#than holmes/trevor one i came up with (and i feel like this one is already easy to misunderstand)

[sygneth]

I have always admired people who could write one fic or draw a comic for years because I am living in a constant fear of not finishing what I have started. Not in a 'maybe something terrible will happen to me' way, but simply knowing myself and that after a couple of months or years, I will catch a new fixation and finishing the old story will become hard. And yeah sure, I have heard people say "You don't have to finish if it doesn't interest you anymore" or "It's your art and you decide what it will be about" and I fully agree, but I still love those old things I came up with you know? I still love these characters and I want their stories to be told, but at the same time there already are new characters with new stories in my head and I want to tell them too.

[janeofcakes]

KYFC..: Chapter 13

Hello, my friends! I hope you are all having/had a lovely Sunday. I apologize for being late with this chapter. I decided to try out a beta and it is definitely a learning process. I hadn’t anticipated the extra time editing would take, or wanting so many “final” read-throughs. Mind you, I truly believe the chapter is better for it. However....for whatever reason, I’m more freaked out about putting this chapter out there than any other so far. Haha. Whatever the case with me, I hope you all enjoy it.

---

My heart burns with feeling, but whoa my mind, it’s cold and reeling. Is this love, baby, or is it just confusion?                                                                        --Jimi Hendrix, Love or Confusion

John stares up at the red roof of the Edgar Allan Poe House and Museum in the late morning sun. It is a fairly small and assuming home, but he cannot help wondering at what secrets it holds. He has bubbled with anticipation since he read the words “..walking into Poe’s Baltimore home is both disturbing and ethereal” on its website at breakfast. He had invited the skaters along, but they all had other plans already. So, here he is, standing before it alone.

He is about to walk up the small wooden staircase at its entrance when he becomes aware of a presence to his right. He turns quickly and comes face to face with a hesitant Sherlock Holmes, shifting his feet and looking at John with a face full of uncertainty.

“Hi,” John grins and Sherlock looks surprised. “I didn’t see you at breakfast. You did eat?”

“I put together something in my room,” Sherlock answers, his expression shifting. “I often request that the kitchenette be stocked with some of the basics.”

“That is a great idea. I’ll have to remember that,” John nods, making a mental note.

There is a moment of silence while he considers the coach’s demeanor curiously. 

“Are you going in or just passing by?” he gestures to the house.

“Oh, going in,” Sherlock clears his throat. “Poe is a favorite author of mine.”

“Mine too,” John remarks. “Want to go through together? We could go for lunch when we’re done.”

John tilts his head and furrows his brow as he watches Sherlock. The taller man looks utterly flummoxed and John has no idea why.

“Erm…well, I rather thought after this morning…after what I did...and said...” he pauses awkwardly, waving his hand in a rather general way as if hoping it will somehow clarify his meaning. John raises his brows in question and Sherlock sighs in frustration. “I know when I’ve been dismissed.”

“What?” John huffs a startled laugh. “No. That isn’t what I meant at all. Look, I know I left abruptly.”

“Quite,” the coach replies curtly.

“Okay, okay,” John responds, his tone growing defensive, “and I didn’t say much.”

“You would have avoided speaking entirely if it were possible,” Sherlock huffed, aggravation pulsing off of him in waves.

“Okay, Sherlock, I get it. I’m sorry,” John murmured. “I was...disappointed.”

Sherlock gives him a pointed look, but one that cannot hide the hurt in his eyes.

“With myself,” John rushes to say and continues in a decisive tone. “Not with you. I didn’t mean to give the impression that I wanted to disassociate myself from you.”

Sherlock’s face adopts an expression that screams ‘Really, John? Really?’. He lowers his narrowed eyes a moment and then gives John a sardonic smile.

“What impression did you think it would give?” Sherlock’s voice drips with annoyance, his whole body radiating anger. 

They stare at one another, their words hanging between them, like a thick smog that leaves no room to breathe. John is no idiot. He gets what Sherlock is saying, but his past was the last thing he had wanted to talk about, especially after such a fucking spectacular night. Still there was no way around it. John had been angry while telling the story, but it had soon faded, leaving him exposed and frustrated. He had wanted only to leave as fast as he could before Sherlock had a chance to properly judge his actions and throw him out. He hadn’t meant to cast any sort of judgment upon Sherlock or make him feel he was being rejected. Christ, he is such a dick.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, hoping his tone conveys the depth of his feeling. He does not want to lose this friendship. He cannot lose it. He watches Sherlock for any sign of forgiveness and, to his relief, he sees the coach’s grey eyes soften and his annoyance fading.

“I should be the one apologizing, John. I am seldom able to deduce you so fully and when I finally could, I got carried away. It was stupid and an obviously very painful part of your past. I’m sorry,” Sherlock says in a rush, his voice flustered. He bites his lower lip and looks at John with nervous eyes.

“You,” John pauses, his mind processing all Sherlock just said. He takes a step forward with a playful and mischievous smirk, “can’t always deduce me? Like you do everyone else?”

“Haven’t I mentioned it before? I’m quite sure I have. You guard your secrets with great care, John,” Sherlock nods his head; half annoyed, half in awe.

“Yeah, but hiding something from you,” John puffs out a breath.

“Is nothing short of miraculous,” Sherlock ventures when John simply pauses. It sounds pompous, but it is exactly what John is thinking. 

The two gaze at each as the taller man takes a small step closer and looks at John with an open, honest expression. John’s heart skips a beat while Sherlock’s next words give him a heart attack:

“You are the most intriguing man I have ever met.”

John is speechless for a full ten seconds. Any longer than that and Sherlock would have thought he had done something wrong. John takes another step closer to buy himself some time while he searches his mind for a reply worthy of Sherlock’s declaration. It is still so hard to believe this wondrous man would ever be interested in John the way he so clearly is.

“But I’m so...ordinary,” John finally laughs, unable to think of anything more articulate. For all his intelligence, Sherlock completely disarms him.

“No, John,” Sherlock is shaking his head before the words are even out, “you are extraordinary.”

John looks at him with nothing less than adoration and gives him a radiant smile. He believes he knows Sherlock better than most, maybe even more than Victor Trevor had, the wanker, but he wants to know more. He wants to know every detail of this man and his life. Every thought and memory, every feeling, every inch of his body. God, his body. John saw so much of him last night and it wasn’t enough. He longs to explore Sherlock’s body again, worship it with his hands and his mouth.

John bites his lower lip and shakes away those thoughts. This is no time to get distracted by desire, especially when John is this confused. What he feels, what he wants is so much more than the physical. John wants Sherlock’s mind and soul. He wants to know everything, feel everything. He wants to share Sherlock’s life. John can already feel Sherlock with him, even when he is nowhere near, like he is a part of him. John feels him down into his bones. It’s like nothing he has ever felt before and it is breath-taking. 

What he has told Sherlock about his romantic life is true. He has devoted no time to dating during his time in the States. He put little effort into it in the UK, to be honest, but had dated off and on in uni and medical school. He really only felt anything for two or three of them and none of those feelings came close to what he feels for Sherlock. It is… What is it? John is so confused, his head spinning. What does it mean when you don’t just want to spend the night with someone, but every day too? To talk to him and learn about him more than you want to sleep with him? 

John looks at Sherlock and is damned if the coach doesn’t look like he knows every thought in John’s head. Sherlock could probably see it all plain as day as it flickered over his features. John huffs to himself in fond exasperation before making a small bow, befitting of Poe himself.

“Shall we?” John gestures toward the brick house before them. 

“Please,” Sherlock replies with a dazzling smile and his own stately bow. 

With the air between them cleared, they enter the house and pay admission. Soon their guide is leading them through a most fascinating tour. Though it is no longer furnished, it is not difficult to imagine what it looked like when Poe lived in it, between their guide’s descriptions and Sherlock’s additions. Not surprisingly, he knows a good many things the guide does not. To her credit, she smiles each time he begins speaking and waits patiently for him to finish. He is courteous as well, not interrupting her canned stories before jumping in. John appreciates it all until he begins to notice how her eyes stray from Sherlock’s face to glide down his body approvingly. Clearly impressed with more than just his knowledge of Poe, she begins flirting with Sherlock in more and more obvious ways as the tour goes on. 

When they stop to view Poe’s portable writing desk and chair, Sherlock moves closer to marvel at it. After the guide is finished with her speech, the coach begins mumbling about Poe’s writing habits and his works. It is truly fascinating how much Sherlock knows and John is more than happy to listen. He would gladly listen to Sherlock for days on end and never tire of it. The man’s voice caresses John’s very soul. Each sound is rich, smooth dark chocolate coating John’s ears with warmth.

Unfortunately, John does not have time to savor Sherlock’s voice or his words. A few sentences in and he notices their guide slowly moving in on Sherlock. Irritation wells up within him and John immediately has the impulse to touch Sherlock. Stake some sort of claim with a touch that is just intimate enough to say ‘Back off. He’s mine.’. Something that will definitely tell her to get the fuck away from Sherlock.

But he doesn’t. Sherlock is not his.

John just presses his lips together into a thin line and grumbles nearly inaudibly. He has no business being jealous. No place warding others away from Sherlock as though he were his. Sure, they spent the night together, that annoying voice in the back of his mind reminds him. They had sex, but that does not mean they are together. It does not mean Sherlock wants to do it again. They are able to step back into their lives and friendship seamlessly. This little jaunt proves it. There is no awkwardness between them, just some initial misunderstanding and then back to their kind of normal. If John is honest with himself, he has never felt so comfortable with anyone in his life. Not even Bill, and that realization strikes him with the force of a bullet.

“John?” Sherlock’s voice finally breaks through his thoughts.

“What?” John shakes himself back to the here and now, only to see both Sherlock and the guide looking at him curiously. He blinks once or twice, trying to devise from Sherlock’s face what might have been said.

“Are you ready to move on?” he asks him, obviously repeating himself.

“What? Oh, yes, yes. Move along,” John marches on with a vigor he doesn’t feel.

The three continue with what remains of the tour and soon the duo bids the guide farewell. None too soon for John, who notices her pressing a bit of paper into Sherlock’s hand under the guise of a friendly handshake. Her number, no doubt. Christ. John huffs and rolls his eyes before he can stop himself. He has largely kept his jealousy to himself. At least, he hopes Sherlock has not picked up on it. He has given no indication, but the git probably noticed the moment the woman began talking.

Sherlock and John step down the small staircase at the front of the house and head for a row of shops and restaurants a few blocks away. They walk in a comfortable silence, each left to his own thoughts. John’s mind wanders to the night before, this morning, the tour, the guide. He had been such a fool to leave Sherlock’s room the way he had. Hurrying from the bedroom and refusing coffee like he was ashamed or angry. Well, truth be told, he was angry about Sherlock’s deductions. He had not wanted him to know about Claire or the supposed baby. But why? John had done nothing wrong. Claire had lied, made up the baby and tried to trap him. He has nothing to be ashamed of, right?

Wrong. John was wrong. He was always wrong in a relationship. He kept himself closed off and his partner at arm’s length every time. Never letting anyone in and never actually giving himself fully to another person. Relationships can only last so long when one half isn’t all in. Claire had simply been the most persistent, but it had not worked either. She could not crack his shell. No one ever had and that was ultimately what John did not want Sherlock to know. If Sherlock saw that there was no hope of John ever loving him, if he saw that John was incapable of it, he would go. That is the truth of it. John really should not try to hide it, even in the interest of prolonging a relationship with Sherlock. It is dishonest and despicable. No better than the lies Claire tried to use to keep John. He will not be that person.

John shakes his head, trying to clear it. Lunch was meant to be a pleasant respite with a friend when he had originally suggested it. There would be plenty of time later, after the bout when John is trying to sleep in his own hotel room to think about his stunted emotions. John huffs. Not emotions plural, just one. John has absolutely no problem getting angry or feeling jovial, sarcasm, friendship - all within easy reach, but love. He loved his parents, of course. Everyone does. He had loved Bill, but not that way. 

Bill.

Could he have saved him? Would it have made any difference or is Sherlock right? Would he be dead too?

John blinks and pushes away the thoughts more forcefully this time. Now is not the time for nightmarish questions that will drive his mind into darkness. If John is going to think about Bill at all and how he fits into who John is today, he has to remain objective. If John had to guess, he would say losing Bill contributed, but he was already doing it before Bill. In fact, Bill seemed to have been the only exception and now Sherlock is too.

Sherlock.

He seems to be the exception to every rule, and he seems to encourage change in John with every passing day. Today’s is more obvious than any John has noticed to date. He simply does not get jealous as a rule. He probably hadn’t cared enough about any partner in the past to get jealous. Yes, he expects loyalty when he and a lover agree to be exclusive, which he and Sherlock have not done. John left Sherlock’s room before they had a chance to even consider it.

Why?

Why had he left like that? People say John is brilliant and Sherlock is very much his intellectual equal, if not more so. His ability to strategize and calculate is amazing, and John still wants to learn more about his mind palace. Surely he deduced John’s inability to love as soon as he learned of Claire. John had told him. He told him he didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. Couple that with the stories of his other relationships and Sherlock would know that a relationship with John is the worst mistake he could ever make. John’s breath leaves him in a rush. He simply cannot bear the thought. He wants to be with Sherlock. He needs to be with him, but...

“Stop it,” the words hit him like a freight train.

John nearly stumbles on the pavement when Sherlock’s deep baritone cuts through his spiraling thoughts. He looks up at his friend, not failing to notice how the wind blows his dark curls into an unruly frame around his face. John narrows his eyes marginally.

“What?” he asks, confusion clear on his face.

“Stop,” Sherlock repeats. “I can hear you thinking. Isn’t that what you said to me? Just stop before you come to some erroneous conclusion.”

“Erroneous conclusion?” John repeats incredulously. “I can reason things out just fine, thank you very much.”

“I was not suggesting that you couldn’t,” Sherlock looks at him evenly. He narrows his eyes. “But you do not have all of the data.”

John resists the urge to snap at him in favor of looking away and straight ahead instead. After a few moments of silence, John sighs and looks down at his feet.

“I should have stayed this morning,” he says quietly, still not turning his head to face the taller man. “We should’ve talked and that’s my fault.”

“Well, we could talk now,” Sherlock suggests, the smile evident in his voice and John finally turns to look at him, still expecting to be mocked somehow. Sherlock does look amused, but John should have known better than to think Sherlock would ridicule him. 

John gives him a small nod as Sherlock gestures to a nearby cafe simply called ‘A Taste of India’. What the name lacks, the air drifting from inside makes up for with warm spices and the scent of freshly baked naan. They are soon seated and indulging in some of the best Indian food John has ever tasted. 

Halfway into the meal, John wets his lips and leans forward in his chair. He glances down at his plate and then meets Sherlock’s eyes.

“Uh, we should,” he clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “We should talk.”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirks up. John watches him, trying not to look nervous and probably failing miserably, judging by Sherlock’s expression. There is nothing John would like more than to change the subject and brush this off as he has done so many times in the past. He has run full-steam in the opposite direction, but Sherlock is so different. John is different too and he just doesn’t understand what any of it means. He has been allowed into this man’s life and knows what a gift it is, he treasures it with everything he has. Sherlock makes John feel  calm and free, whereas he has felt undeniably trapped with every other person he has dated.

John eyes the incredible man across the table as he elegantly slides a fork from between his plush lips and chews. John wonders at the feeling that blooms in his chest, all warmth and comfort.

Then he blinks and shakes his head a little.

“You said I didn’t have all the data?” John clears his throat, trying to get back on track.

“You didn’t,” Sherlock says simply. John huffs a quiet, disbelieving laugh as Sherlock leans in. “You are concerned about your past, about what I have learned of it, especially this morning.”

John swallows. Sherlock does not break eye contact or miss a beat.

“You’ve no reason to fear, John. No reason to hide. That is all behind you and has no bearing on us now,” he explains in a very serious tone. “It will not write our future or cloud my view of you. No relationship is exactly like another.”

If John’s brain was functioning properly, he would point out that all of his past relationships have been exactly the same for him. However, his brain has seized because Sherlock used the word relationship. He said it like it is something he wants, like it is already a thing, a real thing. He says it like last night was not a one-off as John had feared. Still with his track record, Sherlock cannot possibly mean that. Maybe he actually hasn’t put everything together yet, in which case it is John’s duty to tell him.

“Sherlock,” he finally says when his mind gets itself together, and it still is not firing on all cylinders, “there’s something you have to know about me.”

“Is there?” he tilts his head. “Please enlighten me.”

“When Claire, her name was Claire. When she told me she was pregnant it was because she wanted me to marry her,” John licks his lips and stares at his water glass like it holds all the answers.

“Yes…” Sherlock prompts him softly.

“I didn’t love her,” John stumbles on, sounding more ridiculous by the minute.

“Right,” an affirmation to continue, not a judgment.

“Sherlock, listen. I…” John stops to wrestle with the panic threatening to burst from his chest. “I didn’t love anyone. I have never loved anyone I’ve been in a relationship with. I can’t guarantee it will be any different if we...if we agreed…”

“To date?” Sherlock ventures. 

“Uh…” John is astounded by his bluntness. His mouth is suddenly dry and he clears his throat again. “Um, yeah, if you’d be interested. Are...are you interested?”

There is a sliver of hope in the words and hangs in the air between them. Sherlock opens his beautiful mouth to respond as the ringtone they both know to be Greg’s sounds. He had insisted on his own specific tone after Sherlock ignored one too many calls, which was not long after the lanky git was hired. John has caught shit on occasion for not forcing him to pick up.

“Damn it,” Sherlock mutters as he produces the offending device. “Greg, hello. Your timing, as always, is impeccable.”

“As long as you’re not having a quickie, I’d say I agree,” Greg laughs. Sherlock closes his eyes in resignation and, as if he can see him, Greg’s chortling ceases. “Oh, shit. You’re not on speaker?”

“No, I’m not on speaker,” Sherlock snaps his eyes open, “but for god sake, Greg.”

“Well, put me on,” Greg ignores his admonishment. “I want to go over the plan for tonight. I assume John is with you.”

“We have already done that,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What do you think we did last night?”

“I don’t know. What did you do last night?” Greg jokes. Sherlock’s eyes go wide and he does not answer. Greg’s voice comes over the line again, his tone suspicious. “Sherlock…”

Of course John hears none of Greg’s side of the conversation and can only guess at what he said to elicit Sherlock’s expression of shock. He is about to whisper an inquiry when the coach lays his mobile on the table.

“You’re on speaker now, Greg. You said you want to review the plan,” Sherlock prompts, impatience clear in his voice.

The remainder of lunch is spent talking through everything they spoke of the night before in the hotel bar. Their former conversation pushed aside in favor of discussing the bout plan with Greg, much to John’s chagrin. As much as he likes the GM and knows hashing out the plan with him is the right thing to do, John wants to know what Sherlock was going to say. Hen cannot get it off his mind. 

As they talk with Greg, John holds on to the hope that he and Sherlock can resume their conversation, but it is all in vain. By the time they are finished, John and Sherlock have just enough time to rush back to the hotel for a change of clothes, to collect the ladies and their gear, and hop the bus for the night’s venue. The ladies are scheduled for an extended warm-up before they take the track and Sherlock insists on keeping a schedule once he has made it. For his part, John tries to stay focused, but cannot get Sherlock’s last two words out of his mind.

“To date?”

Had his tone been hopeful, curious, dismayed? John can hear the words exactly, but cannot put an emotion to them. He tries not to talk himself into anything, recalling Sherlock’s assertion that he does not have all the data, but really only succeeds in talking himself out of things. He sighs as he watches warm-ups. It is going to be a long night.

---

Oh, just the idea that you’ll have all read it when you get to this is a relief. What did you think? Quite a different ending from the last two chapters, eh? Haha. Dear Jane took pity and didn’t leave you in the lurch this time. However, y’all need to brace yourselves. John was right when he said it’s going to be a long night. What? Is that foreshadowing, Jane? Da da DAAAAA! Damn you.

I hope this chapter finds you all well and provides a little respite, in spite of my not being able to provide Indian food with it. Mmm. I definitely recommend it though. Love, Jane

@zentris @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @tooolforthissh--stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @thetranslucentwallaby @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow @francj96

[swissmissficrecs]

Best Fics of 2018

Once again, this was a bumper year for fan fiction in the Sherlock BBC fandom*, with a few very long-anticipated fics coming to completion alongside some recent smash hits from established authors and even a couple of newer and lesser-known writers hitting it out of the ballpark. My picks are all, unsurprisingly, long, plotty, angsty Johnlock fics, featuring in particular post-series 4 fixits and Parentlock along with AU's, especially other professions and fusions/crossovers. What they all have in common though, is being of absolutely stellar quality not just in the technical aspects of the writing, but also the handling of themes, the character work, and the emotional impact. Any one of these could be a published book, and perhaps in the near future, some actually will be!

* (I also snuck in one ACD series because it’s my list and I can.)

My caveat as always: this list is obviously skewed toward my own personal preferences and reading habits. There are plenty of other fics that I loved, and even more that I simply didn’t get around to reading (yet), so it’s not a judgment if your favorite (or one you wrote) isn’t on here. Think of this as a sampling rather than a definitive list. I hope this will help you to re-acquaint yourself with fics you loved, give a chance to others you may have skipped the first time round, and possibly discover something entirely new and astonishing.

So here they are, in descending order of length:

The Men Who Talked Between the Words (439746 words) by Odamaki Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Summary: John expected to be a father some day; he expected to have the house, and the wife and the nice suburban job. Sherlock never expected to have children, in part because he never expected to make it past 30. As it turns out, you don't get a choice. Crammed into Baker Street with a baby, John struggles with single-parenthood and his own fears, while Sherlock treads the fine line between doing too little and saying too much.

Gravity (English Version) (282983 words) by kirin_calls Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Victor Trevor Summary: Part 1: When John takes up mixed martial arts training, he doesn't expect it to lead to a new relationship. But there are darker things afoot at the gym, and John is soon drawn in deeper than he wants. When an old flame from Sherlock's past turns up, it's time for everyone to declare their loyalties... and for John to finally discover where his heart truly belongs. / Part 2: John is struggling with his loss. Plagued by nightmares, his life gone topsy-turvy, he is no longer able to lead a normal existence. As he seeks out some stability, some way to slowly pull himself up out of the morass of his grief, old rivals become friends and details about Sherlock's past come to light, leading John to discover something strange that won't let him go.

Radioactive Trees In A Red Forest (280332 words) by Maribor_Petrichor Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John Watson is what happens when a man can no longer see a reason to go on. John Watson is what happens when a man starts to let go. "It is what it is." John Watson is what happens when what "it is" becomes too much to bear. This is a story of the life, death, and resurrection of John Hamish Watson.

The Bluest of Blue (196473 words) by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade Summary: John Watson's 10th season as a Denali National Park Ranger was shaping up to look like all the years before. Until a special team from Europe was flown into the Park for a summer-long wolf-tracking research project, and the head of that research team was wearing a perfectly tailored suit.

Scar Tissue (192179 words) by J_Baillier, 7PercentSolution Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John has scarcely recovered from his Afghanistan tour when Sherlock is injured at work, putting their already strained relationship to the test.

A Game of Hearts (162553 words) by zmethos Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/OMC Summary: Seven stories written circa 2010, after the first series/season of Sherlock but before Season 2. Therefore, none of these stories reflect anything from Season 2 onward! Think of it as an alternate timeline or something. Slow build of a relationship between Sherlock and John. Gets quite dark in places. [Note: This is an AO3 repost of a fic from fanfiction.net.]

Drift Compatible (130546 words) by J_Baillier Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A washed out war hero struggling with his past. A prodigy who wants nothing to do with his family legacy. Both are looking for something—and someone—worth fighting for in a world where human civilisation is constantly under threat.

The Burning Heart (119461 words) by May_Shepard Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Original Male Character(s) Summary: When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

Maintenance and Repair (106650 words) by patternofdefiance Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/OFC Summary: John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain.

The Wedding Garments (105390 words) by cwb Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: This is the story of a young consulting detective who wants nothing to do with marriage and an army doctor who wants to find true love. It's 2020 post-Brexit England and the British government is encouraging arranged marriages. Candidates meet through state-run agencies and date in hopes of finding love (and tax benefits). Sherlock doesn't need or want a spouse, at least not until John Watson shows up. Hesitant to give in to his more carnal urges because of the way they derail his mind, how will Sherlock progress toward the more intimate aspects of a relationship? The answer lies in a very special wedding gift.

Kintsukuroi (91822 words) by sussexbound Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

Missing Pages (78852 words) by PlaidAdder Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/Violet Hunter Summary: This is a group of interlinked short stories (most between 2000 and 7000 words) which tell the story of how Holmes and Watson really came to be separated at the Reichenbach Falls, and how they found each other again. Each story is in the form of a document--a letter, a journal, a surveillance report, an affidavit, etc.--which is linked to one or more ACD canon tales, and which tells us something about that story that was changed or suppressed in Watson's published account of it. Holmes/Watson, with glimpses of other relationships.

Summit Fever (78782 words) by J_Baillier Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, James Sholto/John Watson, James Sholto/OFC Summary: After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute? 

The Vapor Variant (72684 words) by 88thParallel Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Summary: Little did Sherlock know that the vapor to which he exposed John was a bioweapon— containing a bioengineered hybrid virus. Now, John is fighting for his life in the early stages of encephalitis, and it’s down to Sherlock and a team of scientists to save him, if they can only find him first. Sherlock needs to keep fear and guilt from getting the better of him if he’s to salvage his relationship with John—and that’s assuming the love of his life even survives….

Roommates are for little people (69055 words) by alexxphoenix42 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Masters of Ink (67482 words) by Indybaggins Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: John has a triple-coiled tattoo machine in his hand and a row of inks at the ready. He has gloves on, a willing client in front of him, and a detailed stencil. He is ready to win this bloody competition. Except he’s competing against Sherlock Holmes... First-meeting-on-a-reality-show AU, Ink Master edition! There is expert tattooing, slightly less expert flirting, and two men falling hard. But John is married, and they can’t all win.

floating through a dark blue sky (58872 words) by Lediona Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. *** Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day. [Notting Hill fusion]

The Wolf (55817 words) by Laur Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock gets it wrong. Days, months, even years in the future, Sherlock’s oversight during the Baskerville case will continue to torment him, but nothing about that night will ever be as painfully vivid as the memory of John’s screams. This is how it begins.

Christmas Time After Time (41473 words) by PlaidAdder Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson, Clara/Harry Watson Summary: John's not really big on Christmas; and this year, the first after Mary's death, he's not feeling it. Everyone's away, Sherlock's on a case--alone--and Rosie's asleep. But that's all right. He's fine. He'll just have a quiet Christmas Eve by himself, drinking in front of the telly. Only out there in time and space, there's another Doctor who thinks that sounds like the saddest thing ever. And she's going to do something about it. Thirteen takes John on a whirlwind tour of Christmases past and future. The more he learns about this time travel thing, the more John starts to wonder: how did his current timeline become...what it is? And might these alternatives hold the key to a less miserable present, and maybe a brighter future?

Whiteout (37041 words) by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: A documentary crew follows the Matterhorn aerial rescue team from Air Zermatt, profiling the mechanics, pilots, and paramedics as they save patients on the infamous mountain. Their camera may catch more than they're looking for, however, when it comes to a certain paramedic named John Watson. . .

The Winter Garden (31211 words) by Callie4180 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing. Almost...magical.

A Home for Us (30583 words) by sussexbound Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Another Auld Lang Syne (30234 words) by DiscordantWords Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: There had been years of missed chances.

A Singular Friendship (28679 words) by agirlsname Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Sherlock is closer to John than anyone has ever been. It's almost like a relationship - but John isn't gay, so it's clearly not. Not even when they hold hands and hug every day, not even when they sleep in the same bed, not even when they cuddle every morning...

Stradivarius (20298 words) by Berty Rating: Explicit Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Life goes back to what passes for normal at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock's back and his scars have faded. John's still a confirmed bachelor and his nightmares have mostly ceased. So why are there awkward pauses and uncertain glances? Why are they both on their best behaviour? It's been a long, cold winter in London and there's more to come before spring arrives.

One Good Scare (17381 words) by blueink3 Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Summary: Mummy invites Sherlock, John, and Rosie to the country for her birthday, which just so happens to coincide with the annual Harvest Festival, an event Sherlock loathes. With John seemingly making the wrong move at every turn and with ghosts hiding in each of their closets, what will it take for their (Halloween) masks to finally come off?

Oh, my friends, it's been a long hard year (11914 words) by splix Rating: Mature Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mr. Chatterjee/Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Holmes' Father/Mummy (Sherlock) Summary: Christmas is rubbish this year.

[v-thinks-on]

Christmas Eve: A Christmas Carol

Day 24 (Part 2) of Holmes for the Holidays

Previous | Next

Today’s Prompt: Hark (from Wordwielder).

Note: I was almost done writing my first response when I realized it would be the perfect opportunity to do a take on A Christmas Carol. I’ve never done on before, so I had to make it a double feature (even though it’s running a little late).

“I don’t see why you insist on imposing your Christmas spirit on me when your fiancée would be more than happy to share it,” Holmes snapped.

“Holmes,” Watson attempted to reproach him, but to no avail.

At last, he gave up and made for the door, leaving Holmes alone by the fire. The door slammed shut behind him. Holmes reached up for the bottle on the mantle and plunged the needled into his arm. He let out a sigh of relief as the drug overcame his rattled nerves, and he fell into a stupor.

Outside, the winter wind howled raged against the shutters. The fire guttered in the grate.

“Holmes! Sherlock!” a familiar voice cried in his ear.

His eyes flickered open. “Victor?”

He looked as pale and worn as he had when he came to Holmes after his father’s death, as he had looked before leaving for Terai. His eyes were wide and pleading, but the passionate light they had once held was gone, extinguished without a spark hope.

“It is so cold here, alone,” said Victor Trevor, his voice but a hoarse whisper.

Holmes could hardly meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I failed you.”

A ghostly hand reached out to lift Holmes’s chin, sending a shiver down his spine. “You failed once, but you need not fail again. You need not sentence yourself to solitude.”

“What can I do?” Holmes demanded. “He’s already left me for a wife! He’s too much a gentleman, he wouldn’t break off an engagement even if he had a reason to.”

“He will not be so far away. There is a chance, a hope that you may keep him in your life as I could not stay. You will be haunted by Three Spirits, with their aid you may be able to walk a different path. Expect the first when the bell tolls one…” As Victor’s voice faded, so did he.

“Victor!” Holmes cried out. He leapt to his feet, an arm out as though to grab him, but his old friend was gone as though he had never been.

The clock tolled twelve.

Holmes was alone in the sitting room, by the glowing embers of a dying fire. Outside, it had turned dark. Snow swirled past the window.

He lapsed back into his chair and fell into a brown study. The minutes passed slowly; fifteen minutes, then half an hour, and finally a quarter ‘till.

In the distance he heard the clock toll one.

Just as it sounded in his ears, a bright white light flashed outside the window, setting the whole room aglow. And out of that light came an ever shifting spirit, small like a child and with a youthful face, but with a long white mane of hair as though grizzled by age. Its body was ever-changing, flickering in and out of shadow.

“Hark! I am the ghost of Christmas Past,” it proclaimed. “Rise! And walk with me!"

Holmes took the spirit’s hand to follow it out into the open air, over the rooftops of the sleeping city. But as he stepped into the bright light he found himself back in the same sitting room he had left behind.

It was a bright and cheery winter day. A fire crackled in the hearth. Beside the fire sat Holmes and Watson in their usual places. The flat was not decorated for the holiday, but the tell-tale remains of Christmas dinner were still laid out on the table. It must have been their first year together at Baker Street. They were just smoking, each apparently occupied in their own thoughts, but ever so often they would glance over at the other, curious and hopeful of what the new year would bring.

As the years passed, the decorations became more extravagant, with garlands and lights. Watson was soon strong enough to bring in a Christmas tree that they covered in candles. For a little while their flat glowed, if only in the reflected light of Watson’s quiet smile.

And then they got busier and Holmes grew preoccupied. With all the cases, there was little time for frivolities and he found it was easy to let them fall by the wayside. The previous year, Holmes had suddenly been called abroad, and so Watson was left to spend the holiday at Baker Street alone. He sat gloomily by the fire, his dinner barely picked at. Holmes tried to reach out to him, but Watson made no response, his eyes did not even flicker at the sudden movement, as though Holmes was not there at all.

It all faded away until Holmes found himself back in his own chair by the dying fire, where he collapsed into a deep sleep.

However, it did not last long. He was startled into awareness as the bell tolled once more.

His eyes blinked against the bright glow of what seemed like a thousand candles. He was in the same sitting room, but it had been transformed, decorated more than he or Watson had ever bothered, with garlands, mistletoe, ivy, and flowers, and all full of light. The table bowed under a rich Christmas dinner that spilled out onto the floor.

“Come and know me better, man!” exclaimed the large spirit with long fiery hair, dressed in a voluminous green robe that parted over his strong torso. He was perched on a feast of a throne. “Hark! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present! Come!”

He led Holmes out onto the snowy street. It was a bright, cloudless day. No one went about their business, but still the avenues were busy with children playing, men and women stopping and chatting, all serenaded by carolers. Holmes watched a young couple pass with a wary eye.

But they did not stop there. The spirit guided him out to the home of Mrs. Cecil Forrester, where Miss Morstan lived as governess for a little longer. Inside it was bright and cheery. The table was set for Christmas dinner, crowded with ladies and gentlemen, Miss Morstan and his own Dr. Watson among them. Holmes made for Watson without a second thought.

“Thank you for inviting me on such late notice,” Watson was saying to the lady.

“Certainly,” she said with a smile. Then she hesitated. “But what will Mr. Holmes be doing for Christmas?”

Watson let out a sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He was never one for holidays, but he has been even more inhuman than ever in recent years. I’m worried for him, of course, but I daren’t show my concern.”

The lady patted him gently on the arm. “He’s fortunate to have such a friend as you, even if he doesn’t realize it. But there’s no reason to let him ruin your Christmas.”

“You’re right,” Watson said with a sad smile.

Holmes knew better than to call out to him. He just turned away and followed the spirit, now grey with age, back to Baker Street, where he collapsed into his chair.

Holmes tossed and turned in fitful sleep. As the bell tolled for the last time, the inhuman cry of a great waterfall seemed to sound in his ears, as an ominous portent.

He must have eventually fallen into a deeper sleep, for the next thing he knew, he heard a familiar voice calling to him. “Holmes. Holmes!”

His eyes flickered open to see the light of day streaming in through the window, and illuminated by that light was Dr. John Watson, bent over him, a damp cloth in hand.

“Watson!” Holmes exclaimed in surprise. “What day is it?”

“Christmas day,” Watson answered with a little concern and a little depreciation. “How are you feeling? You’ve been insensible all night.”

“I’m fine,” Holmes insisted, brushing aside Watson’s hand, but gently. “I’m sorry, my dear Watson, I fear I have been most unfair to you.”

“It’s alright,” Watson began.

But Holmes stopped him short. “No, it isn’t. Have you already had Christmas dinner with Miss Morstan or could I tempt you with a goose courtesy of Mrs. Hudson?”

“I haven’t left, I couldn’t.” Watson sounded a little insulted by the suggestion.

“You would have been right to leave, but I’m grateful to have your company.”

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Watson insisted.

“Quite alright, my dear fellow. Now, call for Mrs. Hudson to bring up our dinner - it is not too late for Christmas after all.”

[possiblyimbiassed]

Carl = Charlie = Victor?

The appearance of Victor Trevor in TFP as a little pirate friend from Sherlock’s childhood, who got trapped in a well where he drowned, is intriguing to say the least; it doesn’t seem to connect with anything else we had seen in the show, except for the dog Redbeard. But Victor is not a new element for Sherlockians over the world, and I think this meta by @sagestreet gives an excellent explanation of how Victor fits into the show on a meta level. But what about the textual and subtextual levels? I imagine this has been brought up before, but something just seemed to click into place, so I’ll just throw my thoughts on it out here anyway. There are some pieces of the puzzle that stands out to me, so let’s try to put them together into something - more or less - coherent. 

So, for a start: what exactly do we know about Victor Trevor from ACD canon (The Gloria Scott, GLOR)? I’ve highlighted certain facts that caught my attention in this recollection (Sidney Paget’s illustrations are all found here):

Well, basically this:

The story about Victor Trevor was Sherlock Holmes’ first case ever.

Sherlock got to know Victor when they were both at college.

They became friends (Sherlock’s only friend) because Victor’s dog bit Sherlock so he ended up in a sick bed where Victor spent a lot of time with him.

Victor came from a rich family, and Sherlock spent a summer with Victor and his father (Trevor senior; a “squire”) at their large, old-fashioned house with high chimneys.

In what is described as his ‘first case’, Sherlock deduced (parts of) and eventually learned what had happened to Victor’s father, involving a ship with convicts (Trevor senior among them), a mutiny, explosions, killings, shipwreck and Trevor senior ending up hiding under false name for the rest of his life.

Hudson, a surviving criminal from the event, showed up at the mansion, getting drunk and blackmailing Victor’s father with the threat of exposure, which would forever sully his and his family’s name.

Victor’s father's real name was James Armitage, the initials of which Sherlock discovered from his secret tattoo. He got suspicious of Sherlock, who could deduce his criminal past, which led to Sherlock leaving the place.

Victor showed Sherlock a message with a skip code that had meant imminent danger to Trevor senior. It’s a threat of exposure, the fear from which he never recovered; it gave him a stroke that lead to his death.

The skip code read, after deciphering: “The game is up. Hudson has told all. Fly for your life.”

After his father’s death, Victor ended up “heart-broken” in a tea plantation in India. Sherlock and Victor never seemed to have met again after that.

This is Sherlock, many years later, telling John about the message Victor had him decipher: 

“Yet the fact remains that the reader, who was a fine, robust old man, was knocked clean down by it as if it had been the butt end of a pistol.”

“You arouse my curiosity,” said I. 

Now, this does not bear the slightest similarity to what we learn about Victor in TFP, does it? But what if his story is indeed included in BBC Sherlock, but not (just) in TFP; what if the story about Victor is scattered all over the episodes in the show? And what if this scattered story about Victor is meant to give us clues about the emotional trauma in Sherlock’s past that made him shut down his feelings? Under the cut, let’s take a closer look at some elements of the episodes from this perspective, to see if this idea would make any sense:

ASiP 

This is only the first episode of the show, but I think some traces of Victor might be found already here. James Phillimore, 18, who seemed to have some problems with internalised homophobia (judging by how he refused to share an umbrella with his friend in the heavy rain), was found dead near a sports centre, seemingly having committed suicide with a poison. But Sherlock’s investigation makes it clear that Phillimore is one of the victims of serial-killer cabbie Jeff Hope. Phillimore was a student at Roland Kerr’s College for Further Education, an old building with Victorian design (see my recent meta + additions for a more in-depth analysis of the significance of this college). 

In canon James Phillimore figures as an unsolved problem in The Problem of Thor Bridge (THOR):

“A problem without a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual reader. Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world.”

(The main plot of THOR, however, is a triangle drama where one of the involved parts commits suicide but tries to arrange it so their rival is accused of murder.) Roland Kerr’s college is also where Jeff Hope takes Sherlock to talk to him and make him kill himself at the end of ASiP, and where (supposedly) John shoots Hope. The college is also represented as Sherlock’s Mind Palace in HLV, where he finds comfort and strength to survive a gunshot  by mentally summoning his childhood’s dog Redbeard.

TGG 

Several people have pointed out, about this last episode of S1, that Moriarty’s five “Greenwich pips” transmitted by a pink telephone (=heart metaphor) in TGG represent the five series in BBC Sherlock. Moriarty’s ‘great game’ with pips in it begins with an explosion close to 221B. 

The case of Carl Powers is what comes from the first pip, but it also ties into the fifth and final pip. In the first pip we learn that the death of Carl Powers was Sherlock’s first case, an he has saved a press clip of the boy from this case:

In TFP, however, we’re told that The Musgrave Ritual was his first case. None of them is canon consistent, however, since ACD told us that Holmes first case was The Gloria Scott. According to Sherlock’s discoveries in TGG, Carl was a young swimming athlete who was poisoned by Jim Moriarty, which lead to him drowning in the pool. The official version from the police, however, was that Carl died in the water due to some sort of ‘fit’. The case of the fifth pip takes place at the swimming pool where Carl died.  

Strangely enough, Sherlock makes an appointment with Jim exactly there, and this pool is also where Jim tosses the valuable memory stick that Sherlock has recovered. The Carl Powers case was never solved, though, and the Bruce Partington memory stick was never recovered. Which means, that if the fifth pip is foreshadowing S5, the Carl Powers case might come up again in S5.

THoB

This whole episode of S2 is about a guy, Henry Knight, who is haunted by  a childhood trauma in which he lost his father. Sherlock seems particularly engaged in this ‘cold case’ with modern times consequences. For the first time we see him shaking with fear after having (supposedly) sighted the same monstrous ‘hound’ that has affected Henry since he was a boy. 

But it turns out that “there never was any monster”; Henry’s father was killed by his own friend. (Please read @sagestreet‘s brilliant ‘Follow the dogs’ meta series for subtextual explanations of how the ‘hound’ mythology represents homophobia, and many other very interesting ideas). Another important fact that we learn in this episode, is that Sherlock considers John his only friend.

TRF 

In one of Sherlock’s cases in the last episode of S2, he and John visit a boarding school, from which two children have been kidnapped. Sherlock’s sudden rant against Miss MacKenzie is a little bit weird, though, isn’t it? 

Moriarty has poisoned the children by luring them to eat toxic chocolate. In this episode Sherlock and John are very much exposed and speculated about in the media. Suddenly Sherlock is accused of the kidnapping and Moriarty blackmails Sherlock by threatening John, which (supposedly) leads to Sherlock killing himself (but he actually disappears by faking his suicide).

TEH 

in the first episode of S3, when Sherlock comes back from the dead, he immediately deduces that John’s fiancee ‘Mary’ has a secret tattoo and is a liar: 

Later, in HLV, it turns out she has been hiding under a false name and lied about her criminal past and has many deaths on her conscience as an assassin. Sherlock also observes that ‘Mary’ can recognise a skip code; in fact there’s a skip code sent as a warning about an imminent danger to John. 

Sherlock deciphers it, and the resulting message is “Save John Watson”, which leads him to where John is trapped in a bonfire. 

HLV

At the end of the last episode of S3, John is threatened by the ruthless blackmailer and media magnate CAM, who flicks John’s face in front of Sherlock and threatens them both with exposure in his news paper. 

I’ve written about this in The Threat of Exposure and other metas about media’s role in BBC Sherlock (X, X).

TST 

In the first episode of S4, young Charlie Welsborough is found dead in his own car outside his rich (and Thatcher-loving) parents’ mansion, when his car is hit by another car and explodes. 

Rather than (as is his MO in S1 and S2) investigating the crime scene to find out what really happened, Sherlock quickly concludes merely from police data that Charlie had made himself invisible by disguising as a car seat. 

According to Sherlock, instead of surprising his father by coming out of the car, as he (supposedly) had planned, Charlie died instantly from some sort of ‘seizure’, and sat there dead until the car exploded a week later. (Added to this case is also the smashing of a Thatcher bust, which later in TST leads to Sherlock discovering a valuable memory stick). 

What bothers me however, apart from the fact that Sherlock’s explanation is quite illogical, is the subtextual implications: a) Charlie is queer-coded, 

(the rainbow is just one of the clues) and b) dying inside one’s own car like that is suspiciously similar to a common suicide method. The idea that Charlie (supposedly) died from a “seizure” ties him closely to Carl Powers - his namesake in Sherlock’s first case, who according to the police died from a “fit” in the water. And Sherlock was reminded of Carl’s case directly after an explosion in TGG. Only this time it’s Sherlock who jumps to conclusions about a ‘seizure’, rather than the police. Which makes me believe that this event represents something entirely different inside Sherlock’s Memory Palace/Mind Theatre. Something dwelling in Sherlock’s subconscious, possibly involving a young (boy)friend ‘coming out’ to a conservative, homophobic father in the Thatcher era. And a possible suicide (or at least disappearance?) by said (boy)friend. Victor Trevor travelled to India in canon, while Charlie Welsborough was traveling in Tibet before he died. (Sounds a bit similar to Sherlock traveling in Tibet/Himalaya during the canon hiatus/MHR doesn’t it?).

TFP

In this last episode of S4, theres an explosion at 221B Baker Street, caused by a ‘patience grenade’: 

Sherlock and John suddenly appear on a ship as pirates:

They take over the boat and force their way onto Sherrinford Island where Eurus is imprisoned. This is also the only episode where Victor Trevor is mentioned, but he’s not a young man; he’s supposed to be a kid from Sherlock’s childhood - his best (and only) friend. Victor is very much presented as a John mirror; short blond hair, checked shirt and trapped in a well. 

Sherlock and Victor were playing pirates outside Sherlock’s childhood home, the mansion Musgrave Hall, which apparently had high chimneys. 

Sherlock was called ‘Yellowbeard’ and Victor ‘Redbeard’. In TFP we also see John and Sherlock hijacking a fishing boat and telling the captain that they’re pirates. In spite of both Sherlock’s dog Redbeard and Victor figuring in early snippets of Sherlock’s dreams in S4, Sister Sentiment Eurus later tells him that they never had a dog; 

Sherlock was not allowed to have one, since their father was ‘allergic’. We also learn that Eurus (Sherlock’s supposedly forgotten sister) killed Victor by trapping him in a well, because she was jealous that her brother Sherlock had a friend and she was not included in their games. Nothing more is explained about Victor, however (and I feel sure this storyline isn’t over yet). 

Victor never came out of the well; he drowned there, but at the end of TFP John seems to be trapped in the same well as Victor, and discovers his bones in it. In the last minute, with a raising water level, Sherlock saves John from the well by solving a puzzle and thereby finding and embracing Eurus.

Conclusion

So, I do believe that we have most of the ingredients of canon’s story about Victor Trevor and the ship The Gloria Scott scattered over the whole show: colleges and boarding schools; a dog; two best friends who were separated; a young man who might have committed suicide, a homophobic father; a mansion; a secret tattoo; a skip code with an important message; someone seemingly innocent with a criminal past; a ship with pirates (= mutinous criminals); dangerous explosions; blackmail and threats of exposure; a trip to Asia. And the back story is merged with the show’s present. What all this might mean for the next series, we can only speculate, but I do think that we have a pattern here. 

Thanks to everyone who has had the patience to read all this. :) Tagging some people who might be interested: @sarahthecoat @tjlcisthenewsexy @ebaeschnbliah @fellshish @gosherlocked @loveismyrevolution @sagestreet @sherlockshadow @darlingtonsubstitution @devoursjohnlock @tendergingergirl @kateis-cakeis @csi-baker-street-babes @88thparallel @timilina @dieseldrakilis @sherlock-overflow-error @elldotsee

[itsalwaysyou-jw]

As promised, here is the sneak peek for Welcome Home, a WWII Johnlock AU inspired by Bandstand:

“Another shot of whiskey. Please.”

The bartender silently obliged, a man whose face was forgotten the moment he turned away. John consumed the fresh liquid in an instant, wishing the dulled sensations could kick in as rapidly as he could drink it. He twirled the empty glass along the sticky countertop. The air was thick with sweat, the murmur of voices like a wall of pressure against his ears. It was too much, all of it.

“What division?” said a voice two seat to his right. John’s head turned to see a gentleman with short, cropped blond hair. He was staring at his own glass as bone dry as John’s.

“Sorry?”

His head turned then and John was startled by how handsome he was. He had a long, narrow nose, a pronounced jawline, short locks of sandy blond hair, and blue eyes that were hooded with intoxication. John had always been a sucker for blue eyes.

“You’re a soldier right?” he asked, eyes darting to the empty glass. “I was, too.” John said nothing but simply continued to stare at the man. He seemed so much like himself if he were to be stretched taller and perhaps made a bit more handsome.

“Yeah,” he conceded after some time in silence. “37th division.”

His eyebrows moved together in thought. John had the impression that he’d reach his conclusions quicker if he were sober. “What is that- the Solomon Islands, right?”

“Yeah, and Bougainville.”

“Jesus. That must have been holy hell.”

John wiggled his glass as he caught the eye of the bartender to wordlessly request a refill. “Something like that, yeah.”

“How long ago did you get back?”

John considered the date, mentally scraping for a rough estimate of how long he’d been back home. “Just a couple weeks.”

“Ah.” He considered this and John prayed that he would stay silent this time. “Are you going to school? Or going for cash?”

He didn’t particularly feel like explaining to this stranger that he’d already been to school. That he’d love to go back and get his medical degree but he couldn’t. Instead, he just grunted “Cash. I need the cash.”

“Well find something quick. I have been to three funerals this month. Nobody’s talking about it because those guys came back fine a while ago.”

John’s stomach tightened, his mouth forming an impossibly hard line of tension. A fresh whisky was placed before him. He gripped the fresh glass until he was certain he could shatter it with his grip. “What happened?”

The stranger dragged his fingernails painstakingly along the filthy countertop, clumps of dried alcohol gathering beneath his already filthy, chipped fingernails. “They needed- They wanted a way to make it… stop.”

John threw his whiskey down his throat, suddenly desperate to get away from this horrible, suffocating prison. He threw down a note of payment, not even caring about his change- not even caring about anything at all other than escaping to fresh air.

“Find something quick,” the gentleman called softly behind him. “Godspeed.”

The second sneak peek from Chapter 2 with a small spoiler is under the cut. Also, tags.

(CONTEXT: John’s best friend in the Army was Victor Trevor, who asked John to check up on his spouse if anything ever happened to him. Trevor died beside John in the trenches and John is finally fulfilling his friend’s wishes.)

A thunder clapped with an unreliable beat in John's chest. The ordinary door seemed an overwhelming obstacle to approach. Behind this door was every tragedy imaginable.

Lead feet carried him to the threshold. Three breaths attempted to steady him, to centralize his thoughts, and his fist raised to rap thrice on the door. It was the soundtrack of his anxiety, the trepidation of the knocks loud in his ears. In the silence following his knock, he heard the echo of the sound rattle in his mind and there was no breath or time or awareness- there was only an eternity of silent expectancy.

Footsteps.

A lock undone.

The rotation of the knob.

Only paralyzing fear prevented John from running from this horror.

Then, in a moment, a woman. Yet not a young, vivacious woman as he’d expected, but an elderly woman with short, curly hair, a pointed face, and kind eyes.

He was helpless to do anything but stare at her. His mind was weighing the probability of this being Victor’s wife- but surely she couldn’t be. He’d described her as tall with full lips, black hair, and brilliant eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not unkindly, after several moments of loaded silence. Her eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, though John felt no hostility in the stare.

“I-” John was suddenly speechless. He’d simply assumed knocking would be the hardest part. This continued necessity of courage was drawing him from sanity. “I was wondering- is Sherlock Holmes here?”

“Oh dear, I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment,” she said with her voice brimming with regret as though she hadn’t just set fire to John’s world with the smallest of words.

No. His mind rebelled against processing what she’d said. No. The world was spinning, the woman disappearing behind miles of blurred concentration. No. It couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered with unadulterated panic shaking his words. His eyebrows were touching on another, his arm steadying him against the brick wall next to the door. “Did you just- Did you say ‘he?’”

Her eyes grew wide, her mouth open and she was clearly equal parts confused and alarmed by the aggressive reaction to have seized him. He watched as she visibly scanned him for hints of the situation, her mouth moving with silent words as she scrambled for the proper response.

“Yes,” she finally said slowly. “Are you a client? Did you hear of him through his advertisement in the paper?”

Him. His. Sherlock Holmes. A man.

“Yes.” His throat was sandpaper, his muscles moving on their own to say the word with some ancient instinct to sink or swim in overwhelming information. “Can you tell me when h-he’ll be available?”

“Well he should be back- I’m sorry, are you quite alright?”

No, nothing was alright. “Yes. Please, when can I see him?”

She scanned his face for context of his reaction but found none. Instead, she answered with impossible sluggishness, “Tomorrow. He’ll be seeing clients at 2.”

“Thank you.” He was moving away and could no longer see her or the building or the street or anything in this world. All that existed was this endless dark tunnel and him, clawing his way out. His feet carried him down the street and he crouched down on the pavement when his feet were unable to carry him any longer.

What had Victor said? John wracked his mind, scrambling for the memories that were painful to recall.

“You got a girl back home?” John had asked.

Victor had smiled a mischievous grin and John had wondered why he looked like he had a secret. “I’ve got a special someone, yeah.”

“A wife?”

“We’re married, yeah.”

“What’s her name?” John asked, imagining what the Trevor household must be like outside the tragedy of war.

“Their name is Sherlock. Holmes- wanted to keep their last name.”

All the discussion of Victor’s partner and never once had he used any indication of gender. The conversations ran through his head on repeat in dizzying circles until John was mad with the repetitions.

How was this possible? Victor was married- to a man? How? Sherlock was… a man? But wasn’t Sherlock a girl’s name? He never had heard it, he supposed. A unique name for a unique woman, he’d thought.

That meant… Victor was… gay.

God. The hurt penetrated deep within him and consumed every trace of joy that remained in his wounded heart. How could Victor not have told him? He understood the dangers involved in revealing homosexuality in the military, but God, they were best friends. He was John’s one shining light to provide him with guidance through hell.

But had John not reciprocated the secrecy? Was John not guilty, himself, of disguising his own attractions in men?

John’s skin itched everywhere. He wanted to claw at every inch of himself until he bore the painful scars that he deserved. He longed to tear apart his skin until the pain inside him was free.

Instead, he pulled himself up, heaved a breath of city air, and forced himself onward. Ever the soldier, ever the war-induced clarity of action.

TAGS: @benzedrine-calmstheitch and @sherlockedcarmilla asked to be tagged in the sneak peek. @anchored-in-high-tide didn’t ask, but I think she’d like to know that it’s up. :) If anybody else would like to be tagged in future updates, reply to this post or send me a message. <3

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Mycroft bonding with a teen who got pregnant by an ex who left after he found out?

It was a rarity for Mycroft to find Baker Street emptyconsidering what a homebody Sherlock could be and how reluctant John was to letRosie explore the world outside the dark paneled door but to find it with aclient alone in it no less without Baker Street’s key inhabitants even more so.

He paused at the door frame trying to gauge if he shouldstay or leave when the young girl hears the creak of his patented leather shoeson the soiled floorboard that his decision was made for him.

“Are you Mister Holmes,” she asks timidly from her seat onSherlock’s couch. Clothes baggy, eyes puffy, face peaky, and constantlycradling her stomach suspiciously told him all he needed to know about her.

Taking a moment to consider if he should intervene on hisbrother’s behalf or just leave her for Sherlock to take care of Mycroft settledon the former as if Sherlock was not at Baker Street at this hour surely he wasin the companion of Miss Hooper.

“That I am,” he replies swiftly as he closes the door behindhim and then walks over to his usual haunt, John’s chair, “Now how may I be ofservice?”

Her slouch straightens slightly as if she’s unsure ifstomach should be allowed not to be covered lest some unforeseen attack comeout of nowhere and takes a deep calming breath. “I need your help findingsomeone,” she says softly as she mindless fiddles with her middle.

“Am I safe to assume that you hope that I may locate thechild’s father,” Mycroft asks watching as her eyes go from fond to distraughtas her hand travels across her lower belly.

The young girl looks shocked at the question. “How did youknow?”

It is a Herculean effort not to roll his eyes at how obviousthis scenario but Mycroft manages to remain professional if not for his sakebut the image of his brother.

“I am not called the ‘World’s Greatest Detective’ fornothing,” Mycroft states with one of his political smiles meant to charm thewives of potential business partners and set the minds of enemies with a falsesense of ease. “Now tell me when was the last time you recall seeing yourboyfriend missus…?”

“Petunia,” she adds while she shifts on the couch to find abetter position where her butt didn’t sink into the crease. “Petunia Evans, andI last saw my boyfriend Trevor Battle last week at his place down in thePennington flats when I told him I was pregnant.”

“And what was his reaction to the news?”

Petunia’s eyes become misty and face red as her voice startsto waver,” He was upset and he shouldn’t have been because this is our baby!”She then let’s out a wail after this and Mycroft is beside himself on how tocomfort this strange young girl other than to try and resume his questioning.

“Petunia how old are you?”

The question doesn’t stop the tears but it does cause theyoung girl to choke down a sob enough to say, “15.”

“And how old is mister Battle?”

“He turned 22 in December,” Petunia answers solemnly. Hereyes still glazed from both crying and remembrance.

Mycroft wanted nothing more to condemn the man but somethingtold him that there was more to this than a man dating and impregnating anunderage girl.

“How did you two meet?”

“We were neighbors back when he still lived with hisparents-Trevor was always so nice to me and I had the worst crush on him,”Petunia says between sniffles, “It took me ages to get Trevor to agree to dateme because he said he only saw me like a little sister and even more convincingto have him lie with me.”

“So you’re saying that you are the instigator of thisrelationship?”

Petunia sits up a bit more stiffly. “Yes, I am. I was tiredof Trevor ignoring me as a woman when I’ve been in love with him since I was 5.You just can’t ignore a woman’s feelings just because of something so triviallike age! So I asked him almost every day to date me wherever he went and evenfound his Facebook to ask him their publicly on his page and every otheraccount her has so everyone could see it until he said yes.”

Mycroft can already see where this is going but he knowsthat he has to continue the questioning if not to force this young mother tocomprehend what she’s done.

“So you twisted Mr. Battle’s arm into dating you,” Mycroftasks curiously.

“No, I just kept asking him in front of our families andfriends until Trevor caved in to the fact of the matter,” Petunia boasted,“after all I knew we were meant to be!”

At this point Mycroft is almost 100% positive that if he hadleft this matter to Sherlock he would have had Petunia verbally skewered forher harassment of the poor man but was determined to help this naive child outlest she become one of the numbered homeless on the streets of London.

“Didn’t your parents have anything to say about yourrelationship?”

“Of course, Trevor’s a great guy! He has scholarships to theuni that he’s been wanting to go to his whole life, a promising sports careerif he keeps up his grades, and so good looking! I couldn’t ask for more for ina future husband and father! My parents are over the moon about it but hisparents are kind of funny about it.”

Petunia’s face scrunches in such a way that shows a deepconfusion on why the parents of the unwilling boy she has been advancing onmight not be too keen on her.

Forging pinching the bridge of his nose Mycroft closes hiseyes slowly and counts to three before asking, “Did you ever discuss thingslike marriage with Mr. Battle or did you just decide this for yourself as youdid at the beginning of this relationship?” Mycroft shudders to even call this a relationship but coercion.

Her face turns an ugly red as she retorts sternly, “I didn’tforce anything on Trevor! He dated me willingly-“

“After you posted it publicly on his internet accounts andused social basis toward your gender in public places to publicly shame himinto accepting you, which is hardly what I call willingly wouldn’t you,”Mycroft counters.

The shade of red is slowly turning purple as Petunia spewsout her verbal garbage, “I only did it for love because I love him and he lovesme! I know he does! He even said so when I was 5 when I drew him a picture forhis eighth birthday! He said he would marry me and now he’s going off with thatTurner girl instead while leaving me alone and pregnant! He’s not the victim-Iam! He lied to me! He used me! We were meant to be! I’m his true love and notthat skinny slut! She’s hardly a women anyway and Trevor could never be satisfiedby that bag of bones unlike a real woman like me! He just doesn’t understandthe mistake he’s making! That’s why I had to lie to him about being on the pilland poke holes in his condoms! Trevor just doesn’t understand that he doesn’tneed to have that scholarship and education when he has me! He doesn’t needanyone else but me and yet he’s…he’s…”

Losing volume to the sound of her own tears Petunia stopsher tirade of hate in favor of a good sob while Mycroft calculates on the bestmove forward.

Obviously this young girl is suffering from some sort ofmental disconnect that has caused her to stalk and harass this Trevor Battlewell into not only a faux relationship and the hoodwinked him into believingher word that the sex would at least be protected.

Mycroft could not imagine that Mr. Battle had intercoursewith Evans willingly without some sort of compromise if Evan’s behavior isanything to go by leaving both the unborn child and the young man in a veryhard place.

Decisions, decisions,decisions.

Finding that he had selected the correct course that wouldnot only be favorable to not only the baby and Mr. Battle but to Miss Evans aswell Mycroft sets out to begin the plan.

Sitting himself beside the whimpering Petunia he comfortsher gently. “There, there,” he says softly as she had just stopped crying longenough to wipe her face with her sleeve. The act was enough to cause Mycroft to cringe but he had a job to do.

Starting again and with Petunia’s attention Mycroft begins, “ListenI will help you locate this Trevor Battle but I’m afraid that will take sometime.”

Eyes growing wide Petunia begins to protest, “But I haven’tany time! The baby will be born in June!”

Biting the inside of his mouth Mycroft continues, “Of that Iam aware of my dear but of course Rome wasn’t built in a day and consideringthat you were unable to locate Mr. Battle yourself speaks volumes of the mannerin which the man is willing to avoid you. Therefore, despite my status as aworld famous detective I will need some time to evaluate what evidence I haveand move forward from there.”

“But I haven’t the time,” Petunia persisted, “My parents won’tlet me go home as an unwed mother and I can’t afford the rent without Trevor.”Again the eyes are starting to water once more and Mycroft could do withoutanother piercing wail from the girl.

“Then fear not,” he states quickly hoping to cut whatevercry to a minimum, “for I can cover the rent until Mr. Battle is found.”

Now Miss Evans seems to panic, “But I couldn’t possiblyaccept that free of charge when I can hardly pay you to find him.”

“Well, it is hardly without any strings attached,” Mycroftconcedes which causes Petunia’s nose to crinkle suspiciously. “For my servicesincluding the rent to be waived you will be obligated to attend some classesconcerning your obsession with Mr. Battle, confidence building seminars, atleast one therapist of my choosing and doctor appointments for the sake of thebaby. Hardly a difficult feat to accomplish considering that you dropped out ofyour school to be with Mr. Battle correct?”

There is a small sense of shame that finally finds its wayonto Petunia’s face as she acknowledges stopping her studies.

Scooting a bit closer Mycroft asks, “What was your favoritesubject?”

“Math. I was real good at it. I used to blow them away atcompetitions before Trevor came along and I started to use it for the wrongreasons. Like to figure out when and where he would be at all times and stuff.”

Honestly Mycroft was surprised to hear math was her favoritesubject almost as much as her using it effectively to hound a young man into anunwanted relationship. “Can you tell me more?”

While waiting for a car to pick Petunia Evans up to returnher to her apartment the two spent the time talking and learning about how ithad come to this.

Mycroft can attest that he is certainly no licensedtherapist but is certain that given a few months’ time Evans can work throughher emotional issues while owning up to her manipulative tendencies before heactual alerts young Battle of his impending fatherhood to discuss legalities ofthe child’s birth.

As he waves her off in the car Mycroft nearly jumps out ofhis skin when he hears a door from upstairs creek open slowly with a very whispery,“Is she finally gone.”

[rainbow--letters]

One Year On

"In saving my life she conferred a value on it. It is a currency I do not know how to spend." - Sherlock Holmes 

He feels the burning flames lick his skin, his eyes shoot open.

The flames are roaring, wood crackling and popping as it crumbles around him in the shell of his childhood home.

There is no escape but he can hear whispering all around him, it sends shivers down his spine.

"I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you. I will never forgive you."

He spins on the spot, his gaze affixes to the ceiling where the voice came from. Nobody is there.

"It's your fault she is dead. It should have been you." He turns again and John is standing there. His legs restrained by shackles and his clothes soaking wet. His finger points accusingly at him.

"John, I didn't know. You have to believe me." Sherlock pleads to his best friend.

"It's your fault she is dead. It should have been you." John repeats himself with a look that cuts Sherlock in two.

"John, please-" Sherlock is on his knees.

"It's your fault she is dead. It should have been you." Sherlock goes to shout but his words are lost when a wooden beam eventually weakens and drops. John is crushed beneath it and a plume of burning smoke and ash ghost over Sherlock's face, his arms raise to shield himself from the unforgiven heat.  

By the time he brings them back down, John is nowhere to be found.  

A laugh taunts him from behind. He turns to find Eurus, standing in her white clinical robe.  

"Naughty Sherlock, it's your fault she's dead."

In a blink she is pressing into his side her lips almost touch his ear.

"It should have been you, nobody cares about the wonderful Sherlock Holmes."

He moves to swat her like a fly but she is already gone. Suddenly she manifests in another corner of the room.  

She is not alone.  

Red Beard and a young Victor Trevor are sat by her feet.

"It's your fault, Sherlock. You weren't smart enough. You killed them both." Her voice sings songs in a sinister tune.

"N-o." His voice cracks and when her hands touch the top of their heads, they turn to bone.

He lurches forward to reach for them, but the fire blocks his path and just like John they disappear into thin air.  

Suddenly, he hears something call him towards the back wall. As he walks towards it he feels something cool ghost across his face, despite the towering flames.

He presses his body flat against the wall. He can hear something calling from behind, like angels singing. Without a further thought he brings his fist up and starts to pummel the weakened plaster. With each punch the voice grows stronger until his fist breaks through and he feels the flow of water cover his hand.

Eurus appears beside him again, laughing manically in his ear.  

The wall crumbles and within seconds he is met with an almighty force of current as it crashes over him and his sister. But the water does not drown him. It cleanses his skin and bones and when the force slows, he opens his eyes to find Mary standing before him.  

Eurus is gone and the flames are dead.  

Mary moves towards him and she places her hands on his face, his skin feels so alive under her touch.  

"Hope. There is always hope, Sherlock." Her words lull him into a trance and he closes his eyes as he feels a tender kiss to his forehead. It's so vivid he can feel the softness of her lips against his skin.  

He opens his eyes and inhales. 

He is back in Baker Street and realises the kiss against his head wasn't Mary's.

His eyes adjust to see a figure kneeling behind him. His head is in a warm and comforting lap, fingers tentatively caress his sweat stricken scalp.

"Molly." He whispers into the dark of the night.

She responds by lowering her head down to his, their brows touching.  

It's all he needs.

Within moments he drags her down beside him, holding onto her like a life raft. His right arm and leg are strewn over her slim frame, his hand pushes the top of her back closer to him. He absorbs the energy she radiates from her body into his terrorised sole. The shadows ebb away as her light pulses through his veins. He doesn’t realise he is crying until he feels Molly's fingers brush a tear across his sullen cheek bones. She doesn't say anything.

She never does.

Her eyes are level with his own and she is cradling his head in her hands, their noses touching. He embraces the coolness of his skin against where his body is pressing so tightly against her. He knows his skin must be hot and sticky against her own, but she never complains.  

She never does.

It's the height of winter and there is nothing more than a thin sheet on the bed. She knows anything heavier and he will feel suffocated. Especially at this time of year, the demons lurk in the dark and deep forefront of his mind.  

"You're burning up, Sherlock. Let me get you a cool flannel." She whispers as the flat of her palm presses against his forehead.

"No." He grabs her hands in his own before she can move. "I'm fine, just stay here. Please." He is exhausted, but he cannot bare the thought of her leaving him alone right now. Not even for a few seconds. 

She settles beside him once more. He can see she is just as exhausted as he is, but he knows she will not sleep until he is in a peaceful slumber. There is always a chance the demons will reappear, but for as long as he has Molly Hooper by his side it is enough to face the fear night after night if he has to.

They don't wake again until the late morning sun is peaking through the gap in his curtains.

[h-styles-babes]

No Control | Chapter Twenty-Six

Summary: 

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

A/N: honestly, I’m not the biggest fan of this chapter, until the very end, so be nice, please lol. Next chapter will pick up, however.

TWENTY-SIX

When we land in Manchester, and I can’t help the anxiousness I feel wash over me. I told my parents I was coming, since Harry and I were going to be staying in the house for the night before driving down to Holmes Chapel the next day. It’s already late evening when we arrive, and Harry and I are in a weird state of exhaustion from traveling but also alertness from having gotten a bit of sleep on the plane on the way over. We’re mostly silent on the short drive from the airport to my parents’ home. Harry had someone drop his Range Rover off at the airport before we landed so we’d be able to drive ourselves around this weekend as opposed to calling cabs or renting a vehicle.

My mum is stood in the doorway of my childhood home when we get there, the light from inside the house illuminating her from behind. I can see she’s in a pretty thick jumper to keep out the chill that’s settled over the night. The display in Harry’s car read that it’s only about five degrees now from the lack of sunlight, and I can feel it as I step out of his toasty cab. 

Mum is by my side in an instant in her house slippers, wrapping her arms around me and enveloping me in her sunshine scent. I hug her back tightly, only letting her go when I see Harry come from the back, having gotten our bags. 

“Oh, Micky, baby. How was your flight?” she asks. Her hands immediately drift down to the bump that’s well concealed and very cozy under my jumper. She smiles as she runs her hands over her grandchild. I haven’t seen my mother since the holidays, and it’s definitely gotten much bigger in that time. 

“Good. Long, but uneventful. Got to fly first class,” I grin, wiggling my eyebrows. 

My mother’s smile dims a bit when she looks at Harry, but I can tell she’s still trying to be polite. My family was obviously quite furious with the situation I found myself in last year, putting a lot of the blame on Harry. I had warned them to be nice when we came, since he was the reason that I was able to come out at all. They agreed, especially when I told them there was stuff that they didn’t know that I would explain to them later. Knowing all I knew now would help in clearing the air, as well. I hope they can be civil long enough for me to get them alone to give them all the details. It would be nice to raise my daughter without her grandparents hating her father. 

“Harry, sweetie,” she greets, a hint of warmth for the man she once welcomed so fully into her home still present. I’m glad she hasn’t gone completely cold on him. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m doing alright,” he nods, accepting her kiss on the cheek.

Mum smiles a bit sympathetically, noticing the same somber tones I hear in his voice. She places a comforting squeeze to his shoulder. “Bit of a shock, yeah?”

Harry breathes out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, a bit.”

“We’ll all work it out, dear. Babies are to be celebrated. Once everyone’s settled, I’m sure it’ll all feel better.” 

The words linger in the air between us all as Harry nods. I don’t know if it’s from the cold or what, but I swear I see tears glimmering in Harry’s eyes. He sniffles a bit and turns his head into his shoulder, both his hands full with our bags. 

“Let’s get inside, dears,” my mum announces, wrapping her hand around Harry’s waist and taking one of the bags. “Gonna catch a cold out here. You lot want some tea? Just made a cuppa for Vinny and me. Pot’s still hot.”

I smile at my mum’s back as I trail behind her and Harry, who walk linked together into the house. She’s so lovely for accepting Harry back so easily even though I know there’s still probably a lot of anger she harbors toward him. And it’s amazing knowing she trusts me enough to accept my word that the situation with Harry isn’t as it seems. 

Can only hope it goes as smoothly with my dad.

Mum drags me into the kitchen after leaving Harry and my father in the sitting room, awkwardly looking at each other. Harry’s eyes are still a bit watery—I’m still not quite sure from what—and he was kind of obsessively clearing his throat when my mother pulled me away. I’m a little scared to leave them alone together, because my dad may be nice, but he’s a bit more hardened than Mum. I can only imagine the glares he’s shooting Harry’s way.

“Should we really be leaving them alone?” I ask as soon as the door has swung shut behind us.

Mum goes about getting out more mugs and a couple more teabags. I can still see the steam rising out of the lip of the tea kettle, so I know the water is still going to be hot enough to steep the leaves properly. Mum’s never been one to make a shit cup of tea, and I was hoping she wasn’t going to start now. 

She chuckles and glances at me over her shoulder as she pours water. “You’re dad’s not gonna do anything rash, darling. Maybe just scare him a bit.”

“You think he’s not scared enough as it is?” I ask. “He got told a week ago that he’s gonna be a dad. I’d be shitting my pants if I were him. He doesn’t need Dad compounding that.”

“Well, if you would tell us what all’s been going on lately, maybe we’d be able to be nice again,” she suggests. “I’ll tell you tomorrow before we leave,” I promise. “Just know that things are a lot less on either of us than I first thought.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asks, obviously confused by my cryptic wording. 

I sigh. “Harry’s old management are a conspiracy theory come to life, basically.”

“They kept you from talking to each other, didn’t they?” For my mother being a grown woman with a life of her own, she sure knew way more about that general discourse within the One Direction fandom than the average person. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she’s had a secret Tumblr fan account this entire time. That’s how big of a fangirl she is.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Pricks. If I ever see Simon Cowell, I’m gonna beat his arse.”

“Don’t get thrown in jail, Mum. You’re too pretty for those awful jumpsuits.” She smiles at me as she hands me my mug. “Thank you, darling. Now let’s go rescue the lad, shall we?”

The scene we walk into is not as bad as I was imagining it would be. Harry’s sitting stiffly on the couch adjacent to the chair that my father’s sitting in, and my dad’s giving him a sort of steely look that I know looks intimidating to the unknowing person. I know my father, though, and he’s all bark and no bite when it comes to his intimidation tactics. I think I’ve heard my father properly raise his voice at me only a handful of times in my entire life, and it had been more out of fear than anger. And I know in this situation, my father’s more fearful as well. He’s afraid of me getting hurt further and he’s afraid of Harry letting us down. I want to ease his fears, and I’m hoping Harry and I can both take the time to do so. 

Mum hands Harry his mug of tea and he thanks her softly. He’s smaller in demeanor than I’ve ever seen him, his shoulders curled inward so he’s taking up as little space as possible, and his socked feet tucked close to the couch instead of how he’d usually allow his long legs to spread out or have his ankle crossed over the opposite knee. He keeps his elbows close to his sides as he cradles the mug in his hands, his rings clinking against the ceramic. The expression on his face is somber and a little shaken, if I’m reading him correctly. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I don’t think it’s appropriate to ask with my parents’ nearby. I make a mental note to ask him later.

“So how've you been, Harry?” my mum asks as she settles into the chair opposite my dad. I take a seat next to Harry on the sofa, though I place myself at the other end of it, not wanting to encroach upon his space if he needs it, which he looks like he does. I’ve never seen him look so withdrawn, and I kind of want to cuddle him and reassure him that it’s going to be okay. I don’t really have that position in his life anymore, though, so I’ll maintain my distance until he asks me otherwise. 

Harry takes a sip of his tea before answering. “Just enjoying my time off for now. Catching up with friends and spending time with my family, mostly. Figuring out what my next steps are career-wise.”

“You’ve got bigger things to figure out now, don’t you?” Dad asks, his voice a bit hostile and very obviously condescending.

“Dad,” I warn, throwing him a glare over the edge of my cup.

He gives me a, “What did I do?” face, which I roll my eyes at. Play innocent all he wants, I know he’s aware of exactly what he’s done.

“Uh…” Harry trails, looking between me and my parents, his brows furrowed. He’s taken to wiping one hand nervously against the thigh of his jeans, and I can see his knee starting to twitch, only a short moment away from a nervous bounce. “Yeah, I do. Micky and I have been working on it.”

“Dad, I told you to trust me. Leave Harry alone. We’re adults; we’re figuring it out.”

“You’re my daughter, Mick. It’s my job to look out for you, love,” he argues, his features softening.

“And I appreciate it,” I nod, giving him a smile. “But I’m dealing with my own problems. Harry and I aren’t clueless teenagers who have to rely on our parents for everything.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still worried about you two.”

“I get that. But have a little faith, yeah? I’ve got this.”

“Mick—”

“Leave them alone, Vinny,” my mum demands, giving him a look that he bows down to every time. It’s usually funny to witness, but no one’s laughing in this situation. “Got to trust them when they say they’re figuring it out. Our job is to support them and offer help when they need it, not question their decisions.” Dad heaves a sigh. There’s a few beats of silence where my parents just look at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation between each other while Harry and I pretend not to watch on.

I can feel the nerves coming off of Harry in waves still, and I’m not really surprised when he reaches over and gently pulls me closer to him by the hand. Knowing he doesn’t want to get too touchy when we’re around my parents, who would definitely get the wrong ideas, I’m not offended when he slides his hand into mine, my hand curled around just his fingers. He takes to running his thumb along all my knuckles, slowing when he comes into contact with the tiara ring on my middle finger. I give a gentle squeeze to his fingers as I glance up at him. 

“You okay?” I mouth.

Harry takes a deep breath through his nose before nodding once. “Will be,” he mouths back. The smile he offers is sad and doesn’t even begin to reach his eyes, also something I’ve never seen from him before. Prior to this, I hadn’t realized exactly how heavy this whole thing had been weighing on his shoulders. I have a feeling that when I first told him that his body immediately started running on adrenaline, so he had no chance to actually think of all the implications this situation has. Now that there’s been some time for the shock to wear off actual deep thought has come into play, he seems to be freaking out. I completely understand the reaction, but he needs to get through it sooner rather than later. There’s really not all that much time before our baby will be here.

I’m hoping the visit with his mum tomorrow will help to ease his fears, at least a little bit.

Harry heads to bed first that night, having not gotten as much sleep as me on the plane. I’m sure the emotional turmoil he’s been through recently doesn’t help his exhaustion either, so I set him up in Tommy’s old room—thanking whatever entity is looking over me that Tommy had to work tonight and didn’t drop by for a visit. 

“Your parents hate me,” Harry sighs as he unbuttons his shirt. 

I’ve been making sure there’s no questionable items around the room that Tommy may have left behind, so I stop and look at Harry. “They don’t hate you, Harry. They just don’t know everything. They’re still working on their perceived notions of what happened.”

“Are you gonna tell them?” he asks. He pulls on a plain t-shirt before bending to take off his socks. 

“Yeah. It’ll ease the hostility coming from my dad.”

“You’re mum seems surprisingly at ease,” he comments, his fingers going to the buttons of his jeans.

I purse my lips as I see him begin to undo his fly and very pointedly look only at his face. I don’t think I can take looking at Harry in his pants right now. I haven’t had sex since I last saw him, and pregnancy has made me more horny than usual. Harry shirtless seems to be a pretty regular occurrence, so I’ve become a bit desensitized, but Harry in only boxers, where the outline of his cock is more prominent than it is in his jeans, is something I can’t deal with in my current state. 

“My mum’s smart and realized something fishy was going on outside of the two of us. I don’t think my dad realizes a lot of your life was out of your control.” Harry nods and I realize he’s not going to pull on any joggers or shorts or anything, so I move to leave the room before I get embarrassingly flustered. “I’ll talk with them, though. Goodnight, Harry.”

I see the puzzled look on Harry’s face briefly as I make my way out the door. Just before I close it, I hear him call back a soft goodnight. I heave a sigh as I stand in the hallway outside of the room for a moment, gathering myself. I can hear my parents talking in quiet tones in the kitchen, so I head down there, hoping to catch them for a chat before they head to bed. It’s the weekend, but my parents like to keep up their routines.

My mum sees me standing in the doorway first, which draws my dad’s attention. He begins apologizing for scaring Harry and being a bit hostile, but I tell him it’s fine. I jump right into explaining what Harry and I discussed on the plane, making it clear to my dad that Harry didn’t just drop me for the sake of dropping me. While he’s not pleased Harry didn’t try to at least come by the house to get ahold of me, he understands that his management are really the ones to blame. I admit that I thought that Harry could have got to my parents to get to me, but then I realized I could have done the same to get to him, but that would have been entirely out of bounds and, not to mention, really weird for either of us. 

Dad promises to ease up on Harry and not make his experience of this pregnancy a more traumatizing experience than it already has been. It’s not really going to get any easier, and he’s had less time to get use to the idea than the rest of us. 

I tell them that we’re leaving for Holmes Chapel in the morning to have breakfast with Harry’s family, Gemma having come in from London to visit her brother for the weekend. I’m obviously really nervous about being there, since I haven’t seen any of them since August and Gemma already didn’t like me. Having to go see Harry’s family is giving me a taste of what Harry went through today, and the heavy feeling in my stomach is not something I’m okay with in the least.

Harry

I’m awake at five the next morning from the jet lag and how early I went to bed the night before. The room is grey, and it’s a little strange to be waking up in someone else’s bed without Micky in it with me. The last time I was here, I shared a room with her, and I got used to the feeling of having her in my arms as we slept, her warm little body pressed against mine, her soft little breaths puffing out against my collar bones from where she had her face buried against my chest. I smile at the memory, rubbing my fingers over the area like I can feel the presence of her against me again. 

The memory is a fond one and something I wouldn’t mind experiencing again, but a bitterness settles over me when I realize I’ll probably never get to feel that again. Micky was never officially my girlfriend, but she’s the closest thing to it that I’ve had in years, and I would have been happy making it official once I was done touring. Losing contact with her had hurt and left a bit of sting in my chest any time I thought of her or her name was mentioned. Now that she’s pregnant, though, and we left things the way we did—despite that not being our faults—I don’t think we’ll ever be in a place where we can be like we were last year. 

While Micky still seems relatively comfortable around me, I can’t imagine her ever wanting anything more between us than co-parenting. If I were her, I’d never want anything more to do with me than that. I can’t help that I’m still head over heels for her, though. Mick and I burned bright and hot so quickly, and I’ve never been able to move past that, pathetically enough. I know I’ll be able to raise a kid with her without ever pushing my feelings onto her, but it’s going to be a long lifetime. 

I lay in the bed for a long time, watching the sun slowly come up before being quickly covered by clouds. Around half six I get up and go to take a shower before anyone else gets up so I’m not in anyone’s way. Mick and I have planned to leave at around eight in order to get to my mum’s house in time for breakfast. Mum promised me banana pancakes, which I’d usually be all over, but my stomach is twisting so hard with nerves that no food sounds appealing. I’ve never been so anxious in my life to tell my mother something. I’ve never had something so big to tell her, and I have the type of relationship with my mum where I told her about the first time I had sex nearly immediately after it happened. She’d been as cool about it as any mother with a fifteen year old son having sex with his girlfriend could be, but having sex with a girl you dated for months and getting a girl you dated for a week pregnant are two very different things. Even though we’re much older and independent adults, telling my mum she’s going to be a gran in a few months makes me nauseous. 

When I walk out of the bathroom, I nearly run straight into Micky, who’s standing outside her bedroom door, rubbing tiredly at her eyes with her fingers. She peeks one eye open at me and squeaks when she realizes I’m standing in front of her. I’ve only got a towel around my waist, since Tommy’s room and the bathroom are just across the hallway from each other. I give her a soft smile when her eyes dart up to mine, her cheeks suddenly red. 

“Morning,” I greet, moving to go back to the room to change.  

“Morning,” she reciprocates in a choked voice. I figure she’s still tired and sleep-ridden, so I don’t question it. She clears her throat and blinks before opening both eyes. “Gonna shower and get dressed, then we can go.”

I nod. “Sounds good. See ya in a bit.”

I wrap the towel in my hair once I click the lock behind me and go about getting ready for the day. It’s supposed to be just as cold today as it was yesterday, so pull a jumper over a t-shirt and step into a pair of blue jeans. I brush my hair, grimacing a bit at the knots I encounter. I know I need to get it cut—it’s been a good while since I’ve had a proper one—but I’m planning on donating it when it gets long enough, so I’ve got to wait it out. 

I make sure all my things are packed away in my bag before heading downstairs. From what I heard, Micky only took a short shower, so I’m not surprised when I see her standing in the kitchen beside her mother. Cindy’s got a soft smile on her face and one hand pressed to Micky’s stomach, Micky’s hand on top of her’s. By Micky’s giggle, I can tell that the baby is moving around. I want to go over and join; there’s something so amazing about feeling a baby moving within their safe little home, and when it’s your own baby, there’s something even more surreal and heartwarming about it. I don’t want to intrude on the moment, though, so I hang back, letting my bag fall softly to the floor by the island.

Micky looks up at me and smiles. “Come here. She’s going crazy in there.” She reaches her hand out and beckons me over, and when I get close enough, she takes my hand in her’s and presses it to a spot right by her mum’s.

As soon as I apply a little pressure, I can feel the rolling movements along with the sharp nudges against Micky’s skin. I can’t help the smile tugging my lips up, and I look at Micky as I feel her eyes on me. She’s smiling brightly at me, a sort of reassurance in her gaze that is trying to tell me that everything’s going to be okay.

TWENTY-SEVEN

[green-grape-gaze]

Dog Days

I won’t lie. I have the worst weakness when it comes to Victor Trevor. I absolutely adore him. Thank you stranger!

You: Have you finished flirting with the cashier yet or has something else come up to delay your return from the grocers? SH

Stranger: I'm not flirting with the cashier! VT Much. VT

You: I do believe you are flirting far more than just 'much.' SH

Stranger: He's precious, actually. VT

Stranger: I'm not seriously flirting. VT

You: Precious? He sounds dreadfully boring. SH

Stranger: I like a little dreadfully boring every now and then. VT

You: Of course you do. SH Finish flirting. I need the milk you're purchasing for an experiment. SH

Stranger: For the record, it's not the flirting that's holding me up, Locket. VT

You: No? Then what is it? SH

Stranger: [IMG attached - a soaked, small, smooth-haired brown puppy with large paws chewing on one of Victor's gloves] VT

You: [Long Delay] He clearly doesn't belong to anyone. SH His coat is tangled and matted. Bring him with you. SH

Stranger: I found him in a box next to the road! Who would ever get rid of a precious little thing like this? VT

You: It no longer matters. SH Bring him with you, Victor. SH

Stranger: Hang on, he's squirmy. VT

Stranger: I think he's some sort of spaniel. VT

You: You are correct. SH

Stranger: Would you run a bath for the poor thing? I've got him wrapped up in my coat. VT

You: I have already started. SH

Stranger: You're an angel. VT Oh, god, bumblebee. He's shivering. VT

You: Victor, stop texting and simply bring him here. SH Your texting will only prolong your arrival. SH

Stranger: Five minutes, okay? VT

You: Thank you. SH

Stranger: It was around seven minutes later that Victor managed to maneuver himself into the flat, the shopping clenched in one hand with the stray dog in the other. At that point, the dog had stopped shivering and was instead getting a little uncomfortable in Victor's grip as he squirmed about. He made his way up the stairs carefully, but as soon as he managed to make it up, he placed the dog on the ground and let him wander into the flat. The dog was clearly nervous but nevertheless sniffed around, pausing every so often and wagging his tail. "Locket, I've got your milk," Victor called out, keeping an eye on the small animal. "And, er, your new little friend."

Stranger: [brb]

You: What started out as mild annoyance and bitter jealousy had slowly transformed into worry and bubbling excitement. The detective drew a quick bath and gathered what little products could be used to help clean the animal up. It'd been quite some time since he'd last had a furry companion and the pleasure of having a new one was far too grand to hide. There was a mischievous and vibrant glint to the brunet's gaze as he abandoned the bathroom to greet their new companion. "Victor," he murmured, ignoring the man in favour of approaching the dog. "Bonjour, mon chéri. Froid?" Sherlock continued, crouching before the animal with his hand outstretched. "Je vous réchauffer, mon chiot." (Hello, my darling. Cold? I will warm you my puppy.)

Stranger: "And just like that, I'm outclassed by a dog," Victor sighed with faux-annoyance as he let Sherlock approach the dog. He was secretly extremely pleased, though. Seeing Sherlock any shade of happy was always a good thing, and he crouched down by Sherlock. The puppy shrank away from Sherlock's hand at first, but after a few seconds of hesitation, he leaned forward and tentatively sniffed at him. That turned to the dog starting to gently lick and then nibble on Sherlock's fingers when they were prsented to him. "I can't believe anyone would do that. I heard these terrible little noises coming from the alley, and he was curled up in a box that was half-underwater. The /poor/ thing. I fed him some of the chicken I got at the store and I swear, he looked like I'd just given him the golden egg."

You: Dragging his sharp gaze to Victor, the brunet took the man's words in for only just a moment before reaching out to lift the dog up, tucking the creature close to his chest and shoulder. Clearly taking more interest in the canine than the other male. It would only be temporary, of course. "Given we were not prepared for his arrival, I will let it slide that you gave him chicken." He remarked, expression softening when he looked down at the canine. He cooed a few more words in French, his tone lilting and soft. It changed almost immediately when he called out to Victor. "Will you grab a few towels for when I've finished washing him?" Sherlock inquired, not bothering to wait for a response as he disappeared into the bathroom. He set the canine slowly into the water, ensuring it was at a comfortable temperature as well as that the animal would not make a run for it.

Stranger: "It was either chicken or granola, love, and he turned his nose up at that." Victor didn't mind it. It was brilliant to see Sherlock so enraptured. Certainly Sherlock liked his little shield where he didn't like anything besides his own work, but Victor knew even he couldn't resist a bright-eyed little puppy. He leaned over to press a kiss to Sherlock's head in response but before he could, the man was already up and moving towards the bathroom. "Twit," he chided comfortably as he went to get a few towels. As soon as the dog hit the water, he made a terrified little yip and looked up at Sherlock with big, mournful eyes. As the dog got more comfortable, however, he resumed wagging his tail and nosing at Sherlock's hand. The dog's fur was matted and dirty, and underneath it was clear he hadn't been eating well. Victor joined his partner in the bathroom a little while after, holding three towels over his armr. "Aww. Look at you."

You: There was a slight hint of panic as the puppy gave his terrified yip. It was only doused with relief when he realized it was due to the unknown rather than the water being too warm. Running the water over the canine's coat, he washed it free of all the dirt he could without product. Untangling several knots as he pet through the animal's coat. "Are you speaking to the dog or to me, Victor?" The brunet inquired, eyes focused solely on the canine as he worked. Once it came time to lather the soap into the dog's coat, Sherlock lifted his head to finally look at the other man and then shifted closer to the dog. Cooing faintly in French to keep his words a secret from Victor. It wasn't as if it weren't obvious that he was coddling the animal, but this was just one of those many things he wished to keep a secret. The dog was a weakness. After rubbing the soap into the dog's coat, Sherlock leaned back and set to washing the suds out, taking care with the animal's ears and eyes.

Stranger: "I'm speaking to the man who's obviously melting over this dog," Victor teased him. He got on his knees next to him by the tub, occasionally leaning forward to run his hand down the dog's back to soothe him. "I was going to suggest we take him and just see if he's got an owner, but I'm not totally convinced you wouldn't give him up even if he had one." For the second time, he leaned over and pecked Sherlock's cheek warmly before the man could swat him away. The puppy seemed to enjoy the bath, starting to pant as his ears were handled. His eyes were shut after he had discovered that soap in his eyes wasn't a particularly good feeling, and he setted his chin on the edge of the tub. Victor reached over to fiddle with the dog's paws, one at a time, trying to work at the knots and dirt stuck between his toes. "I think it's all very adorable, you know. Big bad Sherlock Holmes gets all huffy when his partner flirts with a grocer, but he's an absolute /teddy bear/ when there's an abandoned puppy involved."

You: "Don't be ridiculous, Victor. I am not 'melting.'" He remarked with an exasperated scoff. "I already stated that he doesn't have an owner, and if he did... Well, clearly they're an idiot. They've no idea how to shelter and care for an animal." The man stated bitterly, tone crisp and chilled with his displeasure over the situation. It changed, if only slightly, when Victor spoke gain. All because of the reminder that Victor had flirted with someone else. Not so easily consoled by the kiss to his cheek, the brunet became eerily quiet and allowed his pale features to take on a displeased pout of an expression. He openly ignored the other man once more out of his jealousy, washing the last of the dirt away from the top of the dogs coat to begin working on its tail and legs. "Vous ne serez pas flirter avec un autre, non? Vous ne serait jamais, mon chiot." Sherlock spoke to the animal, humming and cooing affectionately. "Je devrais trouver un nom pour vous. Un bien plus approprié que chiot." He added, leaning back after rinsing the animal's coat out completely. (You will not flirt with another, right? You would never, my puppy. I should find a name for you. More appropriate than puppy.)

Stranger: Sherlock was in a bad mood again. Victor wasn't an expert on Sherlock's emotions, but he figured he was nearly half on the level that John was. Hopefully. "I think it's attractive when you speak French," he tried half-heartedly. Raising one sudsy hand, Victor fondled Sherlock's hair a bit while he washed the dog. "We can keep him, either way. I think he likes you. Look how he's looking at you." And the puppy was looking at him a bit adoringly, even allowing his tail and legs to be manhandled as Sherlock washed them. When the dog was completely rinsed, Victor picked him up and placed him on the towel. Before he could properly get the dog under control, though, he shook, spraying both Sherlock and Victor with a healthy dose of water before allowing Victor to gently dry him. He worked on his ears first, backing off a little when he heard the puppy give a pained snort. "He'll be sleeping in our bed, of course. God knows he's probably been in a box his entire life, the poor thing. We'll get him some proper food and make sure he's got plenty of things to chew on. Won't we, Locket?" The dog was struggling a little in the towel, trying to get closer to Sherlock again. When it was clear Victor had a hold on him, the puppy flopped down and shut his eyes.

You: The man's attempts were working only faintly. The stony expression lifting bit by bit until he was merely pouting. He tried not to make it obvious but there was no way to mask it. The canine paired with Victor's praise was precisely what undid him in the end. It was ridiculous-/absurd/-and wholly unfair. Crossing his arms over his chest, the brunet watched as the man attempted to dry the dog down only to get them both wet in the end. His clothes were beginning to stick to his lithe figure in certain places, his hands picking at the fabric in an attempt to keep it from sticking to his skin. "We will still have to find a bed for him. If he ends up sleeping with us, then he'll take on your habits of trying to steal as much space as possible." Sherlock remarked dryly although there was a clear hint of fondness tinging his words. When the other man had finished drying the canine off as much as possible, the brunet crossed over to the other man and curled his fingers around the front of his shirt to draw him in close. "Of course, I could simply let him take your place on the bed..." He hummed, pressing a kiss to the corner of the man's mouth before turning away to get undressed. "We'll need to buy everything for him tomorrow."

Stranger: There was Sherlock. Victor grinned a little at him. When he was kissed, he pressed his hands against Sherlock's neck for a few seconds to keep him there. Their relationship was rocky at points. Victor enjoyed people immensely, enjoyed socialising, and, yes, he enjoyed flirting every now and then. Most of the time, he wasn't even aware he did it. It would just take Sherlock's stony expression on the way home for him to realise that he'd probably gone a little overboard. "Oh, no, you'd miss me too much. I don't know if you could manage to get a full night's sleep without having someone hold you or you holding someone," Victor teased. They made it work. Probably helped that Victor adored the man in front of him more than anyone else in the world, and went to considerable lengths to try and get a smile out of him. "Besides," he went on flirtatiously, "I like to think I've got another purpose in bed besides -- oh, /damn/!" he cursed out. As he was drawing close to Sherlock, the puppy, now unconstrained by Victor's hands, made a sprint towards the living room. His little claws clattered on the floor as he left as quickly as possible.

You: Victor would be the death of him. Or would have been if the puppy had not arrived. Unable to keep from chuckling, Sherlock reached up to stroke his fingers lightly over the man's neck in a teasing caress before slipping away. He'd return once he was certain that their new companion had not gotten into trouble or wouldn't. There was also the matter of introducing the canine to the landlady. "Chiot," he called out, cooing for the creature. He listened for the telltale scratch of claws against wood, of clumsy happy footfalls, and the obnoxious and excited pants of a canine. "Chiot, venez. Venez. Vous ne voulez pas que je vous donne des baisers?" Sherlock continued, heading towards the sounds of the canine and all but ready to snatch him up and cradle him close. "Voulez-vous que je vous caresser? Venez, chiot. /Venez/, mon chiot." The man continued, the mirth obvious within his expression. Whilst he believed that the canine would be troublesome, the brunet was looking forward to every moment they would share with it. Especially if Victor would partake in each second. The man might be maddening, but he could not do anything without him. (Puppy, come. Come. You do not want me to give you kisses? Would you I caress you? Come on, puppy. Come, my puppy.)

Stranger: Victor got up and followed after Sherlock, whistling for the dog. The puppy had scrambled his way back to the living room and had dragged out the rest of the chicken that he'd been given from the shopping bag. It was clear that his initial plan was to run off with it, as he was currently sitting and whining by the flight of stairs. Occasionally he'd dip one paw down and let out a cry of despair, his entire body hunched up and slightly shaking. Victor's heart nearly broke when he saw him, and he gripped Sherlock's arm tightly and let out a small 'Aw, Locket, look!'. Once the dog realised he'd been spotted, he was all tail wags and dog grins, nearly trotting back over to them and sniffing their trouser legs expectantly. "Poor thing's probably still hungry. We can make do tonight and find something to give him, and then I'll go get something proper tomorrow. Oh, god, we haven't even named him yet." Victor bent down to pick the dog up but quickly and lovingly passed it over to Sherlock. Sherlock was the enraptured one, after all. "We are not naming it anything I can't pronounce, so stop going through French nouns in your head."

You: As his arm was gripped, Sherlock released a sharp breath and reached up to tangle in his fingers with the man's. He only let go when Victor went to collect the canine and bring him over. He cradled the creature close, humming as he dragged his fingers through the warm and soft coat. He had already thought of several names but at the immediate rejection, he let it go. "We aren't naming it anything ordinary or boring either." He remarked, carrying the animal towards the sofa so that he could sit down. He was truly enraptured by it. Truly and utterly in love with the canine in his arms. He kept stroking over the dog's coat, soothing it and whispering small secrets and snippets of French. It was far to sentimental and grossly affectionate, yet the brunet could not stop himself. He was irrevocably attached-to both dog and man. "What else did you buy, Victor? If we choose to feed him more of the chicken, it will need to be skinned to ensure there is nothing overly greasy still attached." He commented, rubbing the animal's ears gently. "Perhaps I should name you after one of my favorite scientists...? A favored composer?" Sherlock murmured, lifting is gaze from the animal momentarily to glance towards Victor. "Did you have any suggestions for a name? If not, then I can easily continue to call him /chiot/."

Stranger: Moving to sit down by him on the sofa, Victor just leaned against Sherlock's shoulder and cooed at the small animal. Unlike his much more brusque partner, Victor had no shame in showing affection. He did, frequently and to everyone. When they'd first gotten together, Victor was extraordinarily affectionate in front of John -- jealousy? To show that he was good for Sherlock, that he didn't make the man more closed off? He didn't know. Victor offered a finger and let the puppy chew on him for a few seconds before taking his finger away. "Bach?" He offered. "Because we found him in a box, and it -- well, it sounds similar." It sounded weak, even to his own ears, and Victor felt the tip of his ears flush red slightly. "I've got some more chicken, and we've got some vegetables, and milk, and -- oh, I've just got some peanut butter, I'm sure he wouldn't mind a little of that, too. Not much, poor thing. Don't want him to vomit." And, er, they'd have to avoid the baking chocolate Victor had gotten. "We could name him after one of your cases, maybe? Or something to do with John? He'd be pleased. Or some famous hermit scientist that you like."

You: Sherlock moved to lean into Victor further once the man settled down in place. Where he was more chilly and stony in presence, Victor seemed to be the complete opposite. Something he thrived on given how much he desired affection. Even if he made it seem as though it were troublesome or a constant source of irritation. He enjoyed the warmth the other man's body brought forward, as well as the smiling and laughter. Every little bit of happiness the man showed by simply being around him was a soothing balm to the chaos of his mind. Reaching out with one of his hands, he captured Victor's and brought it close so that he could settle it against his body. "Bach is a horrible name, but I suppose it is rather fitting." He murmured, tilting his head to the side. "Let's feed him some more chicken and then a tidbit of peanut butter for desert." Sherlock remarked, turning his head to focus solely on the other man. "What about the name Yorick?" He suggested next, expression scrunching up slightly after. "No, that isn't fitting. Not well at all."

Stranger: Victor blushed further when Sherlock took his hand. Most of the time, he felt flattered that he was this wonderful, gorgeous, brilliant man's partner. While he couldn't ever do what John did (being skirmish about confrontration and blood besides), he enjoyed being this. A person Sherlock could come home to. A person who loved him totallyy, who could hug him and promise him that everything who would be okay. That he could be normal every now and then. Victor enjoyed that role immensely. He also enjoyed being able to appreciate Sherlock's mind without having to be standing over a body. "We are not naming him Yorick," he told him immediately. "But if you're looking for literary characters -- I mean, yes, there's Hamlet and Macbeth and Othello and Romeo. I think I ought to name him Romeo, because he's stolen my partner away from me already --" Victor sighed in dramatics. "But we'll see. Dickens or Twain or Wordsworth or Verne or -- we can feed him some chicken for dinner, actually. I'll be thinking about this all night."

stranger disconnected...

[fuckyeahficrec]

Johnlock (Sherlock Holmes/John Watson)

I will add more in a near future

Please, give me suggestions for this blog and submit your own fics

These are listed by size - wordcount

Never Alone - by VanishedElf - Rating: Mature - Words: 1972

Summary:  John comes home one evening to find Sherlock in a particularly bad mood. Curiosity leads to questioning, questioning leads to bickering, and bickering leads to a whole lot more than John would have expected for a wintry night at 221B.

Can I Have Your Attention, Please? - by Laurtew - Rating: Mature - Words: 3964

Summary:  Sherlock/John – Already Established Relationship - Sherlock has been a bit preoccupied lately. What can John do to get his attention?

The T-shirt Thief - by allroadsleadbacktobakerstreet - Rating: Teen And Up - Words: 7968

Summary:  Sherlock steals John's t-shirt from the laundry. John catches him wearing it one evening, fluff ensues with an endeared yet teasing John?

Like Acid Rain That Burns to the Bone - by sherlockian4evr - Rating: Teen And Up - Words: 15294

Summary:  On Ella's advice, Sherlock writes letters to John, letters he never intends him to see. The letters lead to discussions. The discussions lead to changes in their lives.

My Demons Are Here - by thatawkwardfriend - Rating: Explicit - Words: 28859

Summary:  John moves back in with Sherlock, but an ominous threat from Mary keeps him from finally pursuing a relationship with him. Through dinner parties, dancing, and domestic nights in, he tries his best to distance himself from Sherlock to keep him safe, but as fate would have it, nothing can stop them from inevitably being pulled back together.

To Reach a Breaking Point - by LollipopCop - Rating: Explicit - Words: 33990

Summary:  After an adrenaline-filled chase, Sherlock and John can't contain themselves and kiss in an alley. However, John regrets it. Sherlock doesn't know if he should act like it never happened, try to kiss John again, or confront him.

Corpus Hominis - by mycapeisplaid - Rating: Explicit - Words: 47709

Summary:  John knows the human body intimately. He’s had plenty of opportunity for study as a doctor, soldier, and lover. There’s one particular body, however, he knows very little about. When Sherlock launches himself head-first into a new obsession and they get sent on a case in an unlikely location, the pair discovers each other’s bodies with confusing yet delightful (and sometimes hilarious) results.

Donnithorpe, revisited - by thebookhunter - Rating: Explicit - Words: 48337

Summary: After Mary, John returns to Baker street expecting to go back to the life he once knew. But after all that has gone down between them, for Sherlock that is simply not enough. If only there was something, or someone, who could break through John's denial and wilful blindness and force him to see what's in front of his face.

" “Sherlock” says the man, voice strained with emotion, his face warm with pleasure. John turns around and sees Sherlock smiling faintly, a very subtle expression, more in his eyes than on his lips.“Hello” says Sherlock, eyes locked on the young man.“Hello” says the man, returning the fixed stare. Either John has been watching too much day-TV drama (which is possible, and he would be the first to admit it), or what just happened there was a ‘moment’."

In Clear View - by TheSeventhStranger - Rating: Explicit - Words: 93125

Summary: John and Mary, domestic bliss? Since the baby came, John hasn't seen Sherlock in far too long. One night, after a few too many drinks at the pub, John decides to make a surprise visit to 221B Baker Street. How will he react when he discovers that Sherlock has a boyfriend..? Post Season 3 Fix-It. Explicit M/M sexual content. Written in frustration over Season/Series 3. Aiming for a true-to-life, realistic storyline.Developing John/Sherlock, and of course, an Eventual Happy Ending!

Love Ballads for the Nonbelievers - by siennna - Rating: Teen And Up - Words: 153621

Summary:  Two years after faking his death, Sherlock returns to London with the hopes of finally confessing his love for John. However, his plan is ruined when he discovers that 221B is empty, John is engaged, and the whole world suddenly seems to revolve around John's supposedly perfect fiancé, Mary. For the sake of preserving their friendship, Sherlock struggles to suppress his feelings and play the part of the best friend, but his love for John refuses to be silenced and the truth doesn't stay buried for long.

AUs (Alternative Universes)

It’s Not Easy Being Green - by predictably_unpredictable - Rating: Explicit - Words: 15834

AU - University

Summary:  John and Sherlock are university roommates and best friends in every sense of the word (Except that John might have a serious serious crush on said roommate). Even though he loves the man, for the sake of their friendship, Three Continents Watson hasn't pursued Sherlock romantically. However, now that Victor Trevor is back in town... things might just change.

Capturing Perfection - by Breath4Soul - Rating: Explicit - Words: 41245

AU - University

Summary: Rugby Captain John Watson and science-minded photographer Sherlock are classmates at uni. Sherlock has a class project where he needs a nude model. He asks the only boy that intrigues him, John Watson, to be his model. The more time they spend together the more they realize there is a perfect attraction between them.

Slow, sexy, sweet burn to eventual smut.

Feel the Tide - by positivelymeteoric - Rating: Mature - Words: 45314

AU - High School

Summary:  Things John Watson doesn't expect to do when he transfers to a new school: A) Befriend his (possibly) mad roommate. B) Investigate a particularly nasty streak of murders with his (most likely) mad roommate. C) Fall slightly (or not so slightly) in love with his (definitely) mad roommate. D) All of the above.

Series

Part 1 - The Last Drop - by Phyona - Rating: Teen And Up - Words: 22060

Summary:  Sherlock and John decide to fend off boredom with a night of heavy drinking.

Part 2 - The Temper Between - by Phyona - Rating: Mature - Words: 29532

Summary:  Sequel to 'The Last Drop': Sherlock and John catch a fever.

Part 3 - The First Trip - by Phyona - Rating: Mature - Words: 39020

Summary:  Sherlock and John go on holiday. Sequel to 'The Last Drop' and 'The Temper Between'

[willreadforbooze]

Hello fellow boozie readers!

If you haven’t heard about #Booziebookathon, it’s our week long readathon we host every year! AND ITS RIGHT MEOW!! Check out all the details here! Shout out to Linz and Melinda for doing ALL of the planning for it. You’re the best. Be sure to follow our readathon twitter for sprints!

Sam’s Update:

I got a lot of reading done this week, which is surprising, considering how busy it was. But Booziebookathon started on Saturday, and got a bunch done. I’ve decided that I’ve failed at Medieval-a-thon…. cause I definitely didn’t read what I said I would. The NEWTs start on Thursday (our TBRs scheduled to drop on Thursday), so I gotta finish up these books so I can start my Metal Charmer career!

What Sam finished this week:

Recursion by Blake Crouch: I adored Dark Matter and Ginny and Parker both adored this one so I picked it up on audio. About half way through and loving it, I need to know how it ends.

Descendant of the Crane by Joan He: WOWOWOWOWOW. I couldn’t put this down. I flew through it, only to be SO SAD that this isn’t a series. I seriously need to know more. RUDE.

What Sam’s reading now:

Booziebookathon Gin: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid: Oh holy shit, whyyyy did I think this book was over-hyped? It is perfectly hyped. I’m listening on audio and LOVING IT.

Booziebookathon White Wine and Smirnoff Ice: Demon in the Whitelands by Nikki Z. Richard: This had a slow start, but basically this is a post-apocalyptic story where all technology is banned. The bastard son of a cleric, Samuel, is basically thrust into the role of being a caretaker to what the mayor calls a “demon”. A child, albiet violent child, with one arm and doesn’t speak. His job is to befriend it/her. I’m enjoying it now… that I’m 2/3 the way through, but I don’t feel the urge to pick it back up each time…

The Candle and the Flame by Nafiza Azad: Buddy reading with Ginny and Liz and also for book club. It’s taken an interesting turn but I don’t want to say too much here, because we still have to discuss as a group.

Ginny’s Update:

Currently Reading:

The Candle and the Flame by Nafiza Azad: This is still for a book club, I’m still reading it slowly. There was a pretty big twist and I’m enjoying seeing it ripple out.

Leap Days: Chronicles of a Midlife Move by Katherin Lanpher: this is one of my books for Boozie Bookathon and it fulfills my Gin challenge (book on tbr forever). So far Katherine has moved to New York and is talking about how weird it is… yup. It’s gonna be that kind of book.

The Mortal Word by Genevieve Cogman: IT’S THAT TIME! I’m reading the fifth book in this series that I adore. Irene is being called in to act as mediator in a conversation between the Dragons and Fae. Her boss for the job is a major dick (and I’m pretty sure it’s going to turn out he’s even more sinister). Ugh, Loving this! (If you’d like to start at the beginning, my first review is here.

Finished

Born a Crime by Trevor Noah: Welp, Trevor Noah had a very interesting childhood. It’s interesting to read this book to see a completely different perspective of growing up. I’m used to hearing mostly Americanized, or at least overtly Western points of view, so to hear this story that was completely outside of what I consider the norm was endlessly interesting. I wasn’t super fond of the jumping around in time. I found it a little confusing at times, talking about his stepdad and then, chapters later, talking about how his stepdad came into his life. Overall, I still thought this was a strong narrative and would definitely suggest this to someone who likes biographies. 4.5/5

A Kiss for Midwinter by Courtney Milan: This is a novella that goes in the Brothers Sinister series. Gonna be honest, I don’t even remember who’s parents these are supposed to be and just read it as a standalone. It’s still charming. Dr. Grantham was there when as a teenager, Lydia was told she would never be in society becuase of a teenage pregnancy. He was also there years later as she wanted nothing to do with him. He’s quirky and she’s been hiding from things she hasn’t wanted to think about and it’s pretty damn fucking cute. I really enjoy the way Courtney writes her characters, there’s always depths. 4/5

Rafe: A Buff Male Nanny by Rebekah Weatherspoon: Yup, definitely back on my romance novel kick. This book was delightful as, as the author says, it’s pretty much just pure fluff. the kids are cute, and speak the way children do. Rafe was ridiculously attractive and a family man throughout. Sloan is ridiculously competent, dealing with a shitty ex-husband and just wants someone to make her life easy… Fortunately Rafe makes it very hard… that was terrible… I don’t apologize.4/5

An Unconditional Freedom by Alyssa Cole: Welp, Alyssa Cole is one of those always gonna read authors. I accidentally skipped book 2 (don’t worry, I’ll get back to it). This follows Elle’s friend from the first book Daniel, who is dealing with some emotional and psychological scars. Janeta Sanchez is trying to become a double spy in order to save her Southern beau and her family. Except, unsurprisingly, that beau is a jackass. But they’re in the Loyal League and trying to get some information. It’s interesting to read Daniel’s perspective and I liked getting both the internal and external perspective on him. Alyssa Cole is a phenomenal writer and ugh, so many good words. 4.5/5

The Soldier’s Scoundrel by Cat Sebastian: Well, Cat Sebastian is apparently another author where I’ll read everything. This is a delightful romance between Jack, who handles scandals behind the scenes, and Oliver, an ex-soldier who is worried that her sister has been scammed by Jack. They’re immediately attracted to each other but have to solve a mystery together for… reasons? REgardless, I really enjoy the way that Cat brings characters who might be outside of what is currently considered the norm, and shows the ways they could have lived in the past. She shows their struggles but makes sure they have a happy ending, and I just really enjoy that. Both of these characters are kind of dicks in their own way, but I enjoy their moments of earnestness. 4/5

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami: I’m not a runner. I don’t ever think I’m a runner. But I think it’s fascinating to read running books and learn about what drives other people. It seems that so often running helps them quiet their minds. This book was interesting and I enjoyed a peek into an authors/runners mind. 3.5/5

Captain Marvel: Volume One by Kelly Sue Deconnick (there’s a bunch of people on this but my read list is already 7 books long and there’s just a limit to what I have the patience and energy to do): This was delightful. I’m not super familiar with Captain Marvel but I met Kelly Sue at Bookcon and really enjoyed meeting her (I’ve also read Bitch Planet, which if anyone wants to read a dystopian comic I highly suggest this one). I loved the mystery of what was causing the illness, and the way she could read between the lines. Ugh. This is what I wish more comics were. 5/5

Evvie Drake Starts Over by Linda Holmes: Probs gonna write a review on this one. Wait and see.

Temporary Break for BoozieBookaThon

Iron Gold by Pierce Brown: Gonna be honest, I don’t remember much from the original series but I used a random number general and this is what came up. I’m like two pages in so I’m mostly just confused.

Minda’s Update:

What Minda is reading now for Booziebookathon (and soon NEWTs):

The Liar’s Daughter by Megan Cooley Peterson – An ARC from ALA, out 9/10, for the Beer challenge. About a girl who was brainwashed by her father and his cult.

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick – As the winner of the 1963 Hugo Award, meets the Whiskey & Champagne challenges.

All Systems Red by Martha Wells – Following the longest, I thought I’d read the shortest for the Shot & White Wine challenges.

The Incendiaries by R.O. Kwon – I’ve borrowed/returned/renewed this title eight times, which I think means it’s been on my list for awhile. This fulfills the trifecta: Vodka, Gin, and Red Wine challenges.

What Minda finished before Booziebookathon: 

Tiger Queen by Annie Sullivan – I actually finished this at the start of my trip. This was good—the world building was especially inventive since it came out of a short story with an open ending. Review to come.

All the Water in the World by Karen Raney – This book was super sad and really tugged at the heartstrings—at least for the first half. Drops in early August! Stay tuned for review.

City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert – Listened to this one on audio during my flights… so many flights. But this book was super captivating! I would highly recommend reading the audiobook because of the writing style—it really feels like an old woman is telling her story to you. Also will review.

Clear My Name by Paula Daly – Crime fiction focused on a UK version of the innocence project. Edge-of-seat type stuff with an end twist I didn’t see coming. Also also will review!

Linz’s Update:

I was on family vacation–which we all know isn’t actually vacation–and still managed to get some reading done.

What Linz read:

No Judgments by Meg Cabot: One of the many Bookcon ARCs, this romcom-y book was…not great. The protagonist was pretty dumb and kind of shallow, the romance felt a little forced, and the resolution was really telegraphed.

Sophia, Princess Among Beasts by James Patterson: Woof. Basic. DNF.

We Set the Dark on Fire by Tehlor Kay Mejia: Girls are raised to be sisterwives in this dystopic, Latin-inspired first of a series. The concept is actually pretty good and I loved the love story twist, but the worldbuilding left me wanting.

The Way You Make Me Feel by Maureen Goo: I liked this more than I thought I would. The protagonist is a monster, but I just spent the week with teenage relatives so it’s not inaccurate. Goo’s take on diversity is interesting and thoughtful. There is also a foodtruck and I was starving while reading.

Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay: My first finished book for booziebookathon AND MY HEART COULD NOT TAKE IT. Authentic, on point, emotional rollercoaster.

What Linz is currently reading:

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern: WHICH I AM BACKBURNER-ING BECAUSE OF BOOZIEBOOKATHON BUT I AM GOING TO CLAW MY FACE OFF UNTIL I CAN PICK IT BACK UP IT IS SO GOOD

– *About* to start Slay by Brittney Morris, but imma need a minute after finishing Patron Saints of Nothing

Until next time, we remain forever drunkenly yours,

Sam, Melinda, Linz, and Ginny

Weekly Wrap-Up: July 22-28, 2019 Hello fellow boozie readers! If you haven't heard about #Booziebookathon, it's our week long readathon we host every year!

[bassfanimation]

‘I Love You’: a man’s perspective

I haven’t made the rounds yet this morning, but already last night I’ve seen multiple posts that seem to want to either downgrade or erase the meaning behind Sherlock’s words to Molly Hooper. I find it insanely amusing, because had those words been to John Watson, people would be wetting themselves, but because it was for Molly, people are climbing all over themselves to again deny this character her actual fair due.

My husband, who watches Sherlock with me, had some very interesting perspectives on The Final Problem. He tends to read the show textually, without shipping or all the other nonsense we as fandom people get into.  I tend to trust what he says only because he has no ulterior motives, like zero. Even my own ship doesn’t really mean a damn thing to him. He knows I love it, but he’s not swayed by my reading or my desires at all.  

His reading of The Final Problem was that this was Eurus effectively unlocking the original Sherlock Holmes.  This was Sherlock’s sister, bringing him home, just as he was bringing her home.  To do that, she had to undo what she did when she took Victor Trevor away from him at that young age.  She took a little boy who was filled with bright, wonderful, hot emotion, and she made him lock that away.  She made him like her, and to my husband, it seemed like that was never what Eurus wanted.  

The scenes inside Sherrinford were about systematically making Sherlock face each single, major emotion that he’s refused to feel all these years: anger, fear, sadness, and above all...love.  And no, I don’t mean love for your best friend, that’s already been addressed, and that was already the easiest thing for Sherlock to unlock in himself. He basically did that in S1.  Sherlock loves John, his best friend, just like he loved Victor.  The parallels are spelled out for you in the clearest of ways.  

Sherlock’s locking away of his ‘sexuality’ was already broken open in S2 with Belgravia.  Irene Adler represented a part of Sherlock that really, really wanted out.  It was confusing as hell for him, as we saw, but he still managed to deal with it.  Sex is sex is sex.  It’s meaningful, and at the same time, can also be meaningless.  I personally never saw Irene as meaningless, far from it.  But I do think her special place in Sherlock’s “unlocking” was more physical than emotional.  Hence, we were reminded of this by the moan of her text tone. I personally think Sherlock’s sexuality is firmly unlocked at this point, no need to revisit it again and again.  Something that remained hidden though, very deep down, was Sherlock’s ability, willingness and understanding of a deeper love, and what that means.  This is where Eurus comes in.

The scene with the coffin was very carefully done, both by the writers and on the part of Eurus’ planning.  In fact, if you listen carefully to Eurus’ words, she states exactly why she did it: you lost, look what you did to her, look what you did to yourself, all those complicated, complex emotions, emotional context.  All of those things are things people feel when they love someone (romantic love, since I’m sure I need to spell it out for some viewers).  You feel elated, but you also feel scared.  You may also hate yourself because you probably feel the person you love deserves BETTER than you.  Should you act on it or let them go find someone better.  Do you have the strength to give up parts of yourself for them?  Do they have the strength to give up parts of themselves for you?  It’s scary as hell, y’all!!

 My hub says, to him, the first time Sherlock says ‘I love you’ to Molly Hooper, he didn’t mean it...or at least Sherlock thinks he didn’t mean it. Then, the second time, he did mean it, and he knows it.  That is why he smashed the coffin...that was perhaps the biggest emotion he’d locked away, and he was consumed and confused by it.  For a man who has spent decades pushing love away, it came roaring in within 3 minutes, and he couldn’t push it away. Eurus wouldn’t let him push it away, and more importantly, Molly Hooper wouldn’t let him push it away. That’s why she turned the tables on him and made him say it first.  She inadvertently helped Eurus, which I’m sure was her plan all along (if you believe she’s as much of a supernatural badass as she’s shown to be).

My husband’s purely textual reading of Sherlock’s smashing the coffin with ‘I love you’ on it is that he DID mean it, but he wasn’t sure what that meant to him, and it scares him, greatly.  He said that looked like a man who was pissed that he LOVES.  He spent his entire life working at not loving, and here he is, loving this woman, but now he isn’t sure what to do about it, because he’s not even sure what that really means.  He doesn’t understand it...yet.  Love like that is incredibly strong, true love I mean, not “Hey let’s bone” love.  He said that wasn’t the actions of a man who doesn’t really care.  He said, as a man, if I had to get a woman to say that and I didn’t really love her, I wouldn’t care as much.  I surely wouldn’t care enough to smash an entire coffin to bits with my bear hands.

Lastly, my husband said something I thought was incredibly interesting about how he reads Sherlock.  He said he thinks the reason Sherlock hasn’t really pursued any other relationships with women, not seriously that is, is that on some level he really knew he loved Molly, but that he felt HE wasn’t good enough for HER.  He thinks Sherlock, for all of his arrogance, actually doesn’t think he’s a good man.  He knows Molly Hooper deserves a good man, someone to love her exactly how he thinks she should be loved, and he’s terrified he ISNT that man, or he CANT be that man.  His rage at smashing that coffin was basically anger at himself, anger at himself for loving this woman who really deserves more.

So, from a man who views this show with as much pure text as possible, he thinks that “I Love You” was real, but he thinks Sherlock simply doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t know what it means.  He said love is the scariest thing, especially to someone who’s lived closed off.  He’s had an upbringing that, without going into details, was a bit devoid of emotional support from people he needed it from. That means that learning how to show love was incredibly, incredibly difficult for him.  Trust me, I’ve been here for the entire thing.  It took years for him to learn how to show it.  It took me years too...in fact I still have massive trouble with it. People who’ve lived not understanding how to love since young childhood...it takes us a very long time to learn how to do it.  

My husband and I are not the kind of people who go on romantic ballroom dancing dates and snuggle on the Tunnel of Love ride.  We’re just not those kind of people...but we do love each other very much.  We have our way of showing it that works for us. There’s no one else I’d rather trust my mind, body and soul to.  That was first built on friendship, then trust, then love.  For us, I think that’s kind of where Sherlock is starting to head.  We may not ever see that adventure, as that’s not what Sherlock’s story was about.  But, finding how to love, that was his story, and Molly Hooper is an irreplaceable part of that.  No one can deny that, not ever.

[swissmissficrecs]

Fics Set in the TAB Universe

Fics set in the TAB universe    

These are BBC Sherlock fics set in the universe of the Victorian parts of ‘The Abominable Bride’, not to be confused with fics based on the ACD book canon or any other Victorian-era adaptations.

The fics are grouped here by ship, and listed by length within each pairing. All fics are complete except as noted.

Johnlock

Upon Whom Shall You Call? by May_Shepard. Explicit, Johnlock, 33K. In the two years since the loss of his friend Sherlock Holmes at Reichenbach Falls, John Watson has tried his best to move on. When his maid, Jane, reports hearing noises in the attic of John's house, he begins to hope that Holmes means to contact him from beyond the grave. Unprepared for dealing with the realm of spirits, John agrees to consult with four lady scientists, who promise to use their groundbreaking technologies to help him deal with that which haunts him.

Your Bed Should Be A Refuge by TooManyChoices. Explicit, Johnlock, 11K. Sherlock and John finally face their mutual attraction, but is it too late? John’s married (and happily so). Is there any way that John can have it all?

Impulses by Junejuly15. Mature, Johnlock, 6K. Sherlock and John’s talk about ‘impulses’ in The Abominable Bride’ was touching and rather interesting. This is my take and one possible outcome when John and Sherlock talk about feelings and impulses, and maybe act on them, too…

five times sherlock holmes lied to john watson (and one time he finally told the truth) by miss_frankenstein. General, Johnlock, 6K. “Something in Wilde’s persecution has touched a nerve in Sherlock – snapped that tenuous thread of hope holding him upright – and it feels as if he has taken to bleeding internally.” Set in “The Abominable Bride” universe, this piece adopts a familiar format to chronicle Sherlock’s quiet suffering in the wake of the 1895 Oscar Wilde trials and the particular way they affect his relationship with (and feelings for) John.

Matters of the Heart by VictoriaAGrey. Mature, Johnlock, 4K. After Watson moves back into 221B, Holmes is presented with a case that makes Watson reconsider the nature of their relationship. ///Assume this takes place in the Victorian world Sherlock envisioned in TAB and you’re good to go.///

We Survived by girlofthemirror. Explicit, Johnlock, 3K. Answering two of the important questions left from The Abominable Bride….. 1. When Dr Watson was talking to the paper vendor - where did Holmes poke him to make make him jump so much? 2. When they got back to Baker Street - what was in the hat box? This is celebratory, thesis submission smut. I do hope you enjoy it.

The Greenhouse Affect by sherlock_addict. Explicit, Johnlock, 3K. I am sure the ghost bride appeared enough time later to let the boys finish what they had started. My version of the events that took place in the darkened greenhouse. Smut on its way, you’ve been warned!

Like that wound of mine, Of which none knew by Solitary_Endeavor. Mature, Johnlock, 3K. Holmes wouldn’t be able to help himself, he never could, when it came to John.

The Trial of Sherlock Holmes Series by jenna221b. General, Johnlock, 3K. Scripts based on speculation that Sherlock will be put on trial in The Abominable Bride to parallel the Oscar Wilde Trials of 1895.

Always Wrong, Never Wrong by redscudery. Explicit, Johnlock, 1K. When Sherlock says “Correct me, Doctor”, he means “Please pull my hair and make me come in my fine linen drawers.” John is only too happy to oblige.

One Beard and Two Moustaches by JohnlockInferno. Teen, Johnlock, 1K. Holmes & Watson have a problem. So does Molly. They fix it. Inspired by The Abominable Bride.

Fem!Johnlock

Bloody Balzac! by okapi. Teen, Fem!Johnlock, 17K. Genderswapped Holmes/Watson. Canon-based hijinks.

Indigo by okapi. General, Fem!Johnlock, 1K. Sherlock receives a belated birthday gift from John. Inspired by the blue dressing gown from “The Abominable Bride.”

Viclock

Any Port in a Storm by dioscureantwins. Mature, Viclock, 8K. No, he really should let Trevor run ahead with his dastardly plot and merely twist and knot the manoeuvre into the rope for the rascal to hang himself with.

Sheriarty

Crossed Your Mind (Like a Bullet) by PoppyAlexander. Explicit, Sheriarty, 10K. On six occasions, Moriarty visited Holmes’s manly-smelling rooms, and wanked to the smell of his hair oil on the pillow of his surprisingly comfortable bed.

Distraction by fiveainley_ohmy. Teen, Johnlock, 0.8K. Or, an alternate way the gun blowjob scene I MEAN Holmes vs Moriarty scene could have gone.

Holmescest

Sins of the Flesh by daasgrrl. Explicit, Holmescest, 1K. He stands once more in the Stranger’s Room at the Diogenes, afternoon sunlight filtering weakly through the windows. Dust motes swirl in the shafts of light, the remnants of dead things. Dead hopes, dead dreams, dead desires. Holmescest meta in the form of fic. May be read as a coda - possibly AU - to The Abominable Bride.

MorMor

I’ll Be Your Number One With A Bullet by pocket_companion. NR, MorMor, 1K. The waterfall scene from The Abominable Bride - with one, significant change: Instead of Jim Moriarty gaining power over Sherlock Holmes, it is the other way around. Fortunately, a pretty damn clever handyman reaches the scene just in time…

Mystrade

Share the Stars with You by EventHorizon. Mature, Mystrade, 237K. Set in Victorian times, we find Mycroft as a sedentary man of wealth and power and Greg as an explorer, a true man of action.  Given their opposite natures, could it be these two might actually achieve the one thing neither has ever thought possible - finding someone to love?

Mollstrade

The Case of Doctor Hooper and Inspector Lestrade by Sapphire_Princess. Teen, Mollstrade, 17K. Inspector Gregory Lestrade liked Doctor Hooper and found that the more he spent time with him, the more he wanted to do so. But he wasn’t naive - not in the way Sherlock Holmes thought he was, and he was unfailingly honest with himself. His growing attachment to Doctor Hooper shouldn’t go any further than it had already. Equality for the sexes was one thing, this was quite another.

Mollcroft

Loosening the Strings by bookjunkiecat. Mature, Mollcroft, 2K. It is 1895, London is still firmly ruled by Victorian morals, and women are very much a second class. Molly Hooper has been living a lie for years, presenting herself to the world as Doctor Milton Hooper. Only one man knows her secret, and every Tuesday afternoon she and Mycroft Holmes explore their boundaries together.

Sherlolly

And A Garden, Drenched In Delights by hobbitsdoitbetter. Mature, Sherlolly, 45K. Holmes has always appreciated Hooper’s intellect; It takes a clever woman to fool him, after all. But when he discovers her rather… unladylike reading habits he finds himself distracted beyond all reason: After all, though she pretends to be a man she is a woman, sweet and docile as all her kind are… Isn’t she? So why is she reading contraband books? And why oh why does it bother him so bloody much? AU Abominable Bride Universe, pretty much an excuse for smut.

A Marriage of Minds by Carice. Sherlolly, 13K. I loved 'The Abominable Bride' and our Victorian Holmes and Hooper, so decided to allow myself a little carrying on of the story for Molly. It interested me to think about how things would be for her once she had 'outed' herself to Holmes and the Watsons, as a woman. I guess this is AU because in my story it's genuinely Victorian and not a figment of modern Sherlock's mind. In terms of Molly's role at Bart's as a woman, female doctors, etc. I have not worried too much about period detail because if Moffatt/Gatiss can play around with the timing of the Suffragette movement for dramatic purposes, then I reckon I can be a bit cavalier with some details too.

The Adventure of the St Bartholomew Vampire by darnedchild. Mature, Sherlolly, 19K. Bodies that had been found drained of blood are mysteriously disappearing from the morgue.  Could it be the work of a vampire?  Or is there something even more sinister stalking the dark streets of London? - Written for the Halloween at 221B - A Sherlolly Celebration Fest.  A Victorian vampire story written in several short chapters.

Victorian Secrets Series by MizJoely. General to Explicit, Sherlolly, 13K. Victorian Sherlolly fics and ficlets.

Holding On To You by MangoMartini. Explicit, Sherlolly, 7K. “If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Holmes,” Molly smiles, “I would think you are trying to take advantage of me.” Holmes doesn’t move away. The corners of his lips quirk up into a smile that becomes a laugh that becomes the press of his forehead against hers. She can feel, vividly, the places where his forehead presses against the fringe of the wig. “If I had known that in order to take advantage of you all I had to do was offer you some cocaine, I would have done so years ago.”

Marry Me, Obviously by surrenderdammit. Teen, Sherlolly, 5K. Or, “surrenderdammit’s self-indulgent Victorian!Sherlolly fic”. What is the price of getting Sherlock Holmes to help a hostile morgue director with a secret to hide? “The price, Doctor Hooper, is the truth,” Holmes declared after a few moments of silence. Gesturing for him to sit, Holmes settled down on his preferred armchair and reclined. “I cannot offer my help and discretion if I don’t know exactly what this secret is, lest I end up inadvertently aiding you in whatever sinister business you are hiding.” Taking a deep breath, Hooper nodded. “I suspected as much, though I had hoped I could avoid it. Well, Mr. Holmes….My blackmailer is a man named Thomas Benton, and he wishes to…marry me.”

A Letter to Mary Series by darnedchild. General, Sherlolly, 3K. A short ficlet for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2016 - Day Two (Canon Compliant - The Sherlock Special (TAB))

A War He Must Lose by Writingwife83. General, Sherlolly, 2K. Molly Hooper believes London can no longer hold a place for her after the things she'd recently done, but Sherlock hopes he can change her mind.

New Beginning by Dreamin. Teen, Sherlolly, 1K. Holmes has a realization about Hooper.

The Work by DamselInDeduction. General, Sherlolly, 1K. “Dr. Hooper, The Work is what sustains me. Without it, I would have no purpose and I’m not sure what my life would become. And that Work is incomplete without you and all you have done for me. ”

Warstan

The Case of the Abominable Bride by Radar_Girl. Teen, Gen, 35K. The Abominable Bride story, but in this version it’s John who’s dreaming of the 19th century. There will be differences in how he views the Victorian world and its characters. He still has to figure out which world is real, how to fix his marriage, save Holmes from drugs and Moriarty, and solve the case of the Abominable Bride. And if he can wake up, where and when will he be? (Hint:not on a plane). Don’t worry, John loves this sort of thing.

Gen

It’s About Time by midnightsnapdragon. General, Gen, 2K. Even when his work brought him to the morgue, and he was met with contempt and a scathing remark, even when Lestrade made a point of forcing her to cooperate, it was a little while before the renowned detective took the trouble to give Dr Hooper a proper once-over. (The church scene in “The Abominable Bride”, from Holmes’s point of view.)

Lessons Learned by sfmpco. Not rated, Gen, 1K. When Billy steals from Mrs. Hudson, it is Sherlock he must face to deal with the consequences.  What Sherlock learns, however, is far more valuable.  Based on the portrayals in THE ABOMINABLE BRIDE but pre-TAB.

[briangroth27]

Sherlock: Series 4 Review

Full Spoilers...

Sherlock series 4 was a strong outing overall, though there were a few missteps that kept it from continuing the excellence of their standalone episode from between seasons 3 and 4, The Abominable Bride. Benedict Cumberbatch was excellent at portraying Sherlock going from balanced to completely off the rails, to healthy again with the help of his best friend. Martin Freeman was also great as new father—and widower—John Watson, as he dealt with the highs of a newborn, the crushing guilt and loss of Mary (Amanda Abbington), and ultimately become a solid, supportive rock for Sherlock. I do feel the writing pulled Watson a bit out of character, even if it ended up bringing both him and Sherlock to a strong emotional conclusion.

The first episode, The Six Thatchers, was the weakest link. I liked the case—and all the minor cases they montaged through—but killing Mary was very disappointing. She was a great character who held her own on investigations with Sherlock and Watson, so to go out taking a bullet for Sherlock didn’t feel like a fitting end for her. I don’t entirely buy that a new mother would do that in the first place, but my problem is moreso that it almost feels like they killed her because they couldn't or didn’t want to figure out how to change the Sherlock/Watson dynamic into something fresh with her in the mix. Instead, it seems like they opted for reverting back to what they already had, plus new, unnecessary drama inserted since she died saving Sherlock. That didn’t feel like an important and earned dramatic twist. To pile guilt onto Watson for something so out of character—texting with some random girl he met on the bus—also felt cheap and unneeded. That said, I really enjoyed revisiting the spy world and Mary’s role in it for one last adventure. The reveal that a British Parliament secretary was behind everything was a surprise, and in hindsight definitely should’ve caught Mary’s earlier comment about secretaries knowing everything! I also enjoyed this peek at Mary’s spy past and her message to Sherlock, even if the latter came from a development I felt was unearned. 

The second installment, The Lying Detective, was much stronger. I thought the low-key science fiction “memory erasure” chemicals used to conceal Culverton Smith’s (Toby Jones) murder confession were cool, as were Sherlock’s attempts to prove the entrepreneur really is killing people. Jones was great as the creepy, slimy billionaire murderer. The show’s game of “is Faith real or Sherlock’s hallucination?” was a fun bit of misdirection for both the characters and me. I’d figured Smith actually was a killer, but thought he sent his daughter to Sherlock (and had her avoid all street cameras) to make Holmes look crazy so that no one would believe him…I never guessed the reveal that “Faith,” the woman Watson had been texting, and Watson’s therapist were one and the same and Sherlock’s long-lost sister, Eurus (Sian Brooke)! While I hated killing off Mary, I will say that the fallout was very well done. Watson seeing/hearing imaginary Mary over the course of the episode worked perfectly and the idea of her fixing Sherlock and Watson’s friendship made for a powerful, emotional climax when they finally started talking to each other again. It was a smart move to finally show a bit more humanity in Sherlock’s relationship with Watson, especially considering what was to come in the next episode. Sherlock’s predictive powers were dialed up to 11 for this episode, but that played into the fun of it for me. It was nice that they remembered Irene Adler (Lara Pulver) after all this time too. The only thing that stuck out as a negative—which I may have misheard—was the comment that Sherlock is dying. Was that resolved through his hospital stay, or did they just never mention it again?

The third episode, The Final Problem, was a great cat-and-mouse puzzle box episode! I love the idea of death traps heroes have to use their wits to escape, so Sherlock, Watson, and Mycroft (Mark Gatiss) making their way through a booby-trapped island insane asylum taken over by Eurus was classic and outstanding! The death traps and puzzles themselves were great and intense, paying off subplots like Molly Hooper’s (Louise Brealey) crush on Sherlock and testing Sherlock’s bonds with Mycroft and Watson (I actually thought for a moment Sherlock would shoot his brother to save Watson!). That all the deathtraps were friends vs. family-themed, except the brothers one, was a smart hint at Eurus’ past with Sherlock. The revelation that Redbeard was not Sherlock’s dog, but his friend who’d been killed by Eurus was a total shock! We need more brilliant female villains and Eurus was definitely up to the challenge of confounding her already-brilliant brothers. I wonder if the revelation of the women behind the secret rebellion in The Abominable Bride was foreshadowing Eurus as a powerful woman out for revenge that no one could see coming. I didn’t mind her ability to “hypnotize” people with her voice; I like a little heightened reality (and I almost wonder if Eurus hypnotized Watson into texting her. They didn’t talk much, but…). Moriarty (Andrew Scott) fit into her plan very well; I liked that all his “Miss Me?” videos and audio files were her idea and it was fun to see him one last time. At the start of the season I was intrigued by whether or not Moriarty were still alive somehow, but I preferred this actual resolution. 

I do think the episode made a wrong turn in the last act, however. For starters, the revelation of the truth of the plane scenes was anticlimactic (I guessed it’d be a rig, like a movie set). To end up just being Eurus cowering in a corner—and that she was crazy because Sherlock wouldn’t play with her as a kid—was pretty lame. After all of this, she effectively captures herself? Come on. The last-minute sympathetic nature they tried to give her—without even a hint of emotion (or understanding of emotion) at any point before—feels like they wanted to have it both ways rather than taking her to the logical end of this story. She murdered several people without blinking and Sherlock not playing with her as a kid doesn't excuse that. Why should we feel sorry for her? I'd have preferred they not try to redeem her at the last minute and allow her to be exactly what she was for the rest of the episode: someone with intellect surpassing Sherlock and Mycroft’s, but without any emotions or humanity (maybe she suppressed her’s too as a kid). I really think Eurus should've been a cautionary tale about Sherlock continuing to repress his emotions in favor of sheer intellect (paying off his early self-description as a high-functioning sociopath). Don’t try to make us feel bad for her after watching her murder over and over again, make us fear her. If she were that cautionary tale, then the (brilliant) reveal that meeting John saved Sherlock from what Eurus did to him would’ve connected to the rest of the plot more clearly.

There were a couple of logic holes to the episode as well; chiefly, if she had a hypnotic voice, why was she not ever put in a sound-proof cell? At the very least she should’ve been in one at the end. While I did like the idea of her and Sherlock finally “playing together,” is that really enough to ensure that she’ll just be good and won’t escape again? Also, if Watson and Trevor were put in a well (apparently on or near the Holmes home grounds), why didn't Sherlock know where the well was? Once he knew where Watson was, why wasn't he running to the well? Despite these missteps, the intense mind games and traps in the rest of the episode and the final forging of the iconic Holmes/Watson bond made this a solid and entertaining finale to the fourth series.

If Sherlock ends here—and this certainly felt like an ending—I’ll be disappointed, but only because we won’t be getting any more from it. The show ended with a fun, strong emotional payoff for me, so I’m satisfied with what we have. I’d love to see more, of course, so if Cumberbatch, Martin, and the creators are willing, bring it on!

[aloneiswhatihave1895]

An Unlocked Gate

(A companion to Crossroads from Molly’s pov)

Midnight came and went a long time ago, yet Molly still couldn't sleep. Rationally, she knew that she should be able to: she had a long day at work and she's exhausted. But every time she shut her eyes, she remembered the child that died in a car accident - and she'd had to do the autopsy this afternoon. Generally, she could do her job with a minimum amount of emotional impact, but children are always the exception. Every single time she saw a dead child, their life ended far too early, she wants to cry. When she finally came home, that's exactly what she did.

She curled up on her couch with Toby and sobbed until she ran out of tears. She didn't feel much better afterward, so she decided to make herself a cup of tea. Molly, tea will heal a multitude of woes, her dad always said. There is no situation where tea won't help.

So she started to make her cup of tea, and that's when her phone rang. She managed to ignore it the first time and that's when most people usually give up. The fact that it rang again caught her attention. She'd looked at her phone only to find that it was Sherlock. Sherlock never calls when he can text. Never. In fact, he's even told her so in the past - that if he ever calls her, it's because it's too important to be communicated in a text, so please be sure to answer. It shocked her that he'd say please and she said she would.

So she answered, if only because it was their agreement.

Sherlock.....

She turned over on her side, and pulled the covers closer to her chin. She tried to block out the memory of their conversation, but she couldn't. Every time she thought she was able to put it out of her mind, his words came back to her:

Please say these words....I love you.

Molly, no, please, no! Don't hang up! Do not hang up!

Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me.

No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend.

Please, just say those words for me.

It's very important....I can't say why. But I promise you it is.

Please, just say it.

I love you.

I love you....

Molly? Molly, please....

She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. It would be easy to dismiss the whole conversation as another one of his horrible twisted games, but she couldn't. She couldn't because Sherlock didn't sound like himself. He didn't sound suave like he usually does when he's trying to manipulate her. Oh, he tried to, especially when he was talking about experiments and cases, but even then....she didn't know. Even then there was this strong undercurrent of sheer desperation.

Molly, no, please, no!

She'd never heard him sound so anxious and panicked. Never. Sherlock Holmes was always in control of everything, including his emotions. But...but he didn't sound like he was. He'd asked - no, he'd begged - her to say I love you as if it mattered to him far more than anything else ever had. The whole conversation was so strange. And then...and then he'd said I love you to her. At her request, but still. He'd said it - and not once, but twice. The first was fake, she knew that easily. But the second....the second time almost sounded like he meant it, like the words were true but he'd never realized it until then. It had almost sounded real.

And that's why she couldn't sleep. Because what if he did mean it? What would happen then? Nothing would ever be the same again. I, love, and you, she thought now. Three simple words, but put together they have the power to change everything. They already had. If nothing else, Sherlock knew for certain that she loved him and she could never go back in time and change that. She remembered how much her dad loved metaphors. He'd put them all over the house, but one of his favorites had been about love. "Telling someone you love them, Molly," he'd said, "is like unlocking a gate. You give them the key, and they have the choice of whether to follow you or not. But you can never go back to before you said it. You can't take that key back once you've given it."

She sighed before she dragged herself out of bed. Her movement disturbed Toby, who had been sleeping at her feet. "Sorry," she whispered as she slipped on her dressing gown and slippers. "I just can't lay here anymore. I can't."

Toby yowled in displeasure, but just like he usually did, he curled up again and slept. She left her room and aimlessly walked around her living room. She didn't even know what to do with herself. She could read, or she could watch telly.

But she didn't want to do either one. What she wanted more than anything in the world was to talk to her dad about Sherlock, and she couldn't because he was gone.  The thought caused tears to well up in her eyes. The faintest sound of a footstep caught her attention, and she felt more than knew that someone is at her door. She walked over to it and pulled it open.

Sherlock stood there in front of her, and she knew immediately that he had been, in fact, on a case. But this one was different, she could tell from the look in his eyes. Usually, he's excited, high on an adrenaline rush, because he's solved a crime. But now....now his shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes looked at her, and she saw relief there, but also a deep pain and sadness that only comes from passing through fire. Beyond a doubt, she knew that he's hurting. "Sherlock? What-...."

Before she could even finish her sentence, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her shoulder. Almost immediately, she felt the burden that he's carrying. "Sherlock, what is it?" she said. "What's the matter?"

"I have a sister," he said, his voice almost muffled by her dressing gown.

For a minute, she wanted to put her finger in her ear just to make sure they weren't clogged. She thought he'd said something about having a sister, but surely she must have heard wrong. Maybe he said "I have a twister," or "I have a blister." But she knew neither of those couldn't possibly be what he said because a) they didn't make any sense and b) having a twister or a blister would never cause so much pain in Sherlock's eyes. "You have a what?" she said as she drew away from him.

"I have a sister," he said again, and she realized that she had heard him correctly the first time. "She's mentally ill."

She slowly blinked at him. Well, finding out that you have a psychotic secret sibling would definitely devastate you, she thought. No wonder Sherlock's whole face and eyes held so much sorrow. He probably felt like someone had cut into his chest and ripped open his heart with a scalpel. It was one thing to learn that you had a sister that you didn't remember; it was completely to find out that they were also mentally ill. Her own heart ached for him. "Sherlock, why don't you come in and tell me about it?"

She didn't have to ask him twice. He hung up his coat on the peg that was "his," and then he followed her into the living room. They barely sat down before he started to talk, pouring out the most horribly sad story she'd ever heard in her life. She knew without a doubt that he was telling the truth, because why would he ever make something like this up?

His younger sister was named Euros, he told her. She was one year younger than him, but she was even smarter than him or Mycroft. Her intelligence manifested in a very different way. She set her mind on destruction - she killed his childhood best friend, Victor Trevor. She burned down their family home, and afterward she went to live in a secure facility called Sherrinford. He didn't remember anything about her until Euros had come to London to drug John and blow up Baker Street. Then, once he, John, and Mycroft traveled to Sherrinford, she'd put them through a series of terrible tests: first, who would kill the guardsman so his wife would live (The man committed suicide, and Euros killed the wife); second, who out of three men was guilty of a crime (she'd killed all three). He paused before he told her about the next one and she wondered if this was when he'd called her.

It was. He'd been confronted with a coffin with "I love you" written on the lid and she would be killed if he wasn't able to force her to say it. Suddenly his desperation on the phone made sense. But she still wondered that the threat of her death would hurt Sherlock so much that Euros used her in her tests.

But she didn't say anything, even when he mentioned that the whole scenario was a hoax. She let him tell her about the last test - where he was supposed to choose between killing Mycroft or John. He wouldn't. He would have shot himself, but Euros shot them all with tranquilizer darts instead. He said the next bit about finding Euros later at their childhood home and her eventual capture far more quickly than anything else. Lastly, he mentioned that Euros had met Moriarty at one point and in five minutes they'd devised the whole plan.

Once he finished, she didn't know what to say. A simple "I'm sorry" or "that's horrible" didn't go nearly far enough to soothe his suffering. Nothing she said ever would, so she remained silent.

"Molly," he said finally. "Did you-..."

Tea, she thought, and food. When in doubt, always feed people. Knowing Sherlock as she did, he probably hadn't eaten in days. Perhaps the sustenance would help. "When's the last time you ate, Sherlock?" she asked him. "I think you need a good cup of tea and biscuits. Maybe a sandwich?"

He blinked at her and frowned, clearly stunned by her reaction. She could tell that he hadn't predicted that she would offer tea after he'd finished. Did he expect her to crumple to pieces? "Molly, did you hear what I just told you?"

"Of course I did," she assured him. "I heard all about what Euros did to you, John, and Mycroft. But these sorts of things are always better to talk about with tea." She managed to give him a small smile. "At least, that's what my dad always said. So what kind do you want?"

"What kind of what?" he said, clearly still shocked by the offer.

"What kind of sandwich and tea do you want?"

"I don't know," he said dully. "Whatever you make is fine."

"Okay, I'll be right back then," she said. She walked into her kitchen and first she put the kettle on because hot tea was the most important. Then she walked over to her fridge and pulled out all the ingredients for the sandwiches. Her own stomach rumbled and she decided to make two - one for her and one for Sherlock. She didn't know why exactly, but she began to hum. Maybe it was because she wanted so desperately to curl up on the floor and sob for him, but she had to be strong. He...he needed her right now, and even if he didn't know it, she did. No one should ever have to walk this kind of path alone.

She'd almost finished the sandwiches when she felt a pair of arms slip around her waist. Sherlock. "I love you," he whispered. His proximity and the sound of his deep voice close to her ear sent shivers down her spine. Immediately her hands stopped working and she let out a strangled sound that she wished she hadn't. She shut her eyes, trying to compose herself, though it was so difficult when his I love you felt so true. But what did he have to gain in saying it now? Why was he doing this to her? "Euros isn't here," she said, pleased that her voice sounded steady. "You don't have to say it."

"Molly, please," he said in a tone that she only remember hearing once before: earlier that day after he'd said I love you. Molly? Molly, please.... "Look at me."

He asked her politely, but she still couldn't escape the flicker of fear that rose up in her at facing him. She couldn't decide which scenario frightens her more - learning that he didn't mean any of it or learning that he did. Be brave, Molly. She could hear her dad as clearly as if he was standing next to her. Don't forget that love can be most frightening when it's real. Tears came to her eyes, yet she still forced herself to face him. She met his eyes and she's promptly shocked by the amount of affection she saw there.

"I am sorry you had to hear it first like that," he said, almost with a grimace. "Terrible circumstances, I admit. Hardly ideal for a declaration, I concede. But you also have to know that it's true and I did mean it. I do mean it. I love you."

She desperately wanted to look away from him - to look at anything instead. But his eyes begged her not to, and so she didn't. Instead she searched his face for any sign of insincerity.

She found none at all. Instead, she saw a naked vulnerability that she's only seen once before when he asked her to help him fake his death. But there's even more than that now. There's affection, there's tenderness, there's truth, but most of all there is deep love for her.

For the first time, her heart realized that he truly meant it. He loved her. After all those years of waiting and hoping, he really loved her. "And I love you," she whispered. He hadn't asked her for the words, not this time, but she gave them anyway.

Once again, he pulled her into his arms and his cheek rested on her hair. She wanted to control her tears, but she couldn't. They began to slip down her cheeks and she was sure she was making a mess of his shirt. As she cried, she's continued to be held by Sherlock Holmes - no, she realized, that's not quite right. She's held by the man who loved her.

Now that they've both said I love you, nothing would be the same again. But suddenly she wasn't afraid anymore. After years of loneliness and isolation, neither of them will be alone ever again. They would always have each other.  I did it, Dad, she thought. I unlocked the gate and gave him the key. He walked right through to me.

Somewhere, she knew her dad was smiling.