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About joanneta1

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    Detective Superintendent

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    History, crime fiction, science fiction, films, opera, video games
  • Favorite series 1 episode
    The Great Game
  • Favourite Series 2 Episode
    A Scandal In Belgravia
  • Favourite Series 3 Episode
    The Empty Hearse

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  1. What an amazing and invaluable resource! Thank you Carol for all your hard work. In the meantime, having to pass an obligatory GMC set of courses, I have discovered that if they wanted to do a mini episode, just to keep us hungry hyenas from their door, the Moftisses could focus on all Dr John H Watson's transgressions as a locum and a GP. Of course, there would be no Benedict around, just Mr Freeman in his role up against a GMC inquiry into why he shouldn't lose his licence or be suspended pending further inquiry. Even forgetting all his physical abuse of Sherlock, he is indictable under the Vulnerable adults code of conduct, when in TEH he physically attacks his patient, the bookseller. He admits to neglect of his daughter in TLD. He neglects to check up on Sherlock in TLD after being told about this wonderful new drug, before the morgue scene: he does have an Internet-enabled phone, he should look it up! Speaking of DI Lestrade, he is in gross negligence of duty not only in TRF when he warns Dr Watson about the oncoming catastrophe, he is also in TLD, when his clear and legal duty is to arrest Dr Watson after the incident, especially since it is being recorded! Another suspension pending an inquiry would be in order. Poetic license is one thing, actual rules and regulations of the country in which the series is being filmed should not be flouted for the sake of the narrative.
  2. The solution to the indescribable shambles of S4 is very simple and Irish in origin, so there's a Moriarty context there, as well: boycott it! Do NOT buy S4 in any form, be it DVD, BluRay or Amazon Downloads, Do NOT go to any further Sherlocked events, Do NOT buy any more memorabilia, Do NOT watch it if other stations broadcast it. Its ratings fell in Britain, let them fall worldwide! Only then might they come to their senses again and start thinking about what made S1 and S2 into such hits, and they may, in time, come to their senses again, and not look for copy-cat copout solutions. Now that Mr Moffatt has been relieved of his duties on Dr Who, they will both have more time on their hands.
  3. Most certainly not slap you, J.P. You and sfmpco are our founts of information on twitter and other media! That is reserved for average goldfish ex-surgeons, actual GPs, who have become single fathers overnight and cannot get it through their thick Scots skulls (no disrespect to other Scottish nationals, with Michael Faraday being one of them!), that it wasn't their alleged best friend's inability to shut up (seen as early as SiB, in his deduction of Molly's gift) that got a trained ex-assassin killed in part-expiation of her past misdeeds, including shooting Sherlock. Dr Watson needed to get his act together and shoulder the blame, instead of trying to deflect it.
  4. Now that I have watched this smorgasbord of a rollercoaster, I can safely say that as a loyal, dedicated fandom, without sexual undertones marring the whole, since I have expressed my view on Sherlock being above all matters of the flesh, a bit like his superfluous, non-existent sister in canon, we have been taken for a ride of the worst kind! The only thing the creators can do to us now is kill us in an HH Holmes murder suite or dump us in the nearest waterway laden with chains! The final episode was as anticlimactic as such a thing could possibly get, and suspension of disbelief doesn't even start to cover its self-satisfaction and self-aggrandizement. They certainly need to take some time off, remember that their audience is made up of ordinary goldfish, connect the dots instead of giving us leaps of imagination, and then come back with a case-driven series, since they themselves have admitted their version is all grown up at the end.
  5. After watching the episode and rewatching it a second time, I waded through this whole subject and I tend to think, as my vote also shows, that it was a pretty good start to the series, without having many Sherlockian elements in it. I liked the many references to ACD stories, was annoyed by the blue cast of the décor, laughed at Baby Watson's handling of Uncle Sherlock, since it reminded me of our own Sheralyn version, and was rather put off by the many Bond moments in it. On the whole, I tend to agree with the Independent critic, more than the Guardian one, and admired how Benedict reprised the role as if not a week had passed since the last day of filming S 3. Since I have never been a great fan of THIS Dr Watson incarnation, whatever he does will not surprise or upset me unduly. On to The Lying Detective and his perennially lying creators!
  6. Oh, we're back in business! Goody! The dark-haired Irishman flanked by two bulky men who were clearly there for show, straightened his suit jacket, another stylish affair, but if Sherlock were an expert in women's perfumes and tobacco ash, he certainly wasn't one in men's fashion. A suit either sat well on someone or it didn't, so he couldn't say if this iteration of Moriarty was wearing the same brand as 'Jimmy' or not. And he didn't particularly care. The sheer theatricality of the location and the way the meeting had been arranged made him more than a little angry. "Well, Mr Moriarty, since I presume you are a close relative of the late Jim, what exactly is the purpose of going to such elaborate lengths to bring me here, especially at a moment when my presence is urgently needed back in London?" "All in good time, Mr Holmes. First, we must ensure that the baby you so resourcefully removed from the loving embrace of its mother is restored to her. Even with her past, she has rights, and kidnapping and drugging a baby to take it across European borders is still a life-sentence offence." Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. "So, you are telling me that returning Sheralyn to her biological fathers has now become a crime? In view of the fact that she was abandoned by her loving mother first, I cannot very well see how you are going to make such a charge stick. And ex-Colonel James Moriarty is her other father, surely a close relative to you." "True, Mr Holmes, but, you see, while you were busy taking Jimmy's illegal operations down one by one across Europe, I was busy setting up perfectly legal ones from my offices here in Dublin. But where are my manners? James O'Connell Moriarty, barrister licenced to practice both in Ireland and Northern Ireland, and I have taken out an order of the court against you on the charge of kidnapping said baby. Consider this an elaborate citizen's arrest." In a move clearly reminiscent of the dead master criminal, he snapped his fingers, and the two burly men started to move in Sherlock's direction. Whereupon, tired, sleepless and worn out, but above all, incandescently angry for a reason he couldn't fathom even himself, Sherlock took to his heels across the sandy beach and started clambering over the nearby cliffs. Fortunately, this Moriarty didn't believe in shooting his prey down, so there were no gunshots, but how long could he keep running in a strange country?
  7. On the subject of a female Sherlock and John, like many other things connected with space travel, mathematics, physics, bomber pilots etc, the Russians came first and created the pair in a 1986 film, called мой нежно любимый детектив (My dearly beloved detective) with Shirley Holmes and Jane Watson. If you get a chance to watch it, some parts of Elementary will look derivative. As for Sid the Sloth, it was Benedict himself who made the comparison in an early interview for the first series, if I remember correctly.
  8. Personally, I have nothing against Ms Abington, and wish her continued success in her chosen career at least until she is as old as Maggie Smith or Tilda Swindon, but I DO wish her off the Sherlock world, one way or another. Did they actually name an episode Pink Amends? Risible, at best.
  9. (Dear SherlockedCamper, please do not overwrite my contributions in Ao3, as I edit them a bit, many thanks) When the housekeeper arrived, the portly middle-aged woman was able to confirm that the building itself dated from the eighteenth century, when it had been a simple hunting lodge, but had had the distinction of housing king Louis XV himself, when he visited the area on his way back to Versailles. Since the two places lay at practically opposite sides of Paris, it made eminent good sense that the king, famous for his excesses in all matters, would have had his mistress of the day brought to him in the lodge. Sherlock, more than ever, wanted to get his hands on the blueprints of the renovations made. That antique wardrobe drew him like a magnet. Still, he had to try: "Madame, do you, by any chance, have the keys to the glass-fronted wardrobe in the bathroom?" "Certainly, Monsieur, but it's just an airing cabinet for linen and towels now." "Nevertheless, I would like to have a look inside, if you would be so kind." "Certainly, Monsieur, I shall fetch the key immediately," she replied and returned shortly after with a gold-planted key in her hands. The four of them got back into the bathroom, where she used the key to open the wardrobe. Both doors were made of glass set in deep millions, it was thick and of a peculiar shade of blue that was evidence of its great antiquity. It was so roomy that had it not been packed with bed sheets, pillow cases and all sorts of towels in their respective shelves, a man could very well stand upright in it with perfect comfort. Sherlock went about examining the interior with his pocket lens and the help of his pen flashlight. After a great deal of moving stuff around, having discovered in the process that the shelves were adjustable, obviously a modern addition, he came across a notch in the wood. When he pressed his finger on it a little panel slid back, revealing a small button. He gave one of his little chortled of triumph and turned to the two agents: "Well, gentlemen, there's your answer. The lady disappeared of her own volition. You should put all her friends and relatives under surveillance to discover with whom she has taken shelter from what was a rather abusive relationship." All three looked at him as if he were speaking an alien language and not perfectly accented French!
  10. (If even a plot bunny from this thread or the original Baby thread started by sfmpco at my pleading shows up in S4, we shall all know that they have somehow infiltrated the forum!) While Anthea tried not to pay too much attention to the baby girl, she found herself observing Sheralyn in the rearview mirror, and was quite surprised when Sherlock returned with his hands full of shopping bags, opened the back and unloaded all his purchases. When he got into the front, he handed her a ferry ticket for the next boat from Dunkirk to Calais. "I'm really sorry to be landing you alone with a most sought-after little girl to return to Britain and the relative safety my brother can provide, but I need to ascertain the exact reason why Moran or Mary, or any hellish creature, would want to separate me from John on a pointless mission apart from the retrieval of the baby. Are you sure that you can pass yourself off as a young mum gone on a weekend trip to France to calm down from all the exertions of new motherhood and now returning home in a better mood?" "But, Mr Holmes, your brother specifically instructed me when he sent me over here, at your behest, may I remind you, that under no circumstances should I leave your side!" "That's all very well and good, but I need to know the real reason for this mission, and have already arranged to meet Monsieur LeBlanc at about the same time your boat will be leaving port. Not, to prepare Sheralyn's formula!" He went to the back of the car, took out the bottle and put it in the portable sterilizer, then mixed what appeared to be a perfectly innocuous measure of milk for the baby. Coming back, he picked Sheralyn up from the carry-cot, adjusted a towel over his clothes, then settled her comfortably in his lap and began feeding the half-sleeping infant. Anthea observed the scene without a comment, but Sherlock forestalled her:" Yes, both John and Sergeant Donovan have remarked on the fact, but it's only by necessity, I would never make a good father. Your boss, the bane of my existence, would have made a far better one, had he ever bothered. After all, I was dumped on him as a mewling new-born, and he all of eight years old, and he coped." After burping Sheralyn, checking that she did not need a nappy change and rocking her a bit, he put her back in the makeshift car-seat and instructed Anthea to drive to the port, so as not to miss the boat. Once in the docking area, he retrieved some things, which he quickly stuffed into a serviceable rucksack, also apparently bought at the supermarket, checked his passport with the assumed name, checked his wallet and mobile, quickly brushed his lips against the baby's forehead and jumped from the car. "Quickly, now, you wouldn't want to miss your embarkation cue!" he smiled at Anthea. She, in turn, turned to look at the baby's lolling head: "Mr Holmes, have you drugged Sheralyn?" she asked, her outrage evident by the way she was gripping the wheel. "Oh, don't worry, it's a very light thing Wiggins came up with last Christmas, and since then I have perfected it. Have a safe trip home!" he replied airily, turned and mingled with the crowd, leaving her holding the goods, literally and figuratively! Briefly, she entertained the thought of taking out her Service automatic and accomplishing what Jeff Hope, Moriarty, Magnusson and countless others had failed to do, but she thought of her boss, gritted her teeth and followed the instructions of the loading crew onto the ferry.
  11. Timeline? What timeline? I fixed my oversight, but you made him take the plane while he should have gone either by boat or the Eurostar from Victoria Station to Calais. And they were supposed to be debriefed that evening, before leaving. And why Arras? It's in the middle of nowhere, unless you intend to send them to the North or Alsace-Lorraine. Now what?
  12. (Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa! Timeline fixed, all present and correct, ma'am!) While Dr Watson could see the usual sniping between the brothers, he could also notice that as Mycroft first scrolled through the images on Sherlock's iPhone, he had progressively grown pink going on red in the face, in what he could remember from a Douglas Adams novel being called 'a suffusion of red', so when the request for tea came in the usual clipped tones, he almost jumped. "Mycroft, kindly don't frighten John out of his wits, such as they are. It was my carelessness in not ensuring that the tweezers lay safely in my inside jacket pocket, my fault that I didn't delete the images the moment I had secure copies of them." "And therein lies the nub of the problem, brother mine! You couldn't care less that you were illegally acquiring top secret information about a sensitive matter, all you care about is not upsetting your precious 'friend and colleague' any more than he has already been upset! No feelings of remorse over your misdeed, nothing! I have always maintained that your eccentricities hide a complete and total amoral character, but we shall discuss this little oversight of yours after you return from France. I shall expect you at my club, duly penitent, or there will be consequences, Sherlock. Now, let's get things straightened out: you, Mr Sorge and Ms Warburton will get debriefed by our French liaison officer later this evening. Your passport is ready, no need for aliases, this time! An aide of Monsieur Bajollet will be awaiting your arrival at the port of Calais, and from then on I suggest you follow the DGSE guidelines to the letter, no flashes of insight, no haring off on your own, no trying to ditch your French assistants, because they have a vastly different legal system, and France is most definitely NOT Serbia! Have I made myself clear?" During this tirade, Dr Watson could see his friend growing paler with each well-formulated sentence, somehow shrinking into his chair, appearing smaller and more vulnerable than he had ever seen him. He instinctively realised that Mycroft was controlling a very deep-seated anger, and when he served the requested tea, he made sure to use their good gold-leaf porcelain set with the UK motif on it, rather than their usual mugs. "Yes, Mycroft." was the only reply Sherlock gave, before reaching for his own cup, which would certainly bring back flashes of Moriarty carving his infamous I.O.U into the apple left on the armrest of his own chair. Unfortunately, due to his past indiscretions, Dr Watson could not be a part of this little jaunt to the Continent, and he was more than a bit upset that his best friend would be on his own, and if he did something reprehensible under French law, Big Brother would most certainly NOT bail him out! Still, he had to keep his word to the charming, helpful DS Pierce who had proved of inestimable help in more ways than one: "Mycroft, before you send me off to the Continent, could you have your pet goldfish deliver two cartons of your specially-made Latakeia filter-tipped cigarettes to DS Amanda Pierce, NSY, Financial Crime division? I would so hate to get into more trouble with you by being forced to break and enter into your Diogenes club private room just so I could pilfer them for her, when the straight and narrow seems the more sensible path for me at this moment!" "Certainly, Sherlock, if that's your wish! A gentleman should always keep his word, even if he behaves like a low-life!"
  13. Once comfortably ensconced in the overstuffed velveteen-covered armchairs around a discreet alcove table in the Savoy bar, DS Pierce showed no hesitation in ordering a double Courvoisier cognac, while Sherlock chose a fruit punch and Dr Watson, who had been left out of most of the action, went for an Irish coffee, smiling sourly, as the Irish connection in their lives had brought so much misery and pain! "So, what are your preliminary conclusions, Mr Holmes... Sherlock?" asked Amanda, once their order had been served by a white-gloved waiter. Sherlock took a moment to examine the ridiculous little paper umbrella stick holding the actual pieces of fruit together, before answering her:" What's is use, purely aside from the ornamental?" he mused, then turned his full attention to her. She deserved to know as much as he did, her help was of immense value in piecing together the conundrum that was Mary, as well as helping get Sheralyn back. Having taken a tentative sip of the cool, refreshing drink, he turned his full attention to her:" You may work in the financial crime division, Amanda, but you surely saw the evidence: Mary has removed at least half of the money stored there, two passports of unknown provenance, a small vial, an oblong and a rectangular box. To what purpose, we may find when we get to the Continent, while you go back trying to catch crooked businessmen and their double dealings. Your help today was of inestimable value, I shall make sure that your superiors know of your help in this situation, you deserve all the credit! If at any time you decide to go freelance as a conwoman, I assure you, you have got the skill set." "Praise from an expert is praise indeed, Sherlock, but I'd rather stick to crunching numbers for the foreseeable future. Gosh, this blouse is sticking to my body this moment through the cold sweat I felt running down my back while we were led through the process of opening the box. But it was worth it, if the poor child can be saved in time." After this small interlude, they escorted DS Pierce back to Baker Str, where she went into the bathroom to refresh herself and change back into her things, leaving Mary's clothes in the hamper: they would be dry-cleaned and restored to Mary's wardrobe by Dr Watson, especially since he couldn't come to the Continent with the rest of them, due to that outstanding French warrant. Dr Watson abandoned the hope of a proper lunch as soon as he saw his flatmate, back in baggy sportswear under his dun-coloured dressing gown lay stretched out on the sofa, deep in thought. He rummaged in the fridge for ingredients and cobbled together BLT sandwiches for both of them, using the left-over bacon from breakfast that Sherlock had simply ignored. He brewed two mugs of tea, brought the improvised snack to the office desk and set Sherlock's portion on the coffee table, within easy reach. He saw with relief that after a while his playmate took a few tentative nibbles and drank a bit of the lukewarm liquid. At least, Sherlock wasn't so deep in thought that he completely ignored the demands of his body! That evening, precisely at six o'clock, Mycroft's arrival was heralded by Mrs Hudson's hushed voice downstairs: Mycroft had a key to the flats, had had one ever since Sherlock had rented it, and by now Dr Watson was aware of the reason: Mycroft's continued worry over his younger brother's drug habits resurfacing! "Good evening, so how did your jaunt go, Sherlock?" "I would wish you to the Devil, Mycroft, if I were sure he existed, but good evening to you, too." was the predictable response. "I have come, at great personal inconvenience, what with the unstable financial situation in the rest of Europe and the US, to find out how things went, and if you are any nearer in getting Dr Watson's daughter back any time soon." "We are clear on some points, still very much in the dark on others. Any news from Customs and Excise?" ""Nothing bigger than a fishing smack that couldn't even cross the Channel has been reported leaving its moorings. How about you?" "I photographed the contents of the safe deposit box, see if you can come up with anything worthwhile." was Sherlock's response, tossing the iPhone to Mycroft before he realised something: after transferring the contents of Mary's file onto the laptop in the encrypted folder, he had neglected to delete them! Now, he was in deep trouble!
  14. Sherlock heaved another sigh! Between themselves, his brother and his best friend were apparently trying to drive him round the bend, or, which was far more likely, a fatal overdose of something or other, just to escape their continued harassment! After having synced his iPhone with his laptop, he opened the fresh pages on Mary that had 'oh so conveniently' lain out of Mycroft's vault on the day of their visit: and he knew what his brother believed about coincidence: by this point in time, he didn't trust Mycroft not to be deeply involved in both Mary's appearance in John's life during his absence, as well as not to know a lot more than that secretive so-and-so was prepared to let them know. As the pages scrolled down, Sherlock using the 'client chair' and John in his customary chair at their desk, they both realised that Mary had had a very chequered past, and what the late unlamented Magnussen had referred to as freelance jobs had, indeed, included jobs for people working for the late unlamented Jim Moriarty. Still, nowhere could they find any trace of this latter-day Mrs Smith having been one of the snipers set up against John, DI Lestrade, Mrs Hudson and Mycroft. "She is the perfect nurse and nearly perfect house-wife! How can she have killed so many people and sleep peacefully by my side every night, while I still woke up from nightmares of the battles and their wounded or you diving off that damnable rooftop! How?" "I may designate myself as a sociopath to cover my lack of empathy, John. Your wife is a true psychopath. Now, more than ever, we need to rescue Sheralyn from her clutches." "So, the plan goes ahead! I presume Mycroft has retrieved and copied her fingerprints, to be used tomorrow at the bank. Once DS Pierce arrives, I shall take her to the house, where she can use all of Mary's wardrobe, cosmetics, make-up and jewellery to fake her presence at the bank." "And don't forget her perfume, John, olfaction is still one of the most underdeveloped senses, but a powerful one!" "So powerful that it got you shot, you git!" "I can always claim that Clair-de-la-lune is a perfume for younger women, like Mary, and not for Lady Smallwood! She still wears it because it's the first perfume her husband gave her as a gift, after their engagement. Sentiment, once again, John, it's really thoughtless on the part of the female half of the population to set such store by it." After encrypting the dossier on Mary, Sherlock stood up, stretched, having been hunched over his laptop for quite a while, and threw over his shoulder at Dr Watson: "Fancy a nice bit of boeuf bourguignon, John?" "You know me, I will try everything once. Where did you learn to make it, anyway?" "Grand-mere Vernet insisted on our taking a complete cordon-bleu course, and some things are harder to erase than others. I have had the cote de boeuf marinating ever since yesterday. Now, we only need to cook it. Let me know what you think of it." "Wait a minute, you said 'we': does that include Mycroft?" "Obviously, John, but I'm usually too involved in a case to bother to eat, and Mycroft focused so much on the cake part of the course that it was wasted on him. Still, his home-made croissants are a feast fit for the gods, so flaky and golden and buttery! Now, will you help me? After all, I DID help you with the omelette although you did practically everything wrong and I didn't say a word about it." "Fair's fair! I shall give you a hand, and if it turns out nice, and not like one of your less noxious chemical experiments, I shall wash up afterwards. There's a documentary on the latest Star Wars film, you know, "making of..." later, and we could watch it together." While the food was stewing in its pot, Sherlock's phone vibrated: "Hello, brother dear, we are making boeuf bourguignon, care to join us? You still owe me a debriefing for the French part of this conundrum." There goes the documentary! was Dr Watson's mental response
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