I wanted to write some formal stuff about T6T now that I’m on a real keyboard. I spent the entire night just sifting through people’s very angry, upset, hurt posts about John, Sherlock, Mary, and even Molly. I think people need to step back and realize what this show is actually about: human beings.
I grew up in a hugely broken home. My mother’s 6 year relationship with the man of her dreams was shattered when he cheated on her after 6 months of being married. Our lives effectively ended as she spiraled into alcoholism and a massive depression which eventually killed her. I’ve grown up literally thinking that cheating on your spouse is how Satan prepares you for your eternity in the boiling shit cauldron of Hell. In short: I. Hate. Cheaters.
Naturally, when I saw what John was engaging in, my anger shot up like a piss volcano. My instant reaction was fury, to drop the man and his character like a hot dog patty. But then, I remembered, that this show has one true characteristic above all others: human beings are not just one thing. People, are flawed. People, are never ever perfect, no matter how much they try to be.
Listen to what Mary said to John. She said it was so hard to try and live up to the perfection that she thought John was. That perfection is (and ALWAYS has been, y’all) a facade. I never did understand why people thought John was an angel when it’s demonstrated in the very first episode that he is NOT. I was able to see that, but I was able to see his goodness too. Same with Sherlock.
Ironically, both of these idiots have spent the better half of 3 seasons trying to BE perfect. It’s a lie. It can never be. The irony of Sherlock calling out Mary’s “facade” in HLV just…I sat there grinning from ear to ear because honey you are ALL operating behind a facade. Every single one of you. John thinks he wants a quiet life but in actuality he is drawn to catastrophic danger. Copy that verbatim for Mary. Sherlock thinks he’s a perfect thinking machine without emotion, yet he sits and bawls over his childhood pet. Molly thinks she wants a normal dude who goes to pubs but instead she really wants “a high functioning sociopath”. For God’s sake Mrs. Hudson used to help run a drug ring. Mycroft is perfectly fine covering up murders, sending out assassins, whatever it takes to keep his interests intact. Ha ha ha these people are aaaaall fuuuuuucked.
Now, I am still furious with John. John was ultimately responsible for his family’s destruction. It was inevitable. His undying love for danger, despite having a newborn baby in his life, put him and his family on a collision course with tragedy. Sherlock added to this, but he did not cause it directly. If John had truly been a responsible dad he’d have picked up and moved his family to the damned suburbs or something and quit solving cases with Sherlock…but he didn’t. Now, he’ll have to deal with that guilt. The guilt of being a major reason why his baby girl will now grow up motherless. Sherlock was responsible for the final straw, but John was responsible for the haystack.
And that’s the point of Sherlock. These people are all terribly, helplessly broken. I think the most pure person in this show is Molly Hooper, and she’s not perfect either. There’s only ever been one perfect human being and they nailed Him to a cross.
Having said all of this, and while John’s actions in T6T I found to be absolutely unlikable, reprehensible, and gross…I know he is just a man. His life was changing at an alarming pace. A new baby, from what I have heard, throws couples into turmoil all the time. The man still suffers from mental illness. He is now a single father, hates his best friend (he’ll get over it, y’all, the writing will make sure of that), and his wife went to her grave believing he was a perfect person when he knows in his heart he is anything but. John Watson made his bed, and he’ll lie in it forever now. It will now be his personal journey to redeem himself for what has happened. Sherlock has been on his own personal journey for, well, ever. Now it’s John’s turn. I’m willing to give him the same chance I’ve given to his stupid friend.
No one is perfect in Sherlock. No one is perfect in life. That’s the point. We can sit and hate the people who’ve wronged us, and believe me, I still hold a lot of hate in my heart for my stepdad for turning my mother into a pile of rubbish and causing me to grow up a mess of a person. But in the end, it makes zero positive difference in my life. That hate is an anchor on me, a weight I don’t want and am still filing at it’s chain to free myself from.
We forgive or we don’t, but we move on regardless of what choice we make. We’ll have to see if John Watson makes better choices in the future. For that little baby girl…he’d better. I’m willing to wait and see.
i know it’s hard to accept compliments as anything other than lies. but when somebody blurts, “you’re beautiful,” take a breath. think of your dog, panting happily and covered in mud. think of your mother in her bathrobe with her hair in tinfoil while the dye sets. think of your best friend with her face streaked with tears and makeup. think of your little brother when he was sick and his face was a red puffy mess. think of how, even then, your heart swelled up with love of them. this is i think where compliments come from: when they look at you, no matter what, they see somebody beautiful, not some body, beautiful.
I was at 7/11 and some guy was like “you’re so beautiful can I have your number” anyways I said thank you for calling me beautiful but no and he kept going at it, anyways some guy behind me was like to him “leave her or else”. And the guy left and this is the first time a guy has helped with something and expected nothing in return lol I even said thank you he didn’t say you’re welcome he just nodded and left like wow
Sorry I'm not sure if you're still taking prompts but can I have Klance with guitar playing Lance? Your writing is just beautiful!
WITH ABSOLUTE PLEASURE and thank you so much <3 <3
Can you tell I have a terrible weakness for making these two get overwhelmed and just kiss because they’re terrible at talking
couldn’t quite believe it. He ran his hand across the wood and the strings,
gently tweaking the tuning machines, strumming gently. He felt a soft smile
spread across his face. It had been years since he had owned a guitar; he had
never thought to find one in space. Granted, the people who had sold it had
called it a thrummo and he had to
adjust the tuning, but it was indisputably a guitar. He hesitantly tested his
fingering, moving slowly from one cord to another, then speeding up, a bud of
warm joy growing in his chest as the music flowed beneath his fingers. As he
found his fingers remembered all their patterns, knew where to go and when, he
started to improvise a tune, something simple, stealing half-remembered lines
of melodies drawn from fuzzy recollections of learning to play, watching online
videos over and over, fingers slipping on the strings until they bled, day
after day until he’d grown calluses to cover them. His eyes slid halfway
closed, listening to the music, occasionally wincing at a sour note, until
eventually he found his way back to the tonic cord and let the vibrations fade
into silence. He sat back with a smile, eyes closed, tilting his head back and
reveling in the peace the music brought up. Until, that is, he was jolted out
of his by soft applause. His head jerked up to see Lance standing in the
doorway, clapping. When Keith’s eyes opened, his hands spread in apology.
didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. “I heard the music, I didn’t realize… I was
wondering what you had bought on Gripzin. I had no idea you could play the
guitar!” Keith’s temper, so ready to flare up at the mere sight of the Blue
Paladin, fizzled at the sincere admiration on Lance’s face. He shrugged.
probably not that good anymore,” he said. “It’s been a couple years.”
sounded amazing to me,” Lance said. “Um, do you mind if I…?” he hesitated with
one foot over the threshold.
Keith said, though he held the guitar slightly closer to his chest. Lance
sauntered in and plopped down on the floor next to Keith, staring at the
brother was just starting his lessons when I left for the Garrison,” Lance
said. He sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I bet he’s amazing at it by
now. That or he’s terrible and everyone at home hates him,” he chuckled.
play anything?” Keith asked, still clutching the guitar a little tighter than
was necessary. Lance shook his head.
never exactly been a natural at numbers and physics, so studying to be a pilot
was pretty much my entire life. I wouldn’t have had time for practice.” He
sighed wistfully. “I love music though. I had a player tucked in my pocket when
we left the Garrison, I must have listened to every song on it a hundred times
since we got here.” Keith chewed his lip, considering. He bent over the guitar
and strummed and experimental cord. Lance sat back up straight, looking at him.
Keith hushed him, and strummed the cord again. He began a quick tune full of
sharps and clashing cords, shifting under his fingers as fast as he could move
them. Lance was watching him with rapt attention, but Keith carefully avoided
looking at him as the key of the song changed, bringing in a swell of major
fifths and octaves, soaring and plummeting back into something quiet, soft, and
sweet, fingers picking out the melody slowly and carefully, letting each strum
hover and fade before the next. The song ended on a question mark, the melody
not quite fully resolved. Keith sat back slowly, still not quite looking at
heard, murmured softly. “That was beautiful. What song was that?” Keith
swallowed, briefly considered bolting, then considered lying, and finally bit
the bullet and told the truth.
Or, actually, it’s… yours. I… made it up for you. About you. It’s a song about
you.” He winced, waiting for a response. Lance was silent so long he finally
dared glance over. Lance’s lips were parted slightly, his eyes shining.
said. “I… don’t know what to say.”
have to say anything,” he said, moving to put the guitar down, but Lance
stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“No, I… I
do. That was… It was beautiful, Keith. Really. I’m not just saying that because
I’m supposed to or whatever, it really, really was, it—” Keith spun abruptly
and pressed his lips briefly against Lance’s cheek. He quickly jumped up, put
the guitar down gently on his bed, and hurried out of the room, an
uncontrollable smile cracking his cheeks.
[I am no longer accepting prompts, just completing the ones in my inbox]
listen, listen, there’s this fanfic called My Fault by Keelynoelle, and it’s by far the best Babybones fic I’ve read so far and there’s this one part where they all sleep together in the small living area Grillby has behind the bar all in one big bed and it’s so FLippINg cute it warms my entire heart
but seriously it is sad and happy and painful and long and regularly updated all sorts of other good things, so go read it!!! (and follow them! @keelynoelleart)
Aries: “Do I know you? Because you look a lot like my next girlfriend.”
Taurus: “Did it hurt? When you fell out of heaven?”
Gemini: “Do you have a name or can I call you mine?”
Cancer: “You may fall from the sky, you may fall from a tree, but the best way to fall… is in love with me.”
Leo: “Do you have a map? Because I just keep getting lost in your eyes!”
Virgo: “If you stood in front of a mirror and held up 11 roses, you would see 12 of the most beautiful things in the world.”
Libra: “Can I have your picture so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?”
Scorpio: “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”
Sagittarius: “Even if there wasn’t any gravity on earth, I would still fall for you!”
Capricorn: “Was your Dad a baker? Because you’ve got a nice set of buns.”
Aquarius: “Are you Google? Because I’ve just found what I’ve been searching for.”
Pisces: “Your hand looks heavy. Let me hold it for you.”