home again home again, + Sherlockish thoughts
This afternoon and tonight I flew back from fun in the sun to... reality. It felt good being there, not so good being back but glad to have my own bed to sleep in and . Theoretically there is sugar of some variety in the kitchen, which I will hunt out momentarily. For the moment, though, I'm just tired. Those four flights are a killer, and because it was after dark and rainy I decided to take a cab home rather than trying to spot my bus stop, which was about twice as expensive as I expected and... blech. Not the best financial move I've made lately.
But it was fun. I soaked up some vitamin D, managed to see Guardians of the Galaxy and did some light clothes shopping that was productive for once in my life (photos once I've unpacked, I'm sure), came home with clean laundry and feeling more pampered and creative than I have in a long time, and really connected with my friend's kid who I described, not the baptisee but the older kid who was such a good tour guide at Epcott. And introduced both my friend and her husband to the wonder that is Cabin Pressure while we were getting ready for the dinner. She was blase, but he laughed as hard as I did the first time. And there's just something about flying in the early evening, it's beautiful. So there's lots to be happy about, really. I'm feeling more than a bit blah at the moment, which I think is the depression talking more than anything, but... yeah.
Anyway, beauty. Here's a photo I nabbed from the ride home:
In more fannish news, on the plane I found myself thinking (for no good reason that I can work out except it's been bugging me off and on since I saw the scene for the first time) that moment in TBB where Sherlock introduces John as his friend (to Sebastian) and John pointedly corrects him to colleague. It's so out of character in its way given that this is a man who just shot the dude threatening Sherlock, within (what?) thirty-six hours of meeting Sherlock. As a statement of just how close Sherlock and John are, it's such a backward statement in its way. It's a regression.
But sitting in the plane watching the night sky roll by, there's really not much to do but think, and that's where my mind insisted on focusing tonight. And the more I think about this, the less it seems to be about closeness and more to do about value and respect. John is coming into this scene being reminded viscerally that he isn't hacking it financially or professionally. He's just been humiliated not being able to provide basic necessities like food. He's had to make himself extremely vulnerable by asking Sherlock (that to-all-appearances independently wealthy flatmate who doesn't have to work at anything, can just laze about and work crime scenes for free with the he-is-the-British-government, seemingly-omnipotent brother), by asking that man for a loan. He perked up a bit when he saw 221B back in ASIP, but it's not like his home; he has a room but no real privacy (I'm thinking of Sherlock's using his laptop) and no real security either (he can't trust they can have nice things that won't be wrecked; I'm thinking here of the scratchd kitchen table that Sherlock doesn't feel any need to even explain), he can't afford the basics of life there -- I can see that bedsit starting to look not so horrible after all, and the handgun he was keeping in his desk drawer a little bit better still.
(Poor John. Poor John. He needs a hug. Back in a minute.)
Anyway. When a man coming out of this situation is taken into a large, ornate financial institution in the British equivalent of Wall Street, arguably the closest thing we have to a secular temple, I can see him feeling a bit overwhelmed but also dwarfed by it all. And when Sherlock introduces him as his friend, that can make it seem like someone who's there not because he's needed or has something of value to offer, but like someone who's tagging along for purely personal friends. "Colleague," on the other hand, seems like a professional status. He is here not because Sherlock likes him but because Sherlock thinks he can offer a useful service. John may think of Sherlok as a friend at this point (I think he does, though I'm sure other people would disagree and I'm too knackered to defend my opinion there), but the important thing is that's not all he wants to be as Sherlock. As a person, he needs his presence at a place like this, on an important case, to be coming from something other than the fact that Sherlock liked him.
Interestingly, over at Tumblr mid0nz noted that Holmes often called Watson his "friend and colleague," underscoring the importance of both sides of that equation. And I think in his own imperfect way, Sherlock is getting closer to valuing John in this way. He asks him to help analyze the Carl Powers case, he sends him to interview Connie Prince's brother, he lets him handle the Brue Partington Plans case more or less on his own and makes sure John realizes that he was willing to trust a matter of national security to him ("knew you'd get there eventually"). Of course he's a first-class jerk about it, and anyone looking at this from the outside would be excused for misreading it. But I think there's a real drive here that these two are driving toward not just personal affection but actual recognition that the other has something to value. And John can be excused for insisting on the second part of that identity. At least it makes some sense to me.
But it was fun. I soaked up some vitamin D, managed to see Guardians of the Galaxy and did some light clothes shopping that was productive for once in my life (photos once I've unpacked, I'm sure), came home with clean laundry and feeling more pampered and creative than I have in a long time, and really connected with my friend's kid who I described, not the baptisee but the older kid who was such a good tour guide at Epcott. And introduced both my friend and her husband to the wonder that is Cabin Pressure while we were getting ready for the dinner. She was blase, but he laughed as hard as I did the first time. And there's just something about flying in the early evening, it's beautiful. So there's lots to be happy about, really. I'm feeling more than a bit blah at the moment, which I think is the depression talking more than anything, but... yeah.
Anyway, beauty. Here's a photo I nabbed from the ride home:
In more fannish news, on the plane I found myself thinking (for no good reason that I can work out except it's been bugging me off and on since I saw the scene for the first time) that moment in TBB where Sherlock introduces John as his friend (to Sebastian) and John pointedly corrects him to colleague. It's so out of character in its way given that this is a man who just shot the dude threatening Sherlock, within (what?) thirty-six hours of meeting Sherlock. As a statement of just how close Sherlock and John are, it's such a backward statement in its way. It's a regression.
But sitting in the plane watching the night sky roll by, there's really not much to do but think, and that's where my mind insisted on focusing tonight. And the more I think about this, the less it seems to be about closeness and more to do about value and respect. John is coming into this scene being reminded viscerally that he isn't hacking it financially or professionally. He's just been humiliated not being able to provide basic necessities like food. He's had to make himself extremely vulnerable by asking Sherlock (that to-all-appearances independently wealthy flatmate who doesn't have to work at anything, can just laze about and work crime scenes for free with the he-is-the-British-government, seemingly-omnipotent brother), by asking that man for a loan. He perked up a bit when he saw 221B back in ASIP, but it's not like his home; he has a room but no real privacy (I'm thinking of Sherlock's using his laptop) and no real security either (he can't trust they can have nice things that won't be wrecked; I'm thinking here of the scratchd kitchen table that Sherlock doesn't feel any need to even explain), he can't afford the basics of life there -- I can see that bedsit starting to look not so horrible after all, and the handgun he was keeping in his desk drawer a little bit better still.
(Poor John. Poor John. He needs a hug. Back in a minute.)
Anyway. When a man coming out of this situation is taken into a large, ornate financial institution in the British equivalent of Wall Street, arguably the closest thing we have to a secular temple, I can see him feeling a bit overwhelmed but also dwarfed by it all. And when Sherlock introduces him as his friend, that can make it seem like someone who's there not because he's needed or has something of value to offer, but like someone who's tagging along for purely personal friends. "Colleague," on the other hand, seems like a professional status. He is here not because Sherlock likes him but because Sherlock thinks he can offer a useful service. John may think of Sherlok as a friend at this point (I think he does, though I'm sure other people would disagree and I'm too knackered to defend my opinion there), but the important thing is that's not all he wants to be as Sherlock. As a person, he needs his presence at a place like this, on an important case, to be coming from something other than the fact that Sherlock liked him.
Interestingly, over at Tumblr mid0nz noted that Holmes often called Watson his "friend and colleague," underscoring the importance of both sides of that equation. And I think in his own imperfect way, Sherlock is getting closer to valuing John in this way. He asks him to help analyze the Carl Powers case, he sends him to interview Connie Prince's brother, he lets him handle the Brue Partington Plans case more or less on his own and makes sure John realizes that he was willing to trust a matter of national security to him ("knew you'd get there eventually"). Of course he's a first-class jerk about it, and anyone looking at this from the outside would be excused for misreading it. But I think there's a real drive here that these two are driving toward not just personal affection but actual recognition that the other has something to value. And John can be excused for insisting on the second part of that identity. At least it makes some sense to me.