Sherlock+Antiques=Implausible

I keep driving past this little antique shop... It's been catching my eye for years and today Mom pulled next to it so that I could take some pictures.

 This almost makes me want to write an AU Sherlock fanfic... But I just can't see Sherlock having an antique shop... Or maybe it's Mrs. Hudson's and he lives above the shop. I dunno. I just that it was awesome. =)

PS!! A couple days ago, I realized that I had become temporarily burned-out on Sherlock. I was pretty happy about this and thought that maybe there'd be a few weeks where I didn't think about Sherlock. A few weeks free from angst... But no. I rose the next day and found myself still a die-hard Sherlock fangirl. Ah well. XD

I Found Tumblr...

This is my journal entry from last night.

November 14, 2012 

Crap. I got a Twitter... Someone posted a Benedict Cumberbatch quote about how he wants a "pocket Martin [Freeman]" and how it/he would "make a good pet." I wanted to see if it was a real quote (it is =) ), so I looked it up. I found myself on Tumblr's #pocket!Martin page. ADORABLE. Sherlock with little pocket Martins... Then I made the mistake of clicking the #johnlock link... HUGE CRAPPIN MISTAKE. 4 hrs later, I finished the first page, emailed myself the good stuff I found, then went to bed,
The most frightening part of all this? Although I'm suffering from an extreme Johnlock overdose, I STILL SHIP IT WITH THE FEROCITY OF A... Well, of a fangirl. Which makes sense 'cause I AM one... *Ahem.* Right.
So what does the fact that I can spend 4 hrs browsing Johnlock fics and art and come out relatively unscathed? I'd like to say "I'm super resilient!" or "I'm dead serious about my OTP!" or "I'm the biggest Sherlock fan alive! [which actually isn't true, judging from all I've seen today...]", but the truth is that I'm a BBC-addicted fangirl with very little life and too much time on her hands.

So, lesson learned! As much as I've found my people, I am NOT getting a Tumblr. Unless you never want to see me again. XD

PS!! I thought that this needed saying... Martin Freeman has seen Johnlock on Tumblr, and he showed some to Benedict Cumberbatch and he approves. O_O  He also says that we fangirls draw him in a very flattering style and that he thinks that fanfiction is great. <BIG DAMN SQUEE/>

What Is This Sorcery?!?

As many of you may have noticed, I got a Twitter!
It is utterly bizarre. I think I like it, though...
It's for all the weird crap that's too short or random to put on here, so if you want more of that stuff, please visit! Thanks. =}
www.twitter.com/SpaceMaster9000

While you're on there, check out Steven Moffat and George Takei's twitters. They are bloody hilarious.
Oh! That reminds me. I may also need a Tumblr. I think I've found my people. =D

Sherlock: A Game of Shadows

I've been on a Sherlock kick of late (as I'm quite sure you've all noticed) and I have to wait until January for the newest Sherlock episode <sniffle/> so I decided to watch Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows. My oh my.
This movie was so horribly great, I'm not really sure where to start. It was also one of the more gay things I have ever seen that's technically all subtext. I'd classify it under text myself, but hey. So... Watson's marriage. Watch Sherlock's face during the whole thing. Come back once you've watched it. I'll wait. =)


See? How is this not text?? Look at his face... He looks like he's gonna cry...
Not enough to convince you? I can fix that... TRAIN SCENE!

Part 2
Part 3
BAM.
Come back once you've watched it.

No words... There are just no words to express just how awesome this scene was. And in case you didn't know, the whole 'smoking after sleeping with someone' is a widely used trope. Why? I have no idea. Still though. It stands. Everyone who made this movie clearly supports Johnlock. O__O

Reichenbach Fall

I JUST finished watching Sherlock, Reichenbach Fall.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.

There's nothing I can say to sum up any of what I just watched without giving out massive spoilers... And those of you who have watched it already know why.

Wholly crap. John is gonna kill him next season. <attempted smile/>

"Conductor of light?" Johnlock Fans, Rejoice!

Dude. Okay. So.... I watched Sherlock a couple of weeks ago..... Here's the script of my favorite part. Unfortunately, I could only find the beginning of the scene off youtube, but not the rest. Bugger. ]=[

Sherlock: Listen, what I said before, John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one.
[beat. John walks away.]
Sherlock: John? John! You are amazing, you are fantastic! 
John: Yes, alright, don't overdo it. 
Sherlock: You'll never be the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light, you're unbeatable! 
John: Cheers. What? 
Sherlock: Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others. 
John: Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago, don't spoil it. Go on, what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?



It seems as though this is the best confession of love we get from Sherlock for the season.... Although I haven't seen episode 3 yet. FINGERS ARE CROSSED AND BLEEDING. O______O
So... Um... Yeah. Sherlock just said that he is his conductor of light and genius. Coming from Sherlock, he's just said that John is the Sun to him (Even though he's still in denial about the Earth revolving around it). =}

I Should Have Posted This for TLAPD....

Oh, fanvids... Why do I love you so?

NOT OTP.

I just watched Series 2, episode 1 of Sherlock!!!
Several words come to mind....
Chiched! Trite! ....DULL.
Why do I have this reaction? You thought that I LOVED Sherlock? Well, I DO. I'm just angry about Irene Alder. The character? Awesome (if a little frightening). Acting? Superb. Sherlock's fixation with her and the way he called her 'THE Woman' as in 'MY Woman?' Not so great. I still stand by my belief that yes, Sherlock probably had a little crush on her, but it was most likely one that was borne out of respect, not love. The whole Irene/Sherlock thing is overused, in my opinion. Suddenly Sherlock meets this woman who appears in 3 (disputably 4) original Sherlock Holmes stories, and EVERYONE is claiming that they are OTP. What the hell, people? Do you not even see who works with Sherlock on EVERY case?? Who cleans Sherlock up, drags him out of his drug-induced haze, fuels him and keeps him happy? Do you recognize the person who Sherlock would be lost without?? NO?? Goddess, why is everyone so blind? You see, but you do not OBSERVE.


......Sigh.
Although I am annoyed with the whole Irene/Sherlock thing that was in this episode, I did enjoy poor John's befuddlement during The Couple's meetings with her. And how he suggested that they name Sherlock and Irene's ImaginedFuture!Baby 'Hamish'... (You been thinking of Sherlock babies, John?) And when Irene pointed out that she doesn't like men any more then John, and yet they both like Sherlock.... That time John and Sherlock stole that ashtray.... When we all got a little glimpse of Sherlock's childhood in a nutshell..... When Sherlock when nuts on that ratbastard who hurt Mrs. Hudson..... ........When Sherlock refused to put on clothes in the Buckingham Palace. That was frakkin epic.
My favorite part, however, belonged to Mycroft....

Mycroft: My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?
Watson: I don't know.
Mycroft: Neither do I. But initially he wanted to be a pirate. *Frog face.*

You continue to supply us with some sort of comedic relief in this sad, relatively Johnlock-barren world, Mycroft. I thank you for that.

My Sherlock Fic! W00T!!1

Hey, all! I'm sorry I've been so lax about posting. There has been a significant lack in posting. I've been going unpostal. But don't worry about that. I'll soon go postal and you'll have the old Rahel back. XD
BTW! I just realized how weird it is that I have a name. This funny realization that my name is just a label that I never think about and don't really associate myself with is almost as weird as the time I realized everyone else has names that I don't know. I mean, imagine there being those little name-tags (bubbles? I dunno.) in WoW belonging to each person in the world, but instead of floating above someone's head, they float inside until someone discovers it and releases it. So every single person in the whole world has a little name-tag inside their head just waiting to be released by me.
Seriously. WEIRD.

...Ahem. Ånyhoo. What was I originally saying? Ah yes. I've been gone, but I DO have something to show for it! Behold.... The first parts to my Sherlock fic!! It takes up 2 chapters of Misery, but I split it up because I wanted to switch the point of view back and forth from Sherlock and John. (I wanted the POV to be Sherlock at first, but I realized that John plays Paul's role and can't be forgotten. Ah well. XD)
ALSO!! I decided that I'd give Sherlock some broken ribs and a bad concussion (and post-concussion syndrome.) That way, I can kinda get away with him being a bit OOC (Out Of Character). Concussions make people more emotional, uncoordinated, and unable to think very hard. Perfect for restraining poor Sherlock! I just threw in broken ribs for good measure. =)
.......Is it bad that I take so much joy in applying injuries to my characters? O.0

Aaaanyhoo, here it is! =D

1

Jawn. Canyooheer me? Jawwn.
These sounds: even in the haze.

2

Sometimes these sounds faded, leaving him alone in his own haze. He remembered the darkness pressing in upon him like a suffocating cushion. Almost tangible. Horribly real.
Did the haze indicate that he was making some sort of progress? "Away from what?" He wondered. He assumed (in a deep, vague, instinctual way) that this light -however hazy- was a good thing. He wondered at these sounds every time they came through the haze. "Like worms on a rainy day." He thought. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded appropriate. Did these sounds -so worm like in their appearance and yet so welcoming in their meanings- exist in the darkness as well as the haze of light? They didn't seem to stem from the darkness, at least.
Anyway, these sounds served as a strange distraction from the pain. The pain hid from these sounds, fleeing it as a beast would from flame. He welcomed the sounds- they were the things that drove off the beast that lurked within the haze and came to feed off him.
However, the sounds didn't always last. They always moved away from him, leaving him alone left to either face the pain-beast himself or drop back into the darkness. Even in the haze, he didn't know who he was or where he was and didn't really care to know the answer to either question. He vaguely wished that he was dead. If this was life, he'd rather take his chance with death, thanks.
As time passed (if it actually did such a thing), he realized that there were spaces within the haze where the pain-beast did not reach. These spaces came at regular intervals that he welcomed with the remains of his being, sinking into the spaces like he’d sink into a warm, dark bath.

3

Sherlock Holmes paced the room as best as he could. His ribs were protesting again and his head spun, making it difficult to make accurate deductions about their situation.
So far, he’d collected that they were staying with a madwoman. That was easy, anyone could figure that one out. The woman, Annie Wilkes, was catatonic and suffered from extreme depression, paranoia, and an eating disorder. He also guessed that she could very well become homicidal if under the right mood. These, while all being very fine pieces of information, only strengthened his need to find out something far important- a way out of this place. He could pick the lock himself (no doubts about that) and make a run for it while she was gone, but that would leave John.
He turned to look at his colleague. The man was lying in a bed, loaded up with drugs, and breathing shallowly. Even under the sheets, John’s legs looked wrong. “Mangled.” He thought. He remembered what they had looked like, when he had dragged John out. He had seen his fair share of gore in his profession, but he still had to keep from retching when he thought of those legs. He wondered briefly if it was actually such a stroke of luck that Annie had come along. If she hadn’t, he and John would probably have ended up freezing to death... Not that bad, compared to what they were now faced with.
His head began to spin and he sat down on his bed. Thinking hurt. He had only been conscious for about three days, and his head still felt like someone was pounding on the inside of his skull. He was also immensely frustrated, possibly the most he had ever been in his life. He felt.... Dull. Yes. He, the great Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective, felt dull. This was because he found it difficult to focus on much of anything.

4

For the first time since truly escaping from the crushing darkness, he had a thought that was separate from his current predicament. This first free thought was of a cane, metal and telescopic. He remembered this instrument, remembered the pain (so different from the pain-beast that hunted him in the haze) that had come with it. The term psychosomatic came to mind. He also remembered that the cane, along with the old pain, tended to come and go in a tide-like fashion. When it wasn't present, neither was his old pain. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the cane followed the pain (which, in comparison to the pain-beast hounded him now now, was a walk in the park) like an annoying and obedient small dog. Funny, really that it should be called a cane when it was obviously a crutch. He soon associated this memory of the cane with his current pain. Whenever the pain-beast finally caught up with him (and it always did), he was reminded of the cane. He remembered it’s cool, aluminum surface and rubber handgrip. He remembered the way it clicked against the sidewalk, slipping against the cracks and irregularities. He had purchased it after an accident. He couldn’t remember what kind of accident it was, but he did remember that it was an important and dreadful point in his life. In addition to these memories, he recalled quite a lot of running. This was strange, because he seemed to remember that his leg was injured. Maybe he didn’t need the cane all the time? At any rate, he remembered running through crowded streets, horns and shouts blaring around them. They didn’t pay them much heed, however, and kept on after whoever it was they were chasing. Wait. They? That was new. There was a they, wasn’t there? At some point, at least. Where was this other person now? He tried to coax more information from his broken memories. He vaguely remembered it (him?) having a coat, a deep monotone voice, and a rather odd pair of eyes. Strange. Once again, he wondered who he was before all this. A name. A name is all that he needed. He wracked his brain, searching for clues pointing to his identity. He wished that he had the gifted recall that.... Who had that again? Damn, all this guessing was maddening. All he wanted was his name- a sound that held such importance for him. He circled around in the darkness of his mind, scouring the corners. A name. Name, name name. His name. His name was-
Jawn.
The sounds again.
Jawn. I’m here.
Suddenly, it clicked. “John. My name’s John. I’m John and I’m a medic.”
Afghanistan or Iraq? Sorry, how did you- Amazing. Is it really? Afghanistan. My name is John and I came back from Afghanistan. Afghanistan.

5

His first clear awareness of anything outside the haze was of stopping, of being suddenly aware that he just couldn’t pull another breath. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel all that panicked. In fact, it wasn’t such a bad way to die. It most certainly wasn’t the worst. At least it would get him out of here.
Then there was a mouth clamped over his, a mouth which was both familiar and alien at the same time in that it was in such an odd place at the moment. The air from this mouth blew down into his lungs, it’s owner trying to force him into breathing again.
He heard a voice (worms on a rainy day) screaming “Breathe, goddammit! Breath, John!”
The lips clamped down again. He felt his lungs fill, felt the second-hand air course through him again. When the man took his lips away this time, John didn’t let out the breath but pushed it out and gasped for air. He waited to feel his lungs to refill with oxygen, just as it had been doing for his whole life without needing much help. When it didn’t, he gasped for more and then his body was breathing on it’s own.
He began to fade back into the haze again, but before sliding in completely, he felt a hand close around his.

6

Sherlock paused in his observations. Something was off. It was quiet, he realized. Much too quiet. He looked over at John. The man was lying still and didn’t seem to be breathing. Sherlock moved to the bed, emergency procedures flashing through his mind. He took a breath, held John’s nose, and put his mouth over his friend’s. Ignoring the sharp pains he felt in his ribs, he forced some air into John, waiting after each plunge for his friend to start breathing again. “Breathe, goddammit! Breath, John!” He shouted before clamping his mouth over John’s again.
After forcing some breaths into John, his heart fluttering madly the whole time, Sherlock was relieved to see John take a breath on his own.
“God, that was a close one.” He thought and sat on the floor beside the bed. That was the first time he actually had to perform mouth-to-mouth on anyone. He was just glad that it had worked. He sat, holding John’s hand and listening to him breathe. It was the most wonderful sound in the world.
Novril. There were many reasons the drug wasn’t freely distributed as a painkiller. One was that it tended to cause respiratory depression in it’s weaker users. Another was that it was highly addictive.
He thought of their situation. John was on an addictive painkiller and his legs were mangled. They were in a house with a madwoman who was likely to be a serial killer. He couldn’t leave because he would have to carry John through woods and snow for many miles. Maybe it would have been better to not have come here at all. Maybe it would have been better if they had died in the crash, or had frozen out there. “At this point,” He thought “Almost any situation would be better.”
It was just so maddening, having to sit here and watch John struggle to survive, so far away from help. Sure, he’d be able to make it on his own, but he had trashed the thought as soon as it had come. He would never leave John alone with this woman. There was no telling what she might do.
The image of coming back to find John lying dead, surrounded by policemen and striped tape, legs mangled and broken, was almost too much for him to bear. After making sure that Annie was outside, he rested his head against the bedframe and allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t a child’s bawling cry, nor was it a soft patter of tears. He held on to John’s hand more tightly and sobbed silently for a few minutes before falling asleep.

Chapter 1&2 of my Misery-Sherlock Crossover Fanfic!

Hey all! =D
Holly read the fanfic I posted yesterday, and she liked it!!
This is amazing to me, as I thought that it wouldn't be taken very well... Many people are against fanfiction. (because it isn't cannon. I have a few things to say about that, but I'll leave it for another post.) Some of those who are okay with it don't like crossovers. And some of those people don't like Johnlock. So my target audience is very small... And the internet is a ruthless place.
You know what, though? Holly liked it. I like it. This is my blog. So I'm gonna post all the Sherlock-Misery crossover fanfics I want. WHENEVER I want.

So here is chapter 1 and part of chapter 2 of my fanfic. I invite you to leave any and all comments you may have about this. Seriously. I kinda need some criticism. (For example, your comment could be anything ranging from "Too much repetition" to "Dear god, why would you ever post anything like this? This is absolute crap." As I said, I'm open to anything.)
BTW!! I found my old mac! It's an iBook, version 9.1. I call him 'DinoBot.' To my utmost surprise, it accepts and recognizes flash drives! So now I can write wherever I want!! ..Well, wherever the cord can reach. No internet connection to mess with at least. XD

Chapter 1 

Jawn. Canyooheer me? Jawwn. 

These sounds: even in the haze.

Chapter 2 

Sometimes these sounds faded, leaving him alone in his own haze. He remembered the darkness pressing in upon him like a suffocating cushion. Almost tangible. Horribly real. 

Did the haze indicate that he was making some sort of progress? "Away from what?" He wondered. He assumed (in a deep, vague, instinctual way) that this light -however hazy- was a good thing. He wondered at these sounds every time they came through the haze. "Like worms on a rainy day." He thought. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it sounded appropriate. Did these sounds -so worm like in their appearance and yet so welcoming in their meanings- exist in the darkness as well as the haze of light? They didn't seem to stem from it, at least. 

Anyway, these sounds served as a strange distraction from the pain. This pain hid from these sounds, fleeing it as a beast would from flame. He welcomed the sounds- they were the things that drove off the beast that lurked within the haze and that came to feed off him (aside from the darkness, of course). However, he didn't feel so at home with the darkness. As said before, it was smothering. 

However, the sounds didn't always last. They always moved away from him, leaving him all alone- left to either face the pain-beast himself or drop back into the darkness. Even in the haze, he didn't know who or where he was and didn't really care to know the answer to either question. He vaguely wished that he was dead. If this was life, he'd rather take his chance with death, thanks. 

As time passed (if it actually did such a thing), he realized that there were spaces within the haze where the pain-beast did not reach. These spaces came at regular intervals that he welcomed with the remains of his being. 

For the first time since truly escaping from the crushing darkness, he had a thought that was separate from his current predicament. This first free thought was of a cane, metal and telescopic. He remembered this instrument, remembered the pain (so different from the pain-beast that hunted him in the haze) that had come with it. The term psychosomatic came to mind. He also remembered that the cane, along with the old pain, tended to come and go in a tide-like fashion. When it wasn't present, neither was his old pain. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the cane followed the pain (which, in comparison to the pain-beast hounded him now now, was a walk in the park) like an annoying and obedient small dog. He soon associated this memory of the cane with his current pain.

Eight Days???

Ahem. Soooo.... Long time no see! How long as it been? A month? Two months?
EIGHT DAYS?? Oh. Um. Okay. Not that long I guess...
It feels like I've been gone for a long time, though. I have some awesome stuff to share with you, but FIRST. HOBBIT CAKES.

 YOU'RE WELCOME.


Okay. First awesome thing.
I went to school today!! It was weird. I'm supposed to be OUT of school, not BACK. I'm actually just staying until I pass that CHSPE test (should be October 20), but I'm still walking around in a daze, expecting zombies to show up and realize that I have no weapons. And pants. However, it isn't a dream. No, no. I'm actually back to taking classes at the school.
It feels really weird. I also realized that today was when I saw the most people in one space then I have seen all summer. I was just standing there, chatting with some old friends, when WHAM. There are kids surrounding me. Not closely, mind you, but close enough. It felt horrible. Claustrophobia set in and I wanted nothing more then to run. I literally felt the hills behind me beckoning with their wide arms. "Come, Rahel. Come to us. We can hide you. You'll be safe."
Luckily, I got a hold of myself quickly. I was fine. Most of these people weren't armed with anything worse then backpacks and they didn't even want to hurt me.
I spent the rest of school talking to Caden. Cooper wasn't there and it felt really weird, but Yugiohkid gave me an awesome card* I got a hug from a kid I know, and most the Padiwans  kindergartners weren't too scared of me (I knew most of them from the previous year). All in all, a pretty nice day.

Second awesome thing.
Today is promotions for the younger kids in Aikido!! It's gonna be awesome. All the little yellow belts are moving up to orange... So adorable.

Third awesome thing.
My Mom's site is so totally up!! Here it is. Tell me what you think. =)

Fourth awesome thing!
I'm getting back into writing!! I'm trying to write 250 words a day, and it's been going quite nicely.
I've even started a Sherlock-Misery crossover fanfic!! W00T!! It's gonna be so awesome....
As you may have guessed, I am reading Misery. For the first time. I'm on chapter 28. It is sad. And awesome. And horrible. And awesome.
Here's the overview: Sherlock comes into Annie's house carrying John, who's legs are horribly mangled from a car accident. Annie welcomes them in and Sherlock blacks out. He has a concussion, but he soon realizes that Annie (he and John's #1 fan) is batshit insane. However, he isn't able to leave because he'd have to carry John over many snowy, underpopulated miles. And John's become hooked on Novril, the pain medication that Annie supplies them with. He'll just have to play along with Annie's whims, dodging her fits of rage and slowly nursing John back to health....
It will probably eventually be slash (Johnlock kinda tends to just happen), but it will mostly be focused on plot.

So here's part of the fanfic.... It's the first draft, so there are many errors, but I think it's okay....

Sherlock paused in his observations. Something was off. It was quiet, he realized. Much too quiet. He looked over at John. The man was lying still and didn’t seem to be breathing. Sherlock moved to the bed, emergency procedures flashing through his mind. He took a breath, held John’s nose, and put his mouth over his friend’s. He forced some air into John, waiting after each plunge for his friend to start breathing again. “Breathe, goddammit! Breath, John!” He shouted before clamping his mouth over John’s again.
After forcing some breaths into John, his heart fluttering madly the whole time, Sherlock was relieved to see John take a breath on his own.
“God, that was a close one.” He thought and sat heavily on the floor beside the bed. That was the first time he actually had to perform mouth-to-mouth on anyone. He was just glad that it had worked. He sat, holding John’s hand and listening to him breathe. It was the most wonderful sound in the world.
Novril. There were many reasons the drug wasn’t freely distributed as a painkiller. One was that it tended to cause respiratory depression in it’s weaker users. Another was that it was highly addictive.
He thought of their situation. John was on an addictive painkiller and his legs were mangled. They were in a house with a madwoman who was likely to be a serial killer. He couldn’t leave because he would have to carry John through woods and snow for many miles. Maybe it would have been better to not have come here at all. Maybe it would have been better if they had died in the crash, or had frozen out there. “At this point,” He thought “Almost any situation would be better.”
It was just so maddening, having to sit here and watch John die, so far away from help. Sure, he’d be able to make it on his own, but he had trashed the thought as soon as it had come. He would never leave John alone with this woman. There was no telling what she might do.
The image of coming back to find John lying dead, surrounded by policemen and striped tape, legs mangled and broken, was almost too much for him to bear. After making sure that Annie was outside, he rested his head against the bedframe and allowed himself to cry. It wasn’t a child’s bawling cry, nor was it a soft patter of tears. He held on to John’s hand more tightly and sobbed silently for a few minutes before falling asleep.

Tell me if you have any pointers. Or if you absolutely hate it. I won't mind. =)



*

(Hothothothothothot)

I LOVE NEIL GAIMAN

HOLY CRAPPIN SHITTDAMN ('scuse my Klingon)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
NEIL FLIPPIN GAIMAN WROTE A SHERLOCK-CTHULHU CROSSOVER FANFIC.
FRIKK YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111

.....I think that I'm in love. o.o

One of the Best Sherlock Fics Ever

I just finished reading this exquisite piece of fiction. This is actually the second-best Sherlock BBC fic I have ever read (the other one being quite possibly the saddest thing that I have ever read).

Be warned, it is slash (Johnlock or Sherlock/John, in this case) and 8 chapters long. However, the slash isn't graphic and it's well worth the read- even if slash isn't really your thing (Unless you detest it. I can't help you there if that's the case). The whole story centers on how Sherlock and John's relationship evolves as they follow a mystery designed to bring them to an important realization.

A Very Cold Case