Always blows my mind when a show ends and people are like, "oh, I'm going to miss these characters! I'm going to miss this fandom! I'm so sad it's over!"
The characters didn't go anywhere and now you get to enjoy them fully, with the entire context and understanding of their story! A show ending means it's time to get even more unhinged about The Character!
There are still people making art and fics for Kirk and Spock every single day. You don't have to throw your modern Blorbo in the trash the moment their final episode airs, you dork. Get out there and make transformative art about it, or share headcanons, or whatever else you were already having fun doing.
Please, dear gods, keep doing shit that's fun even if it isn't the trending hot topic. You need some whimsy as armor against this hell world.
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Some where in Kent, (in England, of course), there's a hill called Holmes Hill, and on that hill is a cottage, called Watson's Cottage. I know this because I happened to drive that way coming home, as there was severe queues on the M25 for this time of day.
It gives me (frankly an absurd) amount of joy, and peace, knowing that no matter what, these two will somehow always be together. It almost makes one believe in something grand, and Romantic, and silly, like soulmates.
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A candle (💗romance💗); an offer (YES); a party (is it my birthday?) The future begins (with a dance).
It's been such a pleasure to revisit John and Sherlock in this universe, and to have you along for the journey. Thank you for reading, thank you for your comments 💕
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Back to London! Visitors: Molly has news and a request; Mycroft has (good) advice.
John laughs, that silly, high-pitched giggle that Sherlock loves, has loved since he was twelve years old, facing John on a sound stage, pretending to be an alien who’d just stumbled upon his first human.
“Git. Remember when Alex and Jason used to lie in those twin beds talking to each other at night?”
“I was there, John. My memory is not damaged.” He kisses John’s forehead. “Nor am I experiencing age-related dementia.”
“You sound like Alex Tribble when you talk like that.”
“To some people, I will always be an alien.”
“Never to me. To me, you were always Sherlock. The boy I loved.”
Sherlock has a realisation. Irene has an idea. John has a headache.
“MJ is friends with her assistant, Nikki. I think she might confide in her about Joffrey. And Nikki knows about prop guns.”
“Would she kill for MJ?” Sherlock remembers their whispered conferences, but has never thought of them as friends. “Or maybe she has a motive of her own.”
“I have an idea,” Irene replies. “But it’s just hearsay. Gossip.”
Greg laughs. “You love gossip. Go on, spill the tea.”
Her ruby lips curve into a smile. “A man is dead. A complete and utter waste of human flesh, without a doubt. I have to be certain before entangling more people, though. As they say, loose lips sink ships. And mine is not the only boat in the water.”
“Well, I’m going to torpedo somebody’s boat if they take John to trial.” Sherlock grimaces.
Who's got an alibi? The police are clearly out of their depth, so Sherlock takes Greg with him talk with MJ.
“I suppose it wouldn’t be weird if the two of us went together, offered condolences," Greg says. "And if you keep your mouth shut.”
“Exactly. We’ve played that scene often enough.”
Greg gives him a hard look. “Yeah, we have. And Baz never keeps his mouth shut."
The investigation begins! The police arrive; there are questions.
DI Massey sits back, exchanges a look with the spiky-haired woman.
“John Watson is your husband, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“What did you and he talk about last night?”
“Excuse me, who are you?” He feels like he’s played this scene before, and knows what her answer will be before she speaks.
“Maura Halloran. I’m a consulting detective.” She gives him a small, insincere smile.
“Consulting…?”
“Detective. Not a police officer. I consult with the police when—”
“—they’re in over their heads. Yes, I know what a consulting detective is, though I assumed I was the only one in the world. A fictional one, at that.”
She smiles more broadly. “Yes, I suppose you would know.”
“Then perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me why you’re here.”
Will Sherlock survive his first encounter with a non-fictional consulting detective? 🙄
Thank you for reblogging! 😍
Sorry for the delay! The chapters should come more quickly now. 💞
5 years ago today I started posting Ride On (10/10 ch.; 39k words).
It was my second Fandom Trumps Hate fic for Anyawen, whose prompt was precise enough to inspire me and fluid enough to let me to head straight for the land of Self-Indulgently Including Everything I Ever Wanted in BBC Sherlock Plus 20 Of My Favorite Songs So There.
@anyawen, most creative and generous of humans, also beta’ed the story as it was emerging from my fevered brain, or rather, from the space between our two fevered brains.
Podfixx started making the [Podfic] Ride On around Ch. 5, or perhaps had recorded 5 chapters before mentioning it to me, aware that I’d want a @podfixx treatment on ANYTHING I ever wrote including my least successful job application letter ever. I haven’t read Ride On since I posted it, but have lost count of the times I’ve listened to the podfic, which is infinitely better.
In Praise of "Ride On" by @k2ntwo is a paean to the fic and to the podfic, and periodically I clutch it to my heart.
The Cover for Ride On by @bluebellofbakerstreet makes me squee every time I see it and I bet I'm not alone; @johix's art takes us to Caherdaniel in the midst of a very public reunion, in Ch. 4.
The comments, oh my dear gods the comments. Readers and listeners and tumblrinas have spoiled me rotten with the comments and bookmarks on Ride On. It's the story (of mine) readers have kudos'd most; their interaction with it has often restored my flagging spirits in the truly grim timeline we’re inhabiting.
I wrote two epilogues to Ride On (chapters 9 and 10), and a final epilogue (Ch. 11), set in a retirementlock decade, is in the drafts folder. Let’s just say that no one will be surprised at where it’s set.
TLDR: no fic is an island; it takes a fandom; no fic of mine is ever finished; and I don’t have words to thank those who’ve loved this story. Also: thanks for reblogging!
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Sherlock’s phone rings. Irene.
“Tell me,” she says, her voice sincere. “How is John?”
“He’s… handling it better than I am. I can’t believe Norton is making him do this.”
“Joffrey’s defining trait is vindictiveness. When we parted, I let him believe it was his idea, that he’d sent me packing. As a result, we still get along. Don’t make yourself a target. He has a long reach and a longer memory.”
“What is he holding over MJ? Other than the fact that they’re married? She acts like she’s afraid of him. Are they going through a divorce?”
“You won’t hear me say that.”
Summary: John prepares for his role; they film the death scene. TV-14 / CW: fake blood, simulated injuries
On the weekends, Sherlock takes the train home to London, to John. It’s how he’s getting through each episode, promising himself that he gets to go home, put what’s coming out of his mind. There will be life after Culpeper & Hawke, he tells himself. That’s all that matters.
