#Major sholto

[anne-adler]

#bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock #sherlock holmes #major sholto #random screenshots i absolutely love

[mercyraph]

Can we talk about the fact that Sherlock was too jealous of Major sholto to put together the fact that Mary was pregnant? Yeah iktr

#antoinette jarvis #sherlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #john #mary morstan #mary watson #major sholto

[consult-sherlockholmes]

It's Major Sholto, obviously. I mean, you saw them at the wedding ... ^^

Sholto? Yes I saw him at the wedding, he was John's commander, I mean ex-commander. What about him?

#Rp #Roleplay #sherlock rp #sherlock roleplay #johnlock rp #johnlock roleplay #Major sholto

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello!

What's your Jolto headcanon? Did they act on it or they just danced around each other with their feelings the whole time when John was in the army?

I personally think that John might've had a good reason to not act on his feelings- the difference in their posts (like John was a Captain, Shop to was a Major, it would've been unprofessional for them to go for it).

Hey Lovely!

Ahh, good question!

I HONESTLY suspect that they didn't act on their feelings, but it was a mutual thing, obviously – like I think John did try, but Sholto denied John, probably because of a rank thing. So yeah, the only way I can see them MAYBE sharing SOMETHING was just before Sholto became John's commanding officer... like maybe they had a night, and Sholto got promoted, so Sholto believed it could never move forward past that night.

Either way, it's clear the feelings were mutual, but I think internalized homophobia from both men OR because of ranks, they just couldn't do it. BUT it is fun that it is left ambiguous, because it leaves room for the fans to fill in the gaps :)

#steph replies #jolto #major sholto #who is john watson #captain watson

[chriscalledmesweetie]

Chapter 15 is now on AO3

The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat by ChrisCalledMeSweetie

A Sherlock Holmes mystery, as recounted by Dr. John H. Watson.

Can you follow the clues to deduce whodunnit?

Chapter 15: Molly Hooper

“Have you reflected, my friend, how many people in that house stood to benefit by Sir Emory’s death? Mrs. Amat, Miss Irene, Miss Hooper, Mrs. Hudson. Only one, in fact, does not. Major Sholto.” 

Holmes’ tone in uttering that name was so peculiar that I looked up, puzzled. 

“I don’t understand you,” I said. 

“Two of the people I accused have given me the truth.” 

“You think Major Sholto has something to conceal also?” 

“As for that,” remarked Holmes nonchalantly, “there is a saying, is there not, that Englishmen conceal only one thing—their love? And Major Sholto, I should say, is not good at concealments.” 

I feared we might be straying uncomfortably close to something I, too, wished to conceal…

I’m tagging some folks who might be interested. Please let me know if you’d like me to tag or untag you.

@mydogwatson @totallysilvergirl @bluebellofbakerstreet @sarahthecoat @helloliriels @daisyfairy1 @imnova @kittenmadnessandtea @missdeliadilisblog @marta-bee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant @jobooksncoffee @peanitbear @bakingsherlycakes @kettykika78 @stellacartography @shelleysprometheus @iamjustreading @chinike @sgam76 @loves-to-read-fanfic @inevitably-johnlocked @johnlockismyreligion @riversong912 @calaisreno @7-percent @lijahlover @thegildedbee @naefelldaurk

#sherlock #johnlock #agatha christie #my fic

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: stuck at home - season's greetings - baby please come home

If Sherlock ever gets jealous? Oh, yes! Normally he stares down or gives a venomous deduction to anyone who dares letting their eyes linger inappropriately on his John, but when John willingly contacts an old friend, Sherlock knows he needs to control his jealousy.

December 16

My fever has vanished when I wake, but I’m terribly thirsty. Even before I’ve considered calling John, he emerges in the doorway to the bedroom with a large glass of cold water. I try to speak, but he urges me to drink first. 

“Thank you, John,” I say when I’ve emptied half the glass. 

My voice is deeper than normal, and still hoarse. He greets me softly and places a palm on my forehead to check my temperature. 

“Feeling better today?” he asks. 

I nod, take his hand, places it on my cheek and lean into his palm. He bends down and kisses the top of my head. He refuses to bestow me with a kiss to my lips when I’m still ill. I huff my complaint and he pets my hair to make up for it. 

***

I’m obviously stuck at home for another day or two, which is fine, because I’m in no state to do much else than use the bathroom, make tea and doze on the sofa anyway. 

John’s writing his annual season’s greetings to major Sholto, and I can only grit my teeth and soldier on. I hate that John still corresponds with his former superior officer, despite it only happens once a year. It’s of course childish of me to be jealous of a relationship that was nowhere near what John and I have, but I can’t help the gnawing feeling in my gut. 

“Right, I’ll just pop out to post this and then I’m off to Barts to help Mike with a medical report he wanted my opinion on. He’s supposed to deliver it tomorrow. You’ll be alright now, I think. The fever is all but gone,” he says and cups my face, scanning my eyes while stroking my cheekbones. 

I close my eyes and revel in the proximity, humming appreciatively when I feel warm lips on my forehead. 

“Try to get some sleep, yeah,” John murmurs. 

The warmth I felt just now is gone within seconds of his departure. I try to sleep, I really do, but images of Sholto and John in their uniforms kissing in the Afghan desert, makes me nauseous. John is right, I do act like a child sometimes. In my defence, my brain seems to be filled with wool at the moment, and I’m unable to think rational about the matter. 

I turn on the telly, but everything reminds me of John, so I turn it off. After I’ve drunk a cup of tea, I try to enter my mind palace, but to no avail. Music, then. Since I’m too weak to play myself, I find a playlist John’s put together. It contains both classical and pop music. The classical pieces are soothing, and I must’ve dozed off, because when I wake it’s considerably darker outside. 

John’s still out and I feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t get any better when one of this Mariah Carey’s Christmas songs plays from my phone on the table. Baby please come home. What a fitting song for my mood. I reach out to skip it, but then she sings: you should be here with me, and I break down, sobbing like a child.

And that’s the state John finds me in mere minutes later. Normally I would’ve been embarrassed, but I’m beyond that and clings to him when he takes me in his arms and rocks me, whispering soothing words into my hair. 

“Shh. I’m back now. I’ll always come back to you, you know that, right? You’re my sweetheart, my good boy. How about some mulled wine to cheer you up? Would you like that?”

I love it when he does this, even if I shouldn’t. It makes me appear like a big child, but I need it. Desperately. John knows this. Knows how I crave being attended to when I’m in this vulnerable state. And there isn’t another person in the world I would want to see me in such a condition, who I can trust like I can trust John. He’s my rock, and knight in shining armour. My savour and the man I want to share the rest of my life with, whether it’ll be long or short. 

He holds me close when we go to bed, kissing and petting my hair until I fall asleep in his arms. 

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @helloliriels @gregorovitchworld @sabsi221b @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear @raina-at

#December ficlet prompts #sherlock fandom #sherlock #john watson #johnlock #sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #ao3 fanfic #december moments #respite in december

[helloliriels]

SLEEPLESS IN LONDON - JW

John Watson, 37 + LONDON, UK

Role in story: Main Character, Love Interest

Goal: To find a partner he can respect, feel equal to (again), and LOVE passionately.

Physical Description: Short, Blonde, Compact build, Strong

Personality: Charming, Experienced, Witty, Fiercely Loyal to his friends and loved ones, Good moral compass

Occupation: Doctor (GP, no longer a surgeon)

Habits/Mannerisms: Intermittent hand tremor, Psychosomatic Limp, PTSD, Drinks his feelings on occasion.

Background: Military Doctor, Invalided out early, Bisexual, formerly married, Wife died to cancer.

Internal Conflict: Never really acted on his bisexuality before, Had a brief encounter in military with Major Sholto ended badly, stuck with Girlfriends because it was more socially acceptable. Long past the age of wanting short-term relationships, also has a young daughter now, so he is more careful about his choices and time spent outside the home.

External Conflict: Rosie (his daughter) makes it clear that she feels the void her mom left and has been more aware of his loneliness and sadness than he thought he was showing as a father. Now that the whole nation knows it (she called in to radio station and announced he needs a new wife), he wants to make an effort to change for her. To show her that he is working on allowing himself to be happy, even though he doesn't think love strikes twice.

Fic started early this year, actively writing again! 💋

SLEEPLESS IN LONDON by helloliriels

#sleepless in london #doing a character study #john watson #johnlock #helloliriels

[myemuisemo]

In both #3 and #4 of the Letters from Watson for The SIgn of the Four, Watson loses his mind and babbles when he's trying to have a conversation in the presence of Mary Morstan, and I'm here for it.

For the rest of these two letters, especially #4, I feel like I've stumbled into a story by Edgar Allen Poe or Wilkie Collins. Mr. Thaddeus Sholto feels like exactly what would happen if a colorful Wilkie Collins character -- say, the terrifyingly affable, rotund Count Fosco from The Woman in White -- stumbled into Holmes' world of deduction and logic.

Thaddeus Sholto had me digging for physiognomy texts, as that protruding lower lip feels like a detail meant to say something specific in an era that took "facial composition as a sign of character" very seriously.

The Pocket Lavatar (1817) gives us one possible interpretation:

When the lower lip projects beyond the upper, it denotes negative goodness.

Also, relevant to Sholto's watery blue eyes:

Blue eyes are frequently found in persons of phlegmatic character; they are often indications of feebleness and effeminacy.

Physiognomy and phrenology both had multiple rounds of being in fashion in the 19th century, with different gurus disagreeing on what exactly your nose or the shape of your skull meant. The whole field is, of course, wildly racist, with a garnish of ableism and a drizzle of classism. It was also a fairly familiar vocabulary to contemporary readers.

Meanwhile, I feel like every reference to Thaddeus Sholto's snobby little habits is meant to make the reader chuckle at his pretentiousness and poor taste, but I can't prove it.

Since the premise of this story seems to require acting as if plundering India for gems and wealth is okay, my hackles went up at referring to Major Sholto's long-time Indian servant as Chowdar. Turns out this was a common transliteration of a name we'd now render more like Chaudhuri.

(Major Sholto had had malaria, by the way, as evidenced from the quinine bottle present when he received his startling letter. It's likely that malaria contributed to his fragile health.)

Major Sholto's relationship with his manservant Lal Chowdar is solid enough that they hide a body together, but I have to raise an eyebrow at the major's naivete.

If my own servant could not believe my innocence, how could I hope to make it good before twelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box?

His own servant saw how he behaved in India and probably has an accurate view of his ethics. That he'd kill out of greed happens to be wrong in this case (assuming a reliable narrator, which is a big assumption).

A face was looking in at us out of the darkness. We could see the whitening of the nose where it was pressed against the glass. It was a bearded, hairy face, with wild cruel eyes and an expression of concentrated malevolence. 

My bet was "monkey," but then the Sholtos found boot prints, so either it's a monkey that wears shoes, or it's a man. Oh well.

My hackles weren't up about taking Miss Morstan's mysterious pearls from a "chaplet," but they should have been. I blush to admit that I was envisioning some sort of tiara -- but I googled before making a fool of myself and discovered that a chaplet is prayer beads. It's like a rosary, but not all chaplets are rosaries, and not all rosaries are chaplets. Is this an Anglican chaplet made from stolen gems, or were Sholto, Morstan, and their friends straight-up stealing prayer beads of another culture?

Honestly, I'm up for the Sholtos being actively cursed, but since Holmes is a rationalist, I'm also up for the more plausible outcome of their actions having brought mundane vengeance down upon their heads.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #the sign of the four

[kwebtv]

Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, Edward Hardwicke as Dr. John H. Watson, Rosalie Williams as Mrs. Hudson, Jenny Seagrove as Miss Mary Morstan, Emrys James as Inspector Athelney Jones, Robin Hunter as Major Sholto, Ronald Lacey as Thaddeus/Bartholomew Sholto, Terence Skelton as Captain Morstan, John Thaw as Jonathan Small, Kiran Shah as Tonga, Lila Kaye as Mrs. Mordecai Smith and Toby in "The Sign of Four"

#The Sign of Four #TV #Jeremy Brett #Edward Hardwicke #Rosalie Williams #Jenny Seagrove #John Thaw

[thefisherqueen]

“Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa’s,” she said. 

*Live slug reaction*

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #very particular eh? #the sign of the four #in quest of a solution

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Eight

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eight: Bloody Guardsman

Summary: Sherlock tells a story of one of John, (Y/N), and his cases.

A while ago…

            Sherlock stood in front of the wall of wedding information he’d compiled for the wedding. He had approached preparation like a case, with categories for wine, catering, transport, and rehearsal. Sherlock had been so honored that John had chosen him as his best man that he had decided nothing would stop him from making sure the entire day was perfect (which inevitably meant it wouldn’t be, but the heart was there).

             Mary had a 3D model of the reception venue in front of her, John was on his phone (the stress was getting to him), and (Y/N) had the guest and RSVP list in front of them.

            “Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin,” said Sherlock.

            “Ah, the orphan’s lot. Friends—that’s all I have. Lots of friends,” said Mary. She smiled, and (Y/N) cocked their head. There was something in the muscles that twitched in her face, something in the size of her smile, that put (Y/N) off.

            “Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) focused back on the task at hand.

            “But the rehearsal’s not for another two weeks,” said Mary.

            “I thought people wanted everything to be ready soon,” said (Y/N), looking up from the lists they were correcting.

            Mary sighed. “Let’s get back to the reception. (Y/N), there’s John’s cousin. Top table?” she asked, gesturing to the RSVP card.

            (Y/N) glanced at the name and card. “No, she hates you. Doesn’t even like thinking about you.”

            “Seriously?” asked Mary, surprised.

            “Second-class post, cheap card bought at a petrol station, last minute, the stamp has three attempts at licking, so she unconsciously retained saliva. All signs of dislike,” said (Y/N).

            “Ah. Let’s stick her by the bogs,” said Mary.

            (Y/N) tossed the RSVP card into the pile that had been designated as the worst guests (aka: should be shoved as far away from the bride and groom as possible)

            “Who else hates me?” asked Mary.

            “(Y/N) made a list,” said Sherlock. (Y/N) held it out silently.

            “Oh, great—thanks!” said Mary with faux-brightness as she took it.

            “Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting,” said John, looking at his phone.

            “Table four?” said Mary, looking at Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “Done,” said Sherlock.

            John chuckled as he looked at another case in the inbox. “ ‘My husband is three people.’ ”

            “Table five,” continued Mary.

            “Major James Sholto. Who’s he?” asked (Y/N).

            “Oh, John’s old commanding officer. I don’t think he’s coming,” said Mary.

            “He’ll be there,” said John.

            “Well, he needs to RSVP, then,” said Mary.

            “He’ll be there,” said John firmly. He looked at Sherlock and repeated the latest case possibility he’d found. “ ‘My husband is three people.’ It’s interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin.”

            “Identical triplets—one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat,” said Sherlock, and then he got back to the wedding planning. “Now, serviettes.” He reached under the coffee table and pulled out a tray with two folded napkins. “Swan or Sydney Opera House?”

            Mary stared in surprise. “Where’d you learn to do that?!” she exclaimed.

            “Many unexpected skills required in the field of investigation—”

            “Fibbing, Sherlock,” said Mary, calling him out immediately.

            “I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of—”

            “I’m not John, I can tell when you’re fibbing,” said Mary.

       ��    “Okay—I learned it on YouTube,” said Sherlock.

            “You’re very good,” said (Y/N). Mary had surprising skills at times. She was…smarter, or at least more preceptive and aware, than most people.

            “Thanks,” said Mary, smiling. She looked at Sherlock. “Um, Opera House, please. Ooh, hang on. I’m buzzing.” She pulled out her phone and headed towards the hall.

            John stood. “If that’s Beth, it’s probably for me, too. Hang on.”

            “What do we do while they’re gone?” asked (Y/N).

            “Fold,” said Sherlock, tossing napkins to them. They had watched the videos while he did, so they could do it.

            The pair sat down and mechanically began folding. (Y/N) liked the repetitive motion. In the midst of all the chaos and planning, it was calming.

            John finally walked back into the room and stared at the mass of Opera-House-napkins piling up around the father and kid.

            “That just sort of…happened,” said Sherlock in response to the stare.

            “Sherlock, (Y/N), um…I’ve…” John sighed and sat down. (Y/N) and Sherlock exchanged glances and followed him. “I’ve smelled eighteen different perfumes. I’ve sampled nine different slices of cake, which all tasted identical. I like the bridesmaids in purple—”

            “Lilac,” said (Y/N).

            “—Lilac. Um, there are no decisions left to make. I don’t even understand the decisions that we have made. I’m faking opinions, and it’s exhausting,” sighed John. “So, please, before I have to do anything else, pick something.” He held out his phone to them, on the page to show case offers. “Anything. Pick one.”

            “Pick what?” asked Sherlock.

            “A case. Your inbox is bursting. Just…get me out of here,” said John.

            “You want to go out on a case? Now?” questioned Sherlock.

            “Please, for me. I just need a break,” sighed John. (Really, he knew (Y/N) and Sherlock needed one since they were working way too hard on this).

            As dutiful friends as ever, Sherlock and (Y/N) nodded.

            “We’ll get you out of this,” said (Y/N) while Sherlock looked at the options.

            “ ‘Dear Mr. Holmes,’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘My name is Bainbridge. I’m a Private in Her Majesty’s Household Guard. I’m writing to you about a personal matter one I don’t care to bring before my superiors—it would sound so trivial—but I think someone’s stalking me. I’m used to tourists—it’s part of the job—but this is different. Someone’s watching me. He’s taking pictures of me every day. Don’t want to mention it to my major, but its’ really preying on my mind.’ ”

            (Y/N) hummed in consideration and flipped over their lollipop.

            “Uniform fetish,” decided Sherlock. “All the nice girls like a soldier.”

            “I think the phrase is ‘sailor,’ ” said John. “And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke.”

            “It could be a gay man, but the odds aren’t exactly in that idea’s favor,” said (Y/N).

            “Let’s go and investigate, please?” said John, looking between the two detectives.

            “Elite guard,” mused Sherlock.

            “Forty enlisted men and officers…Wonder why this grenadier is special,” said (Y/N).

            John grinned. They were in. “Now you two are talking.”

            “Okay,” said Sherlock, handing back the phone to John.

            (Y/N) stood up from the ground and walked to the door with John and Sherlock. Mary entered the room at the same moment.

            “Bye,” she said into the phone.

            “Er, we’re just going to…I need, um, Sherlock and (Y/N) to help me choose some, uh, socks,” said John.

            “Ties,” said Sherlock at the same moment.

            “Pocket squares,” said (Y/N) simultaneously.

            “Why don’t we go with ties?” said Mary, obviously amused.

            “Yeah…” said John, laughing nervously.

            “I mean, I know (Y/N) still hasn’t bought one,” said Mary.

            “I’ve been a bit busy,” said (Y/N), shrugging and going along with the lie they all knew was one.

            “And you want it to go well with the theme of the wedding,” said Mary.

            “Right,” said Sherlock, nodding.

            “It’ll take a while, right?” continued Mary in amusement.

            “My coat in there?” asked John, walking to the kitchen.

            “Yes,” said Mary, smiling.

            “Just going to take him out to run him down,” said Sherlock.

            “You said you’d find him a case,” said Mary, grinning. She was playing them all (though, by the look on their face, (Y/N) was a little more aware than the others that Mary was orchestrating time for John and Sherlock to relax and have fun).

            “Come on, you two,” said John, pulling on his coat and opening the door.

            “Coming,” said (Y/N) and Sherlock going after him.

            Mary gave them a thumbs up and happily closed the door for some peace and quiet of her own.

l

            The trio arrived at the barracks, and Sherlock and (Y/N) let John walk ahead since he was the veteran among them. He held up his military ID to the duty sergeant at the barrack entrance.

            “We’re here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge,” said John.

            “He’s on duty right now, sir, but I’ll certainly let him know when he’s free,” said the sergeant.

            “And when will that be?” asked Sherlock.

            “Another hour,” said the sergeant.

            John, Sherlock, and (Y/N) left the door to the barracks and headed to a bench facing the gates. They sat down, leaned back, and waited.

            Eventually, Sherlock spoke up and remarked upon something that had been on his mind since the morning. “So, why don’t you see him anymore?” he asked.

            “Who?” asked John.

            “Your previous commander, Sholto,” said Sherlock.

            “Previous commander,” repeated John.

            “You ex,” said (Y/N).

            “Previous suggests I have a current commander,” said John. He eyed Sherlock. “Which I don’t.”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N).

            “He was decorated, wasn’t he? A war hero,” said Sherlock.

            “Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle,” said John.

            “Crows?” asked (Y/N).

            “New recruits. It’s standard procedure, break the new boys in—but it went wrong,” said John. He looked down. “They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you.”

            “Probably not from worse people,” remarked (Y/N), and Sherlock nodded in agreement.

            “Why have you two suddenly taken an interest in another human being?” asked John suspiciously.

            “Just chatting,” said Sherlock. John raised an eyebrow in complete disbelief. “Won’t be trying that again,” decided Sherlock.

            “Changing the subject completely,” said John, saving everyone from embarrassment or vulnerability. “You two know it won’t alter anything, right, with me and Mary getting married? We’ll still be doing this.”

            “Oh, good,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) nodded.

            “If you two were worried,” said John.

            “Wasn’t worried,” said Sherlock.

            John sighed and looked down at his hands. “See, the thing about Mary—she has completely turned my life around, changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are three people who have don’t that…and the other two are—” He looked back up and found that Sherlock and (Y/N) had disappeared. “—complete dickheads.”

l

            (Y/N) and Sherlock marched behind the guards playfully to get into the building. Honestly, (Y/N) was surprised the guards weren’t guarding that well, but they weren’t about to complain.

            The pair took off the hats they’d put on and fixed their flattened hair before continuing on through the halls. Two guards in khaki army uniforms were on patrol, and (Y/N) and Sherlock hid around the side of the stairs until they were gone. They crept onwards, and they came across a room with voices within. (Y/N) opened the door for a moment and peeked inside. It was a group of soldiers chatting and relaxing. They closed the door, shook their head, and continued on with Sherlock.

            “Hey, you two!” shouted a guard.

            Damn, I guess some of them are good at their jobs, thought (Y/N).

l

            “Sir, caught these two snooping around,” said the sergeant who had found Sherlock and (Y/N) as he shoved them into the changing rooms of the guards.

            A body lay on the ground, wet and soapy, clearly having died while in the processing of showering. John was already standing inside, and judging by his and Major Reed’s (they had noticed his office earlier, and seeing as he was the man in charge, it was definitely him) expressions, they were all in trouble.

            “Is that what all this was about?” demanded Reed, glaring at John. “Distracting me so these two could get in here and kill Bainbridge?”

            (Y/N) cocked their head. Their client was dead, and that meant there was something more to this case than met the eye.

            “Kill him with what? Where’s the weapon?” said Sherlock, instantly dispelling the idea they had killed anyone (and making sure (Y/N) wasn’t pushed around anymore).

            “What?” asked Reed, furrowing his brow.

            “Search us. We don’t have any weapons,” said (Y/N).

            “Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When’s this supposed to have happened?” asked John.

            “Those two obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower,” said Reed.

            “No,” said (Y/N).

            “No?!” cried Reed incredulously.

            “He’s soaking wet, and there’s still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower, and then someone stabbed him,” said Sherlock.

            “The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open,” said the sergeant that had come across the body.

            “One of you must’ve climbed over the top,” said Reed stubbornly.

            “We’d be wet, too,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            “Major, please,” snapped John, his voice full of authority and irritation. “I’m John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. Let me examine this body.”

            Reed stared at John for a moment before looking at Bainbridge’s body and then back again. He nodded sharply.

            “Thank you,” said John in exasperation, and he knelt beside the body. Sherlock and (Y/N) leaned over him.

            “Suicide?” asked the duty sergeant.

            “No, the weapon again—no knife,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) cocked their head as they noticed someone and leaned closer. “There’s a wound in his abdomen, isn’t there?”

            John nodded. “Very fine, but yeah.”

            “Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of there,” mused Sherlock.

            (Y/N) peeled back one of his eyelids to check for any other signs of death. A soft breath landed on their hand. They blinked. “He’s still breathing.”

            Everyone’s head snapped towards them.

            “Oh my god!” exclaimed the sergeant.

            “What do we do?” asked Sherlock, looking at John.

            “Give me your scarf,” said John, in complete doctor mode.

            “What?” asked Sherlock.

            “Now,” said John, and Sherlock unwound his scarf and handed it to John. He looked at the sergeants and Reed. “Call an ambulance.”

            “What?” asked one of the sergeants.

            “Now!” ordered John, and the sergeant jumped to obey while John pressed the scarf to Bainbridge’s wound. “Nurse, press here, hard.”

            “Nurse?” said Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “I’m making do,” said John, reaching out with one hand and dragging Sherlock closer so he could put pressure on the wound. “Keep that on there.” He moved back to Bainbridge’s head. “Stephen? Stephen, stay with us.”

            (Y/N) looked at Sherlock and John as they saved Bainbridge’s life. Their eyes flicked from his face as he tried to breath to the wound Sherlock was pressing on. It was in a rather specific place. Long, thin, precisely made…If only (Y/N) could put it together.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

#a study of the heart and brain #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #x teen reader #x teen!reader #sherlock x teen!reader #sherlock x teen reader #teen reader #teen!reader #sherlock fanfic #sherlock & co #sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #parentlock #father figure #found family trope #found family

[if-came-the-day]

SH: So that’s him. Major Sholto. If they’re such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #the sign of three #tsot #sherlockedit

[goawaypopup]

Roddacember Day 29: Time

Spoilers for The Three Doors!

The titular chamber of the three doors is probably the wildest piece of magic we've seen anywhere in the series.

As a narrative device, time travel only has a couple of options if it wants to bother being internally consistent, instead of just dramatically suitable.

I call the two major categories "fixed timeline" and "fluid timeline".

With a fixed timeline, paradoxes are simply physically impossible to have occur. If you try to go back and shoot your grandpa, the gun will jam, or you'll be crushed by a falling piano, and so on, in whatever coalescence of probability maintains the timeline.

A fluid timeline has more leniency, but potential for way more dangerous consequences. One way to do this is the "orphaned timeline" approach - if you go back and kill your grandpa, returning to the 'present' will put you in a new future in which he died and you were never born. You are an orphaned vestige of a timeline that has been prevented. Another way is the concept of paradoxes, where killing your grandpa in a way that prevents your birth will create an inconsistency that makes time itself do something drastic to fix it.

Which type is the chamber of the doors?

I immediately see the most similarities with the orphaned timeline approach. There's something strange about it, though.

When Rye and Sonia go to the past and change it, Sholto is in the future. And what happens to him is, it changes around him. He has vague recollections of being in the Fellan forest, but that melting away in favor of the Shadow-ruled wasteland.

This is weird, because - he was in the future. Why does "now" matter when the change that caused this future happened hundreds of years ago? Why does Sholto remain in spite of it?

This is because there's something important about Weld, present day. This point in space, and this point in time. And the people who have been boxed in there for centuries.

I think the chamber of the doors couldn't have worked anyplace else in the world. Weld is an anchor point. It's so secluded that changes to the past can be made without touching the people from inside at all, and so Rye doesn't replace himself with slightly different Ryes every time he talks to someone in the past.

When they tear down the wall, it wasn't necessary to fill in the chamber to prevent its use again. The Schrodinger's box was already broken by being exposed to the outside.

#roddacember 2023 #roddacember #the three doors #roddaverse #time travel

[chriscalledmesweetie]

Chapter 16 is now on AO3

The Murder of Sir Emory J. Amat  by ChrisCalledMeSweetie

A Sherlock Holmes mystery, as recounted by Dr. John H. Watson.

Can you follow the clues to deduce whodunnit?

Chapter 16: Milverton

“John sticks to it that you believe someone in the house committed the murder,” said Harry. “All I can say is, you’re wrong.” 

“I should not like to be wrong,” said Holmes. “It is not my habit.” 

“I’ve got the facts pretty clearly,” continued Harry, taking no notice of Holmes’ remark, “from John and others. As far as I can see, of the people in the house, only two could have had the chance of doing it. Sebastian Moran and Irene Amat.” 

“My dear Harry,” I begin.

“Now, John, don’t interrupt me. I know what I’m talking about. Milverton met her outside the door, didn’t he? He didn’t hear her uncle saying goodnight to her. She could have killed him then and there.” 

“Harry!” 

“I’m not saying she did, John. I’m saying she could have done. As a matter of fact, though, I don’t for a minute believe she’d kill even a chicken. But there it is. Miss Hooper and Major Sholto have alibis. Mrs. Amat’s got an alibi. Even Mrs. Hudson seems to have one—and a good job for her it is she has. Who is left? Only Sebastian and Irene! And say what you will, I don’t believe Sebastian Moran is a murderer.”

Tags under the cut.

Please let me know if you’d like me to tag or untag you.

@mydogwatson @totallysilvergirl @bluebellofbakerstreet @sarahthecoat @helloliriels @daisyfairy1 @imnova @kittenmadnessandtea @missdeliadilisblog @marta-bee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant @jobooksncoffee @peanitbear @bakingsherlycakes @kettykika78 @stellacartography @shelleysprometheus @iamjustreading @chinike @sgam76 @loves-to-read-fanfic @inevitably-johnlocked @johnlockismyreligion @riversong912 @calaisreno @7-percent @lijahlover @thegildedbee @naefelldaurk

#sherlock #johnlock #agatha christie #my fic

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Still can't stop thinking about the way John was looking at Major Sholto at the wedding.

Look at that smile! Like isn't he supposed to be looking at his wife in that way? That's his own goddamned wedding after all! 😭

ASDFDSDAFFDA HONESTLY.

John gives more care and love to the men in his life than his own goddamned wife. I SWEAR TO GOD John's probably looked at Greg this way too at some point (I mean, who WOULDN'T, hnng).

ANYWAY, thanks for sharing, you've murdered me.

#steph replies #who is john watson #jolto #seriously john #bisexual john #control yourself john #mary: REALLY? in front of MY reception??

[consultjohnwatson]

They are Major Sholto ad Sherlock, right? (You can be very easy to read, John. ;))

How the he-

#john watson replies #john watson gif #martin freeman gif #sherlock rp #sherlock roleplay