#elementary 1x12

[preacherboyd]

Elementary | 1x12 M.

[eg515]

Elementary 1x12 - M.

[kajaono]

I forgot how revengeful season1!Sherlock was

Him and Patrick Jane would have been good friends during that time. Also because they are both Sherlocke of course

[preacherboyd]

Elementary | 1x12 M.

[eddiegayass]

I'm gonna miss this. Maybe not this so much. But this. Working with you. I think what you do is amazing.

→ Elementary 1x12 - M.

[amindamazed]

regarding @queenconsuelabananahammock‘s post pointing out Elementary’s highly problematic uncritical support for the NYPD, I wanted to complicate one of the points, about the sonic device described as a tool for crowd control. This is one of the very few times someone actually does criticize the police: Sherlock introduces it as “fascist technology,” though that’s undermined by the fact that he praises it as ingenious first, and the rest of the conversation never comes back to that point.

Sherlock: It is a truly ingenious -- albeit fascist -- piece of technology. The DARPA-funded scientists across the hall have been developing it as a crowd-control device. It emits a direct blast of low-range sonic waves which vibrate at the same frequency as lung tissue. Would you like a demonstration?

Watson: The idea is for police to use it on unruly protesters.

However I think it’s also significant that this faint critique happened in an episode that not only didn’t include the NYPD, but neither Marcus Bell nor Tommy Gregson even appear in it at all. I doubt “Made in NY” (NYC’s office of filming permits) micromanages storylines, but CBS’s agreement with the NYPD certainly could.

What happened to the show that had Sherlock’s "associate” Teddy raise the issue of racial profiling?

[amindamazed]

3x01 Joan: You decided we weren't partners. So, I learned to work without you. It's what I'm used to now.

2x24 Sherlock: I'd like to work on my own, if it's all the same to you. Your decision to find new lodgings necessitates the adaptation of my methods. I need to grow accustomed to going without your input in the evenings, and I prefer to begin immediately.

1x12 Sherlock: Actually, Watson, it occurs to me that help from you is the last thing that I need. Much as it pains me to admit it, you have become something of a crutch, and I need to get used to working by myself again.

1x03 Sherlock: For a brief stretch in London, I talked only to a phrenology bust I kept in my study.

3x01 Angus

[amindamazed]

Trade Off another episode tag for 2x22, ~500 words warning: no hugs in this one. not related to Swayed.

"I'm not gonna follow you." —Watson, "M"

The steep flight of stairs up to the oasis of her room loomed in front of her like a cliff-face, and she opted to head downstairs first. Maybe eating something would help ground her enough to make the next round of choices, like which shoe to take off first.

-----

It was almost dawn when the unmarked SUV pulled up in front of the brownstone. The men must have destroyed her phone when they took her, but at least she still had her keys. She had to use both hands to push open the car door and stepped cautiously down to the sidewalk on wobbly legs. Too much caffeine on top of too long without sleep and adrenaline crash. Mycroft had started to make arrangements for her, but she cut him off, saying she just wanted to go home, to sleep in her own bed. She could barely focus her eyes anymore, let alone absorb his explanations or mollify his regrets. They’d let her make a call from a landline but Sherlock didn’t answer his phone and his voicemail wasn’t working. When she asked Mycroft where he was, he said they’d disagreed on how to proceed and gone their separate ways. She suspected the situation was more complicated than that, given what she’d just witnessed, but he said nothing else when she tried to stare him down. He didn’t offer to accompany her home.

The lights were on inside, and as she dragged herself up the front stairs alone, having refused the services of the security agent assigned to her, she was caught between hope and trepidation that Sherlock was there, waiting for her. She desperately wanted to feel safe but was wary of his state of mind. She had nothing left to give right now. No reserves. If he came at her in a frenzy of emotion she’d collapse under the onslaught. But all was still when she reached the foyer and there was no response when she called “Hello?” in a voice she barely recognized as her own. The steep flight of stairs up to the oasis of her room loomed in front of her like a cliff-face, and she opted to head downstairs first. Maybe eating something would help ground her enough to make the next round of choices, like which shoe to take off first.

She’d walked a few steps from the base of the stairs before she realized the floor was covered in plastic, and she couldn’t understand until the table came into view. She recognized a few of the instruments laid out there and braced herself against the stairwell to control the gorge rising in anticipation of what lay on the other side of the hallway wall. Two more steps, heart pounding, and the full room was in view. Plastic sheeting everywhere, two chairs pushed back toward the sink and one on the far side of the table, for an observer, perhaps. But no blood; she closed her eyes and opened them again, still holding onto the wall. No blood, and no body. She slid down against the wall and hid her face in her hands, shaking with relief and horror. That maybe no one died to find her. That things were done in her name she could not bear to consider. That lines she didn’t know she still lived behind had been crossed and there was no going back.

Upstairs the door crashed open to Sherlock’s frantic shout, “Watson! Watson, where are you!?”