#shes sherlock ... and hes watson. of course.

[b4kuch1n]

THEE audiodrama disguised as podcast

[absentmoon]

last thought before making dinner itd be fun to throw grievs & icee in a murder mystery plot

[chimaerra]

something excruciating about having so many things that are so mine and only mine and my best friend keeps well meaningly taking them

[ask-geralt]

You guys want to know one of my favorite things about Edwin? He loves how smart his friends are. He gets so excited and outright a w e d whenever they think of something clever, make a keen observation, or offer a solution to their problems. All I ever want to write is Edwin who eloquently gushes and praises his friends' intelligence and skills. Edwin who, when the occasion arises, gases them up when they get self deprecating, because to him it's not an opinion, it's a FACT that they're smart, and good, and kind, and brave. That they're all equals. I would even go so far as to say he, himself, feels he has to continuously work and study so hard to keep up with them, to continue contributing.

Genuinely I feel like it's a pretty big factor in his hostility towards Crystal in the beginning. When Charles and Edwin first talk with her post-exorcism, she's unimpressed with the work they did to save her, and she insults the name of their agency, which Edwin and Charles are both clearly fond of. Charles, who's used to laughing at digs far more hurtful than that considering his life before death, let's it roll off him easily, but Edwin takes it more personally. From there, he grows jealous because of the attention Charles is giving her, made worse when Crystal proves her powers ARE faster than the methods the boys used before meeting her. Edwin feels like he needs to prove he's better, or at least still useful where Crystal isn't ("We all have talents.") to Charles, because if Crystal can do everything Edwin does, and does it better, then why would Charles keep sticking around? And of course, Crystal returns his hostility beat for beat, as she should. I feel like her subtle attempts to smooth things over and get along with Edwin aren't talked about enough, like she lets him get away with so many snide and openly rude comments before she starts biting back again in episode one. But Edwin holds a grudge and she shouldn't have to take his attitude towards her lying down, not forever, and neither of them are willing to, say, try and ask the other why they're so snippy towards each other, or apologize lol. Honestly their dynamic is so layered and fun to pick apart!!

What really seals it for me is the contrast in his reaction to Crystal compared to Niko. He warms to Niko pretty much immediately, calling her charming and quickly getting down to business on saving her, without even a token protest about helping yet another living girl. And I think that comes down to her attitude towards their assistance, what she brings to the table for the group's dynamic, and her willingness to let them do their thing without rocking the boat on methodology. She doesn't come across as a threat to Edwin's friendship (repressed and unacknowledged crush absolutely not helping either) with Charles, since she and Charles don't interact much, especially not one on one the way he and Crystal do, so she doesn't ruffle Edwin's feathers at all compared to how instantly and repeatedly Crystal gets under his skin.

All this to say I love all four of them, I love that they've all got their strengths and skills, I love that there's also that overlap, that they all get to do detective-ing and that Edwin doesn't get that petty protectiveness over that role. Yes he feels threatened by Crystal, but that has everything to do with Charles and nothing to do with her being competent, in and if itself. He doesn't see himself as a Sherlock Holmes with three Watsons following him around. He likes it when the others are clever, when he's not being a petty bitch (affectionate) who hates change/new things lmao

[i-am-trying-my-best-okay]

Literally all of The Shadowhunter Chronicle romances are completely unhinged it’s not even funny (I lied, it’s very funny). Here’s just some examples:

William “Will” Herondale/James “Jem” Carstairs + Theresa “Tessa” Gray: It totally would have been a vee type polyamorous situation if it wasn’t for all the death and 1800s London society going on.

Henry Branwell + Charlotte Fairchild: How dare this misogynistic society put us together, I mean, we wanted to get together anyway, but not for those reasons. Welp, time to be as unconventional as possible.

Gabriel Lightwood + Cecily Herondale: Look, you made fun of my sister, it’s only fair that I marry your sister; that’s the rules.

Gideon Lightwood + Sophia “Sophie” Collins: Dad, I have a perfectly valid reason to betray you and go to the other side. What your doing is wrong and – nO tHiS haS nOThiNG to do wiTh tHeIR mAid wHy wOUlD yoU eVEn sAy tHat?

Jesse Blackthorn + Lucie Herondale: Your request to not be brought back to life has been denied, deal with it.

James “Jamie” Herondale + Cordelia Carstairs: He didn’t commit arson we were just having sex – why are you all looking at me like that’s worse?

Anna Lightwood + Ariadne Bridgestock: Listen, there’s a lot of society going on right now, so we’re going to have to get together in secret. Oh, you don’t want to? Okay, never mind, fuck society, let me win you back real quick.

Christopher Lightwood + Grace Cartwright: Oh good, you broke into my house, now we can talk about science.

Thomas Lightwood + Alastair Carstairs: I’d really like to hate you, but I think the biggest problem with that is that I love you. Once I get over that hurdle, I think we’ll be in the clear.

Lucian “Luke” Graymark + Jocelyn Fairchild: Good job on us for breaking away from the genocidal cult run by our best friend/husband; we should hook up, you know, as a reward.

Jonathan “Jace” Herondale + Clarissa “Clary” Fairchild: Ayo the same guy conducted experiments on our blood, that’s crazy; btw so glad we’re not actually siblings.

Alexander “Alec” Lightwood + Magnus Bane: Marrying each other is against the law? Okay, fine, I’m a law biding citizen. Oh oops, I made it legal. I am the law now, and I want a wedding on the beach.

Simon Lovelace + Isabelle Lightwood: It makes sense to have our engagement party on the day of my brother’s death, that’s when we really started bonding.

Helen “Alessa” Blackthorn + Aline Penhallow: Well, I guess we’re going to go in exile together. Yes, I said together; your exile is my exile, what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine, that’s how relationships work.

Julian Blackthorn + Emma Carstairs: Yes, it’s a technical war crime to love each other, but the law itself is not really our main concern about it.

Kieran Hunter + Mark “Miach” Blackthorn + Cristina Rosales: We’re really living that cottage core aesthetic, and all we had to do to get here was do a small war and some amnesia. Worth it.

Gwyn ap Nudd + Diana Wrayburn: I’m going to stand by just in case something happens, but it probably won’t, she knows what she’s doing – WHY IS SHE JUMPING OUT THE TENTH STORY WINDOW OH MY GOD WAIT

Tiberius “Ty” Blackthorn + Christopher “Kit” Herondale: We take cosplaying Sherlock and Watson VERY seriously, so of course we needed to go to all the most illegal places, it’s only natural.

Ash Morgenstern + Drusilla “Dru” Blackthorn: So anyway I saw them in a sort of fever dream like state this one time and they’ve still been on my mind for years.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

I Can’t Stand It

Rosie’s tantrum in the park, reminds Sherlock of his own childhood. It’s strange that so much of what the little girl says and does resonates with him.

“She’s not yours,” several voices inside his head tell him.

Still, he can’t shake off the feeling of being something more to her than just…what is he exactly to her? She calls him Lock; he calls her Watson. He desperately wants her to call him something else, which he only allows himself to think about when he’s alone.

“I can’t stand it, daddy!” Rosie exclaims and stomps her feet.

“But, sweetheart,” John tries to reason with his four-year-old daughter. “You were perfectly fine eating this last week.”

Rosie rolls her eyes and throws her arms in the air. Sherlock can see that John’s mouth twitches slightly as he’s supressing a smile. Sherlock hears his mother’s voice filled with delight in his mind.

“She’s so much like you sometimes, darling.”

“There are big pieces in it,” Rosie explains to John. “I want smooth ice cream.”

John looks over at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock has long ago decided to never lie to John again. He shrugs apologetically and mutters something under his breath.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John inquires, his tone exasperated now.

“It’s quite normal for children her age to change tastes and react to new textures. I was the same.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not…”

“I know, John!” Sherlock snaps. “You and everyone we know keeps telling me that.”

He turns on his heel and walks briskly out of the park. Behind him the two Watsons call after him, begging him to come back but he can’t. Sherlock can live with everyone else claiming that he’s not Rosie’s father, but it hurts when John joins the choir. Of course, Sherlock knows he has no biological connection to her, but he’s raising her together with John, isn’t he? She comes just as willingly to him as to John. 

“Protect your heart, brother mine,” Mycroft told him after John and Rosie moved to Baker Street, and not for the first time. His brother knew that Sherlock’s heart belonged to John and had for a very long time.

***

Where are you? I’m sorry, Sherlock. We need to talk. Are you coming home soon?

Sherlock’s heart races in his chest when he reads John’s text. He barely registers the apology. All his brain is capable of is trying to deduce what John wants to talk about.

Are they moving out? Does John want him to spend less time with Rosie? Won’t he be allowed to do children safe experiments with her anymore?

He pulls his hair in frustration. Why is it so hard to figure out what John wants? Sherlock’s able to read anyone but John. Why?

“Hi, Sherlock. I didn’t know you were here,” Molly says when she walks into the lab at Barts.

“I’m leaving,” Sherlock tells her and walks rapidly out of the room.

***

Sherlock stands and watches the Thames float by. The London Eye is coloured in pink in the far distance. It’s getting dark and he’s got no recollection of the last hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he suddenly remembers that he’s forgotten to answer John’s text.

“A bit not good, Sherlock,” John’s voice scolds him.

Can I call you? Rosie wants to say goodnight.

Sherlock feels his face soften. The Watsons are probably still at Baker Street then. He doesn’t hesitate but calls John’s number.

John’s voice sounds relieved when he picks up, but it’s tinted with worry.

“Hi. You alright?” he asks.

“Fine,” Sherlock says, and it comes out more clipped than he intended.

John sighs and apparently gives the phone to Rosie.

“Lock!” the little girl exclaims.

“Hello, Watson. Ready for bed?” Sherlock inquires softly.

“Yes. Tired,” she tells him and yawns.

Sherlock feels his throat thicken, and he must swallow hard and close his eyes to keep his tears at bay. Without thinking he uses the endearment only Rosie has heard.

“Goodnight, my heart.”

“Night, Lock. See you tomorrow,” Rosie slurs, clearly almost asleep.

Sherlock ends the call before John gets a chance to ask him humiliating questions. The sharp intake of breath from John when Sherlock bid Rosie goodnight didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve ruined it now, Holmes,” he tells himself.

***

Aldi is still open, and Sherlock buys two boxes of ice cream for Rosie without any pieces of fruit, berries, crunch, chocolate or other abominations.

He takes a deep breath before locking himself into Baker Street, and he ascends the stairs silently. John sits in his chair, reading one of his medical journals. Sherlock just nods and walks to the kitchen with his purchases. He places the boxes in the freezer before walking to the bathroom.

“Sherlock?” John calls after him.

“Shower,” Sherlock answers.

The shower does wonders, and Sherlock feels quite refreshed and relaxed when he puts on a t-shirt, pyjamas bottoms and his maroon dressing gown. John stands just outside Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock startles a bit.

“Everything alright?” he asks. “Watson?”

“She’s fine, Sherlock. Soundly asleep. I just want to apologise properly to you. I was way out of line earlier. No, Sherlock, listen. I need to say this. Please.”

John’s expression is pained, and Sherlock doesn’t know what’s to come next. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“I know it’s no excuse that I was exhausted and sleep deprived, but that’s the defence I have, and it’s appalling to say the least. Rosie…she is…just as much yours as she is mine. You care for her just like any parent. She loves you, we both do, and…”

“John?” 

Sherlock’s voice is trembling, and he feels his balance is about to fail him. Warm and steady hands are placed on his upper arms and when John speaks again, his voice is warm with affection.

“Forgive me. Please?”

Sherlock just nods and lets himself melt in John’s embrace.

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

[anneangel]

The Sherlock Holmes books collection aren't about Holmes solving a mystery, 're basically about Watson describing how amazing Sherlock Holmes is solving a mystery. It's for those who like Sherlock's, and Watson's, personality and way of acting. The 'mysteries' are just a fun bonus.

That's 'why' every reader I know who is a mystery fan in itself says don't like Doyle books. Trying to read the Sherlock Holmes collection just for the mystery, without really liking Holmes and Watson, is like going to a dinner and only eating the starter appetizers because you don't like the main course.

This is why in adaptations, based on the mysterious plots of the books faithfully or a totally new creation of a mystery, the essential thing is it has Sherlock Holmes and John Watson (the mystery is always in the background, in relation to them).

It also wouldn't be best if it were just Sherlock Holmes, in part we only admire Holmes because we see him through the eyes of John Watson. And if it were just John Watson it wouldn't be best either, because it's his dedication to Holmes (and his intelligence in solving mysteries, by extension) that makes Watson such an incredible partner. Holmes' idea that, if he is the light, Watson is his conductor, is very right.

Doyle didn't know that Sherlock Holmes would become his Magnus Opus, he didn't even want it, he felt that writing about Holmes took up his time and prevented him from trying new literary styles, but in the end he had to give in and resurrect Sherlock Holmes, and do it with that he and his faithful partner live together again on Baker Street (removing Watson's wife from the plot because she was inconvenient to the purpose), because that was what the public wanted and that was what made him money.

Sherlock Holmes is proof that a character/a literary work can surpass and become greater than the author who created it. Once the author publishes, it (his work, plot and characters) also lives in the imagination of fans and admirers, and that is a path of no return. Regardless of whether or not the author likes the direction it will take and how fans and the general public 'll deal with it.

Doyle is not a renowned mystery author, he is an author renowned for having created the very intelligent and eccentric detective Sherlock Holmes and his chronicler and faithful partner John Watson.

The central point is, and always has been, the dynamic duo that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson form together.

[r0zzk1ll]

kind of a coincidence that geordi naturally has trouble with women and he was with aquiel that one time but she was never mentioned ever again (GEE I WONDER WHY), and data had a girlfriend but immediately lost her after trying too hard (GEE I W

kind of a coincidence that data hyperfixated on media with two characters that are basically gay for each other and then told geordi "can u be the watson to my sherlock please please please please p" and he went "ok!" and then they cosplay said characters like they AREN'T in a relationship like okaayyy

kind of a coincidence that geordi's the chief engineer and a total nerd and data is the most technologically built lifeform on the enterprise (and also a total nerd), so of course geordi is his doctor, and obviously there's sexual tension bc he's literally playing with his wires like come on

kind of a coincidence that data only really gets visibly nervous/worried whenever geordi is in danger ("i have no emotions mcgee when geordi is in trouble") and geordi is overly aggressive/tense whenever data's off on his own/something happens to him

KIND OF A COINCIDENCE THAT GEORDI'S SO-CALLED WIFE IS NEVER MENTIONED OR EVEN NAMED IN PICARD!!!!!! JUST A THOUGHT TO PUT OUT THERE

what isn't a coincidence though is that they're literally polar opposites in every way and made to be soulmates totally not homoerotic best friends

just look at how they fucking look at each other for example like good god merge your quarters already freaks

[calaisreno]

A Transcript of the 5 Minute Conversation Between Eurus and Moriarty

[Discussion]

Eurus: I have a master plan to finally break Sherlock!

Moriarty: Ah, wonderful! What's my part of the plan?

Eurus: Well first you, of your own accord, have to come up with a series of impossible mysteries for Sherlock to solve.

Moriarty: Okay...sounds like I'm doing a lot of the work...

Eurus: And then you have to let Sherlock outsmart you, and pretend to be so upset that you kill yourself.

Moriarty: So I pretend to kill myself?

Eurus: No, actually kill yourself.

Moriarty: So just...okay...once again, sounds like I'm doing a lot of the--

Eurus: Now, before you die, I need you to record some close-ups of yourself saying the following phrases...

She hands Moriarty a script which he leafs through

Moriarty: Most of this is train noises! Are you going to be doing ANY of the work?

Eurus: Oh of course! I'm going to dress up as Zoe Dechanel on a bus and seduce Watson.

Moriarty: Oh, that's clever! Wait, why?

Eurus: For...uh...to be a sort of mysterious and foreboding presence in Sherlock's life.

Moriarty: Right, in Sherlock's life. So why torture Watson?

Eurus: So I can shoot him.

Moriarty: Ah! Brilliant! Killing Watson will--

Eurus: No, no. Just with a tranquilizer gun.

Moriarty: But...why?

Eurus: To announce that I'm Sherlock's sister! And then he'll tell Sherlock!

Moriarty: So you're going to tell him you're Sherlock's sister and then shoot Watson...on the bus?

Eurus: Oh! No. I'm also going to pretend to be Watson's therapist, who will not be Zoe Dechanel.

Moriarty: So you can pointlessly shoot Watson with a tranq?

Eurus: Precisely! AND, to really be a nuisance, or something, I'm also going to pretend to be a girl that Sherlock will be investigating on an unrelated case that I'll have no idea he'll be investigating in 5 years because it would be literally impossible for me to anticipate that. But rest assured I'll dress up as someone related to some case, and that someone will leave Sherlock a note with "Miss me?" written in invisible ink!

Moriarty: Miss me...that's on the script you handed me.

Eurus: Exactly! I'm going to play a video of you saying "Miss me?" to Sherlock so he thinks you're still alive!

Moriarty: But I won't be...Ohhhh! So we're going to set up an elaborate mystery before I die so that it will appear to Sherlock that I've set it up after my death! He'll think I'm still alive, and it'll drive him craz--

Eurus: Right, right, but no. No, there won't be an elaborate mystery under your guise. Just little notes that say "Miss me?" Because in actuality it'll be me he's missed! Not you! Then once I've revealed myself as his sister, I'll make him go through a gauntlet of deduction! And thennn use those fun train sounds which you're going to record for dramatic effect!

Moriarty: But then...excuse me, madam, why do you need me for your plot at all?

Eurus: To confuse the audience!

>>>

Note: I wonder how many people have read this. Every time I read it, I laugh uncontrollably.

[raina-at]

Night

It’s so quiet, this late at night. Her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor seem almost blasphemously loud as she approaches him. The neon lights wash all the colour out of the already drab hospital waiting room. 

He looks so small, all of a sudden. When she was little, he was always larger than life to her, with his big gestures and his sweeping coat, his music, his experiments. He was colour and whirlwind and adventure, ramrod straight and impossibly tall. She loved it when he picked her up and whirled her around, the way they both towered over Dad when she rode on his shoulders, the way he always swept into and out of rooms. Always make a good entrance, Watson, he used to say. 

She worshipped him as a child. He was always the more interesting parent to show off, with his deductions and his experiments, with his bespoke suits and sharp wit. It was never quite safe, of course, he offended people as easily as he charmed them, but she knew he’d always put his best foot forward for her. He was reliable in his glamour, always interesting, always there for her. For them. 

For a long time, he didn’t change in her eyes. Dad wore glasses and had greying hair and used a cane, but Paps was still dark-haired and sharp-eyed. Age didn’t seem to affect him the way it did others. 

But now, as she sees him sitting there, clutching a styrofoam cup containing bad hospital tea, she realises that there’s more white than black in his hair, and his ramrod straight posture has started to stoop a bit. Age and gravity have caught up with Sherlock Holmes. He looks frail and old and scared, like nothing so much but the grandfather he is.

His eyes haven’t changed, though. He looks up when she approaches, his eyes still as sharp and as all-seeing as ever. “It’s bad,” he deduces, probably from her face, her gait, from the stethoscope she grabbed from a nurse.

She sits down heavily next to him. “Well. it’s not good. Doctor Layton will be in in a minute to talk us through the options, but it looks like they’re going to have to go in and do a coronary bypass.”

“Is he stable enough for that?”

She shrugs. “It’s a risk, but they wouldn’t suggest it if they didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.”

 He swallows, asks the next obvious question. “Did they let you see him? Is he awake?”

“He’s in and out, the nurse said. I got in for five minutes, but only because I’m on staff.” She looks at her hands. “He wasn’t conscious when I was in.” 

She doesn’t say how much that scared her, seeing her father, her bulwark against all evil, just lie there, unresponsive when she reached out to him. He was always there for her. Always. It’s unimaginable that this might change. 

Paps reaches over, takes her hand. His fingers are cold and clammy, and she rubs them to get a bit of warmth back into them.

“Is he going to die?” His voice is clinical. Detached, almost. The trembling she feels from him tells a different story.

Rosie bites down on the inside of her cheek to hold on to her composure. As much as she would like to just break down and cry, this isn't the time. She needs to be the strong one now. For both of them. “I don’t know,” she says, always the hardest thing for a doctor to say to a family member. Always the hardest thing to hear as well. “I don’t think so. He’s strong, and he has the best care in the world. He should be fine.”

Paps nods, just once, to denote that he heard her. Whether he believes her is another matter.

“Mark’s taken Joanna home,” she adds, reverting to practicalities. “I’ll swing by the house tomorrow to pick up the rest of her stuff.”

Is this her fault? Did the stress of a five-year old for a whole week prove too much for Dad? 

“Don’t be stupid, Watson,” Paps admonishes her, as ever answering unasked questions with his uncanny ability to know what people are thinking. Especially her. Especially Dad. “You know it doesn’t work like that.”

Rosie smiles a bit at the old nickname. He used to call her that all the time when she was little, but it got rarer over the years, especially after he and Dad got married and they all changed their names. “I know,” she says quietly.

Silence falls as they sit there. The clock over their heads ticks away the minutes.

The doctor comes. Talks to them in respectful, clinical terms, to Rosie’s infinite gratitude.  Surgery will likely take several hours. The doctor recommends going home. They both ignore her.

She’s bone tired but sleep is unthinkable. In a bit, she’ll get them some tea from the nurses’ station, maybe she can scrounge up some muffins as well. Her colleagues in paediatrics almost always have a stash. 

The minutes tick by. This night already feels like several lifetimes, and every bone in Rosie’s body hurts.

“I’m not ready,” Paps says, after what feels like hours of silence.

Rosie nods, takes his hand, noting the age spots, the wrinkles on his slender musician hands. Still strong, but fragile in a way he never seemed to her before. “Neither am I,” she says softly. She isn’t ready in the slightest. Sometimes she still feels like a little girl, turning around when people call her Dr Watson-Holmes, convinced they must be talking to her dad. But she knows she’ll never be ready to lose him. To lose either of them.

She squeezes his fingers. “It’ll be all right.”

“And what if it isn’t?” he asks, and there’s the old sharpness in his voice, the razor intellect unwilling to be anything but brutally honest.

“It is what it is,” she says softly, watching as he deflates. 

He puts a hand over his eyes and she can hear him try to control his emotions as he says, quietly, barely audibly, “I don’t do so well alone.”

“You’re not alone, Paps,” she says quietly, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I’m here, Mark’s here, Molly and Greg are here. Jo’s here. She needs her grandpaps.”

“I don’t—” he takes a deep breath, swallows. “I’m not. A nice person. A whole person. Without him.”

Rosie takes a deep breath and lets it out again. She knows what he means. She knows the stories about the Sherlock Holmes she never met, the young cocky genius arsehole. The man he was before he met Dad. But she also knows, from experience and because Dad told her, that meeting Dad didn’t change him. Not truly. Not fundamentally.  “That’s not true. Dad just showed you the value of your heart. He didn’t give you one.”

Paps smiles, even though his eyes are sad. “He told you that.” 

It’s not a question, but Rosie nods anyway. “You know how sentimental he really is. Even if he hides it well.”

“He doesn’t hide it well at all, actually.”

They both laugh, quiet but real. Then Paps looks at her, serious again, and says, “He lied. He did so much more than that. He made me a person, Ro. Before I met him, I thought love was for the weak. And he made me realise that to love someone, you have to be strong. Loving someone means constantly being afraid of losing them. And only the strong can handle that.”

“I know,” Rosie says gently. “You both taught me that.” She takes his hand into hers once more. “We’ll get through this, Paps. The three of us, together. Like we’ve done so many times before.”

He nods, and she can see that he’s trying to put up a brave face for her, but in truth, he’s as terrified as ever, and she can’t blame him. 

They lapse into silence again, and she can feel more than see Paps slowly drift off to sleep. She puts her head on his shoulder and dozes a bit as well. 

As dawn approaches, a hand touches her shoulder. She looks into the surgeon’s eyes, sees her smile, and breathes a sigh of relief.

He’ll take a while to recover, she knows this. And he’ll be an absolute pain to manage during his convalescence, she thinks, as she wipes the tears of relief off her face. 

She’ll wake Paps, and then she’ll take him to see Dad. She’ll probably have to force Paps to go home, have a meal, get some sleep, before he’s back here. He’ll hound the nurses and she’ll have to make apology tours through every department of her hospital until her fathers are free to go home.

And she will enjoy every goddamned bloody second of it, because it means she doesn’t have to face the inevitable just yet. 

What do we say to death? she thinks, as she smiles and remembers when he taught her CPR, barely ten years old and already knowing in her bones that she wanted to be a doctor. That she wanted to be like him.

Not today, Death. Not today.

-----

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@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno May Prompts Tour, which affords me the opportunity to be supremely self-indulgent]

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

Is this still the number for John Watson?

John pauses, thumb hovering. Before he can choose a response, another message flashes in.

It's Harry

He nearly drops the phone. Or maybe he nearly throws it against the wall. Hard to say. 

His reflex to caretake wars with his lingering resentment of her absence. But he knows he would regret ignoring an olive branch… or whatever this is.

Hi

Everything okay?

No small talk, got it

Yes I'm fine, good in fact

and no I'm not going to ask you for money

He breathes in deeply.

I'm glad things are going well for you

And he is, at least in the abstract.

Thanks

I know this is the part where I'm supposed to ask how you are

But you know I'm pants at texting

Can we just have coffee or something?

John taps his phone to his lip absently and considers his options. A public reunion seems like it could be a volatile mistake, not to mention it's 7pm on a weekday. Sherlock is at the lab, Rosie is having her after-supper blanket time, and John is catching up on charting.

And to be honest, he's pretty bored.

Come to mine for tea?

Harry's three dots wibble for a while, which John supposes is fair.

Right now?

With my schedule, I have to take opportunities where I can

Okay, yeah, I'm free

He sends her the address, feeling both pleased and annoyed. One would think that hitting his own rock bottom would make him more sympathetic towards his sister. But really, it just piles helpless anger on top of guilt on top of anger, ad nauseum.

He's not even sure she knows he's a father, for Christ's sake.

Turns out, she doesn't. She walks through the door he holds open for her, and stops abruptly when she sees Rosie. 'Oh my God,' she breathes, staring. 'Oh my God. You--' She turns to John, eyes wide. 'She-- Johnny. She's yours?'

He nods, and despite everything, he feels his face curve into a proud smile. 'Her name's Rosie.'

'Can I--' Harry indicates the blanket with a sharp movement. 'Can I say hello to her?'

'Yeah, course.' He follows her, and folds himself down behind Rosie. 'Sweetheart, this is your Aunt Harry.'

Harry makes a bit of a squawking noise, probably at the 'aunt' bit, but tamps it down. 'Hi, Rosie,' she manages, her voice rough but determined. 'It's lovely to meet you. What are you playing with?'

'Avocados,' Rosie mostly manages to say, then holds one up for Harry without hesitation. Harry takes it with a giggle, and before long they're thick as thieves with a pile of emoting avocados between them.

Harry glances up at him when there's a lull. 'So. The dad life is treating you well, yeah?'

He hesitates, then nods. 'It is now.'

She eyes him, but doesn't ask about what came before now. Instead, she says, 'I'm just going to ask, alright -- who's the other parent?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'Why d'you say there is one?'

Her eyes twinkle. 'Because you do not have the fashion sense to have bought her this outfit. Your bird rich, then?'

He coughs. 'Well. No.'

She waits, though he can see she's trying not to be annoyed by his reticence. She's never understood people wanting to keep things private. 'No?'

'My… flatmate. He's able to buy her things I don't give a toss about, yeah.'

She blinks. 'You have a gay flatmate?'

John feels his ears heat up. 'I do, yeah.'

She seems weirdly impressed. 'You've come a long way from being a rugby lad, haven't you?'

He snorts. 'I'm learning how to do plaits, if you'll believe it.'

'She's not got enough hair for that yet.'

'Sherlock--the flatmate--insists it's a useful skill, though I've no idea why.'

She doesn't reply, and he looks up from where he's helping Rosie with her current avocado. 'What?' he asks, though he knows it's useless. Harry is no Sherlock but honestly, she doesn't have to be, because his emotions have always been written all over his face. It's a curse and a blessing.

'Oh holy shit,' she breathes out.

'Language,' he admonishes reflexively.

'Sorry, I mean-- Holy noses, Johnny.'

'Don't be smug.'

'Oh, I take no credit for this, I always knew the overcompensating locker room talk was hiding something.'

He rolls his eyes, but his lips are twitching. 'Yeah, insecurity about willy size.'

'Okay, ew, first of all. Second of all-- What the--' He gives her a warning look. 'Ever-loving heck.'

'Short version?' She nods quickly. He decides to also give her the slightly-less-mad-sounding version. 'Got married, got pregnant, had baby, wife passed away, realised I had feelings for my flatmate. Who is a man. And who is effectively fathering my child.'

She claps her hand over her mouth, and for a moment he fears she's going to cry, but then realises she's laughing.

'Oi, that's just not on,' he protests.

'But it's ridiculous!' She holds out a hand to him placatingly, speaking through continued laughter. 'It's lovely and sad and all that, but you have to admit--'

There are tears escaping the corners of her eyes, and he feels it begin to bubble up in his chest, too. Her laugh has always been a thing of beauty, of loud, annoying, contagious, unforgettable beauty, and he can't help it.

And she's right, really. It is kind of ridiculous.

He lets out his own laugh, finally, and reaches for her hand.

[❤️]

[jrow]

May Prompts (25)

Day 24 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 26 here.

Intuition

He may not be Sherlock Holmes, but he trusts his intuition.

In fact, right now his intuition is probably a hell of a lot more reliable than Sherlock’s. He’s seen what Sherlock will do when blinded by anger.

It’s time for Captain Watson to take control.

“Don’t look out the window,” he hisses through a smile. “Keep looking at me or Rosie. Look happy.”

“But John—“ Sherlock argues, gesticulating wildly.

“Sherlock. Trust me.” He knows his tone leaves no room for argument. Even from the great Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock freezes and then starts fidgeting slightly awkwardly. He seems almost … flustered. But then he gives a tiny nod and plasters on a fake smile while keeping his eyes firmly on Rosie.

“Good. Now, you are going to get up and go order two coffees. And I am going to call Mrs. Hudson and ask her to pick up Rosie from here.” He looks at his daughter who is happily scribbling with the crayons and blank paper they brought. He thinks maybe he can see some hearts among her chaos of lines. “We aren’t doing anything until we get Rosie out of here.”

That seems to get through to Sherlock. “Right. Of course. Coffees.”

They proceed with their tasks and soon are back at the table, pretending to have a normal conversation while they wait for their landlady. It’s excruciating.

“Who is he?” Sherlock asks, leaning back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.

“I don’t remember his name but he was on the scene at the … Smith abduction case maybe? Something around that time.” He takes a drink of coffee. “And the bastard has been one of the constables assigned to my room too. Changed his hair and shaved off his moustache but definitely the same guy.”

“Of course, I should have known. No man in their right mind would dye their hair that colour. He’s hoping you won’t make the connection,” Sherlock says, picking up one of the crayons and drawing a happy face beside Rosie’s scribbles. She giggles and snatches the crayon from his hand, having decided she needs the yellow at this very instant. “He seems to think he has a lot to lose. I have no doubt he’s planning an escape—somewhere in Europe most likely.”

To anyone else, he’s sure Sherlock sounds calm, but he hears the quiet fury lacing every word.

He doesn’t know what to say, so they sit in silence for a moment. He drinks his coffee and Sherlock and Rosie play a game of keep away with the crayons.

“I wonder how Larkin got mixed up in all this. Hate to say it, but I feel a bit sorry for the guy,” he finally says, mostly to pass the time.

“That’s easy,” Sherlock says, keeping his focus on Rosie. “Constable Needs-to-Die happened upon Mr. Larkin in the midst of some crime. Something serious that would come with significant jail time. The constable looked the other way in exchange for a major favour, which he called in when he decided he needed to get you out of the picture.” A pause. “Feel no sympathy. Robert Larkin got exactly what he deserved.”

That rather somber sentiment is quickly dissipated by Rosie’s squeals of delight and calls of “Nana” that announce Mrs. Hudson’s arrival. She’s trying to jump down from the booster even before Mrs. Hudson made her way through the door.

“What did you tell her?” Sherlock asks quietly, leaning close.

“Just that I … errr… just that I was hoping to have a little extra time alone with you,” he says, feeling the heat in his cheeks rise. It’s not that far from the truth, really, but feels like a confession of sorts.

Mrs. Hudson swoops in and hugs Rosie before Sherlock can respond. “There’s my little princess, let’s get you in your pushchair. We are going to have so much fun!” For a woman pushing 80, Mrs. Hudson is impressively spry. She quickly gets everything together (eschewing all help), including getting Rosie all buckled in without a fuss.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock says, his voice neutral but his toe tapping rather aggressively.

“It’s my pleasure, boys. You two have fun,” Mrs. Hudson replies with a wink. “Don’t get into too much trouble.” Her words are light but there’s a look in her eye that makes him think she understands the urgency. In a flash, she and Rosie are gone.

He tries to pick up his coffee but his hands are shaking in anticipation of what’s to come. And relief that, whatever happens, Rosie is safe in Baker Street. Where she belongs.

It’s also relief that he is here with Sherlock, about to do … whatever it is they are about to do. Together. It’s where they belong.

“John,” Sherlock says, forcefully. “Rosie is safe. It’s time to do things my way now.”

Time to follow intuition once again.

“Dear god, yes.”

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[strawberrywinter4]

WIP - A Gentleman’s Shrine

Sneak peak #2 !

I know, I haven’t been active for a while, but this is what I’ve been working on! Some things may not make sense, obviously, but this is one of the scenes that will be in the halfway mark. So in honor of being halfway writing this, here you are! <3

——

“Captain Watson,” Sherlock murmurs in greeting.

“Mr. Holmes,” he says slowly. The name rolls of his tongue. Sherlock shivers. “I didn’t think this was your scenery.”

“It’s…not,” Sherlock answers. Suddenly, words are very hard. He practically blurts his next words out, “Are you going to tell my mother?”

To Sherlock’s surprise, Captain Watson’s eyebrows raise as if he hadn’t even thought of doing so. “No.” He huffs a laugh. “I’m sure she doesn’t wish for you to be out considering she hardly lets you out of the manor, but…you’re your own man. It isn’t any of my business.”

Sherlock exhales in relief. “That’s…good. Thank you.”

He hums. His eyes reach into Sherlock’s soul, seeing straight through him. Sherlock tries not to sweat.

“Is Ms. Bolton all right?” Captain Watson ends up asking.

Oh. Yes. Of course. That’s his main concern. “Uh–yes, I’m sorry. She–she said she had something to attend to.” It isn’t entirely a lie. She has her own fears to attend to about her ex lover having a chance to come back and make her life a living hell.

“I see,” he says, but his voice isn’t laced with disappointment like Sherlock thought it would be. More so, it’s of curiosity. Sherlock has found that the captain is a severely curious man. That can be both dangerous and enticing. “Do you know her?”

“Hm? Oh, no. I simply…erm…” Sherlock doesn’t know what to say. How does he explain his sudden need to speak with her if he doesn’t know her? Captain Watson doesn’t take his eyes off him. “She–I’m a fan of hers.”

Sherlock knows the captain doesn’t believe him. He can see it in the way he stares at Sherlock with strict eyes. Sherlock swallows.

“Right,” he finally says. “Well, I’m glad you could speak with her.”

Sherlock’s shoulders sag in the relief that, for now, Captain Watson won’t push on the matter further. “Yes.”

They stare at each other for a moment. A thought comes into Sherlock’s head that he can’t replace.

“Why are you here?” No. No, that sounds accusatory. “I mean–are you…is there a reason?”

Get a hold of yourself, damn you.

“I heard of this place and thought I would see what the fuss was about,” the captain says, voice smooth.

Admiration creeps through Sherlock. He wishes he could simply go wherever he pleases for the pleasure of it. He wishes he didn’t have to sneak out just to step out of the gates of his own home. Prison, more like.

Sherlock nods. “Good. That’s good.” They’re quiet for a moment. Maybe it’s best Sherlock stops the conversation here. “Um–I should be going–”

“So, Irene Adler.” The tenacity of Captain Watson’s voice makes Sherlock pause. “Congratulations. I had no idea you two were…involved.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows shoot up. That, he can confirm with confidence is untrue. “No,” he says, and this time his voice stays steady. “Absolutely not. I mean–no. She’s a friend of mine.”

Friend. A friend.

Sherlock’s never had a true friend before. At least, not one close to his age. Mrs. Hudson doesn’t count.

But considering someone a friend…it warms Sherlock’s chest before he can stop it.

Sherlock’s heart jumps when he sees something akin to relief wash over Captain Watson’s face. Why relief? Suddenly, his shoulders lose the tenseness it had before and his expression softens.

It’s such a rapid change, Sherlock is dumbfounded.

“I see,” says the captain. “I didn’t mean to misunderstand, erm–you two seemed so…” He cuts himself off, shaking his hand with a light laugh. “Never mind.”

They stare at each other for longer than necessary. Sherlock finds himself tranfixed. The heat of the moment becomes more than palpable, it becomes unavoidable.

Captain Watson clears his throat, looking away swiftly. Sherlock tries not to feel disappointed.

The former soldier waves over the bartender and pays for his drink. Sherlock senses their interaction coming to an end.

“I won’t keep you busy,” Sherlock says. “Good night, Captain Watson.”

However, just as Sherlock walks past him, a gentle grip on his arm stops him. Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat. They lock eyes, and usually, the captain would take away his hand and murmur apologies.

Now, he doesn’t so much as look away.

“Let me take you back to the estate,” Captain Watson says.

Sherlock feels his defenses return. “I’m perfectly capable of going back on my own.”

“Oh! Yes. Yes, of course you are. I meant no such thing.” He stands, and the heat of his body radiates toward Sherlock. “Just so you won’t be noticed or…I only want to bring you back safely.”

Sherlock huffs. “Captain–”

“Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock hopes he isn’t imagining the soothing stroke of his thumb. “This isn’t because I don’t think you can handle yourself. This is because I want to make sure you arrive home safely.”

Sherlock shifts where he stands. His mind is hardly functioning due to the touch. “All right,” he manages, his voice hoarse.

——

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @thegildedbee @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked @cortina @kettykika78 @johnlockbbc @dapetty @bs2sjh

(If you wish to be tagged, let me know. If you don’t wish to be tagged, let me know as well.)

So yes, I’ve been working very hard with this fic. My goal is to finish writing the whole fic, and then post the chapters! I’ve never worked that way before, but I’ve found that it’s a lot easier for me so I’m not rushing through the process to write and then get the next chapter out lol.

Thank you all <33

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. 🥹

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Someone To Rely On

Sherlock never trusted anyone, but now, barely without his knowledge, he trusted five people. Five! It was outrageous.

Despite his snarl and distaste for his brother’s involvement in his life, Sherlock trusted Mycroft nearly most of all. Nearly.

Whenever Sherlock ended up in a drug den, needed transport, or rescue from Serbian prisons, Mycroft was the one to trust, and he never failed to deliver.

Behind Mycroft in line, there had been Lestrade. Sherlock could always count on the DI lacking the brains to solve a difficult case, then turn to the world's only consulting detective for help.

His beloved landlady was dearer to Sherlock than his own mother. Her biscuits and cakes were the best in the land, perhaps even the world, and he didn’t mind her fussing all that much. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. Besides, she loved their bickering just as much as he did.

Molly, next. His cheeks blushed when he thought about how over the years, he has exploited her crush on him to the fullest. Crowding in on her to let her get a whiff of his cologne. Lowering his voice when he wanted to get access to some interesting body parts. 

The only times he has touched her, though, were to apologise for his behaviour and thanking her for helping him faking his own death. Both kisses were full of regret on his part, and he still wished he hadn’t needed to bestow them on her.

And then there was the enigma, the soldier, the doctor, the man with as many trust issues as Sherlock. John Hamish Watson. The most loyal man he has ever met. A man who actually killed another man to save Sherlock from his own stupidity mere hours after they’d met. He was admittedly an awful cabbie, but the truth remains; John had not hesitated when he fired that gun. His hand was steady, his shot perfectly aimed. It took Sherlock an embarrassing amount of time to realise who the hitman was, but when he did, he was defenceless.

***

After years of living together, Sherlock knew for a fact that John was the puzzle that would always remain unsolved. That thought appeared in his mind numerous times a week. Sometimes, numerous times a day.

On Mycroft’s last visit, he called John a Living Weapon. When Sherlock had insisted on an explanation, his older brother had rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“You are totally blind when it comes to Doctor Watson, brother mine.”

Sherlock waved a hand, indicating for his pompous arse of a brother to continue.

“How loathe I am to state the obvious, there is…how shall I put it…the effective way he disposed of Mr. Hope. I don’t think I need to go into details of every time the good doctor has kept you from harm’s way, for which I am most grateful. Be it his hands, his fists, his arms in general, or illegal firearms, he is there for you, Sherlock. Always. From day one. I am certain he would have a go at me if he thought I was a threat to your life.”

Mycroft looked smug after this delivery, which Sherlock didn’t notice. He was so deep in thought, he failed to perceive that his brother left the flat. When he returned from his Mind Palace, two hours had passed.

He had created a new room for John in his mind, using all the images Mycroft planted there while he listed every way John had saved him over the years. He used less than three seconds to name it.

John Hamish Watson - The Living Weapon

***

“You’re unusually calm,” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear when he came home that afternoon.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock asked a bit puzzled.

“Considering that your brother has visited,” John clarified.

“Ah. The knocker,” Sherlock sighed. “We really should consider gluing it to stay askew for eternity.”

John chuckled and kissed Sherlock’s jaw. The great detective inhaled sharply when he realised that John’s new room in his Mind Palace would need more images. All the ways John brightened his life, how he loved him, were weapons too. Sort of. Because Sherlock was totally helpless when his lover used every trick in the John Watson Bible of Seduction to get his attention.

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

I'll leave it up to you to deduce whether Mycroft was aware he was using a pun...

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[zaine-m]

headcanons for the characters from Bodies going out on halloween except they're all in modern times

Shahara, Iris, Karl, Alfred, and Henry all go along to take Esther and Jawad out trick-or-treating mostly just so Shahara can show them all what Halloween is

Alfred is very happy to be able to wear his whole Victorian suit gettup without being stared at weird (he feels naked in just one layer of clothes)

Him and Henry go as Sherlock and Watson

Henry takes his old-timey camera partially as a prop, partially to take photos of everyone

He loves seeing all the costume, while he's developing them he tells Alfred something about the costumes people choose to dress up as being reflections of their inner selves finally brought out

Esther becomes obsessed with being able to get the most candy possible

She forces Karl to wear a matching costume in hopes it'll get people to give them more

Karl has to stop her from swiping more candy from little kids passing by

She hasn't seen this much candy since the rationing started

Iris isn't as into all the halloween decorating and stuff but she decides it would be fun to dress up like Defoe's body (except clothed of course) so she watched a bunch of sfx makeup tutorials to make it look like her eye was shot out

whenever anyone asks her about her costume she tells them the full ghost story of no exit hole, no bullet found, no one heard a gun go off, "some say the body will keep appearing until his murderer has been brought to justice"

She tells some of the little kids "do you want to know a secret... I shot him"

Shahara always has to calm to the kid down after that but Iris keeps on doing it

Shahara is exhausted by the end of the night taking care of the whole group

Karl lets her go to bed early and babysits Jawad

When Jawad gets upset about how much more candy Esther got than him Karl forces her to share some but it turns into a big argument

"there's not rationing anymore, we can get you more treats later" "but I earned this fair and square"

eventually he gets her to give Jawad some but she steals it back in the middle of the night