Sherlock’s mind palace
Apart from it being a masterpiece of montage, this scene is so emotionally disturbing. Yes, he’s stunning, absolutely beautiful, showed in the middle of the rawness of the process of deducing. His uniqueness, being special, above everything ordinary, above average human potential shows here. You can’t look away - it’s hypnotising, but at the same time you want to because it’s so distressing to see him like possessed by this genius, by his brain, by this monster inside him. Living beast, feeding on all these tiniest associations, subtle hints, directions, words, slogans, images, tiniest bits of the whole wide universe ever surrounding him until these scraps form final solution. But before it comes to this the whole “ritual” looks almost painfully ecstatic, like he’s on high, beside himself, barely managing, being on the edge, and at the same time nothing could tear him away he’s exactly where he wants to be, belonging, complete, ABSOLUTE. It’s like one step too far and he snaps – done, swallowed by madness, turned into machine on the loop until he burns and turns into ashes along with his brain. You can feel that burden of his MIND, how his brain is a separate living being, forcing him to feed it all the time, taking control, driving away everything else but the purest intellect. Devouring him as a person, as a human entity, while fed. This scene shows so intensely the genius, Sherlock’s greatest asset that is his greatest tragedy. This scene shows how this blessing of his is also his curse threatening his humanity, stability, emotional well-being. It shows how he stands on the edge of abyss all the time and one step too far and he’s falling.
"I met my wife in English class. By just random chance, I was the only boy in the class. And I flirted with her. She was totally preppy. She would wear pennyloafers and a jacket - a blazer - to class every day, and I was the opposite. So I figured it was a little bit of the opposite attracts kind of business. I wrote her poems in class that, um, made fun of her. So, um. (rubs his eyes) I’m not crying, I’m not crying! Yes, I wrote her a poem. This is before we consummated our relationship. And by “consummated,” I mean gave each other hickeys. But I wrote her a poem about her beauty, in which I likened her nose to a great cathedral. I’ll tell you everything. We’ve been together for twenty-something years, so this should take a while. We went on a trip together. We went to Boston together for something called Head of the Charles, rowing? crew? boats? And we went there and there was some vodka. Somebody got somebody to go to the liquor store and buy the booze and vodka. This is inappropriate and I don’t know why I’m telling this story. Anyway, we got a little drunk, we were in high school, we went back to a hotel room, with a bunch of other people, I might add - we were very virginal at the time. And then we parted ways; I had to go to my dad’s, and she had to go do some other things, and so we met back at school on the bus. And I noticed that Vicki had hickeys all over her neck. And I was like, “Wow! Three days, and she already met somebody.” I didn’t say it to her face, but “Slut!” is what I thought. And then we got to talking, walking from the bus to our class and I asked her very eloquently if she would be interested in “a relationship,” because I didn’t know what else to say. So we’ve been stuck for some time now. But those hickeys, apparently, were from me. She had gone through the same thought process when she saw the ones on my neck. Neither of us had any recollection of that. We were both still - we both had preserved our delicate flowers of virginity on that weekend. But she also came back from that weekend bearing some bruises on her inner thighs. Which neither of us, again, can account for. Serious overshare just then. The message I’m trying to tell is that all good things begin with a blackout." - Misha Collins about meeting Vicki
TW: Talk of rape culture
Let’s take a moment to talk about this. I mean, because first off, “Tell cars not to hit kids.” Well, yeah, we do that all the fucking time, idiot. Ever seen signs like these?
We have classes and signs and laws about it, and people are constantly reminded. So your argument only works if we put up signs everywhere reminding assholes not to rape. But you’d rather talk about how rape victims have it coming to them.
But the dumbest part of this crap? Roads exist for cars to drive on. Children need to be careful to cross the street because they’re entering into an environment that exists specifically for something that is dangerous to them. The only way this shit is a valid comparison is if you think that bars, parties, and the world in general exists specifically for men to have sex with women. And I gotta break it to the guys who support this stupidity- your dicks are not that important. So knock off this bullshit and stop excusing rapists.