#femmecroft

HELLO SHERLOCKED DEVELOPMENT ENTHUSIASTS

the short answer is YES, I DO PLAN TO 

first, a mea culpa

because i never meant to take a hiatus of almost a year(!) but i had a baby and it turns out babies are wonderful, beautiful, life-changing, time-sucking buzzkills (it’s taken me about five minutes to write this far) and for a while i lost my gif-making laptop to old age (babies are also money-sucking buzzkills)

and then about the time i was feeling good about gearing up for season five, That Article came out

which for obvious reasons put a huge damper on my mood and enthusiasm

i have neither the time nor energy nor particular need to delve into it here (many articles have already done a much better job of it than i would, and this has now taken me half an hour thanks to a coffee spill and having to mediate a dispute involving the dog and a dropped cheeto) but i bring it up because it felt disingenuous to continue this blog without acknowledging that yes i saw it, and no that shit is not acceptable to me 

but i think we all still need a little levity in our lives right now, and if quotes from an american sitcom layered incongruously over a bbc drama suit, i’m happy to oblige, in special honor of my queen jessica walter, my beloved lucille

all i ask in return is some patience, because i can not binge watch anymore (i’m sadly all of two episodes into the new season) so new gifs may be slow coming, but i will do my best and throw in some old reblogs in the meantime

These days, it's simply a product of living in the general vicinity of Sherlock Holmes, and his New York, which is restless and strung-out and a bit too wealthy bohemian for hers. 

So she's in her living room and she's in her bathrobe--and it's that one, too short and from an ex-girlfriend--and a very tall woman wearing a suit that probably costs four months of Joan's salary is paging through Sherlock's medical records.

Joan clears her throat and the woman smiles at her, and it's too familiar for someone who clearly broke into the apartment while Joan was sleeping. 

She's still holding the medical records. "He knew I knew he was lying about the dysplasia."

The woman's voice is fondly critical, her accent pure London public school, and her eyes run over Joan in a rapid hopscotch pattern, just like--

"Mycroft Holmes," says the woman, standing and offering her hand, "believe me, it's a pleasure."

Joan flashes a tight little smile in return and nods at the records. "Holmes never told me he had a sister. May I?"

Mycroft glances down at the papers in her hand as though surprised to see them. "Of course. I apologize, I didn't mean to pry."

"Ah," says Joan, noncommittally, wishing, not for the first time, that there was a camera in the room at which she could shoot her exasperated glances, or, failing that, a Holmes at which she could shoot.

She looks at Mycroft, who is interrogating the nearest wall with her indomitable deductive gaze.