sunken-standard:

I wish I had it in me to write right now, because the Misfit!lock universe has so much potential.  (See this post)

Sherlock the swot, whose crazy sister was never actually crazy, just super smart and nerdy and outshone him at every turn.  Never even so much as smoked a cigarette and had exactly one pint of cider his first day of uni, which made him violently ill.

Molly, who lost her optimism and cheerfulness because the hits just kept on coming after her dad got sick.  The booze was there when she just needed to get away from everything else; the fags were a bad idea, but they kept her upright when she was days without food and couldn’t handle the thought of eating because it would mean she was losing control.

John, who thought about joining the army to become a doctor but took out loans instead; he settled on plastic surgery because there was still money to be made in private practice, despite all the patients that flocked to Eastern Europe for new noses and chin implants.  Sure, he spends most of his days sucking the fat out of hedgefund managers’ wives’ asses and injecting it into their lips instead, but he spends three weeks every year with Operation Smile because he needs to feel like he’s doing at least some good for the world.

Mary Morstan, who was born alive to two loving, middle class parents and got decent marks in school and decided nursing was her calling; she never liked her hair because it was the kind of white-blonde that looked like it came from a bottle, so she started dyeing it to make herself appear more mature, serious.  Another round of NHS cuts meant she was out of a job when the care home shut its doors; she didn’t know a lot about plastic surgery, but she did know all about paperwork and ticking boxes.  The affair with one of the partners of the surgery wasn’t something she planned on, it just sort of happened.

Janine, whose handbag got stolen on her way to her interview for an internship at that giant media company; she found out just how useful a journalism degree is and gets by writing topical content for websites that exist solely to sell ads.

Kitty, who learned the same lesson as Janine, but did manage to land in the corporate sector, just not how she ever expected.  Turned out if you understood the fine art of bullshit and using a lot of words without saying much of anything, you could become a department head. 

Moriarty, who got laughed at by Carl Powers, but then happened to see him outside school getting yelled at by his dad for growing out of another pair of goddamn trousers, fucking useless twat with no respect for how hard I work to put food on the table, see how well you and your useless mother would get on without me and decided maybe he hated the wrong person.  Turned out Carl and his Mum were better off, after all.  Then a chance encounter with magic mushrooms at the age of 14 led him to search for the outer limits of human perception; he met Seb at a rave and he needed a flatmate and hey, he got him his job in IT, so.

Mycroft, who didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders from the age of 13 and was actually able to rebel like a normal kid.  He went to uni and made the right friends and still runs the British government, but he smiles sometimes.

Mrs. Hudson, who moved from Miami to Las Vegas when Frank got nicked; she started in the burlesques and worked her way up to the big shows.  By the 80s she’d aged out of the ostrich feather headdresses and sequined bodysuits, but there were always other stages.  Community theater didn’t pay, but she didn’t need the money anyway; the housing boom in the 90s meant all that useless scrubland she’d bought for a song put her into a tax bracket two zeroes higher than Frank’s during the height of his “import” business.

Anderson, who became obsessed with history, not science, when he was 12, and has dedicated his life to getting Ronald Hutton banned from the BBC.  He spends most weekends volunteering at different living history museums.  It’s also how he met

Sally, who wanted to be a cop, but got scouted for a modeling gig at age 15, which led to an appreciation for costuming, which just kind of snowballed into a graduate degree and a string of jobs for theatre and TV and then eventually curation and restoration of historic textiles.

Greg, …well, this is how I picture him like 20 years ago anyway, so there’s not much different about him.

(and I know there’s a version with Irene in the post, but I’ll be fucked if I’m going to find it, so we’ll just say she starts an organic goat farm somewhere in the West Country with Kate and they have dogs and a popular Instagram full of pictures of twigs and moss and them holding hands and looking beautiful in wellies and eiderdown vests)