(no subject)

The music stopped and a very short, neat-looking little woman appeared in the doorway. “Sherlock!” Her voice was only lightly tinted with the French accent which suffused Claude’s. She threw herself at Sherlock, and she was so small in comparison to his height that he couldn’t help the fact that he picked her up off her feet when he returned the embrace.

“Hello, Grandmere.”

She held onto him for a long while, two or three minutes. Then she sighed, and he carefully set her back on her feet. She looked up at him, placed her hands firmly on her hips, and began to speak at him in very rapid, very emphatic French in a tone which clearly conveyed the sort of extreme displeasure usually reserved for matters such as traffic snarls caused by Jeremy Clarkson; or, if you didn’t happen to live at 221B Baker Street, a head in the fridge. John caught lots of odieux, détestable, cruel, terrible; interpolated the odd méchant, peu gentil, haïssable, and effrayant; watched as, under this assault, Sherlock slowly wilted until he was a sad-looking sort of round-shouldered lump of misery. With one last scathing, ‘épouvantable!’ she turned on her heel and whirled back into the room from which she had appeared.

John took in the completely devastated Sherlock before him and looked after her in awe. “When you turned up back at the flat - I should have rung Mycroft and had him send a car for her.”

“Quite,” said the lump of misery.

(no subject)

The music stopped and a very short, neat-looking little woman appeared in the doorway. “Sherlock!” Her voice was only lightly tinted with the French accent which suffused Claude’s. She threw herself at Sherlock, and she was so small in comparison to his height that he couldn’t help the fact that he picked her up off her feet when he returned the embrace.

“Hello, Grandmere.”

She held onto him for a long while, two or three minutes. Then she sighed, and he carefully set her back on her feet. She looked up at him, placed her hands firmly on her hips, and began to speak at him in very rapid, very emphatic French in a tone which clearly conveyed the sort of extreme displeasure usually reserved for matters such as traffic snarls caused by Jeremy Clarkson; or, if you didn’t happen to live at 221B Baker Street, a head in the fridge. John caught lots of odieux, détestable, cruel, terrible; interpolated the odd méchant, peu gentil, haïssable, and effrayant; watched as, under this assault, Sherlock slowly wilted until he was a sad-looking sort of round-shouldered lump of misery. With one last scathing, ‘épouvantable!’ she turned on her heel and whirled back into the room from which she had appeared.

John took in the completely devastated Sherlock before him and looked after her in awe. “When you turned up back at the flat - I should have rung Mycroft and had him send a car for her.”

“Quite,” said the lump of misery.

Are we supposed to giggle in the solo?

So, I've kidnapped the entire cast of characters from As Time Goes By because Lionel's father Rocky had that place in the country...hence dotty Uncle Rocky (rock on!) suddenly becoming the host of our holiday gathering.  And now I get to write Lionel and Jean (Judi Dench!), and Alistair (hey hey!) and Judy and Sandy get to come along for the ride. I might even break down and let Stephen and Penny visit - and I just now remembered Mrs. Bale!  I get Mrs. Bale!  Yea!

This means that, along with my f-list inspired kidnappings and OCing I now have a whole lot of nice, funny people wandering around the estate.  Unfortunately, I don't think everyone in the Holmes extended clan can possibly be nice and friendly.  This has led me to add Sherlock's parents into the mix (which I had completely intended to chicken out on and leave out altogether) and has forced me to weaponize them in the process.

Sherlock couldn’t quite keep the ghost of a smile from his lips when John missed not a beat of the dynamic.  His instinctive understanding of danger always served him well.  Mummy, after all, had been known to scatter shrapnel in her wake; candy-coated if you were lucky, crystalline-jagged if you were not.  Even so, a portion of John’s attention had already trained itself on Father and would remain focused there as long as the two men occupied the same space; position, it was all about position, the art of war.

I take a milder view of the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft; they're nasty to one another but with parents like theirs they pull together in a pinch.

So if anyone has any character sketches of baddies I can throw in - toss 'em at me.  I have a sneaking suspicion that Cousin Simon and his lot are up to no good, and there's some history there.

Oh, and I think that what Sherlock and John are searching the attic for are Sherlock's first compositions; he was six, and the four of them left - rather abruptly - and the fruits of his labor were left behind in the rush.

*Off to write Mrs. Bale*

Are we supposed to giggle in the solo?

So, I've kidnapped the entire cast of characters from As Time Goes By because Lionel's father Rocky had that place in the country...hence dotty Uncle Rocky (rock on!) suddenly becoming the host of our holiday gathering.  And now I get to write Lionel and Jean (Judi Dench!), and Alistair (hey hey!) and Judy and Sandy get to come along for the ride. I might even break down and let Stephen and Penny visit - and I just now remembered Mrs. Bale!  I get Mrs. Bale!  Yea!

This means that, along with my f-list inspired kidnappings and OCing I now have a whole lot of nice, funny people wandering around the estate.  Unfortunately, I don't think everyone in the Holmes extended clan can possibly be nice and friendly.  This has led me to add Sherlock's parents into the mix (which I had completely intended to chicken out on and leave out altogether) and has forced me to weaponize them in the process.

Sherlock couldn’t quite keep the ghost of a smile from his lips when John missed not a beat of the dynamic.  His instinctive understanding of danger always served him well.  Mummy, after all, had been known to scatter shrapnel in her wake; candy-coated if you were lucky, crystalline-jagged if you were not.  Even so, a portion of John’s attention had already trained itself on Father and would remain focused there as long as the two men occupied the same space; position, it was all about position, the art of war.

I take a milder view of the relationship between Sherlock and Mycroft; they're nasty to one another but with parents like theirs they pull together in a pinch.

So if anyone has any character sketches of baddies I can throw in - toss 'em at me.  I have a sneaking suspicion that Cousin Simon and his lot are up to no good, and there's some history there.

Oh, and I think that what Sherlock and John are searching the attic for are Sherlock's first compositions; he was six, and the four of them left - rather abruptly - and the fruits of his labor were left behind in the rush.

*Off to write Mrs. Bale*

Graceland Cemetery Walking Tour - Master Post

Almost all pictures were taken by my Kurt Russell. All quoted text comes from A Walk Through Graceland Cemetery: A Chicago Architecture Foundation Walking Tour by Barbara Lanctot. Any errors or typos are mine alone.

Every year on my birthday we do ‘something’ and in 2011 we took a walking tour of Graceland Cemetery, self-guided by the above-named book. It was a lovely day and we took lots of pictures.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Graceland Cemetery Walking Tour - Master Post

Almost all pictures were taken by my Kurt Russell. All quoted text comes from A Walk Through Graceland Cemetery: A Chicago Architecture Foundation Walking Tour by Barbara Lanctot. Any errors or typos are mine alone.

Every year on my birthday we do ‘something’ and in 2011 we took a walking tour of Graceland Cemetery, self-guided by the above-named book. It was a lovely day and we took lots of pictures.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4