Sherlock and John don’t know what to say when they find Molly in the lab wearing Irene Adler’s “Battle Dress.”
Listen, after the the Christmas debacle and the “how did he recognize her by…not her face” incident in the morgue, I figure Molly might ask Irene for a few tips to get Sherlock’s attention. Okay, give me some time and I’ll see if I can’t do some flash fic for this. In the meantime, feel free to provide your own bit of flash fic in the comments below.
I’ve got to head off now to go to a Seattle Sherlock Convention planning meeting (and it’s a bit of a journey for me involving bags and things).
Whoof! Finally. Here’s a bit of flash fan fic to go with the image.
by J.H. Watson ~ 750 Words
Sherlock Holmes frowned at the text message on his phone.
“Something wrong?” John Watson asked. They’d only been back in London for a couple of days after the Baskerville case and Sherlock was already showing signs of boredom.
“I don’t recall taking my riding crop back to Bart’s.”
Sherlock flashed his phone screen for John to read. It said, “Found your riding crop in my lab. Come at once. Could be dangerous. – Molly”
Oh, there’s a new version of Cluedo with Moriarty murdered. Now if it were Sherlock murdered everyone would know it would be me in the flat with a microscope.
Moriarty murdered? But it was suicide. Moriarty. On the roof. With a gun. See, John, it is possible for the victim to do it. They must have changed the rules.
If you haven’t heard the news, there is to be a special edition of Cluedo with the characters from BBC Sherlock. Moriarty is the victim. And I’m hoping it’s Molly Hooper in the lab with poison. Actually, I’m hoping it comes out in time for me to get it as a Christmas present and schedule a game with a bunch of other Sherlockians along with a BBC Sherlock marathon to greet the New Year.
The game is being offered by Winning Moves through a special license with BBC and Hasbro. No listing yet on the Winning Moves website. Meanwhile, here’s a brief article over at Televisual.
I’m running a bit behind because I’ve got to prep for classes and a special project on another site, but I should have some new fanfic posted by the beginning of next week. I’ve also gotten a heads up about a possible new exclusive fan video some time next week.
And yes, I’m testing the Facebook plugin that’s suppose to allow me to post here and have it appear on Sherlock Cares Fan page, so apologies in advance for any inconveniences and screw ups (I will reserve my rants about Facebook). (At this point, I’m seriously reserving my Facebook rant. Could we all please just leave and go find someplace that really cares about its users for our gathering spot? Please?)
This whiskey taste different. Did that waiter look strangely familiar to you, John?
If I were Mycroft I’d watch my back for awhile. Sherlock does have a tendency to experiment with drugs — and not just on himself.
Meanwhile, if I were a member of the Academy of Television Arts & Sciences, I’d probably check to see whether my waiter or waitress is a fan of Sherlock (or The Big Bang Theory) before eating or drinking anything they handed me…
I ma sincerely embarrassed about the recent Emmy Awards in so many ways.
I think this calls for a dozen chocolate frosted Krispy Kremes.
I really wasn’t planning to write this today. I have no idea where it came from. You can’t exactly call it post-Reichenbach Fall (although I did tag it as such). But it’s definitely Reichenfeels.
I think it was the gray stratus clouds moving in today that got to me. And I’m really sorry I looked up information on the Krispy Kreme site (like Mycroft, I’m on a diet and even when I’m not, Krispy Kremes are deadly for me). Fortunately, the nearest Krispy Kreme is 80 miles away!
Anyway, if you enjoy, please feel free to comment or tweet, or something. Thanks!
It Was You
By J.H. Watson ~ 800 Words
Mycroft Holmes sat quietly in a chair designed and built for comfort in a room designed for long periods of comfortable, quiet sitting in the contemplative sanctuary afforded by the Diogenes Club. The club’s entire raison d’être, as the better educated diplomatic members would put it, or its purpose, as the rest of us would say, was to buffer its members from the hurly-burly, hustle and bustle of London’s ordinary residents. Mycroft Holmes knew he was decidedly not an ordinary resident, even for the Diogenes Club.
He glanced once around the room and made a mental note to have someone on his staff send flowers to Sir Smythe-Higgsbosun’s widow. Of course, she wouldn’t be a widow until the end of next week, but it was always better not to leave this things until the last moment. He also made a note to ensure that he had no investments in his portfolio connected with the any of the corporations controlled by the Right Honourable Charles Cœur-Défaillant who was planning to disappear with his latest mistress within the fortnight despite buying tickets to the National Theatre.
Mycroft felt a gentle flutter over his heart. It was a silent signal from his mobile politely requesting his attention. He discreetly removed the dignified and tasteful phone from the pocket of his equally dignified suit jacket. Everything, and everyone, in the Diogenes Club appeared tasteful and dignified at all times. Mycroft peered at the screen.
The text read: u o me
Mycroft stared at it a moment as if expecting something more. He read the message again. Unnecessarily, but it gave him another moment to rapidly consider the mind of his brother, Sherlock, before taking any action.
Yes, but blowing out candles would be so ordinary, wouldn’t it?
Took me a bit to find the proper link for donations to the Mark Gatiss Birthday Fundraiser, but here it is on JustGiving.com (and frankly the target amount is ridiculously tiny, so please, let’s just blow that out of the water. Why it’d barely cover the cost of Mycroft’s umbrella budget for the year!). The permalink with all the details can be found here and a big Thank You to TheCutterAlicia over at Tumblr.
Mr. Gatiss’s birthday is 17 October. He will be 46 years old. His birthstone is Opal and the birth flower is the calendula. And while Mycroft would not approve and Sherlock would mock, I’ll include the information that Mr. Gatiss’s astrological sign is Libra. For those of you so inclined, here is a link to his astrological profile. A snippet has this to say:
You have strong opinions and possess much determination. Your insight into human nature makes up part of your appeal to others. Your tendency to bang your head against the wall and to become frustrated easily is something that you outgrow and/or temper over the years. Your strong ideals and emotions, if channeled constructively, can bring you much success in your chosen profession. Communication is important to you, although your own communication style is moody. You are highly intelligent and possess the ability to “hit the nail on the head”. Although you can be blunt at times, you generally come across well to others, simply because they can sense your good intentions. idealistic – emotional – restless
Isn’t this fun?
Don’t forget to click on the link and donate a little something. And, even if you can’t donate a little something, you can help by spreading the word throughout the internet on all that lovely social media.
And since we’re on a Mark Gatiss/Mycroft kick, I’ll offer up another Mycroft – Sherlock brother fan music video to enjoy.
There’s no way my real fans could be that stupid, John.
I’m convinced it’s all a plot by Moriarty’s remaining minions to discredit you. Would you hurry up and get them all locked up soon, please.
Right, my theme music for today is “Bad Day” by U2. My data server is running slow (i.e., losing packets faster than reality “star” looses clothes). I had to do a business luncheon where I was informed by someone who gets paid a great deal more than I and has benefits that she never finished basic maths but still got her degree and a job with the college and that she does “everything on Facebook” and believes the college should just teach Facebook and get rid of the “useless online classes.” I discovered that Great Expectations beat out Sherlock for several Emmys. (Really? Really? Are the members of the American entertainment industry so shallow and ill-educated that they *still* think that just because something is historical or Dickens, it’s inherently superior? Oh, wait. They actually Have Categories for “Reality” shows. Sorry. Silly of me to expect better.)
And as the icing on the cake, I found myself conversing with someone who genuinely believed that Steven Moffat was a “bad writer” and a “misogynist and homophobe.” I sincerely thought he was being sarcastic until I noticed the flecks of spittle forming foam on his lips. I thought he was an isolated mental case until this article from WhatCulture.com came through my Mofftiss newsfeed entitled “In Defence of Steven Moffat.”
As if Mr. Moffat needs any defence! (yes, Yanks, that’s a perfectly acceptable spelling)
Then I read it. “You might want to put that cup back in its saucer now.”
Right. Excuse me while I make certain all the booby-traps are set (because there are certainly a lot of boobies running around now, apparently) and then plant some more killer rose and blackberry hedges around my property.
Someone actually tweeted a death threat to Martin Freeman’s wife, Amanda Abbington, because she defended Moffat? Seriously? Right. Let’s not threaten the large, burly man who could probably knock you into the next U.S. election year with one punch. Let’s threaten the pretty, slender, young woman who probably weighs less than a fully-loaded backpack. Obviously, the tweets were by men who wanted to advertise publicly the inadequacies of their sexual organs and their brains.
Now I know I’ve done my fair share of ranting about cheats and shortcuts taken by Mr. Moffat in some of his scripts (and his series), but that’s because I think he’s a Damn Good Writer and I get a bit peeved when he succumbs to time pressures and gives me less than F*#&%ing Perfect. But I would never even dream of suggesting he’s anything but a Brilliant Writer (and man, judging from his interviews).
As for the argument that he’s a misogynist, while I admit I’m not a fan of Irene Adler being portrayed as highly-damaged, psychopath who thinks the best way to use her obvious intelligence is by renting her body and mind as disposable playthings to the highest bidder (or to put it another way, I don’t like her “Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and think. It’s the new sexy.”), it is the character he created for the episode and he did a damn fine job of it. The character is consistently sassy, sexy, and well-written.
The episode is fun and original (which counts for a lot in my book), as dense as Christmas pudding, and still maintains the spirit of the original. And as the WhatCulture post points out, Moffat not only works closely with some very intelligent women, but has portrayed some seriously strong and intelligent women in his other work (now if he could just stop thinking they have to be a bit bad to be smart, I’d be happier, but that’s just my own personal prejudice).
I’d say “Sherlock and Watson” except they are both equally brilliant! Thank you for your genius, gentlemen.
And how can anyone with two functioning brain cells actually accuse Moffat of homophobia? His business partner and one of his best friends is openly gay! He’s written characters who are not merely bisexual, but omnisexual! And, to the best of my knowledge (I admit I haven’t seen all of the Who episodes in their entirety), he’s done it without putting them in drag, which is saying a lot given the British entertainment proclivity for drag. This is like saying President Barack O’Bama is not black because he speaks educated American English and doesn’t have “gangsta tats.”
I’ve decided the only way to deal with this it to put these cretinous imbeciles in the same classification as the “Moon landing was faked,” “Bigfoot is real,” and Oliver Stone, and laugh. (The laughing will commence as soon as my blood pressure drops to safe level.) The best way to stop this nonsense is by calling it nonsense and laughing at the perpetrators until they skulk away in humiliation.
“Why can’t people just think?”
Will now attempt to go back to work and stop looking at the Costco ad for a year’s supply of emergency rations for my bunker…(unfortunately, unlike Montaigne, I don’t have a chateau in the more rural and scenic portions of France to hide in until the lunacy settles down.)