#bbc sherlock original character

[queeringclassiclit]

Which adaptation of Sherlock Holmes is the most queer?

*not including House M.D. because it's not really an adaptation, or any overtly queer pastiches like My Dearest Holmes or The Adventure of the Furtive Festivity because that's not really a fair contest

[susielesbianism]

WOW it’s been a while.

[mouse-of-mischief]

They say that people usually take on a little niche interest, or subtle personality trait, or similar quirks to their comfort characters that they grew up reading/watching.... Well, thank you, John Hamish Watson for giving me a life-long obsession with knitted jumpers, and a stubborn tendency to "hunt and peck" when I write!

[j-eryewrites]

All of You

MAIN MASTER LIST

ANON Request: Okay I can't have enough Sherlock angst so maybe just some feels or kidnapping or something like that. Thanks for your great work <3🙇🏼‍♀️ 

ANON REQUEST 2: I love your fics 💕💕 if requests are open, could you do one with BBC Sherlock in which the reader is kidnapped? (but they both have not confessed their love for each other yet, and the kidnapping perhaps prompts Sherlock to confess. idk up to you!) i just l o v e your Sherlock one shots!!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Haunted house, drugging, weapons, canon typical violence, kind of OOC Sherlock, cursing (Let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: So, I got two requests A WHILE AGO and they were so similar I just decided to combine the two of them. (Requests are still not open, I’m just getting to the ones I never got around to writing to.) As for requests, I will be opening them back up once Arbitrary Lives and A Sinner's Redemption have concluded, so start thinking of some request ideas!!

The irony of the situation did not evade you. Sherlock’s latest case involved a serial killer. A serial killer who they were looking for at an abandoned haunted house attraction. The home wasn’t actually haunted, it was just a place years ago that would host a scary Halloween amusement park. However, that information did little to ease your nerves. What made things worse was that Sherlock suggested to split up. You, John, and he would all go separate ways to search for the killer. 

Immediately, you had declined. You've seen too many horror movies with John to know that splitting up was the worst thing you could do. Not to mention the experiences you’ve had working with the consulting detective for years. Never split up, that’s what you told yourself, yet here you were, by yourself, walking down the dimly lit halls of the gigantic house. Your mind ran a-wire with the thought of how many hidden rooms and passageways that could be kept in the walls. That image alone terrified you. 

With each step you took the house creaked and groaned. If that wasn’t a big neon sign blaring to the killer that you were there, you didn’t know what it was. You couldn’t but wince as the whole house squeaked with your latest step and at that point, you weren’t sure why you were trying to be quiet. 

Muttering curses under your breath you lowered your torch and turned around. You wanted to find Sherlock or John. Their presence made you feel safer and all you wanted to be right now was safe. Your body shivered as a chill crept up your legs to the back of your neck. The waves of nerves tickled the minuscule hairs on your body and if this was a horror movie eerie music would be playing. 

“Why did the killer have to be in a haunted house,” you whined as you approached the stairs to the bottom floor of the home where you last saw your tall consulting detective. 

Looking down the wooden steps you searched for the bright light of Sherlock’s torch. There was no light to be found. You sighed and pulled out your phone trying to be smart about this. The bright screen of your phone illuminated your view darkening everything behind and in front of you. Your fingers danced across the screen as you pulled up Sherlock’s contact. You pressed a button. The screen flashed with Sherlock’s name and your phone buzzed. But before you could speak or before Sherlock could answer, everything went black. 

There was something so insightful about being knocked out: the darkness of everything, the pain you felt in the back of your head like a soundtrack, and the erasure of all feelings. It was almost impossible to feel terrified about the haunted house when you weren’t even conscious in the first place. It was oddly peaceful and quiet, something you haven’t known in a long time since working for Sherlock. You weren’t sure how you became unconscious in the first place. As you lay in the darkness, there was one thought floating around in your mind. Shit. 

____

“You’re finally awake,” a hoarse voice cooed. 

A harsh light crept into your view causing you to wince. You longed for the darkness that you were encased in moments before. Soon your eyes adjusted to the bright light and began to take in your surroundings. 

First things first, you were strapped down to a table. The straps were extremely tight leaving you with barely any room to breathe. You gulped and began to twist underneath the straps. If you could move in the first place. 

The voice tsked before laughing. “It’ll be a while before you can move. The paralytic works fast.” Your eyes widened and you began to whimper. “Don’t worry, you can still scream.” 

That when you saw them, your captor and the killer. Dauning a medical mask and surgical wear they leaned in close and sniffed you. You closed your eyes at the proximity, wishing that they wouldn't be real if you couldn’t see them. “I can smell the fear coming off of you. It’s intoxicating,” your captor chuckled. 

“No…” you whimpered. Your voice was barely audible. 

The killer pulled back away from you. “No?” 

In your mind, you could go two ways. The first option, go with the idea that your “no” was terrified and try and plead with the killer. It was dignified and kind of cowardly but it was what you wanted to go with. Second, you could play it off cool. Well, as cool as you could while being strapped to a table with the killer’s face hovering over you. You could fight back. Taunt him and maybe provide Sherlock and John with enough time to try and find you. God, you hoped that they’d find you and that your brilliant consulting detective could solve the case. Now that you thought about it the second option seemed more plausible. 

“No, he’s going to find me. He’ll beat you. That’s what he does,” you muttered. Your voice still trembled as you delivered this line, but your eyes conveyed your determination and belief in what you said. 

All enjoyment from the killer’s face vanished and a darker expression replaced it. The look they were giving you would have paralyzed you if you weren’t already drugged. Their breath was scalding hot as they breathed into your ear. “He’ll never figure it out.”

You scoffed. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I? He hasn’t even figured out that you’re gone.” They pulled down their medical mask to flash you a wicked grin. “This house has so many rooms. Twist and turns. You’ll be dead before he finds this room. 

You paled. All hope of playing it cool dissipated. You were terrified: Breath evaded you, your heart beat faster than it ever had before, your blood ran cold, and tiny beads of sweat encased your body. 

“I’m right.  You can even see him here,” the killer pulls up video footage of the house. In the middle of all the split screens, you can see Sherlock and John searching. A tight pain in your chest formed at the sight. “You know that your dear detective is too enamored with the case to remember that others exist. It’s a game and he wants to win, even if it means some of his teammates get left behind.” You can’t help the tears that pool in your eyes causing them to laugh. “It’ll be too late when he realizes it and the closest thing he’ll have to you again are the organs that will be in the bodies of others. You’ll be de–”

“Wrong.” 

You sobbed upon hearing that voice. It was Sherlock. He was here. He had come. The killer whirled around to find Sherlock standing with a gun in his hand aimed at them. 

“How…” the killer said. 

“Should’ve checked your cameras, then you would have realized they were on a loop,” the comforting voice of John spoke. 

The killer’s jaw clenched. 

“John,” Sherlock said. “ Get Y/N.” 

John snuck out behind Sherlock and carefully moved over to you. His eyes scanned over your distressed figure as his hands began to fiddle with the straps. 

“It’s alright, Y/N,’ John whispered as he untied the woman. 

“I can’t,” you shook your head. “...I can’t move.” 

John’s eyes filled with worry as the killer chuckled. “She’s paralyzed. I wouldn’t move her if I were you.” The killer turned around to look back down at you. 

“If you move one more centimeter there will be a bullet lodged in your head,” Sherlock growled. 

“You wouldn’t,” the killer hissed. 

“On the contrary. I like to win my games, even if it means that the rules are bent.” Sherlock’s eyes were glaring at the killer. 

Suddenly a muffled voice came from above. It was Lestrade. “Sherlock?”

“Down here, Gary!” 

Time seemed to move superficially fast as the police entered the basement.  However, time stilled the moment Sherlock retrieved you. John tried his best to pick you up but with the combination of his size and your apparent unmoving state, he found himself useless. Instead, Sherlock stepped up. With limp limbs and a stiff body, Sherlock lifted you off the cold and hard metal table. His gentle hand cradled your head as your body curled into him. He carried you as if you were the most precious and fragile things in the world. His secure and stable arms wrapped around you, pulling you immensely too close to his body, but you did not mind. He was warm and you were cold. He was safe and you were scared. Sherlock was exactly what you needed, and he was there. He was always there for you. 

Soon the blaring lights of the police cars filled your vision, concealing the ambulance waiting for you. You hated you couldn’t cling to Sherlock as he passed you over to the EMTs. They scanned your body checking for injuries and asking you questions while they did so. With each response and your insistence on your perfectly fine well-being, the EMTs grew more and more concerned. They wanted to take you to the hospital, but that was the last place you wanted to be: being strapped down to a table, with an IV in your arm, the medical masks, and scrubs. It was all too much too soon. The fear in your eyes was apparent at their conclusion, but before you could open your mouth to display your concerns, Sherlock spoke.

“She’ll be coming home with me.”

“But sir, she’s still drugged and paral–,” the EMT began. 

“If you just used your eyes, you would see that the hospital is the last place she wants to be,” Sherlock interjected. 

The EMT briefly gazed over at you before recognizing the truth in Sherlock’s words. 

“She still needs to be checked on after th–”

“I’m a doctor, I can make sure everything is alright,” John chimed in. 

You looked at John and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” your hoarse voice whispered. 

John smiled back. The EMT looked between the three of you and sighed placing her hands on her hips. “Alright, I’ll sign off on the paperwork and she’s free to go.” 

The moment the paperwork was signed, you were whisked back to Baker Street. Sherlock never left your side as he carried you into his and John’s shared flat and placed you down on their sofa. Mrs.Hudson had brought up tea and snacks in an attempt to get something into your stomach. However, the idea of shifting your body to raise your arms and extend your hand to retrieve the cup of tea and biscuits seemed too big of an ordeal. You were exhausted. Instead, you found the weight of your head too much to bear and collapsed onto Sherlock’s shoulder. With one look, John and Mrs. Hudson ushered themselves out of the flat. 

Your body was still trembling as the mental scars still flashed vividly in your mind. 

“You’re safe,” Sherlock hummed in a soothing voice. His gentle arms came up to wrap around your torse encouraging a wave of stillness to course through your body. You weren’t sure of what to say. So many ifs running through your head, so you settled for a thank you. 

Sherlock responded by pulling you closer. “I’ll always find you.” 

A watery smile appeared on your face. It was a smile that you forced as tears crept into the corner of your eyes. “Well, if you hadn’t made it in time, I would have given you my skull. That way you’d always have me on your mantel.” You tried to laugh. It was a poor attempt at a joke and you weren’t really sure why you were making it. You just did. 

Sherlock pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. You tried to look away, but his firm hand cupped your chin directing your gaze at him. “No. I don’t want your skull. I want you alive and safe. Anything less and I’ll never be satisfied.” 

His eyes seemed to glow as you stared into them. The gorgeous blue lulled you in like a siren at sea. You couldn’t turn away as he brought your face closer to wipe away the tears that had fallen from your face. 

“Okay,” you said in a hushed tone.

Sherlock seemed content with that answer and pulled you in to brush his lips against your forehead. He wanted to do more but now wasn’t the time. He wanted to whisper his heart and soul’s greatest secret into your ears and breathe it into your skin. He wanted you, all of you, but for now, holding you close, your heart thumping against each other, and the peaceful melody of your breath against his neck was all he needed.

____

Comment below if you would like to be added to the Sherlock One shot tag list! Feel free to reblog or comment, I love hearing from readers.

Tag list:

@bartokthealbinobat

@astudyinlaura

@sherlockstrangewolf

@yourleastfavoriteguyinthechair

______

[edward-evans-blog]

Edward Evans Blog, [Entry #1]

“The Flatmate…”

Hello, I am Edward Evans, The writer of this Blog. For my final assignment in one of my Courses In college I was given the task to document all the exciting things that happen to me over the course of three months. Sadly I’ve already wasted about three days trying to decide what exactly people might find exciting, I mean as far as exciting goes I’m really not sure my life fits the quota.. I’m a 19 year old English man who’s only friend is a bird who pop’s by my flat to eat from the bird feeder I installed outside my apartment window, so yeah.. not too exciting as you can see. well. At Least it wasn’t exciting until around breakfast time yesterday.

I was Just doing my regular every day routine. I got up at 5:36 and made myself a tea with avocado toast on the side and Refilled the bird feeder outside my flat and watched the birds eat while I ate, then at 6:47 I went outside and did a quick jog around the block once I came back to my flat around 7:40 I got a nice cold shower.. and after I got out and dressed that's when it happened. The thing that might just change my life forever…

I was sitting at my writing desk in my living room when suddenly I heard the strangest noise coming from my bedroom… I got up to investigate, holding a broom in my hands ready to hit anyone or anything that tried to jump out at me.. and that's when I quickly opened my room door just in time to see a strange looking man climb in through my window holding some sort of.. sack?? Well of course I wasted no time as I ran over and put my intruder into a choke hold, I guess those self defence classes I took over the summer did end up paying off… either way the intruder didn't seem to put up much of a fight.. He just kind of flailed around but I held my ground and kept a firm hold on him. At this point the man had dropped the sack he was carrying, this is around the time I started asking questions. I had asked him who he was and why he was breaking into my house though I didn’t get a very straight answer all he said was “get the bag” and “run” I started to get a bit confused by this so I dropped him from the choke hold and instead picked up the bag, but right as I was about to look into it I heard sirens and before I knew it the strange intruder had grabbed my hand and told me to follow him as he lead me out of the window in my living room!! (Fyi I live on the second story of a building.) we got lucky(?) however and landed in a dumpster full of soft discarded fabrics as I live right next to a fabric shop. The intruder still hadn’t let me go and now I was being dragged throughout the streets by some sort of crazy man?? Well not to my surprise the police soon caught up with us right as the intruder hailed a cab over and as the police were arresting him he yelled at me to “put the bagels in the back and run!” Still confused I opened the back of the cab door and opened the sack as I slowly realised the bag I had been carrying was filled with… Bangles..? 72 Bagels to be exact. I looked back at my intruder with confusion plastered to my face as he tried to fight off the cops. Yet he still yelled at me to put them in the cab and for some reason.. I did. Well.. after an hour or so we did get arrested. Apparently the stranger had robbed a bakery of 72 bagel’s .. not because he was poor and needed to… just because he was hungry and thought the price for a bagel was obscene.

I was arrested… over bagels… I didn’t even steal myself. “God this guy is inase.” Is all I could think as I sat in the holding cell. But then the most unexpected, unpredictable, surprising thing happened.. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes walked in! In the flesh!! I thought perhaps they were here to question someone for a case but instead they walked over to me and my intruders cell..

“Percy. What did you do?” Is the first thing I heard Sherlock say. I was confused and glanced over at the stranger in the cell with me.

“So your name's Percy?” I asked him, though he didn’t answer.

“Uncle Sherlock..John. Good to see you as well..” The stranger nodded up to the two celebrities nonchalantly.

“Percy, your father sent you here so you’d stay out of trouble not to get yourself and this poor boy arrested.”

John said, sounding more angry then I would imagine my first time meeting my idol would sound.. the bickering between them continued for a few minutes until suddenly Mr. Holmes had asked Percy, who I'm assuming is the man in the cell with me. “You can’t just run away Percy, where on earth would you go?”

And this was the moment that made me completely stunned.

Percy crossed his arms and looked up at Mr.Holmes.

“I could go to lots of places. In fact I might just move in with-“ he turned to look at me. “What's your name, tiny man?”

I looked at him confused and for the first time spoke with him. “Oh- uh- .. Edward? Edward Evans.”

I Answered the strange man a bit hesitant.

“Right. Well I might just move in with Eddie!”

He yelled, crossing his arms again.

“Oh- actually its Edward-“

I cut myself off quickly

“Wait- move in???? I don't even know you!!”

At this point John Watson, my Idol! Might I remind you, smiled

“Well. Fine. Move in with Eddie.”

I was shocked. Why on earth did they think That I would just let some random guy who broke into my house, made me a partner to his crime and got me arrested!!! Live! With! Me-

John spoke again. “It might be good for you. That’s actually how I met Sherlock. Moved in with him the second day I met him.”

…

It has now been a day since this happened and now I have a flatmate.

I've gotten to learn more about him thankfully. He is 19, just like me, but he’s not in school as he thinks he's too smart for it or something.. he likes bagels and solving crimes. And his uncle is the famous Sherlock Holmes.

He and I have come up with an agreement. He will help me with this assignment by letting me tag along with him on his cases and blog about them. And in return I let him live with me for a few months until his father “Mycroft” lets him move back in with him.

So.. This is the start of my blog.

The amazing adventures of Percy Holmes and Edward Evans.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for more updates on our wonderfully unbelievable stories.

-Edward Evans.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Set a little before John and Mary's wedding, Mary's friend Bethany Wheeler is a student studying Chemistry and Mycroft notices her. Not just notices, but takes an avid and intense interest in her. Mycroft Holmes is not a man to dive head first into any kind of relationship, but to imagine for a moment that he might deserve to be loved, well, that is a far off dream, rivalling that of a fantasy. Can Bethany change his mind? Or will the Final Problem be too much to bear?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 

Mycroft Holmes Fic List

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!    

[vitamin-zeeth]

Having only listened to the first episode of Sherlock & Co it's really funny how many people on here are like "I love how Sherlock isn't just an all-knowing genius and John is actually useful in the cases". I have a book series you guys should check out it's called The Adventures Of Sherlock Holmes

[mesenterydeimos]

felt extremely bad today at school. comfort characters to feel better :3

[msclaritea]

Here’s Why Willy Wonka Is An Autistic Icon | Medium

Here’s Why Willy Wonka Is An Autistic Icon

In celebration of the release of the new Wonka movie this month, I recently rewatched, for the billionth time, the original film — Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Wonka media has been a special interest of mine for the past seven years — -an autism-related term used to refer to topics and subjects that occupy headspace constantly, meaning I know more about Willy Wonka and his crimes against humanity than any sane person really ought to.

While watching the film, I was once again struck by how much I related to the character. His odd mannerisms, his disregard for small talk and social niceties, and his fixation on a self-constructed world all reminded me of a lot of my own experiences growing up as a quiet, book-obsessed, undiagnosed autistic kid. Although I was recently diagnosed at the age of twenty-one (it’s never too late!), the sense that something was always a little off has dogged me since childhood — in my odd tendency to repeat words and phrases, my limited and intense interests, my awkwardness in conversation and struggle to make friends. And as I sat there, watching Wonka spout off nonsensical phrases, constant literary references, and the occasional bit of wisdom, I finally got the urge to lay out, once and for all, what an autistic icon this character is, and has been for the past sixty years. Let’s dive into a world of pure imagination together.

A Little Nonsense

Autism, since it is formally classified as a disorder by the DSM5, has a whole host of medical definitions that try to sum up, in as digestible a form as possible, just what exactly is wrong with you or your child. Instead of pinpointing one definition, I’m going to temporarily throw the psychological jargon out the window and focus on the single term “disorder.” Disorder, classically defined, is a state of confusion or messiness — usually a form of existence that runs counter to broad definitions of harmonic living. Although unintended, I find that the literary definition rather than the scientific one fits my, and Wonka’s, experience of living as autistic. Disorder is chaos, it’s doing things just because.

Take this excerpt from Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, the rightfully-maligned sequel to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory:

“I have never met a man,” said Grandma Georgina, “who talks so much absolute nonsense!”

“A little nonsense now and then, is relished by the wisest men,” Mr. Wonka said.

Many autistic people are told at one point or another that the way they think and act does not make sense. For example, in many adaptations of the story, visiting the chocolate room for the first time leads the parents to question why it came to exist in the first place.

In the original West End musical adaptation, the conversation goes something like this:

Mr. Salt: Well if it isn’t for anything, and it doesn’t make money, then why on Earth does it need to exist at all?

Wonka: You really don’t see, do you?

A painter needs no reason

To make a thing of art

Yes, there’s no switch to stop and start the flow

Willy Wonka (Douglas Hodge) in the Chocolate Room from the 2013 West End production of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

We live in an unprecedented age of unthinking consumerism — our lives, from the get-go, are predicated on beneficial transactions. If I am to create something, I better be able to justify its usefulness in the language of monetary gain. Entertainment has become inextricably linked to the words content and consumption — creators make content, and we now consume the art we once admired. This implies a one-sided relationship to the way we engage with art — when we consume something it no longer becomes a conversation between creator and viewer, but rather a passively made, ready-to-eat distraction on which the viewer can project anything and everything they like. To make art for art’s sake or simply because we find it beautiful, is, in today’s age, an indicator of disordered living. Thus, Wonka making the chocolate room, or his factory for that matter, just because is, to most people, nonsense.

Again, from The Great Glass Elevator:

“He walked slowly towards the chocolate waterfall. It was an unhappy truth, he told himself, that nearly all people in the world behave badly when there is something really big at stake. Money is the thing they fight over most.”

The us vs. them mindset suggested by the phrase “nearly all people in the world” is one commonly adopted by autistic people, who feel that their perspective and lived experience do not align with that of their peers. Wonka, in creating a world of his own, has effectively made a safe haven for himself where the things he loves can exist without justification — a form of escapism I often engaged in as a child. In Wonka’s factory, the oddities that would make him an outcast in the external world are, to him, “simply second nature” — the name of the song in which he extolls the joys of being different:

It’s no blessing, It’s a curse

No wait…strike that and reverse

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

What’s a Social Cue?

In the 2017 Broadway adaptation of the book, Wonka opens the boisterous and breakneck-paced song “Strike that, Reverse It” by, muttering:

“Now let’s get the small-talk out of the way.”

The word “small-talk,” for context, is said as if it is the single most loathsome word in the English dictionary.

Though every adaptation of Wonka is unique in some way, all seem to share a love for their craft that is only rivaled by their hatred of social conventions. From the 2005 Wonka’s disastrous introduction and awkward giggling to the original book Wonka’s fidgety and sporadic movements, none of the Wonkas have exactly come off as approachable. Even the new Wonka, played by Timothée Chalamet, has his moment as he practically screams “You’ve never had chocolate?!” to his sidekick Noodle, who answers his outburst nonchalantly. All of these traits: poor conversational skills, fidgeting, volume control, and a dislike of small-talk are all classic characteristics associated with ASD.

Autistic people also often struggle with echolalia, or the repetition of words and phrases for seemingly no reason. Gene Wilder’s Wonka, with his near-constant rattling off of quotes from classic literature parallels this condition, especially (and most entertainingly) when he pedals a bike in the inventing room.

Similar to symptoms associated with ADHD, many autistic people will also find that their hyperfixations and interests make it difficult to focus on daily tasks for long periods of time. Wonka is so fixated on making chocolate that he has actually built a factory where he does nothing but make chocolate, and has been doing so for decades. Take also these lyrics from “Must Be Believed to Be Seen”:

No magic spells, no potions

Forswear legerdemain

My kingdom’s created from notions

All swirling inside of my brain

The manic delivery of “swirling inside of my brain” in both recordings of the song speaks to the sometimes uncomfortable intensity of creative thinking. I want to note here that I’m aware of the “it’s not that deep” factor that plays into all of this, but I kind of shoved it in the back of my mind the second I decided to write an analytical article about Willy Wonka. Besides, I know I personally struggle with a constant barrage of thoughts here and there — sometimes to the point where I have trouble falling asleep at night. Hence these lyrics from Simply Second Nature:

The mind is such a wonder to explore

And though some nights I dread

All the voices in my head

I’d rather be this way than be a bore

I also made a compilation a while back of the mannnyyyyy (and I mean many) times 2017 Broadway Wonka displays some of the physical symptoms of ASD, often referred to as stimming.

Autistic Solidarity

I know I’ve been harping a little too much on the Broadway adaptation, but I promise there’s a good reason.

In this version of the story, rather than just being a decent kid who, for the most part, minds his own business, Charlie is awarded the factory because he thinks as Wonka does. This kind of connection is also implied in the 2005 adaptation, where Charlie is seen to have built an impressively large model of Wonka’s factory made entirely of toothpaste caps, but is only made explicit in both musical versions. This Charlie draws up fantastical ideas instead of doing his homework and spends his remaining free time endlessly pestering his Grandpa Joe for stories about Willy Wonka. Wonka, to this Charlie, is essentially a special interest — he hardly goes five minutes without bringing his name up, or delivering an excitable song summarizing the man’s life history.

Wonka, of course, sees a lot of himself in Charlie. In the song, “Must Be Believed to Be Seen” there’s a section in the middle where the tempo slows and Wonka wistfully sings:

Despite the man seen at these doors

My childhood home was bland like yours

But I knew how to look, to find

A world that wasn’t colorblind

This is the first time (and only until the end of the show) that Wonka makes a genuine attempt to reach out to Charlie — and he does so with language relating to neurodivergent thinking. The musical doesn’t exactly turn to diagnostic criteria for sourcing lyrics, but the use of the phrase “a world that wasn’t colorblind” is once again suggestive of the us vs. them mindset, offsetting the ordinary blandness of the “normal” world with the vibrancy of the neurodivergent imagination. In the same sequence, Wonka also sings:

But in the end there’s quite a prize

If you can see with more than eyes

Autistic people are often hypersensitive to their environments and engage with the stimuli around them more keenly than their neurotypical peers. Exploring the world with all senses, and often with a detail-oriented mindset literally allows many autistic people to see the world with much more than eyes. Often small and irrelevant elements in an environment become points of interest for those with ASD where they might otherwise be ignored by neurotypicals.

Lastly, I want to finish with a brief discussion of one of my favorite lyrics in the musical, this time from the closing song “The View From Here”, where Wonka takes Charlie up through the atmosphere in his glass elevator:

When a boy has just a touch of odd

And he walks the streets without a nod

He should know that odd is a gift from God

Like this starry blue chandelier

Willy Wonka (Christian Borle) and Charlie Bucket (Jake Ryan Flynn) in the Glass Elevator

Most neurodivergent people will be the first to tell you that living as they are isn’t easy. For me, I have trouble finding humor in the same things my friends do, making conversation, focusing, following directions, empathizing, etc. Sometimes things that seem easy or mundane to others are nearly impossible for me. Worst of all, these aversions and behaviors are inexplicable too. I cannot put into words why I am what I am, I just know that I have to learn to accept it. However, for every moment I spend hating myself for what I cannot change, I strive to find more moments where I love living as I am.

I listened to “The View From Here” for the first time in many years recently, and I’m not ashamed to say that I cried a little (maybe more than a little). To quantify one’s differences not as a mistake or a joke or a fault — but as a gift is to accept that they let us do impossibly wonderful things. We need to stop looking for ways to fix or mask autism, and instead make society a more accommodating place for neurodivergency to thrive. Only then can autistic kids dream less about faraway places where they can live as they are, and instead live those dreams in the here and now. And we can start by reaching out to that touch of oddness in each other, and recognizing what the embrace of pure imagination can do for us all.

THERE IS A WELL-DOCUMENTED HISTORY OF NAZIS EXPERIMENTING ON PEOPLE WITH AUTISM.

IT HAS BEEN NOTED BY PROFESSIONALS THAT MANY PEOPLE IN THE TRANSGENDER MOVEMENT HAVE AUTISM

BLOGGERS, CLAIMING TO BE AUTISTIC, HAVE ENGAGED IN VERY AGGRESSIVE BULLYING.

THEY RELENTLESSLY ACCUSED A CERTAIN ACTOR, WHO, HIMSELF SUFFERS ANXIETY OF BEING ABLEST, IN AN EFFORT TO TARNISH ONE OF HIS BEST STAGE PERFORMANCES

THAT SAME ACTOR WAS BEING ENCOURAGED TO DO PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, WHICH I SABOTAGED, AND I'M GLAD I DID, BECAUSE WEEKS LATER I CAME ACROSS AN OLD ARTICLE, WHERE THEY SAID, EMPHATICALLY THAT THE PHANTOM MUST HAVE BEEN AUTISTIC. THE POINT?

IF SAID ACTOR HAD PLAYED THE PHANTOM, HEEDLESS OF THIS THEORY, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ATTACKED, AGAIN.

AND THAT IS WHAT THIS ARTICLE BELOW IS; AN INTENTION TO ENCOURAGE PEOPLE WITH AUTISM TO SEE WILLY WONKA AS BEING AUTISTIC.

AND WHEN THE NEXT ACTOR WHO PLAYS WONKA, ISN'T AWARE OF THE FACT THAT AUTISM HAS BEEN LOWKEY ADDED, THEN THAT PERSON WILL GET RIPPED TO SHREDS.... BECAUSE OF MANIPULATING ARTICLES, LIKE THIS ONE. THIS IS NOT HARMLESS. THE SAME THING HAPPENED ONLINE WITH BBC SHERLOCK. BLOGGERS ERRONEOUSLY ATTRIBUTED HIS PERSONALITY TRAITS TO AUTISM, THANKS TO THE WRITERS ON THE SHOW. IT WAS ENCOURAGED, TO THE POINT WHERE IF YOU DID NOT AGREE, YOU WERE ATTACKED FOR IT.

THE RIGHT BUILDS ARMIES, AND THEY WILL USE ANYONE THEY HAVE TO.

[marvel-snape-writes]

I Don’t Usually Do This.

Benedict x original female character

Smutty 18+

When Natasha wakes up in a fancy apartment with very vivid memories from the night before, she doesn't expect the morning to take such a smutty turn, but she is the one with the bombshell to tell...🫢

(Snippet below, link to full story in title above ♥️)

“How is your head this morning?” He asked, “I dread to think how much we had to drink last night. Would you like a paracetamol?”

“Have you anything stronger?” Natalie raised her eyebrows, gently grazing her nails against his neck.

“Uh, I’m not a chemist, but I believe I also have some ibuprofen?” Benedict spoke softly, shivering at the feeling of her nails as he leaned down to kiss her again.

“Stronger?” Natalie spoke against his lips.

“Whisky?” Benedict responded, inhaling shakily as she kissed him back.

“Stronger?” She added a little more pressure with her nails, working them soothingly against his skin as they kissed in between words.

“You can probably find the remanence of someone’s cocaine on the bottom of one of our shoes from last night…” He teased, chuckling when he felt her kiss him through a giggle.

“Stronger.” She continued to protest, her nails now at the nape of his neck.

“M–Mm…” Benedict felt his face beginning to flush from how much he was enjoying her taunting nails and placed a hand at either side of her head as their whirlwind of kisses began again, his words barely audible this time, “Wh–What do you suggest that’s stronger than that, hm?”

“These.” She whispered, moving her hands to his biceps as they tensed from holding himself up above her.

Tags! ♥️

@liliwandamoff @julyrogers @hellorachelmarianamorgan @sobeautifullyobsessed @cobe76 @icytrickster17 @strangelockd @curiousgalacticsoul @jasmarie2600 @hayden429 @benedict-cbe @palmerstrangedaily @withalittlehoney @cumberbatchbenedict @strangesgirl

[r3verse-the-polarity]

It is probably a neurodivergent thing because I feel like a lot of the people I know relate;

a person, regardless of how self-aware or intentional they are in their aesthetic or personality, is not just themselves, standing or sitting with you. One individual has a whole kind of "vibe" about them, which is very specific to them because it is the fusion of their style and personality and interests. Obviously the popularization of "aesthetics" through social media probably has a lot to answer for in this, but it's kind of nice.

This middle aged white man in a black puffer jacket and chinos... Mustard and lake water, TV ambience and coffee, enduring love, working hard, engineering.

Like, obviously this is all artistic and romanticised but I just get it.

I think that could be part of why music is so attractive to us. Every song is a whole atmosphere, and an album is a whole vibe And most musicians have a defined, manufactured visual and personal aesthetic to them. I feel like sometimes musicians and actors play a persona of themselves in interviews. We get so much more information from a subject than just... It.

Maybe and sometimes definitely it's wrong if we create so much chaos around looks and fashion before we know someone through conversation, and certainly we should not make assumptions about one another. I know that that sentence didn't make much grammatical sense but that's the way I thought it.

Creating characters I start with a vibe and it creates the person, rather than starting with the person and learning the "vibe" like we do in reality.

And I feel like this is when nd people become truly creative. We are so attracted to media because it's a controlled way of observing the world.

[queeringclassiclit]

Irene Adler

from the Sherlock Holmes series (A Scandal in Bohemia) by Arthur Conan Doyle

[writingriver001]

Art dump of my OC Penelope and slightly her husband, Mr Micrometre Holmes 💙 PART ONE

(No, I'm definitely not posting this because I got ill again and haven't written anything. 😎)

Info & doodles under the cut~

Part Two

Penelope (Penny), 32 years old. Works at a garden centre, has a daughter (Who is technically her best friends kid but yk, the friend died.) who is 11-ish months upon meeting Mycroft.

Loves dying her hair, mostly pink, occasionally bits of purple. She wears a lot of yellow, and sundresses.

Does anyone want fanfiction of this 👀

Either one shots, series, or bullet point stuff.

[robert-holhous]

SPANISH / ENGLISH

JAJAJA Tarde mucho en hacer estas fichas de presentación hace una semana de exámenes y cosas complicadas , me agrado hacerla , hasta ahora creo que se quedan solo en Tumblr donde nadie me conoce JAJAJ , pero bueno, espero les agraden y me conocan un poco mas , nadie me lo pidio , pero cuando muera esto sera registro de quien era a los 19 años. HAHAHAHA it took me a long time to make these flashcards a week ago with exams and complicated things, I liked doing it, so far I think they stay only in Tumblr where nobody knows me HAHAHAJ, but well, I hope you like them and know me a little more, nobody asked me, but when I die this will be a record of who I was at 19 years old.

First in Spanish

Now in English

[j-eryewrites]

The Abbey Grange Affair (IV)

Part Nine of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221b Baker Street

Word Count: 7.9k

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Warnings: Description of Murder, Mention of abuse, Sherlock being Sherlock, Y/N realizes John and Mrs Hudson were right, mentions of forced marriage, mentions of crime, children, Sherlock basically eye f*cks the reader

___________

The rain had subsided, and the sun was finally allowed to peak through the dark clouds. The sun’s rays filtered through the windowpanes. There were tiny rainbows that broke off lighting up entire the room. Birds sang their sweet music to each other, relaying messages of the days past and where the best of breakfast could be found. 

With a yawn, Y/N stretched out of bed. Her limbs extend to their limits to awaken every muscle and tendon within them. She glanced at the time, and with a groan rubbed her head. Her hair was out of place from the tumbling that occurred in her deep slumber. By the sound of it, the other occupants of Juliet’s Bed and Breakfast were up and at it. The muffed murmuring of the guests as dishes clinked could be heard. This sound reminded Y/N of one thing–food. She had arisen quite late in the morning and hoped that there would be breakfast left for her. If not, she figured she could grab something along the way as she followed Sherlock around completing the tasks he gave her. 

Quickly she changed and readied herself for the day. After looking in the mirror and accepting her choice of clothes she left her room and headed downstairs towards breakfast. 

Passing by the desk, the woman from before stood behind it. A short conversation was made and Y/N found out that the lady’s name was Njomi. She also was told that breakfast was still being served and that she had arrived just in time. Y/N grabbed a plate and scooped up whatever looked appealing to her, which happened to be pretty much everything. Y/N turned around and found John and Sherlock sitting in the corner. John happily munched away at his meal and Sherlock sat alert like an owl. His blue eyes scanned the room as he observed each one of the guests. Soon Sherlock’s eyes were drawn to a figure approaching him–Y/N. She came to the table with a smile on her face and carefully sat her plate and herself down in the empty seat. 

“Took you long enough,” mocked Sherlock. 

“Good morning to you too Sherlock,” scoffed Y/N. “Is he always like this?” She asked John. 

John quickly swallowed his food and half-heartedly replied, “Every morning.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the two of them. 

“Anyways,” Y/N enunciated. “How’d you two sleep? There was quite a storm last night.”

“Great,” John commented. 

Y/N turned toward Sherlock. “What about you, Sherlock? I know you stayed up late last night.” 

Sherlock blinked at her in disbelief. From her peaked brow and slightly opened eyes, he observed that she was genuine. He quickly replied to quench her curiosity.  “Quite well. Even with the case on my mind.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of, you two will have the day off. I need time to go off and as John puts it, do my thing.” He widened his eyes dramatically as he said it. 

He stood up, and with his hands, slammed the tabletop. The whole room went silent. They all goggled at Sherlock as if he was about to make some grand speech. Sherlock stuck his hands in his pockets and made his way toward the door. He took a few steps and harshly turned around marching back up to the table. He leaned down resting his hands on the table. John and Y/N leaned closer into him as well. 

“Before I forget,” he muttered, “Stanley has invited us over for dinner tonight. Wants us to meet his family.”

John smirked and clarified, “Wants you to meet the family, Sherlock. He’s probably invited Y/N and me to be polite.”

Sherlock’s face lost all signs of expression. “Very funny, John.”

“You know I’m right,” John mumbled as he picked up his fork and began eating again. 

“Dinners at six. Stanley said he’d pick us up around 5.30 at the earliest, so be ready.” Sherlock elaborated. Without another word, all sign that the consulting detective had been there was gone. 

John and Y/N both cleared their plates not long after Sherlock had left. John took a look at his watch. It was a little before eleven. 

“Right then, we’ve got some time,” John said. “Anything you’re interested in doing? I’ve heard there are lots of places to walk around and a museum or two.” 

“The weather looks nice,” stated Y/N. “How ‘bout we walk around for a bit and see where our feet take us?” She proposed. “There was this shop I saw the other day that looked interesting.” 

John perked up in interest. “Should we start there?”

“Ya, I’ve just got to get my things first.” 

John nodded in agreement. “You head up and I’ll wait down here.”

“What, so you can chat with the inn lady? I heard her name was Njomi.” A blush crept up John’s face. “Don’t think I didn’t see you making eyes at her last night.” She chuckled. 

Laughing as she passed him, “Just joking, John.”

John sheepishly laughed in response, “Good one, Y/N.”

“Oh, I know. I’m hilarious. I should be a comedian.” She exclaimed as she headed up the stairs to retrieve her things. 

The town was not as busy as Y/N was expecting it to be. She and John strolled along the paved pathways and streets. She was surprised to find how nice it was just to be able to meander at her own pace instead of running after Sherlock where ever his mind decided to take them next. She was quite sure John felt the same way. He constantly stopped to look at a nice view or peer through the windows of a shop. Eventually, they came across the shop that Y/N had mentioned earlier. It was a bookshop that had a cafe and bakery running out of it. It was family-owned according to the sign posted in the window. 

When they stepped inside, Y/N knew she could spend eternity there. There were not too many people, yet just enough to fill the background with mindless chatter. Shelves lined the walls with books filling them from top to bottom. In the cafe section of the store, there sat customers. Some were ecstatically sharing the latest gossip. Others sat reclined in the chairs devouring a new book they had just purchased and occasionally sipped away at their beverage. 

John on the other hand took one glance at the shop and knew he’d maybe glance around for a bit but then move on to something else. He looked at Y/N and noticed her awe at the small store. 

“Isn’t this great, John?” She asked. 

“Oh ya, nice store.” He mindlessly chimed. 

She turned to look at him. Her face held a soft smile. “You know, you don’t have to stick around with me. You can go on ahead.” 

John’s eyes widened and his lips pursed. “No, it’s alright. You look around and I’ll just…”

“John. Go.” 

John looked around one more time. “Sherlock told me to…”

“If I need anything, I’ll call you.” Y/N offered.

John accepted her answer and wished her well. He left Y/N to her books and freshly baked goods. The two of them planned to meet up for a late lunch that afternoon. John thought of inviting Sherlock, but he knew his friend wouldn’t eat, at least until dinner tonight.  

Y/N made her way through the selves. She stopped to pick up books that caught her eye. Sometimes it was the antique exterior of the novels that drew her in. Other times,  it was familiar titles or recommendations from the store’s employees or fellow customers. Occasionally, she would pick up a book and read a few pages, deciding if it was good enough to continue reading. If it passed, the book would then be deposited in her basket. By the time, she thoroughly searched the selves, she had 4 books within her wicker basket. She would have purchased more but knew there would be no way to bring them back home. 

After purchasing her books, she decided a nice drink and snack would be a plausible use of time. It would be quite a while until she and John met up for lunch. The cafe seemed to gain more customers at that time of day. Y/N had some difficulty moving around the tables to get to the line. She made a point to look down to avoid stepping on anyone’s feet or bags. 

Suddenly, she felt her weight hit something hard, and then the sound of a splash splatter against the floor. She had done what she was desperately trying not to do–knock into someone. She was quick to apologize to the person whose drink she knocked over. 

“That’s quite alright.” The voice was smoky and smooth. It contained an Australian accent and belonged to a large woman.

The woman stood a few feet taller than Y/N. In fact, she thought, the woman in front of her must have been taller than Sherlock. 

Despite just having spilt her beverage everywhere, the woman flashed a bright smile at Y/N revealing a small gap between her two front teeth. Y/N’s eyes widened as she recognized the figure in front of her–Jasmine Crocker. 

“Uhh…I’m so sorry,” Y/N faltered. “Let me buy you a new drink.” 

Jasmine raised her hands to decline her offer, but Y/N ensured her that she would buy Jasmine a new drink one way or another. 

After Y/N had ordered their drinks the two sat down at a vacant table. Y/N placed her basket of books on the floor near her feet. Her leg began to bounce up and down and she scratched her head. 

Jasmine was the first to strike up a conversation between them. “You’re from America.” 

Y/N was taken aback by that statement. “Um..ya I am. I’m judging from the accent that your Australian?”

“That’s right.” Confirmed Jasmine. Her short dark hair bobbed up and down as she nodded. Again she flashed her toothy grin. 

“What for?” Stammered Y/N. Jasmine raised her brow up. “I mean, why are you here in Bath? Travel? Work? Family?” 

Jasmine leaned closer to Y/N. “Work. I’m a captain of a ship. It leaves in a few days, so I decided to do some,” she cleared her throat,”…touring.”

“Cool!” Y/N exclaimed. “Kind of the same for me. I’m here with my boss and he gave me the day off, so touring.” 

“Touring in a bookshop?” Questioned Jasmine, her brow cocked. 

Y/N sheepishly rubbed her neck and snickered. “Well, what can I say? I love books.”

Jasmine let out a hearty laugh and brought her hand to her chest. “You remind me of my girlfriend. She would be doing the same thing.” Her eyes held a sweet fondness for them when she mentioned her girlfriend.

“Girlfriend?” asked Y/N. 

Jasmine’s tan face flushed a deep pink. “Ya. You know, she lives not far from here.”

Out of pure curiosity, Y/N wondered, “How’d you two meet? I bet you travel a lot which might make it hard.”

Embarrassed, Jasmine ran a hand through her hair and her hefty muscles flexed. “She’s my childhood sweetheart. We grew up in Southern Australia together. At first, we were best friends but then it turned into something more.” A subtle shade of darkness grew in Jasmine’s eyes. “Her parents…they didn’t accept us–accept her. She moved here about two years ago.”

Y/N reached across the table and placed one hand on Jasmine’s clenched fist. “I’m sorry. No one deserves to be unwanted because of who they are and who they love.”

She withdrew her hand and a sense of deja vu washed over her. She knew someone who came from Southern Australia. Y/N knew someone who moved to Bath about two years ago. Y/N’s eyes widened with realization. Ada was Jasmine’s girlfriend. Y/N gasped at her conclusion. 

“She was forced to marry him.” Y/N muttered aloud. 

Jasmine’s dark eyes narrowed and she drew back from Y/N. “What did you say?”

“Jasmine, is your girlfriend’s name Ada?” Y/N interrogated. 

Jasmine stood up from her seat. “I don’t know how you knew that but…”. Jasmine stiffened. “You’re boss. He’s the detective.” She practically growled at the mention of Sherlock. 

Y/N immediately stood up and grabbed her belongings. Jasmine was guarded and eyed the exit. Y/N heard her name being called. Y/N looked towards the counter. 

“Y/N? Your drink is ready.” Called the barista. 

Y/N looked back at Jasmine, but she was no where to be found. Hesitantly, she moved to the counter to retrieve her drink. She muttered a thank you and walked toward the exit. She stepped out of the store and looked around. Jasmine was not in sight. A knot formed in Y/N's stomach and her jaw clenched. Her throat felt dry yet she tossed away her drink. She pulled out her phone and brought up her contacts. Her finger paused above Sherlock’s name but quickly moved to John’s. 

_______________

Hey John. 

I’m not feeling very well, so I have to cancel lunch. 

Y/N

That’s fine. Are you alright?

John

Ya, just need to lie down for a bit.

Y/N

Okay. Rest up.

John 

(read)

___________________

The sick feeling deep in Y/N’s stomach only grew as she briskly marched back to the inn. She quickly ran up the stairs and into her room where she fell upon the bed. Y/N turned around and laid on her back and brought her legs close to her body. She grimaced as the connotations of her discovery filled her mind. 

From Ada and Jasmine’s story, she could piece the picture together. Y/N knew that Ada and Jasmine were in love, but because of her parents, Ada was forced into a marriage with Eustace. 

Y/N turned to her side and held the pillow tight. Her knuckles turned white and she took in a shaky breath. 

Ada had spent two years with a drunk and abusive man as a way for her parents to rid her of her love for Jasmine. When Jasmine’s ship landed in the UK, she went to see Ada. It would be hard for anyone to miss the numerous bruises that marked Ada’s skin. Anyone would be furious at the sight of wanting to harm the person behind their appearance. 

It didn’t help the sick that fell over Y/N to know Jasmine fit Sherlock’s description of the murderer down to a tea. She was a large woman who could quite possibly be six foot three. Then there was the condition of physical strength. It was obvious of Jasmine’s physical prowess from her large and commanding stature. One that could easily be mistaken for the power of a man. 

Y/N’s head began to ache as her mind darted from thought to thought. One thing she knew, Eustace got what was coming to him. Most importantly, Y/N knew that she had to let Jasmine and Ada go despite being the cause of a man’s death. Worry slowly seeped into Y/N’s thoughts.

 How am I going to keep this from John? To make matters worse, what about Sherlock?

 _____________________________________________________________________________________

A slow and hesitant knock rang through the room. Y/N glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the door. 

“Who’s there?” She enunciated. 

She returned to look at herself in the mirror. Lightly she ran her fingers through her hair. Then bringing her hands down brushed out the wrinkles of her clothing. 

“It’s John. You almost ready for dinner?”

She leaned into the mirror to wipe away the slight sludge of her mascara under her eyes. Straightening up she stood tall and moved toward the door. Opening it wide to reveal John leaning on the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. He slightly stepped back at the abrupt opening of the door. 

“Ya. I’m ready.” Y/N responded. Her eyes cast down at her feet.  

“Are you sure?” John asked worriedly. “If you’re still feeling ill from earlier, I’m sure Sherlock would understand.”

“John,” she said sternly. “I’m fine.” With that, she moved around him and made her way to the stairs. 

John closed the door of her room and followed behind her. His heavy steps were a beat behind Y/N’s. When Y/N emerged from the staircase, she looked around the room half expecting Sherlock to be standing there waiting for her. John came up behind her. 

“Where’s Sherlock?” She wondered. 

“Huh?” asked John. “Oh, he’s outside waiting with Stanley.”

“Really?” She muttered. John sent her a funny look. 

“No, sorry. Don’t tell him I said that.” She begged. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

John narrowed his eyes and then a smirk appeared on his face. He clasped her shoulder laughing, “Just joking, Y/N.”

The memory of their conversation earlier flashed in her mind. “Ha ha,” she sarcastically clapped, “very funny, John.”

He only smiled and repeated the words that had left her very mouth from earlier that morning. “I know. I’m hilarious. I  should be a comedian.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. “Let’s go.”

He nodded and opened the door for her. Then together they stepped out of the inn and into the cold evening air. 

The evening sun was lowering closer and closer to give way to night. The street lamps were illuminating the sidewalks and road. People passed by on the street returning home from work. They smiled and laughed as the cold of the evening pinked their cheeks. That same pinkness began to brighten Y/N’s cheeks as she scanned around for Sherlock. 

As if John had read her mind, he replied, “He’s in the parking lot behind the inn.”  

“Right.” She swung her arms at John, “lead the way.”

John chuckled and made a left turn. He walked towards the parking lot with Y/N at his side. The parking lot was less illuminated by light than Y/N would have liked it to be. 

She jokingly muttered, “I feel like I’m about to get kidnapped.”

Luckily John didn’t comprehend her muddled comment or else she knew she would have received a concerned look from him. 

It was not surprisingly hard for the two of them to stop Stanley and Sherlock. Sherlock’s midnight head of curls towered over the various cars in the parking lot. As they got closer to Sherlock, Stanley’s short thick figure came into view. He clutched his chest as a boisterous laugh echoed through the parking lot. If Y/N looked close enough she could see the faintest sign of a smirk on Sherlock’s face. She smiled softly to herself knowing she was right about the two of them. They were friends despite what Sherlock told her and John. 

Stanley was too deep in his laughing fit to notice John and Y/N approaching but Sherlock caught them out of the corner of his eye. His faint smile grew and his eyes widened comically with his brows raising up along with them. Then his face returned to its typical stern expression. 

“John, Y/N” Sherlock called. “You’re here.”

Stanley collected himself and cleared his throat. “Dr Watson, and Ms L/N! So glad you could come.” He took their hands and gave them a firm shake. When he got to John, Stanley suddenly pulled him into a hug. John’s eyes widened in shock and Stanley pulled back. He turned to Y/N offering her a hug, which she accepted. 

“Hello to you too, Stanley,” She squeaked, the air from her lungs being squeezed out. He laughed and pulled away to straighten his shirt. 

“Right, better go then.” He elbowed Sherlock. “Can’t keep the Mrs waiting.”

Y/N politely chuckled along with him and tucked a hair behind her ear. She noticed Sherlock gazing down at her and she looked towards him. As she stared back into Sherlock’s cerulean eyes, her heart began to thunder underneath her ribs. Sherlock’s gaze narrowed and he cocked a brow. Y/N swiftly broke eye contact and took her seat in the back of the car next to John. 

As the buckle of her seat clicked, Sherlock’s baritone voice spoke up. “John, get up and sit in the front next to Stanley.”

John pressed his lips together. “Sherlock,” he sighed. “Why can’t you take the front?”

“Because, John.” Sherlock stated. 

John raised his brows and his expression narrowed. “Why can’t Y/N sit in the front?”

“John.” Sherlock persisted. John rolled his eyes and rose from his seat in the back. He walked past Sherlock, who held the front door open and sat down with a huff. Stanley sat in the driver’s seat with his hands on the wheel. He awkwardly tapped one of his fingers to a repetitive beat. Sherlock closed John’s door and made his way around the car and into the back seat. He closed the door and did not even bother buckling his seat belt. 

Stanley turned the key and the car’s ignition was brought to life. “Ready to go?” he exclaimed. The only response he got was the stiff nodding of Y/N’s head. He then shifted the car into drive and steered the car out of the parking lot. They turned down the road and were off to Stanley’s home. 

Not one word was spoken between the four of them. Y/N sat as far as she could into the corner of her seat. She crossed her left leg over her right and stared out the window. Her eyes intently watch the lights streak by. Sherlock stood as straight as ever. His body curved in the direction of the guarded woman. His eyes reflected her figure as if it were the steady surface of the lake, unbroken by rain or wind. Her every movement was captured perfectly within them. 

John sat in front of Y/N. One leg crossed over the other as he tapped the melody in his head. He glanced up in the rearview mirror and was horrified by what he saw: Sherlock was eyeing down Y/N who appeared to be on the edge of distress. John groaned as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He heard a rustle behind him and felt something sticking in the back of the seat. Then John started to adjust his position screaming as he tried to avoid the bump Y/N’s knee was causing. This earned a side eye from Sherlock. 

Eventually, John gave up, and blurted “Sherlock! Would you please stop staring at Y/N?! It’s making her uncomfortable.”  

Then John politely asks, “Y/N, can you move your leg? It’s digging into my back.” 

Afterwards, John turns to Stanley, “Can you turn the stereotype on?”

Stanley looks back at John and happily turns on the radio. Y/N re-adjusts her sitting position. Her posture was long and stiff. Her hair fell into her face as her gaze moved downward. She crossed her arms tightly around her body, giving herself a constricting hug. Sherlock’s stare was momentarily broken as scoffed at John. As if it was an automatic homeostasis, focusing on Y/N. Her eyes peered out from behind her hair as she checked to see if Sherlock was still honing in on her. When she caught his eyes, she jerked her head back down. 

The car’s hum and the soft singing of the latest artist on the radio filled the stifling silence of the car. Occasionally, Y/N would hum along if she recognized the song. Other than that, the stage of Stanely’s car remained empty for the occupants remained elusive as ever. 

Finally, after a painstakingly long fifteen-minute car ride, the four of them had arrived at Stanley’s home. The car came to a stop and Y/N promptly exited the car. Stanley sighed in relief as he opened the driver’s door. Before Sherlock jumped after Y/N, John turned around in his seat and gave him a glare only the mothers in the church would be able to mimic. 

Stanley’s house was quite quaint. Although the home was small in size, it made up for it with its colourful interior. It was so full of life with its brightly painted walls and vibrant pictures that hung on them. A cheerful small woman with long bronze-colored hair came out around the corner. She wore a blue and white striped apron over her lilac dress. 

“You must Ms. L/N.” She beamed. Quickly she brushed her hand off on the apron and extended a hand. Y/N took it, smiling back at her. Her eyes widened when she saw John. “You’re Dr. John Waston! I love your blog," she exclaimed. Sherlock cleared his throat. “And you must be Sherlock.” A sweetness filled her smile. Sherlock said a curt hello. 

“I’m Stanley’s wife, Katherine. You all can hang your coats on the hanger.” She pointed to the hanger on their right. They all removed their coats, hanging them up. “Daisy,” Katherine’s voice called, “You’re father’s home.” 

Suddenly, a small girl no more than the age of three came running from behind the corner. She had a bit of flour on her face and wore a dress that matched her mother’s. “Daddy!” She squealed as she jumped into Stanley’s open arms. He gave her a hug and swung her around. 

“How’s my little flower?” He asked. 

“Great! Mum and I are cooking dinner.” She piped. She wrapped her arms around her father’s thick neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. 

Y/N couldn’t help but smile fondly at the scene. 

Katherine clapped her hands together and announced that dinner was waiting for them in the dining room. They all followed her into the room, but before Y/N could follow the rest, Sherlock grasped her arm. He dragged her back and whispered in her ear. 

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock questioned.

Y/N yanked her arm out of Sherlock’s grasp and leaned away from him. “Nothing, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. I can tell, you do a thing with your eyes when you lie.” 

Y/N scrunched her nose up, her brows tilting down. “ I promise you it’s nothing.”

“It’s very obviously something.” Sherlock noted. 

“Sherlock,” She snarled. “I’m alright. Now let’s go have dinner with your friend.”

Suddenly they turned their head towards the sound of a cough. It was John. 

“We’re waiting for you two.”

Y/N collected herself and left Sherlock standing in the entryway with John. The dining table was a long oval shape. At its heads sat Stanley and Katherine. Next to Stanley was a small high chair where Daisy sat. Y/N  found an open seat and to the left of Katherine and next to Daisy. She asked Daisy if she could sit next to her and the girl nodded. 

John entered the dining hall with Sherlock coming up behind him. John took the seat opposite of Y/N. Sherlock sat down next to him and to the right of Stanley. After they were all seated, Stanley said grace and began to eat. Daisy began to happily relay all the details of her day to the guests at the table. Her father happily nodded along as she told him about the fun adventures she had at daycare. 

“Daddy? Why are they here?” She curiously wondered.

“This is Sherlock,” He motioned to Sherlock “He was a friend of mine at university.” 

Then he pointed at John. “That is John and,” he brought his finger over to Y/N, “that is Y/N. They’re friends of Sherlock.” 

Daisy peered at the three of them with a sparkle of pure wonderment in her large eyes. Then she shrugged her shoulders and then went back to eating her dinner. The table let out a collective chuckle. 

“I sometimes think that you are a wizard, Sherlock.” Stanley praised, “I really do think that you have superpowers or something with those skills of yours. How on earth did you know the stolen goods from Abbey Grange would be in the pond?”

“Stanley,” Katherine said warningly. “You know what I said about talking about your cases.”

“Yes, Katherine,” he replied. “But I really have to know, how on earth could you have known?” Stanley asked Sherlock. 

“I didn’t,” Sherlock stated. 

“But you told me to examine it.” Requisitioned Stanley.

“You’ve got the stolen property?” Question John. 

“Yes, I’ve got it,” repeated Stanley.

“Glad to have helped,” Sherlock quipped as he ate some of the potatoes on his plate.

Stanley sighed and placed his fork down. “But you haven’t helped me. You just made the case more difficult. What sort of burglars steal silver and then throw it in a nearby pond?”

“It was certainly eccentric behaviour,” commented Sherlock. “I thought that maybe the burglars may have perceived it would be a good hiding place.” 

Stanley’s eyes widened in realization. “Ah, a hiding place. That's it.” Cried, Stanley Hopkins. “Yes, I see it clearly now. It was early in the morning, and there must have been people on the roads. The burglars were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond–planning to return later when the coast was clear. Excellent Sherlock!” A toothy grin was brought to Stanley’s face. 

“Although,” Stanley muttered. “There is an issue. The Randall gang were arrested in New York this morning, so we no longer know who the culprits are.” 

“Really?” Y/N asked, her voice full of concern. “Who do you think it is then?”

“Probably some local gang we never heard of,” Stanley replied.

Y/N’s shoulders relaxed at the mention of it and continued eating her dinner. “This is delicious, Katherine.” She complimented. Katherine’s face flushed at her comment. 

“Do you have a clue for me, Sherlock?” Stanley inquired. 

“A clue?” Repeated Sherlock. Y/N stopped playing with her food, and she held her breath. “Yes, I could give you one, the wine.” 

Y/N abruptly stood up from her seat. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” Stanley nodded and told her directions. “Thanks,” she muttered in response. Quickly taking her leave for the bathroom. 

John looked at Sherlock, as she left and mouthed the words “What did you do?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response. 

_____

Y/N groaned into her hands as she sat down. Her head in her hands. She rubbed her face. “Get yourself together Y/N.” She told herself. Then Y/N rose from her seat on the toilet and leaned on the counter. She looked at herself in the mirror. “You’ve got this.” After a few more moments of pepping herself up, she took in a deep breath and opened the door, revealing Sherlock. With one arm raised, he leaned against the door frame. 

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock!” Y/N cried. 

He took his arm down and entered the bathroom and backed Y/N up against the wall. 

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” Her voice rising in pitch. 

He leaned in close to her. “What is going on with you? You’ve been on edge all night. Did something happen in town today?” 

At the mention of it, Y/N looked wide-eyed up at him. She gasped at the proximity of his face to hers. 

“Something did happen!” He exclaimed. “What?” Y/N looked to the side. “Y/N,” Sherlock said gently. “I need to know if you’re alright.” He tenderly tilted her chin to face him. 

“Yes, I’m alright Sherlock.” She whispered. “Nothing happened.”

He darted between hers. “You’re lying again.”

“It’s nothing.” She blurted, “Just got startled a bit by a stranger.”

“Was John with you?”

“No, John wa..”

“I told him to stay with you.” Sherlock hissed. 

“You told John to babysit me.” Repeated Y/N. 

Sherlock took a step back. “No, I told him to...”

“You did.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Sherlock. I’m not as fragile as you think I am. I get that I had a life-threatening experience with your last case, but I can take care of myself. I don’t need John following me around like a bodyguard. Do you understand?”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched and he looked to the side. “Yes.” 

Y/N patted his chest gently. “Great. We’re being rude to Stanley and Katherine, so let’s get back to dinner.”

Taking one more glimpse of Sherlock, she returned back to the dinner table. The majority of the table had finished their food when Sherlock and Y/N appeared from the hallway. John and Stanley were laughing about something and Katherine, snickered to herself. 

John’s eyes lit up. “I would have never thought Sherlock to be a practical prankster.” 

Stanley chuckled, “The pranks he would come up with.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Thank you for having us for dinner, Stanley, but I’m afraid we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“Nonsense,” bellowed Stanley. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Sadly, we have got to return to London early tomorrow morning.” 

Stanley sat up in his seat. “Oh, alright then. I’ll go and get the car started.” His chair scraped on the floor as he stood up. 

John quickly stood up as well and began to thank Katherine for having them over. Y/N chimed in as well, commenting again on the dinner. Daisy mindlessly waved to the three of them as they headed to the entryway to retrieve their coats. 

“Bye Bye!” She sang. 

“Bye Daisy,” smiled Y/N, giving her a curt wave goodbye. 

Sherlock, John, and Y/N left the Hopkin household and got into Stanley’s car. Sherlock sat in the front seat this time. The whole ride back, Sherlock and Stanley muttered amongst themselves. Occasionally, Sherlock would snicker at something Stanley said. Y/N leaned her head against the window and fluttered her eyes closed. 

“Y/N?” asked John. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm?” She mumbled and opened her eyes. “Ya. Just tired. I had a long day.” 

John nodded and then peered out his window. 

The lights of Bath flashed by the car windows in streaks. A sprinkling of rain fell from the cloudy night sky. A light pitter-patter fell on the car windows as Stanley drove Sherlock and his friends back to Juliet’s. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

John had pulled Sherlock to the side when Stanley had bid them goodnight. He couldn’t help but feel like he was more of a parent to Sherlock than a friend. Y/N had enough on her plate as it was, and he wasn’t going to let his friend add to it if he could help it. He said a quick goodnight to Y/N as she trudged up the stairs to her room. She waved in acknowledgement, not bothering to turn around. The heaviness of her steps made the wooden stairs whine and groan. 

“Sherlock,” whispered John harshly. “What was that all about?”

Sherlock leered at John as if he had no idea what this intervention was about. 

“Don’t give me that look, Sherlock. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Something happened in town today. You weren’t you with her,” Sherlock condemned. His head tilted downward at John; his mouth narrowed. 

John took a step back and cocked his head at Sherlock. “What does this mean something happened to her?” His eyes widened. “Is that why she told me she wasn’t feeling well this afternoon?” 

“Something is troubling Y/N and it’s disrupting my focus on the case.”

John sighed. “You mean you’re worried about her.”

“No, John.” Sherlock clarified. “She’s my assistant and is supposed to assist me. I can’t work with her mind distressed about something other than the case at hand.” 

John opened his mouth to rebut Sherlock’s comment when a high-pitched scream broke out from upstairs. John’s body tensed and Sherlock’s eyes went wide. They shared a common thought. 

Y/N. 

_____

Y/N tried to brush the sleep away from her eyes as she fumbled with her keys. Eventually, she was able to get the knob and open her room. One of the windows of her room was cracked open. The slight breeze lifted up the curtains. “Strange,” she thought. “I don’t remember opening a window.” She took her coat off and it slumped to the floor. Removing her shoes, she made her way to the bathroom. Her tired eyes peered into the dark trying to find the light switch.  

It was as if her hand weighed a ton as she fumbled for the light switch. Then her fingers found the familiar smooth surface of the controls and switched the lights on. 

Suddenly two large hands wrapped around her figure and yanked her back. Her heart lurched and she cried out in fear, but a hand silenced her. 

A low voice whispered a warning in her ear. “Don’t make another sound.” It was Jasmine. She nodded in response and Jasmine peeled her clammy hand off Y/N’s mouth. Thundering footsteps ran up the stairs and approached Y/N’s room. Jasmine’s grasp tightened on Y/N, and she quickly reached over to shut the light off. 

 There was a bang and light from the hallway flooded the room. 

“Y/N?” Sherlock called out, his voice sounding shaky. His blue eyes caught sight of the open window. 

Y/N closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, but then Jasmine’s hands fall. Y/N’s eyes widen as she steps out of the bathroom, confronting Sherlock and John. 

They take a step back defensively. Then Sherlock asks, “Where’s Y/N?”

“I’m here,” she steps out of the bathroom. “I’m here Sherlock.” 

Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed. 

Jasmine raised her hands above her head and sighed in defeat. “If heard of your reputation Mr. Holmes. There’s no getting away from you. Arrest me. I can’t stand it any longer.”

Y/N gasped, “Jasmine, no!” Jasmine looked wide-eyed at Y/N in shock. “Sherlock, she doesn’t deserve it. Tell Jasmine what you told me.”

There was silence from Sherlock as he looked between Y/N and Jasmine. His mind formulated his response. His cloudy eyes peered over Jasmine’s figure, noting her size and stature. Sherlock’s eyes slightly widened as if a light had gone off, but then it faltered back into his calculated expression. 

“Relax, Captain Crocker.” He stated. 

She lowered her hands. “What do you want?”

“Tell me what happened at Abbey Grange a few nights ago.” She nods, but Sherlock stops her. “I’ll know if you lie, and you won’t be able to stop me before I have the police on the line.”

Jasmine thought for a little while and then struck her leg. “I’ll take my chances. You seem to be a man of your word.” Her dark eyes narrowed in on him. 

“John, turn on the light.” Instructed Sherlock. John nodded and moved to go turn the light on. Y/N moved away from Jasmine’s side and sat down on the bed. Jasmine then took refuge in the chair by the window. Sherlock moved to stand across from Jasmine. He was only a few feet from where Y/N sat. 

Jasmine cleared her throat and began. “So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing. I would do it all again and be proud of it. Eustace can go to hell.  But Ada, she has to stay out of this.” Jasmine looked up at Sherlock and he reluctantly nodded. “I would give my life just to bring a smile to her face. Her smile melts my heart every time I see it. I would do anything for her and nothing less.”

Jasmine leaned forward and rubbed her forehead. “I’ve known her all my life. We grew up together in Southern Australia. I knew from the moment I met her; she would be by my side for the rest of my life. Then I became a sailor and started working for a shipping company. I had to leave her, yet every day of those days at sea I loved her, even more.” A tear danced across Jasmine’s skin darkened by her days in the sun. “You must know that her parents never accepted that Ada was gay. They did everything they could to keep us apart. I thought we had faced it all, but they were determined. One time I had been called away from work. I came back home to find that Ada was engaged. She and her fiance became a passenger on the Rock of Gibraltar. When I confronted her about it during the voyage she broke down in my arms. She told me how it was her parent’s choice, and she was forced to marry him. There was nothing I could do but grieve. When they departed from the ship, I thought I would never see her again.”

Jasmine began to cry. John offered her tissues, and she gladly accepted them. She blew her nose and wiped her tears away before she continued. “Then I got promoted to captain and was stationed here in Bath until my boat would depart. I came across Theresa, who I came to find was Ada’s maid. She told me all about Eustace and the life he forced Ada into. I was furious and demanded to see her. Theresa helped me find her. I was determined to see Ada, so Theresa told me everything she knew about the house. What times the servants went to be. When Eustace would fall asleep. Everything. One night I came to Abbey Grange to find Ada. She was up late at night reading. Ada loves to read.”

Jasmine smiled softly to herself thinking fondly of Ada. Y/N’s heart couldn’t help but feel for her. She had been through so much. 

“That night, I was able to get her attention, and she told me to sneak in through the dining room window. She met me down there and I came in through the window. The first thing I saw was the markings all over her body and my blood began to boil. Then the devil himself sprung into the room calling her all sorts of names and threatening to beat her to a pulp. He used his walking cane to hit her across the face. He would have continued to beat her, so I did what anyone would do. I grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be the poker and I hit him. It was like breaking a rotten pumpkin and I killed him.” She choked. 

Jasmine looked up at Sherlock. “What would you do?” 

Sherlock’s eyes drifted over to Y/N and his gaze softened. 

“Anyways, Theresa heard the commotion and came down. She found us and Eustace dead. Ada was panicking and I opened up a bottle to help calm her. I took a swig of it myself. Theresa came up with a story about the burglars. Theresa then repeated the cover to Ada as I climbed up to cut the wire. I grabbed a few silver pots and anything else I thought would be of value. I made my escape and dropped the silver into the pond. I felt that for once in my life I had finally done something right, and that’s the truth, Mr Holmes. 

Sherlock stood there in silence for some time. Then he crossed the room and stood in front of Jasmine. 

“You have told the truth. No one but a sailor could have got up there to cut the rope. No one but a sailor could have tied those knots. I’m no expert on love, but Ada feels just the same. She and Theresa were adamant about protecting you. 

 Jasmine chuckled. “And here I thought my plan would fool the police.”

“It did.” Sherlock clarified. “They won’t ever see through the lie.”

Jasmine looked up at Sherlock through her brows. Despite her size, Sherlock loomed over her.

“I am willing to admit that you acted in the only manner a man could in such circumstances. I am not sure that by killing in defense of Ada’s life, you will be set free. However, that is for the jury to decide.”

“Jury?” asked Y/N. 

“We will do this according to law.” State Sherlock. He took a step back and look at Jon and Y/N. “You two are the jury. You are well-fitted to represent one. I am the judge.” He cleared his throat and continued. “The evidence has been presented. Do you find Captain Crocker guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty,” said John. 

They turned to look at Y/N. “Not guilty,” she agreed. 

“According to the jury, Jasmine Crocker, you are found not guilty. Now take Ada and live the life you two have fought for.” 

Y/N eye’s widened upon hearing the verdict. She met Sherlock’s gaze and a wave of relief passed over her. A smile crept on her face and for once Sherlock returned it. 

___________________________________________________________________________________ “Sherlock!” Called Y/N. She waved a few papers she had printed out. “I went through your emails and printed out the cases that I thought might be worth your while.” 

She presented them to Sherlock, and he snatched them out of her hand. She turned around his seat and plucked up the empty teacup. Sherlock peered over the sheets, his eyes gathering up the information that the brief descriptions of the cases offered. 

Y/N passed John who was typing away at the blog. He was writing about the events of Abbey Grange. 

“Y/N,” he interjected. “What do you think of this? I’m not quite sure that it reads well.”

“Give me a sec, John.” She replied. Making her way to the kitchen she deposited the teacup into the sink and returned back to John. She rested her hand on the back of his chair and leaned over. Her eyes scanned the words in front of her. She mouthed the words out loud to herself. “Yep! It sounds great.”

John sent her a smile and thanked her. Y/N entered the kitchen and began to wash the cup. 

“No…it was the gardener.” Sherlock began to mumble as he flipped through the pages. 

Y/N’s hand moved in circular motions as she scrubbed the teacup. Hot water ran over her hands as it washed away the suds. 

“Any luck, Sherlock?” She asked.

He shook his head and flipped to another page. “It astounds me at how unobservant people are.” He noted. 

John and Y/N shared a few snickers in the comment. The whipping of the paper stopped as Sherlock’s eyes widened. A smirk appeared on Y/N’s face. “Find something?”

Sherlock stood up; his bathrobe swung around his calves. He marched over to her. 

“Y/N,” he began. 

“Already sent you the email,” She finished. She reached down to grab a towel to dry the cup. After placing it in the cupboard she turned around to face him. 

“You know I never said thank you.” She suddenly said, Sherlock peered up at her. His brow cocked. “For lots of things.” She glanced down and smiled to herself. “I know you say you're a sociopath, Sherlock. But you have a heart and a good one at that. John and auntie M were right.”  

Sherlock’s gaze softened at her. 

“Well,” she chimed. “I’m off for the day. You two are on your own for dinner.” She brushed her hands off and moved to the door. She retrieved her coat from the hanger and opened the door. 

“See you later, Y/N,” said John. 

She nodded, and taking one more glance at Sherlock, she left the consulting detective and his blogger to themselves. 

________________________________________________________________

This chapter is a bit longer. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Please comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list and would like to be reminded of updates to the story. 

Tag list: @biggerthancalli13 @themartiansdaughter @starlightaurorab​

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[mattness]