Clocking In For Another Shift In The Holmes Watson Headcanon Mines

clocking in for another shift in the holmes watson headcanon mines

Sometimes it's so hard to choose only one aesthetic.

But you don't have to choose.

Go to the cemetery, by yourself, for no reason, and look for statues of weeping angels. Laugh to yourself, thinking of the doctor, and talk to the ghosts. Talk to them, tell them about your favourite companion, tell them where you would like to go if time and space were yours to explore. They have been lonely for a long time, many of them haven't seen anyone in years, and any story will enchant them.

Wear warm cashmere jumpers and long coats, run around the city, as if you were chasing something you can't quite name. Always keep a map with you, even if you never have to check it because you know this place better than yourself.

Always bring a planner with you, fill it with theories about BBC Sherlock and write down the deadlines of every new assignment. Cover it in writing, to the point where you can't tell one thing from the the other.

Find someone with whom you can always be honest. Describe the darkest parts of you soul to them knowing that they won't judge you. Listen to them talk about serial killers. Discuss queerbaiting in '90s literature and modern TV shows. And when you'll break down crying, as you realize you can't save this world, let them hold your hands.

Fill your head with stories, look for connections between popular culture and old myths. And when you will have achieved all of this, start writing.

And remember, always remember, that you do not need a story to validate you. You're already exceptional.

In my mind, Watson uses this religiously.

It's been a hot second since I've seen a picture of a Victorian mustache cup on here so look at this one in all its glory

This is a sippy cup. You just invented a sippy cup for manly men who want to go to tea parties and not feel emasculated by drinking too fast and getting their perfectly coifed mustaches droopy I can't

What really gets me going in reading the original Sherlock Holmes stories and seeing the way Watson and Sherlock address eachother and speak of eachother with such casual affection and adoration. Like Doyle wasn’t hiding anything, it isn’t subtext at all.

“My dear Watson.”

“A friend?”

Besides you, my dear Watson, I have none.”

The way Watson speaks of him and his brilliant mind and way of living is like when you’re in love and enchanted for the first time and you don’t even realize it. Like who knew the greatest love story of all time was two raggedy men in a flat in London? Like I’m floored everytime I read it

Agreed

That’s it. “Old Sport” is officially a gay term, and a gay term only.

This is my favourite Sherlock Holmes story in every adaptation, and I still get giddy everytime the letters back and forth come up, because it's really just Holmes and Watson getting an excuse to send eachother love letters like the sappy old men they are.

Rewatched Granada Hound of the Baskervilles yesterday and Sir Henry knows what’s what.