Tag Archives: john watson

Congrats, Mycroft, on the Royal Success-ion!

After reading all the rumours about the Duchess of Cambridge looking at pink baby clothes and requesting pink items for her baby shower and  the subsequent speculations in the tabloids that the new heir to the throne would be a girl, which was followed by some rather studious revisions to the Order of Succession law — which very nearly didn’t get passed in time, — only to have the baby be a new little prince after all, I couldn’t help but see a certain person’s hand in all of this…

A Succession of Events

By J.H. Watson

(~ 875 words)


Dr. John Watson accepted a glass of whiskey from a totally silent staff member of the Diogenes Club. The unsolicited scotch meant Mycroft Holmes wanted something from John Watson. John sipped his scotch and found it an extremely expensive, very old, and probably very rare single malt whiskey. Correction, Mycroft Holmes wanted something very big from John Watson.

Mycroft Holmes sat across from Dr. Watson speaking softly into his mobile phone, and it says a great deal about the man that, even though his CV would state Mycroft  “held a minor position in the government,” he was talking with a Vice-Premier of China. Mycroft finished his call and slipped the phone into his suit breast pocket before offering a crocodile smile to John.

Mycroft said “I have need of someone who can pass for an army doctor.”

“I am an army doctor,” John replied.

“Then it should be a piece of cake for you.”

“What exactly should be a piece of cake?”

John’s therapist had put the phrase “trust issues” in her evaluation case notes. Mycroft knew this. John knew that Mycroft knew. It pretty much summed up their relationship.

“How’s the drink?”

“Excellent. Which is why I want to know exactly what you want me to do and why you need someone who can pass for an army doctor.”

Mycroft simply offered another smile. “There will be a car waiting for you when you leave here,” he began. There was always a car; sleek, black, sophisticated, expensive, like a first-class British brolly. It might even be the same one that had picked John up off of Gower Street and brought him to the Diogenes Club.

Mycroft’s phone must have vibrated because he stopped and pulled it out of his pocket with the faintest crease to his brow. He glanced at it and made a mild face of displeasure, setting the phone on the table beside him. Mycroft continued, “In the car you will find a uniform, identification, a phone, and everything else you will need.”

“Need for what exactly?” John asked.

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Sherlock Is Lost in Space


Benedict Cumberbatch as BBC Sherlock reading a  sheet of paper

I bet John’s going to blame me for this. I didn’t think they’d take it as a challenge.

For those of you who saw Benedict Cumberbatch on BBC’s Top Gear (or caught the clip on YouTube before it was pulled), you know he was:

  • Adorable (It’s like watching the human version of Labrador puppy; just so much good-natured enthusiasm )
  • Charming
  • Genuine
  • Fun

He also had a bit of fun at Mycroft’s expense with the stupid question about how Sherlock survived the fall in Season 2, Episode 3, The Reichenbach Fall. There’s a nice bit of summation — with wonderful screencap photos and gifs — here on Buzzfeed. There’s also a lovely promotional teaser on the TopGear.com site here. I nearly wet myself laughing when Mr. Cumberbatch channeled Obi-wan Kenobi saying “Use the track, Benedict.”

But part way through Benedict Cumberbatch did a riff on fan fiction — slash aka Johnlock in particular — which included what I’m certain he thought was an impossible scenario.

Benedict Cumberbatch on BBC TopGear ribbing Sherlock fanfiction

Benedict Cumberbatch underestimates the ability of fan writers to meet his challenge.

Actually, I believe the line was:

“Now there’ll be a load of fan fiction of  John Watson, handcuffs, floating in space.”  

Unbeknownst to Mr. Cumberbatch, I love a challenge… so below is a bit of flash fanfic (and please note, Mr. Cumberbatch, it is not slash aka Johnlock. We aren’t all prurient, but we are  creative).

[Oh, and I should point out that I managed to work in Clue #2 for Sherlock Season 3 — Rat — into the story so I’m counting it as part of that challenge as well.]

Sherlock Is Lost in Space

by J.H. Watson

(~ 700 words)

His instincts were screaming “Danger! Danger, John Watson!” and he turned towards a movement in the shadows just before nothing.


John opened his eyes to find himself blind, all was black. He stifled a moment of panic and called out, “Sherlock!”

John Watson was relieved by a slightly muffled reply of “Don’t shout.” He tried to move, but he struck something within a fraction of inch. “Ow! John, don’t move,” Sherlock ordered.

“I’m cramping.”

“At least you’re short. I’m folded up like an origami crane.”

John chose to ignore the short remark, letting it feed the slow burn he was building until it could safely boil over. He tried to flex in place as he asked, “Where are we?” Before he got an answer, he added in a tight voice, “It felt like something just crawled over my arm.”

“Probably a mouse.”

“A mouse?”

“Or a rat. Could be a rat. I didn’t get to check all of the experiments being sent.”

John stifled a shriek as he felt something slip down his stomach and nestle in the hollow between his thighs. He felt unusually light-headed and queasy and would swear he was floating about an inch from the side of the wall — or floor — or ceiling. “Sherlock. Where. Are. We.” John gulped and pinched his lips together to choke back the upheaval in his stomach.

“Don’t you dare vomit! We’re in a cargo box in space.”

“Space! Outer space?”

“Stop shouting.”

“You just said we’re in outer space in a small box with rats! I think this justifies a bit of shouting!”

“It could be worse.”

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Sherlock Season 3 Spoilers, Sweetie!

Last Updated: 08 January, 2014

(Yes, duckies, I’ve made this post “sticky” again because people are looking for it.)

Note: I’ll be posting the new links and speculation in reverse chronological order (in other words, the newest stuff will be on top once we get to the actual spoilers and speculation).

Right. There’s going to be some updated theorizing and guessing about Sherlock Season 3, but there will also be some definite “spoilers,” if you call sneak peeks at shooting, rumor, and hints by BBCOne spoilers. If so, stop now. If you don’t want spoilers, stop now! We’ll just mention that shooting is definitely underway and being observed in Bristol, in Cheltenham, in London…

If you don’t want Sherlock Season 3 spoilers, you might want to check out another post like this one with some guesses about Sherlock Season 3 or this one for a bit of post-RF fanfic or this one for a bit of video. We’ll wait until you leave the room before we chat about the latest spoilers.




Okay, don’t say your weren’t warned, Sweetie. (Sorry. I seem to be channeling River Song (who I was hoping was going to be the Doctor’s new companion).) There are video clips with Benedict Cumberbatch in full Sherlock regaliafrom some exterior filming below.

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Sherlock Holmes Is Not A Drug Addict, Watson

Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes sneering in A Study in Pink

“Physically or mentally dependent on a particular substance, and unable to stop taking it without incurring adverse effects is the definition of addicted. Why can’t people just think?”

There’s a charming review of BBC Sherlock on FlickeringMyth.com entitled Late to the Show — Sherlock you might want to read. I’m particularly impressed with how he manages to review the series without any spoilers.

The author does, however, consistently make the mistake of referring to Sherlock Holmes opium addiction. Sherlock Holmes never took opium in any of the stories or incarnations. He did take seven percent solution of cocaine from time to time. And  the only time Sherlock ever takes morphine, in the actual stories, is when he is received a serious injury requiring stitches. In fact, using any or all of the standard definitions of addiction, the only thing Sherlock Holmes appears to have an addiction to is solving crime.  Lack of interesting cases has the deleterious affect on Holmes, not his drug use. He may not even have an addiction to nicotine, if we use the stories as evidence!

Which is why I want to nail this “Sherlock Holmes was a drug addict” myth with a Buffy-sized stake through the heart (or double-barreled blast to the head of all the Sherlock Addiction Zombies, if you prefer).

Why Sherlock Holmes Is Not, Nor Has Ever Been, A Drug Addict

Addiction is the continued use of a mood altering substance or behavior despite adverse dependency consequences, or a neurological impairment leading to such behaviors.

Ad•dict•ed/Ad•dic•tion: compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance (as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly : persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful

addicted – compulsively or physiologically dependent on something habit-forming; “she is addicted to chocolate”; “addicted to cocaine”
The Free Dictionary

(sorry my OED is boxed up at the moment)

Martin Freeman as Dr. John Watson in BBC Sherlock looking skeptical.

Exactly how many nicotine patches are you wearing right now, Sherlock?

Note that all of these definitions refer to a dependence and most refer to an adverse or harmful result. Sherlock Holmes does not show a dependency upon any drug, even nicotine, at any time in any story. He is perfectly capably of going for long periods of time, when on a case, without so much as a cigarette or pipe. If anything, he seems more adversely affected by lack of tea. (But, of course, he is British and it is Victorian England). Dr. John Watson repeatedly mentions that the use of a seven percent solution of cocaine is taken only when Sherlock is between cases. In the very first story, A Study in Scarlet, we have this description of Sherlock by Dr. Watson:

“Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him: but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.” [Emphasis mine]

From the beginning of their relationship, Dr. Watson notes that Sherlock Holmes is not an addict, nor does he have the personal habits or behaviour of an addict. In The Sign of the Four, Sherlock does his masterful deductions about Dr. Watson’s watch being previous owned by Watson’s brother who was an alcoholic while high on cocaine. Sherlock uses the deductions to demonstrate that the cocaine has not dulled his wits.

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BBC Sherlock Season 3 Guide and Guesses

Last Update: 08 January, 2014

As we get more information, hints, teasers, rumours, sightings, and so forth, I’m going to update and fine-tune my guesses.

And for those who don’t want any spoilers, you might want to go look at something else. There are some nice fanfic or captions or videos you can amuse your self with.
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What Happened, John?


By J.H. Watson
(~1,700 words)

[Author’s Note: Absolutely slammed with work right now, but John and Sherlock wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote this one. I’ll be doing a bit about Season 3 later this week. Thanks for your patience.]

“What happened, John?”

God, how John Watson hated that question. It seemed to be how his therapist started every session lately. Of course, it would probably have helped if he saw her a bit more regularly.

But he’d see her and things seemed to be going better, so he’d skip the next session. And maybe the one after that. And sometimes the one after that. And then, well, then something would happen and he’d call up and make a new appointment.

John sat for a moment, silent. His therapist sat silent as well. John licked his lips and said, “Notcertain.”


John flattened his lips in a pinched frown before clearing his throat and saying, “I’m not certain.”

“What do you mean?”

So he told her about New Year’s and Sherlock’s birthday and what he could remember and what he couldn’t explain the next morning and how he’d been feeling like he was being watched, which might be true, but he hadn’t wanted to ask Mycroft and find out if it was true because it would just make him angry, or angrier, and whenever he thought of Mycroft he wanted to punch Mycroft and John figured that wasn’t a very healthy impulse on a lot of levels and what he really wanted for his life to just be normal.

He didn’t tell his therapist that he was really starting feel like he might be losing his mind from grief.

“What do you mean by normal, John?”

Oh, hell. Now I’ve stepped in it, he thought. Don’t say anything crazy.

“You know. Getting up and going to work at a decent job, a night out with friends from time to time. A girlfriend. Maybe with time it becomes serious and we get married, have kids, a mortgage. You know. I want to settle down.”

“Is that what you really want, John?”

No! What I want is a bloody miracle. I want Sherlock Holmes to walk through that door and to have it all the way it was before with his brain racing, my adrenalin pumping, and us solving crimes back at 221B. But that’s not going to happen, is it?

Instead, John answered, “Yes.” It was the answer he knew she wanted.

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No! You?

By J. H. Watson

(App. 1,000 words)

[Author’s Note: Right. If I’m late to the Seattle Sherlock Birthday Party, it’s not my fault. I’d timed everything perfectly, but the boys had other ideas and insisted I write this and post it before I leave. I’ll be back later to fix the typos and what not, but right now, like the White Rabbit, I’m late.]

John Watson awoke with a hangover and a desperate need for the loo. He sat up groggily on the sofa. The blanket fell to the floor beside his shoes. Funny, he didn’t remember taking off his shoes or getting the blanket.

As he stumbled in his stocking feet to the bath room, he ran through the fragments of what he could remember. He’d stopped at a pub for a drink on his way back to his flat. A routine he’d developed, and probably should stop, every since New Year’s Eve when he thought he heard… well, he should probably just avoid pubs for awhile.

There’d been some idiot with one of those tabloid rags with Kitty Riley’s name on it. She’d done a piece for Sherlock’s birthday raking up the coals of the past by cobbling together a few quotes from people who believed Moriarty was real and rehashing Brook’s bits of lies and half-truths. That was when the drink became drinks. Things were a bit fuzzier after that.

And louder. John remembered some louts about half his age making some snarky comments about posh fakers and wankers and eventually John threw the punch.

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For The Fandom Who Waits

I wasn’t planning on writing today. I’ve got a lot work and cleaning to do, but Sherlock and John had other plans for me. So I hope you enjoy.

And a Happy New Year

By J.H. Watson
(~900 words)

It had been an awful mistake. John Watson knew he should not have gone with Harry to a New Year’s party. But his therapist insisted he get out more, mingle, meet people and she was becoming suspicious of the meet-ups with Stamford and his coworkers, the dates, and the other social outings he invented. He’d had a row with Harry after he’d found her, drink in hand, chatting up someone by the bar. The drink was obviously not her first despite her promise of sobriety. Now John was alone again, a little drunk, a bit despondent, uncertain of his direction.

A sudden rush of people spilled out from a restaurant sweeping John into the crush. As he looked for an escape, he realized the restaurant was Angelo’s and that he must have come up Northumberland. He’d must have come this way by old habit. He’d avoided the area for months. Ever since he’d moved out of Baker Street. He wondered for a moment what Mrs. Hudson was doing tonight, if she was also alone. Perhaps he ought to check. No. He couldn’t go back there. Not yet. Certainly not tonight.

The crowd pressed around him had been counting down and now a cheer went up as Big Ben chimed, bells rang, horns honked. People began the indiscriminate kissing and hugging of desperate desire.

Above the noise came the sound of a violin and, as the individuals picked up the tune and began singing quavering versions of Auld Lang Syne, John Watson froze. “Sherlock?” he whispered. He looked quickly in the direction the music came. Through the swaying bodies he glimpsed a tall, thin figure in the shadows. As he pushed his way through the throng, he called out, “Sherlock!”

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A Boxing Day Sherlock Surprise

Absolutely brilliant! Would never have thought of combining such a cheery carol with the sentiment and images.

Am dashing off now to finish the very last bit of the Holmes Boys story. Might even get a chance to do a bit of proofreading before posting.

Happy Boxing Day (and the 2nd Day of Christmas).