I have to admit when I first started reading the Trainspotting reference went right over my head (haven't seen/read it, so I suppose I have an excuse), but now that I know, seeing Jonny Lee Miller is both hilarious and fucking creepy. I think it's reading the threats and hearing Miller's voice that does it, because Miller's even calmness is a hell of a lot scarier than any shouting. *shivers*
Sherlock's twitchy indigance was perfect, I could almost feel the discomfort of the withdrawal. Again, cool and creepy... which just means I really, really liked it. Anything puts me in a character's skin... *thumbs up* Of course, being in Sherlock's skin wasn't entirely pleasant when the goons pulled the lighter, but I suspect that was rather the point.
Given enough time, he could go into a sort of self-hypnosis, transcend the pain.
So very analytically Sherlock and echoes his "the body is just transport" philosophy. And so very typical for him to overestimate himself and the pain, and forget that he has human limits. (Not that Sherlock thinks he's superhuman or anything, but sometimes mind-over-matter doesn't quite work).
I. Love. Your. Mycroft. I really, really do. No nonsense, will get the job done however he sees fit, and above all else he will make sure Sherlock is taken care of, not in the way Sherlock (or even anyone else) deems best, but what is most practical for the situation. He thinks in the long term, rather than the short term, like a master chess player thinking a dozen moves ahead. That is perfectly Mycroft. Sherlock may calculate, but he's also very hands-on, throwing himself headlong into everything he does, whereas Mycroft sits back and delegates and meticulously runs things from behind the scenes, but is by no means less calculating or less deliberate in what he does. Where Sherlock sees laziness, Mycroft sees a practical use of his abilities and position.
I flailed at this bit because this is the Mycroft in my head (and what makes him such a awesomely terrifying force to be reckoned with):
It suited Mycroft to be thought of as utterly fastidious, as a center-puncher, an office grunt. But that wasn’t entirely true. He was twenty-nine years old, and in the seven years he’d worked in his particular branch of Her Majesty’s Government, he’d seen and done…things…that would have surprised even his cynical little brother, though he would never speak of them.
Because it's so true, and there's so much Sherlock doesn't know, so much he couldn't even begin to fathom... Sorry, I'm going all fangirly on you.
Then Mycroft pulls the iceman act in the car (not because he doesn't care, but because that's the only way to get through to Sherlock), and the dynamics shift and for an instant it's big brother/baby brother bickering, big brother indignance, little brother sulking, and yet the solidarity in not letting their mother in on anything. By the time they got to the flat, they were family, instead of enemies. I always have a soft spot for family stuff and Mycroft taking care of Sherlock, cleaning him up and helping him to bed... I truly did flail and squeak. Just so, so good.
...Right. I've talked entirely too much. So wonderful, so them. Can't wait for part 4! :D
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Sherlock's twitchy indigance was perfect, I could almost feel the discomfort of the withdrawal. Again, cool and creepy... which just means I really, really liked it. Anything puts me in a character's skin... *thumbs up* Of course, being in Sherlock's skin wasn't entirely pleasant when the goons pulled the lighter, but I suspect that was rather the point.
Given enough time, he could go into a sort of self-hypnosis, transcend the pain.
So very analytically Sherlock and echoes his "the body is just transport" philosophy. And so very typical for him to overestimate himself and the pain, and forget that he has human limits. (Not that Sherlock thinks he's superhuman or anything, but sometimes mind-over-matter doesn't quite work).
I. Love. Your. Mycroft. I really, really do. No nonsense, will get the job done however he sees fit, and above all else he will make sure Sherlock is taken care of, not in the way Sherlock (or even anyone else) deems best, but what is most practical for the situation. He thinks in the long term, rather than the short term, like a master chess player thinking a dozen moves ahead. That is perfectly Mycroft. Sherlock may calculate, but he's also very hands-on, throwing himself headlong into everything he does, whereas Mycroft sits back and delegates and meticulously runs things from behind the scenes, but is by no means less calculating or less deliberate in what he does. Where Sherlock sees laziness, Mycroft sees a practical use of his abilities and position.
I flailed at this bit because this is the Mycroft in my head (and what makes him such a awesomely terrifying force to be reckoned with):
It suited Mycroft to be thought of as utterly fastidious, as a center-puncher, an office grunt. But that wasn’t entirely true. He was twenty-nine years old, and in the seven years he’d worked in his particular branch of Her Majesty’s Government, he’d seen and done…things…that would have surprised even his cynical little brother, though he would never speak of them.
Because it's so true, and there's so much Sherlock doesn't know, so much he couldn't even begin to fathom... Sorry, I'm going all fangirly on you.
Then Mycroft pulls the iceman act in the car (not because he doesn't care, but because that's the only way to get through to Sherlock), and the dynamics shift and for an instant it's big brother/baby brother bickering, big brother indignance, little brother sulking, and yet the solidarity in not letting their mother in on anything. By the time they got to the flat, they were family, instead of enemies. I always have a soft spot for family stuff and Mycroft taking care of Sherlock, cleaning him up and helping him to bed... I truly did flail and squeak. Just so, so good.
...Right. I've talked entirely too much. So wonderful, so them. Can't wait for part 4! :D