Sherlock Slash Goggles

Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss gave me a show, and Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch gave me a love affair. Tumblr gave me slash goggles, and now I'm going to use them to harass poor old Arthur Conan Doyle.

I'm reading the Sherlock Holmes stories and presenting the finest bits of slash, finally freed from all that messy context that stops the word "ejaculate" from being as funny as it could be. Just some good, clean, willfully-misinterpreted fun! Come read along.

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My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, and my bees have the estate all to ourselves.

As if this isn’t sad enough, Sherlock is finding it nearly impossible to teach bees how to cuddle. He plays his violin in the dark, with only his bee stings to keep him warm.

From The Lion’s Mane, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

At this period of my life the good Watson had passed almost beyond my ken. An occasional week-end visit was the most that I ever saw of him. Thus I must act as my own chronicler. Ah! had he but been with me, how much he might have made of so wonderful a happening and of my eventual triumph against every difficulty!

If a Sherlock deduces in Sussex and there’s no John to be impressed, does he make a sound?

Bonus Wholock:

From The Lion’s Mane, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

JUST FRIENDS, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Damn it,” thought Arthur Conan Doyle. “I have just about had it with all these jokes about Holmes and Watson. They are friends! Just friends. Best, very good friends. Close friends. I’ll show those jerks. The next case will be all about another pair of best friends, and I shall make sure there is not a hint of subtext.”

“There was not a finer lad in the regiment. We formed a friendship - the sort of friendship which can only be made when one lives the same life and shares the same joys and sorrows. He was my mate - and that means a good deal in the Army. We took the rough and the smooth together for a year of hard fighting.”

“Yes, good! Godfrey Emsworth and James Dodd: army mates. Rough together when it was hard. Very butch. Nothing to raise any eyebrows here.”

“I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many ties and memories united us. Is it not natural that I should wonder at his sudden silence and should wish to know what has become of him?”

“Excellent. A young man forms an intimate bond with another man and is mysteriously bundled off to places unknown by his overbearing father. A universal story!”

“Many people, Mr. Dodd,” said Godfrey’s father, “would take offence at your infernal pertinacity and would think that this insistence had reached the point of damned impertinence.”

“You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.”

“Haha! Nailed it. Let’s see those fools try to make anything salacious out of THIS story!”

And here it is that I miss my Watson. By cunning questions and ejaculations of wonder he could elevate my simple art, which is but systematized common sense, into a prodigy. When I tell my own story I have no such aid.

Sherlock’s art is vastly improved when John is there to ejaculate over it. Indeed, Sherlock hardly knows what to do with himself without a steady stream of John’s ejaculations.

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I passed on into the study with my case complete. Alas, that I should have to show my hand so when I tell my own story! It was by concealing such links in the chain that Watson was enabled to produce his meretricious finales.

When someone says “the suspense is killing me,” Sherlock, they’re not crying for help. You’re not saving any lives by announcing the resolution of the case six pages before the climax!

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

‘I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and you make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward.’

Sherlock’s favorite Christmas tradition is catching criminals and then letting them go.

From The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

‘Peterson brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary delay. Its finder has carried it off, therefore, to fulfil the ultimate destiny of a goose, while I continue to retain the hat of the unknown gentleman who lost his Christmas dinner.’

Thank you, Sherlock. In your honor, I will congratulate each cookie I eat today on fulfilling its ultimate destiny.

From The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand.

Looks like Santa brought Sherlock a new dressing gown for Christmas… and even he knows how well that man can wear purple.

From The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Merry Happy, everyone! I’m afraid I shan’t be able to devote my usual 23 hours a day to Tumblr today and tomorrow, but never you fear. I’ve queued up some of the most Christmassy bits from The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle so that we can celebrate the season along with Sherlock and John. I hope you enjoy them, just as I hope you enjoy whatever festivities you get up to this weekend. Have fun!

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

My client had paused as one in deep emotion.

‘Pray continue,’ I said. ‘Your problem presents some very unusual features.’

That… might not sound as comforting as you’d think, Sherlock.

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard.”

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Sherlock could never be convinced to care about the Statute of Secrecy; as a result, he gets called out on his wizardry quite a bit.

It is my habit to sit with my back to the window and to place my visitors in the opposite chair, where the light falls full upon them. Mr. James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin the interview. I did not attempt to help him, for his silence gave me more time for observation. I have found it wise to impress clients with a sense of power, and so I gave him some of my conclusions.

It is delightfully intoxicating to read Sherlock’s own narration of those impressive powers for the first time. My overexcitement is best conveyed by the following:

That is the first page of the story.

The best bits are in yellow.

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The good Watson had at that time deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recall in our association. I was alone.

Sherlock is never sweeter than when he is using crankiness to hide affection.

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

A confederate who foresees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate.

This is by far the sweetest way that Sherlock has ever called John an idiot.

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Speaking of my old friend and biographer, I would take this opportunity to remark that if I burden myself with a companion in my various little inquiries it is not done out of sentiment or caprice, but it is that Watson has some remarkable characteristics of his own to which in his modesty he has given small attention amid his exaggerated estimates of my own performances.

For someone who is usually so eloquent, Sherlock does seem to bumble about when giving praise.

Bless.

From The Blanched Soldier, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle