The scene where Holmes and Watson are travelling to France by steamship was quite significant for me personally, because that's the manner of transportation that I have Christine use in order to travel the other way in "Whisper" (the fic everyone hates, apparently). I attempted to do a bit of research into cross-channel travel in the 1880's for the purposes of said fic, and did manage to ascertain that steamships were in use, but nothing much beyond that.
In SH2 there was a wide shot of not only the steamship - verifying at least that my mental image of the deck was correct for the purposes of the fic - but the white cliffs of Dover, which is where I had Christine land (even though I didn't expressly mention it at such). Whilst obviously one can never take a film as historical fact, it suits my purposes, and I will therefore assume that the English Channel has always been the quickest route between England and France. :P
I also don't mention which train station Christine uses out of the four mainline train stations in Paris, as I didn't want to presume it was Gare du Nord out of geographical ignorance... Not that it matters especially, but one does get paranoid that there'll be an expert in the readership waiting to pounce.
Just to briefly return to the subject of the fic, it's now standing at five reviews on six chapters. The last came in on 9th January and commenced with the reviewer saying how shocked they were by the lack of reviews, which is at least somewhat reassuring me that it's not a boring, mindless pile of nothing. Unfortunately some of the review got cut off (either by FFN or by mail.com) but I can't check properly or respond until I'm back home because BCC's internet does not let me access FFN. Because fanfic is teH ebils, obviously.
If I seem slightly bitter about the story now, then I think the reason is self-explanatory. There's one chapter left to post, which I'll probably do tonight now I've remembered, and the epilogue is not finished, but I don't care. The story I was so proud of has become a proverbial rock around my neck; I will simply be glad to get rid of it. If people find it and like it, so be it; if not, fine. I am beyond giving a dren any more. My brain can throw all the crossovers and stupid ideas at me it likes; I won't be doing anything with them. I might finish the epilogue; I might finish "Sweet Intoxication", out of sheer bloody-minded determination; beyond that, nothing more.
Maybe I should rename the story "Salome", just for the irony...
I'm drawing a line under this now.
So, now I've got all the Sherlock Holmes insanity out of my system, I need to clear my brain to attempt to review The Artist tomorrow. I anticipate this will have the same fandom-relating effect except with Sunset Boulevard; silent films are to SB what the Palais Garnier is to POTO.
On that note, it is now lunchtime.