#“irene adler” fucking killed me first time I heard it

[thankstothe]

One liners the sequel

#acontextual house #house md #gregory house #james wilson #thirteen #remy hadley #robert chase #“irene adler” fucking killed me first time I heard it #Wilson you're fucking asshole lmao #now did he made up a name or the Sherlock series existence is canon #but ducklings didn't seem to catch on to the reference so its prob random #or was it losely based on someone real who house knew and who did “win” like irene in sherlock did #the fact that this is wilson (watson) telling (making up) us the story of irene is very neat adaptation move to me #is it even adaptation lol. just a reference I guess #anyway #still i laughed at that line #and whats in the porntitle is “Making room for Daddy's hot bisexual with boyfriend problems.” #ridiculous #applies to them both #long post #longpost

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

um hi who’s steve moffat??

Oh my goodness. Okay, my sweet summer child, buckle up. I’ll try and keep this short. I assume you’re asking this since I just reblogged that post about Moffat creating the new Dracula show for BBC, so I’ll explain the particulars of why that’s upsetting as well.

So, Steven Moffat is a British television show writer and creator. He created the very popular (and well-done) comedic show Coupling, which was a take on the modern-day dating world and apparently inspired by how Moffat met his wife. He was also a writer on Doctor Who, the long-running British science fiction series, and this is where the fun (note the sarcasm) begins.

See, Moffat wrote some very very very good episodes on Doctor Who. In fact he wrote two of my favorites: the two-parter “The Empty Child”/“The Doctor Dances” (which includes my all-time favorite television moment, “Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once–everybody lives!!!”) and “Blink.” “Blink” is considered one of the best, if not the best, DW episode as it works so damn well and is so well written and ALSO functions very well as a standalone episode. Someone who has never seen a single DW episode could watch “Blink” and enjoy it.

Given Moffat’s good writing chops, everyone was super excited when he became the showrunner for Doctor Who after Russell T. Davies, the original showrunner, left, and when Moffat also announced he was creating Sherlock, a modern-day adaptation of the beloved Sherlock Holmes character.

I will direct you to this highly entertaining video that explains why Moffat’s show running skills and BBC’s Sherlock are, well, garbage.

Please do watch that video when you have the time since it’s fucking hilarious but here’s the gist of it: Moffat relies on building cliffhanger after cliffhanger and never actually delivering any climax, catharsis, or answers to the questions he gives. He makes his shows about one “super special genius” male character whose only function is to be “super special genius” and never actually has any character development and really actually is an asshole to everyone around him. And he writes female characters horribly, Irene Adler just to start. He crams in LGBT+ characters and other such “minority” characters in order to get “woke” and “diversity” points but he doesn’t actually give them any legitimate layers or nuance. The genius straight white male always saves the day and he does it while being a dick to everyone.

Yay.

Moffat’s constant reliance on twist after twist after twist without any character development, conclusion, explanation, or even logic, means that eventually his shows spiral into the absolutely absurd, as happened with season four of Sherlock. I would argue the show went off the rails in season three but that was before I saw it completely jump the shark in season four. Holy shit.

Which brings us to Dracula.

Look, vampires are sexy, I will be the first to admit that. But Dracula himself is not a vampire you want to swoon over. In the original book he is a sexual predator (the passages where he feeds on Mina are particularly disturbing and evocative of rape) who brutally and mercilessly murders people by twisting their spines and bashing their heads in until their brains burst out, sending wolves to tear them to pieces, and ripping their throats out. He literally throws a toddler to three vampires who do something so horrendous to it that Jonathan Harker blocks it from his memory.

Dracula is also, to add to all of this, a metaphor for two things a) the powerful and charismatic but “forbidden” gay relationship/love (and the shame that comes with that because this was the 1800s) and b) the racist/xenophobic fear of the “pure Aryan race” being “corrupted” by the “impure” eastern/non-Aryan bloodline.

Yeah, you heard me. The second one is pretty damn obvious and it’s a real sign of continued xenophobia and racism if you ask me that no adaptation (save for the silent black and white film Dracula: Pages from a Virgin’s Diary) has addressed this issue. Dracula literally says that he will destroy the Western race of heroes “through your women, and through them your children! I shall have them and through them I shall have you!” and basically says yeah I’m gonna rape your wives and they’ll have my children and your pure bloodline will be corrupted. This is far from an uncommon fear. It’s a repeated threat from the non-white villain in racist texts and it’s a common rhetorical trick. You even hear it in historical films when the heroic leader stands up and is like “would you have them kill us and rape our wives?” The fear isn’t just death, it’s that the “oh so pure bloodline” will be corrupted by the “unclean” race mating with the “clean” one.

AND THAT’S IGNORING THE BLATANTLY RACIST STEREOTYPE OF THE ROMANI PEOPLE AS EVIL STOOGES OF DRACULA LIKE WTF STOKER I’M GONNA RAISE YOU FROM THE DEAD JUST SO I CAN KICK YOUR GODDAMN ASS–

*ahem* Anyway.

The first one is also pretty obvious given that the entire first third of the book is Dracula flirting with Jonathan up to and including making innuendos about Jonathan teaching him English by “showing him how to use his tongue” (NO I’M NOT MAKING THIS UP). Most people believe that Dracula was based on Vlad Tepes aka Vlad the Impaler but actually, while Stoker did research on good ol’ Vlad, Dracula was based on a popular actor and close friend of Stoker’s, Henry Irving. Dracula was originally supposed to be a play, written for Irving, with Irving in the title role. When Irving refused, Stoker changed it to a book.

In fact when people who knew the two read the book they all went, “holy shit Dracula is totally Irving and Stoker is totally Jonathan.” Contemporaries noted that the relationship between Irving and Stoker was toxic, with Irving being manipulative and narcissistic, taking advantage of Stoker, while Stoker was too damn in love with Irving to stand up for himself even as he knew that Irving was being an asshole.

SO THAT MEANS WE HAVE: queer subtext, racist subtext, and vampirism as a metaphor for sexual assault.

None of which Moffat has a history of handling well.

It’s a sad tradition in Hollywood to change Dracula into a sexy anti-hero, and to claim that Mina Harker, the heroine of the book who saves everyone’s goddamn bacon, was actually attracted to Dracula and wanted to be with him. Y’know, the man who in the book makes her drink his blood in a way that is explicitly worded to make it sound like she’s forced to give him a blowjob (no seriously reading those passages is genuinely disturbing). Seeing how Moffat treated Sherlock and The Doctor on their respective shows, he’ll probably turn Dracula from a monster that is legitimately scary (because y’know he rapes people) into yet another pale white super special genius Mary goddamn Sue.

Seriously, the next time someone asks me what a Mary Sue is I’m just directing them straight to the Moffat-run seasons of Doctor Who and BBC’s Sherlock.

And given how Moffat handled the character of Irene Adler by turning her from a woman who received the world’s first unsolicited dick pic and was forced to use it to protect herself from persecution by royalty in order to quietly marry the love of her life into a dominatrix whose bisexuality was used as a one-off line to show how “irresistible and sexy” Sherlock is and is beaten by Sherlock, is a villain, not just a villain but the lackey of another villain, and has to be rescued by Sherlock twice instead of being the clever quick-thinking woman who gets one over on him and teaches him not to underestimate women and that he’s not always right…

Yeah. I don’t have high hopes for how Moffat will treat Mina Harker, the meticulous wannabe journalist who loves her friends to death and has a fucking backbone of steel and memorizes train schedules in her spare time like the utter dork she is.

And even if you set all those things aside! Even if you hope that Moffat will do justice to the women in the series, that he’ll properly address the sexual, gay, and racist subtext in Dracula, even if you hope that he won’t make Dracula another annoying can’t-ever-do-anything-wrong-jackass that treats the people around him like shit but we’re supposed to think he’s cool for it and people still somehow inexplicably stick around him and forgive him for it…

EVEN IF YOU HOPE FOR ALL OF THAT

…there is still Moffat’s major storytelling issue which is that he never tells a complete story. He never delivers on any of the promises he makes to the audience. He dangles cliffhangers that promise some big revelation is upcoming, but he never actually makes good on that–he just gives another twist instead, so that you never conclude any story arcs. It’s like listening to a song but having no resolution in the music so it’s just hurting your ears. Moffat is all about sound and fury, about making things look and sound cool, but without giving them any actual substance.

Moffat has done some great writing work, but it was always when someone else was in charge reining him in and forcing him to tell a complete story. He was given carte blanche with Sherlock and look how well that turned out. Season four was so bad people actually wondered if it was a joke. Yeah. Seriously.

So, people are understandably frustrated about this upcoming Dracula adaptation and have zero hope that it will handle any of the characters or the complex issues with any kind of nuance or substance. My personal bet? The women will be treated as props who fawn over Dracula, Dracula himself will be an asshole that we’re supposed to somehow like, his bisexuality will be a throwaway thing and the men who fall for him will behave in stereotypically gay ways and God forbid he actually get a long-lasting substantial relationship with any of them, Van Helsing is gonna be a woman and be either his bitter ex or eventually fall for him, and oh yes the racism/xenophobia in the original text will never be addressed ever.

That, my dear, is Steven Moffat, and that’s why people hate him and aren’t happy about him creating a Dracula television series, bisexual vampires or no.

#mads answers things #dracula #dracula bbc #moffat #steven moffat #I'm paraphrasing the Dracula quotes because I've read that damn book ten times by now #and I'm too lazy to go find my copy to get the exact quote right #I hope this explains everything satisfactorily my dear! #apologies that it's such a long answer lol #I tried to be succinct #nalgenewhore

[i-do-ships-and-stuff]

The Mystery Daughter

Pairing: Sherlock x reader

Word Count: 1,569

Warnings: cursing

Anon Request: Eyoooo I LOVE THAT YOU DO ONESHOTS OMG OMG my friend literal,y just recommended your blog and IM FREAKING OUTTTTT! Can you write one where the reader is Sherlock’s and Irene’s daughter (Sherlock has no idea). She comes to him and Watson looking for help to find her father and doesn’t tell them who her mom is and stuff so it’s like a game she plays with them, kinda continuing her mom’s work. In the end maybe a “family reunion”when Sherlock finally figures it out. XD

enjoy!

The day wasn’t starting as well as you had hoped. Not only did it take 4 different cabs to find this 221b Baker Street, but since you’ve arrived in the building some old lady had offered you tea a million times. No matter how many polite ways you turned her down she just kept coming back.

“Tea? I’ve brought a biscuit this time.”

You groaned loudly before replying. “No, Ma’am. I really don’t want tea. Can I just wait here for Sherlock?”

She looked taken back, “The name is Ms. Hudson, dear. No need to empty your lungs at me. Just offering you a cuppa.” And she waddled away.

As annoying as she was you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her presence. After all, she was the one who trusted you enough to let you sit in Sherlock’s flat while he and his flat mate were away. Here you were, sitting in a comfortable armchair with a perfect view of the stairs when you could be sitting outside in the cold looking incredibly pathetic. This, you thought, was definitely better.

This whole charade you were about to put on for Sherlock had to be perfect. You needed to look helpless. You had thought about pretending to cry, but your mother, Irene Adler, wouldn’t be very proud of that. She always thought that a woman didn’t need to look “weak” to need help; sometimes those who appear strong need the most help of all. Instead, you were going to appear just as you were. Strong, powerful, and hopefully smarter than the great Sherlock Holmes.

Just then the door down the stairs slammed open causing you to jump in your seat.

‘This is it,’ you thought to yourself. Act natural. It’s no big deal. It’s just your dad who you’ve never met and only ever heard a few stories about.

You didn’t realize just how nervous you were until the man reached the top of the stairs, his flat mate apparently talking to Ms. Hudson on the first floor. All motion stopped when he saw you.

This is it! The first words your father was ever going to say to you!

“Erm...” He began, his eyebrows furrowed and his chin up in question. ”What are you doing in my chair?”

Fucking typical.

“I’m here because I need your help. I want-“

“JOHN!” Sherlock shouted suddenly. Seconds later you heard footsteps running up the stairs, and into the room came a very short man you had known from the papers as John Watson.

“What Sherlock?” The man huffed, looking frantically around the room. That is until he saw you. “What’s she doing in your chair?”

You rolled your eyes. You apparently weren’t off to a good start.

“She has a case?” John asked.

Sherlock leaned down and whispered to the man “We just got home from a case.”

“Sherlock, she’s just a little girl. And since when don’t you want a case anyway?”

John sat in the chair across from you as if to say “we’re staying.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, and he pulled up a chair from the kitchen and placed it right next to John.

You cleared your throat. It was time to start.

“I’m looking for my father-“

“BORED!” Sherlock cried and ran to the kitchen.

John’s eyes widened in disbelief as he watched Sherlock stomp away. He looked slowly back to you and smiled awkwardly.

“I’m really sorry about him. He’s an idiot. Erm... go on.”

You returned Johns awkward smile. You didn’t want to talk to him. You wanted Sherlock. You wanted your father.

“Well,” you began, feeling upset that John was the only one who would listen. “My mother has told me stories about him, my father, but I’ve never met him. He doesn’t know I exist. Now that I think about it, he probably doesn’t want to know that I exist. But I want him to know.”

John was writing all of this down in a pocket notebook, as if any of it really mattered.

“I’m sure he wants to meet you-“

“Probably not!” Sherlock interjected from the kitchen. “If a man has lost this much contact with a woman it’s very unlikely he wants to know he has a daughter.”

You began massaging your temples. If you didn’t say something soon he would never get it.

“Shut up, Sherlock!” John shouted back. “Sorry, dear. You were saying?

You couldn’t take it anymore. You thought you could keep up the charade, but this man was truly insufferable. You’d been waiting too long to find your father for him to walk away the second he met you and then disrespect you from another room. You had to say something to interest him.

“This is about Irene Adler.” You blurted.

John dropped his notepad, and Sherlock tripped over a chair. You knew your mother’s name was powerful, but to see it with your own eyes was hysterical.

Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock walked back into the room and sat down in the chair.

“What. About. Irene. Adler?” He spoke slowly, his voice dropping an octave.

Keeping a straight face was hard; you wanted nothing more than to laugh in his face.

“So now you want to talk, Sherlock Holmes? Was I not interesting enough before?”

John and Sherlock were visibly uncomfortable. It had been years since the mention of that name.

“How do you know Irene Adler?” Sherlock spoke as if this was now an interrogation.

You rolled your eyes. “She is my mother. And I want to find my father. I saw you in the papers and I hoped you could help.”

John looked to his partner wide eyed and confused. “We didn’t know she had a daughter... did she tell you she had a daughter?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. “What has she told you about your father?”

“Only that he’s a total moron. Couldn’t solve a problem if the answer was right in front of him.”

Sherlock laughed, “That sounds like her. She worked mostly with idiot men. Of course, you know all about her work.”

“Yeah, I do. Which is why I need your help. There have been so many guys that there is no way to tell who it could be.”

Sherlock smirked at John. He finally seemed to be enjoying this. “And you thought I could help because your mother told you all about how we solved a crime together.”

“No,” you lied. “She’s never said a thing about you. I never even knew who you were until I saw the papers. You worked on a case together?”

Sherlock’s smile dropped within seconds. “She... she never said anything about me? About how she tried to fool me and how I got the better of her? About how I solved her case and saved her life? She never said a thing?”

You shook your head, pretending to be uninterested. “Nope. So anyway, about my father-“

“She didn’t say a thing!” Sherlock stood from his chair and began to yell. “What, like I’m unimportant to her? As if me saving her life was nothing?”

He looked at you accusingly. “You probably wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for me!”

You wanted to laugh. Oh, the irony.

“If I hadn’t saved her life you probably wouldn’t have been born! I mean how old are you anyway!”

“I’m (y/a).” You said calmly.

“(Y/a)! Yes! John, wasn’t it almost exactly y/a years ago that I saved her life!”

“Yes.” John agreed. “It was exactly (y/a) years ago.”

At hearing John’s words Sherlock froze in his tracks and slowly looked to you. You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Your heart began pounding against your chest as he looked at you. You knew it was all over.

He walked over to you and kneeled before you. His jaw hung open in disbelief as he examined your bone structure, skin color, hair texture, all of it looking incredibly familiar. All he could manage to say was “exactly (y/a) years...”

John didn’t understand. The anticipation was killing him. “Sorry to interrupt. What’s going on?”

You began to tear up. “I’m your daughter.” You whispered just loud enough for the three of you to hear. You expected Sherlock to back away when you confirmed his thoughts, but instead he stayed by your side.

“Erm. No. Not possible.” John began, shaking his head in disbelief. “Because Sherlock and Irene never... I mean they didn’t... Sherlock isn’t that kind of person. And it’s not like they had the time to really... how could I not know?”

Still looking at you in awe, Sherlock answered John. “The answers were right in front of you, John. You just had to look for them.”

You were shaking under his intense staring. Finally you had to ask what had been on your mind for years.

“Do you even want me?”

Sherlock didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Of course I want you. I just... I didn’t know I wanted you until I met you.”

Without thought you leaned in and hugged Sherlock, and after a moment he hugged back. As the two of you embraced, you heard John groan into his hands, still attempting to piece everything together.

Sherlock broke the hug and, still holding onto your shoulder asked, “where is your mother?”

You smiled wider than you ever thought possible and replied, ”I’ll show you.”

You couldn’t wait for your parents to meet again.

I hope you enjoyed this!!! <3

#sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #BBC #BBC Sherlock #irene adler #daughter! #john #John watson #Watson #y/n #x reader

[queen-of-fanfics]

Not Letting Go

Prompt: You believe that Sherlock is crazy for Irene so one day, you have to help Irene escape some guys that followed her and cornered her. You end up seriously injured. When Sherlock arrives, thinking that you were going to die, everything is laid out.

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

A/N: This was a request an anon sent in and I really enjoyed writing this one. A bit longer than usual but I had a cute story to tell and I really wanted to :P I hope you guys like this one! Remember! My requests are always open and I love writing for y’all so don’t be afraid to send one in!

You’re sitting, writing your report on the case Sherlock and John are working on. Peaking up from the top of your laptop, you silently watch Sherlock move about the kitchen, grabbing all his evidence to test as John stands there making tea.

“Y/n, come here for a second, I need an extra pair of hands to help me.” Sherlock calls out. John lets out a scoff, “I’m standing right here! I can help Sherlock!”

“Yes, I know John but I need a pair of small delicate hands. I can’t risk you breaking or messing up anything.”

You walk over with a smile on your face, loving John’s face of exasperation. As you walk up to the table, Sherlock reaches out and grabs your hand in his, pulling you closer to his side. Your breath catches in your throat and you heart skips a beat. Sherlock may be a genius but he can’t even deduce that you have a stupid crush on him that you can’t seem to shake, no matter how annoying he is. It seems like you fall for him more every time he opens his stupid mouth.

“I need you to hold this steady while I wipe it with this acid. Do not move. If it gets you your fingers, we might have to cut off your hand.” He stands up to his full height and pulls you to stand in front of him and he situates himself against your back. A blush crawls up your neck and your heart flutters from being so close to him. You nervously tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Y/n. Are you okay? Your heart rate sped up a fraction and your temperature seems to has risen slightly as well. You don’t have to do think if you don’t feel comfortable.” With that statement, your cheeks redden even more. God! Of course he would have notices, he’s Sherlock. He’s just not good enough to know that it’s him causing this effect on you.

Your lips pull to a small smile as you think that Sherlock is actually thinking about how you feel. He’s willing to put you before a case. That thought made you want to puff out your chest out a little. Maybe he doesn’t just see you as a pair of hands to help.

“Oh no. I’m f-”

“I’m sure I can do it by myself. If you are at all not perfect at this, this whole case can go down the drain. This is the last piece of evidence and if it’s gone then we have nothing to frame the bastard on. Move, I got it.” With that, he pushes you lightly to the side as he pulls down his amplifying glass.

Taking small steps away from him, you feel your face fall. Of course it’s all about the case. He didn’t care if the acid ate at your hands, but if you messed up the case. Taking a deep breath, you lift your head slightly, trying so hard to not let his words affect you. You were about to walk out when John catches you eye. He gives you a sad look with an encouraging smile. John may not be a sociopathic genius, but he’s smart. He knows how to read people, and right now, he’s reading you pretty well. You close your eyes a second and walk out of the kitchen, needing some air.

You walk out of the small flat and take a walk around town. You spend the day walking around, going to a small book shop to the local coffee shop. You must have been walking for hours because by the time you made it back to the flat, it was already night fall and your feet were killing you.

You opened the door and yelled out, “I’m back!”

Peaking up from his book, John greets you with a smile. Behind his eyes was a look of worry. He didn’t need to say it but you knew he was worried about you while you were out. Giving him a weak smile, you nodded and shrugged off your jacket.

In the corner of your eye, you catch movement. You turn around to see Sherlock poking his head out of the kitchen.

“You were gone? I didn’t even notice. Either way, did you pick up that order I placed at the pharmacy. I’ve asked you to pick it up before.”

You mood just went from bad, to worse. Shaking you head sadly, you told him no.

“Well try to remember the things I tell you, yes? Now what am I going to do. I don’t have the time to get them today.” He continues to talk but it seems to himself rather than anyone in the room. You take a seat by the window and look out.

Out of anyone, it had to be him. It had to be the most rude and insensitive person to ever walk the streets of London. It had to be him. Sadly enough, somewhere, deep down inside you, you wouldn’t have chosen anyone other than him. Taking a deep breath, you try to change your thoughts as you feel a hand press against your shoulder. Looking up, you see John standing there. He gives you a sad smile before looking out the window.

You press your lips together and look at the window too. Together, you enjoyed a small moment of peace before Sherlock’s ringtone pierced the air. A feminine, sexual groan filled the air. Leaving tension in its wake. You tense up and close your eyes, hoping the tears won’t come this time. You feel the hand on your shoulder tighten slightly.

It’s dead silent in the flat and you could hear Sherlock move around the house and go through his phone nonchalantly. As if he had no idea of the change of atmosphere in the room. 

You  knew that ringtone anywhere. Anyone who has heard it before, knew what and who it was.

Irene Adler.

The Woman.

And apparently, the woman that holds Sherlock’s heart. You mean, if he had one.

Even if he wouldn’t say it, everyone knew. Everyone knew of their relationship and that only she could bring out a human side of him. A normal side.

Hearing that moan always hurt. This time, it felt as if your heart was being crushed. Even if Sherlock wanted Irene Adler, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate the woman. In some odd light, you looked up to her. At the same time, you can’t find it in you to hate Sherlock either. You couldn’t blame him for wanting Alder. The Woman’s job was to seduce and she did it well. Too well that it got to Sherlock.

“Shit.” Sherlock hissed.

It was a fraction of a second before anyone moves. Thankfully, John got his wits together fast, “What’s wrong now?”

“It’s the woman. It appears that she has come back to make a reappearance in London. And there’s already people out for her. We need to find her. Now.”

It pained you even more that Sherlock was going to drop his work on a case in an instant to help Irene yet he wouldn’t so much as think of you if you were in her place. Taking a deep breath, you put your emotions of pause. It’s not about you right now. There’s a woman in danger and that could get more people hurt.

Standing up, facing Sherlock head on, you ask, “Where is she now? How can we help?”

Surprise flashes in his eyes before he quickly covered it up and answered, “She didn’t specify but I know she’s in East London. She says she’s already being trailed. If we split up, we can cover more ground. Whoever finds her first needs to message the rest of us.” He didn’t bother to see if you and John followed as he pulled on his jacket and walked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It feels as though you’ve been walking for hours. The streets were nearly deserted. It would be a miracle if you could find her. You were going to call it a night and head back to the flat when you catch movement in the corner of your eye. Looking over, you catch the tail end of a dark coat and red bottom heels. Still hidden in the shadows, you see a trail of men discreetly walking behind.

Pulling up a mental map, you turn down streets and eventually came up right next to Irene. You casually turned and walked right beside her. Shooting off a quick text to John, you pocket your phone and kept walking straight.

“About time of you found me.” Irene said beside you, still looking ahead. She was smart. She knew you were there to help. That’s why she contacted Sherlock to begin with.

“There’s three men trailing us about a block of a distance away. They’re waiting until we turn down a dead end before they make any moves. When that time comes, you slip away. They’re after you, so I can hold them off for a while.”

Irene gives you a side glance with amusement. “Are you sure you’ll hold your own? I wouldn’t want Sherlock coming for my head if anything happens to you. He already made a threat to kill me himself if I do.”

Surprise flashes through you before you diminished it. “I’ll be fine. Those goons aren’t interested in me. It’s you they want, so you need to find way your out of her. In two blocks, there’ll be an alley that leads to a dead end. That’s where it’ll happen.”

You two walk the distance in silence, both preparing for what’s going to go down. Taking a deep breath, both of you take the final steps before all hell breaks loose.

“Good luck.” She whispers to you.

“You too. Stay safe.”

“Good luck with Sherlock.” And with that, you both take off running. You hear heavy foot steps pound on the ground behind you.

Getting to the wall at the end, you clasp your hands together, pushing Irene up and over. Turning around quickly, you duck as one of the guys takes a swing at you with a bat. Rolling between the men, you slip out and start out for a run.

“Leave the lady! We got the girl with Sherlock, she’s better!” You hear one of the guys yell.

What the fuck?! That wasn’t what’s supposed to happen! They were supposed to not bother with you! Not go after you!

You didn’t make it far before a hand reached out and yanked your hair back in a fist. Slamming your head back with that momentum, you make contact with a nose leaving behind a loud crack. You were let go as the man yelled out in pain. You took that opportunity to spin and kick him across the face.

Running towards the man behind him, you jump up and wrap your legs around him before spinning, taking him to the ground. You roll off, ready to run off again before someone grabbed you from behind and threw you at the cement wall. You fell to the group like a rag doll, shaking you head as your vision starts to dot. You quickly, yet weakly push up to the feet, getting ready to defend yourself. You were slapped across the face, falling to the ground again. Your hair was fisted and forcefully pull. Tears were leaking out of your eyes but you refuse to go down without a fight.

You reach out and claw at anything you could. You guess it worked with your fingers grazed hard flesh. “Fuck!” A man boomed out and pulled your hair even harder. A punch landed right on your temple and you were dropped down like a doll. The air was knocked out of your and your ears were ringing.

“Fuck! This bitch got fight. She got me good. Hurry up and grab her.” You tried to push yourself up again, but it was no use. Looking up, you saw all the men walking towards you with sadistic smiles. Suddenly, you saw the end of a fist coming at you, before it all went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

beep. beep. beep. beep.

Slowly opening your eyes, you winced at the bright light. Your eyes eventually adjusted and you took a look around. Everything was white.

From the ceiling to the walls to the chairs.

Looking over, you saw John and Sherlock slumped against the chairs sleeping. They had bags and worry lines etched on their faces. Searching your mind, the events of the night flashed in your head, causing you to wince even more.

Before you could do or say anything, a doctor dressed in white walked in. He looked surprised to see you up and a smile stretched across his face.

“So good to see you awake, Y/n.”

“Hi. How long have I been out?” You ask.

“Three days now. You were lucky enough that you only suffered a mild concussion. Those two were scared out of their mind over you.”

Looking over you smiled at your boys. John jerked in his seat and he blinked his eyes a few times before noticing the doctor in front of him. Shooting up in his seat, he looked over at you and let out a relieved sigh. Leaning over his seat, he slapped Sherlock to wake him up. John was already on his feet and rushing over to fuss over you.

Sherlock shot up in his seat, still disoriented. Eyes wide with ruffled hair, he looks around the room before his eyes shoot to you.

“Y/n.” He sighs out and rushes to you bed. Grabbing you hand in his, he asks, “You feeling okay? Thirsty? Hungry? Uncomfortable? John, go get some food and another blanket for her!”

“Sherlock, I’m fine. Don’t worry over it, John. Doctor, when can I be released?” You ask in a quiet voice.

“It would be best if you stayed over night. We want to make sure all your vitals stay strong over night. I’ll go ask a nurse to come in and makes sure you’re okay.” With that, the doctor leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. “Sherlock, what happened? The only thing I remember were those goons coming for me.”

Sherlock let’s out a shuddered breath and closes his eyes for a second. Behind him, John slowly creeps out of the room, closing the door softly, leaving you two together.

“Y/n. You don’t understand how much you scared me. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time to you. And then when I got there, you were already knocked out and I never felt fear like that before. I was so afraid you wouldn’t make it. There was just so much blood.” His eyebrows started to furrow more and more, his breaths becoming shallow and his nose turning a little red. Pulling him down, you wrap your arms around his shoulder.

“Shhh, Sherlock, I’m okay. I’m awake now.” Reaching up, you comb your fingers through his hair, trying to calm him down. “I knew you cared for me in that little heart of yours. And here I thought you didn’t even see me.” You teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

With that, he jerks up from your arms and looked at you incredulously. “How could you ever think that! Of course I care about you! I.. I know I’m not good at showing my… emotions. I’m not the most social person if you couldn’t tell. Since I’m not good at showing affection, I’ll have you know I would do anything to protect you.”

“Even leaving a case?” You couldn’t help but put in a jab.

“Of course! What’s going on, Y/n? I know I’m not the best at being there for you but I would never let anything happen to you.”

“That’s what Irene said. What did she mean when she said that you threatened her? That she wasn’t allowed to let me get hurt.”

“And she didn’t do a very good job at that did she?” Taking a deep breath, he tried to contain his anger. “She had information on you. Information that a lot of people want. There are bad people out there and most of them, as it so happens, are my enemies. They know that if they get to you, they get to me. I couldn’t compromise you like that and I told her if she ever did wrong by you, she would have to be afraid of me coming after her.”

“Oh. I thought you were so eager to help her because you liked her. You were so willing to leave working on a case just to help her. I don’t know. I haven’t seen you act that way for anyone. The case always came first. Before John. Even me.” Looking down at your lap, you fiddle with the hem of your blanket.

“What? No. I never saw Irene as anything more than a puzzle piece. She was interesting but not in the sense you’re talking about. How could you ever think that. The only person that would ever be more to me, would be you. No one would mean more to me than you. I know I’m not the best, but I would drop anything and everything if you needed me. No matter what. I only wanted to help her because if she got in the wrong hands, you could be hurt and I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I guess I let my mind run a little too free. I thought you only cared about her. For some reason I found myself comparing myself to her. Like she had you when I didn’t I don’t know. Now I know I’m wrong. Now it just sounds crazy. I know. Don’t mind me.”

You let out a little chuckle hoping to change the subject. Your heart was beating so hard, you could hear it in your ears. You held onto his wrongs, hoping that he really meant what he was saying and not just saying anything to make you feel better. You hoped that he knew what he was saying and how it affected you.

“Don’t do that. Don’t compare yourself to her because that would be too mean.” He help your chin and turned you to look at him. “If you did that, she would lose in every category. You are so much more than she is. I...I know I haven’t been the best to you. I could’ve been kinder but it seems like I don’t know how to. I knew that if I got close, you would eventually get hurt. You don’t understand, Y/n. I have a lot of people that don’t like me. And I mean a lot. Most of them wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me. And I wouldn’t have you in the crossfire if it did. Never question how important you are to me. I may not show it but sometimes, you are the reason I get up in the morning. You’re too precious. Not just to me. I’ve seen how people look at you. You can light up a room just by walking in. I love you. I… I love you. Without a doubt I do, but I won’t hurt you. I won’t let that happen. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself it-”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. You yank him down and kiss him hard. Fisting his hair, you kept him tight against you. You didn’t care if anyone walked in. You got your man. He said it. What you’ve been dreaming to hear. You finally got him. And you’re not letting go.

#Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #request #anon #answered #fanfiction #fanfic #bbc #imagine #fluff #sherlock x reader #Sherlock Holmes x Reader

[spiritcc]

The Mistresses of Lord Maulbrey

Was it the mistress and not mistresses that goes around in the translation? Should’ve been mistresses, but anyway. 

Much spoilers, very series, beware, so wow, you know, all that. 

The case case episode, the main plot is still there, but I think it’s still in the old school Holmes style, a complicated detective story with twists and turns and drama and all that. Quite enjoyable, I like Holmes’ aethestics there, always end up screencapping the guy the most. 

He’s beauty he’s grace he’s got a joke for a face.

This is incredible that I managed to miss the entire build up to Watson proposing to Mrs. Hudson in the future, but I just had a really hard time understanding these idiots. Funny, huh, yesterday I called Holmes and Adler a bunch of idiots, now it’s Watson and Mrs. Hudson. Love sure does some fucky things to you. 

Fucking Holmes in the end actually spelled out the answer to my question as to what exactly Mrs. Hudson is going for here, like holy tits, thanks buddy, like you actually helped. Now it’s clear to me that the love is not one-sided, but Mrs. Hudson is sure a weird lady in her ways. And yeah, she wanted something from Watson, and there came drunk dating advice Holmes and rightfully said that she’s waiting for him to make a move, and a cool move for that. Like huh. Understanding women, I had trouble understanding her across all these years, what are you saying.  

Take a look at this lady and please answer me what kind of transformation was this 

Talk about villain wardrobe. 

Okay, the case. Very smart again, very overcomplicated as well, just like Moriarty likes it. I just can’t drag a man for this if he slaps his fucking initials on everything he breathes, those fucking maths nerds just can’t think simple, can they. 

I mean I guess it’s worth to fight for like 500k pounds, it’s no rocket science Moriarty does self-funding for his big ben plans and he needs a fuckton he can’t get any other legal way, but still. Really, some sort of manslut inheritance scheme? Too fucking bad all your plans relied on an assumption that Maulbrey isn’t a troll, buddy. 

Anyway, in this case I again saw some patterns both from the previous and future episodes. Future ones? Getting people via card debts, exactly how they got Calloway on the force here, and how they got that blueprints chancery man from the last episode: get them into huge debts, promise to let them go if they do a job for Moriarty. And from the previous ones, using people with their own personal interest in the matter. Using racist Sholto to foil the Indian plans, and using Maulbrey’s bastard daughter to get to his money. Never surface in the case, throw these people under the bus: nobody suspects you and the criminals had a solid motive and did everything willingly. Bingo. 

Why the hell did I understand it only just now why Moriarty makes such a big deal out of staying hidden, he’s literally being hunted by the queen herself. Literally, all the high top secret unknown forces are on his ass, if he doesn’t make an extended effort to hide, he’s fucked. 

So, the case was kind of complicated, let me clear it up for myself: this artist gal was Maulbrey’s illegal daughter. When the thing about his mistresses getting showered with money became known, she somehow got hooked up with Moriarty. Moriarty proposed this entire scheme. The gal grabbed her two half-sisters and threw them into the lord’s bed. Both her and Moriarty agreed they weren’t actually going to share with these gals, so they killed them. That’s two out of five total mistresses, including miss “Baker”, the other three, I’m suspecting, were actual mistresses that pushed Moriarty to his idea in the first place. In the end, Moriarty wanted to outplay everybody, lying not only to miss Baker, but also to the artist gal as well: Baker gets rid of the nephew, thinks she’s the sole candidate and gets her ass chopped => she was the actual last element in the scheme to get rid of, and, according to the first will, Maulbrey’s closet relative gets all the money, i.e. the artist gal. Then the gal would’ve been disposed of as well, and therefore everyone involved is dead and Moriarty gets himself a cigar shower. 

What still remains fucked up about this entire story is the fact that one of that gal’s sisters was her twin, so Maulbrey was her dad. Like,,,,

Anyway, yeah, quite a nice old school case, nice episode, but it’s still a kind of one-off that was just another quick plan foiled, doesn’t play a big role or anything.

Double anyway, very good Holmes content. Black shirt - 10/10, soup eating skills - 10/10, faces - 10 weird laughs/10.

Yeah, in this episode we find out that Moriarty is Robert. As sve-tka once pointed it out, this is an ancient reference, so ancient it goes way back to some stage play that used to run during the times when ACD himself was alive and well, and there, apparently, Morarty’s name was Robert. *shrugs* I find it kinda cute though, there ain’t a bad guy called Robert nowhere. Rob Moriarty. Robby. Amazing.  

That gal kind of looks like Mrs. Hudson, but either way she’s really pretty

Holmes legit busted a nut somewhere during this episode because of her, have you seen the faces he made while talking to her? They even legit spell it out, she said she liked him, and Holmes replied he sadly liked her too, like??? Irene would be shook at the sight of this fuckery, good thing this gal turned out to be psychotic and now chills in jail, amiright. Why do you always fall for such shit, Holmes. Why can’t you just find yourself some chick that goes into a seizure at the faintest wind of problems brushing her ass, not some type of freelance gold diggers with a fucking body count? Honestly. 

Speaking of freelance assholes with a body count, here’s Watson and his first time in jail.

That is incredible that I have to mention it was only his first time there yet, what the fuck is going on with people in this series. So casually too, punch a homeless dude, steal someone’s bike, wait until your friend makes a walk up to the police station to bail your ass out, and make no deal out of the entire event whatsoever. Did I mention Watson scares me more than Moriarty? There you go.

Let’s appreciate the man that managed to fuck everyone over with his touching trust for a man he’d never met.

I got so emotional when his parcel came in, he literally never met Holmes ever in his life before (ironically Holmes was the last person he’d seen in his life), but he went on and sent these exceptionally crucial documents that Moriarty himself was hunting for, to Holmes. Because he’d heard that Holmes is a great man with great abilities, and Kibby’s trust in that was so strong he turned this entire case upside down, in the favor of a man he never knew, but believed in. Holmes was giggling like a bitch reading his letter, he was showered with compliments. I don’t know about you, but I find this very touching. Hats off to Kibby. 

Goggles on, that’s right. Velcom to ma labratory where safity is namber one preority. 

Here comes the detail that will make it into the Sign of Four. You thought some little black peeps were this dangerous and exotic? Take, that, literature bullshit, there’s a country more fucked up than all of the Andaman Islands combined - Australia. 

Let’s talk about this Henry dude, which could’ve been the prototype to sir Henry in the future, as a nephew of a rich guy and the only his known heir. They forced the guy into a pissy bathroom and made him write his testimony with a pencil on a toilet roll.

They’ve stressed this dude out so much he died on a shitter of a heart attack while writing an all-important information on a toilet roll. 

He visibly blinked on camera while dead. I rest my case.  

Oh man, the “Actually I heal people” scene.

“Actually, I’m a doctor” is what he really said, but my proofreader changed it to reflect on the actual meaning of that phrase. Vrach = doctor, learning Russian with Sherlock Holmes, you’ve heard this word a lot. Syschik = detective, all the time. In the Soviet series Watson was exclusively a doctor, here it’s both vrach and doctor. But both adaptations avoid calling Holmes a detective religiously, and that’s what everyone is calling him nowadays. But it’s funny how persistent they are when it comes to this detail, always a syschik, never a detective. Very Russian for a British show, don’t you think. 

Also, I did point it out once and I’ll point it out again - guns here matter and I love it. They’re actually counting bullets shot, and their barrels do run out - when Roy’s did, he was harmless. Thank you.

The face reveal wasn’t exactly a reveal because we kinda saw Moriarty already in the previous episode, but thanks I guess?

Shades have just rendered the entire achievement pointless, but yeah, alright? Holmes now can hang it above his bed, which is exactly what he does? Do you caress the picture before going to sleep or something? 

What I’m saying is, we just saw his face, but a lot of people have never guessed that he was there ever since episode one personally, so that face reveal was rather yeah. Still love ya Rob, cool shades. 

So yeah, a nice episode and all, many good moments, but it kind of falls out of the overall plot because of the “and I could’ve gotten away with that too, if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!” story. Like yeah, the plot didn’t happen, they found out about it this episode, foiled it in the same episode, the end. I still like the case though, as I’ve said before, the good old Holmes, as canon as it can ever get with this series. 

#new russian sherlock holmes #marathon notes #the mistresses of lord maulbrey

[orenbeval-blog]

Rosie Watson’s Diary - Sat.16/02/2030

Yesterday, I got plenty of text messages. From Molly, from Stella, from Kiara, from Yifan… even from Irene Adler. And from an unknown number who remained anonymous. This is all kind and sweet but… Right now, I hardly care.

I spent all day in bed, unable not to think. I HATE thinking.

In the evening, Daddy and Sherlock both came in, stepping slowly over the pink carpet. Daddy sat on my bed edge, at my feet and Sherlock settled on the ground, cross-legged, by my head. He seemed to be far better.

“Watson, how are you feeling ? Better ? Should your Doctor Dad take a look ?”

I didn’t answer, just closed my eyes. Deduce it by yourself, genius.

“You’re angry.”

“Who’s not in this fucking family ?”

“Rosie, watch your mouth !”

“John…”

 Silence.

 “Why are you angry ?”

 As I already mentioned (yes mentally, and ?) : deduce it by yourself, genius.

 “Rosie, we need you to speak. To tell us… is it about school, is it about us, is it about…”

“Just leave me alone, I am sick.”

Sick of you, could actually be an appropriate answer. But I was in no need of a dramatic argument.

 They had a gaze exchange. Daddy patted gently my calf through the cover and Sherlock sighed.

“Just an idea, Watson… merely a deduction… Maybe you want us to talk ?”

 Ow.

Daddy went on, in a gentle slightly hesitant voice : “Feel  free to ask, Rosie, love.”

Okay then. Let’s play.

“Mary Morstan…”

“Mary Morstan is your mother. Morstan was her name before we got married.”

“Who was she ?”

While Daddy said carefully : “She was a nurse.”

Sherlock said, disdainfully : “She worked for the Government.”

Great. At least something started to make any sense here : “Like your creepy Mycroft brother ?”

“Kind of.”

“How is she related to Jim Moriarty ?”

“What makes you think she…”

“I read your text messages. The one from Greg about dead people involving Magnusson, Moriarty, Morstan and a fourth M.”

“Morstan is a very common name, you know…”

“Molly told me my Mum got somewhat involved with Sherlock’s powerful enemies. I know that my Mum and you, Sherlock, didn’t really like each other and that she put you, somehow, in great danger… and I know that Jim Moriarty was an insane creep who liked you (I looked at Sherlock, he made a face) and made you jump from a roof and whose net you failed to dismantle despite spending two years on that matter… How many other enemies do you have ?”

They were like hit by the thunder :

“How…”

“I never told you…”

I just snapped dismissively : “Yifan has done some research. She has actual access to the internet, and Molly has at least the decency to answer to my questions in some way.”

“Well…”

“So, did Jim Moriarty kill my mother ?”

There was a deadly silence. Daddy’s jaw was so tight, his cheeks were trembling. Sherlock eyes were flipping from one side to the other, unable to focus. I had hit hard. I felt some cruel joy. The game was on.

“Watson… what if… you told us all the things you know ?”

“Why ? Would that help you to decide what to answer and what not ? Who was Janine Hawkins ?”

Dad almost swallowed his tongue and Sherlock froze, eyes open wide. I could have stabbed them, it would have been the same. Daddy was coughing hard, trying to catch his breath : “Wha-at ?!”

I wanted to start getting really angry but Sherlock suddenly answered in a calm voice, like he was explaining some dull geometry : “She lives in Sussex, in a nice cottage.”

“You were in a relationship with her ?”

“Yes, briefly. I might remember proposing to her.”

Daddy rolled his eyes, seemingly exasperate.

“W.h.o - w.a.s - s.h.e ?”

Sherlock had the courtesy to answer my poisonous question : “Janine was the maiden of honour of your Mum during the wedding. I was the best man of your Dad, so… it somehow made sense that we ended up together. Social conventions or something.”

Dad roleld his eyes : “Sherlock…”

Sherlock snapped back, petty, fast speaking : “Well, what ? I was b.o.r.e.d and alone and maybe slightly in a vindictive mood and anyway, what was the point ? You had moved out from 221B, your wife was pregnant and I was left on my own to solve Greg’s or Mycroft’s cases…”

“Sherlock…”

But Sherlock went on, speaking even faster : “Magnusson was one of my cases. Lestrade is right, he is dead. I killed him. As a high functioning sociopath, I sometimes… behave in an unappropriated way, especially when I’m bored. Or high. Or when I’m trapped. He was brilliant, he trapped me.”

“Sherlock !”

He rose a challenging eyebrow at Daddy. Something was burning there. Something unsaid.

“And how…”

“Two seconds, Rosie, love, please. I have to add few details, here.”

Sherlock straightened up and crossed his arms, all his attention focused on Daddy.

“Sherlock, on this planet if there were only two people who wouldn’t buy you sociopath bullshit, it’s Rosie and I.”

He took a deep breath : “So… stop it. Stop the self-depreciation. Just stop it. You didn’t shot Magnusson because you were… bored (eye roll), you shot Magnusson because he was a threat to her, to... Mary... and therefore to me. It wasn’t even close to sociopathic unappropriated behaviour or whatever bullshit you want to call it, you dick.”

Sherlock looked down, chewing his tongue.

He suddenly looked up, eyes bright : “Anyway, I killed him.”

“Good, and I killed... the cabbie. That wasn’t boredom either. Just saying.”

They were both looking intensely at each other, something was obviously unsaid, here... and I just… didn’t know what to think. So there we were. It all started with a killer Mum and now I had two killer Dads.

Was that funny ?

Might have been in a parallel universe.

But it was my fucking life !!!!!

I must have looked somewhat under shock because suddenly, Daddy gently squeezed my leg and explained, in a soft voice : “Rosie, don’t panick. Let me explain. You know I was a soldier, a Captain. I was on war, I got hurt. You knew this was no picnic, you know what soldiers do on war. No breaking news here. I have seen many people die. Good people, young people. Anyway, I know when it is time to act, and I know how to use a gun. Regarding that cabbie story, Sherlock was in immediate danger. So I shot. And killed. It was self-defence. Regarding Magnusson, he was powerful and had already tried to kill me. It was also self-defence. Your Sherlock Dad is trying to deflect because of…”

“I’m not deflecting, John !”

“... because he still don’t take it that he…”

“John…”

“…killed out of love for his husband, hello, by the way, that’s me.”

“I…”

“Yeah, I know, you never told it, never did, never do. But I know anyway. Have had devouring doubts since the stag night but I’ve known for sure since the wedding, have known for sure since your best man’s speech.”

“Oh. Was it that obvious ?”

“God Sherlock… even Greg got it.”

“Oh.”

I was still lying in my bed without knowing how or what to think. I wanted to shout like “HELLO DO YOU REMEMBER ME ????” but… this was actually talking. I started to get the feeling that none of us three had the full version of the very story that had lead to our family.

“So… who was killed by my Mum ?”

“She worked under cover for the Government Rosie Sweetie, neither of us knows it. I even doubt your uncle Mycroft knows all of it.”

“Ah.”

There was a silence. And as I mentally checked the bullet points on my list, I noticed which answer was lacking : “So, who killed Jim Moriarty in this Swiss waterfall car crash ?”

They were both amazed : Daddy in a horrified way and Sherlock in an admiring one.

“I think I’m not wrong in presuming my brother stepped in to take care of that.”

Daddy gently squeezed my leg, again. Sherlock lent back against my desk and looking around my room he noticed –of course he did- the Heather-flower. He rose an eyebrow.

But he didn’t say anything. He just smiled.

My thoughts were dazzling wild around. Or would have if I hadn’t such a headache. I needed some time and some help to sort all this. I would have to ask Yifan and Kiara for help.

My room was filled with a strange silence. Cosy somehow. But also really unusual. And suddenly, Sherlock, still gazing at my Heather-flower, broke it :

“John… you were right. It was not boredom. It was love.”

There was another short silence during which he turned his gaze to Daddy.

“John… I love you.”

Daddy’s hand squeezed my leg so hard I almost screamed out of surprise. But I didn’t. Because I have a certain experience in “playing cool”. Daddy obviously has too : army training I guess. Wouldn’t his fist have stopped my blood from circulating through my leg right then, I could not have said how shaken and struggling to keep maintenance he actually was. Okay, got it, this would be our Watson’s secret. I started thinking… Daddy often calls Sherlock “love”. I had also heard him confess last week. But I actually couldn’t recall of any… wait… was this the first time Sherlock actually said…

“God Sherlock ! During the past 13 (t-h-e-e-r-t-e-e-n) years you didn’t manage even once to tell that ONCE to Daddy ???”

He shrugged : “Considered it to be elementary, Watson.”

Daddy smiled, letting my leg go.

Damn grownups.

And suddenly I threw up.

#rosie watson #parentlock #johnlock