#you may hate me for calling sherlock holmes a silly little thing

[queenofthearchives]

Arthur Conan Doyle 🤝 Robert Pattinson

Two men who did a silly little thing and were made to regret it for the rest of their lives

RIP Arthur Conan Doyle. You would’ve hated us for still obsessing over a man you hated so much that you had to kill him.

[tiger-moran]

I finished reading Sherlock Holmes My Life and Crimes

I guess I should be impressed by how Hardwick managed to write so much about Moriarty and still failed to make him interesting to me

or how completely thoroughly he fucked up Moriarty and Moran’s characterisation and relationship

I was kind of hoping this would be one of those books that just forgot Moran existed but no

Moriarty and Holmes manage to get a fairly positive relationship including spending the entire ‘hiatus’ together and culminating in Moriarty dying in Holmes’ arms with Holmes tenderly cradling his head and Holmes being like 'I will avenge you!’

Moran meanwhile is the one who fucking shoots and kills Moriarty because he thinks Moriarty abandoned and betrayed him and has spent those close to three years hunting him down

Also we get the typical ‘no homo’ bullshit essentially saying that Moriarty isn’t gay despite what the rumours said about him (and by the way Holmes also clearly states that he is not himself “a homosexual”)

Then Moriarty flat out saying that “He is not a type of man of whom I could ever make a personal friend” about Moran

Also despite everything it still says that Moran is a “staunch patriot” LMFAO

Also despite a vague attempt here and there to give Moriarty some depth like saying he likes music (which obviously I agree with) Moriarty’s character is very lacking; he still doesn’t feel like a proper person and there is way too much of an over-reliance on the head-oscillating thing as some kind of attempt at characterisation and it’s just... not. It’s one trait that’s probably just some random thing he did briefly or occasionally yet it’s been done to death in so many things. Can we just all agree to stop using that cos it’s like the thing of having Holmes saying “The game is afoot” every few minutes, it’s so fucking cliched and overdone and frankly pretty silly as well if you’re trying to make out it’s not like some nervous tic or some brief gesture but something he’s doing very obviously and pretty much permanently (you don’t know how grateful I am that they tried that out with Jared Harris’s Moriarty but decided it didn’t work). Also it’s like... he’s a mathematical genius in it maybe but he seems pretty stupid and useless in every other way? Sure I think Moriarty is actually pretty clueless in some ways but he’s not that helpless and useless and I’m not buying that either he would let himself be manipulated and basically blackmailed into helping the british government without ever trying to get out of that or that he may actually secretly have some kind of patriotic feelings after all towards britain. 

And this is just the same bullshit take on Moriarty and Moran that has been done over and over again (and is still being done even now. Yeah this book is from the 1980s but most takes on them even in recent years are just as bad).

The canon: calls Moriarty and Moran friends more than once, suggests both could be queer, puts them in a position where they both must trust each other deeply or they couldn’t possibly function, has Moriarty take Moran with him to Europe and has him protect Moran from arrest and even suspicion, has Moran being so loyal to Moriarty he continues to hunt Holmes long after it would be sensible to do so

This book: Moriarty isn’t gay and to call him gay is slander, Moran cannot possibly be his friend, Moriarty is terrified of Moran, Moran trusts Moriarty so little that when Moriarty vanishes without having time to tell him what’s really happening he immediately assumes Moriarty has betrayed him and hunts him down and finally murders him

Me to Michael Hardwick:

What is it with all these people hating the idea that Moriarty and Moran are close? Or this thing of deciding to portray Moriarty fairly positively and then destroying Moran’s character and making him a hateful horrible person even towards Moriarty? Or deciding to have Moriarty and Holmes be fairly nice to each other but then absolutely destroying the relationship between Moriarty and the man he was actually canonically really close to?

In conclusion: fuck this book

*yeets it into the sun*

[cutie1365]

Winchester Part 2/4

Pairing: Sherlock x Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Violence, language, blood

A/N: Part 1 can be found on my masterlist, which is in my bio! If you’d like to be tagged in this or any of my works, there’s a link in my bio to a google form. If you comment to be added, I’ll add you, but sometimes the notification gets lost.

Any and all feedback is welcome and encouraged :)

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Your brothers were set to arrive any minute now after hopping on the first flight they could get out of Kansas. John accompanied you in picking them up from the airport, as Sherlock still thought this whole thing was ridiculous, and you couldn’t exactly blame him. Sure, it sounded crazy, it’s downright biblical, but you had known better than to doubt the existence of such beings.

“Are those your brothers?” John asked, turning to you with a raised brow as he saw the two men approaching with their sights set on you.

“Yup.” You smiled, it’s been years since you’ve seen them, even though they check in every few months.

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were part giant,” John laughed, pausing for a moment before turning to you with a more serious tone, “Wait, are giants real too?”

“Don’t be silly John,” You laughed, and he looked relieved, “Dragons are though.”

“No way.” He deadpanned.

“They’ve got a thing for virgins.” You nodded.

“Now you’re just playing with me.” He shook his head, and you smiled to make him think you were joking... and you really wished you were.

The boys had made it out of the gate and you ran and jumped into Dean’s arms as he dropped his duffel bag.

“There’s my girl.” He chuckled, hugging you and spinning you around.

“Sammy!” You hugged him next, you saw him eyeing your injuries with a sad smile. He wanted you to get out of this life. Hell, he’d even helped you get out of it, and here you were, right back at square one.

You were smiling wide, glad to be back with your family when you saw Dean eyeing the man next to you.

“Oh, this is my friend John Watson. John these are my brothers Sam and Dean.” You introduced them, pointing between your brothers as they moved to shake John’s hand.

“So what’s the plan?” Sam asked as they gathered their bags and you began to walk outside to hail a cab.

“We’ve been doing some research and triangulating local news clippings and sightings. We may have a location. Sherlock’s at Scotland Yard looking into if there’s been any other suspicious murders in the area that could help us lock down their hunting ground. He’ll meet us back at the flat after we get any supplies we need.” You explained, as the boys followed you and you raised your hand out into the street, a black cab stopping and pulling over for you.

“Good, we’ll get to work.” Sam nodded.

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With duffel bags freshly filled with supplies for the hunt, Dean and Sam followed you up the stairs to 221B Baker Street.

From the top of the stairs you could see Sherlock in his usual chair, donning a white dress shirt and black pants, with a file open on his lap. As he saw you enter the room he closed the file and stood to greet you and your new guests.

“Did you find any more?” You pointed to the file in his hands.

“Two stabbings with the same weapon, bodies found this morning on opposite sides of London, no apparent connection between the victims.” Sherlock handed you the file, you furrowed your brows as you flipped it open and read it, before realizing your brothers were still silently standing behind you waiting to be introduced.

“Shit, sorry. Sherlock these are my brothers Sam and Dean. Boys, this is Sherlock Holmes.” You motioned between them, before drawing your attention back to the files.

You looked up to see Dean giving Sherlock a dirty look that was no doubt meant to threaten him since you hadn’t introduced him as a friend like you did with John. No matter how old you got, he’d always be your protective older brother. You slyly elbowed him in the ribs, and he cracked a smile as he shook Sherlock’s hand.

“These kills look nothing like the first,” You flipped through the photos included in the files, “I mean, the weapon is the same. Looks like an angel blade, but they’re so much more... violent, messy. Overkill.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement as you handed the file to your brothers. Sam took it and began scouring the pages.

“You just had to go and piss off some demons, huh?” Dean raised a brow after seeing the bloody photos.

“Yes Dean, because I did this on purpose.” You said sarcastically, with a roll of your eyes.

“I’m just saying.” Dean shrugs.

“Bitch.” You shook your head at him.

“Jerk.” He retorted with the common reply shared by the three of you.

“You’re just cranky because you hate flying.” You put your hands on your hips and smirked at him.

“I’m not cranky.” He whined, causing you to raise a brow in a sort of are you sure about that? kind of way.

“Oh yes you are,” you chuckled, “Come on, let’s get you some coffee.”

Dean followed you into the kitchen as you began gathering a few mugs and pouring the black liquid from the pot into them. Dean’s eyes danced around all the scientific equipment in the kitchen.

“Does Dr. fucking Frankenstein live here?” He asked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Whatever you do, don’t open the freezer.” You handed him his coffee with a smirk.

“That’s a joke right, please tell me you’re joking.” He called after you as you left the kitchen without another word, praying he didn’t stumble upon the fingers in the freezer. While he looked like a tough guy, he was a little squeamish when it came to dismemberment.

As you reentered the living room you smiled at the sight of John and Sam chatting and organizing all the supplies. It was nice to see them getting along, and John not thinking this entire operation was crazy. You approached Sherlock’s chair and handed him the cup you’d prepared just the way he likes it - black, two sugars. He accepted it with a smile as you sat in the wooden ‘client chair’ that had been pulled next to him.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly.

He hesitated for a second, likely deciding how honest he wanted to be in his reply.

“That we may just have a serial killer on our hands who’s escalating and devolving.” He answered, and you nodded.

“In a way you’re right.” You smiled, you knew this wasn’t easy for him to understand. You weren’t mad that he was sceptical. Hell, you would be too if you didn’t grow up the way you did.

“Hmm.” He hummed in dissatisfaction as you stood up and smiled, placed a hand on his arm reassuringly, giving him a little squeeze, before walking back towards the kitchen.

You sat at the counter flipping through the files once more, making sure there wasn’t anything you were all missing. You didn’t like walking into a hunt unprepared. There were only so many things you could control, and you never wanted lack of research to cause your downfall.

The four men were gathering the final supplies together in the living room, preparing to leave soon.

John had noticed Sam’s tattoo as they were moving things around.

“What’s it mean?” John pointed to his own collar bone, really just trying to make conversation.

“Anti-possession sigil,” Dean explained as they pulled down the collar of their shirt to expose their warding tattoos, “We’ve all got one.”

“Y/N doesn’t have any tattoos.” Sherlock shook his head, causing everyone to turn to you with wide eyes.

You almost choked on your coffee, before placing the glass down. Your brothers raised a brow at you, both for different reasons. Sam was worried, you could tell.

You sighed, turning towards the group and pulling your shirt and bra strap down your shoulder, exposing the bare untattooed skin. Sam worried once you got out of that life, you would have done something stupid like try to get it removed, leaving you vulnerable.

You took one more glance at Sherlock, hoping he wouldn’t think any different of you. He looked on with furrowed brows, watching hesitantly.

You rubbed your fingers hard against your skin, slowly revealing the tattoo below, covered with makeup. Your eyes met Sams and he looked relieved.

“What?” Sherlock came closer to examine the tattoo, how had he not noticed it before? Him of all people? He raised his finger to brush against the tinted skin, imagining the pain the needle must have caused. You weren’t the type of person to get a tattoo, you hated needles and he knew this. So the fact that you put yourself through that wasn’t to be taken lightly.

He backed away cautiously, obviously deep in thought. This didn’t mean he believed you yet, but he did have a lot of questions, per usual.

As Sam went over the plan with John and Sherlock once more, Dean approached you as you pulled your shirt back up your shoulder.

“Don’t think we’re not gonna talk about how he knew that.” Dean tilted his head and gave you a disapproving look.

“Dean...” You sighed, you were an adult, you shouldn’t have to explain yourself.

“So is it serious?” He glazed back towards Sherlock who was listening intently to Sam.

“Can we not do this now?” You whispered, not wanting them to overhear.

“Is it?” Dean asked once more, his tone more demanding.

“Yes, ok. I wouldn’t have dragged him into this mess if it wasn’t.” You shook your head, a pang of guilt rushing through you. You knew if any of them got hurt today, it was on your head.

“I don’t think he’s taking this seriously.” Dean shook his head, noticing how Sherlock’s not been the most active in the preparations for the hunt, and you couldn’t blame him.

“He’s a graduate chemist and a detective. He relies on science and facts. We can’t just expect him to believe in fairy tales with no proof.” You tried to explain, but Dean wasn’t exactly convinced.

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The five of you stood outside an empty warehouse on the outskirts of the city that you had traced to be their hideout. They were demons on the run, rogues, they couldn’t risk blending in anymore. They had to lay low.

“We sure this is the place?” Dean asked with a raised brow.

“It’s our best shot.” Sam nodded.

“You ready?” Dean turned back to you and asked, eyeing Sherlock and John behind you.

“Let’s go.” You cocked the shotgun Dean had given you with special salt filled bullets.

You turned back to Sherlock and John one last time before you went in.

“Try to stay behind me, but shoot if you have to.” You instructed them, Dean had given them some bullets he’d made with holy water in them that fit into the guns they already own. They nodded, realizing this was really about to happen.

Sam kicked down the door of the warehouse, the boys taking lead. Two demons bolted up from their chairs at a makeshift table in the middle of the room. At least you had the element of surprise on your side, they weren’t expecting you. While their vessels were new, their eyes immediately turned black, and you knew you were in the right place. They looked worried, they knew they were outnumbered.

One immediately ran at you, and you fired your shotgun. The salt burned into his chest. It slowed him down, but it also pissed him off. He ran at you once more, while you pulled an iron knife from your waistband. As he charged at you, you buried the knife into his abdomen and twisted as he screamed in pain, the iron burning his skin.

He fell back onto the floor and you were able to pin him down, holding the iron blade against his neck as he squirmed.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” You began to mutter the exorcism in Latin, angering him even more.

The demon kicked you off of him, sending you flying into the wooden table they were sitting as when you came in. You held your head for a moment as your vision blurred. You tried to focus and center yourself, as you saw the demon charge towards you once more. Your gun sat on the floor a few feet away as you tried to reach for it in time. When your head turned you heard a shot ring out, and whipped your head back. Sherlock had his arm raised, still pointing his gun at the demon who screamed in pain again. The holy water hurt him, but it didn’t kill him.

You turned to see that your brothers had trapped his partner in a salt circle, and Sam was now exorcising him. You made eye contact with Dean and he nodded, tossing you Ruby’s demon killing knife. You jumped to your feet, catching the blade and charging at the demon before you in one swift movement.

He must have realized what you were holding. You lunged at him, blade extended, you braced for impact. But the moment before the knife sunk into his chest, the demon escaped from his vessel. A black cloud swirling out of his mouth and disappearing into the night.

“Dammit!” You yelled, ripping the knife out of the already deceased vessel.

Sam and Dean turned around at the sound of your voice. You turned to see they had successfully exorcised the other demon, sending him back to hell. Crowley wouldn’t go easy on a rogue who wasn’t following his orders, his fate was sealed.

“You good?” Dean asked, offering you a hand as you sat on the floor next to the unmoving body.

“I had him.” You growled, placing your hand in Deans and letting him pull you to your feet.

“We’ll find him, don’t worry.” Sam tried to reassure you, but you shook your head in anger, not wanting to listen to him coddle you.

“What the hell just happened?” John asked with wide eyes, unsure of what he just witnessed.

“We got one of them, but the other left his vessel and escaped. He could be miles away by now.” Dean explained, wiping some blood from his lip where the dead demon’s fist had caught him.

“So what do we do now?” Sherlock asked, putting his gun away.

“Back to square fucking one.” You huffed, pushing through the group of men and back towards the entrance of the warehouse.

Obviously you were angry, you had him on the ropes. He was right there, but you couldn’t finish the job.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow to Sam, silently questioning if he should go after you. He’d never seen you like this. He’s never seen you fire a gun, let alone fight like that and stab a man... twice. This was a whole new side of you, one he understood why you kept hidden. He wanted to make sure you were ok.

Sam shook his head, raising a hand to stop Sherlock from moving. He knew how you got after a hunt that didn’t go as planned,  and no one deserved to be on the receiving end of that fight. It was best if they let you be, they’d learned that lesson the hard way many years ago. It seems as though all these years have passed, nothing really changed.

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Taglist in reblog. Masterlist in bio.

[thebeethathums]

A Study in Pink

Pairing: It Had to Happen: Jude Law John Watson x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Lots of Pink

A/N: Sort of a pair to go with The Courier... siblings everywhere.

Light flooded the messy room and Sherlock Holmes shrieked, throwing his hands up against the stinging brightness as John Watson chuckled. The doctor finished opening the curtains as he notified his friend, “I do hope you remember that my sister is coming for a visit Sherlock. I expect you to be on your best behavior and to put on something more than your nightclothes. She is a proper lady and you will treat her as such.” “Of course my dear Watson. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.” John turned to give him a look that said I’m serious and I don’t believe you but Sherlock wasn’t looking at him, having moved to fiddle with something on one of the many tables in his room as he nonchalantly asked, “When is she due to arrive?” “I’m to retrieve her from the station at half-past two.” Sherlock moved to steer him out of the room, “Right. I’ll be otherwise occupied until four o’clock. Do not disturb me.”

The door was shut in John’s face before he could do anything and he sighed, he’d tried- now all he could do was pray to God that he didn’t do anything drastic while you were there. He looked at his watch, he still had a few hours before he needed to retrieve you so he might as well get some paperwork done for his practice. He was just heading into his room when there was knock on the front door and he went to answer it. As soon as your brother opened the door you pushed past him, “I hate our family, John. All of them. They are so dull and… and… tedious.” He was still sort of standing in shock and you turned to give him a soft smile, “Except you of course. I hate everyone save you.” He finally recovered, “Did you come here on your own? I was supposed to retrieve you and escort you back… it’s not safe for a lady to be walking about alone. I thought your train wasn’t going to arrive until later.” You rolled your eyes, “I just had to get away from Harry so I found one that allowed me to leave earlier.” “It can’t have been that bad, (F/n).” You gestured to your dress, “Do you see what he has me in? This pink atrocity… That infernal man knows I hate the color and forces it upon me just to infuriate me. He even insisted I wear this idiotic little hat.” You flicked it with your finger and then mocked your eldest brother, “ ‘You will be meeting the amazing Sherlock Holmes. You have to look your best, (F/n)’ I highly doubt a man as eccentric as you and the papers describe cares whether or not I wear a silly hat in this dreadful shade of pink.” John looked you over with a bemused expression-he had to admit it was the brightest shade of pink he’d ever seen and didn’t lack for frills and bows. You scowled at him, “Show me to your room.” He raised an eyebrow at your demand, “You’ve only just arrived don’t you want-“ You shook your head violently, “Now, please.” He led you to his room only to be shoved out and have the door shut in his face…again. He leaned against the doorframe with a sigh, he’d forgotten how Harry could so easily work you up into a tiff by insisting you wear certain dresses or taking you to places where you were expected to be seen and not heard- among other things. He was about to knock on the door, curious as to what you might be doing in his room, when it opened and you stepped out to provide an answer to his question. You had changed into a set of his clothes- a white shirt tucked into grey trousers with suspenders- and loosed your hair from its prim bun under the hat, shaking it out with a hand as you let out a relieved sigh, “I can breath again. I swear I’ve never been so glad to be rid of anything in my entire life.” “You can’t wear that, (F/n). It’s not proper for a young lady to wear a man’s clothing.” You leveled him with a flat and serious look, “I will wear what I please, proper or not. Father has already disowned me for not marrying that idiot as he demanded of me. So sod proper.” John let out a resigned sigh and you flashed a triumphant grin before throwing your arms around his neck in a hug, “Oh I’ve missed you so terribly, John.” “And I you” he exclaimed, returning your hug tightly before letting go when he heard Sherlock’s voice behind him, “I thought you said she was a proper lady, Watson. From what I see, she is a lady but far from proper.” You ducked behind your brother as a blush colored your cheeks and John scolded his flatmate, “I also told you to behave.” You rested your forehead on his back as you grumbled, “This is all Harry’s fault. I hate him. Him and that ghastly pink dress.” John turned to wrap you in a hug, reassuring you, “Chin up, little sister, you were the one who said sod proper remember? Sherlock hardly cares as he is rarely ever proper himself.”   There was a deep bark causing all three of you to jump and look in that direction before you gave a wide grin and dropped to your knees as its source, John’s bulldog, bounded towards you, “Glady!” You took him up in your lap as he licked at your face and you giggled, “You are heavier than I remember. Someone has been feeding you well.” He rolled off your lap and looked up at Sherlock as he let out another bark, as if to name the man as his source of extra food, and John gaped at him, “I told you not to feed him anything more, Sherlock. What have you been giving him?” You scratched at Gladstone’s ears as they began to argue and then looked up at your brother, “Come now, John. He looks healthy enough and he’s obviously happy. Let Mr. Holmes alone.” John flushed red, having forgotten you were there, and offered you a hand, “My apologies, dear sister. It seems in living here I’ve forgotten my manners.” You took his hand, gracefully lifting off the floor before he linked his arm with yours and faced Sherlock, “Sherlock I’d like to introduce you to my younger sister. (F/n). (F/n)- the great Sherlock Holmes.” You offered a hand for him to shake and a shy smile as you dipped in a curtsy, “A pleasure, Mr. Holmes.” To your surprise he bent to graze your knuckles with a kiss, eyes locked on you the entire time, “Please call me Sherlock and I can assure you with one hundred percent certainty that the pleasure is all mine, Miss Watson.” You went an interesting shade of red and John pulled you away from him with a glare, “Would you like some tea, (F/n)? You must be tired from traveling.” You gave a little nod, tugging at the hem of your trousers, “Some tea would be much appreciated and perhaps some socks?” He looked down at your bare feet, “What happened to yours?” Sherlock gave an amused grin as he answered for you, “They were pink.” “Correct” you hummed and John scowled, “I believe Harry may have gone a bit too far with that.” “And I refer you back to my previous statement of my hatred of our family.” He sighed, “Save me. I remember.  Allow me to get you some socks in a less garish color before your feet freeze and you catch cold.”        

[silentauroriamthereal]

(This is a big reply to witch-lock’s 11 (!!) replies about my story Bridging the Ravine here – feel free to scroll on past!) 😊 My responses will be interjected!

@witch-lock said:

I’m glad you felt my little mini review did your story justice! It was the first fic I read post series 4, not only the first series 4 fic but the first fic I’d touched about them since tfp aired. It was truly a wonderful experience, to see my two favorite characters healing and sharing in that healing alongside them. I felt like I was in that therapy office, getting to grow and move forward with what had happened just like they were. This fic will always hold a special place in my heart because of what it did for me, maudlin as it may seem, it made me believe in the notion of Them again. Made me believe in the chance to move forward, truly that the pain of the past isn’t “Set in Stone” as it were. I’ve always loved your five, but this one was special because of its significance with all that was going on and how disconnected I felt to something, as silly as it is, that meant a lot to me.

First, omg, @witch-lock!!! I was already thinking that I hadn’t said NEARLY enough to respond to the depth and enormity of what you said the first time around, so let me just take a few minutes to respond to this properly! I know what you mean about TFP. Completely. After HLV aired, I basically absorbed and processed for all of two hours before I dove directly into my first long fix-it fic, then started another after that, etc. This time, though, TFP just left me feeling so flat. I had to process and express my thoughts about it first, before I was even able to start unpacking my feelings enough to start fixing it in fictive form. Every story I wrote, from after TLD onward, has featured: John apologizing to Sherlock for that day in the hospital morgue, and for blaming him for Mary’s death, and/or whatever he wrote in that letter, and therapy has also been a recurring theme. This was the first story that I set significantly in the future after series 4, though, and it was refreshing!

And to me, this fic was exactly what they needed. The chance to feel the rush of the work and the case again (without evil sisters and deep psychological damage and so much pain). Like I said, it felt very old days. It was Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together again in what felt like a very long time. Because that’s what’s it’s truly about: not just the work, but them working together. That’s what had been missing, collaboration, communication, support and having having each other’s backs. Just the two of them against the world. Sherlock himself had remarked on wanting that back in TEH, and I thought it was well time he got it. But what I also loved so much about this fic, was that the growth was earned. They had to work for it. They had to talk and work through what was not the calm before the storm, but the wreckage after.

I completely agree with this! They needed to work together again, in a significantly less damaging situation! They needed to become a team again – except with the benefit of REAL communication between them this time! No short-cuts – as you said, they had to work through it and for it. I love that that aspect of this story worked for you!

I adored Margaret; supporting them, but also unafraid to call them out. And honestly it’s exactly what they needed and very cathartic to see them finally get help. They were able to acknowledge their own wrong doings without self flagellation and able to acknowledge the wrongs done to them without anger and hatred festering. And may I just say, I have always respected that you as a writer don’t dwell on self flagellation as some authors are wont to do.

Some prefer to run them through the ringer again and again and keep them in misery, hating themselves and each other, but it’s never been to my tastes; I prefer the outlook and subsequent messages that things can change, that they can get better. Stagnation has never interested me, I’m inclined towards growth. That is something I appreciated greatly. Yes there were consequences.

I’ve loved writing therapy for them both since series 4 aired, and I really enjoyed creating Margaret, and being able to speak directly to Sherlock and John through her! I’m really pleased that you liked her and found that cathartic. Thanks for what you said about the self-flagellation, too! I don’t think that it helps anyone or anything for a person to wallow in their own guilt. In a way, that’s just as self-centred as the rest of it. For real, you have to get out of yourself and make forward progress. As to running these two through the ringer… well, before series 4 I wrote a lot more angst than I do now! Now I’ve really lost my taste for it – canon has given me more than I can stomach, where that’s concerned. I’m currently much more interested in finding them some LONG overdue healing!

Yes, there was emotional and psychological fallout. No, things don’t just disappear and change magically overnight. But yes, things can get better with hard work and love. It was also a wonderful case fic, and at the risk of being redundant, it truly was reminiscent of the old days while maintaining awareness of the consequences of the new. I missed the days of solving mysteries and finding each other along the way; I missed the classic fake relationship and bed sharing tropes. And I loved the new spin you put on them with the context of this story. The supporting cast was interesting and I grew to care for them and their relationships. I also really respected the diversity of gay relationships you presented. Each couple and characters within them had unique personalities and struggles, and their stories were not cast aside for our protagonists.

I’m pleased that this felt reminiscent of the “good old days”, aka between series 2 & 3! I love the bed-sharing trope as much as anyone else, and as far as whole-story tropes go, I’d never actively set out to write one before this story. I thought maybe I could allow myself to do it just the once, and try out a fake-couple-for-a-case story! I’m really pleased that you found the other original characters interesting, too!! I’ve never written so many of them into a fanfic before and was a little worried that people would find them dull. Huge thanks for this, though! I wanted to do exactly that: show Sherlock and John, as their own relationship was developing, a really full spectrum of what two men in a romantic relationship can look like, the complexities of the whole top/bottom question, the range of “masculinity” to “femininity” (I somewhat reject these terms in general, but you know what I mean!). I wanted there to be gay men who like baking and home décor, and gay men who like running their businesses and watching football, and gay men who reject top/bottom terminology and gay men who claim it firmly, and gay men who are interested in having kids and gay men who aren’t, plus the intersectionality of race, age differences, and everything in between. I’m really pleased that you liked my OC’s! 😊

They felt real, they felt respected, and I greatly respect you for that. And it was wonderful to see Sherlock and John making friends and gaining a support group after everything. And what a perfect setting, couples counseling specific to the unique struggles and joys of gay love. It was truly cathartic across the board.

And friends!! Yes! Sherlock and John need some actual friends, not just people that they work with, and bonus points, I figured, if it’s some other gay couples, so that they can see that they have a place in a community rather than just existing with their own issues in an isolated vacuum. Community is so important! I also wanted them to see this kind of diversity so that they could really understand that there were no set expectations, that their relationship was fully allowed to be whatever they needed it to be, in whatever way fits with who they are. 😊

To make a long continuation of a review short, I truly love this story. Thank you for writing it. 💜      

No seriously, thank YOU!!!! This is so nice!! I’m just bowled over by the thoughtfulness and generosity of your comments – thank you so very much! <333333333333333333333333333

[mvcrofts-blog]

headcanon time-- mycroft’s family edition

This was supposed to be a reasonably short post but it isn’t. At all. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Mycroft’s childhood relationships to the people in his family, and how those have evolved over time. I decided to write down my thoughts on Mycroft’s relationship with Sherlock, Eurus, both parents, and Uncle Rudy. Some of these turned into essays and I apologize for that. They’re all under a cut because the post is atrociously long.

Some of these headcanons may not line up with yours. Some of them will be insulting to characters you may not be used to seeing insulted, and some will protect others. Just remember that they’re only my personal feelings.

Some tidbits of Mycroft’s childhood/young adulthood found their way in here by association. All points made here are true of the Mycroft I write, under normal circumstances. I would love to discuss any and all of these headcanons, so feel free to comment, reblog, or just send me messages about them. The only thing I ask is that you be polite.

And now, without further ado... the headcanons!

Sherlock;

This is of course the dynamic we see the most of in canon. Sherlock is to Mycroft what all little brothers are to their older siblings. He’s annoying, he takes away the attention of mummy and daddy, and he’s a brat. As young children, Mycroft found this incredibly tedious, although he never would’ve worded it that way. But he also loved his little brother to an extreme, always looking out for him, always protecting him, always going out of his way to make sure he was happy. When Eurus bullied him, he made sure he was okay before tending to their sister. If Mummy insulted him, Mycroft always rushed to his defense (even if the only reason was that only Mycroft was allowed to have that privilege). And he did love playing with him, although he’d never admit it. When Victor died and Eurus was taken away, Mycroft bonded with his brother more, making sure that his memories stayed altered to protect him, making sure he was happy.

When Mycroft left for uni, he broke off all contact with his family for the first year. This probably hurt Sherlock the most, after all they’d been through recently. This was the beginning of the deterioration of their relationship. Even when he finally came home for the summer, even if it was just to exchange some clothes and tell everyone that he was staying in the city to work, Sherlock would barely speak to him. Of course this is around the time Sherlock began to get involved with drugs.

That started off minor, but as Mycroft graduated into his official government position and climbed the social ladder, Sherlock descended further into the man we know him to be-- at his worst. By the time Mycroft pulls his head out of his ass enough to start caring again, it’s too late to try and pull sherlock back. So all he can do is watch out for him, and be on call should Sherlock ever overdose or get himself into any other trouble. And he does. A lot. Mycroft is always there.

People say Mycroft doesn’t care, that he hates Sherlock, that he finds him intolerable. But in reality, he cares so much, perhaps too much. He loves his brother more than anyone else in the world, and would do anything for him. We saw in TFP that Mycroft was completely ready to give up his own life, because he thought that Sherlock would be less devastated by his death than John’s. Mycroft Holmes, who would not kill a man who pleaded to be shot in order to save someone else, would commit cold blooded murder to save or avenge his his brother if the need ever arose.

Eurus;

The baby sister who caused so much harm to the Holmes family, and she is arguably the most important person to Mycroft. As children, they were near inseparable. Mycroft would keep her entertained and she would smile and laugh at his silly performances. If she was having a bad day, one where she would do dangerous things, would refuse to speak or acknowledge anyone else in the house, Mycroft was there, getting through to her. If there wasn’t an eight year age gap between them, you might guess they were twins. They might as well be, the way theirs minds worked together. She was his cheerleader, and he kept her afloat. Until he couldn’t anymore.

Victor’s disappearance was the first time Mycroft found himself unable to get through to his sister. After she had been asked by every family member, neighbor, and even police officer who visited the Holmes residence over those few days, Mycroft pulled her aside and asked again, explaining the importance of this information to her in a calm tone that usually always worked. This time it didn’t. But Mycroft forgave her, because he at least understood how she was struggling. No one else did, however, and it only led to her lashing out further. She wanted Sherlock dead still. Unfortunately, Mycroft never saw that coming, nor the fire, for all his efforts. When she had to be taken away after that, he didn’t protest. He just let her go without a word, and he didn’t see her again for some time. 

As Mycroft got older, he made a few visits to Sherrinford without the knowledge of his parents. During his time at University, Mycroft’s visits grew more regular. And then upon his graduation, they stopped. As if he was no longer interested in tending to her. Eventually, they started back up again, but she had changed. She used to be welcoming to Mycroft, even warm. Happy to see him. But not any more. She was cold and distant. This is when the favors began, in exchange for gifts. There was no sibling love between them, or so it would appear. But Mycroft’s affection for Eurus never diminished over those years, and he constantly regretted (and still does) the time he spent away from her, his actions that drove them apart. He had always believed in her, but he ruined it. And there was no one to talk to about it, because no one in his family knew the truth.

What happened to make Mycroft afraid of her, the way we see him in the beginning of TFP? I can only suspect that he began to worry, after letting her visit with Moriarty, and then seeing just how evil he was, that he had made a mistake. Not that he could’ve predicted the events of TFP, but he suspected something, and had for a long time. Too bad he had to live with that. Poor Mycroft.

And then during TFP?? Well. Is he surprised to see that things have gone wrong? Not really. he had no proof before, but he had suspected, or had a hunch. Intuition or something. But he’s scared. He’s scared because he realizes he really doesn’t know his sister anymore, but he still knows her better than Sherlock and John do. But she knows him best. That’s the scary part. And yet he still loves her. He still wonders throughout the whole thing if there’s any way to save her. And then she pits him against John, making Sherlock choose which one to kill, and he STILL refuses to hate her. When he’s talking to Sherlock during this scene, never once does he try to shove the blame on her. He blames HIMSELF. He knows better than to describe her as simply the psychopathic evil woman playing puppetmaster. She’s his sister, and she’s broken, and he made a mistake that led to this. 

And what endlessly fascinates me about this scene is Eurus’s face in the screen when Sherlock turns the gun on Mycroft. She says Moriarty knew Sherlock would “make this choice”, but he hadn’t believed it. And she isn’t happy about it. She’s scared, she knows it’s no longer a game. She’s afraid that Sherlock might actually kill Mycroft and she’ll lose her brother. Mycroft can’t see this at all. All he thinks about is how he deserves to die, how it’s his fault, and how he failed both Sherlock and Eurus. 

Violet/Mummy;

I have a LOT to say about Mummy Holmes. She was off-putting to me from her first appearances in S3, just because of the way she treated the boys. S4 sealed the deal for me. Mummy is a genius like her children. She isn’t quite as smart as them, or at least not smarter. Not once they were adults. But she does have age to hold over them, and she uses it.

For Mummy Holmes, the children were trophies, to be shown off to friends and family for their remarkable talents and abilities. Three year old Eurus playing the violin on Easter Sunday. Four year old Sherlock playing “guessing games” with the guests at Christmas dinner. Eleven year old Mycroft being forced to miss school to accompany Mummy to meetings and presentations to demonstrate his remarkable knowledge and intellectual abilities. None of them were treated as normal children around other people, and so they never learned what normal children are like.

But to make matters worse, the expectations Mummy put on her children lasted beyond the time the last guest pulled out of the long driveway, more than slightly inebriated. However, the need to shower them with praise did not. To make them better, she threw insults. To make them try harder, she degraded them. They were never good enough. Eurus proved herself to be the difficult one first, and Mummy lost patience with her quickly. Sherlock was a good kid, but scattered, and Mummy was not interested in his sass. Mycroft was the responsible one. The protector. The Grown-Up, or so he was convinced to be true for 40 years of his life. 

If Mummy pressed Eurus to play violin better, Sherlock to think sharper, then it was Mycroft’s burden to grow up faster. Mycroft got to be the Holmes family’s budding little star actor until she showed interest in pursing theatre in university. Then he was wasting his brain and ability on unless garbage. He threw his drama school applications in the trash and went to a university that would give him entry into the world of government. Free. His glowing recommendations from Mummy Holmes earned him scholarships. Too bad they were only empty words. 

Everything Mycroft ever did that he was proud of, Mummy Holmes said it wasn’t good enough. And such was life. He didn’t write home for his entire first year of university. Christmas dinner at the Holmes estate was oddly quiet. Mycroft went to the theatre and watched a performance of The Importance of Being Earnest. 

The reconciliation did come, as it had to. But neither party truly accepted it. And every phone call Mycroft got from his mother checking in on Sherlock, he could hear the accusatory tone in her voice. “You aren’t doing enough to protect him. Help him, Mycroft. He’s your responsibility.”

No he isn’t Mummy. He’s your son.

And then there’s TFP. Mummy Holmes has not a single kind word to say to Mycroft. She yells at him, tells him he could’ve done more to help Eurus (he really couldn’t have), says he’s very limited (although he holds more power than anyone else in the country or even the world in regards to this situation). And then in front of Mycroft, calls Sherlock the grown up (something EVERYONE including herself knows isn’t true), asking him what to do as if to show Mycroft she doesn’t need him. After how hard she pushed Mycroft, how close to the edge the pressure put on him drove him. She says that after all that, it didn’t matter, because Sherlock, his druggie baby brother, is more grown up than he is. 

It’s bullshit and he knows it, but it still stings. But why would he open up to her about his true feelings? She’s done nothing to deserve his trust. The Iceman cometh.

Siger/Father;

Father Holmes is about as close to normal as anyone in the Holmes family could get. He has his quirks, but he’s by no means a genius. He’s not even particularly intelligent at all. He is by no means the dominant parent in the house. He just exists. And although Mycroft finds him a it dull at times, not very interesting to talk to, perhaps a bit weak and a bit of a pushover, he cares about his father. Mainly because he’s the only one who treat him with respect, but also just fatherly enough to make Mycroft almost feel normal sometimes. This was something Mycroft rarely craved, when when he did, Siger was there to provide.

As much as Mycroft would’ve loved to blame his father for the riff that erupted and the distance between himself and his parents, he knew he couldn’t. The man was kind-hearted and didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. Stupid or not, he was a better ally than Mummy. Mycroft loves his father.

Uncle Rudy;

A few weeks after Eurus was taken away, an “Uncle Rudy” whom Mycroft had never met before, came by their house unexpectedly to inform the Holmes family that Eurus was secure inside a facility. When Violet and Siger pressed for the name, he gave a throwaway answer. And Mycroft confronted him in the hall by the door on his way out. Mycroft bluntly informed the man that there was no institution by that name, and that he had best tell him the truth about where his sister was. So Uncle Rudy did, he told a young teenage Mycroft about Sherrinford. There was a mutual agreement there that neither Sherlock, nor their parents, were to find out this information. So it stayed a secret, and Uncle Rudy allowed Mycroft to occasionally accompany him on visits to see his sister. 

Uncle Rudy died suddenly and quietly-- one day he was there, and the next, he was gone. There was no body found. Everyone made their assumptions. Uncle Rudy was rich, but he left no money for the Holmes family. Only a long letter that arrived at the Holmes estate early in the summer before Mycroft left for university even acknowledged any connection. It seemed to be a perfectly normal letter-- a job recommendation for Mycroft from the office the deceased man had worked in, but it was coded as well. Nothing much. Just a reminder for Mycroft to keep Eurus a secret. But Rudy needn’t have worried. Years prior, as soon as Mummy and Daddy Holmes began to get anxious with the desire to see their daughter, Mycroft told them she died in a fire she set at her fake existent facility. 

Mycroft was given the job position previously held by Rudy upon his graduation from university, and the first thing he did was pull up the man’s old file. Sure enough, not his real uncle. How or why he had gotten involved in the Holmes family’s business, Mycroft didn’t know. But he wasn’t surprised. It was a suspicion he’d had from the very first day. A bit more digging revealed that he was posing as a distant cousin of Violet’s, who occupied a minor position in the British government-- though some would say he WAS the British Government. A title that was now bestowed upon Mycroft. His own cross to bear.

[jixiani]

In defense of fanfiction

I’ve been thinking about fanfiction lately, (really I’ve been thinking that I should really be taking some of this time to write more, but that’s another post) AO3 just had their yearly fundraiser so of course the old discourse over the site and its history was dragged up again and then Sarah had brought it up this morning and well, I have a lot of strong feelings on the subject. Let’s start with a little personal background: I have been reading and writing fanfic since the late 90’s. It started out as something silly my best friend introduced me to and we would sit in her mother’s computer room and giggle over ‘speculative fan fictions’ and participate on months-long roleplay scenarios on chat boards and take turns passing notebooks full of handwritten stories back and forth which were every bit as terrible as you’d think two 14-year-old girls could come up with. Unfortunately, we were in the Vampire Chronicles fandom so we had a front-row seat for the Anne Rice and her lawyer's debacle that will from here on out be referred to as “The Dark Times”. We watched our friends’ work get pulled, our RP sites close down, we feared that we’d get a cease and desist letter, we hid our notebooks and dreamed up our stories exclusively verbally.  I was deeply ashamed of my secret love of fanfic for years. I kept writing, but I kept it secret, I kept reading it but would never admit to it. Fanfiction was something shameful, taboo, some terrible sin akin to watching porn, and not the good socially acceptable kind of porn. But time moved on and fandom moved on and fanfiction started to be more acceptable. I joined Fanfiction.net, I wrote some stuff on Livejournal (although I still kept it set to private). I read A LOT of fanfiction, jumping fandoms, and leaving reviews. People I admired came out as liking and writing fanfiction. Of course, then the purges hit. Strikethrough and the like. I’m not going to get into that here, because that’s a rant all its own. Anyway, those were also some dark days as fandom searched for somewhere to land. I stumbled over Archive of our own a few years ago and I aggressively support them whenever I can because they fight for the fandom. Now I speak out in defense of fanfiction whenever possible. I’ve attended panels at conventions about fanfiction, I support and share posts about it from my favorite authors, I let everyone know that I’m proud of my fanfic (although I still don’t post it, that’s because I tend not to finish things and I don't’ want to get someone excited for something I know I’m going to abandon in a month, not because I’m ashamed.). So let’s talk over some points because Sarah brought up a good point today. Why is fanfiction such a shameful thing in the fandom community, and in the writing community? One of the people on my friends list who I admire and is a professional, published author once rolled their eyes and scoffed when I said that I wanted to go to the fanfiction panel at a convention. Yet, no other facet of fandom is treated this way. I brought this up on Sarah’s post and I’m going to reiterate it here. Fan artists are not scoffed at, people flock to their tables in artist’s alley. Fan-made comics and doujinshi have led to careers writing and drawing comics and scripts for the same series their fanwork was based on. No professional costumer or prop maker sneers at cosplayers, in fact, there are now professional cosplayers. Fans wait in line for hours to watch masquerade skits at conventions. Fan-dubs like Dragonball Z Abridged and Nescaflowne are hugely popular and have led to professional voice acting gigs and production studios. But if an author dares to mention that they got their start in fanfiction? The horror, the outrage, the hate mail. Yet so much of our media could arguably be called fanfiction. Dante’s Inferno? John Milton’s Paradise Lost? The Aeneid? Classics? Yes. Fanfiction? Also yes. Joyce’s Ulysses is just an AU of the Odyssey. Anything written about or based on myths? Anything involving King Arthur? Sherlock Holmes? Shakespear...Oh you can cry adaptation all you want. Let’s face it if it’s written by some old white guy it’s literature and a classic and an innovative reimagining but really it’s just fanfic and it’s everywhere. West Side Story is a fanfic of a fanfic since Shakespeare based Romeo and Juliet off a poem by a similar name. My Fair Lady? Pygmalion AU. Hamilton? Real Person Song Fic! 50 Shades series, Mortal Instruments, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Jean Rhys' Wide Sargasso Sea, hell there are literally hundreds of published Jane Austen fanfictions. John Gardner’s Grendel is a retelling of Beowolf. The Wiz, Wicked and the rest of Gregory Maguire’s books? The Wizard of Oz doesn’t enter public domain until 2035. The Magnificent Seven? Kurosawa called and he wants his seven samurai back, he’d also like to reclaim Yojimbo from A Fist Full of Dollars. Speaking of tv, how about Black Sails? It’s a fanfiction prequel to Treasure Island. Any comic book not written by the original creator. Any book series based on Star Wars, Star Trek, Dungeons and Dragons, World of Warcraft, etc. I could go on all day. So why is it, when so much of our popular culture consists of what basically boils down to fanfiction, that fanfiction is seen as a shameful indulgence, as “cheating”, as trash?Part of it boils down to sex. Read any article that brings up fanfiction and there will invariably be a line where the author distances themself by saying something along the lines of they don’t personally read it, or how slash fic isn’t their thing but to each their own. (Both quotes from some of the sites I pulled the above list from) A lot of people seem to think that fanfiction is just porn, and while yes there is some fanfiction that is porn and some of it is very good, the same can be said for regular fiction as well. People don’t blush and giggle over Lord of the Rings, yet when I say that I’ve read fanfic that’s longer than Tolkien’s trilogy I may as well be talking about how I read Aragorn/Boromir slash fic regardless of what the actual subject matter was.  Yes, there’s sex in fanfiction. A lot of it is gay sex. You can read Lolita in school but Harry Potter fanfic? Gasp, think of the children! Even if that fanfic happens to be about what if Petunia loved Harry like a son instead of pushing him away and neglecting him. There is some really fantastic fan fiction out there. Some of it has sex, some of it doesn't. Some of it deals with queer characters and experiences, some of it doesn’t. There’s nothing inherently wrong with erotica and it’s an entirely separate issue. Not every fanfiction is a 50 Shades-eque erotic rewrite of Twilight, and even if they were, so what?  A lot of fanfiction has to do with wish fulfillment. You want to know what happens next, or what would happen if this had happened instead, or if there was this character. You want to see someone like you in your favorite fandom. I had wanted to adventure with Bilbo when I was a kid. I wanted to go on adventures and fight and ride dinosaurs. These desires don’t go away just because we grow up. I got into roleplay and larp and gaming because I still enjoy make-believe. I write for a lot of the same reasons. Everyone wants to be the main character. Fanfiction gives you that chance. You can write yourself into a story, you can write someone that’s like you, you can write someone that’s nothing like you but what you want to be. So, let’s discuss our old friend Mary Sue. She gets trotted out as an example every time someone brings up fanfiction (or any uppity female character ever). Mary Sue was born in the 60’s. She is an actual character from a Star Trek Original Series fanfiction. Yes, fanfiction existed in the 60’s. Mary Sue was the brightest and prettiest girl to come out of Starfleet, she managed to be in all the right places at the right times to save the ship and capture the heart of Spock. Self insert fics and Mary Sues are at the heart of why we should be terribly ashamed of our fanfiction habit. Except, what was Luke Skywalker if not George Lucas’ self insert Marty Stu? There are countless male characters that are as bad or worse than your typical Mary sue and they are never called out for it. Seanan brought this up in a post once about her character October Daye, her editor had said that the character was too competent, too cool, and that it was unrealistic and she should tone it down. She had him replace the character’s name with “Harry Dresden” and reread the story and suddenly it was fine. There are a great many articles and essays about our friend Mary Sue and I implore you to read some of them. She is not the enemy we make her out to be. Fanfiction, on the rare occasion that it is accepted, is seen as some sort of training wheels, or baby’s first writing. It’s amateurish, it’s juvenile, it’s just not very good. If we are not ashamed of it, then it’s expected that we are only using it as a starting point to hone our writing and move on to professional published works. It’s either that or something terribly self-indulgent that should be kept to ourselves. Some fanfic writers do go on to become “real” writers. Seanan McGuire has always been very open about how her agent first approached her after reading some of her Buffy/Faith fanfiction. Some “real” writers also write fanfiction. Neil Gaiman won a Hugo for his Chronicles of Narnia Fanfic. Ursula Vernon and Mercedes Lackey write fanfiction in their spare time. Some fanfiction writers never become published authors, not everyone wants to. Some are happy to have a dozen 150k fics about their favorite fandom, or maybe just one 500k epic, some, myself included, may only have one short fic posted somewhere. There is nothing that says that you have to use your hobby to turn a profit. (By the way, for reference, War and Peace is 561,304 words, Dune is 187,240 words, you cannot make the argument that fanfic writers don’t put time into their craft when they have more words than Tolstoy under their belt.)Some of the ‘training wheels’ analogy is true. Fanfic is a terrific gateway to writing. It teaches pacing, plot, character development, how to take criticism. If I ever do write something professionally I will not be nearly as afraid of the red pen as I am of bad reviews. Anonymous readers are the most ruthless critics. May the literary gods preserve you from ever having your fanfic read aloud as an example of how terrible and ‘cringy’ fanfiction can be. There is a lot of fanfiction out there that is written by teenage girls, and it reads like it was written by a teenage girl, but the only way to get better at something is to practice. Fanfiction allows budding writers to do that. There are no rules, no one standing at the gates to bar entry, and entire communities of people willing to give advice and commentary. Sometimes it’s less helpful than harmful, but there is something about posting a new fic and waiting for that first ‘like’ or ‘kudos’ or a review. There’s something to be said for instant gratification. I have read a lot of really terrible fanfic. I have slogged through stuff that would make Mary Sue herself cringe. I have read about the ½ vampire, ½ werewolf, ½ fairy long lost princess. I have read grammar that would make your eyes bleed. Not all of it has been confined to fan works. I have read fanwork that has had me convulsing with silent laughter to the point that I wondered if I would die. Dialog that was ten times better than anything I had read in a professional novel. Fanfiction should not be judged by its worst offenders. We don’t hold Dune to the same standard as Twilight. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is not terrible and cringy because 50 Shades of Grey overuses the phrase “Oh my.” There is some absolutely terrible fanfic out there and there is some pretty terrible published fic as well, but we don’t hold that against most novelists, so why do we hold it against fanfiction writers?I guess that brings us to the elephant in the fandom. Sexism. Fanfiction has historically been something written by and for young women and there is nothing more shameful than something liked by a young woman. Boybands? The color pink? Horse Girl books and Sparkly Vampires? Society hates them. We mock them. It is not acceptable to enjoy them. Sound familiar? How many times is something considered cool until a woman decides that she likes it? We as a society hate women and hate the things they enjoy and we hate teenage girls the most. Think of how much people hated selfies and duckface and instagram. How much hate was directed at Britney Spears, One Direction, Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber? Whether it has a basis in something or not, we hate them, we make jokes, we share the memes. We write them off as having no substance, as being stupid, not worth our time. Belittling of teenage girls for their interests and fandoms isn't a new phenomenon. Remember Mary Sue? Not only that, but a lot of fanfiction is gay. Women and gays are still the punchline to a lot of jokes and we can’t ignore that that plays a big part in people’s hatred of fanfiction, even if it’s not on purpose. Fanfiction has always been a bastion for people that couldn’t find stories about them in popular fiction. A lot of mainstream main characters are straight guys. A lot of fanfiction main characters are young women or gay men. Now, I admit that I’m oversimplifying this, and especially in recent years as it is becoming safer for people to come out as other genders and queer and as having mental illness or not being neurotypical, you are seeing more of that reflected in the fanfiction community. I don’t want anyone to think that I am purposefully leaving anyone out of this. The fanfiction community has not always been so great at being inclusive of people of color or transgender, it’s getting better, but I’m not going to stand here and pretend we’ve always been perfect. In the last several years I’ve seen a lot more inclusion. As I said, fanfiction has always been a home to the “Other”, as that expands to include more individuals so too does the community. Fanfics provide us with a place to work through issues and present perspectives that we don’t get to see anywhere else, without having to create an entire world from scratch. It’s accessible to everyone. I’ve spent the better part of an afternoon researching and writing this. I hope that I was at least partially coherent and I got you to at least take a look at why you feel the way you feel about fanfiction. I’m not sure if I exactly got across the points I was trying for, there’s a lot more eloquent, well thought out arguments out there from more knowledgeable people. Check out Seanan McGuire, she’s got a lot to say on the subject.

[dragonnan]

Sherlock Musings (will include spoilers throughout)

I VERY recently concluded the entire collection of Sherlock episodes (currently aired with VERY high hopes of more to come!).  I’ve rewatched most of them more than once and accept, with zero hesitation, that these are some of the most amazing hours of television that I’ve ever experienced.  Astounding scenes, incredible cast, heartwrenching/brilliant/stunning stories...

I loved it.  I loved ALL of it.

If I were asked about changing anything it would just to have even more.  I would not bat an eye to add three hours to every episode.  Even if those hours just involved John and Sherlock drinking tea and sniping or Mrs. Hudson going into detail about her past or Molly and Sherlock having a heart to heart or a LOT more scenes with Irene or Greg or Mycroft or the Holmes Mummy and Daddy or the variety of villains and random other characters - just GIVE IIIIT!!!

Prior to going into this, I had a peripheral awareness of some fandom unrest.  As with many fandoms (including Supernatural.  Oh Supernatural....) there is occasionally a faction that becomes, I guess, volatile.  Which is not the same as passionate or even disappointed with stories not progressing as they may have wished.  I mean, I don’t feel ANY disappointment, myself.  I delighted in ever square inch of it all.  Also, to throw gas on the fire, so to speak, season 4 was my favorite.  Hand’s down.

HANDS.  DOWN.

I think, really, that’s the point of this little post.  I’m not here to call out anyone for feeling differently - I’ve certainly had my go rounds with disappointing seasons from other shows.  But Sherlock hit the mark, for me, on every level and I can’t help but be infatuated.

So getting into WHY I am massively addicted to season 4:

“It is what it is.”

I cannot hear that phrase, ever again, without bursting into mental tears.  It hurts and twists and shreds and makes my breath stutter.  And yet there’s so MUCH - too - of love and friendship and caring...  The embrace of empathy that went with those words, repeated, makes me collapse.  It was sublime.

Mary Watson.  ADORE her.  Even in her darkness, I adore her.  I don’t see her, at any point, as evil.  I see her as conflicted - tormented - terrified - and desperate.  I see her as having a tremendously short time to make a journey of a thousand years and doing it with amazing growth.  And I see everything within her that both John and Sherlock see and it’s no mystery, to me, why they both love and adore her in their own ways.  And what she brings to the dynamic is some of the most gripping scenes I’ve ever watched.

His Last Vow.  God yes.  Every second of it glitters!!

Closely followed by The Lying Detective - of which I sobbed more than any other episode.  SO. MUCH. HURT!!!!!  And of course it shredded me to see John’s violence - I HATED it.  But I actually don’t see that as out of character.  I know that will trigger disagreement but I’m only going on my personal observations and how i feel about it all.  I go back to the very first character analysis of John.  He wasn’t a man afraid of war and it’s violence.  He was a man who missed it.  Later - much later - Mary pointed out how he married her because he saw who she truly was - though he battled that descriptive of his motives.  Let me be clear - John, also, is not remotely an evil man.  He is a man with a bottomless well of compassion - caring - tenderness - LOVE.  But there is often a flip side to those passionate emotions.  “That's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman. A fighter. His hands couldn't haven't shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatized to violence. He didn't fire till I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service, nerves of steel...”  When broken too far - having the last shred of foundation pulled out from beneath him by that final person left in his life to provide ANY stability - I’m not surprised that John snapped. Utterly.  It was ugly to see - and it hurt.  But Sherlock understood it even though, he himself, carried a blame that wasn’t his to carry.  But if it provided John with any sort of solace he’d carry it, gladly.  That moment - horrible as it was - showed the depths Sherlock would go for John.  He would destroy his own body, dose by dose.  He would allow his best friend to beat him nearly senseless.  And he would allow himself, even, to be murdered.  Yes, he was saved, but surely Sherlock understood there was always a chance John wouldn’t quite make it in time.  

The Final Problem: It took me a minute to go along with the “secret sibling” trope.  Only because it has always felt somewhat silly to have a random sibling out there that the audience knows nothing about and is never mentioned by the characters.  And yet, how they utilized that trope, I cannot be mad at.  Because it explains SO MUUUCH!!!  WHY not just Sherlock, but also Mycroft, developing into the men they became - with minds gripping tight to deductions and science and logic and so, frankly, terrified of intimacy.  Why the sight of a disrobed woman with clearly amorous intentions would strike Sherlock speechless (to a lesser degree, in Study in Pink, when Sherlock at first thought John was hitting on him).  Why something of the same happens to Mycroft wit regards to Lady Smallwood and just NOT getting that she was actually flirting with him.  The way Mycroft, and Sherlock to a degree, despise the concept of friendship yet find themselves drawn into it nonetheless.  That they even push away from one another - Mycroft even able to watch his brother being tortured - as though they share none of the love they obviously do feel.  These things don’t happen in a vacuum - especially given the, seemingly, emotionally stable environment created by their parents.        

So admittedly I missed a crucial bit the first time I’d watched that episode and had thought Redbeard was Sherlock’s brother - spinning mental theories that even wondered if he was a twin.  I wasn’t at all disappointed, though, to come to understand he was Sherlock’s best friend.  It created this amazing flood of thoughts regarding Sherlock and friendship - including his ironclad NEED to have John as his friend - including a willingness to allow John to beat him nearly senseless.  Because even without understanding “why” he simply could not lose John - regardless what that meant for himself.  He would die before losing another person so important to him.

And I go back to the incredibly hurty scenes of John’s violence.  And I guess I will add two things that were missing that I needed - the second being a true apology.  Apology was kindof implied during John’s hallucination of Mary (and doesn’t THAT just color his meltdown all sorts of new shades??) [as an aside I find them fascinating in the way they each handle trauma - Sherlock and John.  John lashes out and hurts others whereas Sherlock lashes out at himself - the only pain he brings to others being sarcasm and... well... that one time he murdered a guy - but that bastard had it coming].  What John did was wrong.  I don’t condone it and I don’t support it - even I do sort of get “why”.  

Another thing I’ll add is how much I appreciate that BOTH John and Sherlock were shown speaking to therapists - and that it was sincere and vulnerable and open.  In spite of the fact John’s therapist turned out to be... well, you know.

Anyhow that’s the blast of thoughts in no fantastic order!

Here’s hoping for more episodes in the future!!