ext_119945 ([identity profile] janeturenne.livejournal.com) wrote in [personal profile] elaby 2009-08-15 02:40 am (UTC)

My dear Elaby, what is there for me to say? This is gorgeous in its poeticness, all over the place, and, while I'm going to attempt quotings, know that I won't get the half of them, nor do justice to the ones I do point out. A general "I do adore your fics so very, very much" would not be out of place off the top, though :) And also this: the level of insight into the world as a whole in this story is staggering and wonderful. Like the slight greyness of snowflakes against the sky, and about a jillion other things that will come out in the quotings. A-like so...

My bedroom window was so decorated with plumes and ferns and paintbrush-strokes of frost

Mmmmm, lovely!

he had curled his long fingers like a beggar's around a match.

And again. You have the most wonderful way with metaphors and similies, and as Watson does too, it adds so much to your take on his voice.

seating myself at the table and tucking into the eggs – they were piping hot, God bless the woman.

Watson always does value the simple things (especially when comestible). It's part of what makes him so loveable, bless the man.

Holmes has perfected a certain glare to non-verbally express 'you're wasting my time,'

Eeeee! Another of those 'I can totally see it' moments that you do so well, for a Holmes who is simultaneously the Paget drawing and Jeremy Brett, which is a bit of a mindf%#k, I must say, what with the whole pen-and-ink to reality translation. In a good way, though XD In the same vein, I held out both my hands and twitched my fingers in imitation of one of his more frequent impatient gestures is the BEST.IMAGE.EVER. I love watching Watson imitate Holmes, in any way, but that in particular is just glorious.

Now, everything was still, everything was clean

You and this fic made me miss real winters so much. I grew up in the midwest and went to college in Massachusetts, so living in Washington D.C. is a major change on the winter front. Those moments, when the whole world is silenced and wiped clean by the snow, may be the thing I miss the very most. That combined feeling of solitude and connectedness that happens during a real snow is one of the most beautiful emotions there is, I think.

He favored me with a sidelong glance and a quirk of his lips, the scientist to the author acknowledging mutual territory.

I can't even begin to coherently discuss this line. It gives me raptures, for many, many reasons.

It was amazing, and very suggestive of the way my friend's mind worked, that he could link the hard science of deduction to ancient philosophy and make it sound - well - elementary.

...and it says equally amazing things about the way your mind works, for writing this!

I dare say that he would either be excited beyond imagining that I had finally lost my grip on reality

How did you just manage to write such a cruel thing about a character who we both adore and make it quite possibly my favorite line in the entire fic? This made me laugh out loud. And I love that Holmes cares whether or not Lestrade "does himself harm" :)

It was curious; as much as I admired and studied Holmes's methods of thought, I seldom wondered what it would be like to constantly live with them in my own head.

Poor Holmes! No wonder he has his chemistry and his monographs and his violin, side channels to divert some of his excess brainflow when the canal of his detective work is narrow or blocked altogether. It's such a good observation about the way his head works. And forces me to reevaluate my heretofore blithe acceptance of the Canonical version of the Sussex years...

And the ending, of course, is just as gorgeous in its emotions as your fics always are. *very happy sigh* This was such a wonderful Friday present-- thank you so much!

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