the three patch problem

Hello Detective (Sherlock Imagine) Chapter 6

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29  Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33  Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38  Part 39   Part 40     Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49  Part 50  Part 51  Part 52 Part 53 Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59

Your name: submit What is this?

          Finally your cab pulled up to John and Sherlock’s new flat. You paid the cabbie the small fare and stormed up the stairs to Sherlock. You were upset that he left you two at the crime scene without a single word. Neither you nor John had known your way around the city. You and Sherlock both knew you were going to have to work together on this case and he left anyway. He was going to have to change his ways of solidarity if this partnership was going to work.

       When you walked through the door you found Sherlock lying on the couch with nicotine patches all over his forearm.

       "Forget something?“ You asked, ushering John through the door. He didn’t look up to either of you.

       "What are you doing?” You asked strictly.

       "Nicotine patch. Helps me think.“ He said, his eyes still pointed towards the ceiling. “Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work.” He said.

        “Well it’s good news for breathing.” You said, still annoyed.

        “Ugh! Breathing! Breathing’s boring.” Sherlock groaned.

        “Is that three patches?” You asked, grabbing his arm.

        “It’s a three-patch problem.” He said, yanking it back.

        “Well, you asked me to come. I’m assuming it’s important.” John said.

        “Wait. He texted you and you didn’t tell me?” You said to John. Dear God, these guys will be the death of me. You thought.

        “Oh. Yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?” Sherlock asked John. He was still laying on the couch with his hands resting in prayer position beneath his chin.

        “My phone?” John asked confused.

        “Don’t wanna use mine,” Sherlock began to explain, “Always a chance the number will be recognized. It’s on the website.”

        “Mrs. Hudson’s got a phone.”

        “Yeah, she’s downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn’t hear.” Sherlock explained.

        “I was the other side of London. Because you left us there.” John said, defending himself.

        “There was no hurry.” Sherlock said, you groaned.

        “Can we get back to what’s actually important?” You asked, fed up with this banter.

        “Ah yes, her case. First big mistake. The murder took her case.”

        “So?” John asked.

         Sherlock mumbled to himself. Something about risking it. “On my desk there’s a number. I want you to send a text.” Sherlock said. You grabbed John’s phone out of his hand and walked over to his desk.

         "These words exactly,“ Sherlock dictated to you, "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please come.” You typed exactly what he said.

          Sherlock walked over to the kitchen and picked up something and sat it down on a chair in front of you. After you sent the text you looked down to see a pink suitcase.

         "Oh my God. That’s it. Jennifer Wilson’s case.“ You said surprised.

         "Yes. Obviously.” Sherlock said. You stared at it for about a minute, eyes wide, not saying a word. Thoughts racing through your head.

         "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn’t kill her.“ Sherlock said, annoyed.

         "I never said you did.” You said, but the thought had crossed your mind after the doubt Donovan put in it.

          “Do people usually assume you’re the murderer?” You asked, eyebrow raised, a smirk on your face.

          “Now and then, yes.” He said, returning the smirk and hoping up on his chair. “I assume you realize how I found it?” Sherlock asked.

          “Yeah, I think I got that. Is there anything missing?” You asked.

          “Her phone.” He explained.

          “Oh, so that explains the text. The killer must have it. He’s probably going to freak out when he sees the text. You want him to show up so we can catch him.” You said, understanding.

          John’s phone suddenly rings. He didn’t answer as Sherlock explained everything to him.

         "Problem?“ Sherlock asked you as you were getting ready to leave.

         "Yeah, Donovan-” You began before Sherlock cut you off.

         "What about her?“ Sherlock asked.

         "She said… you get off on this. You enjoy it.” You said awkwardly.

         "And here you are,“ Sherlock said, "I can’t be the only one.”

        “Need I remind you, this is actually my job. I get paid to do this.” You said. Sherlock turned to walk out the door, you followed him.

         "I’ll just stay here then.“ John said, sitting down in front of the TV or telly as they say here.

         "We won’t be gone long. Sit tight.” You said. You and Sherlock began walking down to Northumberland Street.

          “You think he’s stupid enough to go there?” You asked Sherlock.

          “No, I think he’s brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They’re all so desperate to get caught.” He said.

           "Appreciation.“ You said.

           "Exactly. Applause. At long last the spotlight. That’s the frailty of genius, Y/N, it needs an audience.”

           "I’ll keep that in mind.“ You said, off handedly.

           "This is his hunting ground. Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything.” Sherlock spoke.

          “All his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go.” You followed along.

           "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don’t know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?“

           "I don’t know. Who?” You asked.

           "Haven’t the faintest. Hungry?“ Sherlock asked you. You followed Sherlock into a pub. The host pointed Sherlock towards towards a tale by the window.

           "Thank you, Billy.” He said, you two sat down.

           "22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it.“ Sherlock instructed you. You took off your coat. You were still wearing your blouse and pencil skirt from earlier and Sherlock was still in his suit.

             "He’s not just going to ring the door bell. He’d have to be crazy.” You said.

            “He has killed four people.” Sherlock said.

            “Yeah, I guess that’s considered crazy.” You agreed.

            “Sherlock!” The owner of the restaurant came up and shook his hand. “Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and your date.” He said, handing you a menu.

            “Oh, this isn’t… uh… that.” You stumbled over your words, blushing slightly.

           "Do you want to eat?“ Sherlock asked you.

           "This man got me off a murder charge.” The owner explained to you.

           "This is Angelo,“ Sherlock introduced the two of you. "Three years ago I proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking.” You shook his hand.

          “He cleared my name.” Angelo said.

          “I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?” Sherlock asked him.

          “Nothing. But for this man, I’d have gone to prison.” Angelo explained.

          “You did go to prison.” Sherlock straightened out, keeping his eyes on Northumberland Street.

          “I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic.”

          “I’m not his date.” You called back, still annoyed at Sherlock for what had happened earlier.

           "You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.“ Sherlock said. You nodded and scanned the mend. Angelo soon brought back a candle and placed it in between you and Sherlock.

           "Thanks.” You said sarcastically. Sherlock was still looking out the window facing Northumberland Street.

           "People don’t have arch-enemies.“ You said, Sherlock snapped out of his trance and looked at you confused.

          "I’m sorry?” He asked.

          “In real life. Mycroft said he was your arch-enemy. There are no arch-enemies in real life, it just doesn’t happen.” You repeated.

          “Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull,” Sherlock said.

          “What do real people have, then, in their real lives?” Sherlock asked out, as if you were an expert on real life.

          “Um, friends. You know, people they know. People they like, people they don’t like. Girlfriends, boyfriends.” You said awkwardly.

          “Yes, well, as I was saying… dull.” Sherlock said, not really paying attention.

          “You don’t have a girlfriend, then?” You asked, not really implying anything, merely just curious.

          “Girlfriend? No… not really my area.” He said, still looking out the window. As he spoke the door chimed and a well dresses, handsome, man walked through the door. He saw you look at him and he winked at you. You smiled back and then looked back to Sherlock, well, at least someone was paying attention to you tonight. You didn’t mind male attention, you were used to it. You kind of thought it was flattering too. You pulled your attention back on Sherlock, who had noticed the man walk in and flirt with you.

          “Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way.” You said, trying to think about anything other than the man who kept staring and you from the back of the room.

         "I know its fine.“ He replied.

         "So you’ve got a boyfriend then…” You stated.

         "No.“ Replied quickly. You were almost relieved. Honestly, you thought Sherlock was attractive, but you knew he wasn’t the type to have that sort of relationship.

        "Okay, right. That’s fine, you’re unattached. Just like me…” You trailed off, focusing back to the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off you, even as he spoke on the phone. You tried to read him, but he was too far away. He wore a grey suit, had short dark hair, and brown eyes. You didn’t know to be flattered or frightened by the attention you were getting from this man. He looked powerful, maybe he worked in the government, but you could tell he was smart. In some ways he reminded you of Sherlock.

         "Y/N um…“ Sherlock began, but you had barely heard him. You were still focused on the man in the back of the room. "I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered, I’m really not looking for any…” You finally turned your attention back to him.

         "What?“ You asked, not really paying attention.

         "What in God’s name is so important that you keep looking at?” Sherlock asked, turning around to see the man who was staring at you.

         "Of course, figures.“ Sherlock said.

         "No… I… Sherlock. Whatever you’re insinuating it’s not… Does he look familiar to you?” You stumbled over your words.

          “No, he doesn’t.” Sherlock replied.

          “I swear I’ve seen him before.” You stated.

           "Look across the street. Taxi. It’s stopped,“ Sherlock said, you were glad to be off that topic. "Nobody getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi?” You looked across he street too.

           "Oh that’s clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?“ Sherlock talked to himself.

          "You wanted someone who hides in plain sight. Stopping in a cab would be better than a private car.” You said.

           "Don’t stare.“ Sherlock instructed you.

           "You’re staring.” You retorted.

           "We can’t both stare.“ Sherlock hoped out of his seat and out the door. You followed him. We got our coats on as we waited for the taxi to move. It pulled away and Sherlock began to run, not noticing that there was a car about to hit him.

           "Sherlock!” You yelled as he slid across the hood of the car and continued running. You followed him.

           "Sherlock stopped as the cab turned a corner and entered his mind palace. He was looking for an alternate route where we could catch the taxi on foot. He stopped mumbling and took off, you followed, close behind. You wished you had worn other shoes. Your feet were going to die from running in these heels. You followed Sherlock up the stairs of some building and onto the roof.

          “Come on, Y/N.” Sherlock called.

          “You try doing this in heels.” You huffed, a few feet behind him. Sherlock lept over the stair rail. You jumped after him, not sure how your shoes survived the sudden impact. Sherlock jumped from the building you were on onto the one next to it. You stopped and looked down, being afraid of heights, you kind of freaked out.

        &n “Come on Y/N. We’re losing him!” Sherlock yelled, hearing his voice filled you with a little false courage and you took the leap. Now you were right behind him and running down stairs back onto the ground. You saw the cab pass you as you were running behind Sherlock, your lungs were on fire and your adrenaline was pumping faster than it ever was.

         "Oh! This way!“ Sherlock said, turning a corner. Sherlock’s pace quickened and you saw him jump in front of a cab. THE cab. the driver slammed on its brakes and Sherlock opened the back door.

          "Police! Open her up!” He yelled, panting. He got one look at the guy and started shaking his head. “No… Teeth, tan. What, Californian?” He said. He checked his luggage tag on the suitcase in front of him. “LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived.”

          “Not our guy.” You panted.

          “Probably your first trip to London, right?” Sherlock said, still slightly out of breath. “Going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you.”

          “Sorry, are you guys the police?” The guy asked, you smiled. It was nice to hear an American accent again.

           "Yeah. Everything all right?“ Sherlock asked, pulling out a badge.

           "Yeah.” The guy replied was a smile.

           "Welcome to London.“ Sherlock smiled and slammed the door shut, and walked off. You followed him.

          "Basically just a cab that happened to slow down.” You said disappointed.

          “Basically.” Sherlock agreed.

         "Wrong country, good alibi.“ You said.

         "As they go.” Sherlock said.

         "Hey, where did you get this?“ You said ripping the badge out of Sherlock’s hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?” You read.

         "Yeah, I pickpocket him when he’s annoying. You can keep that one, I’ve got plenty back at the flat.“ Sherlock said.

         "You seem to keep forgetting that I have my own.” You said, pulling your badge out of your pocket. You put it back and started to laugh.

         "What?“ Sherlock asked, confused.

         "Nothing… just ‘Welcome to London’.” Sherlock laughed too.

         "Got your breath back?“ Sherlock asked.

         "Ready when you are.” You said, taking off down the road beside Sherlock and following him all the way back to Baker Street.


Chapter 6 hope you guys enjoy! Ask/request if you have any comments or suggestions.

‘Blinded’ by Hallucinations ~ The Scopolamine Theory

There’s this shot of Sherlock like seeming to conduct an orchestra while looking very out of it,

It almost looks like he’s reacting to being struck by some invisible force.

Well, we also have John hitting him.  It’s the same setting but the look/colouration of the scenes is very different,

So, what if these very washed out, light-coloured scenes are actual reality, one that Sherlock is clearly not in touch with?  What if the blue scenes are hallucinations?  So, that means that these two things could be THE SAME THING.  

The first image is how Sherlock might look to anyone actually watching him.  The second image is what he thinks is happening.

I was thinking that Sherlock looks very, very drugged up in the top image.  Like on some type of deliriant like belladonna, or jimson weed, maybe, because his eyes look so flat like he’s looking at something else.

A deliriant can a person to have strong hallucinations that interfere with the proper perception of reality.  Like basically, a deliriant can cause extremely vivid true hallucinations and also anxiety, especially if administered and experienced in a hostile environment, like if one were forcibly drugged by someone.  So it’s not that he can’t see, it’s that most of what he sees is fabricated by his mind, but like not all, the setting is correct but what’s going on is a hallucination.  Now this isn’t a proper type of blindness where the person truly can’t see, it’s just they’re seeing things that aren’t there and can’t perceive what is there.

The use of a truth serum has been discussed here by @sussexbound and others and I was thinking, what if it’s both?  A truth serum and a deliriant.  Could that be?  Well, apparently, yes.

There’s a truth serum that’s been used in the U.S.A. that’s called, ‘scopolamine’, and it is derived from belladonna, which is a deliriant.  It can cause fast heartbeat, hallucinations, and a host of other unpleasant side effects.  

Remember there’s a U.S. connection to the bad guys in ASiB and possibly to Mary, especially if she’s Birdie Edwards as @finalproblem and others have posited.  Also because in HLV Sherlock says her real accent in not English. 

Scopolamine can administered in patches.  Patches like the nicotine patches that Sherlock uses.  We see him wear three nicotine patches because it helps him to think in ASiP and he also uses them in TSoT during the best man speech presumably so he can cope with the stress of the wedding.  Well, maybe someone here is making a reference to this and giving him three patches of truth serum and watching him totally meltdown into a hellishly intense introspective nightmare.  This could be a three patch problem on a whole new level.  

Additionally, scopolamine was proven, in 2009, to have been used by Czechoslovak communist state security secret police.  Today we have a new trailer that was exclusively released in Czech Republic.  While in TGG the whole case with the fake Vermeer had a, ‘decidedly Czech feeling to it’.  Mary’s file in Magnussen’s mind palace shows she has probably worked as an agent in Eastern Europe.  

So, scopolamine has a possible American connection, a possible Czech connection, could lead to frightening hallucinations impairing a person’s ability to see what’s really in front of them.  It is also used as a truth serum in interrogations and can be administered in patches.  All of this could account for the scenes where Sherlock seems to be reacting to invisible forces and could explain why some scenes appear to be in the same setting but have a very different look.

Thank you for @here-comes-samta-claus for pointing out the Czech trailer might be a clue in and of itself.  

some asshole in a youtube comment: sherlock doesn’t have feelings didn’t you know three patch problem is three pipe problem READ A BOOK

us after scraping every possible canon reference from the show like a pack of piranhas: *pounding the table* GAY MICE GAY MICE GAY MICE

The moment Sherlock nearly disliked John

Is there such a scene in the show?????????? 

Well, yes, I think there is. Mere seconds in which Sherlock thought he overestimated John way too much. 

I haven’t seen this scene ever mentioned so I thought of making a post about it because I consider it very interesting.

Keep reading

The 3-Patch Problem

I’m just making sure we have all deduced what the actual problem was in ASiP that merited Sherlock’s use of three nicotine patches. When we see that he’s wearing them, he’s been laying on the couch for about an hour just taking his sweet time with the case. He has the suitcase, knows the phone is missing, knows the murderer has it, texts John and waits for him to show up, doesn’t think the text is important enough to go to Mrs Hudson to make it, and he just lays there applying patches. “Helps me think” is what he says about the need for them. He’s using them to solve a problem - his body is raging out of control and he needs his mind to restore the balance, so he can continue the work. His body is so aroused by the thought of John Watson being in his life sexually that he needs three nicotine patches to quell the impulses. John Watson is the three-patch problem.

Is Sherlock actually a virgin?

Almost everyone I’ve ever spoken with concerning this topic is quick to say Sherlock is most definitely, beyond any doubt, a virgin.  While I’m open to either possibility, considering the subtextual clues presented within the narrative I firmly believe he is not.  The many instances we see Sherlock’s naivety concern emotion/sentiment and not necessarily sex. I am going to deduce this answer using context clues and the balance of probability.  

Let’s look at Sherlock, the man, in a completely neutral way.  Just like we gravitate towards the notion “one is straight until proven gay” we must separate ourselves from the idea “one is a virgin until there is proof of their sexual intimacy”. Sherlock himself does not discuss the matter - we get only other characters to comment on his possible “virginity”. Mycroft insinuates in ASiB that Sherlock knows nothing about sex, which could be taken two ways: 1) Mycroft knows Sherlock is a virgin and he’s calling him out to be spiteful OR 2) Mycroft is harassing him to make up for the fact that Sherlock has deeply embarrassed him at Buckingham Palace, showing John that Sherlock knows nothing about sex because it “scares him”, when really Sherlock has a deep emotional barrier that keeps him from getting close to anyone of substance to form that type of bond.  Here we see Sherlock admit sex doesn’t scare him - because it doesn’t.  Sure, when a female character tries to seduce him he gets very uncomfortable but that’s not because he’s necessarily inexperienced or scared…. it’s because he doesn’t want to have sex with women.  Moriarty calls Sherlock “the Virgin” possibly because Moriarty constantly hits on him but Sherlock never joins in. Moriarty’s flirting goes unrecognized and he’s picking on Sherlock to compensate.  It’s the classic notion “You don’t want to have sex with me?  What are you, a virgin?” Moriarty is a bully and his nickname for Sherlock isn’t a good indicator of whether or not he’s actually a virgin.  Also, since Mycroft isn’t an Iceman, it’s fair to argue Sherlock isn’t a virgin.  

Subtextual references regarding cars, smoking, and the riding crop can be understood as signs Sherlock has had a sexual past.  Car’s have long been metaphors for male genitalia and the concept of a man’s sexual performance. Giving someone “a ride” or saying that his “car wouldn’t start” are tributes to this metaphor.  We see it used in S3 to show the sexual incompatibility between John and Mary - John never drives his car with Mary (unless she forces herself along), he refuses the rides she offers him, he needs to put a tyre lever in his pants when they do go driving together (Viagra shoutout), he cycles to work (possibly) even though Mary drives to the same work location every day. But Sherlock doesn’t own a car.  At least, we don’t see him drive.  We didn’t even think he knew how to drive a car for awhile there…. until they showed him driving in THoB.  Well of course he could drive!  Just because we never saw him do it doesn’t mean he hasn’t had the required skills and experience this whole time… why did I doubt that skill of his? Because I never had any proof?  “He always takes a cab or the Tube, he must not have his driver’s license” is the same thought process of “straight until proven gay”.  

Smoking tobacco is a manifestation Sherlock’s sexual urges, while his drug abuse is comparable to his battle with sentiment and the fact that he is homosexual.  Those two metaphors are similar and connected, but not explicitly the same.  All of Sherlock’s fears revolve around sentiment and the fact that he’s an “unsavory companion of dubious morals” while his smoking habit is something that he’s had for awhile but attempts to control lest his brain give in to his primal instincts and shut down completely.  Bad news for brainwork.  I’ve previously outlined the fact that Sherlock’s “Three Patch Problem” from ASiP isn’t a case but instead his sexual urges toward John Watson, meaning the patches quell the desires so his brain can triumph. Mycroft is the one who “smokes like a beginner”, so where’s the analysis on his virginity? I think there’s a far better chance that Mycroft is a virgin over Sherlock, but that’s for another post.  Anyway, the one thing Sherlock does know about is tobacco ash.  He can identify 243 different types.  What the fuck?  How?  That is thorough even for him.  And when he’s drunk he claims to know ash and that no one can tell him otherwise.  I’m sure you do, Sherlock. His battle with cigarettes is exactly the brain vs body conundrum.  When his body is overwhelmed with desire, like in THoB recently after the Battersea reveal, he’s raving mad trying to get a grip on himself and calm down.  His brain cannot overcome his need to smoke and his body shows how much it affects him.  He used to smoke regularly before John moved in - but once he does Sherlock has had to fight his urges the best way he can.  

The riding crop is a metaphor for Sherlock’s penis.  Him throwing it at John at the beginning of TAB means Sherlock had the hots for him ever since they met.  Him going to retrieve it from the mortuary in ASiP could mean that he’s never used it before BUT it’s more likely he’s used it so long ago on people who are incredibly unimportant.  He didn’t just find his riding crop laying around one day, he retrieved it from the mortuary.  He brought it back from the dead. To die, one must first have lived.  He took one look at John Watson and thought, “I better go get that riding crop - I’m pretty sure I’m going to need it again”.  

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” - “Porn preference: Normal” - “Either I’ve caught you in a compromising position or you’ve been working out again…. I favor the latter.” - “No, I helped him put up some shelves.” - “You must have had…. experiences.  You are flesh and blood, you have a past…. you must have…. impulses”   

Three Patch Problem // Matt & Eleven

Ohhhhhhh he had been angry at her for weeks. Everything that him and his brothers had been through, and the TARDIS still allowed them to land at a point in their personal past. Not just their personal past, but on the day their parents had died. It was as if the old girl were determined for them to remember the incident clearly, no matter how many other memories in their head had been modified and tampered with. 

Still. Their parent’s deaths. 

Coming back from such a trip had left Ten skulking about, and the elder of the brothers did not blame him in the least bit. They hadn’t bothered to tell Nine yet, though the youngest of the boys knew something was up, and would be devastated that the other two had seen their parents one last time before their deaths. It just wasn’t fair.

In the weeks that followed, Eleven was snappy, short tempered, and very rarely seen with anything resembling a smile on his lips. If he was seen at all. More often than not, he went to his classes for the day, said little, and then left - either to a place where nobody could find him, or to his dorm. 

Today, however…..ohhhhh today was as if the entire devastation of the event was finally hitting him at once. And he simply wouldn’t let anyone see him when it overwhelmed him. The Gryffindor had been flying out to odd parts and times of the galaxy where the use of emotion patches hadn’t been outlawed. There were most definitely magical substances that were the equivalent to muggle antidepressants, but that would require he go to the Hospital wing, which would lead to questions, and then more questions when the originals couldn’t be answered….

And besides, Eleven was the eldest. He had to be there for his brothers. So emotion patches it was. They lasted the whole day, in most cases, but even the ones that were supposed to make him happy did little more than even out his temperament so that he wasn’t absolutely vile to anyone who spoke to him.

Curling his head down into the stone wall of the deserted corridor, the Gryffindor let out a sob that reverberated so loudly in the silence around him that he immediately put a hand to his mouth to dampen it. He didn’t want to use the patches anymore. He simply wanted to sit away from everyone and let it overwhelm him. 

Wave after wave hit him, and Eleven couldn’t hardly keep the sounds to himself as he simply curled up, his entire body shaking from the loss that he felt. He had watched them die. Right before his eyes. Twice. Each sob wracked his body until he could hardly breathe. After all of that, and he still had be strong for his brothers.

Just let it out….away from everyone, and then I’ll be able to face the world again.