Keeping this just on DW/LJ for now to keep silence on Tumblr.

Some of you know I'm a big fan of Larry Townsend's 1971 porn pastiche The Sexual Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (I wrote a long essay about it here. Aren't you glad we live in a world where the author of The Leatherman's Handbook also wrote a filthy Sherlock Holmes book? I sure am.)

BUT the sad thing about that book, is that it ends after his version of "The Final Problem." There is no "Adventure of the Empty House" and no happy Holmes/Watson reunion.

If ever there was a lacuna that cried out for fix-it fic, that's it. But I've been in some ways much more intimidated by Townsend's style and legacy than Doyle's. Well, at least until someone at the Sherlock kink meme on Tumblr requested H/W public sex at the Diogenes Club. (The Diogenes is a hardcore BDSM club in Townsendverse). I just can't resist a kink meme prompt that speaks to me.

Yeah. I'm writing it. It's called "Full House Tonight."

( Excerpt )

Spoiler alert: Watson's gonna have a wild night.

Iaun stood still and silent, and gave but one terse nod. “Have you some power of sight?”

“Observation,” the stranger said. “You are Elven, but not Noldor, not Vanyar, and only tenuously Teleri. Clearly Moriquendi, you’ve never been to Valinor. Your green raiment marks you as one who has often dwelt in the forest, but you are not quite so . . . feral . . .as some, so I deduce that you are one of the people of Lenwë, who heeded the summons of Oromë at first but later turned aside down the Anduin. You adjust your body weight as one who has worn armor in the past but now does not, preferring stealth in what you see as your maimed and weakened condition. You have a steel sword, well-made if plain and simple, and it is not of Noldorin make - oh no, it definitely wouldn’t be - so clearly you have had contact with at least someone who has had at some time had contact with the Naugrim, most likely by way of Doriath. You know how to use it, but the callouses on your hands and the way you carry yourself tell me that you are more confident with your bow and arrows - or at least you were before you sustained a wound to your shoulder that did not heal as completely as it should. Therefore, you were wounded in battle with the cruelest of enemies, who prevented you from access to immediate healing, most likely by taking you prisoner for a time. Though you have your own skill in healing - I can tell that by the scent of the herbs in that pouch you keep close to your chest - you were not able to bring it to bear enough to repair the damage fully. It must have been the battle where Lenwë’s son Denethor fell, was it not? You were taken by surprise while trying to help a comrade. You have a strong moral principle, but you are wary and slow to trust. Oh, and you are small of stature among your people, and you hoped to compensate for that in deeds of renown. You are motivated to take risks, and you are drawn to dangerous situations.”


***

Once I get back into the groove of it, Sérelókë is every bit as fun to write as his London counterpart. Maybe even more so.

So htebazytook and I have just a handful of scenes left to write, and the first draft of "The Bone Fiddle" will be done! (I think we're looking at 60-65,000 words--by far the longest fic I've ever written even though only half of it's mine).

We've been having so much fun on it we didn't want the process to end. Fortunately, maybe, a wild plot bunny for a sequel appeared today!

Lead in to this bit: We're in (fictional) Arthel County, West Virginia, in November of 1973. John has come back from Vietnam to find that the old family land he expected to be able to live on has been destroyed by strip mining. (Broad-form deed. Google it and weep.) He's staying on another, crappier patch of land, in a crappy little trailer as temporary housing, and winter's coming on. It's in a little holler in the back of beyond; lots of maps don't even seem to know Route 221 is even there. He met his sweet friendly neighbor Mrs. Hudson his first day; and last night he's just met his creepy enigmatic neighbor Sherlock, who picked him up at a square dance (!) and wound up taking him to a place where a murder victim's body was found. And then abandoned him there.

The next morning, John decides to try a little deduction of his own, and by "deduction" we mean "snooping" and "trespassing."

( End State Maintenance )


I have htebazytook's agreement that it's fun to do this, but still to be on the safe side I grabbed an excerpt that's pretty much all me (at least at this early stage; I have a feeling we'll merge a lot more soon). We live and die by the Rule of Funny, but we've got some dark drama in here too, we promise.