#sherlock has a whole routine

[johnhwatsonblogs]

Do you put products in your hair by any chance?

Not really, I put the average amount of gel that a man should have, unlike Sherlock.

[lowliest-manifestations]

Holmes brothers make me absolutely insane.

Mycroft is extremely stable, he goes through the same routine at the same time every day. He has carefully built a life well suited to himself: he has his job, his community, and his hobbies all in the same quiet and contained place. While I would argue that his is by no means anti-social, (he likes people! He really really does!) he obviously has some difficulty adjusting to the outside world at large. But he’s smart as hell so he’s figured out a way to have everything he needs.

Sherlock has had to do the same thing but as someone who just can’t do stability. He needs adventure, purpose, intrigue. He has built a career for himself, found a home and a partner, and is really, really fucking good at what he does. But he can’t keep any of it. Watson gets married, Sherlock fakes his own death, and he leaves behind everything. He returns of course, his life shattering and reforming into similar shapes over and over, but for those three years he’s back to the most basic constants of his life. He has his mind, his competence, and Mycroft.

It’s heartbreaking that Sherlock does not confide in Watson during those three years, but on the other hand, if it could only be one person, who else could it be? Who else understands him without explanation? Without judgement? Mycroft has known him his whole fucking life, in all likelihood he could see Sherlock’s hiatus coming from a mile away.

Mycroft is the most consistent thing In Sherlock’s extremely inconsistent life, and vice versa. When Sherlock needs stability he looks to Mycroft, and when Mycroft needs energy/adventure he looks to Sherlock. They just get each other.

[olderthannetfic]

So, you mentioned low standards of research in podcasts. I don't listen to podcasts or watch a lot of videos about fandom analysis, but I have seen error corrections happening in the wild for what I have listened to, so I can only imagine how annoying it is when you know your shit.

Do you have any resources that come to mind as things everyone who likes fandom should be comfortable with, or specific essays on uniquely important fandoms (such as Sherlock Holmes or Star Trek) that everyone should read? Obviously the OTW resources are up there; what else?

Aside from resources, do you think there are any skills that are especially vital for getting to the bottom of fandom trends? Interview skills are probably pretty high up there.

Any pitfalls you see a lot of young fans falling into?

(I do a lot of fandom history research. It is the thing that gives me joy in fandom; other people like shipping or AUs, I like my little mini-anthropology sandbox and watching how ideas spread. I'm not necessarily good at it, but it's fun!)

--

Well... it's the usual things.

For example, a lot of fans claim to love fandom stats, but the ones that get passed around come from like three people. The people doing those stats, including me, don't usually have a statistics background, which doesn't automatically make them bad, but it really seems like people are just trusting anything with a pie chart.

We've recently seen people discover that those year-end AO3 ship stats have a seriously weird methodology. They don't show the thing their fans are actually trying to find out. People were pissed. But most of the time, they don't even bother asking what the methodology is or trying to do anything themselves.

There's far too much sitting back and waiting for some BNF to spoon feed one publicly-available information.

--

The big failings aren't usually the math itself but, of course, not knowing what question to ask, so it pertains to history research, not just stats.

You'll see a lot of stuff on shipping that looks at AO3 because AO3 shipping numbers are easy to pull... But AO3 shipping numbers don't just happen to be easy to pull: that is both an effect and a cause that is directly related to AO3's content. Someone interested in meta shouldn't be asking "What do AO3's numbers show?" as their first question. They should be asking "Why is this metadata available or not available and what does that mean on a sociological level?"

--

Thing two is the eternal I Have Apparently Never Heard of Anime problem. A fuckton of people theorizing about fandom trends seem to know fucking nothing about whole massive sectors of fandom or treat them as afterthoughts. This is okay if you're writing a history of Media Fandom. It is criminally stupid if you're trying to talk about what makes a piece of media have fic when another doesn't, what kinds of websites make fandoms take off, etc. Those kinds of broad questions need a broad understanding of what's out there.

It's not anime-specific, and I'm not asking for a high degree of knowledge.

I have routinely had people tell me that best friend ships and mystery/crime as a genre aren't popular, and that's why AO3 has this or that pattern... Meanwhile, buddy cops are the bedrock of oldschool slash fandom and make up basically all of the longest-running Western m/m fandoms that aren't Star Trek. CSI slop tends to have legions of future canon het shippers, and they make plenty of fanworks. It's just that some of this is more visible on FFN or older places, not AO3.

I'm always seeing things like someone speculating about how this and that anime fandom thing or bit of mid-00s FFN community drama led to this other thing on AO3, not realizing that AO3 came out of LJ Western fandom slash culture. To them, FFN is so central that it must be the main reference point, not the bajillion and one archives AO3 founders ran or Usenet or mailing lists or LJ.

I once saw someone asking on twitter about where a prominent Ranma fic might have been posted in the mid-90s. People claiming "My professor is an authority!" came out of the woodwork in droves to blither about K/S zines and then LJ. Not only was this entirely wrong, but the right answer was blindingly obvious if you knew enough to interpret the google results. I can only assume that the person tweeting had never heard of Usenet and didn't recognize the acronym for the big anime fanfic group that literally everything like this was first posted to.

I'm talking people insisting that fandom only goes for white characters when it's very obvious that fandom goes for majority leads who are not othered. All the bawwing in the world about "People assume anime characters are white" won't get rid of The Untamed or Kpop thirsters or whatever.

I'm talking sweeping pronouncements about gender and fanfic writers where the person hasn't even heard of FIMFiction or SpaceBattles or Dark Lord Potter cheesefests.

I've been in fandom for a long time, but I wasn't in all these parts, and I wasn't around for 80s zines. You don't need deep knowledge until you pick a research topic. But it's shocking how little shallow, broad knowledge a lot of people have when they're writing their Theory Of All Of Fandom History.

--

People are stupid as shit about survivorship bias, and fandom history is no exception. They're also dumb in the opposite direction, assuming that the thing they like now has always existed in this exact form.

For example, someone got mad at Fanlore for supposedly not documenting the history of f/f zines. Others have searched and searched for the zines of their old show they got into last year and are bewildered to not find any. The reality is that Fanlore editors are attempting to document every Media Fandom zine and have combed through old adzines looking for any mention of anything. Because of the methods of distribution—because it was expensive—small fandoms often had no zines at all.

Femslash fandom doesn't seem to have gotten enough critical mass to do much until Xena. The internet has really democratized things, but even the early internet was still somewhat in that old mindset where only certain popular things have a fandom. I think Yuletide itself, which started in 2003, really helped spread the idea of rare-but-existing fandoms being a thing. FFN and perhaps some other multifandom archives like Media Miner played a huge role.

Nowadays, we think of fic as just how you respond to media, any media, even if there are only two fics for that one car commercial, but that isn't how people saw things in every era—or at least it's not how fandom infrastructure worked. A lot of the time, the big hosting spots were single-fandom archives, often with restrictive content rules. Finding somewhere to post a m/m/f OT3 fic used to be hard. Never mind early zines when photocopiers didn't even exist yet and you had to sell out your print run of 500 to make a go of it.

All good research starts with a lot of preliminary investigation to figure out what you're even trying to look for.

Actually bothering to look for fans talking about their own history or casually chatting with your interview subjects before the formal interview will put a person miles ahead of many of the cringeworthy fandom ~papers~ I've seen.

The biggest mistake people make is going "Okay, these numbers aren't perfect, but some numbers are better than no numbers".

Bullshit.

As soon as there's a pie chart of the false numbers, everyone's brain turns off and they never look at the chart subtitle, never mind the research notes.

Bad numbers are often worse than no numbers.

Look at the logic behind the methodology first. Look at the social context. Basic understanding of human nature and familiarizing oneself with the shape and hangout locations of a community will get you most of the way there before you sit down for a specific interview or try to collect any specific numbers.

--

None of this is a fandom thing. Research is research. It's just that most people think "research" means watching a tiktok that the algorithm likes and were never taught how to evaluate a source for reliability.

Evaluating sources is a skill. I had explicit lessons on it in school. Lots of people don't, and that sucks.

Honestly, watching the more thoughtful debunking content on non-fandom topics, like Miniminuteman's stuff on pseudo-archaeology or Dan Olson's... everything, is a good window into critical thinking, and that's most of what's missing from bad fandom history.

--

But more than any of that, more is more. Not the crap stats, but the narrower, more personal accounts, the interviews. The more fans who investigate their little corner that isn't the same old AO3 site-wide "Why is there so much m/m?" ship stats or the same canned "Everything comes from K/S" history, the better.

What I object to is not amateur efforts but efforts that pull from the same small pool of data or that just reblog a tiny handful of supposed authorities.

--

If people are going to read just one thing... hmm... go try to look up a history of rec.arts.anime.creative, not because I think it's the most important fandom history out there but because it's at the nexus of things a lot of current fandom history work miss.

[softboyshaven]

It is endlessly exhausting getting online and having allistic people be like "No,sorry I know they're your favorite canon autistic character but they're boring to me so I've decided they're made of harmful stereotypes and you're basic." Like??? I saw a whole thread about Ty Blackthorn that said he was a boring,walking stereotype because he has his headphones in reach a lot of the time. Yes?? He's an autistic person with sensory issues who lives with nine people (the least amount he lives with,there's more at other times) and he constantly has government officials popping in magically,without warning. I'd want my headphones with me too??

We can talk about the Sherlock thing but the stimming? The headphones?? The meltdowns in COHF after his entire routine changed,he had to move and he lost three family members?? The not understanding Kit liked him because he didn't pick up on flushing and looking away and quality time as a social cue for a crush?? Believable! Likely,even!

"Why is he doing *all these things autistic people commonly do*? Shouldn't he be ✨different✨?" He has autistic traits because he's autistic!! Hope this helps:)

[jrow]

May Prompts (5)

Day 4 here. Day 6 here.

Awkward

“This part is a bit awkward. Sorry, John.”

He’s been aware of the nurse doing various checks on him, but this is the first time she’s spoken. When he feels her his gown and start doing something around his cock and balls, he feels obliged to say something. From his perspective silence only makes this more awkward.

“So, I have a cath then,” he croaks out, opening his eyes halfway. It’s so damn bright in here. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how thirsty he is. He’s also keenly aware that he doesn’t really know what’s going on.

“Well, hello there!” the nurse says, brightly. He recognizes her voice—did he talk to her before? “You’re awake!” She continues to do her work under his gown, and John can feel his cheeks redden. “And yes, of course you have a catheter. Standard for this kind of thing, as you well know doctor.”

He’s about to argue that he actually doesn’t know what kind of thing is even happening but decides the need to drink is more pressing.

“Thirsty,” he rasps. He turns his head and winces. His head is pounding and he feels awful. It's bad enough that he can't be bothered to continue feeling embarrassed that a random woman is currently cleaning a tube shoved up his urethra.

“Of course,” the nurse says, lowering his gown. In a flash she is by his side with a cup of water. John shifts to drink and notices a familiar feeling under his arm. He looks down and his blood goes cold.

“Sherlock,” he says, alarmed, water (and his own discomfort) entirely forgotten. “Where is he?” Even John is smart enough to deduce he’s in a hospital, but he has no recollection of why. If he got hurt, there’s a non-zero chance that Sherlock did too. Why else would his coat be here? John feels his heart rate accelerating and a machine starts beeping loudly. He has another, equally terrifying thought. “And Rosie, where’s Rosie? Are they okay?”

Think, John. Remember!

"Calm down, it's okay, nothing happened to them,” the nurse says, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I assume Rosie's your daughter, then? Mr. Holmes left to a few hours ago to take care of her. Said he'd be back after he dropped her off at nursery." She chuckles. "He was a bit of a mess last night, but he took the time to rant at me about the substantial empirical evidence that routine is crucial for young children, even more so in times of crises.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “To be honest, I think he was trying to convince himself. I suspect he felt guilty about leaving.”

Warmth fills John's chest. "That sounds about right. And err...sorry about him. He can be difficult when he’s a …. mess.”

"No apology needed," she replies. "He was a bit of an arse between the tears, but," she drops her voice again and whispers, "only to the doctor, really, and he deserved it. He’s good but he has a touch of an ego.”

“So does Sherlock,” John says with a chuckle and then grimaces as pain radiates across his chest. God, his whole body hurts.

“I noticed,” the nurse replies, with a wink. “Two egos like that … well, let’s say it got a bit tense.” She leans back. “Now drink and then I’ll see about getting you something for the pain.”

John complies, focusing on the feeling of cold water moving down his throat. When he’s done, the nurse pats him on the shoulder and puts the cup down.

“I’ll go fetch your doctor,” she says as she looks at her watch. “And your Sherlock should be back soon. Hopefully they’ll be able to answer all the questions I can see you have.”

“Good,” he says through a yawn. He closes his eyes, suddenly very tired.

The nurse makes a sound of agreement. “You can rest now if you like.”

John thinks he will.

@calaisreno @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @lisbeth-kk @jolieblack @friday411 @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart @keirgreeneyes

Let me know if you want the added or removed from the tags!

[myrskytuuli]

One of my favourite things about Helluva Boss (and this is me being 100% genuine) is how much it reminds me of a fanfic written of a much worse, early 2000s, low-key homophobic, show á la supernatural and the ilk. Like, it does really hit that very spesific nostalgia of reading slash fics instead of doing homework in 2007.

Somewhere out there is an alternate universe where Helluva Boss is a show released in 2005 by a guy who wanted to amass an audience of edgy college-bros, but is shocked and disgusted to find out that 90% of the fandom consists of embarassing teenage girls who write slash fics on FF.net about it.

In that show, Blitzø is supposed to be a tough-rough heterosexual in the model of Dean Winchester, while the entire fandom is busy writing deep-dives about why he is actually in the closet pansexual.

Moxxie fulfills the role that Sam Winchester did in Supernatural, which is the very quintessential 00s metrosexual. Blitzø keeps teasing him about how his wife clearly wears the pants in the relationship, and Moxxie constantly has to be annoyed about it: "Just because I like musicals doesn't mean I'm gay!" His heroic moment is when he gets to be a badass and rescue Millie, who swoons in his arms, and the audience is assured that just because Moxxie is a bit of dweeb, doesn't mean that he can't take care of his woman and be REAL MAN.

Blitzø is constantly flirting with Millie, while there is also a running joke about people confusing him and Moxxie for a gay couple, and instead of being normal about it, they do the spn/Sherlock routine and drag the denial on for about three minutes too long, which just makes it sound like Blitzø really wants to fuck Moxxie. It's basically an fandom-wide accepted headcanon that Blitzø wants to have a threesome with both M&Ms. The creators are disturbed, apalled, and confused as to how anyone could arrive in such a conclusion.

Stolas is the queer-coded antagonist, whose status as the big villain changes according to who happened to be writing the episode. Sometimes he's a genuine threath, seeking to get his stolen book back from Blitzø. Sometimes, for very contrived plot reasons, he needs Blitzø's help with something or another, and leverages the book to get him to do his dirty work. And sometimes he's written as basically a comic relief character, this effeminate dandy who tries so hard to be a big, bad, demon, but then immediately gets slapped around by his much more domineering wife. The fact that he can't satisfy/control his wife is always written as a joke where Stolas is the punchline. The question of: Why doesn't he just take his book back? Which the plot has danced around in more and more confusing ways, has by the fandom been solved with the simple: 'they're secretly fucking off-screen' theory.

And god help the 13-years-old who makes the mistake of mentioning Stolitz to the creators on a con-panel, because she's about to get the public humiliation of a lifetime by the writers and actors, who are not afraid to mock the "delusional tumblrinas" in front of everyone, and with open malice.

Asmodeus is always seen surrounded by busty, half-naked, women, but he did once say that he's "quite flexible" when it comes to sex, which the fandom celebrated as finally getting a confirmed, canon, queer representation on the show. Fizzarolli is his bussiness partner/employee/it's never really made entirely clear, who desperately wishes that some of Asmodeus' charm would rubb on to him out of sheer proximity, but the whole joke is that he's a desperate, unfuckable, disabled, clown, so no matter how hard he tries, women will just never want him. The fact that Asmodeus seems to genuinely enjoy his company, has made the entire fandom convinced that the aloof, horny, sex-symbol is secretly, madly, deeply in love with the clown. He just has to hide it, because of his status, the entire, delusional, fandom desperately headcanons.

Loona's relationship with Blitzø is very uncomfrotable, because while it is implied that he gave her shelter when she was younger, he also sometimes ambigiously flirts with her. The fandom refuses to engage with those scenes and instead writes Blitzø as an overprotective dad.

Half-way through the show, Millie gets fridged.

[divinity-in-chaos]

Mycroft headcanons

I just need to get these out of my system. If anyone has anything to add, pls do!! I love to hear your thoughts 🥰 slight hints to mystrade!

Warning: this will include themes of depression, eating disorders and self-harm. I will put them at the end, so if you aren’t here for that, just skip past ❤️

He absolutely hates the summer. This guy is a winter baby. The cold weather is a bother but at least he doesn’t sweat through his suits in the snow.

Will never admit it, but his mother’s homemade pie is his favourite comfort food. He’s tried a thousand times to bake it, following the recipe exactly, but he can never get it just right.

The first time he held Sherlock, he cried.

(This is the one of the only times he’s cried in front of his parents.)

Mycroft can’t stand jazz music. He does not understand it at all.

If he had to have a pet, it would be a cat. Preferably one without any fur.

Is actually allergic to certain laundry detergents- I like to think Sherlock is too. They just have sensitive skin.

Watches Barbie movies to unwind when he gets overwhelmed and burnt out. Will not admit this even if it were to save his life.

Every autumn, he re-watches Over The Garden Wall with a glass of wine. The whole show in one sitting, I might add.

Is a daddy’s boy. Sherlock is mummy’s boy.

Would love to have a daughter, but the trauma of taking care of Eurus and Sherlock has convinced him he’s not suitable to be a father. His family genes also has a massive play in that- what if it was a case of Eurus again? Nope, Mycroft would rather be lonely.

Speaking of lonely- I like to think after TFP, Sherlock starts setting him up with people and at first Mycroft complains, but then eventually he just gives in and lets Sherlock do what he wants. Coincidentally, this is just around the time Sherlock starts setting him up with Lestrade. Isn’t that strange? 👀

Came out to his parents during lunch one day, it was very casual.

(Sherlock has never come out, he doesn’t feel like he has to follow that tradition)

His favourite colour is green.

Has a framed photo of himself, Eurus and Sherlock as kids which he keeps in his bedroom. Not on display, but in his bedside drawer (in the middle drawer)

Depressive themes now:

Has been struggling with depression and ED’s since he was quite young.

He has a particular routine of binge eating and then purging.

This is in partly Mrs Holmes fault when she started insisting he diet, a little too much. Not harshly, just unaware of the consequences.

Although it’s mainly depression causing it, along with a childhood of being bullied and mocked by peers.

Attempted suicide at 16. This was the second and last time Mr and Mrs Holmes saw him cry. It wasn’t out of sadness or embarrassment, it was frustration that he had failed.

Sherlock’s reaction to his attempt is the sole reason he hasn’t tried again.

Has SH scars on his stomach.

[chamerionwrites]

The A More Civilized Age team fully descending down the rabbit hole of Shirtless Thrawn™ in their discussion of Rebels is sending me:

Rob (narrating): Kallus walks in and sees Thrawn doing a stripped-down workout routine with two assassin droids - he's engaging them in hand-to-hand combat, and then he notices he's being observed and sort of slams the door shut and reemerges in his Grand Admiral's uniform.

Natalie: Well, crucially, he summons Lyste and Kallus to his office--

(LAUGHTER)

Austin: You're right...

Rob: He's flexing.

Natalie: In the middle of this solo training, this two-on-one thing he's doing.

Austin: You think he is? You think he's like - Listen. You couldn't fucking take me--

Natalie: A HUNDRED percent.

Austin: I don't live behind that desk. I'm out here. I'm really outside, I'm Admiral Thrawn--

Natalie: One hundred percent. My shirt is off--

(CROSSTALK/LAUGHTER)

Rob: Also, Kallus is tilted by homoerotic intensity--

Austin: We know this! You're right.

Rob: --so Thrawn doing this, is like: Yeah, I see you with that chinstrap beard. I know what's going on here.

(BACKGROUND LAUGHTER INTENSIFIES)

Austin: Kallus like maybe I shouldn't be a double agent. Maybe I should stick to the Empire. That Thrawn has a cutting figure--

Rob: Mind you, Thrawn isn't making an advance. He just knows that Kallus is gonna just unravel--

Allie: It's 3D chess!

Austin: He'll take one second longer to betray me, and that's all I need.

(BACKGROUND GIGGLING)

Allie: The other thing I love about this scene is that there's this really intense organ music, and it feels like it's diagetic at first, but then it gets even more sinister - like, look how ripped Thrawn is, it's so scary--

Austin: Do you think this is the type of music Thrawn listens to while training?

Allie: I think a little bit, yeah!

Rob: Thrawn is a Dracula.

Austin: Thrawn is a Dracula! We've been thinking of him as a Sherlock--

Rob: Always in these darkened chambers looking at art...

Austin: I don't think that you're wrong. He positions himself as being superior to other people, other people are disposable to him in that way - and there is also the whole he's an alien from another culture, all the weird foreigner stuff that's caught up in Dracula, there's a little bit of that here - yeah. He's a Dracula.

Natalie: I have to issue a correction. He's not actually shirtless when he's fighting--

(LAUGHTER)

Austin: He has like a black sleeveless--

Rob: He's just bare-armed. The guns are out--

Natalie: I just, when I saw his chiseled arms my mind--

(LAUGHTER INTENSIFIES)

Rob: It's actually more erotic because he's wearing the tank.

Austin: Right. It's one more thing he could remove.

Natalie: There's the question of like, maybe he'll get too close to one of the droids and his shirt will rip a little bit.

Rob: Also you're spared the animation team going, So what do his nipples look like? That's like weeks of lost production.

Allie (through laughter): They couldn't afford Kallus' hands, because they had to put in--

Austin: Yes! That's correct!

Allie: They were like nonono, we need Thrawn to be ripped--

Rob: We have to answer the question of what a Chiss looks like when you get them of of their clothes. Just weeks of production time lost, Pablo poring over documents, Timothy Zahn flown out - I didn't spend a lot of time imagining - WELL WHAT GOOD ARE YOU TIM?!

Austin: I do like Natalie that you were just able to mentally chroma-key out the black tank top.

Natalie: Literally in my mind - I know what his nipples look like. In my mind. I've seen them before.

(LAUGHTER)

[cod-dump]

Okay, more of the Ghost ending up in Price's bed most nights:

Gaz and Soap learn about it, and at first both Price and Ghost are worried about how they're gonna react. Mostly thinking along the lines of "really Ghost? That scared about a bad dream that you need to go sleep in your Captain's bed?" or something similar.

That, or they're more expecting them to be okay with it, but to not really discuss it and just kinda let the conversation move on. They are good people after all. Ghost also has a mild fear that Soap is hurt that he's not the one Ghost goes to

But NO. No, what actually happens is Price is suddenly dealing with two very emotional sergeants after he explains that he's their captain and they can always go to him if they need him.

Price: I'm serious, if you need something, come to me. I clearly don't care what time it is.

*Both sergeants staring at him*

Gaz, choking up: So why didn't you tell us sooner? I want post-nightmare cuddles :(

Soap, more clearly angry: You mean we coulda been havin' sleepovers this whole fuckin' time and no one told us?

Price, flustered: I don't know, I figured you boys would come to me without me saying anything.

Gaz, still sniffling: So, I can have cuddles too?

Soap, immediately grabbing Gaz's arm: No! Price doesn't deserve ya! You come to me when you have a nightmare and I'll go to you.

Gaz, wrapping his arms around Soap: Fine! If you guys don't want us at your sleepovers, you're not invited to ours!

*They both storm out of the office leaving Ghost and Price very confused and mildly concerned*

Soap and Gaz stood by their word. They got together several different times to support each other through sleepless nights. It became a routine, something for them, and they never heard any complaints from Price or Ghost.

Sometimes they would stay in one of their rooms or in the rec room. This night they went to the rec room after Gaz had what he decided as ‘a fucked up dream’. So Soap gathered some snacks, blankets, and Gaz got pillows and movies, and they headed to the rec room. They were surprised to see Ghost already there, watching something on TV.

“Oh, hey LT.”

Ghost blinked at looked at them, “Oh… you’re awake.”

Soap motions to Gaz, “Bad dream. Why are you here?”

Ghost looks back at the TV, “Couldn’t sleep… Price isn’t here so I didn���t know where else to go.”

Soap and Gaz exchange glances. Soap sighs and both him and Gaz walk into the rec room and set their stuff down. Soap shoves Ghost over and sits on the couch, Gaz choosing the arm chair.

“What are we watching?”

Ghost is taken aback but says nothing. They ended up having a Sherlock marathon, Gaz the first to fall asleep. Then Ghost passed out, leaning on Soap who tries to finish the episode they were on before finally giving in and falling asleep.

[jolieblack]

Jolie's notes on

The Three Students (Sherlock & Co podcast)

📖 🎓👨‍🏫 This case doesn’t seem to get talked about much… and I think I agree and I know why. I find ACD’s original Three Students story rather unspectacular myself. The setting is very picture-postcard English™️, but it is otherwise completely unexciting. A solid string of observations and deductions eliminates both red herring suspects (painfully red) to arrive at the *gasp!* solution that people may not be who they appear to be on the surface. Decent work, but hardly the stuff that made Sherlock Holmes a legend. Considering that this is what Joel was up against, I’d say he did rather well for the podcast! Because this isn’t a story about a crime now, it’s a story about identity and about belonging. (Once again. I love how this is a recurring theme of our show.)

John abandoning Sherlock, Mariana and their whole project for a wild night of student partying has been called out of character by some commenters, but while I was still at a loss to understand it myself at the end of the first part, by the end of the second part it made sense to me that this whole case is a story about fitting in, about being popular, about FOMO and what FOMO does to people. John didn’t recklessly let Sherlock down in pursuit of instant gratification in the alcohol or flirting department. What actually happened there was John being bowled over by either the memories of his student days and of how much he loved being one of the boys and having a gang to party with that accepted him just the way he was, which he subsequently lost after his army days and injury; or by the memories of how he never really had a gang to belong to, having struggled at university both academically and in the popularity contest, and is catching up to that lovely feeling now. We see the same thing mirrored in Mariana‘s backstory of wanting to fit in with the cool gang at school. Then it gets mirrored in the three students, too, and in what drives them. Even Sherlock isn’t immune from being called the best in his field and it being "cool" that he’s being invited to speak at Oxford. But he - unexpectedly, given his constant sense of being a misfit - ends up being the happiest and most successful of the whole bunch in this adventure, because he fully realises, quicker than anyone else, that has found his family (a doctor from Swindon and an accountant from Sociedad!) and knows exactly where he belongs.

I don’t suppose any of us were surprised that Sherlock’s awkward lecture would end up being the live solving of a case. (We all remember the BBC Sherlock’s wedding speech in season 3 of that show, after all.) Love how he took everyone to task though. Brutal. Fantastic. I knew there was a reason why I love this man.

Details that I loved:

Sherlock stealing everyone’s sausage rolls and framing Archie! 😂 The way Sherlock got demoted from best friend to "roommate" with very sharply enunciated consonants as a punishment cracked me up.

"when I am positively carbonated with the fizzing bubbles of resolution…" - I kept looking for the ACD story that quote comes from, but it’s apparently an Emory original! 👌

I adored John once again being Sherlock’s interpreter for social cues, and how much they’ve perfected their routine by now: Their super-quick "hyperbole or sarcasm?" - "affectionate hyperbole" exchange made me tear up with affection myself.

"I will merely emit a faint glow of intrigue for now." - Another quote that I could have sworn was ACD.

Things I did NOT like: The professor’s accent. This guy was literally painful to listen to. Oxbridge alumni in this fandom, please join me in confirming that Oxbridge professors do not typically talk like that.

So… like in ACD’s stories, we can’t and won’t always have high stakes, dead bodies and mortal danger, but that’s fine with me. These are stories about friendship as much as they are stories about crime, and in this one, insights abound in the former sense.

[leosficlist]

Post Series 3 Rec List pt 2

Here I present you more fanfics that acknowledged either Mary, or any event in Series 3, but usually no other canon is followed after that. Hope you enjoy!

Post S3 pt 1

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss @swissmissficrecs 22.2k words

Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

notes: absolute treasure, love everyone's characterization, natural sliding together

Over the Fence by not_a_prude 11.6k

Patching Sherlock up after their adventures is routine for Doctor John Watson, and the detective has never been anything but a nightmare of a patient. But one day, Sherlock is being even more recalcitrant than usual, and John makes an unexpected discovery...

notes: Sherlock gets himself hurt to feel John's hands on him, post Mary no baby, misunderstandings, first kiss, first time

A Shocking Habit by apliddell 3.6k words

After John walks in on something that surprises him, Sherlock realizes that they're approaching a tipping point and has to find the words to get them to the other side.

notes: misunderstandings, everyone's a fool, John's jealous, love confessions and stuttering out their feelings

Loss of the Senses by Goddess_of_the_Night 18.5k words

or "Five Times Sherlock Lost his Senses and One Time He Used Them All to Worship John"

Over the course of two years, Sherlock loses each of his five senses: Taste, Smell, Touch, Sound, and Sight. John is a saint who takes care of him despite Sherlock's insistence to push him away.

"He groans at the pain in his entire head, minutely moving his head back and forth as though denying the reality. “Sherlock?” He hears John’s hopeful voice on his right. “John,” he croaks out, feeling relieved by his presence. Of course he’s here; he’s always here when Sherlock wakes up in hospital, “We have to stop meeting like this,” he adds lightly. John can’t help a short laugh before agreeing, “Damn right we do.”"

notes: wonderful, keeping forever, post s3 in reference to Sherlock's bullet wound

Green Carnation by glenien 2.6k

John takes Sherlock home. [Post-TAB]

notes: hurt/comfort, Mary is not liked, first kiss

The Ideal Man by apliddell 4.8k

John doesn’t keep me waiting long. He never does.

notes: lavender, love confessions on the stag night

Golden Hours by stopthat 4.7k words

John is too quiet. Sherlock whisks him away to the sea.

They sit in silence for long moments, watching the sun begin its descent into the horizon as the light slowly fades to a glorious gold. Their arms brush occasionally as they sip their stout, and Sherlock feels each touch like an open flame, waiting. For what, he's not sure.

Quiet by orphan_account 4k words

"It all comes down to this. John knows Sherlock. Not in his details but in his entirety."

A Brand of Gold by aquabelacqua 12.7k

What am I doing? he wondered. The answer came back at once:  Flirting.

He sank deeper into the pillows, let the mist and blur of the wine settle around him, let it shore up his nerves and dim the warning signals that flashed dully in the back of his mind. He let the rest of the disappointment about Lucy and his strange accommodations and about the weekend as a whole fade into obscurity. He let the vital, missing piece snap into place as surely and as cleanly as if it had always been there.

He was flirting with Sherlock Holmes.

notes: post s3 in one reference to John's divorce, flirty, funny, sweet

Sociopathy and Other Fibs by kinklock 5.3k

Five times John called Sherlock out, and one time Sherlock returned the favour

Read Between My Lines by Ragazza_Guasto 11k words

Sherlock is back, the game is on, and John decides it's time to get back into the swing of writing up their cases again. There's just one problem. Apparently his 'romantic prose' has taken a pointed and quite obvious turn for the worse. Everyone seems to notice but Sherlock and John isn't sure why this bothers him, but it does.

notes: lighthearted, John leaves Mary for Sherlock

Forward by johnwatso @johnwatso, Salambo06 @salambo06fics 7k words

A minute passes without either of them moving, Sherlock barely even breathing for fear of ruining the spell that seems to have come over them.

"Like what?" he finally asks, emboldened by the whiskey and the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"I would have kissed you," John says, so simply, so plainly, that Sherlock wants to cry.

notes: post-Mary

Let Go by thisisforyou 2.7k words

In the end, separating John's things from Sherlock's in the chaos of their sitting room is like pulling a limpet from a wet rock. Especially when the rock is clinging on for dear life, because Sherlock doesn't want to let go. Short, fluffy h/c Johnlock oneshot.

notes: packing up John's stuff, loved hearing Sherlock's yearning thoughts, Mary is dumped promptly

[nowiamcoveredinyou]

Hello! May I request 3+26 from the indulgence list for Sherlock?

"Rule my heart"

Sherlock x reader

Warnings:- age gap!

Word count:- 2257

A/n:- your request was interesting. I enjoyed writing it. I hope you like it too💗. Also I included cricket (again) can't help but push my favourite sport everywhere I get the chance too.

Prompt list !

"I know darling" I answered on my phone as I sat at the dining table with my breakfast. It's my ultimate routine to call my boyfriend in the morning, before he's out for office and with all the "love you", "you're mine", "darling" he says another thing everyday "your roommate is really good with the violin". Which is the utmost truth of all. While I call my boyfriend Lucas, my roommate Mr Sherlock Holmes spends time with his violin. The wise detective of Baker Street, cold to everyone, only we his friends know what a warm heart he has got. Friend I say, however in my heart I know, he's more to me, have always been. Yet he's fifteen years older than me, perhaps he wouldn't find such a younger girl like me to be his companion, partner... Let alone wife. I am a believer of marriage so it was better for me and him to go as we can, Lucas is my chance to have the dream marriage I want. He's almost my age, three years older, perfect husband material, caring and funny, but then Sherlock is also funny, caring, protective of me. That's where I get stuck everytime, every good thing I find in Lucas, is good to me because it's present in my roommate.

"Your roommate... Is he alright?" Came from the other end of the phone, I was brought back from my train of thoughts.

"Huh.. wh-what? Sherlock? He seems fine, I guess" I replied.

"His music... It isn't... Like everyday" he said, that's when I observed yes, he seems to be unable to concentrate. He's getting stuck, repeating, making mistakes, unlike other days flawless music. Even if sometimes he makes mistakes he handles them well, well enough for no one to know. He'd come to me later and confess, "remember during the time of the music of that note, I hit a wrong note, I hope no one realised".

It was surprising to listen to him today, "might be a stressful case Lucas" I replied.

"Hmm.. perhaps, anyway gotta go" saying so we hung up with a "love you" to eachother. After the call I called my roommate, "Sherlock, come and have your breakfast".

He hummed which was almost inaudible, but the sound of him putting down his violin confirmed he's on his way, he has to be reminded all the time to eat. He came and sat on the chair obediently.

"What was up with your violin Sherlock?" I asked pouring him his tea.

"It was awful wasn't it?" He replied softly taking a biscuit and dipping in his tea.

"No" I said laughing softly to make him feel less bad for the... Well, bizzare tune today, "it happens when you're anxious, stressed, hard to control the stressful thoughts." I stated my reasoning, "I understand it... Entirely."

He stared at me, wonder what was so thrilling in me munching my biscuit.

"You said you're dumb" he said.

"Am I not? I think I am" I replied sipping my tea.

"You deduced me, me!" He emphasised the word 'me' "and you say you're dumb?"

"Well, this was easy perhaps" I said giggling like an idiot because I loved the compliment coming from the wisest man in, I dare say, the whole country.

"Wish you saw yourself the way I do" said he and sipped all his tea at once, like what I did.

"You're stressed then ? Work pressure?" I asked, playing with the handle of my cup, admiring his matured features, matured frown, may I say matured immaturity too?

"Not exactly" he said, thinking, "it's... I'm not sure actually." He tried to come up with an answer. I always wrap my arms around his neck when he's upset, or stressed. I love it because I love him, who cares for me, brings me my favourite junk food and holds my hand while walking. Lucas does so, sometimes, doesn't feel the same though.

I got up and wrapped my arms around his neck, "aww, you'll be fine" I said leaning on his head, which was a successful attempt of making him laugh.

"You know how to make me laugh don't you?" He said caressing the back of my palm.

"Seems like I do Sherlock." I said, with no hurry to let go off him.

Our moments of silence is even comfortable than any useless chatting. Eventhough I'm the chatter in the house and he's the Listener. I wonder why can't I feel this sort of comfort with Lucas? He's nice... I guess, a bit "don't do that, don't do this, your books are boring, read mine" but that's okay.

"Lucas gets the same affection from you, lucky guy" his voice broke the silence.

"But you do too" I replied, only if you knew I would love to give all of my affection to you, but you're older and perhaps I'm too young for you, you don't have any romantic feelings for any woman you met, some of them are beautiful, same age, smart, even his friend Molly is also smart. Why would you think of me if they can't win you.

"He'll get all, for all his life" he said. Yes because... I can't believe I'm actually marrying Lucas, so perhaps that makes me his fiance.

"You'll attend it okay" I said letting go off him, the thought of marrying Lucas was... Well... Overwhelming.

"You know my thoughts on m-marriages" he replied taking his cup to the sink. And ofcourse I do, that's why I have to try to love someone. Because you... You... Nevermind.

"It'd just make me happy to have my fr-friend" the word stuck, friend?

"Friend" he said washing his cup, when did he learn all these? Oh wait he always does the dishes, since I came because he thinks I'm too young for it, even for doing the dishes... Forget about love.

"Yes friend " I replied "My friend... You ... To be a part of this joyous event."

He nodded, he agreed I hoped. Later that evening Lucas took me to a cafe, he talked about himself all the time, he's a fine looking guy and I've always dreamt myself with such a guy, but all the time I was with him I thought of Sherlock. Later as I came home I found the flat... Messy. Scattered papers, test tubes here and there and the detective smoking?

"Sherlock!" I furiously entered and took away the ciggerate, "you promised me not to ever smoke."

"I'm sorry " he said raising himself a bit, "I couldn't control."

"Please don't tell me you took... Those things that you used to take" the thought of him being a junkie again horrified me.

"I didn't" he said.

"What happened to you today?" I can't help but yell, it's hard to see the man child, the beautiful man like this, "why are you acting like this?"

"Nevermind" he said, "how was the date with Lucas?"

His cross question infuriated me. I couldn't help but let my eyes get teary, couldn't help any longer but speak the truth, "awful".

To this he looked concerned, he stood up from his chair and came a few steps toward me,

"Have always been like this, forced, awful, ridiculous to even try to love him".

The tears of rage fell and he, I bet never saw me like this, yes he's calmed me down from exam frustration, work stress, family fights but this..."couldn't you deduce I'm not happy with him?"

He stayed quite, just pulled me to him, cupped my cheeks and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes wondering, perhaps I'm just a platonic adorable friend, otherwise those lips would've touched my lips.

"Lucas is a bit self absorbed." He said.

I stared at him, he knew?

"You knew it? He's not... Why didn't you say me?"

"Because he's exactly the kind of guy you like, remember when you came to my flat first time, and we started talking, you turned the TV on and watched cricket, that became our favourite 'us time', I learnt the whole sports from you-"

"Yet can't tell if it's a run out before the DRS" I interrupted and that made him giggle a bit.

"Guess that's a bit... Left to learn" he had difficulty to form sentences, "you told me about your favourite cricketer and every guy you had a crush on? Dated? I saw a pattern there, they looks similar with beard and specs, young, handsome, Lucas is all that. I thought you were happy to get to marry such a guy".

"Oh yeah" I said with a mocking laugh, not directed to him but my said thought,

"I assumed the same" gained some strength to finally say, "but he doesn't love me the way y.."

I stopped myself before I said too much.

"Is there a particular way to love?" Asked the detective.

"Oh?" He? He's talking of love? "What do you even know of love?"

He was taken aback, he's perhaps never seen me acting like this to him yet he replied, "to care for, to adore, to respect, wanting to be close to the person, to give her all she'll ever want, to ..." He smiled as he thought of more points this time, "listen to her.. nonsense in her words, to see her childlike amazement hearing and seeing my adventures, her.. leaning on my chest while I caress her, I think to me that's love."

I stayed quiet, because that's all me, we do such stuffs.

"And I think love is simple, joyous, intimate, and another word that you say alot...cute" he said "I am not such a man, to do all these things, to love someone... cutely, I'm a cold detective who abhors romance, I'm not the romantic type and -"

"But all the things you said is love.." I interrupted, "you and I... We.."

He was stunned perhaps, he thought and said, "I... "

He couldn't yet believe, he actually,

"you love me? You said all those stuffs remembering us Sherlock?"

Sherlock was still thinking... Is he confused about how he feels or...

"Yes ... Oh my... Yes" he said with utter excitement, pacing around the floor, "I love you... Alot... Alot... You didn't know? Come on! You're smarter than that. You knew it."

"I never ... I thought I'm too young for you"

"Or I... Too old for you?"

"Never, I love you, have always loved you." I said as I ran to embrace him. He hugged me back tightly, and we both cried in joy. But...

"I'm engaged Sherlock " I said and his grip around me loosened.

"Your hand may be promised to him, you may marry him, doesn't change the fact that I love you and-" he stopped but his grip got tighter. I thought he was nervous of his vulnerability so I said,

"And I love you, I worried about our age gap, yes you're different than my type but I love you, I can't pretend anymore, truth is I don't love Lucas " I thought he'd say something but to our horror a third voice uttered,

"It was all a joke then" Sherlock... That's why he stopped and hugged me tightly, this time I turned,

"Lucas!" He was at the door, "wha-what are you doing here?"

"I see" he said, "not a good timing, my father thought you'd love these pastries, white forests so he..."

"She hates that pastry, black forest... That's what she likes" Sherlock clarified, and he was right, "still don't know her likes and dislikes, was about to Marry her?"

"How will he?" I said before Lucas could, "he only talks, never listens or observes."

"Cheated on me" he said, "now being a big mouth".

"She never did, I.. we never did" said Sherlock, "until tonight we never thought the other loved us".

"Lucas" I went to him, whatever he is, he was my boyfriend and I too feel guilty for loving someone else pretending when it's him, "I'm sorry, I... We are sorry, we love eachother."

"He's older...alot older than you" Lucas said.

"I don't care" I replied.

"Neither do I" Sherlock said.

Lucas looked at us, fuming and with a nod he left. We stood quietly not knowing what to say until I said,

"You listened to your heart?"

"Right time, right situation, right person... Makes you listen to it... The heart" answered Sherlock that made us, both giggle.

The day Lucas and I was to get married, I did get married infact but to Sherlock. That day he didn't acted like himself, he confessed because it was hard to keep all the love he had for me in his heart. And here we are... The ones that are supposed to be. And age gap? Barely matters doesn't it? Especially when your man says on the wedding day, "look I never trusted anyone with my heart. And here... I give you the power to save it, to break it, to heal it. You can do any of these or all three for I don't care as much as you rule my heart. Even getting Hurt from you, even, is my pride."

P.s.:- I'm making a tag list! If anyone wants to be included do let me know in the comments.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page Part 6/?

Hey guys! Part 6 is up, this one has more Sherlock this time around! I’ll probably have more of his friends, John/Lestrade, in future chapters.

Sherlock was worried, and worry was not a feeling he was used to.

Throughout the whole first week of his return, after you had gotten over your anger at his and Mycroft’s lies, you had been sticking to your older brothers like Velcro. He hadn’t been to Baker Street in three days, since the one night he had spent there while you seemed to be improving. You had backslid on your progress after that day, terrified to let either Holmes brother out of your sight.

Mycroft seemed strangely fine with this behavior of yours, and Sherlock feared that his older brother had spent the past two years becoming immune to your separation anxiety. He had no doubt that it had perhaps helped you while Sherlock was gone and you were grieving, but now that he was back it was simply concerning.

And he wasn’t going to ignore it.

…

“Sherlock, it’s too soon-“

“I don’t think so, Mycroft.” Sherlock’s voice was firm. He had thought this through, and he was resolute in his decision. “She’s been getting worse, and I think bringing her to Baker Street, just for a few days, might help. She needs a change in routine, and she needs to get away from this house, and-“ Sherlock hesitated. “And you.”

Mycroft nearly recoiled at the words, but managed to hold in all but a twitch. This didn’t keep Sherlock from noticing, of course.

“Don’t take it like that, it isn’t your fault. But she’s too attached, you know she is. It isn’t good for her.”

Mycroft gritted his teeth, “As if you’re some kind of expert on what’s good for her.”

Sherlock was perplexed.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve cared for her for years.”

“Not lately.”

Now Sherlock was angry, too.

“We both know that I-“

“Don’t take it like that,” Mycroft taunted. “It isn’t your fault.”

Sherlock groaned, “This is getting us nowhere. We promised to stay on the same page, and you know I’m right. She’s practically stitched to your side, it has to end.”

“But taking her away for days? Sherlock, she isn’t ready.”

“What makes you say that? And what makes you think either of us will be able to tell if she’s ready? Mycroft, she’s only going to get worse unless we take action! We have to try.”

Mycroft was silent for a long moment. Sherlock hoped that that meant he was seeing reason, and simply didn’t want to admit it.

He was right.

“Fine.” Mycroft sighed wearily. “Alright, I’ll talk to her about it.”

…

“Baker Street?” Your voice was quiet as you pondered Mycroft’s invitation, trying out the words as though they were foreign to you.

“Only for a few days, just to try it out. After that, if you’d like, you can return here.”

You were silent for several seconds, watching Mycroft carefully. He was nervous, but you couldn’t quite discern why. Then it hit you.

“You…you’re not coming, are you?”

Mycroft winced, and you had your answer.

“Sherlock thinks it’s best…if I stay here while you go.”

You scoffed, “Since when do you listen to him?”

Mycroft sighed and leaned down to be with eye level to you.

“Look, I know you’re nervous about this. But I think with Sherlock around…you’ll be ok without me.”

You looked up to meet his gaze, “But what if I’m not?”

Mycroft straightened, his face becoming impassive, almost distant. You remembered that look. He had often looked like that before…

But you hadn’t seen what you called his “iceman stare” in almost two years, and it wasn’t exactly a welcome sight. His answer to your question was even less welcome.

“You will be.”

You couldn’t help but think that this answer was completely unhelpful.

…

John carried your small suitcase, and Sherlock let you lean on his arm up the stairs leading to 221B Baker Street.

It was the same as it had always been. The absolute, exact same. Not a single thing out of place, not even Sherlock’s skull had been thrown out by Mrs Hudson in his absence.

Speaking of Mrs Hudson, she all but strangled you in a bear hug the moment you stepped into the apartment.

You felt tears prick your eyes as you hugged her back. She had been like a second mother to you throughout your stay at Baker Street. You had seen her briefly a few times since Sherlock’s “death”, but somehow this felt different.

This felt like coming home.

…

“John put your suitcase in your old room,” Sherlock was practically pacing, walking slowly back and forth in front of the mantelpiece, clearly trying not to look awkward and failing entirely. You bit back a smile. He never did know how to start normal conversations.

“Yeah, great,” you said, smiling weakly. Ok, maybe Sherlock wasn’t the only one struggling with this conversation.

Sherlock nodded, “yeah. Great.”

You sighed, “Sherlock this is ridiculous. Can we…can we try to pretend like this is normal?”

“Right, normal,” Sherlock sat down in his chair, “so…what would we normally do?”

“Well we…” you hesitated, looking around the apartment as if lost. “We would…” you sighed. “Yeah, I don’t know.”

Suddenly, a very unexpected sound reached your ears. You turned to look at Sherlock, at first unsure if you were hearing things. He was doubled over in his chair, his shoulders shaking, his face red…

He was laughing.

And suddenly, randomly, you started to laugh too. It was one of this unexplainable moments, where neither of you really knew why you were laughing, but you couldn’t stop all the same. Sherlock caught his breath first, but one look at you and laughter overtook him again, sending you both back into fits of giggles.

Finally, you both caught your breath, and the laughter died out. Sherlock stood, and without hesitation you rushed into his arms.

You felt him stiffen at the unexpected display of affection, but you didn’t care.

Your big brother was alive, and you were home.

…

After you had unpacked a few things and got yourself reacquainted with Baker Street, you and Sherlock lapsed into a comfortable, silent state. He was in the kitchen working on a science experiment, John was out shopping, and you were reading in Sherlock’s armchair.

That’s how you spent the afternoon, in complete bliss. You didn’t have to do anything, because just being here, home, with your big brother seated where he had so often been, felt like one of your dreams come to life.

Every once in a while you would put down your book and play Mycroft’s game, convincing yourself that you were really here, and that this wasn’t a dream.

After a while, however, the game began to feel strange. You had never tried it at Baker Street before, and you had never used the technique without Mycroft by your side to help you through it.

And suddenly, even in this scenario that you had dreamed of ever since you heard of your brother’s “death”, you began to feel discontent. You couldn’t really understand why at first, after all having Sherlock back, having your old life back, had been all you wanted for two whole years.

But now you realized that your old life might not be enough. It took you a moment to figure out why.

Mycroft. Before, when you had lived at Baker Street, Mycroft was just the big brother that came by every once in a great while, usually because he was worried about Sherlock. He would greet you, if he was in a good mood he would let you give him a hug, and then he’d leave. But now…

You couldn’t go back to that. Not now that you and Mycroft were so close…

You needed him. Just as much as you needed Sherlock.

“So,” Sherlock’s voice jostled you out of your reverie. You hadn’t noticed him coming up to stand by your chair. “What should we do for dinner?”

You shook your head as though attempting to clear your old thoughts away. Maybe you couldn’t go back to your old life forever, but you could manage it for a few days of catching up with Sherlock. You owed both your brothers that much; to Sherlock, to get reacquainted, and to Mycroft, to let him have a few days of peace.

“Let’s get takeout.”

…

Your determination to give Mycroft peace lasted about four hours. When the takeout containers had been cleared away, and night fell fast and dark, a familiar anxiety began to creep over you like a storm cloud over a bright sunny day.

Your usual fear of sleeping, of the nightmares always accompanied it, was nearly doubled by your current out-of-place-ness. If it had been a few years ago, you would’ve simply gone to bed whenever you began to grow tired, and Sherlock was almost always either working on a case or some experiment. If you had been at Mycroft’s tonight, you would have followed his strict sleeping schedule, and he would’ve sat in your room with either a book or his computer, waiting until you fell asleep.

But it wasn’t the past, and you weren’t at Mycroft’s, and Sherlock was so very concentrated on his microscope that you felt anxious at the very thought of interrupting him. You knew he wouldn’t be angry with you, he never was, but still you felt so strange being here like this, as though nothing had happened in the last two years. You were beginning to get a sinking feeling that that was how Sherlock wanted it. He wanted the old days back, he wanted to pretend like nothing had changed. In a way, Mycroft was almost acting like that too. He had spent the last week going through the usual routine, as if Sherlock hadn’t even come back. You were pretty sure it was only because of Sherlock’s persistence that you were standing here in Baker Street now.

But you couldn’t go along with either brother. You couldn’t sit here with Sherlock and pretend like the last two years hadn’t happened, like you were the same girl that had lived here. Like you hadn’t had your heart ripped out and replaced with anxiety and grief.

But you couldn’t pretend like nothing had changed, either. You couldn’t be the girl Mycroft had gotten to know, to take care of. You couldn’t pretend that your whole world hadn’t been flipped upside down—or perhaps right-side up—just last week, after two whole years of trying to get used to a life without one of your brothers.

You couldn’t be who Sherlock wanted, and you couldn’t be who Mycroft knew. So what were you supposed to do?

Who were you supposed to be?

…

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to realize something was off. He leaned away from his microscope to see you, no longer reading, your legs pulled up against your chest, your eyes vacant and unseeing. He rose from his seat, moving to stand by you. You looked up when he approached, and gave a valiant—albeit failed—attempt to smile. He smiled back, just to encourage you, and broke the silence.

“Wouldn’t you like to get some sleep?”

Pause. A nod. Apparently you didn’t feel like talking right now. Sherlock decided that that was fine, no harm in some non-verbal communication.

“Alright then, would you like me to come with you?”

Another nod, this one more timid. Sherlock didn’t understand your desire for his nearness, didn’t understand your sentiment, but he had expected it none the less. Mycroft had told him to expect it, and to try to make you feel as comfortable as possible. Baby steps were enough for now. You being away from Mycroft was probably stressful enough.

“Ok. After you go to sleep I’ll be working down here, so just call if you need anything.”

Another nod. Sherlock was starting to feel uncomfortable with this abnormal routine, but nonetheless he helped you upstairs, and stayed with you for several minutes before you finally spoke.

“You don’t have to stay. I’m ok.”

Sherlock nodded, “Ok then.” He left, feeling awkward but still glad that you were ok to be alone.

Maybe it meant you were getting better.

…

As soon as Sherlock was gone, you pulled out your phone. You had promised him, and yourself, that you would leave Mycroft alone for these few days. But you just couldn’t do it. You figured there was no harm in giving him a quick call, just to say goodnight, just to hear his voice, to know he was ok, before you slept. No harm at all.

You dialed, and pulled your knees up to your chest, holding the phone against your ear as you waited for him to pick up.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You waited.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Nothing. On it went, for the three attempts you made to call Mycroft. He didn’t pick up. You finally gave up and put the phone on your dresser.

Why didn’t he answer? Was he busy? Was he ignoring you?

From deep inside, more insidious questions bubbled to the surface.

Was he ok? Did one of his many enemies get to him? Was he on top of a building right now, like Sherlock had been?

You shook your head hard as though that would clear it of the awful thoughts. Those were paranoid thoughts, anxious thoughts, they weren’t true. Mycroft called them your “poison thoughts”, seeping in without any drop of truth in them, taking over your mind and pushing out any good thoughts, any truth.

Despite your attempts to turn your mind to better thoughts, to convince yourself that Mycroft was just busy, you couldn’t turn off your anxiety once it had been turned on.

It got so bad that you were beginning to feel unaware of your surroundings. You hugged your knees to your chest, looking around the room in a desperate attempt to focus.

Mycroft’s game. Maybe that would help.

It was 10:47. Your comforter…your comforter was purple. The door…

Your train of thought went completely off the rails, and you found yourself unable to grasp any coherent thoughts. A few thoughts floated around in your fogged mind, the only ones you could latch onto amid the darkness.

Mycroft. Sherlock.

“Mycroft,” your voice came out in a croak, and you felt tears dripping down onto your hands. “Mycroft!” Where was he? Wait…

No, you weren’t at Mycroft’s. You were at Baker Street. But how were you there? Sherlock was gone, he’d been gone for two years. Were your eyes deceiving you now? Were you so far gone that you couldn’t even tell where you were anymore?

“Y/n?” Somewhere far away, a voice flitted into the edge of your consciousness. It sounded like…but it couldn’t be.

Sherlock?

“Y/N, N/N look at me, look at me please!”

And there he was, the sight of him suddenly bringing back memory of the past week. Sherlock was alive! He was ok, he was here, he was with you.

It was then that you also noticed how hard it was to breathe, how tight your throat felt and how thin the air was.

“Sher…” you couldn’t even finish the word, too focused were you on trying to suck in air.

“N/N, it’s ok, you’re fine I’m here. Breathe, can you do that for me? Just breathe.” He grabbed your hand and held it to his chest, taking a deep breath and allowing you to feel his steady heartbeat.

Slowly but surely, you matched your breathing to his. Once your heart rate had slowed, you were surprised when Sherlock put his arms around you and held you against his chest. You leaned your head into him, comforted by his steady breathing and strong heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“What happened?” Sherlock’s voice rumbled against the side of your head, and you gripped tightly to his arm, keeping your head down so he couldn’t look you in the eye.

“I, um…I tried to call Mycroft.”

Sherlock sighed, “We talked about this.”

Your lip started to quiver, and you blinked rapidly as you spoke.

“I know, but…I just had to hear his voice. Just for a minute. I couldn’t sleep. But he didn’t pick up,” you swallowed a lump in your throat. “Do you think he’s ok?”

“He’s fine,” Sherlock shifted, holding you at arms length and tilting your head up so you could face him. “I told him not to answer in case you called. We both decided that it would be good for you to just take a few days. But he’s fine, trust me.”

You stared at Sherlock, “You told him…I don’t understand.”

“We thought that it would be better like this. You…you need some distance. You know that he can’t be around all the time, right?”

You looked down, “I know, but-“

“Please, try to understand. You need a few days away from him, you need to be able to handle that. We’ll take it slow, I promise, but this is the first step.”

“The first step to what?” You pulled away slightly, looking back up at Sherlock. You had been right in your fears, going back to the past was what he wanted. But you couldn’t do it. “To going back to what it was before? To never seeing Mycroft, to only seeing you when you were between cases?! I…Sherlock, I don’t want that anymore. I can’t.”

Sherlock was taken aback, “Then…what do you want?”

You should’ve expected the question, but somehow it stunned you to silence for a long moment. Then…

“I…I don’t know.”

And you had no idea how to figure it out.

Taglist:

@navs-bhat

@isabellavere

@chaoticglitterkitten

@peachycupotea

@justforrose

[ciaossu-imagines]

No offence but why should people have to pay for stuff from you when 99% of creators on here would post the same things for free

Well, I really debated just deleting this. I really did. Or plain out blocking this anon. Because I really do try to ignore negativity in the inbox, truly, and normally do delete it. But I'll answer this one, in a mo', after I first say...putting no offense in front of an ask that is meant to be rude, to either hurt my feelings or make me feel bad, doesn't suddenly make it inoffensive. In fact, pretty much guaranteed that if you feel the need stick 'no offense' in front of something, you know it'll be offensive, or at the very least, rude, and you're trying to excuse a dick move. Question too...are you sending this ask to every fanartist accepting commissions too, or just the writers? My guess is a solid no, but hey, maybe you can prove me wrong.

Next point - nobody should be paying me anything right now. My commissions are temporarily closed. I'm not really accepting any at the moment because I'm on day 10 of a stretch of 12 days at work before I have one day off, after which I pull another 12 days before I get 2 whole days off. I'm struggling to find time to finish the two commissions I do have and to write to build up the queue on here again so I can continue to put out things on here again. I'm pulling at least one all-nighter a week just to make progress on those two things.

Again - free stuff. Because I definitely do offer lots of that. Commissions are done on top of me writing plenty for free, not instead of. It's simply not as long, or as detailed, and has rules around what I'll comfortably write.

Now onto actual commissions. All but two of the commissions I've handled have been incredibly personalized, either match ups for the actual person on the other side of the screen or working with people's self-inserts or OCs. The two that weren't were for incredibly rare pairs that don't have a lot of people writing for them (ShouheixYata from K Project and Sherlock Holmes (novel version) x Hiruma Yoichi from Eyeshield 21. Please show me even 5% of tumblr routinely putting out content for those pairings because I would enjoy reading anything from them.

For my match ups, smutty ones are at least 5 pages, while romantic and platonic ones have never gone below 7 pages and have, at times, gone as long as 15 pages and include intensely thought out explanations of why they're compatible with that character, what the relationship would be like, how the commissioner fits into the Canon universe, and at least 3, usually more other characters they could be compatible with, how those characters would know the commissioner and fit into their story and why the relationship might not work. I struggle to find blogs willing to do matchups even half that length and intricacy so please, direct me to the 95% of writers that will do that for free.

For my stories, the shortest I've done was 10 pages where I made a whole $1 per page. The longest has been 65 pages where I made $50. They all also come with a music mix and a storyboard with alternate ways the story could have gone and at least 5 new headcanons about the OC and the ship. Please, again, direct me to the 95% of tumblr writers willing to do that for someone else's self-insert ship or OC ship for free, of that length, with the extras. Most writers I know might occasionally write a friend's OC but not just anyone's and usually not 30-60 pages for them.

Long story short, I don't force anyone to commission me. If you don't want to and just want to enjoy the free stuff, that's perfectly cool with me! If you don't like that I take commissions, block me. If you feel everything I write is so generic and boring that 95% of other writers have wrote the exact same thing, my blog isn't for you, block me.

[mariana-oconnor]

The Bruce Partington Plans pt 1

I feel like I get this one mixed up with The Naval Treaty…

I don't hold out much hope for the police in this story as last time the entirety of Scotland Yard seemed to be experiencing the same mass delusion.

Maybe this time they'll show a little more knowledge of basic human anatomy.

In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. [...] the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes...

Victorian London sounds like such a great place to live. Honestly, the chain-smoking in the earlier story was probably still better for your lungs than the 'fresh' air on the streets. Air should, as a rule, never be 'greasy'. Unless you are actively deep-fat frying something, in which case I guess it has to be, but that doesn't mean we should like it.

Meanwhile, Holmes:

Was it Holmes who was desperate for the outside world, or Watson? One must imagine a certain amount of authorial leeway on his behalf. I can imagine being stuck inside with Sherlock Holmes on his newest 24 hour a day obession with 'the music of the Middle Ages' - bearing in mind this man does not understand circadian rhythms - Watson must have wanted to risk breathing in the grease himself.

“The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow,” said he in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him.

I'm sensing a theme to all of these beginnings.

"The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim.”

I feel like his relentless coughing would give him away a bit. And his victim is as likely to have already keeled over from oxygen deprivation as be alive.

“Well, well! What next?” said he. “Brother Mycroft is coming round.”

Mycroft!

Actually... Mycroft, not a good idea. I doubt you have a particularly good lung capacity at this point. You spend most of your day sedentary in silence. Don't go outside Mycroft. Don't go outside!

"By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?”

So far he has been described as a train, a planet and a seal...

"You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the British government.”

This is where that line is from. Ha. I knew it was around here somewhere. Also, even more reason for him not to venture forth into the greasy air.

"All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience."

Mycroft is god, confirmed.

This does feel very much like a 'don't put all your eggs in one basket' kind of thing. Also the man has the most set routine in the whole of London. That's terrible security. The fact he hasn't been kidnapped and tortured is quite frankly madness to me.

"But Jupiter is descending to-day."

I can't decide if these are just our usual frilly narrative or if Sherlock is indeed making fat jokes this whole time. Selecting Jupiter specifically seems like a fat joke.

"The case was featureless as I remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself."

These days you would have to work pretty damn hard to fall off a train on the Tube. I know it was different back then, but imagining him trying to shimmy through the gap in one of those tube train windows is highly amusing to me. Although the purpose is not amusing, so maybe not.

“He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury..."

Another Violet to add to our ever growing collection. I've found some lists of the most popular baby names in 1870 and 1880 and apparently Violet was #100 in 1870 and #68 in 1880, then #43 in 1890, (this story is set in 1895, assuming that she's going to be somewhere around 20-25, so it is a top 100 name for the period and would have been even more common among women of that age at the time he was writing. It's still quite a high number of Violets to be knocking around. I guess ACD liked the name. It doesn't appear to be a family name, looking at his family tree I can't see a single Violet.

This is unimportant, we've just had three of them now.

"The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain.”

Were there no access tunnels in those days? I feel like I always see access tunnels to underground lines in films and TV shows. And it makes sense to have shortcuts to parts of the line that are more remote. But I don't know if they actually exist. I guess I just assumed that there would be midway access points for maintenance. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the maintenance people have to walk along the long dark tunnel to wherever they need to get to... that does see dumb, though. You'd think there would at least be something near the points. Whatever, I am probably thinking about this too much.

“The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body was found are those which run from west to east, some being purely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions."

Willesden Junction is now on the Bakerloo line, btw, which is one of the lines Baker Street is on. Just saying. Although the Bakerloo line wouldn't open until 1905. At this point I think it was on an overground line? idk. The Metropolitan Line was definitely open at this time, though, and Baker Street is on that one, too. Baker Street is on a lot of lines.

"...at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state.” “His ticket, of course, would show that.” “There was no ticket in his pockets.” “No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular."

The surprise is probably due to something else entirely, but the idea that Holmes is shocked by the idea of a fare jumper amuses me.

"According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket."

Willing to bet that was not true at all. I bet people managed it. But for the sake of the story, let us say it would be impossible for him to get on a train without a ticket. These days, of course, dropping your ticket would be a bad idea because you have to use it to get out again at the other end (if you don't just tap in and out) But then he was thrown out of a moving train, apparently, it makes sense he might lose a ticket in those circumstances. Particularly if he was holding it rather than having it in a pocket.

"He had also a check-book on the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through this his identity was established."

Once more the tried and true method of identifying someone through the name written on something in their pocket. With a cheque book I guess it's more likely that it's actually him. But there's another version of this where he's a conman who avoids paying ticket fares and has stolen someone's cheque book.

A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind.

Oh hai Mycroft!

Just in case you have forgotten since last time Watson described Mycroft. Or since all those comments of Sherlock's earlier, Mycroft is fat. Did you know that he's fat? But you'll immediately forget after a moment, except for how Watson will never let you forget.

At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard—thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest.

Oh hai Lestrade.

Love you two working together. Beautiful moment. Perfect. No notes. It's the team-up I've been waiting for.

Impressed that you both seem to be breathing properly as well.

“Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it.” [...] "It has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets."

I feel like maybe they haven't heard of it because it's a jealously guarded government secret, Mycroft. Just an idea. If everyone has heard of it, it's a bloody terrible secret.

"The plans [...] are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows."

What exactly constitutes a 'burglar-proof' door or window? That sounds more like a challenge than a fact. Genuinely, don't think there is such a thing, particularly at Victorian technology levels.

Also, we know from previous stories that all anyone needs to do is wait for some clerk to take them out to make a copy, then wait a little longer for them to need a coffee break and the plans will no doubt be left unattended on a desk somewhere for you to walk in and grab.

Who wants to bet that Cadogan West was just a bit of an idiot, really? That seems to be the standard level of junior clerks in the civil service in this series.

"If you have a fancy to see your name in the next honours list—”

I find it odd that Mycroft would even suggest this when, on the whole, he knows his little brother pretty well. There's no way Sherlock would want to be on the honours list.

"The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion."

I automatically hate and suspect him.

But no vibes only facts.

“Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem.”

Because we know from these stories that Colonels are the most upstanding of gentlemen.

“The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is a man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the public service. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker."

Now him, I like. 😄

No, seriously though, why do his colleagues dislike him? I feel like that is crucial information. Is it because he's a stickler for the rules, or is it because he's a creep? Or is it because he once ate someone else's lunch?

“Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would pass London Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for example, with whom he was having an absorbing interview."

Talking to a stranger? On the Tube? No, sorry. Too unbelievable. I can accept rabbits being mistaken for humans, but this is too far.

I guess he doesn't specify that it's a stranger.

"He would naturally have made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. Instead of that he took two tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenly disappeared.”

Has no one in this room ever heard of spycraft? A trip to the theatre would be the perfect cover for a handover. You drop your program, someone else picks it up and hands it back to you with a few extra pages folded up inside it. Easy. Taking the fiancee makes it less suspicious. Sure, she might get caught up in things, but that's a risk you have to take. They then have the entire course of the play to sneak away and make copies/take photographs of the papers before returning them to you, perhaps in the pocket of your coat at the coat check, with a little bit of extra money tucked into your hat?

Also, it's a public place with witnesses, so the bad guy is less likely to just straight up kill you so they don't have to pay. Admittedly, if they don't pay you don't get the opportunity to directly threaten them... I don't know, I'm not a spy, but I'm sure the theatre would be a great handover spot.

“It seems to me perfectly clear,” said Lestrade. “I have no doubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He started home again, but the agent went with him. In the train the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his body from the carriage. That would account for everything, would it not?”

But why not take all the papers, Lestrade? Why bother taking the time to go through them to see which are the most important? Why leave any behind at all?

“The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the agent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man's pocket.”

And that would just be poor work on the foreign agent's part. Never do anything near where you live.

I was going to say 'if Mycroft could make it to Baker Street, why not just go to the scene of the crime himself?' but then I remembered that this is the London train system and therefore it is wholly inaccessible to anyone who can't or doesn't want to climb up and down fifty million steps (in 1895, especially, and still at least partially today). The sudden shock to Mycroft's system of that increase in activity, coupled with the fact he's already committed chemical warfare against his lungs by going out in the smog, would definitely shuffle him off the mortal coil. Far better if Sherlock goes, considering that apparently the entirety of Britain relies on Mycroft not dying.

[sarkylittlemonster]

🛼 🥑 🍄 aaaaand 🪲 because I'm feeling evil >:)

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

Uh. 🫂🔎🦔🦦🏳️‍🌈. I tried.

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

@wrens-baked-in-sugar I feel like ey wouldn't tell on me and @yournamemakesmytonguetired because idk man. You seem like you've googled how to hide a body.

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Sherlock can't open jars. John can. Sherlock has a whole strop whenever he can't open a jar and swears he doesn't need any help at all and John will just stand there watching him be a drama queen about it before calmly taking the jar and opening it for him. Sherlock doesn't even say thank you. God I love them.

🪲 ⇢ add 50 words to your current wip and share the paragraph here

James Sholto had always held himself rigid around people, like he was waiting to slip up, like eye contact was a neck pain and he couldn't quite turn his head. In the army, things felt simpler. There was a structure to it, routine even in the chaos. Even if you got shot, you'd know more or less what would happen. It was a script James could relax into, a role that fitted sleek to his skin. And for once in his life, James felt like he was good at something. And then John Watson.