#sherlock has more ships than the navy

[oh-so-heavenly]

Do I ship Johnlock? Yep

Do I ship Sherlolly? Yep

Do I ship Adlock? Yep

Do I ship Sheriarty? Yep

Do I ship Molliarty? Yep

Do I ship Warstan? Yep

Do I ship Mormor? Yep

Do I ship Mystrade? Yep

I completely understand people who only ship Johnlock or Sherlolly but I prefer having this many ships for one simple reason:

THERE'RE SO MANY FANFICS I CAN READ

[inevitably-johnlocked]

25 FIC REC BINGO (MARCH 2022)

Hey all!! I saw this post here by @7-percent and I absolutely had to do it myself, because, you know, that’s kind of my brand, LOL.

Setting myself a rule because multiple fics can fit under multiple titles: only one fic per square, no repeats! I’m also going to TRY to limit One Per Author, including if there are co-writers. Gives me more of a challenge and helps spread the love to 25 different authors! :) (EDIT: BAH I had to double up on two sections because the fics I picked so strongly called to me in the categories)

Let’s go for the full ⭐️  and give y’all 25 Fics!! Hope you guys enjoy!!

COLUMN B

A FIC I LOVE WITHOUT KNOWING THE SOURCE: I think I’m cheating with this one because I THINK it means a fandom you don’t know, but I chose an AU that I don’t know the original source of instead... I only read fics of fandoms I know.

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

A CATHARTIC FIC:

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock, Frottage, Nightmares, Sleepy Sherlock, Marriage Proposal, Humour, Fluff, Dancing, Cooking, Happy Ending) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

A FIC I WISH COULD BE A MOVIE:

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

A FIC THAT MADE ME GASP OUT LOUD:

Sink Like a Stone by pennydreadful (T, 4,348 w., 1 Ch. || Angst / Dark, Cuddling/Snuggling) – After defeating Moriarty at the pool, life isn't quite the same around 221B Baker Street...it's more peaceful. And stranger.

A FIC THAT GAVE ME BUTTERFLIES: (in the sense that my heart breaks so much in this story)

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst, Promise of Forever) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

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COLUMN I

A FIC WITH A PREMISE THAT SHOULDN’T WORK BUT DOES: (I haven’t read the penguin fic yet, but I’m sure it would be here if I did)

The Swan Triad Series by Pennin_Ink (T, 121,660 w. across 3 works || Swan Lake AU || Magical / Fairy Tale AU, Romance, Falling in Love, Pining, Psychological Torture, Transformation) – Sherlock and John grow up spending every summer together. Their mothers' attempts to play matchmaker only fuel their mutual resentment and scorn. But then, one summer.

A FIC I’D PRINT AND PUT ON MY BOOKSHELF:

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, Primarily POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

A FIC THAT LED ME TO MAKING FRIENDS WITH THE AUTHOR: (I’m gonna cheat with this one, because I’m sure none of the authors I love to bits and try to befriend consider me a friend, just a nuisance lol... Instead I picked the fic that an author wrote inspired by something I drew, which rarely happens)

Your love it feels so good by Hotaru_Tomoe (E, 2,843 w., 1 Ch. || Gay Club / Gay Bar, Lingerie, Stripping, Anal, Crossdressing, Strip Tease, First Time) – Sherlock is last at a quiz night and is forced by Anderson to perform in a gay stripclub. John must be with him, because he will have to record the performance. Sherlock takes the task very seriously. Part 20 of The English job

A FIC I FOUND AT THE RIGHT TIME: This one was gifted to me when I was really in a bad headspace, and it made me feel much better when I read it.

The Imminent Danger of a Tumblr-Night by Loveismyrevolution (T, 2,135 w., 1 Ch. || Tumblr Fics, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock is Out of His Depth, Humour, Fluff, Pining Sherlock, Military Kink, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock gets into trouble when he pretends to know all about John's favourite social media site - tumblr. To save face he seeks help from one of the bloggers and gains more answers than he had aimed for.

A FIC THAT EMBODIES SOMETHING I VALUE IN LIFE: (unconditional love and realistic portrayal of mental health awareness and disabilities. I value empathy a lot, so it spoke to me)

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w., 34 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE, WiP || Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis/Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, POV Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Drug Use, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it's supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

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COLUMN N

A FIC I’VE RE-READ SEVERAL TIMES: (literally have multiple lists LOL)

Iris by slashscribe (E, 11,948 w., 1 Ch. || Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post-S3) – Sherlock does his best to make John happy when John comes back to 221B with his new baby after the events of Season 3, but Sherlock has a track record of getting things wrong in this area. This story is an exploration of their gradual shift from friends to lovers, told from Sherlock's perspective, full of a lot of pining and lack of emotional awareness.

A FIC I ASSOCIATE WITH A SONG:

Sunday Evening 6 p.m. by Silvergirl (E, 30,712 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF / TEH Divergence, Grief / Mourning / Stages of Grief, Mutual Pining, Dreams, Reunion, Love Confessions, First Kiss / Time, Alternating First Person POV, Smart John, BAMF Boys, Emotional Love Making, Song Fic, Referenced Suicide, First Kiss / Time, Touching, Sleepy Sherlock, Blow Job, Villain Mary) – Six months after Sherlock jumped, he learns that John is dedicating songs to him on a requests-only radio programme. Is John just working through grief? Or is he—communicating? Fixes the hell out of S3 by pre-empting it altogether. Remember, as TAB told us, John is Pretty Damn Smart.

FREE SPACE: (I chose another fic I read a lot!)

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim? 

A FIC I WOULD READ FIC OF:

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 84,945 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

A FAVOURITE AU: Lots I can add here, but ultimately chose an “original” AU over an I.P. AU, and the one I re-read a lot that’s not already on this list

The Horse and his Doctor by khorazir (T, 129,003 w., 13 Ch. || Horse / Vet AU || Magical Realism, Horses, Vet John, Horse Sherlock, Implied Alcoholism) – Invalided after a run in with a poacher in Siberia, veterinary surgeon John Watson finds it difficult to acclimatize to the mundanity of London life. Things change when a friend invites him along to a local animal shelter and he meets their latest acquisition, a trouble-making Frisian with the strangest eyes and even stranger quirks John has ever encountered in a horse.

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COLUMN G

A FIC I STILL REMEMBER MANY YEARS LATER: (This was one of the first Johnlock fics I’ve read, it’s a nice starter fic for the ‘ship)

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Case Fic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

A FIC THAT INSPIRES ME: I chose this fic because it makes me want to write my own meta-fic I’ve had in my head for years, and I actually started piecing together notes I’ve made over the years to write around this ficlet headcanon I wrote back when TFP came out. Probably won’t ever happen because Procrastination is one of my features, but it still inspired me anyway LOL.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton  (M, 144,688 w., 40 Ch. || S4 Fix It Fic / Meta Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Demisexual Sherlock, Holmes Family, John Whump, Gay Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Drug Addiction, Parenting, TFP is a Nightmare, Virgin Sherlock, Slow Burn, Minor Character Death, Switchlock, John’s Past, Sherlock’s Past, Eurus, Love Confessions) – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

A FIC I’VE GUSHED ABOUT IRL: (I’ve got like 4 of them, but they’re already in others spots on this list, LOL. This one I did talk about at Cons)

Corpus Hominis by mycapeisplaid (E, 47,709 w., 12 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Case Fic, Fluff, Romance, Frottage, Angst, Anal, Blow Jobs, Rimming, Spas / Massages, Shampoo, Jealousy, Fake Relationship) - John knows the human body intimately. He’s had plenty of opportunity for study as a doctor, soldier, and lover. There’s one particular body, however, he knows very little about. When Sherlock launches himself head-first into a new obsession and they get sent on a case in an unlikely location, the pair discovers each other’s bodies with confusing yet delightful (and sometimes hilarious) results. 

A FIC THAT MADE ME LAUGH OUT LOUD:

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

A FIC THAT I STAYED UP TOO LATE TO FINISH:

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

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COLUMN O

A COMFORT FIC:

Last Christmas by Mazarin221b (T, 3,911 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss) – That Earth-shaking revelation, then, leads to a problem, and one that Sherlock realizes should be solved quickly, before John’s dates turn into girlfriends or boyfriends, because sometimes girlfriends or boyfriends can turn into wives or husbands while your back is turned. Every time John hums happily at the mirror as he shaves, splashes on a little gift cologne Mrs. Hudson bought him for Christmas, Sherlock is drawn back to that night by the fire, and the way John’s touch had made the world stand still.

A FIC THAT BROUGHT ME ON BOARD A NEW SHIP: (This one is NOT Johnlock)

Seasons: Summer by astudyinotters753 (M, 23,582 w., 3 Ch. || DETROIT BECOME HUMAN || Post-Canon, Fluff and Angst, Beginning of a Relationship, Slice of Life, Summer Heat, Road Trips, Hank’s Self Esteem Issues, Depression and Anxiety, Anxiety/Panic Attacks, Emotional Love Making, Caring Connor, Connor Loves Hank, Slow Burn, Romance, Top Connor, Bottom Hank) – The first thing Connor comes to learn about summer is that it is universally romanticized. He’d done his research to prepare for the rising temperatures, or at least, he thinks to himself as he sprawls a little more loosely across Hank’s couch, he thought he’d done adequate research. It had taken the better part of one of his lunch breaks to download the several thousand forms of media that had been recommended to him by Simon and Markus. But, he thinks as he plucks at his sweat-slick shirt, dissatisfied with the way it sticks to his synthetic skin, there was no way his research could have prepared him for this.

A FIC I ASSOCIATE WITH A PLACE: (Makes me nostalgic for DisneyWorld every time I read it)

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

A FIC WITH A LINE (OR TWO) I’VE MEMORISED BY HEART:

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

The line(s): Oh, my captain! // John Watson has a special smile he uses when he is about to maim or kill you. It looks like an ordinary closed lipped smile, and can be mistaken as quite friendly until you see his eyes, which will be filled with mayhem and lethal conviction. (Ch. 33/34... this is my FAVOURITE part of the whole story)

A FIC THAT MADE ME FEEL SEEN: (in the sense of CANADIANA!!!! YES!! Just love how winter is described in it)

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

[meetinginsamarra]

My fave SherlockBBC AUs: Pirate and Merman fics

Around mid-month I´ll do a fic rec list with my fave AU genres or tropes. Summaries are taken from OP on AO3.

Merman

1 jinglebell “Riptide Lover”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312978

The year is 1866. When John becomes swept overboard, he never expects to encounter a living creature of myth. When the merman absconds with John, the lost sailor must use every tool at his disposal to convince Sherlock not to kill him. But it seems that killing John Watson is not what the deadly, beautiful creature has in mind at all...

2 smangtheterrible “Caught in a net”

Fair warning: this is unfinished but still worth a read

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552708

John Watson never set out to become a veterinary doctor. It was what you might call the natural order of things. Running a marine rehabilitation centre in the English countryside takes up his whole life, but John could never begin to imagine the way everything would change when something different washes up on his beach.

3 weneedtotalkaboutsherlock @weneedtotalkaboutfic​ “Here there be monsters and your home”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16535456

The end of the world is a strange place to be, for a lonely tower. It is certainly a strange place to be for a very lonely man, who, on certain nights, dreams of a fish on the shore.

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Merman AND Pirate

TheOtherMaddHatter “Glimpse of Gold”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/424708

Captain Sherlock Holmes lives life on the open sea, bound to no one, and loved in secret by someone who could never hope to reach him. But Pirates are often drawn in by a Glimpse of Gold and flashes of innocence. Rarely are they ever one in the same.

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Pirate

1 I_ship_an_armada @ishipanarmada​ and ShinySherlock @shinysherlock​ “A Further Sea”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587847

Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose--is it a pirate's life for him?

2 gardnerhill A Study in Crimson-series (22 fics)

“A Study in Crimson: The Press-Gang” 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/404230

Pirate AU. When Captain Shear-Lock goes trawling for new men to press-gang into his crew aboard the BAKER, he has no idea that the drunken Navy surgeon sprawled on the floor of a Tortuga tavern will change everything.

3 thatawkwardfriend @one-thousand-splendid-stars​ “Seas of Love and Revenge”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248955

John Watson is taken captive on a pirate ship. And not just by any pirate: the legendary Captain Sherlock Holmes. John's cooperation is essential to Sherlock, but he remains stubborn. However, it doesn't take long for John to grow attached to the fascinating pirate, and what started off as a mutually hateful relationship soon blossoms into something more. Together they navigate the threat of Moriarty, a jealous Victor Trevor, swashbuckling adventure, elaborate evil plans, ocean storms, saving each others lives countless times all while the romantic tension between them increases by the day.

4 StarlightAndFireflies “The Heart of a Pirate”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615014

Lieutenant John Watson, first mate on one of the greatest ships of the line in British Royal Navy history, has never seen a pirate in person. That is, until one strange, foggy night, when a mysterious ship attacks. Taken on board the unknown ship, John finds himself surrounded by the last people he has ever wanted to encounter. But perhaps life is not as black and white as he has supposed it to be, and perhaps the curly-haired pirate will provide him with a greater adventure than he had ever imagined…

5 221b_hound “Captain Brainstorm and Sea Hawk John”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544763

John imagines sexual fantasies and tells them to Sherlock; but Sherlock is a more hands-on kinda guy. As Captain Brainstorm, he's going to kidnap his First Mate, Sea-Hawk John, and teach him a couple of sexy lessons about who's in charge of this ship.

6 CopperBreeches “The Consulting Pirate”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/590053

John Watson, injured ex-army doctor is convinced nothing ever happens to him. Looking for a flatmate he's introduced to Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting pirate. Suddenly John finds himself thrown onto a world of 'ahoys', funny hats and plank related murders. He can hardly say his life boring, even if hammocks are not ideal.

7 Sini333 “The Pirate and the Royal”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13973391

Captain Watson's crew takes down a navy ship, one of the captives calls a parlay. Watson has seen this young man before.

8 quixoticlie “This Weather”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309125

John Watson thought he led a pretty nice life, until one day, he's kidnapped and taken aboard a pirate ship. Here, everyone seems to know who he is, but he can't recall ever meeting these people in his entire humdrum, plain vanilla existence. John is sure that they're all hiding something from him, and he's quite right, but they won't tell him, and he has to force the truth out on his own.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) Part 4

A/N- Hoping this one has come out a bit happier than the last instalment! I’m trying my best to not write Mycroft too out of character and focusing on how much more emotion he had displayed in season 4.. I have a few more chapters planned out so far and I am hoping to, at the very least, update weekly! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, please, don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know what you think! Kind words or constructive criticism are always welcomed and inspire me to write more! Thank you!

Word Count: 4416

"Did you fancy doing anything else today? Well, this evening I suppose suits better." You asked Mycroft, clearing up the plates from dinner. Dinner here being a term used loosely- after the emotional turmoil only a few hours ago at the revelation of both yesterday's events and your inner attractions, neither of you particularly felt like cooking, or eating for that matter, and settled on a sandwich just to provide some energy.

The energy of the room had felt different now, now that everything was in the open, now that the pair of you had finally broken that barrier to move further in your relationship. It was nice, calming. The pair of you weren't children, the confirmation of shared attraction didn't mean you immediately jumped each other, or feel the need to be constantly touching in some aspect or another- but the mere idea of knowing that the attraction between you was mutual, and that you wanted to act upon that was more than enough for now. It felt incredible.

"Mmm, what did you have in mind?" He hummed back, standing from the small table in the kitchen to help you with the washing up- not that you weren't fully capable of doing so yourself, it just felt nice acting a little domestic- electing to wash the dishes himself and leaving you to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. You shrugged, closing the cupboard's door and leaning against the counter.

"St James' is just round the corner isn't it? We could go for a walk? The weather is oddly nice for September." You suggested, grinning as you watched Mycroft look down at his current attire of jogging bottoms and a band t-shirt. You didn't need the power of a Holmes to know what that face meant. "Compromise. You don't have to wear the joggers in public, but you also cannot wear a suit, I swore against it."

"If you're suggesting for me to leave my home in my undergarments you've completely lost your mind." You looked at Mycroft and allowed his brain to think a little more. "Oh bugger you can't mean-"

"You and I both know you have a pair of jeans in your wardrobe Myc. Joggers or Jeans, the choice is yours." Mycroft opened and closed his mouth multiple times before rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded Latin. "Oi at least have the decency to do it in French so I have a chance of understanding what you say when you swear at me." You quipped, jokingly throwing two fingers up at him as he gave in and sulked up the stairs.

"Tu seras la mort de moi." His voice was still quiet, but loud enough for you to understand him.

"Et pourtant tu serais perdu sans moi." You shouted back, teasing a little. Mycroft didn't answer but smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, agreeing with you completely but too high in his pride to admit it. Downstairs, you rummaged through the other bags from Anthea, feeling thankful as you saw that she had equally bought you some hoodies too, pulling on a maroon one before grabbing and sliding on your boots. A few minutes later you heard Mycroft's voice from upstairs, muffled completely excluding the 'goodbye' that sounded as he left the bedroom and made his way down the stairs. "Planning my arrest were you? Should I be expected to enter the park to MI6 agents dragging me into a car and shipping me off somewhere for forcing the British government into denim?" You turned around and saw him in his change of attire, whistling approvingly at the sight of him in the dark grey pair of jeans you had bought him a few years ago- 'because you cannot walk into a pub wearing anything purchased on Savile Row, Mycroft'- and the navy blue blazer he had chosen to match with them; the small evidence of The Who's logo peeking out slightly between the lapels. It was seldom Mycroft wore such casual clothing, but feeling welcomed by your reaction certainly made him more comfortable. Maybe at some point you'd tell him it's because those jeans make his bum look incredible. Mycroft's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, ignoring the noise of encouragement you had made.

"MI5, actually, but do not be too alarmed- I've insisted they only use force if absolutely necessary." He teased, hoisting his scarf from the coat rack by the front door and expertly wrapping it around his neck. You jabbed him lightly in the arm, knowing he was joking but equally wanting to make sure the phone call wasn't from Sherlock already pestering him about something or another. "It's fine, truly. Nothing to cause government upset.. only public." You went to question what he meant but was instead caught off guard by him eyeing you up. "Are you really going out.. in that?" Mycroft gestured to your clothing and for a brief moment you felt a little insecure, frowning slightly at him. He caught on immediately and apologised. "No- I mean.. You will likely get cold, will you not? A hooded sweatshirt isn't the warmest item of clothing I can offer you." You grinned at his concern and just passed him his beloved umbrella (it wasn't raining, but that didn't make a difference) before opening the front door.

"Myc I have pulled bodies out of the River Thames wearing nothing more than a pencil skirt and a blouse, I will be fine." You grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to argue back but he knew any attempt would be futile- you both knew that you could be more stubborn than Mycroft and so he didn't wish to cause harm on what could be a splendid evening. You took your normal position beside Mycroft, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, while his rested in his pocket, the other holding onto his umbrella handle. The chill of London's air brushed the back of your neck, leading you to pull the hood of your jumper over your head before continuing your walk, not allowing Mycroft to have the pleasure of knowing he was right. but also not missing the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed- of course he bloody did.

The short walk to the park was in a comfortable silence. Mycroft found himself thinking over today's events, how even he couldn't have predicted that this would be how it would end. He was certain you would have left earlier, he'd even prepared himself for the chances of a punch to his nose in anger, and so never in his right mind did he expect you to stay, let alone embrace him while he cried, forgive him for the unforgivable, to... kiss him. He felt childish thinking back on it, but he kept replaying that moment over in his mind. It wasn't a proper kiss, it was barely there at all, and yet, if Mycroft thought hard enough he could still feel the light pressure of your lips on his, and it left him eager for more.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Your voice distracted him as you walked down the final street before the park. He blinked, looking down at you, at your joint arms and offering a smile.

"Just that I didn't expect today to happen the way that events turned out." You opened your mouth to make a comment about how Mycroft knew everything but he cut you off. "I deduce, I cannot predict the future, Y/N."

"But you can mind read?" He raised his other hand, one finger to his mouth in a 'shhh' motion and you grinned.

"Penny for yours?" You hummed in response as you looked at yourself in the reflection of a car window and pouted, rounding the corner to walk through the park's gates.

"I look like an egg." Mycroft let out a rare laugh, caught off guard by your answer. "That you do, my dear. But a rather beautiful egg." It was your turn to flush now. Getting any form of compliment from Mycroft Holmes was a rarity, and when they did come to surface they were usually on one's intellectual skills, or the times where you'd go out to a fancy restaurant and he would claim 'your dress' was beautiful, but never you directly. Your lack of response made Mycroft nervous and he spoke again. "Apologies, upon reflection that was a very backhanded compliment." You squeezed his arm and nudged yourself in closer, welcoming in the warmth his body was emitting.

"No no, I am incredibly flattered to be deemed a beautiful egg." You laughed. "It would make a lovely epitaph don't you thi-." He tensed. "Yeah, sorry, bit soon." You continued your walk for a little further before something clicked in your mind and you stopped in your tracks. Mycroft stumbled a little at the sudden cease in movement and shot you a confused glare. "Myc.. There's nobody else here."

"Excellent observation, Y/N. I now understand why you're so well respected down the Yard."

"Git. I meant.. we're in one of the most tourist centred parts of London, in the early evening, and there's nobody here." Mycroft raised his nose a little in the air, a movement witnessed by anybody else that would be mistaken for smugness, or being pretentious. But on Mycroft you knew it meant he felt a little embarrassed, raising his head ever so higher so you couldn't see the dusting of red on his cheeks. "The phone call... Mycroft bloody Holmes did you abuse your power as a government official to rent out the entirety of St James' park so that nobody would have to see you in your jeans?" He avoided your gaze and you began to laugh, removing your hand from his arm as you wiped a tear that spilled down your cheek out of amusement before tugging him over to a bench that was a few feet away.

"Should I not have?" His tone was light, relaxed knowing that you weren't mad with him and that you found the situation entertaining.

"It's not that.. It's just that nobody else WOULD." You rubbed your numbing fingers together and tucked them inside the sleeve of your hoodie. "You. Are an extraordinary man, Mr Holmes. You never cease to amaze me." He smiled softly, tentatively reaching over to take your half sleeve covered hand into his own pale one.

"And you, are freezing." He commented. You dismissed his assessment and instead focused on the view in front of you, the slight appearance of the London Eye poking above some trees from across the Thames.

"After living here for so long, sometimes I forget how beautiful London truly is." You spoke, shuffling the rest of your hand from your sleeve to lace your fingers between his. He hummed in agreement as he watched on. "And you stole this view from thousands of visitors this evening for the sake of your own dignity and so we could be alone. What do you have? People guarding every entrance? A few loitering around somewhere to make sure there were no stragglers? Christ are they armed? It just so.. so.." Mycroft felt himself become uncomfortable.

"I can be a very selfish person Y/N, you know that."

"I was going to say sexy but now I feel as though I'm not being as sympathetic to the tourists as you were expecting me to be." Mycroft tensed again and you leant to rest your head on his shoulder. "You should probably try to get used to that. I've been waiting a fairly long time to actively be allowed to say things like that to you and it not sound really weird, so I'm making up for lost time."

"How long?" His voice was quiet, likely his mind recovering from you, for the second time that day, calling him such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he was extremely flattered, but he just found it very hard to believe that you truly thought that way about him; that anyone could. You thought for a moment, childishly using your fingers to count.

"How long since I realised I had a thing for you? As of today it's been 5 years, 3 months and 17 days.. or, in less creepy terms to not make it seem like I've been counting, 2 weeks before I broke up with Thomas. It didn't feel fair to keep dragging him along, especially when I started to look forward to meeting you for dinner much more than I did meeting him for our weekly date night. He's a lovely guy and deserved more than that. I tried for those couple of weeks to get over it but I couldn't." Mycroft stayed silent but you could practically hear his brain whirring. "How long did I wish that you somehow felt the same way about me? Probably 5 minutes after the last thought." You laughed, feeling ridiculous for sounding like a school girl with a crush. "What about you? Pining after me for long or just spontaneously after I kissed you?" You joked, trying to make the whole ordeal feel a little less embarrassing. Mycroft shifted in his seat, laying his focus in the warmth that he could feel spreading to your hand that he held in his. He wasn't the type for large exclamations of emotion, or really speaking about the way he feels at all. But, upon hearing your revelation, he bit the bullet and spoke.

"I have never been the kind of man to experience typical human emotion. Until yourself and Gregory came along, I hadn't even the experience of having acquaintances, let alone.. friends." His eyes stayed forward, watching as the London Eye rotated slowly and focusing on its movements. "Approximately 6 months prior to the time you have mentioned, I began to realise that the way I felt towards you was far different to the way I felt about Gregory, and not the same way I feel towards Sherlock. I pressed the thought into the back of my mind for the better part of a year, before Sherlock told me that you were 'obviously' experiencing some kind of affection towards me, which I told him was preposterous, but from then the thought of you in that aspect felt welcoming. I had never expected in my life to have those kinds of emotions for anybody, let alone have them reciprocated, but I still chose to ignore them. I chose to keep you as my friend rather than risk losing you at all.. Then Eurus happened. Seeing you on that.. screen. Knowing what they could do.. Knowing I could lose you anyway.. it flicked something inside of my brain that made me regret not talking to you about it sooner. I was trying to work out the right way to bring it up, but then you did it for me." The side of his mouth flicked up into a small smile and disappeared, the embarrassment of talking so much on emotion taking over.

"You still look cute when you're embarrassed." You commented, not wanting to elaborate on his wordings more. It meant everything to you that he had even said that much, so you weren't going to push him further out of his comfort zone by pestering on. "Though as much as I'd love to look at your little flustered cheeks in this moonlight, I have to admit that you were right and I am bloody freezing, can we go back?" You took your hand back from his briefly to rub against your other one, a feeble attempt to bring warmth back into your fingertips. Though warmth soon enveloped round your neck as you felt Mycroft begin to wrap his cashmere scarf around you, folding and wrapping it expertly until you felt comfortably warm, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his cologne that loitered in the fabric.

"I'm always right." He grinned smugly, standing from the bench and offering his elbow out to you once more. You nudged it away, missing the disappointed look on Mycroft's face, before instead grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers between his and tucking them into his pocket for warmth, your other arm folding over your body to hold his arm.

"I'll prove you wrong on that at some point, mark my words." You beamed, starting the walk back to Queen Anne's Gate and relishing in the warmth of the taller man beside you. Mycroft couldn't hide the small smile that appeared on his face from your action, choosing himself to push closer and close the gap between you even more. He swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket, leaving his umbrella dangling from his wrist, as he made a quick call to Anthea.

"I suppose we better let the tourists have their park back.. at least for now." He spoke, more to you than to Anthea but nonetheless she relayed the message to security who began to pack up and reopen the gates to the public. It had barely been a minute before they had all left, all except the PA in question who watched on fondly upon seeing the pair of you leaving, fighting the urge to text the man that it was about damn time.

***

The walk back was incredibly quick and you soon found yourselves walking back through the front door, discarding layers of warmer clothing, Mycroft opting to put the sweats back on in place of his jeans.

"I'm thinking we have a cuppa and then head to bed? I'm knackered." You proposed, flicking the kettle on and settling back to rest on the edge of the kitchen counter. Mycroft hummed in agreement, reaching to grab the necessities. You quickly kicked off from the counter and wandered back into the front room, pulling Mycroft in tow. "Seems as good a time as any to have some music on, Greg made me this mixtape a few weeks ago. He said it's some classics I already love, and a bunch that I'm going to, so it sounds pretty promising." From behind you Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "If you're about to chastise me for calling a CD a mixtape, don't waste your breath. Mix-CD just sounds horrendous." He stayed silent, inwardly amused at the fact you hadn't even seen his face and yet knew exactly what he was going to say, and you called him the 'mind-reader'. The Kinks began to play quietly through the speakers, 'Have a Cuppa Tea' fittingly being the first song to play on shuffle. Usually you despised any type of mixtape, or 'best of' albums, claiming rather strongly that they defeated the point of artists bringing out the original albums, ruining the story behind each one. But when it came to Greg you trusted him completely with music taste and had never been disappointed thus far. The click of the kettle in the kitchen sounded, making you walk into the other room and prepare your drinks- you hadn't bothered asking Mycroft the way he had it, you had that burnt to memory years ago. Perching back onto the sofa besides Mycroft, you handed him the beverage and sighed in content.

"You missed the Sex Pistols. Forgive me if I cannot hear you for the next 20 minutes, I have a feeling that my ears have bled." He teased, taking a sip of his tea and settling it on the table beside him. Before you had a chance to answer, another Kinks song began to sound in the room, the slower rythm of Waterloo Sunset.

"You're going to pay for saying those things, you know I love the Sex Pistols." You pouted, moving your own tea to the coffee table. "I think, Mr Holmes, you need to dance with me in ways of apology." You grinned, standing up and holding your hand out to him. "It's a rare slower song from Lestrade's musical repertoire so I'm not expecting you to start headbanging or anything.."

"Do people slow dance to Rock music normally?" He asked, smiling.

"No they don't.. but when have you ever been a man who follows the rules of normality?" He took your hand at that, standing himself up and leading you to an emptier part of the room, tea forgotten. You softly placed your hands on his shoulders and rested your head on his chest, his reaching round to settle on the small of your back as you began to sway together slowly, the only sound that could be heard was the music and Mycroft's erratic heartbeat that he was sure meant he was going to have a heart attack. "See, this is nice." He hummed in agreement, the vibrations of his deep voice reaching his chest and vibrating against your cheek. "We could have done this years ago.." You commented, thinking on all the lost time you had with Mycroft, all of the years you had listened to music together and could have danced, holding each other as close as you were now.

"We'd have struggled being as Gregory only gave you this CD a few weeks ago.." You laughed and swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean.. oh the power of cowardice and fear." You closed your eyes, holding onto this moment as though you had never wanted it to end. Alas, the song began to come to a close, and yet neither of you made an attempt to move. The instrumental introduction to your favourite Clash song began to play and you grinned. "Now this is a song. I'm surprised Greg put it on here, I'd have thought he'd be sick of it by now with the amount of times I play it at work." As the vocals began you felt Mycroft stiffen in your arms, the fingers on the hands on your back began to dig into your skin slightly, not painful, but protective and his heartbeat picked up pace even more.

"Could we skip this one? Please?" His tone of voice was different this time, not the calm, relaxed voice that he had earlier, nor the playful one he had only moments ago. He sounded.. unsettled.

"You're joking right? Mycroft this relationship will have a rocky start if you force me to turn of The Clash at all, let alone bloody 'Death or Glory.'" He tensed again hearing the song's title.

"Please.. it's the one.." Your brain began to piece together his words and you lifted your head from its position on his chest, looking up and seeing the pained expression on his face. Of course, out of every song in the world, this was the one you were listening to when Mycroft said he saw you on the screen, inches away from death. You closed your eyes and sighed.

"I'm not letting this happen. I'm okay, I'm here, alive. This is my happy song, and I have so many wonderful memories from it." It wasn't a lie. The sound held memories of countless car rides with Greg, it was the song that played when you had the phone call about your promotion at work. It had even been playing when your sister phoned up to let you know that she was pregnant with your niece. Both times. It was a bloody good song. "I understand why you don't like it, but you just need to associate it with something better, give it a new memory." You moved your arms from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, shifting one hand to place onto his cheek as you reached yourself up on your tiptoes to become closer to his height.

You caught his focus, making his eyes land on your own rather than being dazed as his mind went back to you dancing on that screen. You leaned yourself in closer, just enough for your lips to ghost over his own, before closing the gap. Unlike the last peck you had given him, this was a far more passionate kiss, giving him the emotion you had kept pent up for the last five years. His grip on your back softened, one hand reaching to your upper back to push you closer to him, his lips moving against yours beautifully. His body began to relax, the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he leant himself forward, easing you back flat on your feet. Had you have not known any better, you would have never guessed that Mycroft had never kissed somebody before; he was just a bloody quick learner. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip softly, grinning as he let out a quiet moan. The need for air soon took over and you allowed yourself to separate, not moving any further than leaving your foreheads touching. "There. Now when we hear it, that's what you need to think of instead. Christ knows I will be." You laughed, your hands guiding themselves from his neck slowly down his chest and pushing him back slightly. "I'm going to go shower, so meet me upstairs? I know I promised more Hardy but I would really like to go to sleep if it's all the same to you." Mycroft only nodded, feeling you peck his lips once more before disappearing out of the room. The song had finished by now, having been replaced by who Mycroft believed were The Rolling Stones, but he wasn't really listening.

He stood still in his spot, mind replaying over the moment as he smiled fondly to himself. He could hear the shower running upstairs along with your voice, muffled but clear enough to understand that you were still singing along to the last song. Placing his fingers against his lips, Mycroft tried to imitate the pressure you had placed on them moments ago, thinking about how your lips felt against his, properly this time, not just the two second thing on the sofa this morning. His chest felt warm, stomach flipping and in a rare moment Mycroft felt genuinely happy. In all his life up to this moment, caring had never been an advantage, had always led to him getting hurt. But maybe, just maybe, you were right about how you were going to prove him wrong one day. And he hoped to whatever sentient being that may or not be watching over him that you were going to prove him wrong about that.

[possiblyimbiassed]

Ships and Cars - The Sign of Code

There have been lots of discussions about code in BBC Sherlock, and the possible metaphorical meaning of different things that appear frequently in the show, such as coffee/tea, water/fire, dogs/cats and many more. This show indeed seems filled with ciphers, code and secret messages. In this meta (X) I tried to decipher the encrypted name of the fishing boat that Sherlock and John hijacked in TFP, when it was called upon from Sherrinford: “Golf-Whisky-X-ray”. 

The Ship coding

At first I thought this was referring to the international spelling alphabet for wireless communication (X, X) where there’s a word for each letter. “GWX” didn’t make much sense to me, though, until I stumbled upon something deeper: ‘Golf’, ‘Whisky’ and ‘X-ray’ are also part of the marine Code of Signals (X) that was established in Britain around 1850. It’s still used by water vessels to communicate important messages regarding safety of navigation and such, and the signals can be sent by, for example, flaghoist, signal lamp or flag semaphore. Conan Doyle worked on a ship at least in 1880 and 1881, so the signals could totally have been known to him already in Victorian times. And since Sherlock and John are on board a boat in TFP, 

I think it’s reasonable to assume that the marine code is the relevant one here. In this signal code, the flags for “Golf”, Whisky” and “Xray” mean the following:

Golf = “I require a pilot.” 

Whiskey = “I require medical assistance.”

”Xray = “Stop carrying out your intentions and watch for my signals.”

Which in other words could be read as:

I need a pilot (a maritime pilot to help me navigate)

I need a doctor

Pay attention to code

But is this use of marine signals something that only appears in BBC Sherlock? Is it Mofftiss’ own idea to use them, or could there possibly be any canon references to them? In the discussion that followed my meta (X)  @frailtyofgenius​ pointed out to me that ACD’s canon actually does mention “Naval signals” in His Last Bow (LAST), which I think might be very significant. And the one who uses the naval signals is Holmes himself.

Continued under the cut, because this is reeeally a long ‘transport’... ;)

So I took to read LAST and realized that there are several ’naval’ references (my bolding) in this story by Conan Doyle. In the beginning, as a romantic landscape framework, we’re told about the surroundings of the German spy Von Bork’s house:

Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay.

LAST takes place on the English east cost, near the port of Harwich. The spy Von Bork is chatting with Baron Von Herling, a German diplomat, bragging about the intelligence he’s gathered for his country, and then he shows the Baron the contents of his safe:

And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it.” He pointed to a space over which “Naval Signals” was printed.

But apparently the naval authorities have changed the code: 

“But you have a good dossier there already.” “Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed.”

So Holmes, posing as the Irish-American spy Altamont, is supposed to bring new ones. I think the real ‘feature of interest’ in this story, however, is the coding that Holmes/Altamont uses in his telegram to the German spy:

“Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. ALTAMONT.”

And the conversation between Van Bork and the Baron continues:

“Sparking plugs, eh?” “You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

So here in ACD canon we’re explicitly told that the spark plugs, the ignition of the car’s engine (which generates an explosion in the engine’s combustion chamber) actually represents code - marine code. And other car references, according to Van Bork, are also marine code. I can’t help wondering if water was actually meant to represent emotions already in canon? ACD canon is packed with references to water: sea, coast, lakes, ponds, rivers and waterfalls but also ships, steamers, boats, submarines and such. Some of the criminals in canon are seamen and the navy is mentioned in some cases. And in two stories (NAVA and BRUC) the ‘naval’ issues contain secrets of national importance. 

I’d love to try to analyse all the water and boat references in ACD canon and see if/how they tie into emotions, but that’s for another meta. :) But what if something similar is done in BBC Sherlock; what if Mofftiss have used not only canon’s water metaphors for emotions but also the same general secret cipher as Holmes used in LAST? But maybe Mofftiss also took the cipher one step further, interpreting anything car-related not as general metaphors for emotions, but specifically as code for sexuality.

In TFP there’s a great explosion at 221B, and next thing we know, Sherlock and John are aboard a fishing boat, which is called upon with naval signals. But there’s actually very few ships in BBC Sherlock (while canon, as mentioned, is full of them); the fishing boat in TFP is one of very few boats in the show. As for seamen, there’s also very few in the show. Except for the fishing father and son in TFP, there’a also Sherlock’s deductions about the unemployed fisherman and his mother in THoB. @sagestreet​ has written an excellent meta suggesting a significant symbolic meaning of ‘fishing’ in this case (X).

In this self-censored post on John’s blog, however, there’s a cruiser mentioned in the title: Tilly Briggs Cruise of Terror. But we never get to know anything about this case; the post is taken down entirely since, according to John, “the ship’s owners are launching an appeal”. 

Why is this post even there, if no one is allowed to read it? Every other blog post from John has some kind of content in it - at least since he met Sherlock. But this one only has a title (and a teaser in the post before: “I'm going to tell you about a couple of the smaller cases we've been involved in. What really happened on the Tilly Briggs pleasure cruise.” (X))  

So the supposed ‘pleasure cruise��� was turned into a ‘cruise of terror’ and then deleted. Maybe it’s just me, but I strongly suspect this is a clue from the show makers telling us that a certain ‘ship’ is not allowed in BBC Sherlock, for ‘legal’ reasons having to do with the ‘owners of the ship’ (ACD Estate). 

Actually, there’s more info than this about the ship even in ACD canon, although it’s scarce. In The Sussex Vampire (SUSS) “Matilda Briggs” is mentioned in a letter to Holmes from the company Morrison, Morrison, and Dodd: 

“As our firm specializes entirely upon the assessment of machinery the matter hardly comes within our purview, and we have therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson to call upon you and lay the matter before you. We have not forgotten your successful action in the case of Matilda Briggs.” 

After Watson has read it, Holmes explains to him (my bolding): 

“Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson,” said Holmes in a reminiscent voice. “It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.” 

If this is an allusion to a possible relationship between Holmes and Watson, indeed the world would not have been ‘prepared’ in Victorian times, since homophobia was prevalent and same-sex couples illegal. 

Source: (X)

Directly after this, while perusing his lexicon for ‘Vampires’ (the actual topic of the letter), Holmes also mentions another ship that was associated with Victor Trevor’s father’s secret past as a mutinous convict:

“Voyage of the Gloria Scott,” he read. “That was a bad business. I have some recollection that you made a record of it, Watson, though I was unable to congratulate you upon the result.”

Indeed this voyage in GLOR was a ‘bad business’; it ended in mutiny and disaster. The ship Gloria Scott exploded and sunk in the Atlantic, and most of the crew and passengers died.

So, not many ships appear in BBC Sherlock. But instead, there’s plenty of cars in the show. What if all these car references actually somehow actually refer to a ship - a very particular ‘shipping’? ;)

The Cars

So, might these cars code for some hidden secrets? And/or is it possible to tie the car references to ’naval code’, as Holmes claims to do in LAST, assuming that naval = water = emotions but also sexuality? 

Returning to canon, please note that Holmes and Watson (both in disguise) arrive in a car to the scene of this story in LAST. This is one of the very few cars that appear in canon, since they weren’t yet very commonly in use by those times. Holmes’ and Watson’s car is modestly described as “a small car” and “a little Ford” (as opposed to Baron Von Herling’s car, which is a huge limo). But at the end of the story, Holmes says about the little Ford: “Start her up, Watson, for it’s time that we were on our way.” And there they go, happily together, with the criminal tied up in the back seat, heading for Scotland Yard. Sweet, isn’t it? :) This is the very last we see of Holmes and Watson in canon. (Unfortunately, I can’t find any illustration of it).

BBC Sherlock, however, is full of cars. So, if we apply this analogy to BBC Sherlock, what car references can we find that could be translated into marine (= emotional) terms? Well, the first thing that comes to mind is the cab, the taxi, which is Sherlock’s preferred means of transport. 

A taxi has a driver, which is the word that the little girl on the plane in TFP uses instead of ‘pilot’. But we don’t see any taxi boats in the show, do we? In the Unaired Pilot, however, the cabbie drives Sherlock home to Baker Street (not to Roland Kerr’s), and there he tries to ‘kill’ him. One could even assume he makes a kind of sexual innuendo when Sherlock is sprawled face-down on the floor and the cabbie says “I could do anything I wanted to you right now, Mr ’olmes.” 

As I explained in my other meta about marine code (X), a marine pilot is someone who leads a ship through dangerous waters. Mofftiss haven’t included any marine pilots in their show, but they do use aircraft pilots, even if they’re not labelled as such: 

But if ‘driver’ should be read as ‘pilot’, then Jeff Hope - a John mirror - in the Unaired Pilot, the ‘driver’ of the show, guides Sherlock home emotionally and sexually, doesn’t he? ;) 

But there’s more about the signals in LAST. This is what the counter-agent Sherlock ‘Altamont’ Holmes says when he arrives at Von Bork’s place:

“You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister,” he cried. “I’m bringing home the bacon at last.” “The signals?” “Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi – a copy, mind you, not the original. That was too dangerous.”

This seems very similar to Wikipedia’s explanation of the Marine Code of Signals, as I quoted above: apart from flag hoist, the signals can also be transmitted by, for example, flag semaphores, radio communication or signal lamps. We do have radio communication in TFP, when Sherrinford receives the message from the boat ‘golf-whisky-x-ray’. But are there any signal lamps in BBC Sherlock? Yes, in fact there are - and they’re tied to a car! 

A blinking, grinning Peugeot, no less, in THoB. And it’s definitely connected to sex, because that’s what’s happening inside. ;) Even if we’re lead to believe that this isn’t actually code, John does try (unsuccessfully) to decipher the blinking lights from this car as Morse signals and gets “U M Q R A”.

Apparently this code is not referring to the Marine Code of Signals. But @bug-catcher-in-viridian-forest​ has written an excellent meta (X) deciphering the possible code “UMQRA” as meaning “TORCH”, using the Ceasar cipher, which Sherlock refers to on his website (X) in combination with another cipher. In my opinion this does make a lot of sense. John does indeed use a torch to try to decipher this message, and there are also lots of other possible metaphorical meanings of ‘torch’ in the show. 

So I think it would still be wise to pay attention to code, wouldn’t it?

As for Holmes’ quote from LAST above, “a copy, mind you, not the original”, I’d interpret this at Holmes pointing out that these signals can be copied (’mirrored’?) and also that they can vary in type (I imagine that ‘Marconi’ stands for radio transmission (X)). All in all, these naval signals are of national importance in canon, just like the Bruce Partington Plans and the Naval Treaty. And these are all military top-secrets clearly connected to the British navy. At some point in LAST, believing he has won the spy game, the Baron says:“There may be other lights within the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place!” Seems like the East Wind is coming. ;)

But back to the marine codes and cars: in canon (LAST) the car references hide secrets of national importance, connected to Britain’s naval defense, and some of those secrets, in turn, are encrypted with naval signals. That’s double coding, right? Also: the navy defend British waters and water = emotions.

As for cars, there’s a lot more of them in the show, while canon has very few; cars weren’t in use during most of Holmes’ career. I think LAST is the first time that cars appear in ACD canon? And the spare parts that Holmes/Altamont talks about as code in LAST never actually appear in the story, only the Baron’s limo and Holmes’ little Ford, where Watson is the driver.

But in the modern show there’s plenty of cars, of course; they’re literally everywhere. Many people have long ago pointed out that cars represent transport metaphorically, which is how Sherlock views his bodily needs in the unaired Pilot. Which ties in well with the assumption above that cars also represents sexuality, which is related to emotions even if it’s not the same thing.

But let’s also try to decipher the car references with Holmes’s code in LAST in mind, shall we? Where can we find water and/or possible hints about emotions and/or sexuality?

Apart from the taxis, which run like a red thread through the episodes (ASiP, TBB, TGG, ASiB, TRF, HLV, TST), and the abundance of police cars and ambulances, I can think of the following:

Mycroft’s black governmental car which is used to kidnap John in ASiP (and other episodes).

If Mycroft represents Sherlock’s brain, this might be about Sherlock trying to examine and test John with his intellect, to get an idea of who John is and what to expect from him. But this task is driven by his car - bodily needs - and behind them there’s still emotions, if we apply Sherlock’s code in LAST.

The first hostage’s car in TGG, where she is wrapped up in semtex.

This woman is literally trapped inside her car and metaphorically trapped inside her bodily needs, which are threatening to explode (remember Holmes’ ’sparking plugs’ in LAST?) if Sherlock doesn’t solve the puzzle about Carl Powers. And in this screen cap she is literally juxtaposed to Sherlock:

So it seems like Sherlock is now trapped inside his ‘transport’, yes? Still driven by emotions rather than intellect. And he probably sees this as very dangerous.

The finding of The ’dead’ man’s car with (fake) blood in TGG.

This ill-treated transport device (John calls it ”an abandoned sports car” on his blog X) leeds to more cars - Janus cars - and it turns out that the driver - Ian Monkford - isn’t dead; he’s just on ’vacation’ in Colombia (with the real purpose of cashing in his life insurance money). Sherlock figures this puzzle out and the poor fellow wrapped in semtex can breathe out; he’s not going to explode, either physically or emotionally. And no-one is dead in this case, but the driver faked his own death to avoid exposure and get his ‘security’.

The car with a dead body in the boot in ASiB

Licence plate: PYO3 HYN. The dead man in this car was destined for Germany according to his tickets - another ‘vacation’? But he never reached there; his plane crashed but he wasn’t in it, because he was already dead - trapped in his transport a car. Now, this case seems intimately connected with Sherlock in the boot of Mrs Hudson’s Aston Martin in TLD (see below). Except that Sherlock was being transported alive in that boot, but this guy is dead.

The client’s back-firing old SAAB in ASiB

The client stops near a wetland area and a stream because of problems with his engine. The driver - a John mirror? - tries to fix his ‘engine’, but the old car just won’t start. Sherlock analyses this case in his (drugged) Mind Palace together with his libido Irene Adler.

People have pointed out long ago (sorry for not remembering who - was it LSiT?) that the back-firing SAAB engine in the hiker case in ASiB might represent John’s dysfunctional sexlife with women; Sarah in specific and probably their trip to New Zeeland after TGG. (Maybe this is also why Sherlock in TSoT, when John has just been married to Mary, deduces that one of the wedding guests - a doctor - has ‘erectile dysfunction’?)

Irene’s black car in ASiB

Licence plate: SKO8 ZYL. This black car, which has a private driver, is used to transport John to the Battersea station on New Year’s Eve in ASiB. In spite of being in midwinter, Battersea seems to be flooded with water. And this is the place where Irene exposes John’s sexual relationship with (or at least interest in) Sherlock while Sherlock is listening to the conversation from another room, but John declares that “I’m not actually gay”. This car is so similar to Mycroft’s black car (see above) that John thinks this is Mycroft who kidnaps him again. If Irene represents Sherlock’s libido, what does her black car stand for?

Sherlock’s and John’s hired Land Rover in THoB

Licence plate: OEI0 HFK. The Land Rover is a British car, known for its four-wheel drive and vast off-road capacity. Sherlock drives this car to “deepest, darkest Devon” with John in the passenger seat, so it seems like they were prepared for a ‘bumpy ride’. And this car actually has a visible spare part; an extra wheel in case of emergency:

And their journey really became ‘bumpy’ - at least on an emotional level, since they were both dosed with a fear-inducing gas, had a quarrel, and the gay couple who were running the Inn where they were staying took for granted that they were indeed a couple too.

John’s and Mary’s car in HLV and in TST

Licence plate: SP56 LJY, black Audi. Mary is the driver in HLV. (By the way, why has this car the steering wheel to the left, in a country with left-hand traffic?). Here we’re presented with the interesting idea from the billboard that “Information is the power to change 1895″. In HLV we actually do see something like a spare part for this car; John’s tyre lever. ;) (which looks more like some sort of pipe key, if you ask me, but whatever; it’s still a spare part - or at least a ‘tool’ - associated with John’s transport car):

So this would be consistent with Holmes’ cipher in LAST. And this spare part is treated with very sexual overtones in HLV, so I think the influence of Sentiment and Sex is pretty clear here.

Mrs Hudson’s red Aston Martin in TLD

License plate: APIS CXJ. Now, this is a really interesting and beautiful car I think, and it shows its capacity when it goes speeding in TLD. Mrs Hudson has more resources than some people might believe. But John is only allowed to use her sports car - the ultimate symbol of male virility - when he’s off to rescue Sherlock. ;) 

The license plate reads APIS, which I’m sure is a reference to bees and bee keeping, because Apis mellifera is the scientific name of the honey bee. Holmes’ main occupation as retired in ACD canon is bee keeping, which is shown in LAST, where his secret ‘sparking plugs’ turn out to be the Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. ;)) So Holmes stood by his words in his telegram to Van Bork; he did “come without fail to-night” (he came together with Watson) and he did “bring new sparking plugs”. It’s just that the ‘spark’ wasn’t maybe of the sort that Van Bork had expected... 

Anyway, in this scene in TLD, Sherlock is being kidnapped and handcuffed by Mrs Hudson and transported in the boot of that sports car; he’s literally trapped inside the rear end of his transport, which has John as its direct destination. 

Sadly for all of us, however, John refuses to ‘examine this body’, and this is instead done by the John mirror Molly (inside an ambulance), who tells Sherlock that he’s dying and that “it’s not a game”. 

The next time we see this red sports car, however, John is the driver, and he’s using its great capacity as it should be used: to come to Sherlock’s rescue. ;)

Come to think of it, there’s actually at least one more car spare part mentioned in the show, even if it might not be meant as this specific part:

This car has a steering wheel nevertheless, and Sherlock is sitting in the car while saying this. And yes; this show is indeed repetitive when it comes to certain topics. Like ‘transport’, emotions and bodily needs. But I do hope we’ll finally see some new turns on this topic in the next series. ;)

Thanks for your patience in following this marathon meta to its end! Tagging some people who might be interested (please alert me if you don’t want to be tagged):

@raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @gosherlocked​ @sarahthecoat​ @lukessense​ @therealsaintscully​ @thewatsonbeekeepers​ @sagestreet​ @tjlcisthenewsexy​ @thepersianslipper​ @loveismyrevolution​ @shylockgnomes​ @frailtyofgenius​

Screencaps in this meta are in some cases borrowed from this site (X). 

[swissmissficrecs]

Hi. Just wanted to know, do you have any horror/gothic Johnlock fic recs? Either ACD or BBC canon is fine. I just want to get creeped out

Reply: I initially started this off by saying that horror is not really my thing, but given the amount of material I’m about to dump on you, I guess maybe it kind of is. 👻😱

First off here are some older lists:

Horror plus romance

Sherlock or John is a ghost

Zombies

And here are some more I’ve enjoyed which tend in that direction:

All Things Will Die, Nothing Will Die (109K, E, Johnlock) by Holly Sykes Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Time: January, 1831. Something suspicious is happening at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital: corpses are brought in and sold to the surgeons, but Sherlock Holmes suspects foul play. He’s not alone: at Guy’s Hospital, Doctor John Watson refuses to pay twelve guineas for a body that he fears has been tampered with.

Danger Nights by khorazir (23K, T, Johnlock) According to folklore, the nights between Christmas and Twelfth Night are the most dangerous of the year. During them, the Wild Hunt rides, and ghosts and demons come out to haunt unsuspecting and misbehaving folk. An investigation of a series of strange occurrences leads John and Sherlock to Hay-on-Wye on the Welsh Marches, to face ghosts weird and ancient as well as close and personal – and perhaps to start the new year on a more hopeful note than the previous one.

Haunted by Vulpesmellifera (22K, E, Johnlock) Plagued by the past, John moves himself and his daughter to a new flat for a fresh start - and it's not 221B Baker Street.While he grapples with new knowledge and old guilt, he's confronted with odd neighbors and strange noises in the night. But is it the new flat, or is John Watson losing his grip on reality?

He’s Coming to Us Dead by Vulgarweed (13K, E, Johnlock) The war is ending and the troops are returning. They do not always mean well. Their loved ones are not always glad to see them. A case straight out of an old folktale has deep repercussions for Sherlock and John.

it's not always black and wight by elldotsee (21K, M, Gen) By the time he turned eight, Sherlock had had more supernatural experiences than he could count or recall. They were simply characters that formed the tapestry of the house, bumps and flickers of a life stuck in the in-between.  That is, until he met Victor.

Lightning and Sea Glass by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (18K, E, Johnlock) The mad Professor Moriarty and his reluctant assistant John Watson have reanimated the dead – and the results are beautiful. At least John thinks so. When Moriarty rejects his creation, John disappears with the creature to protect it, sealing their fates together. (Loosely inspired by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein)

Obsidian and Moonlight by PenelopeWaits (11K, T, Johnlock) John and Sherlock make a detour on the way home from Baskerville.  The question is, which is more inexplicable, the rites of human violence or the depths of human love?

Penumbra by Saki101 (46K, E, Johnlock) In Maine, there was Collinwood and the three centuries of history that were woven into its walls.  In London, there is Holmeswood Manor (or the Manor on Baker Street as the urban legends have it), tucked now into a city street when once its oak woods rolled from the heath to the river.  John’s grown up with its stories of ghosts and wizards and things that hunt in the night.  They are certainly not going to keep him from interviewing for a residential post at the Manor because he cannot afford London on an army pension and there could not possibly be any truth to the tales.

Puzzlebox by standbygo (9K, E, Johnlock) A love story with horror. A horror story with a happy ending.

So Closely Allied by j_baillier (10K, T, Johnlock) She has always been a part of his life but now, she needs to leave.

Still of the Night by michi_thekiller (30K, E, Johnlock) 1.) Curfew must be obeyed. 2.) Streets must be clear by sundown. 3.) If you find yourself out after curfew, seek shelter at the home of a friend, relative, or neighbor whom you know and trust. 4.) Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should any unknown persons be allowed into the home after curfew.

The Subtenant by khorazir (12K, T, Johnlock) When you have ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Hence, there can be no doubt about it: 221B is haunted. Sherlock and John set out to investigate their new subtenant and find out more than they bargained for.

The Victim Experience by J_Baillier (16K, T, Gen) A case takes Sherlock and John deep into the seedy underbelly of the haunted attractions industry. With audiences craving more and more intense experiences, is a real murder the next logical step?

They Mostly Come Out At Night by Tawabids (16K, T, Johnlock) Mummy Holmes was admiral of the British space fleet, and her sons were gestated in a synthetic womb called an AGU. When something monstrous burst out of a lieutenant's chest and got loose on board a ship carrying the Holmes family, the unborn second son and was left on board. A quarter of a century later, the Orbiter 200B is a floating wreck on the edge of the colonised territory. Mycroft Holmes sends Lestrade and a Royal Navy special ops vehicle, the Baker, to the abandoned ship to learn what can be salvaged.

You might also enjoy these fanvids:

Asylum by AnimaObscure (NR, Gen) St. Bartholomeus hospital rooftop is a tricky place to jump off. All Sherlock’s nightmares are going to come to life.

Sherlockian Horror Story by Nyah86Production (NR, Gen) Inspired by the Opening Titles from American Horror Story Asylum

The Reichenbach Horror by johnlocklover221 (SFW, Gen) Takes The Abominable Bride as a jumping-off point for a reinterpretation as a Gothic showdown between Holmes and Moriarty 

[khadij-al-kubra]

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

<=PREV

NEXT=>

Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I  am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon* 

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that. 

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.  

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy;  he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses.  “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’ 

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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[raeynbowboi]

Dating Disney: The Little Mermaid

So when I started, Dating Disney, it was with the intention to pin down the fashion validity of Disney’s leading men, but when I started looking at Eric, I found that he’s wearing very hard to pin down clothes. A simple shirt, some pants, boots, and possibly a cummerbund? Or a sash? It’s really unclear. So rather than that, I decided to use clues in the movie to pin down a general historical time frame and location for Disney Movies, and I’m not really going in any order. I stand by Sleeping Beauty being set in mid to late 14th century Italy, but from here on out, I’ll be focused more on history and the movie, using context clues to set a time frame.

Story Origins

Den Lille Havfrue or The Little Mermaid, was written in 1836 and published in 1837 by Hans Christian Andersen, a Danish writer. It was written initially as a discreet love letter to Edvard Collin who had won his fancy. Edvard had gotten himself engaged to then 13-year-old Henriette Tybjerg 3 years earlier in 1833. The story is a highly symbolic depiction of Andersen’s feelings, as Edvard represents the handsome prince, Henriette is the kind foreign princess taking the love of his life, and Andersen is the suffering hero who endures great heartache to be near the one he loves, and is effectively voiceless, unable to speak his true feelings due to the time when he was living in. Henriette was actually so worried that he’d make a scene and declare his love for Edvard at their wedding that they “accidentally” gave him the wrong day, and he missed the ceremony. Thus, Andersen wrote the little mermaid disguised as a wedding gift, which Edvard had little interest in and which Andersen later decided to publish. I won’t do this for all of the stories, mind you, but this one had a very interesting history behind it.

Clothing

The first costume doesn’t appear in the actual movie, but is used occasionally as part of the Disney Prince line-up attire that Eric sports. In this image, he’s sporting a waistcoat, cravat, and tailcoats, all indicative of 19th century men’s fashion. In particular, this look rose to popularity in the 1840s and stayed popular through to the 1850s. Eric’s wedding suit and the engagement suit are both  military jackets that include epaulets on the wedding suit. These are in fact naval admiral jackets, as seen in the below picture.

All of these fashion elements emerged during and following the Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815). Most of the men except Eric have buckles on their shoes. Although we might associate the image more with the 18th century and the American revolution or pilgrims, buckled shoes were still a common sight in the 19th century that it’s not out of place or unreasonable for them to worn in this film.

The widely hated pink dress (and quite unfairly I think) that Ariel wears to dinner seems to fit with 1850s fashion although the large sleeves were apparently designed to resemble 1980′s prom dresses. The blue dress Ariel wears for the date is entirely era inappropriate (especially since her ankles are visible during the Victorian Era), and neither hers nor Vanessa’s corset dresses are fitting for their time period. It should be noted that the visible different skirts was not a trend of the 1800s, and this was the closest example I could find, and even then appears to be an outlier in what’s been recorded of 1850′s fashions. Now, it’s possible that this dress could be old and was just lying around, so even Ariel’s dress is not necessarily proof of a finalized decade, since she could simply be wearing an out of fashion gown.

Technology

The Tobacco pipe that Scuttle calls a Snarfblat, seems to resemble a Calabash type tobacco pipe, first invented in 1898, at least according to one source I found. The Calabash is widely recognized for its saxophone shape, and is closely associated with Sherlock Holmes imagery. There are other types called Bent or Billiard pipes that may have existed earlier, but I couldn’t find when those kinds of tobacco pipes would have been invented.

Eric’s Ship seems to resemble a Galleon, mostly in the bent U shape of the ship and the bulky stern. An evolution of the Portuguese Carrack ships of the 15th century, these Spanish ships were invented initially as armed cargo ships, but were also used as warships. In the early 19th century, they were drafted as auxiliary war vessels, dominating naval warfare for most of the Age of Sailing. Although Eric’s ship is not quite a Galleon, given that his ship as a more noticeably protruding cabin on the ship’s stern, it still maintains the unique U-shape of the vessel.

The type of carriage we see when Eric gives Ariel a tour of his kingdom seems to resemble the Phaeton carriage. Both are four-wheeled carriages with a fold-up back and a swooping decal on the front of the vehicle. Shown to the right is an image of Queen Victoria as a child with her mother in a Phaeton. I don’t have an exact year as the link no longer works with the British Museum of History, but Queen Victoria was born in 1819, and she looks fairly young, so I might posit that this might date anywhere from 1822-1834? But I’m legitimately guessing. The point is, this type of carriage would have existed at this time and later.

When we see the town square of Eric’s kingdom, we see a clocktower and gas lamps. While I couldn’t find an exact year of when clock towers became a common thing, the clock that houses Big Ben in Elizabeth Tower was built in 1844, so that’s a least a clue as to when a much smaller clock might have been commonplace. Gas lamps as a public source of illumination began in 1809, as commemorated by a political cartoon of onlookers marveling at the new wonder.

Geography & Climate

Hurricanes - when the sea storm hits, the sailors declare that the storm is a hurricane. Initially, I assumed the movie was still set in Europe, and I looked up and found that there have in fact been instances of hurricanes hitting the western countries of Europe. However, the palm trees kind of debunked that theory.

Yes, you are in fact seeing palm trees. Growing naturally. In the place Eric calls his kingdom. So we are definitely not in Europe. This is further backed by the fact that a hurricane hit only two or so days ago, and hurricane season tends to be in autumn, while the foliage in Eric’s kingdom is a vibrant summer green. This has lead me to the assumption that Eric’s “kingdom” is a colony in either Florida or more likely, one of the Caribbean islands. Which would most likely mean that Eric is a Spanish prince. This is backed up by the simple fact that the general aesthetic of not only the castle, but the kingdom has a very Spanish look to it. But I’m not really at all well-versed enough in architecture to elaborate other than “it looks kinda Spanish to me”. He could be the son of the Spanish king and ruling this local area due to its economic importance and could possibly have a warship to fight off pirates. Eric might also not be the first in line for the throne, thus this is why he’s so far from home and without any parents around. He came to the new world to rule a smaller slice of his kingdom since he’d probably never be king of Spain. And yes, I did find that there are marshlands in the Caribbean, so Eric and Ariel can still go for their boat ride through the bayou.

There’s also a portrait of Phillip and Aurora in Eric’s dining hall, which means he’s probably related to them. Considering they’re Italian and he’s Spanish, it’s extremely likely. It’s not super relevant, but it’s a neat easter egg. Or if it’s not Phillip and Aurora, it could be Eric’s parents, and it just looks a lot like Phillip and Aurora, which could still be a clue that they’re related. Although the painting is rather recent, not like a 14th century tapestry, so it’s probably either a painting of his parents, or Aurora and Phillip are a big deal in Eric’s family, resulting in them getting a more modern portrait made of them.

Verdict

All around, I would have to say that the movie is set on one of the Caribbean islands under Spanish colonialism in around the mid 19th century. Although the pipe might be from a later decade, it’s such a minor detail, and so late in the century that if anything it’s an outlier in the data. Most of the facts tend to point more toward the early and middle of the 19th century, which is why I lean more toward the early-to-mid 1850s as the era of choice for this film. What this means for the world at large is that both America and France have denounced their monarchs. Victoria took the English throne in 1837 and has been ruling for about 20 years. Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species sparks outrage among the public at the notion of being a monkey’s nephew. Furthermore, it pretty much dissolves the Little Mermaid from being connected to the Frozen/Tangled conspiracy at all, as Ariel is all the way over in the New World, while Arendale is half-way across the world. It’s possible that the ship could have been commandeered by pirates who sailed the ship to the Caribbean where it was sank, but that’s adding extra steps and filling in blanks to try and force the theory to work. So there you have it, Ariel married a Spanish prince who was a full on navy admiral living in colonial Caribbean islands in the 1850s. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are. I would not have logically pegged the Caribbean for the setting of the film. But, that’s where the evidence points.

SETTING: A Spanish Colony in the Caribbean

KINGDOM: The Spanish Empire (1492 -1975)

PERIOD: 1850s (Victorian Era)

LANGUAGE: Spanish

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 5

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Chapter 5- Fungi

~~~

Despite the initial tension regarding Jessica Reynolds, things seem to be progressing well with Amelia’s case. Sherlock was able to pull a number of shipping manifests from the assistant’s computer, each bound for the manufacturing factory in Manila.

It was fortunate that it confirmed almost every compound Amelia had noted when she stole the data set, at least in the cancer drugs.

The problem was the secondary product bound into the cancer drugs that caused adverse effects. The details on the manifests were less than helpful…

~~~

“Psilocybe mushroom components,” Amelia read the computer screen out loud for the third time since Sherlock had passed it to her, annoyance in her tone. “That’s it?”

“Magic mushrooms?” John asked, passing her a cup of tea, she immediately set it aside, scrolling through the computer logs further. “Seems straightforward enough.”

“John, there are over 200 different types of Psilocybe spores,” Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “Sherlock, please tell me you have an idea for how we can possibly narrow it down?”

“How many did you use in your research?” The detective asked, reaching for his own tea cup.

“47,” she answered. “Two were almost identical hybrids, so maybe 46.”

“There you go,” he smirked over the rim of his cup. “Narrowed down.”

“You know we’re going to have to get samples, even if we run the equations, some might work but not technically be the component. Not to mention the cancer drugs might be different,” she groaned and set her cup aside, throwing her head back against the sofa.

“Sherlock, it might be time to contact your brother,” John suggested quietly, earning a glare from the brunette.

“You have a brother?” Amelia asked, her head still flung back with her eyes closed. “Please tell me he’s a reputable drug dealer because it’s going to be a pain in the ass getting these things.”

“Even better, he’s a member of her Majesty’s Royal Government,” Sherlock chimed back. Amelia snorted, remaining still.

“He could also order seizures of the shipments,” John reminded the group coolly, sensing the rising tension between the group.

“Unhelpful if we can’t properly determine the malicious components, John,” Sherlock shot back, picking up on Amelia’s frustration. “The idea is that Chemco’s random samples are unable to be traced, and random.”

“Certainly a shipment would contain some variations?” he asked the pair. Amelia threw her arms up hopelessly, and he frowned. “Sherlock, don’t tell me you’re at a loss?”

“Short of breaking into a hospital, stealing their current supply, and testing it against the 46 varieties of mushroom Mia has worked with, this doesn’t lend a more efficient solution,” the detective hummed, drumming his fingers on his chin in thought.

Silence fell over the group, each person thinking through potential solutions.

“Monty!” Amelia shot up, nearly startling John into dropping his tea.

“What on earth-?” The doctor grumbled while Amelia fished out her phone.

“Ruthie’s brother in law, Monty, he’s an, er, herbal enthusiast,” she explained, tapping into her phone. “I bought a few illicit plants from him when I first moved over. He’s basically got everything you could think of. If not, he’ll know someone who does.”

“Is he in London?”

“Canterbury, lives down the road from Ruthie and her husband,” Amelia got a ping back. “Says we can swing by tomorrow if we’d like. I know offhand, I saw at least a dozen spores in one of his cold storages. I’ll dig up my research list, I can probably narrow down the list from 46 to something more reasonable if I look through what moved to the second stages of trials.”

“And then we go shopping for illicit drugs,” John replied dryly. “And what about the cancer medications?”

Sherlock and Amelia exchanged humored glances. There was certainly something that the doctor was missing.

“What?” John gawked between the pair. “You’re not actually breaking into a hospital, are you?”

“We wouldn’t need much, maybe one or two treatments?” Sherlock asked Amelia, who nodded  after doing a quick calculation in her head.

“The binding components are easy enough to track down over the counter, though we might need a better equipped lab than what you’ve got in the kitchen,” she noted.

“That’s not a problem,” Sherlock waved her off, skimming through the list of components from the shipping logs. “Easy.”

“I don’t like it when you two conspire together. It always leads to some sort of trouble,” John pressed, frown deepening.

“John, you’re a doctor,” Amelia reminded him excitedly. “Prescribe poor Sherlock Holmes a chemotherapy treatment for the tumor in his ego.”

“No, absolutely not,” John stood up. “That violates so many ethical rules- besides, you’re a licensed pharmacist. It’d be easier for you.”

“Not here, not yet. I mean, we can let innocent, immune compromised patients die,” Amelia shrugged, leaning back into the sofa. “What a shame about the little babies with leukemia. All because my wicked mother wanted a second mega yacht.”

“What truly is the core of medical ethics Dr. Watson?” Sherlock inquired, slowly closing his laptop, his gaze boring into his friend. “Is it not to protect life?”

John Watson, caught between an American and a hard place, was less than thrilled when he finally, begrudgingly, scribbled his name on a prescription pad and passed it to Sherlock.

“If my license is revoked-,” he threatened, holding it away from Sherlock briefly.

“Will you kill him?” Amelia asked, grabbing her crimson scarf from the back of the sofa and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Because I’d be very interested in seeing that.”

“Don’t think you get off that easy,” John turned his attention to Amelia while Sherlock scampered to his coat, mocking Amelia over John’s shoulder with a smirk. “You’re equally responsible for anything that goes wrong.”

“That’s not fair, I’m an innocent bystander to your collusion,” she pouted, catching her navy pea coat when John tossed it at her head.

“Careful John,” Sherlock warned, passing the doctor his jacket, shielding his friend from Amelia’s sad eyes. “Keep her pouting like that and she’ll convince you to clean her hair out of the shower drain.”

“Just go,” John shoved the detective through the doorway, not bothering to wait for the grumbling Amelia as she pulled her boots on and stumbled her way out the door behind them.

~~~

“And you’re going to be administering the medications at home?” the chemist studied the prescription order, glancing over the paper to John with a quirked brow.

“That’s right,” he answered with a curt nod, his hands stuffed in his pockets to try and stave off the nervous energy that radiated through his core.

“To a Mr. William Holmes?” the chemist looked to Sherlock next to him. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” he pulled out his ID and passed it to the woman, flashing a quick smile.

“Did you guys know that Beyonce is pregnant again?” Amelia held up a tabloid to Sherlock. “Oh wait, never mind. Just a rumor.”

“Who is this?” the chemist paused, looking up at Amelia.

“His fiancé,” she replied, setting the magazine aside and looping an arm through Sherlock’s. “Here for moral support. He’s just starting treatment and is nervous as all get out, isn’t that right, love?” For added effect, she snuggled closer, pressing her cheek against his arm.

“I wouldn’t have made it in one piece without her,” he nodded, giving her cheek a quick peck. “Just an absolute blessing.”

“We’re just so lucky to find Dr. Watson,” Amelia continued with a long sigh. “Not a lot of doctor’s are willing to do home treatments within the NHS, you know. And of course I’m completely out of my element with all of it!”

The chemist chuckled empathetically, asking how the pair met as she typed up the order for the supplies. Sherlock and Amelia shot back and forth, exchanging little tidbits about their “relationship” enough to almost convince John it was real.

“The order will be ready tomorrow morning,” the woman smiled at the trio and reached for Amelia’s hand. “I’ll be praying for you both.”

“You’re an angel,” Amelia replied, giving them a squeeze before ushering the group out of the pharmacy with a final wave at the woman.

Back on the street, Amelia slipped a hand into Sherlock’s pocket, pulling out his wallet.

“I did not know your name was William,” she studied his ID, trying to memorize the details before he snatched it from her. “And you’re only three years older than me? I don’t believe that.”

Sherlock grabbed the wallet and ID out her hands, returning them to his coat pocket with a huff.

“Is there no privacy with you?” he grumbled. “And what’s so surprising about how old I am?”

“I just figured you were older,” she shrugged. “I mean, I’m almost thirty, right? I figured you were like, almost forty or something.”

John sputtered out a laugh.

“That’s spectacular,” he threw an arm around her shoulders. “How old do you think I am?”

“John, in all honesty, I have no idea,” she answered. “Sometimes I’m convinced you’re fifty, other times you have to be my age.”

Sherlock snorted under his breath.

“It’s a fair assessment,” she insisted, frowning apologetically at John. “You get very grumpy in the mornings, and the matching flannel pajamas don’t help very much.”

“They’re warm.”

“I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Amelia smiled, patting his arm in a placating tone. “I’m just a terrible judge of age apparently. I should have know how old you actually were with all of the part-time super models you bring by.”

“Mia, you’re digging yourself into a hole you’ll regret for the foreseeable future,” Sherlock warned.

“Shush,” Amelia swatted his arm.

“That reminds me,” John glanced down at his phone. “I have a second date with Ann tonight.”

“Is she the one with the Pomeranian?” Amelia asked hopefully. He shook his head and she sighed. “I liked that one.”

“You liked the dog and I’m very allergic,” John reminded her. “Ann is a barrister.”

“Maybe you should make sacrifices for your relationships, John,” she countered. “Have fun with your boring lawyer date.”

“Ann is the boring one, that’s right,” Sherlock perked up.

“She is not boring,” John insisted, flagging down a taxi.

“We’ll call with an ‘emergency’ in a bit,” Amelia promised earnestly. “Get you out of talks about law and order. Blegh.”

“I’m turning my phone off,” he called, slipping into the backseat of the taxi.

“If it wasn’t so cold, I’d be half tempted to follow them,” Amelia mused, continuing down the street with the detective.

“Don’t, they’re seeing that action movie that just came out,” he sighed dramatically. "Boring."

“Movies never make sense as an early date,” she noted. “You can’t talk. How do you get to know anything about the other person? They could be a serial killer for all you know.”

“Exactly, hardly an intimate setting,” he shook his head in disappointment. Amelia looked at him in surprise, stifling a laugh. “What?”

“It’s hard to picture you trying to take someone on a date,” she confessed lightly.

“You’re one to talk,” he countered quickly. “You never leave the flat.”

“You literally don’t let me?” she replied with another laugh. “And arguably, I’ve gone at least one more date than you in the last month.”

“Jessica Reynolds does not count,” he shot back.

“She has the remnants of my favorite shirt on her bedroom floor,” Amelia shivered at the memory. “She counts. John’s been on half a dozen dates since then, yet I’m fairly certain I heard you making love to your calculator the other night.”

“Why did I allow you to move into my building?” Sherlock kept his focus forward. “And I’d be a wonderful date, assuming I knew who i was meeting and could plan accordingly.”

“You’d stalk your date for ideas,” Amelia bit back a smirk. “It’d almost be endearing if it wasn’t super illegal.”

“I do not have to stalk someone to take them on a decent date,” he insisted. “What about you? What would you do aside from a bar?”

“First of all, I would never take someone to a bar on a first date,” she held a hand up, stopping in front of him. “It’s tacky. Would you want to date someone tacky?”

“Ok, where would you take me?” he offered, folding his arms across his chest. Amelia considered his challenge, pulling out her cell phone and tapping at the screen. Grinning at the device, she looked up at him.

“I get a little leeway because I’m not from here,” she warned, flagging down a passing cab.

“What are you doing?” he watched her chat with the driver, and look up at him expectantly.

“I’m taking you on a date,” she answered. “Get in Mr. Holmes, and prepare to be wooed.”

~~~

The Barbican Conservatory wasn’t very busy at midday in the middle of the week, so they were able to secure entrance and tour around the large space without too much interruption from other guests.

“There are over 1,500 different plants in 23,000 cubic square feet of space,” Amelia tucked her hands behind her back. “And the ponds feature koi and carp from Japan and America respectively.”

“Did you just read the pamphlet?” Sherlock asked, looking over the informational packet. “Because you quoted the first paragraph verbatim.”

“It’s because I’m well versed in what I sought out,” she answered with a grin. “Look, flowers.”

She pulled him toward a large selection of tropical flora, naming the species as they moved through in both their common names and scientific ones.

“This one is particularly rare,” she gestured to a bright red flower, the pamphlet long discarded in her coat pocket. Sherlock listened intently, occasionally chiming in his own facts about the flora that surrounded them. He could tell she was pleasantly surprised at his own knowledge on some of the more obscure plants.

“Waitwaitwait,” Amelia pulled him by the wrist toward a large swath of sunflowers. “They’re taller than you, that’s so cool!”

“Does that make them extra haughty?” he retorted, letting her shove him in front of the flowers. She snapped a picture while he continued to quip, ignoring his comments a moment while she saved it to her phone. “Do not show that to anyone.”

“I would never,” she promised. “It’s a good picture, though.” She held her phone up, and sure enough, she’d captured a flattering angle while he’d been laughing.

“I’m not haughty,” he quickly stated.

“You know that isn’t their only meaning,” she hummed, tucking the phone away. “They also mean strength, happiness, confidence… I think they sum you up perfectly.”

“Happiness?”

“Oh that’s right, you were happy once and it was terrible,” she replied coyly. “How could I have forgotten? Happiness can mean bringing it to others as well, Sherlock.”

She turned to look at some lilacs, absently chatting while he stood frozen in place, the words running on repeat in the front of his mind.

Who did he make happy?

~~~

Amelia had a mouth full of falafel when Sherlock decided on where he was going to take her next.

“Mmwha mwean?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion. “Dwon’t swteal mwwy dawte!”

“You did an adequate job,” he answered. “But I still think I’m the superior date planner.”

She swallowed her food, eyeing distrustfully.

“I’m only interested if it’s a very old cemetery,” she replied, stealing one of his chips. “And it better be nighttime and there had better be ghosts.”

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” Sherlock clarified sharply.

“Consider this date over,” she stood up from the public bench they’d settled on. “It’s not me, it’s definitely you.”

“Amelia, come back,” he called, but she continued down the road, night starting to swallow the city. “They’re theoretically impossible.”

~~~

Amelia had to admit (though never out loud), Sherlock Holmes did know a thing or two about impressing a date (despite his disbelief in ghosts).

He purchased her a pink peony, her favorite flower, from a street vendor.

Next, they went to the aquarium, where they wandered away from the main tour and Sherlock gave his own version of the tour, naming the fish and telling her random facts about their origins. Together, they came up with complex names and origin stories for all of the fish.

“The puffer fish is obviously fed up with the whale shark’s nonsense,” Amelia laughed, pointing out the fish blowing up as the white shark passed it in the tank. “He’s probably having an affair with the puffer fish’s wife.”

“I don’t know, the whale shark was eyeing the sea turtle…” Sherlock mused, watching the mesmerizing scene next to her.

Every once in a while, Amelia would steal a look at him. The way the light reflected around them, and how it flickered through his blue eyes- should almost wished she had a paint pallet to try and capture the almost perfect cerulean color.

They left the aquarium chuckling about an octopus that had escaped during a demonstration, night having finally swept over the city.

“Ok,” she relented. “You win this round.”

“I’m not done yet,” he pulled his phone out and glanced up. “We have a final stop.”

“What else could you have planned on such short notice?” she asked, letting him grab her hand and pull her along.

“I told you, I know what I’m doing,” he teased, stopping after a few blocks, looking up at the glowing carriages of the London Eye. “It’s not a cemetery.”

“Might be better,” Amelia admitted.

And it was.

Amelia had never experienced anything so spectacular in her life. The lights over the Thames and the London skyline were unlike anything she’d seen before. The old city had a different energy to it compared to New York, and from the top of the famous Ferris wheel, she could see it all.

“I can’t believe we live in the same city as all of this,” she gestured below them. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“It looks like stars,” he agreed, looking over the edge.

“And the reflection on the river?” Amelia continued to gush in excitement, practically jumping around the edges of the capsule as they moved through the sky.

It was over far too quickly, though Amelia knew they needed to get back. John was probably long home from his date.

“You win,” she sighed. “You definitely win, but only for today.”

“That means there’s a second date?” he smirked, offering her his arm as they walk. She took it, falling in step while they tried to track down a taxi.

Amelia knew he was teasing. It was more of an outing between friends, a means to prove a point with no real intimate feelings involved. A challenge.

She repeated this to herself as she stared at the peony in her hands on the taxi ride home. Or when Sherlock made a quiet quip about extra marital whale shark affairs.

He had to prove his point, and he did. She was sufficiently surprised, and very much felt conflicted about it.

When they returned, Amelia cut into the conversation before John could ask where they’d been. He told her all about his date, and that while Ann was very nice, there probably wasn’t a third date in their future.

“Because she’s boring?” Sherlock joked, pulling out his laptop and checking his email.

“We have different interests,” John clarified sharply. “I think I’m going to take a break from dating for a bit. What about you two? What did you do all day?” His eyes fell on the peony in Amelia’s hand, and she froze, not sure how to respond.

“We went on a date,” Sherlock spoke up confidently from his perch, eyeing John and waiting for a reaction.

“You… on a date?” he looked between the pair. “Both of you? Together?”

Admittedly, it was a bit fun watching their friend process the information. Amelia just braced herself for when Sherlock clarified their challenge with one another.

“Yep,” he answered, popping the “p”. “It was a lovely day, wasn’t it Mia?”

Dazed, Amelia choked out an affirmative, her head still catching up with the fact there hadn’t been any specifications as to the motivation behind everything.

“A long day,” she forced out a yawn. “I’m going to put this in some water and head to bed. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, don’t forget. I have our train tickets already, but one of you needs to get the chemotherapy into the fridge before we go.”

Both men said goodnight and she slipped downstairs to her apartment, sneaking a final glance over her shoulder, in case he was going to add anything else to the date conversation.

“A date?” John waited until Amelia was out of earshot. “You never mentioned being interested like that. In fact, you mocked me.”

“We were merely getting to know one another,” he shrugged. “Initially we were trying to prove a point, but it turned into an enjoyable afternoon. Though, I wouldn’t get too excited about it, John.”

“And why not?” John asked. “She’s been here for two months now, you two get along in your weird, mad scientist way, it could be a good match.”

“I’m far too busy to have time for romantic partners,” Sherlock shot the suggestion down. He stilled, his hands resting on the keys of his laptop. “And she seemed odd just now, didn’t she?”

“No more than usual,” John replied. “Worried she didn’t enjoy herself? You got her a flower, I’m sure she was enthralled.”

“A peony,” Sherlock corrected quietly. “She likes peonies. They’re in the perfume she wears.”

“Maybe she’s just deep in denial, much like yourself, and needed to sleep to get her head straight?” John snorted, standing up from his chair. “Speaking of, don’t stay up too late.”

Sherlock waved him off, staring down at his computer and re-reading the same sentence over and over. He couldn’t focus on any of his cases right now, his head was all over the place.

Grabbing his violin, he plucked away at the strings, trying to find a sound for the chaos in his head.

Meanwhile, laying in bed with her eyes closed, listening to the soft sounds, Amelia decided she had more important things to think about besides date challenges and eccentric roommates.

Things like corrupt CEOs and fungi.

Chapter 6

[alltingfinns]

A Scandal in Belgravia

So I’m back on this.

The swoosh on some sped up footage in the previously, don’t remember noticing that.

This episode’s start gets so much funnier if you read some of the fic written between this and the previous episode.

Silly song now becomes more dramatic in TRF.

What did Irene offer Jim to get him so riled up? If it’s the plot plane plan that would explain why Sherlock is needed alive. But his emotional reaction... maybe he’s already been trying to get it on his own. Indicates possibly that Jim has been looking for a way to get to Mycroft.

“You’re typing a lot.”

This montage is nicely done.

Arguing about the blog.

The pouncing on the title.

He’s so hurt. He knows ash!

“We do watch the news.”

“You said boring and switched the channel.”

First time where “people” = John.

And the hat.

“It’s time.” I never thought about the waiting period.

Ehh, Hudson called up to the next floor so John’s room? Boys?

Ha cool, a SAAB. An old one too. I’d guess a 900 model from the early nineties.

Lestrade probably makes these calls a lot.

I get Sherlock’s confusion, he’s just in a sheet it’d make sense for him to be humiliated.

Their silent conversation + John’s acceptance of the absurdity.

That was a pretty long look on Sherlock’s lap and then asking about pants.

The Swedish subtitles on Netflix just referred to John as ”kronans gosse” I love it!

John took the queen liking his blog as a point in their argument.

I always like looking at John during the sheet bit.

Mycroft and John conversing in subtext that you need to remember their original conversation from a whole series/three episodes ago. And people think johnlock is too subtextual.

They made “the woman” a work title clearly to explain why Sherlock would refer to her that way. A bit harder to work in the context from ACD canon. It would be weird if Sherlock in modern times went “a credit to your gender” for defeating him.

Sherlock’s reaction Mycroft’s veiled assertion settles the question, I think. He’s making a “damn, he’s got me there” face. Mainly because John’s presence, if we considers his previous statement. If it were just him and Mycroft he’d just say “just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I can’t understand it!”

Btw, in case you think my typing speed is phenomenal I am hitting pause when something gets really interesting to me.

The parallel of checking the pictures have the “obvious” reading of romantic set up. But Sherlock is still learning details of a case he has been given so another reading is that while he’s targeting her she’s targeting him.

My reading is backed up by Sherlock’s immediate demeanor. His interest in her didn’t really appear until he found out she didn’t ask for anything. Blackmailers are a dime a dozen, but someone making a point of threat against the reputation of the BRF without asking for direct compensation? That’s someone with a plan and someone who can give him the kick he feeds of from casework.

John getting the last word in only for Sherlock to get the laterer word in.

Pinching an ashtray from the aforementioned BRF, whom himself mentioned as his first client with a navy, just to make John laugh? Some things are priceless but for everything else there’s MasterCard.

Okay, I had to back up a bit but: I don’t know who’s getting these pictures for Irene, but the last one that makes her smile is focused on John. She sees Sherlock more naked in the pictures where he’s fully clothed in the back of a cab than when he was in just a sheet on the pavement.

More parallels. This is really about their similarities. Could still be considered romantic foreshadowing “they’re made of the same cloth” type.

Ah yes, punch me.

That little dialogue snippet about “punch me” usually being subtext is what got me to first watch this show.

In general I have a lot of issues with how they handled Irene. But I especially don’t think I get the nudity in this scene. It reveals to Sherlock immediately that his ruse was all in vain since she either a) knew he was coming anyway or b) usually greet priests in distress while stark naked and might therefor just be stark raving.

Unflappable John Watson. Oh dear, my flat mate who I just beat up is sitting in front of a naked dominatrix with his vicar collar between her teeth. “I’ve missed something, haven’t I?”

He doesn’t like being a third wheel either. “I had tea too! Just so you know. In case you thought Sherlock got tea at the palace by himself. I was there too. The tea was lovely. Just the right temperature.”

Dammit.

Now I want tea.

Wait wait wait! When did John put his “date” shoes on? Only time it makes sense is when Sherlock was looking through his disguises. (He definitively wouldn’t wear them to traipse around the muddy crime scene.) Maybe they’re part of his “battle uniform”? Also obviously Sherlock can only “deduce” date because he knows what shoes John wears on dates. This isn’t really clothed people are easier to deduce.

How is he not deducing the heck out of her make up and ear piercing? Is it because she’s acting so extraordinary that her indicators become harder to contextualise?

Or is that whole thing just a plot hole?

And her comes her actual opening chess move. Nudity and banter was just setting up the pieces.

“Somebody loves you.” She pressed John’s big red “DO NOT PRESS” button right away. Later she says Jim told her how to play the Holmes brothers, but he definitively gave some pointers on John as well.

There’s something about John’s facial movements when Irene says he knows exactly where to look. Hard to compare with the sheet scene because of the different angles. But yeah, John is bi.

“You do borrow my laptop” with such an angry glare.

Wait are Irene’s shoes those shoes that are expensive because they’re red on the bottom? (I do not care enough to google their names.)

And it’s when John starts to smile that Sherlock does his verbal keysmash. Officially Ben said it was because Irene was paying attention to John instead of him, but she does that a number of times previously and has had quite a moment of getting cosy at John. But up until then John has been a bit standoffish. Of course you can only take so much of a pretty lady flirting with you before your smile reflex gets activated. Also he whips his head immediately at Sherlock in medical concern for his friend and Sherlock can speak clearly again.

Sherlock thinks he knows her game now as he makes his move getting her to confirm that the pictures are in the room.

Imagine the egg on his face if John hadn’t managed the smoke alarm in time.

“Amazing how fire exposes our priorities” should be part of a collection of lines that are only said once but thematically repeated throughout the show.

Some would argue maybe “I really hope you don’t have a baby in there” could be added but I don’t think it could be considered as repeated enough thematically.

Sherlock being his usual demanding self about turning off the fire alarm. The fool! Doesn’t he know how hard fire alarms are to turn off? (Maybe just a problem for me...)

Okay sure, easy enough with a gun, but impractical as a long term solution.

Umm, excuse me why does he go “no disrespect but you were clearly born in the 80s” in an episode from 2012? The most she’d be is 32, so clearly she looks at most like that then. Why would she be insulted by that? Also he earlier called a dude unhealthy, stupid and with bad breath in front of him without clarifying level of respect. So basically he’s needling her by adding that. That’s the most positive spin it can get.

John apologising for not stopping /forewarning about a whole bunch of trained killers sweeping in? That is diehard loyalty.

She’s staring hard at him as fire exposes his priority.

She actually does give him a clue by looking down the moment he looks at her. Never thought of that.

He heard something click wrong, looked at her for additional clue so she looks to the side “get out of the way”.

I love that John’s priority is medically inclined in the action scene, checking the vital signs of the guy that got shot.

“Observant?” “Flattered?” Honestly he shouldn’t be so surprised by the first bit as it was obvious some kind of observation + deduction got Sherlock the code.

As usual Sherlock gives zero fucks about gun safety. I feel John at some point is going to tie him down and lecture him about it. “We do not scratch our heads with the barrel of a gun, and we don’t call for the police by shooting in the air!”

You know if you’re knocking him out cold regardless, you don’t need him to drop the phone first. You just wanted the beating to be literal.

“He’ll be fine. I’ve used it on loads of my friends.” Yeah no, tell the doctor what chemical knockout drug you just put in a former drug addict!!

I wonder how much of dream Adler is actual Adler speaking to a drugged out Sherlock.

Could be nothing with the only real part being “hush now, returning your coat”. Would make sense for a dreaming brain to jumble the two cases together.

Start of series 2 we get to see Sherlock’s bedroom while John’s remain a mystery after 4 series.

John is not on the top of his game this episode. “What woman?”

And so it begins.

Mycroft does not have “shut up Hudson” privilege.

That whole phone noise discussion is punctuated with embarrassment.

Ah the gaping jaw that set the sails for the lestrolly ship.

“Christmas is canceled!” I love when John banters with Sherlock.

Sherlock is mean to Molly, but to be fair she kind of blundered a bit with the others and Sherlock complaining about John being away was clearly something he told in confidence. Telling Greg and John that their loved ones are betraying the trust put in them is general misanthropy, but Sherlock probably feels justified in needling Molly about a crush that he figures none of them know anyway.

Oh John’s look there. Greg clearly knows too what is coming but John has the recognition factor.

“Oh shit. It was me. Still me? She still has a thing for me?”

For a sort of dramatic moment it still has one of John’s absolutely funniest facial journeys. “Wait, you apologised? You know what an apology is? Are you feeling well?”

Obviously Irene’s text signal gets a lot of funny moments, but nothing will beat the timing of this one. And now I am imagining Jim with a pair of binoculars sitting across the street and telling Irene “now, send it now, it’ll be fucking priceless!”

And Greg “wait really?” When you’re not sure what your consultant can do to surprise you next.

I believe I made a post about it earlier but Jeanette’s boyfriend just said he’s been keeping track up till 57 on text messages that his platonic flat mate gets where the signal is a woman moaning.

“Do you ever reply?”

Jeanette starts working on her break up speech about then, I believe.

Molly nervously gulps a drink. Now Molly is everyone’s favorite John mirror. Medical professional with a crush on Sherlock, and whose favored type of outfit involves knitwear. John usually takes a drink at emotionally difficult times. Is this Molly handling her rejection, or showing what John is doing/will do without showing John?

Mycroft. If they passed a new law why would Sherlock know about it before you?

“How did Sherlock recognize her from... not-her-face?”

Mycroft answers with a smile and leaving the room.

“I got plans”

“No” I know you. If it’s a date you’ve probably bungled it already. Regardless if it is or isn’t you’ll still prioritize my brother because you always do.

John really goes for the superconfident strategy when dating, huh? “I always thought I was great.”

“I’ll even walk your dog!”

“I don’t have a dog!”

“No, because that was the last one...”

Always thought you were a great boyfriend, huh?

When even your landlady who got out of her marriage through execution thinks you bungled it, you probably bungled it.

Think I’ll break here and continue the rest of the episode tomorrow.

[sunken-standard]

For the HC ask: Sherlolly pirate/mermaid(man) AU!

Thank you!  :D

From this ask meme thing.

So Molly starts dressing as a man when she’s young and joins thenavy; she’s posted to the hospital ship the HMS St. Bartholomew. She’s not a doctor but she learns a lot of anatomy while helpingDr. Stanford patch up the damage done by French cannonballs andmuskets.  The ship’s attacked and taken over by pirates from the shipThe Agra; she’s only spared because Captain Morstan recognizes she’sa woman.  Eventually she becomes the first mate and ship’s doctor.

So their home port is some sexy Caribbean island.  Mrs. Hudson (who’s like the governor)lives above a bakery on the street named for it; her husband was anopium trader, but she orchestrated his hanging before the war withChina started and got out of the trade entirely.  She was going toretire to the Spanish colony of Florida, but never made it there. The island is mostly populated by women (Mr. Chatterjee and theCaptain’s husband are noteworthy exceptions).

Merfolk are real, though don’t really interact with humans pastoccasionally saving one from a shipwreck (usually after causing saidshipwreck).  They live all over the place, in any body of water largeenough to support them.  Sherlock was actually born and raised in theRiver Mole and made his way to the filthy Thames as a young (mer)man. He was always curious about humans and he made friends with dockersand sailors, helping them out here and there when he could;eventually he hitched a ride on a merchant ship.  He eventually endedup getting involved with Mrs. Hudson and following her to theCaribbean.

He starts hanging around the St. Bartholomew when it’s in port andbefriends Molly, who’s happy to give him human anatomy lessons (notlike that [yet]) and help with experiments (especially theparts that can’t be done in the water or from the shore).  

One day this other merman shows up, some dick from the Irish Seawho hitched a ride on The Reichenbach, a privateer ship captained byIrene Adler (who Sherlock’s always been a little transfixed by; he alwaysdenies human women are his area but anyone with eyes can see hisless-than-scientific interest in Captain Mary and Molly and evenSally [whose backstory would take a whole other set of AUheadcanons]) and this dude just sows chaos all over the island.  And he evencozies up to Molly, but that doesn’t last long.

Anyway, things happen and Moriarty gives him an ultimatum; die orhe’ll make sure all Sherlock’s friends do.  Molly helps Sherlock fakehis death (turns out he can stay alive for a few days in a watercask, though it’s not good for him) and he gets smuggled out on aship and dumped in safe waters.  He spends a few years driftingaround the oceans, unraveling the puzzle of Moriarty (who has ties toevery port and trading company in the world) (I don’t know why, I’mtrying to stick to canon, just go with it).

He makes it back eventually and finds Molly’s hooked up with somemoron whose only use is scraping barnacles and he’s heartbroken, sohe gives up and dissolves into sea foam.  Okay, he doesn’t, he justkeeps doing what he always used to do and waits until the idiot isout of the picture and then eventually somehow he woos Molly and it’sThe Shape of Water, basically.

(yeah, it’s more a story outline than HCs, but it’s something, atleast)

[strangedreamings]

A little McMolly before bed

The Man in the Blue Shirt (AO3)

Molly had no idea where she was, all she knew was that there were people running around some sort of room, someone was yelling something about shields being down, and then the room? shook hard, knocking her off her feet.

“Captain!” a man yelled. “Two of them just beamed into Sickbay!”

Captain? Beamed? Sickbay? Where the hell am I? A moment later, she was suddenly in another room. There was a man in a blue shirt telling everyone else to get back while two men with oddly-shaped foreheads pointed some sort of guns at him.

Time seemed to slow down for Molly. All she could focus on was the man in the blue shirt. He was tall, but then most men were to her, with thick brown hair she really wanted to feel between her fingers, the most intense hazel-green eyes she’d ever seen, and a handsome face with a jaw that could only be described as “stubborn.”

One of the men with a gun shouted something she didn’t understand and the other one fired at the man in the blue shirt.

“No!” Molly shouted, only to find herself in her bed. It was a dream?! It felt so real! Really, really weird, but real! She glanced at the clock on the nightstand – 1:03 AM. I have to be up in two hours but how can I go back to sleep after that?

She ended up dozing off again, her last conscious thought about him.

The text came just as she was leaving the Tube station that morning.

Get in.

Sure enough, she looked up to see a black sedan with tinted windows pull up to the curb in front of her. Rolling her eyes, she got into the back of the car. As expected, Mycroft was there, putting his phone away.

“I thought you didn’t text,” she said, annoyed. “And I do have to work today, you know.”

“You mean you did – I informed your boss that I need your assistance on a government matter.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even get a chance to refuse?”

“Dr. Watson is out of the country on a case with my brother. You are the only other doctor I can trust with this.”

“MI-6 has its own doctors, doesn’t it?”

“I need someone who has seen the … unusual side of things.”

“Hello again, Mr. Cryptic,” she muttered. “Nice to see you too.”

Mycroft almost smiled at that.

After a retinal scan, a thumbprint scan, and a voice recognition, she was finally allowed into a bright, windowless room. The only contents were a low, small bed built into one wall, a sink, and a toilet.

This is a cell, she thought, immediately uncomfortable.

The room’s only occupant was a man with his back to her. He wore black boots, black pants, and a long-sleeved blue shirt … and Molly could feel the blood leaving her face. The man turned around and she knew this was the man from her dream.

Then the world went black.

Molly woke up for the third time that morning, staring up at a ceiling she didn’t recognize. It took her a moment to remember what happened then she suddenly sat up.

“Hey!” protested an unfamiliar voice. “Lay back down!”

Molly looked up to see the man from her dream scowling at her then he pushed her back onto the bed with hands that were strong but surprisingly gentle. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

“The hell you are,” he said firmly. “Fine people don’t faint.”

“They do when they’ve had a shock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m the one who’s two hundred and forty-four years in the past, what do you have to be shocked about?”

She stared at him as she sat up, this time without any argument from him. “Wh … what do you mean, two hundred and forty-four years in the past?”

He smiled a bit. “Just like it sounds, darlin’ – I’m from the future. August 10th, 2262 if you want to be exact. My ship was attacked, a couple of Klingon goons invaded Sickbay, my Sickbay, and I got hit with some sort of … I don’t even know what it was. I’m a doctor, dammit, not a weapons specialist. The next thing I know, I’m in the middle of Trafalgar Square. Not five minutes later, a couple of guys in suits shove me into the back of a car. At least it wasn’t the trunk.” He held out his hand. “Dr. Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise.”

“Dr. Molly Hooper, pathologist at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, London,” she said, shaking his hand. “So, you’re obviously American, by your accent. You’re in the Navy?”

“Starfleet. Basically, it’s a Space Navy.” He glanced at the corner of the room and Molly turned to see Mycroft standing there, looking extremely bored. Leonard turned back to her, smirking. “I’d say more but I think we’re on a tight schedule. So, why do you think you fainted? If you’re pregnant, you should see your own doctor.”

“I’m definitely not pregnant,” she said, unable to stop the heat rising in her cheeks. “I fainted because of you.”

“Me?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, I dreamed about you last night.”

Leonard relaxed again, smiling. “Now I’m all ears.”

“I was on … well, I guess it was a ship, your ship. I saw you protect people that I guess were your crewmates, then two men shot you and I woke up.”

He stared at her. “Describe the two men.”

“Big, ridged foreheads. One of them said something I didn’t understand then…” She trailed off helplessly.

Leonard stared at Mycroft. “She’s describing exactly what happened before I ended up here. Two Klingons beamed in to Sickbay, the shields must’ve been down-”

“They were,” Molly insisted. “I was somewhere else before I was in Sick Bay, someone told the Captain that the shields were down.”

He stared at her. “You were on the Bridge?”

“I guess so.”

Leonard turned back to Mycroft. “Then one of the goons told the other, ‘ghaHvaD HoH,’ and the bastard shot me.”

“That it, that’s what he said!” She paused. “What did he say?”

He turned back to her. “‘Kill him.’” Leonard shrugged. “We’ve been in a few battles with the Klingons recently. I asked Uhura, our Communications Officer, to teach me some rudimentary Klingon in case I have to treat any of them.”

“But … if they wanted to kill you, why are you here?”

“Exactly what I was wondering,” Mycroft said. “Dr. Hooper, I know you���re not a psychologist, but do you believe this man is telling the truth?”

“On his own, it’s a little hard to believe, but then I work with the world’s only consulting detective, the former army doctor who blogs for him, a retired assassin who’s now a nurse,” she smiled a bit, “and the British Government himself, not to mention I dated the world’s only consulting criminal, so anything is, in theory, possible. What cinches it for me is my dream. As hard as it is to believe, I saw what happened to him on his ship. Sherlock will probably have my head for this, but I am willing to vouch for Leonard.”

Mycroft assessed her for a moment. “Very well. Thank you, Dr. Hooper. I’ll have one of my men take you back.”

“Just a minute,” Molly said, standing up. “What about Leonard?”

“He’ll remain here while we debrief him.”

“Here? Mycroft, he’s not a prisoner … is he?”

“He’s here under surveillance until we find out exactly what happened.”

Leonard looked like he was about to protest but Molly heard herself answer, “Let him come home with me.”

Both men stared at her.

“That is simply not possible,” Mycroft started to say.

“You don’t even know me,” Leonard said at the same time.

She turned to Mycroft first. “You’ve had men watching me since I met Sherlock. Just … add a couple more or something. I’ll keep Leonard out of sight and he’ll be a lot more comfortable in my flat than this place.”

“And what will you tell my brother when he goes looking for a bolt hole?”

“I’ll just tell him it’s occupied for the time being.”

Mycroft wisely said nothing. Leonard, however, wasn’t as ready to give in.

“We just met, you know nothing about me, I don’t have any money, I don’t even have a change of clothes. For all you know, I could be a-”

“But you’re not,” she said, cutting him off. “I can just … tell. You’re a good man. As for clothes,” she looked at Mycroft, “I’m sure MI-6 can provide everything you need for life in the 21st Century. Isn’t that right, Mycroft?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Give me your measurements and I’ll have my assistant get you something to wear while I get you an identity. I leave him in your capable hands, Dr. Hooper.”

Leonard rattled off his measurements then Mycroft left the room. He turned to Molly, smiling a bit. “You sure you know what you’re getting into, darlin’?”

She smiled back. “You can’t be any worse of a houseguest than Sherlock.” At his confused look, she added, “Mycroft’s younger brother, the consulting detective.”

“Right. Well, let’s hope I’m not imposing on you for long.”

Her smile widened. “Well, long or short, I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

any new historical AUs? anything from the 1150s to the 1950s works for me lol

Hi Nonny!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh sadly I haven’t read as many historical fics as I would have liked to, unless you count the TAB/Victorian AUs I’ve read, LOL. I’ll give you most that I have personally read (I omitted the majority of the Victorian AUs I’ve read, please check out the link in the See Also section), AS WELL AS stuff on my offline MFL list, and please do check out the “see also” lists for others that people have added, and hopefully some lovelies will add their own fics for us!

So if any of y’all are currently writing any or have some faves (especially regency AUs, I haven’t read any and am interested in trying one out) please let us know!!

HISTORICAL AUs

See also:

Time Travel, Altered Time, or Time Manipulation

Victorianlock

ACD Canon

Victorian Meets Modern Johnlock

WWII AU’s

Pirates

The First Night by TheForerunner (NR, 1,043 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || First Time, Fluff, Non-Explicit, Prose) – When all was over, Sherlock reached to dress again and John reached to stop him. They sat at opposite ends of the bed and one set of eyes surveyed the other’s set of limbs, and they were quiet in the downbeat, melody suspended. Sherlock was sheepish, and this confused John, who now smelled of his companion and felt they were part of one another.

The Trial of Sherlock Holmes by jenna221b (G, 3,015 w. across 3 works || TAB!lock, Metafic / TJLC, Victorian AU / 1895, Christmas, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Oscar Wilde) – Scripts based on speculation that Sherlock will be put on trial in The Abominable Bride to parallel the Oscar Wilde Trials of 1895.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

five times sherlock holmes lied to john watson (and one time he finally told the truth) by miss_frankenstein (G, 5,948 w., 1 Ch. || TAB Compliant || Homophobia, Pining Sherlock, Oscar Wilde Trials, Happy Ending) – Set in "The Abominable Bride" universe, this piece adopts a familiar format to chronicle Sherlock's quiet suffering in the wake of the 1895 Oscar Wilde trials and the particular way they affect his relationship with (and feelings for) John.

In A Changing Age by allonsys_girl (E, 15,590 w. || Victorian AU, Virgin / Demi Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Mild H/C, Bottomlock) – Sherlock wakes up in the 19th century, with no idea how he got there.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places...  “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

MARKED FOR LATER

The Right Side of the Wall by MarisFerasi (E, 5,468 w., 2 Ch. || Historical Slavery AU || Sex Slave, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Captain John, Slave Sherlock, Historical Inaccuracy) – Captain John buys slave Sherlock and the smex occurs.

Splat! by Vulgarweed (E, 6,618 w., 1 Ch. || Historical Appalachian 1970′s AU || Dom / Sub, Gunplay, Knifeplay, “Non-Con” Roleplay, Switchlock, Anal, Rimming, Bondage, Hunting Kink, Rough Sex, Object Insertion, Dirty Talk, Comeplay) – Sherlock decides he does want to go hunting with John after all. But not for deer. Part 2 of the The Bone Fiddle series

Silent Night by khorazir (M, 15,060 w., 1 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Care Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dev. Rel., Reunion, PTSD John, Christmas) – It’s Christmas Eve 1944, and Sherlock Holmes has received his most precious gift already: after a long, dangerous deployment, Surgeon Captain John Watson of the Royal Navy has unexpectedly returned from the front. As if this weren’t enough, there’s a case. Both events make for a night full of promise, excitement, and the difficult task of getting reacquainted with the man Sherlock hasn’t seen in three years and feared he’d lost forever. Part 2 of Enigma

A Marriage of Convenience by Phuchka (E, 43,116 w., 24 Ch. || Regency Omegaverse || Jealous John, Mpreg, Angst, Whump, Fluff, Smut, Arranged Marriage) – You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of ~The Honourable Sherlock Holmes, Alpha, younger brother of the Earl of Sherrinford with Mr. John Watson, Omega, son of Mr. Howard Watson, chairman of the City Bankers Guild.

Always 1895 by standbygo (E, 45,901 w., 19 Ch. || Oxford Time Travel AU || Time Travel, Friends to Lovers, Case Fic, Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, First Kiss/Time, First Meetings, Slow Burn, Angst With Happy Ending) – Time travelling historian John Watson goes to Victorian era England to study, and meets detective Sherlock Holmes. He finds himself torn between the work he was sent to do, the exciting life of solving crimes, and the extraordinary Holmes himself.

The Devil At Prayers by always_1895 (T, 50,846 w., 22 Ch. || ACD Canon / Victorian AU || Friendship, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Murder, Politics, Intrigue, Mystery, Historical, Treasure Hunting) – Emily Watson and her twin sister were raised in a peaceful English manor house. But when a mysterious Professor arrives to visit her father, she is thrown headfirst into a murderous conspiracy. Forced to seek refuge with her only living relative, half brother Dr. John Watson, she discovers that he lodges with the infamous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Book 1 follows Emily and Holmes as they begin to unravel her own mystery, when they are introduced to the case of a missing Russian diplomat. The thread connecting the two cases runs deep, and they race against the clock to uncover the politician's whereabouts before political tensions reach a breaking point. Part 1 of the Queen and Country series

Human Nature by delightful_fear (M, 57,585 w., 17 Ch. || Regency London AU || 1819 / Gregorian England, Historical, Alternate First Meeting) – Rich and spoiled Sherlock makes a wager with his older brother that he can take a penniless man and make him presentable in high society.

Long Ago and Far Away Series by lotherington (T to E, 62,765 w. across 27 works || WWII AU || Victor Trevor, Historical, 1940s/50s, Graphic Depictions of Violence) – October, 1937. A chance encounter late one night leads to Sherlock following John home. I can’t really put it much better than Vera Lynn herself: That certain night, the night we met / there was magic abroad in the air.

Dawn Before the Rest of the World Series (M, 65,164 w.+ across 12 stories || WiP || 1920s Historical AU || Romance, Love Declarations, Period-Typical / Internalized Homophobia, First Times, Oral/Anal Sex, Sweetness, Hurt / Comfort, Crying, Frottage, Rimming, Idiots in Love) – In one of the grand houses of England in the 1920s, butler Sherlock Holmes is wooed to pieces by the world's most romantic gardener, John Watson.

The Sweetness Makes the Smoke and Stings Worthwhile by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 70,032 w., 31 Ch. || Historical 1920′s AU || Unilock, Summer Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Inexperienced Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drinking, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sexual Tension, Hand/Blow Jobs, Dancing, Secret Relationship, Skinny Dipping, Angst with a Happy Ending, Closet Sex, Hotel Sex, Emotions, Falling in Love, Mutual Pining, Letters/Epistolary, Heartache, Minor Violence, Separations, Reunion Sex, Love Confessions, Victor & Mary in this Fic) – After nearly being expelled from university, Sherlock is banished home to Musgrave Hall for the summer. A friend introduces him to John Watson, a handsome medical student visiting the area. Sherlock and John find themselves drawn to each other, falling into a summer romance that may be as painful as it is sweet. Although they follow different paths, their feelings for each other still haunt them, their love finally coming full circle years later. For those concerned about Mary and Victor, they appear only briefly and as very background characters. My version of Mary is not modeled on the BBC version. She is more of an original character, if anything.

Philia and Eros by distantstarlight (E, 84,660 w., 20 Ch. || Historical AU || Friends to Lovers, Time Travel, Kilts, Possessive Behaviour, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Implied Rape/Non-Con) – Love is timeless but time isn't necessarily linear. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are about to embark on an unintended adventure that will take them far away from the comfortable confines of 221 B Baker Street. Part 1 of Strange Paths

Philia and Eros by distantstarlight (E, 84,660 w., 20 Ch. || Historical AU || Friends to Lovers, Time Travel, Kilts, Possessive Behaviour, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Implied Rape/Non-Con) – Love is timeless but time isn't necessarily linear. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are about to embark on an unintended adventure that will take them far away from the comfortable confines of 221 B Baker Street. Part 1 of Strange Paths

Welcome Home by itsalwaysyou_jw (M, 81,358+ w., 25/32 Ch. || WiP || WWII / Post-WWII Historical AU || Fluff and Angst, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Mutual Pining, Dev. Rel., Past Viclock, Nice Victor, First Kiss, Romance, PTSD John, Grief/Mourning, Implied / Referenced Drug Use) – In 1938, John Watson was at the peak of his music career, performing original jazz tunes in the hottest clubs to adoring crowds. But now the year is 1945 and Captain John Watson has just returned home from the war. Attempting to cope with the horrors he saw in the Solomon Islands, he struggles to get even a weekday slot performing at the jazz clubs. When he hears a radio announcement for a song-writing competition, he knows this is the opportunity he has been waiting for. He only needs to put a band together that can help him win the grand prize. But first, he needs to face his survivor's guilt to honour his best friend's dying wish: he must find Victor Trevor's spouse- someone named Sherlock Holmes- and deliver a message.

A Matter of Chance by weneedtotalkaboutsherlock (E, 100,631 w., 18 Ch. || Regency AU || Forbidden Love, Slow Burn, Class Differences, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Gay Marriage is OK, Forced Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humour, Angst with Happy Ending, Drama Queen Sherlock, Sexually Naïve Sherlock, Aromantic Mycroft, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Minor Character Death) – "If it were only for me, I would never marry." "Why so?" "I do not believe in love, Dr Watson. It is a great disadvantage to lose one's head over such a volatile matter."

Enigma by khorazir (M, 289,667 w., 23 Ch. || Codebreaker / WWII / Imitation Game-Inspired AU || Case Fic, Espionage, Period-Typical Homophobia / Sexism, Pining Sherlock, Inexperienced / VirginSherlock, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Non-Graphic Violence) – It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

Over Fathoms Deep by bittergreens (E, 397,575+ w., 51/? Ch. || WiP || Historical / Regency / Sailing AU || Sailor!John / Aristocrat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Virgin Sherlock, Sailing, Bottomlock, UST / RST, Hand/Blow Jobs, Frottage, Masturbation, Happy Ending, Anal) – When the youngest son of the aristocratic Holmes family is shipped off to sea in an attempt to cure him of his poor temper and bad manners, he fully expects to spend a long tedious voyage as miserable as ever. What he does not count on is having his heart stolen by the strapping young crewman, John Watson.

[rithebard]

On Thursday; Chatting With Sherri welcomes back award-winning Writer/Author Brooks Wachtel! http://tobtr.com/s/12026187

[out-there-tmblr]

Mystrade WIP: pirate sequel (13)

***

Mycroft wakes late the next morning and dresses alone. He eats breakfast and ties his cravat twice before he's happy with it, and then heads above decks. Lestrade is already there, talking to Williams and casting a careful eye over the sails.

Mycroft nods a greeting to a few of the men he passes on his way to the quarterdeck. He holds back, standing near the starboard side until the captain's finished his conversation.

“Sleep well?” Lestrade asks after leaving Williams in charge of the ship. He stands beside Mycroft and the creases in his collar suggest he's been awake and dressed for hours.

“Yes, thank you.”

“They're in the infirmary.” Lestrade doesn't have to specify who he means: Sherlock and Watson. In the light of day, Mycroft has his doubts that Watson's influence will sway Sherlock sufficiently but he will put his faith in Lestrade's certainty.

When they get to the infirmary, Lestrade asks John to step outside to discuss something. He doesn't insist John close the door behind him, giving Sherlock an easy way to eavesdrop. Sherlock immediately carries a tray of glass jars to the cupboard closest to the open door. He seems to be focused on reordering the vials on the shelf, but Mycroft's certain he's only there to listen.

“You wanted to see me, captain?” Watson asks, looking straight ahead. He doesn't even glance back in Sherlock's direction, suggesting he's well aware of what Sherlock's doing.

“I wanted to talk to you about Doctor White.” Lestrade gives a brief nod and then adds, “He's been talking more about his brother's village in Cornwall. About setting up a small practice there.”

“He's mentioned the idea,” Watson says, in a tone that suggests he hadn't thought much of it beyond the conversation.

“We haven't come to any arrangements yet and it's not likely to happen for another year or so, but we'll need a new surgeon when he goes.” The captain leans in closer, resting a hand on Watson's shoulder and dropping his voice. “Doctor White thinks you're just about ready to take the post on.”

Watson snaps to attention as if he's still in the Royal Navy. “I'm flattered that he thinks so, sir.”

“I heard good things from the Liberty and the men you treated there,” Lestrade says, “but think about it. It's a share and a half, but it's a bloody job. If you don't want it, we've got time to find another doctor.”

“And if I do?” Watson asks.

“I'd want you to sign the charter, pledge to stay on the Lydia for four years. Gives Doctor White the time to teach you anything you need to know. Gives us some breathing space so we know we've got a sawbones who'll be around for a while.”  Lestrade says it all as if it's perfectly logical, as if his sole motivation was the welfare of the crew. “Take a few days. Think about it.”

***

Mycroft's completely unsurprised when Sherlock stops by the navigation room later that day, catching Mycroft alone.

“Did you know?” Sherlock asks suspiciously, and needlessly clarifies, “Did you know Lestrade would offer John the position?”

“Of course.” It's an easy thing to draw his brows together, to flatten his mouth as if Sherlock is asking something obvious. “He mentioned it to me a while ago.”

Sherlock watches him closely, but he's never been able to pick when Mycroft was lying. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I'm not the captain. I have no authority to offer the role.”

“Then why did you ask me to stay on?”

“It's not a crime to reduce the uncertainty in one's future. If I'd realised your decision was dependent upon Watson--”

“It's not dependent,” Sherlock argues hotly, taking a step closer and then not knowing what to do. “It simply casts the request in a different context.”

He means: this is about more than Mycroft trying to restrict Sherlock's freedom and ruin his fun. If other pirates are signing on for longer, Sherlock will be amenable. “You'll agree to stay?”

“John and I just signed the charter,” Sherlock says, revealing the most useful information with the most frustrating timing. “Four years.”

“And you couldn't have started the conversation with that?”

“You wouldn't have answered my questions if you already had what you wanted,” Sherlock replies. Mycroft's self-aware enough to admit he might be right. “So now that's settled, what are your plans?”

Sherlock already knows the answer. “To stay on the Lydia as long as Gregory is her captain.”

“And to sell maps when he grows tired of you?” The words are not kind but Sherlock holds his elbows awkwardly. Mycroft can read the caring beneath the jibe.

“To sell maps, yes.” Mycroft almost leaves the next thought unsaid; somehow he finds the courage to say it clearly. “To marry him.”

Sherlock snorts, the idea ridiculous to a younger sibling. “You think he'll marry you? How are you possibly going to manoeuver him into that?”

“I don’t need to.”

Mycroft sits there, allows Sherlock to look his fill until Sherlock slowly announces, “He’s already asked you.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock tilts his head, thinking and realigning his assumptions.  He doesn’t ask Mycroft for details, thank heavens, but instead says, “You should ask him to marry you.”

It wasn’t the reaction Mycroft had expected.  “He’s the captain.  I doubt any captain is another man’s spouse.”

“Wouldn’t matter amongst the crew.  They don’t care about legalities.”  Sherlock seems certain of the crew’s opinion; Mycroft doesn’t know the men well enough to have gained any insight on the topic.  “Sherrinford may not have any heirs.  Better you inherit than our third cousin twice removed.”

Mycroft mentally reviews their family tree.  As far as he knows, Sherlock is right.  According to the entail and assuming Sherlock clearly doesn’t want it, the next in line to inherit Musgrave Hall would be their paternal third cousin.  “I’ll have to discuss that with the captain,” Mycroft says and Sherlock’s satisfied enough to leave him in peace.

***

@egmon73 @lilynevin @ngaijuuyan

[like-bunnies]

Winter Dreams Pt. II ‘Pudding’ -- an Ichabbie Holidays AU Fic

Abbie Mills is closing up her bakery on Christmas Eve when a stranger comes in desperately looking for something. What will the two of them manage to find together? 

An Ichabbie AU that can be read as the next part of Winter Dreams or can be all on its own. One of these years, I will get a Christmas story done by Christmas. Oh, who am I kidding? And this is like Hallmark Channel Christmas Movie silly fluff. But with a little smut added in. And AUs really aren’t something I’m very good at but I’m trying! 

Abbie was ready for the holidays to be over. It had been exceptionally busy in her quaint bakeshop and there was an endless stream of people picking up their orders for Christmas Eve. Her sister, Jenny, was helping by getting all the internet orders shipped on time and even Jenny’s boyfriend, Joe, pitched in early mornings before his shift at the ER.

Still, she was glad that they would be closing soon and tomorrow was Christmas so she could sleep in for the first time in a very long time. The last customer had shuffled out with their goodies and Jenny was about to turn the sign on the door over to “Closed” when a tall, bearded man came rushing in from the snow.

“There’s not much left,” Jenny said as he rushed by her and to the counter, looking pleadingly at Abbie.

“I desperately need a Christmas pudding,” he said and Abbie’s ears perked up at both his accent and his weird request.

“I… sorry… a what?” Abbie stammered, still staring at him as he shook the snowflakes out of his hair. It was longer than she normally liked on guys but thankfully not long enough to pull it into a man bun. She had seen enough of those with the college in the next town. This man’s hair had the cutest curls near his neck and… he did have a lovely neck. And face. And eyes. What was it he wanted again?

“A Christmas pudding. I have tried and tried to get one right and they have all failed. I’m hosting the history department’s ‘holiday away from home’ dinner tomorrow for all my colleagues who are, well, away from home, and I promised there would be a pudding,” the man said, his hands flying around expressively as he spoke.

“I don’t have any puddings. I do have some pies left. Oh, here… these are also good,” Abbie said, offering him something from a bag.

“I can’t serve my guests something from a bag,” he said as he reached in and popped one in his mouth. “Oh, these are good.”

“Listen… Doctor… what’s your name?” Abbie asked.

“How did you know I’m a doctor?” he asked, licking the cinnamon sugar off of his fingertips.

“History department. Colleagues. Away from home so I’m guessing you’re at the university as a teacher? It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work that one out,”Abbie said as he grabbed another donut hole and shoved it in his mouth.

“Besides, she used to be a police officer. Was going to be a detective one day had she not been injured,” Jenny said as she continued to clean up the small store, wiping down the few tables they had so customers could enjoy their pastry in the morning. The front door was now locked, the keys dangling from the lock so they’d be able to let this last minute customer out when he was ready to go.

“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure that was a great loss to the local police force, And it’s Crane. Doctor Crane. Or professor if you like. I’m actually here to teach about the American Revolution from the British perspective and to work on my book,” Crane said.

“Isn’t the British perspective that we kicked your ass?” Jenny asked. Abbie rolled her eyes at her sister but Jenny always liked a good argument.

“Only because you had the French,” he said, pointing a finger in Jenny’s direction.

“You had the Hessians. You had the best navy in the world at the time. You had an organized army with excellent leadership and still you lost,” Jenny continued on in a sing-song fashion.

“I see you’ve taken my class,” he said with a slight, wry smile.

“Jenny, could you go in back and make sure I didn’t forget anyone’s order? I can drop anything off on the way home. Now, Doctor Crane, would you like a pie or what?” Abbie interrupted, hoping to end this thing between the professor and her sister. Jenny went off to the back, whistling Yankee Doodle. “I apologize for my sister.”

“No, she does have a point, which is actually why I’m at the university here. I am researching how the Americans did overcome the odds and win. This region is filled with so much history and I’m enjoying all of it immensely. I just can’t find a bakery that has a Christmas pudding!” he said.

Abbie bit her lip and thought for a minute. If he wasn’t so cute, she would have sent him back out into the snow a long time ago but there he was in that pretty navy coat that made his blue eyes even more blue and she felt for him. Felt a lot of things for him, actually. It had to be the accent.

Jenny called out from the back that there was nothing there and she was going to go make a quick trip to the grocery store before the market closed early. Abbie mumbled that she would see her later for Christmas Eve dinner and listened as Jenny locked the back door. Both doors were now locked and she was all alone with Doctor Crane.

“What’s your first name?” she asked. “I’m Abbie, by the way.”

“I guessed that one,” he said, arching an eyebrow up at her. She looked at him puzzled until she remembered she had her name on the front of the bakery. On her apron. On her shirt. On her name tag. She never in her life thought she’d own a bakery. She wasn’t even that great at it at first but she learned and came to love the whole thing, accepting help wherever it came from.

“Yes… Abbie Mills. Formerly Lieutenant Abbie Mills. Now baker Mills. Who knows what’s next. Maybe candlestick maker,” she said, laughing nervously. He had put his hands on the counter and was leaning in her direction.

“Oh, Lieutenant. I like the sound of that,” he said, the timbre of his voice dropping even lower. “And my name is Ichabod.”

She couldn’t help herself. She let out something more than a nervous chuckle this time.

“Ichabod?”

“You can call me Crane if you’d prefer,” he said. “Ichabod was an old family name. I had some relative who came to America centuries ago with the same name. I should look up where he’s buried whilst I’m here.”

They seemed to be getting further and further away from the topic of baked goods. Abbie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to focus. When she opened her eyes, he was still staring at her.

“Okay, Crane. How about we look up your pudding on the internet and see what we can do,” Abbie said. He looked incredibly relieved to have help. She, on the other hand, was wondering what the hell she was getting herself into.

*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^*^

“Well, I think we’re pretty much screwed when it comes to a Christmas pudding,” Abbie said as she scrolled through recipe after recipe. “You needed to start two weeks ago at the very least for something authentic.”

“I see that now,” Crane said as he stared over her shoulder. They were both in her tiny office near the back of the store, staring at her monitor. She normally just handled orders and inventory in here but there was a handful of personal photos around. She couldn’t help but notice him look at a few of them, especially the one of her and some of her former police colleagues. Many had died in that raid a couple of years ago. She was thankful she had lived. She missed Andy and Luke a lot but there was no changing the past.

“This one says you need to start it at the end of November,” Abbie said, trying to draw his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Surely there must be a recipe somewhere for bumbling professors who forget to do this ahead of time and can’t even figure out how to work their oven?” he asked. He placed his hand over hers on the mouse, moving the cursor so he could click back and try a different search on Google. He leaned over her and typed in instant Christmas pudding.

“How do you plan on hosting an entire dinner if you can’t work the oven?” Abbie asked, turning in her seat to look at him.

“Frozen lasagna in a pan?” he said with a laugh. Her eyes opened in shock. “I’m teasing, Lieutenant. I can work the oven. I’m an excellent cook. I just can’t get the hang of this damnable pudding. Sadly, baking is my downfall.”

She looked back at one of the recipes he had found. It was much faster than the ones they had been looking at and she did have most of the ingredients for it. She might need to make a quick trip to the market or call Jenny while she was still there. She hit print, wiggled out from under his arms, grabbed the copy of the recipe and went into her bakery with him following behind.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Doctor Crane. I will make this and bring it to you tomorrow if I can taste just how good of a cook you really are,” Abbie said. She felt her cheeks grow warmer as she realized she just invited herself to this man’s Christmas dinner. Jenny and Joe usually did their own thing on Christmas day while she spent the day in peaceful slumber but this would be nice. At least it would be if he said yes.

He didn’t say anything right away. She was worried she had read something wrong. Maybe he was married and his wife was back home in England. Maybe he had a whole family.

“You want to spend the day with a gathering of boring historians?” he asked incredulously. She found it strange that he didn’t seem to realize exactly how cute he was. That he seemed to think he didn’t have any game.

“No, I want to spend the day with you,” Abbie said, her cheeks on fire now.

“I’d like nothing more,” he said, looking down like he was shy, his eyelashes fluttering away, before he looked up at her and smiled. She smiled right back and hoped like hell she could actually figure out how to make a pudding in one night.

*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Abbie had a hard time finding the right address in the blowing snow but eventually she made it, Christmas pudding in hand along with as many other of her baked goods as she could carry. Dinner with Jenny and Joe the night before had been wonderful and she crawled into her bed soon after the gifts were exchanged and they left for the evening. Up early, she was at her bakery trying her best to make this pudding seem authentic. There was no way she could make up for the time it really needed, but she thought she did a good job. If the guests didn’t like that, they could always fill up on the pies.

She used the heavy door knocker and waited with all her parcels for Doctor Crane to open the door. His eyes lit up when he saw that it was her and he took as many of the packages from her as he could.

“Lieutenant! I’m so happy you’re here! I was worried that the weather would prevent you from traveling to my home…as it has some of my other guests. Two couples have canceled out so far,” he said as he started toward the kitchen.

“You can call me Abbie… where would you like for me to leave my boots?” Abbie asked, not wanting to track snow through the house. Both had their arms filled with desserts and Crane motioned for her to follow him. Abbie did as he led her down a narrow hall to a warm and cozy kitchen. Everything smelled delicious and she could see that he had been chopping vegetables when she had interrupted him with her knock at the door. “You really can cook.”

“As I said, cooking I can do. Baking just goes wrong. All those precise measurements makes it like a science experiment. I prefer the magic of cooking instead. A little bit of this. A little bit of that,” Crane said, taking more baked goods from her arms and stacking them up on one of his granite counter tops. Abbie slipped off her scarf and coat and pulled her snow boots off, leaving her in just her stocking feet. She had her favorite lace-up boots in the large tote she had brought with her but Crane had whisked her wet winter gear off to where it could dry by the fire and was already back, asking her questions about what she had brought with. And if she had brought more donut holes.

“Yes, I did and some other donuts you might enjoy. You can save them for tomorrow, if you’d like. They would go great with a cappuccino,” she said, noticing the gourmet coffee maker he had tucked beside the toaster. “I thought you said you were only here for a short time.”

He followed her gaze and smiled. “Doesn’t matter how short the time might be, I can’t go without my coffee,” he said, going back to his chopping. “So, Lieutenant…”

“Abbie.”

“So, Abbie, how did you end up with a bakery?” he asked. Abbie fell silent as she collected her thoughts. She watched Cranes hands and his fingers as he deftly chopped vegetables, adding them to a stew that already smelled delicious. He was smartly dressed in a pair of dark gray flannel trousers and the most beautiful blue cable knit sweater she had ever seen on a man. She wanted to touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked. Instead, she focused on what he had asked.

“I…uh… after I got shot and I couldn’t come back to work, or at least not the way I wanted to, I thought it would be nice to have a place like that. It was supposed to just be a coffee shop but there are too many of those in town already,” she said.

“Starbucks on every block, cutting out any local coffee houses with precision,” Crane said, his kitchen knife stabbing into the air as if to illustrate his point.

“So I opened the bakery that would also serve coffee. Honestly, after the incident… after I lost a few very good friends in that incident…”

“I sense one of them might have been more than good friends?” he asked, looking at her as if he was trying to suss out everything there was to know about her.

“Mind your business, professor. Anyway, after that, I thought it would be a great place where the local LEOs could come in the morning. I’d serve them some warm apple pie if their shift was ending or a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee if their shift was just starting. It was a way to stay connected, you know,” Abbie said, remembering how desperately she needed to keep close with the people she relied on for so long. “I wasn’t the best baker at first but I was determined. I learned from some of the best and now my little shop is doing rather well, and my friends are all still there bright and early in the morning. Good thing I love mornings, right?”

He had stopped chopping and was staring at her intently, taking in every word she said. Just looking in his eyes sent a wave of heat through her and she crossed her arms, trying to protect herself from this feeling. It had been a long time since Luke had died. And then Corbin was killed a year later. She had shut herself off from most everyone. She had that one fling with that visiting FBI agent but she even kept him distant. But this… was charged with some sort of electricity she hadn’t felt with anyone in so long.

“That’s really incredible,” he said, still focused only on her.

“It’s just a bakery. Look at you, Doctor Crane. Where did you go to school anyway? How did you get involved with American history when you have ages of history of your own?” Abbie asked, trying to deflect the attention away from herself.

“I grew up in London, went to Oxford… Merton College. I ended up in America when a friend talked me into doing further studies here, I was married for a very short while but she then ran off with that same so-called friend. I got my doctorate from Penn, which is where I discovered the answer to the other part of your question. The history of our two countries is entwined and I found it fascinating. Now I’m doing more research into the British officers who turned. What would drive them to fight for a land that was not their home? And this is a great area in which to do so,” Crane said.

He was starting to clean up the scraps of vegetables when his cellphone rang. He wiped his hands off on a dishtowel and answered the call. Abbie listened as he went through a series of “uh huhs” followed by a “that’s too bad.”

“Now the Andrews can’t make it. They don’t want to venture out into what might become a blizzard. They are new here, from somewhere in Georgia, so that’s understandable but still… I hope the others can make it,” Crane said.

“Do you miss England? London?” Abbie asked. He paused from his mixing and stirring and thought about it for a beat.

“Have you ever been there?” he asked instead of answering.

“No. I made it to Paris after I started the bakery but didn’t make it to London,” she answered.

“It was my home. Yes, I miss it but home isn’t necessarily always a place. It’s the people. I try to find the right people wherever I go. My ex-wife, Kat, didn’t like that. She wanted to settle down in one place and with Abe, she could. I wanted to keep moving. To keep learning. To keep meeting people,” he said. He looked at her and smiled brightly. “People like you. I would have never met you had I stayed in England.”

“You never know. Fate might have stepped in. I might have been there on vacation and bumped into you in a coffee shop,” Abbie said.

“Our fates are entwined, just like our nations?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush again from the way he was looking at her. “Maybe.”

*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Abbie was putting the finishing touches on the dining room table, enjoying how nicely the place was decorated. It wasn’t over the top for Christmas but he had a fresh tree and candles everywhere and a nice table setting. Crane even had Christmas crackers at every place setting, waiting to be popped open by cheerful guests.

She stopped moving when she heard Crane’s phone ring again. Another guest was canceling because of the snow. She felt a bad for him because of all the work he had put into preparing this meal but then again, she wouldn’t mind eating with him… alone. She returned to the kitchen to find him opening a bottle of wine. He poured himself some and took a sip before pouring her a glass, too. It was a fantastic red wine and now she was also glad they didn’t have to share that bottle with as many people.

“That was Trevor, one of the doctoral candidates I’m helping out. He said the snow on his side of town is getting too deep for him to venture out on foot and he doesn’t want to pay for an Uber. Too be honest, I think Trevor would rather spend his day with his new X-Box but what do I know?” he asked with a disappointed shrug “I haven’t even taken my new one out of the box yet. Trevor is the lucky one.”

“So, who is left?”Abbie asked. She would have to go clear another place setting, which only left four.

“Doctor Hashemi and her husband. That’s it. I didn’t expect so much snow on Christmas. Everyone kept saying they never get a white Christmas. They’re getting one this year!” he said, taking another sip of wine and looking out the window. “I’m going to have to go shovel the path soon. If you want to get home before the roads get too treacherous, you can. I don’t want you to feel that you have to stay here,” he said, pouting a little as he considered the snow.

“No, I’m good. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve driven in worse than this. Besides, I can help you shovel the sidewalk,” she said, standing beside him as they looked out of the kitchen window over the sink. His narrow backyard was pristine white now and although she wasn’t fond of shoveling, it did look like it would be fun to play in. If that involved playing with him.

“They are going to miss out on the best pudding ever,” Crane said with a smile.

“How did you end up responsible for this Christmas dinner?” Abbie asked.

“I do like to cook. I thought it would be nice to get together with friends and colleagues and enjoy a nice meal,” he said. The phone rang again and he looked at it and sighed heavily. He turned away from the window and took the call. When he hung up, he looked at her and shook his head. “Samira and Bahram will not be able to make it, either.”

“You wanted dinner with your friends but now instead, you’re stuck with a stranger,” Abbie said, honestly feeling sorry for him.

“If we do get snowed in here, at least we will have plenty of food,” he said, looking around the kitchen at everything. He didn’t say anything else for a moment before he turned to her. “And I don’t consider spending time with you as 'stuck’ and I don’t feel like you’re a stranger at all. I feel like I’ve known you longer than just one day. It’s like we’ve been friends forever.”

She laughed nervously because she had been feeling the same way.

“At least I don’t have to worry about serving that rushed Christmas pudding to anyone. Unless you plan on eating it?” she asked.

“God, no. I never liked them in the first place but I had promised the Andrews. We can just stick to the donut holes,” he said and they both laughed.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

He had put on a suit coat over his button-down shirt and his gorgeous sweater and Abbie finally put on her shoes, not wanting to dine without them on while he was trying his best to look like the perfect holiday host. They had agreed that shoveling the walk could wait until after dinner and he poured her more wine before they put the last side dish on the table. He pulled out her chair for her and helped her take her seat before tucking himself in.

“This is all good. Next Christmas, I’m going to make you some of my mama’s mac and cheese, though. That’s the only thing missing,” Abbie said.

“Next Christmas?” he asked, his one eyebrow arching up on his forehead.

“I’ll still be here. How about you?” she asked, taking another serving of the stew she had found him preparing when she arrived.

“I don’t know, to be honest. I’d have to have a pretty good reason to stay,” he said, tilting his head slightly, asking so many questions without using a single word.

“So, do you believe in fate?” Abbie asked. It was a pretty serious question for holiday dinner conversation but she wanted to know everything he felt and believed.

“Do you mean that two people are supposed to meet? Across time and space and all that? Over and over?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know. Does this mean that I keep meeting my ex-wife first? Because to be honest with you, getting my heart broken like that over and over and over would become rather exhausting. And annoying,” he said and they both laughed.  

“So she wasn’t your soulmate but she taught you a lot, I’m sure. All part of the path to the right thing?” Abbie asked.

“I did learn a lot about who to trust and that sometimes you just have to do your thing first before you can bring someone else into your life. That is one thing she did teach me,” he said with a shrug. “Thankfully we didn’t have children together. That would have been a disaster!”

They both fell silent. She watched him as the flickering candles sent shadows over his face. He was watching her right back, nervously smoothing out his beard before focusing back on the dinner at hand.

“Dessert?” she asked, breaking the tension filling the air.

“Capital idea! And I’ll make coffee!”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

With their stomachs full, the dishes done, and fueled up on coffee, they bundled up in protective gear and headed outside during a break in the snow to shovel the walk. He only had one snow shovel so they took turns while one of his neighbors up the street used his noisy snowblower. Finally, he finished and went inside, leaving the two of them alone in the eerie stillness. There was the sound of the shovel scraping and him asking her questions about her life and her taking the shovel from him and asking him more questions about his.

Just when they had finished, the snow starting drifting down again and Abbie sighed. The good thing about her apartment was someone else did this! Crane put the shovel near the front door and returned to where Abbie was standing, catching snowflakes on her tongue.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, taking her gloved hand in his. “I have not even known you for an entire day and I’m smitten, Abbie. If this was fate, then yes I believe in it. Absolutely. Completely.”

Abbie’s heart starting beating hard in her chest when he said those words and she didn’t know what to say. She felt the same way about him but… it was so fast. Is this how it worked? You met the one and it was like throwing a switch?

Instead of saying anything, she led him toward the part of the yard where the snow wasn’t too deep but was packed just enough and pulled him down into it, urging him to make a snow angel. He complained about the wet and the cold only briefly before he joined in. As her arms were forming the angel wings, he propped himself up beside her to look at her.

“What?” she asked, crossing her arms over here.

“You truly are heaven sent,” he said, pulling her scarf away from her face just enough so he could lean in to kiss her. It was slow and soft at first, like the snow drifting around them. Slowly. Softly. The snow was falling and Abbie was falling, too. Her lips explored his and she wanted to feel more. To explore every bit of him. She touched his face but her damn gloves were in the way. He pulled away, his eyes searching hers. She shivered from the cold and from the way his eyes were devouring her.

“Should we go in and warm up?” Abbie asked.

“I have some wonderful ideas on how we can do that,” he said, his voice dropping. She scrunched up her nose and giggled at him. “No! I meant we could sit by the fire and have a drink… I didn’t mean to sound so forward! Abbie, I’m sorry!”

“I wasn’t laughing about you being so forward. I was laughing because I had plenty of ideas of my own. But starting with a drink by the fire would be good,”she said. He stood up, put his hand out to assist her to her feet, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they walked to the door.

“What ideas do you have?” he asked.

“I’ll just have to show you.”

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

She swallowed the Scotch and felt it warm her all the way down. After getting out of her snow boots and her coat again, she settled down on his couch while he tuned in to a satellite radio channel playing jazzy Christmas music. The old house had several fireplaces in different rooms and the one in the living room was now stoked to a roar.

Abbie made herself at home and covered up with a soft and worn plaid quilt that had been over the back of the couch. Crane sat beside her and took a long sip from his glass.

“I have to tell you… I don’t do this very often. I rarely have the bakers I meet on Christmas Eve spend the next day at my house helping shovel snow and set the table,” he said.

“I rarely go home with my customers,” she said. “Only the special ones who are desperate for a Christmas pudding.”

“Yes, I only invite over the bakers with the best donut holes,” he joked. They both fell silent for a quiet, comfortable minute. “I want to see you again. I don’t want to do anything that would make you not want to come back.”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

“I want to.”

“I want you to.”

He set his glass aside and pulled her to him. His mouth was warm and tasted of Scotch. The blue sweater he had on was as soft as she imagined it. Didn’t matter. She wanted it off of him. Wanted everything off of him. Wanted him on the floor in front of the fire. Wanted him.

A moan escaped his throat as her tongue delved past his lips, meeting his. Heat burned through her, settling between her thighs and she thought about how crazy this all was but she certainly wasn’t going to stop. She pulled away from his kiss and stood up, putting the quilt over her shoulder and reaching out to him. He grabbed her hands and she knew he’d follow her anywhere right now. She put the quilt down in front of the fire and they both sank down to their knees on it. The twinkling lights from the Christmas tree danced across their skin and she pulled his sweater off over his head. He unbuttoned his shirt and shed it quickly. Abbie looked at his chest, gasping when she saw a scar across his heart.

“What happened?” she asked, her fingers running across it.

“It’s silly, really. I was doing some research in grad school at a battlefield reenactment and I got in the way of something I shouldn’t have. Thankfully, I had modern medical care and an ambulance that arrived in a matter of minutes,” he said. She leaned in to kiss the scar, running her lips across it, her tongue teasingly flicking out at his nipple. He moaned and leaned back away from her, sitting on his heels.

“I have scars, too,” she said.

“I’d like to see them,” he said and she pulled off her wool sweater, revealing her silky black bra.

“Here,” she said, pointing to a bullet wound on her abdomen. Abbie then unfastened her trousers and wiggled out of them, showing him the wound on her thigh that ended her career. “And here.”

Now his fingers explored her flesh, feeling where she had to be put back together with titanium and screws and stitches.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“Not as much as it used to. Sometimes when it’s cold and I have to shovel snow for some guy I barely know…” she teased and he rolled his eyes.

He motioned for her to lie down and she did, shivering as he continued his study of her with his mouth. Her thighs fell open to his gentlest demand and her back arched up when he kissed her clit through her thong. Crane tugged the tiny scrap of fabric down her legs and off and she closed her eyes, hardly able to believe this was happening.

He kissed up and down her thighs, teasing her until she couldn’t take it anymore. She reached for him and showed him exactly what she wanted. His tongue danced over her clit and then inside of her and she couldn’t stop moaning. His beard tickled and his hair kept flopping into his face and he’d have to push it back before diving back in. His hands would grab her hips and pull her closer but there was no way to be closer. Abbie’s back arched as she came and all the lights seemed to grow brighter before fading into nothing. When her body finally calmed down, Crane climbed up beside her and kissed her. She could taste herself on his lips, a combination of the two of them, and it was sweet.

“Better than any Christmas pudding could possibly ever be,” he said. She reached up and tucked a loose lock of his hair behind his ear.

“Since I didn’t really expect anything like this to happen… I mean, I only expected dinner… I didn’t exactly come prepared. Except with a lot of baked goods,” Abbie said.

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long while – not since Kat. I was tested afterward because of that whole thing with… well, you know. So. I’m clean,” he said. She knew this was stupid. She was on birth control but still. Why did she want this person so badly that she’d throw away common sense and wisdom?

“So am I. Clean. And on birth control,” Abbie said.

“Well, then, Lieutenant… do you want to move somewhere more comfortable or do you prefer right here, by the warmth of the fire?” he asked. She liked it here, with the crackling fire and the lights filling the room. It looked and felt like Christmas. She always imagined being with a man she loved on Christmas, enjoying each other. This might not be love yet… but she was certain it could be soon enough.

She took off her bra and then fumbled with the buttons on his pants (who wore button-fly anything anymore?) but finally slid them down his narrow hips along with his silly Christmas boxers.

“Who was supposed to see these?” she asked, laughing at the ridiculousness of them.

“Can’t a man enjoy some festive underwear for the holidays?” he asked. She was looking over his lean body and when her eyes got to parts she hadn’t seen already, she forgot all about the boxers. He was already hard and it was impressive.

“Well, Merry Christmas to me,” she said, licking her lips in anticipation. He blushed, his eyes turned down shyly until she wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked it a few times. The thrust into her grip and she leaned in to flick the head of it with her tongue as her fingers kept moving.

“Uggh,”he managed to say as her tongue continued to dance around him. They surely looked ridiculous here in the middle of the living room on nothing but a quilt on the floor, nearly naked except for their socks. It was too cold to go without socks.

He moved quickly, and was on his knees with her legs wrapped around his hips and her arms around his neck, slipping into her body. He filled her completely and she was mesmerized by the way he was staring into her very soul as he thrust in and out of her. It was like he had known her forever. Like this wasn’t their first time together.

Everything was a bit hurried and frantic but they could take it slow later. Right now they both needed to satiate this thing that was between them. He threw his head back when he came and cried out her name over and over and she never wanted this precise moment to end.

They fell down next to each other on the quilt, Crane struggling to catch his breath. She was only supposed to deliver a pudding. Just a pudding. Not pudding and sex.

Oh, but she was so glad it turned out that way.

“Please say you’re staying the night?” he asked when he could finally speak coherently again.

“I have to go into my store at about 3 am and prepare for the day,” she said and he sighed with disappointment. “Unless I call my sister and ask her to go open the store. That’s always an option. Or I could tell her I can’t make it because of the snow but she’d never believe it.”

“I have nowhere to go tomorrow. I could come in with you and watch you while you bake,” he said and she looked at him with disbelief. “Oh, Abbie, I’d go anywhere to watch you.”

She laughed.

“You sure it’s not to get more donut holes?” she asked.

“There is that, too,” he said.

She was snuggled in his arms under the glow of the tree, the quilt now partially wrapped around them. And Abbie knew without a doubt that fate was real and they were meant to be together this Christmas and every Christmas for the rest of their days.

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fin