#reichenbach fixit

[ghostofnuggetspast]

Well hello, Tumblr People! I just finished a Thing that I made for @chriscalledmesweetie as a Fandom Trumps Hate 2025 gift. It's a limerick remix of her fabulous "Mrs Hudson's Fluff Brew". It is illustrated with doodles, the like of which you might find on a middle-schooler's history notebook. I'm chunking it up so it won't take a month to post. Here's the beginning of Chapter 1! I hope you like it.

Chapter 1: The Vision

30th January

Martha, a Seer, knows fate Is not just one line going straight. She oft tries to damper The strong urge to tamper, To fix things just in the wrong state. Our tale begins with a meeting. Sherlock and John give a nice greeting. Martha can tell They match very well. Her urge to assist them is fleeting. That night, though, a Special Dream tells Of a future with all of the hells. An act of devotion Will put into motion A nightmare. She must use her spells!

More on Ao3!

Tumblr Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

@calaisreno @helloliriels @friday411 @totallysilvergirl @naefelldaurk @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @bluebellofbakerstreet @anyawen

omg I know I left some people out I'll rb this to the communities

[ghostofnuggetspast]

This is just the first half of this chapter. Continued on A03

Chapter 3: Is it Getting Warm in Here?

3rd February - vibrant, secret, animated

First the ritual, then serve, then …

Sherlock is vibrant this way; He’s got so much brilliance to say! Those eyes and that mouth -- John’s secret’s gone south. His meter is sliding toward gay.

Continued on a03

Tumblr Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

@calaisreno @helloliriels @friday411 @totallysilvergirl @naefelldaurk @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @bluebellofbakerstreet @anyawen

[ghostofnuggetspast]

This is just the first half of this chapter. Continued on a03!

Chapter 2: The Daily Tea Ritual

1st February - flamboyant, cozy, sketch

“The frame of the ritual ought To start with clean parchment, no spot. Write of each word With quill of no bird. Then burn them, make ash tea, serve hot.”

Two cups of tea later …

A cozy night in by the glow Of the fire; flamboyant skills flow. John sits and admires As Sherlock plays spires Of notes with the hair of his bow. While Sherlock impresses with strings, John doodles a sketch of some things. He’s too shy to share; He loves Sherlock’s hair. Drawing it gives his heart wings.

Continued on Ao3!

Tumblr Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Based on @chriscalledmesweetie 's Mrs Hudson's Fluff Brew! Give it a read and some love!

@calaisreno @helloliriels @friday411 @totallysilvergirl @naefelldaurk @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @bluebellofbakerstreet @anyawen

[ghostofnuggetspast]

This is just the first verse of this chapter. Continued on a03!

Chapter 4: Slow Going

5th February - shiny, explosive, brave

Would the Mods steer us wrong? Another ritual, serve, then …

An explosive kitchen is plain As a battlefield to John’s hindbrain. “Save shiny madman! He a civilian!” Our brave Caveman then would explain.

Continued on a03!

Tumblr Navigation: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Based on @chriscalledmesweetie 's Mrs Hudson's Fluff Brew! Give it a read and some love!

@calaisreno @helloliriels @friday411 @totallysilvergirl @naefelldaurk @keirgreeneyes @peanitbear @bluebellofbakerstreet @anyawen

[a-candle-for-sherlock]

Chapter Four: Sebastian Moran

His door was grey. Smoke trailed up above the house into the looming twilight. I stood waiting, my chin sunk down into my muffler—the night was cold, and getting colder—my bloodied knuckles stinging inside my gloves. The rough who had attacked me on my way had come off far worse than I, but I knew the blood would worry John. I would keep my gloves on until I had seen how he was.

All at once the door was opened by a sturdy, keen-eyed woman, about thirty, with paint-spattered hands. A streak of blue paint adorned her hair—she had put her hand up to tidy it out of habit when I had rung the bell.

“Sir?” she said.

I tried to smile winningly, through the trembling of my heart. “I’m here for Doctor Watson.”

She shook her head. My soul sank, but she was saying, “It’s past hours. Come tomorrow—”

“I’m not a patient,” I interrupted, and then, hoping on my notoriety, “I’m Sherlock Holmes.”

I had gambled correctly: she raised her brows. “Oh,” she said, with a good deal of meaning in her tone, “you ought to go up at once, then.”

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say, and stepped into the warmth of the front hall as she drew back.

“I’m Doctor Liddell,” she said, and I nodded; I was all at once past speech. To be so near—

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[a-candle-for-sherlock]

Chapter Three: James Moriarty

France was a sufficient distraction for about a week. I could forget myself in wandering the crooked streets, ducking in and out of second-hand shops and third-rate music-halls, a cigarette in my hand and my cravat undone; I could disappear into my research for hours, and go to bed at any time of day or night, and rain curses, unreprimanded, on my uncooperative fireplace and my draughty window and my empty room. For John wasn’t there, and the release of utter self-indulgence was failing to counterbalance the weight of his absence.

He’d let me go at the platform with a quick press of my hand; stood motionless, watching, as my train pulled slowly out of the station. When I could not pick him out amid the crowd any longer, I’d settled back into my seat with a queer, uncomfortable feeling about my heart. I had not been parted from him by more than a county since we had met. Now Europe lay ahead.

We had bought my ticket at the station five minutes before departure, using one of my false names. I’d taken only the Strad and my carpetbag, so that I would not have to get a porter anywhere along the route. It seemed wisest to leave as few traces of my passage as possible. I boarded ship with a forged passport and a new false mustache wreaking havoc on my sensitive upper lip. John would have laughed to watch me twitch, and warned me to try out my disguises before I used them. But of course John was safe home, well away from me. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself—I knew that.

Still, I questioned my judgment in leaving him there—questioned it, semi-involuntarily, about twice an hour from my arrival in France, alone, until the morning I was served a cup of poisoned tea at a tea-house on the Boulevard.

Read the rest on AO3

Read from the beginning

Tags under the cut! Let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@captain-liddy

@love-in-mind-palace

@byebyefrost

@la-pou-belle

@roseinmyhand

@iamjohnlocked4life

@greymantledlady

@my-mind-palace-blog

@msdisdain

@skys-child

@artemisastarte

@holeysaintgeorge

@oldshrewsburyian

@sincewhendoyoucallme-john

@redgreyandpurple

@totallysilvergirl