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the-girl-who-flies · 2 years

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It Was a Bad Idea, pt. 4

Pt I /Pt II /Pt III

***

The forceful knock on Jason's door startles him, yanks him out of the soft haze of a sedative-induced nap. He unglues himself from the couch with a groan, fully expecting to find his landlady holding another piece of unwanted mail he’d purposefully neglected to pick up. What he does not expect to see when he opens the door is Rachel wearing a fluffy pink sweater and looking deeply unimpressed. She doesn’t have her hair up in her signature bun - instead, it falls down her shoulders in what looks like beach waves. It’s unnervingly feminine.

“So you’re not dead.” She greets him, shattering the illusion that maybe he’s just met the Queen Bitch’s softer twin.

Jason steps aside with a sigh, because he knows it’s pointless to resist. He watches detachedly as she struts into his apartment with purpose and pauses to take it all in: the blackout curtains drawn over the windows, the pile of takeout boxes on the floor, his clothes strewn about the secondhand furniture, the empty pill bottles. Jason can read the disapproval off the back of her head, he just doesn’t care enough to feel any particular way about it.

“Not yet,” he answers. “Nice to see you too, Rach.”

She turns to look at him. “I wish I could say the same, but you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not something to be proud of. Nick is really worried about you.” She says in her characteristically demanding tone, and then adds, almost as if despite herself: “And so am I.”

“Is this ‘cause I turned down his brunch invitation? Tell him not to take it personally, I was avoiding everyone that day.”

“Jason…” Rachel’s thin brows knit in concern. “Nick called you about that in August. We’re in February.”

Jason finds he’s awake enough to be mildly shocked by this. Has it really been that long? Hard to tell, when all your days are essentially the same.

“Regardless, that's not why I'm here.” Rachel carries on. “The reason Nick called you that time was because he wanted to tell you in person. But since you blew him off, and you’re clearly not opening your mail,” -She eyes the trash can overflowing with papers- “I’m here to deliver this straight into your hands.”

And with that, she shoves a cream envelope at his chest. It smells faintly of perfume and appears to be sealed with actual wax.

Jason stares at it uncomprehendingly, simply because he’s lacking the will to comprehend.

“It’s a wedding invitation, Kolchek.” Rachel helpfully clarifies. “As in, you’re being invited to our wedding.”

Jason looks up at her. Something stirs in his sedated brain, and for a second, he remembers that he’s a person who also gives a shit about some people.

“Congratulations.” he says, meaning it.

“Thank you.” The corners of Rachel’s mouth turn up a fraction.

“When is it?”

“In April.”

“You two in a rush, huh?”

His question is met with a familiar deathly stare.

“Maybe,” She admits, nevertheless. “Or maybe you’ve missed a lot and have no right to judge mine or Nick’s decisions.”

“Sorry.” He ducks his head, rubbing the back of it.

“So, will you be there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you better figure it out quickly. Or you’ll end up sitting next to my conspiracy theorist cousin.” she warns, probably not joking, then adds in a softer voice: “Nick really wants you there. I… I hope you can make it, too”.

That's about the warmest confession he's heard from her.

“Thanks.” Jason says, forgetting for a second about the empty pit of hopelessness that his life is supposed to be.

Rachel returns his faint smile; her expression then turns oddly hesitant.

"Listen. Maybe this is none of my business, but… I think there's someone you should talk to."

"I already have a shrink, Rach."

"That's not what I meant."

She takes another piece of paper out of her pocket. This time, she places it gently into his hand. Jason frowns at her in suspicion, then unfolds it. There's a phone number and a UK address written on it in Rachel's sharp handwriting, but it's the name above them that makes Jason's heart do a backflip and get stuck somewhere in his throat.

Salim Othman.

"I've checked. It's him." He hears her say, but he's got tunnel vision right now and it all sounds kind of distant. He must've spent a while stuck like this, because eventually Rachel calls his name again and pokes his arm in what, for her, must count as affectionate concern.

Jason looks up. He's feeling some kind of emotion right now, but it's been so long since he's felt any that he's not sure which.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" He asks.

"Call him."

"Why?"

Rachel gives him a loaded look, as if whatever he might be trying to hide from himself is plainly visible to her. But Jason's not ready for any meaningful realizations this early in the late afternoon, and so he just stares back stubbornly.

The former Mrs. King gives up first, probably realizing how childish all of this is getting.

"Fine. Do whatever you want. I'm not your mom." She says, rolling her eyes, and turns on her fancy winter heels, seeming to decide that this little reunion has reached its conclusion. "But you better answer that RSVP. And call Nick!"

Jason gazes at the door for a long time after she leaves. He doesn't look at the paper in his hand – doesn't really need to, because it feels like the letters are cutting themselves into his skin. Finally, he moves.

He sets both the invitation and Salim's contact info next to his phone. Then, for the first time in months, he goes out for a walk.

#harpyfic #hoa #house of ashes #the dark pictures house of ashes #the dark pictures anthology #jason kolchek #salim othman #rachel king #nick kay #eric king #house of ashes fic #yep i'm still writing this #slow and steady wins the race #well not really but have it anyway

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

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Day 9: 👑 Final Curtain Call 👑

A letter arrives in the mail. It is, in one word, beautiful—the header and footer are adorned in a blue-violet banner, edged with a deep red. Gold foliage decorates the corners of the page, granting the letter a sense of style. The handwriting, too, is flowing and graceful.

A large toiletry bag also appears in your mailbox. When you unzip it, you find a wide assorment of jars, tubes, and bottles inside—Each frosted container fades from lavender to clear glass, and rach is packed to the brim with cosmetically elegant fluids or creams. Schoenheit Skincare, the labels proclaim in gold, accompanied by a crown-shaped logo. A large pump of moisturizer has a booklet of instructions and skincare tips secured to it.

***Chapter 5 spoilers!***

To the Ramshackle Resident,

I must extend my gratitude to you for hosting me at your dorm. It was certainly not to the same standards as my usual accomodations, but it served its purpose as our training grounds for VDC.

There is still much to be desired in regards to your managerial abilities. Furthermore, the other potatoes’ vocal and dance skills are still not quite up to par. And their charisma and stage presence? Don’t make me laugh. Of course, none can compare to I, but... You potatoes worked with what you had, and you did well for first-timers. Give yourselves a pat on the back.

... Regarding the Overblot incident, that, too, is something I am thankful you were there for. I never expected for unpolished gems like yourselves to have that amount of fight in you. Then again, I never expected that that ugly aspect of me to be put so blatantly on display. The jeaousy, the rage... I thought I had learned to hide them so well—but it was in stowing those feelings away that they festered into something far more unsightly than what they originlly were. No amount of makeup or acting can cover that up.

Instead of me knocking some sense into you, you potatoes knocked some sense into me. The roles of teacher and student were reversed. Even Epel pitched in to that battle. I suppose he has finally managed to defeat me, just has he has desired since his first day. In that sense, perhaps you all have grown much more than I had initially anticipated you would. For that alone, you deserve a standing ovation—you are the heroes of this story.

I have already informed the headmaster of my Overblot, just as I have said I would. I intend to take full responsibility for my actions. I currently await his judgement. Whatever punitive measures he deems necessary, I shall accept with my head held high. That is the pride of a professional such as myself. Until the final curtain call, I shall stand proudly upon this stage. Ironically, that has ultimately been my wish. It may not have come true as I had envisioned that it would, but... no fairy tale becomes reality without a price.

Know this: nothing in the world is simply handed to you. All my life, I’ve had to work hard to claw my way to the top. I didn’t want to rely on my father’s repuation to make a name for myself in the industry. I simply wanted to be seen as “Vil”. Not “Vil, Son of Schoenheit”. To that end, I have never stopped pushing myself to even greater heights. After all, magic that lasts only until midnight is useless.

In the real world, things are not so clear as black and white. There are no true “heroes”, nor “villains”. People are people, their moralities and views colored grey. I see that now—through all the distorted images in the mirror, through all the noise of the cheering crowd of onlookers.

I am beautiful, and I am ugly. Both good and bad. The hero and the villain of my own story. I don’t need anyone else imposing their will upon that.

I won’t lie. With all my heart, I still desire Neige’s defeat at my hands. I want to beat his simpering smile to the curb. It makes my blood boil knowing that our efforts were in vain, that we lost to a nursery rhyme, of all things! ... And that Rook!! I cannot believe he would betray me like that...! I should tear his heart out for that transgression.

... But in the end, I am grateful for those shocks. I think I needed them more than anything. That brutal honesty, a slap in the face to wake me up from my own clouded viewpoint. Perhaps I was the one believing in a fantasy all along, despite thinking otherwise. I was so concerned about how others envisioned me that I eventually lost sight of myself. The “me” in the mirror, in the reflection of my phone... Was that really “me”?

I am no longer that “me”. I’ve emerged from the ashes of the fire, stronger and burning more beautifully than ever.

Do not be mistaken. This is not my defeat. This is only the beginning.

I still want a “happy ending”. To be on that coveted stage until the final act. When the curtain calls, I want that spotlight to shine the brightest upon me, for the audience to cheer the loudest for me. For now, I want to work on myself—for I am still imperfect. A gem with many flaws.

l’ll settle the score, and this story of mine, on my own terms. Watch me from the wings, potato—and prepare to be utterly starstruck.

Do not think that just because VDC is over that you can go back to slacking around the clock. I want you to work hard toward your goals as well. I’m expecting great things of you. Who knows? Perhaps when next we meet, you will speak of journeying to the Underworld and back. Now that would be a story for the ages.

All the best,

👑 Vil Schoenheit 👑

Pomefiore Dorm Leader

Magicam Influencer, Actor, Model

Movie Appreciation Club Member

Third Year NRC Student

#Vil Schoenhet #twst anni #twisted wondrland #twst #twisted wonderland anni #disney twisted wonderland #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #spoilers #magic mystery letters

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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hey rach! sooo about max birthday requests could you make a love letter from max?👀 lol i know u usually don't write characters' letters but i would combust if u write a max's one🥺 lmao, anyway thank uuu, ily💓

Love letter from Max Lord

Gender neutral reader x Maxwell Lord

Not showing up in the tags so reblogs would be so appreciated<3

The envelope was the only thing in your mailbox that morning. You didn’t pay much attention to mail, it was a bad habit of yours. You took the letter and threw it haphazardly on your coffee table, freezing up when you noticed the handwriting, doted neatly on the front. It was perfect, inked black calligraphy. And you recognised it all too well.

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen to the ground. Maybe three, four, five, ten minutes? It felt like a lifetime as a thousand thoughts raced through your head at one hundred miles per hour. You were overthinking. You were definitely overthinking.

You hadn’t seen him in twenty years. Twenty whole years and not a single utterance was spoken between either of you. You were in your right mind to just shred the letter and throw it in the trash— because what could he possibly want from you?

Maxwell Lorenzano; your childhood best friend. He’d promised you, when he left to embark on his new life, he promised you he’d write, or at least call. And like the lovestruck dumb fool you were, you waited for him. You waited for him your whole life and he never came back to you. So many empty promises, but your heart felt like it might never heal.

After hours of doting, and pacing backwards and forwards, you decided to open the letter. You’d waited this long for him to reach out — and now he finally had.

——————————————————

Dated: July 7th 1984.

My love,

I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you, but I’m writing it anyway. I can only hope you live at the same address. Although I suppose that would also be a real shame, wouldn’t it? I know how much you wanted to leave that hell-hole of a town. It’s a cloudy day in D.C., especially for Summer. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Okay well, I think about you a lot all the time... Do you ever think about me? A lot has happened recently, I’m not sure if you’ve heard...

But I’ve been spending some time reflecting on my mistakes and regrets. I know you always said I should have no regrets but... it’s difficult, you know? Something I need to work on. Maybe you can help me? I never called or wrote to you like I promised I would, all those years ago. And I’m sorry, I really am. The truth is, I spent so much of my time trying to repress my childhood and all the trauma. Tried to focus on other things, bigger things, better things. Wanted to do better. Be better. Be the best. I guess I kind of got lost along the way.

Something happened. Maybe one day I can explain it to you, but there just isn’t enough paper in the world for me to explain it through this letter. It was... unbelievable. A phenomena. And it got me thinking about you.

I miss you. From the moment I left town, I’ve missed you. And it caused me so much pain that I just repressed my feelings. That’s why I didn’t call. I know, I can’t excuse it, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but it’s the truth.

I’d have these dreams about you... and us... and what we could’ve been if I had never left. Because yes, amidst all my wealth and fortune and success, I still thought about what things would be like if we still lived in the same neighbourhood. Still hung out every night, walking along the river hand in hand and counting the stars above us. It’s funny, there may be distance between us, but every time I look up at the moon, I’m reminded of you and how much you loved it. And I’m comforted in knowing that although we live very different lives, we’re both living underneath the same sky. We both look up and see the same moon.

I wish you could see D.C., it’s wonderful. I think you’d really like it. All the skyscrapers and parks and places to go shopping. It’s nothing like back home.

Shit, I really do miss you. It’s been too long. I think about our final days together. When I kissed you under the big willow tree in your grandmother’s garden. Do you remember? It still haunts me. The perfect taste of your cherry lips and

Did you ever marry? Or settle down? Are you... dating right now? I married, I’m not sure if you heard. We didn’t last long, but I got a son out of it. His name is Alistair and he’s six years old. I’d love for you to meet him, I think you’d both get along really well.

Is my dad

Is my father

Is my father still alive?

I miss you. I want to see you. I need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you again. Please write back and tell me you want to see me too. Please.

I’ve made mistakes, terrible mistakes. But I know never to make the same mistake twice. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me...

Because I still love you. I never stopped, really.

I’m so sorry.

Yours forever, Max.

———————————————

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics

#maxwell lord #wonder woman 1984 #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord x reader #maxwell lorenzano

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ebaeschnbliah · 3 years

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Still at the centre of the web ….

For the 10th Anniversary of Sherlock BBC (July 2010) the Royal Mail released a lovely collection of six stamps, that display key characters from several episodes of the TV show, as well as hidden messages only revealed under UV light. (X)

I took a closer look at those stamps in the Anatomy of a Stamp Series: A Study in Pink The Great Game A Scandal in Belgravia The Reichenbach Fall The Empty Hearse The Final Problem

Alongside those stamps and in partnership with The Royal Mint (X), a special medal has been crafted as well to ‘celebrate Sherlock’s genius – and his nemesis’ ... to explore Sherlock’s ‘turbulent relationship with arch-rival Moriarty’ as the description says.

A little sideways glance at that medal and the collage of images with which it is surrounded couldn’t be wrong, I thought. :)

TBC below the cut .....

That anniversary medal is available in two versios (cupro-nickel&sterling-silver) and it displays:

on one side - Moriarty’s message ‘Get Sherlock’, the note he carved on the Crown Jewel glass case in TRF, to invite Sherlock to play his game

on the obverse side - ‘The Game is on’, which is meant to be Sherlock’s modern take on the literary version ‘The Game is afoot’

James Moriarty is known to be the famous archenemy of Sherlock Holmes. Contrary to canon, Sherlock BBC introduced that character already in the first episode A Study in Pink and Jim commits suicide (alongside Sherlock) in the sixth episode of the story, which consists of 13 so far. According to canon, Sherlock fakes his suicide and comes back after his hiatus. Although Jim is considered to be really dead for years by now, notes and messages of the character turn up repeatedly on various data carriers ... electronic as well as paper.

Interestingly, it has been chosen for the 10th anniversary of Sherlock BBC to create fan memorabilia which focuses mainly on the confontration between Sherlock and Jim, whose life ended rather quickly at Bart’s roof in The Reichenbach Fall. A great honour for a character who is long dead and seems to be irrelevant for the ongoing story of this adaptation, in which another character - Mary - married John and shot Sherlock and therefore became a sort of new archenemy. Nonetheless, not only every stamp is - in one way or another - linked to Jim Moriarty, the medal and the collage of images with which it is surrounded, displays also mainly text messages connected to Sherlock’s (in)famous nemesis Jim Moriarty.

Here’s a summery of those texts + the corresponding screenshots in the episodes. It surprised me though, that I couldn’t match all of them. There are some interesting exceptions. First the obvious ones:

A Study in Pink

Two images have been used to create this manip for the medal collage. Both are visible thoughts out of Sherlock’s mind palace. And both screenshots don’t turn up side by side. Sherlock’s entire thinking process lies between them. Jeff Hope, the man who killed the lady in pink had been sponsored by Jim Moriarty.

RACHE German (n.) revenge

The correct letter settles into place ... Rachel

He squats down beside the body .... wet

He reaches into her coat pockets and finds the umbrella ... dry

He moves up to the collar of her coat ... wet

He inspects the delicate gold bracelet on her left wrist ... clean

... then the gold earring attached to her left ear ... clean

... and then the gold chain around her neck ... clean

The wedding ring ... dirty

Conclusions appear in front of Sherlock’s eyes ... married ... unhappily married ... unhappily married 10+ years

While the outside of the wedding ring is still showing ... dirty

the inside registers as ... clean

Sherlock has reached a conclusion ... regularly removed

The final deduction about her ... serial adulterer

The Great Game

Three different scenes from this episode have been used for the collage. Two are connected to a serial killer called The Golem, who asphyxiates his victims. One is directly connected to Jim Moriarty, who has planned all the cases in TGG.

1- The Golem killed Alex Woodbridge, security guard and hobby stargazer. That killer appears for the first time on Sherlock’s radar when he searches on his phone for ‘most wanted’ criminals:

JOHN: He’s dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?

Sherlock has called up on his phone: Interpol Most Wanted Criminal Organisations Regional Activities LESTRADE: Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.

2- The Vauxhall Arches turn out to be the hiding place of the Golem and Sherlock gets the address from an informant of his homeless network. It’s a note written on a piece of paper:

SHERLOCK: Hold that cab. (John trots back to the taxi while Sherlock goes over to the girl.) HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change, sir? SHERLOCK: Don’t mind if I do. JOHN (to the cab driver): Can you wait here? (The girl hands Sherlock a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he sees that she has written “VAUXHALL ARCHES” on it. Smiling briefly, he turns and walks back to John.)

3- The third image out of this episode is one of the exceptions, because they’re not imagined or written words but an actual text line spoken by Jim Moriarty during his showdown with Sherlock at the pool.

JIM: I’ve given you a glimpse, Sherlock, just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big bad world. I’m a specialist, you see ... like you!

A Scandal in Belgravia

It is Jim Moriarty who adviced Irene Adler how ‘to play the Holmes boys’. It is Sherlock though, who wins that game and is able to get access to Irene’s camera phone. The confirmation of his success appears on her mobil phone screen:

IRENE: Everything I said: it’s not real. I was just playing the game. SHERLOCK: I know. And this is just losing. (Slowly he turns the phone towards her and shows her the screen. She looks down at it, tears spilling from her eyes as she reads the sequence which says: I AM SHER LOCKED

The Reichenbach Fall

Three different scenes from this episode have been used for the collage.

1- Jim Moriarty sends Sherlock his invitation to play the game, while sitting inside the smashed glass cage of the crown jewels, dressed as and equipped with the insignias of a king. The message appears on Sherlock’s phone. This starts the game.

JOHN: Sherlock ... SHERLOCK: Not now. JOHN: He’s back. (Sherlock lifts his head and takes the phone. The message reads: Come and play. Tower Hill. Jim Moriarty x.

2- Sherlock searches for the traces hidden inside the residues of the kidnapper’s footprints. What might be the fifth element? Those five big questionmarks+the number 5 appear as visible thoughts out of Sherlock’s mind palace and are embedded between Sherlock’s rememberence of Jim’s threat ‘I owe you’ and Molly asking about this afterwards. It turns out to be the clue to find the kidnapped children and it marks the beginning of Sherlock’s downfall.

SHERLOCK: I ... owe ... you. SHERLOCK: Glycerol molecule. He sighs heavily as he struggles to identify the item, seeing it in his head as: 5. ????? SHERLOCK: What are you? MOLLY: What did you mean, “I owe you”?

3- Claudette Bruhl, one of the kidnapped children, seems to recognize Sherlock as her kidnapper. The seed of doubt is sawn at Scotland Yard. Then the letters IOU appear on the windows of a building opposite. This message proves to Sherlock that it is indeed Jim Moriarty who is behind that kidnapping case.

LESTRADE: The kid’s traumatised. Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper. JOHN: So what’s she said? DONOVAN: Hasn’t uttered another syllable. JOHN: And the boy? LESTRADE: No, he’s unconscious; still in intensive care. (In the building opposite Scotland Yard, all the lights in the offices come on. On the second floor, spray paint has been applied to three of the office windows. Sherlock stares at the enormous letters that have been painted: I O U

The Empty Hearse

From this episode two different words out of one of Sherlock’s mind palace deductions have been used for the collage. Sherlock is working on the fake Jack the Ripper case (How I did it), which had been planned by Anderson to lure Sherlock back to London because he firmly believed the detective not to be dead. Sherlock notices the trick though. He comes to the conclusion that the fake corpse is only six moths old and its Victorian outfit had been exposed to first: sun and then: fire damage. (Sun exposure, fire damage, undead .... it’s a bit hard to not get ideas about Dracula here ... X X X :)

The words ‘pine & cedar’ are displayed again as visible thoughts out of Sherlock’s mind palace. And just like in ASIP those words lie several screenshots appart. For some reasons ‘spruce’ has been ignored:

LESTRADE: This one’s got us all baffled. SHERLOCK: Mmm. I don’t doubt it. (..... Sherlock sniffs at the body and tries to decide what he is picking up: PINE? SPRUCE? CEDAR NEW MOTHBALLS Moving on, he sniffs again: Carbon particulate ... He sniffs more deeply: Fire Damage

The Final Problem

Images of three different scenes out of this episode have been used for the collage.

1- The movie Mycroft is watching in his private cinema at his place is interrupted first by images of an old family video, then by Eurus’ message on screen ... “I’m back”. It announces the return of Eurus, the secret sister.

I’M BACK VOICE: Mycroft ... Mycroft ... MYCROFT: Why don’t you come out and show yourself? I don’t have time for this. CHILD’s VOICE: We have time, brother dear. All the time in the world.

2- Sherlock stands in front of the ‘funny gravestones’ at Musgrave Hall and puts together the dates on the stones until he has a long string of numbers in front of him ... visible thoughts out of Sherlock’s mind palace. This brings Sherlock finally the solution to Eurus’ riddle.

.... 1520 1818 2426 1617 1822 32

3- Just like the numbers, the four verses of Eurus’ riddle appear as visible thoughts out of Sherlock’s mind palace. He connects the string of dates from the gravestones to the verses. It is the second verse that has been used for the collage.

I that am lost, oh who will find me? Deep down below the old beech tree Help succour me now the east winds blow Sixteen by six, brother, and under we go! Without your love, he’ll be gone before Save pity for strangers, show love the door. My soul seek the shade of my willow’s bloom Inside, brother mine - Let Death make a room. Be not afraid to walk in the shade Save one, save all, come try! My steps - five by seven Life is closer to Heaven Look down, with dark gaze, from on high. Before he was gone - right back over my (h)ill Who now will find him? Why, nobody will Doom shall I bring to him, I that am queen Lost forever, nine by nineteen.

The exceptions ...

So far, these have been the obvious links between the images used for the collage and the corresponding episodes of Sherlock BBC. Beneath follow the less obvious and the ones I failed to find a match for.

Blue chemistry ...

There are two episodes in which chemical formulas are displayed in the form of drawings.

1- In The Hounds of Baskerville (S2/2) Sherlock is looking for a monstrous hound from hell. Instead he finds the H.O.U.N.D. project in which experiments had been conducted with a deleriant drug, based on fear and stimulus. The informations on this project are key-coded by the name MAGGIE (short for Margaret Thatcher)

2- In The Six Thatchers (S4/1) Sherlock tries - with the help of Toby the bloodhound - to track down the person who smashes plaster busts of Margaret Thatcher in order to find a hidden flash drive with secret informations about A.G.R.A. a group of terrorists. One of the four members had been Mary Watson.

Although there exist several drawn chemical formulas in both episodes, very similar to the one used for the collage, and despite I scanned those scenes screenshot by screenshot, I wasn’t able to find a perfect match. Maybe I still missed something. Maybe that formula on the collage is indeed just an unrelated decoraton .... But it’s interesting to note that the story connects this kind of ‘chemistry’ always to Hounds and Thatcher. (more about chemistry)

Red drop of blood ...

That blood drop used for the collage appears actually in each official episode (TAB as well) because it’s part of the intro. And for the creation of the medal collage, that image has been used two times. In the background there is a smaller and paler version, which is overlapped by a bigger and darker version in the foreground. Of that one, only the lower half is visible. Using two times the same image in one picture, always reminds me strongly of the many Pairs, Twins and Double oh’s mentioned in Sherlock BBC.

Mostly I connect that ‘sign of two’ with John Watson. In my theory he represents the ‘fixed point in a changing age’, the ‘eternal just-friend and still stubbornly ‘not gay’ Watson, the very aspect in Sherlock’s experiment, that needs to be transformed into a modern version of the same character. In other words: the old king has to make way for the new king. According to the original meaning of the Musgrave Ritual that says about the crown of a king: “'Whose was it? His who is gone. Who shall have it? He who will come.”

With this in mind it was easy to compare the drop of watery liquid that falls onto a drop of blood in Sherlock’s experiment, to John in the well, drenched by the water Eurus exposes him to. Emotional context indeed. :))))

When a drop of emotions/chemistry brings the blood to a boil ... (1 2) Drop of blood

Search: London Bridge ...

That’s the most mysterious addition to the collage. While all the other words and images can be linked to the show .... this one is the absolute exception. A ‘search for London Bridge’ doesn’t happen throughout the whole story. Not once. London Bridge doesn’t even play a role in Sherlock BBC. At least not yet ...

Bridges of Sherlock BBC:

In ASIB Irene Adler texts Sherlock that she can see Tower Bridge from her room. In TST Sherlock stands on Vauxhall Bridge while he realizes the involvement of fake AMO, Vivian Norbury.

In TLD Culverton Smith gives the cryptic advice ‘We must be careful not to burn our BRIDGES.’ ... at the same time Sherlock walks with Faith through London and crosses Millennium Bridge and Golden Jubilee Bridge beside Hungerford Bridge.

In TFP little Sherlock stands on a small wood-bridge while he is searching for his lost dog Redbeard.

‘Bridge’ as extension of names:

In TGG security guard Alex WoodBRIDGE is found dead at the bank of the Thames, between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge.

In TSOT guardsman Stephen BainBRIDGE consults Sherlock and starts the case of the Mayfly Man. He is the first of the three guards (Bainbridge, Sholto, Mary) in this episode. (Changing of the Guard)

London Bridge though does not appear in Sherlock BBC so far. This leaves the question ... why is the note to search for that bridge even on the collage? Where does it come from? And why is it so closely connected to the episode spanning double image of the blood drop from Sherlock’s experiment? The words are displayed inside the smaller, paler blood drop. One wonders .....

(Thanks @gosherlocked for deciphering ‘London’ in that bridge’s name. :)))

The blue ribbon ...

Something that looks like a ‘blue ribbon’ runs through the lower part of the collage. The very distinctive loop, right under the name Moriarty, gave me the idea that this ‘ribbon’ could be the river Thames. And really, my assuption turned out to be correct, it is the Thames. What’s even better, at this distinctive loop the river coils around the peninsula named ... Isle of Dogs.

It surely isn’t an unusual thing to add a part from the map of London, including the Thames, to a collage of images related to Sherlock Holmes. After all, Sherlock is a most famous residient of London. It it is also quite fitting, especially for this adaptation, to display Jim’s name side by side with ‘dogs’. Dogs and hounds do play a major role since the beginning and are closely linked to Jim, John and Sherlock. The barking of a dog in the night can be heard right after John wakes from his nightmare in ASIP, missing shoes lead right away to the villain (very similar to the original Baskerville case) and TFP is all about a lost dog/boy. But there is a little bit more that came to mind, when I recognized the Isle of Dogs.

TheGameIsNow ...

During the run-up to TheGameIsNow-Escape Room Event, (summer 2018) a video was released .... a call-out from Mycroft Holmes to recruit volunteers for The Network. As a part of that call-out, Mycroft mentions a ‘rush of incidents across the capital’ and while he speaks, a map of London is displayed on screen on which a red line runs along and strings together the involved locations, which are marked with the ‘eye-sign’ of The Network. And that red line stops exactly at the Isle of Dogs. That’s why I recognized that peninsula immediately.

Again ... one wonders ...

All in all, one can not deny that a lot of considerations, of work and also of knowledge regarding the show, have been put into the creation of those stamps, the medal and the images used for their presentation. And as usual with Sherlock BBC, some little intriguing mysteries have also been woven into it. :)))

I leave you to your own deductions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

January, 2021

#sherlock bbc #still at the centre of the web #10th anniversary #royal mint #medal #get sherlock #the game is on #collage of images #jim moriarty #isle of dogs #the game is now #drop of blood

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lesbian-fabray · 3 years

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Quinn Fabray Sits In Her Parked Car

This is the first fanfiction I’ve written in years. It’s essentially my take on what would have happened if Quinn had never got in her accident and Finn and Rachel went through with the wedding. It’s a little long, I think. I hope it’s not awful.

Also, I’m surprisingly kind to Finn in this.

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Quinn Fabray sat in her parked car, trying to discreetly change into that god-awful pink dress. She had no idea why she was about to subject herself to this.

Because Rachel’s happiness is more important that how you feel, Quinn.

She sighed and reached for her phone to text Rachel.

“Here. Am I too late?”

*Buzz*

“No. Hurry”

Quinn swallowed down the hopes that that two word answer provided, and exited her car, entering the Lima Justice of the Peace. as fast as she could without outright sprinting. She navigated the winding hallways, finding the room where Rachel stood with all their friends. It took Quinn a second to realize Finn was there.

She stood there, just watching the exchange. The couple seemed to be pleading with each other, both of them tugging on opposite ends of the metaphorical rope of whatever this was.

Quinn made eye contact with Santana, whose face was contorted into some sad, knowing look that Quinn couldn’t read. After glancing between Quinn and Rachel a couple times, Santana looked up at Finn.

She has a feeling that somehow, whether it be today or twenty years from now, the boy would get hurt because of that tragic unspoken thing between the two girls she was looking at. She briefly wondered who would be there for him when shit hit the fan. It was with a deep sadness that she realized that she realized she wouldn’t be able to be there for him, because she understood what existed between Quinn and Rachel and could never fault them for that.

Unable to handle the wave of empathy washing over, Santana cleared her throat.

It was that sound that broke Rachel out of her unspoken battle with Finn. She blinked and her eyes drifted over to Quinn.

The girl Rachel saw in front of her was not the Quinn she was familiar with. This was a Quinn she had only seem once before, when the two of them stood, dressed in bejeweled gowns and sporting intricate up-dos, in the bathroom on the night of their junior prom. This Quinn was small and pale. Her eyes, that often gave away exactly how she felt around Rachel, were now glassy and had quite obvious walls up behind them. Her shoulders were no longer pushed back to create that handcrafted elegance that followed the blonde. They were instead curled forward, giving the girl the appearance of a small kitten found in a drain pipe. This was a Quinn only reserved for Rachel.

Locking eyes, both girls fixed their expressions, Rachel being far more successful than Quinn. The ex-cheerleader gave a small nod and Rachel sprung into action, grabbing Finn’s hand and ushering the entirety of the wedding party to where the ceremony would take place.

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When Rachel drifted out of her sleep, she found tears on her face and her husband of six years sitting next to her, a concerned look on his face.

“Rach, what’s wrong?”

Rachel had no idea how to answer that. There were so many things wrong. There was the fact that Rachel had known for six years that she had made a mistake, There was the reality that she’d have the life she had dreamed of if she hadn’t said those two words all those years ago.

The thing that was wrong right now was her dream she had just had.

How was she supposed to tell her husband that, for years now, she’d had the same recurring dream, that was really more like a memory, of Quinn and that single tear that rolled down her face before she got up and left.

Rachel’s pretty sure Quinn didn’t even look at her for the rest of the year.

“Nothing, really. Just a dream. A nightmare.”

Finn relaxes a bit, placing a kiss on Rachel’s forehead, and takes a look at his phone to check the time. He gets up out of bed and turns around, catching her eyes, She raises her eyebrows slightly. “I should probably start getting ready for work. Burt is gonna kill me if I’m late again. Do you want to get Chris ready for school or do you want me to take care of it?” Rachel blinks and wipes at her eyes. “Uh, I’ll take care of it.” Finn flashes that grin that should fill her stomach with butterflies and remind her why she married him, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t for years.

As Rachel makes her way to her son’s room, she allows herself think about her life more than she has in years. She never wanted to stay in Lima. New York had been the plan, and maybe one day it could be again. She had meant to stay a year to sort out Finn’s future plans, but then they ended up having Christopher and moving into a small home, and by then, New York wasn’t reasonable. Now, Finn ran the tire shop with Burt and Rachel taught music to elementary schoolers.

It wasn’t all that bad though. Rachel loved her son more than anything, and her job was alright. It helped that Sam taught at the school too. Even though she felt so removed from who she thought she was, she wasn’t alone. She figured that could be good enough.

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Quinn really had planned on being herself after she got out of Lima. The thing about promises like that is that, when you make them to yourself, there’s nothing to stop you from folding.

The intention had been to be true to herself, but once she got to New Haven, she got so scared. She tried so hard, but she relied on safety nets because she didn’t know what else to do.

That was how she ended up dating Noah again, and now, four years in, she couldn’t escape it.

She had allowed herself little moments over the years, but nothing more. There was the moment at Mr. Schue’s wedding with Santana five years ago, the moment with Tina all the way back in Lima three years ago, and the moment with Santana and Brittany when she visited last month. Those were just the moments that stood out to her. The past six years have been filled with little moments with any girl that seemed like she could make Quinn forget for a night. It didn’t matter if they were old friends, girls from her classes, or strangers she met in bars when Noah was away on business trips. All Quinn needed was a couple of drinks, skin to touch, and brown hair to get lost in.

It was then, when she risked falling into thoughts she’d rather not think, that Quinn sat up in the bed she hadn’t left all morning. Maybe that’s because she didn’t want to get up and risk searching for a moment like she always did when Noah wasn’t home.

The two of them lived in a small house in California, where Noah had been able to expand his pool cleaning business. Quinn had never seen herself in California, but she honestly had never thought of herself in a place where Rachel wasn’t.

There was that dangerous name again. Quinn couldn’t risk that one.

She reached for her phone and saw a single notification. A text from Noah.

“I mailed them, Q. Can’t believe we’re doing this. I love you. I’m so excited to take this step with you.”

Quinn felt the blood leave her face. She knew that she was marrying Noah soon. She felt she owed it to him, and figured that it was something she needed to do. But the invitations being sent out meant her friends would know.

Rachel would know.

That thought alone was enough for Quinn to want to remove her brain from here head and never put it back. But since she couldn’t do that, she flopped back down on her bed and pulled her covers up over her head, hoping to forget what her life was, even if just for a little while.

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Rachel wishes she had been alone when she opened that envelope, but she wasn’t.

Her son watched with a confused look on his face as she dropped the piece of mail on the table and covered her mouth. With shaky hands, she opened it up and scanned its contents. As she takes a moment to breathe, she feels tears streaming down her face.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?”

It took a second for Rachel to realize her son asked a question. Temporarily wiping away her tears, she turns towards him and smiles as big as she can.

“Nothing, sweetie. I just got reminded of someone I haven’t talked to in a while. Do you want to go play in your room?”

Christopher smiles and runs off to his room, Rachel shouting a quick “Please don’t run!” after him.

She stares at the invitation on the kitchen table and gets lost in memories of the day that changed her life forever.

When Finn comes home, Rachel doesn’t know how long she’s been crying. All she registers is Finn picking up the invitation. She almost misses him saying “Are you okay? What’s wrong, babe?”

Almost.

She’s only able to choke out one syllable.

“Quinn.”

She sees a certain sadness on his face. A sadness that understands and doesn’t judge.

A sadness representative of what everyone who knows the girls understands.

Finn is not the angry, selfish boy he was in high school.

Instead of lashing out with words or attacking a chair, he simply kneels next to Rachel’s chair and wraps his arms around her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. His tears were silent and slow. More importantly, they weren’t tinged with rage. They were simply composed of the knowledge he couldn’t fill the Quinn shaped hole in her heart. But he’d known since he saw Rachel’s eyes meet Quinn’s when the blonde showed up at the Justice of the Peace. He knew he’d be okay eventually.

It’s so hard for him to hear the pained sobs Rachel makes as she seems to burrow into his chest.

“I know, Rachel. I know it’s hard.”

She shakes as she cries.

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Quinn thinks it’s odd when Noah tells her that Finn and Rachel RSVPed separately.

Puck knows why. He knows he and Quinn would be going through what Finn and Rachel are if they were in their position.

Because of that, he makes the admittedly selfish choice of not telling Quinn. He fears he might run out of time with her soon, so he holds on.

He knows it’s wrong.

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The divorce was hard.

They decided to try and explain the truth to Christopher to the extent that an almost-six-year-old could understand.

At the same time, the divorce was easy.

The first night back with her dad, Rachel sleeps through the night for the first time in months.

LeRoy Berry understands the divorce. He’s done it. He knows there’s something Rachel won’t tell him, but that is okay. She’ll take her time.

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Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car. There’s a big Glee reunion going on inside because everyone’s here for the upcoming wedding.

Her upcoming wedding.

She knows Noah is waiting inside, and she knows it’s wrong to want to leave, but she’s terrified to see him and Rachel. And Finn.

Quinn looks down at her pink dress and everything feels a little too familiar.

She decides to go in.

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It’s the third time Rachel sees the Quinn that’s reserved just for her, but this time it’s different.

The first two times, it was momentary. But this doesn’t feel momentary. Rachel looks her over and sees the bags under Quinn’s eyes and the way she’s slouching more than Rachel’s ever seen her slouch.

It’s as if she never left this state after the wedding. Rachel never got the chance to patch her back up, so she never returned to normal.

In this moment, Rachel can only think back to the day everything got bad.

She thinks back, not to the wedding, but to the hallway. She was high off of the Regionals win and was so sure she was about to make the right choice. She felt that, if only one choice could ever be right, it would be that one.

She thinks of Quinn’s question and of how hopeful she looked. She thinks of how crushed Quinn looked the second after she answered. She thinks of how fast Quinn hid that.

She thinks of how her answer wasn’t true. How she wouldn’t know it wasn’t true until she saw Quinn walk out of the Justice of the Peace.

Rachel looks at the Quinn in front of her. The Quinn that’s almost unrecognizable now that that Fabray certainty is gone.

“I wasn’t.”

Rachel watches as, even in this hollow state, Quinn’s eyebrow raises in her signature gesture. A gesture that demands an answer.

“That day. The day things went wrong. I wasn’t just singing to Finn.”

Quinn’s features soften in front of her eyes. Rachel’s heart pounds as the blonde reaches out and grabs her hand for the first time in almost seven years.

“Thank you.”

In that moment, those two tell each other everything without saying a word.

That night, Rachel sleeps more peacefully that she ever has in her life. She knows there’s plenty of loose ends and unanswered questions, but she doesn’t care.

She knows and Quinn knows, so Rachel feels like it’s worth everything.

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That night after she goes home and talks with Noah, Quinn knows peace for the first time since she was seven. She knows there’s work to do, but now that she has a chance at a future where she can just be Quinn, she breathes.

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Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car. As she looked out from the parking structure, she sees the apartment building she calls home.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for them.

She thinks about how Rachel is in New York, the city she is meant for, and how she’s there with her.

She thinks about how Beth, now twenty, comes to visit every couple of months.

She thinks about how Christopher probably has Rachel on the phone with Finn and about how they’re all probably arguing about him wanting to go to school somewhere in Europe.

She thinks about how Delilah is probably bouncing up and down because she can’t wait to tell her moms about her very first day of kindergarten, but she won’t talk about it until Quinn is home.

Most importantly, she thinks about how she’s finally happy and how she has a family. She needs a minute to privately feel what happiness means to her, so Quinn Fabray sits in her parked car.

#glee #glee fandom #quinn fabray #rachel berry #faberry #faberry fanfiction #quinn fabray fanfiction #rachel berry fanfiction #finn hudson #santana lopez #noah puckerman #i hope this is good

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greatcomettexting2 · 3 years

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head canonns about tumblr’s own sergei “rach” rachmaninoff: - doxxed someone on twitter for calling him white - has past life memories in which he was chopin (because he wants to be a “short king” too) - is dead, AS OF NOW (february 21st 2021) - gets tired of those blm posts because its taxing to his mental illnesses (r u aware that yr gatekeeping leftism... some of us cant keep up .) - sends anthrax through snail mail to people who post piano videos (its the RSD, Rejection Sensitive Disforia)

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daeronteaches · 3 years

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Plural patterns in Sindarin

I apologize for how complicated it is to make plurals in Sindarin, I wish it were easier. (At the bottom of this post there is also a table if you find that more convenient. I would recommend still reading over the list, because it still includes some important information. As well as examples of course.)

Originally, Sindarin had three noun forms; singular, dual, and plural. Luckily the dual quickly became obsolete except in writing. Instead there is an additional class plural, which coexists with the regular plural. I will not bore you with the dual form. The class plural will get its own post.

Anyhow. The final vowels in a word change to make a plural. If a word is monosyllabic, that is the final vowel.

For example: orod (=mountain), lass (=leaf)

However, non-final syllables can also change. I’ll list the final syllabic mutations first:

A becomes ai.

This one is very well attested in Tolkiens writings:

tâl (=foot) -> tail

cant (=shape) -> caint

rach (=wagon/wain) -> raich

E becomes i, long ê becomes long î.

As seen in the attested forms:

edhel (=elf) -> edhil

ereg (=holly tree) -> erig

Laegel (=green elf) -> Laegil

certh (=rune) -> cirth

telch (=stem) -> tilch

hên (=child) -> hîn

têw (=letter) -> tîw

I becomes i, it does not change.

O becomes y, long ó becomes long ý.

As seen in:

orch (=orc) -> yrch

toll (=island) -> tyll

bór (=trusty man) -> býr

U becomes y, long û becomes ui

With this one, it does not matter wether it‘s a final syllable or not.

tulus (=poplar) -> tylys

dûr (=dark) -> duir

Y becomes y, it does not change in plural.

Any singular was likely a plural as well, ylf (=drinking vessel) was likely both the singular as well as the plural. (A little like how sheep is both the singular and the plural in English.)

Au becomes oe, this one is not as well attested as the previous ones.

In Noldorin a similar pattern was seen, where au became ui, but in Sindarin there are many excepions to this rule.

raw (=lion) -> roe

Other dipthongs do not change in the plural. Ai is an exception.

Ai becomes i, usually î, more rarely ý. Wether the ai changes in a word has to do with the word origin, if it originated as a Quenya word ending in -ya, it changes. If not, it does not change in the plural form. I recommend using Eldamo to research the word origins.

fair (=mortal) -> fîr (originated as firya in Quenya)

cai (=fence) -> cî

cair (=ship) -> cîr

gwain (=new) -> gwîn

lhain (=thin/meager) -> lhîn

mail (=dear) -> mîl

paich (=juice/syrup) -> pich (note the short i)

Now for the non-final syllabic mutations. In plural forms, the non-final syllable can also change! Aren’t you thrilled.

A becomes e

As seen in several well attested forms:

barad (=tower) -> beraid

lavan (=animal) -> levain

aran (=king) -> erain

amon (=hill) -> emyn

annon (=great gate) -> ennyn

lalven (=elm-tree) -> lelvin

malen (=yellow) -> melin

E is unchanged in non-final syllables.

I (i) is unchanged.

O normally becomes e, there are exceptions; if it originated from ancient ā it does not change.

Golodh (=Noldo) -> Gelydh

onod (=ent) -> enyd

Rodon (=Vala) -> Rodyn

U becomes y.

Y stays unchanged.

For clarity’s sake, I have also made this table. I hope this helps, as I realize the list format is not super easy to search through.

#sindarin #plural patterns

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rlbbackup · 6 months

Note

Director's Commentary on Out of Routine?

Hi Sarah! Of course, dear!

Fic link♥️

Oh boy I love making these two stumble when they talk to each other. I probably went a little overboard since Yor never stutters this badly in canon (save for that one time before Yuri's first visit). But in the context of the story, I'd like to think it makes sense.

Twilight is always cautious when Yor is a little more emotionally strung, especially after that date at the bar. Hence the placating gestures and reassurances, even if they aren't necessary he's not taking any chances that she's not going to still send him through the wall.

And poor Yor is spiralling. I'm glad Twilight figured the easy answer rather than having them fight about who gets the bed or pays for the damages. And it's good that they listen to each other.

I was really excited about this whole scenario as I wrote it and I hope that it turned out as well as I thought it had!

Thank you dear! ♥️🫂

#rachel writes #rach has mail!#sister-cna-reader

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dreamingsushi · 3 years

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True Beauty - Episode 11

I don’t know if I’m ready or not for this episode. Like... the last minute of episode 10 was kind of traumatic. And something that doesn’t happen in the webtoon, so I don’t know what to expect at all. Is Suho going to die? Forget about Jugyeong? I hope they don’t give him amnesia and make him go for Sujin, because we’ve already seen something like that in Hana Yori Dango and it’s just... so cliché. Oh I don’t know. Should I really watch this?

The episose starts on a flashback of the trio getting a matching bangle. It was Se Yeon’s idea to get one. And how they celebrated Seyeon’s debut. And another about the song that was plagiarized. They play it all the three of them together. They’re so cute.

Another flashback of the night that Seyeon died. He went to Suho’s place, but Suho wasn’t home yet and that’s when he heard about his dad likely sponsoring some younger actress.

Jugyeong tries to call Suho but rach his voice mail. So she goes to Sujin’s place to tell her that she’s dating Suho. She explains to her that she wanted to tell her first, but then Sujin said she liked Suho so she was afraid of harming their friendship. Sujin doesn’t seem moved at all. Nor does she look like she’s going to remain friends with Jugyeong. Oh wow. I didn’t expect that, but I’m not sure I can trust her. She says it’s okay, she’s upset but as they have known each other for such a long time, it’s normal for her to waver like that. They hug it ou. But seriously, I don’t feel like Sujin is giving up or anything.

Jugyeong tries again to call Suho, but the phone is turned off. She goes out, thinking Suho is really mad at her and meets with her sister. Heegyeong thinks maybe Suho got into that accident because of that. Then she tells Jugyeong he was in an accident and she runs barefaced to the hospital. But what is in Suho’s head? He was awake while his dad was over, but he pretended to be asleep until he leaves. Seojun sees Suho’s father. Suho’s father is meeting with his assistant asks an explanation about what Heegyung said. So when the dad’s dating scandal came up, that asked for it to be blocked so Suho won’t see that. He actually didn’t date that actress. So the manager used Seyeon as a scapegoat. And here I was ready to hate on the dad. Dad is very mad that he made Seyeon that way, also since Seyeon was actually the bullies’ victim. This is so absolutely sad TT And the manager doesn’t feel bad at all about what he has done. Oh and he’s the one that plagiarized the song.

Jugyeong goes to Suho room and she cries next to Seojun’s bed thinking he’s Suho. But Suho was actually out and he comes back in. Whoops. So to help her hide her real face, she pretends she’s his older cousin. Jugyeong was really worried. Seojun teases Suho on how close he seems to be with his cousin. Then Jugyeong wants to leave and let them rest, but Suho grabs her wrist. Seojun keeps teasing, so she leaves. Then on her way out, she’s still worried and thinks about going back to check on him again, but as she hesitates, someone comes out their room and she falls on Suho lap. She wants to get up, but he holds her.

Seojun tells Suho that his dad thinks he’s Leo. That he should have told his dad about all the music instruments he bought. But Suho is still thinking about what he heard Jugyeong’s sister say.

Sujin gets mad at Jugyeong because she didn’t tell her heartier that Suho was injured. Even though at first they were just being friendly. When she’s in the teachers office, Sujin hears there’s a transfer student from the same school as Jugyeong. It’s the girl Jugyeong thought was her friend. Oh and the bullies want to know if Jugyeong is dating Seojun.

Sujin is going to visit at the hospital, making sure that she’s all pretty. Yeah, you’re giving up on those wavering feelings... Seojun is a little pissed at her. YEAH! He asks about Jugyeong, but she says she had to work. She gets pretty upset about it.

Heegyeong and teacher have a date at Jugyeong’s part time. Then he notices her and run away. He really doesn’t want her to know, because he’s afraid of the repercussions. Heegyung wonders why Jugyeong is working, and the teacher tells her that Jugyeong wants to study make up.

Mom sends Jugyeong’s brother to the hospital to deliver food to our poor Suho because dad is at the community center. And dad bumps into the scammer and tries to catch him.

Jugyeong pays a visit to Suho at the hospital. First she sees Suho on top of Seojun, he fell while he helped him get dressed. Than later, she gives Suho comics she got for him, one of them gets on the ground and as she bends to pick it up, her hair gets tangled into Suho’s shirt’s button. Right at that moment, her brother comes in. Then Seojun’s friends are coming so he hides Jugyeong underneath his blanket. I guess they can’t exactly come out just like that.

Little bro bumps into Gowoon and he tries to hit on her. And gets caught red handed by Seojun.

When he goes back to his room, he manages to make everyone leave, cause he noticed when Su Ah’s boyfriend tried to wash Suho’s feet that Jugyeong is under there. Poor Seojun though. Then as soon as everyone is out, she also leaves, after tearing away the button. Poor Suho now, he barely got to see his girlfriend.

Suho’s dad wants to have a talk. Suho is angry about what happened to Seyeon, But his dad says it was the manager’s doing. As a dad he would never have done that to his son’s friend. That doesn’t make Suho less angry. All these years he thought Seyeon committed suicide because he didn’t pick up his last phone call. Then Suho says that he wouldn’t have been disappointed anyways because of what he saw on the day his mom died, which is his dad having an affair with some woman. Then Suho collapses from the anger and Jugyeong, who heard everything along with Seojun rushes in. No, Suho TT Be alright please. Seojun tells Suho’s dad that Suho is Leo. Seojun seems to be feeling a little bad about blaming Suho for Seyeon’s death.

Suho’s dad step out as CEO of his company, declares the song was plagiarized and apologizes for Seyeon’s death. As she hears of that, Sujin rushes to the hospital. But Jugyeong reaches him first. And Sujin sees them hugging and kissing.

And that’s all for episode 11. Which was much better than I expected. I wouldn’t say that True Beauty is the best drama of all times, but even though it can get a little cliche and all, the writers still manage to surprise us and take an unexpected path. My only complain is about the previews, because they don’t match and are too far away from the episode we’re watching. I don’t know, I don’t like when the preview doesn’t happen. It’s frustrating, don’t you think?

I’m treating myself today, so I think I will at least start episode 12 if I don’t finish it.

#true beauty #moon gayoung #im jugyeong #cha eun woo #lee suho #hwang inyeop #han seojun #webtoon #webtoon drama #k-drama #kdrama #korean drama #drama review #drama recap #drama reaction

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mia-soufi2018 · 4 years

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Happy birthday HRH! Royal family releases three new portraits of Princess Anne resplendent in evening gowns and relaxing in the grounds of Gatcombe Park to celebrate her 70th

By Jessica Rach For Mailonline Claire Duffin For The Daily Mail - August 14th 2020, 10:00:29 pm

The Princess Royal's 70th birthday has been marked with the release of three official photographs taken at her Gatcombe Park home in Gloucestershire. to celebrate the milestone.

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sxfterhearts · 4 years

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aesthetics tag!!

tagged by @flowerbeom 💞💞 (thank you kat!! hope you’ve been doing alright 🥰)

rules: bold the aesthetics you relate to and add twenty of your own aesthetic qualities for others to bold

tagging: anyone who wants to do this HAHA (im so late oops)

soft

dark academia

edgy

seventies

preppy casual

cinanamon - steph

gold jewelry, slowdancing in the kitchen with a lover, sun on skin, red-tinted lip balm, lazy mornings, getting lost in foreign cities, scent of bakeries, high-waisted jeans, kissing someone’s neck, writing reminders on your wrist, sleeping in braids to have waves in the morning, growing an herb garden, gentle touches, sketches tucked between pages, flushed cheeks, tandem bikes, floating in a pool, vintage gold hand-mirror, deer grazing, softly singing while doing chores

jaesmintea - dia

naptimetea - helena

jeonginks

scxrlettwxtches

listening to a song and remembering the times you used to listen to it on repeat | imagining yourself living in any other life than the one you have now | crop tops and high waisted jeans | forgetting to smile but not actually being upset | nuzzling your face in the crook of their neck | back hugs when you’re stressed | turning in assignments 1 minute before they’re due | wanting a relationship but getting scared the moment you’re in one | pretending that you don’t care when inside you’re burning with doubts and fears | the sound of the evening waves as you lie on the sand | lying in your bed listening to your sad playlist | exhaustion but you can’t sleep | singing loudly when you’re the only one home | feeling safe and comfortable with that person in your life | knee high suede black boots with your black winter coat | comfort over appearance | writing essays at 2 am | creative peak from 1 am to 4 am | the one that always ends up walking in the back of a friend group

hyunsracha - sav!

lveletters

dnceracha - sydni

bamshine - sae

jjinyounf - cres

flowerbeom - kat

sxfterhearts - rach

#tag game #gtkm!#this was sooo fun i am so late but yea :")

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overly-obsessed-fangirl1 · 4 years

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A Study in Pink - Part 3

A/N: I wanted to know how Sherlock would be the same or different if John was Jane, but everything else remained the same. This was the result. Unless a scene is particularly short, each scene will be one chapter.

Transcript used was written up by Ariane DeVere and can be found here

Walking out into the street, Sherlock hailed an approaching cab.

“Taxi!”

The taxi pulled up and he and Jane got in. The car drove off again, headed for Brixton. The two sat in silence for a long time while Sherlock focused on his smartphone and Jane kept sneaking glances at him. Finally, Sherlock lowered his phone.

“Okay, you’ve got questions,” he stated.

“Yeah,” Jane said. “Where are we going?”

“Crime scene. Next?”

“Who are you? What do you do?”

“What do you think?” Sherlock turned to look at her.

“I’d say private detective,” Jane said slowly.

“But?” Sherlock prompted.

“But the police don’t go to private detectives,” she finished.

“I’m a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me.”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

Sherlock threw her a look. “When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, ‘Afghanistan or Iraq?’ You looked surprised.”

“Yes, how did you know?

“I didn’t know, I saw.” He took a breath before continuing, rapid-fire. “Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But your conversation as you entered the room...”

Jane limped into the lab, looking around at all the equipment. “Well, bit different from my day.”

“... said trained at Bart’s, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp’s really bad when you walk but you don’t ask for a chair when you stand, like you’ve forgotten about it, so it’s at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq.” He loudly clicked the ‘k’ sound at the end of the final word.

“You said I had a therapist.”

“You’ve got a psychosomatic limp – of course you’ve got a therapist. Then there’s your brother.”

“Hmm?” Jane looked back at him. Sherlock held out his hand. “Your phone. It’s expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you’re looking for a flatshare – you wouldn’t waste money on this. It’s a gift, then.”

Jane, having handed over the phone, watched as Sherlock turned it over and looked at it again as he spoke.

“Scratches. Not one, many over time. It’s been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The woman sitting next to me wouldn’t treat her one luxury item like this, so it’s had a previous owner. Next bit’s easy. You know it already.”

“The engraving.”

Engraved on the back of the phone were the words:

Harry Watson From Clara xxx

“Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father; this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he’d have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help: that says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking.”

“How can you possibly know about the drinking?” Jane asked, disbelieving.

Sherlock smirked. “Shot in the dark. Good one, though.”

He pointed out the charging port. “Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man’s phone; never see a drunk’s without them.”

Sherlock passed the phone back. “There you go, you see – you were right.”

“I was right?” asked Jane, astounded. “Right about what?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

He looked back out of the side window, biting his lip nervously while he awaited Jane’s reaction.

“That ... was amazing,” she said after a pause.

Sherlock looked round, so surprised that he couldn’t even reply for the next four seconds.

“Do you think so?”

“Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do people normally say?”

“Piss off,” he muttered.

He smiled briefly at Jane, who grinned and turned away to look out of the window as the journey continued. The cab stopped at a road block surrounded by police. Sherlock and Jane got out and walked towards the police tape.

“Did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

“Harry and me don’t get on, never have,” said Jane. “Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they’re getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker.”

Sherlock looked impressed with himself. “Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.”

“And Harry’s short for Harriet.”

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks.

“Harry’s your sister.”

Jane kept walking. “Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?

“Sister!”

“No, seriously, what am I doing here?”

Exasperated, Sherlock moved to catch up. “There’s always something.”

They approached the police tape and were stopped by a policewoman. Jane thought she didn’t look happy to see them.

“Hello, freak,” the policewoman said, crossing her arms.

Oh, so her ire was aimed at Sherlock.

“I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock said, seemingly unaffected by the dislike radiating from her.

“Why?”

“I was invited.”

“Why?”

“I think he wants me to take a look,” he said sarcastically.

“Well, you know what I think, don’t you?”

This is like a tennis match, Jane thought, looking back and forth from one to the other.

Sherlock lifted the tape and ducked underneath it. “Always, Sally.” He took a deep breath. “I even know you didn’t make it home last night.”

“I don’t ...” the woman -Sally- stopped mid-sentence, noticing Jane. “Er, who’s this?

“Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson.” Sherlock turned to Jane.

“Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan.” Voice dripping with sarcasm, he added “Old friend.”

Sally looked taken aback. “A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!”

She too turned to Jane. “What, did he follow you home?” she asked, sounding a mix of mocking and slightly concerned that he actually might have.

Jane shifted uncomfortably. “Would it be better if I just waited and ...”

Sherlock lifted the tape again. “No.”

As Jane walked under the tape, Sally lifted a radio to her mouth.

“Freak’s here. Bringing him in.”

Jane didn’t think she liked Sally Donovan.

Sally lead them towards one of the houses. Sherlock studied the area and the ground as they approached. As they reached the pavement, a man wearing a coverall over his clothes came out of the house.

“Ah, Anderson. Here we are again,” Sherlock said.

Anderson looked at him with distaste. Jane was sensing a pattern.

“It’s a crime scene. I don’t want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?” he said shortly.

Sherlock took another deep breath. “Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that.”

“Your deodorant told me that.”

“My deodorant?” Clearly that’s not what Anderson had expected.

Sherlock smirked. “It’s for men.”

“Well, of course it’s for men! I’m wearing it!” Anderson was getting more exasperated by the second.

“So’s Sergeant Donovan.”

Oh, Jane thought. I was not expecting that.

Anderson looked round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffed a third time, pointedly.

“Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?”

Turning back, Anderson pointed at him angrily. “Now look: whatever you’re trying to imply ...”

“I’m not implying anything,” Sherlock said, striding past Donovan towards the front door. “I’m sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over.”

He turns back.

“And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees.”

Anderson and Donovan stared at him in horror. He smiled smugly, then turned and went into the house. Jane edged past Sally, briefly looking down to her knees, then followed Sherlock inside.

Sherlock lead her into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade was putting on a coverall. Sherlock pointed to a pile of similar items.

“You need to wear one of these.”

“Who’s this?” Lestrade asked.

“She’s with me,” Sherlock said, as if that explained everything, and took off his gloves.

“But who is she?”

“I said she’s with me.”

By this point Jane has taken off her jacket and picked up a coverall. She looked at Sherlock who had picked up a pair of latex gloves.

“Aren’t you gonna put one on?” Jane asked, referring to the coverall. Sherlock just looked at her.

Jane gave a soft shake of her head. Silly me. What was I thinking?

“So where are we?” Sherlock addressed Lestrade.

Lestrade picked up another pair of latex gloves. “Upstairs.”

He lead them up a circular staircase. “I can give you two minutes.”

“May need longer,” said Sherlock casually.

Lestrade continued as if uninterrupted. “Her name’s Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We’re running them now for contact details. Hasn’t been here long. Some kids found her.”

He showed them into a room two flights up. The room was empty except for a rocking horse in the far corner, emergency portable lighting, scaffolding holding up part of the ceiling near where a couple of large holes have been knocked through one of the walls, and a woman’s body. Lying face down on the bare floorboards in the middle of the room, she was wearing a bright pink overcoat and high-heeled pink shoes, hands flat on the floor either side of her head, RACHE scratched into the floor by her left hand.

Sherlock walked a few steps into the room and stopped, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focused on the corpse. Behind him, Jane looked at the woman’s body, face filled with pain and sadness. The three of them stood there silently for several long seconds, then Sherlock looked over at Lestrade.

“Shut up.” “I didn’t say anything,” Lestrade protested.

“You were thinking. It’s annoying.”

Lestrade and Jane exchanged a surprised look as Sherlock stepped slowly forward until he reached the side of the corpse. He stared at it for a very long time. Jane was beginning to wonder if something was wrong when he gave a small shake of his head. He stared a bit longer at the word carved into the floor, then bent down next to her and ran his hand down the back of her coat. He glanced at his hand and then reached into the woman’s pocket, pulling out an umbrella. He ran his fingers along the umbrella, examined them, and put the umbrella back. Next he ran his fingers under her collar, and looked at them again.

What is he doing?

Pulling out a collapsible magnifying glass, Sherlock began to examine the woman’s jewelry. Reaching the wedding band, he worked it off her hand and held it up to the light. He put it back and sat back. Jane had no idea how he got any information from that.

“Got anything?” Lestrade asked.

“Not much.” Standing up, Sherlock took off the gloves and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, typing.

Leaning casually against the doorway, Anderson spoke up. “She’s German. Rache. It’s German for ‘revenge.’ She could be trying to tell us something ...”

Not looking up from his phone, Sherlock walked quickly towards the door. “Yes, thank you for your input.” Slamming the door shut, he turned and walked back into the room.

“So she’s German?” Lestrade spoke again.

Sherlock was still looking at his phone. “Of course she’s not. She is from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night ...” He smiled smugly, apparently finding the information he needed. “... before returning home to Cardiff.”

He pocketed his phone. “So far, so obvious.”

Jane stared at him. “Sorry – obvious?”

“What about the message, though?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock ignored him. “Doctor Watson, what do you think?”

“Of the message?”

“Of the body. You’re a medical woman.”

Lestrade cut in, “Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.”

“They won’t work with me,” Sherlock protested.

“I’m breaking every rule letting you in here.”

“Yes ... Because you need me,” Sherlock challenged him.

Lestrade stared at him for a moment, then lowered his eyes helplessly.

“Yes, I do. God help me.”

“Doctor Watson.”

“Hm?” Jane looked up from the body, then turned her head towards Lestrade, silently asking permission.

“Oh, do as he says,” Lestrade gave in. “Help yourself.”

He turned and opened the door, going outside.

“Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes.”

Sherlock and Jane walked over to the body. Sherlock squatted down on one side of it and Jane painfully lowered herself to one knee on the other side, leaning heavily on her cane to support herself.

“Well?” Sherlock prompted.

Jane spoke softly. “What am I doing here?”

“Helping me make a point,” Sherlock responded, just as quietly.

“I’m supposed to be helping you pay the rent.”

“Yeah, well, this is more fun.”

“Fun?" He thinks this is fun? "There’s a woman lying dead.”

“Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you’d go deeper.”

Lestrade came back into the room and stood just inside the doorway. Jane dragged her other leg down into a kneeling position, then leaned forward to look more closely at the woman’s body. She put her head close to hers and sniffed. Nothing.

She straightened a little before lifting the woman’s right hand and looking at the skin. Sitting up, Jane looked across to Sherlock, having gained no information. The woman seemed perfectly fine form a surface exam, apart from being dead.

“Yeah ... asphyxiation, probably,” she BSed. “Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can’t smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs.”

“You know what it was,” Sherlock prompted. “You’ve read the papers.”

“What, she’s one of the suicides? The fourth ...?” Jane looked down and up again as Lestrade cut in.

“Sherlock, two minutes, I said. I need anything you’ve got.”

Sherlock stood up, and Jane struggled to get to her feet.

“Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I’m guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It’s obvious from the size of her suitcase.”

“Suitcase?” Lestrade seemed puzzled.

Jane looked around the room but couldn’t see a suitcase anywhere.

“Suitcase, yes,” Sherlock continued. “She’s been married at least ten years, but not happily. She’s had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, if you’re just making this up ...”

Sherlock pointed down to her left hand. “Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It’s not for work; look at her nails. She doesn’t work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she’d never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple.”

“That’s brilliant,” Jane spoke up, admiringly.

Sherlock looked round at her.

She blushed. “Sorry.”

Lestrade cut in again. “Cardiff?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s not obvious to me,” Jane said.

Sherlock paused as he looked at the other two. “Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.”

He turned back to the body. “Her coat: it’s slightly damp. She’s been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She’s turned it up against the wind. She’s got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it’s dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can’t have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn’t dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and shows the other two the webpage he was looking at earlier, displaying the day’s weather for the southern part of Britain.

“Cardiff.”

“That’s fantastic!” Jane spoke again without thinking.

Sherlock turned to her, speaking in a low voice. “D’you know you do that out loud?”

“Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

“No, it’s ... Fine.” Sherlock looked strangely pleased.

“Why d’you keep saying suitcase?” Lestrade brought their attention back to the case at hand.

Sherlock spun around in a circle to look around the room. “Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is.”

“She was writing ‘Rachel’?

“No, she was leaving an angry note in German!” Sherlock addressed Lestrade sarcastically. “Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be. Question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?”

“How d’you know she had a suitcase?” Lestrade ignored Sherlock’s sarcastic remark.

Pointing down to the body, Sherlock continued. “Where her tights have small black splotches on the lower part of her right leg - back of the right leg - tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don’t get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night.”

He squatted down by the woman’s body and examined the backs of her legs more closely. “Now, where is it? What have you done with it?”

“There wasn’t a case.”

Slowly, Sherlock raised his head, frowning up at Lestrade.

“Say that again.”

“There wasn’t a case. There was never any suitcase.” Lestrade seemed pleased that Sherlock had made a mistake.

He called Sherlock in, why would he be pleased that Sherlock made a mistake? Jane wondered.

Immediately Sherlock straightened up and went for the door, calling out to all the officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs.

“Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?”

Lestrade and Jane followed him out and stopped on the landing. Lestrade called down the stairs.

“Sherlock, there was no case!”

Sherlock slowed down, but still made his way down the stairs. “But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn’t miss them.”

“Right, yeah, thanks! And?”

“It’s murder, all of them. I don’t know how, but they’re not suicides, they’re killings – serial killings.”

He held his hands up in front of his face in delight. “We’ve got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There’s always something to look forward to.”

“Why are you saying that?” Lestrade tried desperately to get Sherlock’s attention back.

Sherlock stopped and shouted back up the stairs. “Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it?! Someone else was here, and they took her case.”

More quietly, as if talking to himself, he continued, “so the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car.”

“She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there,” Jane supplied.

“No, she never got to the hotel.” Sherlock looked up the stairs again. “Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She’d never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ...” he trailed off, realizing something.

“Oh.” His eyes widened and his face lit up. “Oh!”

He clapped his hands together in delight, looking like a child on Christmas.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade leaned over the railings. “What is it, what?”

Sherlock, still smiling cheerfully to himself, actually answered. “Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake.”

“We can’t just wait!” Lestrade shouted back.

“Oh, we’re done waiting!” He started to hurry down the stairs again.

“Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson’s family and friends were. Find Rachel!”

He reached the bottom of the stairs and disappeared from view.

Lestrade called after him, “Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!”

Sherlock came back into view and ran up a couple of stairs so that he could be seen and yelled up to Lestrade, as if the answer was obvious.

“PINK!”

He hurried off again. Lestrade, baffled, turned and went back into the room while Anderson and his team, who had been waiting on the next landing down, hurried up the stairs to follow him into the room.

“Let’s get on with it,” Anderson said, clearly glad that he could finally get to work with Sherlock gone.

Forgotten by everyone else, Jane hesitated, baffled, on the landing for a moment before slowly making her way down the stairs. A couple more police officers were rushing up and one of them bumped against her, throwing her off-balance and making her lurch heavily against the banister. The man continued on without even a glance, although his colleague did at least look apologetically at Jane as he passed.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she removed her coverall and put her jacket back on, walking out onto the street. Looking all around, she saw no sign of Sherlock.

“He’s gone,” Donovan called out from next to the tape.

Jane went towards her. “Who, Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yeah, he just took off. He does that.”

“Is he coming back?”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“Right.” Jane looked around helplessly. Had she really gone off with a complete stranger with no idea of where? And now she was left behind.

She turned to Donovan again. “Right ... Yes. Sorry, where am I?”

“Brixton.”

“Right. Er, d’you know where I could get a cab? It’s just, er ... well ...” Jane looked down awkwardly at her walking stick “... my leg.”

Donovan finally stopped what she was doing and really looked at Jane. Jane hated the pity flashed briefly across her face.

“Er ...” Donovan stepped over to the tape and lifted it, clearly dismissing her. “... try the main road.”

Jane ducked under the tape. “Thanks.”

“You’re not his friend.”

Jane turned back towards her, surprised.

“He doesn’t have friends,” Donovan continued. “You're not his girlfriend, I don't think he can even have relationships. So who are you?”

“I’m ... I’m nobody. I just met him.” Had it really just been yesterday?

“Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from that guy.”

“Why?” Jane suspected Donovan’s reasons were more personal than professional.

“You know why he’s here?” Donovan asked. “He’s not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won’t be enough. One day we’ll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes’ll be the one that put it there.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored.”

Jane was saved having to respond by Lestrade shouting for Donovan.

Donovan turned and called back. “Coming!”

She looked back towards Jane as she walked towards the house.

“Stay away from Sherlock Holmes!”

#Sherlock Holmes #bbc sherlock #Sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #Study in Pink

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