turduckenlady - Tumblr blog

[turduckenlady]

I love how everything about Shezza is the complete OPPOSITE of Sherlock, including his posture.

Shezza? I was undercover. Seriously, Shezza, though?

[turduckenlady]

ANDREW SCOTT for Variety ph. Chantal Anderson

Scott’s production company, he tells me, is called Both/And — he notes the slash in the middle. “I’ve always believed that things are always both something and something else. It could be the happiest day of your life, and you’re hungry. You’re at a funeral, and you have a laugh. There’s always something else.” I can relate: I’m pleased to be connecting, but sorry that I upset him. And so I apologize.  “No, no, listen! I’m upset anyway!” he says, then lets loose another hearty laugh, loud and rich enough to crack the tension of the moment. In its gusto and its surprising timing, it does feel like a laugh at a funeral, but sometimes those are the kind one needs. 

[turduckenlady]

Fire

Fire exposes your priorities.

The explosion shakes the very foundations of 221 Baker Street. Sherlock looks up from his microscope and sees a vast billow of smoke rise out of the windows of Speedy’s cafe.

Sherlock is out of his seat and down the stairs in two seconds flat. Mrs Hudson meets him at the door.

“What happened?” she asks, looking terrified.

“Gas explosion, if I had to guess,” Sherlock answers, taking her by the elbow. “We need to get out now.”

“Sherlock—”

“Now, Mrs. Hudson.”

He opens the door and forces her out of the building, taking his phone out of his pocket to dial 999.

“Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around, forcing him to look at her. “Look!”

Sherlock follows her outstretched hand with his eyes and his entire world whites out on the edges. Rosie’s pram is parked in front of Speedy’s. 

Sherlock checks his watch. 4:10 pm. John normally comes home with Rosie at four…

They often pick up baked goods from Speedy’s before coming upstairs…

Sherlock feels bile rise in his throat, but he ruthlessly suppresses his fear as he presses his phone in Mrs Hudson’s hand. “Phone 999. They’re probably already on their way, but do it anyway. I’m…” he trails off and gestures to the entrance to Speedy’s.

He doesn’t even hear Mrs Hudson’s response. He runs towards the shattered door and carefully steps inside the wrecked cafe.

The air is thick with smoke, and he can see flames licking out of the kitchen. Glass litters the ground. 

He hears her crying immediately. “Daddy,” she sobs. “Wake up.”

Sherlock assesses the situation with one glance. Rosie seems relatively unharmed, but John’s unconscious, and trapped beneath a heavy-looking shelf. Mr Chatterjee is lying behind the counter. He’s alive, but that’s all Sherlock has time to determine before instinct kicks in.  He’s at Rosie’s side and is picking her up before he’s aware that he’s moving.

“We need to get you out of here, Watson,” he says as he lifts her away from John’s supine body. He hesitates briefly, registering that John is breathing normally, but knowing he can’t lift that shelf alone, and knowing he has to get Rosie out of here. Now. The gas valve is still open. There could be a second explosion any moment.

It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done in his life, but he clutches his wailing daughter close to his body and runs out of there as fast as his feet carry him.

“Daddy!” she wails into his ear, tearing at his heart with every forlorn cry. “Daddy! We can’t leave Daddy!”

Outside, he’s greeted by a pair of burly firemen, who pull him behind a safety barrier and hand him over to a paramedic, who forces him to sit in the back of an ambulance. They try to pry Rosie out of his arms, but she’s holding as tightly to him as he’s holding on to her.

“Daddy! What’s happening to Daddy!” she wails, sobbing into his shirt.

“Don’t worry, Watson, the firemen will save Daddy. They’ll get him out,” he soothes her mechanically, even as every muscle in his body screams that he needs to go in there and dig John out with his bare hands if he has to, because this can’t be happening, it just can’t. After all they’ve been through, a fucking gas leak—

But he doesn’t move even one inch, because he knows, he knows, he has to be there for Rosie, even if—

Especially if—

He feels bile rise again, but he swallows down the panic and the fear and the desperate need to run back in there, and holds on to Rosie, whispering soothing nothings into her blonde hair, even as she screams for her father, again, and again, and again. Sherlock wishes he could scream as well, but if he even utters John’s name now he’ll break clean in two from the force of the fight raging within him.

He could give her to someone else, run in, get John out.

But what if they both die in there? Who will take care of her then? 

So he sits, and he waits, and he holds their distraught daughter, knowing he has to, there’s no choice here, it’s what they both promised each other, she always comes first, no matter what. 

He waits. And waits. It feels like hours, but it’s probably five minutes, ten at most, before the firemen bring John out on a stretcher. He looks so small, but he’s wearing an oxygen mask and he’s clearly alive.

“Daddy!” Rosie screams, and Sherlock has to stop her from throwing herself on the stretcher, but honestly, he’d like to do the exact same thing. He’s weak with relief and smoke inhalation, and he’s glad when the paramedics take charge and get them all three into an ambulance. As soon as they’re in the ambulance, Rosie takes John’s hand. After a brief moment, Sherlock encloses her hand holding John’s in both of his. 

Sherlock watches their entwined fingers, one small hand and two large ones, the entire way to the hospital.

*-*

Sherlock meets Molly and Mrs Hudson in the waiting room once the doctors have cleared Rosie to go home—smoke inhalation and a few cuts and bruises, they were so lucky—and Sherlock excuses himself to the hospital bathroom, because he’s filthy and he stinks of smoke. 

He washes up, still numb with shock, and that’s when he notices his hands are bloody from pressing his fingernails into his palms. His wedding ring has blood on it. He washes it off, then is violently ill over the washbasin, his body convulsing as the fear and the shock and the smoke inhalation catch up to him.

What would I have done, he thinks. I almost let him die. I would have let him die. I would have watched as he burned to death, what’s wrong with me?

I should have saved him, should have gone in there and gotten him out, he’ll hate me, he’ll never forgive me, and he shouldn’t… I promised him I’d always be there for him, and I failed, failed, failed…

It’s Mrs Hudson who finds him. He’s still on the floor, holding his head in his arms, unaware when he started sobbing, only knowing he can’t stop.

She sits down next to him and wraps her arms around him, guides his head to her shoulders. “It’s fine,” she whispers, over and over and over, “he’s fine, they’re fine, it’s all going to be all right again.”

Slowly, he calms down. He becomes aware that he has a husband and a daughter to see to, and that this little episode is helping nobody at all.

So he helps Mrs Hudson to her feet and washes his face, then lets her direct him to John’s room.

John’s sitting up in bed, Rosie clinging to him, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. He’s wearing a leg cast, an oxygen mask and a long-suffering expression as he tries to keep Rosie from tearing out his IV without letting go of her.

He stills when he sees Sherlock. Their eyes meet, and John smiles, and Sherlock swallows, near tears all over again, out of sheer relief that they’re all here, and they’re fine. Then John holds out his arm in an inviting gesture, and Sherlock collapses down on the bed and hugs his Watsons tightly to his chest. 

Later, when Rosie’s asleep and Sherlock is dozing in his chair, he feels John take his palm, soothe gentle fingertips over the cuts Sherlock’s fingernails have made into his skin. He pushes his oxygen mask aside and kisses the wounds on Sherlock’s hand, a silent gesture of gratitude and forgiveness, of perfect understanding. I would have done the same, the kiss says. And it would have killed me, too.

Sherlock meets John’s eyes and nods, just once. There are no words for how he feels, and he’s grateful that he doesn’t need any. He pulls John’s hand to his mouth and kisses his knuckles over the IV. Soon, they’ll be able to joke about it. Soon, perspective will return and Sherlock will know emotionally as well as intellectually that he made the right decision. The decision John would have wanted him to make.

Right now, though, he keeps his lips pressed to John’s skin and his hand trapped between both of his as if in prayer and only thinks, Thank you. Thank you fate, thank you luck. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

-----

Tags under the cut as usual, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

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

[turduckenlady]

Hello there…

[turduckenlady]

Potterlock : The Sorting Hat is never wrong - (2024)

The Sorting Hat is never wrong and Mycroft should mind his own business...

[turduckenlady]

Part 1 of doodles for HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES which is a whole ass novel with so many excellent scenes I need to draw I will be stuck on this for weeks. Holmes is showering Watson with compliments in the beginning for SOME REASONNNN and I can’t stand it

(This is part of the Watson’s sketchbook series)

[turduckenlady]

Part 2/??? from HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES: Holmes fucks up, buys himself some time, and looks at some art (“Foundry Worker” by Constantin Meunier). Watson experiences confusion, which is not new.

Part 1 here

(this is part of the Watson's sketchbook series)

[turduckenlady]

HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES part 3! (pt 1) (pt 2) No Holmes in this one…or is there????

(this is part of the Watson's sketchbook series)

[turduckenlady]

HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES pt 4 (pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) featuring one of the top coolest Holmes reveals imo. Readers familiar with the story will notice an altered detail in the first comic…..all will be revealed eventually

(This is part of the Watsons sketchbook series)

[turduckenlady]

(pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4)

HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES pt 5 (read the other parts first!)

(this is part of the Watson's sketchbook series)

letter text under the cut because SOMEONE'S handwriting is atrocious:

My dear

Dear Watson,

I have solved a mystery lately, the one concerning my distressing levels of distraction + poor humour (refer to yr. notes on NORBURY). I would like to present my thoughts to you as tidily as though this were any other case (a little ritual which, I must admit, has become one of my chief pleasures in this work). (omit; overly sentimental)

The truth is thus: over the seven years of our acquaintance, I have come to care for you beyond friendship or brotherhood. Poetically, I care for you in the Grecian way (has W. read Plato's Symposium?) ; plainly, most would consider it unwholesome.

I am aware that you are tolerant of this vice in your friends, an admirable attitude. Whether you yourself indulge remains stubbornly beyond my sight, for I find when I desire a certain outcome, logical deduction of the truth becomes impossible.

I occasionally seek to amuse and dazzle you by seeming to read your thoughts; but it is a simple trick, and I can only peer into the shallowest corners of your mind. Because of my abiding personal interest, your depths are hidden. (excessive)

I find your presence and this unspoken dialogue to be unsettling in the extreme. I am in need of resolution. Will you please tell me I require data and it must come from you. I await a response urgently at your convenience. If you desire to end our personal and professional relationship, a word to Mrs. Hudson will send me away from Baker St. for as long as you require to gather your belongings.

Yours,

S.H.

p-s- you need no reminding of propriety, but do be sure to destroy this humble note.

p-p-s- of course I could leave the rooms to you, but yr. pension would not cover the cost

[turduckenlady]

The thing is… Sherlock really DOESN’T understand what John means. People with Asperger’s (like my husband) are utterly literal.

JW: You’d have to be an idiot not to see it. You love it.

SH: Love what?

JW: Being Sherlock Holmes.

SH: I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.

[turduckenlady]

Bloody gold.

[turduckenlady]

Hello all! I’ve posted a new Sherlock fic to AO3 after 2 years. Please give it some love thank you x

[turduckenlady]

“Normal” must be code for OBSESSED.🧐

i am so normal about them

[turduckenlady]

IDK if this is true for Moftiss’ BBC Sherlock reincarnation? BC’s Sherlock seems to have an underlying gloominess that he battles… MAYBE - as BC’s Sherlock matures and has the company/support of John & Little Watson - he might (hopefully) be HAPPIER.

He laughed 65 times!!!

Those who do not know Sherlock Holmes well, think that he is a gloomy and dark man.

However, we know that it is different: he is an extremely energetic and chaotically cheerful person.

In the ACD canon he laughed 65 times (and smiled 103) ~

Source: {Sherlock Holmes - playing cards, N. A. Bird, late of the V&A Museum}

[turduckenlady]

Is this Sussex? And where are the BEE HIVES, Janine?!?

(Oh nope, they’re too young and Sherlock isn’t wearing his beekeeper’s outfit.)

Now what are you thinking about Watson? (And yes that's Sherlock Holmes out in the garden)

[turduckenlady]

I can just imagine this as one of the locations visited by young betrothed John & Sherlock in the BEAUTIFUL series: As the Summer Rains Fall by starrysummernights

Courtyard in Budapest, Hungary | Tomislav Marcijuš