It’s fucking me up that Ajay is a Sherlock mirror. It’s like, they might not want to show Sherlock being tortured in any more detail and instead give us this character so we can infer how Sherlock might have dealt with it all. Which is NOT WELL.
I look in the mirror and I don’t like what I see.
I see things that can be fixed and things that can be hidden.
But I have no energy, I don’t have enough strength the change those things.
So I’m going to keep looking at this mirror hoping that one day, things might change.
If this is in his Mind Palace: Breaking a mirror in a dream (or in one’s Mind Palace?) suggests that you are breaking an old image of yourself. Shooting the mirror here will mean Sherlock will realize once and for all that he doesn’t have to choose between what Mycroft and John symbolize - his mind and his heart, his logic and his emotions. If it’s a two-way mirror, shattering it will signal his confidence in moving forward, especially since our view here shows no door.
If this is in the real world: That two-way mirror will either have someone behind it or it will lead to an empty room (perhaps there’s some sort of diversion that causes the person watching to leave in a hurry OR it’s all part of some sick game of psychological horror and it doesn’t matter if Sherlock gets out or not, it’s just another test to see how clever he is, what he would be willing to do, and how much it’ll take for him to break). Shooting the mirror will give all of them an escape. The symbolism could apply here as well.
the loft had been quiet for hours, silence heavy between flickering candles and those shelves of neatly lined up ingredients. every room was still in the early afternoon light, the sun just starting to think about dipping towards the horizon. or everything had been still until the front door opened. magnus heard it from the bedroom where he was carefully buttoning up his shirt but he didn’t think much of it, considering the wards only let through a handful of people. he had spent the morning finalizing potions and carefully restocking ingredients, but the rest of the day would be house calls, wards to fortify and helping someone with a rather pesky hellhound. for all of that, a different shirt was needed.
he was almost at the top button, appraising himself in the mirror, although his mind was on anything but his appearance. he was running over the spells he’d need for the wards and thinking about asking catarina when she wanted to have dinner next when alec’s voice cut through the silence and straight through his thoughts. he glanced up in the mirror, staring at alec’s reflection and instantly his brows pulled together.
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I’ve never known a show that developed like this over four seasons and far more years than that. It leaves me awed. It leaves me in love.
Sherlock Season 1 was fresh. It was new. It was everything we loved about Baker Street but with a myriad twists. Who was Sherlock? He was idiosyncratic, brilliant, cold. Fascinated with puzzles, puzzles none of us could solve. The episodes were complex but close to home. Everything revolved around Baker Street, this unlikely friendship.
But there was a whisper. The classic arch villian. These are simple, but age-old, dramatic stakes. Not so much man vs. man but mind vs. mind.
This is Sherlock Holmes come of age, with mystery behind and before him.
It ends with the grand entrance of his twisted mirror, mind vs. mind.
Season 2 raises the stakes. It look into Sherlock’s heart, his loyalties, his fears. It delves into the deepest and richest of Holmes canon–the Woman, the Hound, the Fall. Season 2 leaves us gasping for air. This is Sherlock in the Golden Age, this is Sherlock that has us whirling, trying to keep up with twists and turns, with how much we now care about Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, Mycroft–the side characters who now are part of a universe.
A threatened universe. This is Sherlock and John’s friendship at its tested peak, this is a Sherlock who might just be more than cold exterior, this is Sherlock with problems and people he might not be able to solve. This is the greatest face-off between protagonist and antagonist we’ve ever known, perhaps because they’re so like and yet unlike.
This is the end of an era, and a fall we still don’t quite understand.
Season 3 changes the game. It reels us back from grief. It has its lighthearted moments, even while John struggles to believe in a world again he’d thought lost. Season 3 gives us Mary, a story in herself. Season 3 takes John away from Baker Street, Molly away from Sherlock, everything we’ve known away from itself. How can such grand and beautiful caricatures feel so close to our own life? The alienation and the joy combined that we’ve always felt at a friend’s wedding.
Threats we expect coming from people we never dreamed would be the ones pulling the trigger.
This is Sherlock the savior. This is Sherlock the sacrifice.
This is death cheated in different ways.
Season 4. What is Season 4? Season 4 is everything times ten. The drama, the complexity, amped to 100mph. Why are there complaints it’s too clever? Or that it’s somehow buckling under its own weight, when this Sherlock come full circle. This isn’t close to home, complexities around a simple nucleus–this is close to heart, all the truths we’ve always known, Mary dies in canon, Molly loves Sherlock, There’s another Holmes–and yet it is ALL turned on its head.
This was a brilliant masterstroke. I pray it’s not the last. My soul begs for Season 5. But this was a beautiful finale, if so it must be. This was John destroyed and a friendship forged all the stronger in the end. This is where we realize that Sherlock really is Sherlock Holmes, the legend we’ve all known. A man, as Moftiss said, with a heart you never doubt. This is Sherlock the human.
And suddenly we understand all the questions we didn’t know we had. A high-functioning sociopath isn’t that way because of some paltry quirk. He’s shut down. He’s closed off. This is Sherlock Holmes finally opening the lockbox of himself, stepping outside the mind palace into something far, far greater.
And this is when we learn that the “freak” has “always been the grownup”. He’s the one who forgives. The one who saves them all. The one who cannot kill the brother he loves, does not leave the sister only he does not fear, the one who opens his heart up to the possibility of breaking because he has only three minutes to save Molly Hooper.
This is an East Wind. Mary, gone. Rosamund, still beloved by many. Eurus Holmes, remembered.
And 221B Baker Street changed, yet also just as we’ve always known.