I’m trying to make a timeline for my Young Sherlock Mycroft x oc fic series and the timeline is kicking my butt and I could do with some help. Here’s the dilemma:
So the first episode takes place presumably around October given James has just got his scholarship and lessons have just started. Sherlock cannot be in prison in episode 2 long given James breaks him out quickly.
It’s a cold night in episode 5 when Sherlock and James excavate the grave of ‘Beatrice’ but the weather seems nice other than that.
Then episode 6 & most of 7 they’re all in Paris, during the Paris commune of 1871, which took place from the 18th March-28th May.
I need help figuring out how the investigation all fits because the primary investigation cannot take place more than a couple of weeks, so if anyone help me with figuring out a timeline, I’d be grateful because it’s just CONFUSING ME!!!
Edit: forgot to add that I know Sherlock has been in prison for 3 months at the start of episode 1.
Description: after a horrendous encounter with a suitor, Mycroft learns that his copyist has a very particular sense of humour and both of them could do with a little reassurance sometimes. (I am terrible at descriptions 😅)
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
Or at least, that is the advice Mrs Hudson decided to take with her only granddaughter, when the search for a husband inevitably began.
Having been a rather feral and unconventionally educated child, at twenty years old, Emily Hudson had become quite accomplished; gifted the ability to speak three languages fluently, a semi steady and prestigious job as a copyist for the foreign office, in theory, she would be the perfect candidate for a wife as soon as she was able, her own grandfather had even set a few suggestions ahead of time to get her sorted. And ignoring Emily’s obsessions and unconventional way of doing things, there was one flaw in the plan idealistic mind of her grandmother and her grandfather’s eagerness to marry her off— the arrogance of men themselves.
“Mr Holmes!”
Emily entered the sitting room of 221C with a dramatic thud of the door that rattled the newly fixed door in its frame. She flinched slightly, not wanting a repeat of the last time she had opened and closed a door that enthusiastically, the effect of which subsequently caused the door to fall off its hinges, and her immense embarrassment even weeks later.
“Would you like to hear what your generous housekeeper and landlady’s efforts have landed me this time?”
The response from the armchair by the white marble fireplace was immediate, though not particularly enthusiastic.
“If this is another way for you to drag me from my paperwork,” said Mycroft Holmes without so much as a glance, “I fear I have no choice in the matter.”
Emily deposited her gloves upon the side table nearest the chair opposite him.
“I would never force the subject upon you.”
“And yet, over the past six months, you have successfully dragged me from my work on countless occasions.”
“That, is only because you forget, frequently, that you have any other responsibilities other than work.”
“That, is a false accusation.”
“With the exceptions of your brother’s borderline criminal antics and your mother’s care, it is true enough.”
Mycroft sighed the sigh of a man who knew any more resistance was futile. Only then did he look up from the Foreign Office documents spread across his lap.
“What has happened?”
“I do believe you'll want to leave your post entirely for this one.”
“Will I?”
“For a man more or less just informed me I shall die alone for refusing to give him something he wanted.”
Mycroft stopped. Any form of amusement vanished from his face, his expression hardening, into the sort of expression Emily had only seen in her six months of working at the foreign office a handful of times: she’d seen it directed toward incompetent ministers, a credit stealing Sir Bucephalus, and once a man who had attempted to blackmail a cabinet official. But never towards her. He rose from his chair with alarming efficiency.
“Emily.”
His voice had become frighteningly calm.
“Tell me exactly what occurred.”
She stared.
“Mycroft—”
“Did he touch, threaten or coerce you in any way?”
Emily suddenly realised where this was going. Where his mind had gone, instantly.
“Mycroft.”
“Because if a gentleman has spoken to you in such a manner after making indecent proposals—”
“Mycroft.”
“—then I should very much like his name.”
The final sentence was spoken with enough cold precision to freeze the Thames.
“Oh heavens, Mycroft. It wasn't what you think.”
“Then, Emily. What precisely has occurred?"
"You know how my grandmother arranged that visitation I told you about a few days ago?”
"With the son of your grandfather's former acquaintance?”
"The very same. Well, we met at the Bloomsbury. That is why I had to leave you earlier.”
“And?”
“He enjoys locomotives and music hall."
"That is not so bad."
"And is fond of assassins, would be and otherwise."
"Assassins?”
"He was particularly interested in Oxford’s attempt on the Queen, if my listening does me any credit.”
“I confess I fail to identify the specific attraction towards the third point interest."
Emily pointed at him.
"That was exactly my concern."
"What happened?"
"Oh, we talked for perhaps ten minutes."
"Twelve."
“How did you?”
“I checked the clock as you left."
"So we talked and he spoke about the events of the 10th June 1840 excessively."
"I see."
"For rather a long time, in the same way I am occasionally prone to do with The Histories and then he requested my home address and he wished for my direct correspondence."
"Your private correspondence?"
"Yes."
"You declined?."
"Obviously." Emily nodded “he is a stranger and one conversation lasting less than a quarter of an hour does not entitle a gentleman to unrestricted access to a lady."
"Quite."
Emily folded her arms. “Well."
"Well?"
"He became rather annoyed at my refusal. He informed me that if I was going to be difficult, I should remain so."
Mycroft's eyes narrowed.
"And then?"
"He said, and I quote as accurately as memory allows, 'Very well then. Enjoy spending the rest of your life in unmarried solitude.'”
“That was his response?"
"Yes."
"He wished you to spend the remainder of your life unmarried because you declined to surrender your personal information to a complete stranger after twelve minutes."
"In which he mostly spoke of himself, precisely."
“That is, utterly pathetic.”
The words emerged before Mycroft appeared to realise he had spoken them aloud.
She grinned.
Mycroft watched her with the expression of a man who had expected tears, outrage, embarrassment, perhaps even distress.
He had not expected amusement.
Least of all this much amusement.
"Sorry, it’s just, he thought I would hear those words and immediately cry,” she raised the back of her hand to her forehead and swayed dramatically “‘Wait! Please! Take my address! Here is every detail of my existence!'"
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.
The gesture was familiar.
It generally meant one of three things.
Another, less competent civil servant had made a catastrophic error.
Sherlock had landed himself in jail, again.
Or Emily Hudson was being Emily Hudson.
All three never occurred at the same time in his experience but all three had the potential to send Mycroft to an early grave.
"I fail to understand," he said carefully, "how a man arrives at such a conclusion."
"Oh, I understand perfectly."
"You do?"
"It was self importance."
She dropped into the armchair opposite his own. Her cheeks, pink from laughter.
"He believes his attention is some extraordinary prize that women ought to be grateful to receive." Mycroft considered.
"Which is fascinating because the entire conversation consisted of him speaking about himself."
For a moment silence settled over the room.
Outside, London moved through another cold autumn evening.Carriages rattled across Baker Street. Somewhere a horse snorted. The fire crackled softly, light bouncing off the light turquoise walls of the room.
Emily's laughter had faded but there was still the cracks of amusement around the corners of her mouth. To anyone not in the know, it would appears as though she had only returned from witnessing an exceptionally entertaining show at The Vaudeville.
However she couldn’t help but think, Mycroft was still thinking of his original assumption.
"Mycroft, I truly am sorry."
"About what?"
"I misled you into believing something awful had happened." she said “it was not worth the alarm.
Mycroft leaned back.
"That I believed a gentleman had attempted to solicit favours from you?"
Emily winced.
When he phrased it that way it sounded even worse.
“You do not need to apologise”
"Yes. But if looks could indeed kill…"
His jaw tightened.
"I merely wished to know his name."
"Mycroft."
His gaze drifted toward the fire.
Emily smiled.
Because she knew him well enough now to know that statement meant precisely what she thought it meant, even if he denied it.
If the man had indeed behaved as Mycroft had feared, there would have been consequences. Not dramatic, crude and public ones.
Mycroft Holmes rarely moved openly against anyone.
He would have moved quietly and efficiently, the same way he arranged everything else. It was one of the reasons she was sure one day he would be an entirely indispensable agent in the government.
Which was why Emily trusted him and was perhaps why his reaction had honestly surprised her, because for one brief moment he had looked genuinely frightened for her.
"Mycroft?"
"Hm?"
"You were worried about me."
"Is there any point in denying it?”
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No attempt to disguise it.
Just simple honesty.
Something about that made her smile.
"I appreciate that."
“Reason being, it’s simply what decent people do.”
“It’s what friends do.”
He studied her.
For several seconds.
Long enough that she shifted slightly beneath the scrutiny.
At last he spoke.
"You wished to reply to him."
Emily blinked.
"What?"
"When he made his final remark."
"You were not there."
"No."
"Then how—"
"Your mouth is pressed into a line when you are not speaking and you still appear tense despite your laughter. Answer: You are annoyed with yourself."
Emily stared.
"You wished to say something and did not."
"...perhaps."
Mycroft looked at her intently, encouraging her to continue.
"I wished," she admitted, "to tell him that if he continued behaving in such a manner he would struggle considerably more than I would."
"Ah."
"Something along the lines of enjoy your attempts to find a wife with that attitude.'"
A corner of Mycroft's mouth twitched.
Emily grinned.
"Was that amusement, Mr Holmes?"
"No."
"That was absolutely was."
Mycroft returned his attention to the documents on his lap. An obvious attempt at retreat.
Emily knew better.
"You thought it was funny."
"I thought it was accurate to our situation."
"You thought I said a funny thing!”
"You are insufferable, at times."
"Thank you."
His mouth twitched again. More noticeably this time.
Emily sat back triumphantly.
For a few moments neither spoke.
Then Mycroft said quietly,
"He was not good enough for you."
The words landed unexpectedly.
The laughter faded from her expression.
"What?"
Mycroft did not look up.
His gaze remained fixed on the papers before him.
But she noticed his hand pause.
Only briefly.
"He was extraordinarily entitled to expect your immediate trust without earning it."
Emily nodded.
The amusement was still there.
But now there was something else.
Something she couldn't quite identify.
Mycroft continued.
"Your good judgement is commendable in that respect.”
She blinked.
"Thank you."
"It should not be a remarkable feat."
"No."
"But unfortunately it is."
The room fell quiet again except for the fire.
Emily found herself watching him.
Watching the concentration settle once more across his features.
Watching the familiar line appear between his brows as he considered half a dozen matters simultaneously.
Foreign affairs, the upcoming finishing of Sir Bucephalus’ new science building in Oxford, , and likely the question as to if he even had time for breakfast in the morning.
The man seemed capable of thinking about everything at once.
And somehow still found time to worry about her.
The thought strangely warmed something in her chest, but a knock interrupted any further deconstruction of that thought.
The sitting room door opened and Mrs Hudson appeared with a tray, the bags under her eyes made her look twenty years on her already fifty, despite keeping up with the latest fashions for a respectable landlady (when she wasn’t playing housekeeper), she had put in quite an effort last year to keep up with the trends of fashion for her position and her walking skirt and buttoned white waist shirt and bustle was testament for that.
"I thought you might like some tea Mr Holmes”
“Thank you, mrs Hudson” Mycroft nodded gratefuily at the older woman.
“and Emily, dear—"
She stopped.
Looked from her granddaughter.
To Mycroft.
Back to her granddaughter.
Then narrowed her eyes.
"Why do I feel as though I've interrupted something?"
"You haven't," said Emily.
"You have," said Mycroft.
They both looked at him.
Mycroft looked mildly surprised to find he had spoken aloud.
Mrs Hudson smiled.
The smile of a woman who knew considerably more than she let on.
"How was Mr Ashford?"
Emily groaned.
"Oh, dreadful."
Mrs Hudson immediately looked delighted.
"Dreadful?"
"He informed me I shall die alone."
There was a pause.
Her grandmother set down the tray she was carrying.
"Did he indeed?"
"He did."
Her expression hardened.
"My word."
"Precisely."
"After one meeting?"
"Twelve minutes."
"Twelve—"
Mrs Hudson looked genuinely offended.
"My heavens. What did you do?!"
"I didn’t do anything! I merely refused to give a complete stranger my correspondence when I felt the conversation was going rather south."
Her grandmother folded her arms with a sigh.
"He always was a silly boy."
Emily raised an eyebrow.
Mrs Hudson sniffed.
"He was one of the suggestions your grandfather left behind.”
"Well, he abandoned his family and vanished without explanation. So I fail to see why his recommendations should influence my romantic prospects, As far as I’m concerned my grandfather forfeited any opinion on my future husband, the moment he stepped out that door."
Her grandmother nodded approvingly.
"I agree. And I am sorry dear, for any grief I may have caused when you clearly deserve better"
Mycroft observed for a moment before stating:
"The gentleman is a fool."
Both women looked at him.
Mrs Hudson beamed.
Emily giggled.
And somehow the evening became lighter.
The whole absurd encounter shrinking into exactly what it deserved to be.
A ridiculous story.
Nothing more.
Eventually her grandmother departed.
The fire burned lower.
The city settled into night.
And, as always happened, work reclaimed the sitting room. Emily gathered her notes from the afternoon.
Mycroft returned to his correspondence.
And another hour passed in silence, a comfortable one that only really exists only between people who spent most of their lives together.
Then eventually Emily felt a pain in her leg that signalled that she needed to move, so stretching, she gathered her notes from her position and let out a yawn before speaking the first thing that came into her mind.
"Mycroft?"
"Mm?"
"If I ever do die alone, I promise it won't be because I refused to hand over my address to an arrogant stranger after twelve minutes."
Something that looked suspiciously like amusement flickered across his face.
"I should certainly hope not."
Emily collected the rest of the documents waiting for translation.
"I'll have the Greek translation of this letter on your desk by tomorrow morning."
"Remember you have to rest. I cannot have you dead on your feet at the meeting with Sir Bucephalus tomorrow."
"Pot kettle, but yes sir." She reached the door.
"Oh and Emily?"
"Yes?"
Mycroft's eyes remained on the papers before him, yet his voice carried easily across the room.
"Your grandmother is correct."
Emily blinked.
"Sorry?"
"The man was a fool to think you would die a spinster. If anything he will be the one to fail to find a wife, not you in your quest for a husband."
The certainty in his voice caught her off guard.
Something about it.
The absolute confidence.
As though the possibility had never existed before he spoke it aloud, As though he knew this information for a fact.
But before she could ask exactly what he meant, or question why he felt as though he had to clarify that for her, he had already lowered his gaze to the papers again.
The discussion, apparently, was concluded.
Emily stood there for several seconds. She should say something back right? That is what people do? She should tell him that she has found no greater friend than Mycroft in six months, that unlike her grandfather’s, his opinion matters to her? That is what friends do, surely. She shook her head. It was too late now.
“Sleep well, Mr Holmes”
She smiled despite herself.
Then disappeared into the corridor.
The door clicking shut behind her.
Silence settled once again in the room. For a long moment Mycroft did not move, then, slowly he set down his pen, and looking toward the closed door, where she had stood moments ago, he allowed himself the smallest smile.
A/N: Right my first Young Sherlock fic. I’m not very good at writing x reader so instead I made an OC after I realised ‘huh, WHY is Mycroft coming out 221B of Baker Street?!’. So I decided Mycroft lives at 221C Baker Street (the bathroom in the show doesn’t line up with 221B’s placement) and knows Mrs Hudson. I’ll write a proper fic later but for now let’s treat this as a bit of an introduction, based on an experience I had yesterday.
Luke Skywalker/Mia Kenobi: From The Beginning to The End
A (silent as I haven’t figured out how to put audio to it yet) summary in three minutes.
Face claims:
Mia Kenobi- Sophie Turner and Rebecca Fergusson
Ani Kenobi- Brooklynn Prince and Lola Flannery
Note: all of this will eventually gain some context in a few fics I’m planning down the line. I just wanted to test out a new video editing website I found and thought this was pretty good for a first attempt.
Just thinking about how Obi-Wan and Lora met and how he was thirteen years old minding his own business in the spaceship after he and Qui-Gon rescued a force sensitive four year old who just so happened to be his Master’s daughter and then said four year old just decides to cling to his arm and just not let go for the entire journey, determined to make him like her.
She literally just goes ‘hi, I’m Lora and I’m your problem now’ and just sticks to it, and honestly, that’s dedication.
Hi, I’m Ellie, I’m autistic, Star Wars is a special interest of mine that recently came back and I have a an addiction to OCs.
So here’s where to find all my Star Wars children, most of whom I love very dearly.
Fair warning though, I have a lot of them:
Ep: I, II, III/Clone Wars
Lora Jinn- Jedi turned princess who never really left the Jedi order. Loyal, but uncertain of the future, she just wants to try her best and keep the balance of her head and heart. MC of my (currently WIP) fic, Natural Order.
CT-4571/ Blaze- A soldier in the aptly named Clone Wars. Wants to be so much more than a soldier.
Minerva Gage- a tragic and deceived Jedi turned Sith, wants to be at Vader and the Emperor’s side.
Ep: IV, V, VI
Mia Kenobi- My OG Star Wars OC. Daughter of two Jedi, future queen of a planet, a more natural leader than her mother and a fantastic spy for the alliance.
The Years of Peace
Ani Kenobi- Named for her paternal grandfather, Ani wants to be a Jedi like her parents before her, but fate has other ideas.
Ep: VII, VIII, IX
Amara Orden- A badass daughter of a queen and a Clone, who dreams of being a pilot in the resistance.
Ryder Gage- a boy trapped in carbonite for years who never asked to be born to a Sith. Strategy is his calling and he’s a value to the resistance.
