#so why was sherlock holmes born on january 6?

[hopelesslyprosaic]

A Different Kind of Queen of Crime- five ways that Dorothy L Sayers changed the way we see Sherlock Holmes

For my first Holmesian post- a crossover with one of my more usual subjects on my other blog! For when one is talking about Sherlock Holmes, in particular Sherlock Holmes scholarship, there are nor many more pivotal names than Dorothy L Sayers. Sure, Christopher Morley may have had a greater impact on Sherlockian culture, and Richard Lancelyn Green on Holmesian scholarship, to name only a few- but Sayers's contributions to scholarship and "the game" were early and underratedly pivotal.

If you're a Sherlock Holmes fan who is unfamiliar with Sayers's influence, or a Sayers fan who had no idea she had any interest in Holmes, keep reading! (And if you're a Sherlock Holmes fan who wants to know what I think about Sayers, check out her tag on my main blog, @o-uncle-newt. Or, more to the point, just read her fantastic books.)

There's a great compilation of Sayers's writing and lecturing on the topic of Holmes called Sayers on Holmes (published by the Mythopoeic Press in 2001), though some of her essays are also available in her collection Unpopular Opinions, which is where I first encountered them. It's not THAT extensive, and it's from an era in which Sherlock Holmes scholarship, such as it was, was still very much nascent. While a lot may have happened since Sayers was writing and talking about Holmes, she got there early and she made an immediate impact- and here's how:

She helped create and define Sherlockian scholarship: Don't take this from me, take it from the legendary Richard Lancelyn Green! At a joint conference of the Sherlock Holmes Society and Dorothy L Sayers Society, he said that "Dorothy L. Sayers understood better than anyone before her the way of playing the game and her Sherlockian scholarship gave credibility and humor to this intellectual pursuit. Her standing as an authority on the art of detective fiction and as a major practitioner invigorated the scholarship, and her...Holmesian research is the benchmark by which other works are judged. It would be fair to say, as Watson said of Irene Adler, that for Sherlockians she is the woman and that …she 'eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex.'" We'll go into a bit more detail on some specific examples below, but one important one is that, as Green notes, Sayers was not only a mystery writer but an acknowledged authority on mystery fiction, whose (magisterial) introduction to The Omnibus of Crime, a then-groundbreaking history of the genre of mystery fiction, included a highly regarded section on the influence of Holmes on mystery fiction. She was able to write not just literate detective stories but literate critiques of others' stories and the genre (as collected in the excellent volume Taking Detective Stories Seriously), and as such, the writing she did on Holmes was well received.

She cofounded the (original iteration of) the Sherlock Holmes Society of London: While the current iteration of the Society lists itself as having been founded in 1951, a previous iteration existed through the 1930s, founded as a response to the creation of the Baker Street Irregulars in New York and run by a similar concept- the meeting of Sherlock Holmes fans every so often for dinner at a restaurant. Sayers, who seems to have been much more clubbable than Mycroft Holmes, helped run the Detection Club on corresponding lines as well. (Fun fact, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was invited to be the first president of the Detection Club! However, he refused on grounds of poor health and, either right before or right after he died, the Detection Club met for the first time with GK Chesterton as president.) While the 1930s society didn't last, and Sayers didn't decide to join the newly reconstituted club in 1951, her presence from the beginning was key to the establishment of Holmesian scholarship.

She helped define The Game: Sayers didn't invent The Game, as the use of Higher Criticism in the study of Sherlock Holmes came to be called. (The Game now often refers to something a bit broader than that, but it's a pretty solid working definition to say that it is the study of Holmes stories as though they took place in, and can be reconciled with, our world.) Her friend Father Ronald Knox largely invented it almost by accident- as Sayers described it, he wrote that first essay "with the aim of showing that, by those methods [Higher Criticism], one could disintegrate a modern classic as speciously as a certain school of critics have endeavoured to disintegrate the Bible." This exercise backfired, as instead of finding this analysis of Holmes stories silly, people found it compelling and engaging- and this style of Sherlockian writing lives on to this day in multiple journals. Sayers, with her interest in religious scholarship as well as Holmes, was well equipped to both understand Knox's original motivations as well as to carry on in the spirit in which further Game players would take his work, as we'll see. She also wrote the line that would come to define the tone used in The Game- that it "must be played as solemnly as a county cricket match at Lord's; the slightest touch of extravagance or burlesque ruins the atmosphere." While comedic takes on The Game would never vanish, her establishment of tone has lingered, and pretty much any in-depth explanation of The Game will include her insightful comment.

Some of Sayers's ideas became definitional: Here's a question- what's John Watson's middle name? If you said "Hamish," guess what- you should be thanking Dorothy L Sayers. (When this middle name was used for Watson in the BBC Sherlock episode The Sign of Three, articles explaining its use generally didn't bother to credit her, instead saying that "some believe" or a variation on that.) She was the one who speculated that the reason why a) Watson's middle initial is H and b) Mary Morstan Watson calls Watson "James" instead of "John" in one story is because Watson's middle name is Hamish, a Scottish variant of James, with Mary's use of James being an intimate pet name based on this nickname. It's as credible as any other explanation for that question, but more than that it became by far the most popular middle name for Watson used in fan media. Others of Sayers's ideas include that Watson only ever married twice, with his comments about experience with women over four continents being just a lot of bluster and him really being a faithful romantic who married the first woman he really fell for (the aim of this essay being to demolish HW Bell's theory of a marriage to an unknown woman between Mary Morstan and the unnamed woman Watson married in 1903, mentioned by Holmes in The Blanched Soldier); that Holmes attended Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge (she denied that he could have attended Oxford, having gone there herself- fascinatingly, Holmesians who went to Cambridge usually assert that he attended Oxford! Conan Doyle of course attended neither school); and reconciling dates in canon (making the case that one cannot base a claim for Watson's mixing up on dates on poor handwriting as demonstrated in canonical documents, as it is clear from the similarity of different handwriting samples from different people/stories that they were written, presumably transcribed for publication purposes, by a copyist).

She wrote one of the only good Holmes pastiches: Okay, fine, I'm unusually anti-pastiche, and genuinely do like very few of them, but this is one that I love- and even more than that, it's even a Wimsey crossover! On January 8 1954, to commemorate the occasion of Holmes's 100th birthday (because, of course, he was born on January 6 1854- Sayers was more in favor of an 1853 birthdate but thought 1854 was acceptable), the BBC commissioned a bunch of pieces for the radio, including one by Sayers. You can read it here (with thanks to @copperbadge for posting it, it's shockingly hard to find online), and I think you'll agree it's adorable. The idea of Holmes and Wimsey living in the same world is wonderful, the way she makes it work is impeccable, and it's clearly done with so much love. Also you get baby Peter, which is just incredibly sweet!

I got into Dorothy L Sayers, in the long run, because I loved Sherlock Holmes from childhood and that later launched me into early and golden age mysteries- but it was discovering Sayers that brought me back full force into the world of Holmes. Just an awesome lady.

[guigz1-coldwar]

Yirina answer to everything !

1. How many different places have they lived?

First, I was born in Ukraine before my parents moved to a small village in the Ukrainian countryside. When my parents died, Perseus make me live in Moscow until 1981 where I was left for dead. Since, I lived in multiple CIA safehouses and now, living in an MI6 one (which is far better than the CIA ones !)

2. What is their dream vacation?

I would have like to go somewhere where it's calm and peaceful with just me & my love....only that.

3. What is their favorite color?

I'm mixed between red & blue : red because of my hair and blue because it's very beautiful.....let's say RED !

4. What is their favorite book?

Honestly, even if I was living in the East, I love to read books from Agatha Christie and also books about Sherlock Holmes...very diversifying !

5. Have they ever cheated on anyone before?

Oh hell no ! I can't even do this because it's so stupid and frankly, I will never cheat on Park !

6. Have they ever been cheated on?

Unfortunately yes ! Freya cheated on me with Sonya Kuzmin (@clxudtea OC Bell) !

7. How many partners have they had?

I had two big relationship in my life : Freya Helvig that started in 1978 and ended in January 1981 after she cheated on me and now, I'm with Helen Park where we started to date 2 days after our operation in Ukraine. Despite 3 years in a coma, we rekindled our relationship when I came back and it's so good !

8. What is their favorite food?

Can I say Burger Town ? If yes, I can thanks Woods about it !

9. Are they a liar? Are they good at lying?

I can't lie to my friends & lover but there's moment where I had to lie especially when I'm supposed to act as Bell !

10. Introvert or Extrovert?

I'm trying to find out who I am and to take care of those I swore to protect so I'm extrovert because I know that I can't do it on my own !

11. Have they ever been arrested and why?

No, as far I can remember, I never had any problems with the justice

12. Who would they sacrifice their life for?

I will put my life in the line for Park and for my friends, I can take many risks just to be sure that they will live another day.

13. What are their spending habits?

When work isn't here for me, I spent time to draw in my diary and to read it again and again, hoping to have everything back to normal.

14. Do they like hot or cold temperatures better?

I lived in Russia so I'm more willing to like cold one....even if I want to change about it.

15. Are they religious?

No, I'm not religious.

16. If they could describe themself in one sentence, what would they say?

In one sentence ? "How I can still be alive after all of this ?"

17. Do they have any overused catchphrases?

Nope....but I will like to have one.

18. What makes them laugh?

Usual jokes about the others and a very little about myself.

19. Have they ever lost anyone close to them? How did it affect them?

Laz'....Lazar....He's been like a brother to me. He's the one who make me go to Park after encouraging me to do my coming out to her. Since his death, I'm still feeling guilty...I wasn't so fast !

20. Do they have a fast reaction time, or slow?

I have a fast reaction time but it became slow when I'm wounded or hurt.....it's because of this I wasn't able to save Lazar quickly.

23. Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy?

I'm more into be indoorsy.

24. What are their biggest pet peeves?

I love cats.....still missing stroking 'Beans' cute head.

25. Do they have any type of handicaps? How do they manage them?

No, I don't have any handicaps.

I have answered to everything !

[scotianostra]

Victoria Helen McCrae Duncan was born on November 25th 1897 in Callander.

Known as Helen Duncan, in 1944, she became last person in the UK to be tried, convicted and imprisoned under the 1735 Witchcraft Act.

Hellish Nell, as she became known, was actually a medium, and by all accounts not a very good one, the way she earned her living was to hold seances and charge plenty for her services, but she was rumbled several times as a fraud.

Nor was she the last person convicted under the 1753 Act – now repealed and replaced with the Fraudulent Mediums Act of 1951 – because in fact three other people were on trial alongside her and one of them was sent to prison, too. Yet somehow the “last witch” nickname has stuck, though records clearly show that some months after her trial and imprisonment in September 1944, one Jane York, 72, from Forest Gate, East London, was charged under the same act with seven counts of pretending to conjure up spirits of the dead. Incredibly, York was simply bound over for the sum of £5 to be of good behaviour for three years.

Ah, but that happened after D-Day, and there is no question when you examine the evidence that the authorities wanted to make an example of Helen Duncan and put her away for the summer of 1944.

From an early age her own family saw her as fey, and her mother was mortified when the child’s behaviour became impossible – she would predict doom and destruction for all sorts of people and was given to outbursts of hysteria.

Her early life was otherwise normal. She moved to Dundee and worked at the Royal Infirmary where she met Henry Edward Duncan, a wounded war veteran and a cabinet maker. They were married in 1916, and Duncan would eventually have six children by Henry who saw a great way of making money from his wife’s talents in clairvoyance – she read tea leaves and made predictions and earned a few shillings for doing so.

By 1926 she had become a fully-fledged medium giving seances during a time when spiritualism was all the rage. Moving to Edinburgh, her seances were soon the talk of the town – even the ghost of that local man turned Sherlock Holmes creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a great believer in spiritualism, was said to have materialised at sittings.

A prominent feature of her seances was her apparent ability to produce “ectoplasm” from her mouth during her trances when she was transformed into her spirit partners Albert or Peggy, a young girl whose voices “spoke” through Duncan. She had grown quite obese and the contrast between this 20-stone woman and the childish voices was part of the reason why people believed in her.

It was at a seance in January 1933 that Peggy emerged in the seance room and a sitter named Esson Maule grabbed her. The lights were turned on and the spirit was revealed to be made of a cloth undervest which used as evidence that led to Duncan’s conviction on the Scottish offence of fraud at Edinburgh Sheriff Court in May 1933.

The conviction does not seem to have harmed her career. Duncan was by then making a good living by conducting seances throughout Britain at which “the spirits of the dead were alleged to have appeared, sometimes talking to and even touching their relatives”.

Duncan began to get more famous but also began to be more scrutinized. Director Harry Price of the National Laboratory of Psychical Research examined her. He deemed her ‘ectoplasms’ to be made of cheese and eggs which she would regurgitate up. Price was less than impressed by what he felt was a show woman, exploiting people for money.

“Could anything be more infantile than a group of grown-up men wasting time, money, and energy on the antics of a fat female crook.”

During World War Two, Duncan lived in Portsmouth, the home of the Royal Navy. In 1941, the spirit of a sailor reportedly appeared at one of her seancés announcing that he had just gone down on a vessel called the Barham. HMS 'Barham' was not officially declared lost until several months later, its sinking having been kept secret to mislead the enemy and protect morale.

Unsurprisingly, Duncan's activities attracted the attention of the authorities and on 19 January 1944, one of her séances was interrupted by a police raid during which she and three members of her audience were arrested.

Duncan was remanded in custody by Portsmouth magistrates. She was originally charged under section 4 of the Vagrancy Act (1824), under which most charges relating to fortune-telling, astrology and spiritualism were prosecuted by magistrates in the 20th century. This was considered a relatively petty charge and usually resulted in a fine if proved. She was eventually tried by jury at the Old Bailey for contravening section 4 of the Witchcraft Act of 1735, which carried the heavier potential penalty of a prison sentence.

In particular, the medium and her three sitters were accused of pretending 'to exercise or use human conjuration that through the agency of Helen Duncan spirits of deceased persons should appear to be present'. Duncan was also charged with offences under the Larceny Act for taking money 'by falsely pretending that she was in a position to bring about the appearances of the spirits of deceased persons'.

The trial caused a media sensation and was extensively covered in the newspapers, many of which revelled in printing cartoons of witches on broomsticks. At one stage, the defence announced that Duncan was prepared to demonstrate her abilities in the witness box. This amounted to conducting a séance in the court while in a state of trance and the offer was refused.

Duncan was found guilty as charged under the Witchcraft Act and sentenced to nine months in Holloway Prison, London, but she was cleared of the other offences. She was the last person in Britain to be jailed under the act, which was repealed in 1951 and replaced with the Fraudulent Mediums Act following a campaign by spiritualist and member of parliament Thomas Brooks.

There are two common misconceptions about Duncan's conviction. The first is that she was the last person in Britain to be convicted of being a witch. In fact, the Witchcraft Act was originally formulated to eradicate the belief in witches and its introduction meant that from 1735 onwards an individual could no longer be tried as a witch in England or Scotland. However, they could be fined or imprisoned for purporting to have the powers of a witch.

The second misconception is that she was the last person to be convicted under the Witchcraft Act. Again this is incorrect. Records show that the last person to be convicted under the Witchcraft Act was Jane Rebecca Yorke in late 1944. Due to her age (she was in her seventies) she received a comparatively lenient sentence and was fined.

Additionally, it has often been suggested that the reason for Duncan's imprisonment was the authorities' fear that details of the imminent D-Day landings might be revealed, and given the revelation about the Barham it is clear to see why the medium might be considered a potential risk. Nonetheless, then prime minister Winston Churchill wrote to the home secretary branding the charge 'obsolete tomfoolery'.

Helen Duncan was released from prison on the 22 September 1944 and seems to have avoided further trouble until November 1956, when the police raided a private séance in Nottingham on suspicion of fraudulent activity. No charges were brought and shortly afterwards, on 6 December in the same year, the woman who is sometimes remembered as the 'last witch' died.

A campaign by her descendents to clear her name continues to this day.

Find our more about this strange tale here https://www.prairieghosts.com/duncan.html

[foxonfier]

ao3 wrapped 2022 ( questions not by me, just some i found but wanted to answer bc why not! )

1. how many words have you written this year?

not all of this is on ao3, but calculating it up, i’ve written about 67,000 words this year! specifically: 2k from the haunting of sunshine girl, about 10k from born in blue, 20k for a wip band story, 10k from russian roulette, 7k combined for some unrelated brian stuff, 2k for a lost story, 3k for a hannibal/prodigal son crossover, 7k combined for bates motel stuff, 3k for another lost post-canon story, 2k for a scooby doo story, 1k for a there will be blood fic, aaaand…i think that’s it! a lot more than i thought, that’s for sure lol.

2. how many works did you publish this year?

in total, i published 12 works! in order of date, they are: russian roulette, the new and improved security system, born in blue, my 6 shoegaze fics, change (in the house of flies), broken by bloodied hands, and end song. most of these were published on my side ao3 account rather than my main.

3. what work are you most proud of?

out of fics i’ve written this year, i think i’ve got to say russian roulette. it was a really fun story to write and i’m proud of some of the research i did into it, as well as my motivation and pushing myself to complete it! i rarely complete fics, so it’s a welcome change and makes me really proud of the fic and myself!

4. what work of yours has the most hits?

i’ve got a secret harry potter fic from 2020 that has 17,000 hits as of now!

5. what work of yours got more feedback than expected?

definitely my there will be blood fic. i wasn’t expecting a whole lot of feedback but i got a good amount of praise for it, so that made me really happy!

6. favorite title you’ve used

oooo, this is a hard one…i’d have to say “shoegaze,” only because it fits with the story’s themes so well and has a double meaning! it’s the title of my original band story, and i’ll go ahead and explain the meaning. shoegaze is a genre of music that’s prominent in the story as well as an inspiration for it; this is the genre of music the band plays in the book. the double meaning is that the main character is often gazing at his shoes / looking down because of the abuse he’s suffering at the hands of another character. i came up with this on a whim but loved the idea!

7. if you used song lyrics, which artists’s songs did you pull from the most?

ha, this is an easy one. not song lyrics necessarily, but all of the work titles from my series “shoegaze” are song titles from a band called the brian jonestown massacre. they’re my favorite band and the main inspiration for the story, so i had to do them some justice of course! besides them, i’d say for song lyrics, probably alex g!

8. pairing you wrote the most for this year?

i don’t usually write romance, usually focusing on gen stories so that the audience can interpret it any way they want, but a pairing i wrote the most is probably neil mccormick & brian lackey! again, gen pairing, can be seen as pre-slash or romantic though. i also wrote about the same amount of words for john watson & sherlock holmes, so either one really. as for original stuff, definitely my characters knox ford/silas lowell.

9. favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

gonna have to say neil mccormick & brian lackey. those two are just so fun and i can’t get enough of their relationship, and i think i’ve got a pretty good grasp on them as characters.

10. what work was the quickest to write?

the quickest work i finished was my there will be blood fic; i wrote it in about an hour. my quickest, longest finished work is russian roulette ; it took me about a week and a half to finish! as i started it around new years 2021 and finished it on january 10, 2022. my quickest, longest work that isn’t completed is born in blue - i wrote the first 20k words in 5 days.

11. what work took you the longest to write?

most of them. my longest-running current fic is between the haunting of sunshine girl (started in 2019, has 187k words) and bound to stars (started in 2016, has around 90k words).

12. how many wips do you have in your docs for next year?

oh god, this question pains me. i’ve got about 24 wips in my docs that need to be completed / worked on…

13. what’s your longest work of the year?

shoegaze! coming out to about 20k words written. my longest completed work is russian roulette, at 10k words.

14. what’s your shortest work of the year?

my there will be blood story, coming out to around 1k words.

15. what wip are you taking into next year with you?

like, all of them.

16. what’s your most common “additional tags” tag?

unsurprisingly, this would be ‘angst.’

17. your favorite character to write this year?

that’s a tough call between brian lackey and my original character, knox ford. both are super fun to write and have a lot of angst behind them…i honestly don’t think i can choose!

18. the character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

definitely will graham. trying to beat him into submission with my words doesn’t work - he’s a hard character to get down. his complexities make him nearly impossible for me to truly say, “yeah, that’s what he’d do.” so, will graham, i love you, but you suck to write.

19. what’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

oooo…another difficult question. i definitely want to keep exploring brian lackey & neil mccormick, probably the most, only because i love them so much. but knox ford/silas lowell is also a really interesting one to explore, so maybe them as well!

20. which work of yours have you reread the most?

without a doubt, russian roulette.

21. how many kudos in total did you get this year?

adding it all up, i got 321 kudos this year!

22. which work has the most comments?

russian roulette! coming out to 9 comments in total.

23. did you do any collaborative works this year?

unfortunately not, but i’ve really wanted to! maybe someday i can do a collab with another writer, it’s just a matter of finding someone who wants to lol. and shares a fandom with me, of course.

24. did you write any gifts this year?

no, i didn’t.

25. did you receive any gifts this year?

nope!

26. what’s your most common category?

gen! like i said earlier, i don’t write a whole lot of pairings mainly because i either have a hard time fully shipping the characters, like them in a more platonic way, and/or want the audience to be able to make their own choice about the characters’ relationship. that doesn’t mean i haven’t written romance, though!

27. what do you listen to while writing?

i either have playlists for the characters i’m writing, or i have one of my own playlists i’m listening to that i feel fits the vibe of the story. i’ve listened to the brian jonestown massacre a lot, and also the mysterious skin soundtrack. maybe a little too much.

28. favorite work you wrote this year?

as i’m so proud of it, it would have to be russian roulette! that’s a bit of a hard choice though.

29. most bookmarked fandom?

i replaced this question because the original one, “what line/passage is your favorite this year”, was too difficult. so! my most bookmarked fandom is the avengers/mcu, actually. merlin is a close second, and daredevil comes in third!

30. biggest surprise while writing this year?

probably how much i can write when angst is involved. it didn’t take me that long to finish 20k words for my shoegaze book, and that was all angst / outsider pov stuff. which is my favorite. so i think that!

well, there’s my ao3 2022 wrapped! kind of nostalgic looking back on everything i’ve written this year ; i’ll have to try my hand at this again in 2023!

[afteriwake]

The Cacophony Of Life (1/6)

So I am bound and determined to do this fic as at least the last fic I finish this round of WIP Big Bang, if not the second to last (provided I can figure our where I want the fic to go). This fic was originally asked for by @elliedilly and this first part has been up for ages. Hopefully I can find where I have all the info for this fic on my laptop and get to writing part 2 tonight. Enjoy!

The Cacophony Of Life - From birth, every person can hear the music that their soul mate hears, whether it’s music that they’re playing, listening to or singing along to, in their mind. Measures can be taken to lessen the sound, but there are times when the sound is too much, too overwhelming. For years, Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper use their connection to each other through the music they both hear to communicate: first to annoy each other as children, then to care for each other as teenagers and young adults, and finally to express the longing that hopefully one day, and one day soon, they’ll meet each other face to face and express the love that’s grown between them throughout the years.

Read Part 1 | Help Me Survive? | Commission Me?

January 1985 Sherlock Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, “Symphony No. 4 in A major, Op. 90 "Italian" - I. Allegro vivace” Molly The Chipmunks, “My Sharona”

Sleep. He was sleepy. His tummy was full and he wanted to curl up with Redbeard and go to sleep. Sleep would be so nice. Quite lovely.

His thoughts were kind of squished together, all muddled and everything as he yawned and padded his feet towards his room. His mummy had gotten him the bee pyjamas with the footies, his favorite. And his favorite bear was on the bed, Mr. Snugglesworth. He gave his mummy a grin as she tucked him into bed. Normally Father did it but it was quiz night, and he was smart and that was how he showed it. He wanted to be smart too, like Daddy and Mummy and Mikey and Sherrinford. He wanted to learn everything.

He waited for his mummy to turn on the music. He knew his Mummy thought he’d like soft, soothing music to go to sleep to but he liked this song the best. This song gave him the best pirate dreams, where he was sailing the high seas with Blackbeard and they were looting all the ships and burying all the treasure.

Once the song started he settled in, waiting for his mum to turn off the bedroom light and then shut his eyes. He was almost asleep when he suddenly heard the most grating sound. His eyes flew open. No, no, no. He wanted to sleep. Why couldn’t they let him sleep?

Ooh, my little pretty one, my pretty one When you gonna give me some time, Sharona Ooh, you make my motor run, my motor run Got it coming off o' the line, Sharona

The voices singing the song were high pitched, giving him a headache. They didn’t even sound flas…fals…real. He just wanted it to stop, wanted to drown it out. He threw his covers off, padded to the record player, and then turned the volume knob all the way up until Mendelssohn-Bartholdy’s symphony drowned out the noise in his head.

He hated the person he was attached to, the person who could hear the music he listened to, the person who played music to annoy him. Hatedthem. And when they increased the volume of their music, out of meanness, he sank to the floor and sobbed. He hated them. Hated them so much.

Soul mates were stupid.

He didn’t want one. Not ever.

March 1986 Molly Falco, “Rock Me Amadeus” Sherlock Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, “O zittre nicht” (as performed by Lucia Popp in 1969)

She was bored. All the stations played all the same music. It was…boring. Boring boring

boring

. She’d rather hoped if she managed to wrest away control from her sister Emily and her brother Colby that there’d magically be something worth listening to.

But at least the stuff on the radio was better than the stuff in her head. Her mum and dad had explained that every person is born with a soul mate, someone destined to be the person they fall madly in love with, and when their soul mate is born they hear all the music they hear. They can hear anything they listen to on the radio, or any music they’re singing, or music they’re playing themselves.

And she had a boring soul mate who listened to nothing but the dreary classical music that Mrs. Eshaghicn made her listen to when she’d go over while her mum took her dad to the doctor. She didn’t like that music. She liked fun stuff. Stuff she could dance too. Everyone in her house was sad all the time. Mummy tried to make things less sad, and Daddy did too, but they were sad a lot. And she could tell, just like Emily and Colby could. They could see it.

She was four, but she knew some stuff. After all, people said she was a bright young thing.

Finally she found a song she liked. It wasn’t really a bounce around to song. It was an okay song, she guessed. Her brother said it was one of those songs you could learn something about. Some composer of the classical stuff her soul mate liked so much. She rolled over onto her back on the floor and tapped her foot in time with the beat, listening to the man speak the educational stuff in the song.

1756, Salzburg, January 27, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is born 1761, at the age of five Amadeus begins composing 1773, he writes his first piano concerto 1782, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart marries Constance Weber 1784, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart becomes a free mason 1791, Mozart composes "The Magic Flute" On December 5th of that same year, Mozart dies 1985, Austrian rock singer Falco records Rock Me Amadeus!

The song was just about to go back to the more rock part when her soul mate butted in. She reached over for the volume dial, ready to drown him out, when she paused. This song…it wasn’t so bad, she supposed. It was almost pretty. The woman singing had a nice voice.

And then she realized she’d heard it before. Her daddy had it. Well, maybe not this exact version, but he had this song. She got up off the floor and went to his records. He liked music. Had a huge collection of vinyls from years and years and years. When he felt good, he’d let her sit on his lap and they’d go through and listen to things. Or she’d try with her stupid soul mate trying to blast it out of her head.

Finally she saw the record. She looked at who composed the song the woman was singing. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, it read, and she smiled a little. Maybe there was something to the classical music after all.

Not that she’d admit it to her stupid head soul mate.

May 1987 Sherlock Antonín Dvořák, “Humoresque No. 7 Opus 101” Molly Whitney Houston, “I Wanna Dance with Somebody Who Loves Me”

His soul mate had abominable taste in music.

He was trying to get through his lessons, the soothing sounds of “Humoresque No. 7 Opus 101” playing in the background of the kitchen as he worked. Not his actual school lessons, but the private tutor lessons in chemistry that Mummy and Dad had gotten him because it fascinated him. His actual school lessons bored him to tears, to be quite honest. It was all baby stuff. He’d learned that ages ago, it seemed. He wanted to learn the things Mikey was learning but Mummy said he couldn’t just skip grades. Wasn’t right. Wasn’t proper.

But tutors they could do.

Whoever his soul mate was had been listening to the most wretched music for the last two hours and he’d done every exercise he’d learned since the music had played in his head when he was three years old. His mum and dad had done a good job teaching him about it, getting him to understand when he was old enough, and he was thankful he’d had a few years peace as whoever it was who had parented his soul mate had tried to expose them to soothing music the first few years of their life, because listening to what he or she played had been torture ever since he was six. He craved the classical music that was soothing to all his senses. And whoever his soul mate was just wouldn’t oblige.

He hated them. He hoped he never met them. He hoped something grisly happened to them and they just…went away and he’d get blissful silence in his head. It wasn’t a nice thought but then he wasn’t a nice child sometimes. He tried to be, but it didn’t always work.

He was just about to add the last bit to the chemical solution under his tutor’s watchful eye when he heard a sudden clap and it startled him. He spilled the powder mostly on the desk, earning him a shake of the head and a slight clucking sound from his tutor. His jaw set at that. Damn them,he thought to himself as spoken part of the song ended and the sung lyrics to this wretched song started. He’d heard it before, multiple times in the last few days, and yet it still gave him a start.

Clock strikes upon the hour And the sun begins to fade Still enough time to figure out How to chase my blues away I've done alright up 'til now It's the light of day that shows me how And when the night falls Loneliness calls

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to chase his soul mate away, he thought to himself as he went to get more of the powder, feeling the tips of his ears redden under his tutor’s disapproving gaze. Far far away, to somewhere where they never had access to music again.

Then life would be much more pleasant.

November 1988 Molly Taco, “Puttin’ On The Ritz” Sherlock Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, “Hymn to the Sun”

She scanned the audience to see if they were there. Her dad hadn’t been feeling well. Mum had said they’d try to make it, try to see her performance, but…well, she knew she shouldn’t count on them being there. Dad was having less good days these days and more bad ones. Mum didn’t talk about it, but she knew. Whatever was wrong wasn’t getting any better. It was probably never going to get any better.

But she couldn’t think about that. Tonight was the charity event, the talent show that St. Margaret’s was putting on, and she had to do her bit whether her Mum and Dad were in the audience or not. She’d been working on the routine for weeks now. She knew it had been hard for her parents to afford the dance lessons along with the tuition for her and her brother and sister’s schooling, but she’d been grateful. She loved dancing, especially tap dancing. She was actually quite good at it, and tonight was her night to shine. She had on a special leotard her teacher had loaned her that looked like a tuxedo, complete with bow tie and tails, and she had a top hat and even a cane. She looked just like she could have come off a Broadway show.

“You’re next, Molly,” her teacher said. Molly nodded and then waited in the wings, giving another glance out at the audience. She still couldn’t see her family, but then she couldn’t see all the audience, and the lights were in her eyes. Maybe they were there after all. She’d do them proud. She’d show them the lessons were worth it, show them just how good she was.

Finally it was her turn. She made her way to the center of the stage, her heels clacking on the hard surface. She got in her position and then the music started. She’d picked the long version of the song for her routine, knowing full well she could pull off a nearly five minute long performance. She started to do her routine and it kicked into high gear when the lyrics started.

If you're blue and you don't know Where to go to, why don't you go Where fashion sits Puttin' on the Ritz Different types who wear a day coat Pants with stripes and cutaway coat Perfect fits Puttin' on the Ritz

And then it happened, the moment she’d been dreading. She heard something in her head. Oh no, she thought. Not now. Her soul mate had taken to trying to throw her attention by playing very loud music while she was going through her routine. And sometimes it worked. She tried every trick her parents had taught her to block the music in her head, but something was different. Her soul mate wasn’t listening to it on a record player or a radio. It sounded amplified, as if they were in an auditorium, but also quite close. And then it hit her.

They were actually playing it themselves.

She stood still for a moment in disbelief, forgetting she was in the middle of performing her routine. Thankfully she snapped out of it quickly and she felt she hadn’t made too much of a noticeable mistake. But…this was strange. She hadn’t realized her soul mate could actually play an instrument. How many times had she heard him before without realizing he was playing the song himself? How had she not noticed before?

She finished up her routine and then scurried backstage. Here she was, all proud of her dancing ability, and her soul mate was a bloody violin prodigy. Wonderful. She sat on a box backstage and caved in on herself. Maybe she just wasn’t talented enough after all.

December 1989 Sherlock Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” Molly New Kids On The Block, “Hangin’ Tough”

One of the few things all five members of his family could agree on was the family tradition of watching a ballet performance of The Nutcracker around the holidays. It seemed there was so much more bickering these days, between Mycroft and Sherrinford, between Sherrinford and his parents…he tended to stay out of the family drama but he had the feeling that eventually it would all either explode and be a gigantic mess or implode and leave a hole in the family.

Either way, he wasn’t looking forward to the situation.

He was on the floor with Redbeard waiting for them to leave while his brothers occupied the chairs and sofa around the telly. His soul mate had been surprisingly quiet as he had listened to the music on his battered cassette player, headphones clamped firmly on his ears, so he didn’t have to listen to everyone’s snarling at each other. While this event only happened once a year he listened to the music from it as often as he could. He supposed he’d have to stop soon; he was ten now, and it was time to give up childish pursuits such as a love of ballet. He’d had to start to develop a tough exterior, a thick hide to keep the bullies at school at bay. A “stiff upper lip,” as Mikey called it. And there was the fact he had developed an interest in things of a criminal nature. Not causing crimes, but solving them. There was a suspicious death at a pool in London that intrigued him greatly but he’d be damned if he could get the authorities to pay attention to him and his theories.

But at least for right now, he wanted to concentrate on the music. For one more year he had the excuse of family tradition to enjoy the ballet and the music. Next year…who knew what the next year would bring? For all he knew, his family structure would no longer be the same.

The bit he enjoyed the most, “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” started, and he relaxed into Redbeard, resting his head on the dog’s soft fur. He was getting old, he knew that. He hadn’t been a young pup when his parents had gotten him, and he moved more slowly now. Still, they had time together. That was what mattered.

Suddenly there was a jarring sound in his head and he shut his eyes. Of course she would have to start listening to some incessant pop dribble now, he thought, clenching his teeth. He’d surmised his soul mate was a female nearly a year ago, when the music she tended to listen to skewed towards male groups with supposedly handsome male singers. He began to use the techniques to temper down the music in his head to duller levels, not wanting to listen to this particularly odious song again. She’d listened to it nineteen times so far this week and it was only Monday evening.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Listen up everybody if you wanna take a chance Just get on the floor and do the New Kids' dance Don't worry 'bout nothing 'cause it won't take long We're gonna put you in a trance with a funky song, 'cause you gotta be

Hangin' tough Hangin' tough Hangin' tough We're rough

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. If the members of this…this…boy band were what she fantasized about than he had no idea why they were soul mates. He’d never be caught dead being like any of them. Never in a million years. And if she liked inelegant fops like that?

Then he didn’t ever want to meet her.

Once he got it down to a manageable level, a dull murmur in his head, he turned back to his tape player and turned up the volume for good measure. It would be best to ignore her, he supposed. They weren’t right for each other, not matter what their stupid biology had predetermined. Simply not right for each other. One day they’d both realize that.

Mark his words.

[hotshoeagain]

1983 date is contradicted by the birthdate January 6 1977 shown on Sherlock's tombstone. This is the tombstone which John sees when he visits the grave in S2E3, with a better view of that stone given in The Sherlock Chronicles.

Sherlock was born in 1977.

So John is more than 5, almost 6 full years older than Sherlock. (In BBC Sherlock canon).

So Mycroft is a little older than John, a year or two (depending on his exact birthdate which I don't know and don't care about, sorry).

The current -- today, Apr 21 2022) -- version of The Baker Street Wiki acknowledges the date possibilities but does not give source(s) for the alternate dates:

"Sherlock was born on 6th January 1977, 1981, or 1983[4] and spent his early childhood at Musgrave Hall, the Holmes family home located somewhere in the countryside ... " [4] is their reference to The Lying Detective.

Assuming that anything seen in The Lying Detective is meant to be taken as "reality" is, umm, iffy. S2 was a bit more in tune with reality, and evidence from S2 probably has more validity, everything else being equal.

To be scrup-fair, we can blame ACD almost as much as Mofftiss, since ACD could not seem to pin down Holmes and Watson's birthdates and respective ages. Doyle set an example of carelessness with "facts" about his characters and Mofftiss may be merely following in his footsteps.

Basically ACD made them a couple years apart in age, Watson being slightly older (born in 1852 or 1853, Holmes born 1854). There is no particular reason why Mofftiss would have wanted to change that drastically to make them a dozen years apart in age. Again, six years difference looks much more reasonable, not quite following ACD canon but okay.

In the process of trying to determine Sherlock and John’s ages, I stumbled across the possibility that they may have a very large age gap between them

According to the Baker Street Wiki (which cites The Lying Detective for the source), Sherlock’s birthday is January 6th, 1983.

As we know, thanks to John’s birth certificate in The Sign of Three, John was born April 23rd, 1971.

So, in conclusion (and if this is all accurate), then Sherlock and John have an age difference of 12 years.

If this has already been talked about and I just missed it, whoops. But, having assumed they were like a few years apart canonically, I’m still shook.

[nightingveilxo]

That Other Vow Sherlock Made & The Lazarus Effect

TEH Promise to his parents to ring. Of course, this is the first he’s seen John since he realized John intended to propose to Mary. Up until this point, however, Sherlock’s parents have always been mentioned in the past tense.

Are they ghosts? (The ones he made for himself?)

ASiP Mycroft suggests the boys feud upset Mummy, but Sherlock says it wasn’t him that upset her. By HLV, Mycroft and Mummy are arguing about "the security of the free world” and potatoes (connotation of men that like other men in slang).

TAB

HOLMES: I hardly knew myself, Mrs Hudson.  That’s the trouble with dismembered country squires – they’re notoriously difficult to schedule. (He clamps the pipe between his teeth and turns back to pay the cabbie.) BILLY (to Watson, looking at a bag which he is holding): What’s in there? WATSON: Never mind. HOLMES (to the cabbie): Thank you. (Billy takes some of the other bags and starts to take them inside.) BILLY (over his shoulder): Did you catch a murderer, Mr Holmes? HOLMES: Caught the murderer; still looking for the legs.  Think we’ll call it a draw. (John chained at the bottom of a well.)

WATSON: It was an affair of international intrigue. MRS WATSON: It was a murdered country squire. WATSON: Nevertheless, matters were pressing.

According to the stories, Sherlock Holmes was born on 6 January, 1854. He was the son of a country squire and grandson of the sister of the artist Vernet.

“Did Diana Commit Suicide?” in TEH. Diana died in 1997, when Sherlock would have been roughly 21. Thatcher had been a member of the House of Lords since 1992, and Charles cheated on Diana. There was in fact an idea that Diana might have committed suicide, because the vehicle involved in her fatal crash (near a tunnel and water), had already been in such a bad accident, that it was to have been totaled/decommissioned form the car pool.  (Seen in the photo below with Mummy and Daddy H.) The Theories

TGG DVD Commentary

Mark: We cut down this bit slightly. There was a reference to, um, their mutual strange childhood and the fact that you had, um, that Sherlock had rather spoiled the family atmosphere. It’s gone for time, but in the end I think that might be quite nice. Because we don’t want to give too much away about this. Their past.

Benedict: I discovered that my father was having–Oh, um, uh, can I say?

Mark: You can say.

Benedict: We might not have it later? I don’t know.

Mark: Yeah, maybe.

Benedict: But I can say in this DVD? (As opposed to one left by Mary ?)

Mark: Maybe.

Benedict: Okay, well, then I won’t say.

Implied affair by Daddy Holmes…

TEH

Mummy: Which wasn’t the way I’d put it at all, silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, ;Have you checked down the back of the sofa?’ He’s always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren’t you, dear?

Daddy: ‘Fraid so.

Mummy: Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses.

Daddy: Glasses.

Mummy: Blooming things.  I said, “Why don’t you get a chain – wear ’em round your neck?”  And he says, “What – like Larry Grayson?”

Daddy: (almost simultaneously): Larry Grayson.

Remember, this turned out to be a gay reference directed at the way BBC treated Grayson (waiting for the right woman), and the glass behind the place where he sits, hmmm???

He kicks his parents out, because John has come. John is bemused, because he thought Sherlock’s parents were ordinary. At the time, Sherlock finds it trying...

A cross he has to bear, because he’s the resurrected figure in this whole series. Also, for those that aren’t aware, James (Jim) was the name of one of Jesus’s brothers. John was also a Christ figure in some gnostic sects, before Christianity as we think of it today became the dominant idea. There were two or three important Marys, being Jesus’s mother, Magdalene, and Bethany. This third Mary was the sister of Martha (yes, like Mrs. Hudson) and her brother was Lazarus. She tended to stay at home, and anointed Jesus with perfume (although not Claire De La Lune).

HLV

Mary: So you realise that, er, Sherlock got us out here to see his mum and dad for a reason?

John: His lovely mum and dad. A fine example of married life. I get that.

TLD

John: I cheated on you, Mary. There was a woman on the bus, and I had a plastic daisy in my hair, I’d been playing with Rosie. And this girl just smiled at me. That’s all it was, it was a smile. We texted, constantly. You want to know when? Every time you left the room - that’s when. When you were feeding our daughter. When you were stopping her from crying - that’s when. And that’s all it was. Just texting. But I wanted more. And do you know something? I still do. I’m not the man you thought I was, I’m not that guy. I never could be. But that’s point. John was mirroring what Sherlock’s father did, but he still has to attain the fine example of married life.

So, John cheating on Mary was a callback to Sherlock finding out about his father, but they never made the affair a canon part of the series.

TFP

@ebaeschnbliah did this meta about the the gravestones at Musgrave, and the numbers didn’t make sense for that, but they do if you are taking into account how old Sherlock would have been during the Diana incident (which I believe is tied to either Mycroft and/or their parents dying).

Why the gap between 21 and 28, which is brother?

MYCROFT: Seven years between myself and Sherlock, one year between Sherlock and Eurus.

If Sherlock was 21 when his parents died, and like Diana’s husband having had an affair, so did Sherlock’s father--did Mycroft and/or a very emotional (Eurus) Sherlock have something to do with the parent’s death. Does he bring them back in TEH MP in order to solve his own riddle, of how to be with John? Mycroft would have been 28, and possibly the year between Sherlock and Eurus is how long Sherlock had been using when Mycroft helped him (which he also mentions in TAB).

We had to restart at the case involving Thatcher, because...

The end of TFP suggests he does, because Mummy demands of Mycroft why he did, what he did to Eurus. She doesn’t want to know how (like John in TEH), but why. Daddy is mute, but he is sporting a nice suit, with a pink triangle hankie.

More MP perspective, and German Expressionism to reveal mindset.

But, what about those three tombstones that don’t get looked at when Sherlock is in the graveyard? Mummy and Daddy and Sherlock’s past?

Transcript Credit.

Related: Two Different Kinds…of Protection (Heart and *coughs*)

@ebaeschnbliah @gosherlocked @sarahthecoat @possiblyimbiassed @raggedyblue

[oneallysa]

1058: Significance to Irene Adler

Instead of doing my uni projects (two 3min videos, one 30min video, six final papers, one prospectus, one presentation, one panel discussion, and study for a written exam on one subject and an oral exam on another subject), I decided to delve deeper into Adlock hell... (my title for this thing sounds like how I write my research papers at uni bwahahhahaha).

WHY WOULD 1058 BE SIGNIFICANT IF IT’S JUST A RANDOM NUMBER MADE BY IRENE ADLER?

1058 may seem like a random number but nothing is truly random, especially when thinking of one on the spot. Irene is known for her symbolism and such (using her measurements for the safe, using her heart for the phone, and other stuff that involves codes).

1058 = 05/81 or May 1981.

This further adds to my theory that Irene is born in 1981 in New Jersey.

PERSONAL REASONS AND OTHER SHIZ I GATHERED AND WHY I WANT THIS AS FACT

TIMELINE ANALYSIS + CANON REFERENCES

Sherlock Holmes: “It’s a six digit code. Can’t be your birthday. No disrespect but clearly you were born in the 80′s.”

From my Adlock Timeline, Irene and Sherlock would have met in 2010 and Irene would have “died” in 2011. 

Sherlock’s canon gravestone in The Reichenbach Falls places his birthday on the 6th of January in 1977. So he’d be 33-34.

If Irene was born in May 1981, she would have been 29 in A Scandal in Belgravia.

FOUR YEAR AGE GAP

Benedict Cumberbatch and Lara Pulver were born in July 19, 1976, and September 1, 1980 respectively. The actors themselves are 4 years apart.

If Irene was born in 1981, and Sherlock was canon born in 1977. Both actors would be a year older than their counterparts, which is nice.

Since the writers of Sherlock made January 6, 1977 canon in the actual show, this would mean that they would follow the claim that Holmes was born in January 6, 1854.

Irene Adler was born in New Jersey, 1958.

The original Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes are four years apart.

WHY MAY?

Cos 1058 lol

There’s a photo from @bertilakslady that states that Irene Adler was born in May 12, 1983. I had an analysis on why that can’t be right (cos I am #Team1981)... but still, oh what a coincidence! MAY!

(Justin Timberlake voice) ez gunna be may

In TEH, Mary mentions that she and John were thinking of having their marriage on May (but apparently, they moved it on 11th of August). IDK why I mentioned this, but i think past-me (sorry adhd, i thought about this earlier today) wants to parallel Warstan with Adlock... again, “May” mention coincidence again, too, I think... and the fact that in the wedding, Sherlock was thinking of Irene (cos she interrupted his mind palace again).

Richard II of England was born in January 6, 1367. His first wife, Anne of BOHEMIA, was born in MAY 11, 1366. Anne of Bohemia was the daughter of the Roman Emperor, King of BOHEMIA Charles IV... She’s smart, beautiful, and non-traditional. IDK about you but that is legit close to May 12... also these two were like legit mega in-love with each other... and when Anne died from the plague, Richard didn’t take it well... I mean come on. I’d delve deeper into the parallels but ugh nvmind.

Four years apart? Why not also four months apart? lmao

[toyboy-molloy]

shelolly + 5

I’ve finally fucking done it and it’s not worth the wait, I’m afraid. hope you like it anyway, sorry it took so long x

5. one night stand and falling pregnant au

October 14th was easily Molly Hooper’smost favourite date, the day she welcomed her first child, a daughter Evelyn Violet,after a gruelling eighteen-hour labour. She knew deep down she was biased butMolly felt certain that Evie was the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen. Herwide blue eyes surveyed the world around her, gazing in awe up at her mother;it was very clear baby Evie was the spitting image of her father. She held herdaughter close, rocking her gently as she murmured loving words into her skin;the sweet moment was interrupted by John Watson.

“Hi…” he greeted warmly, traipsing into the privateroom; he looked exhausted and Molly couldn’t help but feel guilty. Even if hewas quicker than the paramedics, it was no excuse. Still, he looked delightedto see them, “how are you doing?”

“Fine…” Molly replied, stroking her daughter’scheek. The emotion of the day caught up with her yet again and she sniffed, “just…justa bit teary.”

“That’s normal,” the army doctor reassured, takinga swig of the coffee he’d brought with him. He replaced the cup on her bedsidetable before gesturing at the baby girl, “do you mind if I-“

“Not at all.”

John gently lifted baby Evie, cooing softly at her;she was tiny, delicate and perfect, sweet and loveable just like her mum. Yet,she was so focused on her surroundings and curious about her new world Johnalready knew she was going to take after her dad. Well, at least in appearance.He could only hope…

It sounded ridiculous, even to Molly, but for thefirst time she felt peaceful, just lying in Sherlock’s bed with his armswrapped tightly around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they’dmade a mistake; they’d been out celebrating Sherlock’s birthday at theirfavourite cake shop before returning to Baker Street, where they’d maybeconsumed one or two glasses of wine? Whatever the reason, they’d ended upspending the night together.

She stirred, realising she was clutching his handthat was wrapped firmly around her. Smiling, Molly gently attempted to extractherself and disappear before he awoke; she told herself it was better that way.Neither of them could cope with a relationship, not that he’d want one – yeah,she almost believed that. She’d just about freed herself when his griptightened and he nuzzled her ear, mumbling sleepily.

“You’re not getting away that easily.”

Molly relaxed in his hold, heaving out a deep sigh,“we shouldn’t have done that.”

“Maybe not…” Sherlock said with a yawn. He finallyremoved his arm, rolling onto his back; Molly shifted position, holding thesheet to chest as she leaned on her elbow to face him. His hair wasdelightfully mussed and he wore nothing but a lazy smile on his face, “I’mfinding it difficult to regret it.”

“Good birthday, then?” She asked cheekily, swipinga smear of chocolate icing from his shoulder and popping her finger into hermouth.

Sherlock smirked, reaching over to mimic her actionwith the chocolate spread across her throat; his look was positively sinful ashe sucked his finger, “looks like it…”

And there was the awkward silence. Molly lookedaway, blushing as she located her clothes in a haphazard pile by the door. Justas she considered grabbing them and running for the bathroom, Sherlock threwback the covers and wrapped his dressing gown around himself.

“Breakfast?”

Molly blinked, sitting upright and clutching thesheet to her chest, “I-I’m sorry?”

“Would you like breakfast?” He repeated, handingher his spare camel-coloured dressing gown, “I’m sure Mrs. Hudson would-”

“No, thanks,” she said politely, bunding herself inthe far too large yet extremely comfortable article. She wriggled out of bedand set about gathering her clothes, “I think I’ll just…have a shower and be onmy way. If you don’t mind.”

“What an excellent idea.”

Before she could say anything else, Sherlock hadtaken her hand and was pulling her towards the bathroom; this was turning outto be a much better morning than she’d had in mind. By the time John Watsonreturned to the flat – having returned to his flat with his wife, Mary – thetwo had showered and shared a brief breakfast; he chose to enter the flat theprecise moment Molly stood on her tiptoes to kiss Sherlock’s cheek, thanking himfor a great night. She gave a shy smile as she hurried past John and out of theflat. The army doctor took several moments to realise what had just happened,an amused grin spreading across his face when it processed.

“You know, when I said ‘why don’t you two go homeand finish off’…I meant the cake.”

Rather than being embarrassed, like John expected,Sherlock merely sighed, watching from the window as Molly climbed into a taxi,“oh, we did. Trust me.”

John mumbled something about too much information,skulking off to make coffee or something. Sherlock wasn’t paying attention; hewas too busy thinking about Molly.

“Hiiiiii…”

Violet Holmes carefully eased open the door to theprivate room, peering around the frame – Molly was thankfully awake, cradlingthe new addition to their families close to her chest. The new mother beamed,ushering her into the room; the older woman eagerly obliged, closely followedby her husband. Scott Holmes staggered after his wife, carrying a mountain ofgifts for their new granddaughter – it looked as though they’d cleared out theHospital’s gift shop. He panted and wheezed, teetering towards the solitarychair in the corner of the room; he emptied his arms onto the seat and breatheda sigh of relief. Violet, meanwhile, was fondly embracing Molly.

“It’s good to see you, Molly. How are you feeling,my dear?”

“I’m…very well, thank you,” Molly respondedtruthfully – she felt much better after having a long nap. She eyed the largenumber of presents and swallowed, “you didn’t have to go mad.”

“Nonsense,” Violet waved a hand, gesturing betweenherself and Scott, “this little one may be the only grandchild we’ll ever have.We’re going to make the most of it.”

Their chattering was enough to rouse the curious,snoozing infant and she gurgled, fussing for attention. Violet gazed adoringlyat her and Molly smiled, shifting the baby in her arms, “would you like to holdher?”

Violet didn’t hesitate. Soon, the newborn wasbasking in the attention of her grandparents, flashing cheeky smiles and makingcute noises every now and again. After a series of photos had been taken, Eviewas passed to her grandfather whilst Violet sat beside Molly.

“I have something for you.”

She reached into her pocket and withdrew ablack-and-white photo, the date at the bottom 6th January 1976. Theday Sherlock was born. The photo showed a boy, no more than seven years old(which Molly immediately recognised as Mycroft), holding a grinning baby; therewas a look of disgust on the boy’s face, yet he held the baby protectively,waving a toy above his head for baby Sherlock’s amusement. She realised howsimilar baby Sherlock and baby Evie really were. Almost identical.

“That’s…amazing,” Molly stated incredulously,admiring the photo. She went to hand it back but Violet shook her head.

“You keep it, love. I’ve got plenty more at home. Youcan show little one when she’s older.”

“She’s an absolute blinder, Molly,” Scott gushed,pressing a kiss to Evie’s cheek. He returned to Molly, gently passing the eagerbaby back to her mother. He nudged his wife, “she’s got his eyes, alright.”

Molly watched happily as Violet grinned at herhusband, slipping an arm around his waist – the pathologist had only met thecouple a few times during her pregnancy and they’d consistently offered thesupport, both for the present and the future, something for which she wasincredibly grateful. They were truly lovely and devoted to their family whichMolly admired them for.

“Mycroft said he’d be along soon,” Violet wasexplaining as she began rifling through the gifts of balloons, banners andteddy bears the size of fully grown children, “he couldn’t believe it when wetold him. Convinced she was a boy, wasn’t he?” Scott nodded in acknowledgement.Violet sighed, playfully poking Molly, “you’re lucky, girls are much easier todeal with.”

“Really?” Molly questioned sceptically, frowning inconfusion – how would a mother of two boys know that? Then again, consideringwho those two boys were, maybe she had a point. Violet chuckled.

“Oh, trust me, dear. My two boys were nopicnic…even now, mind you,” she said fondly. She eyed Molly out of the cornerof her eye, “maybe one day you’ll have the answer.”

That was a lot to think about. Nevertheless, Mollygave an uncomfortable smile, “yeah. Maybe.”

When Molly arrived at Baker Street that morning, Sherlockwas lounging on the sofa with his back to her; according to Mrs. Hudson, hehadn’t moved in days and had snapped at her every time she attempted to bringhim food. Molly cleared her throat and the detective immediately scurried tosit up, attempting to look casual despite the fact he was dressed in pyjamasand his blue dressing gown.

“Molly,” he looked genuinely pleased to see her anda lump caught in her throat. She wondered how he would feel after sharing hernews, “to what do I owe the pleasure.”

“I’m pregnant.”

She’d expected anger.

She’d anticipated shocked silence stretching intohours.

She’d even imagined tears.

The only thing that Molly hadn’t taken into accountwas the one thing she got, Sherlock leaping from the sofa (after taking amoment or two to process her news) and picking her up with ease, spinning heraround the room. She clung on for dear life, giggling madly until she wasplaced safely on the ground; she straightened herself and gaped at the madman.

“What’s gotten into you?”

The stupidly delighted expression on his face onlymade Molly more confused, “I’m going to be a dad, Molly. Oh, it’s Christmas.”

Molly caught his arm before he could leap about insheer joy; after all, she was still on planet earth. “What about cases? What aboutyour work being the most important? What about-“

He waved a hand, still grinning giddily, “oh, whatdo I know? I’m an idiot.”

How could he be so calm and joyous when she’d beenpanicking about telling him, ever since she’d found out she was pregnant. True,his reaction had lifted a weight from her shoulders but she was still baffledhe had reacted so.

“What?”

“Okay…” he took her hand and the two of them sat onthe sofa. He stroked the back of her hand, making sure to look her in the eyeas he explained, “I’m not good at this. I wanted you to stay, that night…Iwanted to tell you never to leave. I was afraid,” Molly fought the urge to lookaway although she was now blinking away tears – damn the hormones, “ever since thatnight…I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel. About you. I didn’t know how, Iavoided you…” Sherlock ceased stroking her hand and held her knuckles to hislips as he continued, “it didn’t happen just because we were drunk, we bothknow that. I’m pleased it turned out this way and now…we can be a proper family,”with his free hand, he reached across and brushed away a stray tear, “if that’swhat you want.”

Molly sniffed, wiping at her eyes, “you really feelthat?”

“I love you.” The words came easily, aided by thenew life growing inside the love of his. Molly smiled a watery smile, pressingher lips to his.

“I l-love you, too.”

Molly had just settled Evie for the night when thedoor to her room opened and Sherlock crept in, carrying two cups of coffee. Thepathologist folded her arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Where have you been?”

At least he looked a bit guilty, “there didn’t seemto be any decaf coffee in the…cafeteria. I went to the place by Baker Street.For you, dear.”

“Would that have something to do with your parentsvisiting by any chance?”

He handed her the decaf coffee and shrugged, “maybe.Sorry about that. Were they…” he trailed off, choosing instead to sip hiscoffee. Molly chuckled.

“No, they were lovely. I think they bought out theHospital’s stock of presents, though.”

“I had a good reason for abandoning you,” Sherlockplaced his coffee on the bedside table, rummaging in the pockets of his jacket,“my mother’s been pressuring me to take my grandmother’s engagement ring to giveto you.”

“Yeah, I think we need to have a little chat abouthow your parents still don’t know we’re married,” Molly said, smirking cheekily.Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I told her you deserve an original. And today…” heremoved the velvet box, popping the lid for her to view the gorgeous diamondring, “I got a call that it was ready. Sorry it took so long.”

Molly gazed at the beautiful ring, already twistingoff her four-month-old wedding ring to make room for her new addition. Itfitted perfectly, comfortably sitting on her finger with her wedding ringneatly above; Molly admired her hand, her gorgeous perfect hand.

“Don’t be silly. It’s perfect, Mr. Holmes.”

“Anything you desire, Mrs. Holmes,” Sherlockpressed a loving kiss to her forehead, gazing adoringly at his daughter, “so,got a name yet?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Molly smiled, linkinghands with her husband and looking up at him,  “she’s our Evie.”

The detective blinked, gripping Molly’s handjust a little tighter. He cleared his throat but the emotion was still clear, “I-Molly, that was just a suggestion.”

Molly nodded, “and I love it.”

The new parents embraced, eagerly anticipatingtheir exciting and unpredictable future together.

[impossibleleaf]

Now the puzzle, will save the plane

Back in EMP land, Sherlock is dying and Eurus needs to land the plane if she wants to survive. And while she is rightfully worried and John about to drown, Sherlock is pulling out of his ass a stupid solution for Eurus’ song. That’s when we start saying that ‘Eurus’ really had time to lose to grave these tombstones in order to fit that song.

But, really, the correct answer is ‘Eurus created that song in a way to explain the wrong dates’. The song isn’t a puzzle, it’s the solution needed because the graves are the puzzle that fascinated Sherlock as a child.

A fake gravestone where Nemo Holmes was ‘buried’. But really, Nemo was no one.

Or nobody. There was no body.

You can’t really face your own grave, can you? Unless you have a TARDIS, all you can do is have a gravestone with your name on it and no date of death. You’re still not dead so the dates will be necessarily wrong.

Basically, if you want to survive, you need to figure out the contradiction your gravestone is telling you. Show the inconsistencies and reveal it as a fake.

Here starts the puzzle. Now that the inconsistencies are laid bare, you need to find how that can tell you how to survive.

SHERLOCK: The wrong dates, she used the wrong dates on the gravestones as the key to the cipher and the cipher was the song.

Here, Stupid Sherlock strikes again.

The reverse is what happened.

Do you know what an Ottendorf code is? You have a set of numbers and they refers to a word of a page of a very specific book. We are facing a book cipher, not dissimilar to an Ottendorf.

The cipher is the graveyard, the key is the song.

The graves represent the number of the stanza and the numbers the words used in said stanza in ascending order. If you start with a number like 28 and then use 1, that just means you need to use the last stanza above (word 28).

Grave 1 (Stanza 1): 134-1719 -> 1 3 4 17 19   I AM LOST HELP ME

Here we can’t do 13 because we have 4 after, nor 34, so 1 3 4, now we are in the two digits 17 and 19

Grave 2 (Stanza 2): 28.9.1520 -> 28 9 15 20 BROTHER SAVE MY LIFE

We could have 2, 8, 9, 15 and 20 but then you get NOT SHADE SAVE MY LIFE, so 28 it is.

Grave 3 (Stanza 3): 1818 24 26 -> 1 8 18 24 26 BEFORE MY DOOM I AM

No choice is there? You can use the last like of the last stanza but that’s is so no 18.  1 8 and 18

Grave 4 (Stanza 4): Nemo Holmes:  1617-1822 32  -> 16 17 18 22 32         MY SOUL SEEK MY ROOM

If it’s 1, 6 and 17, It’s WITHOUT BEFORE SOUL, so 16 and the rest follows

You’ll notice that there is a part of the final message missing, so there is a grave missing.

GRAVE 4.0.0: LOST WITHOUT YOUR LOVE SAVE

So grave 4.0.0 should be : 28 1 2 3 8 in any combination.

What can we have then?

2/8/1238? 28/12/38? 2812 age 38? Age 28 1238? 2812-38? 28.1.238?

The grave stones aren’t real, the numbers are wrong, but at minimum they give for a second an illusion of reality. Yes, there are two centuries of difference, but you won’t have many graves stones starting in the 29th century. Also we can’t start with the age of the dead Holmes, this comes only at the end.

You can have 2/8/1238, or even something like 28/12/38 or 28/1/238 but there is another option I want to point out.

2/8/12, Age 38.

Here lies Mr. Holmes, born on the 6th of January 1974 who died the 2nd of August 2012 at 38.

I admit, I’m not using John’s blog to estimate Sherlock’s “deathday” because, mainly, Watson was always shit at keeping track of dates.

But we need another Holmes grave, one that is the fakest fake to have ever faked the word. Also, it’s the only things that makes sense. Why wouldn’t they show the final grave needed if the numbers used were so pointless?

They gave us a solution that is missing a fifth of the answer, and not the least important because this is where we get the answer ‘LOST WITHOUT YOUR LOVE SAVE’.

So, the secret behind Sherlock’s grave, the one thing that turned his own grave into a pure architectural joke and not a genuine thing, the one thing that made sure that Sherlock is still alive is Love.

By solving these fake deaths, Sherlock found the answer to save the plane before it crashes and creates a far more genuine grave.

SHERLOCK: Help me, brother, save my life, before my doom. I am lost without your love, save my soul, seek my room.

Without Sherlock’s love, Eurus won’t be able to find her way home, back to London and the ground.

 Twice already Sherlock tricked death in two finale, twice love is what gave Sherlok the means to survive. He just needs to do it again.

Love conquers all, even death.

[gracebriarwoodwrites]

tag game

i was tagged by @existential-celestial​ ! Thank you! (rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you’d like to get to know better)

nickname(s): Gracie

star sign: Scorpio! So mysterious :)

height: 5′6″ 

last thing i googled: Chaos Emeralds. I was confused by a meme.

fav music artist: Oh, boy. For the past few days, it’s been Phox.

song stuck in my head: Kingfisher by Phox.

last movie I watched: The Jungle Book. (The new one!)

last tv show I watched: Jessica Jones.

when did you create your blog?: Technically in 2016, but I just started posting regularly this January!

what kind of stuff do i post?: I post mostly my own poetry and thoughts about my own writing. 

do i have any other blogs: gracebabcockreblogs.tumblr.com, where I reblog all kinds of poetry, photography, and fun fandom stuff. 

do i get ask regularly: Not really, but I welcome questions!

why did i choose my url: It’s what I do! 

Hogwarts house: I’m a Ravenpuff! Every quiz I take says Ravenclaw, but my mom, who’s known me since I was born and is the queen of the Potter fans, says Hufflepuff, and I do value kindness and loyalty a tad more. 

pokemon team: I have no clue. 

favourite colour: Today, it’s green. 

average hours of sleep: Usually about 7, but I really need 8 or so or I’m a zombie. Last night I got 12 and the world still does not feel real. 

lucky number: 42! I tend to be more afraid of unlucky numbers than I am happy about lucky ones, though.

favourite characters: I love pretty much every version of Sherlock Holmes, Jane Eyre and Hermione are my icons, and I want to protect Jessica Jones, Eleven, and the OA with my life. 

how many blankets do i sleep with: 7 or so during the winter. 

dream job: Professional Writer!

following: I honestly have no clue. I’m following a lot of beautiful blogs, though, I can tell you that right now. And I have incredibly talented followers.

Tagging: @sammyleeblogs, @amended-noumenon, @i-dontknow-what-im-doing, @blatantlyfantastic, @blackandwhite-poetry, @blackpenwritings, @bottled-library, @mycrumplednotebook , @thewarlordscontract and I’m too tired to think of any more URLS than the ones popping up, but I love you guys! Feel free to join in and say I tagged you! Here I am, tagging the peeps I missed: tag. 

[cyrilofficial]

I was tagged by @miss-pyrrha-nikos-isms

1. Nickname: ((I Don't think he has one. I have too many))

2. Gender: male ((eh.))

3. Star sign: ((I'm a Virgo. I should probably give Cyril a birthday...))

4. Height: 5' 11" ((6'2"))

5. Hogwarts house: ((I'm a Gryffindor according to pottermore))

6. Favorite animal: ((we both love all animals. I like birds though. And cats. Which is probably a little ironic))

7. Hours of sleep: 5 or 6 on a good day ((hours of what?))

8. Dogs or cats: both are nice ((agreed but cats))

9. Number of blankets: 1 ((who sleeps with more than one blanket?))

10. Dream trip: I've always wanted to visit my birth place. ((Whoa. Loaded question. Really loaded. Anywhere. Everywhere. Maybe twice. Mars. California. I don't care lets go m8))

11. Dream job: I'm already living it. ((Musician. I don't have to be popular. But I feel it in my heart.))

12. Time: 9:48 in the morning

13. Birthday: ((August 23))

14. Favorite bands: I like a lot of different bands, although I've grown quite fond of Weiss Schnee's singing most recently. I'm amazed someone with that kind of talent is training to be a huntress. Although I hear she's quite skilled at that as well. ((Yes))

15. Favorite solo artists: I didn't realize this was going to specify solo artists when I answered the last question. I suppose Weiss would fall under this category. ((Joji probably but picking favorites is difficult with music))

16. Song stuck in my head: Team CFVY has an... interesting theme. It's incredibly catchy. ((I don't wanna waste my time by Joji.))

17. Movie I last watched: l don't know if this counts but I saw Jaune running around in a costume with Zwei the other night. ((Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood))

18. Show I last watched: I'm pretty sure I saw the rest of team JNPR cosplaying with Jaune, too, although I have no idea who they were dressed as. ((Stranger things))

19. When did I create my blog: ((my personal? Like 6 years ago. The original Cyril? This January(?). This specific blog? I dunno like a month or two back?))

20. What do I post/reblog: ((rp and aesthetic shit))

21: last thing I googled: (("ahmadinejab"))

22. Other blogs: ((I Dont feel comfortable giving out my personal publicly but if we're close feel free to message me. I also run a caboose ask blog that @firebluevixen can probably point you to))

23. Do I get asks: rarely, but yes.

24. Why I chose my url: ((it's not wrong))

25. Following: ((I don't know maybe 60 people))

26. Followers: ((maybe 17 people))

27. Lucky number: I do not put faith in such things. ((Neither do I but for fun 1, 7, 8, 21, 23, 37))

28. Favorite instrument: any instrument played by a master is a true delight. ((Again agreed, but guitar. Although if you mean favorite to play it's definitely vocals))

29. What I am wearing: a beacon uniform ((an aerobrand shirt, khakis, and more body pain than a 23 year old should be subject to))

30. Favorite food: okonomiyaki ((I Don't really Have a favorite but who doesn't like pizza))

31. Nationality: Mistrali born, Vacuo raised. ((American))

32. Favorite song: ((Neither of us can answer that))

33. Last book I read: I've been catching up on my faunus history with the help of @doctoroobleck so whatever the last book he lent me was, that was the last book I read. ((Probably Sherlock Holmes))

34. Three fictional universes I’d like to join: ((dragon ball, this one, can't think of a third. Too tired.))

I don't really know who to tag

[theartone]

The Matchbox Part 13

A/N: Warnings: Idk how to tag this so whatever pointing a gun at a family member is. :/

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6 NSFW) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12)

Sherlock's POV

Sherlock wanted to go back to the flat and change before meeting his brother but knew better of it. He stayed in the sight of the cameras while he got in a cab and took the quickest route to the Diogenes Club.

There he was admitted without a second glance and he entered Mycroft's office without knocking.

Mycroft glared at him. Then his eyes widened. "Sherlock," he whispered to himself, "What have you done?"

Sherlock sat down without waiting for an invitation and glared at him.

"Sister, dear. How are you?" Mycroft asked pleasantly but there was a dangerous edge to his expression that most would miss.

"Shut it," Sherlock said aggressively. "What do you want?"

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. "How did you escape?"

Sherlock didn't know what Mycroft was talking about. He decided to wait and see what Mycroft would give away. Once he was aware you didn't know something he became surprisingly tight lipped. Right now Sherlock had the upper hand and he intended to keep it.

"Where is Sherlock?" When Mycroft didn't get an answer he asked, "I'm not playing Eurus, where is Sherlock?"

"Right here." Sherlock said smugly. He couldn't wait to see the fat git's face when he turned back.

Mycroft turned red with anger. "Make no mistake, Eurus. We'll find him. I already know torture won't work and if you won't tell me there's no point in asking." Mycroft pulled a gun out of his desk and levelled it at Sherlock's head. "I should have done this in the first place."

Sherlock raised his hands. "Mycroft it's me. Get some hot water. I can prove it!"

"STOP PLAYING GAMES!" Mycroft shouted. "TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

"I'm Sherlock! I swear Mycroft. It's me."

Mycroft wasn't buying it so Sherlock started listing things only they would know. "My name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I was born January twenty sixth nineteen eighty but you changed it in the records when I invoked Lazarus. You were overweight as a child because you stole my sweets. It's why I tease that you about cake."

Mycroft cocked the weapon.

Sherlock started to panic. "I had a dog named Redbeard. I've only dated one person, Victor Trevor, in college but I never had successful sex with him."

Mycroft's finger tightened on the trigger.

Sherlock's voice got impossibly higher as he said, "The only person I've actually had sex with is John Watson."

This made Mycroft pause. "When?"

"The night before he was supposed to marry Mary." Sherlock daren't say anything else in case Mycroft shot him.

Mycroft didn't lower his weapon. "Hot water, you said?"

Sherlock sagged in relief. Mycroft would see. He wasn't going to die today. "Yes."

"I'll indulge you." He gestured the gun toward the tea set on a caddy near his desk. "Go on then."

Sherlock poured the entire contents of the kettle over his head. When he felt the change happen he fell into his chair like a marionette with its strings cut. He kicked off the too small flip-flops and lifted his shirt to unhook his bra (which was now stained with tea). There was nothing he could do about the thong though and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Sherlock, what did you do?!"

(Part 14)

End A/N: Tomorrow is the last official September chapter. October will have at least a few chapters with this theme to bridge (or most if you wanna vote that way).

@imnova @missgeoffreychaucer

Comment if you want to be tagged or removed. :)

[impossibleleaf]

The Final Problem Giga Meta 4/4: from Musgrave to the end

Part 3

From Sherlock falling into black goo, we now have a Sherlock lying as if he’s just fallen and crashed.

There’s something quite strange in the pictures on the wall too: we see little Sherlock and little Mycroft, but we never see pictures of Eurus.

But now that Sherlock has won Eurus’ tests, he can now freely talk to Little Eurus. His puzzles made the plane advance, each time closer to the ground and the fall or landing of the plane.

Now, Eurus reaches the front of the plane and she can see where exactly she is going and can give us actual relevant informations.

Finally, we know and Sherlock says as much: this city is definitively her home.

YOUNG EURUS: I can see a river. And there’s a big wheel. (…) SHERLOCK: Does the river look like it’s getting closer? (…) That means you’re nearly home.

A city with lot of lights, it is night which means that while she stays in the dark during the whole episode, she is now roughly in the same timezone than where Sherlock is. A big city near the sea but with a river leading to it. And a big wheel, don’t forget the big wheel she can see.

That was totally London.

This is the capital of England, it is a monument in itself. But to Eurus who spent her whole life in Sherrinford? That means absolutely nothing and was never home.

And when Sherlock finally faces Musgrave, right after Sherlock told Little Eurus she was nearly home, we get the beginning of an answer.

SHERLOCK: I’m home. Musgrave Hall. EURUS : Me and Jim Moriarty, we got on like a house on fire, which reminded me of home. SHERLOCK: Yeah, it’s just an old building. I don’t care.

Musgrave was home for Eurus, not London. If we think Eurus actually is real, that doesn’t make any sense. It was also home for Sherlock, but not anymore, it’s just stones, an old building and he doesn’t care anymore.

SHERLOCK: Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again. Breathe it in, feel every quiver of its beating heart.

SHERLOCK: I will keep you safe. But it has to be in London. It’s my city; I know the turf.

But London? London is his turf. This is the city that Mycroft has sworn to protect even if there is bound to be collateral damage.  This is where Baker Street is, where he does The Work and more importantly where all the people he loves are.

To Sherlock, London is everything because that’s where his heart and everyone he loves are.

It’s only normal that Eurus, his emotions, was going to land there. That’s home, where his heart is.

And finally the metaphor is complete. Sherlock is dying, everything seems hopeless, he is lost and can’t see where he is supposed to go to survive. Eurus is torturing him to let him actually use his sentiments, his heart, and integrate them in his deductions. Add emotional context, it’s all about emotions.

But no matter how painful that was for him to do so, there is now light at the end of the road, and that light leads him to the one place where his heart, where the people he loves are.

SHERLOCK We just need to get in touch with some people on the ground. Now, um, can you see anything that looks like a radio?

And what is a radio except one big complicated phone? What is a phone in Sherlock if not a heart? Sherlock doesn’t know how to land the plane, but someone on the ground does. All they have to do is use the radio and phone London to get contact with the people in it. All he has to do is to open his heart and to ask for their help. Even, if right now, she can’t find the radio.

SHERLOCK: Are you there yet?

JOHN: Yeah I’m here!

Now John is chained at the bottom of a well and we’ve got a three-way conversation. John is answering questions aimed to Little Eurus. It’s not that John is Eurus, it’s that Little Eurus and John are connected. Emotions and the Heart.

LITTLE EURUS: The whole plane’s shaking. SHERLOCK: It’s just turbulence. It’s nothing to worry about. LITTLE EURUS: My ears hurt. SHERLOCK: Does the river look like it’s getting closer? LITTLE EURUS: A-a little bit. SHERLOCK: All right, then. That means you’re nearly home. JOHN: Sherlock? I’m in a well. That’s where I am; I’m in the bottom of a well.

John survival depends on Eurus and Sherlock managing to land the plane and Sherlock solving the puzzle, and vice versa. Because water represents dying in EMP and John is chained and about to drown, while Little Eurus' ears start hurting, meaning that the plane is starting to go down and crash.

Anyway, back with Big Eurus.

EURUS: Sweet Jim. He was never very interested in being alive, especially if he could make more trouble being dead. SHERLOCK: Yeah, still not interested. The plane! EURUS: You knew he’d take his revenge. His revenge apparently is me. SHERLOCK: Eurus, let me speak to the little girl on the plane and I’ll play any game you like. EURUS: First find Redbeard. (...) At long last, Sherlock Holmes, it’s time to solve the Musgrave ritual. Your very first case!

Now, he must solve the Musgrave ritual, because that’s what is ultimately going to save Sherlock, Litlle Eurus and John. Finding out the answer to this puzzle.

JOHN: Yeah, it’s flooding. The well is flooding. SHERLOCK: Try as long as possible not to drown. JOHN: What? SHERLOCK: I’m going to find you. I am finding you! JOHN: Well, hurry up, please, because I don’t have long! LITTLE EURUS: It’s leaning over, the whole plane!

Because it’s now urgent for Sherlock to solve the Musgrave ritual.

The correct answer to the Musgrave ritual isn’t the song is a cipher, it is ‘Eurus created that song in a way to explain the wrong dates’. The song isn’t a puzzle, it’s the solution needed because the graves are the puzzle that fascinated Sherlock as a child.

A fake gravestone where Nemo Holmes was ‘buried’. But really, Nemo was no one. Or nobody. There was no body.

You can’t really face your own grave, can you? Unless you have a TARDIS, all you can do is have a gravestone with your name on it and no date of death. You’re still not dead so the dates will be necessarily wrong.

Basically, if you want to survive, you need to figure out the contradiction your gravestone is telling you. Show the inconsistencies and reveal it as a fake.

Here starts the puzzle. Now that the inconsistencies are laid bare, you need to find how that can tell you how to survive.

SHERLOCK: The wrong dates, she used the wrong dates on the gravestones as the key to the cipher and the cipher was the song.

Here, Stupid Sherlock strikes again.

The reverse is what happened.

Do you know what an Ottendorf code is? Better, do you remember The Blind Banker? You have a set of numbers and they refers to a word of a page of a very specific book. This is what we’re facing.

The cipher is the graveyard, the key is the song.

The graves represent the number of the stanza and the numbers the words used in said stanza in ascending order. If you start with a number like 28 and then use 1, that just means you need to use the last stanza above (word 28).

Grave 1 (Stanza 1): 134-1719 -> 1 3 4 17 19   I AM LOST HELP ME

Here we can’t do 13 because we have 4 after, nor 34, so 1 3 4, now we are in the two digits 17 and 19

Grave 2 (Stanza 2): 28.9.1520 -> 28 9 15 20 BROTHER SAVE MY LIFE

We could have 2, 8, 9, 15 and 20 but then you get NOT SHADE SAVE MY LIFE, so 28 it is.

Grave 3 (Stanza 3): 1818 24 26 -> 1 8 18 24 26 BEFORE MY DOOM I AM

No choice is there? You can use the last like of the last stanza but that’s is so no 18.  1 8 and 18

Grave 4 (Stanza 4): Nemo Holmes:  1617-1822 32  -> 16 17 18 22 32         MY SOUL SEEK MY ROOM

If it’s 1, 6 and 17, It’s WITHOUT BEFORE SOUL, so 16 and the rest follows

You’ll notice that there is a part of the final message missing, so there is a grave missing.

GRAVE 4.0.0: LOST WITHOUT YOUR LOVE SAVE

So grave 4.0.0 should be : 28 1 2 3 8 in any combination.

What can we have then?

2/8/1238? 28/12/38? 2812 age 38? Age 28 1238? 2812-38? 28.1.238?

The grave stones aren’t real, the numbers are wrong, but at minimum they give for a second an illusion of reality. Yes, there are two centuries of difference, but you won’t have many graves stones starting in the 29th century. Also we can’t start with the age of the dead Holmes, this comes only at the end.

You can have 2/8/1238, or even something like 28/12/38 or 28/1/238 but there is another option I want to point out.

2/8/12, Age 38.

Here lies Mr. Sherlock Holmes, born on the 6th of January 1974 who died the 2nd of August 2012 at 38.

I admit, I’m not using John’s blog to estimate Sherlock’s “deathday” because, mainly, Watson was always shit at keeping track of dates.

But we need another Holmes grave, one that is the fakest fake to have ever faked the word. Also, it’s the only things that makes sense. Why wouldn’t they show the final grave needed if the numbers used were so pointless?

They gave us a solution that is missing a fifth of the answer, and not the least important because this is where we get the answer ‘LOST WITHOUT YOUR LOVE SAVE’.

So, the secret behind Sherlock’s grave, the one thing that turned his own grave into a pure architectural joke and not a genuine thing, the one thing that made sure that Sherlock is still alive is Love.

By solving these fake deaths, Sherlock found the answer to save the plane before it crashes and creates a far more genuine grave.

SHERLOCK: Help me, brother, save my life, before my doom. I am lost without your love, save my soul, seek my room.

Without Sherlock’s love, Eurus won’t be able to find her way home, back to London and the ground.

Twice already Sherlock tricked death in two finale, twice love is what gave Sherlok the means to survive. He just needs to do it again.

Now he knows what he needs to do. He needs to find Eurus and accept her. Go to the top of the tower where she’s been locked up in her room, like some faitytale priness.

SHERLOCK: Look how brilliant you are. Your mind has created the perfect metaphor. You’re high above us, all alone in the sky, and you understand everything except how to land. Now, I’m just an idiot, but I’m on the ground. I can bring you home. EURUS: No. No, no. It’s too late now. SHERLOCK : No it’s not. It’s not too late.

EURUS: Every time I close my eyes, I’m on the plane. I’m lost, lost in the sky and... no one can hear me. SHERLOCK: Open your eyes. I’m here. You’re not lost any more. SHERLOCK: Now, you-you just went the wrong way last time, that’s all. This time, get it right. Tell me how to save my friend. Eurus, help me save John Watson.

Sherlock has created the perfect metaphor of the situation by using Little Eurus and the plane about to crash. Unconsciously, he understand everything except how to land. And he doesn’t know what to do, but he knows that there are people on the ground. And these people on the ground are probably idiots, not as clever as he is, but among them one knows what to do when someone is dying. Caring is Sherlock’s greatest advantage because he has them. Even though it seems like it’s too late, they are on the ground and they will definitely bring him home.

And if there is a reason for him to survive, it’s this: John Watson needs to be saved.

LESTRADE: I just spoke to your brother. SHERLOCK: How is he? LESTRADE: He’s a bit shaken up, that’s all. She didn’t hurt him; she just locked him in her old cell. JOHN: What goes around comes around. LESTRADE: Yeah. Give me a moment, boys. SHERLOCK: Oh, um. Mycroft. Make sure he’s looked after. He’s not as strong as he thinks he is. LESTRADE: Yeah, I’ll take care of it.

Now that everything is more or less over, it’s time to figure out what to do with Mycroft. He did go to the doghouse, but finally after years thinking he was perfect, Sherlock finally understands that he’s not as strong as he looks. He’s human too.

POLICE OFFICER: Is that him, sir? Sherlock Holmes? LESTRADE: Fan, are you? POLICE OFFICER: Well, he’s a great man, sir. LESTRADE: No, he’s better than that. He’s a good one.

At the end of the road, Sherlock has integrated sentiments and got huge character development. He’s a good man now.

SHERLOCK: I said I’d bring her home. I can’t, can I?

JOHN: Well, you gave her what she was looking for: context.

SHERLOCK: Is that good?

JOHN: It’s not good, it’s not bad. It’s... It is what it is.

But Eurus isn’t quite ready to leave, not yet. But she gained context. It’s not good it’s not bad, it just is.

MRS. HOLMES: Alive?! For all these years? How is that even possible?! MYCROFT: What Uncle Rudy began.. I thought it best to continue. MRS HOLMES: I’m not asking how you did it, idiot boy, I’m asking how could you? MYCROFT: I was trying to be kind. MRS. HOLMES: Kind?! Kind? You told us that our daughter was dead.

Remember how the Holmes were in the known when Sherlock faked his death? It’s them who are betrayed this time, because, while they could be worried Sherlock wouldn’t survive his two years mission, Eurus was never supposed to ever come back. Mycroft, we are told, didn’t lie because he didn’t want their influence, he wanted to spare them pain. He was trying in his own way to be kind.

MYCROFT: Better that than tell you what she had become. I’m sorry. MR. HOLMES: Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft, she remains our daughter. MYCROFT: And my sister. MRS HOLMES: Then you should have done better. SHERLOCK: He did his best.

It’s not that Mycroft wanted to be cruel, he wanted to shoulder the burden on his own, protect his family by lying about the horrible truth. He’s got a big heart, our Mycroft. He just doesn’t know how to use it correctly.

And Sherlock gets that now. He’s grown up now even if Mummy believes he always was this way.

MR. HOLMES: When can we see her? MYCROFT: There’s no point. (...) She won’t talk. She won’t communicate with anyone in any way. She has passed beyond our view. There are no words that can reach her now. MRS HOLMES: Sherlock. Well? You were always the grown-up. What do we do now?

Now, Eurus has decided to remove herself from the text. She has passed beying everyone’s view. She won’t talk, but that doesn’t mean she refuses to communicate. Sherlock and Eurus don’t need to use words after all. And the subtext is always more honest than the text.

Now, Sherlock and Eurus are working together again.

‘Play you’, Eurus has asked him, and he hadn’t managed before to do it, even though Eurus was already playing ‘Who You Really Are’ before his coming. But now he can.

Because, ‘Who You Really Are’ was always a duet. Sherlock Holmes is the detective and Eurus, two sides of the same coin needed to have a whole.

And even if the text via Mary is telling us that who you are doesn’t matter, their music is screaming the exact opposite.

MARY: Would you listen to me, who you are, it doesn’t matter.

DUMBLEDORE: It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

It’s not who you are inside that truly matters, it’s what you’ve decided to do with what you’ve been given.

A junkie who solves crime to get high, and the doctor who never came home from the war.

That’s where you get divided because Mary is implying that they’re fucked up (which, okay, is true) but that this is a state they can’t escape, something inheritantly bad.

Fortunately, being a good man isn’t only something you are, it is an action, a constant choice.

In other words, it could have been an incredibly positive message, hadn’t Mary slightly shifted it.

MARY: There is a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted. There is a final court of appeal for everyone. When life gets too strange, too impossible,  too frightening, there is always one last hope.

Because, apparently, Sherlock and John have decided to be the last refuge for unfortunate people, to help others. It doesn’t matter if they’re a bit broken, they’ll keep fighting the good fight. That’s why they’re good people.

Problem is, the line below destroys the positive message and shows us this isn’t what she’s selling:

MARY: It’s all about the legend, the stories, the adventures.

So, no. It’s not what’s they’re doing that matters. It is what they’re pretending to be. This line turns everything on its head. This is just the front they show to the public. And suddenly, what comes after seems to be just that.

A nice story. But it’s not something real.

And also, the reason we didn’t see this message is because Mary presents herself as the cause for this, as the alpha and omega.

MOFFAT: [Mary] changed and illuminated the path of the show.

But we know that this isn’t true. They were doing this before Mary and keep doing it after her. They’re not doing this because of her, they’re not even solving cases in her memory, it never was a question of stopping.

They’re doing it because this is 'Who they really are.’

And the music is honest.