The Woman in Regent's Park
The very reason I got LiveJournal was because Lucy insisted I follow flawedamythyst and become involved in the many shades of awesome that she helps orchestrate. This very event was the one Lucy highlighted and said was would be worth investigating.
So cue me, leaving my hostel at arse o’clock in the morning and braving the wilds of south east London very early in the morning.
Now, to be honest, I wasn’t specifically braving London that day for the picnic alone. It was more the fact I was braving it at that time. You see, I’ve been in London since the 13th July and I will be remaining here until the 12th of August at the very earliest and then again from 27th August to the 8th September. Is it for some lucrative, high end job in London hear you cry. No. I’m volunteering at the Olympics and Paralympics. There is much to be told of the Olympics so far, some of which will be tempered for, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, security reasons. Though admittedly, the majority of the censoring will be done to protect my currently free crash pad.
I arrived at my currently free crash pad at about 7 in the morning and was immediately met by one of the men I have to thank for providing me with a way of avoiding a minimum of £10 a night for staying in London. I will go into more detail at a later date, but I have very much lucked out on this set up.
Having spent an hour or so having a tour and a much appreciated mug of tea, my host excused himself to get back to work and I was dismissed to entertain myself for the rest of the day. The rest of the day involving being in Regent’s Park in 3 hours and not having a clue how to negotiate London public transport. Unpacking was easy enough. Olympic uniform was put up on a few hangers and the suitcase was stashed under the bed are relocating the spare mattress. Once everything was in place, the battle prep could begin. The plan was to travel in jeans and a strappy top, something that could be hauled over the head with as little disturbance to the hair as possible. Brogues, god I love those shoes, and the Belstaff. It’s not actually a Belstaff, but it is close and I’ve had it for years and love it dearly. Saw some mileage at Uni for various reasons. Doing the hair proved interesting, as my room had the mirror at one end and the plug socket at the other. There was toing and froing between curls. Helm and war paint on, I unplugged my curlers and sat and watched them cool, reassuring myself that, no, I wasn’t going to cause a fire. The rest of my armour was stashed in what I refer to as my clutch bag. At Graduation Ball, I wanted a bag I could put my high heels in when they became too much to dance in. There is the slight issue of me having size 9-11 feet, depending on make. None of the clutch bags I came across could hold them, so I got a large black bag that could be also be used as an assault weapon. Transport of the weapon of choice took a little creative thinking as I’d have my hands full with bag and umbrella. My crop ended up being wrapped up in my umbrella.
Getting into London from Grove Park wasn’t too much of an issue but I was caught in the tail end of the rush hour and received a few odd looks. These did diminish the further I got into London, where the overall impression I get it ‘anything goes’. There was an issue with my ticket at the transition from above ground to underground. Apparently my ticket was not valid and I required a new one. The expense wasn’t anything major, but it was annoying and I remember standing at the automatic machines muttering along the lines of, ‘I bet Irene doesn’t have to put up with this shit.’
Once I got to Regent’s Park, I realised I needed a plan of action. I still needed to:
- Change
- Buy food for the picnic
- And find the picnic.
There were no loos to be seen in the station so I ended up diving into a gastro pub and using theirs. I think there had been a few looks, especially when I reappear with leather gloves and without jeans.
Getting food called for a stop at a tesco metro, a relatively painless adventure, but I learned that my magic big hand bag didn’t quite have ‘Mary Poppins’ qualities and the rest of the day was spent wrestling with my bag in various states of overstuffed.
Now, FINDING the picnic. This is a tale of not terribly accurate Google map images, Race For Life runners, torrential rain, poor map reading skills and Regent’s Parking being so much bigger than I was expecting. It took me over 45 minutes to hunt them down. The map suggested that they were in the central circular park of the park and I lapped that for half an hour before phoning Lucy to see if she could provide additional information curtsey of LiveJournal . I am like my alias in many ways, but my phone can manage texting and ringing and that’s about it. Lucy, ill in bed and unable to join me in London, was alternating between fitful sleeping and self-medicating on fanfiction, and I’d managed to catch her during a sleeping stage. I left a pathetic sounding message and set off on one more lap in desperate hope. It was when I was rather close to giving up and I left the inner gardens, I joined the main road and opposite me was a path way into the Holme. I face-palmed in public and I’m not afraid to admit it. In the distance I could see a rather full band stand and headed towards it. I was greeted on the steps, signed off the guest list and told to settle in. I pretty much walked to a clearish spot, sat down and said hello to the person next to me.
The nest two hours was filled with fan-girling, home baking and scaring the general public. The group of girls I was sat with were all about school age and we spent a good while comparing theories, gushing and squeeing. Every now and then, there were group wide shouts. Someone would mention ‘Alone on the Water’ and a wail would go up. Radom shouts of ‘Vatican Cameos’ resulted in people randomly hitting the deck. There were a lot of people in cosplay and even more with appropriate T-shirts. There were a few Johns and Mycrofts, a Moriarty or two and a lot of Sherlocks and fem!locks. But no one else dressed as Irene. I received a few complaints for my efforts and despite me having a name badge with both real name and LiveJournal alias on, most were referring to me as Ms. Adler. Something I could very easily get used to. And yes, yes, the bra got a viewing…..
Looking around I recognised a few names and faces. One young woman with curly red hair had me really thinking of where I had seen her before. She was Curly of the Baker Street Babes, I’d heard her on some of the podcasts and seen her on the BSB Pre-Reichenbach public service announcement on YouTube. There was also so, much, cake. Baker Street = baking. Who knew….. The best was a large chocolate layered cake, resembling a hedgehog. John the hedgehog. In a cardboard box with the words ‘Dr John H. Watson, Hibernation box, Do Not Disturb until Series 3 2013’ written on the lid.
After we squeed ourselves out a bit, the call went out for us to get into our teams. At this point, I must have resembled a dear in the head lights. Teams? What teams? I didn’t receive that email! I tugged on the coat tails of one of the organisers and explained my issue. She told me not to worry, those who were uncertain if they could make it, me included, had not been put into teams and would be assigned once everything had settle down. There various teams assigned by character names; Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, Moriarty, and Sally. I didn’t quite get that, Team Sally, but no Team Irene. Really?
I spent a few minutes wondering from team to team chatting to people and handing out Moriarty business cards, because I still have about 500 to get shot of. I was briefly adopted into team Molly after chatting with the unofficial team leader and her deciding she liked me. I started helping on the various tasks we’d been set and lent my crop to a few Sherlock-flogging-a-corpse photos before one of the organisers came over to me and said that I was actually meant to be in team Mycroft. They’d finished juggling the numbers and would it break my heart to change teams? Pouting a little I removed my ‘Team Molly’ badge from my coat and said my goodbyes for the afternoon before shuffling 4 feet over to ‘Team Mycroft’.
I was presented with my badge, reading ‘Team Mycroft’ with a silhouette of the British Government leaning on his umbrella, and introduced to the group. We were a mixed bunch; Me, school aged Ruth, student Maria, unofficial team leader Cat, professional American woman Barney, and Sarah who I swear to God, never said a word. Cat was Irish and dressed as Mycroft, three piece suit and umbrella and Barney had a very Sherlock look about her, with her dark linen suit and blue scarf.
As a team, we have various tasks to complete. There was a cross word which, with my dyslexia and knowledge limited to the BBC productions and Guy Richie films and knowing next to nothing about the original canon, I wasn’t much help on. A-Z which we needed to fill with character names and people involved in any and all of the productions. A photo scavenger hunt where we needed to take photos relevant to the titles from the canon and members of the group doing in character things. And the first part of a treasure hunt, once again reliant on photos, but required a smart phone capable of email.
The envelope was presented to us at our allotted time, they were staggering our departures to discourage cheating, and sent us on our way. In the envelope was a document telling us that John had been missing since 10 that morning and Sherlock was in the process of searching for him. We needed to send photos and texts though out the afternoon to indicate Sherlock’s progress in the case. The first thing we had to do was locate what John had been looking for as he left for the park that morning with a copy of the Hobbit, *flail* and a few stale pieces of bread.
He was feeding the ducks.
Walking around the lake, interrupted by our group having a photo taken next to ‘The Holme’ sign and Ruth nearly getting a heart attack thanks to a surprise pigeon attack, we found the wild fowl area and awaited the next clue. Whilst there, we also took a photo for ‘The Problem of Thor Bridge’. We had a bridge, and a Ruth wearing an Avengers t-shirt. Once she’d stopped bouncing up and down in excitement at the idea, we shepherded her into the middle of the bridge, where she proceeded to give her best impression of Thor whilst Cat recorded it. It took a few takes of ‘You humans are so petty, and tiny’, but the end result was worth it.
Waiting for our next clue and in between the breaks in the rain, other members of the group asked for photos with me. I was really flattered that they like my efforts and obliged. The pose of me with the crop between my teeth quickly appears to be becoming my signature money shot. Wondering on, after a slight delay and detour as Ruth had to run back to find her coat she’d left at the band stand, our treasure hunt took us on what has to be the best guided tour I’ve ever been on. It was wonderful to walk around London seeing little bits and pieces and having terrific conversations on the way. And also to make spectacles of ourselves in the process.
We were encouraged to do in character things on our travels, Mycroft things. Cat, as our Mycroft cosplayer, became our model. There were displays of Mystrade captured on camera, we endured Moriarty's best 'crazy eyes', we ignored Sherlock's tantrums as best we could, went toe to toe with John about said tantruming little brother and we flirted with Team Lestrade mercilessly whenever we came into range. We also started a war, a punch-up, and stopped the traffic. It was a little tricky for me, as being in the costume means that I am well and truly in the Irene mind set, and Irene is not Mycroft. I pretty much flirted with any of the groups bar Sally, Moriarty and Mrs Hudson. I know they never met but I like the idea of Lestrade and Irene meeting, Lestrade being immune to Irene’s ‘feminine wiles’ and Irene finding this highly amusing and going to town on the mental sparring. Did go and cuddle Mollys as well. I like the idea of Irene being very fond of Molly if they ever met.
The clues, all of which and the map can be found here, led us around the city surrounding Regents Park. On our way to the Latvian embassy we passed the Royal Academy of Music and we did suffer a delay as the rest of the team peeled me away from the glass doors where I was there rasping ‘TEEEEAAACH MEEEEE’ on repeat. Over the last few years, it has come to my attention that I am my parent’s daughter. I’ve started appreciating horticulture and architecture. Although the Royal Academy of Music didn’t have much of the former, to me it was a beautiful building. And that probably has a lot to do with what was going on inside as people with instrument cases flowed in and out of the doors.
We spent a while being sent to and fro along the length of that road and a few photo ops presented themselves. A car broke down in one of the middle lanes and I took a photo of it as it was pushed to the pavement as the back firing car in ‘Scandal in Belgravia’. There were stealth pictures of red heads for ‘The Red-Headed League’ and three of us whipped out our student cards for ‘The Three Students’, despite mine no longer being valid. Just before she had to leave the party early, Ruth, as our only fair haired member, asked if we had anything to use to do ‘The Speckled Blonde’. There was a moment of thought and it was decided that lipstick would do. When Ruth asked the group if anyone had any and pretty much every finger pointed in my direction with the notion of ‘Ms. Adler must surely have some.’ I broke out my favourite lipstick, affectionately referred as ‘whore red’, proceeded to attack Ruth’s face til she appeared to be suffering from some sort of infectious disease.
Throughout the afternoon, my props would occasionally take leave of me. My umbrella but more notable my riding crop, would disappear every now and then and reappear in the hand of a team mate as they chased down a member of team Lestrade or Moriarty. It soon became clear that some teams were really getting into character; Molly were hard working and efficient without making too much of a spectacle of themselves, Sherlock were tearing around causing havoc and lamenting the fact they couldn’t use their homeless network whilst John followed behind determined to keep up, Lestade were calm and controlled and went about with precision. Mycroft, we spent our time walking sedatlely, swinging umbrellas and occasionally calling out ‘Anthea, dear’ when we would rather had handed a clue over to a cryptanalyst or would use the CCTV system. Moriarty where the best however, once they worked out that you only needed to send in photos, they sat in a pub and used google images.
As the trail progressed through the case there was a certain amount of fear for John’s safety. It became clear that he had indeed been kidnapped. By a large group of women.
Fangirls.
Fangirls had kidnapped him and were making him write Johnlock slash. Scraps of the work were left along the trail, littered with clues as to what the fangirls were doing to him and where they were taking him.
The trail eventually led back towards Baker Street and you last leg of the journey was peppered with additional fandom relevant photos; handcuffs, a London A to Z, Maria using a public phone with a reflection of Mycroft in the glass door, jam and honey, milk, Moriarty’s London cap, bees and blackberries, and a lemon. A little bit of cross-over fandom love. At Baker Street tube station there is a bronzed statue of the great Sherlock Holmes, pipe and deer stalker and all. We stopped there to have a photo op. Cat stood tall and imposing next to her little brother and I sat on the plinth at his feet, ankles crossed, crop in hand and looking rather coyly up at him. The photos took a while as the pavement was busy and in the time it took to get the shot, yeah, I had an audience.
The final stop was that of 221B. I’d never actually seen the Sherlock museum and was really excited about it. Wasn’t expecting the queue of people waiting to have their photos taken on the stoop of 221B however, there was a proper queue with a police man in Victorian costume and various props available for use. I wanted to get a photo done too but there was a huge queue and I intend to spend one of my days off here in London with hair up and jacket on and do a photo shoot around London at Sherlock relevant place and leave business cards, so Speedy’s, St Bart’s Baker Street and New Scotland Yard. Maybe Whitehall and Buckingham Palace too. Just need the temperature to drop so I can actually wear the coat without passing out. May be a job for September. Again got stares from the people queuing.
We were met by the organisers at 221B and handed in our answers and time that we completed the task in. We were slower than many but to be honest we were just having too much fun. While we were there, I saw something that quite honestly, blew my mind. Between the Sherlock museum and the Mrs Hudson’s tearooms, there was a dark door set back a bit. Above it was a large old brass plate inscribed with these words:
Moffatt Associates
Catalysts For Change
Not the correct spelling, but still. Oh, dear, God. This wasn’t something recent, it showed more than three years’ worth of wear and tear.
After completing the case, we relocated to a pub for a few minutes for a drink and a chance to catch our breath after tearing around London. We also got in yet more last minute photo shooting. For ‘The Blinded Banker’ I dug out a silk scarf and wrapped it over my eyes and emptied my purse onto the table in front of me and started handling the coins. I also took a photo of the free wifi sign for good measure. My favourite, if I do say so myself, was for one of the classic canon titles. We’d be struggling with this one for a while that afternoon as we couldn’t find the right landscape. I took out a pen and scrap of paper and drew a rough sketch of a stick figure, faced turned up and screaming with a cry of ‘the horror!’ I took tore off the excess paper and tucked the picture down my cleavage. ‘The Valley of Terror.’
The post-case dinner was, unfortunately not at Antonio’s as we would never have all fitted in there, held at the Baker Street Pizza Express. Which had Sherlock wallpaper in the loos. Did leave a few cards in there. The meal was spent with more discussions on the genius that is the fictional son of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and what we expected from series 3. Various theories were batted about, but a few people wanted me to elaborate on some of my plot bunnies. I will warn you all now, I will try to write fic, but what usually happens is I get bitten by the bunnies and they just dance around me taunting. The results of our efforts for the day were tallied up and announced at the end of the meal. Team Sherlock won, with Team Molly coming a close second with joyous shouts of ‘We count!’ There were tired sighs from our table at the knowledge Sherlock was going to be unbearable about this. Once the clamour had died down some at at the next table, I heaved a sign and said to the room at large, ‘Now brother dear, I do hope you aren’t going to let his go to your head and not gloat about this at this year’s Christmas dinner?’ The responses I got were much along the lines of ‘I do what I want, Mycroft!’
The bra did get pride of place once more at dinner, I Still being in battle dress and it won us an additional 3 points to our team total, for all the good it did but every little helps. Of course in order to earn these points, a few members of the room had to see it. I obliged once I was sure the waiters were out of range. There was the usual ruckus that follows when I flash a room and it is slightly disturbing to be able to say that I now recognise what is ‘usual’ in this situation, when one of the girls from Team Lestrade came over and asked if she could see it again. After getting a closer look at it she looked up at me and said, ‘Oh God, it’s you!’
After a little confusion on my part, she said she’d seen the bra on tumblr. Now I don’t have a tumblr account so the only thing I can think of what’s happened is that some one has ripped it from DeviantArt, where I put up a few photos from Milton Keynes. I don’t mind people copying it at all or using the image. I long for the day when I go to an event and there can be a line of us all flashing the same bra. And that photo has been favourite a few times on DeviantArt. But it was the apologetic look on her face that made me ask ‘where, excactly, did you see this?’
shittysherlockart
I blinked, sniffed and said, ‘Well, Louise Brealey thought it was good.’ There were some cocked heads and huh? expressions, and then a retelling of how I flashed Molly from Sherlock. I neglected to mention what she wrote in her signing, instead digging out the folder it was in and showing it to her. She laughted so hard she very nearly fell over, I’m not kidding.
As the night wore on, it became apparent that we needed to part if any of us were going to make it home safe. There was much distress at this and a lot of ‘I don’t want to go back to the Normal World’ feelings. Many email address, twitter accounts and LJ names were exchanged, I really need to see to those before I lose them, and people started to line up to pay for dinner. I spent a second or two wondering if I could travel back still dressed as Irene, then I decided no, it’s late, it’s Saturday and you’ve got to use the Tube to get back to South East London. Jeans it is.
Again, an awesome adventure. Thank you everyone one I met, thank you to the organisers and thank you to moralrelativist for getting me on this crazy train. Really wish you could have been there and I hope the zombies didn’t get you.
So cue me, leaving my hostel at arse o’clock in the morning and braving the wilds of south east London very early in the morning.
Now, to be honest, I wasn’t specifically braving London that day for the picnic alone. It was more the fact I was braving it at that time. You see, I’ve been in London since the 13th July and I will be remaining here until the 12th of August at the very earliest and then again from 27th August to the 8th September. Is it for some lucrative, high end job in London hear you cry. No. I’m volunteering at the Olympics and Paralympics. There is much to be told of the Olympics so far, some of which will be tempered for, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, security reasons. Though admittedly, the majority of the censoring will be done to protect my currently free crash pad.
I arrived at my currently free crash pad at about 7 in the morning and was immediately met by one of the men I have to thank for providing me with a way of avoiding a minimum of £10 a night for staying in London. I will go into more detail at a later date, but I have very much lucked out on this set up.
Having spent an hour or so having a tour and a much appreciated mug of tea, my host excused himself to get back to work and I was dismissed to entertain myself for the rest of the day. The rest of the day involving being in Regent’s Park in 3 hours and not having a clue how to negotiate London public transport. Unpacking was easy enough. Olympic uniform was put up on a few hangers and the suitcase was stashed under the bed are relocating the spare mattress. Once everything was in place, the battle prep could begin. The plan was to travel in jeans and a strappy top, something that could be hauled over the head with as little disturbance to the hair as possible. Brogues, god I love those shoes, and the Belstaff. It’s not actually a Belstaff, but it is close and I’ve had it for years and love it dearly. Saw some mileage at Uni for various reasons. Doing the hair proved interesting, as my room had the mirror at one end and the plug socket at the other. There was toing and froing between curls. Helm and war paint on, I unplugged my curlers and sat and watched them cool, reassuring myself that, no, I wasn’t going to cause a fire. The rest of my armour was stashed in what I refer to as my clutch bag. At Graduation Ball, I wanted a bag I could put my high heels in when they became too much to dance in. There is the slight issue of me having size 9-11 feet, depending on make. None of the clutch bags I came across could hold them, so I got a large black bag that could be also be used as an assault weapon. Transport of the weapon of choice took a little creative thinking as I’d have my hands full with bag and umbrella. My crop ended up being wrapped up in my umbrella.
Getting into London from Grove Park wasn’t too much of an issue but I was caught in the tail end of the rush hour and received a few odd looks. These did diminish the further I got into London, where the overall impression I get it ‘anything goes’. There was an issue with my ticket at the transition from above ground to underground. Apparently my ticket was not valid and I required a new one. The expense wasn’t anything major, but it was annoying and I remember standing at the automatic machines muttering along the lines of, ‘I bet Irene doesn’t have to put up with this shit.’
Once I got to Regent’s Park, I realised I needed a plan of action. I still needed to:
- Change
- Buy food for the picnic
- And find the picnic.
There were no loos to be seen in the station so I ended up diving into a gastro pub and using theirs. I think there had been a few looks, especially when I reappear with leather gloves and without jeans.
Getting food called for a stop at a tesco metro, a relatively painless adventure, but I learned that my magic big hand bag didn’t quite have ‘Mary Poppins’ qualities and the rest of the day was spent wrestling with my bag in various states of overstuffed.
Now, FINDING the picnic. This is a tale of not terribly accurate Google map images, Race For Life runners, torrential rain, poor map reading skills and Regent’s Parking being so much bigger than I was expecting. It took me over 45 minutes to hunt them down. The map suggested that they were in the central circular park of the park and I lapped that for half an hour before phoning Lucy to see if she could provide additional information curtsey of LiveJournal . I am like my alias in many ways, but my phone can manage texting and ringing and that’s about it. Lucy, ill in bed and unable to join me in London, was alternating between fitful sleeping and self-medicating on fanfiction, and I’d managed to catch her during a sleeping stage. I left a pathetic sounding message and set off on one more lap in desperate hope. It was when I was rather close to giving up and I left the inner gardens, I joined the main road and opposite me was a path way into the Holme. I face-palmed in public and I’m not afraid to admit it. In the distance I could see a rather full band stand and headed towards it. I was greeted on the steps, signed off the guest list and told to settle in. I pretty much walked to a clearish spot, sat down and said hello to the person next to me.
The nest two hours was filled with fan-girling, home baking and scaring the general public. The group of girls I was sat with were all about school age and we spent a good while comparing theories, gushing and squeeing. Every now and then, there were group wide shouts. Someone would mention ‘Alone on the Water’ and a wail would go up. Radom shouts of ‘Vatican Cameos’ resulted in people randomly hitting the deck. There were a lot of people in cosplay and even more with appropriate T-shirts. There were a few Johns and Mycrofts, a Moriarty or two and a lot of Sherlocks and fem!locks. But no one else dressed as Irene. I received a few complaints for my efforts and despite me having a name badge with both real name and LiveJournal alias on, most were referring to me as Ms. Adler. Something I could very easily get used to. And yes, yes, the bra got a viewing…..
Looking around I recognised a few names and faces. One young woman with curly red hair had me really thinking of where I had seen her before. She was Curly of the Baker Street Babes, I’d heard her on some of the podcasts and seen her on the BSB Pre-Reichenbach public service announcement on YouTube. There was also so, much, cake. Baker Street = baking. Who knew….. The best was a large chocolate layered cake, resembling a hedgehog. John the hedgehog. In a cardboard box with the words ‘Dr John H. Watson, Hibernation box, Do Not Disturb until Series 3 2013’ written on the lid.
After we squeed ourselves out a bit, the call went out for us to get into our teams. At this point, I must have resembled a dear in the head lights. Teams? What teams? I didn’t receive that email! I tugged on the coat tails of one of the organisers and explained my issue. She told me not to worry, those who were uncertain if they could make it, me included, had not been put into teams and would be assigned once everything had settle down. There various teams assigned by character names; Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, Moriarty, and Sally. I didn’t quite get that, Team Sally, but no Team Irene. Really?
I spent a few minutes wondering from team to team chatting to people and handing out Moriarty business cards, because I still have about 500 to get shot of. I was briefly adopted into team Molly after chatting with the unofficial team leader and her deciding she liked me. I started helping on the various tasks we’d been set and lent my crop to a few Sherlock-flogging-a-corpse photos before one of the organisers came over to me and said that I was actually meant to be in team Mycroft. They’d finished juggling the numbers and would it break my heart to change teams? Pouting a little I removed my ‘Team Molly’ badge from my coat and said my goodbyes for the afternoon before shuffling 4 feet over to ‘Team Mycroft’.
I was presented with my badge, reading ‘Team Mycroft’ with a silhouette of the British Government leaning on his umbrella, and introduced to the group. We were a mixed bunch; Me, school aged Ruth, student Maria, unofficial team leader Cat, professional American woman Barney, and Sarah who I swear to God, never said a word. Cat was Irish and dressed as Mycroft, three piece suit and umbrella and Barney had a very Sherlock look about her, with her dark linen suit and blue scarf.
As a team, we have various tasks to complete. There was a cross word which, with my dyslexia and knowledge limited to the BBC productions and Guy Richie films and knowing next to nothing about the original canon, I wasn’t much help on. A-Z which we needed to fill with character names and people involved in any and all of the productions. A photo scavenger hunt where we needed to take photos relevant to the titles from the canon and members of the group doing in character things. And the first part of a treasure hunt, once again reliant on photos, but required a smart phone capable of email.
The envelope was presented to us at our allotted time, they were staggering our departures to discourage cheating, and sent us on our way. In the envelope was a document telling us that John had been missing since 10 that morning and Sherlock was in the process of searching for him. We needed to send photos and texts though out the afternoon to indicate Sherlock’s progress in the case. The first thing we had to do was locate what John had been looking for as he left for the park that morning with a copy of the Hobbit, *flail* and a few stale pieces of bread.
He was feeding the ducks.
Walking around the lake, interrupted by our group having a photo taken next to ‘The Holme’ sign and Ruth nearly getting a heart attack thanks to a surprise pigeon attack, we found the wild fowl area and awaited the next clue. Whilst there, we also took a photo for ‘The Problem of Thor Bridge’. We had a bridge, and a Ruth wearing an Avengers t-shirt. Once she’d stopped bouncing up and down in excitement at the idea, we shepherded her into the middle of the bridge, where she proceeded to give her best impression of Thor whilst Cat recorded it. It took a few takes of ‘You humans are so petty, and tiny’, but the end result was worth it.
Waiting for our next clue and in between the breaks in the rain, other members of the group asked for photos with me. I was really flattered that they like my efforts and obliged. The pose of me with the crop between my teeth quickly appears to be becoming my signature money shot. Wondering on, after a slight delay and detour as Ruth had to run back to find her coat she’d left at the band stand, our treasure hunt took us on what has to be the best guided tour I’ve ever been on. It was wonderful to walk around London seeing little bits and pieces and having terrific conversations on the way. And also to make spectacles of ourselves in the process.
We were encouraged to do in character things on our travels, Mycroft things. Cat, as our Mycroft cosplayer, became our model. There were displays of Mystrade captured on camera, we endured Moriarty's best 'crazy eyes', we ignored Sherlock's tantrums as best we could, went toe to toe with John about said tantruming little brother and we flirted with Team Lestrade mercilessly whenever we came into range. We also started a war, a punch-up, and stopped the traffic. It was a little tricky for me, as being in the costume means that I am well and truly in the Irene mind set, and Irene is not Mycroft. I pretty much flirted with any of the groups bar Sally, Moriarty and Mrs Hudson. I know they never met but I like the idea of Lestrade and Irene meeting, Lestrade being immune to Irene’s ‘feminine wiles’ and Irene finding this highly amusing and going to town on the mental sparring. Did go and cuddle Mollys as well. I like the idea of Irene being very fond of Molly if they ever met.
The clues, all of which and the map can be found here, led us around the city surrounding Regents Park. On our way to the Latvian embassy we passed the Royal Academy of Music and we did suffer a delay as the rest of the team peeled me away from the glass doors where I was there rasping ‘TEEEEAAACH MEEEEE’ on repeat. Over the last few years, it has come to my attention that I am my parent’s daughter. I’ve started appreciating horticulture and architecture. Although the Royal Academy of Music didn’t have much of the former, to me it was a beautiful building. And that probably has a lot to do with what was going on inside as people with instrument cases flowed in and out of the doors.
We spent a while being sent to and fro along the length of that road and a few photo ops presented themselves. A car broke down in one of the middle lanes and I took a photo of it as it was pushed to the pavement as the back firing car in ‘Scandal in Belgravia’. There were stealth pictures of red heads for ‘The Red-Headed League’ and three of us whipped out our student cards for ‘The Three Students’, despite mine no longer being valid. Just before she had to leave the party early, Ruth, as our only fair haired member, asked if we had anything to use to do ‘The Speckled Blonde’. There was a moment of thought and it was decided that lipstick would do. When Ruth asked the group if anyone had any and pretty much every finger pointed in my direction with the notion of ‘Ms. Adler must surely have some.’ I broke out my favourite lipstick, affectionately referred as ‘whore red’, proceeded to attack Ruth’s face til she appeared to be suffering from some sort of infectious disease.
Throughout the afternoon, my props would occasionally take leave of me. My umbrella but more notable my riding crop, would disappear every now and then and reappear in the hand of a team mate as they chased down a member of team Lestrade or Moriarty. It soon became clear that some teams were really getting into character; Molly were hard working and efficient without making too much of a spectacle of themselves, Sherlock were tearing around causing havoc and lamenting the fact they couldn’t use their homeless network whilst John followed behind determined to keep up, Lestade were calm and controlled and went about with precision. Mycroft, we spent our time walking sedatlely, swinging umbrellas and occasionally calling out ‘Anthea, dear’ when we would rather had handed a clue over to a cryptanalyst or would use the CCTV system. Moriarty where the best however, once they worked out that you only needed to send in photos, they sat in a pub and used google images.
As the trail progressed through the case there was a certain amount of fear for John’s safety. It became clear that he had indeed been kidnapped. By a large group of women.
Fangirls.
Fangirls had kidnapped him and were making him write Johnlock slash. Scraps of the work were left along the trail, littered with clues as to what the fangirls were doing to him and where they were taking him.
The trail eventually led back towards Baker Street and you last leg of the journey was peppered with additional fandom relevant photos; handcuffs, a London A to Z, Maria using a public phone with a reflection of Mycroft in the glass door, jam and honey, milk, Moriarty’s London cap, bees and blackberries, and a lemon. A little bit of cross-over fandom love. At Baker Street tube station there is a bronzed statue of the great Sherlock Holmes, pipe and deer stalker and all. We stopped there to have a photo op. Cat stood tall and imposing next to her little brother and I sat on the plinth at his feet, ankles crossed, crop in hand and looking rather coyly up at him. The photos took a while as the pavement was busy and in the time it took to get the shot, yeah, I had an audience.
The final stop was that of 221B. I’d never actually seen the Sherlock museum and was really excited about it. Wasn’t expecting the queue of people waiting to have their photos taken on the stoop of 221B however, there was a proper queue with a police man in Victorian costume and various props available for use. I wanted to get a photo done too but there was a huge queue and I intend to spend one of my days off here in London with hair up and jacket on and do a photo shoot around London at Sherlock relevant place and leave business cards, so Speedy’s, St Bart’s Baker Street and New Scotland Yard. Maybe Whitehall and Buckingham Palace too. Just need the temperature to drop so I can actually wear the coat without passing out. May be a job for September. Again got stares from the people queuing.
We were met by the organisers at 221B and handed in our answers and time that we completed the task in. We were slower than many but to be honest we were just having too much fun. While we were there, I saw something that quite honestly, blew my mind. Between the Sherlock museum and the Mrs Hudson’s tearooms, there was a dark door set back a bit. Above it was a large old brass plate inscribed with these words:
Moffatt Associates
Catalysts For Change
Not the correct spelling, but still. Oh, dear, God. This wasn’t something recent, it showed more than three years’ worth of wear and tear.
After completing the case, we relocated to a pub for a few minutes for a drink and a chance to catch our breath after tearing around London. We also got in yet more last minute photo shooting. For ‘The Blinded Banker’ I dug out a silk scarf and wrapped it over my eyes and emptied my purse onto the table in front of me and started handling the coins. I also took a photo of the free wifi sign for good measure. My favourite, if I do say so myself, was for one of the classic canon titles. We’d be struggling with this one for a while that afternoon as we couldn’t find the right landscape. I took out a pen and scrap of paper and drew a rough sketch of a stick figure, faced turned up and screaming with a cry of ‘the horror!’ I took tore off the excess paper and tucked the picture down my cleavage. ‘The Valley of Terror.’
The post-case dinner was, unfortunately not at Antonio’s as we would never have all fitted in there, held at the Baker Street Pizza Express. Which had Sherlock wallpaper in the loos. Did leave a few cards in there. The meal was spent with more discussions on the genius that is the fictional son of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and what we expected from series 3. Various theories were batted about, but a few people wanted me to elaborate on some of my plot bunnies. I will warn you all now, I will try to write fic, but what usually happens is I get bitten by the bunnies and they just dance around me taunting. The results of our efforts for the day were tallied up and announced at the end of the meal. Team Sherlock won, with Team Molly coming a close second with joyous shouts of ‘We count!’ There were tired sighs from our table at the knowledge Sherlock was going to be unbearable about this. Once the clamour had died down some at at the next table, I heaved a sign and said to the room at large, ‘Now brother dear, I do hope you aren’t going to let his go to your head and not gloat about this at this year’s Christmas dinner?’ The responses I got were much along the lines of ‘I do what I want, Mycroft!’
The bra did get pride of place once more at dinner, I Still being in battle dress and it won us an additional 3 points to our team total, for all the good it did but every little helps. Of course in order to earn these points, a few members of the room had to see it. I obliged once I was sure the waiters were out of range. There was the usual ruckus that follows when I flash a room and it is slightly disturbing to be able to say that I now recognise what is ‘usual’ in this situation, when one of the girls from Team Lestrade came over and asked if she could see it again. After getting a closer look at it she looked up at me and said, ‘Oh God, it’s you!’
After a little confusion on my part, she said she’d seen the bra on tumblr. Now I don’t have a tumblr account so the only thing I can think of what’s happened is that some one has ripped it from DeviantArt, where I put up a few photos from Milton Keynes. I don’t mind people copying it at all or using the image. I long for the day when I go to an event and there can be a line of us all flashing the same bra. And that photo has been favourite a few times on DeviantArt. But it was the apologetic look on her face that made me ask ‘where, excactly, did you see this?’
shittysherlockart
I blinked, sniffed and said, ‘Well, Louise Brealey thought it was good.’ There were some cocked heads and huh? expressions, and then a retelling of how I flashed Molly from Sherlock. I neglected to mention what she wrote in her signing, instead digging out the folder it was in and showing it to her. She laughted so hard she very nearly fell over, I’m not kidding.
As the night wore on, it became apparent that we needed to part if any of us were going to make it home safe. There was much distress at this and a lot of ‘I don’t want to go back to the Normal World’ feelings. Many email address, twitter accounts and LJ names were exchanged, I really need to see to those before I lose them, and people started to line up to pay for dinner. I spent a second or two wondering if I could travel back still dressed as Irene, then I decided no, it’s late, it’s Saturday and you’ve got to use the Tube to get back to South East London. Jeans it is.
Again, an awesome adventure. Thank you everyone one I met, thank you to the organisers and thank you to moralrelativist for getting me on this crazy train. Really wish you could have been there and I hope the zombies didn’t get you.