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geekmama · 7 years

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Plus One -or- Amanda By Moonlight

Set after Rosie's birth in 'The Six Thatchers', this is written for the First Date prompt for May 15th of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017

“Mum, this is Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said, with what could only be termed a proud smile.

Mrs. Amanda Hooper smiled slightly, too, but only to mask the disapprobation -- no, fury! - that rose in her breast at the sight of her daughter’s nemesis, a man who, for all his purported intelligence, had for years failed to see what was right in front of his nose, effectively ruining Molly’s chance to live a happy and fruitful life -- and by fruitful she did mean grandchildren, damn the man’s ice blue eyes straight to hell!

Apparently he was perceptive enough to realize there was something amiss, for there was a wariness in his expression as he said in a smooth, deep voice, “How do you do,” and shook her hand.

That voice, that unusually handsome face, the slim, yet powerful physique, now clothed in a perfectly cut bespoke suit that was probably worth more than Molly’s entire wardrobe -- well, it was obvious why her daughter found him attractive. Mrs. Hooper’s ire increased, though she allowed her smile to grow broader -- perhaps a trifle on the sharky side. She said, breezily, “You’re Molly’s plus one tonight, I take it? How kind of you to step into the breach, since she and Tom are no longer… well...”

“Not at all,” Holmes murmured, looking even more wary.

“Mum!” Molly protested. “It’s been months since… since Tom and I--”

“--agreed you should not suit after all, yes, yes, I know,” Mrs. Hooper gave a sad sigh and allowed her smile to turn wistful for a moment, but then said to Sherlock, “So, do you like weddings? This one has gone very well so far, I think -- but Molly’s cousin was always a perfectionist, and her mother is the same, and has such good taste. Every detail taken into account, just beautifully planned.”

“It certainly seems… er… an exemplary function thus far,” Holmes managed.

Mrs. Hooper gave a bark of laughter, startling Molly and alarming Holmes. She said, “Oh! Oh, forgive me, but what a wonderfully insidious swipe!”

“Ummm…” Sherlock said, apparently bereft of words.

But Molly slipped her arm in his and said pointedly, “We’re both enjoying ourselves, and Sherlock is very fond of dancing, so it should be lots of fun, later.”

“Are you, indeed?” Mrs. Hooper exclaimed. She looked up at Sherlock and said innocently, “Do you often take Molly to trip the light fantastic?”

He looked somewhat horrified, for of course he’d never in five years asked her out at all -- ‘Our relationship isn’t like that’ my eye! thought Mrs. Hooper viciously -- and Molly was little less affected.

Mrs. Hooper pursed her lips.

Holmes, however, seemed to detect her vindictiveness, and turned a trifle grim. “I haven’t had a chance to take Molly out dancing as yet, which is one reason I was happy she asked me to accompany her to your niece’s wedding.” He glanced at Molly and gave her a comforting smile.

Molly returned the smile, and actually made sheep’s eyes at the blighter. Mrs. Hooper ground her teeth. However, before she could say more, dinner was announced.

“Oh, dear!” said Molly, quickly. “Mum, you’d better go lend your support to Aunt Betty, I can see she’s flailing a bit, over there by the ice sculpture. Sherlock and I are seated at one of the lower tables, but we’ll see you again, before we leave, at least.” She tugged at the man’s arm. “Let’s go get a cup of champagne punch before we sit down.”

“Punch?” Holmes blurted, with loathing.

“Come on!” Molly said, briefly looking daggers at him.

Holmes muttered something unintelligible, nodded to Mrs. Hooper, and allowed himself to be hauled away.

Mrs. Hooper sniffed, her expression turning stony. She might have been temporarily balked of her prey, but If Sherlock Holmes thought he would escape her wrath that easily, he could think again.

It wasn’t until after the dancing had been going on for some time that Mrs. Hooper found a chance to corner the posh, overgrown schoolboy who’d cast his bizarre enchantment on her poor daughter. After Molly’s cousin Bitsy and her new spouse, Harold, had completed their first dance as husband and wife, Holmes led Molly onto the floor and Mrs. Hooper had the questionable satisfaction of watching them move gracefully about for some half an hour, looking quite as though they were meant to be together. Holmes was indeed a very good dancer -- probably had lessons as a boy. She gave a snort of laughter at one point, imagining him as a stroppy teen, all arms and legs and sulky expression as he’d led out some spotty chit with braces and baby fat. If Amanda ever chanced to meet the boy’s mother she would ask for the amusing details.

Finally, however, nature called, Molly excused herself to the ladies’, and Holmes slipped out one of the glass doors leading to the terrace.

Mrs. Hooper followed him.

It was a cold evening as spring had barely begun, and the terrace was virtually deserted but for the two of them, a circumstance that Amanda considered to be proof that Providence had blessed her mission. As she crossed the marble expanse, Sherlock was at the balustrade, lighting up a cigarette, and Molly’s mother chose to make this execrable habit the subject of her opening volley.

“Another of your addictions, Mr. Holmes? Not as reformed a character as the tabloids would have us believe, apparently.”

He had turned as the sound of her footsteps had reached his ears and now, as she approached, she heard him swear under his breath as he straightened to his full height and looked down his nose at her in a way that seemed a composite of a whole roomful of portraits in the National Gallery: rich, entitled, and a complete bastard.

Well… not complete, perhaps. Molly would hardly have given her heart to one wholly given over to selfish depravity. But still…

“Mrs. Hooper,” said Holmes, stiffly, “I am not entirely certain why you’ve taken me in such dislike--”

“Indeed, Mr. Holmes? And here my daughter has described your powers of deduction in such extravagant terms -- but of course anyone may be taken in by a handsome face.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since we are being frank, perhaps you will explain to me precisely what you were doing the morning of June 2nd last year?”

He frowned, but for a moment only. “Your... birthday?”

“Indeed. My birthday. Molly and I were to go to breakfast and do some shopping, and I arrived at her flat just a trifle earlier than originally expected.”

He scowled. “Yes. I remember. I suppose you saw me?”

“Indeed. I saw you climbing out of my daughter’s bedroom window, and in a state of undress that she might have found gratifying but that I certainly did not! And this when she was still, to my certain knowledge, engaged to Tom Blakely.”

She could not be sure in the moonlight, but she thought he might be flushing.

“Ma’am, I assure you--”

“There is nothing you can say that will assure me, Mr. Holmes. I know my daughter, and have no doubt that it was you who led her astray, you who took advantage of her kind heart, you who rose from the grave and swooped back into London, effectively destroying her relationship to one who was not only willing but eager to make her happy!”

“I did nothing of the sort -- and anyway, it was a ridiculous match! They were entirely unsuited.”

“Because he wasn’t you?”

“Because she was too good for him!” And then he added, in a much quieter tone, “Just as she’s too good for me -- which you would do well to remember.”

Amanda gaped. “You can’t possibly ask me to believe--”

“--I want you to believe I have Molly’s best interests at heart! Because that’s the truth.”

He sounded not only sincere, but regretful, and for a moment Amanda’s wrath faded. But no. Molly’s happiness was at stake. She drew herself up. “It will not do. Molly has told me little of your relationship, save that you and she are friends as well as colleagues, and are now co-Godparents to the daughter of Dr. Watson and his wife. Yet one thing is certain: Molly has determined that, in spite of your many shortcomings -- and I have no doubt that they are legion -- you have somehow cast every other man of her acquaintance into the shade! It doesn’t matter a particle whether her single state is due to her strange predilection for your uncooperative person or to your own dog-in-the-manger attitude toward any man who dares to enter her orbit -- very likely it’s a bloody perfect storm of both! But there is one fact that is undeniable: you have compromised my daughter, Mr. Holmes, and it will not do!”

“Compromised! I swear--”

“Her heart, idiot boy!”

He stared.

So she went on. “I will give you one year. You will either find a way to free her, or you will alter time and space, or do whatever else it takes to be a man worthy to join my daughter at the altar. Is that clear?”

He now looked exasperated. “Setting aside the absurdity of that entire sentence, have you ever thought that she might not wish to marry?”

Amanda snorted derisively. “Ask her Mr. Holmes. But of course, you’ve never even asked her out to dinner, have you?”

He was effectively silenced, and, she thought, at least somewhat shamed, but then he suddenly looked up and said quietly, “Here she comes,” and a smile of both relief and welcome lightened his expression -- and undeniably increased his already considerable good looks.

“One year, Mr. Holmes,” Amanda said, firmly, and wished for approximately the millionth time that her dear husband was still alive. If ever a young scoundrel needed a thrashing...

Holmes glanced at her impatiently. “Yes, all right.”

“What about one year?” asked Molly, coming up to them.

Amanda said, mildly, “We were just considering how much can happen in a year, weren’t we, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock did not reply, but took Molly’s hand and tucked it in his arm. “Come, let’s go in and dance some more. It’s bloody freezing out here.”

“I know!” Molly exclaimed. “Mum, you’re like to catch your death without your wrap!”

“Oh, no,” said Amanda. “There’s far too much to look forward to. But it is time to go in -- Bitsy will be throwing her bouquet any time now, and you won’t like to miss your chance to catch it and be the next one married.”

Molly’s laughter at this was rather subdued, and Sherlock gave Amanda a look over Molly’s shoulder.

Amanda pulled a face at him and silently mouthed, One Year!

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Amanda Hooper rose from her bed the following morning. The reception had not ended until the wee hours, though Molly and Sherlock had taken their leave well before midnight, having the long drive back to London before them.

In the clear light of a new day, Amanda did wonder if she had been entirely wise to confront Sherlock in such a manner. Molly’s happiness was all, of course, but if it was dependent upon the erratic consulting detective, a favorable outcome was far from a certainty. Still, what was done was done. Amanda thoughtfully poured herself a cup of her favorite tea, stirred in some milk and honey, and took a sip.

Heaven!

And there was the sound of her mobile phone.

With a groan of annoyance, she went into the sitting room to fetch the device, but she brightened when she discovered that it was Molly calling.

“Hello, dear!” Amanda said, cheerily. “I thought you had to work today.”

“I do!” Molly replied. “I’m at work right now, though it’s slow enough that I thought I’d give you a call. Late evening?”

“I didn’t get home until past three! But your Aunt was so pleased with the way things turned out last night. I must say, it all went splendidly. Did you and Mr. Holmes have a good time?”

“Oh, yes! We danced and danced.”

“And looked lovely doing it,” said Amanda with complete truth.

Molly said, archly, “Sherlock is very good looking.”

“Now Molly, you know what I meant.”

“Yes, all right. But… Mummy…”

“Yes?” Amanda stiffened, suddenly nervous.

“You didn’t say anything to Sherlock, did you? I mean... well…”

“What on earth am I supposed to have said?” Amanda asked, her heart beating appreciably faster.

“I don’t know but… he’s asked me out! To dinner -- and we’re going dancing after. It’s unprecedented, I assure you.”

“Then it’s about time, isn’t it? It’s probably because he’s discovered what a good dancer you are.”

Molly laughed. “But I’m not!. Not ballroom dancing, at least. It’s just so easy dancing with him. He leads so well, it feels rather like floating on a cloud.”

“That’s just how it should be. And you two do make a lovely couple.”

“Thank you, Mum. I must say, I never thought… but just lately… I mean...”

“Molly, dear, sometimes things just take a little longer than one would prefer. That doesn’t mean those things aren’t destined to be.”

“Perhaps,” Molly said, a smile in her voice. “I suppose time will tell. Thank you, Mum.”

“I’m not sure why you’re thanking me, but you’re more than welcome, my darling. But really, Molly: don’t you feel it’s about time your Prince Charming was roused from his long sleep?”

“Prince Charming! Oh, he’d hate that!” Molly exclaimed, genuinely amused.

And Amanda, calming herself and newly confident that time would tell, chuckled and took another sip of her tea.

~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly #Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017

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barelymelinda · 7 years

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What about Prom?

Anyone that knows me knows that I cannot leave well enough alone. I would beat a dead horse. I will drive a point into the ground. I can’t help it. I don’t know why I do it. But I always do. There are more examples of that than I care to relate. But, I think I just really like things to be on my terms. So when someone ignores me or doesn’t respond the way I want them to, it infuriates me.

Also, if you badger someone enough, they will usually tell the truth. Even if it is just to shut you up. And that was the ONLY way I could get the truth from Brat.

Like Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink. “What about prom? I want to hear you say it.” And then Andrew McCarthy says “I forgot I asked someone else.” And Molly says my all-time favorite line “You’re a filthy, fucking, no good liar!” And that’s what Brat was. A filthy fucking no good liar. A lousy, rotten, pissy no good for nothing…

“What are the hash marks for?”

Sideshow Bob snapped me out of my reverie with his nosy ass question.

“My kills.”

“Deer?”

“People. Especially nosy ones.” That shut him up.

Actually, they were for heartbreaks. Every time someone breaks my heart, I get a new hash mark tattooed on my left wrist. Currently, I’m up to 8. A few of them could be removed because I don’t give 2 shits about those people anymore. But most of them still ring true in the deepest recesses of my cold, black heart.

I guess I should say that’s one hash mark per person, not per heartbreak. Brat, alone, would have at least 3. Maybe 3.5.

You know about the first time. The second time was a mini break. He never even saw me. But I saw him. And the new girl. After he told me he just needed to be alone and spend time with his friends. I see.

I was at the mall and there they were, all cute and giggly at the Proactive kiosk. Two-fold painful for me. The obvious reason being he lied to me. He didn’t want to be alone, he just wanted to be rid of me.

But also because the little Proactive chippy had flawless skin. And not even Proactive could help my hot mess of a crater face. Pocked like the surface of the moon, it was, to my great horror and shame. And there was his upgrade, looking like peaches and cream. But, I digress.

The next real heartbreak came years later when I let him back into my life. Foolishly, I had blamed myself all that time for running him off. I thought I had somehow soured his sweetness with my venom. So, I walked right into his arms. Well, I let him pull me right back into his arms.

And I stayed there for a couple of months. Deep down I knew I was being used, but I was just so stupidly in love with him. I lied to myself as much as he lied to me. And I knew he was a dick because he would say bullshit like Pretty girls like you always pick fat friends after looking at a collage on my wall.

WTF? I pick fat friends? Because I’m so insecure? Or because I’m shallow? Is that supposed to be a compliment because you called me pretty?! Fuck you, dude. I pick my friends because they have value as human beings. And every fucking one of them is beautiful.

Anyway, after a few months, he called me up and said he didn’t think we should see each other anymore. He said it wasn’t going anywhere and he was feeling guilty for using me.

Shameless me says: ”I don’t mind. I’m using you, too.”

Of course we both knew that wasn’t true.

“I don’t want to hurt,” says he. “This isn’t fair to you.”

“I can be the judge of what’s fair to me and what I am willing to put up with.”

And then he sighed.

“I’ve met someone.”

Oh. I didn’t realize you were looking. Well, how nice for you. I pictured myself shivving him in the ribcage. Or shoving his nose back into his brain with the palm of my hand like Viggo Mortenson did in History of Violence.

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so?” that’s right, girl. Play it cool.

He was so relieved. He just started babbling about this wonderful new girl. And I just sucked it up so he wouldn’t know how utterly devastated I was.

Of course in grand Melinda tradition, I flew into him fast and furious the next day.

“How dare you treat me like I’m disposable! I’ve loved you for years!! And I just wanted to be friends, you are the one that pushed the sex thing on me!”

“Whoa! I did not rape you!”

“I didn’t say you did, dumbass! But you basically attacked me when I walked in the front door! I had no defense!”

“You could have stopped me anytime you wanted to!”

“I know, but you knew I wouldn’t because I’m still in love with you!”

“Wait, what?! That’s ridiculous! It’s been 15 fucking years!”

“I know! But I can’t help how I feel! Jesus, I never got over you!”

“Ok, this is too much. I wish you all the best, but I’ve got to go.”

And I didn’t hear from him again until New Years, at which point I had moved in with a different ex. (Yes, I believe in Reduce, Reuse, Recycle)

He sent me a Happy New Year’s text, which could only mean he was single again. I told him I had gotten back together with my current ex.

He said ”I’m glad you are getting everything you want in life. You deserve it. I love you.”

I said “Happy New Year.” And deleted his number.

32��

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magdalena-of-the-tower · 4 years

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I have always been confounded by the art and the artist dialectic for I have always refused to separate the art from the artist. But over the years, I realised how you cannot look into Van Gogh's Sunflowers without learning about his debilitating mental state and internal turmoil. The brightness of the painting's landscape contrasts sharply with Van Gogh's dark decrepit state of mind. Or, how you reading up on Michelangelo's relationship with Tommaso de Cavaleiri explains how Michelangelo crafted a male nude as unearthly, sensuous and divine as the David. Through David, we find the gaze with which Michelangelo might have looked at Cavaleiri.

But again, I was distressed when I learnt about Enid Blyton's white spremacist tendencies and how she incorporated them in her books, quite like Rowling. That hurt me. I have grown up with the famous five series, with Harry Potter before moving onto the classics. I feel I am in a toxic relationship with these books and though I hate the authors, I simply cannot wire myself away from their art.

The glaring discrepancies in the HP series have always disturbed me. For instance take

1. The fat shaming of Dudley

2. Rowling's condescending tone towards Petunia's androgynous appearances (repeatedly referred to as horselike in the novels)

3. Glorification of Snape and Dumbledor. No Dumbledor wasn't a holier than thou character at all.

4. The treatment of the watchman's character for lacking magical abilities.

5. Lack of LGBTQIA+ characters in the novels. They are all cis het white characters, we cannot disagree on this.

6. Glorification of Lily Potter for pleading for her child's life and dying. Remember how Rowling glorifies, sanitises and rambles on about motherhood through characters like Lily Potter, Molly Weasely and Narcissa Malfoy without taking into account how the narrative and cases of children who suffered abuse at the hands of their mothers. Rowling completely whitewashes the narrative here.

These were some of the worse and problematic parts of HP, I guess. But it cannot de denied that HP has some great lessons and narratives to draw from, which the author completely blasphemies and rejects, acting as the upholder of the very system Harry and his friends tried to overthrow.

Yet, Harry Potter was written and published around a time when there was no social media platform to voice opinions and the above values now condemned were the same that were extolled in the 90s. There was no trans visibility, ethnicity was still a major concern and now that we see the exact rebellion of HP enacted out in America, the dissent of Harry Potter would have been construed as daring, monstrous, dreamlike and bizarre then.

Rowling wrote a book quite adept for her time, and I agree that yes it is timeless. The silence of black, asian and LGBTQIA+ characters is a reminder to the grim times we have endured and survived. It is a reminder of how an author who can write about rebellion and overthrow of a regime can years later come to embody the same resistant, unyeilding and conservative regime.

Rowling is a white supremacist, transphobic shit quite like Umbridge and her comments come as shocking as Lana Del Rey's (another favourite teenage days artist) did. They teach time and again that they don't stand for or manifest their art. They can very well be pretenders, hoping to sell by clicking all the right notes but the mask wears off over time.

PS. Neither Rowling nor has Lana Del Rey uttered a word on the BLM movement and their silence is sickening.

#jk rowling #harry potter #black lives matter

#lgbt #pridemonth

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