I wanna lose weight but I also like eating crap and lying down
troiancoolsario
this is probably one of the few confessions posts I would ever reblog because it’s so true
15 Reasons Why Monica Geller Is An Unappreciated Character
1: Fed all of her friends almost every day for ten years without complaining.
2: Excelled in a traditionally masculine career, (yes, cookery as a profession is generally male-dominated) and in traditionally masculine hobbies (football), without compromising her femininity or sexuality.
3: At the same time, revelled in traditionally female interests such as babies, marriage and housework without apologizing for them, or suggesting they made her inferior or weak.
4: Overcame teenage obesity.
5: Grew up in an emotionally abusive home, with a mother who subjected her to relentless criticism and verbal mistreatment….But still emerged with a sense of her own self-worth, determination to fulfil her dreams and huge capacity to care for others.
6: Stayed friends with her brother who bullied her as a child, and contributed to said-emotionally abusive home. Didn’t blame him for her mistreatment or show resentment towards him.
7: Took former best friend – who abandoned and rejected her for a ‘high society’ life – into her home without question.
8: Prior to this, accepted a woman who had previously lived on the streets, as her roommate and welcomed her into her group of friends.
9: Went through unemployment and shitty jobs, but refused to take unfair advantages she hadn’t earned (i.e. Pete buying her a restaurant). Eventually gained a prestigious head chef position based entirely on her own merit.
10: Walked away from the man she thought was the love of her life, because she wanted children and he’d only have them to make her happy. Even though that option would have been 100 times less painful for Monica, she knew that wasn’t fair on him and refused.
11: After marrying the actual love of her life, she waited until Chandler was ready to have kids, because she knew about his fears of raising children. When they discovered virtually the only option for children was sperm donor-ship (so they’d be her kids but not his), she refused and insisted on adoption.
12: Was also the one-woman cheerleading team for the aforementioned love of her life, in telling him he could be the amazing boyfriend, husband and father that he never saw in himself. Was proved 100% right.
13: Resisted her control-freak coping mechanisms to give Chandler the power of making the big decisions about their future, (saying ‘I Love you’, moving in together, marriage), so he could work through his commitment phobia. Again, proved it was 100% worth it.
14: Encouraged her husband to quit a job he hated, then supported him – financially and emotionally –through his subsequent unemployment and helped him find his dream career.
15: Never, ever fucking gives up on anything or anyone.
You will find your happiness tonight
John is crying and the sound of it shakes Sherlock to the core. Broken sobs. Uncontrolled, loud and desperate. John is crying and Sherlock holds him. Still unsure, still full of fear, John might push him away at any moment. But John doesn’t push him away.
“It is what it is,” Sherlock says softly into John’s hair. And closes his eyes.
It is what it is …
At some point, the sobbing ceases. John looks up and wipes his eyes. He turns away, and Sherlock lets him out of the embrace.
Immediately, he misses John’s warmth, and he is standing there, watching John stumble into the kitchen, tearing a piece from the kitchen roll on the table. He rubs it violently over his wet eyes.
It’s too quiet in the apartment. There is a strange tension in the air between them. Sherlock is nervous. He fumbles with a loose thread, which he has torn from his dressing gown.
Then John turns and looks at him. John’s eyes are red and still moist. His face is pale and tense. Sherlock swallows. Again, the quiet fear creeps up in him.
He will say it now … He will say …
“Thank you, Sherlock,” John says seriously.
Sherlock looks at him in astonishment.
“Thank you,” says John again.
They look at each other in silence. It is not an unpleasant silence.
At some point, John says, "Are you hungry? I could eat a horse right now.” Sherlock nods. “I’m starving.”
John laughs briefly.
*
They order Chinese noodles, spring rolls and fortune cookies. When John opens his, he reads it and one of his eyebrows twitches up. He puts the piece of paper aside.
“What’s in yours?” Sherlock asks, moderately interested. His own tells him, “You’ll find the adventure, or the adventure finds you.” He’s pretty sure the cookie is at least 7 years too late.
John pushes the paper towards him.
“You will find your happiness tonight. Keep your eyes open.” Sherlock swallows. “Nice saying,” he says casually.
John nods with his head down. He does not eat the biscuit. In the end, Sherlock eats it. It has a bitter taste.
*
“I’ll go to sleep. Rosie is at Molly’s. She says it’s okay … ” “Ok.” “Do I need … something?” “No. Your room is unchanged. I think Mrs. Hudson dusted in there once. But everything is like … before. ” “Great. Well … good night then. ” “Good night, John.”
*
In the middle of the night, Sherlock is awakened by a scream. John … Sherlock gets out of bed and staggers up the stairs.
John is sitting upright in bed. Sherlock can hear him breathing. Heavy and hectic. He feels for the light. Flips it. They both blink at the sudden brightness.
“John,” says Sherlock, worried. “Is everything ok?”
John looks at him, confused, and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “I … I’ve been dreaming. Never … I’ve never had these nightmares here. Why now …” His voice breaks. He seems close to crying again. “That’s pathetic,” he mutters.
Sherlock shakes his head. “It’s not. That … it was a hard time and … you have to process it.”
John looks at him and smiles. “You’re not really a sociopath, are you?”
Sherlock blinks with confusion written on his face.
John sighs and stands up. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he mumbles. Sherlock steps to the side to let him through. John walks towards the bathroom, and Sherlock stays in the doorway. Confused and sleepy. When John returns, he goes back to bed without a word. He lies down on his back. His arms behind his head.
Sherlock clears his throat. “I’ll … go again then. Good night.” He turns around, and takes a step. Then he hears John say softly, “Stay here.”
Sherlock freezes. “What?” He asks unintentionally.
“Stay here,” says John again. A bit louder this time. And then, “please.“
Sherlock swallows. He turns to John. John, who is lying in bed and looking serious. It’s no joke … He’s serious. "Okay,” says Sherlock. And John smiles.
*
“Sherlock. Sherlock! Breathe slower. You sound like you’re going to have a heart attack!” “I apologize. I …” “Have you never shared a bed with someone before?” “No. No, I, are you sure I should stay here … I could sleep on the floor … ” “Sherlock! Sorry, that was too loud. Sherlock, I want you here, ok?” “Yes. Okay, yes. ” …
“I’m an idiot.” “No, John. You’re not.” “But. I … I hurt you. Really hurt. I’m the biggest asshole you can imagine … ” “No.” “I’m sorry.” “I know.” “For real.” “I know.”
…
“Sherlock?” “Yes?” “Where are the scars on your back from?” “I … how do you know about them? How?!” “Hey, hey, please stay here. Stay … I’ve seen them in the hospital. I was there when the doctor treated your ribs. I’m sorry. You do not have to talk about it, I … ” “Serbia.” “Serbia?” “My last mission before I could return was in Serbia. At that time. When I … was dead. ” “Oh.” “I was caught. They tortured me. ” “Oh, God, Sherlock!” “Mycroft got me out eventually. I thought … I thought I was going to die there. And that … I’d never see you again. That was worse than the punches. ” “Oh my God … I threw you to the ground. In the restaurant … ” “It’s okay, John. You didn’t know …” “It’s not okay. God.” …
“Are you crying?” “No … no, I … I’m not crying.” “It’s okay. Let it out, Sherlock. Let it out. Sometimes … you have to. Come here. Just come here. Let me … here, that’s it. Let it out …”
*
The sun rises and John kisses him.
It’s a brief kiss on the lips. Careful. A touch of warmth.
At first Sherlock thinks, it’s a dream. But then John kisses him again. This time longer. Firm. More certain.
Sherlock’s heart is racing. His breath escapes trembling.
John stares at him and for a moment he looks like he’s about to apologize.
“Don’t,” Sherlock whispers, before he can say anything and kisses him back.
John chokes out a sound which resembles a sob, as their lips meet. Suddenly, Sherlock has John’s hand in his hair, and it is so beautiful that tears rise into his eyes.
They seem to kiss for an eternity.
As they seperate, a bit breathless, they look into each other’s eyes.
John speaks first. “The fortune cookie,” he breathes out and smiles.
Sherlock laughs briefly and a bit choked. “The fortune cookie.”
Corrected by @bakerstreet-irregular <3
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‘“A real ‘ead scratcher. It’s that Mister Gatiss, sir. Vanished, ‘e ‘as. Right up ‘is own arse.‘
Give Martin all the awards, he blew me away this episode…
Anyone But You
Warning: Please don’t read this if you want to avoid spoilers!
Anyone but you
The words resound in his head again and again.
Anyone. Anyone but you.
He didn’t read the note Molly gave him. It’s lying on the kitchen table. Just a piece of paper. Seemingly harmless. But Sherlock can’t read it. He can’t.
He’s lying there on his back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a dog barks. Once. Twice. Then it’s silent again.
Sherlock studies one of the many cracks in the ceiling. It has the shape of a crescent.
Eventually, Mrs. Hudson enters the flat. “Oh Sherlock,” she says, reproachful. “You didn’t drink your tea again. It’s gone cold. And when will you move. It’s been three days since you were outside, darling!”
Sherlock doesn’t answer her. He wishes he was deaf. Deaf and dumb. Then no one would expect any answers from him, and would not ask him any more questions … He has no more answers to their questions. He wants to disappear and leave nothing behind.
A fly is crawling leisurely over the crack in the ceiling he’s still staring at.
Mrs. Hudson stands there for a short while. He can hear her breathing. Too loud. Eventually, she sighs and goes away.
The fly breaks loose from the wall, and flies to the fruit bowl, where no fruit has been lying since John moved out. It settles down on the edge, and begins to clean itself. Sherlock closes his eyes. The light is too bright.
Somewhere, a door closes with a loud bang.
Sherlock lays motionless on the couch, breathing in the silence, imagining that he would dissolve in that silence. Completely and eternally. A wonderful thought …
The fly strikes its head in a stubborn staccato against the windowpane. At some point it falls on the window-sill and no longer moves.
*
Sherlock clasps both hands in his hair and pulls. Firmly. The pain makes him gasp, and yet, yet it is not enough, it is not enough to distract him from his thoughts, from the words he can still hear in his head.
You made a vow Anyone but you You made a vow He said Anyone but you He walks up and down like a tiger in a cage. Always the same way. Over the coffee table, onto the couch, back down, to the door, back to the coffee table …
It’s getting dark outside.
Somewhere someone laughs loudly and Sherlock screams. He grabs one of his chemistry books and throws it with full force against the wall. “Shut up, damnit!” He yells into the nothingness and only receives his echo back. “SHUT UP!” He breathes heavily.
Anyone but you
Sherlock growls, and kicks the wall with his bare foot. It hurts. Good. He does it again, this time with his right fist. And again. And again. Until he can’t anymore. Out of breath he sinks to the ground and stares into the empty space. “John,” he whispers hoarsely.
John …
*
Deep in the night, when he’s both high and drunk, he reads John’s note.
*
Mycroft comes to the flat a few days later. Driven by a bad feeling.
His feeling is confirmed when he opens the door to the apartment, and inhales a mixture of sharp smells that could have told their very own story if they were able to speak. Human sweat mixed with the aroma of alcohol and fermented vegetables. Mycroft sighs deeply and runs a cautious parcour around fragmented glass, clothes, food, and empty bottles. He breathes through his mouth.
He finds Sherlock in his bed. In his dressing gown. Lying on his back, eyes closed. Rigid face. Mycroft shakes his head disapprovingly. He just needs a look to know that Sherlock is high. “What did you take?” He asks impatiently, not seeing a note lying anywhere. No Answer. “Sherlock,” Mycroft says more emphatically.
“Go away.” It’s only a whisper. Barely audible. Muffled through the pillow.
“No, little brother. I want to know what you’ve taken.”
“It’s none of your business. Leave me alone.”
“Sherlock. You should take a look in the mirror. When was the last time you’ve washed yourself, for God’s sake?” Mycroft asks, and his right hand clenches into a fist. “And your flat looks like a dump. Apparently not even Mrs. Hudson dares to come in here anymore. This can’t go on. There are things to do!”
He hears Sherlock snorting. “Things to do. Well. Then go and do them by yourself.”
“Don’t you care about John Watson’s protection?” Mycroft asks, and sees how Sherlock flinches. But he doesn’t answer. Mycroft sighs. “John Watson could be in danger, brother mine. I really don’t believe you don’t care about that.”
Suddenly, he hears a muffled sob. Mycroft freezes. This isn’t, what he expected.
“Sherlock,” he asks, frowning.
His brother begins to tremble. The sobs become louder. And then Sherlock whispers, “He hates me, Mycroft. He doesn’t want me in his life anymore. He wants me to stay away.”
“Sherlock, he just saw his wife die,” Mycroft says with all the calmness he can apply. “He needs a bit of time for himself. Things will become clearer after some time …”
“No!” Sherlock screams and finally looks at Mycroft, with his face full of tears and his eyes full of despair. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t want me! He …” Sherlock can’t speak further. He buries his head in the pillow again, and cries.
Mycroft stands there in the room, and doesn’t really know what he should do. After some seconds, he makes a decision.
“You will come with me,” he says quietly. “You will stay at my house, until we have sorted this out. I can’t leave you here alone, Sherlock.”
Sherlock doesn’t even react to his words. He continues to choke out broken sobs. They hurt Mycroft somewhere deep in his chest. He sighs, and takes out his phone to call Anthea with the car.
He walks out of Sherlock’s room to pack a few things for his brother.
Suddenly, he sees the piece of paper, which lies on the couch. He takes it, in the belief it could be a list of the drugs Sherlock has taken. It isn’t. On the paper there is two sentences written in John Watson’s handwriting.
“Never try to contact me or to visit me. You will regret it, I swear.”
Mycroft stares at the letters, and swallows.
“Oh Sherlock,” he whispers. He puts the note into his coat pocket.
I have to do something about this …
Corrected by @bakerstreet-irregular, thanks ^^ <3
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Oh fuck. I just cried an ocean.
Shoutout to the people who still create/reblog Merlin stuff.
I love you so much.
I totally had to do this manip *need a deep breath* WELCOME JOHNLOCK !!!!
The aesthetic on this is so fucking on point but what box is john standing on lol
mary’s coffin?
beejohnlocked
Oh my god
It got better oh my god
I should not have laughed at this
Happy 163rd Birthday, Sherlock Holmes!
Born: 6th January 1854.
I wanna see a birthday celebration on the show. Probably won't get one this season. But maybe next season. Molly and Mrs Hudson and John through Sherlock a birthday party. I think it would be cool.
At the cinema to see Moana and there's a group of girls behind me talking about Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts. I'm doing everything I can to not but in to the convo and tell them everything that's wrong with what they are saying. 😂
usernameeeeeeeeeeeeeer-deactiva
shout out for poor, hurting, haggard and exhausted molly who did not give birth to this baby but is looking after it and sort of wasn’t really friends with john but is looking after him and who is also having to tell her ACTUAL friend who she cares for very deeply, Sherlock Holmes, that the man he loves doesn’t want to have to look at him ever again
