http://ketchup-fights.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] ketchup-fights.livejournal.com) wrote in [personal profile] waid 2010-11-22 08:09 pm (UTC)

Loved the references to algebra and Petrarch and Massenet, though the last one sent me running to Google. Who says fanfic isn't culturally edifying?

Nooooooo! There's only one chapter left. I tried to read extra slowly just to keep this moment from coming; I'm going to be very sad indeed when I get to the end of the next chapter. Especially since H/W have finally achieved some measure of happiness, and so now I all want is to read about them being good and noble and sharing sweet, deep kisses and petting each other's hair forever and ever.

I know I keep saying this, but I love the way London and its inhabitants feel so real in your story, and how there's this very real sense of humanity and anger at injustice coursing through both the main plot and the subplots; this line caught me right in the stomach:

It is exactly what I could expect to receive from a different clause of the self-same law, were my life laid bare before it, and God help us both, so could my friend now. He has kissed me three times, after all, and as of 1885 that is an offence level with the sale and violation of children.

It's not just that the rage at at a fucked up homophobic judicial system is there, although that's satisfying, but the way it's implicitly tied to a very fucked up society in general with blackmail and child prostitution ("oh hey, we just figured out that we should probably make that illegal.") I mean, obviously this isn't social commentary fic, it's just a very rich undercurrent that serves to ground the romance in a larger context in a way that's often lacking in ship fic, and makes it so much more deeper and satisfying when they eventually come together, and I don't know. *hand waves*

And, man, I am so very happy for Lady Eva right now. Go, Watson. You steal those MF'ing diamonds.

Also,

“So your papers are not, after all, arranged according to a system too refined and esoteric for the ordinary mind to grasp, and will not be irreparably disordered by my touching them. They are, as they appear to me, simply a jumble that for two years you’ve been keeping...” he swept a finger through a fine layer of dust on the top page “...under your bed.”

I love this little flare of snark. Indeed, Watson is feeling better. I'm so happy for him, snarking and shooting guns at walls and initiating kisses with Holmes. I think that boy's going to be all right.

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