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Jun. 1st, 2025
Sherlock Sunday: The Final Problem
Jun. 1st, 2025 05:10 pmAnd so we come to the end of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes with "The Final Problem" published in November 1893.
Here's the summary:
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson encounter the criminal mastermind Professor Moriarty. Holmes is convinced that Moriarty is the "Napoleon of crime" and is determined to bring him down. After a confrontation with Moriarty, Holmes decides to flee the country with Watson to avoid Moriarty's retaliation. They travel to the Swiss Alps, but are eventually tracked down by Moriarty. In a climactic confrontation at the Reichenbach Falls, Holmes and Moriarty struggle and both fall to their deaths in the raging waters below.
There are many alternate-canon theories about the end of Holmes. They are organized into categories in The Annotated Sherlock Holmes.
1. Moriarty is imaginary. 2. Moriarty is innocent. 3. Moriarty lives. 4. Moriarty lives. 4. Holmes is guilty. 5. Holmes killed the wrong man and 6. Faith of the fundamentalist (Holmes did die and the later resurrected Holmes is an imposter).
A page from ACD's notebook. For December he writes 'Killed Holmes.'
The great thing about canon is that you can re-read them many times and always remember or find something new.
"Did you recognize your coachman?"
"No."
"It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence."
So I wrote a ficlet for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
vocab_drabbles about Mycroft as brougham coachman.
Title: The Brougham Driver
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Character: Mycroft Holmes, original feline character
Prompt: 149: Alterity
Note: set in "The Final Problem"
Summary: Mycroft Holmes after dropping Watson off at the station.
( Read more... )
And I absolutely love the pool scene of BBC Sherlock, especially borrowing of the banter from canon at the confrontation in 221B between Moriarty and Sherlock and the Moriarty reveal. I thought this was really, really well done. Not so much the resolution in Season 2.
So the plan is to post irregularly through June, July, and August, focusing on The Hound of the Baskervilles and pick up with The Return of Sherlock Holmes the first Sunday in September.
Here's the summary:
Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson encounter the criminal mastermind Professor Moriarty. Holmes is convinced that Moriarty is the "Napoleon of crime" and is determined to bring him down. After a confrontation with Moriarty, Holmes decides to flee the country with Watson to avoid Moriarty's retaliation. They travel to the Swiss Alps, but are eventually tracked down by Moriarty. In a climactic confrontation at the Reichenbach Falls, Holmes and Moriarty struggle and both fall to their deaths in the raging waters below.
There are many alternate-canon theories about the end of Holmes. They are organized into categories in The Annotated Sherlock Holmes.
1. Moriarty is imaginary. 2. Moriarty is innocent. 3. Moriarty lives. 4. Moriarty lives. 4. Holmes is guilty. 5. Holmes killed the wrong man and 6. Faith of the fundamentalist (Holmes did die and the later resurrected Holmes is an imposter).
A page from ACD's notebook. For December he writes 'Killed Holmes.'
The great thing about canon is that you can re-read them many times and always remember or find something new.
"Did you recognize your coachman?"
"No."
"It was my brother Mycroft. It is an advantage to get about in such a case without taking a mercenary into your confidence."
So I wrote a ficlet for
vocab_drabbles about Mycroft as brougham coachman. Title: The Brougham Driver
Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (ACD)
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Character: Mycroft Holmes, original feline character
Prompt: 149: Alterity
Note: set in "The Final Problem"
Summary: Mycroft Holmes after dropping Watson off at the station.
( Read more... )
And I absolutely love the pool scene of BBC Sherlock, especially borrowing of the banter from canon at the confrontation in 221B between Moriarty and Sherlock and the Moriarty reveal. I thought this was really, really well done. Not so much the resolution in Season 2.
So the plan is to post irregularly through June, July, and August, focusing on The Hound of the Baskervilles and pick up with The Return of Sherlock Holmes the first Sunday in September.
My poem: #22
Jun. 1st, 2025 08:19 pmThis week's poem prompt was a prose poem with guidelines and structure.
#22 by okapi
When I reached the edge of the desert, I saw lights, cameras, overlarge plastic containers, and ants. It was as if earth, fine and granular, had become water, and water did not exist and had to be invented, yet air persisted in whipping and cried grainy tears when its waves did not crash like they should. You told me it was nothing special, but the war against the elements, the fans, the umbrellas, the misters and de-misters, told me you lied. Couldn’t imagine? You do me an injustice. I can imagine everything. Animal, vegetable, mineral. Horrible, banal, sublime.
When I reached the edge of the desert, I saw another desert because there is no such thing as destination or arrival or satisfaction. Not for the likes of me. It was as if I were wandering purposeless forever, but at least the scratches fade. Some scars erode, and others are half-hidden by shifting dunes. You told me everything would be fine. Liar. You didn’t know. You did your best. I couldn’t imagine half a century, but there it went like precocious child star become barely legal become sexpot become vixen become MILF become grandma become the bones beneath the blooming desert rose.
When I reached the edge of the desert, I saw my pen had run out of ink and my penmanship was horrid and I was ignorant of the animals, vegetables, and minerals I should encounter. It was as if a drunken scarab beetle had crawled across the page, swerving, swearing, dropping its housekeys in a vain effort to call it a night and sleep it off in the margins. You told me not to slouch. You told me it wasn’t your fault. I couldn’t go back if I tried. The best is yet to come. Just ask the ants.
#22 by okapi
When I reached the edge of the desert, I saw lights, cameras, overlarge plastic containers, and ants. It was as if earth, fine and granular, had become water, and water did not exist and had to be invented, yet air persisted in whipping and cried grainy tears when its waves did not crash like they should. You told me it was nothing special, but the war against the elements, the fans, the umbrellas, the misters and de-misters, told me you lied. Couldn’t imagine? You do me an injustice. I can imagine everything. Animal, vegetable, mineral. Horrible, banal, sublime.
When I reached the edge of the desert, I saw another desert because there is no such thing as destination or arrival or satisfaction. Not for the likes of me. It was as if I were wandering purposeless forever, but at least the scratches fade. Some scars erode, and others are half-hidden by shifting dunes. You told me everything would be fine. Liar. You didn’t know. You did your best. I couldn’t imagine half a century, but there it went like precocious child star become barely legal become sexpot become vixen become MILF become grandma become the bones beneath the blooming desert rose.
When I reached the edge of the desert, I saw my pen had run out of ink and my penmanship was horrid and I was ignorant of the animals, vegetables, and minerals I should encounter. It was as if a drunken scarab beetle had crawled across the page, swerving, swearing, dropping its housekeys in a vain effort to call it a night and sleep it off in the margins. You told me not to slouch. You told me it wasn’t your fault. I couldn’t go back if I tried. The best is yet to come. Just ask the ants.