#tw benedict cumberbatch

[billiewena]

multishippers perceiving every reality where two characters could’ve easily been in love and ended up together:

[realtorontobluejays]

its been a year since I saw no way home, the movie that got me into the MCU (and inevitably into Benedict Cumberbatch)

goddamn

anyways back to the blue jays

[elennemigo]

"I've got a prayer for you."

THE BOOK OF CLARENCE (2024) Dir. Jeymes Samuel

[a-victorian-girl]

SH: Well, that was tedious. JW: You went on the Tube like that?! SH (irritated): None of the cabs would take me. (Source: Ariane DeVere)

Rebuilt frame by frame, like a puzzle :)

Thank you for reblogging!

@chocolate1elise  @whatnext2020 @happydistraction @snonkerdoodlefizzy221b @gaypiningshit @7-percent @zz-kennedy @discordantwords @nowiamcoveredinyou @221beloved @bluebellinbakerstreet @bluebellofbakerstreet @strawberrywinter4 @apazwtsn @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @im-on-a-case @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @my-dear-sweet-melody @safedistancefrombeingsmart @elennemigo @helloliriels @colourfulwatson @blogstandbygo @sakshisahu @paulineholmes02 @ben-locked @ninasnakie @compact-and-beautiful @13monkton @curlyjohnlock @awh221b @bs2sjh @yan-yae @dmellieon @itsonlytext @immaculate-benediction-batch @astudyinvillains @peanitbear @dapetty @jolieblack @topsyturvy-turtely @theofficialinternetloner @aphroditesdilemma

(please tell me if you don't want to be tagged!)

[ceruleanmindpalace]

Inktober No. 31 - Haunted

Sherlock is haunted by his past.

From @bluebellofbakerstreet's amazing promptlist for Inktober 2023

.

Sorry for just vanishing for two weeks, things were (and still are) quite difficult for me at the moment. The actual topic of this Inktober work is what I am struggling with most at the moment. We are shaped by our pasts and the marks of it can make our present dark and dull. What happened in childhood can feel impossible to shake off and haunt us for our entire life.

I am flattered if you reblog, but do NOT post my art on other sites/social media or use in any other way without my written permission.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was sitting down on a tile floor with Benedetta Chopsticks in front of a bonfire and we were discussing an episode of Sherlock where Holmes does a chemical experiment to solve a case (I study chemistry).

[spooksicl-e]

personal little reference i mocked up for sherlock and john :p

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

'It's Not the Years, Honey - It's the Mileage'

a Whumped Doctor Strange one-shot

Inspired by a couple of pre Multiverse of Madness articles comparing Stephen Strange to Indiana Jones😉😁

genre: whump, hurt/comfort, light humor

rating: general audience

characters: Stephen Strange, Tess O'Neill (Healer of Kamar-Taj, OFC); established relationship; Cloak of Levitation

word count: 1.9k

It was supposed to have been date night, but Stephen was overdue. Three hours overdue. Again. Tess had taken these things in stride, right from the start. After all, you can’t be lucky enough to be the significant other of the Sorcerer Supreme without being incredibly patient, understanding, and flexible. Besides which, he was always so adorable when he finally found his way home, sincere in his apologies, and more often than not, presenting her with a fresh bouquet, which he managed to conjure even before he uttered a single word. Tonight’s transgression was bound to be a two dozen roses mea culpa--and she just knew he’d make them her favorite: pale pink American Beauties.

Not that he ever needed to. His company was dear enough recompense for any time he kept her waiting. Except for the worrying, of course, but Tess had quickly adjusted to that, and so far she hadn’t made any complaint, no matter how late her Stephen managed to show up. She’d rather spend their precious time on more pleasant pursuits--and on showing him however she could, how happy he made her simply by being...him. 

And so, Tess had adjusted down their plans. First, from dinner out and a movie, to take-out and the latest blu-ray release. And then from that, to something she could whip up, quick and easy, in the Sanctum’s smaller kitchen. Stephen was bound to be hungry when he arrived, and she had a hearty pot of stew simmering on the stove and a batch of honey cornbread ready to pop into the oven while he cleaned up. 

Tess had just given the stew another stir, when she felt a tapping on her shoulder. She turned to find Cloak looking battle singed and...well...harried. How this being without a face could express such a wide range of emotions was a continual wonder to her--but right now her immediate reaction was to ask if Stephen was alright. 

Cloak’s collar shook a clear ‘no’, and then it tugged at her arm, to get her moving. She turned off the stove and moved the stewpot to another burner, and followed Cloak down the grand staircase. And there sat Stephen on the third step, head bowed and shoulders hunched, his bloodstained tunic rent in several places. Tess’s heart leapt to her throat, though she tried to remain calm, realizing that he needed her as a Healer tonight, far more than as the woman who loved him. 

She dropped to one knee in front of him, noting that the shelf of his jaw bore a dark bruise, and that he had a nasty cut across the bridge of his nose, a black eye and a split lip. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching her sure hands towards him, studying his wounds with practiced eyes, evaluating which she should address first. Thankfully, the blood on his clothing was dried, so that Tess concluded he wasn’t actively bleeding. “What happened,” she asked quietly, concerned to see him breathe shallowly, as breathing any deeper appeared to make him wince. 

“You don’t wanna know,” he muttered, as she placed both of her palms on his chest and closed her eyes, searching for any internal damage. 

“Ow...ow...ow...owwwwwwww,” he grumbled, “Is this really necessary?” 

Cloak was flitting back and forth, giving the closest approximation of pacing as possible. “It certainly is, as well you know...Doctor.” To that he only grunted, then followed with a heavy groan when she palpated his lower ribs and abdomen. “Stephen,” she informed him patiently, “You’ve got at least three cracked ribs...” 

“I know,” he replied curtly, “Don’t you think I know that?”

Tess tried to placate him. “Of course you do--but there’s no need to be pissy about it. It’ll just take a simple healing spell to start them knitting properly together.” 

“I...know,” he repeated through gritted teeth, attempting to stand. Cloak had to swoop in to keep him from landing hard on his bottom. 

Tess rose and wiped her hands on her denim capris. “Cloak, can you get him up to the infirmary, so I can take care of him properly?” 

Cloak nodded, but Stephen had other ideas. “No infirmary--just get me to my room...” 

Honestly, doctors really do make the worst patients, she thought, although she held her tongue, telling Stephen instead, “Nope. It’s the infirmary for you.” He huffed, but didn’t speak up. “And that’s Healer’s orders, Stephen. I outrank you in this, at least for the moment...” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled dismissively. He handed her his sling ring, “We can portal there--it’ll be quicker and a less bumpy trip than relying on...” He wagged his head in Cloak’s direction. 

Tess had to suppress a chuckle, as Cloak’s reaction to that perceived insult was to turn its back to Stephen. “Alright,” she sighed, slipping his ring on and bringing the golden circle to life. She returned to his side and offered him a hand to help him stand up. “Just lean on me, and we’ll be there in a jiffy.” 

She could feel his aversion to appearing so needy, even as he braced himself with an arm across her shoulders, but knew well that it wasn’t on her account. Stephen generally disliked showing weakness to anyone, although as their relationship had blossomed, his trust in her had been enough for him to reveal much of what he hid from the world behind sarcasm and bravado. Tess had always taken such precious trust as both a privilege and an honor. Stiff lipped against his pain and leaning on her heavily, they hobbled through the portal and Tess led him to sit on the nearest bed. 

The infirmary was empty but for them, and she took a moment to close the portal, and then rushed to gather her supplies. Disinfectant and a basin of warm water, along with a washcloth and the softest, fluffiest towel she could conjure, for after she got him cleaned up. And bandages. Lots and lots of bandages. Tess returned to Stephen’s side to find him struggling to remove his tunic. She set down her things, telling him, “Here...let me...” 

“I’ve...got...this.” he grunted, though it was clearly hurting him to raise his arms above his head. 

“No. No you don’t,” she corrected him gently, “Please--just let me do my job, Stephen.” 

“Alright...alright...” He did his best to relax as she worked the garment over his head and off. Tess gasped at the network of contusions across his shoulders and upper chest. “Dammit, Tess...that hurts!” 

“I know, darling. I know.” To her relief, most of his bruises appeared superficial. “Let’s start by getting you cleaned up, okay.” Stephen nooded, and closed his eyes as she washed the cut on his nose, and several shallow scratches on his cheeks and chin, finally seeing to the split on his lower lip. 

Next, she addressed the wounds on his back, circling behind him and perching on the edge of the bed. She was relieved again to find that they were rather shallow as well, and made quick work of cleansing them. Tess chose that moment to speak to him as his woman, rather than as a Healer. “You know--you’re extremely fit for a man your age, darling. But it wouldn’t hurt to be a little more careful out there.”

“It’s not the years, honey...” he snorted, “...it’s the mileage...” Stephen had stiffened despite her gentle approach, but when she applied the disinfectant, he hissed out a string of very un-Stephen-like curses. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” she muttered, her patience beginning to strain.

“I’m not,” he responded petulantly. 

Coulda fooled me, she thought, but bit back that retort. A few minutes more and she had his wounds properly bandaged. Tess set aside the basin and the towel, telling him, “Now let’s see about those ribs. Do you think you can lay back? It’ll be easier that way.” 

“Of course I can,” he barked, “I’m not an invalid, you know.” 

No, you’re just the crankiest Master of the Mystic Arts that I've ever encountered. Bravest and most selfless too, so I suppose I can forgive your churlishness.

He winced when she placed her hands on his shoulders, helping to ease him onto his back. Closing her eyes again, she skimmed her hands above the skin covering his damaged ribs, whispering the charm needed to bolster his body’s natural healing ability. Satisfied that she had succeeded once she could feel the spell take root, Tess pulled her hands away and opened her eyes. Stephen’s were closed, and his face had gone slack with a look of relief. Good enough, she concluded, hoping he would sleep a long while to aid in healing. 

Still, she thought she could do a little something to speed the reduction in the nastiest of his contusions--and it would be best to try while he was asleep. She reached tentative fingers to Stephen’s right shoulder. His eyes flew open with a start, “Owwwwww...that’s still tender, you know!” 

“I’m just trying to help...” 

“Well...I don’t need a nurse anymore,” he groused, “I just want to sleep.” 

“If you let me see to these now, you’ll feel much better in the morning...” Tess trailed her fingertips along his jaw, channeling her own energy into relieving his pain. “Any better?”

"A little,” he pouted, “But it hurts...almost everywhere...”

There seemed to be no pleasing him this way--but still, it was her nature to try. Exasperated, she blurted out, “Well, dammit, Stephen--where doesn’t it hurt?” 

Looking defiant, he showed her his elbow, “Here.” Tess laid the softest kiss she could upon it. 

“And...and here,” he added, pointing to his forehead, his whole demeanor softening in response to her tenderness. Cautiously, Tess leaned in and planted a loving kiss there. Momentum had turned in her favor. 

Stephen pointed to his un-blackened eye, “Um...here?”

Tess smiled softly, watching his eyes flutter shut, and then brushed her lips as lightly as she could upon his eyelid. There was a moment as her face hovered over his, and the look when he opened his eyes made her heart start to melt--for within their mercurial depths, she saw both gratitude and an apology for his childish behavior. Stephen tapped his lips and murmured, “Here.” 

She wondered if he felt her indulgent smile as their lips finally met, but before too long their kiss had gone from chaste to something deeper and more enduring, as he relaxed completely under her loving ministration. When she finally pulled away, Tess found that her kiss had worked a magic of its own, and her beloved Stephen was out like a light. 

Tess arose and draped the sheet across him lightly, then levitated the next bed over and landed it flush against his. Her hunch was that he’d sleep through the night, but she wanted to be close by if he should need her. 

Come morning, she awoke to find him gone--can’t keep a good Sorcerer down for long, she mused--but in his place, he’d left three dozen pale pink American Beauties, and a small piece of handwritten parchment. It was brief but to the point:  

Thank you, honey. For everything. Love - your Stephen xx

tagging: @hithertoundreamtof23 @stewardofningishzida @ironstrange1991 @mousedetective @aphroditesdilemma @icytrickster17 @groovyqueer @battledress @aelaer @mckiwi @couldntbedamned

[schreiberpablo]

You ever had that dream where you're falling, as if you've been pushed off a tall building? That was probably me.

[consult-sherlockholmes]

bendy-dick cum-on-my-baps

Is this some kind of drug-induced babbling? Even while high on drugs, I am still able to communicate properly and compose reasonable sentences. I am still quite eloquent then, in control of my mental functions. But of course not everyone can be gifted with such outstanding intelligence as me, even when high.

[elennemigo]

Benedict Cumberbatch in Patrick Melrose (Limited Series 2018). Request by @cumbercougars ♡

[christinepalmers]

“ could've been one hell of an incursion...”

[hithertoundreamtof23]

The best (or worst?) distracted driving psa:

For those that didn’t know, this is even in the credits:

[vavuska]

Fake news here:

Barbados recently (30th november 2021) became a republic within the commonwealth instead of just an independent state. Since then Barbados has looked into ways of doing right to the people that were enslaved back in the colonial ages. Part of this is building museums about the atrocities, another part is attempting to get people to pay back reparations for their ancestors roles in slavery.

They've not pushed to get reparations previously, as the British monarch was still their head of state. With that no longer being the case, the Barbados PM Mia Mottley is calling for 1 specific family to pay reparations. Drax Hall was the largest slave plantation in Barbados and the only one still in the hands of the family of the original slavers. Its current owner is Richard Drax, the Conservative MP for South Dorset. This is who they're asking to pay these reparations. They want him to give the land back so they can build on it, and otherwise there's talk of them sueing for money instead.

The chairman of Barbados's national commission on reparations (David Comissiong) has talked about how other families might be asked to pay reparations too. In particular he mentioned the British royal family/ other relative of Queen Elizabeth, none of which is happening now

The only reason Cumberbatch is involved is the Telegraph used his name to ask whether he was involved so they could get clicks. Cumberbatch or his family, aren't involved in the slightest. Other newspapers than ran with this clickbait and made it much larger. Here is the only thing that's said about Cumberbatch

When asked if descendants of the Cumberbatch estate would be pursued, Mr Comissiong said: “This is at the earliest stages. We are just beginning. A lot of this history is only really now coming to light.”

They are not actually targetting him, Barbados in general is just making an effort to reclaim land that was used as slave plantations and use it (or the funds if they come to an agreement) to fund infrastructure.

The article linked here is just fully clickbait without doing much themselves, and intentionally using charged words like "reparations" to get clicks.

[countlessquestionss777]

My Dear Melancholy…

Part Three Warnings: Crying, mentions of death, lots of sadness, anxiety, low self worth.

Summery: Sherlock let’s himself be vulnerable for once.

He’d been watching and listening for so long. She hadn’t stoped. He hadn’t wanted her to. They stood in front of one another, both on two different planets, both orbiting the other. And as gravity would have it, he kept getting closer and closer to her. He’d been thinking about her while she played, thinking about the huge role she’d played in making his life a slightly happier one. He thought about how he absolutely adored her. And about how he hadn’t told her that, and he might not ever tell her.

Because he was a troubled man. He know that. He also know that John Watson was once his best friend.

And just the thought of what he felt he’d done to his best friend. It sickened him. That man lost the mother of his child, and the love of his life. And Sherlock did that to him. He caused that pain.

So how can he be standing here, being loved in the way she loved him. Being serenaded by her, cared for by her, while John Watson is grieving the loss of the woman he will never be loved by again.

And, there was a fear. A fear that he would hurt her. A fear that she would throw him in the trash. He feared he didn’t deserve her. He feared she would leave him.

Sherlock feels selfish. He truly loathes himself. Why can’t he pay attention to what’s outside his head. Right now it’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. And she’s so kind to him. So gentle with him. She never pushes him, never hurts him. She’s so unbelievably patient. How can he deserve her? How can she want to be around him? If she only knew what he had done.

But even then she’d still love him. Because that’s who she is. She is a friend who doesn’t leave when her friend is fighting battles. She fights with him. And for him.

She is so lovely and wonderful.

He reaches out and places his hand on the hand holding the bow, the music stops. And she finally opens her eyes. The calm she had felt soon turns to worry when she sees that, in Sherlock’s eyes, there are tears threatening to shed. The tension behind a falling façade.

The way she’s looking at him now makes him miss the music, makes him look back down, then away towards the fireplace. He slowly crosses his arms over his chest. Hiding. Trying to at least. Failing miserably.

She sets her instrument down, the sound echoing in the silence the lack of its music caused. He sighs through his nose defeatedly, and steps away from her.

She sees the conflict in his face, and prays for his smile to return.

She whispers his name. Soft like the grassy fields in Ireland. His name rolling off her tongue with such reverence. He just shakes his head. And the tears begin to fall silently.

She says his name again, stepping closer to him just as he slowly covers his face with his hands and turns away from her.

She wanted to hold him. The heaviness of his demons have broken through the peacefulness she knew he was feeling moments ago. She saw it in his eyes, in his laughter, his beautiful beautiful smile. Where did that go?

She exhales through her nose and touches his shoulder, turning him back her way. And gently, she takes hold of his wrists, and brings his hands away from his face. And in his last line of defense, he closes his eyes. And she watches his jaw tense, as he swallows, and his brows furrow. And she almost breaks for him.

She raises her left hand and rests it on his face. He slowly exhales at the contact. Tears still silently falling, she catches them with her fingers. She doesn’t say anything to him. He’s already allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of her, which is new.

She just watches him, and touches him. She touches her thumbs to his eyelids, and without thinking, he places a chaste kiss to the palm of her left hand.

He then tenses, feeling as though he might’ve crossed a boundary. She sees shame wash over his features. She quickly reassures him, and tells him it’s ok.

He nods his head. Opens his eyes, and is greeted by the most caring eyes he’s ever seen. And for once during that night, he doesn’t feel guilty about that care being directed towards him. She puts her hand back down, instead grabbing his. He looks down at the contact. And he thanks her. She responds by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. She hears him let out a breathy laugh. And she reaches up and rubs his arm, and squeezes it as she says his name once more.

He looks back up at her, at her pretty smile, her kind eyes. And the shame comes creeping back. The feeling of being undeserving comes creeping back.

They look at each other for some time. Her admiring him.

Him pleading for forgiveness.

“I’m terribly sorry”, he apologizes.

She frowns and shakes her head. What is he sorry for? Why does he feel the need to do that? To make himself small? Doesn’t he know how beautiful he is?

“Sherlock.”

He quickly looks back down. The way she’s looking at him has his heart pounding. The way she says his name. She really doesn’t know what she does to him. She’s so warm and he almost can’t take it.

“What do you have to apologize for love?”

As she says this, she places her palm to his chest. And she feels the speed at which his heart is beating. It concerns her, but she says nothing about it for now.

She wants to feel his heart beat. She wants to feel the blood pumping life into him. She is deeply saddened at how much anguish has his heart in knots.

She has no clue what’s happened. She doesn’t know where this pain stems from. She wants to know so bad, but she’s afraid to ask him. She doesn’t want him to clam up and close himself off from her.

She said love. Called him that.

Why?

Why does she do things like that? Why does she talk to him like that? Why does she touch him the way she is right now? Why does she do that to him?

She has no idea. No idea about just how much he has to apologize for. There’s so much. He’s drowning in the guilt from it all. And it hurts so bad. He doesn’t know how to make it stop.

He shakes his head. She’s asked him something he can’t answer. How could he possibly?

He looks her in the eyes, grabs her hand from his chest, and squeezes it, and says, “I don’t want to see the look on your face when I tell you. So I won’t. I can’t. And I’m sorry.”

She frowns at him. Shakes her head. She knows he hasn’t done anything that would make her want to run. She just knows it.

“Sherlock, you can’t make me go anywhere. I promise you that. I’ve known you long enough to know just how truly good you are. You are good. You are Sherlock. I promise.”

He stops back then as he lets her hand go. He looks at the floor. It’s becoming blurry. He’s going to cry again, and he hates himself for it.

She idolizes him. She shouldn’t.

The fact that she does, has him wanting to run. But not out of contempt. Out of fear. Terror even.

A hand goes to cover his mouth, as he tries to stay as calm as possible. He walks away from her, towards the door. He needs her to go. Just for now. He doesn’t want her to stay gone, he just needs her to distance herself for a short while.

He inhales slowly, and stares at the door as he asks her to leave.

She’s done what she said she wouldn’t. She said she would give him his space. She said she wouldn’t prod. But she’s gone and done it and now he’s pulling back.

He knows she wants to know more. He knows she’s curious. And he knows he’s selfishly withheld information about himself. And not just regarding John. He’s withheld details of his personal life. Of his experience of life. She has no idea who he is when she’s not with him. She’s never seen his room. She’s never Seen him without a jacket or a long sleeve shirt. She’s never seen him sleep. She’s never seen him eat. She’s never seen where he goes when he’s not at his flat. She’s never been anywhere with him that wasn’t at his flat. He’s been hiding from her since day one. Of course she wants to know more.

And it’s his fault. He should’ve hidden more thoroughly.

He’s becoming slightly more upset now. Because he feels naked. He feels too vulnerable. He’s breaking. And she’s seeing it happen.

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, ridding the tears.

“Please, I need you to go.”

His voice cracks and now his breathing is picking up.

She sees all of this. She sees his distress. And it’s alarming. She’s afraid for him.

“Sherlock?” She whispers behind him. She begins slowly walking towards him. She can’t leave him like this. She knows he wants her to, but she just can’t.

He hears her voice, and at this point, he’s so on edge that he has to press his hands to his mouth to keep his breath in. He closes his eyes shut tight. He hears her say his name again. He shakes his head.

He tries one last time to make her go away.

In a pathetic voice that comes out in a whimpering whisper, he says, “Leave.”

But she doesn’t listen.

She’s comes right up behind him, and places a hand on his back between his shoulder blades.

“I’m not abandoning you.”

He cries without restraint now. It’s a silent cry, but it’s full of the tension he’s been trying to hold in.

She’s never seen someone cry like that. Tears are falling from his eyes like a rainstorm, but nothing else is happening. He’s so exhausted he can’t help but let them fall. And he’s completely still. With his hands covering his mouth.

She stands in front of him now, with both of her hands rubbing his chest. She feels the rate of his heart, she hears and feels his breath leave his lungs shallowly.

She slides her hands to his wrists and moves them away.

He whispers no, and weakly attempts to reject her.

But she doesn’t listen.

She places his hands to his sides, and cups his face. And she leans in to kiss his jaw. So softly.

She moves to his cheek. The noise he lets out breaks her heart. She shushes him lovingly, and she moves to the other side of his face.

His heart is swelling. He’s falling so hard and he’s in so much pain all at the same time. He feels her lips on his face, and he cries a little harder.

She’s touching him again. On his chest. And then on his stomach. And on his sides.

He closes his eyes, and puts his face into the crook of her neck as she runs her hands over him.

His breath on her neck raises goosebumps, and her heart swells too.

She moves him to the couch and sits him down. But before she can sit next to him, he raps his arms around her, and buries his face into her stomach.

And he continues crying. And she runs her fingers through his hair.

She’s crying now.

He’s completely broken down. And she still has no idea why he’s hurting. She wants to help him so bad. She wants to make him feel better. She needs him to feel better. She can’t keep watching him break. She’s gotta do something.

But she doesn’t know what to do. So she just holds him.

He’s squeezing her hips tight, trying to block out memories and cruel thoughts.

He’s hyperventilating.

He’s loosing control. He’s going to have an anxiety attack. He needs to calm down.

“Sherlock. Sweetie. Breath.”

“I’m trying.”

He tries to do what she says, but he can’t. His attempts are futile, and he’s becoming more frustrated with himself.

“Sherlock, breathe with me. Feel my diaphragm as I breathe.”

He presses the side of his face to her stomach. And he mimic’s her as best he can.

He pays attention to the way her fingers feel in his hair. He pays attention the way her hips feel in his hands as he squeezes them. And he pays attention to the warmth of her body.

And he breathes deeply for her.

He keeps at it, until eventually, his breathing calms down.

He exhales a calm breath, and puts his nose on her belly.

They both stay that way for a minute.

He’s better now. Even if only a little. He breathes in her scent and he feels lighter.

His hands roam lower, and they end up on her thighs.

He’s calm now. He feels better. She’s holding him. She’s so close to him. And he feels safe.

She makes him feels safe.

He doesn’t want her to go.

[blxck-parade]

the whole 'benedict cumberbatch ableist' controversy is very complicated. as someone who is on the spectrum and is surrounded by others who are also on the spectrum, i didn't think what he said was as bad as some people were making it out to be. he never dehumanized anyone but there are some things that he probably should have done a little more research on.

what he said was insensitive but i see where he's coming from. people should be allowed to headcanon a character as autistic and characters like sherlock and alan turing could very well be on the spectrum. cumberbatch seems to have the idea in his head that all autistic people are low-functioning (which is not true and the 'functioning' terms are actually highly offensive but thats a story for another day; this idea has probably been caused because he's only ever interacted with one side of the spectrum). these characters could definitely represent [the other] side of the spectrum - the only problem is they play into stereotypes.

it's not impossible for an autistic person to have these symptoms but constantly portraying autistic people in this way warps the public's perception of what it is to be on the spectrum. making sherlock and turing (yes i know that he's a historical figure, this is just about the movie and cumberbatch's interpretation of him) 'geniuses' plays into the ableist stereotype of giving your disabled characters something special to 'make up' for their disability (e.g. a person in a wheelchair getting wings).

yes, benedict cumberbatch's view of autistic people isn't the best one but it really isn't his fault. he hasn't been exposed to a broad range of neurodivergent people so he hasn't seen all of the sides to neurodivergency. the root of this problem, to be completely honest, is modern media's portrayal of autistic characters. it's misleading us on what autism really is and there's no better example than benedict cumberbatch.