Which is why she was waiting in line, in the midst of giddy and excited young women to make her submission. Because at least then it would allow her time to think of a backup plan if and when this one fell through. She was desperate, and admittedly, this wasn't one of her shining moments. However, her brothers didn't know she was in London, and if she didn't find a way to put at least some distance between her and them, she was certain Sherlock would sniff her out sooner than later. So really, she was buying time. Yes, she'd go with that for now. It was her turn to submit her form and take her picture to complete her submission.

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

The results for who had been "selected" were about to be announced. She was at a cafe, and all eyes except hers were on the TV hanging in the top corner. She enjoyed her muffin with half the mind to get up and leave, but her curiosity always won. So she stayed. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a bit nervous because, truth be told, she could think of no other backup plan that didn't involve her hiding in obscure lodgings. She knew the money her mother left her wasn't going to last forever. But even so, she continued to eat and let her mind run a mile a minute. All while barely paying attention to the voice that came from the screen above her. She hadn't even bothered to look up at the royal family that she assumed was plastered on screen because she didn't really care to gauge the reactions Prince Reese would probably have of every selected girl.

That was until she heard  her  name leave the lips of the news commentator.

She seemed to have been momentarily frozen into place. Eyes slowly widening as the realization came in increasing waves. By the time she looked up, she had only seen her picture fading and moving on to the next selected girl. She was one of the 35. She could hardly believe it. And she was shocked to find that she hadn't been immediately filled with complete dread at the idea. She would blame that on the fact that she was relieved that she didn't have to find a plan b for a little while. As she made her way to her temporary room that's she'd (thankfully) be moving out of, she began to think. But then other thoughts crept into her head. Thoughts that varied from the fact that sherlock and subsequently Mycroft would undoubtedly know where she was or at least where she was about to go. And the fact that she was on her way to "compete" ( ugh ) for a prince's affections. She even thought with a bitter chuckle that Mycroft would be pleased as being selected immediately raised an individual's status and, by extension, their family's. Upholding appearances and achieving an exalted societal standing seemed to be a kink of his.

But as far as she was concerned, she would have to work on staying in this little game that was now afoot. At least long enough to come up with a better plan to eventually live the life she wished to.

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

The day had come for the selected to arrive at the palace. Enola had mentally prepared and reminded herself to maintain a level head in the limo ride. She was riding with a few other girls that registered in her area. As they chatted amongst themselves and bonded over being able to snag the "dashing prince," she allowed herself to get lost in the moving image that was outside. She could see a hoard of fans and photographers that lined the streets, no doubt wishing them well and itching to get a glimpse of them. Though the window glass was tinted, she wasn't quite used to the flashes. Not quite knowing what to do with herself, she settled on waving back and smiling much to the delight of ecstatic... fans ? Could she actually call them that, though? They didn't really know her yet. Would she stay in this tournament of sorts long enough to even let them get to that point? She wasn't sure, but she did know she'd at least go out swinging when that time came.

As they pulled up to the palace gates, Enola could only observe and take in the place in all its grandeur. She could only think that a child growing up here would be...lonely. And from what she remembers hearing, the prince was an only child. That moment of sympathy she had for him was dashed as she watched a multitude of servants line the entrances. He was still so obscenely wealthy, which wasn't necessarily his fault. Still, he must've been used to having everything served on a silver platter to him. But from what she could view, maids of three had been assigned to each selected girl that had already arrived. Would she be getting the same? She didn't quite know how to manage that. Would she be forced to learn?

What if she couldn't-

"You're in the way 5ft4". 

Rolling her eyes at that, Enola could only restrain herself from responding to the girl that pushed her out of her sight like this mistake in her perfect picture. She wasn't here to cause any trouble. She had to remind herself why but she wasn't going to lie. It was hard when at least 40% of the girls here seemed to be like this. Would the future Queen be one of them? Her stomach might have just curled at the thought. Making her way to the line before her, hands cooly in her pockets. A single whistle escaped her as she continued to take in the place.

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

She had been introduced to her ladies in waiting (Jesus, she wasn't sure she could get used to having those) and shown to her bedroom. She wasn't going to lie; she was impressed. As expected, it was every bit as luxurious as she thought it would be.  Not a bad free ride , she mused as she looked around and the bed?  That,  she could get used to. It seemed to mould to her, and she was starting to worry she would never want to leave it.

Not too long after that, her ladies were getting her ready for their first dinner with the royal family. This would probably be the first time she would meet the lad that had these girls so boy crazy. She had to admit, she  was  a bit curious to know if he was worth all of the hype—just a little.

And even if he was, she wasn't actually here for him anyway. It took more than looks to sway Enola. What use was a boy with no substance?

As they were seated, she could see the King and Queen whispering to each other discreetly while sizing up the selected. I had noticed a chair to the king's left had been empty. The prince wasn't even here. Well, and that fact had slightly deflated the women around her. Subsequently, a servant came in announcing that the prince sent "his apologies but was otherwise occupied with work but will be sure to greet you all personally tomorrow." You could physically feel the energy in the room shift and reignite at the prince's mention of meeting the women. The almost sudden change tickled Enola. It was truly comical. But she'd stay mum. After the most delicious meal, she could honestly say she has ever tasted (damn, did she pick the best place to freeload ), she along with the rest of the selected, made their way to their rooms. But she needed fresh air to at least start concocting a plan b when the warm blankets and delightful roast dinner eminently stops being a possibility for her. Besides, she was never meant to be caged in. Not when outside was so big and revitalizing.

But as she made her way to the door that leads to the great garden, the guards at either side had literally crossed their rifles in front of the door as she tried to leave. Enola was slightly flabbergasted. she deemed that that kind of thing was only the stuff of movies, yet here she was.

Now that just wouldn't do.

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

Now, Enola didn't mean to get into a near screaming match with the guards who were now putting their hands on her to get her away from the door. But here she was. She’d almost broke one's wrist when she felt him inching a bit too low. All she wanted to do was go outside for a second to think. Was that too much to ask?

"Let her go!" the guards looked at whoever elicited that authoritative tone behind her in confusion, momentarily stiffened, and then released her immediately. She’d smoothened any caused wrinkles on her clothes, slit eyes never once leaving the buffoons in front of her in annoyance. Mystery man continued,

"Open the door and let her out." The guards looked taken aback.

"-but your hi-" Was this door not supposed to be opened or something? Were we not allowed to go into the gardens?

"-I didn't stutter, now please open the door."

Smiling smugly in triumph at the guards in front of her and without turning back even once, she made her way out into the night air.

"Are you ok? No, bruises?" Fantastic. Whoever it was had followed her out. She did notice that the voice was deep and male. But surprisingly gentle for the timbre. And Enola also realized how mannerless she was being by not thanking him for helping her back there. It was then that she turned around. And under the dimly lit garden lights stood a tall young man, with attractive broad shoulders that possessed what she would begrudgingly have to accept was probably the most gorgeous face that she had ever seen in her young life.

[withthekeyisking-writer]

What's your fav fic that you wrote yourself?

This is such a challenging question! Like asking which of my children is my favorite 😂 I could definitely tell you a few of my least favorite though lol, no prob. Some of my older stuff—oof.

Alright, so since I really can’t pick a singular fav (I currently have 101 posted works, that’s just not gonna happen) how about I give a top 10? Not exactly what you asked, but eh life is like that 😁

So, in no particular order, my top ten fav fics that I’ve written:

1. Starting with the one that’s a large presence in my mind, (No) Places of Safety. This fic is my baby right now, shaping up to be one of the biggest things I’ve ever written (already at 69k and not even close to done) which is super amazing, because I usually have a problem with sticking to things after a while. I really love the way I’ve handled Dick’s deteriorating mental state, and I love the fact that I know exactly where it’s going, and have from the very beginning (again, rare for me. Usually things come together as I’m writing, and while that’s still happening, it’s been awesome having an actual solid plan and destination). I love the universe I’ve set up here, and am so excited with every chapter to show you guys what comes next. Hell I love this universe so much that I already have the whole next fic planned out 😋

2. Next I’ll say Three Little Birds Sat On My Window. I loved writing a reverse batfam, and am so proud of the way this fic turned out. I really spent a lot of time trying to get everyone’s voices right, how different they would be considering how different their life experiences would be. Tim and Jason especially were important to get right, with Tim being the one who died instead. I always hated in reverse batfam fics when people just make Tim’s version of Red Hood exactly the same as what Jason was like, because they’re different people and would have different ways of approaching things. So even in just the little glimpses I wrote, I’m really proud of their characterizations, along with that of Damian and Dick! I’m just overall very proud of this fic, and definitely wan to write more of this AU at some point in the future.

3. Third we’ll go with An Active Imagination (and, with it, the sequel Rules of Architecture). Thinking about these fics and working on them ways makes me excited as a writer. Like I don’t really have a lot to say about these, just that I really love the way I handled Dick’s shifting mental state, going back and forth between the brainwashing and having him be not at all aware of what’s going on. I also love how super creepy Slade is lol, how unabashedly awful. Plus writing a BAMF Dick is always a blast, and the Dick in these two fics is especially badass.

4. Next up is Take My Hand Through the Flames, because writing dark!Dick was so fucking fun, and something I need to do again very soon. Dick is so messed up here, so blood-thirsty and masochistic and crazy, which is something that I’ve never been able to truly do when I mainly write Dick. So that plus building an Earth 3 universe (pulling in Joey and Rose and what Dick’s dynamic with Thomas is like) was a blast to do.

5. Hmmm then let’s go with If Night Falls in Your Heart (and am just now realizing how often I use song lyrics and quotes for my titles). Exploring the trauma of what Catalina and Mirage did to Dick was something necessary for me to write, and it helped me work through some of my own shit I was struggling with. (Writing is the best coping mechanism!) Dick desperately needs people to help him and tell him none of that was his fault, and since canon certainly isn’t going to do it, I took it upon myself lol. Plus I’ve become strangely fond Dave the Unimportant Villain 😂

6. Sixth on the list is How Arbitrary Fate Is, an AU I am extremely fond of and seriously need to come back to. Teen Titans (cartoon) ‘verse is always something I enjoy writing, and extending the apprentice arc, playing with Stockholm Syndrome, blending Dick’s loyalty to his friends with his growing loyalty to Slade, how he reaches acceptance that this is his life now—I am so proud of the way this fic turned out. I have an entire sequel planned out in my head, other things have simply taken precedent. I will come back to it, though. Lol I want to scream from the rooftops to get everyone to love this fic as much as I do 😁

7. Now I’ll say A Current of Fate, which is something I go back and forth on loving but it always draws my attention back to it. I hate that I’ve set it aside for so long, I think there’s so much fucking potential in this world I’ve set up, and I really want everyone to see the way it’s playing out in my head!! But for that I’d actually have to keep writing it lol, the horror. Sometime soon (when I have less active projects on my hands) I’ll go back to this fic and edit it a little, update it to how much more confident I’ve become in my writing, especially of DC characters. Also Chapter 4 has been half written for literally a year now and it has Black Mask in it; since beginning that chapter I’ve become far more familiar with Roman (and written a lot of him lol) so reworking that chapter in the main priority, and then I think I can really move forward with this fic. I know exactly what happens, I just have to get there!! (Coincidentally, today is the year anniversary of the last time I updated this.)

8. Leaving the DC fandom, next we’re going with The Source of Grief. My Harry Potter fics have been touch and go, I can admit that, but I’m very proud of this one. I really loved doing the outside POV, everyone observing the actions of Harry and not really knowing who he is or what his motives are. I also got to address all my feelings about Severus Snape, which was awesome. Just, fixing problems and making things better was wonderful to write, and I got to put in some subtle Wolfstar lol, and talk about how Regulus Black doesn’t get enough credit. Idk, I’m kind of rambling, but I’m proud of this fic.

9. Ninth is One of the Legion Lost (plus its sequel Want the Strange and New). They’re both my Fuck You to Infinity War lol (which I liked a lot more than I know most people do, but still it needed some help). Loki is one of my favs, and bringing him into the plot of the movie and adjusting things from there is the kind of thing I love to do—what are the repercussions if just one thing is different? Also I enjoyed exploring the magic of the infinity stones! There was so much that could be done with them, with their level of sentience that was never really expanded upon, so I liked doing that.

10. Now we have People Who Move the World. A James Bond & Sherlock crossover, where Q and Jim are brothers. I got super far in this fic! 15 chapters and 94k, it’s a real beast. I love how I wrote Q, his relationship with Jim and Bond and Sherlock, and the odd little Q/Mycroft ship that I’ve become strangely fond of considering how strange the ship is lol. Just writing a bunch of absolute geniuses BAMFs ruling the world and making things go the way they want to them. Like, Q and Jim make such an awesome team and I know it’s such a niche fic but I’m really proud of it. Sucks that a majority of the ideas dried up lol, because I’m very pleased with what I created.

+1: Honorable mention! Breathe with Confidence. First time I ever wrote anything in the Star Wars universe, and it’s absolutely something I’m gonna have to come back to. The AU has a lot of potential, and I know exactly how I’d address the future of Dick’s story. Plus some side fics of the family’s reactions to what happened, the confusion over Dick’s disappearance. And in this fic itself I liked writing Slade’s manipulations, Dick’s desires, the small amounts of background I included. Idk, I just think this world is super cool.

Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this long drawn out thing! Probably more info than you were looking for 😁😅

[imperial-martian]

The Secrets You Keep Hidden- Chapter One {Mycroft Holmes x Reader}

A/N: The house that I have described as Mycroft's manor is the actual house that he lives in throughout the BBC Sherlock show. (I have photos if you are interested in seeing it. Leave a comment if so!)

You weren't surprised when it suddenly wasn't raining on you anymore, even if there was still rain coming down around you. Without having to look over at the person who had caused the rain to be shielded from you, you knew who it was.

They hadn't said anything, letting you both stand in silence to grieve for the time being. You knew the silence wouldn't last, it never did, but for now, you let it settle over you like a soft blanket in the midst of winter.

That would have been rather nice right now, to sit on your settee, a blanket wrapped around you with a warm cup of tea in your hands as you watched some old movies. However, that wasn't what was happening, instead, you were standing in front of your best friends grave with raindrops- or maybe those were tears? -streaming down your cheeks.

A year and eight months still hadn't been enough time to stop grieving, and really you didn't know if any amount of time would be.

The silence was broken the next moment when a loud roar of thunder and lightning flashed through the air. It was a surprise to the man standing beside you that you were the first to speak.

He would have rather heard you make a comment as to how he knew you would be there, or that he should be at work, but what he got were all broken words.

"Do you ever think that if we had been there when he jumped that we could have persuaded him not to?" you asked, your words ending in a choked sob that you had covered up with your hand.

Mycroft, the man beside, made a slight rustling sound beside you as he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his pocket square. He held it out to you, bowing his head a little as if he were nodding at it and telling you to take it.

You made a small, soft chuckle between a choked sob and took the cloth from him, whispering a weak thank you before clenching the pocket square in your hand. It would do you no use to wipe your tears at the rate you were crying in, and Mycroft knew that.

He had not a single clue on how to comfort someone when grieving- actually, he had no idea how to comfort someone at all. You knew that he was trying his best and appreciated his efforts even if they weren't the most effective form of comfort. At least he was able to make you laugh, even if it was only in playful pity.

Another roar of lightning and thunder flashed, causing you to jump a bit at the un-expectancy of it. A rustling sound came from beside you before a trench coat was held out in front of you.

Knowing that Mycroft wanted you to take it from him, you looked at him, opening your mouth to protest only to close it again when he gave you a sharp look.

"You've already stood out here long enough to get a cold, I'm trying to lessen the chance of you getting the flu. I won't take any sort of protest." Just by the tone he had said it, you could tell he wasn't in the best of moods.

With a bit of reluctance, you took it from him, murmuring a small thank you yet again as you slipped your arms into the sleeves of the navy blue material. It was still warm from when Mycroft had worn it, the smell of his musky cologne and hints of earl grey tea, and the most prominent smell of cigarette smoke lingered on it.

You felt your heart clench a little at the realization that he was smoking again, even after he had stopped for the bit of time you forced him to. It was three years ago when you were visiting his office that you saw the ashtray that already had two cigarettes burnt out in it, and one in his hand. You threatened to never return back to the office if he continued to smoke, especially in his office.

With time, he began to limit the amount he smoked, but the clear smell on his trench coat was enough to let you know that he certainly had had more than one cigarette that day.

Even with the awful smell, you couldn't help but turn the collar up and find comfort in the warmth of the soft material that was loosely encased around you. The coat was clearly far too large for you, your hands barely making it out of the sleeves, and the bottom of the trench coat padding your knees.

It was larger than the one Sherlock used to wear- which even to this day you still wear it when you grieve at home -but it's much more comfortable than Sherlock's. Maybe it was because Sherlock's coat now only brought sadness and despair whenever you wore it when Mycroft's brought you comfort and hope.

Hope was the only thing that had seemed to be missing from your life now, and it had since the fall, so the sudden surge of it caused a shiver to run down your spine. Mycroft has mistaken it, thinking that you had gotten cold and made a suggestion that you should both head home.

You didn't protest, knowing that it was getting late and you should be heading home, but the thought of going homemade you feel uneasy, uncomfortable knowing that you'd be alone. You froze where you stood for a moment, feeling a tremor rush through you before, as the rain began to pelt down on you as Mycroft continued to walk a few more steps before realizing you weren't beside him.

He stopped himself, turning his head to look back at you before noticing the way your e/c eyes looked almost hollow with no emotion. Mycroft was quick to tell what was wrong, and as he moved towards you he offered his hand in a rare moment of outward affection.

Looking down at his hand, you took it in yours instantly feeling a sudden tightness in your throat as if you were going to cry again. He carefully brought you closer to him so that you weren't standing out in the rain anymore.

"How about we go to my house?" Mycroft suggested although he didn't give you enough time to respond. "I'll have somebody grab your clothes for 221C if you're comfortable with that, or we can go get them together, so you can stay the night in one of my guest rooms."

You couldn't even form words to argue with Mycroft as to why you shouldn't stay at his house, nor did you want to. You just gave a nod of acceptance and let him lead you to the town car that had driven him here.

"I'd prefer if we stopped at Baker Street together before heading to your house if that's alright," you mumbled after getting yourself situated besides Mycroft in the back of the car.

He all but made a sound of acknowledgment before telling his chauffeur where to go. He seemed to Shevardnadze no patience in his tone, and you suddenly felt bad for making him come out in the rain to ensure you wouldn't get sick.

Knowing that it was best to apologize for it, you looked over at him and spoke in a soft voice. "I'm sorry for making you come out in the rain," you started, your words being a filled with guilt. "It wasn't my best choice to visit Sherlock's grave at this time," you concluded.

Feeling a sudden pain in his head before a headache settled in, he groaned before replying in an almost hoarse voice. "Yes, it probably wasn't your best decision." Although he hadn't said it in a harsh way, it still made your stomach turn in an uncomfortable manner before all you did was a nod and look out the window.

Tears once again threatened to spill from your eyes. You hated disappointing Mycroft, but that's all you seemed to be doing after the passing of Sherlock. Nothing was the same, and although you never expected it to be after such an event, you wish it hadn't changed in the way it did.

Everything was different now. Mycroft was even more closed off than he was when you first met. To you, he no longer felt like a friend and more like a babysitter that was constantly watching you. You not only felt his disappointment, but you felt your own which only made the tears harder to keep back before you couldn't anymore.

You couldn't have been more thankful when the car arrived at Baker Street in the next moment. Mentally letting out a sigh of relief, you removed the seatbelt from its position around your shoulder and torso before opening the door.

"I shouldn't be more than five minutes," you informed Mycroft, not looking back at him as you spoke, trying to keep your voice as level as you could.

You heard Mycroft let out a 'hmph' as if to let you know that he heard you before you exited the car and walked into the rain again. Pulling out your key, you unlocked the door and made your way upstairs to 221C where you quickly scouted to find a bag to put all the clothes and other essentials you would need in.

Grabbing some comfortable clothes for the night and the following day, as well as your bathroom needs, you made your way towards the exit of your flat, locking it and walking past 221B. The sight of the closed door and the silence that filled the stairwell made you feel unsettled, and as you wiped the tears from your eyes, you walked back down the steps to enter the car again.

Mycroft has taken the time that you were gathering your things to think to himself. He hadn't seemed to be able to catch a break in a long while, between government cases and his brother's updates, he was constantly focusing on different things. This only added to it.

He wished that you only knew that the suicide was planned. That Sherlock wasn't dead. Boy wouldn't it make his life a whole lot easier.

It was sad to think that he'd only wished that you'd known to make it easier on himself, and had he actually allowed himself to realize how much he truly cared for you he'd see how awful he was thinking what he just did. But he couldn't help it. Caring would always be just a disadvantage to him. It would always be a useless emotional reaction that he wouldn't allow himself to feel.

The sound of a car door opening only to close a few seconds later caused his focus to shift from his thoughts to you. He glanced over at you as you put on the seatbelt again, struggling when you accidentally got it caught on inside of his coat while you weren't paying attention.

"Do you need to make another stop or are we ready to resume our ride to my house?" Mycroft asked, looking at you with his blue eyes that even in the cloudiest of days, reflected some sort of light back to you.

After holding his gaze for a moment, you blinked and nodded, swallowing the embarrassment you began to feel down. "I am," you announced softly, looking down at the coat and fiddling with the bottom of it as if you were smoothing our a wrinkle to distract yourself from the man beside you.

He nodded, one which you didn't see but knew that he had, looking at his driver through the rearview mirror. It didn't take more than a second before the car was going down the road again.

The ride was spent in silence, as you two focused on other things. Mycroft answering a few emails on his laptop which he had pulled out knowing that the ride would be longer than usual due to both the rain and the time of day. You, on the other hand, were focused on the view outside the window.

Mycroft lived outside of London, and although you had been to his house on more than one occasion, it wasn't enough for you to actually take in the sight of the area he lived in. It was just as you had expected it'd be, even if you didn't already know what it looked like.

Houses seemed to be miles apart from one another, each one designed to look like a Victorian house with the architecture being made mostly out of the local bricks that seemed to be around when these houses were made. Each house had a different design, but all together looked as though they were built back in the eighteenth century, even if some had a more modern feel to it.

It wasn't until the car turned into a driveway that you realized you had arrived at Mycroft's house- manor being a better term to use for it. The outside of the manor was made of the same white stones that were smoothed down against each surface. A few stairs with curved stone railings on each side led up to the front door. Flowers were placed on either side of the staircase with a bush located on the right side of the front of the manor that wrapped around it to the other sidewall.

Twenty sets of windows were located at the front of the house, each window having the curtains draped across the top corners off to the side. The lawn was perfectly cut and flower bushes rested near the front of the lawn, towards the street.

To describe the manor in simple terms, it was fit for royalty, and most certainly not for somebody who lived alone.

Entering the house, you walked into the house you were met with another staircase, this one made of wood with a red carpet leading up to the second floor. The ceilings were beautifully designed, the cream color complimenting the wood that was around the entire room. Paintings and sculptures were filled around the room, and most definitely scattered around the house.

To describe everything this manor offered would take hours, and to visit explain every detail inside and out would certainly take up a whole day, if not more.

Even after visiting Mycroft's manor numerous times, you couldn't help to gape at it even now.

The slight chuckle that came from around the opposite side of the room was a welcomed sound to your ears, and as you let it warm your heart for a moment, you looked at who the sound came from.

Mycroft, who was looking back at you with an almost amused smile upon his face, nodding towards the stairs.

"Why don't you go and pick out which room you'd like to sleep in tonight. Neither of us have eaten dinner yet, I'll prepare something for the both of us," he stated, giving you one last glance before he turned his back towards you and walked towards another room. "If you get lost just give me a shout," he added.

Your cheeks flushed a little in color before you did as Mycroft had suggested and made your way upstairs. While you spent the time searching for a room to stay in at for the night- getting a bit distracted while admiring all the paintings -Mycroft was in the kitchen.

He opened a drawer, grabbing out some medicine that he knew would help rid him of the headache he had gained earlier in the car. Mycroft poured himself a glass of water before taking down the pill and closing the drawer again.

Hearing the creek of the floorboards as you moved around upstairs, Mycroft began to gather some ingredients to make a dinner in which he knew that you would both enjoy.

It didn't take long for you to join him either, wrapped up in a warm sweater that you had brought to change into so that you could get out of the wet clothes. You brought down his trench coat, hanging it on the coat rack you had noticed on the way inside the manor.

"Thank you for letting me borrow your coat, I've left it on the coat rack to dry a bit," you informed, cautiously, in case he didn't want you to, taking a seat at the island table.

Mycroft's back was turned to you as he stood by the stove, prepping and cooking whatever food he planned to serve you.

"No need to thank me," he replied. "I should let you know that there is some cough medicine in the bathroom down the hall upstairs should you need it at any point. It's in one of the drawers in the cabinet underneath the sink."

With a bit of a rueful smile, you gave him a small hum. "Thank you, remind me to buy you some more if I need to use it, would you?" you asked, the question clearly rhetorical and in a playful manner.

Mycroft only smiled at you in reply as he set a plate down in front of you before grabbing his own. Placing to glasses down at the table, he filled them with wine that you knew was far too expensive for you to ever afford, before placing them down in front of you both and sitting across from you.

Sitting in comfortable silence with the occasional topic of work or something else thrown in the mix of things, you enjoyed your dinner. Offering to do the dishes after such a delicious meal, you watched as Mycroft places everything away in their designated spots before walking with one another upstairs. Saying a quick goodnight, you both parted and made your way to separate rooms, getting ready for the first good night's rest that you've had in a long while.

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part thirty

I don’t normally post a chapter when I don’t have the next written in advance, but I’m struggling to write it. I know what will happen because I do have it plotted out, but any and all feedback on this chapter is greatly appreciated. Comments from you guys really help me in the writing process, so feel free to ramble! I enjoy it :)

I don’t mean to sound too demanding, but even if you just want to tell me why you love this story/why you started reading it in the first place or how you found it, that would help a lot. I love you guys, as always xx.

The doctor pulls you off of the medication keeping you in the coma around two in the afternoon on the day after Christmas day. He tells John that you should wake up within the hour.

           But once the hour passes and you’re still sleeping, John is ready to raise hell.

           Sherlock stays put in the chair by your bed, his hands steepled at his chin as he watches you, waiting impatiently for you to wake. He doesn’t necessarily want to know if you heard him last night, but he wouldn’t mind if you did.

           He just wants you to wake up. To be okay.

           While Mary tries to calm John down outside the door, Sherlock scoots closer to your bedside. His hand shakes as he rests it on top of yours, curling to wrap around it. It’s been far too long since he’s held your hand.

           “The east wind,” he murmurs, hoping it’ll spark some memory, something. “Remember. Don’t let the east wind take you, too.”

           Sherlock’s eyes widen when he feels your fingers twitching in his own, eventually squeezing his hand – weakly, but still something.

           He waits for you to open your eyes, to crack a smile at him and joke about, “Is the great Sherlock Holmes feeling sentiment?” But nothing of the sort occurs.

           This isn’t a movie. This isn’t a fairytale where you wake up when you feel your love’s touch. Or when you hear your love’s voice. You don’t hear him at all. You felt his hand at least, but your consciousness is gone as quick as it came in that one moment.

           Sherlock stares at your face for a few minutes, his eyebrows furrowing as he watches you, waiting still for some sort of expression – anything – to cross your face, but nothing ever does. He stands abruptly after realizing it’s a lost cause, his hand slipping from yours.

           He glances at your vitals. Everything still appears to be normal.

           But you haven’t woken up.

~~~

Forty-eight hours later

Sherlock sits in the chair beside your bed for the fourth day in a row. He hasn’t said a word in the last twenty-four hours. He’s even begun to worry the hospital staff.

           Mary tries and fails to get Sherlock to leave the room. John still can’t bring himself to walk inside and see you lying there, motionless on the bed. He only has once, two days ago when the doctor said you should’ve been waking up. But since then, John hasn’t been back inside your room. He’s restricted himself to the waiting room just across the hall, where he spends the day with his head in his hands.

           Mycroft has yet to make an appearance. Sherlock isn’t sure if it’s the guilt stopping his older brother, or the threat Sherlock made a few days ago. Whatever the reason may be, Sherlock is glad his brother has yet to stop by. And he hopes he never does.

           But Sherlock knows better than to start hoping because as soon as he does, there is a knock on the door.

           His head turns to see who it is, hoping it’s a nurse or even Mary, but instead it is the exact person Sherlock Holmes was hoping would never show their face

           “What do you want, Mycroft?”

           Leave it to Sherlock’s older brother to get the first word – first sentence out of Sherlock in twenty-four hours. If Mary had known Mycroft could do that, she would’ve phoned him herself.

           “Ah, I see the hostility is still there, brother mine.”

           Sherlock glares. “Leave or I will show you out myself.”

           Mycroft stays by the door, not able to see you lying in bed asleep. And maybe that’s why he is so arrogant. “Well, I’d like you to show me out all the same. I need to have a word with you.” He pauses. “Outside.”

           Sherlock clenches his jaw. He hasn’t left this chair, not even to eat or shower. He’s been too afraid to leave your side, and now his brother is demanding he do just that? Ridiculous.

           “It’s about the case.”

           “What case?”

           “Her case,” Mycroft finally steps into the room, casting a brief glance at you before he steels himself. “It’s about Gidon.”

           “What is it?”

           “I’d prefer not to say here,” Mycroft says slowly, raising his eyebrows. “She might be listening.”

           “She’s in a bloody coma—”

           “Sherlock. Outside.”

           Snatching his coat off the back of the chair, Sherlock practically storms out the door. Your room is thankfully on the second floor, giving Sherlock enough steps to stomp some of his anger out on as he shoves his way outside.

           Mycroft follows behind, loosely. He knows his brother and he knows that he is wound up tight at the moment.

           Sherlock pulls his collar up around his neck, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

           Entirely without anticipation, a cigarette comes into Sherlock’s peripheral view, held up by none other than his older brother.

           “Just the one.”

           “Why?”

           “Happy New Year.”

           Sherlock thinks it over for a moment before he shakes his head, stepping away from the cigarette. “No.”

           Mycroft, pleased but surprised, asks, “Can I ask why?”

           “I promised her.”

           And then, it all clicks into place. The incredibly clean streak Sherlock Holmes has been on for the past few months is all because of a promise he made to you.

           Sentiment. It runs deep.

           “Well. I wish she was awake so I could thank her,” Mycroft comments, tucking the cigarette away.

           Sherlock spins around, glaring at his older brother. “You wish she was awake? You’re the one who got her into this position in the first place.”

           “If I remember correctly, she was already in this position when I began corresponding with her some time ago.”

           “Are you seriously arguing semantics with me right now? Of all times?”

           “I’m trying to get you to listen to me.”

           “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two minutes?”

           “You’ve been prancing around like a child, Sherlock, and I need you, just this once, to act like an adult.”

           “And I need you to tell me what it is you have to say before I check you into hospital.”

Mycroft hears the underlying threat, but he chuckles darkly. “Is that sentiment talking?”

           “No. It’s me,” Sherlock replies seriously.

           “Hard to tell the difference with you these days.”

           Sherlock gives his older brother a look, one that says he has one last chance to say what he needs to say before this is going to end badly.

           “Gidon is dead, Sherlock.”

           Sherlock pauses. “What did you just say?”

           “Gidon was found dead in his cell this morning. Don’t worry, we know it wasn’t you. Security cameras have footage of him taking a cyanide pill at some hour last night. The guard found him this morning.”

           “Why are you just telling me this now?”

           “Because I wasn’t informed until an hour ago,” Mycroft pauses, digging in his coat. “I’ve been in meetings all day, but this was brought to my attention.”

           Sherlock takes the folded piece of paper from his brother, giving him a strange look. “What is this?”

           “A note that Gidon left behind underneath his pillow.”

           Sherlock unfolds the paper, his expression leveling when he sees the three letters written in black ink. Small, tiny letters. Small enough that anyone doing an initial search would miss them. But they are loud and clear to Sherlock’s eyes. He hasn’t seen them in years.

           I O U

           “Moriarty is dead.”

           “I would hope so,” Mycroft breathes. “But it appears he might not be.”

           “So, what? Was Gidon an-an accomplice?”

           “That’s what we have been trying to figure out.”

           Sherlock waves the paper frantically, scoffing at his idiot brother. “You’ve had an hour, what on earth have you been doing?”

           Mycroft stares at his brother. “Sherlock, I’m only bringing this to your attention because I know you’d be angry with me if I didn’t.”

           “I’m still angry with you, so what does it matter?”

           “Sherlock, listen to me.”

           “Why?”

           Mycroft ignores the question. “I have put maximum surveillance on this entire building with extra security on its way.” He pauses. “If you want her so closely under your protection—”

           “She is under my protection. She always has been.”

           “Well, you can’t do it alone,” Mycroft says. “If she is under your protection then she is under mine as well. But listen to me when I say you do not know everything about her.”

           “I don’t need to know everything about her.”

           “Sherlock, you’re not listening to me.”

           “What am I supposed to do?”

           “You need to not blame yourself for this.”

           “I blame you for this. All of this.”

           “No,” Mycroft sighs. “You’re blaming yourself.” He knows his brother well and he knows that’s exactly what he’s been doing every hour that he’s been sitting by your bed. “You do not know the ins and outs of her past, and I will not tell because it is not my place to. But she will need your protection more than she’ll want it. And she might take a while longer to wake.”

           “Oh, for God’s sake, what’s the matter with you?” Sherlock cries. “You end it there? She might take a while longer? I’m not blind, Mycroft, she hasn’t moved in four days.”

           “And she may take a while longer to come around. After all that she has been through.”

           “What are you going on about now?”

           “Someone with as much psychological damage as herself may take longer to join the conscious world because her mind needs to heal,” Mycroft replies simply. “After all that she’s been through, I can’t say that I blame her myself for wanting to stay asleep for a while longer.”

           “You’re making it incredibly hard for me to not punch you, brother dear.”

           “Then I see nothing has changed,” Mycroft smiles, already used to his brother’s usual threats. “I’ll be off.”

           “Took you long enough,” Sherlock mutters, not giving his older brother a single second glance as he goes back inside the hospital.

           Within minutes Sherlock is back by your bed, the chair now facing the window and overlooking the London sky.

[anchored-in-high-tide]

Evermore

Rating: General Audience

Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock (TV)/Johnlock

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2068

Tags: Fluff, Post-Canon, Sherlock x Disney, Beauty and the Beast (2017), Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Parentlock, Rosie wants to be a princess, Sherlock sings, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers

Inspired by the song: Evermore from Beauty and the Beast (2017)

He will tell him today, John decides as he carries the groceries back to their flat. Rosie will start school in a couple of weeks. It’s high time she gets her own room, to invite friends, to do homework, to have a place she doesn’t have to share with her father. Sherlock will surely understand that, won’t he? Yes, John will tell him today that he and Rosie will move out.

Maybe Sherlock already figured it out by himself. He has been a little quieter lately, has even declined some of Lestrade’s—according to Sherlock, absolutely boring—cases to spend more time with Rosie. Maybe he already knows and is just waiting for my final verdict.

That this arrangement had even worked for the past five years was a miracle, after all; Working on murder cases with a toddler on one’s arm was—a challenge, to say the least. In all those years following John and Rosie’s rather rash return to 221B Baker Street, neither John nor Sherlock have dared to talk about its implications for the future. They have simply enjoyed each other’s company, watched Rosie grow into a brilliant, funny girl, lived in the moment—because both know that those bits of happiness vanish faster than you can blink. You need to hold on to them as long as you can. The future will arrive soon enough and spoil all your plans.

And things have been fine, great really. Sherlock adores Rosie and the little girl, in return, is obsessed with her “Sher” that lets her ride on his shoulders and teaches her about bees and stars and disembowelment (if John doesn’t watch him very carefully).

John’s lips hurt a little as he smiles melancholically. Yes, they have had five good years. But even good things have to end sooner or later. Probably, Sherlock will even be glad to finally have his flat back, to experiment in the kitchen again and play the violin at all times of the night.

John just has to get it over with. It won’t be that bad. It’s not like they won’t spend time together anymore. He’ll make sure to find a place as close by as possible so that Sherlock can see Rosie whenever he pleases. He can’t separate them, not after everything Sherlock has done for them.

It has taken John longer than he cares to admit adjusting to his life as a widower, to cope with all the traumas and terror he has lived through. He couldn’t have done it without Sherlock—his help with Rosie, his friendship, his companionship. By now, he is factually Rosie’s second parent. John doesn’t want to break their bond. It would devastate all three of them.

But they can’t keep on living in denial about the lack of space for a rapidly growing child. They have to find a new place, to move on. They can make that work. They always have.

As he unlocks the front door and steps into the familiar hall, John can already hear the music floating down the staircase from their flat. He tries to remember the last time it has been quiet when he came home. Will there still be music in their new flat? Will the songs still sound the same without Sherlock?

John shakes his head determinedly, hoping that his painful thoughts would just fall off. He isn’t prone to sentimentality but having to leave Sherlock for a second time is bound to be an emotional train wreck, at least for him. Who knows what’s going on in that funny head of Sherlock’s? He wouldn't care, now, would he?

Following the soaring melody, John climbs up the stairs, trying to identify the tune. It’s either something from Frozen or Beauty and the Beast, probably.

Rosie is in the middle of her princess phase, ever since she has seen her first Disney movie. For the past weeks and months, she has barely talked about anything else than her favourites—Belle, Elsa, Moana, Cinderella, … She insists on watching the same films over and over again whenever John and Sherlock allow her some telly-time. The rest of her days, she spends reenacting her favourite scenes, soundtrack included. John can (more or less proudly) claim to know the lyrics to Let It Go even in his sleep by now.

At first, John was utterly horrified when his daughter for the first time expressed interest for something as far removed from science as possible, especially fearing that Sherlock might make some snarky comments about romantized and outdated gender roles, but, to John’s surprise and amusement, he has supported Rosie in her royal extravaganza with as much enthusiasm and diligence as he usually displays on a crime scene. He even convinced Mycroft to buy her a yellow gown—“Just like Belle’s! Thank you, Uncle Myc”—for her birthday. John has never seen anything funnier than Mycroft Holmes, the personification of the British Government, bowing to her majesty Rosie the First and graciously accepting her invitation to tea.

As he is half-way up the stairs, the music ebbs away and he hears Rosie’s high, demanding voice: “Now sing your song, Sher!” Her talent for bossing people around would do a real princess honour.

“As you wish, your majesty,” responds Sherlock’s silky baritone. He has never been one for strict parenting, John thinks as another melody begins. He would spoil Rosie rotten if John didn’t interfere, his heart being simply unable to deny her anything.

The lump in his throat grows with every step, the grocery bag weighing him down as if it were filled with lead instead of apples, toast, and beans. He will miss all of this. But what other choice is there really?

In the sitting room, only a few meters away now, Sherlock’s voice begins to sing a song John recognizes from Beauty and the Beast, the live-action version which Rosie has been only allowed to watch a couple of nights ago. She was a little scared of the howling wolves but the Beast won a special place in her heart right away. John must admit that he, too, enjoyed that particular film. Well, they can still have movie nights at their new place.

He mounts the last few steps, stopping on the landing to listen to Sherlock, the words now easily distinguishable:

“I was the one who had it all, I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.”

The fervency he lays into the lyrics makes John’s insides tingle. He has heard Sherlock sing to Rosie before but nothing has come close to this level of… honesty? The words drip from his tongue as fresh and true as spring water and make John hold his breath almost devoutly, a clandestine listener to a secret symphony.

With utmost caution as to not disturb them, John opens the door to the sitting room and peaks inside. The scene before his eyes is one to thaw even the coldest of hearts: Rosie, a head full of golden locks and mischief, is standing on the couch, her light blue dress playing around her bare feet as she bounces up and down in excitement. Sherlock’s slender figure is towering over her, the blanket the three of them cuddle under on cold nights draped around his shoulders as a makeshift cape. With melodramatic gestures and skillful vibrato in his honey-like voice, he entertains the little girl:

“I'll never shake away the pain. I close my eyes but he's still there. I let him steal into my melancholy heart; It's more than I can bear.”

John stops short in the doorway. He? Him? That can’t be right. As far as he remembers, the Beast sings this song about Belle. Why would he use male pronouns? Or has he misheard?

He eyes Sherlock carefully but the singing detective doesn’t show any signs of flustering, nor does Rosie correct him. Surely, John has misheard then. When it comes to reciting Disney songs, Rosie is more than unforgiving when someone makes a mistake. Unfortunately, she has picked up Sherlock’s habit to correct everyone on everything, although not with the same air of smugness as her godfather.

“Now I know he'll never leave me. Even as he runs away. He will still torment me, Calm me, hurt me, Move me, come what may.”

There it is again. He! John is sure he has heard it right this time. The syllable rings in his ears, echoes in his chest, lets every sinew in his body vibrate with alarming anticipation. He can’t move. Glued to the spot, he just keeps watching the two most important people in his life, both completely immersed in their little show. Rosie giggles satisfied as Sherlock kneels down in front of the sofa in an overly dramatic fashion, clutching his heart with one hand.

“Wasting in my lonely tower, Waiting by an open door, I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in And be with me for evermore.”

The deep note makes goosebumps spread all over John’s body. Deep inside his bones, something is shifting, falling into place, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Why does this performance move him so much? It is heartwarming to watch, sure, but there’s something more, something significant going on. His breathing speeds up a notch without him being able to do anything about it. His whole body has become oddly rigid, no longer accepting orders from his mind. The bag full of groceries slips from his hand and lands on the floor with a thunk that makes Sherlock, at last, aware of his existence.

For a split second, their eyes meet and the hint of a coy smile tugs at Sherlock’s mouth but it vanishes so quickly that John is not quite sure if he has seen it at all. Rosie wins back his attention at once. Sherlock rises and swoops her off the sofa in one smooth movement, whirling her around in a pirouette that makes her squeal with laughter.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light. Though he's already flown so far beyond my reach he's never out of sight.”

Rosie wraps her legs and arms around his body like a little spider monkey, Sherlock securing her with strong arms as he keeps spinning them around. He lets his head fall back and sings at full volume as they twirl on the worn-out carpet, his voice saturating the air with its enchanting timbre. Every single word hits John like a wrecking ball.

“Now I know he'll never leave me, Even as he fades from view. He will still inspire me, Be a part of everything I do. Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door—”

Sherlock’s eager eyes fix on John and a hint of sadness and something apologetic flit across his face as he halts in the middle of the sitting room, the few steps between them, the safe distance they had kept all these years, this unsurmountable abyss finally being bridged by a delicate construct of wavering words.

John burns up under his gaze and is yet unable to divert his own eyes from the face of the man he shares his life with. Why would he ever give this up? Why would he ever let anything as mundane as a missing bedroom rip Sherlock from his side again? He can’t leave him, he doesn’t want to, he has never wanted to, since the first day they met. The realization crushes him like an avalanche, breaking bones and convictions like brittle twigs.

“I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in. And as the long, long nights begin, I'll think of all that might have been—”

Sherlock knows. How could he not? Sherlock knows how John feels about him. And if the pleading look he gives John and the confession he has woven into the song are any indicators, he feels the same. It couldn’t be clearer. John lets out a disbelieving puff of air—half laughter, half sigh. Why has it taken him so long to see it?

“Waiting here for evermore.”

The last note of the song hangs unfinished under the ceiling of their home as John crosses the sitting room with three swift steps, takes Sherlock’s face in his hands, and shuts him up with a long overdue kiss.

@itsalwaysyou-jw @drunk-rambles @barbsiebabe @blueeyesbitch @bugzy-boiz

[basketcase1880]

Thanks to @sherlollysecretsanta for organising the Secret Santa this year.

This is my gift for @4gap3, it’s called

Secret Santa Can Change A Life. 

Hopefully, it fulfils your wish. (It’s also over on Ao3). Also, this is my first Sherlolly work.

Summary: Sherlock and John are flatmates; however, their landlady doesn’t believe this, despite the fact that John has a girlfriend when he moves in with Sherlock. John’s girlfriend has a new flatmate too, who just happens to be a specialist registrar in the morgue at St Bart’s. John and Mary think that their flatmates would be perfect for each other, so start planning to set them up, not knowing that the pair have a history with each other.

“Would you be needing both bedrooms?” Mrs Hudson asked as John and Sherlock looked around the open plan layout of the kitchen/diner/living room of their new flat. “Mrs Turner next door has married ones…”

 “Of course, we’ll be needing both rooms,” John said, rather shocked at the insinuation of their new landlady. “I don’t think Mary would take too kindly to sharing with Sherlock if she were to stay over.”

 “Oh, you’ve got a girlfriend?” Mrs Hudson asked, shock evident in her voice.

 “Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock reassured the older lady in a monotonous tone. “Not everyone is as fluid as I am in who occupies my bed.”

 “Oh, very well, Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson scoffed as she pulled the tall young man into a brief hug, which, surprisingly, he returned. “It’s good to have you back. When your mum told me you were coming back to London I made sure the flat was ready for you. I don’t like you staying with your older brother.”

 “I believe the sentiment is reciprocated,” Sherlock replied before turning to face John, who was shocked at the camaraderie between the two figures in front of him. “I used to rent this flat when I was at college and Mrs Hudson and my mum are old friends.”

 “Less of the old,” Mrs Hudson laughed before beginning to leave the 221B. “And just remember, I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper. So, keep the place tidy yourself.”

 Sherlock just nodded as he made his way to the bedroom on the main floor, while Mrs Hudson left to head back down to 221A. John just gaped after Sherlock and followed behind him. He needed to ask where the other bedroom was.

 “I thought you didn’t want to share,” Sherlock commented as he lay on his bed with his fingers steepled under his chin and gazed up at the ceiling.

 “I, uh, don’t,” John stammered. “I was just wondering where the other bedroom was?”

 “You need to go back into the stairwell and climb,” Sherlock explained. “Your bedroom is on the next floor. It has a small ensuite so, you don’t need to wander down here in the middle of the night. Also, I work better at night. I don’t want you disturbing my thought process.”

 John just nodded his head and left Sherlock’s room, heading up to his new room. He had invited Mary over later for a take-away, so he wanted to make sure his room was set up to watch a film too.

 [LINE BREAK]

 When Mary came around that night, she was excited to tell John that she had managed to find her own roommate. Molly was a sweet girl who worked in the morgue at St Bart’s.

 “She’s a specialist registrar,” Mary explained. “You wouldn’t think it to look at her, though, she looks like a schoolteacher or something.”

 “St Bart’s, you say?” John asked. “Sherlock goes there to run some of his experiments and collect materials. Maybe they know each other.”

 “We can try and gauge if they know each other,” Mary suggested. “Maybe we can try and set them up together?”

 “Mary, you’ve known Sherlock a while,” John dismissed, shaking his head. “Why would you willingly submit anyone to spending time with him, let alone set them up on a date?”

 “Because underneath that greatcoat and cockiness has to lie a soft heart,” Mary smiled. “I mean you have seen him with his parents, haven’t you?”

 “Alright, alright,” John relented. “But don’t come running to me when it all fails.”

 “I’ll try and hold back on my ‘told you so’ dance,” Mary retorted with a smug grin. “You know, when Sherlock and Molly are getting married.”

 John just rolled his eyes before playing the movie on his laptop. He had a bad feeling about Mary’s plan, he couldn’t pin down the exact reason, but he knew there was going to be something to come out of this plan. If only he knew if it was actually a lot more complicated than they initially thought it would be.

 [LINE BREAK]

  "I need to go to St Bart's," Sherlock said suddenly, a few months after they moved in and John had been inducted to Mary's matchmaking plot. "They're letting me use their equipment to run some tests."

  "Do you work out of St Bart's a lot?" John asked, seeing the perfect opportunity to ask about Molly.

  "Relatively so," Sherlock replied. "It's the only hospital my brother could get me clearance to work with."

  "Mary's roommate works at St Bart's," John explained. "She's a specialist registrar in the morgue."

  " Young Molly, " Sherlock said with a small smile John was sure he had imagined. "I've seen her about; she seems like quite a smart young woman."

  "She must be," John agreed. "Mary said Molly knew in high school she wanted to work in the morgue. I remember from my time at medical school that hardly anyone wanted to work there."

  "Not everyone is as squeamish as you, John," Sherlock said in lieu of a farewell as he grabbed his coat and disappeared down the stairs.

 [LINE BREAK]

 "He's noticed her," John said to Mary as she came into his room. "He's over at St Bart's working on one of his experiments, so I said your roommate works there. He apparently also knows exactly who she is as I didn't have to say her name."

  "That's brilliant," Mary smiled as she kissed John's cheek. "Did he say anything else about Molly?"

  "Said she seems like a smart young woman," John supplied. "Has Molly said anything about Sherlock?"

  "Not particularly," Mary answered. "But she has appeared rather flustered when I've mentioned him, and she goes quiet when I invite her to come over for our weekly dinner with Mrs Hudson."

  "So, do we move on to stage two of the plan?" John asked. "Because I think Sherlock might be sweet on Molly. I can't be sure of it, but I think Sherlock smiled when he said her name earlier, it was so fleeting, but I think there was definitely a smile."

  "Next week is Christmas and Molly isn't going home," Mary said with a smile. " I'm going to bring Molly along to dinner. I've already discussed it with Mrs Hudson, and she suggested we organise a Secret Santa and rig it so that Molly and Sherlock get each other."

  "Then you get me?" John inquired "And I get you? Sherlock would see right through that."

  "Not exactly, " Mary said, rolling her eyes. John could be so dumb at times. "You're forgetting Mrs Hudson. I thought you could get me; I get Mrs Hudson and Mrs Hudson could get you."

  "Still seems like Sherlock will see through it, but I'm in," John said rather doubtful. "What's your plan for allocating our recipients?"

  "I got Annie at work to put the recipients' names into envelopes," Mary began. "And the envelopes all have our names on them. The configuration of Santa and recipient is as we discussed, and I've given Mrs Hudson her envelope. Here is yours, and Sherlock's, you can inform him of the impromptu Christmas plans and give him his Secret Santa allocation. You may also have to explain the whole premise to him."

  "Thanks for that," John said rather flat, he knew explaining something like this to Sherlock would be a feat on its own. Never mind ensuring he bought the gift in the first place. "Want to go for a drink before I tackle Sherlock when he gets home?"

  Mary just smiled and began leading the way out the room. She knew John would need some liquid courage before he talked with Sherlock.

 [LINE BREAK]

 Sherlock loved spending time at St Bart's. Little did anyone know that he actually spent most of his time admiring a certain young woman whom he had known for many years. Molly had been in several of Sherlock's chemistry classes while at university and he had admired her thirst for knowledge, so it was a natural reaction for Sherlock to seek her out to be his lab partner. After they graduated, they had gone their separate ways, however, Sherlock had kept an avid eye on Molly's career from afar. When he found out she had become a doctor at St Bart's, Sherlock had almost begged his brother to get him clearance to work out of their labs for whatever reason Mycroft could devise.

 When Molly discovered her old university friend was working pretty much alongside her, she was overjoyed. But her mother's words of warning from her university days made her wary about restarting the friendship. Molly had confided in her mum one holiday she had developed feelings for her lab partner, but somehow word of Sherlock's notoriety had gotten back to Mrs Hooper, who had told Molly to forget about him and focus on her studies because 'boys' like him will only bring heartache', and so Molly decided to keep her feelings to herself.

 Sherlock had been the one to approach Molly when he started working out of St Bart's, so Molly gladly accepted Sherlock's friendship but told him they had to keep it quiet for the time being but didn't tell him why. Sherlock accepted this as he had made it known that he 'didn't do friendship'.

 So, here they were, two years later and still maintaining their friendship. Even if both of them were keeping to themselves that they held deeper feelings for each other than just plain friendship.

  "...You mean John hasn't clocked we know each other?" Molly asked as they are lunch in her office. "I think Mary knows something though. She keeps trying to get me to come over for your weekly dinner."

  "You should come," Sherlock assured Molly. "It would probably please Mrs Hudson to meet you. But I don't think John has realised yet, he only just mentioned that you are Mary's roommate and that you work here when I said I was working out of St Bart's today."

  "He's really that oblivious?" Molly asked. "I thought Mary was exaggerating when she told me the story of them getting together."

 “Oh yes,” Sherlock smiled. “For a doctor, John is quite dense. Not like someone else I know who is a doctor.”

 Molly blushed at Sherlock’s comment, but before she could say anything in reply, her phone pinged with Mary’s specific tone to let her know she had received a text message from her.

 Since you’re not going home for Christmas fancy spending it with me round at Baker Street? Mrs Hudson suggested I invite you since we’re doing Secret Santa. Mx.

 “Mary’s just invited me to join you all for Christmas,” Molly explained as she put her phone down. “Apparently Mrs Hudson suggested she invite me since you guys are doing Secret Santa.”

 “You should come,” Sherlock smiled. “No one should be alone at Christmas. I would be going to my parents’, but Mycroft has given them a cruise holiday for their Christmas, so I’m staying at Baker Street.”

 “Thank you, Sherlock,” Molly said thankfully. “Now tell me about Mrs Hudson, I might get her for my Secret Santa.”

 “She likes to bake,” Sherlock smiled, remembering the ginger nut biscuits she would leave in a box next to his bed some days. “But I doubt you will get her as your Secret Santa. Going on our earlier discussion about Mary and John and whether they know we know each other; I think they are trying to set us up with each other. So, we will probably be given each other.”

 “Oh?” Molly said, rather shocked at the idea. “And what do you say to that?”

 “I say we see how long it takes them to realise we’re already together,” Sherlock explained, deciding now was as good a time as any to let Molly know of his feelings. “We’ve been tip-toeing around each other for the past eighteen months, Molly, and who knows how much longer we’ve had deeper feelings for each other. So, why don’t we give whatever this is a chance?”

 “University,” Molly replied in a small voice. “I’ve had feelings for you since university, but my mum told me to forget them because ‘boys like you will just bring heartache’ so I decided to just focus on my studies.”

 “Is that why you withdrew?” Sherlock asked, thinking back to those years where Molly was his only friend and Molly nodded. “I thought my behaviours had pushed you away.

 “No, if anything I was more attracted to rebel you,” Molly said with a shy smile. “But word of your antics had gotten back to my mum and she warned me off you, so I withdrew.”

 “I wish I hadn’t gotten in with that crowd,” Sherlock replied sadly. “I got into some pretty heavy stuff, and Mycroft ended up having me committed to try and clean me out. Pretty much destroyed any trust he had for me; we’re still trying to get back to where we were.”

 “But he got you the permission to work from here,” Molly said with some confusion. “So, there must be some trust there?”

 “Mutual appreciation,” Sherlock explained. “If I have a lab I can work from, independent of any government or law enforcement agency I can work for him when he needs me to.”

 “Well, I’m grateful for that,” Molly smiled. “I got to reconnect with one of my best friends, and maybe explore something deeper…”

 “I second that, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock smiled in return before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Molly’s cheek. “Now, I suggest we get back to work before we have to face our respective flatmates and face the music that we have been allocated each other for this Secret Santa. Have your interests changed much since you were in university?”

 “Nope, still the exact same kooky girl you knew back then, only slightly older,” Molly assured Sherlock over her shoulder as she exited her office. “And I’ll think of something aptly appropriate for you, don’t worry.”

 “I could never worry about anything you give me,” Sherlock muttered to himself as he and Molly went their separate ways. He fully intended on texting her later to discuss how their evenings went.

 [LINE BREAK]

 When Sherlock arrived home, John was in the living room typing away on his laptop. Sherlock could see the intense concentration on the doctor’s face, so he couldn’t resist the opportunity to mock him.

 “Some mystery illness puzzling you there, John?” Sherlock asked.

 “No, I’ve got Mary as my Secret Santa,” John explained. “I’m trying to find her the perfect present. Oh, that reminds me, you’ve got someone for Secret Santa, too. Mary’s invited her roommate to spend Christmas with us next week since she’s not going home for the holidays, so, I don’t know what one of the five of us you’ll have.”

 “Obviously I won’t be given myself,” Sherlock said as he walked over to the envelope John was indicating to. “And you have Mary, so I will either have you, Mrs Hudson, or Mary’s roommate…”

“Molly,” John injected. “She has a name, she’s not called ‘Mary’s roommate’. God forbid you get her as your recipient. Do you even know how Secret Santa works?”

 “Thank you, John,” Sherlock said, rather disturbed with his roommate’s current attitude to him. “And yes, I do know how Secret Santa works, John, I’m not an idiot,”

 Sherlock sulked off to his room, John’s dismissal of him and his intellect really irked him at times. So, he was glad to have reunited with Molly. When she confirmed she was still the same girl he knew back in university, he knew exactly what to get Molly. She had been a right history buff, despite the fact that she was a science nerd, and she loved musicals. There was many a night Sherlock would play some of her favourite musical songs on the violin because they were too poor to afford to go and see the shows themselves. Of course, Sherlock had insisted that he could afford to pay for them to go, but Molly had told him no. They should live their lives like real students, unable to afford the finer things in life unless they saved like crazy. So, Sherlock reluctantly agreed, but made a promise to himself that when they were finished with university, he would treat Molly to a night at the theatre and now he had the chance, he knew exactly what show he would take her to see.

 [LINE BREAK]

 When Molly arrived home, Mary was desperate for her answer since she never replied to the earlier text.

 “So, what do you say?” Mary asked as soon as Molly sat down on the sofa. “Are you joining us on Christmas Day?”

 “Yes, but be aware, I am on call,” Molly answered. “So, if an urgent case comes in, I will need to leave. Especially since ‘on call’ now includes medical examiner for the Metropolitan Police.”

 “That’s fine,” Mary smiled and pulled out an envelope from behind her back. “This is your Secret Santa allocation. I had Annie at work put someone’s name in each of the named envelopes I gave her, so, you can’t even call foul if you get someone you didn’t want…”

 “It’s fine, Mary,” Molly smiled reassuringly. “You and John have spoke enough about Mrs Hudson and Sherlock. I’m sure I will be able to figure out a gift if I have either of them.”

 “You won’t have Mrs Hudson,” Mary supplied. “I’ve got her, just trying to work out something for her now.”

 “Well, you better be quick,” Molly reminded her friend. “You’ve only got a week to buy her something. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a bath to wash off the smell of the morgue off before I settle down to sleep. I have tomorrow off, so I can go and shop for whoever is in this envelope.”

 “Lucky you,” Mary called after her friend. “I’m not off until the weekend, so lots of last-minute shopping will be done.”

 “Well, behave yourself,” Molly called back. “I don’t need you going on a murder spree right before Christmas.”

 Molly laughed as she began running her bath and took the opportunity to open her envelope, smiling as she saw Sherlock’s name. It may appear Sherlock was right, but Molly knew exactly what she was going to get him. Molly had always had a fair interest in the arts and was particularly skilled in drawing. There was one night in university when Sherlock had been playing the violin for her, so Molly began to sketch him. Over the next few days, Molly devoted her time to perfecting the drawing and finishing it off with colour. Unfortunately, that was around the time she began to withdraw from him, so, she had been unable to gift it to him. She had kept it safe and secret all these years. Molly had decided on the way home from work that she was brave enough to gift it to him now and she was willing to let their friends know exactly what the story was between them.

 Settling into her bath, Molly smiled when she received a text from Sherlock.

 They’re trying to set us up. -SH

 I know, but it means I have the perfect Secret Santa gift for you 😉. Molls x

 Oh, do tell? -SH

 No chance, Sherlock. Molls x

 But it does mean we would have to tell them our history. Molls x

 Don’t worry, we would have to explain ourselves with my gift to you too. -SH

 That’s good. I have tomorrow off and was planning to go and see It’s A Wonderful Life and White Christmas. The Regent Street Cinema is showing a double feature. Want to join me? Molls x

 I think I will. -SH

 I will text you tomorrow to agree on a time. Sweet dreams Molly Hooper. -SH

 Sweet dreams Sherlock Holmes. Molls x

 Molly enjoyed the rest of her bath with a smile on her face. Not only were she and Sherlock tentatively dating, their friends had no idea they knew each other, let alone were dating, and were trying to set them up with each other. She had the perfect gift for him without having to worry about buying it, and it appeared that they were going on a date tomorrow to see her favourite Christmas film.

 [LINE BREAK]

 So, the days passed much too quickly for Molly. Yes, she was desperate for her friends to learn about her history (and hopefully future) with Sherlock, but at the same time, she was happy for it to remain just between the two of them.

 They spent most nights texting each other, although when it was safe for ream (read: Mary and John were out of their respective flats) Sherlock would call Molly just to hear her voice. He could feel himself becoming more and more like his younger self who yearned to be near Molly, to hear her voice and see the light shine in her eyes.

 Sherlock actually surprised himself on Christmas Eve when he found himself slipping into the pew beside Molly at the church service. Yes, he accompanied her in university, but he had never darkened the doorstep of a church since they went their separate ways years ago. Molly was surprised to see Sherlock there, too. But she just gave him a small smile and entwined her fingers with his.

 After the service, Sherlock and Molly walked for a while hand in hand, just enjoying the silence of each other’s company. The only thing that would have made the scene any more perfect would have been snow. Reaching the end of Molly’s street, Sherlock stopped and pulled Molly in closer to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

 “I wish I could walk you right to your door,” he whispered in Molly’s ear. “But I fear we may be rumbled if I were to come any closer to your flat.”

 “Yes, Mary has been trying to get hints on what I’ve got you for Secret Santa,” Molly smiled into Sherlock’s throat. “But we only have to wait until tomorrow, I can’t wait to see their faces when they learn the truth.”

 “I’m looking forward to that too,” Sherlock agreed as he noticed Molly try to supress a shiver. “But for tonight, I must insist you return to the warmth of your bed.”

 “Okay, Sherlock,” Molly agreed, but before she could walk away, Sherlock cradled her head in his hands and pressed a soft kiss to Molly’s lips. The kiss was both passionate and soft at the same time and it stole Molly’s breath she had spent most of her time at university imagining what Sherlock’s lips felt and tasted like, and here she was, finally getting those answers.

 “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock smiled when he broke the kiss. “Until tomorrow.”

 “Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes,” Molly returned when she reluctantly pulled away from his touch. “Until tomorrow.”

 [LINE BREAK]

 Around lunch time on Christmas Day, all five gathered in Mrs Hudson’s flat where Christmas dinner was being prepared curtesy of Mrs Hudson and Mary. John and Molly were discussing the latest edition of the Lancet, while Sherlock was struggling to keep his eyes off Molly. This, of course, did not go unnoticed by the other four occupants of the flat.

 Mary and Mrs Hudson chatted quietly amongst themselves in the small kitchen about how smitten Sherlock appeared, while John was struggling to keep his smile to himself. Molly just kept glancing at Sherlock and every time she caught his eye, they exchanged sweet little smiles that they thought the others wouldn’t catch.

 Once everything was cooking away, Mrs Hudson encouraged everyone to gather around the Christmas tree to exchange their gifts. The rule was that everyone had to place their gift inside the Santa sack when they came in so that it would be harder to guess who had gifted to who. Of course, everyone knew who had gotten Sherlock and Molly. Even if they weren’t supposed to know.

 “Right, here we are, my dears,” Mrs Hudson said as she handed over each present. “On the count of three we’ll all open our presents. One. Two. Three!”

 Everyone suddenly began tearing into their gifts. John was the first to open his, and found a new stethoscope inscribed with his initials and the year he graduated. Mary was next and hers was something similar, only this time it was a fob watch for her to wear at work. Mrs Hudson then opened a gift voucher for a fast car experience at Knockhill, she may be an older lady, but Mrs Hudson could be a speed demon when she wanted to be. This left Molly and Sherlock staring at their gifts from each other.

 “How did you know?” Molly asked at the exact same time Sherlock asked: “When did you draw this?”

 “What is it?” Mary asked as she moved between the two of them to look at the gifts. In Sherlock’s hands was a framed drawing of what appeared to be a younger Sherlock playing his violin with a passion, while Molly held two tickets to see a musical, Six, she had been trying to get tickets to for ages. “Wow, these seem really personal gifts guys. Anybody care to explain?”

 “We’ve known each other for years,” Molly began to explain. “We were at university together.”

 “The best lab partner ever,” Sherlock smiled.

 “But we drifted apart after we graduated,” Molly continued. “We met again two years ago when we both started working at St Bart’s at pretty much the same time. And we’ve been building a tentative friendship since.”

 “Decided to keep it quiet,” Sherlock added. “Mrs Hooper isn’t my number one fan and Molls didn’t fancy a lecture about how ‘boys like me only bring heartbreak’, but last week we decided since we were doing this, we would give a relationship a go.”

 “And here we were trying to set you two up all along,” Mary said shaking her head. “I’m just glad that you both saw the light and have decided to consider things other than your work at times.”

 “Of course,” Sherlock smiled as he held out his hand for Molly to take. “Molly is worth more than all my work. Now, who would like to hear the stories behind these gifts?”

 Mary, John and Mrs Hudson all nodded in agreement. So, Molly decided to take the initiative and start.

 “I love musicals,” Molly began. “But being a poor college student in London, I couldn’t afford to go to the theatre every week. Of course, Sherlock offered to foot the bill, but I would tell him ‘no, he needed to experience life as a struggling student if he wanted to hang about with me’. So, instead, he offered to play some of my favourite songs from musicals on his violin. One particular night, I was in an arty mood and I had my sketch book out while he was playing, and I began drawing him. I had intended to give it to him as a Christmas present that year, but we drifted apart after my mum’s warning and Sherlock got in with a bad crowd. I kept the sketch to remind me of happier times with my best friend.”

 Everyone was smiling at that story, but soon all eyes were on Sherlock for his story.

 “As we’ve already established, Molly loves musicals,” Sherlock began. “What you may not know is she also really loves history. Particularly the Tudors. I don’t know how many times we watched that TV show, or even the film Carry on Henry. Over the past two years I’ve been able to see that Molly hasn’t lost any of these interests, and I’ve also heard her complain about not being able to get tickets to see this particular musical. So, using my connections, I was able to organise the tickets for the two of us to go and see Six, which incorporates both of these topics, what with it being a musical about Henry VIII’s six wives.”

 “That’s so sweet, both of you,” Mary gushed. “No wonder you got flustered whenever I mentioned Sherlock. You wanted to keep whatever was going on between you special. I completely understand.”

 “Seriously, you guys are good,” John said. “Managing to keep this to yourselves, especially with Mary and I being your roommates.”

 “That’s just because you are oblivious, John Watson,” Mrs Hudson chastised. “Now, who’s for some Christmas dinner? I think it must be ready by now.”

 The rest of the night went by with all five of them enjoying good food, good wine and good company. All while enjoying the splendours of Christmas TV. Who would have thought a little thing like Secret Santa would bring the most joy to two long lost friends newly reunited?

[thebeethathums]

A Second Chance 10/?

John Watson x Reader x Mycroft Holmes

Notes: Transfering my old fics from 2014 to here! This is the split chapter. After this chapter should you choose Mycroft chapters will be called ASC- A New Beginning and if you choose John chapters will be called ASC- A New Friend.

As always if you can’t find the next chapter message me or check out my DeviantArt or Archive of Our Own under the same username.

After a surprisingly pleasant Afternoon tea with a thrilled Violet, Mycroft excused himself to take care of some work and John complained of being tired, slipping off to his room, leaving you and Sherlock to your own devices. You were fairly tired as well but after six years of missing him you weren’t about to waste this opportunity to hang out with Sherlock, smiling up at him deviously, “I challenge you.” Violet chuckled, getting up to leave the two of you to your inevitable antics, as he folded his hands beneath his chin, “What are your terms?” “The usual rules beginning fifteen minutes from our agreement. If I win, I get three hugs at three separate instances of my choosing and you have to read me one story. If you win, I will tell you about my scandal and watch one movie of your choosing with you without complaining about your commentary.” He considered this and then nodded, reaching out a hand for you to grasp as he stated, “I agree to your terms.” 

As soon as he released your hand, you bounded up the stairs and into your room, quickly changing your clothes and grabbing your gear before carefully slipping out the window to creep across the ledges to the music room. You quickly set up your trap and then ‘accidentally’ flicked one of the piano strings causing it to hum softly as you slipped out the window again, dropping to the floor below in a hazardous leap. 

Sherlock smirked smugly as he made his way to the music room, you were rusty since you’d slipped up so easily as to create a sound. He entered the room cautiously, knowing you had a propensity to create traps, and let his eyes search the room until he noticed something amiss with the lid of the piano. Stepping over curiously to examine your trap, a mistake on his part, he triggered the real trap and got hit in the back with one of your markers. Despite his frustrations that he’d taken the first hit, he grinned a little proudly- you’d caught him off guard and played to his weaknesses: his arrogant confidence and curiosity. He turned to begin his search for you but only made it to the doorway before he was hit again, this time with your dart gun from the bottom of the stairs, as you sing-songed, “You’re rusty Sherlock~ Having John has made you lose your edge.” He bounded down the stairs to chase after you as your sprinted down the hall, skillfully sliding across the floor to your next destination with sock-clad feet and catching the door frame to swing yourself into its room before he could catch up. Using the windows to your advantage again, you swung up to the second level, using some ivy on the wall outside to help your ascent. It would seem Sherlock had anticipated your use of the windows since the one above you, the one to his room, was locked, as well as the ones on either side of it that would have also let you into his space. You huffed quietly, knowing that checking all three had lost you time and possibly your advantage, and quickly moved to the next window over. It wasn’t until you slipped through it that you realized it was John’s room and that you’d startled him, “Bloody hell! What the- (F/n)?” You didn’t bother answering as you clapped a hand over his mouth with a sense of urgency and pressed a finger to your lips, hoping Sherlock hadn’t heard him. John took the few seconds to look you over- you had on black pants and a grey V-neck with various contraptions and weapons strapped to your legs, back, and arms, and what looked to be night vision goggles on your forehead. You had just deemed it safe when the door behind you burst open and you cursed as you ducked behind John, who was promptly hit in the chest with one of Sherlock’s markers. You took the moment of confusion and darted past John to dive out the door, shooting Sherlock in the back again as you slid across the floor and pulled the door shut, but not before he hit you in the shoulder. You jammed the lock with one of your many tools and quickly bounced away to plan your next move. Sherlock frowned at the door and then began to look around the room, trying to figure out what he should do next, as John gaped at him, “What’s going on Sherlock? Why are-“ “Shut up John. I’m trying to think. She only needs two more hits and she wins… it seems she’s learned some new skills over the past years.” He was dressed similarly to you in a black button down and grey trousers but didn’t have as much of an arsenal since he preferred a more straight forward approach- using stealth and deductions to hit you when you weren’t expecting it- over your traps and mind games. John glared at him and then wiped at the bright blue splotch on the front of his jumper with a pout causing Sherlock to roll his eyes, “Oh quit it. It’s washable.” John frowned at his friend as he went to the window you’d come in through and stepped out on to the ledge calling, “She can explain when she comes to fix your door. Until then I suggest you sit tight to keep from getting in my way again.” “I got in your way!? You shot me in the chest you-“ John started to argue but Sherlock was already moving across the ledges outside, not as skillfully as you but competently enough that he didn’t fall. Downstairs you stayed in the hall closet, avoiding rooms with windows as you knew he would come in through one but not which. You yawned, waiting for him to fall into your newest trap, and a moment later heard his distinctive footsteps in your hall. You snuck out of the closet as you hummed, “Bet you wish you had your night vision goggles now, don’t you Sherly?” You watched him spin and blindly shoot into the completely dark hallway, part of your trap, missing you by a lot as you moved to get a clean shot before his vision adjusted. You stifled a giggle as you hit him smack in the forehead and he groaned, “I thought we agreed not in the face, (F/n)…” Unable to hold it in any more, you let out a laugh, giving away your position before ducking so his marker wouldn’t hit you. All you had to do was hit him one more time and you would reign supreme but as you geared up, the door next to you opened and flooded the hallway with light, causing you to give a small screech as you pried the night vision goggles off your face. You fully expected to be hit in your temporary blindness but instead you heard Sherlock’s deep chuckle resounding through the hallway and when you could see again you found out why. It had been Mycroft who opened the door and he had stepped out in front of you- right into the path of Sherlock’s most recent shot. You pressed a hand over your mouth as you tried not to laugh, looking up at Mycroft’s blue covered face as you shot Sherlock in the chest to end the game, “Your aim was a little high, Sherlock.” “I know,” he hummed, still chuckling contently at his brother's 'misfortune'. Mycroft went red under the paint as he lowly seethed, “Just what do you two think you’re doing?”

[afteriwake]

number 44, please?

A Potential Loophole To Exploit (A “Just Pieces On The Board Story) - After Thor and Loki leave a meeting with their mother, they start to talk about what can be done to stave off the foretold arrival of their sister, Hela, and begin to make plans.

READ CHAPTER 1 | READ CHAPTER 3 | HELP ME SURVIVE? | COMMISSION ME? | BUY ME A KOFI?

To Coulson’s eyes, it looked as though the assembled team of his looked like a bunch of kids going on a cool school field trip and their jaded chaperones. It was pretty easy to tell who the science fanatics were by who was most excited. He didn’t seem at all surprised, however, to find Fitz and Leo fawning over Tony Stark, who was fawning back in some measure. That was probably the only surprise...at least so far.

He moved over to where Clint and Molly were standing, saw they were in heavy conversation, and then moved over to Sherlock and his brother. “Glad you could join us, Mr. Holmes. And you too, Mycroft.”

Sherlock snorted a quick laugh and then covered it up while Mycroft glared. “There were many others above my pay grade who could be coming,” Mycroft said.

“Mycroft it’s an alien planet. While I may have been obsessed with pirates as a child, you were the one who enjoyed alien invasion movies? Well, congratulations. You’re among the first humans aside from Ms. Foster to go to an alien planet in your lifetime.”

Mycroft looked a bit more mollified at that. “It does seem more adventurous than bureaucratic work when you put it that way,” he said.

“Trust me, there are enough politicians going with that you’ll get bored of us and drift back to them,” Coulson said, adjusting his sunglasses. “Though I hear the science is pretty interesting. Supposedly the offers of technology that Thor and Loki are saying would be available to the world is pretty spectacular.”

“But how much depends on the planet’s resources and how much can be replicated here?” Mycroft asked.

“Make sure you ask that question when the other politicians are all glazed over with the spectacle,” Coulson said, clapping Mycroft on the back. He moved away over to those on his own personal team and motioned for them to move away from Stark and, in Skye’s case, away from Darcy Lewis, who was coming along with Jane. The two of them looked cozy and he felt a trickle on panic at the back of his neck. “So we have some muscle, some clout and whatnot, but I need you all to be alert. We’ve had run-ins with their tech and we know Sif, which is an in for us, but still.”

“Who should we be sticking closest to?” Triplett asked.

Coulson thought for a moment. “Let Molly handle Mycroft. They’re practically family, and she’s got a good grasp on how to deal with both Holmes brothers at once. May, Trip, you stay with the politicians. I’ll have Barton join you if trouble breaks out. Fitz, Simmons, I know you want to stay near Stark, so you two and Skye can cover the scientists with Stark as your muscle. I’ll keep my eye on the Odinson brothers.”

“You still don’t trust Loki, do you?” Melinda asked.

“Not by a long shot, but we saw what that cube under his power did to Barton and Selvig. Thor thinks he was under its influence too, so there’s that. I’m willing to forgive, I suppose, just not forget.” He looked around. “As soon as they show up, move discretely into your groups and stick with them as long as we’re on Asgard. Remember, the kingdom at large doesn’t know what we know about the imminent threat, and neither do the politicians, for the most part. This whole venture is kind of a Hail Mary in that it might stop the sister if there’s no Asgard left.”

“You really think that the governments of the world will allow the whole entire planet to be blown up?” Jemma asked.

“It’s not our planet and we’re taking refugees if it all works out,” Coulson said. “Asgard may keep for a time until we can get what the Asgardians need, but right now? Not our planet, not our choice.”

The assorted team nodded and that was when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Molly had come over. “Sorry to interrupt your team meeting, But Jane said they should arrive at any moment.”

Coulson nodded. “You heard what Agent Hooper said. Get ready.” Almost as soon as he was done speaking an incredibly bright light filled the area, causing almost everyone to reach for sunglasses or look away, and then he grinned as the light dissipated and it was just Thor there. “Oh, he made a good choice,” he murmured.

“No brother?” Molly asked.

“Exactly.” They moved closer, Molly going back to the Holmes brothers as though she’d heard Coulson’s instructions, and Coulson went to Thor. “Thor Odinson.” He held out his hand, to which Thor smiled greatly and pulled him into a brotherly-type embrace.

“Son of Coul! You live! I thought Sif had been mistaken, but no, it is indeed you.”

“Yeah, well, things happened but yeah, I’m alive,” he said as he hugged Thor back. Then he took a moment to compose himself and gestured to the politicians, scientists, and his team. “Is this too many people?”

“No, there are not too many,” Thor said. “My mother and brother await in the golden halls of the palace. Shall we?” Thor gestured to the intricate symbols on the ground. “If all of you would gather in the circle, it would be much appreciated and a far easier job for Heimdall.” They all began to move towards the circle, Jane giving Thor a quick kiss on the cheek before he reached over for her hand, and once they were all inside the confines of the circle, Thor spoke again. “We are ready, Heimdall!” The light enveloped them again, and they traveled across what felt like a rainbow tube where they didn’t need to move, and then suddenly it was all gone and they were walking into a golden building and seeing a large black man with a sword in a machine that he was turning. “Friends, representatives...welcome to Asgard.”

[possiblyimbiassed]

Chess against Death -

Can Samarra be avoided?

I was just reading an excellent meta by @ebaeschnbliah​, when something occurred to me like an epiphany. Maybe this has already been discussed in fandom, but since I haven’t seen it yet, here it goes.

@ebaeschnbliah‘s meta is about how Sherlock is confronted with death and dying throughout the show, and also how this is related to the promo pictures for S4, where Sherlock is playing a game of chess with Mycroft, while John is watching. They seem to be allegorically playing The Game, which is definitely a recurring theme in Sherlock.

And if Mycroft represents Sherlock’s own brain, he’s probably playing with himself (his worst enemy, according to Mycroft in TAB).

At the end of the meta, @ebaeschnbliah questions whether the game is still on, because on one of the promo pictures, Sherlock throws the chess pieces through the air. Wouldn’t that end the Game?

Actually, now I believe it doesn’t – the game is still on! Because I have a feeling this whole chess theme might actually be inspired by an old movie about a man who plays chess with Death, an ‘epic historical fantasy film’ from 1957 called The Seventh Seal.

More under the cut.

The Seventh Seal is written by Swedish director Ingemar Bergman, (more about the film here). 

It’s rather ‘dark’ and, like many other of Bergman’s productions, brings up existential issues. It takes place in the 14th century, when the great plague known as the Black Death is wreaking havoc, killing 30–60% of Europe's total population. The main character, Antonius Block, is a knight who returns from the crusades together with his squire, only to find his country infected by the disease and the religious fanaticism and panic that follows in its wake.

Death is waiting for Block, but he manages to bargain by telling Death that he’s not ready yet, he wants time to use for one single meaningful act before he dies. And in the mean time Block challenges Death to play a game of chess. As long as he can resist in the game, Block gets to live, and if he wins, he and his family walk free from Death. But if he looses, Death can take him right away. Death consents, and they start to play.

This chess-against-death theme is rather pervasive in BBC Sherlock I think; as @ebaeschnbliah points out, the show begins (ASiP) with Sherlock playing a game of life and death with a serial killer, a murdering cab driver, who refers to a game with poison pills as chess:

And maybe it’s significant that the cab driver’s last name is Hope, because the chess game gives an illusion of hope for the victim; if Sherlock wins (supposedly by making the right choice), the killer gets the bad pill and dies, and Sherlock walks free - just like Block the knight in The Seventh Seal.

In this trailer (almost 10 minutes long; source or the screencaps) you can get a good idea of what The Seventh Seal is about.

Block the knight says he wants to know things before he dies.

He has lost his faith because of what he’s seen in the world, and he wants knowledge instead.

Like Block, Sherlock can’t resist the temptation to play the deadly game, because he wants to know. He thinks he needs to know how Jeff Hope thinks and the reason why, so he questions him and makes a series of deductions:

And after his deductions Sherlock comes to the conclusion that “love is a vicious motivator”.

But ‘the game’ is mentioned repeatedly all throughout the series, and it’s clear that Sherlock is given a respite from death, just like Block in The Seventh Seal. Apart from John saving Sherlock from the Bad Pill by killing Jeff Hope, @ebaeschnbliah points out several other occasions in their meta, like this one in TGG/ASiB:

T6T also repeats the chess game of death in depicting the British Ambassador playing chess with her husband, while they are held as hostages in their Embassy in Tblisi, Georgia, during a terrorist attack. The death threat while playing chess is very tangible in this scene, where one terrorist is pointing his gun at the couple:

Madame Ambassador is extremely bored (like Sherlock) after three months. But she says she’s got a secret weapon if only they can get out of the siege situation; Amo - which means Love, codename for Lady Smallwood.

(Since I believe this is all happening inside Sherlock’s mind, and Madame Ambassador is a mirror for Sherlock, the subtextual meaning of this could be that Love is a secret weapon Sherlock can use against his enemies, but he needs to get out (=wake up from coma) first. But I admit I don’t really 'get’ what Amo is supposed to mean on a textual level).

Sadly, we know what happens next; the diplomatic couple gets killed under a counterattack from the AGRA agents, because they were betrayed by one of their own. So Death won their game, so to speak.

Yet another version of the same theme, also in T6T, is the story of Death in Samarra that Sherlock tells, which I believe is pretty much in line with the story in The Seventh Seal:

“There was once a merchant in the famous market at Baghdad. One day he saw a stranger looking at him in surprise. And he knew that the stranger was Death. Pale and trembling, the merchant fled the marketplace and made his way many, many miles to the city of Samarra, for there he was sure Death could not find him. But when at last he came to Samarra, the merchant saw, waiting for him, the grim figure of Death. ‘Very well,’ said the merchant. ‘I give in. I am yours. But tell me: why did you look surprised when you saw me this morning in Baghdad?’ ‘Because,’ said Death, ‘I had an appointment with you tonight – in Samarra.’”

At the end of T6T, when Sherlock thinks he has lost John’s friendship because ‘Mary’ (supposedly) took a bullet for him – making him escape death again -  he reflects over whether he can escape Death at all:

But here’s the thing: according to Mycroft in TST, Sherlock invented his own version of this tale when he was a kid; he told himself a better story; ‘Appointment in Sumatra’. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine. 

I believe this has to do with Sherlock ‘s childhood trauma; in T6T he also tells Karim in Morocco that he’s not familiar with the concept ‘happy family’. Something must have happened in his family past that has bearing on Samarra/Sumatra. So maybe what Sherlock can try to do is go back to his childhood, emulate his childhood ‘pirate’ self, and totally avoid the place where Death awaits him. I get a feeling that’s actually what he did in TFP, but I don’t think the mystery is completely solved just yet, even if he did solve the Musgrave ritual. Exactly how he is going to do it, I don’t know. But I do believe it will have to do with Amo – perhaps a love that isn’t betrayed this time.

In The Seventh Seal, Block confesses to a (supposed) priest, that he feels alienated towards other people, which I think is very much a resemblance to Sherlock’s problems with repressed feelings and lack of expressed compassion:

And Block feels trapped inside himself, which I also believe relates directly to Sherlock being trapped in his own mind palace in S4, with ghosts as his only company:

He also tells the priest how he intends to outsmart Death in the chess game. But since the priest is actually Death, he now gets to know Block’s tactics.

And maybe this is the key; Sherlock can’t outsmart death, trapped inside his own brain. It doesn’t matter how smart he is, this is about emotions, and he must wake up and come out to the real world and get in contact with ‘some people on the ground’.

Block and his squire get to know a family of jesters with their little child, and this family stands out to them with their kind and uncomplicated ways and very moving love for each other. Block wants to save this little family as his last meaningful act before he dies. But the Black Death is hunting people down everywhere, and since Block is now loosing his chess game, the prospects look bad for all his companions, including the jester family that travels with them.

At the end of the movie, the knight’s time is almost up. But then Block plays a last, desperate trick to distract death; he knocks the pieces over to buy time. And while this is happening, the jester family manages to escape.

Which very much resembles what happens in this promo picture, doesn’t it?

In The Seventh Seal Death simply puts the pieces back in place again on the chess board, and finally wins over Block. Which doesn’t matter much to him, since he already has managed to do his single, meaningful act before he dies; saving a whole family.

But this is precisely what I don’t think will happen in Sherlock. Because Sherlock already tried this in TRF (‘committing suicide’ with the delusion that this would protect John), and it didn’t work; it nearly destroyed John and ultimately made Sherlock lose him. And on John’s blog (which I believe better reflects ‘reality’ than the TV show) it says #sherlocklives means #johnwatsonlives. Which means that Sherlock’s only way to save John Watson is by staying alive. I do think that Sherlock is nearly dying in S4, and The Final Problem is about staying alive. Which I think he has managed this far, but if Sherlock is playing chess against his own brain (=Mycroft) with his heart looking on (=John), he can’t outsmart his own brain. And at the end of HLV Sherlock says to John “the game is never over”.

So maybe Sherlock has to continue playing ‘the game’ also into S5. Fortunately, in Chess there’s something called a draw, which might be the solution here; a tie, a truce, an agreement between Sherlock’s heart and brain, with mutual respect preserved. And maybe Sherlock has managed to buy some time by knocking over the pieces, so no-one has to die, ‘everybody lives!’ (as the Doctor would say in DW ;) )

Block says in The Sevent Seal that he knows that Death plays chess because he has seen it in paintings. Here’s the medieval church painting (15th century, by Albertus Pictor) that allegedly inspired Bergman to film this theme:

Which means that the theme with Death playing chess is actually quite old.

Here is also an interview with Bergman about The Seventh Seal. Particularly interesting, in my opinion, is the part at about 7 minutes into the interview, where Bergman is talking about film ’reality’ and the audience believing in it. According to this other guy in the video clip, Bergman got the question: “What is he trying to do when he makes a film?” And Bergman answered:  “Well, I’m not trying to make it real, I’m trying to make it alive”. I have a distinct feeling that the same goes for Mofftiss.

Source of chess promo pictures (X)

Tagging some folks who might be interested: @sagestreet @sarahthecoat @gosherlocked @raggedyblue @88thparallel @darlingtonsubstitution @tjlcisthenewsexy @sherlockshadow @consultingidiots @monikakrasnorada @loveismyrevolution @sectoralheterochromiairidum

[guardmesherlock-rowan]

Hey I really love your blog! If you're up for the challenge, could you write about how the GMS guys (including George) would react would to MC dying?

Making the boys suffer?  Who me? (warning James’s gets a little… weird.  So I put his at the end of the list if you want to avoid it.)

There had been no way of knowing.  She had been complaining to her director about a persistent headache, bordering on a migraine, but with some aspirin waiting in her dressing room they were given a small lunch break so she could ‘hopefully compose’ herself.  They found her shortly after, collapse on the floor of her dressing room.  A brain aneurysm as the culprit.  No mystery, no shadowy figure, but in a moment she was gone. 

Sherlock Holmes

John would check in on him, but he would be in the same place as the night before.  The same spot, barely moving, except when prodded by John to shower, or when Mikah would demand him to eat.  Even then it was just the minimal amount required to live.  His cheeks were sunken, and the sleepless nights were starting to show, both in the bags under his eyes, and the moments he would address MC as if she was still sitting in the room with him.  

The funeral came and went.  If he heard any news or information about it from John or Mikah as they practically yelled it at him, he never responded.  

It had been nearing a month before the sounds of crashes could be heard in the study late at night.  Mikah and John both rushing inside to see what was going on.  Sherlock and broken nearly everything he owned, throwing it everywhere.  Purposefully missing all the things that were ‘hers’.  “IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!” He yelled over and over in frustration.  

“Sherlock! Sherlock!”  John restrained him as Mikah called for assistance.  It was only once Mycroft and George where both present that they were able to calm Sherlock down enough to get him to answer the question, “what are you doing?”

“I’m a fool, a moron, an idiot, I am a pathetic bloody useless cretin.  How can I call myself the greatest detective and boost about being able to notice and realize what was going on?  How could I let her die?”

“You didn’t let her die Sherlock, no one could’ve prevented…”  George would pat his shoulder, trying to comfort him.  

“I don’t believe that for an instant George.  I failed her, and now I have lost the only woman I’ll ever-”  Sherlock would stand pulling away, and keeping his back to them, “I’m going to bed.  Don’t disturb me.”  

The door would click softly into place, leaving the four to stand in the study staring after him, the silence broken when Mycroft turned to them nodding.  “I’ll watch over him for the next few hours.  George you better get comfortable on the sofa as you’re taking the next watch.”

John Watson

He didn’t believe it.  He couldn’t believe it.  He kept waiting for Sherlock to tell him how he faked her death or why.  When that didn’t come he started double checking, believing that her death was actually murder disguised as natural causes.  He couldn’t just accept that she was gone.  The hospital told him to take time to grieve.  

When he finally accepted what people were telling him he told Sherlock he was going out of town.  By that he went to MC’s parent’s place and helped them clean and take care of things.  He was there for the funeral, sitting along side her parents, unable to look away.  It was only during the trip back to London that he started crying.  It was a while before he stopped but after he did, it was as if he was back to John Watson.  To anyone who didn’t know him personally that is.  

To those who knew him could see how little he engaged people, he was going through the motions.  Rarely getting animated except when Mikah suggested he pack up MC’s stuff from the room he shared with her, then he got angry. 

Sherlock complained about how useless John was as an assistant now, and refused to take him on any cases until he could clear his head.  But as he spent most of his free time staring at a picture of a woman standing at a window in a book they weren’t sure when that would happen. 

Mycroft Holmes

On the outside he seems calm and collected, he doesn’t really ask many questions.  He tells MC’s parents that he will take care of the funeral.  He is very stoic throughout all of it, to the point that after the funeral and after the wake some people confront him.  George and John especially.  Wanting to know why Mycroft wasn’t more emotional, didn’t he really love her?  Sherlock would actually step up and defend his brother, explaining that everyone grieves in their own way.  Including Mycroft Holmes.

When he was finally alone Mycroft would go and sit in her room for a little bit.  He had a chair placed in there so he wouldn’t disturb anything of hers.  Eventually he would pack everything up, he would tell himself.  Though there was no real timeline in his mind for when that would be.  John and George would apologize, coming back with some pastries.  But Mycroft wouldn’t let them inside, telling them that he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth at the moment.  He appreciated them thinking of him, but he would rather be alone with his thoughts.  

Jack Stillman

He told everyone that it didn’t bother him.  He didn’t go to the funeral.  He didn’t talk to anyone about it.  This didn’t sit well with the other guys in Guard Me Sherlock.  A few of them did try to approach him on separate occasions, demanding to know if he ever loved her, only to get a cocky grin, and a few snide words.  Egging them on into a fight.  

His work didn’t falter for ‘M’, but his extra curricular activities at night increased.  The victims of the Ripper slowly getting younger and taking on more and more of an appearance closer to that of MC.  Till one of the victims lived, or better put, she was spared.  He had loomed over her, a knife ready when he struck her with an open hand instead, hissing at her to ‘live’.  The killing stopped for a while before it picked back up with the original type of victim.  

At one point James did confront him about the killing, Sebastian had to step in when Jack stepped forward trying to make it physical.  In the fight a little hair clip fell out of his pocket.  James recognized it immediately and turned to ask Jack why he had it, but ignoring Sebastian, Jack was charging at James demanding its return.  

Sebastian Moran

More cats.  More and more cats.  When did he bring them home?  Jack and James had no idea.  But he had at least 5 new cats that they could count.  Sebastian never talked to anyone about it, he was there to pat James’s on the back at her funeral, he was there to make sure James’s kept eating.  If anything he seemed to be shoving more food at James than before.  

The maids were finding themselves with less to do as he started doing more of the cleaning around the estate.  Jack had to start reminding Sebastian however when they were on a deadline.  It also took forever to get Sebastian out of the Mansion as he went and double checked on all the cats before he left.  

Sebastian had also added a new pillow to his collection on the bed he shared with MC.  A body pillow replaced her presence where she normally laid.  So every night, after he exhausted himself from cooking, cleaning, and playing with the cats he finally collapsed with his arms wrapping around the pillow.  Many of the cats getting onto the bed with him curling up with him.  

Then he’s let himself shed a tear or two.  

Jeremy Cassel

There are many out there who chuckle at the eccentric ways of Mr. Cassel, how he was always less than serious.  However they had no idea how much of a partier he could be until news of MC’s death reached him over seas.  

He barely made it back in time for her funeral.  During which he was as sober as could be, he was at her mother’s side comforting her and running errands for her father.  He kept stressing over the flower arrangements, trying to set his attention anywhere but at the coffin.  

After the wake he was back on a plane, dark circles more prevalent than before under his eyes. Shortly after, his social media started blowing up with pictures of him at different parties, different bars.  He was trying to escape anyway he could.  Lupin didn’t make an appearance during this time.  Jeremy built himself a reputation of romancing different women.  He would woo girls at the party and while rumors said he slept with them, he never did.   

He would apologize about leading them on, but then ask if they would be alright with staying with him a little more.  Just to sit and watch some tv together.  After marathoning a night of different shows and movies of his favorite actress there were a few girls who didn’t want to talk to him, there were a few who didn’t mind eating room service and drinking champagne while keeping him company.  Even if he wouldn’t look away from the screen once they started. 

Hercule Poirot

It could not be as simple as that.  No way.  Hercule refused to entertain the notion.  As soon as he got permission he was in the dressing room searching for clues.  They had not allowed him near the body so he couldn’t search for any strange marking, but he did ask the mortician to check for him.  While her parents wanted to get on with the funeral as soon as possible, they agreed.

He searched the entire room, while it went to be evident that MC’s perfume and more expensive makeup and been scattered among the women there, Hercule had difficulty finding any clues that might lead him to her killer.  Eventually he did find small evidence of one of the stage hands stealing different materials to make drugs in his home.  When he confronted the man about the potential that he killed MC for uncovering what he was doing the man was nothing but confused. 

George was happy to wrap up the theft and illegal making and selling of drugs, but in truth there was nothing to suggest MC had been murdered, let alone but that man.  Hercule refused to give up, going back to the dressing room and nearly creating his own crime scene as he toppled furniture, trying to find what he had missed. 

Mycroft was the one who came to collect him.  Hercule was standing in the middle of the chaos when Mycroft darkened the doorway.  “She died of a brain aneurysm.”  He was completely calm and matter of fact as he stated it.

“Ah, of course.”  Hercule closed his eyes and nodded.  But he still didn’t move until Mycroft pressed a hand on his back and gently lead him out.

George Lestrade

He was in shock when he heard the news.  It took a few hours before he started crying.  He locked himself up at home and took leave from work to grieve.  

The first time he left his home after a few days was to go and purchase black clothing.  The second time was to go drinking with John and Sherlock.  They shared memories of MC.  It was the first time George had smiled in a while.  

The following day he went out and purchased more beer to have at home.

Sherlock was the one to suggest they should go visit George, while it confused John he was relieved that he didn’t have to drag Sherlock out.  However, John was not prepared for the empty cans and bottles that littered the flat, or the way George slept with a pile of magazine articles of MC spread out before him on the floor.  “Wake up George.  Wake up.”  Sherlock would ‘gently’ kick him while John started searching for trash bags. 

“MC?”

“She’s dead George, she can’t clean up after you.”  With Sherlock’s cold tone John would jump to George’s defense.  Up until George went immediately for another can.

“I need it so I can focus, just one drink and I’ll be ready to clean up.”

“But why George?  Why do you need a drink?”  This time John would be the one raising his voice.

“You can’t possibly understand the hole I feel without her!” George would scream, almost not hearing them saying that they do in response. 

Mikah Hudson

He wanted to blame someone, he started researching what it was that took her from him as soon as he could.  He only allowed himself to cry when he realized there was no one he could blame.  There was no way anyone could have predicted that this would happen.  

While he still went to classes and made sure the bills were paid, he needed reminders to eat or take care of himself.  John set alarms on Mikah’s phone to help him remember.  With a little gentle prodding Mikah eventually did go see someone to talk about his feelings over losing her.  Though most of the time he was just angry when he returned home.  Locking himself up in his room and venting his frustration to a photo he had of MC.  

Sherlock and John suggested they watch Mid-fall Murders together and share memories about MC.  Sherlock did fanboy a few times, sharing little information here and there about what MC was also doing during the shooting of several scenes. The interruptions had Mikah thinking that there was still so much of her history that he didn’t know.  Sherlock didn’t mind Mikah poking him for knowledge.

Even James was happy to share his insight when he found out from another student that Mikah was starting to collect information about MC.

Mikah would spend the next year working and interviewing a lot of different people creating a collection of stories and memories all around MC, until he had the first draft of what could be considered a biography for MC completed. 

James Moriarty

No.  

That was not okay.  That was not okay at all.  This man is on a rampage, he’s tightening down, he’s seeking war.  Anyone he could mess with, anyone he could hurt, he is looking for someone to make pay.  There’s no one he can make suffer.  He could’ve been considered sadistic and childish before even while calculating, but now? Now he was ruthless. If he could find someone to turn his attention on, he would destroy them.  It could be argued he was still acting like a child.  The world took away someone he loved and so he was throwing a tantrum.

First was the director who didn’t take it more seriously, maybe if he had been there, or maybe if they had sent her to a doctor. Maybe, maybe, maybe.  It drove him mad, and if he could find any tiny reason to blame someone for what happened to his Robin, he made them pay.

Meanwhile the only time he seemed to take solace was when he sat in his room with his new doll. Sebastian once made an offer, and in desperation James took him up on it.  Though no matter how often they were alone, or what he told her, what he brought her, she never scolded him for doing bad.  She was a doll, and could never give him those reactions he cherished again.