thereichenbachqueen

[thereichenbachqueen]

Hi everyone, long time no see! I’m just stopping in to say it’s my best friend’s birthday today, and they’ve been going through a bit of a hard time.

It would mean the absolute world to me if you guys could hop into their inbox over at @creelsclocks and give them some birthday love!! 🎂✨🎉

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gingerthon asked for nerd sherlock ages ago

he probably gets teased for not knowing the solar system a lot

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[thereichenbachqueen]

I don't know that writing this is going to do anything, but perhaps it'll make me feel a bit better.

In all honesty, this week has been absolutely horrendous. Really, I've just been feeling off lately, because things keep piling up and then my frustrations or concerns have nowhere to go.

Today I found myself honestly thinking about just walking in front of one of the cars passing me; right now I feel like no one would care, or notice, and my absence would benefit people far more than hinder them. I didn't act on this, obviously, but I just. I wanted to, and that scares me, you know?

Before this worries anyone that might read his, know that I'm not planning anything, just venting about passing thoughts and such. Trying to make sense of it all. I know I'll keep on going, but right now it's just difficult, if that makes sense. 

The other day I very much thought about how little I mean to everyone, and about how silly I've been for wanting to mean more. And then things just kept adding to that, making it worse.

I'm tired, I'm sad, and I feel very alone. I don't know how many times I can try opening up to people or try being happy one hundred percent of the time. I'm hardly getting any sleep, and I'm almost always nauseous or sporting a headache because of that.

I can't talk about anything though, because hey, people don't care. And I get that, and it's fine.

It's just lonely.

[thereichenbachqueen]

Mycroft | Watercolour, white gel pen & coloured pencil on hot press watercolour paper

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Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.

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And that means to hell with what happens to us.

Mycroft is being completely counterintuitive. If they’re going to have any chance of beating Eurus, it’s John who should die. John knows it, Mycroft knows it, Sherlock knows it, and yet it’s not John at the end of the barrel. It’s Mycroft. For someone who claims to be missing a heart, the love that Mycroft feels for his little brother is stronger than the logic he reveres. And so despite all that brain power and potential Mycroft knows he offers if he lives, he chooses to put it all aside and be a solider. To do his duty. To protect Sherlock. To be big brother.

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So I caved and got my first tattoo yesterday despite my nervousness. Ahhhhh.

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Hello fellow tumblr folk! So I suppose I should explain what this here post is all about, huh? Well, earlier this year I made up my mind in regards to whether or not I wanted to come back to the Sherlock fandom after an extended break - I don’t regret returning for even a second. Each and every one of you has been so, so welcoming - both within the Sherlock fandom and out - and I really wanted to find a way to say thank you. So, to everyone who has ever spoken with me, to everyone who puts their soul into their blogs, to everyone who shares a love for exploring these wonderful characters, and to everyone I have yet to have the pleasure of chatting with - thank you. Thank you for being here and for making this part of my life so remarkable and irreplaceable.

So what are you giving away, exactly?

Ah, good question! You see, I’ve seen a lot of folks here writing posts about how they’re feeling down and out right now - and you know, with how much negativity seems to be out there in the world at the moment, I wanted to find a way to start the New Year off with positivity! So, it’s my plan to send out packages that contain little presents, snacks, and other random goodies – all depending on the winners’ likes and interests, of course; I’ll be messaging each winner for this information!

How many packages will you be sending out?

Depending on how many people this reaches, I would love to send out at least five, with a cap of ten. However, I am definitely open to doing this again throughout the year in order to get more packages out to even more lovely people!

How will you be choosing the ‘winners’?

For complete fairness, I’ll be using a random number generator and going by that!

Are there any rules?

None that I can think of! Oh, wait – yes! Obviously if you happen to be chosen as a winner, I’ll need your name and address. If you are not comfortable giving that sort of information out, it’s probably best that you don’t participate!

Important things to note:

You can like/reblog this post as many times as you would like up until February 15th! After February 15th, I’ll have to start choosing the winners and messaging them so that I can gather items for the packages. I live in the United States, but I am willing to ship internationally! You do not need to be following me, and you do not have to have to be a Sherlock blog. All are welcome!

[thereichenbachqueen]

Okay but can we talk about that tackle hug Sherlock gave to Mycroft during their picnic? Now I can’t help but imagine a tiny little Sherlock begging for Mycroft to play pirates with him and Victor even though Mycroft is trying to do schoolwork. 

“We need a leader for another crew, My. Please?”

Spoiler alert: Mycroft always gives in.

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he’s a bit shaken up.

The roads we walk have demons beneath —

There has never before been a moment in time which personified failure as surely and as deeply as the present; while bright florescent light burns beyond the lids of Mycroft’s eyes – and while the elder Holmes tries to ignore the ever-present smell of rust – he worries.

( For upon his first awakening and after careful surveillance of his surroundings, Mycroft had been ill. )

Sherlock and Doctor Watson are gone, no doubt taken by Mycroft’s vanished sister; the putrid odor of sick that turns the mere thought of shame into tangible evidence is difficult to bear.

           Failure.

( Of course the elder Holmes cannot escape this foul taste, which now runs rampant over his tongue, glides easily between his teeth, and prompts more bouts of near painful nausea. )

Ah, but this sickness is well-earned, isn’t it?

While the loathing spreads, corrosive to Mycroft’s remaining senses, he finds himself acknowledging that it is both a blessing and a curse that his sister’s cell is silent; Mycroft’s oxygen depraved brain is still gasping, sluggish from the onset of trauma that had been, for all intents and purposes, ignored for decades.

(If only Eurus had left him a bottle of cognac —)

— No – the only matter of importance is getting out of here – not for himself, no, never for that –

           For Sherlock.

The bodies of both the governor and the governor’s wife provide no solace for Mycroft’s nerves when his eyes free themselves of darkness. Panic glistens his forehead with sweat, dried tracks of moisture reddened on too-pale cheeks; Eurus is no longer physically near, but the devastation she had wreaked settles into Mycroft’s shaking limbs; his fingers curl so deeply into his palms that he bleeds.

“This is my fault.”

The weight of a truth so buried has been hideously dragged to the surface – the elder Holmes will never forget Eurus’ amusement, nor will he ever cease to remember John’s hasty step backward once the admittance had occurred aloud. Yet by far, the worst of it had been his little brother – for by the end of their sister’s taunts and by the end of her game, Mycroft had used every ounce of self-control left inside his frame to try and make things easier for the sibling he’d essentially helped to destroy.

( If faux uselessness is what it takes to keep Sherlock happy and safe, to make John the thoughtless choice in regards to worth – )

Better dead than to see you sink again, brother mine.

A sound not much unlike a moan is drawn through clenched teeth – Mycroft knows very well that this cell cannot simply be escaped from without help – and judging by the definite lack of footfall in the hallway, not a soul is coming for him; this could mean death for both him and his brother.

“ Enough! ”

A shout to an empty room – the foolishness of it would almost be comical if Mycroft were able to control himself; hopelessness had never been a feeling of which he allowed himself to grow accustomed to – and now his brother could be dying due to Mycroft’s own failures.

( His weakness. )

The antrum of the stomach contracts, the fundus and cardia relax—

Oh, gods, not again.

—the diaphragm cramps and pulses sharply, the spasms shaking Mycroft’s frame as he inhales more rust and promptly bends his head to the floor and retches; the repetitive heaving produces nothing but bile, acidic and bitter in the elder Holmes’ throat. He knows even as his eyes close that this agony is much deserved – for the years of secrets, for his sentiment, for caring too much —

( constantly )

           My fault, my fault, my fault – this is my fault.

— these demons are justified.

— and mine have been waiting for a very long time.

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Honestly the fact that Mycroft is said to be “a bit shaken up” by the end of The Final Problem seriously highlights how much trauma that man has just endured.

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“Am I happy, too? I haven’t checked.”

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Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain.

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“[Sherlock] has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?”

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One day I hope Mycroft Holmes realizes that not everything is always his fault.

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Mycroft being purposefully cruel to Sherlock about John in order to make it easier to shoot him.

Mycroft reiterating to John, when he tries to argue, that they’re soldiers today - soldiers die for their country.

Mycroft being willing to die for them.

Mycroft trying to be a hero even though bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity.