#retirementlock

[werrrrrrrrrrrrrrrcat]

Redraw of one of my first works here - retirement guys my beloved

#art #fanart #digital art #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanart #john watson #retirementlock #redraw #illustration #acd john watson #acd johnlock #acd sherlock holmes #victorian johnlock #ttfbs #the two from baker street #gay #bi

[the-three-garridebs-destroyed-me]

There are few things as satisfying to me as a classic “happily ever after.” i don’t care how cliche it is. Ever. Seeing characters I’ve grown attached to grow old and live their life in a home they love with a family they grew and being told “after everything that happened to them, they can rest. they’re happy” will get me every single time

#sherlock holmes #acd canon #retirementlock #clearly this post wasn’t JUST about Sherlock Holmes tho. #Writing #fandom #happily ever after

[luliqwq]

Two gentlemen drinking tea <3

Based on this

#Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #John #John Watson #ACD #ACD Canon #ACD Sherlock Holmes #ACD Sherlock #ACD Watson #Johnlock #Retirementlock #My Art

[a-candle-for-sherlock]

“The relations between us in those days were peculiar. He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one of them. He liked to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me — many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to his bedstead — but such was my humble role in our alliance.”

Once upon a time, I wrote those lines. I wrote them in honest good humour, yet when I re-read them the wistful note strikes clear. I had long wished for a tie to him more than habitual — more tender by far. I’d wanted him for my own, in fact, since I had understood that such a thing was possible; since I had first met men in the course of our work who loved and lived with one another and were proud to say so. I had watched as Holmes treated them all with the same abiding decency he treated anyone who truly needed him. I had taken real comfort from that.

Yet he had given me no reason to think he might feel what they felt, not for me, nor (thank Heaven) any other. He’d made it perfectly clear that he wanted no one’s wooing, though he minded not at all what others did. And though I thought he might have guessed my heart, I could not tell myself he had left room for me to hope. I had borne my love alone when he’d died. I’d kept my wild joy quiet when he’d returned to me and called me back to our home. Ten years on, I had become so used to the wanting that I wrote out my wistfulness without a thought, and looked up from the words without embarrassment at the sound of his step on the stair.

“What ho, Watson,” he called out, coming in windblown and carelessly smiling, but there was a gleam in his eye like a falcon sighting prey. “There’s trouble in the offing. Are you free?”

“Of course I am,” I said at once. That look roused my blood as it always had. I felt my breath deepen, my spine straighten. He saw it too and smiled wider.

“Get your coat, then. I’ll explain on the way.”

* * * *

Holmestice revelations are complete, so I can post my new Sussex fic, From the Flowers. Read the rest here!

#acd canon #holmes/watson #johnlock #watsholmes #retirementlock #I had a wonderful time with this one #very thankful for transholmes’ prompts and the Holmestice mods

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Fluffbruary with turtely

Day 10

[day 9] [day 11]

prompts (from day 9!): ghost | fireplace | harmony by @fluffbruary <3

fandom: BBC Sherlock

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

a 221b

Harmony. I’ve always associated this word with music. 'The simultaneous combination of tones, especially when blended into chords pleasing to the ear; chordal structure, as distinguished from melody and rhythm.', is the dictionary's definition for it. Harmony has always been important to me. Letting the bow glide over my violin... a melody filling the room... it's a beautiful thing.

Sometimes I provoked harmony of course, but that's a different story.

But oh, this. Us. Him sitting across from me; tea in his hands, hair almost white by now, his face being an artwork of wrinkles, a book in his lap, a content smile shining at me, when he looks up with those deep blue eyes, that could compete with the sky and the ocean - and win.

The fireplace crackling beside us, me lost in my thoughts. Less in cases, murder and in general mayhem - more in this cottage in the country, with my bees in the backyard, with John's published novels on the shelves, us in trusted twosomeness now.

The ghosts of our past that used to haunt us, long gone. Knowing that I will fall asleep next to him, with him whispering three little words in my ear.

That is what I call harmony now: the crackling fireplace, Rosie's postcards on the fridge, being old together, him and me, blessed.

♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡♥︎♡

A/N: my very first 221b!!! happy to hear feedback of course! 🐢

tag list! (tell me if you wanna be added or removed💚) @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @7arantellgrrl @ssmeowl123 @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @pansherlock @the-smol-bean-libby-blog @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @almosttinycowboy @ladylindaaa @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @psychosociogentleman @quickslvxr @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @johnlock2708 @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow

#turtely writes #fluffbruary 2023 #fluffbruary #fluffbruary with turtely #day 10 #prompts from day 9 #johnlock #221b ficlet #the first 221b by a turtle EVER! #happy about reblogs 🥰 #retirementlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes

[amypihcs]

And my madness is back!

Written after breakfast, sitting cross legged on the bed in my pijamas, it had been buzzing in my head since the first entry of Illustrious Client. It's how Watson got the permission to publish. Watson is a very stubborn and persistent man, Holmes is a very stubborn man, took Watson 10 times AT LEAST to obtain that permission! Very fluffy, they are very married because i love beeretired, married old couple Holmes and Watson. I'd like to thank my beautiful GF for having betaed this story for me, she's exceptional, you're exceptional, @mostvaliantandmostpround <3. And i'll also thank Letters from Watson because it's like, the way i got to read the Sherlock Holmes stories for the first time!

Lots of love to y'all and constructive criticism is welcome! (time for me to go preparare for lunch too)

#victorian husbands #sherlock holmes #dr watson #dr john watson #john watson #old married couple #retirementlock #beeretirement #i kinda imagined the lost beekeeping footage #so well you knwo of my hyperfixation of granada holmes right #fanfiction

[savvyblunders]

I'm pulling this old, unfinished Mystrade out of semi retirement and posting it here as encouragement to myself to finish it.

When the Castle Walls Crumble

Indy’s insistent nudging at Mycroft’s elbow alerted him to the oncoming migraine. He cursed, focus dragged from the computer screen, upon realizing how long he’d been online. This was what happened when he neglected to set his timer. “Thank you, Indy,” he praised, shutting his laptop and rising from his ergonomic chair. He kept one hand on Indy’s silky head, shuffling toward the bedroom. “Good boy.”

Indy licked Mycroft’s wrist, and he turned off the overhead light, making his way to the en suite with the light filtering in around the curtains. He could feel the band tightening across his forehead and temples, was now aware of the flashes of coloured light at the edges of his vision. Taking one of his many pills, he washed it down with tap water and shed his clothes, leaving them on the floor for future Mycroft to deal with.

As he eased into his robe, and then into bed, Mycroft patted the mattress, “Up, Indy.” The Border Collie jumped lightly onto the bed and laid down next to Mycroft, resting his head on Mycroft’s middle. Mycroft took off his glasses and set them on the bedside table. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain begin, like a discordant symphony, and sifted his fingers through Indy’s coat. Within half an hour the pill had begun to divert the symptoms of the migraine, and he was falling asleep. He did so with a smile on his lips and a dog at his side.

It was that awkward hour in the late afternoon when he woke, feeling fuzzy. Stretching, he rolled onto one side and reached for his phone. There was a missed call from an unknown number, a missed call from his parents, and several texts. Ignoring the calls, Mycroft accepted Indy’s sleepy kisses on his chin and scrolled through his phone. Anthea had texted, reminding him that the concert ticket was at Will Call, in his name and thank you for checking on her cats. Sherlock had texted a picture of eleven (and-a-half, Uncle Myc!) year old Rosie, looking terribly tall and grown up, dressed for the first day of school. For not sharing a drop of blood with his brother, she looked remarkably like him--although perhaps it was the slightly petulant expression and carefully curated look of boredom. 

Mycroft chuckled, setting his mobile down and ruffling Indy’s ears, “How about a walk before tea?”

Waving at his elderly neighbor, Mrs Fishtel, whose bins he took out, and who made him biscuits when her arthritis wasn’t too bad, Mycroft set off down the quiet lane at what was, for him, a brisk pace these days. Which was to say, not particularly fast. The walk was clearing his head, though, and it was nice to scuffle his feet through the fallen leaves and watch Indy snatch at them excitedly. He chuckled, grateful for the moment.

When that last hostage situation had ended so badly, as his consciousness faded to black, Mycroft had resigned himself to death. Waking up, seventeen days later, in ICU, with most of his memories scrambled like an egg, Mycroft had never been so surprised in his life. He’d truly thought he was destined to die. Finding out he was wrong had been enough to get him through the exhausting, dispiriting, often humiliating, recovery.

Now here he was, three years on, mostly healthy, with enough of his wits intact to live independent of the need for a carer, although he had his ongoing physio and his therapy, and he had Indy’s constant, reassuring presence at his side. What’s more, he was happy.

“I never knew what it was to be normal,” Mycroft had struggled to articulate it to his brother, the last time he’d visited. “But now--”

“Still not normal,” Sherlock had said, smiling a little, bumping his arm into Mycroft’s. But gently, so he didn’t knock Mycroft off his stride. He’d only recently been liberated from his stick.

“Ha ha.” Mycroft smiled back at him. Much had changed in the last decade; there had been a thawing between them after Eurus, but the true change had come about when Mycroft nearly died. It was nice to be able to tease. “I know I’m not anyone’s idea of normal now. But…” he trailed off, and Sherlock, used to this new version of Mycroft, who sometimes forgot words, waited patiently. It wasn’t that, however, but Mycroft marshaling his thoughts. “I had to relearn so much--I forgot so much--that I feel a different person.”

Sherlock was silent in his turn, and it wasn’t until they were back at Mycroft’s cottage, Sherlock making a considerable mess as he made them tea, that he spoke. “You’re the same, Mycroft, your personality hasn’t really changed…” he looked up, dripping tea bags in his hands, eyes earnest, “But your walls are down.”

“Maybe that’s what it is,” Mycroft had said, satisfied that his brother understood him.

Yes, he thought, turning toward home by way of the corner shop, where he would stop for milk, and a KitKat for himself, and to get a little posy of flowers for Mrs Fishtel. He liked to bring them to her sometimes, especially on Fridays, when he would stop to light the Shabbat candles for her. Yes, my walls are down, his lips quirked, there’s nothing to stop either knights or dragons from entering the keep now…

Trips into London were few and far between now, and Mycroft was grateful for that. He found them stressful and exhausting. Frankly, he experienced a sort of PTSD in large crowds, which was why he was so touched that Anthea had sent a driver to meet him at the train station. Her flat was large, gracious and blessedly peaceful. Her two cats, Nefertiti and Bastet, were placid creatures, welcoming him with slow blinks when he looked into the solarium to find them sunning themselves on a lounge chair. 

Indy, well-trained, snuffled, but didn’t leave Mycroft’s side. He padded along behind him as Mycroft left his bag in the guest room and went directly to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. 

Thankfully Anthea’s flat was all on one level, so he didn’t have to deal with stairs. His heart pattered a little nervously. There would probably be stairs at the concert venue the next night...pushing his worry aside, he reminded himself stoutly that he and Jerome had been working on stairs and he was much more stable now. “You got this,” he parroted Jerome’s comforting words, picturing the towering man, with his perfect zig-zag cornrows and his immense font of optimism. Jerome had been a trainer for an American football team but followed his wife to Europe and furthered his schooling into physical therapy, and now worked at the clinic where Mycroft worked weekly to strengthen his body.

Now there was time for a cup of tea, petting the cats--should they be willing--and calling Sherlock.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock sounded a little breathless, as if he’d been running, and Mycroft’s thoughts flashed back ten years, to the jumbled time when his brother might have been running for his life. “Hold on a tic!” he moved his mouth away from the phone but not far enough, “Rose! Good form, but you need to watch your left side! Practice while I talk to Uncle Myc.” 

Mycroft let out a sigh of relief, and his brother, obviously hearing and interpreting it, laughed, “Just fencing practice with Rose. Sussex is rather thin on the ground for criminal masterminds.”

“Glad to hear it,” Mycroft said dryly. He sipped his tea, watching with interest as Indy, service vest removed, belly crawled in tiny increments towards the cats, who pretended not to notice, even as their tails twitched in agitation. “How’s Rosie?”

“Class marks excellent, fencing skills growing, terrible teens arriving early,” Sherlock groaned dramatically and Mycroft grinned. “Is this my punishment for being an unbearable arse?”

The sound of John’s voice, mostly unintelligible, floated down the line, and Mycroft listened as the two men squabbled happily. Sherlock came back, smile visible, “John said sometimes my arse is bearable.”

“Gross,” Mycroft sounded like a dead-on impression of his eleven (and-a-half, Uncle Myc!) year old niece. They chuckled. “So John’s back from Yemen?”

Sherlock’s voice sobered, warming as he talked of his partner, “Just got in two days ago.”

“I’m glad he’s back,” Mycroft said sincerely. “Though not as much as you, I’m sure.”

“No one could be that happy,” Sherlock declared. Indeed, the nine months had been incredibly difficult for him, and Mycroft was glad to know that his brother-in-law-though-not-by-law-because-we-don’t-need-a-piece-of-paper was safely home. Sherlock was always better with John. He changed the subject abruptly, “Are you already in London?”

“Mm,” Mycroft agreed, smiling as Indy put his head down on his paws and whined beseechingly. The cats ignored him, while doubling-down on their dignity. “Arrived a few hours ago.”

“Feeling alright?” Sherlock’s tone strived for casual but missed it by a mile. 

“I’m a trifle fatigued,” he admitted, setting aside his tea cup and pushing his glasses up into his hair to massage his tired eyes, “but nothing terrible. Quiet night here, early to bed.” Like an old man, his brain supplied. He sighed soundlessly.

“Ring me if you need anything,” Sherlock said, sounding distracted. There was the sound of shrieking laughter on his end of the call.

“I shall,” Mycroft assured him, preparing to end the call and let Sherlock return to his family. “Perhaps I’ll finally return Mother’s call.”

Sherlock’s tone sharpened, attention now focused one hundred percent on Mycroft, “Don’t. She’s only going to upset you.”

“It is her speciality,” Mycroft said lightly, though he could feel anxiety creeping in. Conversation with his mother had never grown any easier than that cold, cold interrogation after Sherrinford. He put an absent hand to his chest, rubbing at his heart, aware of a cold loneliness seeping in. “But she’s our mother.”

“Not much of one,” Sherlock said bluntly.

“There may be something the matter.”

“Then I’ll call her and deal with it.”

Mycroft melted, smiling at the phone, picturing his brother’s expression--equal parts petulant and determined--as he tried to insert himself between Mycroft and perceived danger. Their roles had reversed quite wildly after a lifetime. It took some getting used to. Although it was perhaps made easier since he couldn’t remember all of it. “If you’re sure…”

“Positive,” Sherlock said crisply, “Now I really have to go, it’s Rose’s night to make dinner and if one of us doesn’t keep an eye out she puts in far too much curry and John and I will be up all night with reflux.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Myc...have fun at the concert!”

Hanging up, he slipped his phone in his pocket and laid back in the lounger, smiling at nothing. Life might indeed be very different, but it was quite nice, all the same.

The following afternoon--showered, groomed, and with a very handsome Indy at his side--Mycroft fortified himself with a cup of tea in a cafe near the concert hall. It had been ages since he’d had this much excitement and he was both looking forward to it, and a bit nervous of it. 

Arriving in good time, he presented himself at Will Call, received his ticket easily, and then had a slightly less easy time getting Indy admittance. Once it was realized that he was a service animal, the staff was most accommodating, and he was shown to his seat. One of four in a box, not private, he was told, but only one other seat had been sold, and so there was plenty of room both for Indy and for solitude.

Thanking the usher, and celebrating his successful ascent of the staircase, Mycroft seated himself and commanded Indy to sit beside him. Which the good dog did, feet neatly together, looking to Mycroft. “You’re on duty tonight, I’m afraid, old boy,” he said, gently tugging the silky ears, “but you can still listen.”

#Mystrade #Retirementlock #Injury #Disability #Service dog #WIP

[inevitably-johnlocked]

I think I need your help again!

A while back, I read a fic on Ao3 and forgot to add it to my bookmarks. It was a sad one, where John and Sherlock were old and retired in a cottage in Sussex. Sherlock is slowly dying from pneumonia (I think) and he reminds John to keep his promess and examine his brain after his death, to prove that people who were loved have brighter brains. John does and he says something like that "you were right. You proved it. You loved and were loved harder than any of these". I remember I cried so much at all the emotions this fic gave me, but I can't find it anymore 😔

Thank you so much for always being here 🥰

Hey Lovely *HUGS*

Ahhhh I thought I knew which one this was but nothing on my bookmarks is ringing a bell. Anyone able to help us out??

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #help steph find fics #retirementlock #major character death

[iratesherlock]

* LA DERNIÈRE ENQUÊTE DE SHERLOCK HOLMES / FRENCH / 15M / 2010

— The English translation of this short is The Last Investigation of Sherlock Holmes. — Vincent Aubert as Sherlock Holmes and Michel Moulin as John Watson. — Directed by Gaël Grobéty and distributed by Monster Entertainment. — Favorite Quality: I really liked the premise; I think the reasons why I was upset were intentional.

This short film is evil; it is wicked! I’ve never watched something done so well that elicited visceral rage inside me—I almost could not finish watching it. This short is not bad, but it made me want to pull my teeth out at some parts, and the ending had me so frustrated I needed to take a twenty-minute break before finishing it. Alright, the film. I think the most significant critique of this short is the camera work; though I will be gentle as this was a lower-budget project, there were times when the screen was shaking just a little too much. It wasn’t enough to give me proper motion sickness, but it was well on its way especially combined with the graininess of the film. This movie almost gave me everything I wanted in an aged Sherlock and John: two retired older men who raise bees and go camping together. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but it gave me so much and then took it away in a confusing and upsetting story that continued to raise the tension throughout. The notes that I took while watching this short go from soft fondness to increasing confusion, to uncontrollable rage, and then to a feeling of utter heartbreak. When I talk about how much this short film upset me, I am doing it in a way explaining that I am upset with what happened but not with the film itself. While I do feel like the characters were out-of-character, that was also part of the story, so I don’t want to be nit-picky in that regard, but I also think that they knew what they were doing while writing this piece. The English subtitles were also not good, they were part of the premiere screening, but they don’t flow well and often disappear and reappear for the same scene. Aesthetically this movie is dull, but it takes place in the forest, so you can’t expect it to be visually breathtaking. I don’t want to watch this short again, I’m not sure I want to recommend it, but that also feels somewhat contradictory when I say that it isn’t a bad adaptation of Sherlock Holmes. It’s just a little frustrating, and it left me feeling more upset than excited about another piece of media completed. I love retired John and Sherlock, but I don’t think this film is for me.

#sherlock holmes #john watson #vincent aubert #michel moulin #La dernière enquête de Sherlock Holmes #retirementlock #sherlock holmes short

[werrrrrrrrrrrrrrrcat]

Sudden first snow in Fulworth

#art #fanart #digital art #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanart #digitalart #john watson #ttfbs #the two from baker street #acd holmes #acd sherlock #acd johnlock #johnlock #retirementlock #fulworth #the lions mane

[beekeeperspicnic]

THE BEEKEEPER'S PICNIC - a cosy cottagecore Sherlock Holmes point and click game!

It is the 1920s, and in the sleepy Sussex village of Fulworth, an elderly beekeeper (who is definitely NOT the world's greatest detective... any more) is trying to arrange a pleasant clifftop picnic for his lifelong companion. The only problem is that a series of pesky mysteries keep getting in the way.

You can now download the 'Proof of concept' demo! A short taster with a few locations, characters and game mechanisms I created to test out some ideas.

Follow this blog for continuing updates on development of the game!

#sherlock holmes #beekeeper's picnic #point and click games #game development #retirementlock #cottagecore #free game download #gamedevelopment #gamedev #i know this is earlier than i advertised #i may have accidentally published it and then figured eh why not #Youtube

[fluffbruary]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Additional Tags: Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, Fluff, Beekeeping Summary:

Watson decides that he would like to learn more about Holmes's bees.

#fluffbruary in July #well June #happyeverafter72 #ACD retirementlock #please do reblog

[meetinginsamarra]

Green

for today’s prompt “Green” by @notjustamumj

thanks for tagging me @calaisreno @raina-at @lisbeth-kk

-----

Green

“The garden gets so green so quickly this time of year.” John looked enraptured at the abundance of blossoms in the flower beds that seemed to have all popped up over night. “I love May.”

“Hmm, yes. May is the time when the garden has come back to life. A time for renewal and a promise for things to come.” Sherlock looked up from the book he was balancing on his lap. He took off his reading glasses to get a focused look at his long-time husband.

“You’re still such a romantic.” John smiled at him, the same loving smile he only ever gave to Sherlock.

John was still very handsome even now in his mid 70’s. He had aged well, his hair was a bit thinner and had turned all silvery white but so had Sherlock’s curls.

“I’ve stopped denying this a long time ago, as you well know.”

“Only teasing you, darling.”

John was slowly walking closer. Sherlock could see that the knee troubled him him today, in fact it did so every day when it was damp after a heavy spring shower. He leant heavily on his cane, just like the day when they had met at Bart’s lab, only these days he really needed it. But despite his bad knee, John was tending the garden together with Sherlock every day.

The years of running after suspects, getting into dangerous situations and confronting dangerous people had passed already a decade ago. But neither Sherlock nor John missed it. They had retired and were happily spending their days in their own little paradise in the Sussex Downs. An ancient but comfy cottage surrounded by a lovely garden.

“Sit down, love.” Sherlock made space on the broad wrought-iron garden bench they had placed in the shade under a huge Bramley apple tree. A gigantic colourful quilt was draped across the bench and its backrest and several cushions made of flowery fabrics provided soft support for their aching bones.

They loved this place best because of the fantastic view of the cottage, the flower beds and the hazy hills in the distance. In warm afternoons like today, they could watch the swallows flying around, performing amazing manoeuvres to catch insects in fast flight.

Behind them the bees of Sherlock’s hives buzzed around, gathering pollen from the apple orchard. Their constant hum often lulled Sherlock into sleep and John would have to wake him carefully when it was time for the afternoon tea. Sherlock slept a lot these days, he had acknowledged the needs of his body that was no longer just a transport and respected its quirks.

John sat down beside Sherlock, stiffly and sank with a sigh onto the cushion Sherlock had shoved under him.

“Whose turn is it this year? I’m afraid I forgot.” John asked, looking sheepish.

“Yours. But if your knee bothers you too much we could just switch places.”

John adamantly shook his head. “No. No need. I’ll manage. Just lend me a hand, will you?” With Sherlock’s help, John got down onto his good knee in front of the bench.

“Sherlock, will you marry me again, this year?”

“Yes, John, I will.”

Then they spoke their marriage vows, like they had done on this day so many years ago, renewing their promise to stay together for the years to come.

----

First retirementlock I wrote. I like the idea that they would renew their vows in the cottage garden on the same day they married a long time ago, taking turns who has to kneel.

#my Sherlock ficlets #notjustamumj #green

[bakerstmel]

Fall Favorite Fic Festival, Entry 2

I’m revisiting some of my favorite fics to celebrate the coming of fall. I’ve been feeling nostalgic, you see, and a bit sad, and I don’t know, maybe I’ll remind you of an old favorite. Most, but not all of these will be Sherlock, because I’ve gotta be me.

Also speaking of being me, please allow me to remind you of the most delectable angst: The Speed of Objects in Motion, by Holyfant.

Those of you who know my fic preferences know that I dig me some retirementlock. This isn't that, precisely, in the cottage-in-Sussex way that it's normally understood (and that I've repeatedly savored, and even written), but it is John and Sherlock aging together and finding ways to make that work. This fic excels in its Sherlock characterization and its realism, its creative OCs, and also (spoiler alert) in its eminently earned happy ending. This fic is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year, and by god it holds up. It's 48k in two long chapters and even though I tend to swallow (ha) fic, it's not a quick read.

I don't know how to explain this but there is language that fills me with exhilaration even as it breaks my heart, words that are so perfectly chosen and placed that I have to stop, lift my eyes to the sky and thank the blessed universe that I speak English. It's almost a sense that there's more to the language than its meaning, an expansive feeling that I'm perceiving a level of meaning beyond the words. I refer to it as "flow" sometimes, but it's more than that. I wish I could explain it; maybe you've felt it too. Anyway, this fic has given me many of those moments over the years.

I corresponded with Holyfant in the comments after my last reading, and I'm glad to know they're still out there and doing well. Cheers to them and to you all for humoring me in my ranting.

#fall favorite fic festival #The speed of objects in motion #holyfant #FFFF2