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liunaticfringe · 3 years

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(via Lucy Liu's Independent Woman - Interview Magazine)

There have been many great sidekick pairings in the history of modern literature. Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, Phileas Fogg and Jean Passepartout, Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet…the list goes on. Yet, it seems there has never been a delightfully tumultuous relationship that comes close to echoing the one embodied by rogue detective Sherlock Holmes and his faithful friend and assistant Dr. John Watson. Written in the form of short stories by Arthur Conan Doyle between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the opium-den loving Holmes would terrorize London with his intellectual, astute, and stubborn prowess, with Dr. Watson providing medical expertise and chronicling their entertaining exploits along the way.

Doyle’s works have now long been entered into the public domain, with many film and television adaptions cropping up every few years. Still, when CBS announced in 2012 that it would be turning Doyle’s works into an hour-long crime-drama series titled Elementary, it elicited an unusually high response—this was mostly due to the news that a woman would, in fact, be portraying Watson. Her name would be Joan, not John. And she’s now a fallen from grace surgeon-turned-sober companion and private detective, forfeiting her “Dr.” title in the process. The woman chosen to take on this exciting, contemporary role of Joan Watson was none other than seasoned actress Lucy Liu.

Liu, who’s best known for her roles as a fierce and ill-mannered lawyer in Ally McBeal, an ass-kicking “angel” in the rebooted Charlie’s Angels, and an equally ass-kicking bad girl in the Kill Bill series, certainly provides the yin to the yang of Jonny Lee Miller’s gritty portrayal of Holmes. Elementary chronicles the duo’s relationship as they consult for the NYPD on various criminal cases while living in a shared brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. Initially starting off in Season One as a substance-free friend to the fresh-out-of-rehab Holmes with a keen interest in solving crimes, Watson quickly transformed into a sharp and observant right-hand woman who now clearly has the aptitude to work on her own. And it appears she’ll be doing just that—the end of Season Two left viewers witnessing Watson’s decision to move out of the brownstone and start a new career as a solo private detective, seemingly fed-up with Holmes’ erratic behavior.

The warm and delightful Liu recently called up Interview from her home in New York City to discuss Elementary’s upcoming third season.

DEVON IVIE: Were you on set today?

LUCY LIU: I was running around like a maniac, yeah. It’s beautiful today, it started getting a little bit cooler again. But of course I’ve been bitten by the two mosquitos that are still alive in New York City.

IVIE: I know you were recently at New York Comic Con. How was it?

LIU: It was amazing. It’s such a spectator place. Not only do you get super fans, but you also get people who are curious and inventive and imaginative. It’s fun.

IVIE: Did you run into any cosplayers dressed as Joan Watson?

LIU: Oh, no, I don’t know about that. That’s funny! We did a panel with a huge audience so I couldn’t really see if anyone was wearing anything specific, but it’s an excuse for kids and adults to get dressed up and just be crazy. You know you’ve made it when you have super-fans out there.

IVIE: When you first read the scripts for Elementary, what was it that attracted you to the role of Joan?

LIU: I liked the fact that it was going to be about [Joan and Sherlock’s] relationship and their friendship, and bringing that into modern times. And I thought it was wonderful to change up the gender.

IVIE: Did you immerse yourself in Arthur Conan Doyle’s work as preparation at all?

LIU: I did, I did! I started reading the short stories. I never read them before so it was a really great excuse to read them. I can’t believe it was written so long ago, because it’s so current. The characters are so colorful, which is why I think there are so many incarnations of Watson and Holmes.

IVIE: Do you have a favorite story? I love “A Scandal in Bohemia.”

LIU: There were some pretty amazing stories. The one that stood out to me, which was a Watson story that I got to know him a little more through, was “The Hound of the Baskervilles.” He really is on his own in that. Of course it turns out that Holmes has been there all along, but it’s interesting looking into his interior.

IVIE: Yeah, the entirety of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” is narrated just by Watson. And his diary and letters, too.

LIU: Yeah, I think it’s really cool. We started incorporating that into the show, too, the letters and journals.

IVIE: Has this detective genre always appealed to you? Did you grow up watching or reading detective whodunits?

LIU: I remember more of the old school Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys sort of thing. I also grew up with the Scooby-Doo mysteries. Remember when the villain would go, “I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for you rascal-y kids!” Those were the kind of the things I immersed myself in. I have to say that my mother has always been a huge fan of Columbo and Murder, She Wrote, so this show was her dream come true. I don’t think she totally understood what was going on with Ally McBeal. [laughs]

IVIE: I’ve enjoyed witnessing Joan’s evolution throughout the course of the show, starting off as a sober companion and eventually ending up as a trusty sidekick and confidant to Sherlock. What can we expect from Joan in Season Three?

LIU: When you see them in the third season, you see some friction between the two characters. Joan is now on her own, she has her own detective agency, has a boyfriend, and has been without Sherlock for eight months. She’s got her own apartment, she’s settled, and he shows back up. I think she’s a little bit hurt by what happened and how their relationship and partnership ended, which was basically his decision and his choice, and he left it all in one little note for her. I think she felt that their relationship was much deeper than that, and that he was dismissive in the way that he handled that.

IVIE: How would you define the relationship between Joan and Sherlock?

LIU: I think that it’s a really positive and good relationship, overall. They really have a good chemistry together, work really hard together, and understand each other. They acknowledge each other and respect each other, which is a really important way to have a friendship. And they can learn from each other, you know? She’s very curious about him and I think he sees that she’s a very smart person—that’s vital for him in having respect for someone, having them be intelligent and thinking for themselves.

IVIE: Do you see any of Joan in yourself?

LIU: I do to a certain degree. She’s a lot more measured and patient, for sure. She’s a very curious person, which I think I am, and I think she isn’t afraid of change. She was a doctor, and then became a sober companion, and then jumped off and became a detective. I think sometimes it’s good to make big leaps.

IVIE: You’ve probably been asked this question many times, but do you think a romance between Joan and Sherlock could ever fittingly happen?

LIU: It’s a question that’s often asked and I think it’s really up to the executives. Rob Doherty, the creator [of Elementary] really feels incredibly strongly about keeping their relationship platonic. He has already taken great strides to keep the relationship as clean as possible according to the literature, but he has also changed so much of it by changing the gender of Watson. To have them have a romantic involvement would turn the whole thing upside-down in a way that might really jump the line. [Doherty] felt really strongly about it and I think that’s the one thing he really wants to stay true to.

IVIE: I totally agree. Even on the BBC’s Sherlock, there are campaigns to get Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock and Martin Freeman’s Watson to become romantically involved. It’s like, enough already, no!

LIU: No way, that’s so weird! People do have that level of friendship oftentimes, but it doesn’t mean it’s physical. I think that everyone just assumes because there’s chemistry the next thing should be happening. I would vote “no” for a romance. I think for sure the creator would vote no on that, too.

IVIE: I’ve talked to both women and men who watch Elementary, and they all consistently mention how well dressed and fashionable Joan is. Do you collaborate with the wardrobe department on styling decisions at all?

LIU: That’s awesome. Yes, I collaborate with Rebecca [Hofherr], who’s the costume designer, who’s wonderful. She’s very easy to work with. One thing we try to maintain about Joan and her style is that she’s a bit wrinkled, you know what I mean? Sometimes it looks like things are really put together, but we always want to make sure things aren’t too tight and are comfortable, kind of like she throws things together. We don’t want it to seem so business-y, so we go away from suits. Chic, but not corporate. Also just to make her seem like her outfits aren’t so put-together all the time. But I’m glad that people really seem to like it, it’s a relief! We don’t splurge a lot on the show, we try to do cheaper things, like things Joan would wear a lot. She wears the same white jacket and shoes frequently.

IVIE: Will we be seeing more of the infamous Clyde the Turtle in the upcoming season?

LIU: Clyde will indeed be in it again. We have to share custody of Clyde.

IVIE: Is it true that Clyde is actually two tortoises? Pulling a Mary Kate and Ashley in Full House on us?

LIU: Yes. It’s just like having twins on a show. Just in case one is crying and screaming and passed out or something.

IVIE: You made your directorial debut for an episode of Elementary last season [“Paint It Black”]. Do you have plans to direct an episode again soon?

LIU: That was so exciting. I’ll be directing another episode again very shortly in December, so you’ll be seeing it in a month and a half.

IVIE: Where did your interest in directing come from?

LIU: I guess I was curious about it. Having been in this business for a while, you kind of see and get a glimpse of everything doing film and television. I think it seemed like a natural progression to go into directing, and I hope to explore more of it, because it’s very exciting and a really good way to collide all the things that you’ve known and experienced in the business and put them all into one.

IVIE: Is there an ideal guest star that you’d like to see on the show in the upcoming season?

LIU: I would love to see Mycroft come back. I really think there was a wonderful tension for Mycroft and Sherlock as well as the triangle that occurred when Joan became involved with him. There’s something very deep about that relationship, and I also think that Rhys Ifans is a fantastic actor. He commands the screen, but off-screen he’s incredibly lovely. A real treat to have on the show.

IVIE: I remember the first few episodes that I saw Rhys in, I was like, where have I seen this guy before? So I looked at his Wikipedia page and it became obvious: he was the crazy guy from Notting Hill!

LIU: Yes, the roommate! So good! Everything he does, he just kills it, no matter the role.

IVIE: And it’s always good to have some MI6 action on the show, which Mycroft provided. Some international flair.

LIU: [laughs] International flair, exactly, some added spice. Just throw some spy stuff in there to throw people off their game. You just don’t expect it, you know? It came out of nowhere.

IVIE: That whole three-episode arc at the end of the second season…

LIU: That was awesome. I was lucky enough to direct one of those episodes, which is more narrative in tone. It’s more fun in some ways, too.

IVIE: You’ve done a range of acting work for both television and film. Do you now find yourself preferring one to the other?

LIU: I love both of them equally. The lack of predictability with television is something that’s constantly changing what your perception of who you think your character is. Suddenly I have a father that’s schizophrenic, or I discovered something else, or I have a relationship with Mycroft. The things that pop up and change the game for you and always keep you on your toes. The wonderful thing about film is that you have something that has a beginning, middle, and end, and you have a concrete amount of time to shoot it. And the process of that can be longer, like editing and advertising and testing the movie, so it’s very different. Television you just continue going, no matter what’s happening outside of your world. You get lost in that vortex a little bit.

IVIE: It’s interesting that America is now embracing the “mini-series” format that has already been so heavily utilized overseas, where there are a set amount of short episodes, and that’s it. In a way, it’s kind of like a cinematic experience.

LIU: I like that, too. It allows you to have a freedom of creativity and at the same time you don’t feel like you have to be contracted to something for that long; you’re really working on a piece of art. And then you’re done and you move on, or it comes back, like Downton Abbey. You don’t know. Those things become little masterpieces. The thing about television is that you see a range of actors now that you may not have seen five years ago even, 10 years ago absolutely not, and I think now there’s no wrong about doing television. There’s no definitive category for what kind of department you fall into anymore.

IVIE: What’s a fun, secret fact about your costar Jonny Lee Miller?

LIU: A fun fact about Jonny Lee Miller is that he oftentimes does handstands on a wall before he does a take, sometimes with pushups, to get blood to his brain and get him geared up for a long monologue that he may have. He stays there, hangs a little bit, and then turns around and does the scene. Most of the time in the brownstone more than anywhere else. He’s in full costume and everything. That’s trivia!

IVIE: I wish I could do wall-handstands by myself.

LIU: Oh my god, I need someone to push my legs up and then hold me there. I’m a cheat!

ELEMENTARY PREMIERES THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30 ON CBS.

#Lucy Liu #Interview #2014 #comic con #jlm #mycroft #wardrobe #directing #third season #joanlock

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candicewright · 4 years

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Kindly requesting that analysis on wangxian being peak romance and how it compares to queerbaiting please 🙏 🙏 🙏

Hello, anon! I am very genuinely happy that my rambling thoughts interest you in any way (because I have a lot of thoughts) so here is my analysis as promised. It is veeeery long (almost 2k), sorry about that but I’ve really been looking forward to talking about this for a very long time. In the end, it isn’t so much about how Wangxian is peak romance and more about the censorship and how it compares to queerbaiting, I may have to do another post about that later on. Without much further ado, here it is!

The Untamed’s tasteful censorship vs. BBC Merlin’s queerbaiting and why I prefer one over the other.

I know most people follow this blog for Merlin and believe me when I say that I love this show more than I can say because it has quite literally changed my life. But The Untamed has opened my mind to a whole new world (insert Aladdin’s A Whole New World here) and it has given me a lot of perspective on a lot of things.

I often joke with my friends saying that my first consideration when choosing a new show to watch is saying “is it gay?” which is not far from the truth, but it’s also not the complete story. What I mean is that I ask myself “does this show have a relationship that I think is worth getting invested in?”. Yes, t usually happens that those are not heterosexual romances, but what can I say, I’m queer and I like my emotional support fictional characters to be so too. This is the exact reasoning that led me to Merlin. I saw a couple of videos about them on youtube and immediately found their dynamic compelling and their story beautifully tragic. But like with most shows these days, the writers failed (among other things) to make their relationship explicit. This has happened with every show I watched after Merlin too; The Witcher, Sherlock and Good Omens being the most notable ones.

You can argue if they are or are not queerbaiting, I at least think Good Omens isn’t, but again, it is pretty subjective.

But i had grown so accustomed to this type of media that I fully went into The Untamed expecting something similar.

And oh boy was I wrong.

Now, the case of The Untamed is a curious one because it is supposed to be a love story between two men due to being based on a BL novel, but because of censorship, it had to be very toned down. I found this out right before actually watching the show while doing some preliminary research and while it did change my thought on what I was getting into I truly thought they would just erase the entire relationship and try to hide it behind straight relationships like in most other shows I had watched.

But that was absolutely not the case, to my endless relief and joy.

But how? How did they get away with censoring all the explicit aspects of a romantic relationship while still managing to tell a wonderful love story? And how does this compare to the queerbaiting of a show like Merlin?

Warning: I will be using different parts of both shows and probably some of the MDZS novel to illustrate my point, so there will be spoilers.

The initial accidental chemistry + innuendos vs. The establishment of the very clear enemies to friends to lovers trope

I’m going to use Merlin to compare and contrast this because it’s what I know best and the other show I've given a lot of thought to.

Merthur and Wangxian are both similar and different dynamics in the way they’re written and it was one of the things that drew me into The Untamed in the first place. Both stories begin with our main duo meeting and instantly disliking each other, ending up in a fight. And while they both set the story up to lead to a more intimate bond being created between the pairs, there’s something very different from the start.

Merthur is deliberately set up to be a close friendship and all innuendos and chemistry are accidental (in my opinion and only at the start). Let me explain.

The concept for Merlin clearly started with the idea of how the story would change if Merlin was a young boy arriving in Camelot instead of an old powerful sorcerer. Then they made the main plot to be his destiny/friendship with the young and arrogant Prince Arthur. I truly believe that the first innuendos were not what they intended and that all chemistry and sexual tension between the characters comes courtesy of Colin and Bradley and how undeniably good they look on screen together. Fans then started speculating (as we always do) and then the production team decided to run with it, making it almost a recurring joke when it shouldn’t have been. Had they treated that developing relationship seriously like what they were hinting it was, the show would have been very different.

The Untamed on the other hand, is everything but accidental. What they’re doing is deliberately establishing the enemies to friends to lovers trope from the very beginning. It’s not an accident that during their first fight on the roof of the Cloud Recesses Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji that women would find his true character very disappointing and that no one would want to marry him. he says so several times in fact and this is clearly both to highlight the change in their relationship as well as to say that Lan Wangji is not at all interested in the opinion of any female (or anyone besides Wei Wuxian for that matter). This is the same stuff we see in mainstream straight romances: one of the characters saying something to the effect of “who would want to date them?” only to end up involved with the other at the end of the story.

You could argue that Merlin does something similar with the conversation between Merlin and Kilgharrah where Merlin is affronted by the idea of having to help Arthur where he says “There must be another Arthur because this one’s an idiot...If someone wants to kill him, they can go right ahead. In fact, I’ll give them a hand.” but the difference between these two is that Merlin is hiding behind the guise of destiny and friendship to make these parallels while Wangxian is deliberately and clearly in a romantic context.

The deliberate continuation of the subtext vs. The suggestion of something more

The accidental nature of the subtext doesn’t last long and in true BBC fashion, it turns into full-on queerbaiting real fast. Again, you can argue endlessly about when the deliberately suggestive comments start, but by the end of the show, we know for a fact the entire production staff and even the staff were aware of the effect and reception their show was having. This was no longer an innocent mistake on people reading too much into it, it was a very purposeful narrative that they were pushing without ever truly committing to it. This is what got fans going crazy over “poetry” or lines like “you’re the only friend I have and I couldn’t bear to lose you”. These are all very intentional choices they made to keep their devoted fanbase interested and while we’re all very thankful for this material it really keeps us wondering what it could have been if they had taken that extra step.

The Untamed can’t take that step because of the censorship laws, but it’s still much more daring than Merlin ever was. While Merlin keeps the soulmate aspect of the Merthur relationship a suggestion, The Untamed outright says it, which was baffling to me. It even does it at a pint where the first kiss happened in the novel, which you would think makes it less romantic. But that's absolutely not the case because of both the non-consensual nature of that original kiss and because of how heartbreakingly beautiful the replacement scene is. Not only that, but they also keep all the elements you could expect to see in any pre-relationship stage of a developing romance story: endless amounts of mutual pining, not-really-unrequited love, jealousy, panicking at the sight of your crush (yes I’m looking at you 15-year-old Lan Wangji) and even some fun in vino veritas moments. They even have a son together! It doesn’t get more clear than that!

This is all the way the show has of suggesting something more without outright saying (even though it’s a pretty not subtle way of suggesting it).

Merlin, on the other hand, keeps trying to deny the romantic nature of the Merthur dynamic, which brings me to my next point.

The introduction of a female love interest as an excuse vs. The awareness that the audience understands the relationship in the way it's meant to be

Now, this one really bugs me, because of all the ways they could have done this they truly chose the worst and destroyed Gwen’s character in the process.

In my opinion, the writers could have done a few different things. They could have fully developed the Merthur relationship as a romantic one while keeping Gwen’s role as a queen and creating a much more satisfying character arch for her, maybe even getting her together with Morgana or Lancelot. They could have focused on the Awen romance and therefore lowered the suggestions of romance between Merlin and Arthur, once again creating a much more enjoyable subplot for Gwen, though it could have also meant sacrificing the very powerful bond between the main characters. They could have even taken advantage of Gwen’s crush on Merlin in the first season and gone on the full-on polyamory direction! That would have been much better! Instead, they halfassed the romance between Arthur and Gwen and made it just...meh. Not that Angel and Bradley didn’t do a great job, it was more of a writing problem than a them problem.

The Untamed (despite the rumours and possibilities of a Wen Qing/Wei Wuxian relationship) decided to just run with the not really platonic relationship between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, making them the complete focus of the story while still upholding the censorship laws. What I think the biggest difference between the two shows is, is that one runs on assuming the audience is stupid while the other one assumes the audience is smart.

Let me explain once more.

The Merlin writers clearly thought that by introducing Gwen as the love interest to Arthur he would just become what? Magically straight? As if we hadn’t seen the last four seasons of sexual tension between him and Merlin? The audience was not fooled for the most part, but some people did fall for this, coming with the argument “But he’s married to Gwen so he’s straight!” as if being gay or straight are the only two possibilities but oh well.

The Untamed does quite the opposite. It relies on the fact that the audience is going to catch onto the romantic aspect of the narrative without them actively saying anything because we are Not Dumb. It also does something that I think is quite beautiful which is leaving it up for interpretation as far as whether it’s platonic or not and even more touching is the way the story has resonated with the ace community (that is according to what I’ve seen, please do correct me if I’m wrong) by focusing on their emotional and intellectual connection instead of in their physical and sexual one.

This is why, in the end, I prefer what I call The Untamed’s tasteful censorship over Merlin and other shows’ blatant queerbaiting.

I feel the need after all of this to state that Merlin is still my favorite show of all time and that this is not by any means me saying that Merlin is absolute trash or something like that. There’s also a lot more that I think can be said in this conversation, so please feel free to tell me what you think and if you’ve ever encountered something similar to this.

Also, if I made any mistakes or wrong points, please don’t be shy about telling me!

I hope this rant was at least somewhat interesting and that you found it satisfactory, anon!

#mdzs/cql meta #merlin meta #the untamed #cql #wangxian #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin bbc #ask response #i have a lot of feelings #someone stop me #long post

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sherlockfanficwriting · 4 years

Text

Sherlock BBC “I’m sorry”

Summary - Based on a request, you, Sherlock’s sister, end up in a disastrous fight with your brother. Having been verbally horrible to you, you storm out and never look back. Not much longer, you have the shock of your life, but you won’t recover in a second from it. Will your brother change?

Warnings - small angst

A/N - please take the poll that I recently uploaded :) and enjoy this angsty story. its short btw hehe

WHo GON send me more REQUESTsssssSSS?? Dracula? Sherlock?

You skipped down the steps of Scotland Yard in a pair of mid black heels. You had just finished a small amount of paperwork with your brother, Mycroft, on a difficult case.

“I can’t believe I am being seen in a place like this,” Mycroft scoffed, desparately trying to hurry down the steps.

“No one’s even looking at you!” You shouted at him, lightly punching his arm.

“Sometimes I wonder how we’re related, (Y/N).”

You flew down the outside steps with Mycroft and whipped open your car door. He awkwardly bent down to fit in the medium sized car. Mycroft held his phone with one hand and used his index finger to scroll up and down, which caused you to roll your eyes. You drove through the city and parked in front of an immensely tall building.

Mycroft placed his phone back in his pocket and sat up straight. You sat still.

“You’re not coming inside?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I’m going to see Sherlock for a little.”

“Well, okay. I hope I’m not that boring for you.” He opened the door and swung his legs over.

“Never. I’ll stop by tomorrow and bring you something.” You smiled at him and waited until he walked through the large glass doors into his highly professional life.

As soon as you parked in front of Sherlock’s flat, you whipped your body over, searching for the crumpled white bakery bag on the seat behind you. You grabbed it and peeked inside the bag. There, the warm blueberry scone that was his favorite, lay idle. You hopped out of the car, clutching the bag, and let yourself in the apartment. You walked up the steps and knocked on his door.

“Come in.” He said.

You walked inside and found Sherlock reading a book on his chair. He looked up to you and his eyes immediately went to the bag. A cheeky smile formed on his face.

“Blueberry?”

“Just how you like it.”

Sherlock jumped up and ran to you, wrapping you in a tight hug. He grabbed the bag and as soon as he opened it, it was already eaten. You looked at your brother in pure amusement.

“Do anything interesting besides being with Mycroft today?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Just paper work.”

“I see Anderson’s got something with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s just being friendly.”

“You like him.”

“Sherlock, I’m just friendly. Not like you.”

“Why are you nice to him? He’s nothing but stupidity. He gets in the way.”

“Don’t be so rude. I’ll be nice to who I want to.”

“Did you screw him?”

Your eyes widened at him. “Sherlock! What is wrong with you! Like I said, I only join in conversation. Friendly. Nothing more. It’s like I do with everyone else.”

“Whatever. Just don’t make the same mistake again.”

“What mistake?”

“You know. You remember James. I bet you do.”

You sighed. James was one of your dear friends. He was smart. He was talented. However, one day, you both did the riskiest thing you could ever do involving crime as well as hacking. It was both to challenge your intelligence, but it didn’t end well, especially for James. You had been fond of his name for years. You never liked to remember the past, but it wasn’t all your fault. It was realistic. It was something the two of you did, but one suffered more. It was random, but you would do anything to take it back.

“Can you just leave it be?” You asked, feeling emotional.

Sherlock scoffed. “Why did you even do that? I thought you were smart. I never knew. Do you miss him? Well, certainly not, you fundamentally killed him. I just can never fathom myself doing that.”

You felt your eyes becoming ever so slightly watery. You didn’t know why Sherlock always escalated things like this. Sometimes it was too much.

“Don’t kill Anderson and please don’t kill Lestrade. We need him. I don’t kill my friends. I hope that was the last one.”

You looked at him in the eyes. He had no right in doing this. What does he know?

“Just leave me alone.”

“Was James good to you? Are you hitting up Lestrade too?” He asked, chuckling.

Your face burned and you clenched your fists.

“I never understood why you did selfish things like that. I should know. I wonder if Mycroft does.”

You had it with Sherlock. You couldn’t hear it anymore. You bring something nice over to your brother and he treats you like this.

“At least I’m not a failure in life. At least I don’t live in a trash place like this, acting like I’m smarter than everyone and constantly showing off what I can do. I don’t act like I’m better every single moment of the day. You could have been something big, but what are you doing? Solving whatever you call these easy cases in London and acting like you hit home every time you solve them? You’re just sitting around and doing what? You’re doing nothing. You’re a failure.”

Sherlock looked stunned at this. Tears were streaming down your face.

“Why can’t you just be nice? Normal? Why do you think you’re all alone in life except for John? He doesn’t count! He’s mentally unstable and troubled. He’s not normal. He’s just there to make you feel better about your skills and intelligence. No real person wants to be with you ever. Yeah, I made a mistake. I don’t need you doing this again.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew dark and cold. They lost the familiar glimmer inside. You couldn’t look at him any longer. You whipped your body around and stormed down the steps and into the city. You didn’t look where you were going nor did you care.

“(Y/N)!” A voice behind you shouted. It was Sherlock. You paid no attention to him. You turned a corner and noticed him running towards you. You picked up your pace, wanting to get away from him. You turned your head back to the road, and in a split second, right in front of you, you slammed into a car, which immediately braked. Your body fell to the ground. You heard Sherlock scream your name, but his voice sounded distant. Soon you temporarily slipped into a deep trance while your brother, panicking, picked you up.

------ an hour later -------

You started to yawn but soon stopped as you winced in pain. You touched a spot on your head near your scalp. It hurt. As you opened your eyes wider and adjusted to your surroundings, Sherlock sprinted in, blocking your view of the table in front of you.

“What happened?” You asked.

Before you finished your question, Sherlock’s long arms were immediately wrapped tightly around you. You moved your head into a comfortable position nudged against the nook between his neck and shoulder. After a few seconds, the events came rushing back to you, but instead of becoming angry, you retaliated. After what just happened, it wasn’t appropriate. You grimaced as you thought of it. You couldn’t change everyone. You tried, but you couldn’t and you shouldn’t.

Sherlock let go of you carefully and examined every part of you with his eyes.

“Are you in pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

He noticed your attitude and the scene from earlier was constantly replaying in his head. You began to swing your legs over the bed. Sherlock grabbed both of your arms and held you down.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

You were partially shocked and couldn’t really believe you heard him saying this. You covered your surprisement.

“It’s okay. It really is.” You weren’t lying.

“I’m serious, “(Y/N).” I’m working on it. I can’t do it without you. This was all my fault. You should have never gotten hurt. It was all because of me.”

You looked into his eyes. The glimmer was still gone. You couldn’t help but feel bad. This wasn’t you. You took Sherlock’s hand, which was freezing, and you held it inside your warm hand. You squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Well, maybe a little.” You said, laughing. A smile started to spread on his face.

“I hate you sometimes.”

You stood up and began walking out. “Do you want me to walk in front of a car again?” You asked.

Sherlock’s eyes widened then he soon rushed over to you, beginning to ask more questions and annoyingly pecked at the three bandages you had on.

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gentlemansarmor · 4 years

Text

Sherlock Magic AU - The Moriarty Confrontation

Hello I wrote like...the Moriarty part of this magic au I made up about four hours ago. Pls enjoy...

Uh things to know going in...

- in canon au that loosely follows canon storyline - establish mystrade - getting there johnlock - everyone was some form of magic but the rarest is people born with magic that breaks the laws of magic types (ie controlling others/things, time, space, reconstruction, life/death) - most people only have one type of magic but rarer are those who have two - Sherlock and Mycroft have a similar relationship to one they have in bbc sherlock, but are just a little bit closer... - the events of bbc sherlock didn’t happen as such, so this is not at all similar to the roof scene - hi i love mycroft and it shows :) i also like to read more into certain things and think he would be untouchable and unstoppable if he did what sherlock did - this is so self indulgent pls be advised - mycroft might be a little ooc in this but that is the point

I barely get to eat, and when I finally get to sleep I get drug out of bed for another meet-and-greet I shake the hand of every fan—put on a happy face Spread so fuckin' thin, I'm all over the place I hate riding on the bus—I hate flying in the planes Sedate myself just to kill the pain I have no life—forgot the hope The whole thing's turned into one big joke

- sham pain (five finger death punch)

Catching himself on John’s shoulders, Sherlock righted quickly, turning on heel to yell at Mycroft, who had quickly placed himself between the detective and the criminal. He didn’t need Mycroft to protect him, it wouldn’t do them any good anyways. Mycroft never lifted a finger if he didn’t have to, always tucked away quietly in his club or office.

Mouth open to yell, Sherlock stopped in his tracks, arm hanging limp in the air at the sight that greeted him.

‘There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows.’

‘It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubbable men in town.’

Sherlock knew anger, he knew hatred. He had known it personally and he had seen it expressed at him countless times. John’s anger was silent, shown in his eyes and clenched hands. Lestrade’s was rolled shoulders, a stern jaw, and a raised voice. Mummy’s had been a downturn of her mouth and a sharp finger point. Father’s was the sharp closing of a newspaper and the slam of a mug.

Mycroft’s…

In the split second that he takes everything in, Sherlock realizes that he had never seen Mycroft truly angry. He was familiar with his angered disappointment (especially after Irene), but anger by itself, Sherlock had never seen it.

He never wants to see it again. He wants to set fire to the room where this is stored in his palace. He wants to forget it.

Mycroft’s anger is wild eyes, snarled mouth. It’s manic hatred. Mycroft’s anger is almost happy, freeing.

And now Sherlock understands why Mycroft hides himself in his Club, why he helped create it. In a world where Mycroft has his thumb in every pie and a brother who tries to remove the table underneath, and coupled with Mycroft’s magic, without something to ground him everything around him would freeze and never thaw. The next ice age.

But in the forming icicles Sherlock can see strings, and he realizes maybe he never really knew his brother after all.

Moriarty is giggling, hands clapping at his trap. It’s him and Mycroft in his sphere, and Sherlock realizes belatedly that that’s why Mycroft shoved him. His brother shoved him out of the traps range, pushing him toward a man that balanced Sherlock out in case the trap managed to touch him.

Moriarty is talking, hands flapping, giddy.

“Boring! You’re not the one I want! Not much that you can do Ice Man! Not in here!” There’s more laughter as Moriarty adjusts the crown on his head. “Wow the look on your face though! Be careful not to melt your own ice!”

“...melt? Sherlock?”

Sherlock looks back at John as Mycroft turns fully to Moriarty.

“It’s…” Sherlock can feel his magic feeding his mind information that he can’t see. Invisible runes and symbols are helping explain why Moriarty is acting over the top more so than usual and why Mycroft is...

So angry...what rage…

“Sherlock?” Behind them, Lestrade has pushed everyone back and the consulting detective can make out the shimmering hexagons of Lestrade’s mirage shield.

“It’s the epitome of Moriarty’s magic.”

“Sherlock…” He could hear the annoyed fondness in John’s voice, but was unable to focus on it as he turned back to his brother.

“From what I can deduce, the sphere removes emotional inhibitions. In there, you are your true self, no holds barred.”

“What!” Even Lestrade had turned, looking from Sherlock to Mycroft and back again with trepidation and shock. Sherlock glares at Lestrade. The man seemed too calm in the face of what they were looking at; even John was more shocked than Lestrade.

“You knew…” The detective inspector met Sherlock’s accusatory gaze.

“In some parts, yea. But this...this I’ve never seen before. Sherlock, I’ve seen him crumble the edges of papers in anger, or end a call a little too forcefully, but this? I didn’t know.”

“Greg? Sherlock? What is going on with Mycroft?” Sherlock shook his head and turned back to his brother, wary. Mycroft and Moriarty had moved now, circling each other like animals. Both of them wore grins of different emotions, their faces reflected in the multicolored gem like shields that Moriarty was controlling.

“He’s been stripped of every shield and layer that he had erected to hide his emotions. He more than likely cannot feel the protection of the Diogenes Club as well...he’s. Free.”

‘It’s something I would never survive. It would have been like falling off a waterfall and submitting to the torrent of water below. I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.

I might have been able to take Moriarty with me but at what cost?’

John looked between the two men in the glittering sphere and Sherlock. It’s then that Sherlock realizes that John still has a hand on him. John knows his thoughts but that isn’t his problem right now.

What is is the slow dripping of Mycroft’s icicles and stalagmites.

What is is Moriarty’s laughter at thinking he’s melted the “Ice Man”.

What is is the look of anger in Mycroft’s eyes but the manic smile on his lips.

What is is the thin, oh so thin, wires that Sherlock can barely make, even with his magic, that are hidden in the ice.

What is is that for so long, Sherlock thought that his brother was an impassable glacier, able to sink even the mightiest of ships. What is is that Sherlock hadn’t realized that since the beginning, Mycroft had been pulling the strings like a puppet master, content to hide his club and his duties.

Mycroft Holmes didn’t despise field work or running around, it was that he didn’t need to do it. He could sit in his office with his minor government position or in his silent club and pull each and every string he needed to to make things work for him. He needn’t nor wanted to control people because like Sherlock he was fascinated by humans and what they did. He trusted his mind and mental abilities to deal with people and it’s when he brow creased with frustration that he pulled his strings.

Mycroft didn’t like his own magic because it sought to overshadow everything he had learned and become, who he was. It was but a drop of water in a large pool, but it’s ripples never faded.

As Mycroft Holmes threw out his hands in unchecked anger, fingers clenched as if they were holding a marionette cross, Sherlock Holmes, with his coat flapping behind him and eyes shining, ran toward his brother and his enemy.

He may fall off that waterfall, but he would take Moriarty with him, because Sherlock refused to let Moriarty be the one to ruin Mycroft.

It was time to stop letting Moriarty think he was always two steps ahead while Sherlock was always looking behind.

John and Lestrade’s cries fell on deaf ears as Sherlock ran into the sphere, head swimming as he tried to take information in as his mind ridded itself of everything he had worked to build.

And as Sebastian Moran stepped out from behind Moriarty and Mycroft’s enraged gaze shifted to him, Sherlock felt everything wash away and he turned dull eyes to Moriarty.

The game had begun.

For the record I have no idea where this came from besides that fact that that song came on and bam. Idea! I just...I want an entire series on Mycroft Holmes please I love him so much I cry.

And for additional information:

- Lestrade: Physical Deflection - ability to distort sight into something else (comes from the books where a lot of what Sherlock does gets credited to Lestrade/police instead of him)

- John: Empathy/Emotional Reading - ability to pick up emotions nearby, touch amplifies the feelings. he is, however, very susceptible to getting lost in others emotions and feel them himself. (this comes from that idea that john misses war and how he is so very attuned to sherlock) - Moriarty: Shield - the ability to shield oneself and others, considered an absolute defense (Moriarty’s magic is gem stone based coming from the crown line and the thieving - the shield idea comes from the concept that Moriarty shields criminals) // Fall - the ability that forces inhibitions to fall away (literally this is just based on Reichenbach Falls)

- Sherlock: Magic Perception - the ability to see the breakdown of magic that isn’t visible to the eye (this wasn’t really based on anything, but that with magic there has to be clues and it’s another thing for him to look at and deduce) // Time Gaze - the ability to look both forward and back in time, considered highly dangerous if used to look forward (comes from the idea that he always knows everything and also that line about knowing john would should up in ep1)

- Mycroft: Ice Age - ice elemental magic, also coupled with water, the ability to control and create ice from water and if skilled enough from air (comes the idea that Mycroft is seen as stoic and shut off, the ice man comment, and that some see him as cold) // Marionettist - the ability of absolute control (comes from the idea that Mycroft as the man behind the curtain of many a thing)

- Regarding the second magic of Sherlock and Mycroft: I got super attached to the idea that their secondary magic completely overrides their innate deduction and observation abilities and that while using them would make them unstoppable, they see them more as hinderances and things that hate. Rejection of your own magic (in this au) is possible but isn’t the healthiest for the mind.

#lor writes sherlock #i feel awkward tagging this but uh #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #james moriarty #magic au #i hope anyone who reads likes this #i tend to write very niche things and also what makes me happy #id love to hear what you think #and also i need to figure out how to reply OTL #also by likes this i mean enjoys it...

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aneomeris · 4 years

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Some perspective

Tldr. There's a lot of shows, a lot of things that will disappoint you, try to let it go. It's not worth it and yes, as much as it might seem impossible you will find better.

Long post commencing... Now!

Funny how today I read that Supernatural filmed their last episode today and that made me genuinely sad.

I've stopped watching at the end of season 10, I think, with Amara bringing back Spoilers.

And yet, I still feel sad. It wasn't so much the characters who betrayed me, it was more of the writing cycling again through something we've been watching for 10 years already, with the slightest of twists. It was more the nature of the twist that made me quit, but it didn't diminish my fondness for the show.

This all leads to me saying that it's way better than what happened to the 100, a show that has joined the already numerous ranks of stuff I used to love (in canon).

Doctor Who, a show that used to be the Little Prince and at some point became the Transformers.

Marvel - a franchise that forgot what they built one of their main characters around and just had him do the antithesis of what his arc was, all for the sake of a woman he kissed once. Also, Black Widow and Gamora.

Star Wars. Rey, Finn, Poe, Ben/Kylo, Leia, was there anyone not harmed by episode 9?

The Magicians. Quentin Coldwater called, he wants the first three seasons back.

Teen Wolf. Just, so much crazy, so little character there at the end.

Sherlock BBC, a show where the show runners mixed whether they were writing a villain for Sherlock, a show supposedly set in modern time, somewhat realistical England, or Doctor Who, where a teleporting telepath wouldn't be out of place.

Veronica Mars. A show that tried to recapture the magic of a decade ago, by aging the lead all the while having her act exactly the same way a teenager would. What was a young woman figuring herself out and making mistakes deserves much less leeway when it's a grown ass woman making the same mistakes. Also, the ending.

Game of Thrones. Where to begin?

And now the 100. To me, even if Bellamy is ghost form reunites with Clarke it will be worthless. Even if they die together. Not after the way they executed him - cruelly and pointlessly. I guess it IS a mirror image of the first 8 episodes of season three: a character does a one-eighty, suddenly changing their entire belief system in a way that seems the opposite of the way they've been established so far, loses quite a lot of support and is killed by someone claiming to love them. This time with intent. Fun cycle, this one.

I noticed another thing about myself - when satisfied with canon, or at least hopeful that canon will satisfy me someday, I don't read much fanfic about said story. I think it's time I seriously dived into stories about the 100.

#the 100 #Supernatural #stuff about me

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theemptyquarto · 4 years

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Abandoned WIP

Warstan (but John got killed off before the story starts) and purely platonic Sherlock & Mary. Quite AU... John and Mary get together before Sherlock jumped off of Bart’s. Maybe a little bit of hinted unrequited Johnlock, I honestly can’t remember if I was going there with this fic. A “Mary is the new Watson” retelling of “The Adventure of the Empty House,” rated T. This was written before S3 happened and I fell in love with BBC Mary and she actually made me view BBC John as an interesting character in his own right and I rejiggered my alignments.

I’m going to rant here, just briefly, about how ACD’s Mary Morstan is probably one of the most wronged-by-their-author characters that I can think of, which is why I started writing this fic where she takes the lead.

She appears for the first time in the second-ever (authorially, not chronologically) Sherlock Holmes story, “The Sign of the Four,” and is delightful. Watson falls hard in love right away and acts like a huge dweeb about her, she’s courageous, clever, and kind. Maybe without all the panache of the later Irene Adler, but a more traditionally Victorian heroine for our more traditionally Victorian junior protagonist. Her next appearance, “The Adventure of the Crooked Man,” is significantly more tangential, but she sets the action of the story in play and is shown to be a helpful, kind figure.

And then all of a sudden Conan Doyle ships her off to visit her mother (she was established as an orphan), stops using her at all, and finally kills her off.

Not even on the page. Between books. And it’s mentioned so tangentially in two lines of “The Adventure of the Empty House” that you can easily miss it if you aren’t looking for it.

(Incidentally this sort of shit is why ACD fandom can’t agree on how many wives Watson had or who the subject of his “sad bereavement” is. The number ranges from 1-13.)

Why, Artie? Why did you do that? I mean I get if you want to park Watson back at Baker Street you probably do have to off her but you were a fairly good hack and doing it this way made you give up the opportunity to have some sort of emotional payoff in your stories. Especially since you later introduce another wife character who is in no way distinct from Mary (a niche component of ACD fandom thinks that Mary didn’t die at all and Watson “abandoning (Holmes) for a wife,” was him and Mary reconciling after an estrangement.)

Anyway. Don’t create cool characters and then kill them for no good reason. That’s my point.

_____________

The Empty Flat (Mary)

I had been widowed for three months and was rather surprised at how badly I was doing with it. The snug three-bedroom garden flat in Maida Vale had been the perfect size for a not-quite-young couple planning on children. Now it seemed vast and empty and utterly, utterly silent. When I slept, which wasn’t all that much, I did it on the sofa. Our bed still smelled faintly of his aftershave, and I couldn’t stand either to sleep there or to wash the sheets. Arthur, the blue point Siamese cat who I had bought into the marriage, would curl up on my feet and awaken me with his yowls in the morning.

To some extent I had been able to occupy my mind with work, and the requirements of my job had kept me more or less a functional adult. But the summer holidays had begun a week previous, and I was thus thrown entirely on my own resources, which were scant. What family I had left were all back in America, and the friends I had made in England seemed to have melted away since John’s death. Some days, I thought that this was due to the universal impulse to avoid reminders of mortality. Other days I decided it was more likely due to the fact that I deleted their emails and declined to answer their phone calls.

The truth, as always, was probably somewhere in the middle.

Whatever the cause, my life was empty. I ate when I remembered that I was meant to. I wore pajamas all day. I left the flat when I ran out of cat food, and at night I would turn on the tv and stare at it without paying attention until I finally sank into oblivion.

Presumably it was on one of those descents into the maelstrom of crap British late-night TV that I first took note of the murder of Ronald Adair. The dead man was vaguely familiar to me, though I had never watched any of his shows personally. He was a scion of one of those impoverished but very old-and-noble families that the English keep on out of sentiment. Showing unusual initiative for one of his class, he’d made a success of himself by appearing on a famous reality show, then on the “celebrity” version of that show, and parlaying that into one of those mysterious but apparently quite lucrative careers that consist mostly of having your picture taken.

And now, he was dead, shot in the back of the head in his own bedroom on Park Lane.

The story struck me, for some reason. John, when he’d been alive, used to take four daily papers and half a dozen weeklies, and I had not cancelled them yet. I plucked a week’s worth out of the recycling where I had tossed them, unread, and scanned through them for articles about the murder.

Ronald Adair had been alone in his bedroom, drinking neat whiskey and updating twitter, when he died. His last tweet (@JustLukeyA, “LOL C U @ Ibiza”) had been sent at 10:11 in the evening. His personal assistant had heard the sound of breaking glass, broken down the locked door that led into the bedroom, seen his body, and dialed 999 by 10:17. The bullet had been a large caliber hollow point round that had done severe damage to the back of his skull, and he had most likely died almost instantly.

The entire affair was mysterious. While the police hadn’t released any real statements, the personal assistant had been the only other person in the house at the time of the shooting, and had been released after questioning. This would suggest the shot had been fired from outside, but the window in Adair’s bedroom, while open, was on the fourth floor. There was no evidence to suggest anyone had climbed to the window, meaning that the shot had come from somewhere outside.

This made no sense at all to the gossip rags. The window faced directly over Hyde Park, and any level shot would have had to come from over a mile away. And shooting from ground level would have been impossible: the Park was open, reasonably crowded given the warmth of the summer evening, and no one had heard a thing. The American embassy was less than two hundred yards away, and even its overblown security hadn’t noted any unusual activity. Essentially, it was impossible that he could have been shot, and yet there he was.

As I read through the papers, I thought how John would have gone through them at the breakfast table to try and figure out what had happened. Although his professional interest in solving mysteries had died with Sherlock, he never lost his fascination with the more arcane sorts of crime. He would have loved this one, and I could imagine the crinkles that would form around his eyes as he would describe the possible motives, mechanisms, and solutions. It was a Sunday, and I suspected that he would have wheedled me into taking our normal long walk in the direction of the crime scene. I’d have teased him, said he was morbid, but I’d have gone, and he’d have hypothesized happily for a while.

I could so clearly imagine it, and it made me smile, despite myself. It had been difficult to like Sherlock Holmes, and very difficult to deal with the fact that their association put John into danger on a regular basis. Yet, now that they were both gone, I found myself forgiving every thoughtless insult and sleepless lonely night the detective ever gave me, since he had made John so happy.

Wishing to hang on to my happy memory, I decided, abruptly, to take the walk over to Park Lane myself, just as John and I would have done. It was past time I actually started doing things again. I would go and see where Ronald Adair had died, and I would try and solve the mystery, and I would remember John. Quickly, before I could change my mind, I showered, dressed, and left the flat.

July, in London, is one of the few times of the year when it approaches being warm enough, and it was a beautiful day. I took the long route around Kensington Park, since a straight shot would have taken me directly past St. Mary’s Hospital, where John had worked - and where his body had been taken. The trees were brilliant green, and it seemed everyone in London was sunbathing or playing football or falling in love around me.

Ronald Adair’s flat was adjacent to the Mariott, in one of the converted brick Georgian edifices that infest all of Park Lane. I had forgotten to take note of the number, but it was easily identifiable by the flowers and stuffed animals heaped up on the low fence that surrounded it. There were a fair number of gawkers, and by asking, I found which window Adair had been shot through. I was stumped, for the moment, but thinking logically, decided the best route was to see from where I could have made the shot. The busy street and the shrubbery borders of the park being ruled out, necessarily, I confined my attention to the sidewalks. I took pictures on my phone, and paced around, and tried to work out the trigonometry involved.

Then I stopped. There were half a dozen locations from which the shot could have come. It would be the hell of a task: the window was small and high, but if it were dark out and the shooter were aiming into a lit room, it would be possible. I had hunted a lot as a kid, and might have been able to make it with a rifle. John, who had been an excellent marksman, might have been able to do it with a handgun. But to do it quickly enough to avoid notice in a busy neighborhood, to do it silently? That was impossible.

All facts that were undoubtedly obvious to the police. If John had been with me, it would have been a fun little mathematical exercise. We’d have followed it with a walk home, dinner at the pub on the end of our street, and making tipsy love in the light of a summer sunset in our flat. But he wasn’t with me, and he never would be again, and the day would end as all days did, alone with the cat and the television and the dark. The whole thing was a pointless, futile exercise - a little girl’s attempt to play make-believe.

I knew, suddenly, that I was going to cry. It happened a lot, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to share with all London, so I spun around to depart and slammed full-force into a souvenir hawker who had been just behind me. Grace has always eluded me. The pole she carried, hung with ballcaps and other tat, fell to the ground, and she gave an indignant Cockney squawk of “Oi! Watch it!” I bent to retrieve her pole and handed it back to her, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry,” and fled outright into the park, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground.

Leaving the path, I hurried through the park, not really aware of where I was going as long as it was quieter and emptier. I reached a dim copse free of children, tourists, and lovers, where I sat down, and let the tears flow.

It’s easy to see why the ancient Egyptians thought that the heart, and not the brain, was the source of love. True sadness isn’t felt in the head, it’s felt in the chest, and I could feel every choked beat of my heart as I sobbed and gasped and tried to catch my breath for what seemed like ages. But from a pragmatic point of view, I’m sure I didn’t go for long. Crying is too tiring to keep up for much time. Of course, I had come out without any tissues, so I wiped my aching eyes and puffy face on the corner of my cardigan.

At that moment, the hawker walked into the copse.

“There you are!” she called out, “Wondered where you’d got to!”

I sighed. “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about knocking into you. It was an accident. If I’ve damaged anything I will be happy to pay-“

“Na, na, love. Just a load of rubbish. Can’t hurt it if it isn’t worth anything to start with. But I saw your face and thought you might be in some trouble.” The woman was elderly, with a mop of dyed auburn hair and a thick Docklands accent which I would love to render in text, if it didn’t look so silly. But her blue eyes were kind, and she handed me a miniature water bottle marked with “Souvenir of Hyde Park.”

“I’m – fine. I just got a little upset. Thank you.” The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly of plasticizers, but it soothed my irritated throat.

The woman seemed to take this remark as an invitation, and placing her wares on the grass, sat next to me. I have lived in London since I was twenty-five years old and I could tell what was coming. There are two main personality types among the English: the type that is intensely uncomfortable with any sort of emotion, and the type that delights in every possible expression of sentiment and wishes to hear all about it. They’re like New Yorkers in that respect.

Apparently I had found one of the latter variant.

“You get to see a bit of everything, my line of work,” she said, digging a battered packet of Silk Cut out of her pocket, “Care for one?”

I had officially quit smoking years ago, when I finished my doctorate, and stopped even having the occasional one when I started dating John, since he loathed the things. Just at that moment, though, it sounded like heaven. “Yes, thank you.”

She shook two out of the packet, and passed one to me before getting out a transparent plastic lighter. She lit hers, and then handed over the lighter. A brief breeze kicked up, and I bowed my head over the tiny flame, trying to make the cigarette catch, as she said, quietly, “Now, Mary, you need to remain calm.”

The cigarette caught, and I took that first delicious, poisonous drag, before the fact that this stranger knew my name really filtered into my mind.

I looked over, and where the woman had been, sat Sherlock Holmes.

The Sign of Four (Sherlock)

The art of disguise, as I have often remarked, is in context far more than it is in costume. Truly approximating the appearance of someone else is only possible from a distance: in ordinary situations major alterations to the face appear theatrical and attract more attention than not. If, instead, you select a character who would be entirely appropriate in the context in which he appears, you need make only minor changes to your own appearance. The observer’s mind will then do ninety per cent of your work and you will be de facto invisible. I intend to write a monograph on the topic when I have the time.

Mary Morstan may have had some subconscious understanding of this. On the occasion of our first meeting, I observed that she was wearing a carefully calibrated disguise, although I doubt she would have referred to it as such. Very high heels, but an intentionally prim and boxy suit, severe makeup and hairstyle, heavy-framed glasses. She introduced herself with a flat, middle-American accent, only slightly sharpened by years of living in London.

Just after she arrived, John walked into the flat, his arms filled with carrier bags of groceries, which he set down with great rapidity in order to shake her hand.

“Mary Morstan, my associate, John Watson. Miss Morstan,” I said, “Teaches maths at Westminster School.”

She stared at me when I said that. John, I noted, didn’t let go of her hand when her attention was distracted.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

I sighed, though in truth I always enjoy it when they ask for the reasoning.

“You’ve obviously come straight from work, meaning that you work Saturday mornings. Chalk dust on the right cuff, which is worn in a way that you only ever see with people who spend a great deal of time writing on blackboards. There are traces of red ink on the heel of your hand and a splotch near the tip of your index finger. Thus, teacher.”

As I’d expected, she dropped John’s hand to examine her own.

“You took the tube to get here, and in those shoes you probably didn’t walk far before you boarded at Westminster station: there’s construction digging up the street there and the fresh splashes of yellowish mud on your left stocking are quite distinctive. Half a dozen schools in that area, but your ensemble suggests older students and moneyed parents. Hence, Westminster School.”

The last was a gloss, as her ensemble suggested nothing of the sort. It said quite plainly “I teach older boys.” Her skirt was unfashionably long, her blouse was buttoned up to the neck, and her jacket was boxy in order to conceal her rather large breasts. Having attended an all-boys senior school, I recognized the style, and the motivation behind it. But since I was undoubtedly going to receive the ”abrasive” and “show-off” lectures after her departure, I saw no reason to add the “inappropriate” one, and simplified the matter.

“And… maths?”

I sighed again, this time sincerely. The easy ones are never any fun.

“There’s a graphics calculator in the right pocket of your overcoat.”

At that, she laughed. Giggled, really. But almost instantly, she caught herself, cleared her throat, and dropped back into the lower vocal register that she had previously affected. Everything I could ever have wished to know about Mary Morstan’s character was thus revealed in the first five minutes of our interview. Nature had given her a respectable brain and deposited it in a body that was small, blonde, and rather fluffy. Her disguise did a reasonable job of concealing this, but she would spend the rest of her life trying to make people take her seriously.

“That’s amazing,” she said, “I read in your blog, Doctor Watson-“

“John, please,” he interrupted. Oh dear.

“John. I read about this kind of analysis but it’s remarkable to see it in real life.”

“Can be a bit creepy if you’re not used to it, though,” John replied, which I thought extremely unfair, given that I had been very polite and not mentioned that her teeth demonstrated her adolescent bulimia or that her fingers and eyebrows strongly implied a mild obsessive-compulsive condition. I maintained my dignity, and said only,

“Thank you, John. State your case, Miss Morstan.”

“Right. Well. I suppose I have to go back to the beginning. My father, Thomas Morstan, was English. I was actually born in Sussex, but when I was two my parents divorced and my mother and I moved back to America. I never got to see him much, growing up, but he always kept in touch, by phone and letters, and then by email when that came around. Sent birthday gifts and that sort of thing. Ten years ago I finished grad school, and he offered to buy me a ticket to come and meet him in London. I hadn’t seen him for several years at that point and I didn’t have a job so, obviously, I said yes.”

“Mmm. Continue.”

“He’d booked us rooms at the Langham, which I thought was much too expensive for him, but he said it was a treat for my graduation.”

“What was his profession, then?”

“He started off in the Army, but he resigned his commission after the first Gulf War and joined the diplomatic service.”

“As?”

“An attaché. Just an office job, basically. Visas and helping distressed tourists and so on.”

“And his rank in the army?”

“Ah, he ended as a Lieutenant Colonel, I believe.

“Go on.”

“I flew to London, expecting him to pick me up at Heathrow, but he wasn’t there. No answer when I tried to call him. I took a cab to the Langham and asked if he’d checked in, and he had, but there was no answer when they called up to his room. Eventually they agreed to open the door – he’d had a heart attack a few years before, and I was getting very upset - and all of his things were in there, but no sign of him. I never saw him again.”

“Interesting. Did the police investigate?” John was patting her shoulder, sympathetically, which seemed excessive given that the death (and yes, it was death, almost certainly) was ten years in the past. She should have been well beyond it by this point. But upon closer observation, I could see that he was right: a slight swimminess around the eyes and the set of the jawbone indicating gritted teeth. Oedipal complex. She replied, calmly enough.

“Yes. They didn’t find anything.”

“Of course they didn’t. They never do. Did your father have any acquaintances in London?”

“Only one that they could find: a Major Sholto. He had no idea Dad was even in town.”

“Mmm. I doubt a disappearance ten years ago would incline you to seek the services of a consulting detective today. What has changed?”

Morstan cleared her throat and opened the battered leather attache case that had been sitting at her feet. From a manila folder, she removed a broadsheet page of yellowing newsprint, with a quarter-page sized advertisement in the upper right hand corner circled in red ink. The paper was the Omaha World-Herald, the date was May 4, 2004, and the advertisement simply stated:

“If Mary Morstan, daughter of Captain Thomas Morstan, will contact the address below, it will be to her advantage” followed by an email address.

“Half a dozen of my friends from high school saw this and forwarded it on to me.”

“And what did you do?”

“I sent them an email. I said I was Thomas Morstan’s daughter, that I’d relocated to London, and asked what they wanted.”

“Any reply?”

“No. And when I sent on a follow-up a few days later, it bounced. It was just Hotmail… could have been anyone. But then a few days after that, I received this in the mail.”

Reaching back into the attaché case, she pulled out a small pouch made of black jeweler’s felt. Loosening the drawstring, she tipped something small and square into her palm, and passed it over to me.

I could hear John inhale sharply through is teeth as I reached for my lens. Mary said, wryly, “Yes, that’s pretty much how I felt. It’s a three carat, blue-white, flawless diamond. Probably dug up in India, if that’s any help. It’s worth around $150,000, retail.”

“Unusual cut,” I murmured, looking at the magnified lump of crystallized charcoal, “It’s called the-“

“The old mine cut,” interrupted Mary, “Meaning it was most likely faceted sometime between 1700 and 1900. I know. After the police gave it back to me, I had it appraised at Sotheby’s.”

“You went to the police again?”

“I did.”

“Any good?”

“Not really. They hung onto it a while, but nobody reported any similar gems lost or stolen, and then they gave it back. Apparently it’s “not illegal to be given things.” So after that I was on my own. But I still didn’t feel right about it, so I had the appraisal to see if a real professional could find anything more useful.”

“Well done,” said John, heartily. He was in a fair way to make an idiot of himself over this woman, although she seemed flattered by the compliment.

“Thank you,” Mary replied, “And then, the thing is, Mr. Holmes, that it didn’t stop with this. Every year since then, on May 14, I get another one of these in my mail. I’ve changed addresses and it didn’t make a difference. Perfectly matched, very expensive diamonds. I left the rest of them in my safe deposit box: even carrying one of them around makes me edgy. And then, yesterday, there was this.”

She passed over a letter. Fine, high linen content paper, no watermark, 10-point… Trebuchet font, printed on an HP laserjet printer. It read, “Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre on Saturday, July 9 at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.”

There was no signature or address.

“Did you keep the envelope?”

“Yes, here. And here,” she said, passing over a small heap of padded mailers sealed into plastic zip-topped bags, “Are the envelopes the diamonds came in.”

“Well, you do have the right instincts. Not much to see here, though… the letter and the last three packages had their labels off the same printer. The first four were from another. It stretches credulity to think that there are separate groups doing this so we’ll assume for the moment it was simply a matter of replacing an outdated device. The mailers can be bought anywhere. Various London postmarks… thumbprint on this one, Miss Morstan, may I see your right hand please? Thank you. Your thumbprint. I’ll put them under the microscope later but I doubt there’ll be that much to learn.”

“And you’ve no idea at all who may have sent these? No… admirers, things like that?” John asked.

She laughed at that. “Generally, when men are interested in me they go more for things like asking me to dinner rather than anonymously sending me a million dollars in gems over the course of seven years. I’m not that unapproachable.” I rolled my eyes at their stale flirtation, although I don’t believe either of them noticed it.

“But…” she continued, more hesitantly, “Mr. Holmes, do you think that there’s any possibility that these are from my father?”

John was glaring at me, and so instead of saying “Of course not. He’s been dead for ten years,” replied “I’m afraid it’s very unlikely.”

“I see,” Mary replied, quietly. She drew a deep breath and continued, “Well, regardless, I had planned to go… unless you can give me a real reason not to. If whoever it is wants to hurt me it seems like they’ve chosen a really baroque way of going about it. I mean, they already know where I live so it’s not like there’s much point in avoiding them. And I’m getting sick of this mystery.”

“There are, however, a few points of interest in it. As you are allowed to bring two friends and John is already planning on accompanying you, I believe I shall join him.”

She darted her gaze back and forth between us, smiling, “Really? You will? Both of you? Oh, thank you, thank you so much! This whole saga has just been so shady and I didn’t know anyone who’d be any help with this kind of thing. It’s such a weight off my mind. Thank you.”

She was gushing, and her voice had inevitably pitched up again. I responded calmly with, “Yes, well. Can you be here by five thirty on Saturday? And leave us your contact information.”

“Of course!”

And, writing an email address and a phone number on a sheet of scrap paper, she disappeared in a whirl of gratitude.

John rose to escort her to the door. I remained seated, and began texting.

“That, he said, picking up his carrier bags and taking them into the kitchen, “Was a very attractive woman.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Really. I knew you were a human adding machine but I never thought you were actually dead. Sherlock, it’s an objective fact! She’s got a beautiful smile.”

“Very short.”

“Oh, come on. She’s an inch or two shorter than I am.”

While this statement would not actually exclude “short” from consideration, I simply raised my eyebrows and replied, “Women have developed this remarkable technology called shoes which they use when they wish to increase their height, John. She’s no more than five feet tall.”

“Yes, well, shortness is not a handicap, Sherlock. And she’s clever.”

“She’s adequate.”

“And brave. She was going to walk by herself into a threatening situation just because she wanted to find out the truth.”

“So are you. So am I, for that matter. I fail to see why it’s so much more meritorious when it’s her doing it.”

“I’m a combat-trained military reservist, and you are England’s only consulting detective. It’s our job. She’s a very small maths teacher.”

I set down the mobile and glared at him, “Mary Morstan, John, is in no need of your protection. This affair of the diamonds is a mere personal intrigue. She’ll meet with the woman and resolve it without the benefit of your attention.”

He paused from putting the potatoes in the bin and inquired, “It’s a woman sending the diamonds? You’re sure?”

In general, I don’t admit which of my deductions I’m certain of and which are (very good) guesses. Maintaining a reputation as infallible isn’t a trivial exercise. But John had repeatedly earned the truth from me, and so I said, “No, I’m not. I’m reasonably confident, given the font choice, the computer used, and the wording, that it’s a woman, and a rather melodramatic one. But there’s more – uncertainty in these things than I would like.”

John chuckled. “I should take a picture of you right now and call it ‘Sherlock Holmes admitting he might be wrong’. They’d love to have it down at the Yard. So why take the case if you don’t think there’s any mystery?”

“Oh, there is one, just not the “why is someone sending me expensive gemstones” one she came in with. Can you log on to the GRO database and look something up for me? My email address and password will get you in.”

“Sure,” he said, walking back into the sitting room and picking up his laptop, “What?”

“Deaths. Start by looking for “Sholto” in late April, early May of 2005. If that doesn’t bring up anything, look for ex-military, older, in London, same time frame.”

“Right. What are you going to do?”

I held up my mobile. “I’ve done it. I’ve sent a text to brother Mycroft.”

“Why?”

“Watson, when a man leaves a high rank role in the army to become a low-end functionary in the diplomatic service, what does that suggest?”

“Er, PTSD?”

“No. It suggests spy. I want to find out exactly what Thomas Morstan did for a living.”

A week after that, Mary Morstan arrived punctually back at Baker Street. She’d replaced the dowdy suit with trousers and a blue blouse cut low in the front, left off her glasses, and undone her severe bun to let her hair hang over her shoulders. She had chosen flat shoes this time, which was a relief, as it showed the target of all this display was John rather than me.

Six hours after that, I saw that the display had been successful. I had to physically restrain John from going to her as she was handcuffed and loaded into a black maria for the murder of Barbara Sholto. As typical of Americans, she was explaining loudly and slowly to the arresting officer that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, clearly expecting this to rectify the situation.

“John, look,” I said, sotto voce, as I pinned him to the wall of the alley, “If you go over there you’ll only be arrested too. Athelney Jones has already picked up the entire domestic staff and Theresa Sholto and would be only too happy to increase his bag. The man’s an idiot, even by the standards of the metropolitan police. We’ll text Lestrade to let him know, and the worst she’ll have is a few uncomfortable hours, but we need to be on our way if we’re going to actually catch the killer which is the only thing that will do her any good.”

Even that early, I suspected that Mary would not be as swiftly forgotten as the rest of the girlfriends.

Three days later, Mary was a free woman again. The lost crown jewels of the Russian Tsars, of which she had been offered a one-third share, were scattered along six miles of the bottom of the Thames. She had accepted this development with equanimity. As she said to John, “Even if they hadn’t been lost, it’s not like I was expecting to keep them. I’m sure there’s still some Romanovs somewhere who’d like to have them back. The whole time Teresa was telling me the story of how she got them I kept thinking “Yeah, this kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.””

I heard, while they were falling in love, enough of “The Things Mary Says” to gag a cat. I heard about Mary’s feelings on politics, the arts, and current events. I heard about Mary’s emotional turmoil on the discovery that her father was an intelligence agent who had taken the pay of so many competing nations and organizations that even now nobody could say who he had really worked for. And that was apart from his being a jewel thief. I heard enough recitations of her personal charm, intelligence, and integrity to gag a dog.

Not being enamored of her, I was able to observe her far more clearly. I saw that she omitted to mention during the investigation that she was already in receipt of seven perfectly-matched flawless three carat blue-white diamonds, pulled from a coronet made for some forgotten Tsarina. I saw no reason to bring it up to anyone, if she had overcome her scruples about receiving stolen property. I would rather the money have gone to John than to anyone else, and it was clear by that point that it would.

Over the next months, Mary incorporated herself into John’s life, and thus, into mine. I grew accustomed to the scent of her cosmetics in the flat’s shared w.c. (she was a disgustingly early riser and had usually gone before I woke up), and the sounds of their post-sex conversation from the upstairs bedroom (they kept the actual lovemaking quiet, out of politeness, but the after-chat was quite distinct). I drew the line, however, at allowing her to tidy the place. She didn’t understand the system and would have made a hash of it.

Ultimately, just over six months after the day she rang the bell at Baker Street, I found myself ordering a round of tequila shots at the bar of the White Lion and slipping chloral hydrate into three of them. Earlier, Mary had balanced on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear “Can you please try not to let them get him too drunk?” I carried the round back to the table where a flushed and grinning but not yet weaving Watson listened as a dozen of his Army and medical school friends speculated on whether Mary would qualify him as “Four-Continents Watson” or if the actual location of the coitus mattered more than the origin of the lady in question. I passed the shot glasses around, judging that the administration of three Mickey Finns to three particular members of the party would bring the night to a graceful but early end in about an hour.

I judged, as usual, correctly. After decanting the three dazed ringleaders into a cab, the party broke up, and John and I made it back to Baker Street with only slightly more difficulty than usual. The stairs did give him some trouble, but ultimately I was able to successfully deposit him on the couch. I shook two aspirin from the bottle and handed them to him along with a glass of water. He took both uncomplainingly.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. For whatever you did back there. I’d hate to be a mess tomorrow.”

“I looked up the duties of the best man and apparently making sure the groom is present and presentable are tops on the list.”

“And you even agreed to wear a tie!” This non sequitur amused him, and he chuckled at his own joke for a moment, before sobering (comparatively), and staring around the flat. “I’m going to miss all this.”

“No, you won’t,” I predicted, climbing the stairs to fetch the blankets off his bed.

“I will!” he insisted, “I’m happy, really happy, about Mary. She’s wonnerful. But I’ll miss this life. And you.”

“It’s not as though I’ll be dead. You’ll be ten minutes away. I’ll be sure to call you whenever I need my cases blogged.”

“I love you, mate, you know that? Even though you are- just such a prick.”

I smiled and pitched the blankets at his head. “I do. Tosser. Now go to sleep. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

He was out and snoring, wearing everything but his shoes, five minutes later. I refilled his water glass and left it on the end table.

At noon the next day I (wearing not only a tie but my entire morning suit) stood at John’s left shoulder and watched Mary Morstan walk down the aisle. I doubt she saw me: her eyes were fixed on John, who was sober, alert, and in full dress uniform, as requested. The expression of love and joy on her face obliged me to concede that, at the moment, she was in fact a very attractive woman.

I don’t think I could have given him up to anyone who loved him even a bit less.

At the reception I gave a speech which everyone said was very interesting, and drank one and a half glasses of inferior Prosecco. I watched them cut the cake, noting that the new Mrs. Watson was far more comfortable with John’s ceremonial saber than he was. She’d lost the callosities of the dedicated fencer, but the skill remained. Then, as Molly Hooper was prowling around with an eye towards dancing and my actual duties were complete, I slipped out of the hall and walked back to Baker Street.

I stopped in at the chemists and bought a packet of cigarettes, then let myself into the flat. There was a peculiar sensory illusion that it was larger and emptier than normal: nonsense, of course. John was routinely absent when I was there. The fact that the absence would now be permanent didn’t alter the actual physical size of the place.

There was always work, and heedless of my dress clothes, I went to it. Three months later, I “died.” And three years after that, I returned to a London which seemed larger and emptier than I recalled. Sensory illusion again. The softer emotions have a very negative impact upon accurate observation, and the world in general doesn’t change at all when a single person drops out of it. On an individual level, though, a single death can rip the bottom out of everything. Such was the case with Mary Watson, who I encountered on a bright August day in Park Lane. She’d lost a stone in weight, which was significant at her height, and was wearing an oversized camel-colored cardigan which I recognized with a pang as being one of Watson’s. She had, in general, the appearance of a child’s toy where the stuffing had been pulled out. I approached her, unseen, as her attention was on Ronald Adair’s flat. When she lost her composure and fled, I hesitated. Then I followed. There were two reasons for this. The first, as always, was John. I couldn’t envision a situation where he would not have come to the aid of a crying woman. In the particular case of Mary, he’d have sprinted to it.

As for the second, well… On the occasion of the case of Neville St. Claire, John had said to me that, “People in trouble come to my wife like birds to a light-house.”

And I truly had nowhere else to go. Chapter 3: The Death of Ronald Adair (Mary)

In general, I am not a fainter, and I didn’t faint then. But a grey mist swirled in front of my eyes, and when it subsided I noticed I had dropped the cigarette onto the well-clipped Hyde Park grass. I picked it up with numb, nerveless fingers. With my other hand I reached out to Sherlock and pushed on the flesh of his bicep. He was reassuringly solid.

“So I haven’t gone mad.”

“No.”

“Not dead, then?”

“Yes.”

I took a drag from the Silk Cut and asked, “Does anyone else know besides me?”

“Mycroft.”

“Of course.”

“And Molly Hooper.”

“That bitch!” I exclaimed, before I could stop myself. I wouldn’t quite have called Molly a friend. We didn’t see much of one another, but her quiet competence had gotten me through the hellscape of the funeral. I found it startlingly painful to believe that she had been concealing a secret like this- especially from John.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at me and said, “You’re harsher on her than on Mycroft?”

“There is nothing that I would put past one of the Holmes boys.”

He sighed, and drew on his own cigarette. The sun dipped below the treetops and set us into shadows.

“Sherlock,” I asked, eventually, “What do you want?”

“I need a gun.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Of course you do.”

“Mary, please-“ and he hesitated. He and I had never been more than “friendly”, and he certainly had never been inclined to ask any favors of me.

“You’re still in trouble, aren’t you?” I accused.

He hesitated again.

“Yes.”

“Right,” I said, brushing off my pants and rising, “We’ll talk. Baker Street, or our place? My place.”

“Baker Street is being watched.”

“Can we take a cab?”

“Probably.”

It was actually very impressive, how he collapsed his face into that of the Cockney souvenir hawker. He even seemed to lose several inches in height. The stage lost an excellent actor when he decided to go into detective work.

We walked in silence back to Park Lane, and took a cab (after he’d dismissed the first one that tried to stop). He sat next to me in silence, until a horrible thought overtook me, and I said, “Oh, God, has anyone told you? About-“

“Your… bereavement? Yes. I was… very sorry to hear of it.”

It was a relief. It had already happened several times: some colleague or acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in a while would, in the course of ordinary chit-chat, drop, “Oh, and how’s John doing?” into the conversation. And then I would have to watch their faces change from polite disinterest to horror and pity as I gave them the news. I would say it was the worst thing I had to do, but I had developed an entire new suite of worst things in recent months and was somewhat spoiled for choice.

We didn’t speak any further until I let us into the flat.

“Have a seat. I’ll just go get it.”

John, given that he was occasionally prone to physically violent nightmares, had always kept the Sig Sauer semi-automatic securely locked away in a box in the master bedroom closet. I retrieved it, and returned to the living room. Sherlock had installed himself in his old favorite spot on the sofa, and Arthur had climbed onto the arm next to him. They were watching each other with matching expressions of flat-eyed distaste.

“I don’t know where the key is,” I said, passing the box over.

“It’s fine,” he replied. And indeed, he materialized a lockpick from somewhere and opened it within ten seconds.

He’d removed his auburn wig, although he still had on an excellent shade of lipstick for his complexion: a glossy transparent berry-stain. It was almost the only color on his face. Whatever he’d been up to, it was doing no favors for his health. I wouldn’t have thought he could have gotten thinner or paler, barring his contracting tuberculosis or vampirism. And yet, he had managed. At some point, he’d cut his hair off close to the scalp, and it was faintly peppered with grey. Sherlock was a year or two younger than I, but at the moment I could see what he would be like as an old man.

“You know that thing’s illegal, right?” I said.

“It’s not something that’s a real concern just at the moment,” he returned, calmly.

“It should probably be cleaned. It’s not been touched since… well, I’m not sure of the last time John cleaned it.”

“It will be fine. They’re very simple instruments and Watson was always over-cautious. I didn’t clean my old one for years and it never had any problems.”

“That’s because John would secretly do it for you every few months.”

One of the small pleasures in life that everyone should get to experience at least once is to watch Sherlock Holmes’ face when he is informed that one of the normals has gotten something past him. I had to suppress a flicker of a smile at how thunderous he looked.

“Look,” I said, “Give it here and I’ll do it. The cleaning kit’s on the top shelf above the stove in the kitchen, if you’ll reach it down for me.”

I could hear him rummaging around in the cabinet as I released the clip, disconnected the slide, and popped out the spring. I laid everything down on the coffee table and accepted the kit when he returned and gave it to me. When I sighted down the barrel, I could see ample dust, and a fair bit of corrosion from the soggy English atmosphere. It only made sense, really. When Sherlock had died, John had lost any professional reason to carry a gun, and gained a strong personal reason to lock it away and leave it to rust. Dipping the cleaning swab into the wide-mouthed jar of solvent, I began passing it through the barrel.

“’In a self-defense situation, there will be many things you can’t control. The condition of your weapon is not one of them,’” I quoted.

“Did Watson say that?”

“No, though he’d have agreed with the sentiment. That was my stepfather. He was the one who taught me about shooting.”

Sherlock blinked at me. “I didn’t know you had a stepfather.”

“Like everyone else, I do actually have an objective existence apart from the parts you find interesting, Sherlock.”

I sounded bitter, but I didn’t care. I had been the one to put John back together after Sherlock’s quote-unquote death, and having him sitting calmly on my sofa irked.

“I only meant,” he replied, “That he wasn’t at your wedding.”

“He has congestive heart failure and travel is very difficult for him!” I snapped,

“Sherlock, why the hell did you do this?”

“Well, I had in fact been exposed as a fraud and-“

“Bullshit. You have been more or less cleared for two years and I’m sure your brother told you that. D.I. Lestrade had to demonstrate that you weren’t, in general, a criminal, because he wanted to keep his job. Fifty people, including me, by the by, came forward to tell stories of how you had solved cases that you couldn’t possibly have faked. The only real mystery remaining is this whole affair with Richard Brook, and frankly the best person to justify that would have been you.”

He scrubbed his hands through the bristles of his hair. “There was more.”

“So tell me.”

Sherlock sighed, and stared off into the space over my left shoulder. “When the head of an organization is removed, the organization generally remains. John Kennedy is shot, the United States persists. The death of Jim Moriarty left a thriving multinational criminal organization with a vacancy at the top for which there were numerous keen candidates. I have spent the last three years attempting to take advantage of this situation and dismantle its operations entirely.”

Something about the cold way he said “dismantle” made me think I really didn’t want to hear much about this process. I asked, “And you couldn’t have done that in your own persona?”

“No. Because- Moriarty was in many ways a remarkable man.”

The tone of this statement was pure admiration, and I rubbed my forehead where I could feel the old familiar “Sherlock” headache coming on. “How’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t want to say he founded a cult of personality, but in his immediate circle were several men who genuinely did admire him and support him in his goals, as opposed to the ordinary hangers-on who simply were in it for the profit.”

“So, his friends.”

“What?”

I sighed. “Never mind. Continue.”

#quarto's fics #warstan #Sherlock&Mary #major character death #Mary morstan #mary morstanning #ACD Mary in BBC Sherlock #which used to be a thing

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galactic-academia · 5 years

Note

#25 please. "You're mine and I don't share."

Rating: T (but light)

Category: F/M

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/Female Reader

Tags: Imagine, Headcanon, Sherlock has a crush, protective Sherlock, Greg does what he can, humour, teasing.

Words: 1117

Notes: Yeeeah thank you for asking! Here we go! I’m not a native, please, forvige my mistakes. Gif is not mine. I hope you’ll enjoy it

If someone had dared to ask to Sherlock Holmes if he was the jealous type, the Great Detective would have answered that, no, he wasn’t. At all. Sociopath, remember? He wasn’t able to feel jealousy. A complete stranger could have believed this enormous lie, or maybe a complete idiot. And even this hypothesis was wrong because Donovan and John (not the two brightest people in this world) were sitting in the back of a van with Sherlock, and they were both able to say there was a problem. The supposedly sociopath was straight, his fists curled up in balls on his tight, his jaw clenched, watching Y/N sat at a bar, smiling and sipping her drink, on the monitor.

Maybe some context would be interesting: five women had been killed, strangulated, during the last two weeks, they all wore fancy dresses, make-up and high heels. The autopsy had revealed they all had drunk, but not enough to be smashed, and there was no drug in their stomach. In addition, they all had an entrance ticket from the same nightclub in their purse. This case was childish, solved in less than a minute. And yet, Sherlock had taken it; now John was suspecting it was because Y/N had agreed to serve as a bait to pin the suspect instead of Donovan. He was almost sure of it since Sherlock had insisted for Lestrade going himself inside the nightclub with Y/N when the Police Detective hadn’t agreed that Sherlock goes there. “Not discrete enough” Lestrade had said… This his how the consulting Detective had ended watching his crush being wooed just under his nose. It was unbearable.

When he saw the third man in half an hour trying to buy a drink to Y/N, he knew his patience was seriously growing thinner.

“For God’s sake, Gary! Could you, please, stop these dumbasses from revolving around Y/N like the vultures they are?! You’re here to protect her, remember?”

A chuckle echoed in his headset.

“I can’t, Sherlock, it would be suspicious. Or I would have to pretend to be his boyfriend and…”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Yes, it was what I thought.”

“Hum… Excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m perfectly able to take care of myself, thank you very much. Maybe we could focus on the task at hand?”

Crap, she heard them… Of course, she had, she also had a headset! How can I be so dumb when she’s involved? Not impressive, not impressive at all… Focus, Sherlock! FOCUS!

“Hey, Genius?”

“Mmh?”

“It was also very cute.”

Sherlock couldn’t decide if he was flushed because of his protective behaviour being exposed or because of… this. Or both. How do you want to focus with all these emotions inside him? Sociopath? My arse! Hell… He didn’t have time to try to answer to this question, because he heard Y/N again:

“Ok kitties, focus, the target is here!”

“Kitties?” Hum… Indeed, a young man, the cliché of the “handsome boy”, just arrived. He was blond, tall, thin, stuffed with charisma. As on clue, he headed straight to Y/N, who gave him a warm smile. No, no, it wouldn’t be possible!

“Hey there.”

“Hey.”

“Is this seat taken?”

“Nope.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile, she had popped the “p”, just like him.

“All alone, then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“It’s a shame… How a pretty doll like you can be alone? Well, I don’t complain, lucky me!”

Was he serious? Did he just call her “doll”? Hum, no, it won’t be possible.

“Georges, do something!”

“Calm down, I can’t, not yet. I can’t arrest him just because he’s a little shit.”

That was a shame! No one should be able to woo someone like Y/N this way… She deserved far better! How she had been able to smile and coo with him, to dance without throwing up was a pure mystery for Sherlock. How he didn’t throw up was even more incredible. When he saw the suspect pulling Y/N close (far too close) to him to whisper something to her ear, when he saw her giggling and drawing him to a door which led to an alley behind the nightclub, Sherlock jumped out off his seat and scream

“Lestrade! Do… No, I go!”

And with that, he was running out of the van, cursing like a sailor, under John and Donovan’s dumfounded eyes. He arrived in the alley at the same time as Lestrade to see Y/N, red marks in her neck, kicking the suspect right where it pains the most. Surprised, the man fell to the ground while grapping his family jewels.

“Oh… Bitch!”

I beg your pardon? That was too much for Sherlock, blinded by his anger, he kicked the aggressor right in the head which made him loose consciousness. Greg started to yell

“Sher… Yes, no, ok, he deserved that. I’ll call an ambulance, please, stay with… Whatever…”

Greg didn’t have to ask to Sherlock to stay with Y/N, he already was leaning into her, worried.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, mission achieved, I think.”

“Good.”

Without thinking anymore, Sherlock crashed his lips on Y/N’s. A little gasp of surprise made her part her lips. Sherlock was kissing her. Sherlock was French kissing her. God. Since all her fantasies seemed to want to become true tonight, Y/N buried her hands in Sherlock’s curls with delight. They were even smoother than she had imagined, velvety. When they parted because of the lack of air, Sherlock huffed

“I have feelings for you…”

And Y/N smiled tenderly to him before answering playfully

“Yes, I think I had deduced that.”

Sherlock returned the smile

“Be my girlfriend?”

Y/N blushed madly, oh, how often had she dreamed about this?

“Sure…”

“Good. Now, there’s one thing you should be able to deduce…”

He leaned in Y/N once again, nuzzled her neck and, suddenly, start to suck a fierce hickey right where the serial-killer’s handprints already started to fade.

“Sh… Oh!”

Lapping playfully at the love bite, Sherlock lowly growled

“You’re mine and I don’t share.”

Y/N was just in Heaven.

A moment later, when Greg, John and Donovan joined Sherlock and Y/N to the ambulance where a doctor was examining her, she felt all the looks directed on the furious hickey in her neck. She looked at Sherlock, who was smiling smugly, then at the agape team. She absolutely loved the feeling of belonging she felt, but she wasn’t really ready to let the world, Sherlock excepted, knowing it, so…

“Ok. Everybody shut up. Too much emotions for tonight, I’m very fine, thank you Doctor.”

Then she gave a hand to Sherlock

“Walk me home?”

Sherlock happily agreed, and what had happened next is for a different story.

***

Thanks for reading

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#sherlock BBC #sherlockholmes #sherlock x reader #imagine #Headcanon #fanfiction #benedict cumberbatch #requests #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes x reader

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inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years

Note

I agree with your view on marys character, she wouldve been a fantastic villain, theres definitely buildup. Do you have some fic recs for villain!Mary?

Hi Lovely!!

YES I love a good evil / Villain Mary plot, if only because she had so much potential as one in S3 and just never fell through with it. I know a fic I DIDN’T put on this list because Mary was such a background character that she shows up in the penultimate chapter and her REVEAL as a villain was the “big spoiler reveal” in the fic’s climax, so rather than spoil that fic for y’all, I’ve omitted it all together; feel free to message me if you want to know which fic it was, LOL.

Anyway, hope you like what I’ve got for ya here!

EVIL / NOT-NICE / VILLAIN MARY

See also: Evil Mary (Alexx’s List)

Quite Contrary by Hollyesque (T, 1,805 w. || HLV Fic, Sherlock Whump / After Mary Shot Sherlock, Hallucinations / Flashbacks / PTSD, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Lestrade POV, ) – A short one-shot, alternate scene to Greg’s hospital visit in HLV. Instead of Sherlock disappearing, Greg is faced with an unexpected reaction to a hospitalized Sherlock and winds up figuring out something that he really would have rather not known.

BBCSH ‘Poor Mary’ by tigersilver (M, 1,839 w.|| HLV Fic, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Missing Scene, Sherlock POV) – As the tin says above, this is a missing scene, set directly after Sherlock awakens in hospital after having been shot by his best mate’s wife. Minor angst, some pining, nothing nasty; please don’t be alarmed unduly.

Crisis Averted by Spartangal22 (T, 2,188 w. || HLV Fic, Missing Scene After Confronting Mary, Canon Compliant, Sherlock Whump / Mary Shot Sherlock, Family / Friendship, Hospitalization, Sherlock POV, Holmes Brothers) – Lying in the hospital, Sherlock receives some surprising visitors, and manages to deal with two problems he’s been having lately. A missing scene from HLV about a formal introduction that was never made and a visit that was never shown.

It’s a Dummy by Johnnlocked (T, 2,574 w. || Confessions, HLV-AU, Major Character Injury) – What if Mary had taken the shot?

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

The Trial of Sherlock Holmes by jenna221b (G, 3,015 across 3 works || TAB!lock, Metafic / TJLC, Victorian AU / 1895, Christmas, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Oscar Wilde) – Scripts based on speculation that Sherlock will be put on trial in The Abominable Bride to parallel the Oscar Wilde Trials of 1895.

In the cherry blossom’s shade by Eliane (M, 3,934 w. || Post S3, First Time / Kiss, Sleeping Together, Pining / Obsessive Sherlock, Minor Char. Death) – This isn’t new. Sherlock has already done this – has gone through cities, and dingy hotels, and sleepless nights but it was different before. John wasn’t there before. They’re in this together.

Recovery by thesignsofserbia (T, 5,948 w. || HLV-Fix It / Rewrite, Villain Mary, Pining Sherlock, Major Character Injury, Scars, Self-Hatred, POV Sherlock, Doctor John, Friends to Lovers) – Set after the confrontation with Mary, and Sherlock’s cardiac arrest, John stays at 221B to aid Sherlock’s recovery, forcing them to confront wounds both old and new as they try to heal their damaged relationship.

Never Been This Swept Away by estalita11 (T, 8,531 w. || Post-TAB, Mary is Not Nice, Drug Use, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Set immediately after TAB, Sherlock visits his brother to definitely not apologize about earlier and ends up finally learning a few things that would have been nice knowing about months ago. Mycroft never wants to deal with lovestruck idiots ever again.

Out of the Darkness by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (M, 12,165 w+ (WIP) || Death, Overdose, Heavy Angst, Whump, Mary is Not Nice, Post S3/TAB Compliant) – John Watson has long assumed Sherlock Holmes is immune to sentiment, “doesn’t feel things that way.” Sherlock, however, would do anything for the person he loves most in the world, including putting himself in danger while keeping John in the dark in hopes of keeping him safe. Tired of being left behind, John is running a strategy of his own. Unfortunately things do not go as planned for either of them. And as John lays bleeding, Sherlock finally allows himself to say the things he’s always meant to… This is the story of love, forgiveness and finally making right all the wrongs in these two men’s lives.

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w. || Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone’s sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a “normal” family. It’s easy enough to pretend when all you’re doing is dropping the act. {{Background discussion of Mary who’s neither evil nor nice}}

Vena Cava by SilentAuror (E, 27,452 || H/C, Infidelity, Angst, HLV Fix-It, Romance) – Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w. || Case Fic, HLV+, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock’s shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror (E, 34,952 w. || H/C, Nightmares, HLV Fix-It, PTSD, Trauma, POV Sherlock, Doctor John) – Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice) – Clara’s American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she’s also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she’s placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Indifelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,493 w. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w || First Person Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

The Bells of King’s College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays) – It’s only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths… (Mary is only mentioned but she had a profound effect on John which is why I kept this one in)

The Moonlight and the Frost by CaitlinFairchild (E, 77,289 w. || Case Fic, Post-HLV, Self Harm, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Oral/Anal/Rimming, Romance, Angst, Mary is Not Nice) – John has to somehow rebuild his life in the wake of Mary’s betrayal and Sherlock’s deceptions.

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Villain!Mary, Suicidal Ideations, Main Character Death, Sherlock POV, Eventual Happy Ending) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. There is a special room in my mind palace for it. A big one, with a proper parquet dance floor. For a second, I go there. I remember holding him, closer than the World Dance Council asks for, excusing it with the fact that we are training for a wedding, not for a competition. For a second, I feel his hand on mine again, smell his sweat, hear the song we used. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.” Fix-it for S3, starting at the end of TSoT. Evil Mary.

Sacré Coeur by Mamaorion (M, 95,236 w. || S4 Fix It Rewrite, First Kiss, UST / RST, Eventual Happy Ending, Coming Out, Holmes Family, Marriage Proposal, Husbands, Healing, Evil Mary, Beekeeping, Caretaker Sherlock, Mind Palace, Alzheimer’s Disease, Protective / Big Brother Mycroft, TD-12) – In this s4 fixit, John must piece together the gaps in his altered memory if he and Sherlock are to face the terror that has plagued Sherlock since childhood. As they untangle the web, seven years of hidden love ignite. (TO READ)

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

MARKED FOR LATER

(these are fics I have in my MFL list for future reading and have not read them yet. Read at your own discretion).

Stay for Me by Itsallfine (M, 17,310 w. || Post-TAB, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss/Time, Bed Sharing, Mental Health Issues, Not-Nice Mary, Divorce, Angst with Happy Ending, Parentlock) – 221B was packed into boxes and bins, and that was when John knew, really knew—Sherlock had planned to be gone forever.

Collateral Damage by SilentAuror (E, 24,952 w. || Post-HLV, POV Third Person Sherlock, Snipers, Drama, Villain Mary, Moriarty is Alive) – Upon learning that Moriarty is alive, Mary disappears, leaving Sherlock and John to work on the mystery of Moriarty’s survival on their own. Until Mycroft’s people find and bring her back…

An Everlasting Inferno by thatawkwardfriend (M, 35,011+ w. || WiP || Criminal AU || Different First Meeting, Minor Character Death, Gun Violence, Sherlock Whump, Friends to Lovers / Enemies to Lovers, UST, Mutual Pining) – Sherlock and John are both men who operate outside the law. John works for Mary and her hitmen in order to keep a roof over his head. Sherlock does anything his drug dealer asks of him in exchange for free drugs and housing. They meet one night in a darkened garage to negotiate a deal. But they soon find out that neither of their bosses are being entirely honest with them about their goals or motives. With a little poking around, they stumble upon something much bigger than themselves and discover that perhaps, it might be in their best interests to work together. (Loosely inspired by StartUp and Little Favour)

The Craving in Between by love_in_mind_palace (E, 69,349 w. || Wedding Planner AU || Infidelity, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Sexting & Texting, Alternating POV, Mary is Not Nice) – Sherlock Holmes, The wedding Consultant. Picky about his projects and a nightmare to work with. Rejects ninety percent of the couples after just having a look at them and can predict how long a marriage will last. But when unassuming, plain, John Watson reluctantly limps his way in his office, with his more than enthusiastic fiancée, Mary Morstan, instead of dismissing the ill-assorted couple on the spot, he promptly decides that the project, and the groom.. are definitely worth working on.

The Lost Special: Family Matters (As Do Relationships) by ShirleyCarlton (M, 93,848+ w. || WiP || S4 Fix It Fic, Unreliable Narrator, John’s Mind Bungalow, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending) – WORK IN PROGRESS – Sherrinford is not really the name of some high security prison. That was just a figment of John’s frantic coma dream. And Eurus is not actually Sherlock’s sister. That’s just something random she said to John before shooting him. Sherlock and John were never actually estranged. That was just their act to cover up what really happened to Mary – or Rosamund Moran, as her real name has turned out to be. Sherlock does have a secret sibling, though, and his name is Sherrinford. After finally eliminating Moran – though in a rather dramatically different way than they had envisioned – and exposing the truth about Eurus, John encourages Sherlock to delve into his past and to find out whether the reasons to keep Sherrinford away from Sherlock were the right ones, and to discover what really happened in 1981. Along the way, Sherlock and John gradually, finally, stop keeping each other at a distance, and eventually become a proper family of their own.

A Ritual to Read to Each Other by weeesi (E, 101,463 w. || Post S3 / Post HLV, Pining, Alternating POV, Masturbation, John’s Nightmares, Mary is Not Nice, Love Confessions, Flashbacks, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, BJ’s / HJ’s, Shower Sex, Anal, John Deals With Feelings, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Injury, On Holidays, Implied Mystrade) – After Mycroft terminated his exile but before Sherlock could escape from the infuriating plane, John and Mary were whisked away by car to an unknown location.Sherlock hasn’t seen them for an entire year. He doesn’t know when he’ll see John again – until one day, he does.But, of course, nothing is simple.

“Merry Christmas” I wrapped it up and sent it with a note saying “I love you” by starrysummernights (E, 136,580+ w. || WIP, chapter missing? || Post S4, Slow Burn, Mary is Not Nice, Christmas, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Parentlock, Past Torture / Rape) – John has moved back into 221B with his daughter Rosie after Mary was killed, but things are not exactly comfortable between him and Sherlock. After everything that has happened, they are trying to become friends again…and maybe something more. What better time than the Christmas season?! Takes place after TLD.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #villain mary #mary is not nice #my fic recs #Anonymous #long post

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archiveacademics · 5 years

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Why write fanfic?

I left off my last post with a screenshot from AO3′s homepage that gave some stats about how many fandoms are represented and stories have been written on the site. And there’s a lot, over 5 million works so far. But what is it that drives people to write fanfic?

In Fic by Anne Jamison, popular YA author Rachel Caine writes about how fanfic saved her writing career.

“By 1999, I was ready to quit professional writing. Quit, completely and utterly. I was still doing the occasional short story...During this time I wrote another novel, Exile, Texas, a straight mystery/thriller; but although it was published, it also sold in not fantastic numbers.

But mostly? Mostly it was the fic that kept me writing, from the sheer joy of creating stories in a wold that I loved to inhabit. I also loved the challenge of working in a world that had clearly defined rules and characters. Unlike most fanfic writers, I didn’t want to write outside the lines; the highest compliment I could be offered was when readers confused one of my stories for an actual episode of the show [I was writing about].”

A similar story is told by Betts, a guest on the Fansplaining podcast episode “The Craft of Writing (Fanfiction)” Betts was working at a bank and smothered her creative and fannish impulses when she discovered a popular fanfic in the BBC Sherlock fandom called “A Cure for Boredom.” And it changed the whole trajectory of her life. She eventually got an MFA and became a writing instructor. She even uses fanfic in her classes.

“In Creative Writing, I have a lot more freedom, and so since I went into the MFA as a…as what they called a “self-taught” writer, since I had no creative writing—traditional creative writing instruction before that point, I developed my class around how I taught myself how to write, which involved very heavily fanfic.

And so I would take, when I started writing fic, I would take a concept that I wanted to improve on—and I did this very systematically, very scientifically—take a concept I wanted to improve on, and I would do all this research, and I would find like, resources and what other people thought of it and whatever, and then I would write a fic where I only focused on that single thing. And then everything else I didn’t care about. So like, if I was focusing on character development or voice, then it didn’t matter what anything else was doing. I was just, one thing at at time.

And so I got to develop my class around that, and that, like, I have these like—I have lesson plans, and I have a week dedicated to fairy tales, and a week dedicated to…and the fairy tale week is actually about form. And how to break form and invoke meaning. And I have a week based on character development, a week based on, on endings, which is called “Exit Strategies.” [all laugh]

And so I do very much bring in fandom context into my classroom, because we also talk about—I should say, I meet with students one-on-one, because I’m, I think I’m better one-on-one than, you know, just standing in front of people talking at them. And I can usually tell by sitting in front of someone what their interaction with pop culture is. [all laugh] And so, like, they’ll be talking about their story, and I’ll just kind of insert, “Do you like fanfiction?” [all laugh] And it’s amazing, it’s amazing how many faces just like light up, like “I didn’t know I was allowed to write that, I didn’t know I was allowed to do that.” And I’m like “Yes, please please please write fanfic, please write things that are a step away from it, please begin with a fic and then move original,” you know.

And so when I phrase it like “You can start something with something you’re familiar with, and then slowly work it around into something original,” and that kind of branches off of what I see as a major block for a lot of people who are writing original fiction, which is there are just too many decisions to make when you face a blank page.” (From the episode transcript)

Ok, so that’s a lot of words from someone else, I know, but I think what Bett’s gets at here is so important. Writing fanfic is not only about loving something and participating in it, it’s also about learning. Writing fanfic can teach you how to write.

A simple Google search for “writing fanfic” will bring up a myriad of articles on the subject. From Julie Beck’s “What Fanfiction Teaches that the Classroom Doesn’t” to Colleen Mitchell’s “How Fanfiction can Improve your Writing” and Vivian Shaw’s “6 Ways Fanfiction Makes your Writing Stronger.”

As Betts says in the podcast episode “[Fanfic] is a genre of freedom.” It allows for lots of different ways of writing and reading and interacting with a piece of media (be it TV, movie, book, or otherwise) that other genres don’t generally allow because there are boundaries, rules of what makes a genre a genre that fanfic doesn’t necessarily have. And it becomes easier to focus on particular aspect of a piece, be it character or plot, when you don’t have to fill in all the blank space. So an AU gives you a new setting to play with, but the characters are still the same, and you’ve got the story laid out for you. Meanwhile a story where you add an OC into an existing world allows you to work on character development without making you create the setting or the plot as well.

I actually ran a survey, posted to Facebook and it only received 12 responses, so it’s by no means scientific. But I asked my friends if they wrote or read fanfic and why.

One of the questions I asked was about when they started writing fanfic, and the answer for most of them was between 10 and 15, though one person said they didn’t start writing fanfic until they were 22, and another said they started at 35! Fanfic is for everyone of all ages, is what I’m saying. I also asked when they stopped writing and while some are still going strong, others stopped in their twenties.

The most important question I asked, though, was what they got out of writing fanfic. A few of the answers were the expected, about loving the world or being inspired by reading other people’s fics. Many, though, had very interesting reasons for writing their fics.

The survey was anonymous, so here are some of the answers in no particular order:

“It was some of my first serious attempts at writing a story more than a couple pages long. It was a great way for me to practice plotting, and writing a longer piece, without having to spend all my time working on world building and character creation as well. Also, playing around with the characters and the world, almost like a set of dolls, was - and is - just plain fun!”

“I first started writing it to make my own little world where I could be important and cared about, since I didn't have it in real life. After that I was just interested in exploring a couple concepts/characters deeper than the canon did.”

“I wanted to know what happened in those side stories, but obviously the author wasn’t going to tell me so someone had to do it. I had fun, entertained myself and others, flexed my creative muscles, and learned how to emulate others’ writing voices.”

“I wanted to see the characters explore storylines that weren't getting written in the comics (Rogue was done dirty by the x-men comics in the early 2000s), half of my oc got killed off (Anakin Solo [don't get me started on how much material Disney squandered when they rendered a bunch of novels/comics non-canon]), or I just really hated all the canon pairings (HP)”

I also asked why my friends read fanfic, because a whole big part of the experience is not just writing, but reading it as well!

“The last season [of Gilmore Girls] changed writers and producers and it became a different show, so I turned to fanfic to continue wondering what would happen if the original writers and producers were on the show. Additionally, the fanfic became a lot more interesting. I realized that there were a lot more people that liked the show than I even realized. I was also really impressed with the creativity of the writers. They were able to replicate the characters, how they would act, what they would say, almost perfectly to make a completely new scenario. I would say that reading fanfic has made me more imaginative about the shows I watch, or even the books I read, but also it has opened up a realization that there is a community in almost everything you do.”

“Fanfiction gives you alternate takes so you can spend time in the viewpoint of a character who barely makes an appearance in canon. Also, importantly, fanfic is written by peers, so you can interact with the writers. We are all friends.”

“Probably the main draw is getting to spend more time with the characters that I love, and seeing how they might react in different situations that didn’t come up in the source material. Also, it can be nice to be able to search the archives online to find something to exactly match my mood at the moment (such as if I’m in the mood for angst, or romance, or family bonding, it’s easy to find exactly what I want).”

“Ff is definitely 1) an easier lift than reading something new and 2) satisfies a slightly different itch than canon. It’s easier to read just because I mostly know what to expect from the characters and the type of story. There are few unpleasant surprises and I’m already invested, and if I don’t like a story, it’s easy to drop and move on. Fix in my brain is also wish fulfillment. There are many many things I would never stand for in canon, like overly saccharine endings or pointless melodrama, that I can enjoy in ff because “real” story is already established. Canon has the hard job of making a world or a character enjoyable or interesting. Ff is where I can go to wallow (sometimes for years) in that joy or interest, whether it was a character or a dynamic or just a specific trope.”

At the end of the day, fanfic isn’t just about reimagining stories we love, it’s about reimagining those stories with other people.

Both Rachel Caine and Betts discuss this, that it was the positive feedback of the fandoms they wrote in that helped give boost their writerly self esteem and keep them coming back to write more, which eventually led to them writing their own original fiction.

Not that you have to move from fanfic into original fic! There are plenty of people who are completely satisfied writing nothing by fanfic for the rest of their lives. And that’s ok.

Whatever your experience with fic, whether you are a lurker who just reads but never comments or writes your own stuff, or if you’re a BNF (big name fan) or even a fan who became a big name (like Rachel Caine or Naomi Novik), the pleasure of fanfic is that we get to experience it together.

#fanfic #writing #reading #fansplaining #community #why #fic

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daathren · 5 years

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Looking through My Old Documents

I actually found a Sherlock/Original Female Character story I had started but never finished. I think I might actually pick it up again since just reading through it, I was highly impressed with where I was going with it. Definitely a BBC Sherlock AU at this point. Let me know what you guys think about it.

~*~*~

Trigger Warning: Mentions of Rape, Attempted Rape, Extreme Violence

Power of Three: Adventures of a Mad Genius, his Protector, and his Keeper

Book One:

D. A. Athren

Summary:

Sherlock was never one to make alliances. Even when he went underground to burn Moriarty’s Web, he was a lone wolf. Well, at least that’s what John thought until he came home from the surgery one afternoon to find a young woman crawling along the floor of the sitting room, leaving a trail of blood in her path while she cried out for William.

Prologue:

Mycroft watched the camera. That’s all he really could do. He couldn’t send a team out to stop it. He couldn’t tip off Lestrade so he could get a patrol and an ambulance out there as soon as possible. No, all he could do was watch and wait and pray to a higher power that he knew wasn’t there while the gruesome scene unfolded. He couldn’t even message Sherlock to tell him what was happening or that he had a private jet already on its way to him to get him home as soon as possible.

It was rare to get Mycroft worked up about anything or let his mask of complete emotional control crumble but when Anthea rushed into his meeting with the Prime Minister and told him that a Code Mauve was happening, the panic rose from him instantaneously. He grabbed the tablet from her, activated the feed, and yelled at her when he found out she hadn’t already started Code Mauve procedures. He hadn’t even bothered to properly inform the Prime Minister of what was happening when the live feed finally patched through and he saw the woman being pummeled into the ground by 5 men.

He just rushed out of the meeting room to make his way to his office, hoping that he wouldn’t have a funeral to plan instead of getting the proper paperwork ready.

~*~*~*~*~

“Come with me.”

He had blurted it out, which was so unlike him. She was shocked. Shocked that he asked, shocked at where he had asked, and shocked that the three words lacked the baritone confidence his voice usually carried. She looked up from the safe’s dial briefly, finding that his gaze was still secure and unwavering on the door. “I would love nothing more than to explore your home.”

You’re only doing this because you’re a creature of habit…

“I hear a ‘but’…”

“But you know I have burned bridges there.”

“I could protect you.”

She sighed, starting her calculated motions on the dial again until she felt the pins slide into place. The safe was unlocked. “Of course you could protect me, William, but your protection would place me in another guiled cage.”

I’ll get bored. I know I’ll get bored and I’ll do something stupid and I’ll fuck up your life…born a criminal, always a bloody criminal!

He turned his piercing, turquoise gaze on her. “You waste your gifts.”

She sighed; running a hand through her kinky curls before popping the safe open and taking the security box from within it, placing it in her hobo bag. “And you let your genius idiocy get the best of you…again,” she muttered.

He pondered her words for a moment before a look of realization formed in his eyes. “Nic, what have you done?”

“I got you the files that you need to kill Moran,” she mumbled.

“This is a Mạngkr base, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You lied.”

“Oh yes.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I am getting rusty.”

She closed the safe door hard, triggering the alarm system as planned. “No, you aren’t and don’t ever say that around me again,’ she grumbled with a wicked smile on her face. He couldn’t help but give her a small smile in return before turning his features serious.

Just let it go, Sherlock…let me have this!

“You have destroyed your security in order to give me the piece to the puzzle I need in order to find Moran and then return home,” he stated as he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

She adjusted the bodice of her cocktail dress before they both made their way back into the hidden service entrance that they used to enter the office; just moments before the security team entered it. They had made their way out into the garden, towards the party, before she spoke. “Moran is keeping you from your home, from the people that you need. You are brilliant and that brilliance should be shining in the open not hidden and dirtied in the shadows. The true security I had died 4 years ago when those two bastards took them from me. I also can’t miss what I never really had,” she whispered as they blended into the crowd on the dance floor.

You promised never to compromise me. You promised!

“You could use your talents for more than being a thief among bloated clan leaders who think everyone is too afraid to rob them so they leave their wealth behind simple locks I could pick in my sleep,” he whispered back, pulling her into a swaying dance as his eyes scanned the area.

She giggled a bit at his words, wrapping her arms around his neck. She was uncomfortably tempted to run her fingers through his dark curls. “That was a Doettling’s Fortress I just cracked in less than 10 minutes. Mr. Miyamoto is very serious about his business with the international branches.”

His eyes drifted down to her. “London could give you so much more than what some overly expensive safe can. You crave a challenge as much as I do and I can give you that. You are not meant to live a life in the dark,” he stated matter-of-factly. She just shook her head softly at him, giving him a sad yet knowing smile.

All this time and you never deduced that I’m…content…

They danced in silence until the song was over; a signal that everything had gone according to plan and it was time for them to go their separate ways.

“It was a pleasure, Mr. Holmes,” she said with forced politeness, letting her arms fall to her sides.

Don’t know if I’m going to miss the danger or miss you…

“I cannot leave you so exposed,” he nearly growled out, defiance in his eyes. His grip tightened on her, his eyes narrowed on something behind her; a guard.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. William, if I return to London the Fateralis would have me beaten to within an inch of my life and would leave me for dead in the heart of London. I killed the Boss’s son, my boyfriend, when he tried to rape me. The only reason I was given a chance to leave the UK is because my father was the Boss’s right hand man. It would be up to me to get somewhere safe. I couldn’t go to A&E. I couldn’t have someone in waiting to pick me up wherever they drop me off and I definitely couldn’t have your protection swooping in to save me. I would have to survive all on my own in order to earn the right to walk the streets again. You do not want that blood on your hands. You might not be an angel but you are nowhere near the demon you claim to be.”

That sacrifice would be in vain!

He stared at her for a moment; giving her that look that she knew meant he was analyzing every detail about her. “Neither are you. Your heart is racing right now. Not because of the adrenaline from getting away with it. It’s not even because you are pressed against me in an intimate fashion. It is because you are afraid you might never get to shine like this again. You think this was all me but it was not. You did this, Niccola. I am usually self-centered and would never admit that out loud. I call John an idiot all the time even when he is 100% correct about something. I am admitting to you, right now, that without you this plan would have never come together and I would have gotten myself killed. Take that for what it is worth!”

And with that, he let go of her and backed up into the crowd; his eyes moving to each direction a guard was stationed. She nodded to him, heading into the crowd in the opposite direction and away from the guards.

You’ll erase this when you get home. You’ll erase it and just go on your way!

There was a boat waiting for her on the docks. He had a car awaiting him down the road that he would use to get to the airport. She was to open the security box once she got to her hut, keeping anything that wasn’t the manifest and ship that off to the British government.

It was a good bounty. A few rare gems, some photos she could use to get what she needed to get out of Japan, and 2,195,500 yen. She should have gotten the manifest in the mail the very next day but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Gods, she hated it when she let anything besides the thrill of the catch sidetrack her but there she was; lounging around her Taiji hut for almost 3 days before she finally decided on what to do.

You’re an addict. It’s why you do what you do…

She headed out the very next day and dropped the manifest off in the mail with a handwritten letter to Mister W. Holmes tucked inside of it. She was starting her life over. She might as well start it off right, which meant taking a chance. And by taking a chance, she was going to need to prepare herself…

~*~*~*~*~

Sherlock knew he wasn’t dead. If he was dead, his head wouldn’t feel like it was threatening to explode behind his lids. He tried to open his eyes but they refused to obey his command and when he tried to reach a hand up to force them open, a sharp pain traveled up the length of it and caused him to hiss. It was then that he heard the sounds of someone else being in the room, triggering his memory. He had been captured and the captors were in the process of beating information out of him, well, at least trying to. He refused to talk, which caused his captors to beat him even harder. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to wake up from the last beating, which involved an industrial-size wrench.

“Don’t move, ok? The Uzumaki twins did quite a number on you. I don’t know what you did to help Tamiko but you should thank your lucky stars that she called in the favor I owe her,” a feminine American voice whispered to him. He wanted to ask her how Tamiko found out he had been captured but he soon realized that his teeth were sewn shut; his jaw must have been broken for such an action to be taken.

He heard the sounds of water cascading before he felt a cool cloth pressed to his face gingerly. “Don’t try to speak either. It will be just as painful as moving at this point. You had a lot of injuries I had to set in place. A broken jaw, fractured skull, broken left wrist, several deep cuts across your back, 5 broken ribs each side, and a dislocated right ankle not to mention you had pneumonia deeply set in your chest and infection in all of your open wounds. You will be out of commission for quite a while but this is the first time you’ve actually been fully conscious in almost a month.” She spoke as if she was trying to sooth a startled animal as she continued to clean his face and his chest with the cloth.

“I lost you a few times in the beginning. You would stop breathing or your fever reached a point that I had to drive into the village in order to get ice blocks to help cool you down. By the time I got back, you would be seizing up. The village medicine woman has come by every Monday to give me some reprieve so I could bath and take care of the house. The only room I kept clean was yours. I wasn’t going to have you dying because of an infection that I introduced,” she said with a snort. He heard her ring out the cloth a few times before bringing it back to his skin.

“You’ve been doing very well the last 2 weeks. The swelling in your face has been slowly retreating, which means that your jaw is finally healing properly and I should have the stitching out in a week or so. I also checked your wrist a few days ago and it is healing quite well. I should be able to put it in a fiberglass cast around the same time I work on your jaw as long as the swelling stays down. The most I can give you for pain management is low grade codeine. Tamiko told me a bit about your past and I don’t think your system could handle any form of withdraw. I definitely won’t deny you a cig though once the rattling leaves your lungs. I think by the time you get there, you will quite deserve it. Either way, the best thing for you right now is to finally enter a true sleep instead of unconsciousness. Don’t worry…I won’t leave your side.” With that, she laid the cool cloth across his forehead and he felt her move away from his side.

He was already missing her voice when he heard the most beautiful cello work he had ever experienced. The melody was soothing yet haunted and it kept his mind off of the pain. Sherlock slipped into the first dream he had dreamt in over a year…and oddly enough, all it involved was him bantering with John at the kitchen table.

The next time he woken, he was greeted to the sounds and warmth of a crackling fire and the smell of roasted chicken. He groaned in a mixture of want and pain. It had been a very long time since he had a decent meal. “Ah, I see that you’re awake. You’ve been sleeping for roughly 24 hours give or take. I figured with you in your first true sleep that I would actually cook for once instead of living off of canned clam chowder from the fishery.”

He heard the sound of a metal clanging against metal before he heard her shuffle over to him. The cooking fire must not be too far from here. Soon he heard the telltale sound of water cascading again before he felt her gentle touch with the cloth against his chest. “Tamiko has been sending me weekly posts asking about your progress. She told me to make sure you knew the only reason she wasn’t here right now is due to it would bring too much trouble to you and I for her to suddenly have business in Taiji. Her husband doesn’t even know that she let me go. Either way, she is very worried about you and has been praying to her Gods that you would make it through. As long as you keep resting peacefully for the next few days and your fever doesn’t return, I’ll be happy to let her know that her Kenjin is recovering quite nicely.”

He wanted nothing more than to open his eyes and visually deduce his caretaker but his eyes were still too swollen to allow him a peek. Now that he had rested though, his mind seemed much sharper than earlier and he settled on deducing what he could from the way she talked.

Her accent was interesting. What he thought earlier was clearly American didn’t quite describe her dialect. She was born in America but moved to the UK when she was young, maybe 7 or 8 years of age. Young enough for her mind to still be influenced by the dialect that surrounded her but too far along in development for her to completely forget the dialect she was born in. The way she pronounced her vowels and Rs screamed Swindon but the way the Japanese words rolled off her tongue showed that she had been in Japan long enough to perfect the language.

Average intelligence with complete immersion in the culture would have her pronunciation perfected in 10-12 years but she wasn’t average. She had advanced medical knowledge, enough that she knew how to revive him slowly from near death. Enough knowledge that she’s confident in delivering news on his various injuries and how they will heal so…she could pick up the Japanese language in 6-8 years.

She speaks of Tamiko with a casual air meaning she knew Tamiko before she married her husband, who is a clan leader in Northern Japan. Tamiko had been married to Hideo Maki for almost 6 years so Tamiko would have met her as soon as she arrived in the land. Tamiko is also the daughter of the local Yakuza boss so they most likely met through the family business.

She recused him from a secure gang location meaning she was skilled in stealth and quite experienced with high stress situations. She also must have underground connections as she would have needed help sneaking him out of the location. Even with them starving him for the last week of his ‘stay’, his weight would have been roughly 9 stones when she rescued him and even a female with above average strength would have trouble sneakily dragging 9 stones out of a secure gang location.

As he pulled himself out of his thoughts, he realized his caretaker had been quiet as if she knew exactly what he was doing. Sherlock had so many questions but they would go unanswered until the stitching in his mouth was removed and as if reading his mind, she answered him intuitively.

“You probably have so many questions for me; wondering who I am, if you’re safe, or if you have gone from one bad situation to another. Just trust me Kenjin, you are in good hands and I’m not putting you back together just to tear you apart again. We have the same enemy and I have promised myself to you until he has been brought to his end. Now, I’m going to finish cleaning your front and then I’m going to lay you down on your stomach so I can check the stitching on your back. Since you are conscious, it should be safe for you to lie on your stomach for a while and allow them to air out for a bit. It’s going to be painful rolling you over but I’ll give you your first dose of codeine afterwards. I also made you some chicken broth while you were sleeping. It should be cool enough for you to sip on through a straw once I finish cleaning your back. Nod if you understand.”

Even though he’s in no position to refuse any of her demands, she still asks and awaits his acknowledgement before she’s goes about her task. She’s loyal and considerate. She could possibly be military trained medical like John. It would explain her skillset in stealth and high stress situations.

The detective nodded in understanding, giving a grunt at how stiff his neck was. He shouldn’t be surprised that the movement was strained; he had been out of commission for a month or more meaning his muscles were more or less useless. He had a long road of healing and pain before the movement would come easy to him again. “Alright, Kenjin, Tamiko says that you have a sharp mind and can easily fall into Zen like trance when presented a puzzle to solve so I will try to work your mind so the move to place you on your stomach will be as painless as possible,” she stated in a professional tone. She rubbed his chest down a few more times before he heard her toss the cloth into its water source. “I’m going to give you a riddle. After I finish giving you the riddle, I’m going to count down from 5 and by 0 I want you to be in your trance. Alright, here we go…while exploring the Wilds of Ireland, Robert was captured by goblins. Grumpy, the Chief of the Goblins told him he was allowed one final statement on which would determine how he would die. If the statement he made was false, he would be boiled in water. If the statement were true, he would be fried in oil. Since Robert didn’t like either option, he wanted to make a statement that forced Grumpy to release him. What is the one statement he could make to save himself? Five…” Oh this was child’s play!

“Four…”

Tamiko must not have told her how brilliant his mind was…

“Three…”

It’s really just a simple matter of hidden logic. Don’t they teach that in literature class in elementary school?

“Two…”

Robert would have to throw the Chief through a loop. Make him question whether the statement is true or false.

“One…”

And the only way to he could do that is to give a statement that was completely dependent of the actions that the Chief was going to take.

“Zero!”

Meaning the only statement Robert could make is ‘You will boil me in water!’…wait…how am I already facedown?

“Don’t tense up. In this position you could cause the stitching to rip,” she mumbled. She was already peeling back what he assumed was tapped down gauze. She had distracted him enough with her simple riddle that she was able to flip him over even before she spoke the word zero. He was impressed…and in major pain. Luckily, she had already removed the last of his bandages and he could hear the pull of a needle sucking up fluid.

Sherlock was really starting to wonder if his caretaker could read his mind.

~*~*~*~*~

“You have some nerve showing up here, whore!” a tall, stereotypical Italian man yelled at Niccola.

The short, caramel complexion woman rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not a whore. I’m a slut. I don’t get paid to sleep with people. Do your research, Tom…”

The man got right in her face, grinning twistedly. “I can’t wait until I get punch you in those pretty little lips while I put my cock in you.”

She couldn’t help but wince at the thought of him getting his hands on her. “You’re too much of a Daddy’s boy to do that. Sorry but you’re only going to get the chance to knock me around.”

Somehow his grin got wider. “Pops would never have to know!”

“You do anything more than beat me and the conditions are breached. With the conditions breached, that means I get to retaliate. And trust me; I could kick you and those pathetic excuses for men arses from here to Sussex and back again without breaking a sweat.”

“Yea fucking right!”

Her features went creepily blank. “Didn’t you guys have to have a closed casket funeral for Tony? The news said he was beaten with a crowbar but I have it on good authority that the sick bastard did it with their fist. What kind of sick fuck does that to such a young, upstanding man?”

He lunged at her at her words but she already knew what he was planning. With a quick sidestep, she used his momentum to slam his head into the elevator wall behind her with a sickening crunch; his body folding in on its self. “That should put you out of the equation for when my punishment comes. Men, so easily fooled. It must be my height that makes them underestimate me,” she mumbled to herself with a shrug of her shoulders.

Several moments later, the elevator door opened to reveal a Victorian style office decorated in dark tones. An older Italian sat behind the ornate oak desk positioned in the middle of the round room. “I see ya dispatched my son,” he stated in a gravelly voice.

“Sorry, Mr. Travis. You know how it gets when I’m around and you know I was never one to take any shit,” she said as she made her way into the room and sat down in one of the matching chairs in front of the desk. “You know why I’m here.”

He nodded. “Ta, Nicky. I know why you’re here. It’s been, what, nearly 9 years since I last saw ya. How was Japan?”

“It was nine years two days ago. I wouldn’t think you would forget the death of your youngest son though…”

“Well, I have come to terms with the fact that my sons were right bastards. Apparently Tony was a women beater but I didn’t find that out until my wife died 6 years ago…”

She flinched at his words. No one had told her Mrs. Travis had passed away. “I found myself missing Grandma’s ravioli while I was in Japan. As you can imagine, it’s hard to find good Italian over there. The fresh, cheap sushi made up for it though.”

I’m so sorry Jake…

He smiled weakly at her. “You were, are, like the daughter Lily could never have to me. If Michi were still alive, I would tell him that he did a bloody fine job raising you…so here’s what I’m going to do. Even though my son was a slimeball to ya, ya did kill him and ya did break your exile so I’m, unfortunately, going to have my guys beat the shit out ya. I’m also going to turn over Tony’s trust fund to ya. Don’t worry! The money that goes into it was gained through legitimate means and you’ll have full legal control over it so even if I die no one can take possession of it. The least I can do is have ya made since you’re back; to make up for the time I have lost.”

“What makes you think I’m going to survive long enough to be set?”

He got up from the desk and headed over to the elevator. He didn’t even bother to turn around when he answered her. “You got Michi Thomas and Morgana Lei blood running through ya and ya put a Faterali 6 feet under AND you had the bollocks to come back to London knowing what was going to happen. You’re scared out of ya wits not because you’re afraid of getting the piss kicked out of ya but ‘cause you’re scared of the lack of control you’ll have while you’re out. I don’t know who ya got in these parts but if they were enough to bring ya back here then I think you shouldn’t be so worried ‘bout it!”

And with that, he disappeared into the elevator, leaving Niccola feeling a little better about her decision until she saw the five guys Jake sent after her. Then she thought he was full of shit!

#Sherlock FanFic #Sherlock/Original Female Character #TW: Rape

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notmoreflippingelves · 6 years

Note

Joan Watson

002 | Give me a character & I will tell you

How I feel about this character:

She is so awesome. *Heart eyes*

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Kind of Sherlock but also not really. Like I don’t think I’d ever want sexytimes anywhere in the picture. But at the same time, I don’t think I’d hate it if hand-holding, kissing, and cuddling were added to their dynamic. And I am all for them being life partners forever and hugging all the time.

I can also see romantic Kitty/Watson far easier than Kitty/Sherlock, and think they could have the potential to be an interesting ship. (Also, it would give us more Kitty. YAY!!!)

I feel like she and Gregson’s daughter could be really cute too, assuming it didn’t cause problems with her relationship with Gregson.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

She and Gregson have such a great dynamic and I wish they had more scenes together. Also I would love to see more of her and her family (particularly her brother and Lin)

My unpopular opinion about this character:I don’t hate this adoption storyline. (I think most people are starting to warm to it but I know there was a lot of negativity in the beginning). But I think the last few seasons have indicated that Watson (and Sherlock too, to be fair) really don’t have much outside of the work. And since their attempts to give Watson romantic partners (Andrew, Mycroft) have largely failed, I think this could potentially fill some of the emptiness in her personal life. (Obviously a new hobby could too, but I sadly don’t see “Watson takes up sculpting” becoming a major plotline anytime soon.)

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

Honestly, even though we all knew her relationship with Andrew wasn’t going to pan out, I wish she had had the opportunity to end the relationship and on her own terms–rather than just killing him off before any conflict happened.

My OTP:

Sherlock/Watson in a mostly platonic way but still could go a little romantic. (Elementary is actually the only version of the pairing that I could see myself shipping, which I think is largely due to the fact that it’s much “healthier” and “more equal” than we usually see. (I’m mainly looking at BBC Sherlock).

my cross over ship:

Honestly I feel like some of the more intriguing crossover ships for Watson are with characters on shows I haven’t actually watched (oops!) but feature awesome ladies. So I like even though I’ve only seen a few episodes of SVU (too scary!), Watson would probably be good with Mariska Hargitay’s character. Also with the main lady on Fringe (which I haven’t seen any episodes of)). But these could all be super-bad ideas cause I’m mainly judging from a distance. In terms of shows I’ve actually watched a good deal of, Lisa Cuddy from House.

a headcanon fact:

I have a feeling that baseball is something that she bonded over with her brother and/or her step-dad. She learned to love it in her own right–and is actually the biggest Mets fan of all of them–but is still something that brings her family together (except for her mother, who doesn’t get it).

#ask memes #elementary #joan watson #moocowmoocow

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smoljohnlock · 7 years

Text

THE FINAL PROBLEM (PART 1)

“May be the hardest case of your career”

1. THE GREAT GAME

JIM: D’you know what happens if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock, to you? SHERLOCK: Oh, let me guess: I get killed. JIM: Kill you? N-no, don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna kill you anyway some day. I don’t wanna rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you. I’ll burn the heart out of you. SHERLOCK: I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one. JIM: But we both know that’s not quite true.

2. A SCANDAL IN BELGRAVIA

Making Sherlock aware of John’s feelings for him & making John jealous. So The Fall will have a bigger emotional impact on them.

IRENE: And somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth too.

IRENE: The key-code to my safe. JOHN: What was it? IRENE: Shall I tell him? My measurements.

You quote the whole episode but the Battersea scene is the key here (the conversation between John and Irene which Sherlock eavesdrops)

SHERLOCK: Oh, you’re rather good. IRENE: You’re not so bad. JOHN: John Hamish Watson – just if you were looking for baby names.

(Sherlock’s monologue shows him opinion on love at that point but it’ll also be important later on) SHERLOCK: I imagine John Watson thinks love’s a mystery to me but the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive. When we first met, you told me that disguise is always a self-portrait. How true of you: the combination to your safe – your measurements; but this is far more intimate. This is your heart and you should never let it rule your head. You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here today with everything you’ve worked for but you just couldn’t resist it, could you? I’ve always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage... Thank you for the final proof.

3. THE REICHENBACH FALL

SHERLOCK: So how’re you going to do it ... burn me? JIM: Oh, that’s the problem – the final problem. Have you worked out what it is yet? What’s the final problem? I did tell you... but did you listen? How hard do you find it, having to say “I don’t know”? SHERLOCK: I don’t know. JIM: Oh, that’s clever; that’s very clever; awfully clever.

Okay, let’s stop here for a minute... Sherlock geniuely didn’t know what The Final Problem was, and he didn’t even get it on the roof (SH to Jim: I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to burn.), distracted by the ‘code’ and Jim’s fairytale stories. The suicide was exactly what Moriarty wanted, because TFP was all about the consequences of Sherlock’s ‘death’.

“What’s the final problem? I did tell you... but did you listen?”

Back to TGG: I’ll burn the heart out of you. SHERLOCK: I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one. JIM: But we both know that’s not quite true.

The heart is John Watson. Jim’s (or Mycroft’s really, but I’m not gonna get into that here) plan was to break John. By ‘killing’ himself Sherlock saved his friends. But.. did he really?

JOHN: You ... you told me once that you weren’t a hero. There were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this: you were the best man, and the most human ... human being that I’ve ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so ... There. I was so alone, and I owe you so much. No, please, there’s just one more thing, mate, one more thing: one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t ... be ... dead. Would you do ...? Just for me, just stop it. (He gestures down at the grave.) Stop this.

4. THE EMPTY HEARSE & THE SIGN OF 3

John trapped in an unhappy relationship with Mary, pining for Sherlock

I’ll burn the heart of out you... literally.

MARY: Oh my God, oh my God. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him? SHERLOCK: Okay, John, I’m suddenly realising I probably owe you some sort of an apology. JOHN (in a whisper): Two years. I thought ... (He groans, unable to continue and gesturing helplessly. Mary stares at him in sympathy. John finally straightens and turns to Sherlock.) JOHN: I thought ... you were dead. Now, you let me grieve, hmm? How could you do that? How?

In TEH, Sherlock still hasn’t figured it out. He accuses John of overreacting and plays a trick on him to force forgiveness. Although the realization of all the pain he put John through starts to slowly sink in.

The wedding, both John and Sherlock pining for each other, Mary stands in the way. There’s no hope for Sherlock to be with John anymore, even though he wants to.

MRS HUDSON: I remember she left early. I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad.

(He walks through his bedroom to his wardrobe, where a morning suit is hanging from the open door. He looks at it.) SHERLOCK: Into battle.

SHERLOCK: Ah, that’s why he’s bouncing round him like a puppy. MARY: Oh, Sherlock! Neither of us were the first, you know.

MYCROFT: Oh, by the way, Sherlock – do you remember Redbeard? SHERLOCK: I’m not a child any more, Mycroft. MYCROFT: No, of course you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock.

Just... the whole episode, It’s all p a i n

5. HIS LAST VOW

John’s just back from the honeymoon, already missing Sherlock. Sherlock finds relief in drugs, sells John a lie it was for a case. In TRF, Moriarty talks about pressure points, so does Magnussen in HLV.

MAGNUSSEN: Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes. The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you? But look how you care about John Watson. Your damsel in distress. JOHN: You put me in a fire... for leverage? MAGNUSSEN: Oh, I’d never let you burn, Doctor Watson. I had people standing by. MAGNUSSEN: I’m not a murderer ... unlike your wife.

(In S4, Mary is a mirror for Sherlock. If you think S3 is EMP as well, you could say Mary is a mirror here, as well)

Mary shoots Sherlock. Forwards or backwards? Backwards. So from now on, we’re going through everything that has happened before.

6 .THE ABOMINABLE BRIDE

This episode is extremely important, because Sherlock finally realises what’s The Final Problem, then S4 is solving it.

In TAB, Sherlock tries to figure out how Moriarty survived and what happened on the roof. (Funny thing is, we’ve got three final problems in BBC Sherlock - TRF, TAB and TFP. Proof that it’s what Sherlock is still working on)

HOLMES: Gun in the mouth; a bullet through the brain; back of the head blown clean off. How could he survive?

Deep waters, going deeper into his mind (will be important in S4)

I shall have to go deep. Into What? Myself.

These are deep waters, Watson, deep waters. And I shall have to go deeper still.

You're in deep, Sherlock, deeper than you ever intended to be.

H: Still not awake, am I? Moriarty: Too deep, Sherlock, way too deep. Congratulations, you will be the first man in history to be buried in his own Mind Palace.

MORIARTY: This is how we end, you and I. Always here, always together. HOLMES: You have a magnificent brain, Moriarty. I admire it. I concede it may be even be the equal of my own. MORIARTY: I’m touched. I’m honoured. HOLMES: But when it comes to the matter of unarmed combat on the edge of a precipice you’re going in the water short-arse. MORIARTY: Oh, you think you’re so big and strong, Sherlock! Not with me! I am your WEAKNESS! I keep you DOWN! Every time you STUMBLE, every time you FAIL, when you’re WEAK ...: I ... AM ... THERE! No. Don’t try to fight it. LIE BACK AND LOSE! Shall we go over together? It has to be together, doesn’t it? At the end, it’s always just you ... AND ME! WATSON: Professor, if you wouldn’t mind stepping away from my friend. I do believe he finds your attention a shade annoying. MORIARTY: That’s not fair. There’s two of you! WATSON: There’s always two of us. Don’t you read The Strand?

What’s different here is that John saves Sherlock, rather than Sherlock being like ‘alone protects me’. Sherlock should have trusted John in TRF. He finally gets it. And we get this beautiful moment:

HOLMES: Thank you, John. WATSON: Since when do you call me John? HOLMES: You’d be surprised. WATSON: No I wouldn’t. Time you woke up, Sherlock. I’m a storyteller. I know when I’m in one. HOLMES: Of course. Of course you do, John. WATSON: So what’s he like? The other me, in the other place? HOLMES: Smarter than he looks. WATSON: Pretty damned smart, then. HOLMES (smiling): Pretty damned smart.

This is a huge turn, because from now in Sherlock will be aware of the consequences of TRF and what it did to John, then he’ll solve The Final Problem.

7. THE SIX THATCHERS

There are so many parallels in S4 not because the writers are ‘lazy’ but because Sherlock’s going ‘backwards’. Lemme bring a few lines from TAB: 1. MORIARTY: Is this silly enough for you yet? Gothic enough? Mad enough, even for you? It doesn’t make sense, Sherlock, because it’s not real. None of it. This is all in your mind. 2. MORIARTY: Doesn’t it remind you of another case? Hasn’t this all happened before? There’s nothing new under the sun. What was it?

Btw, I listed the deep waters quotes form TAB. Now think about water in S4.

S4 is just a cont. of TAB.

What’s important in S4 is that Mary is a Sherlock mirror.

MARY: My darling. I need to tell you this because you mustn’t hate me for going away. I gave myself permission to have an ordinary life. I’m not running. I promise you that. I just need to do this in my own way. but I don’t want you and Sherlock hanging off my gun arm. I’m sorry, my love. I know you’ll try to find me, but there is no point. Every move is random and not even Sherlock Holmes can anticipate the roll of a dice. I need to move the target far, far away from you and Rosie, and then I’ll come back, my darling. I swear I will.

Isn’t it familiar...? Yes, this is a reference to Sherlock hiding after TRF. Many Happy Returns. Just replace ‘you and Sherlock’ with ‘you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade’.

MARY: I didn’t know what else to do. JOHN: You could have stayed. You could have talked to me. That’s what couples are supposed to do: work things through. MARY: Yes, of course. JOHN: Mary, I may not be a very good man, but I think I’m a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time. MARY: All the time. You’re always a good man, John. I’ve never doubted that. You never judge; you never complain. I don’t deserve you. All I ever wanted to do was keep you and Rosie safe, that’s all.

Sherlock’s trying to untangle the mess he’s done.

SHERLOCK: What did you hear, Ajay? When you were a prisoner, what exactly did you hear? AJAY: What did I hear? Ammo. Every day as they tore into me. Ammo. Ammo. Ammo.

SHERLOCK: How’s your Latin, brother dear? MYCROFT: My Latin? SHERLOCK: Amo, amas, amat. MYCROFT: I love, you love, he loves.

Sherlock tortured by love/thinking of John when in Serbia...

NORBURY killed Sherlock Mary

SHERLOCK: If you ever think I’m becoming a bit full of myself, cocky or over-confident would you just say the word ‘Norbury’ to me, would you?

Wasn’t he cocky and over-confident on the roof? He definitely was and as it turned out, he had no idea what he was doing. Idk about you, but I’m amazed at the character development.

Sherlock Mary dies - and it breaks John.

Sherlock asks Ella for help: I need to know what to do about John.

He finds a CD - MISS ME?

I’m giving you a case, Sherlock. When I’m gone – if I’m gone – I need you to do something for me. Save John Watson. Save him, Sherlock. Save him.

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

I’ll post the second part as soon as I have some free time & energy. Didn’t want to squeeze everything into one post, because it’s too long anyway. I didn’t reread it, so sorry for all the mistakes. Transcripts x

#sherlock #bbc #season 4 #meta #the final problem

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mrleopard25 · 6 years

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James Bond Series Revisited: SPECTRE (2015)

Directed by Sam Mendes

Starring Daniel Craig, Christoph Waltz, Ralph Fiennes, and Léa Seydoux

Yes, this has taken years to complete, and for that I apologize. In part it was due to me seeing the film during its opening run and then not again until very recently. I like to be fairly familiar with the film before giving it my full thoughts. Also I like hearing what other people had to say, and well...some of it wasn’t so kind. But I’ve also gone through each of the other Bond films in deep analysis so, like Quantum of Solace, maybe I could give the film a better appraisal. Was it terrible? Was it great? Well...

The film opens on Bond engaging in some good old fashioned espionage in Mexico City, during the Day of the Dead celebrations. Some nefarious types are meeting in a hotel room talking about bombing a stadium, and Bond decides he’s going to assassinate all these guys. They get wise to the attempt at the last second and several explosions later, the block is leveled. But Bond’s target, a man named Sciarra, survives and decides he’s going to escape Bond by the most inconspicuous way he can think of: a helicopter in a crowded town square. Bond’s having none of that, takes his octopus ring, and shoves him out of the helicopter.

But uh oh – why was Bond even there? That’s what M wants to know because, from his point of view, a vacationing agent demolished a couple city blocks and did some aerial tricks in a helicopter above several thousand people. So M wants an explanation, but Bond gives him nothing. This is especially frustrating, as there is a new centralized intelligence agency, the Joint Intelligence Service headed by a man named C, that wants to merge with MI6 and has made no secret about wanting to shut down the 00 program. Why? Because it’s the future!

Meanwhile, Bond reveals to Moneypenny that M, the last M, sent him one of those tapes that says “If you’re seeing this, that means I’m dead, so do this because I’m dead.” Unfortunately M has grounded Bond, but Bond also enlists Q to help him out, and soon Bond has gone to Rome to go to Sciarra’s funeral. He makes an acquaintance of Sciarra’s wife, and later that night saves her from assassination. In response, she informs him of where he can take that octopus ring.

Bond finds himself at a meeting of a clandestine organization engaged in operating terrorist activities around the globe. The leader of the organization notices Bond is there, and soon Bond has to go on the run through the streets of Rome. Based on some word clues, Moneypenny informs Bond that this organization has ties to Mr. White. Bond tracks him down to a remote cabin where he finds the man dying. Bond gets some information about this organization, SPECTRE, and their involvement in global affairs. White makes Bond swear to protect his daughter, then commits suicide.

Bond finds his daughter, Madeline Swann, as a doctor in a special treatment clinic in the mountains. He reveals her father’s fate and her role in this, and she spurns him. On his way out, he bumps into Q, who is feeling chagrinned at working with Bond illegally. Bond gets Q to identify some DNA samples on the ring (not sure why they’re there), and we get links to all the previous Craig movie. More on that later.

SPECTRE tries to abduct Swan and a long chase sequence ensues. After recovering Swann, she takes Bond to a hotel that White used to take his family to, as Bond believes White left information there. Bond tears the room apart, and eventually finds a hidden room that contains information detailing Quantum / SPECTRE activities, including coordinates to a secret base in the Sahara.

Travelling there by rail, Bond and Swann get to know each other a little better, but this is interrupted by Hinx, a SPECTRE assassin, who nearly succeeds in killing them both. After finishing him off, the pair arrive at the SPECTRE base where they are confronted by the leader, Franz Oberhauser – the son of the man who took Bond in after the death of Bond’s parents. Oberhauser killed his father and staged his own death, and has lay hidden as SPECTRE’s leader, calling himself Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Blofeld lays out his objective in overseeing the new global intelligence community, and how C is one of his agents. He then decides to torture Bond by drilling into his brain. Luckily, Bond has an exploding watch that allows him to escape and destroy the compound.

Returning to the UK, Bond meets up with the remains of the 00 program: M, Tanner, Q, and Moneypenny. Their goal is to dismantle the intelligence network before it is activated, and time is running out. Unfortunately, Blofeld kidnaps Swann and keeps her tied up in the old MI6 headquarters, which are rigged to blow. The former MI6 teams now has a limited amount of time to stop Blofeld, C, and SPECTRE.

So SPECTRE isn’t a bad movie. If anything, it’s biggest flaw is that it follows Skyfall. But it’s also not a great film, and I’m pretty sure it boils down to the script. Sam Mendes returns to directing, but we’re missing the fantastic cinematography of Roger Deakins, and he is sorely missed. Not to say that Hoyte van Hoytema is a bad DOP; certainly his work on Interstellar and Dunkirkwas fantastic, but there was something visually stylistic that was missing, and this film just feels like it was filmed as a normal action film.

But on to the script. There are some things taken as granted in the script that rub people the wrong way, myself included. First is that we had a build up in the first two Craig films about an organization called Quantum, that was clearly supposed to be the reboot’s version of SPECTRE at the time. And I was fine with that. It seemed to have the same goals and methods, but be updated for the 21st century. Now we learn that Quantum was really taking orders from SPECTRE this whole time. That could have been an interesting development, if it made sense. But it doesn’t. It only really seems to be done because Blofeld has an anger-boner for Bond. For the fourth movie in a rebooted franchise, having Blofeld be the evil mastermind behind all of it just because he has daddy issues is not good enough for me.

Second are the leaps in logic that serve only to move the story. I really didn’t know how Bond located White’s cabin so quickly. There’s a reference that the Pale King is actually Mr.White, and he was last spotted in some certain place, and then we cut to Bond finding this remote outpost. The average audience member might forgive this, but I found it nonsensical in how fast it happened.

Very glaring is C, played by Andrew Scott (perhaps best known as Moriarty in the BBC Sherlock series). Nobody was fooled by his betrayal, and I think the story would have been better served by this being a genuine surprise that he was working for SPECTRE. I don’t want to denigrate Scott as an actor, but I really feel that he was cast because he has such a sinister presence, not because it would service the story.

And finally is a scene at Blofeld’s Sahara compound where we get a twist on the cliché. Blofeld goes to explain his whole evil plan to Bond, but Bond just explains it to him instead. Blofeld kind of nods and smiles, and basically says “Yeah you got it.” Now, I am completely for us bypassing this cliché, but the way it was written, it seemed more like the movie was getting impatient with itself.

I don’t want to harp on the film too much, because it’s certainly far from the worst in the franchise. And although it’s easy to only focus on the things you don’t like in the movie, we shouldn’t forget the good stuff.

Right at the beginning of the film, we get a great long shot of travelling through Mexico City, which must have included some fantastic trickery, including getting on and off cranes and going through false walls. That whole opening sequence is pretty stellar. This is then paired with an unfortunate credit sequence which borders on uncomfortable the entire time. Apparently Radiohead was involved at some point to do the opening theme but this fell through. The song, “SPECTRE”, is a dark and moody piece with some moments of levity, but has a very grand and sweeping cinematic feel to it (and fits in amazingly with the “A Moon Shaped Pool” tracks they were working on at the time). The replacement, “The Writing’s On The Wall” by Sam Smith is too much for me. The verses work all right, but then he keeps hitting this painful falsetto in the chorus. Meanwhile some of the imagery is great, but then we get some nutty allusions to tentacle porn. It’s a shame, because the title sequence is always a golden opportunity to set the stage for the film.

We are given some interesting questions at this point, and that is: what is the role of the 00 program in the 21stcentury? Skyfall gave us a pretty good answer about using raw tools against advanced technology, but this film picks up that thread by asking what if the good guys have that advanced technology? Do we still need the blunt instruments? C brings up a good point – why use assassins when it’s more effective to destroy their reputation and limit their resources? Don’t make them a martyr, and instead let them fade into obscurity. Remove their power. We do see this with White. He wasn’t killed at the end of Casino Royale, while he was a powerful and influential man, and was allowed to degrade into a recluse with very little standing. Sadly, we really don’t get much discussion about this topic, as the movie goes through the same motions as the last few, wherein the blunt instrument Bond just blows everything up and wins.

Continuing on the theme of technology, watch this film against an older Bond film, and the filmmakers made a logical and interesting use of cell phones. Sometimes you’ll watch a film and if it’s an older film, you are chagrinned that so many of the issues that could be solved with a quick call on a cell phone, or if it’s a newer film you might be shouting at the screen to make a quick phone call and fix the issue. This film does not have this issue, as it uses the technology of the day appropriately.

There are a few chase sequences in this film, and those are Bond staples, but the real task was to make them interesting and compelling. And it’s successful! These were great chases with some inventive ideas, and even a way to incorporate some useful information via a phone call with Moneypenny thrown in.

My final point I want to touch on is casting, and this is the most complicated issue. Daniel Craig continues to really seize the role of Bond and own it. The screenwriters and Craig continue to develop the psychological destruction of Bond was a sure treat. After Bond has demolished the suite at the hotel, we see him devolve into a drunk just barely hanging on to sanity. He is used to being an unstoppable force, and when that doesn’t seem to be the answer, he begins to lose cohesion with his psyche. Seeing the mouse scuttle on the floor, a weak animal that lives under cover of darkness, amuses him and challenges him – especially when it gives away the location of the room. Going on with that thought, whenever we see Bond lose composure, it can make the scene gripping.

The supporting cast are mostly very good. Fiennes is an excellent M in this film, and Harris as Moneypenny has the type of relationship with Bond that we expect, in that it borders on romantic, but never gets going. But it’s more realistic than the condescending / paternal relationship that the Bond / Moneypenny relationship danced in the original run. Bautista as Mr. Hinx is brutal. As with his other roles, he conveys a real presence while on screen and his punches look like they hurt. There is a raw masculinity and physicality in his motions, and it really creates an impression. Naturally the fight scene on the train is reminiscent of the fight with Red Grant in From Russia With Love. That has to be one of the best homages.

Christoph Waltz delivers despite some pretty bad dialogue given to him. His allusion to Bond as a cuckoo chick, with him making cuckoo noises to taunt him are a little grating and not at all sinister. Where Waltz delivers is in his mannerisms and the cold in his eyes, and he has such amazing potential to really develop further as Blofeld. Again though, his character is undermined by the lackluster motivation of daddy issues.

Also, during the big SPECTRE meeting, we get a call back to previous SPECTRE members in the last run with two characters who seem to be visual callbacks to Klebb and Mr. Big. I actually had to double check IMDb to see if the characters had actually been named that.

But now for the elephant in the room: Léa Seydoux as Swann. I haven’t seen Seydoux in anything else, so I really am not qualified to give a review of her as an actor in general (although apparently she was good in Blue Is The Warmest Colour). And it is not without precedent to have a French girl in a Bond film. But there’s two ways in which her character portrayal lets the film down, and I’m not sure if its her fault or Mendes’. The first is that she has no chemistry with Craig. I don’t at any point buy their relationship, either romantically or sexually. There is no fizzle between them. There was something really serious and real with Eva Green in Casino Royale. And secondly is her stoicism with her father. I never really came away with the sense of her emotional state towards her father, and that should have been a major component of her character. She should have extremely complex feelings towards him. She should love him dearly but have an anger at him for bringing so much death and destruction into her life. It should drive her character.

Okay, so let’s break this film down.

Mission Completed?

Bond was grounded after failing to have a vacation. He received an unofficial mission near the end to stop the launch of Nine Eyes, the global intelligence network. The MI6 team really kind of did it all together to be honest.

Dastardly Scheme

So by using a subsidiary organization, Quantum, SPECTRE has been achieving two goals: one to slowly convince world governments to reconcile their intelligence services into one network, and the second to slowly convince the British government that the MI6 agency (in particular the 00 program) is obsolete and to disband it.

SPECTRE mostly succeeded, but was undermined by Blofeld’s endless pursuit of Bond.

Best Buds

The entire MI6 team stands behind Bond and helps him out whenever they can. Naomie Harris continues in her support of Bond as Moneypenny, being a reliable source of information to keep him moving. Ben Whishaw steps up as Q, going into the field to lend forensic aid to Bond, and even getting involved in a chase sequence himself. He really should be more careful out there. Bill Tanner and M also show up at the end to take a hands on approach to stop the Nine Eyes.

The Bad Guy and His Goon

I already spoke about Christoph Waltz’s cold portrayal of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, a man who uses humour to mask his insane revenge plot and obsession with having eyes everywhere. Waltz is supremely charismatic, even if some of his writing is subpar.

Dave Bautista plays Mr. Hinx, an assassin who fills a vacancy in SPECTRE for being the go-to for dispatching enemies. Again, I’m a big fan of Bautista, as each role I’ve seen him in is completely unique. He’s strong but funny in Guardians Of The Galaxy, and strong but tragic in Blade Runner 2049. I almost wish we saw more character from him here because his portrayal is just... strong and brutal?

An interesting take on a villain role is Andrew Scott as C, head of the Joint Intelligence Service, but not because of his portrayal. It’s because he is an antagonist for M, not Bond. His arc revolves around M, and the conflict is with M. It is resolved through M’s actions and confrontations. That’s a welcome addition.

Booty Snatched

Two again. The first was Sciarra’s wife, Lucia, played by Monica Bellucci. She had been a name floating around the franchise for years but only now has finally landed as a Bond girl. She’s the oldest woman cast in such a role, but you know what? It really doesn’t matter – she absolutely fits the profile. Bond gives her a contact to help her get out of the country and into safety and... hey what happened with that? Did she make it?

The second was with Swann, after they dispatch Hinx. Apparently there is no bigger turn on than barely surviving a big sweaty fight. Well...and her dress.

Baddies Dispatched

An astounding 31 killed by Bond, a strong percentage of which during his escape from the SPECTRE compound.

Gadgets Trashed

Bond dumps his car into a canal in Rome, after exhausting all the bonus options. He then hijacks a plane to chase down Swann’s kidnappers, and thoroughly demolishes it. And finally his watch explodes spectacularly. I would actually be really hesitant to wear something with that much yield on my wrist.

It Goes BOOM

Eight explosions, including an absolutely spectacular fireball in the middle of the Sahara.

You Misogynistic Pig

I realize as someone who must use every tool at his disposal to save the world, this falls in line with Bond’s objective, but it still feels really slimy that he immediately sets his sights on, follows home, and seduces Lucia on the day of her husband’s funeral.

White Man’s Burden

This is a weird one. While this film was being made, there were no such Day of the Dead celebrations in Mexico as depicted in the film. It’s really reminiscent of Carnival in Brazil with Day of the Dead imagery thrown in but apparently Mexico City was so enamored with the idea of it, it’s actually become a real celebration in this manner in recent years.

Best Line

“Your word?! The word of an assassin?!” White is incredulous that Bond is promising anything, much less protecting someone.

Worst Line

“He’s everywhere – everywhere! He’s sitting at your desk, he’s kissing your lover, he’s eating supper with your family!” White, during the same scene, trying to beef up how scary a villain Blofeld is. It’s too hammy and making Blofeld sound like a metaphysical demon stalker isn’t intimidating, it’s a cartoon.

Bond Moment

During a fight scene at the clinic, one of the security guys gets up and approaches Bond. Bond gives him a look, raises his hand and says “No! Stay!” The man immediately obeys, probably seeing it’s not worth the trouble.

Special Awards:

Another Number:

Bond’s car (Aston Martin DB10) was to be reassigned to 009, who apparently has questionable tastes.

Scrooge McDuck’s Heir:

Blofeld is so rich, he has a massive compound in the middle of the Sahara desert with a fully landscaped and maintained yard, that is fully staffed with enough supplies to easily sustain at least a hundred people, with the most cutting edge technology at their disposal.

Worst Spy Ever:

When M is grilling Bond at the beginning of the movie about why Bond just blew up Mexico City, it is painfully obvious Bond is lying which forces M to ground him, hindering his objective. Bond really should have brought M in on it – the last film already established Bond could trust him.

Lately there’s been a question as to whether or not we still need to have the Bond franchise, and what it should look like. “Why can’t Bond be a black man?” some say. Others press on and say “Why can’t Bond be a woman?” And it’s really hard to argue against that when you have mediocre movies as evidence.

And that’s what this film is: an average Bond film at best. The film fails in its script and execution, but succeeds in some of its themes, acting, and quiet moments. So what do I think about radically changing the Bond franchise? I’m really against it, but hear me out.

Bond is a depiction of toxic masculinity. He’s an embodiment of it. Those who glorify him as someone to aspire to miss the point entirely. When Bond films are done well, we get the image of a man who can not hold himself together when he has time to himself. So he perpetually endangers his life. The irony is he hates his job. He drinks himself to numb his pain at having love only once, and having that love taken away from him by his work. He uses people for his ends, and his ends are the tool of a government he’s not even that attached to.

The best Bond films explore this. Even this film shows some of it, in that scene at the hotel with the mouse. Bond is a man who needs to be in control at all times, but drinks himself stupid. He is a white male because he is the worst of the white males. He’s a killer, a tool by a higher power playing by old rules, a man who does not value life, he hates every minute of it, but he will never leave it. The end of this film shows him and Swann leaving together, but that’s part of what makes this movie so unsatisfying – it’s not a logical end point and seems tacked on.

The Bond films aren’t glorifying the lifestyle; they’re a warning. At least... they should be.

2.5 / 5

#James bond #007 #spectre #blofeld #Daniel craig #mi6 #m #sam mendes #Ralph fiennes #Christoph waltz #rome #Andrew scott

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