Impulsively Reading Since...

It might be kind of charming if one or two of the items reflected things from original canon. A persian slipper, perhaps, or a 19th century air rifle of unusual design.

If Sherlock is sad, is it for a person, a pet or an experience? Photographs, pet collars or cages might cover it, but other things could be more personal still. (The remnants of the violin that Plutarch destroyed for instance).

My family moved so often, and I used to, that my main mementoes of my childhood are photos and books. My eldest brother still has his bear. What sorts of things do other people have?

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I'm not sure I want to make it something quite as sentimental as a teddy. Sherlock is suffering from the Holmes family blues; still struggling with missing out on time with John because of Moriarty; feeling a bit off because things had changed while he was gone and he hasn't managed to slot himself back into the puzzle which is his existence quite yet. I imagine he has just had a nasty exchange with one of his less pleasant relatives and stalked off, but you can't shake unhappy memories quite that easily.

John is very aware that Sherlock is a bit more emotional than normal. He's been watching him struggle with this music that has unexpectedly become a project - and sees too that the music has taken on more meaning than is perhaps mentally healthy for his friend. So he follows, or finds him after a discreet amount of time.

He tries to cheer him up, and there have to be some good memories - perhaps especially associated with this place, because it wasn't Sherlock's actual home - which wasn't particularly happy - but a bit of a country refuge. Maybe Uncle Rocky's attic is where all the really good toys reside.

This link offered by another friend is brilliant - and you know Sherlock had a chemistry kit...I can't see him seeking out his old chemistry kit since he has such cool stuff in the flat, but this sort of thing perhaps? http://www.cracked.com/article_19481_the-8-most-wildly-irresponsible-vintage-toys_p2.html

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Oh, also, Sherlock clearly enjoys Christmas and he presumably spent most of his Christmases at Uncle Rocky's place performing Shakespeare and being tutored in chess, among other things. Perhaps it is a Christmasy sort of item?

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Yes, I didn't think a bear would be right, and now you've described the circumstances I can see it's the wrong note entirely.

Might it be related to music, then? Something that happened in this house that first helped him find music, and the solace he experiences with it. Was it Rocky or an aunt who let him stay up late to listen to the quartet playing for the soirée and discovered that it brought order and calm to his overstimulated mind. It might then be an instrument, a kind of playbill (I bet the family goes to the effort of creating programs for their Events). Maybe if this is the place where his music started, it gives him a foothold again?

(poor lad. *pets him*)

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pargoletta.livejournal.com

Well, my parents' attic contains furniture, bookcases filled with childhood books, presumably boxes of my old toys (including the View-Master that I gave Mycroft in "Cake Full Of Plums") and paper dolls, the infamous wooden menorah that my mom has set on fire several times but which as not actually managed to burn the house down yet, and . . . the typescript pages of some weird family histories and weirder semi-autobiographical fiction by my aunt!

I'm also convinced beyond any shadow of a doubt that my old blankie, which vanished before I was ready to get rid of it, is peacefully decomposing under the back porch. The fact that my parents completely renovated the back of the house several years ago, destroying the porch in the process, does not hinder this belief in the slightest.

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My blankie was packed mysteriously early for our move and oh so curiously never unpacked... :-(

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I am sure there must be houses in Australia which have attics and/or basements, but I've never lived in one. Aussies tend to go with sheds. :/ But yeah, moving every three years meant a lot of stuff had to go. My items of sentimental value got whittled down quite early. It's a shame. I've always wanted to discover dusty, forgotten treasures in an attic.

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I also have limited experience with attics, which is why I asked for ideas, honestly. I have read about wonderful attics so I assume they exist and I can conceivably write about them without seeming ridiculous - but a bit of communal feeling definitely helps!

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Ah. For the two of us, attics are just things that happen to other people. :)

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This is brilliant - thanks!

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The attic has been there for a while, right? How long a while? Because things accumulate. And this is a rather large attic.

Ivory game counters shaped like fish. Bifocals that are hundreds of years old. Gas masks. Plane spotting charts. A dress form. Trunks full of old clothing. The only stuffed dodo in existence. A mirror with mysterious carvings around the frame. A medical skeleton with one leg missing. A set of bagpipes. Some swords. Ice skates. A fly fishing kit that's too brittle with age for anything to be of use. A worn out wing chair, slightly too wobbly even for the servants when there were servants. Great Aunt Vivianne's collection of cigarette holders. A matching cigarette case, clock, pen holder (no pen) and lighter from her desk set. A matching set of badly done oils. A pair of old ski boots, the kind that lace on, with all the laces in knots. A book press. A glass display case of native insects. A cigar box filled with costume jewelry, half of the paste gems gone. A rug beater. A Victorian pump action vacuum cleaner. A bundle of children's writing exercises. A Spirograph. Galoshes, odd sizes, unmatched. A beautiful antique bottle, mostly opaque, sealed with lead. In a box lid slid under a dresser full of stuck drawers, a child's collection of river-smoothed oval stones. Great grandmother's compact.

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An old rug full of holes, some burned into it, some eaten into it. In a trunk, in a jewelry box, in tissue paper tied with a worn gold ribbon, some unworn baby's shoes. Yellowed go go boots. A creepy crawlers set, all the bottles empty. A scrapbook full of theater tickets. A hatbox full of small Victorian handbags. Paints (dried), paint brushes, palettes, artists papers, charcoal sticks, once-stretched canvas. One lone silver and crystal coaster used as an ash tray and still half full of filters. A razor strop. A box of mining lanterns. A glorious, life sized watercolor reclining nude, boxed up to keep her from the light but unprotected from the temperature. An astonishingly ugly coat rack. A wardrobe full of old furs and mothballs. A stringless harp.

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Because why shouldn't an attic be a place to learn about mysteries?

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This is amazing. I think this may be a separate tale altogether. Mysteries that even Sherlock cannot solve...and a few he can...there is something of the Endless in the attic you have created...

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