I’ve finally recovered enough to write down my somehow-processed thoughts on the finale and what future developments it may bring, so here we go.
The idea of building the entire episode around Flint and Silver’s conversation was so emotionally satisfying.
I can’t even begin to describe how invested it made me feel; it gave me everything I had hoped for, but also everything I feared.
A prophecy, a foreshadowing, the promise of a tragedy.
We got Flint shedding the last plates of his armor of his own volition, baring his heart to Silver, giving him access to literally every part of himself. If we take 3x01 and compare it to their recent interactions, it is evident how heavily dependent on Silver’s presence Flint has become.
He was utterly alone, the ghost of a man, driven only by anger and guilt and despair, terrified of himself.
His subconscious, manifesting itself in his dreams, literally screamed for him to not go that way, to save himself, but he didn’t listen.
Then Silver showed him a glimpse of concern, a hint of undestanding, and Flint latched on to that like a drowning man to a rope.
His subconscious told him that he was not alone anymore, that he could allow himself to lean on this person he had been drawn to like a magnet from the start.
And Flint did.
Piece after piece, he has trusted Silver with every weakness; in his starvation for companionship, for a significant bond, he has offered his whole self to him.
Silver needed Flint too, and still needs him to some extent, but as reliant as Silver is on his mind above everything else, he won’t let Flint invade his soul like a storm, not anymore. He said it himself, told Flint with disturbing coldness. He will be Flint’s end, not the other way around, because Silver just won’t permit it. Despite their bond, despite the feelings that might keep growing between them, despite the fire that links their souls to one another and that might bring them to acknowledge and act upon the magnetic pull between them.
When they eventually clash, Silver will be able to detach himself, and Flint won’t. There will be pain and suffering on both sides but Flint will be crushed under the weight of it.
Destroyed by the person he offered his soul to.
Sherlolly, "I knew it was a mistake to get the twins matching clothes."
For this meme. This is more of a drabble than a full-fledged fic.
Molly had never seen her husband look so frightened. Facing off against psychopaths, he was cool and calm. Faced with the prospect of looking after two identical toddlers for two hours, however, he was as terrified as any other father did when faced with the prospect of childcare.
“I’ll only be gone for about two hours,” she said, hitching her bag onto her shoulder. “But I’ll be back in time for supper, okay?”
Sherlock gave a small nod, his gaze fixed on the two little girls who were innocently sat in the centre of the living room, happily playing and giggling with one another. Molly gave a laugh and dropped a kiss on his cheek.
“You’ll be fine. And remember: I’m just a text away.”
Her husband broke out of his trance just quickly enough to pull her back and catch her in a rather breathtakingly affectionate kiss before she pulled away, laughing a little as she departed from the flat, closing the door behind her. Swallowing a little, Sherlock looked to his daughters. The way they stared back at him was in a manner that was inquisitive, eager and more than terrifying.
“Right,” Sherlock said softly to himself. “Two hours.”
That was practically nothing. He could cope with that, easily.
“Sienna, that’s not–”
“I’m not Sienna!”
“Eloise – ow, what are you doing – ow!”
“Not Eloise! I’m Sienna! And I’m climbing. You’re my ladder, Daddy.”
“Climbing – Eloise, careful!”
“I was talking to Eloise—”
The first thing Molly did, on stepping through the door to 221b two hours later, was to laugh. For that moment, she didn’t care about the crayon drawings on the wall, nor did she care about the jam stains on the sofa.
On seeing Sherlock stood in the centre of the floor, one daughter climbing up and onto his back with little to no care for his facial features whilst the other merrily hummed as she skipped around the living room of 221b, the tell-tale stains of strawberry jam around her mouth and crayons in her hands. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Molly briefly before he looked upwards at his other daughter, who happily continued to clamber up her father’s back and onto his shoulders, gripping at his curls with one hand as she reached up with the other to touch the ceiling.
Sherlock gave a sigh as he looked again to Molly.
“We never should have given the twins matching clothes, Molly.” He reached and with both hands, plucked a laughing Sienna from his shoulders. “Whose idea was it again?”
girl you get it. my ride or die otp is dean/his open acceptance of being queer.
yaaaaaaas anon YAAAAAAAAAAS
sam rolling his eyes when dean blatantly checks out dudes
dean casually mentioning gay porn
dean calling charlie like, “i need one of my own people to talk to right now, sam is too straight.”
(totally not dead) kevin asking dean confused questions and dean talking him through a sexual identity crisis
sam chatting it up with dean’s one-night stands in the bunker the next morning as if they’re old hunting buddies
dean flirting with men on cases oh wait this one’s canon never mind
monsters trying to make dean uncomfortable with their sexual advances and dean just rolls his eyes and is like, “i mean, fuck me if you’re gonna fuck me, but enough with this teasing.”
sam beating up other hunters when they make homophobic comments meanwhile dean’s sitting back laughing and trying to convince sam that nothing they say will make sucking dicks any less awesome so it’s really not worth the effort
How can you not ship johnlock? Its the main ship! Cant you see all the sexual tension between sherlocak and john? And they are constantly eyefucking. And sherlock and molly dont even show affection for eachother? They only kissed in andersons reichenbach theory! And sherlock only told molly she mattered so that he could survive the fall, if she really mattered to him then a gun would have been pointed at her too. I dont blame your for shipping sherlolly, you wouldnt know any better.
Molly woke to the sound of tapping. Angry, quick tapping.
Blinking herself awake from sleep, she pulled the sheets closer to her chest and raised her head to see that her consulting detective was sat up in bed, laptop balanced precariously on his propped up knees. He frowned deeply as his fingers moved across the keyboard in a blur.
“Sherlock,” she asked with a soft sigh, propping herself with an elbow as she looked at him. “What are you doing?”
“Busy,” he growled, but the word was swiftly followed by a familiar chime of of an email notification. Molly gave a groan and fell back onto the bed.
“Not the chat rooms again.” She ran her hands over her face in a mild display of despair. “Please not the chat rooms.”
“Not the chat rooms,” he said curtly, briefly glancing at her. “Tumblr.”