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So today I decided to pay attention to the text in Gabriel's matchbox and it says:
"Out of his mouth go burning lamps,
and sparks of fire leap out."
Job 41:19
My first though was: isn't that actually what Crowley did when he stepped into hellfire for Aziraphale?
I mean:
I looked it up in the Bible and the quote and the whole chapter refer to the Leviathan, but couldn't it also apply to Crowley? Without giving it a lot of thought, at least these verses sound a lot like him:
3: Will he make many supplications unto thee? will he speak soft words unto thee?
4: Will he make a covenant with thee? wilt thou take him for a servant for ever?
8: Lay thine hand upon him, remember the battle, do no more.
18: By his neesings a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.
19: Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out.
20: Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron.
21: His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth.
24: His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone.
25: When he raiseth up himself, the mighty are afraid: by reason of breakings they purify themselves.
I'm sure that greater minds than mine will find a way to relate the rest of the verses to him, further analyse the whole thing and maybe come up with a whole theory based on this, so I'm just leaving it here to feed the fandom thinking machine.
Hi! In the sign of three, do you know what was in the matchbox in one of the funny cases Sherlock was describing in the wedding? Thanks 💜 (have a nice day)
This is what I found!
Not sure how legit that is, but maybe it’s an answer?? Anyone else know more?
I had a dream/nightmare last night and it was really weird. I wish I could articulate what it was like. It was incredibly vivid, i was watching a TV show that was rather old and it was called "the matchbox". I couldn't see the frame, which leads be to believe that I was watching it happen live in a studio. The star of the show was an older lad who had somewhat greying hair who sat on a table/desk and occasionally stood, between segments who would pull out a matchstick and attempt to light, in vain, by stricking it against a match box. The background was an old fashioned post card type painting, with many muted colors. The title of the show "the matchbox" was in decorated letters.
The segments were the bad part. It was clips of murdered people being found, there grotesque corpses covered in flies and rotting. I had to watch all of it.
The part that followed me out if the dream was the water drip, which I still can't find the origin of. The drip sounds like it was from a bath tub. Occasionally in the dream I would walk to a bathroom door but each time I knew that I would find a dead body in bloody water as the tub overflowed, so I didn't open it. When I finally woke up I couldn't move, if I did I would look over and see bodies.
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A/N: So... Here’s what happened. I changed meds and had a small episode during which I wrote all those other chapters. Now that I’m not manic I’m reading them and I hate them. They don’t match the tone and they aren’t thought out and contain giant plot holes. I’m leaving them up here if you want to read them just click on old chapter 9 and follow the links. But I think everyone will be a lot happier with this version.
John's POV
"What are we going to do, Sherlock?" John asked. He was sure that the next time he got hit with cold water he'd turn back too. Outside thunder rumbled and John hung his head. Now he had a new reason to hate rain.
"I don't have a plan." At John's expression Sherlock quickly added, "Yet." Snidely, as if the whole thing wasn't his fault Sherlock said, "I wasn't planning on testing the water on myself. I had planned on taking care of Mrs. Hudson's mouse infestation to check."
John opened his mouth to yell then snapped it shut. He didn't have the right to yell at Sherlock. Did he? They'd just had sex but they weren't in a relationship. Were they? John had kind of ditched Mary and showed up. Sherlock didn't owe him anything. If anything John owed Sherlock for letting him move back in. Wait, did he ask-
"Stop thinking, John. You're giving me a headache. Go do something useful like get your things while I figure this out."
It was nice to know that Sherlock was a rude git no matter what form he took. Strangely John didn't like Sherlock more as a female like he thought he would have (if he'd ever been creative enough to come up with a situation like this). John liked Sherlock's deep baritone. He liked Sherlock's large hands (oh, God did he like those!). Sherlock changed so much as a girl. He was a little shorter, a little softer and... his hair was a bit lighter? Ok, so maybe Sherlock didn't change that much. He had the same lips, the same manic energy and the same eyes. Plus he had some nice tits. In fact-
"John if you don't leave now I'll start calling you Joan whenever you turn."
"If you call me Joan I'll hit you." John retorted.
"You wouldn't if I were female at the time."
"Would if I were one too."
Sherlock snorted which was, frankly, adorable when he was a girl. "Oh, please! You're so sexist-"
"Oi! Don't call me sexist you cock!"
Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. "Yoo hoo, boys! Can you keep it down? I've- Oh!" She noticed fem-Sherlock and pulled John aside to scold him, "You know better than to fight in front of a client. Shame on you John."
"Actually, Mrs. Hudson, that's Sherlock."
Mrs. Hudson looked at him like he'd gotten into her stash of evening soothers and had one too many.
"I'll let him, er, her, oh whatever, explain it." John said before calling, "I'm off!" at Sherlock.
He heard Mrs. Hudson ask if Sherlock would like a cup of tea on his way out and prayed Sherlock wouldn't take advantage too badly.
----
It started raining when John got in the cab and by the time he arrived at his old residence was pouring. Mary assumed he was his sister and John realized he'd never introduced the two. He would have felt awful about it but she was the one having an affair. She allowed him to gather the boxes into the living room and wait for a cab. John was sure if she knew it was him she'd make him wait outside in the deluge.
----
John's entire life fit into three boxes when he moved from the bedsit to Baker Street. He had four boxes with him now. Everything he'd acquired during his relationship with Mary that wasn't clothing stayed there. John figured it was fair since everything he'd acquired during the time he lived with Sherlock had stayed at Baker Street. It had been their stuff and he didn't have the heart to take anything out of the flat. Which, John mused, made it easy to move back in. He probably should have been wondering what it said about him that he didn't notice that he'd treated his time with Sherlock as if they'd been in a relationship but he'd wondered about that too often lately and had grown tired of it.
"Let me help you with those, Miss." The cabbie said with a saccharine smile.
John declined but the man insisted and John let it go so the cardboard boxes wouldn't fall apart on the stoop. He took his key and unlocked the door startling Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, John. You gave me a fright. Sherlock said to move into his room. He's cleared out some closet space for you." Mrs. Hudson said warmly. John wondered what exactly Sherlock said to her that she recognized him like this but knew better than to ask. "And congratulations, dear. I'm happy for you both. It was long overdue. But, if you could be a bit quieter next time I'd appreciate it." Mrs. Hudson patted his arm and went back into her flat.
John thought he would die. His face was on fire and the cabbie dropped all the boxes he took from the taxi at the foot of the stairs. John didn't want to give him a tip, he was sure that if he'd had anything breakable it would have been destroyed and the cabbie had insisted in the first place so John really didn't owe him anything at all, but John gave him a bit extra anyway (albeit a less than he would have had the cabbie handled his boxes with more care).
----
Sherlock was missing when John took his first box upstairs. He set it in the living room and started taking his belongings out. John didn't want to move into Sherlock's bedroom for two reasons. One, he really needed to talk to Sherlock himself before moving in. Mrs. Hudson liked to meddle. Two, he had a feeling that their sexual encounters were only going to get louder with time so they should probably move into his room.
John finished the first box. The rest of the boxes were all clothing. John put everything in them in the dryer. He hated mildew. Then John took a shower to change back into a guy. After the clothing was finished drying John folded everything but Sherlock still wasn't back. Something occurred to John as he was hovering outside Sherlock's room. What if Sherlock had moved everything and was waiting for John to move in? How would Sherlock feel if John decided to ask him? They weren't good at communicating. Maybe this was Sherlock's way of avoiding a relationship talk.
John made a decision: if Sherlock's sock index was still there he'd talk to Sherlock before moving in. If it was rearranged and there was space for John he'd take that as a sign to move in. John entered the room and slid Sherlock's sock drawer open. The sock index was exactly the same. John felt disappointment until he saw the little slip of paper. John picked it up and read it: Your drawer is the one below this.
"Brilliant bastard," John muttered with a huge grin. When he slid the other drawer open it was completely empty.
Only a few minutes had passed after John was finished moving everything in when he got a text: At Angelo's. Come at once if convenient. -SH John read it and smiled. Only a couple seconds passed before the second text came in: If inconvenient come anyway. -SH
John ran out the door. There were no taxis waiting for him, of course, so he jogged to the restaurant heedless of the rain.
It was a happy coincidence that he was wearing the exact outfit from that night minus the jacket. He regretted not grabbing it at the halfway point but was too excited to care.
John arrived, dripping wet, female, and ready to go on his first date with Sherlock. John hadn't thought that Sherlock would be the romantic one in their relationship. He should have known better though, with Sherlock it was best to expect the unexpected.
A female Sherlock looked up from their candle-less table and frowned. "You had time to grab a jacket and umbrella." Sherlock said in the high pitched soprano John had yet to get used to.
John felt wrong footed as he came over and sat down. He didn't want to say anything in case Sherlock had something planned but he had a sinking suspicion that this meeting place was just happenstance.
"Did you get everything moved in?" Sherlock asked. He was looking out the window but kept glancing at John from the corner of his eye.
"Uh," John wasn't sure if Sherlock was talking about his room or not. "Yeah." John decided to just allude to it and pray he wasn't mistaken. "Thanks for clearing out a drawer."
Sherlock's eyes were glued to the building across when he grunted in response but there was a pink tinge to his cheekbones that John could have sworn wasn't there before.
John wanted to grab him, force him to look at John properly and ask what they were doing here but couldn't make himself do it. If Sherlock had a plan (and Sherlock always had a plan) then he didn't want to ruin it.
Sherlock seemed to be waiting for John to say something though and John thought back to that night to see if there was something he could say that wasn't presumptuous. The only thing John remembered saying that night was "I'm not his date" which was not helpful at all. John wondered if he hadn't protested so vociferously that night if Sherlock would have still said he was married to his work.
Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off of whatever he was looking at outside the window the entire time John was thinking.
John glanced out but didn't see anything. "Anything happening opposite?" John asked. By this time he figured it had to be a case.
Sherlock just grunted again and John shrugged. He bit his lip as he thought. He could see the server Sherlock always called Billy (even though his nametag read Steve) approaching their table. John only had a few seconds left to think and John decided if Sherlock could take a step by empting a drawer John could take a step too. When John ordered he added, "We also need a candle. It's more romantic."
Sherlock's eyes didn't leave 22 Northumberland Street but his lips did twitch into a smile.
(Part 10 coming soon!)
End A/N: While I wrote this Walk Like a Man by Frankie Valli and the 4 Seasons came on. I could not stop laughing.
Vulnerability lies inside the box Unpredictability lies with you Or me (if you can hold me accountable) Endangerment will strike immaturity If you have to leave You say you love me But it was a rus…
