#but i see it. he's an EXCELLENT holmes

[sherlock-is-ace]

I sure fucking love it when they do the thing :')

[burningfairytales]

People look at Bokuto and see a happy-go-lucky, carefree ray of sunshine and think, oh, he is a fool.

I mean I know people love him, but I am so, so upset that that is what he is reduced to.

Because Bokuto may be simple-minded, but a fool he is not.

(Let’s not even talk about the fact that Fukurodani seems to be a renowned private school and Japanese high schools have entrance exams. We know this, because Kageyama failed to get into Shiratorizawa, okay. He failed the exam.

So Bokuto getting into Fukurodani doesn’t exactly scream “idiot” to me. So he struggles with Japanese and Maths. Hell, if everyone was deemed stupid who didn’t excel in literally all of his classes, this would be a world of fools.

He also goes on to college and graduates. So he doesn’t know how taxes work. Hell, Sherlock Holmes didn’t know the earth revolves around the sun. People retain knowledge of stuff that they care about damnit. No one gives a shit about taxes.

I’m not calling him a genius here. He’s probably not exactly a top tier student. But please stop dumbing him down.)

But what I’m really talking about is that Bokuto is people-smart, okay. Like tell me he didn’t know exactly what made Akaashi tick. Tell me he didn’t know exactly what was wrong with him the second Akaashi started faltering.

He knew.

And he called him out on his bullshit in the exact same way Akaashi calls him out on his.

(It’s not just Akaashi btw. He knew exactly what was going through Yachi’s mind during the dumpster battle.)

And listen. During the training camp arc, Fukurodani vs Karasuno, where we first get to see Bokuto’s emo mode? It’s heavily implied by both Takeda and Ukai that Bokuto isn’t aware of how the team dynamics work, and as a reader, we believe this - because Bokuto appears to be so simple-minded. Because there don’t appear to be any hidden depths.

Because we never actually get to see the world through Bokuto’s eyes, but rather always Akaashi’s.

But being simple-minded doesn’t make you an idiot either. It just means that you have a different way of prioritising.

And then later, Bokuto has his moment. His “time for me to just be a regular ace” moment.

And we find out that he did know. He was completely aware that his team (and Akaashi, in all his well-intended manipulation) were coddling him.

(Don’t come for me; I ADORE Akaashi.)

Point is, he knows. And it was fine, because hey, it was easier anyway, and he knew he could count on his team to have his back.

But then Akaashi falters, and his team is struggling, and it’s Bokuto saying “you had my back all this time. Now let me have yours.”

Bokuto is not oblivious and he’s not a fool. His cheerfulness and optimism aren’t a sign of ignorance. They’re carefully cultivated. Because he knows what being lonely is like. He worked so, so hard towards his dream - not just to go pro, but to have fun playing volleyball. To become better at it so that he gets to enjoy it just a little bit more.

His good-heartedness is a goddamn choice, not some cradle-given virtue.

In this essay, i will-

[paranoid-rhythm]

Fate/Grand Order COMIC à la carte PLUS! SP Showdown!

Ashiya Douman VS Dioscuri

TL & Typeset by yours truly.

Right, so, edited to add AU's commentary below.

Au's commentary

【Douman】

I think that due to his position as an onmyouji and as a bonze, he places an emphasis on formality and rituals. Whatever his motivation may be, he can't help but go through these motions (though there are times that he stops abrubptly), it's like "if he has to do it anyway, it's more interesting to do it this way." In addition, it was a confrontation against the Dioscuri.

The Dioscuri, gods who connect with humans through "rituals" that play an important role in religion and faith, and whose way of being can be influenced and altered by man, in contrast with Ashiya Douman, one who blasphemes even gods themselves, one who guides humans by "looking up to the heavens and divining the stars." The ritual was brought about when Douman thought that he wanted to perform the steps to carry out the purifying ritual (monomi^), but he did not want to be the one to be shut in, so he made someone else disappear instead.

(^物忌み - monomi; an onmyou practice of shutting oneself inside the house on inauspicious days to avoid misfortune.)

In simpler terms, it's an act to purify one's body and soul by cutting off impurities, as such, Castor was furious at not only being suddenly separated from his sister, but also for being judged as "defective." (Although Castor's anger was at the forefront, his bond level is assumed to be high, because he rushed into the scene, out of concern regarding the abnormal situation, and for his Master's safety.)

【Dioscuri】

・Castor's Saint Graph is deficient, due to his separation from Pollux (derived from the Dioscuri interlude). ・In addition, it was difficult to stop Douman with a god's power, as due to Douman's spell, it was a situation where no divinity other than Douman's was functioning.

As for the "stronger truth (for the Master)" that Holmes mentioned, at this part, the Master was reminded of Dioscuri Castor's return gift from Valentine's, St. Elmo's Fire. One aspect of the Dioscuri is being the guardians of navigation, the guiding light, the "star" shining in the heavens.

Castor's return gift, based on the circumstances of the event scenario, is interpreted here as a blessing given by the Dioscuri only to the Master. A "truth" that was clear to the Master, that even if no one else knew about it, without any doubt, they have received this blessing. At that moment, the Master, who is the key figure in this divine ritual, overrode the "Dioscuri" by strongly recognizing them as "stars" rather than the "twin gods". Thus, this is the process that allowed Pollux to be revived.

【The Master of Hell】

Though it has various meanings, it revolves mainly about Seimei's episode with the "Taizanfukugun", and the "Taizanfukugun Festival^".

(^An onmyou festival, revering "Taizanfugun", a god from ancient China that was syncretized with the Buddhist king Enma, and was believed to rule over human lifespan and fortune. It was a popular festival among court nobles during the Heian period, and it was the festival that the onmyou family, the Abe clan, excelled at.)

Taizanfukugun is a major deity in onmyoudo, in Buddhism, considered as one of the ten kings of hell (sometimes equated with King Enma). The main implication of this image is that he is able to interfere with even the forces of hell and use them as if they were his own.

In this sense, Seimei should be the one who's more suited for hell, so what point would there be if the Master falls into hell? Would there be any meaning after that? In the first place, the Master would certainly not fall without a fight. And if they decided to, they would jump in without hestation, which is for Douman, also infuriating.

How does Douman see the greatest onmyouji? Did he collectively likened that person to the emotions swirling around him? Was it through the story of that person's resurrection, their travels through the world of that time, that equated to them easily conquering even Hell? Or is it something else entirely?

Whether he gives it his all or not, I feel that for Douman, there seems to be a fundamental ambiguity in self-affirmation, making him think "If I'm like this, then that person must be even better", regardless of Douman's own level of ability.

【Companion/Attendant】

When the Master pledged that they were determined to take Douman with them, even if it meant dragging him along with them, I wanted to show a "contrast" that showed their difference from Seimei, expressed through the rather exaggerated "Master allowed themselves to be accompanied / Seimei will never allow himself to be accompanied."

It's like "I said I liked apples, but he didn't say he liked apples. So he must hate apples.", something to that extreme. From Douman's point of view, that's how it must have been.

Furthermore, most of the passages in which Douman refers to Seimei are all from his perspective.

-The following is a digression -

・Sanson and Asclepius These two were the ones originally from Showdown Part 1. Originally, there was no scene in which these two talked to each other, but I hope those who read the previous comic will notice it.

This too, is a story about "humans" and "demigods (children of Apollo)".

(By the way, I was able to draw Asclepius in his second ascension for this FGO comicalized series.)

・At the beginning, I wanted to make the Master upset by making (Douman) say, "I killed her,'' but the response got boring so I changed it up.

・Buddha's great vows - this is the Bodhisattva's vast desire to save all sentient beings. In short, this was a hugely sarcastic remark towards the Master, as if to say "Your determination and your theatrical declaration are both truly admirable!" However, it also suggests that even if they would have to get various people to help their cause, the Master might just be able to pull it off.

・I was able to finish Holmes' panels in just one day.

・The last panel I drew was Douman's left side.

[dunmeshi-darlings]

Can I request something for Marcille, Chilchuck, Mickbell and Holm with a half-foot reader who is not someone to avoid a fight like most half-foots would because they are a duellist/dagger wielding rogue? They even seem a little reckless because they trust so much in their own skill of avoiding hits so they dare come in close when fighting something.

Oh now that is a delightful image! i love when a character subverts the expectations of the race they are in fantasy. Dwarf Mages, Elf barbarians, etc etc. this sounds delightful.

Marcille looked at you the same way as she looked at chilchuck, she couldnt help but view you as a child like she did with chilchuck. she giggled seeing you with your daggers and even asked if you were old enough to be using those, worrying that you might cut yourself.

So imagine her reaction when during the first fight you charge in with your daggers, slashing and stabbing and dashing all over the monster. your size and speed making you damn near impossible to hit . marcille was shocked, you had told her time and time again you werent a kid and were good in a fight but she just attributed that to you being embarrassed.

She apologizes to you for assuming you were young and that you couldnt look out for yourself. she let her biased views influence how she viewed you and she felt bad about it, you accept her apology and you two become good friends. Your speed lets you duck in and out of range of her explosions to deal damage with your knives. you two make a great team.

Chilchuck absolutely knows about you, he had heard about you through the grapevine. He had thought about getting you in the union to make sure nobody took advantage of you, but all things considered he figured you were more than capable of handling yourself.

When you joined the party he assured everyone of your skills, that if even half the stories he had heard of you were true then you would be an excellent addition to the party. And sure enough when the first first starts and your zipping in and out of combat slashing and stabbing the enemy chilchuck just smiles smugly at everyones wonder. He comments how not all half foots are squishy and bad at fighting.

Normally he would discourage you from a fellow half foot getting into an immediate melee brawl but your skills make him think that isnt an issue. He does still care about you, your a fellow half foot so of course he is going to look out for you. He cant help looking out for his fellow half foots.

Like chilchuck mickbell had heard of you before, that you were supposedly some half foot that was great in a fight? sounded like a loud of bullshit to him, he thought you were just somebody talking alot of game and having no real skill to back it up. that you likely were just lying to people.

Mickbell nearly faints when he finally sees you in action, As he hid behind some rocks he watches as you and kruo charge in slashing and stabbing at the monster. The two of you fighting with such savagery and speed, he wasnt sure who was more animalistic in their assault. The monster eventually slayed he steps out of his hiding spot.

He looks at you with wide eyes, saying how cool you were and how your so awesome! the way you were just running circles around the monster was the coolest thing he had ever seen! that you had to teach him how to do stuff like that.

(apologies i couldnt find a proper gif of holm)

When you joined the party and told him about your skills he belived you, his intuition told him that you were much more skilled than you let on so when you told him your fighting style it made sense to him. And when mickbell said you were likely lying holm said he didnt believe it for a second.

When the first fight with a monster happened you noticed his Undine Marillier by your side. Its way of attacking complimenting your fighting style, as you attacked and dodged the monsters attacks it would snipe at the monster each time you opened up its weakness. the two of you really were a dangerous pair in combat. Of course you also were quick to draw the monsters aggro back onto you to keep marillier safe.

After the fight holm gently pet at the undine and resealed it, thanking you for helping it in the fight. "thanks for watching her back, your one of the few people that tries to not let her get hurt." he says with a smile thanking you. You tell him its no problem, after all your team mates.

[comicgeekery]

Sherlock and Co.

So I just listened to the latest episode, the conclusion of A Case of Identity. I have to say, it was deeply disappointing. For the most part I've been really enjoying Sherlock and Co. It's been fun and engaging. The actors are great. It's a solid new take on "Sherlock Holmes but in the 21st century". I love that they're going through all the stories of the original canon and giving them modern updates. So many Sherlock Holmes adaptations seem to have the basic trappings of the characters and premise without any interest in the original mysteries. This show is clearly being made with love and deep attention to detail. Also, on a personal note, my heart melts every time it explicitly (and even casually!) confirms that Sherlock is autistic and that that is a DISABILITY for him. He gets overstimulated. It gives him an often restricted diet. He hurts people's feelings from not picking up social cues and feels bad about it! There's also a lot of hints that Sherlock used to struggle to interact with others FAR worse than he currently does, to the point where he has never graduated from any school he attended. And John is kind and supportive, understanding the situation as a friend and a doctor, while also having his own understandable limitations. He gets annoyed with Sherlock sometimes and they need to hash things out. It's not perfect between them, but I can see how they're growing closer as they come to understand each other. John Watson is also handled very interestingly in this podcast. He's clearly got some issues of his own he's going through. There's some obvious PTSD from his time in Afghanistan, but also more mundane issues. He feels unappreciated by his mother and still grieves the father that died when he was ten. He's clearly massively insecure, as he constantly expresses jealousy of other people's wealth, good looks, and success. He seems to perk up every time he hears of an idea that could, in theory, make him rich or successful. He constantly second-guesses himself in any social situation because he's so afraid of looking foolish. I even think the reason that he himself decided to call their detective/podcasting business Sherlock and Co. (rather than Sherlock and Watson or something more evenly balanced) is because of his profound insecurity. He doesn't think anyone would care about the role he plays in the business. Clearly Sherlock is the only interesting person there.

But for all of that, I think this is the most competent, helpful, and good Watson I've ever seen. (ACD's Watson is excellent, but the stories almost always really downplayed his role in the crime-solving.) He is shown, again and again, to be an excellent doctor and more than that, one who is very calm and capable under extreme pressure. (Which makes perfect sense with his history as an army doctor.) If someone gets shot at your wedding, Dr. John Watson is the one who will have the skill and the presence of mind to use an expired condom as a tool to save their life. And he's also a good co-detective. He regularly helps Sherlock see connections that Sherlock might have missed. Things relating to pop culture, to social norms, to anything medical, not to mention all the support and encouragement John offers. And Sherlock genuinely appreciates it! These two are an actual, real team! It's excellent! (I have a soft spot in my heart for Nigel Bruce's Watson, but I can't deny that he inspired a real line of idiotic, totally a sidekick, why-are-you-even-here Watson portrayals. Granted, we've gotten away from that in most modern portrayals; Liu, Freeman, and Law were also very capable, though I think Liu was easily the smartest. It's just refreshing to have a Watson I can respect.) But all of that is a pretty roundabout way of getting to my point of what disappointed me with A Case of Identity. So, in the original Case of Identity story, a woman comes to Sherlock and Watson saying that her fiancee has disappeared. The eventual solution is that everything about this fiancee was a lie. He was actually her evil stepfather in disguise "wooing" her with the intention of disappearing mysteriously and leaving her too heartbroken and loyal to think of marrying anyone else (and thus depriving her stepfather of her fortune). The Sherlock and Co. adaptation has a solid update to the story. It's now about a rich, though insecure, man who's being cat-fished. He loves "Angel", even wants to marry her, and has given her tons of money for two years now. He's only going to Sherlock at all because he has a friend who thinks the situation is sketchy. In a parallel to the original story, it turns out that "Angel" is actually Des, the client's stepfather. It started off as a scheme from Des and the mother, Clara, to keep Miles from dating women they didn't approve of. Then Des went behind Clara's back to keep the charade going and get more and more money, consequently getting more and more intimate with his stepson the whole time. I was already a bit nervous at that point, because Des was coming dangerously close to playing out a transphobic stereotype. Being a man who pretended to be a woman for personal gain, and willing to completely betray and deceive the people closest to him. It also didn't help that John had made a point of saying that there was nothing wrong with being a Tory mere minutes before. (Which to me read as more of his insecurity and need to not alienate the in-universe listeners but certainly wasn't interrogated.) But I tried to be optimistic and kept listening. Unfortunately...it was even worse than I'd feared. Des turned out to not only being grifting his stepson through a semi-incestuous cat-fishing scheme, but he had a split personality. Angel had become real through Des having a mental health crisis. And she could spontaneously take over, which she did in order to grab Clara and hold a knife to her throat when the truth came out. Finally, Angel/Des tries to kill themself, which is something the show has the audacity to make a joke about before the audience knows if Des lived or died.

Sooooo, yeah. That's incredibly offensive on so many levels. Angel, while not quite a trans character (I think?) plays into transphobic rhetoric beat-for-beat. It's also an incredibly cliche representation of split personality disorder that plays into extremely tired representations of people with mental illnesses being violent dangers to society. And that's especially disappointing because of the attention Sherlock and Co. usually pays to portraying mental health issues with sensitivity. What the fuck, Sherlock and Co.? Did you get a new writer for this one? Did they time travel directly from the 1950s? This is cheap drama that hurts. It hurts trans women. It hurts people with mental illnesses. And it hurts the wider queer and disabled communities. Which, if you're trying to get popular with the most vocal Sherlock Holmes fans today, are largely the exact people you most want to like you.

Cards on the table, I've been really hoping this show would finally be the adaptation where John and Sherlock would become an actual, explicit couple. It's something fans have longed for for literal generations and now that all of Sherlock Holmes is in the public domain it can finally definitely happen. I felt like Sherlock and John had good chemistry and were maybe even flirting in previous episodes, but I'll save those theories for now. My point is that this is a show where I believed that could happen. I trusted Sherlock and Co. to be respectful and thoughtful. And I'm not saying that all my goodwill is gone now. But it has taken a hit. Sherlock and Co. has been overwhelmingly clever and interesting, finding creative ways to recast the classic stories while still keeping their hearts. I love the acting, I love the action and mysteries, and I haven't even come close to expressing how much thought I've put into what overarching plot threads might be getting established in each episode.

But I won't be able to continue to enjoy those parts if I come to spend my time listening more concerned about if a plot twist is going to leave me feeling attacked. I don't know who writes for this show and I don't know if you read any reviews on Tumblr, but I hope you do. And I hope you do better in the future. An apology and some good trans representation in the future would be nice. Please, I really want to be able to obsess about your show peacefully!

[holmesxwatson]

The place was pitch-dark, but it was evident to me that it was an empty house. Our feet creaked and crackled over the bare planking, and my outstretched hand touched a wall from which the paper was hanging in ribbons. Holmes's cold, thin fingers closed round my wrist and led me forwards down a long hall, until I dimly saw the murky fanlight over the door. Here Holmes turned suddenly to the right, and we found ourselves in a large, square, empty room, heavily shadowed in the cor-ners, but faintly lit in the centre from the lights of the street beyond. There was no lamp near and the window was thick with dust, so that we could only just discern each other's figures within. My companion put his hand upon my shoulder and his lips close to my ear.

"Do you know where we are?" he whispered

"Surely that is Baker Street," I answered, staring through the dim window.

"Exactly.

We are in Camden House, which stands opposite to our own old quarters."

"But why are we here?"

"Because it commands so excellent a view of that picturesque pile. Might I trouble you, my dear Watson, to draw a little nearer to the window, taking every precaution not to show yourself, and then to look up at our old rooms-the starting-point of so many of our little adventures? We will see if my three years of absence have entirely taken away my power to surprise you."

I crept forward and looked across at the familiar window. As my eyes fell upon it I gave a gasp and a cry of amazement. The blind was down and a strong light was burning in the room. The shadow of a man who was seated in a chair within was thrown in hard, black outline upon the luminous screen of the window. There was no mistaking the poise of the head, the squareness of the shoulders, the sharpness of the features. The face was turned half-round, and the effect was that of one of those black silhouettes which our grandparents loved to frame. It was a perfect reproduction of Holmes. So amazed was I that I threw out my hand to make sure that the man himself was standing beside me.

He was quivering with silent laughter.

"Well?" said he.

"Good heavens!" I cried. "It is marvellous."

"I trust that age doth not wither nor custom stale my infinite variety," said he, and I recognised in his voice the joy and pride which the artist takes in his own creation. "It really is rather like me, is it not?"

"I should be prepared to swear that it was you."

— The Adventure of the Empty House

[asoulwithadream]

The Dancing Man (1) - Sherlock & Co.

I LOVE THE DANCING MEN STORY! I remember watching the Granada Holmes version and whilst I have forgotten the ending, I still remember it being one of my favourite adventures!

I am really enjoying how they've adapted this story so far, with the music implications and the drama, their production quality is really brilliant and I don't think I've expressed this before.

As of now they're doing an excellent job of keeping me in the dark—the only things I've was able to deduce were revealed to me just a few minutes after, so I'm excited to see how it plays out. Come on, Mr. British men, wow me with your miracles!

And for my stupid little commentary...

"Piss off, get a life!" To a swan, Jawn. A Swan.

HE WAS TRYING TO SAY THIS EPISODE WAS EDGING- ABSOLUTELY NOT-

"I bring soup! Glorious soup! The soup man cometh!" I will be quoting this forever.

Why are we talking so much about Elsie? Am I being suspicious in vain or is Elsie more relevant than she sounds? (I KNEW IT)

WE'LL MEET AGAIN YES I LOVE THAT SONG—AND QUEEN? I AM THE BIGGEST QUEEN FAN AND U2???? LITERALLY WHAT OKAY STOP STALKING AT MY PLAYLIST S&H

I love how Nadia and Stammo are singing so beautifully and then you can distinguish John's borderline tone-deafness mumbling in the background.

I KNOW! I KNOW! It's Folsom Prison Blues! FOLSOM. PRISON. BLUES—(I have a friend who listens to too much Johnny Cash)

I KNOW AGAIN! IT'S THE POLICE. THE BLUMMING POLICE I LOVE THE POLICE IT'S "EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE" STING STING STING STING ST-

There's a civil parish in Norfolk called Foulsham, aka Folsom. NORFOLK. NORFOLK HOTEL. THAT'S WHERE HE IS SHERLOCKKK

The Westbourne river runs underneath the city, you say? What if something's there, what if that's a Clue to a destination…

"Awh, I love it when he does that :D" John you sweet pea <3

I love it when they do the cut-off thing. Elsie could be… Toast? Do you want any toast?

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Promptosaurus Rex; cw for toddler stuff, eg 💩 & 🤮]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) 19: weather (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'A-ha! We did it!' John says, possibly too chuffed as he holds up a freshly changed and dressed Rosie. 'We--'

She makes a very distinctive face, then grunts. John eyes her. 'Tell me that face doesn't mean what I think it means.'

Then he does the sniff test, and yes. Yes, it does mean that.

He lays her down yet again, fond exasperation tugging at his lips. 'Wee girl, why do you do this to me?' His mum has used the endearment on Harry their whole lives, so it's comfortable on his tongue as he reaches for wipes and a new nappy -- only to discover the stashes depleted. As in… nill.

John rolls several expletives around his teeth. But then Rosie giggle-gurgles up at him, and he swoops in to expel his breath instead on her cheek in the form of a huge raspberry. He almost doesn't hear the knock on the door.

He pauses, but then shrugs and picks her up. 'Sorry, sweetheart. Let's go see who's at the door, yeah?'

She is notably non-nonplussed. 'Livery?'

'Might be,' John replies as he reaches the building door and opens it. 'And it is!' His daughter claps and immediately reaches out for the spotty young man trying to wrestle a rather large box. 'Whoa, there.' John reins her back in; she wants to be friends with everyone, which is both endearing and alarming.

'Do I need to sign?' he says to the carrier, who, now that John's looking, isn't wearing any sort of uniform. He looks like a dishboy haphazardly and temporarily promoted.

'No, sir. I'm to bring it up to the flat.'

A seed of a thought germinates in John's head. 'That was your instruction?'

The lad nods, clearly trying not to show his impatience. John holds back a sigh, and opens the door wider to let him pass. 'By all means.'

And it's as John expected: Wipes, diaper rash cream, and nappies. They're even--though he really shouldn't be surprised--the correct size.

As soon as Rosie's changed (again), he's got his phone out.

'I trust the delivery made it in time?' Mycroft answers.

John spares them both the niceties. 'How?'

'Nothing untoward, I assure you. Sherlock texted me.'

'Right. And where is he?' They may have an… evolving relationship, but Sherlock is still Sherlock, and John can also admit he only vaguely remembers what the detective had said when he'd left earlier in the day.

'I believe the words "spleen" and "unidentified poison" are involved.'

'Excellent. Listen.' He clears his throat. 'I'll pay you back.'

'My mother would call that "vulgar," as you know.'

'And she's a lovely woman, but--'

'Discuss it with Sherlock, please. I've got work and must get back to it.'

He rings off. John stares at his phone.

Death by Holmes. That's it. That will be how his life ends.

---

Rosie has broken the laws of physics and/or cloned herself. She has. She must have done.

That's the only explanation for the sheer reach of mess he finds waiting for him after his clinic hours the next day. 'Bloody hell,' he breathes, standing in the flat's doorway and taking it in.

It's more than the usual whirlwind that happens when Sherlock's between cases and takes Rosie for the day - He claims loftily that he's putting her through intellectual paces, but really he just indulges her every whim, including her lack of enthusiasm for cleaning up. And it's not as if the flat was shining and organised to begin with.

John doesn't even have the bandwidth to log all the bits of chaos surrounding him. For heaven's sake, he hadn't even known they owned bubble solution. But, then again, they don't now, judging by the rather large soapy stain on the rug in front of the window, and the family of tipped-over empty bottles next to it.

'John!' he hears from Sherlock's bedroom. 'Come join us!'

He rolls his eyes, but goes anyway. The noises make it clear as to what they're doing, and John hangs his head before pushing open the door. He'd been hoping to at least have one nice mattress in the flat for a bit longer.

But no, currently Sherlock is holding onto an absolutely delighted toddler while, obviously, jumping up and down on the bed like he's seven. Actually, John fleetingly wonders if Sherlock even got to do such things when he was seven--

'Come on, John!'

--and the unabashed joy in Sherlock's eyes tells him his answer. With that, the resistance whooshes out of him. He toes off his shoes and joins them.

'We're testing the durability,' Sherlock explains, loudly, then swoops Rosie like an aeroplane.

John laughs, huffs of air as he jumps and watches his daughter. She seems to be enjoying herself, except-- 'I think she might--' He stops, reaches out. 'Sherlock, she's going to v--'

With a small noise of surprise, Rosie is, indeed, sick. The remnants of whatever they'd had for tea form a lovely puddle on Sherlock's expensive sheets.

The grown-ups both manage to avoid it, scrambling backwards and into each other, somehow. John, lungs tight, reaches for his daughter, not caring that she's got sick all down her front. 'My girl,' he says, going for soothing, knowing her reaction could go either way. 'Did that surprise you?'

Rosie, wide-eyed, lets out a small hiccough. Then her face crumples, and she starts to sob.

'Oh dear,' Sherlock says faintly.

John, because he's a bastard, feels laughter start to bubble up in his lungs.

Then he hears Sherlock repressing chuckles next to him, and the floodgates are open, them laughing together like errant schoolboys.

'We musn't giggle near an ill child!' Sherlock admonishes, but it works no better than it had the week they met. John bumps Sherlock's shoulder and curls Rosie into his chest, rubbing her back and putting his lips to her forehead in between breaths. She's not feverish, she just likely got swooped about like an aeroplane too soon after tea, so John relaxes and lets himself go, laughing like an idiot in dirty sheets with a dirty baby and a spotless Sherlock (somehow, the bastard).

Then there's a knock at the door. The door of the flat, not the ground floor.

He and Sherlock exchange glances, no longer laughing; even Rosie has geared down from wailing to whimpering. John shrugs.

'Come in,' Sherlock says, loudly, because of course he does; he doesn't give a toss what people think of his cleaning habits. 'We're in the master bedroom.'

A formidable grey-haired woman with a tight chignon and very no-nonsense shoes appears in the bedroom doorway. She takes in the situation, and then she tuts. Actually tuts, in a distinctly Edwardian way that John hasn't heard since his grandmother passed. 'Just as Mr Holmes suspected.'

Sherlock purses his lips. 'Mycroft sent you?'

'He certainly did. Now, out of those clothes and into the bath, please, all three of you.'

Sherlock opens his mouth to protest but the Look she gives him has him shutting it with a snap.

John would laugh if he had the fortitude. 'Beg pardon, ma'am, but he sent you because…?'

'Because you lot are a mess, a fact of which you seem to be unaware.'

John and Sherlock exchange another look. 'Fine,' Sherlock says curtly. 'But could you be so kind as to leave the room while we undress?'

'Certainly.' She gives a short nod, then turns on her heel and exits down the hall.

'Hang on,' John whispers loudly as they start to unbutton and unzip. 'Mycroft sent us a nanny?'

'I'm relatively certain she's his housekeeper, and just on loan for this evening.'

'I guess I should be surprised.'

'No, you shouldn't, as you're not entirely without wits.'

'Such flattery.'

'Dull.'

'It's almost sweet of your brother, really.'

Sherlock points a finger at him. 'Don't you dare.'

John's lips quirk. 'Don't worry, I won't send him a fruit basket or anything. I just-- I appreciate that he indulges a child he hardly knows, that's of no relation to him.'

Sherlock clears his throat. 'Yes, well, be that as it may, I say we take full advantage.' He pulls the now-naked toddler out of John's hands and heads towards the loo.

John watches them go, feeling quite swirled around by the last half an hour's events. But then he shakes his head at himself and his navel-gazing, and follows them.

---

John's phone buzzes while he's at work the next day, and he doesn't pay it much mind until he sees it's the day nursery. After he reads the message and is able to breathe again-- Jesus, being a father is not for the weak, is it-- he thumbs one to Sherlock. 

Did you get the updated pickup address from the minder? Trip to park rained out. 

He doesn't get a reply, not right away or in the next few hours. 

This could, of course, mean a few things. John firmly puts away the worst case scenario, and reckons a case has taken priority, seeing as Sherlock knew John was available for pickup if necessary. 

So, needless to say, he's surprised when he arrives at the given address. One, because Sherlock is there waiting. And two, because it's… 

John stares.

'John,' Sherlock says after a moment. 'I'm afraid my brother has outdone himself.' 

'Yes, well.' He coughs. 'I'm afraid he's turned an indoor football pitch into a Disneyland for toddlers.'

'As I said.'

'Jesus Christ.' He wonders how long Mycroft's been planning this. 'Wait-- Was this just because of the rain today?'

'Knowing Mycroft? Yes. Is that not a proportional response?'

John can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice. 'Definitely not,' he replies, but his cheeks hurt from repressing a smile. 'Hang on,' he says. 'Why are you here? You didn't return my texts, I figured you were in the middle of a corpse or something.'

'Mycroft told me to stay put.'

John snorts. 'Didn't you think he might be using trick psychology to get you here?'

Sherlock scoffs. 'Soft science, that.'

'Sure.'

'Daddy! Sherlock!' John looks away from Sherlock at that particular mispronunciation of his flatmate's name, and is barreled into by a clumsy sparkly dervish. 

'What--' He automatically reaches down to pick her up, then does a double take at the elaborate butterfly painted onto nearly her whole face. It's basically a work of art, honestly, and he has no idea how someone got her to sit still for that long. 

'They are hired for speed,' Sherlock says to him, and he laughs, still impressed after all these years. 

'Incredible.'

Sherlock glances at him. 'Whether you mean the artwork or my deducing your question about the artist, you are correct.'

John ignores him and listens to his daughter chatter enthusiastically. The words "bouncy castle" and, somehow, "golf" filter out of it, and John chuckles.

Then he hears her say something that makes him double-take. 'Pardon? Say that once more, sweetheart.'

'Uncle Mycroft!' she repeats. Or at least, most of those letters. Enough to confirm.

John's jaw clenches. 'Did he tell you to call him that?'

She nods enthusiastically. 'He's fun!'

This jars John from his confused dismay, and he hears Sherlock snort, too. 'I suppose he can be, in his own way.'

'Don't lie to your daughter, John.'

John tries not to laugh, and nearly succeeds.

You're going to have a hard time topping this for her next birthday, he writes to Mycroft. He doesn't get a reply, but he supposes that's fair.

They get halfway through the relatively short walk home. Halfway. Before the heavens open up, changing from an aggressive mist to actual splotchy rain.

John swallows a curse, ducking under an awning and already anticipating Rosie wailing about prematurely losing her face art, about being cold and wet and out of doors. 

But when he looks at them, at Sherlock swinging his daughter down from where she'd been perched on his shoulders, he sees nothing but joy on her face.

Joy, and wet streaks of glittery violet paint. She's clinging to Sherlock's hands, and Sherlock looks -- Well, he looks really bloody happy, if John had to label it. But he hesitates in doing so, and resigns himself to just enjoying the moment.

'What,' he says once he's recovered his voice, 'Mycroft can't have a drone deliver us an umbrella?'

Sherlock chuckles, then sobers. 'He does adore her, you know.'

John looks at Sherlock, not quite hiding his surprise. 'And you're alright with that? With "Uncle Mycroft"?'

Sherlock's eyes flash with something, but John isn't quick enough to categorise it. 'A child should have a variety of influences in their life.'

'True, but--'

'And an expanded support structure they can rely on. I daresay Mycroft qualifies, don't you?'

John nods shortly, finding himself unable to form useful words.

Luckily, Sherlock does it for him. He sweeps Rosie back up into his arms and boops her nose, which makes John's eyes cross with cognitive dissonance but there it is all the same. 'Shall we continue walking and enjoying the rain?' the detective asks Rosie. 'And then have a nice bath and some tea? I'm sure your father will make up a fire, too.'

John swallows. 'Sure, yeah.'

Heart warm enough to hurt, he follows them out from under the cover and into the storm.

Time's too short, he reckons, to fuss about dreary weather.

[ <3 ]

[inspiration: Richard Shindell's 'The Weather'. Also consulted bubbleinc.co.uk, obviously.]

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Am I Dreaming?

Sherlock doesn’t know what’s real and what’s imagination anymore. Everything is a blur of sleep deprivation, thirst, hunger, and excruciating pain. Whenever his jailer and the torturists are leaving him alone, he sighs relieved, but he soon panics when he starts to think about their return. It’s then a vision of John appears before him.

“You can do this, Sherlock. Don’t you dare give up; you hear me? I need you to come home to me, alright? There, now, shh, I’ve got you. Stay strong, Sherlock. For me. Please.”

John’s voice is commanding at first, urging Sherlock to get a grip, but it always turns tender when Sherlock can’t hold back his sobs. He wishes John would touch him, so he could feel his warmth and be comforted by those steady hands that have healed him so many times. Before Sherlock jumped off a roof.

In the early days of his capture, Sherlock was able to see himself from above. Taking stock over his misery and the cell, desperately trying to find a way to escape. The longer he was jailed, the more his brain failed him. It became mushy, the sharp observation skills left him, and he was unable to soar anymore. His only comfort was John’s visits.  

Sherlock knows he’s about to die. Before he met John, this wouldn’t have bothered him at all but now…now it’s an unbearable thought. Never to see John again? Not be able to explain why he had to jump. Why John couldn’t know that it was a magic trick. To beg John’s forgiveness. To tell John…

The door to his cell opens and Sherlock steels himself for whatever gruesome punishment the Serbians have installed for him. A familiar voice gives orders to someone. Sherlock’s eyes are blindfolded, but his hearing is still excellent. That voice…no, it can’t be. The person speaks Serbian, and to Sherlock’s knowledge, Mycroft doesn’t speak Serbian. Unless he’s learned it sufficiently enough to rescue Sherlock. No, that doesn’t make sense. Mycroft doing legwork? If Sherlock wasn’t so exhausted, he would’ve laughed. It comes out as a cough, which sends a sharp stab of pain through his entire body.

He must’ve blacked out, because when he wakes his cell is gone. At his right side there’s a small window. Sherlock’s brain is too dizzy to comprehend where he is, but he realises something. He is soaring again, but what he sees underneath is impossible. London. Sherlock is soaring above London!

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers and closes his eyes as tears start to form.

“Brother mine,” Mycroft says softly at Sherlock’s left side.

Sherlock keeps his eyes firmly shut. He can’t bear if this isn’t real.

“You are not dreaming, Sherlock,” Mycroft assures him.

Is his voice trembling?

Sherlock feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s warm. He opens his eyes and there he is, Mycroft Holmes, his arch enemy and big brother. They’re on a private jet, Sherlock discerns. Before he can ask, Mycroft lifts an eyebrow and nods.

“I will let him know.”

Sherlock sighs relieved and falls asleep while the tarmac comes into sight.

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @phoenix27884 @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @raina-at @7-percent @ninasnakie

[hey-its-roseaurum]

Guilty until Proven Innocent-Part I

A/N: Hey everyone. Thank you for taking the time to look at this story. This is for a collaboration with @lainiespicewrites. She is an excellent writer and I figured it was my turn to stretch my writing muscles and put something out into the world. This is my first Henry Cavill fic, so please don't be too harsh. Anyways, enjoy!

Synopsis: After recent murders in town, You (Olivia) decide to train with Edith in the art of self-defense. In the middle of training, you got a mysterious knock on the door. Sherlock walks in, looking for assistance with his latest case. He offers you to partake in a partnership to help him in his latest case? Do you take it?

Warnings: mentions of death

“You’re progressing nicely Olivia.”  Edith smiled from above me, her elbow pinning me to the floor mat.  There wasn’t a hint of sweat along her forehead.  She had taken me down in less than a minute. The worst part was I thought I was going to land a hit on her this time.

”I’m beginning to think that you’re just saying that to soothe my pride”. I rasped out.  She had eased her hold on me and stood up, extending a hand.

”Nonsense.  Look how far you’ve come since you first stepped in these doors.  Pretty soon you’ll be able to hold your ground with me.”  She exclaimed as I grabbed her hand and hoisted myself up.  My back had long since started throbbing.

For the past few weeks, I have been meeting Edith at her office to train and learn self-defense.  Ever since the first girl went missing and was later found dead in the street I hadn’t been able to sleep soundly.  There were constant, nagging thoughts that made me question if I was going to be the next victim.  It had only gotten worse when they found the next girl a week later in the middle of an alleyway that I frequently visited.  Her throat had been cut. 

In London, it was ill-advised for a woman, especially of noble birth, to consider something as trivial as self-defense.  Women are supposed to be soft, elegant, and passive. All of the trouble and responsibility in making decisions was for the men. 

 Being passive and soft didn’t save those girls from their cruel end.

And I wasn’t going to let myself become like them.  I refuse to be the next girl that falls victim to this.  So I went to my dear friend Enola at her detective agency and inquired about a solution to my predicament.  She sent me over to Edith and had me start training the next day.  I’ve been training every day since then.

I’m still not really good at it.

”Did you say the same thing when you were teaching Enola?”  I inquired as I dusted myself off.  Edith only shook her head.

”Not exactly.  Her response was more witty, thanks to her mother.”  Eudoria Holmes, the mother, the fire starter as people liked to call her.  I’ve seen her wanted poster splayed all across London.  But I didn’t see her as a criminal.  I saw her as the woman who saved my life six months ago.

That morning had been cold and bitter.  I remember feeling my fingers grow numb while I huddled against a mailbox.  Its red paint had chipped away at its base, leaving rust behind.

Which was ironic and poetic now that I think back on it.  And let me explain why.

It all started when my father had recently passed from a sickness that left my mother and me penniless.  With no man in the house and no money to our name, we were cast out of society.  My mother and I were thrown out and the estate that I called my home.   It was sold to another noble family in the south.

We lived off the street after that.  My mother, using what knowledge she had of needlework, had acquired a job as an assisted seamstress.  I was left to salvage whatever pity people gave me and half-rotten food from dumpsters.

Eventually, we were able to afford a small cottage on the outskirts of town.  It was small, run-down, and often had a damp smell to it.  Mother didn’t like to be there for a long period.  She claimed it was because she was so busy with her duties to the seamstress that she didn’t have time to spend there.  I think it was because she missed her life at the estate and living in this small broken cottage was too much for her to bear.

That morning six months ago I decided to go into town to fill my water bucket and get bread before it got too crowded.  When I got there, I sat down by the mailbox to wait for the bakery to open.  I was particularly annoyed when I saw a lot of people around this early in the morning.

I was watching a man get onto a carriage when something shifted from the corner of my eye.  It had been a man, or what I thought was a man walking towards me with a package in their hand.  When we made eye contact I didn’t think anything of it.  I just watched them and noted how stiff they walked. They placed the package in the slot of the mailbox.  Before I knew it, I was grabbed by the elbow, hoisted upright, and pulled away from the mailbox.  

That mailbox exploded, releasing a whirlwind of fliers into the air.

The two of us had run from the police.  I was forced to since they refused to let go of my hand.  We ran until this stranger knew that they weren't being followed.  

When things settled down, the man revealed that they were a woman in disguise.  She introduced herself as Eudoria Holmes and then proceeded to lecture me about being near explosives as if she were my own mother.  All I had wanted to do was bite back, to lecture her on how she shouldn’t be putting explosives where there were people.

Instead, I broke down, not from her lecturing but because of something I couldn’t quite place. All I knew was that I was waiting for a soggy piece of bread and nearly got blown up.

In the end, I told her everything.  I told her my past, my current situation, and why I was even in town in the first place.  One thing kind of led to another.  The next thing I knew I was sitting in Eudoria’s house with a cup of tea in my hand.

I stayed in that damp cottage less and less as time passed and more at Eudoria’s warm, often chaotic home.  That’s where I became friends with Enola, had briefly met her two brothers Sherlock and Mycroft, and felt somewhat happy.  

I don’t know why she pulled me away from that mailbox.  The one time I asked her she said she saw something in me, some sort of fire in my eye.  She didn’t want it to go out along with the mailbox.

I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t tell that to her.

“So what you’re trying to say is that I still have a long way to go,” I asked as my brain jumped back to the present.  I stepped away from the mat and made my way into her office.

”What I’m saying is you’re doing better than you think you are.  You just began learning.  Give yourself a little credit.”  Following me, she made her way to the table by the window.  A stack of teacups were messily stacked up to one side.  She grabbed two, placed them on saucers, and poured liquid into both.  

“I know.  I’m just…worried.  It’s been a week since the last victim was found and the police still haven’t found the suspect.”  I let out a sigh and sipped some of my tea.  I needed a moment to choose my words carefully.  “I just want to be…prepared.”

A heavy pause filled the air before either of us spoke.  

”Olivia…there’s more to that, isn’t there?” Edith’s words were soft and gentle.

“I mean I-“. My response was sharply cut short.

A knock pulled our attention away from our conversation and to the door.  A tall man entered from the training room and to Edith’s office.  I couldn’t place if he looked tall because of his size, or because of the giant top hat sitting snugly on top of his head.  Dark wavy strands of hair peaked through from under his hat. 

”Have you any sense what time it is?”  Edith interrogated, crossing her arms.  The man took off his hat, revealing thick brown locks.  His sculpted jawline and nose complimented the hair.  Blue, mesmerizing eyes glanced around, investigating.

But the feature that I recognized right away from him was his shoulders.  I knew those shoulders.

”Hello, Edith” His attention briefly shot to me “Olivia”  I curtly nodded, averting my eyes.

”Good evening Mr. Holmes.”  I responded softly.  “With what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Holmes.  Sherlock Holmes.  One of Enola’s older brothers. One of the greatest detectives I’ve ever seen.

”There’s no need for formalities Olivia.”  I felt something warm begin to grow on my cheeks at his response.  He’s only being polite Olivia.  We are only acquaintances because of Enola and Eudoria.  He doesn’t like you like that.

Or does he?  

I’m not sure.

Sherlock Holmes is a difficult man to understand.

“What are you here for Sherlock?”  Edith asked again, harsher this time.  Her tone quickly pulled me back to the present and away from my thoughts.  

Sherlock cleared his throat, his blue eyes revealing some sort of inner turmoil within himself.  It was an unusual amount of emotion that I was not used to seeing.  I expected it with Mycroft, he practically wore his emotions on his face at all times.  Sherlock never did.  He’s always been composed, and proper.  Before me now he still was, but a layer of some sort had been chipped away.

”I….need your help.”  He struggled to say the words like it was almost painful to him.  A moment of silence clung in the air.  

”Is it about Enola?   Did she get herself into trouble?”  There was a hint of concern in Edith’s voice when she begged the questions.  The only response he gave was a small shake of his head. I watched as realization flashed on her face. 

”There’s something about this case-“. 

”That deduction cannot solve?”  Edith finished his thought.  He slightly nodded, setting his hat down on her desk.  That was my cue. I softly placed my teacup down and made my way to the table by the window.  I began making some tea for Sherlock while listening to the conversation.

”I may need your…skills to get information from a place I cannot enter.”

“What kind of place?”  He listed off a name that I didn’t recognize.  Edith’s face slightly reddened.

”A showgirl theatre?! You cannot ask me such a thing Sherlock, no matter how close we are.”  My eyebrows raised as I grabbed a cup and saucer and poured some tea into the cup.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t have another option.  A woman’s life is at stake.” His tone was calm, but there was something else there.

”But going into this with the possibility of getting murdered is not something I’m comfortable with.  Woman’s freedom and rights is one thing, going after a serial killer is a whole other matter entirely”

”Edith, I-“. I cut them off.

”I’ll do it.  I’ll go instead of you.”  In their arguing, I had made my way back to the two of them, Sherlock's tea in hand.  I had left mine behind.

”Olivia, do you know what kind of place that is, what situations you can get into.  You’re nowhere near ready to hold your ground”. What she said was like a punch to the gut.  

I knew I wasn’t ready, we had that same conversation not thirty minutes ago.  But I knew that if Edith went and something bad had happened to her Enola and Eudoria would be devastated.  I was different.  If I went and something happened to me, Edith would still be here training more girls like me.

”Who else is going to do it?  Enola?  She’s not expendable. I am.  And Edith, what about the other girls you train?” I took a breath, the stubbornness in me growing. “Besides, I know these streets better than anyone.  I’ve lived in them.  I know where to go in case I’m being followed.   And because of the way I look,”. I paused briefly looking down at myself, at my curvy, plump figure.  “No one would suspect me.  They would just see me as a showgirl trying to make ends meet.  I can blend in, go undercover, and get the information that he needs in order to catch this murderer.”

A heavy pause hung between the three of us.

I let what I said sink into the two of them.  I know that Edith is fighting with herself on whether she can let me go.  She believes that I am her responsibility, and I kind of was while Eudoria was undercover.  But since starting to learn to defend myself I told myself that I couldn’t sit and wait.  Sitting and worrying about who the next victim is going to drive me crazy.  If I can help and make a difference, then maybe the suspect will be caught before there’s more tragedy.  

”I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to her.”  Sherlock’s voice broke the silence and my inner thoughts.  “You have my word.”  His eyes met mine at his.  I felt something else there besides the promise.   Edith sighed,  rubbing her temples with both her index fingers.

“Okay, Sherlock.  Just…make sure she comes back in one piece.”   Edith finally concurred.  “You’re going to have to speak to your mother if you don’t.”

A smile tugged at my lips at the agreement.  I finally raised the cup of tea, offering it to him.    

”When do we start?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. If you want to read @lainiespicewrites story about Paul Atreides from the Dune Sage, here is her link: https://www.tumblr.com/lainiespicewrites/747032352877903872/the-atreides-era?source=share

[sherlock-is-ace]

I'm always amazed by the casting choices of granada holmes. Like we all know Jeremy Brett, David Burke and Edward Hardwick are excellent, and the recurrent cast as well. But every creepy old white man is the creepiest of all ol white men! The dude from the Copper Beeches terrifies and disgusts me to no end. Like he's so well cast I'm afraid I could never see the actor in another role because he would still scare me to death lol

[chriscalledmesweetie]

Chapter 22: Holmes' Little Reunion

The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat  by ChrisCalledMeSweetie

A Sherlock Holmes mystery, as recounted by Dr. John H. Watson.

Can you follow the clues to deduce whodunnit?

Chapter 22: Holmes' Little Reunion

“Sometimes I wish I had a written record of the case,” mused Holmes. “Of course, all of the facts I have discovered are in my Mind Palace, but to see them laid out in black and white might somehow reveal the truth to me.”

I gave a slightly embarrassed cough. 

“As far as that goes,” I began, and then stopped. 

Holmes sat upright in his chair. His eyes sparkled. 

“What is it that you would like to say?” 

“Well, as a matter of fact, I like to keep a journal. Usually quite repetitive and dull, because since I’ve returned from the Great War nothing ever happens to me. But when this case came along, I thought why not try my hand at writing something interesting. Seemed a pity not to—unique opportunity—probably the only time I’ll be mixed up with anything of this kind.” 

I felt myself getting hotter and hotter, and more and more incoherent, as I floundered through the above speech. 

Holmes sprang from his chair. I had a moment’s mingled elation and terror that he was going to embrace me, but he refrained. 

“This is magnificent—you have written down your impressions of the case as you went along?” 

I nodded. 

“Excellent!” cried Holmes. “Let me see them—this instant.” 

I was not quite prepared for such a sudden demand. I racked my brains to remember certain details. 

“I hope you won’t mind,” I stammered. “I may have been a little—er—personal now and then.”

[gregorovitch-adler]

Fire

Here I was with a dozen of Baker Street Irregulars, right outside the apartment building of Irene Adler, just as Holmes had asked me to.

The windows of Ms Adler's flat obscured the view in a way that I could only see Holmes sitting on one of the chairs, conversing with whom I presumed to be the lady.

Holmes had instructed me to yell the word 'Fire' along with the men I had gathered with.

For what, I had no idea. I had asked Holmes about it, but he had the usual flair of drama and suspense that he had to maintain. I had not pressed the issue further, however, because I knew that Holmes would keep me informed once he was done having a proper conversation with Ms Adler.

I had been checking the time on my pocketwatch, for Holmes had asked me to start shouting exactly six minutes after he would begin conversing. He had told me that he would raise a hand at that exact moment.

Three minutes had passed. Maintaining decorum and silence with the Irregulars was a task.

I decided to spend the remaining three minutes admiring Holmes' disguise.

Holmes was dressed as a vicar before going to Ms Adler's flat. He had no trouble pulling off that disguise effortlessly.

His broad black hat, baggy trousers, fresh black shirt hanging loose over his lean frame—especially around his long, thin arms—and his white tie completed the look.

He was wearing a sympathetic smile too, selling the character of a vicar perfectly.

If I had not known my friend intimately, I would have completely fallen for the disguise and assumed that a real vicar was sitting in Irene Adler's living room, having an important conversation with her.

Not only my friend's detective skills were excellent and on point, but his powers of disguise were also outstanding. The world of theatre truly lost a phenomenal actor to the world of crime-solving.

I checked my watch again. Forty-five seconds more, and then it would be my action time. A chance to help Holmes effectively solve this case.

I rubbed my hands together, as I was unable to wait for that exact moment.

**

Prompt: Fire by @calaisreno

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @jamielovesjam @totallysilvergirl @copperplatebeech , etc.

[strangesthirdeye]

ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ (sʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ x ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

Summary: Born in a wise family does not mean that one person is the same.

Warning: IT'S SHERLOCK AS A DAD! WE LOVE HIM! medium angst, sad, not so bad achievements, stress, Sherlock being a great dad, struggling to achieve better results, comparison, inadequate feeling, fluff, love.

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not good enough. That's what you think in your mind when you see the exam trial results on the school's official website. Passed but not enough. No A's, no B's but lots of C's. That's it. Passed but did not achieve excellence.

You don't know whether to feel relieved, happy or sad. Because all the feelings are mixed inside you. You just stare at your laptop screen with a blank face. Is this what you got after a long effort? Is this the result of your hard work? What is missing? what needs to be added? what else do you need to do to get the best results?

More importantly, is this the result you will show your father in the hope that he will be proud of you? You are just dreaming. Your body doesn't move and everything is quiet in your bedroom. Only the sound of your father's and John's voice can be heard in addition to the sound of traffic outside the flat. You let out a shaky breath and slowly closed your laptop. eyes are closed tightly and both your hands are clasped in front and placed on your face. You then lean your head on your hands.

Tired, disappointed, sad and the feeling of failure in yourself is bubbling up in your mind. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Born in the Holmes family that has intelligent family members makes you feel like you are the lowest in the family. Although your grandmother is a genius woman, you are only close to your grandfather because you feel that your grandfather is the most normal person for you because he understands and is quite familiar with everything. No wonder you'll just stick with your grandfather every time you go to Musgrave Hall.

Not only that, Your uncle Mycroft and your father inherited your grandmother's wisdom making them a successful and genius in all things. Your uncle Mycroft works with the Government while your father is a consulting detective. Isn't that work only for geniuses?.

After a few months of hard work that's all you got? What will your father say later? did he scold you because you didn't get the best results? Oh god, now you think you are the weakest in terms of wisdom in the Holmes family. Lots of your friends get the best results in their exams even though they don't have genius family members. But you?

you sighed in frustration before getting up from the chair and plopped down on the bed face first before wrapping your head with both of your arms as if you were trying to hide yourself. You father and uncle John are still arguing about God knows what. Probably about the cases they receive. You are not someone who likes to know about other people's affairs. It's just none of your business so you just leave it alone.

But right now you care about what your father would say and do if he knew your achievements. Your bad performance.

The arguing between two adult men seems to have subsided, which makes the flat peaceful and quiet. Probably they are tired of arguing again so they just decided it would be better if they both shut up. At least you have time to cool down from feeling disappointed and anxious.

The two men seemed to be whispering about something that you can't catch with what they are talking about which is okay because well it's probably about cases. You don't always follow them solving a cases because that's not what you're interested in. And one more thing, you don't possess deduction ability like your father so you think you better stay behind. You let out a small sigh that seemed almost to cry.

Yes, you are crying but you don't want your cry to be heard by the two grown men outside your room. Your father is not the kind of man who always shows his affection to others, which is a little difficult for you to deal with. So mostly all your problems will be told to John as John always gives good advice.

You raised your head and wiped your tears with your sleeve before returning to your position before. Maybe you were too busy crying because you didn't hear the knock on your door followed by your father's voice calling your name.

"Y/n, dinner is ready" Sherlock said behind the door.

"In a second!" you replied loudly, managing to hide the hint of sadness.

The other side is silent Probably your dad has gone. You sighed heavily before getting up from the chair and brushing yourself with your hands trying to get rid of the wrinkles on your shirt. You wipe your tears with the sleeves of your shirt several times. You saw your face in the mirror, you sighed again when you noticed that your eyes were red and slightly swollen from crying. Well, you can't hide this.

"Dammit" you cursed under your breath. Ignored that, you moved yourself toward the door.

There your dad is standing motionless in front of your door with his neutral face. You jerked in shock and took a few stepped back. You looked up at him in skepticism.

"What are you doing?" You frowned, looking down, wiping your wet cheeks with your sleeves.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes narrowed at you. " you've been crying"

"I'm not" you denied, walked past him after trying to close you door room but then Sherlock put his hand on your door room with his hand. Blocking the door slammed shut.

"You are" Sherlock replied, walking into your room, ignoring your protested. His eyes scanning your room, looking through the cause of your sudden emotion. His eyes suddenly stopped at your laptop that still on. He bowed slightly to looked at you laptop screen, he squinted his eyes at the brightness.

You pursed your lips. "dad, can we just-"

"what's this?" Sherlock muttered, eyes still focusing on the screen.

You were silent. Not brave enough to answer what your father asked. It's like the sentence you wanted to say has disappeared like dust in the wind. Nothing. Your mind goes blank.

Sherlock turned his gaze on you. "Y/n"

"It's-" you paused. "can we just have dinner? please" You pleaded.

"Why are you hiding this?" Sherlock replied, ignoring your previous question.

You are silent again. Sherlock looked back at your exam results.

"Yo-"

"I've tried my best!" you cried out.

Sherlock became silent upon hearing your confession.

"I tried but it's still the same. I studied day and night really hard but it's the same. All those revisions and studying I did didn't yield the results I thought. It's like I'm destined to fail in everything even though it's very simple. Seeing my friends getting good results and being able to make their family proud makes me wonder if I can make my family proud, especially my own dad. I mean, he's a detective and he's very smart. He probably has a daughter who is also smart like him but not. His daughter is just a teenage girl who works really hard to fail again and again. Why? Because she does not possess the same wisdom as her other family members. She just.. Normal" you confessed.

Sherlock stared at you for a moment. You pursed your lips as you tried not to cry, tears started to form on your eyelids. You looked at your dad who was still silent and stared at you with an unreadable reaction. You sighed.

"nevermind about that.. I'm just overreacting.. I'm too emotional. You don't need to do anything.. I can handle it.. I'm just going to dinner" You walked closer to your study table to close the laptop .

Sherlock grabbed your hand making you stop moving. You pulled your hand to let go but you dad just tightened his grip making you stop struggling. You suddenly feel like crying. You don't know why you suddenly felt like you were returning to the body of a little girl under his gaze.

"Sweetie.."

Hearing that old nickname you were given as a child brought tears to your eyes. Sherlock then pulled your body closer to him. Hugging you as if you were still a child. A little girl who is always tailing her dad no matter where.

You sniffles as Sherlock rubbed your back a few times to coax you. He may not be good at expressing his sentiment towards others but he will show it in his own way even though it is a bit eccentric but he tried.

" I know you work hard to make dad proud, I know you spend time studying to achieve good results. I know you are always smart but in your own way. Failing is not forever, you can try and try again. Even if you don't being good at something doesn't mean you can't try to succeed. I don't care if your results are lower than your classmates or you don't get the high results you want, you still make me proud, you are still able to stay standing even though reality doesn't allow it. Being a Holmes doesn't mean you have to be intelligent. You are you. You have your own way of expressing your wisdom to everyone. Even though the exam results disappointed you, it still made me proud" Sherlock said in your ear as he keeps rubbing your back.

" I'm scared that you're disappointed with me.." you muttered while sniffling.

"No I don't, you will never disappoint me. I know you will try and try to succeed. I may seem not to express any sentiment to others but I will show it in my own way. Especially when it comes to you" your dad replied as he kisses your crown of hair.

You nuzzled against his neck. "I don't know what to do if you are disappointed with me, that's why I try to hide it from you.. I'm sorry"

"No, don't be sorry for things you can't achieve. You've tried, I won't be disappointed or angry with you. If I'm angry and upset with you, probably your uncle John will shoot me in the head with his gun" Sherlock smirked.

You smile at that as you keep hugging your dad. Head nuzzled against his neck finding comfort in his arms.

"I love you, dad" you whispered early, loud enough for your father to reply.

"I love you too, sweetie"

[all-souls-matinee]

BONUS Halloween in August/September Review: Alien: Romulus (2024)

[Eschewing my usual format of 1-2 sentence summary + 1-2 paragraphs of thoughts, this one will be a combination to include several spoilers. It also assumes some prior knowledge of the Alien franchise]

Going into Romulus I was leery of how video game-y the trailer felt and the choice of a director best known for 'subverted expectations' home invasion horror, but those were the two aspects of it I ended up really liking. The premise is that a group of 20-somethings are stuck in an intergalactic mining town where the amount of missions they must fly hours they must work to gain an emigration permit is raised by a few years each time they reach their goal. Our protagonist, Rain, is told by a friend that he and his crew have discovered the wreck of the Nostromo floating above them and plan to break in and steal its cryochambers; the last thing they need for their own ship to make an escape into deep space. The crew welcomes her, but admit that what they really need is her adoptive brother Andy, an ill-liked synthetic who can access the Nostromo's controls. So far so good, I love this premise! It's a little YA dystopia, we've got a ragtag group of mining orphans that look like TikTok influencers and don't have personalities, but that's okay- acceptable and even expected for an Alien movie. I'm also not here to clutch pearls over the sanctity of the original; everything that follows plot-wise is good stuff! Reminiscent of video games, yes, but that means lots of clever little item pickups and interactions, and the tension-building is excellent. An early example: while collecting cryofuel half the team is trapped in a room full of slowly thawing, unseen facehuggers. The other half must retrieve a master-key computer chip from Ash's body (left over from the original mission) to pass to Andy, who is then stuck in reboot mode and unable to help until a critical moment, and this all filmed brilliantly with great effects. There are several standout scenes like it; the movie feels connected to the rest of franchise while contributing new ideas- playing with gravity and temperature and electricity as both weapons and stumbling blocks. It looks good, I like individual plot beats (including the contentious climax), I love the multiple dead rat puppets that are here for some reason, but this is also the only movie I've considered walking out of.

No one barring David Jonsson (Andy) can act, and chemistry is nonexistent. We're told that the crew is composed of friends, siblings, cousins, and love interests, but never actually see it, and no matter how good the plot and pacing are on paper that really makes things drag in places. I like the aliens and love the androids in these movies, but at the end of the day I've always ended up rooting for the humans because of the empathy on display. Many of the Aliens are objectively worse than Romulus from a filmmaking perspective, but this is the first one where I wanted the bad guys to win.

The main villain of this movie isn't the aliens, it's Ash. I was spoiled on CGI Deepfaked* Ian Holm going in, so when they boarded the Nostromo and saw his body I rolled my eyes and braced myself for a scene where he comes to life like a haunted house prop and then they kill him or whatever, but no, he sticks around and drives the entire plot. It's awful; I don't even hate this one from a writing perspective it just feels insanely disrespectful (and is distractingly bad to look at.)

3. The Green Mile is one of my most hated movies of all time. I revisited it early this year when the podcast Just King Things discussed the book within the context of Stephen King's larger body of work, which stresses the character of John Coffey not as an aberration but a trope King keeps coming back to: a black or disabled person who is a holy innocent. Physical prowess and/or magic powers are coupled with the disposition of a character like Of Mice and Men's Lennie or Flowers for Algernon's Charlie to create someone who looks scary but is actually worthy of love because, hey guys, he's nice and sympathetic in a way that appeals to an imagined white American audience. Months after listening to that episode I accidentally walked into an even broader literary context, discovering the character of Jean in E.E. Cummings's The Enormous Room (a nearly 1:1 blueprint for Coffey), and Pip in Moby-Dick, a child traumatized to a point of babbling incoherence that allows him to act as a holy conduit, a prophet, and a comfort to his captain. These characters aren't meant to be racist but rather to teach about antiblack racism, which makes for interesting reading, but a terrible Alien movie.

Andy is the only black character in this film. Andy is referred to as Rain's brother at most twice, then revealed to be her servant (literally programmed by her father to do two things- protect her and make dad jokes.) Andy is cognitively and physically disabled from being rebooted so many times over the years, and faces extra abuse and discrimination because of this. I cannot begin to describe how it felt to have spent the year bumping into saintly black characters in media who are dehumanized in order to teach some vague platitude about humanity, only to run into it again here. It gets worse and more muddled when Andy is rebooted using Ash's chip, which makes him "normal," which makes him evil. Ash uses him to further the interests of Weyland rather than his sister/master Rain and it makes him start saying scary inhuman stuff like 'the solution to the trolley problem is to kill as few people as possible.' (Again, go bad guys.)

I know the movie doesn't see itself as racist. Andy is by far the most interesting character and has a lot of complexity to him; Rain's whole arc is learning that no one should have seen him as expendable or treated him as an inferior, and tells him his new prime directive is to live for himself (as well as her. Can't leave that on the table.) Alverez clearly had the best of intentions, but the movie can't get away from the fact that Andy being cognitively impaired and using his strength and powers to the benefit of some random white girl, choosing family over work but also the individual over the collective, was actually what made him human.

Okay rant over. I liked the part where they threw a flair and the facehuggers scurried after it like a pack of dogs because they hunt by body heat and movement instead of by smell and vision. Yay :-)

*Holm was deepfaked 'respectfully' with the consent of his family using a combination of animatronic and a new actor... and the company literally responsible for deepfakes (https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/alien-romulus-ian-holm-rook-ash-ai-1235982350.) I cannot stress enough how bad this is to look at for almost 2 hours like i needed to talk about Andy but jesus christ.

[lokilaufeysonslove]

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝!𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝!𝐠𝐫𝐲𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

// Summary // your parents were never kind and sweet type of people, but in your sixth year things got out of hand. To put a cherry on top, a certain platinum blond haired Slytherin Prince decided to be Sherlock Holmes and found out your secrets, ones nobody is supposed to know.

// Warnings // mentions of violence, both physical and verbal violence, abusive parents, bullying, hate towards reader, name calling (princess in a mocking way, shame, disgrace, disappointment, waste of time), reader has a backstory, more warnings to come.

// Author’s Note // please pay attention to warnings! I don’t write about Draco usually, but I couldn’t get idea out of my mind, so I just went with it. This is enemies to lovers. Also, I have mentioned once that reader is 16, but for the sake of this plot, since every sixth year is 16 / divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics / gif by @talesfromthecrypts

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 in progress

Being the only daughter of the two pureblood supremacist maniacs that your parents were, was not very nice. Hell, it was horrible. All they have ever wanted was a perfect daughter, who would hate on every ‘mudblood’ and ‘blood-traitor’; who would be an excellent student with only ‘Outstandings’ and ‘Exceed Expectations’; who would always live by her prents’ rules.

You always disliked your parents, but after your first year at Hogwarts when you got sorted into Gryffindor, dislike turned into hate.

In your third year, you befriended the famous trio; Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, aka half-blood, mudblood and the blood traitor. They weren’t exactly your best friends like they were to each other, but they still were close to you. This fact, of course, made your very sweet and supportive parents angry and they decided to be even stricter than they were before.

It started with insults and just empty words, but then it turned into beating, hitting; physical abuse. All you wanted was to run away, but it would get you into a huge trouble, so you stayed quiet.

After some time, their punishments and the methods of abuse became unbearable and you started slowly distancing yourself from the infamous golden trio. Was it cowardly? Yes. Did you want to experience more of your parents’ cruel punishments? No.

It was the summer break before your sixth year. Things got pretty… terrible? Horrifying? Both. Voldemort was arising. He was gaining power. Every day, there were more people joining him, including your parents. They wanted you to become a Death Eater as well, but you, of course, said no, and in return your mother simply tortured you with Cruciatus curse for five goddamn minutes. It was painful, truly painful.

You glanced around your huge, but crappy room. The walls were depressing shade of plain black, making the room feel even more bleak and cramped. The room was big, definitely bigger than you needed, which only made you even more uncomfortable. You have always preferred your shared dorm room at Hogwarts than your own room, because of its smaller size. The queen sized bed was the only thing that you loved in your room, no, in this whole manor. You clasped your hands tighter around the handle of the trunk you were holding, and headed towards your bedroom door.

As soon as you climbed down the stairs, you were greeted with your parents’ cold glares. They would be aparating you straight to the platform 9 and 3/4, much to your dismay.

You walked towards them and nodded politely, “Mother,” you glanced at your mother, but she only scowled at you, “Father.” Then you glanced at your father, but he just ignored you.

Your parents stood side by side. Your father grabbed your arm roughly, and aparated you away.

You landed in front of the Hogwarts Express. You turned around and glanced at your parents for the last time, since you wouldn’t be seeing them until the Christmas holidays.

Your father kept ignoring you, and your mother flashed you the fakest smile ever, more for others to see than for you, “Behave yourself, child, or you will face consequences, and as you know, they are not very pleasant.” she gritted through her teeth, an evil smile playing on her lips.

You nodded politely and said one last goodbye. Then you turned around and started towards the awaiting train.

You climbed up the stairs and headed off to find an empty compartment. Fortunately, you did, so you went inside, settled in and started reading.

After some time, the door of the compartment was pushed open, and there stood none other than Draco Lucius Malfoy and his goons.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the greatest blood traitor. I’m confused your parents haven’t disowned you yet.” It was Goyle who spoke up.

“What do you want?” You asked with monotone voice.

“Lose the attitude princess.” Zabini smirked.

“Or?” You asked challengingly.

“Or you will face the consequences an-” you felt your blood boil, as soon as those six words left his filthy mouth. You didn’t even give him the chance to finish his sentence, you stood up and pushed him back with all your force, which made him stumble backwards. You shut the door and closed the curtains.

Was it really necessary for that son of a bitch to say the exact same words your beloved mother told you almost everyday?! He successfully ruined your mood. But something was wrong, Malfoy was uncharacteristically quiet. You shrugged off the thought and went back to reading.

When you finally arrived at Hogwarts, you changed into your Gryffindor robes, immediately left the train and sat in the black carriage, which led to the castle.

Unfortunately, you ran into your dormmates; Lavender Brown, Padma and Parvati Patil. They weren’t your friends though. You were quite a lonely person. As soon as your parents started torturing you, you couldn’t take it any longer, so you cut every kind of friendship with every Gryffindor, and every single Slytherin despised you with their whole beings. You exchanged quick ‘Hellos’ and answered few questions about your summer, though they were lies. That was all.

You soon reached the castle and walked inside. Everything was the same. Nothing had changed. You pushed the double doors of the Great Hall open and walked towards your house table. You felt eyes on you. Turning around, you saw Zabini, Goyle and every Slytherin glaring at you. You ignored them and turned back around.

Some time later, Dumbledore ended his speech and made food appear. You were very hungry, but still didn’t eat much. You were used to the lack of food, so it didn’t really bother you. Your amazing parents often starved you because you were ‘behaving badly’.

It just tired you, really. Never being enough. The amount of insults you were receiving from your own parents, people that are supposed to protect you and care for you the most, was insane. Instead of helping and supporting you, they only made you even more insecure.

Dinner ended soon after, and you walked out of the Great Hall before anyone could say anything to you. You speed-walked towards the Gryffindor tower and stopped when you realized you didn’t know the password. To your luck, or the other way around, the golden trio arrived. At first, they didn’t recognize you, but eventually they did and smiled at you. You didn’t return the smile though.

“Y/n! How are you? Oh my god, you have changed so much. I didn’t even recognize you.” Hermione squealed excitedly, but her smile quickly faded away, when she saw your emotionless face.

“Hello.” You said in your, very well practiced, monotone voice.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked. This question caught you off guard and your face softened for a split second, but you were mastered in hiding your emotions, so you put on the mask and played as though everything was fine, even if it wasn’t.

“Yes.” You simply answered, giving them the faintest smile, “I am sorry, but I don’t know the password. Could you please tell me?” You asked, softer this time.

“Y-yeah, sure.” Harry mumbled, almost suspiciously and said the password. You thanked him and walked straight to your dorm. The room was empty. Apparently, your dormmates were still out. You opened your trunk, which was already brought there and placed on the floor, and took out your pajamas. You quickly changed into them and laid down. You were very tired and you fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.