“Ah - perhaps you’ve repressed it?”
To write a critical response paper (aiming to analyse whether the story follows the narrative formula of the Classical English Detective Story, identifying the persona of the detective, etc.; also taking reference to secondary material from the course syllabus focusing on different more specific aspects) on…
OR
?
HOLMES YOU ARE DRUNK
HOLMES YOU ARE TEARING THIS FAMILY APART
FOR GOD’S SAKE HOLMES
BOUNDARIES HOLMES. WE SET THEM.
I love just how Holmes always does the most atrocious things that everyone else wants to clobber him over the head for; and at most, Watson always just goes, “Holmes, really,” like saying, ‘Maaaan, I can’t take the guy anywhere, but look at him isn’t he cute.’
Dr John Watson used his giving-an-order voice. Sherlock Holmes is torn between amusement and rampant arousal.
Basically just my take on the concept of the show, the Joan Watson character and casting decision, the reactions it has provoked, and how the whole thing might play out on-screen.
Readings include The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Edgar Allan Poe’s Selected Tales, Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, and a few others.
PERFECT! It’s just a pity I don’t have to write a paper in that module next semester… but at least there are short presentations, perhaps I can weasel a bit of Baker Street love in :)
So, do you remember my dear Space Husbands? This weekend—before the evil sore throat/cold from hell struck—I ventured out to buy a few more shirts and a supply of textile paint; and gave my fingers rheumatism by drawing and cutting out three more templates.
The one I still have to find the perfect shirt and the perfect red paint for is Ten/Master as Space Boyfriends :D
“Pack your things, Watson. You’re going on a trip.”
A heated, but short argument later, it was established that Watson was to fill the familiar position of bodyguard for two days before Holmes could join him in the mansion. Watson had to mind to admit it, but he disliked it when their adventured separated them for any length of time. Holmes knew that, of course, and, just as he often played a small selection of his friend’s favourite melodies after particularly tedious wanderings on the violin, it was understood that he was sorry when he fixed Watson with an intense look from his warm, brown eyes and explained that there was simply no other way of approaching the situation. Watson relented, but warned that the daily reports he would undoubtedly be asked to send would turn out to be very caustic in tone if Holmes were to delay any longer than the agreed two days. The detective stepped up to where Watson had been standing during their discussion and gave him a lingering, but chaste kiss—in deference to the unlocked door and Mrs Hudson’s impeccable timing—which appeased Watson’s apprehension a great deal more than, again, he would have cared to admit. But then, he wouldn’t have had to, because it was all too keenly observed by Holmes in the way his grip on his cane relaxed slightly, and the furrow of his brow eased.
“There you are,” Holmes whispered, still firmly ensconced in Watson’s personal space.
“I’d better get my things, then,” Watson answered, quickly leaning in to steal another kiss, then setting off in the direction of his room, leaving Holmes to ponder their latest mystery.
