• [The coffee pot is found broken at 221b]
  • Eurus : So, who broke it? I'm not mad, I just want to know.
  • Molly : I did, I broke it -
  • Eurus : No. No, you didn't. Sherlock?
  • Sherlock : Don't look at me. Look at Mycroft.
  • Mycroft : What? I didn't break it.
  • Sherlock : Hmm. That's weird. How did you even know it was broken?
  • Mycroft : Because it's sitting right in front of us, and it's broken.
  • Sherlock : Suspicious.
  • Mycroft : No, it's not!
  • Mary : If it matters... probably not... but Irene was the last one to use it.
  • Irene : Liar! I don't even drink that crap.
  • Mary : Oh, really? Then what were you doing by the coffee table earlier?
  • Irene : I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Mary!
  • Molly : Alright, let's not fight. I broke it, let me pay for it, Eurus.
  • Eurus : No. Who broke it?
  • Greg : Well, John's been awfully quiet.
  • John : Really?
  • Greg : Yeah, really!
  • [Cut to Eurus in the room, the rest of them fighting in the background]
  • Eurus : I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now, they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

Sherlolly / Warstan Parallels.

Anonymous said: “Both John and Sherlock have an imaginary version of their loves, helping them in times of great stress.” (Sherlock dying/Mary’s death)

“Fun fact: both of those episodes where that happens, were written by Moffat. “ (HLV/TLD)                           

This face.

This is the face of a man who knows and understands the pain his friend is going through.

He knows exactly what is the meaning of losing the love of your life.

He knows what his friend would end up to be if he lost her.

He knows because he’s already at the bottom.

He knows because he’s already lost.

Some thoughts on the Watson marriage

First of all, upfront: I believe Mary and John sincerely loved each other and were genuinely trying to make their relationship work. But clearly, at least on some levels, it was not working, and I want to play armchair marriage counsellor for a bit and look at why.

So, obviously, the first major misstep in their marriage is Mary lying about her history and identity, and then shooting John’s best friend to protect her secret.  Why didn’t she just tell him who she was from the beginning? 

MARY: John can’t ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever.

She was terrified that he wouldn’t love her if he found out about her past.  What might have given her that idea?  What messages was John sending her that his love was conditional on her being ordinary, sweet, and safe?

In some ways, John’s behavior after he finds out the truth proves her fears unjustified.  Though he struggles for a while, he doesn’t leave her, and he makes a renewed commitment to their relationship.  So far so good.  But look at what he says to her:

JOHN: The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future … are my privilege. It’s all I have to say. It’s all I need to know.

It’s a very romantic moment, and clearly well-intentioned. And Mary is grateful for his forgiveness, and agrees to move forward with him.  But there’s a mixed message hidden in John’s statement.  In throwing away the thumb drive unread, he’s confirming her suspicion that he can’t love the person she was in the past, only the persona she has created.  

MARY: You don’t even know my name.
JOHN: Is ‘Mary Watson’ good enough for you?

Here again – it’s a lovely and romantic sentiment, but even as Mary was thrilled to accept his forgiveness, she must have gotten the message that Mary Watson is acceptable, but her history as Rosamund is not.  That could only have heightened her sense of insecurity in the relationship.  It would have been a much more generous gesture on John’s part if he had simply asked her name at that moment, instead of shoving it into the closet of things we must never speak of.

In TST, John acts surprised that Mary is still keeping secrets from him, but what choice did he give her?  He basically told her there’s this whole part of her life that he doesn’t want to hear about.  

And when he does catch her in her lies, John tries to be understanding, but he makes another small mistake with big repercussions:

JOHN: Mary, I may not be a very good man, but I think I’m a bit better than you give me credit for, most of the time.

I think what he means is that he’s not as judgmental as she thinks – she doesn’t need to hide from him, because he would support her even in difficult times.  But by phrasing it in terms of him being “good”, he also unintentionally reminds her that she is not good.  This is a difference between them in her mind: he is good and she is bad.  

MARY: You’re always a good man, John. I’ve never doubted that. You never judge; you never complain. I don’t deserve you.

She seems here to be accepting his claim that he won’t judge her. But in saying that she doesn’t deserve him, she’s highlighting the fact that he makes her feel lesser, which makes her insecure and leads her to lie and misrepresent herself in order to seem “good” enough for him.  

Once they get back home, she states this problem again, even more clearly:

MARY: You don’t make it easy, do you?
JOHN: What d’you mean?
MARY: Well, being … being so perfect.

Unmistakably, she is trying to tell him how hurt she is by the roles they’ve unwittingly assigned each other: Perfect John and Bad Mary.  And at last, it seems like John gets it. Before they’re interrupted, he starts to tell her about his affair in an effort to reassure Mary that neither of them is perfect.  It feels like the best chance they have for a fresh start based on a better understanding of and respect for each other as real, flawed people.

Then, sadly, Mary dies before they are able to hash this out. And one of the most tragic elements of her death scene is this:

MARY: Being Mary Watson was the only life worth living.

Mary wants to leave their relationship on the best note possible, but it breaks my heart that even with her dying breaths, she feels the best way to do this is to deny the “bad Rosamund” that John always seemed to be rejecting, and present herself as the “good Mary” that she believed John wanted her to be.

And the thing is, I don’t think John ever intended her to feel that way.  He wears a conventional veneer, but Sherlock is right – deep down, John wanted to be with someone as dangerous and morally grey as he is.  He initially thought he wanted perfect Mary, but he really fell in love with the more complicated Rosamund underneath.

And yet, even though he loved her, forgave her, and respected her for the most part, a part of him was still angry and resentful over Mary’s betrayal, and I think he unconsciously picked on her for it in these subtle ways.  

Which is understandable, if not ideal.  But what *really* saddens me is what John says at the end of TLD:

JOHN: I’m not the man you thought I was; I’m not that guy. I never could be. But that’s the point. That’s the whole point. Who you thought I was… is the man who I want to be.

No, John, no!  He’s so close here, but then he gets it so wrong.  Mary doesn’t want you to be that perfect man she thought you were! Mary thought that dude was kind of a jerk!  And she was right, honestly.  What Mary was trying to tell you is, that man is sanctimonious, patronizing, and judgmental.  DON’T BE THAT GUY.  No one likes that guy, least of all Mary.  

Mary didn’t want a “good man”, she wanted a partner in crime. Someone who understood her and respected her – ALL of her, not just the pretty and well-behaved bits.  At your best, John, you were that partner, but at your worst, you were a superior, scolding, hypocritical prig.

I’m not sure, but I think (I hope?) this is what Sherlock’s getting at during this exchange:

SHERLOCK: It’s not a pleasant thought, John, but I have this terrible feeling, from time to time, that we might all just be human.
JOHN: Even you?
SHERLOCK: No. Even you.

The lesson John needs to learn is not to be a better man for the perfect, imaginary version of Mary in his head, but to be kinder and more accepting and empathetic to the real, flawed person Mary actually was.  And to honor her memory, perhaps be kinder and more accepting and empathetic to people like her – including himself.

Wrong Name

@thebonnielassofyvie requested Molly reacting to Sherlock accidentally introducing her with his last name (could you add in some Warstan and Mythea?) 

Molly’s face grew red, and she looked at her feet, then glanced up swiftly to Sherlock. If he realized what he’d just said, he clearly was putting on a good show of not noticing. He just went right on talking to the press as if he had not just referred to her as ‘Molly Holmes’.

Which she wasn’t.

“Sorry, Mr. Holmes, so, just a moment,” one of the press agents pushed forward, recorder in hand. “You’re saying Doctor Hooper is now Doctor Holmes?”

Sherlock looked at him as if the man had two heads.

“No, I never said such a thing!”

“That’s what I heard,” the man said.

“Me too,” a woman piped up beside him. “Said it twice, in fact.”

The others all nodded in agreement, then looked to Molly for confirmation. Sherlock too, turned and faced her, surprised he had made such an error. Molly caught the panic in his eyes, realizing he’d flubbed. Why he’d said such a thing, she wouldn’t know, not yet any way.

“He misspoke, obviously,” Molly put in. “Our names are often being mixed up-“

“Really.” One of the men snorted. “Okay.”

At this, Sherlock looked miffed, narrowing his gaze at him.

“Yes, really,” he bit out. The more seasoned members of the press all leaned in, knowing when someone was about to receive a dressing down from the World’s Only Consulting Detective. There were still stories about how he’d ruined Kitty Riley. “Doctor Hooper is well published in journals around the country and in foreign countries. She speaks regularly at Oxford and if I misspoke, it is merely because her brilliance is so on par with mine, naturally I would refer to her as mine.” He held himself even straighter, squaring his shoulders. “As if anyone else could match her…” he said that last under his breath.

The press all looked to Molly now.

“So…are you taking Doctor Watson’s place, helping solve crimes now with Mr. Holmes, Doctor Hooper?”

“Oh! No! Hardly,” she gave a nervous laugh, still flying quite high from Sherlock so fiercely defending her, and bragging about her to about six of the most important papers in London. “My particular field is one that Mr. Holmes is familiar with, given his cases, so our paths often cross. This time, I just happened to have the week free, so we decided to give Doctor Watson a holiday.”

The questions went on, and Molly fell silent again. In the back of her mind, she did wish she’d been bold enough to snap at the agent and say she was indeed Molly Holmes, just to see the looks on their faces. Clearly, they didn’t think she was Sherlock’s equal. Well…buggar them, then.

Only Sherlock, as he spoke, reached between them, took her hand and lacing his fingers in hers. He was warm, so she shifted slightly, shoulder brushing against his. As he spoke, he commended Molly’s quick thinking, her skill in the laboratories, and how she’d understood right away what the cause of death was, linking the killer to three previous unsolved deaths. In the end, Molly was flushing, smiling at her shoes as Sherlock quite happily went on bragging to them all about how she’d helped solve the case.

The press finally dispersed, questions answered, and Sherlock tugged Molly along to find a cab, still holding onto her hand.

At Baker Street, they found John and Mary were waiting for them, as were Mycroft and Anthea.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, brother-mine?” Sherlock asked as Molly accepted the mug of tea from John’s outstretched hand.

“Simply wondering how the meeting went.” His eyes twinkled with some mischief, clearly, he’d heard Sherlock’s slip-up.

“As they usually do,” the younger Holmes shrugged.

“Really? One doesn’t usually refer to someone with the wrong surname.”

Anthea and Mary were grinning like Cheshire cats.

“I’m sure it was just a mistake,” Molly batted a hand, trying to wave it off, clearly having trouble doing so.

“Well what if it wasn’t?” Sherlock snapped finally, looking at her directly. “What if I rather like how your name fits rather nicely with mine?”

For a moment, Molly couldn’t speak. She stared open-mouthed up at him, and she saw his gaze flick down to her lips, then back up at her eyes again.

“Well…” she began falteringly, then her smile was suddenly bold. “What if I’d rather have a hyphen?”

Mary grabbed John by the arm who grunted.

“Nails, nails, the nails,” he hissed, trying his hardest not to spill hot tea on himself.

Sherlock, clearly ignoring them, shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Well it makes no difference to me, would you prefer alphabetically?”

“Does that matter?”

“Well yes,” he said with a frown. “Hooper-Holmes-“

“Sounds much better than ‘Holmes-Hooper’,” Molly interrupted. “Sounds like we’re a law-firm rather than a couple.”

“Hmm,” he nodded, pondering. “Very well. But you’ll be the one to tell Mummy, not that she’ll care particularly.”

“Okay, wait, wait-“ John interrupted.

“Oh do catch up, John,” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. He took Molly’s hand, kissing it gently before stepping past her to collect his violin. “If I misspoke, it is clearly because I have been considering proposing to Molly, which I sort of have, just now. If you’d all leave, I’ll do it properly.”

Mary and Anthea immediately set their mugs down, collected their bags and started shoving their men out of the door.

“But-“ Mycroft began

“But-he-“ John also spluttered.

“Shut up, we’ll talk about it in the car,” Mary said, waving goodbye, kissing Molly’s cheek as they passed.

“Oh let’s take one car,” Anthea added, eyes quite merry as she beamed at Sherlock and Molly. “We can talk on the way.”

“On the way where-“ Mycroft asked, not liking his being physically hustled out the door.

“To lunch,” Anthea and Mary said at once.

“They won’t be long,”

“Oh yes we bloody will!” Sherlock called back, quite miffed (for the second time that day). Mary threw him a teasing wink, shutting the door after them, all crowded on the stairway, John and Mycroft both looking confused.

“Now, you were saying,” Sherlock turned, suddenly quite smooth charming.

“Oh I believe you were,” Molly said, and seated herself in his chair. “And I fully expect a proper proposal, mind, my brilliance, after all, is only matched by the World’s Only Consulting Detective.”

Sherlock smirked, and knelt down at her feet, all too happy to oblige.