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So, yes, I freely admit that my Holmes is not the Holmes of Watson. To continue with the analogy, my perspective, my brush technique, my use of colour and shade, are all entirely different from his. The subject is essentially the same; it is the eyes and the hands of the artist that change.
I WAS FIFTEEN when I first met Sherlock Holmes, fifteen years old with my nose in a book as I walked the Sussex Downs, and nearly stepped on him.
The nostalgia is already hitting
My shoulders went back, my chin up, as I stiffened for combat.
Okay The Archer could totally be Russel’s song
I was horrified: Here I was, standing before a Legend, flinging insults at him, yapping about his ankles like a small dog worrying a bear. I suppressed a cringe and braced myself for the casual swat that would send me flying.
Lol poor Russell
“‘Young man’?” I repeated. “It’s a damned good thing that you did retire, if that’s all that remains of the great detective’s mind!” With that I reached for the brim of my oversized cap and my long blonde plaits slithered down over my shoulders.
ICONIC.
Bees are great workers, it is true, but does not the production of each bee’s total lifetime amount to a single dessert-spoonful of honey? Each hive puts up with having hundreds of thousands of bee-hours stolen regularly, to be spread on toast and formed into candles, instead of declaring war or going on strike as any sensible, self-respecting race would do. A bit too close to the human race for my taste.”
I am a feminist, but no man hater. A misanthrope in general, I suppose like yourself, sir. However, unlike you, I find women to be the marginally more rational half of the race.”
“Mary,” he said, tasting it. He pronounced it in the Irish manner, his mouth caressing the long first syllable. “A suitably orthodox name for such a passive individual as yourself.” “I believe I was named after the Magdalene, rather than the Virgin.”
This joke never gets old
We walked, he talked, and under the sun and his soothing if occasionally incomprehensible monologue, I began to feel something hard and tight within me relax slightly, and an urge I had thought killed began to make the first tentative stirrings towards life. When we arrived at his cottage, we had known each other forever.
Yet another example of the man’s obtuseness, this inability to know a gem unless it be set in gaudy gold.
Youth does not inspire confidence, in life or in stories,
Ah, how sweet was the pleasure of seeing the look of appreciation spread over his face and hearing his murmured phrase, “Very good, very good indeed.” It was like coming home.
Gahhh I love them
“But surely you know how the case ended,” I said, amazed. “The case, certainly. But what Watson has made of it, I couldn’t begin to guess, except that there is bound to be gore and passion and secret handshakes. Oh, and some sort of love interest. I deduce, Miss Russell; Watson transforms. Good day.”
Looking back, I can admit to myself that even with my parents I had never been so happy, and not even with my father, who had been a most brilliant man, had my mind found so comfortable a fit, so smooth a mesh. By our second meeting we had dropped “Mr.” and “Miss.” After some years we came to end the other’s sentences, even to answer an unasked question—but I get ahead of myself.
soulmates.
She also taught me that being womanly was not necessarily incompatible with being a mind.
Holmes has always thought of himself as omniscient, so I cannot trust him on it.
I had bought a lovely little chess set of ivory, inlaid wood, and leather to carry in my pocket, and we played games without number under the hot sky. He no longer had to handicap himself severely in order to work for his victories. I still have that set, and when I open it, I can smell the ghost of the hay that was being cut in a field below us, the day I beat him evenly for the first time.
there is no treachery in the truth. There may be pain, but to face honestly all possible conclusions formed by a set of facts is the noblest route possible for a human being.”
If the summer before I went up to Oxford was one of sun and chess games under the open sky, my first summer home had a tinge of bitter in the sweet, as I realised for the first time that even Holmes was limited by mortality.
“Good heavens, Russell, if time hangs so heavy on your hands and you’ve run out of bandages to wrap, by all means thrust your nose into this momentous crime, this upsurge of depravity on our very doorsteps. I only suggest that you not annoy the constabulary more than you have to.”
Sarcastic Holmes >>>>>>>>>>>>
“Reading that drivel of Watson’s, a person would never know I’d had any real failures, the kind that grind away and keep one from sleeping. Russell, I know these cases, I know the feel of how they begin, and this has all the marks. It stinks of failure, and I don’t want to be anywhere near Wales when they find that child’s body.”
the fact that he's honest with her like this is everythinggg
“Nah, Mr. Holmes,” Connor began to bluster, the Welsh rhythm creeping back into his throat, “I can hardly think—” “That is eminently clear, young man. Were you to pause for thought, you might realise that a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would suffice.
lol.
You cannot help being a female, and I should be something of a fool as well were I to discount your talents merely because of their housing.
the Dream came and tore at me with its claws of blame and terror and abandonment, the massive, shambling, monstrous inevitability of my personal hell, but this time, before its climax, just short of the final moment of exquisite horror, a sharp voice dragged me back,
It was my turn now to look down and study my hands. Hero worship was not one of the topics Holmes had thought fit to tutor me in, and my voice was not quite steady when I spoke.
“To be angry and—happy?” The incongruity obviously appealed to her. She savoured it for a moment and jumped to her feet. “I’m going to be angry and happy.”
Russel's friendship with Jessie >>>>>>>>>
Of the terms, my favourite is that of Michaelmas, when the mind is put back into harness and the wet leaves of autumn lie thick in the streets.
we stan an autumn lover
‘The subtlest of all the beasts in the garden’
paradise lost reference? idk but it could be
I refuse to accept gallant stupidity in place of rational necessity.
when I looked over at Holmes, I had the oddest impression that there was a drop of rain on his cheek.
no way she's dreaming. he's 100% actually upset and doesn't know she's watching
“When brains are fresher,” said Holmes, as if quoting someone whose opinions he considered suspect—Oscar Wilde perhaps.
I AM DECEASED
Holmes muttered something from the window, where one of his long fingers pulled back one edge of the thick draperies. Watson did not hear it, but to me it sounded like “Goodness and mercy shall plague me all the days of my life.” I had once thought him to be nearly illiterate when it came to Scripture, but he was ever full of surprises, although he did tend to change quotes to suit the circumstances.
“I dislike the idea of a murderer employing children,” said Holmes darkly. “It is, I agree, bad for their morals, and interferes with their sleep.” “And their schooling,” added Holmes sententiously.
I gave the flabbergasted Lestrade my most innocent of smiles. “It’s really quite elementary, Inspector.”
THE SASS.
holy to half the world, a narrow strip of marginally fertile soil whose every inch has felt the feet of conquering soldiers, a barren land whose only wealth lies in the children she had borne. Palestine.
I hope you realise that guilt is a poor foundation for a life, without other motivations beside it.
