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Saturday, January 21st, 2012 10:31 pm
sherlock and my fantasy about what happens next
I have watched the last Sherlock ep in slow-motion trying to work out what the hell. I have a working theory (or ten).
Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers.
I have this entire like, vision of that reporter all heady with success and irritated that, y'know, wanting more, and trying to cozy up to John to get more dirt, which no. So she decides FRAUD ACCOMPLICE and John is like BRING IT.
As John, being a blogger and a writer, is totally on the social media.
Because yes, its' been like, what, a year, and most people forgot the details but this story comes out about THE FRAUD DOCTOR (I have no gift for headlines, just imagine something better) and sure, this might have worked except abruptly this site has these sad photos of John all broken at Sherlock's grave and limping along alone in the rain in an ugly jumper with his cane or possibly at the grave during a storm in a hideous jumper with two canes and the puppy they were raising together (Gladstone) that's an orphan now, all brave and pathetic and leaning on the headstone all broken and meaningful and possibly clutching that iconic hat in one shaking hand. And quotes that are like about like, how Sherlock saved him after he came home with PTSD and horrible war wounds and Mrs Hudson making tea all stiff-lipped with a shot of their apartment and how John can't even go back so he has only one pair of shoes and they have like, holes in them.
...right, fine, I thought about this a lot.
Then the reporter gets chased through the streets. And Anderson too.
(I have no idea why I don't hold it against Donovan, but hers feels less personally vindictive (though I admit that's there) than fairly logical from her point of view. Anderson is an idiot; run, Anderson. Run.
...too much?
I did think of a cat, but rain. Wet. Scratching. Not quite what I was envisioning.
Spoilers, spoilers, spoilers.
I have this entire like, vision of that reporter all heady with success and irritated that, y'know, wanting more, and trying to cozy up to John to get more dirt, which no. So she decides FRAUD ACCOMPLICE and John is like BRING IT.
As John, being a blogger and a writer, is totally on the social media.
Because yes, its' been like, what, a year, and most people forgot the details but this story comes out about THE FRAUD DOCTOR (I have no gift for headlines, just imagine something better) and sure, this might have worked except abruptly this site has these sad photos of John all broken at Sherlock's grave and limping along alone in the rain in an ugly jumper with his cane or possibly at the grave during a storm in a hideous jumper with two canes and the puppy they were raising together (Gladstone) that's an orphan now, all brave and pathetic and leaning on the headstone all broken and meaningful and possibly clutching that iconic hat in one shaking hand. And quotes that are like about like, how Sherlock saved him after he came home with PTSD and horrible war wounds and Mrs Hudson making tea all stiff-lipped with a shot of their apartment and how John can't even go back so he has only one pair of shoes and they have like, holes in them.
...right, fine, I thought about this a lot.
Then the reporter gets chased through the streets. And Anderson too.
(I have no idea why I don't hold it against Donovan, but hers feels less personally vindictive (though I admit that's there) than fairly logical from her point of view. Anderson is an idiot; run, Anderson. Run.
...too much?
I did think of a cat, but rain. Wet. Scratching. Not quite what I was envisioning.
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