even if sherlock had some doubts

Good Girl (Dom!Sherlock x reader)

A/N: SOMEONE reminded me of Sherlock using the riding crop week ago and I realized I had not thought of it enough, or even enjoyed it enough. So let’s dig into it, shall we? Also I might be writing about Molly a bit too harshly on this one, but I really like her character, so don’t think I’m trying to bully her.

Warnings: smut, so much smut, riding crop, bondage, it ended up with dom!sherlock I think that’s the riding crop’s fault, some swearing.


”Oh, you’re here with that again.” Molly Hooper gasped at the sight of the riding crop in Sherlock’s hand. She had not expected to see him with it ever again. Her fingers fiddled the files she held so dearly against her chest, nervously taking in uneven breaths, her eyes wide and a warm smile creeping it’s way on her thin pink lips. Those brown beaming eyes fixing on the man’s face in front of her, trying to get an answer to an unsaid question that was right at the tip of her tongue and since she got none, deciding to make herself heard she squeaked out, ”Another experiment?”

Sherlock’s expressionless face was still blank, his pale skin almost shining under the bright white lights that shone from the lamps above them in the hallway down stairs in St. Bartholomew’s hospital at the morgue section. He faked a smile, trying his best to seem sincere, but the curve on his lips disappearing as fast as it appeared after he answered to Molly’s presumption by, ”Yes, obviously.” He then gazed over Molly’s shoulder to the door she had just exited, her spot where she examined the bodies brought in for crime consulting. ”Is your room free for use?” The smile reappearing on his face, eyes shining as he sweetly pointed towards the door.

Molly too gazed over her shoulder, dumbfounded by Sherlock’s straight forward demeanor, her pony tail swishing while following her head’s movement back and forth. She sharply turned back to Sherlock and looked disappointingly doubtful. In these occasions Sherlock would need to give Molly numerous compliments to get her bend to his will, usually two or three would do it, and he still had some laying about in the deeps of his mind. He didn’t usually settle for being told no, but even as easy as Molly was he hated to go through the trouble. Then again he didn’t need to feel bad. He was in a relationship, she knew it too. He could point out a nice thing or two about her appearance without feeling guilt.

”Well, I actually just cleared the hall and was about to get home…” Molly muttered biting down on her lower lip. She was still staring right back as Sherlock with her big eyes, much like a puppy. As Sherlock stared back at her she tried to find something, anything, to fix her eyes on so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable by the silence that took over the hallway the both had blocked. Her fingers drummed the surface of the file on her arms and before Sherlock got to test his new compliment on Molly she sighed, ”I could stay for an hour longer.”

Sherlock genuinely smiled, thanked Molly and followed after her as she turned on her heels and headed back to her spot, keeping the door open for Sherlock as he followed close behind. He was a step away from Molly, but he was careful enough not to step on her heels, keeping the distance long enough to avoid doing so. He instructed Molly what he needed, a body, in what position and age, which actually at this point were all unnecessary to him, but to keep with his habits he went by it anyway. He picked an older woman, not over fifty years old, chubby, about a day old corpse.

When you entered the hospital after receiving a message from Sherlock, where he suggested you to meet him at the morgue before going to Baker Street, you took the elevator to the down floors. He rather would company you on your way to his flat than have you wait him there for fifteen to sixty minutes when you could wait for him hear, right next to him.

You knew he was there for an experiment, but you hadn’t been informed which kind, but it wasn’t the first time. He didn’t much go with explaining everything and every part of his work to you, only when he saw fit. You exited the elevator, turned down the hall, through a door and saw Molly Hooper standing close to a window. She was flinching at the sight ahead of her that you were unable to witness. This made your imagination run wild. If Sherlock was cutting a corpse to pieces, scaring Molly you would let him hear from it for sure.

You and Molly were rather good friends, though you didn’t see each other that often. You had known her longer than Sherlock and back then, when you finally met the man Molly had been daydreaming about, constantly talking about him, you felt really bad for finding him charming, sexy and interesting. You wanted to know him better, you could point out just how unique person he was by first standing and that intrigued you. Sherlock, back then, didn’t much try to approach you and actually acted very cold toward you, but as time passed he did become interested in you. The truth was that he had found you just as interesting as you had found him, but, incapable of handling feelings and emotions he tried to push you away. But when Sherlock did tell you how he felt you fought back, for Molly. You didn’t want to be that friend that steals boyfriend or a crush, though Sherlock and Molly had never dated. Time went by and Molly realized how much Sherlock cared for you, she insisted you to let him take you out and you did. Now you had been dating for almost a year with the detective and it didn’t bother Molly, she still did fancy Sherlock, yes, but would never do anything, or try anything because she knew you and him were together.

You approached Molly with long strides, your hands sway on either side of you, your shoes hitting the floor and the sound echoing loudly, but it wasn’t enough to bring Molly back from her trance. Only until you were right beside her, already talking, she jumped realizing you were there. She was holding a file in her arms, her white long jacket almost burying her form under, her hands barely showing as she held the file high, the top touching her chin. You took a stand next to her after you had greeted her and asked her, ”What’s he doing?” Molly simply nodded towards the window.

You turned to look through the glass and what you saw almost stopped your heart, the breath you took getting stuck in your throat. The reflection of your boyfriend on the other side moved fast, mirroring his movements as he kept whipping the pale lifeless body, hair falling on his face, sweat drops lining on his forehead. He was so concentrated on what he was doing that he hadn’t even noticed you, much like Molly just now. You and she stood there in silence for a minute, admiring Sherlock in his tight purple dress shirt, black jacket and trousers that hugged his body perfectly, not too tight to bother his doings.

Your eyes were captivated by the show. You pressed your thighs together, trying to evade the wetness that increased between your legs from growing, your cheeks turning pink. You could hear your own breathing, deep and long breaths. You felt ashamed that you were standing by your good friend when your boyfriend was right there, making you feel like this. The whip was drawn back then coming down in a fast swish, the end of the crop must likely echoing in the other room. Sherlock’s hair pulled back when he straightened his back, readying for another spank, then falling over his eyes when his head lowered. It took all of your efforts to move your gaze away from Sherlock and to finally concentrate on Molly, to try and be polite like a normal human being should.

”How have you been, Molly?” You asked and even if you had tried to sound as friendly and natural it didn’t show. You ended up reminding of your shy demeanor where you had only just met the woman in front of you and this was the first time talking to her which was not true. She was your closest friend. You had seen Molly repeatedly just last month. Of course these days always Sherlock being precent. ”I haven’t seen you in a while.” You gave her a warm smile to which she answered with one of her own. You started a conversation that was irrelevant to Sherlock’s on going spanking in the next room, and you kept up with it for about ten minutes. You were talking about work and Molly’s life. She had met someone who she considered worthy of her time and you cheered her to go for it, just like she had done with you on Sherlock. After those ten minutes she looked at her phone screen to see the clock and gasped. She had two missed calls and she was late from seeing this mysterious man of hers.

You put your hands comfortingly on her shoulders, promised her you and Sherlock would finish things in here while she went to change so she could clean up after Sherlock and get to her man. Molly thanked you and rushed to change, typing on her phone and then as she went to enter through a door she lifted her phone over her ear to call. You turned back to Sherlock who still kept spanking and couldn’t but freeze for another minute. He lifted his gaze, took couple of uncontrolled steps and flinched, or so it looked like, as he saw you there instead of Molly. He smirked and nodded his head, out of breath he was, to which you answered by a wave of your hand and mouthing ’Hi’ to him. He beckoned you to company him on the other side of the glass and you did as you were asked.

”Hello, Sherlock.” You smiled, closing the door behind you. The soft click heard by you both, your hand lingering on the handle while you stood near the entrance. Sherlock smirked at you and your weariness, a chuckle leaving his lips, his hands gripping the riding crop, eyes fixed on it, but not concentrated by the object. He spun on his heels, his eyes were gleaming by now, at the sight of you, and he was greatly humored  by something. He tilted his head and asked, ”Did you enjoy the show?”

”Molly needs to leave soon so better finish up what you’re doing.” You informed in an ordering tone trying to change the subject, but still held a playful smile on your lips. You walked right beside Sherlock, the room was probably a degree or two warmer than on the other side. Your steps were short, but fast enough as you approached him, not letting him grow impatient while he already waited to embrace you. He held his left hand stretched inviting you for a side hug and as you reached his arm he pulled you to his side, kissing your right temple. The riding crop was still in his right hand, his fingers gripping on it, holding it on his side and the tip of it brushing close the floor.

”I’m almost ready.” He said and his left hand’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, then a smirk spread on his lips. ”So you did enjoy the show?” That bastard just checked your pulse, you realized. ”Someone’s exited.” He stated and you looked up at his bright shining eyes and a smile he tried to keep away from spreading on his lips. His hair looked more black than dark brown in the dim light in the room you were in and it shadowed his whole face, strands of hair hanging loosely over his face. You wanted to hit him, but Sherlock pulled you closer, your hands pressed on either side of your body making it impossible for you to inform him of your opinion. You settle for a frown which wasn’t as effective as a fist to his shoulder would’ve been.

He laughed at your expression, you reminded him of an unhappy child and he rubbed your left arm with his that was still wrapped around you. He leaned closer, his breath tickling your skin, lips brushing your ear, ”There. Finished.” It came out in a choked chuckled he had tried to hide, but failed. You suspected he really even cared you had caught him finding the situation humorous, then again you didn’t even know what the situation was in the first place, so you gave him a suspicious grin, your body leaning inches away from him to your left to get a better look at him.

”You didn’t even do anything.” You pin pointed, eyebrows low and eyes slightly narrowed but not scowling, amusement clear on your features but still doubtful. You could see Sherlock smile wickedly at your statement, his head turning towards the window to see had Molly already come back but fortunately was met with a sight of an empty hallway. He laughed and pulled you close again, whispering to your ear, ”Tell me, how long had you been watching?” You answered with, ”Ten minutes or so.” Of course you weren’t hundred percent sure. Sherlock nodded in agreement and looked away again. He had had hard time looking straight back at you for some reason and you kept trying to catch his attention, but failed.

”Guess that’s enough.” Sherlock admitted to himself. He pulled away from the hug and started to get ready to leave, he took his jacket near the doorway, from a hanger as well as his scarf. He didn’t give you any answers from there on. You met Molly before exiting the hospital then headed to hail for a cab. Sherlock opened the door for you, he was smiling constantly and in very good mood. He sat right beside you in the cab, closer than usually and what he did through the whole ride gave away what he was up to. His hand was on your thigh, caressing and massaging the surface of your pants, inching higher and higher. You couldn’t stop smiling. So this was one of those days then. His eagerness surprised you, that you had to admit.

When you finally got to Baker Street, Sherlock paid the ride, rushing to open the door to his flat for you and when you went inside, he shut the door with a loud bang. You were taking your coat off when Sherlock took a stand right behind you, his front pressed firmly against your back. His breath lingered on your shoulders and you could hear him panting. He was so deliciously needy for you by now that you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

”Leave your coat and shoes, get upstairs to my bedroom and start stripping.” He growled in your ear. You knew he would get impatient in a second, but you wanted this. He had made you go through his show, now he had to go through yours. The coat you were wearing had now fallen off your shoulders, hanging on your elbows when you gazed at Sherlock over your shoulder, peeking at him sexily, biting your lower lip and asked, ”Do you want me completely naked or in my underwear?” You teased, pulling your hair back so he could see you better. He sucked air in his lungs, his eyes narrowing when he hissed, ”Everything on the floor. And don’t make me wait for another second, or I will have to punish you.” You tried to keep the chuckle in. Oh you would enjoy this.

”Are we in a hurry?” You purred, now fully facing him, on your tip toes. Your hands found their way on his shoulders, your lips touching his chin as you went to whisper, ”Are you too eager you can’t wait any longer?” That was when Sherlock snapped. He growled, lifting the riding crop to his mouth and bit on it, lowered his shoulders, his coat falling on the floor, he ripped his scarf off around his neck, that too on the floor in a blink and then he hooked his hands behind your thighs, pulling you to him, lifting you up. Your chest was pressed against his, your hands now behind his back, legs around his hips as he started to carry you upstairs. You giggled at his sudden dominance.

Sherlock carried you straight to his room, kicking the ajar door open with his foot and threw you on the bed, closing the door just as loudly as the front door. He gave you a wild, lustful look, taking the crop from his mouth and ordered you, ”Clothes off. Now.” And you did as he asked. You took your time though, giving him a show you slid your pants down with slow motion, your shirt pulled over your head, your hips swinging while you stripped. You could see the bulge in Sherlock’s pants. You bit your lip again, now taking the top that had been under your long sleeved shirt, lifting it to shield your eyes and while you were at it, Sherlock approached you fast, pulling the cloth off you and throwing it somewhere in his room. You unclasped your bra, taking it off while Sherlock went down on you. You heard him moan as he took a whiff. ”So wet for me already.” He moaned, taking your knickers, ”Just as I suspected.” then pushing you back down on his bed.

His room was dark, the only light came from through the thin and light curtains, but it wasn’t much. Then again you didn’t really care was it day light or moon light in which you fucked, just that you could see his face. You crawled back on the bed, Sherlock taking a step closer, he hungrily studied your now naked body. You lifted your head and dared to ask, ”Aren’t you going to take yours off?” That made Sherlock smile. It was one of those dominant smiles that gave you the answer. This was going to take time. You were in for a good and long play, wether you liked it or not, and Sherlock would make sure you would suffer. This wasn’t going to be one of those fair fights, but a foreplay with Sherlock was never fair. He would make sure to torture you with a long teasing. ”I don’t need to take mine off.” He chuckled. That cocky bastard.

”Shame, I would love to help.” You smirked. You made a risky move, lifting your leg up in the air, your toes touching the bulge in his pants and rubbing the fabric that shielded his cock. You looked at Sherlock daringly, about to inch closer to unbuckle his belt when he shoved your leg away with a grunt. He took a hold of your ankles, pulled at them so you were laying on your back, towering over you and whispered with a low, threatening tone, ”One more move and I will tie you to the bed, darling.” This sent a shiver down your spine, your folds pulsing. You gave out a shaky breath, not able to contain yourself. You didn’t know was that what you wanted, for Sherlock to tie you down or to just go with what he had planned already? He was already warning you and you knew he could be very ruthless towards you in bed, but you also knew when you were challenged you couldn’t back up.

You kneed his groin fast but softly enough to not hurt him. His back arched and he moaned out loud in your ear. You moved your leg, your knee rubbing his bulge. You couldn’t continue it longer than five seconds before Sherlock pulled away from you. You sat up, half disappointed how long he lasted but half amused by his angered expression. He took fast long steps, took a pair of hang cuffs from his locker and turned to you. You playfully whined and pouted. ”Aw, come now Sherlock. I was just returning the favor.” You pulled your hands behind your back as if that would stop him from cuffing you to the bed and like you had suspected, it didn’t.

”On your stomach, woman.” He ordered coldly. You knit your brows together. You knew you were in for trouble as he addressed you by ’woman’ and you felt hesitant on turning your back to him. This resulted Sherlock rolling his eyes at you, he walked over to you, took you by the shoulders and turned you over. His hands were awfully forceful and powerful and you couldn’t fight him nor did you want to. You were in a state where every move he made, every touch he gave you made you tingle. His fingers wrapped around your left wrist, cuffed it and pulled it around one of the headboards iron bars. Then he took a hold of your right wrist, securing it with the other and got up from the bed. You looked at Sherlock over your shoulder, he admired your exposed body and you could tell that you disobeying, ending you cuffed to the bed had only turned him on even more.

He took the riding crop from the floor where he had dropped it when he had helped you strip, eyeing the object dangerously interested in it. He let his fingers caress the crop, taking his time admiring the item. Your breathing started to quicken. You had never done this before and were honestly nervous by now. You knew you could deal with pain, but you had never experienced it while sex, not like this. You had to admit that you had found it hot when he had whipped the dead body back in the hospital, secretly wanted him to use it on you, but now that you were there, laying naked on your stomach ready for a beating you couldn’t help but worry.

”This is going to serve as your punishment, for starters.” Sherlock informed, his eyes now back on you. ”But only for starters as I am aware this will also turn you on even more, so do not think I am being nice to you.” He warned with a low voice. He then lifted the crop and swished it through the air, the tip hitting you hard on your left butt cheek. You chocked out a sound that was a mix of yelp, gasp and shriek. The touch of the crop was so sudden and the pain so fast like a big elastic band hitting your rear you couldn’t make out sound louder than the snap itself that echoed from the spank.

”Now, count out with me.” Sherlock instructed coldly and showed no remorse which only exited you more. ”When you are unable to feel the blows only then I will stop. That was one.” He waited, but you said nothing. He huffed in irritation, then hit you again with the crop, hearing you gasp. ”One!” He yelled and you repeated his words shortly. ”Good girl.” Sherlock cooed, pleased at your cooperation and you felt the words sink in. You were getting wet by his hits, but him dressing you like that, so dominantly made you lose your mind.

You had reached to five when Sherlock stopped. He let his hand caress your red, sensitive behind with his tender fingers. You had never imagined that the sensation that came from being hit repeatedly and then caressed could feel this good, it really felt like a reward more than a punishment. Your body shook under his touch, anticipating to get a real reward from your dominant boyfriend, but your movements back fired. Sherlock mused, ”I see you can still feel my touch.” You whined when he withdrew his hand from you and gripped the crop. He held it high, over his head and calmly said, ”Keep counting with me, love.” And he brought it down hard. Thankfully it took him only six more spanks to find you silent, not responding and he stopped. He sat beside you and started caressing your behind.

You were out of breath, your ass tingling and cheeks wet from tears. You had to admit you had liked the spanking, the crop would definitely need to stay around, but you intended that next time it would be drawn on his skin, not yours. You relaxed as much as you could on the bed, the soft blankets underneath you caressing your skin nicely, warm from your body heath. You nuzzled your head to the pillows, moaned while Sherlock treated your stinging arse.

”Spread your legs for me.” Sherlock ordered after a while of silence and this time, without any nasty remarks or witty comebacks you did as he said. You couldn’t see, but you heard from his voice that he was smirking. ”Someone has learned their lesson.” This sent a spark through you and you instantly wanted to show him just how submissive you had become, it was in your nature to keep fighting and resisting. ”Good girl.” Sherlock purred and that made all the thoughts of resistance fade. You were a slave to that word. Oh how much you loved hearing him say it.

Sherlock got closer to the between of your legs, he took the riding crop out again, holding it loosely in his hand. You reacted to his movements and went to close your legs, but Sherlock stopped you. He took a hold of your calves and kept them in place with an iron like grip. ”Don’t close them.” He warned. You forced your legs to relax and let him do what he was about to. You jumped on the bed when he brought the tip of the crop up your wet slit, gathering some of your juices to it to examine how wet you were. You heard him groan, pleased by your wetness. He then threw the crop away, it ended up on the floor far away from the bed. You smiled, thinking finally you could get you release.

Sherlock reached over your body, his breath tickling your neck and he placed his lips on your bare skin, kissing you softly. He went down your spine, his hands on both side of your waist. He lingered at your lower back, his breath warm against you, kissing and licking your skin, worshipping you. You were breathing loudly, ready for him to take, to give you your release, but Sherlock was far from that. He went back up, his lips guiding him, back to your shoulders and to your neck. His curly hair ghosted on your cheek, his hands cupping your breasts. Oh how you had needed that. He massaged your nipples with his fingers, making sure to keep you moaning.

”Please.” You moaned in between deep breaths. ”Please, Sherlock.” You gasped. Sherlock grinned. You were already begging, how sad. ”Sherlock, I can’t take this anymore, I need you.” Your voice grew louder and louder, but Sherlock kept his pace steady, horribly slow. You didn’t want him to treat you this way, not now when he had started so dominantly, turning to your gentle lover that took his time to give all your body parts equally the same amount of love. His voice surprised you. It was nothing like what his actions gave out. He almost growled in your ear, ”You think you have learned your lesson?” He asked. You were baffled. What lesson? If he didn’t mean you disobeying his orders then you had no idea what he was talking about. ”When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. No questions asked.” Good, so you were on the same page. You nodded your head, then moaned, ”I’ll be good. I’m a good girl. I’ll do what ever you say.” An evil grin spread on Sherlock’s lips. ”That is what I am counting on.” He gave you a last kiss, then pulled away. You heard him get off the bed, starting to strip. You were about to turn on your back when Sherlock snapped, ”I didn’t tell you to move. Don’t make me punish you again, love.”

You waited as he agonizingly slowly undressed himself, he could see you twitch on the bed, your eyes taking in every new naked part of him as he pulled the clothes off. ”How does it feel?” He asked. ”To have to wait for me?” You frowned. So this was payback time? ”It’s killing me.” You whispered truthfully. Sherlock hummed in agreement. ”Good.” He stated, now finally fully naked, his wonderful cock rock hard, pointing towards you. He walked closer, you moved on the bed but not changing your position. ”Now on your fours.” He said.

”Aren’t you going to uncut me?” You asked truly surprised. You longed to touch him. You longed to turn over and kiss him, bury your finger in his hair and pull him close. You heard Sherlock chuckle. ”You didn’t really think I was done with your punishment, did you?” Your eyes flew open. He knew how much you hated to be bound to the bed when he did give you your release. So this was it. This was one of his punishments. And you had thought it had been the riding crop. Stupid you.

”I did mention knowing you would get aroused by the riding crop before. This is your real punishment. You have been a very bad girl and I think your release will be rewarding enough. No need to untie you, maybe now my naughty girl will learn.” He purred and you cursed, but just inside of your head. You knew now that you had crossed a line. Why did you have to tease him so?

”Please, Sherlock, I promise I’ll be good from now on! Just please, untie me!” You pleaded as Sherlock positioned himself behind you. He put his hands on your ass that was now in the air, your legs slightly spread. ”No. You need to become more obedient and if I am to back away from my methods you will never learn. Now, embrace your reward, love. Next time I even might let you lay on your back.” And he thrusted in. You moaned louder than expected, your hands pulling the cuffs. You were sure you would have awful bruises on your wrists by the morning.

Sherlock pulled out slowly, then thrusted back in, his nails digging deep into your flesh as he pounded into you in a way that made you scream from pleasure. He was rough with you, his right hand finding it’s way in your hair and grasping it, pulling your head back as he thrusted. It didn’t take you long to come, and Sherlock came right after you, pulling out and spreading his cum over your holes and running down your thighs. You tried to even your breathing, your head hit the pillows, Sherlock retreating from you and laying next to you, opening the cuffs for you so you could lay down next to him.

Sherlock pulled you to his embrace, hugged you and kissed you. You snuggled close to him, both of you sweaty and still out of breath. Sherlock was first to talk, ”I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.” He whispered. You shook your head. ”No, just the right amount.” You admitted. ”I really didn’t intend to be so ruthless.” Sherlock told you, but he didn’t sound so sincere as he had intended. ”It’s alright, as long as you let me use the crop next time.” You chuckled, your eyes starting to close. Sherlock laughed at that and said, ”Didn’t I tell you that next time, it will be you, once again cuffed to the bed on your back?”

”You were serious?” You asked, your eyes opening. Your boyfriend laughed at your puzzled expression. ”Of course I was serious. Your punishment is far from over.” He explained and kissed the top of your head. ”You fucking sociopath.” You sighed.

Lessons from Mrs Heteronormativity, Part II

Hi, this is ’Mary’ again. You already know who I am, don’t you? https://possiblyimbiassed.tumblr.com/post/158941695058/lessons-from-mrs-heteronormativity. So no need to expand on that. But since I’m now your obligatory storyteller, I’d also like to introduce my colleague to you: Mr Homophobia.

Mr Homophobia is the driver of this ride, and I’m the enabler. Together we have hijacked the story and derailed it rather beautifully. So do hop on board - it’s gonna be a bumpy ride!

Choo - choo!

When Mr Homophobia – let’s call him ‘Jim’ – made his first appearance in the show, he already managed to give HBTQ people a negative representation:

Jim lured Sherlock into deducing him and ‘outing’ him as a dishonest gay man in front of John (who we all know is a bit closeted) and Molly (who had presented Jim as her new boyfriend).

As a Consulting Criminal, Jim also ‘helped’ minor gay characters in the show to appear to the audience as murderous people seeking revenge:

Jim’s Consulting services even included persuading a lesbian woman to dissimulate “falling in love” with a man (albeit in a rather treacherous way):

Jim’s true mission was made clear already in Season 1, though:

The inclusion of hallucinatory drugs made Mr Homophobia into an increasing problem for Sherlock…

…until the time was ripe for The Fall:

The Fall consisted in Sherlock abandoning the love of his life…

…and leaving said love interest in my warm, heteronormative hands:

And then, after Sherlock’s complete heartbreak…

… some traditional, homophobic tropes could play out nicely in Sherlock’s mind, even without Jim’s physical presence:

The Depraved Homosexual trope  http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DepravedHomosexual

The Bury Your Gays trope http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BuryYourGays

And Jim has even made sure Sherlock thinks he deserves being beaten:

And even if Sherlock might have had his doubts…

He still succumbs to the general concept:

Isn’t it amazing just how much Jim managed to do to an otherwise rational mind - the famous Sherlock Holmes - in just five minutes?

So, as I was saying, this story is really a beautiful train wreck; a masterpiece of post-modern, cynical art. Mr Homophobia and I - Mrs Heteronormativity - make a wonderful, serial-killing couple together. In short: Jim instils the fear and I give it some social context; we are the perfect villains!


[Sorry about this rather bleak take on Moriarty, but this is basically how I see him; as a companion metaphor to ‘Mary’. And this, as it seems, is now the way that everything’s going to remain… At least until the moment that Sherlock – and the audience – finally decides to WAKE UP and get rid of these villains once and for all!]

Don’t tell me that Sherlock Holmes doesn’t care

“My dear doctor,” said he kindly, “pray accept my apologies. Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgotten how personal and painful a thing it might be to you. I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you had a brother until you handed me the watch.”

The Sign of the Four


We sat in silence for some minutes, Holmes more depressed and shaken than I had ever seen him.
“That hurts my pride, Watson,” he said at last. “It is a petty feeling, no doubt, but it hurts my pride. It becomes a personal matter with me now, and, if God sends me health, I shall set my hand upon this gang. That he should come to me for help, and that I should send him away to his death—!”
He sprang from his chair and paced about the room in uncontrollable agitation, with a flush upon his sallow cheeks and a nervous clasping and unclasping of his long thin hands.

The Five Orange Pips, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes


“I hate to meet her, Watson, when I have no news of her husband. Here we are.”
[…]
“In your heart of hearts, do you think that Neville is alive?”
Sherlock Holmes seemed to be embarrassed by the question.
“Frankly, now!” she repeated, standing upon the rug and looking keenly down at him as he leaned back in a basket-chair.
“Frankly, then, madam, I do not.”

The Man with the Twisted Lip, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes


“But have you told me all?”
“Yes, all.”
“Miss Roylott, you have not. You are screening your stepfather.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
For answer Holmes pushed back the frill of black lace which fringed the hand that lay upon our visitor’s knee. Five little livid spots, the marks of four fingers and a thumb, were printed upon the white wrist.
“You have been cruelly used,” said Holmes.
The lady coloured deeply and covered over her injured wrist. “He is a hard man,” she said, “and perhaps he hardly knows his own strength.”
There was a long silence, during which Holmes leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire.
“This is a very deep business,” he said at last.

The Adventure of the Speckled Band, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes


When it was concluded he settled our new acquaintance upon the sofa, placed a pillow beneath his head, and laid a glass of brandy and water within his reach.
“It is easy to see that your experience has been no common one, Mr. Hatherley,” said he. “Pray, lie down there and make yourself absolutely at home. Tell us what you can, but stop when you are tired and keep up your strength with a little stimulant.”

The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes


And it’s only some examples from two books. Yes, Sherlock Holmes is arrogant, but he also knows when someone is hurt, and if he’s the cause, then he apologizes.
Some people would say it’s manipulation, I think it’s his human side.

maudlinbutterfly  asked:

Why don't people consider Sherlock pulling John out of the fire in TEH as a "Garridebs" moment? Sherlock's clearly terrified and worried about John. And he then proceeds to get revenge on the person who did that to John in the same way that he threatened in The Three Garridebs... *someone who's desperately clinging to hope but is terrified that it really is all over* - PS: Love your blog!!!

Hi Lovely!!

I’ve actually talked a bit about this exact thing before S4 aired, but I’ll add a few things here to update those thoughts.

The essential factor that defines the 3G moment is that Watson gets injured, Holmes reacts to it intensely worried that Watson was killed, and Watson SEES Holmes' rage on his face and the hears the desperate words spoken to Killer Evans. Holmes’ words are, to many, considered a confession of sorts, and Watson acknowledges that Holmes loves Watson in some capacity.

In our version of all the times John is “injured” or kidnapped, John NEVER sees Sherlock’s face NOR hears a threat uttered to John’s captors in such a way that would be construed as John understanding how much John means to Sherlock. When John sees Sherlock save him from the bonfire, John only hears Sherlock call John’s name and pull him out of the fire, but nothing else; the key ingredients are missing.

I suppose we could argue that John knows Sherlock loves him because of the best man speech. Yes, but John doesn’t know the depth of that love; John DOESN’T know how long Sherlock pined for him, or that everything Sherlock had ever done was to protect John; heck, Sherlock even ensures that John thinks that he killed Magnussen for Mary – which we know is not true – and that adds that small niggle of doubt into John’s brain.

So no, we haven’t seen a fully realized Garridebs moment yet, because:

  1. John never heard Sherlock threaten someone if they ever hurt John.
  2. John NEVER sees Sherlock’s face during the bonfire sequence; he’s too focused on the video playing, and realizing he was used as bait. I actually doubt he even processed that Magnussen called him Sherlock’s damsel in distress; John was completely focussed on that video.
  3. John never heard Sherlock, after said incidents, not only just ask if John was okay but say “please tell me you are okay”.
  4. John never confessed verbally or on his blog that he could see the love and loyalty Sherlock had behind the façade Sherlock puts on.

We’ve seen them all separated in some form or another, but never together, and that’s very essential to making a successful Garridebs scene. Sherlock needs to confess his concern and love for John (platonic or not) and John needs to reassure Sherlock that he is okay, and Sherlock needs to threaten the perpetrator.

And John dying / almost dying is definitely the way I think it will happen for this incarnation.

If you’re interested, here are some other meta explaining why we HAVEN’T seen the Garridebs moment yet:

First

Apparently the dust from the episode is settling a little because now I’m getting fluff plot bunnies instead of just feelsy serious ones lol


Silence settled in. Both Sherlock and Molly said nothing, barely hazarding a glance at each other. It took a few moments before Sherlock finally jumped back in. 

“Regardless of everything else, the fact still remains that I did say it first!”

Molly sputtered out a laugh. “Sherlock, I made you say it. Not sure that truly counts. You thought I was going to blow up!” 

“Mm,” he hummed in a doubting tone.

“You did think so!”

“But perhaps on some level I had deduced that it was indeed foolish for Eurus to blow up your flat and kill you and therefore wasn’t pushed to finally speak the words out of fear for your safety alone!”

“That is not what you were thinking at the time, admit it,” she laughed.

“Unconsciously, Molly, my mind can do truly amazing things!” he stated haughtily.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because even if the words left your lips first, I was the one who felt it first. Years, Sherlock!” She gently elbowed him.

“Again, definitely debatable!” he stubbornly insisted. “I am excellent at repressing emotion; been perfecting the skill for years! I may have been in love with you since the very first moment I walked into Bart’s lab and demanded to borrow some chemicals.”

Molly chuckled lightly as she left his side and crossed the room. This produced a deep frown on Sherlock’s brow as he propped himself up on his elbows…against the pillows on Molly’s bed.

“Where are you going?” he asked in what was to Molly an endearingly desperate tone.

“I do actually have to go to work, Sherlock,” Molly reminded him as she discarded her sleep shirt, well, his tee shirt, and began throwing clothes on for Bart’s. “As appealing as it is to stay here and repeat this little argument, I can’t be late.”

“Ooh, I think you could a little,” he said, his lips lifting in a little smirk as he got up to wrap his arms around her from behind. He dropped his voice much lower and whispered in her ear. “I’ll say it again if you’d like.”

Molly turned around to drape her arms around his neck as she grinned up at him. “Oh will you? Like you mean it?”

Sherlock nodded slowly, his eyes gently caressing her face. He dropped his head a bit so their lips were near touching as he murmured the words. “I. Love. You.”

She scrunched up her shoulders a little and bit her bottom lip, very pleasantly effected by the sound of his words. “I could listen to that all day,” she whispered back.

“That can absolutely be arranged.”

He’d barely got those words out before Molly grabbed his lips with hers, tugging him in tighter against her and quickly deepening the kiss. Not even the Consulting Detective could have deduced that she was about to pull away abruptly.

“Ok, now I really do have to go,” she said with an apologetic little smile while slipping away to grab her cardigan on her way to the bedroom door.

“W-what? You really are leaving?” he questioned wide eyed.

“I’ll be back probably by six.” She pointed a warning finger at him. “No experiments in the kitchen while I’m at work, please! And I’ve got a busy schedule today so if you’re thinking of popping in you’d better call first.”

Sherlock raised a teasing brow. “Only if you promise to actually pick up the phone.”

Molly narrowed her eyes, twisting her lips to prevent her laughter as she gave him a playful warning glare. “Save it. We’ll try that argument again later.”

“Ooh good,” Sherlock agreed with a boyish grin. “I like where that one always ends up.”

Touch Me

John, Sherlock

Summary: John observes Sherlock and realizes that he’s touch starved, so he makes it his mission to start touching him more.

A/N: My Squealing Santa fic for *drum roll* @bottleof-happiness! I hope you like it!

This is the first fic in what I’m calling 12 Days of Fluff, which is basically like 12 days of Christmas only you’ll be getting a tickle fic written by me or someone else for 12 days straight! Get excited!

Warnings: One brief mention of sex, as in “Sherlock’s not interested in it” because asexual!Sherlock is my life.

Words: 2 272

Even though Sherlock was a consulting detective who could read everyone and everything thoroughly in approximately five seconds, John would like to think that he knew his friend pretty well by now. While Sherlock focused on the smallest details in order to interpret a situation, John was a bigger fan of getting to know someone and memorize their little quirks and habits. He was sure that was how the majority of the people worked as well, but he seemed to be the only one who had ever tried to read Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock honestly wasn’t that difficult to figure out, once you’d seen all parts of him. He liked being by himself, and the only person he enjoyed being around for at least a little while was John himself, which was still surprising but he’d decided not to question it. Despite working alone Sherlock had a great amount of contacts he could use whenever he pleased, but that part was less surprising, since Sherlock rarely left a case unsolved, so people usually felt like they owed him. Sherlock was a bit of a lone wolf, to put a label on it. He acted alone, but that didn’t mean that he always wanted to be alone.

Keep reading

The Two Ghosts

“Come on, John! We have to go now.”

“Sherlock? Where are we going? Did Lestrade text you?”

“No, homeless network. Come on.

Sherlock threw on his coat and slid down the stairs of 221b, leaving John rushing to catch up.  This was a usual thing for the two of them, Sherlock dashing about and John close at his heels.  John was used to not getting clear answers and learned to go with the flow, but today felt different. They hadn’t had a case all week and suddenly Sherlock was up and out the door.  Considering he never left the house for anything less than a ‘7′ John figured something important must have come up.  ‘Lestrade usually calls when there’s been a major crime and Mycroft doesn’t text’ John thought to himself as he hopped into the back of the cab.  ‘What could possibly be this important?’

Moriarty was dead, there was no question.  After the nationwide scare of his possible return from the grave proved to be nothing more than theatrics, Sherlock and John fell back into their old routine.  Like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.  John was thankful to move back in, to have his chair and his Sherlock again.  If John were to be honest, he’d say it was a relief when Mary was brought to justice after blowing someone’s head off.  The dust had settled and John was happier than ever.  There was still something missing and he knew exactly what that was but he’d never press for something Sherlock wasn’t ready for.  John was content for the moment being by Sherlock’s side, like he always had been.  Just the two of them against the rest of the world. 

The cab stopped near an abandoned factory.  The ride had been dead silent with Sherlock locked in his mind palace.  Sherlock told the cabbie not to wait and lead John away from the main road. 

“Sherlock, any chance you could tell me what this is about? Who are we supposed to meet here? It’s a pretty dodgy area.”

“I need answers, John, answers about a case.  Years before you and I met, Scotland Yard let a murder case go cold and I’ve recently become aware of bits of information that could be linked. We’re here to consult someone who makes a living running in dangerous circles.  Someone who misbehaves.”

John followed Sherlock into the dark building and heard the unmistakable clacking of heels on the concrete.

“My, my, Sherlock Holmes.  It’s a pleasure to see you again.  Hello, Doctor Watson.”

John’s mouth dropped when he caught sight of Irene Adler.  Sherlock smiled affectionately at her, which made John double take in confusion.  

“Irene Adler,” Sherlock hummed. “It’s good to see you’re still alive, against all odds.  I have questions that need answering - what do you know of Trent Conaway and his affiliation with the Pembrook Company?”

“Sherlock, you know I don’t give anything away for free.  I am a business woman, after all.”

“Considering you were on your knees the last time we met I thought you’d be more than willing to oblige me,” Sherlock snapped coldly.  He was referring to saving her life in Karachi, however John, speechless, jumped to the worst conclusion possible.  Irene saw the flash of fear in John’s eyes and the clenching of his left hand.  In that moment she set her price.  She liked to cause trouble and was determined to get Sherlock to confess the secrets of his heart.

“Did you tell him? Did you tell Doctor Watson exactly what happened the night he left us alone in your flat?” Irene smirked, satisfied with herself.

“Tell me what? Sherlock, what is she talking about?”

“John,” Sherlock sighed fearfully.  He knew what she was trying to do and it terrified him. That night Sherlock spent hours talking to John even though he’d gone out.  He mistook Irene for John.  He turned down Irene over and over again.  Sherlock even brought up John, love, and chemistry in the same sentence in front of her. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid’ Sherlock thought to himself. John, similarly, was terrified but for a significantly different reason.  John had always assumed the worst when it came to The Woman but until this moment he was able to leave some room for doubt. It seemed as though Sherlock had been hiding something from John all these years, something only The Woman could possibly know, and that was exactly the case just not in the way John would guess.  Irene knew this about John and was prepared to flush the secrets out, just for fun.  

“Shall I tell him? I’m sure he’d love to hear all of the details of the night we spent together.”

“That’s really none of my business - “

“But I think you’d like to hear it. We’re all adults here, aren’t we? Nothing to be afraid of.  Unless, of course, there is something you’re afraid of?”

“Sherlock, what is she talking about? Is there something you didn’t want me to know? You always keep me in the dark, always, with everything - “

“John, please,” Sherlock pacified, “I’m sorry”. Sherlock was frozen with fear but slowly working up the courage to set the record straight.  He had to choose between being honest about his feelings for John or letting John believe himself to be untrustworthy in Sherlock’s eyes.  The Woman was good at her job - it’s her prerogative to know what everyone likes.  Sherlock took a sharp inhale of breath before bursting, “That night all I could think about, all I could talk about, was you, John”. 

But John wasn’t there to hear it.  John had turned on his heel moments before and fled the scene.  He walked as fast as he could back to the main road and hailed a cab.  John knew Sherlock would never love him the way he loved The Woman.  He knew, once and for all, he and Sherlock would never be anything more than flatmates.  John spent the entire cab ride blinking back tears and deciding whether to pack his bags and leave 221b for good this time.   

Sherlock Request

Hello! Could you do a sherlock x reader with sherlock and John fighting over you? And sherlock winning? But John finding a gf after? Pleeeeease??


“What was that back there?” You stormed into 221 B with John and Sherlock in tail. These two had been fighting for the past two weeks and you were finally losing it.

“It’s not my fault that the incompetence of some people,” he looked towards John, “almost ruined our case.”

“Incompetence? Sherlock, giving your suspect the benefit of the doubt was not incompetence-,” he was cut off.

“Well I was right wasn’t I? It was her and your idiotic trust in her almost let her get away!”

“That’s it! I’ve had enough,” you yelled at the two. “I don’t know why you guys are arguing even more than you usually do, or why you’re each hell bent on playing each other down, but I’m done with it,” you grabbed your coat and scarf from the chair. “I’m going for a walk and when I get back this,” you pointed between the two of them, “had better be sorted out.”

******

The two men heard your steps echo from the stairwell followed by the front door shutting. “You’re not going to ease up on me are you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about John.”

“Oh, you most certainly do! Ever since you found out that I may liked Y/N too you’ve been climbing down my throat.”

“Too?”

“Yes, Sherlock, too. The only reason you’d get so upset over this is because you like her. And,” he sighed, “I know that you liking her is big. And that if you really having feelings for her then you should be with her.”

Sherlock didn’t have anything to say for once and stormed to his room, slamming the door shut; he heard John leave right after. He didn’t really feel emotions for you did he? Thoughts raced through his head as he tried to explain what he was feeling because surely, he thought, he couldn’t be feeling emotions. They were nothing more than hormones and basic instincts. Time passed unnoticed by him and 4 hours had passed. He only stopped thinking when he heard the downstairs door open and close. “Y/N must be back,” he thought to himself. He rushed out to the apartment door and got there just as you reached the top of the stairs.

“Y/N,” he said breathlessly. He had seen you in every state he could possible see you in but ,still, every time he looked at you you took his breath away. This time he saw a drenched you. Your hair was dripping and clung to your face in small wavy sections. The small amount of mascara and eyeliner you had put on for the case had smeared its way down under your eyes and was making its way down your cheeks. “It started raining when I was out and it took me an hour to walk back,” you laughed a little. “I left my wallet here so I couldn’t get a cab.”

******

His silence was what made you turn back to look at him; it wasn’t like Sherlock to be silent for this long unless something big had happened that was making him think extra hard. “What happened while I was gone,” you spoke timidly wearing what he might say.

He deduced what you were getting at and answered, “Nothing happened don’t worry. John and I talked a little and he gave me something to think about.” You lifted your eyebrows to question him. “You. He gave me you to think over.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I deduced that John was starting to have feelings for you. And as I found out about his inkling of like towards you he came to the conclusion that I liked you as well.”

You couldn’t help but reply slowly. “That you…liked me…as well.” He nodded his head. “Well that makes me feel better I guess,” Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up. “Feel better about what,” he asked?

“About liking you too.” Your smile only grew as you thought of something else, “So you were both fighting over me, huh?” Sherlock let out a small giggle at your joking statement. “Why don’t I get you some dry clothes to change into, yah?”

“Sounds great. But first I have something to do,” you pulled out your phone. “Who are you calling,” Sherlock asked.

“A friend.”

******

You, Sherlock, and John walked down the street together on the way to lunch. “You guys are a really cute couple, you know that?”

“Of course we know that John,” Sherlock stated bluntly. You shoved him a little.

“So what made you want to eat here Y/N,” John asked.

“I thought you might like what they have here,” you said smiling at Sherlock. He was the only other person that knew what was actually going on here today.

“And what would that be,” John asked as you all stopped in front of the restraunts door.

“Y/N,” a short haired blonde woman said from behind you. You turned and smiled at her.

“Mary, hi!” After a quick hug you addressed the group, “Guys this is my friend Mary. Mary this is my boyfriend Sherlock and our dear friend John.”

“John, Y/N and I forgot to tell you. We remembered this morning that we had made other plans and luckily Mary said she would be able to meet and have lunch with you,” Sherlock stated. At the moment John understood what was going on.

“Excuse us John while we go to our previous engagement. Mary, John, have fun.” You and Sherlock quickly walked off before John could protest.

Later that night while you and Sherlock were reading together your phone buzzed. “It’s from John,” you said to Sherlock as you opened it. “ ‘I’d be mad if we weren’t going out again this weekend. Thanks.’

The Subtext of Concern

I wrote this little story because of something broomclosetkink reblogged the other day, so this is for you my darling. I hope you like it. I own nothing and the always wonderful mizjoely looked it over for me. Thanks for reading. Enjoy ~Lil~


It had been happening for three weeks. The three weeks since the broadcast. If they were working together, he’d simply ask her before he or she left. If he wasn’t around, off chasing down a lead for instance, she usually received a text. She’d gotten quite used to it; his concern for her safety.

At first she thought nothing of it whatsoever. Well, not nothing, perhaps. Having Sherlock Holmes demand that she notify him that she was home, safely locked in her flat did make Molly pause and wonder, if only for a moment. But there was so much going on, so many tests, he was otherwise so preoccupied, that she decided it was just general worry for the situation. He had changed, after all. The events of the last three years had had an effect on the detective; he seemed more concerned for his friends, and even less harsh with his criticism.

One night, after not having heard from Sherlock all day, she had gone to bed assuming he was too busy to contact her. He and John were, according to Mary, somewhere in Wales. Just as she started to drift to sleep she heard her text alert.

Can I assume you made it home okay?-SH

She smiled in spite of how exhausted she was.

Yes, in bed as a matter of fact. Are you safe?-Mx

Dead lead. On our way back. Sleep well Molly Hooper-SH

And thus their little routine was born. Text me when you get home, he’d say as he was leaving the lab or she was taking off for the day. He’d even say it in front of John Watson, which surprised her more than she’d like to admit. She didn’t miss John’s sideways smile, though he never said a word (at least not in front of his best friend).

One day after the pair had been in and out of St. Barts several times, Sherlock stepped outside to take a call from his brother.

“Have you noticed, Molly?” John asked.

She was a bit preoccupied with the soil samples Sherlock had thrust in her face and asked her to prepare. “Noticed what, John?”

“How worried he is,” he explained.

Molly looked up. “Yes, well, Ji… I mean Moriarty all over again. I can’t imagine, after all his work, what this must be like for him. After spending years away from everyone he cares about, to have that bastard suddenly back.” She shivered.

“Well, yes, but he’s worried about…”

Just then the door opened up and Sherlock burst through full of nervous energy. “Quickly John! Mycroft has finally found something useful,” he barked as he gathered up his beloved coat.

John jumped up, rolling his eyes at Molly.

Sherlock turned to her. “You’ll take care of those samples for me?” She nodded. “Right, and text me when you get home? A cab not the Tube, Molly,” he said in a warning tone. She nodded again. Then they were gone.

The cabs. The cabs that were always waiting outside St. Barts or her flat and the cabbies, for some reason, always refused her money. She had tried to ask Sherlock about it after the second time it happened. He just changed the subject.

The strangest thing of all was that Molly was well aware of her security detail. She knew she had one (or at least one) of Mycroft’s agents lurking around her wherever she went. If Sherlock wanted a report of her whereabouts, she was certain he could get it from his brother. She tried not to think about it too much. She was fairly successful until she found herself chatting with her friend Gwen in the canteen one afternoon sixteen days after the broadcast.

“…is so funny.” She had been talking about her husband, the love of her life, making Molly smile and giggle as she shared funny and endearing stories about the man. “He’s not really one to say I love you. I mean I know he does, mind you. He has said it. But if we aren’t together and I’m getting home before him he says ‘text me when you get home, let me know you’re safe.’ The other night I asked him why he always does that and he says, 'It’s my way of saying I love you’. I swear, the man’s a closet romantic.” She giggled and took a drink of her tea.

Molly froze. She had tried, unsuccessfully she now realised, to quash her feelings for Sherlock, especially since his return. What he really needed was a friend, not some moon-eyed girl, pining over him. But suddenly she couldn’t get Gwen’s words out of her mind. She shook her head, Sherlock wasn’t like other men; if he said he was concerned for her safety, then that’s all it was. Though, now that she thought about it, he never really said… anything. He never exactly elaborated as to why he was so concerned, or if he indeed was. Had he received a direct threat to her? She thought about it for a moment as she finished her break then went back to work.

Four days later, it happened. Sherlock disappeared, as did his texts. Molly started getting text messages from John Watson instead.

Hey Molls. Just checking in. You make it home okay?-JW

Yes, I’m home. How’s it going?-Mx

Can’t really say much but he’s fine since that’s what you’re asking.-JW

Molly rolled her eyes at John’s forwardness.

Two days after that, Mary Watson went into labour and Molly really got worried, because John was called back. She went to the hospital to be with Mary until her husband could arrive and Molly couldn’t stop worrying that Sherlock would be alone doing… well whatever he was doing. She left the new parents, after getting to hold little Eva Louise, and went home to collapse and get some much needed rest. She wasn’t expecting a text message this time, he was busy after all. John had said he was closing in on the consulting criminal. But as she was getting out of the bath she heard her text alert.

Miss Hooper, I need to ascertain your whereabouts, even though I’m fully aware of them.

It wasn’t signed, though Molly had no doubt who had sent it.

I’m home Mycroft, I’m fine. Is he well?-Mx

As soon as she sent it she regretted adding the kiss at the end of her initial. Perhaps he won’t understand what it means, she hoped.

He is fine and I will let him know that you are as well. Am I to assume the kiss was an accident?

Damnit.

Yes, so sorry. Thank you Mycroft. Goodnight.-M

That was the end of that exchange.

She couldn’t shake her nerves the next day. Not knowing what was going on, if Sherlock was in danger, was driving her to distraction, but she managed to get through work and make it home. She took a shower and made herself dinner. She grabbed a cup of tea and turned on the telly. Just as she was settling in to pull up her DVR, the news broke. James Moriarty has been shot and killed in a covert operation this evening. The man behind the nationwide broadcast was found in an undisclosed location…

Molly couldn’t decide on an emotion. She was thrilled that it was over but she was terrified that something could have happened to Sherlock. She picked up her mobile and tried to figure out who to call. John was with his wife and child. Mycroft would no doubt be busy with… what was his job exactly? Perhaps Greg would have some information. She was still staring at the infuriatingly useless device when it rang, nearly scaring her half to death. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Hooper?” a female voice said.

“Yes,” Molly replied.

“I work for Mr. Holmes. I was asked to phone you and let you know that Sherlock is fine. He will be tied up for the next several hours but he wanted you to know that you are safe and no longer in danger.”

“Right, I ah, saw the news,” Molly said with a shaky voice.

“Yes, that leaked earlier than we expected. Things don’t always go as planned, do they?” she asked.

“No, I don’t suppose they do, ” Molly said, not knowing how to converse with a member of MI6. “Um, when is he coming home- I mean back. When will he be done?”

The woman actually giggled. “He’s being debriefed Dr. Hooper. He’ll be in contact soon, I’m sure.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thank you for letting me know.”

“Of, course,” she said. “Shall I give him a message for you?”

“Um, sure ah…” Molly paused, she didn’t know what to tell Sherlock, especially through a third party. “Just tell him…” She smiled, when a thought suddenly popped into her mind. “Tell him to text me when he gets home. To let me know he’s safe.”

“Certainly,” the woman said before she rang off.

Molly tossed her mobile on the coffee table and breathed a much needed sigh of relief.

She must have fallen asleep because she woke up to the sound of someone knocking on her door at… looking at clock on the mantel, 3.13 a.m.? Molly got up, rubbing her eyes, and looked out the peephole. Sherlock? She immediately opened the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said, stepping in as Molly shut the door.

They stood in slightly awkward silence for several seconds before Molly finally spoke.

“You did it. I knew you would.” She smiled.

Sherlock didn’t return it. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

Molly looked over to her coffee table. “Oh, I fell asleep.” She laughed.

Sherlock was still not smiling or showing any emotion, as a matter of fact. “Right, well since you’re fine then I’ll just…” He didn’t finish his sentence but he started for the door.

Molly moved to stop him. “Are you - are you mad at me?”

His eyes were focused on the floor. “You wanted me to text you, but you didn’t respond. I was… confused.”

“I am sorry, Sherlock. It wasn’t intentional.” She studied him for a moment. He was acting strange, even for him. “What’s wrong? Please tell me.”

He huffed and ran his hands through his hair. “I- I thought we had a system and when you didn’t respond I was…” He rolled his eyes. “Afraid that since the threat was over that you wouldn’t want to… continue.”

Now Molly was confused. “Continue? Continue what?”

He finally looked her in the eyes for the first time since he arrived. “Our association and our… conveyance of,” he paused and swallowed. “Affection.”

Oh! she thought, and she was certain that she felt her heart actually melt. “So, when you say to me 'text me when you get home’, you’re really saying…” She couldn’t finish it, she saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the rawness. He was scared.

“Yes,” he said as he inched closer.

“I just fell asleep, Sherlock. If I hadn’t I would’ve responded. I’d be more than happy to continue our association.”

His entire body relaxed and he moved even closer. “I believe I’d like to try additional means of conveyance, if that’s okay with you,” he said with a smile as he put his hands on her hips.

Molly ran her hands up his arms until they found his shoulders. “And what exactly did you have in mind?” she asked, trying to contain her overwhelming joy, but frankly failing.

“Oh, I imagine we’ll think of something,” he said just before his lips met her in the first of a series of mind-blowing kisses.

Reichenbach’s tension was ruined by the explanation in The Empty Hearse.

I will stand by this until it is undone. In the final explanation of how Sherlock survived the fall, it is revealed that Mycroft and Sherlock had worked behind the scenes since the release of Moriarty. They had to make Moriarty think that he won. In other words, while in Reichenbach you get the feeling that Sherlock is struggling against a true equal in an ‘edge of your seat’ scenario; however, The Empty Hearse suggests that not only was it under control, but under Sherlock’s control and it was Moriarty who was blind to their counter plan. And this is where the danger of making your protagonist a superman comes from. Before it was our protagonist at the mercy of his antagonist, creating drama and a unique sense of raw hopelessness that’s really rare in popular media. You see the strain in every scene. It’s Sherlock at his breaking point. The episode builds near the point of combustion. And it’s that build up that makes it the stand out episode of the entire shows canon. 

But, take that tension. Say it was all apart of the plan. That heavy build up isn’t so solid anymore, is it? The tragedy of Mycroft telling Sherlock’s life story, the raw panic in Sherlock’s eyes as his world shreds into pieces, every hateful moment, it’s just…. empty.

Don’t get me wrong, the episode as a stand alone is still brilliant, but ally it with the canon of Empty Hearse and it’s no longer that punch it used to be. It doesn’t make us happy to know that our heros were smarter and had a plan, it’s a disappointment that the fear of losing was never there. It all feels fake now, pushed to the side. And this could be a situation of the the creators writing themselves into a corner where they couldn’t get out of their own episode without cheating it, so to speak.

Notice how I said until it is undone in the start. Well, I mean it. I do believe that this can be undone and that Reichenbach can be saved, fitting it back into the rollercoaster that it once was. Here are some ideas. 

  1. Take away Sherlock and Mycroft’s control in Reichenbach. It was a moment of overpowered protagonists and it’s a cheap trap door explanation.
  2. Make them wrong. As hard as it must be, it’s okay to make them fail even with their counter plan. It’s a humanizing statement and brings it closer to reality. Honestly, Moriarty’s plan wasn’t flawless but it was too structured for Sherlock to break as easily as he claimed.
  3. If you’re going to keep the 'had it under control’ plot, make it more complicated. No doubt Sherlock clipped down his explanation for the sake of Anderson, so reveal a bit more about how they kept it under control. It’ll restore the tension if we know that the brothers made it by the skin of their teeth
  4. Bring Moriarty back. We already know he will be involved in someway. Throwaway or not, he is a factor in series 4. But, still make it 'him’, even if abstract. His plan, him in the flesh, anything as long as it’s Moriarty. It’ll show that him simply lasting outsmarts Sherlock and Mycroft, bringing Sherlock back to his level, reinstating him as an equal. It isn’t a perfect fix but it balances them out at the very least, suggesting that perhaps Sherlock and Mycroft are not perfect as they thought they were in their counter plan.

I truly hope that Moriarty’s last plan wasn’t just a plot device to show how brilliant the Holmes brothers are. I truly want them to fix this. And we can only hope that the show picks back up, restoring tension and fitting the tragic episode right back into it’s canon, snug and heartbreaking as it should be.

Submit: Una Stubbs on The One Show

Hi Ballsy, 

Me, Carmen, and a few other people were having a little discussion yesterday about Una Stubb’s recent appearance on the One Show.

I personally didn’t watch the video since the link I found was UK only, but I had a friend transcribe what she said (or, didn’t say) in regards to Benedict’s wedding. 

“Presenter: Congratulations to Benedict on his marriage. 
Una Stubbs: And you on your engagement!

Presenter: Did the wedding affect the filming schedule?
Una Stubbs: Oh it’s a great story [the episode], I can’t play it again I’ve got some silly adware thing goin on and I’m not moving rooms so I’m not 100% on the second one.”

As can be seen, she COMPLETELY AVOIDED talking about Benedict’s wedding at all!

It made me wonder why, and then it hit me:

Una Stubbs has been a close family friend since Benedict was a baby. She would have definitely been invited to the wedding if it was real. No doubt about it. It’s clear that Benedict sees her as another motherly figure on set, considering all the hugs that Sherlock gave her were not even scripted. Una probably knows or suspects something is up, and might have even gotten some insight from Wanda about it at some point.

That said, I really don’t think the Sherlock crew has that many personal issues with Benedict at this moment in time. I don’t think they really had much a falling out at all. Martin might resent him for it a little bit because he has a hatred of Hollywood fakery, but I think that everyone suspects that Benedict is going through some really terrible shit right now- and not only because of his Oscar campaign. They are probably trying to distance themselves from the issue because they don’t know how or cannot help him because he has been unable to tell them much about what’s going on.

I just hope this all gets cleared up by Series 4, because it must be very depressing for everyone watching their friend go through this.

=====================================

Sips tea … 

The Backs, The Hair, and Other Clues: Setlock Wild Speculation Time!

This week setlock has been, to say very little, exciting. I have heard of a lot of people panicking over the scenes fans were allowed to see: are we getting a rom com of the Watson family and their consulting Uncle? Domestic bliss is ruining the show, what are we to do? I would say, these are not the questions we the curious audience should be asking. In the following, I am going to try and do my best outlining a) the premises that should be kept in mind when approaching S4 setlock and b) the questions we should be asking ourselves about what we are shown/allowed to see. I will also include some speculations and predictions that make sense based on said premises and questions.

Premises for the Series 4 of Sherlock:

1.Tougher and darker/Emotional upheaval/The story will reach its climax(x)

So yeah, basically, even if what we had seen this week is exactly what it appeared to be - i.e. John and Mary and a baby, happily solving cases with Sherlock, I doubt we will see it in the show more than just once. Before things go to hell. So brace yourself and don’t despair too soon. Besides, I feel we didn’t give enough thought to the scenes with Sherlock, Molly and the baby: in the Watsons house, but without the Watsons. Really, this one opens up a whole new avenue of possibilities, and none of them points out in the direction of domestic bliss. Because if you are parents of a newborn, you don’t just drop her off into somebody else’s care, even if that somebody is your best friend/the only consulting detective in the world. Especially if this is the case. Something really serious must have happened so the baby ended up with Sherlock and Molly. I can’t wait to find out what.

2. Consequences/Ghosts of the past (x) (x)

Consequences of what? Consequence for whom? Ghosts are what happened/something you have done in the past that still haunts you in the present. Let’s ask ourselves, who did what in the previous episodes that may bring on consequences/ghosts?

Sherlock

Well, he jumped. Basically, John’s whole association with Mary is a direct consequence of this. We don’t know yet for sure whether she entered John’s life intentionally or coincidentally, and it’s not even that relevant for the fact that her being with John, her marrying him, her shooting Sherlock and her possibly, most likely having a baby with John are all consequences of Sherlock’s not so well thought out fake suicide and the decision to leave John behind. TAB tells us very clearly that he shouldn’t have done that (the scene at the Falls). I strongly believe that the significance of Mary’s presence in the show and in John and Sherlock’s lives is far from over and will again serve a major plot catalyst very soon. In short: Mary being here in Sherlock and John’s lives is the consequence of Sherlock’s jump. A consequence to face and deal with.

John

Following the facts discussed above, his decision to marry Mary will inevitably bring on consequences. Arguably, we have seen already some of them: Sherlock’s relapse, Mary shooting him, Sherlock killing CAM. Yet, to be completely honest, I am not sure how many of the consequences we have been promised will have to do with John’s decisions. Because, unlike Sherlock’s, they have not been, strictly speaking, “wrong.” John thought he had lost his best friend and that his death was at least partly his own fault. Blaming him for trying to move on (and failing at it) would be wrong. I absolutely agree with Ivy Blossom’s analysis of John’s behavior in S3 - it is to do with his loyalty, trust issues, and the continuing lack of understanding between him and Sherlock. Trust issues is what is known about John right from the start in S1 and my guess is, speaking of ghosts, we might finally be let in on what had caused these issues in John’s past.

Mary

She might have to face both the ghosts of her past and more than one consequence of what she has done. On the one hand, we have her dark assassin’s past (the past we still know very little about and that is too good for the show-runners to ignore, plot-wise). On another hand, she shot Sherlock and no matter what we were shown in HLV, nearly killing (or, actually, flat out killing) the protagonist is not something to let go of easily. The cast and crew agree that Mary is a flawed character, and a psychopath, and that despite all her awesomeness, she. shot. Sherlock. After all, even Mummy Holmes promised to turn absolutely monstrous once she finds out who shot her boy. I don’t think that was just a figure of speech. And John, too, tells Mary he’ll be privileged to deal with the problems of her future. There. Will. Be. Problems. In. Mary’s. Future. Probably, they are just around the corner as we speak.

Mycroft

The general consensus is that he is the first one to deal with some consequences and I agree, although I don’t have much proof at this time. We haven’t seen much of Mycroft-related setlock and it actually might be a fairly good clue that the older Holmes might be up to some crucial stuff. Because, you know, all super important scenes are usually filmed indoors and in high secrecy. Anyway, his possible association with Moriarty, or his awareness of Mary’s shady past and his likely death as a consequence of both have all been discussed before at length and I have nothing to add here.  

3. Expect the unexpected/“The very next thing to happen to Sherlock and John, is the very last thing you’d expect…” (x)

That kind of narrows it down, doesn’t it? What do we expect, though? It would be safe to say that casuals might be expecting the domestic bliss for John, Mary and the baby, and probably more cases for Sherlock. Many of us have been expecting Moriarty’s return in one way or another. Being the clever trolls they are, Moftiss might be willing to play with these expectations in the similar way to what they had done to fan theories of Sherlock’s survival - i.e., turn them upside down.

So what about the domestic bliss? Pure speculation here. We have spent years thinking of what could possibly happen re: Mary’s departure from the show. We know it’s going to happen and we expect it to be tragic in one way or another. Now, here is an unexpected turn: Mary and John get a divorce, right at the start of E1. According to Sherlock’s Mind Palace in TAB, John’s marriage is falling apart anyway. So, what if John goes back to 221B and shares the custody over the baby with the ex-wife, and that’s it? The setlock scene of Sherlock and John meeting Mary with the baby at some random house explained! Anticlimactic, yes, but one could argue that Moftiss like anticlimactic resolves (cue the pool scene and the whole “how did Sherlock fake his suicide” sequence). As much as parentlock is totally not my jam, I can see it happening. What makes me skeptical, though, is the premise one: “darker and tougher/cast brought to tears by the S4 plot.” Divorce might bring tears to some eyes, undoubtedly, but I don’t think it would be the kind of tears the show-runners are going for.

Questions we should be asking/What we should be focusing on:

1. Hints/clues from the cast and crew.

Well, there is always a possibility they could be total BS: one red herring piling up atop another ad infinitum. But. Let’s take them seriously for a second.

What is it about the persistent flow of “back” tweets? One back shot tweeted by Mark might be just a joke, two look suspicious, three indicate an intention. The word “back” could mean a lot of things:

“To be back” = “to return.” And there is this saying of Mark’s:

“Whatever else we do, wherever we all go, all roads lead back to Baker Street - and it always feels like coming home.“ (x)

So back to Baker Street then? Back home? Alright, but what about backs of the heads? Let’s be honest, the back of whose head comes to mind?

Right? 

The possibilities are manifold, and one thing is certain: either Mark is blatantly trolling us all like never before or he’s trying to convey something. Knowing what a bunch of lying trolls Moftiss are, I would dismiss the tweets altogether but then again, as we know from the show, no one goes great lengths without a very good reason to do so. Mark’s tweeting pictures of nearly every principal character’s back looks like trying to go great lengths in order to tell us something of importance.

The baby’s name. Amanda’s reaction to its possible reveal is quite telling. Why would she be so opposed to us knowing the name of a very young character already known as "baby Watson”? There are at least two possibilities:

  • It’s not baby Watson, it’s some other baby. Or babies. As Amanda said on twitter, there are many babies, which could be literally true because it takes more than one baby to film one. Or could she mean something else? I’ve got to admit, it would take yours truly some mental gymnastics to reconcile the possibility of many babies in the plot with the recent setlock shots, but remember premise 3: expect the unexpected. So there’s that.
  • It’s baby Watson and her name is very significant. It could be Billie. It could be Shirley. It could be Minna. Because Sherlock is a girl’s name, right? Although, would it be such a huge spoiler if we knew that John named his daughter after Sherlock? Half of us expects nothing else.

2. Finally and most importantly, changes in characters’ appearances.

Hair comes to mind first. So far, it’s been John and Mary only whose hairstyles underwent dramatic transformation. Now, in long-lasting, multi-season TV shows character change their styles all the time. At the beginning of the new season, giving a protagonist a new haircut is always a good way to point out a time lapse and just to help the audience feel that characters go through changes, just like people in real life do. In S1 of Bones, Temperance Brennan wears her hair at shoulder length. In S2, she has bangs. Later on, she goes back to no bangs. Not a biggie, overall. Also, sometimes actors demand a hair cut for personal reasons because well, they want to (cue Kayley Cuoco). Sometimes, however, in shows known for their use of subtextual clues, every change of a character’s appearance deserves our attention because it’s used to tell something about the character. Peggy Olsen of Mad Men starts with a girly pony tail a naive and inexperienced Brooklyn girl like her should be wearing. As she climbs the career ladder and gains confidence, her hair styles illustrate the transformation, and she ends up with a hair cut of a hardened executive. 

The use of subtext in Sherlock is  much more prominent than in Mad Men so John and Mary’s hair change speaks volumes to me. I haven’t seen anybody else discussing this but here is what their new hair reminds me of:

I might be wrong thinking that their current setlock hair styles are similar to the ones of TAB!John and Mary and even if I am right, I don’t know for sure what to make of it yet, except you know, going for the Mind Palace theory again. I am looking forward to your ideas.

To summarize: we should be expecting the unexpected and tougher plot turns of Sherlock and Co facing the ghosts and consequences of the things they have done in the past, and the current setlock photos support these premises. Don’t let the appearance of domestic bliss fool you and keep analyzing.

Story snippet

I wrote this ages ago (post Reichenbach, matter of fact) but never found a story to put it in so it’s been languishing in my files since then. Instead of trying to find a home for it in another fic, I decided to just post it as-is, a standalone snippet for your reading pleasure.

She counted.

How had that happened, when had it happened?

And more importantly, why?

What about her, Molly Elizabeth Hooper, made her special enough to count in Sherlock Holmes’ life?

Yes, she was a pathologist. Yes, she was very good at her job. But there were other pathologists who were equally good at their jobs – some were even brilliant. Was it because she was always so pathetically eager to please him, because she was a willing slave to his every outrageous request?

She doubted it. A simple fetch-and-carry was easy to dismiss, to ignore, to treat like somebody who didn’t exist or have feelings of her own.

So it must have been some time after Christmas, that horrible, horrible Christmas two years ago, that she’d started to count as “somebody” rather than “nobody.”

He’d been awful to her, hurting her without even realizing he was doing it until suddenly he did. Realize it, she meant, her thoughts as much a jumble as her words generally were around him. He’d gone so far as to apologize and offer a quick peck on the cheek before his mobile rang and dragged his attention back to whatever case had been consuming him.

If, she thought tartly, you could call that obscene moan a “ring.”

Still, she stood firm in her conviction that it was after that Christmas that she started to count as someone not just in Sherlock’s periphery, but someone actually in his orbit, someone he took notice of and, she dared to hope, cared about. Oh, not as much as he cared about John, his best mate, or DI Lestrade, who brought him such lovely cases to ease his boredom.

Possibly not even as much as he must care about his family, the brother who’d gotten him such unrestricted access to Bart’s, maybe even his parents, although he never spoke of any of them.

She’d always assumed it was more out of a desire for privacy, since she knew he liked to give very little of himself away the way others gave so much of themselves away to him without even knowing they were doing it.

She, personally, had always felt like an open book to him – one he wasn’t particularly interested in reading, but had had it stuck under his nose so often he couldn’t help picking up the basic plot and characters, all of which he found boring except when he needed something.

Like now? Was that what was happening now, was it like those times when he told her her hair looked nice so she’d fetch him a liver or a pancreas or a cup of coffee?

He’d scared the shit out of her, standing there in the dark, speaking to her without even looking.

“You’re wrong, you know.”

Molly gasped and whirled to face that voice in the darkness. His voice. She held her chest as he continued speaking. “You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you.” He turned to look at her. “But you were right. I’m not okay.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He turned, took two steps closer to her. “Molly, I think I’m going to die.”

“What do you need?”

Another step. “If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?”

“What do you need?”

He took another step closer, then another, till he was right in front of her. Then he spoke a single word that nearly broke her right there. “You.”

Since he couldn’t possibly mean what her silly, stupid, overheated heart and body wanted him to mean, he must need her to do something, something only she could do for him. So she asked, no stuttering, no second-guessing herself or him, just asked the question. “What do you need me to do?”

She still couldn’t quite believe that he meant it, but when their eyes met and locked – Sher-locked, she thought, semi-hysterically – she knew he meant every word.

She counted. He needed her.

And she would never let him down.

For me, the thing that hurts the most about TRF is that John knows Sherlock so well at this point. John knows how to help him through all the press conferences. John knows how to smooth his rougher edges at crime scenes. John knows that he isn’t really the “annoying dick” he so often pretends to be. And even when Sherlock fears that Moriarty is planting doubt in John’s head, John holds fast to his belief in the Sherlock that he knows. But after all that, it’s Sherlock’s own actions that make him doubt. It just takes that one moment in the lab when Sherlock lets John believe he doesn’t care about Mrs. Hudson to make John doubt him, call him a machine though he knows that isn’t true. And it’s that tiny moment of doubt that allows John to be separated from the man he’s been working so hard to protect, that allows Moriarty to rip them apart.

Sherlock worried that Moriarty was trying to get into John’s head, but ultimately it’s Sherlock who does. Even though he sent John away to protect him, in doing so, he is the one who ends up making John doubt him for just one small moment, but it’s a moment that will haunt John for years as he replays this day over and over in his mind wondering how it might have been different if he hadn’t stormed out of the lab, if he hadn’t called Sherlock a machine, if he could have somehow in some way shown Sherlock that he truly knew him, believed in him, always had, always would.