the london hospital


Henrietta Hotel, 14/15 Henrietta St - Covent Garden - London

Owned by the collective behind the Experimental Group - the ones of the Experimental Cocktail Club in London Chinatown and the Grand Pigalle Hotel in Paris- and designed by Dorothee Meilichzon (CHOZN), the hotel is located on Henrietta Street, within two four-story townhouses from the late 19th century. The hotel includes 18 rooms, one restaurant and a cocktail bar. The vibe is relaxed and the decor is actually cool with- it goes without saying- an eclectic style: classic plaster ornaments harmoniously coexist with vintage and modern furniture, mirrored surfaces, brass lamps and marble coverings. 

So today, @deerstalkers-and-jumpers gave me the brilliant idea of going to St. Barts hospital (where TRF was filmed) to see the graffitis that some fans wrote, and I WAS NOT DISAPPOINTED 

I am tagging some people that I think might be interested in seeing this silly photo i took, if you don’t wanna be tag please tell me 

@88thparallel @rominatrix @unapologeticocdsufferer @wildspiritsneverdie @thejennire

if i’m forgetting someone, I’M SORRY.

"Johnlock wasn't canon in the original books"

You know what else “wasn’t canon in the original stories”?

-The modern day setting

-Mobile phones


-Watson having a psychosomatic limp

-Watson having a therapist

-Watson and Stamford getting Starbucks

-Molly Hooper

-Mrs. Hudson being married to a leader of the drug cartel

-Mrs. Turner and her married gay couple (Mrs. Turner WAS Mrs. Hudson)


-Laptop computers

-Taxi cabs

-John’s gay sister

-Sally Donovan and Philip Anderson

-The lady in pink (the victim was a man)

-The scratched message (it was written in blood)

-The case being solved in one night


-Holmes and Watson sitting around inquiring about each other’s sexualities and history of significant others

-Mycroft kidnapping Watson

-Mycroft being in the first story at all (Holmes’ background was pretty much a mystery to Watson until the case of the Greek interpreter; he only made appearances in a couple of the 60 stories, not almost every Goddamn one)

-Watson murdering Hope to save Holmes

-There was no case of the Blind Banker

-Nor the Great Game (there were canon elements tied in - West and the Bruce-Partington Plans - but never in canon did Moriarty challenge Holmes to solve a series of puzzles to save people from being turned into suicide bombers)

-Moriarty kidnapping Watson at any point

-Moriarty was really only in one story, and foreshadowed in another

-Irene Adler being a dominatrix

-Adler was involved with the King of Bohemia, not Kate Middleton

-Adler being romantically/sexually interested in Holmes

-Adler elopes and escapes with her blackmail material in the end of “A Scandal In Bohemia”; she outsmarts Holmes

-The fear gas from The Hound Of The Baskervilles
-Baskerville being a secret laboratory
-The glowing rabbit
-Holmes was barely in The Hound of The Baskervilles at all
-Moriarty stealing the Crown Jewels
-Holmes testifying against Moriarty in court
-Kitty Riley or whatever that ginger reporter’s name was
-Moriarty publicly discrediting Holmes
-Moriarty went over the side of a waterfall in Switzerland; Holmes did not willingly jump from the top of a hospital in London. And Watson was not there to witness it.
-Holmes was gone for three years, not two. Before his disappearance, Watson married Mary Morstan and moved out of Baker Street and she passed away some time during Holmes’s absence.
-Mary is a governess, not an assassin, and initially a client of Holmes before marrying Watson
-Sebastian Moran attempts to assassinate Holmes, not Mary
-There is no bomb threat on Parliament
-Watson is not thrown into a bonfire
-Holmes actually explains himself to Watson upon returning and Watson forgives him. He does not beat Holmes repeatedly (in fact, he faints).
-There is no wedding celebration story for Watson and Mary (ACD could barely remember her name)
-James Sholto and Watson have no connection (professional or otherwise)
-Mary and Watson never have children
-Billy Wiggins is a street urchin, not a drug dealing adult
-Charles Augustus Magnussen is actually Charles Augustus Milverton
-Holmes doesn’t court CAM’s PA, he courts her maid (under the guise of a plumber)
-Lady Smallwood does murder CAM, not Holmes
-Mary doesn’t shoot Holmes
-The entirety of The Abominable Bride
-Mary never goes along on cases (outside of The Sign Of Four, she barely gets any dialogue at all)
-Some kid doesn’t disguise himself as a fucking car seat
-Margaret Thatcher
-The AGRA team
-Mary doesn’t die by gunshot
-Watson doesn’t blame Holmes for Mary’s death
-Mrs. Hudson never stunt drives a Martin Aston
-Culverton Smith only kills one person that we know of, his nephew Victor Savage. There is no mention of a daughter.
-Smith attempts to infect Holmes with a deadly virus, not drugging and smothering him
-Holmes fakes his own illness for Smith’s sake, not for Watson
-Baker Street getting blown up by a grenade
-Sherrinford is the third Holmes brother, and only in paracanon
-The Three Garridebs is totally wrong
-Musgrave is not the Holmes’ summer home
-“Redbeard”/Victor Trevor is not a little boy who was Holmes’ childhood friend. He was Holmes’ friend for university whose dog bit Holmes.

So don’t tell me Mofftiss couldn’t have Sherlock and John be in an openly romantic relationship because it wasn’t in the original canon.

I’ve Always Been Home

I Have Loved You Since One Shots: I’ve Always Been Home (Part 1 of 2)


*if you’d like to listen to some tunes during this, i would just recommend the wreck of our hearts by sleeping wolf.. over and over again!!*

There was a pounding ache in your head. It felt like a million pieces of your brain shattering to the ground, falling apart into almost nothing. Your throat felt dry and with the little strength within you, you swallowed the dry spit in your mouth.

Your vision was blurred and your memories felt cluttered – one here and another there. The lights were bright in the room, too bright. The ceiling was staring straight down at you. There were all these wires tangled around you, you felt paralyzed.

What happened?

Keep reading
Most of central London hospital to be sold off, plans reveal
Exclusive: Charing Cross hospital to be cut to 13% of current size and services diverted to facilities around the city, documents show
By Diane Taylor

Almost all of a central London hospital is to be sold and its services diverted to already stretched facilities around the capital under plans for NHS modernisation seen by the Guardian.

Charing Cross hospital, a flagship NHS facility in the heart of London, is to be cut to just 13% of its current size under proposals contained in sustainability and transformation plans published last year in 44 areas across England.

NHS chiefs have stated as recently as March that “there have never been any plans to close Charing Cross hospital”, and in March 2015 the then prime minister, David Cameron, said it was “scaremongering” to suggest that the Charing Cross A&E departmentwas earmarked for closure. The health secretary, Jeremy Hunt, echoed the claims.

However, in the internal NHS documents the apparent downgrading of Charing Cross is outlined in great detail.

The plan is to axe 10 major services at Charing Cross – 24/7 A&E, emergency surgery, intensive care and a range of complex emergency and non-emergency medical and surgical treatments. The remaining services would be a series of outpatient and GP clinics, X-ray and CT scans, a pharmacy and an urgent care centre for “minor injuries and illnesses”. Around 300 acute beds will be lost.

The NHS in England is gearing up to start selling off billions of pounds worth of land and property in order to free up cash to tackle what Naylor estimated to be a £10bn backlog of repairs to sometimes crumbling old buildings.

The Health Service Journal disclosed last week that the Department of Health was preparing to create six regional public/private partnerships covering all of England that would oversee such sales. The plan, codenamed Project Phoenix, would see the proceeds from asset sales being shared between NHS organisations and private firms. Under the plan, London and the south-east would comprise one giant, and very valuable, area.

Absolutely disgusting. 

Carlisle (standing) in the children’s ward of the hospital he worked at in Columbus, OH in 1907.

Four years later he’ll meet a young Esme in a different ward of this hospital.

A month after that he’ll be gone to parts unknown, possibly Chicago. Carlisle packing up and moving a mere month after meeting the woman he’ll one day fall in love with just is a wee bit too coincidental to me. He’d been in Columbus since 1905, so I suppose he could have already been planning the move before meeting her– though if that was the case why doesn’t the Guide just say so? My headcanon is that he was significantly drawn to her and didn’t understand why. It unsettled him enough that he decided to leave town before he ran into her again, whether accidentally or on purpose, because he was self-aware enough to admit he was tempted to manufacture an “accidental” encounter. For him I think the major stumbling blocks were that she was so young and that she had a family– we know he’d been considering making a companion since he’d been unable to find one among other vampires, so I don’t think the fact she was still human would have fazed him, or at least not much. Having said all that, I don’t think he realized what she would one day be to him or I believe he would have stuck around and built a relationship with her. He may be conflicted about being a vampire, but he definitely doesn’t have Edward-level issues with it.

The thing I’m curious about now is exactly when he started thinking he would have to create a companion for himself. Was it after his encounter with Esme or before? Was there a part of him that realized looking among vampires was hopeless because she was what he’d really been looking for all along? Only the rest of his brain didn’t get the memo and so he fled from the weird attraction without realizing exactly what he was doing? Or is it all really just a huge coincidence?

I don’t believe in coincidences that big. I’m really curious to know what you guys think!

Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithfull in the gardens at Mount St Margaret Hospital, Sydney, July 27 1969. Marianne Faithfull is a patient at the hospital following a drug overdose. Photo by George Lipman

On the Road to Reconstruction with Imprint of Hope

On the road to reconstruction in Baghdad, with volunteer teams from the Imprint of Hope organisation, who have spent over 15 days, doing up the replica Assyrian city gate and the land surrounding it.

From the early hours until late into the night, work included redeveloping the gardens surrounding the gate, trimming the palm trees, washing and removing old paint from the gate, before applying fresh layers to the structure.

This ongoing campaign, is a small but starting point, to recreate both hope and positivity in Iraqi society and Imprint of Hope will continue to reflect this bright image, which in the past has made Iraq truly great.

Since it was founded, Imprint of Hope has painted hundreds of blast walls across Baghdad. It has swelled to more than 370 volunteers from a range of backgrounds, including students, carpenters, iron-smiths, artists and doctors.

In addition to decorating the city’s walls, Imprint of Hope also paints orphanages, nurseries and public buildings, including a children’s cancer hospital.

Last December for Christmas, Imprint of Hope painted the Our Lady of Salvation Catholic Church, which was heavily damaged in a 2010 terror attack. They also painted murals on the blast walls, that were set up to protect the church from further attacks.



George Alexander Louis, Prince of Cambridge, was born at 16:24 on July 22nd, 2013 at St.Mary’s Hospital in London, first son of The Duke and The Duchess of Cambridge. The little Prince was christened by the Archbishop of Canterbury in the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace on October 23rd, 2013 and since then he has been accompaining his parents in some of their Royal Tours, starting with the tour of Australia and New Zealand back in April 2014. He is now big brother of Princess Charlotte and third in line to the British Throne. 

He has yet to formally announce the news – but Benedict Cumberbatch has become a father for the second time.

The actor’s wife, Sophie Hunter, 39, gave birth to their second son at the £1,200-a-night Portland Hospital in London on March 3. And in true thespian style, Cumberbatch named his boy after a Shakespearean hero. Hal was the nickname Henry V had before he became the hero of Agincourt. But in choosing the name, Cumberbatch could also be acknowledging his affection for fellow screen star Tom Hiddleston.

The pair starred together in 2012 in The Hollow Crown, an amalgamation of Shakespeare’s history plays in which Cumberbatch played Richard III and Hiddleston took the role of Hal.

The baby’s full name is Hal Auden Cumberbatch, and is a brother to Christopher, who was born in June 2015.



5: Glasgow to London

St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington station. St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington station. St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington station.

Jamie repeated this information over and over again, even though he had committed it to memory ever since he had found it. The train clacked along the rails, the panorama whizzing by. Time seemed to move strangely; sometimes in great dollops where 40 minutes had passed without his noticing, and then it slowed down unbearably until he feared he’d never make it to London.

What was he doing on a train to London, anyway? He had told Laoghaire a half-truth: he was scoping out London bookshops for fresh ideas, a meeting with a supplier, merchandise to stock, a trip round Daunt, Hatchard’s and Waterstone’s.

What she didn’t need to know was that he had found Claire. Her name had popped up almost immediately as part of their consultant directory. Seeing her (not quite in the flesh, but a very real picture of a very real person) sent Jamie into a tailspin. Her face was just like he had dreamed.

The matter of why she was in his dreams persisted. He must have seen her somewhere before – perhaps she had a vacation home in Scotland, or she would turn out to be an old family friend.

The call for Paddington station roused him from his thoughts, and he tossed his bag over his shoulder. A couple of days, he had told Laoghaire. I’ll call you, he had said. He felt somewhat guilty, but told himself it was not cheating. He just wanted to see her, maybe talk to her, establish that connection… no more.

Jamie walked out into bright sunshine and followed the signs to the hospital. He walked under an archway bearing the hospital’s name, then wondered where he could find Claire. Did he actually expect to see her right off, like she was waiting for him? What if it was her day off, or she was away on a holiday and this trip had been for nothing?

He almost turned around. He almost went back to Paddington to buy his return ticket home. He almost missed the entrance to the A&E department, but the doors opened for him automatically with a soft hiss. Jamie paused, and went inside.

There was a reception area, staffed with nurses, and chairs for waiting patients. He stood there, recognizing the place from a previous dream.

“Can I help you, sir?” A kind-looking elderly lady addressed him with a smile. Her name tag read Gillian Duncan. “Are you looking for a patient?”

“Ah, um… I was wondering if Dr. Randall was here. Dr. Claire Randall. Um, yes.” He sounded like an idiot to his own ears, but hoped he didn’t look much like one.

“She is on duty, sir. Is it a consult? Would you like me to page her?” The woman was halfway back to the nurses’ station and reaching for the phone when Jamie reached out to stop her.

“No, no, please. Dinna bother. It’s – it’s nothing serious. I’ll speak to her later.” He backed out of the A&E as Gillian Duncan stared after him, concern etched on her lined face. He couldn’t guess whether the concern was for him or Claire.

Jamie rounded the corner again, leaning against the brick wall. She was tangible. She worked at this hospital. Somewhere behind that wall at his back, Claire walked, breathed, doctored.

What could he say to her that didn’t sound crazy or stupid? Oh excuse me, lass, but I’ve been dreaming about you for months. That would have her ringing for the police right quick. Jamie pushed off the wall and meandered aimlessly away from the hospital. Thoughts of Paddington circled again, but he dismissed them. He had come this far already.

He found a place called Lena’s Café relatively closed and commandeered a table for the better part of the afternoon. He downed cup after cup of coffee that only made him more jittery and nervous, but not brave enough to go find Claire.

At around six he settled up and left the café, bag in hand. He was unsure of where to go. Perhaps he had to admit defeat and just accept that she existed; he in Glasgow, she in London, separated by miles and time and the impossibility of dreams.

Then Claire turned the street corner.

Jamie held his breath as she walked down the opposite sidewalk, a scarf tied loosely around her neck, and a beige-gray coat fitted snugly on her shoulders. Her eyes were downcast, focused solely on the road before her. But the wild curls of her hair fluttered loose in the wind, maddening with the urge to plunge his hands into them and twist them between his fingers. The scent of her hair would permeate his skin and he would know her his.

There was a bruise on her temple.

It stood out in livid contrast with her creamy skin. She made no effort to conceal it with makeup, but there was something about the way she walked, holding her side carefully, that made Jamie think she was injured.

“That motherfucking bastard,” Jamie growled under his breath. He started towards her, then realized several things. One, he felt and probably looked angry enough to startle and upset her. Two, Claire was actually there, in the flesh, and three, how could he just approach her?

He hoped she wasn’t going home, back to that arsehole boyfriend/husband of hers. Come to think of it, she wasn’t wearing a ring, he noticed, observing her carefully. Her shoulders hunched, and she sped up, down the street towards the tube station.

Jamie stepped into the street and was almost sideswiped by an irate cyclist, who gave him the finger and an “Oi! Watch it, mate!” while his heart pounded crazily.

He looked again, and she was gone.

* * *

The Prince Edward pub served a mean steak and ale pie. Jamie ate despondently, sipping from a pint occasionally. He had time to catch a late train home after dinner, and sleep all day tomorrow.

The pub wasn’t terribly busy for a weeknight. Every time the door opened, he looked up and something in his heart squeezed, irrationally hoping that Claire might walk in. His phone rang in his jacket pocket, startling him briefly. He checked the screen – Laoghaire. Swallowing hard, he answered. “Hey.”

Jamie could hear background noise, talking and laughing. A pounding musical beat came through the speaker, telling him Laoghaire was probably at work. He pulled the phone away from his ear, and still noise poured out. “Laoghaire?”

Nothing from her end. Perhaps she had dialed by accident. Shaking his head, Jamie was about to end the call when he heard her laugh and say his name.

“… not home.” Her very identifiable girlish giggle. Pause. Noise. “He’s in London tonight. Come over to my place.” A man’s voice replying in the affirmative and a few choice crude phrases.  That was when he pressed End Call.

Pushing his chair back with a groan, he tossed a few quid on the table and stumbled out. The night air had an icy edge to it, cutting through his mental fog for the first time in hours. Jamie had come to London in search of another woman, and Laoghaire had taken advantage of his absence to flirt and bed another man. Clearly, they were ill-suited for each other and the sooner he could end it, the better.

Still staring at his phone, he shook his head and pocketed it again. He stepped off the curb and did not see the cab coming. Dimly he heard the screech of tires and immediately after that he felt blinding pain everywhere as his legs failed under him, he struck the asphalt sideways, and his head cracked on the street.

The last thing he saw was Claire’s face.