Short SuperWho Fic, Jack Harkness/Castiel
The Doctor called again. He was different – he always seemed to be different. Captain Jack Harkness answered the call of course, swept once more into the Doctor’s inertia and the expanse of the TARDIS. His locker was still there, although his things seemed to number somewhat fewer than they had before (seriously, who the hell took his squareness gun?). All in all, it was a grand thing to be back, to be useful, and to be important to his sometimes-mentor.
The adventure matters little. Oh, it meant a great deal to the universe – although as usual, the universe would never truly understand the extent of its own peril. But to this story, the relevant detail was Jack’s sideways slip into the ‘nothing’ between realities. For enough hours to count as ‘days’ to Earth, Jack did not exist. Not in the way things with good solid grounding in our reality exist. Or in any other, for that matter.
That part wasn’t pleasant at all. It was literal hell. But the homecoming rather made up for it. This time, Jack not only had someone waiting for him ‘back home,’ he had someone literally watching for the registry of his existence. The door of the TARDIS swung inward on Mermaid Quay – in need of a fuel-up after that by-the-skin-of-our-teeth (and maybe a little seat-of-our-pants) escape.
And there was an unremarkable man in a pale overcoat with an expression somewhere between a bonfire and a thunderclap.
evemoneypenny-deactivated201609:
Government agents from A Vague Yet Menacing Agency were in the back, watching. (x)
this is — yes
Sherlock, Subtext, and My Ultra-Conservative Baby-Boomer Dad
My Dad will be 64 this autumn. My Dad is a die-hard Republican. My Dad was a Southern Baptist pastor for nearly 30 years. And my Dad is a Sherlock fan.
He’s always had TV shows he enjoyed (I grew up on Star Trek.. it was kind of Our Thing), but he’s mostly a passive fan. The kind who is willing to wait patiently until the next season of something airs and suddenly remembers, two hours prior, that today’s the day.
So when my Dad called me a couple weeks ago, voice a little tremulous, begging me to send him a link whereby he could stream Sherlock series 3 and bypass the PBS waiting period, I happily sent him the best one I’d found. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to watch it NOW, and I could respect him for that. It was a pleasant surprise, him loving the show so much he had to watch it NOW.
Today, I finally got the chance to ask him about it.
I was bouncing on my toes, excited to be fangirling about my fave show with my own father. “What did you think, Dad?”
I didn’t expect him to get a little choked up. His next words blew my mind.
He said, “Sweetie, I’m old. Set in my ways. I was taught, and adhered to, a certain way that people should be with each other. I preached it, and I voted in light of it, and I taught it to you and your sister. But I watched this show. And I watched these two men fall in love with each other. And the only thing I could think was, ‘These two souls are meant to be together’. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are… soulmates. Over my years as a pastor, I’ve seen couples get married.. And couples get divorced.. It happens. But I’ve never seen two people who were more perfectly designed to fit together, and it broke my heart to see it not happen for them. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass.”
Given that it was a brave moment, I blurted out, “Dad, I’m bisexual.”
And he turned to me and smiled, tears in his eyes, and said, “Just… be happy.”
Don’t fret that the press “has yet to discover” the “subtext” inherent in Sherlock. Don’t fret that the creators and the actors still deny it. Because if my Dad can see it, then it’s crystal clear. My almost-64-yr-old-Dad ships Johnlock. My SOUTHERN BAPTIST PASTOR Dad ships Johnlock.
To the point that he internalized change in his thinking about same-sex relationships, and happily accepted my (rather abrupt) coming out.
Keep the faith.
This ship has sailed; and my Dad, of ALL people, is right on fucking board.
The best (and most romantic) way of describing Johnlock. From my 86 year old Grandpa
Grandpa: You know, I think Sherlock and John might end up together.
Gramma: You think they’re homosexual?
Grandpa: Not really.
Gramma: So what do you mean you think they’ll end up together?
Grandpa: (frustrated) I think that they’re perfect for each other! I mean, just look at them together!
Gramma: (raises an eyebrow)
Grandpa: Stop with the homosexual! They should be with each other because they GO together! They make each other happy! Isn’t that what being in a good relationship’s about?
Grandpa: Saying someone’s homosexual is like saying I love blonds.
Gramma: You do like blonds dear.
Grandpa: But you’re not blond.
Gramma: No… I’m not.
Grandpa: You never have been! I feel in love with you with brown hair and stayed in love when you turned grey. I love you for you. Grey or brunette, young or old. Just like John and Sherlock.
Gramma: (smiling)
Grandpa: John may like women like I like blonds, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to ignore someone perfect for him just because it’s not a woman. And Sherlock clearly loves him.
Gramma: I thought you said he’s not interested in any of that.
Grandpa: Maybe not in other people. But look how he looks at John! He looks at him like I looked at you on our wedding day. It’s love. Not something so trivial as whether he’s a man or woman.
Grandpa: (out of breath)
Gramma: I knew I married you for a reason.
