The Long Goodbye

When we think of farewell scenes in BBC Sherlock, two things come to mind: The Roof and The Tarmac. Both times it is Sherlock who is going away, leaving John behind. The fall’s echoes resonate throughout the show. 

However, there is another pattern as well - John going away and leaving Sherlock behind, even rejecting him. In every single episode after Sherlock’s return this theme is explored, either in the reality of the show or in Sherlock’s mind (no matter what you think happens in EMP and what does not). 


For me this has always been one of the saddest scenes in the show. In spite of the violence preceding this moment, John talked at least to Sherlock. After the head butt, however, he drives off with Mary, leaving Sherlock behind, injured and alone. 

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Pairing: Sherlock x psychic!Shy!Reader. Could be platonic if you want.

Warnings: Sherlock being nice, the reader is pretty much mute. And I wrote this a really long time ago so….

Summary: What happens when Sherlock’s shy working buddy does something unexpected?

Originally posted by sherlockspeare

“Stop,” Y/N said softly to Sherlock as they walked down the pavement. Sherlock brought his walking to a stop, and watched as the soccer ball on of the kids had thrown flew past his face. He looked back at her and smiled. She blushed and looked down quickly.

Y/N was very special; she was psychic. She always knew if something was going to happen, so she was a great addition to the team. But, there was one problem; Y/N was very very shy. Almost mute. The only person she really talked to was Sherlock, and even that she had trouble with. And she didn’t really speak if she was in a big room with lots of people moving around hectically.

Sherlock tried very hard not to be a jerk with her, but it was hard for him.

“Alright, here we are,” Sherlock looked down at her and smiled.

Rather than knocking on the door, she waited for a couple of moments, then the door flung open. Y/N didn’t flinch, until she saw him looking at her, then she shook slightly and looked down.

She backed up until she was behind Sherlock. He stepped to the side slightly so she was completely hidden behind him. She smiled to herself, relieved.

“Hello Sherlock.” Greg greeted at the door. “Y/N,” He said as she walked in, following Sherlock.

She watched as Sherlock examined a body laying on the floor. “Sherlock,” She whispered, tapping his shoulder, “Anderson.” She said louder.

Sherlock turned around and surely enough, just seconds after she had suggested, Anderson walked into the room.Sherlock rolled his eyes at Anderson.

“Well, who’s this?’ He asked, walking toward Y/N.
Y/N found herself being incapable of speech, so she turned and tugged on Sherlock’s coat.
"Alright. Anderson, this is Y/N.” Although Y/N knew all about Anderson, she had actually never met him before.

She knew what was about to happen, but she was so nervous, she couldn’t speak. She looked up at Sherlock’s eyes then motioned over to a vase on the top of a shelf.
Sherlock knew exactly what she was taking about, but he just shrugged. If a vase was going to fall on Anderson’s head, he was not going to prevent it.

“What are you?- Ow!” He gripped his head in pain. Sherlock shrugged again, and lead you into the other room.

“I think maybe, the uncle was the murderer,” She said so quietly Sherlock had to Lean in to even get a hint of what she was saying.
She had been trying to reach Sherlock’s earshot, so she had missed it when John walked into the room.

“The uncle?” He asked. She jumped back and grabbed Sherlock’s arm.

“Oh.” She blushed, trying to smile at him.

John smiled sweetly down and her, “Morning,” He greeted. She smiled shyly and took sudden interest in Sherlock’s arm.

All was going fine until Y/N realized what was about to happen. She was trying desperately to get Sherlock’s attention, but he was too engaged in his conversation with John to notice anything.

She watched as a stylish Sports car pulled up out in front of the building, and decided to handle it herself.

She tapped her foot on the ground outside the car and waited for the guest to get out. She watched in disgust as he spit his gum into his hand.

“Ah, Y/N, how are we today?”

She didn’t say anything until he was completely out of the car. Well, she still didn’t say anything.

“Y/N!” She heard Sherlock call as he ran outside. He didn’t want her to be associated with people like Moriarty. He was about to grab her and take her back inside, but before he had time she brought her fist back behind her head, and threw it forward on Moriarty’s face.

Sherlock’s eyes almost completely bugged out of his head.

Y/N was undoubtedly, the Kindest, sweetest, shyest and quietest person he had ever met, and he was not expecting that.

He was even more shocked when he saw Moriarty’s nose, which was now decorated with crimson blood. When Y/N saw Sherlock’s face she blushed and looked down again, returning to her normal self.

John had now joined the audience, and was just as shocked as Sherlock was.
Sherlock smirked down at her quickly before going over to Moriarty.

“Alrighty then,” John held Y/N’s shoulders lightly and led her back inside.



@ 8181pjh

It is what it is - The Johnlock Hug™

A/N: Soooo basically after the end of season 4 that went wrong, I decided to write how I wanted this scene to unfold and pretty much this… happened. If you don’t remember what happened and you need a reminder, here is the clip of The Hug™ that will remain into history. 

I have also uploaded it to AO3 for anyone who prefers to read from this site. 

You are welcomed to leave any comments and reblog/like if you enjoyed it. I have read it again after 6 months since I first written it and I got the feels! Happy reading! xx

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HE’S LIKE “you’d still have a future with mary AND NOT WITH ME






chanolay  asked:

balletlock sore after a string of practices for an upcoming performance (omg i'm not sure if this is correct?) so he needs to take a full ice bath and it's not like he hasn't done it before but this time John is there with him, because John helped get him home, and he watches sherlock bite his lip as he submerges himself. John gets that it's necessary but he decides to strip his clothes off and climb in too, suffering through the cold so that he can get in behind sherlock (1/2)

And kiss his shoulders, the back of his neck, the first notch of his spine. Sherlock sits there feeling more whole and warm than he ever has before. (2/2)


dragonsbain  asked:

Sherlock and small of the back? (All the obvious parts have been taken.) :)

“I’m still not sure what to do at the end. It feels weird to just… stop,” John says as they break apart.

“You could dip her,” Sherlock offers against his better judgment. He knows he should just let it go–let him go–but here’s a chance to keep John in his grasp a little longer and he’s going to seize it if John will let him. John has been a better student than Sherlock expected, picking up on the steps with ease, his proficiency coming far more quickly than Sherlock would like. They won’t have an excuse to keep practicing soon, which means Sherlock will never again get to take John’s hand in his or feel the gentle, guiding pressure of John’s grip on his waist. But this, this will give them something else to practice, something to prolong Sherlock’s time in John’s arms.

“I’m not that good. Isn’t that getting a bit too complicated?”

“Not at all. I’ll teach you.” He steps forward again and extends his arms, waiting for John to take his place. When John’s soft palm slips into his hand, Sherlock has to force himself not to sigh in relief. John’s other hand goes to Sherlock’s waist as Sherlock’s goes to John’s shoulder, and he can feel the quiet energy flowing through them where their bodies are connected, as if together like this they make a completed circuit. He wonders what it would be like if that connection were more intimate. How electrifying would it feel if it were more than just hands touching–if it were lips and chests and thighs and more? He has to force himself to take a cleansing breath, to push the thoughts from his mind, before he can meet John’s gaze, terrified that he might see the images flashing behind Sherlock’s eyes. “Ready?” he asks, as steadily as he can manage.

John nods, so Sherlock begins to explain the mechanics of the dip. “The key is for you to stay standing as straight up and down as possible. If you lean over, you’re more likely to drop m- her or for both of you to fall.”

“Well that would be embarrassing,” John chuckles.

“Quite,” Sherlock replies with a quick, tight-lipped smile. John squeezes his hand, and it takes Sherlock a second to remember what he was talking about. “Right. So. You’ll let go of her hand,” he says, and John releases his grip. “And place your hand between her shoulders instead as she leans back. You can slide your other hand farther around to the back if needed for support.” John brings his free hand around to place it between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, the position slightly awkward with their height difference, and splays the fingers of his other hand across Sherlock’s lower back. The change in hand placement brings their bodies closer together, and Sherlock forgets everything that isn’t this contact, this moment. Only when John looks up at him expectantly does he finally remember to respond. “Um… Good,” he says, swallowing down the desire swelling inside of him. “Now, um, now bring your leg forward to widen your stance, and bend your knee. And remember, don’t lean over.”

John does as instructed, and Sherlock allows himself to lean back into the dip, trusting that John will keep hold of him. John doesn’t dip him far, just enough to test out the concept, before he pulls Sherlock back to his feet. “Ok. I think I’ve got it. Should we try it with music?”

Sherlock nods and turns toward the mp3 player, grateful for a moment to escape John’s gaze while he marshals his thoughts and steadies his breath. He starts the waltz over and resumes his place within John’s arms. John leads them around the sitting room in time with the gentle one, two, three, one, two, three of the piece Sherlock has composed specifically for the wedding–specifically for John. Sherlock had poured his thoughts and feelings into it, letting his sentiment flow through each note, allowing it to become a love letter of sorts, a statement of the things he’s never said and now never will. The resulting sound is bittersweet, speaking of love and longing, of laughter and sorrow, of Sherlock’s desire for John’s happiness and his selfish yearning to keep John to himself. The music reflects Sherlock’s warring emotions better than he could ever possibly put into words. It is perhaps an inappropriate choice of composition for John’s wedding, but when has Sherlock ever really cared about impropriety? This will be his only chance to show John a glimpse of how he feels, even if John won’t see it as such, and he’s going to take the opportunity to let his composition speak for him as best it can.

“Sherlock,” John says, the name a hesitant question on his tongue, as they continue to dance around the room. Sherlock pulls himself out of his head and meets John’s gaze. When their eyes lock, he feels that familiar warmth begin to spread. It burns through him, the heat of his desire, of their unspoken connection, scorching through his veins, setting fire to his fingers and his toes and every solitary cell in between, smoldering beneath his skin until his entire body is ablaze. He can feel himself melting under the flames, all the essential bits of him breaking down, dripping from his bones thick and sweet like honey.

Neither of them looks away as they waltz on, the connection only growing stronger as they allow themselves to breathe life into it. This is what it could be like, Sherlock thinks. If John were his, this fire between them would be allowed to catch and thrive, to burn hot and bright as they allowed it to consume them. If John were his, he would spend his days stoking the flames rather than extinguishing them, adding fuel to keep the inferno inside them roaring rather than raking across dying embers. If John were his, they could waltz whenever they wanted, with no worries about open curtains or Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps on their stairs. If John were his, Sherlock would bend his head and close the distance between their lips, letting them speak their desires in the twining of tongues and the sharing of breath. If John were his.

The end of the song sneaks up on him, and Sherlock’s breath catches in his throat as in one smooth motion John moves his hands to their proper places between Sherlock’s shoulders and on the small of his back, and takes a wide step forward. Sherlock falls back in John’s arms in a deep dip, tethered to the man he loves by the small, steady hands on his back and the power of their eyes on one another. The air between them shimmers with heat, and Sherlock lets himself believe for just a moment that this could be possible. John’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips, his eyes darting to Sherlock’s mouth and back, as if asking for permission. Unable to bring himself to speak, to break the potential of this moment, Sherlock responds in kind, flicking his gaze to John’s lips and back up to meet his sapphire eyes, hoping his yes is clear enough. When John starts to bend his head, his mouth inching closer, Sherlock lets his eyes flutter closed. He can feel the small, quick puffs of John’s breath warm and moist across his lips.

A loud buzz rattles from the coffee table, distracting John, throwing them off balance, and sending them both crashing to the floor. Sherlock lands flat on his back, his head hitting the wooden floor with a loud thump. John’s knee smashes into the ground, but he manages to get his arms out in front of him in time to keep himself from face-planting. He groans as he sits back on his heels, offering Sherlock a hand and pulling him up so that he’s at least sitting rather than sprawled on the floor. “You okay?” he asks. Without waiting for a response, he slides his fingers into Sherlock’s hair, fingertips probing gently at the tender flesh at the back of his head. Sherlock winces, and John mumbles, “Sorry,” pulling his hands back a bit but leaving his fingers still twined in Sherlock’s curls. John’s concerned eyes catch his, and even through the pain, Sherlock can feel the soft smolder starting to spread again. A thumb sweeps up and down against his left temple, and he leans into the gesture, letting John’s touch soothe him. It would still be so easy to close the distance between them. It had seemed for a moment that they could. Perhaps they still can.

Sherlock inches forward, watching John’s face for any sign that he should stop and seeing none. Instead he sees encouragement in those hungry eyes and desperate lips, feels it in the way John’s fingers tighten in his curls. He sees want and need and maybe something more, allowing himself to hope that maybe he isn’t alone in wanting this after all. But he needs to be sure. He has to know for certain that John wants this, too. He pauses, their lips nearly brushing, and breathes, “Can I?”

John’s lips part to respond, but his mobile buzzes again, clattering loudly against the table. Sherlock pulls back as John closes his eyes and sighs. He untangles his hands from Sherlock’s hair, reluctantly leaning over to pluck the phone from the table. He reads the message, a crease forming on his forehead, and taps out a quick response, sighing again as he stuffs the phone into his pocket. “I have to go,” he says, standing and sticking out a hand toward Sherlock. Sherlock ignores it and pushes himself to his feet, trying to tamp down the bitter disappointment welling up inside of him. He’s annoyed at Mary for interrupting, annoyed at John for letting her, annoyed at himself for hoping that this could have turned into something more. John’s getting married. He’s made his decision. It isn’t Sherlock that he really wants, and it never will be. And Sherlock has to start accepting that.

He turns and walks to the window when John reaches for his coat. He knows he has to let John go, but he can’t watch John leave. He can’t. From behind him, Sherlock can hear John slip on his coat and pull open the door, his footsteps hesitating before he swivels back around. “Sherlock, I…”

Sherlock turns to face him. John is standing in the doorway, looking torn. As much as Sherlock wants to tell him to stay, to beg him if he has to, he knows it isn’t what’s best for John. This is a fantasy. Everything Sherlock wants, everything he allows himself to imagine John could want–it isn’t real. And more importantly, it isn’t what will make John happy. “Go home, John,” he says softly. “You wouldn’t want to keep Mary waiting.” The set of John’s jaw tells Sherlock that he’s warring with himself, trying to decide if he should say what he started to say or if he should just leave. He watches Sherlock, looking for some kind of sign perhaps, something to make the decision for him. Sherlock gives him none, though inside he’s breaking, this fantasy shattering into tiny pieces along with his fragile heart.

Eventually John gives him a sharp nod, and before he can step toward the door again, Sherlock turns back to the window, struggling to maintain his composure as everything crumbles around him. The door snaps closed, and he manages to hold back until he hears John’s feet hit the entryway floor. Unable to stand it any longer, Sherlock throws himself onto the sofa, curling in on himself and letting the tears fall. They run hot and fast down his face, and though he tries to stay silent, a sob breaks through, heavy and harsh as it’s wrenched from his throat, his body trembling with the failing effort to keep in the others threatening to escape. He cries hard and loud, his disappointment and longing and self-loathing and need all pouring from him with every tear. His own pain becomes his sole focus, so he never hears the sound of hurried footsteps on stairs, the click of a door opening, that familiar tread crossing the distance between them. He barely registers the way the sofa dips behind him as someone sits or the gentle pressure of a hip grazing against the small of his back. All he hears and feels and knows is John–John left, John doesn’t want him, John is getting married, John, John, John. Until a voice that sounds as broken as he feels breathes, “Sherlock.”

Why the estrangement needs to be real

I have seen many theories which suggest that Sherlock and John are in cahoots, working against Mary and pretending to be estranged, or others that hint that Sherlock and John are already romantically involved. Both of these theories have crossed my mind, mainly because of the obfuscation of important johnlock scenes (such as deciding to track the memory stick or the six months in HLV). But in any case, I don’t think Moftiss would go that route because it would rob the audience of the chance to see them getting together and going through character development in order to reach this ‘’moment of revelation’’. Going through so much suffering, pain and suppression only to later find out that we just haven’t been privy to their romantic moments is frankly a bit like cheating. There are still some steps that they both have to go through as characters before becoming boyfriends:

  • Sherlock has now realized how much he loves John and that he can defeat his own fears and weaknesses if he lets himself trust John instead of pushing him away. It’s always the two of them. This was brilliantly depicted in TAB, however we also need to see it unravel in reality. Additionally, he needs to realize that John loves him for what he really is, not the cold, emotionless facade he puts on as an armour. Sherlock unfortunately still fears that John is intrigued solely by the mystery, adventure and cleverness he provides in his life. He must realize that he is gravely mistaken, which will in turn allow him to confess his feelings, be loved and also start loving himself.

  • John on the other hand is a few steps behind Sherlock. He also knows how much he loves Sherlock yet he keeps suppressing his feelings because of the shitty situation he has found himself trapped in. Whether he has a plan against Mary or not, he really struggles with feelings of guilt. We tend to forget that, but John feels miserable and EXTREMELY guilty for many events that he shouldn’t blame himself for: Sherlock’s fall, Sherlock relapsing in HLV, Sherlock being shot by Mary, marrying said psychopath instead of ‘’noticing’’ her lies, Sherlock shooting Magnussen for their sakes, Sherlock taking drugs on the tarmac. Seriously, this is an exhaustive list. And that’s not all of it. He also worries that Sherlock regards him as just a friend who may stop having function in his life soon. Hence the passive-aggressive gesture of substituting himself with a balloon. He fears that whether he is there or not it makes little difference to Sherlock, both practically and emotionally. John is frightened of being abandoned by Sherlock. He KNOWS Sherlock loves him but he can’t help but doubt this after all the lies and games. He wants to know Sherlock is in love with him, but he is also frightened of it. He wants to look away because if he lets go, if he really lets himself believe that, then there is no return. He has been suppressing his feelings for so long that he couldn’t handle such a disappointment.

This summary of their thoughts and emotions really denotes that they should get over these obstacles anf then get together ON-SCREEN. If this is not the case, then we are deprived of all these resolutions, of seeing them getting over their insecurities and fears after all those years. Which brings me to my point: The estrangement needs to be real for this exact reason. This miscommunication between them has caused so much hurt and misunderstandings that their relationship needs to break in order to build again, stronger. They need to willingly choose, trust and support each other through these difficult times. This can only happen through the emotional development which this estrangement provides. Having Sherlock possibly relapsing to drugs, being lonely and sad without John in his life, and then having John crying without Sherlock, is something painful but it forces them to accept and openly recognize their feelings. But in order to achieve that, they need to go through hell. We have seen some pretty sad and painful scenes from TLD which must later be resolved. Imagine how anticlimactic  and disappointing it would be to witness development for the both of them only to have Moftiss say in the end ‘’ha ha, we got you, they were in cahoots the whole time! They just pretended to be estranged!’’. That would erase all of these emotional situations and resolutions that have been silently piling up since s1.

torchwood221b submitted:

Valentines Day

When John woke up on valentines day he was pleased to see that Sherlock had left him a note saying that he would be at Bart’s until sometime that afternoon. His lover’s absence meant that he could decorate the flat and put out Sherlock’s valentines day gift without him knowing about it. John didn’t go overboard on decorations he merely put up a banner that read Happy Valentines Day, a handful of heart shaped decorations and a pair of cuspids which had come with the hearts.

As far as Sherlock’s gift was concerned John opted for a card and food in the form of chocolate covered strawberries and an extra large box of their favorite chocolates. Given that it was valentines day he had also ordered a bouquet of flowers and now that the decorating was done he headed out to go pick them up.

Upon returning to the flat he broke up the large bouquet into two smaller ones keeping a single red rose for 221b. When he was finished arranging the smaller bouquets he brought one down to Mrs. Hudson and took a cab to Bart’s to leave the second one on Molly’s desk unsigned and hopefully unseen by Sherlock. John missed getting caught red handed by only a few minutes and quickly headed back out before he actually did get caught.

Sherlock made it home around four and didn’t even notice the valentines decorations until John presented him with his gifts.

“Happy valentines day Sherlock” John told him. Apparently the consulting detective had deleted valentines day from his mind palace because he looked at John puzzled.

“Thank you John,” Sherlock said remembering his manners but following that up with a question; “what’s valentines day?”

Sherlock watched as anger briefly flashed across John’s face only to be replaced by disappointment.

“We talked about this didn’t we?” Sherlock said disappointed in himself for obviously disappointing John.

“Yeah we did,” John replied shrugging, “it’s ok, it’s not important. Open your gift.”

Sherlock refused placing the gift on the table before getting up and putting on his coat.

“I’ll be back,” Sherlock told him ignoring John who was telling him he didn’t have to get him anything and that it really wasn’t a big deal that he hadn’t gotten him anything.

Hailing a cab Sherlock googled valentines day and started thinking about what he should get John. His first stop was at a chocolate shop but all the chocolates they had left were filled with things John didn’t particularly care for so Sherlock bought something for Mrs. Hudson and headed to a bakery to see if he could get John something there. Sherlock struck out at the bakery as well, at least where John was concerned, but he did find something for Molly and Mycroft which he would deliver on his way to his next destination. Unable to find a sweet treat Sherlock tried to find John a new jumper but couldn’t find anything in John’s size.

Discouraged, Sherlock thought that at the very least he could get John a card but by the time he got to a stationary store the shelves were picked clean of cards. On the way back to Baker Street he stopped by Angelo’s hoping that by some miracle he could get a last minute table but the restaurant was booked solid and Angelo couldn’t squeeze Sherlock and John in even though he wanted to. Sherlock decided to walk back to the flat from Angelo’s when he arrived home he’d given Mrs. Hudson her chocolates and raided her flat for supplies to make a valentines day card he sat on the stairs and remained there until John found him.

“Sherlock,” John said sitting down next to his lover. The consulting detective was covered in bits of paper and he was peeling dried glue off his skin, John couldn’t tell if the scraps of paper littering his coat were merely resting there or if they’d attached themselves with glue.

“I’m sorry John,” Sherlock told him staring at his feet which were barely visible under a pile of crumpled up papers “I couldn’t even find you a card.”

“In my experience last minute Valentines Day shopping is always more hit than miss,” John said sympathetically.

“I found something for Molly and Mrs. Hudson and even Mycroft,” Sherlock sighed, “but not you. I tried to make you a card,” Sherlock continued gesturing to the mess, “but arts and crafts were never my strong suit.”

“It’s the thought that counts and you’ve been out for the better part of the evening trying to find me a valentines day gift, I think we’re good,” John told him, “now come upstairs and open your gift.”

“But I still didn’t get you anything,” Sherlock protested.

“You don’t always have to get me something,” John replied wondering if he was going to have to throw Sherlock over his shoulder to get him to come upstairs.

Sherlock stood and slowly walked up the stairs. “You’d think he was going to his execution,” John thought to himself as he followed behind. Sherlock sat in his chair and gave John a look that said “do I have to?” to which he responded “open it.”

Sherlock opened the chocolate covered strawberries and offered one to John before tasting one himself. He did the same with the chocolates deducing the kind John preferred before selecting one for himself.

“Next year I’ll remember,” Sherlock promised.

“Next year I’ll ask Molly to remind you a week in advance,” John told him.

“That would probably be a good idea.”

Oh my gosh these cute babies, poor Sherlock, sweetie, tried so hard too ~♥

johnlockequalslove  asked:

One word fic prompt: creamer (I'm drinking tea because I need healing too).

Pass the milk, John says when he hears Sherlock come into the kitchen in the morning, a bit absently, not looking up from the toast he’s smearing with butter. He hears Sherlock behind him open the fridge door and shut it again, then shuffle over to him at the counter. Sherlock sets the milk down and then drapes himself over John’s back, snuffling sleepily at his neck and John grins affectionately at the warm weight of him. He can feel the flit and flutter of Sherlock’s eyelashes against the hair at the base of his skull. Morning, sleepy. Did you want a bit of toast?

Sherlock makes a noise that might mean yes and rests his chin on John’s shoulder, so John rips off a corner of the toast he’s just made and holds it up so Sherlock can take it. He chews slowly and leaves a buttery kiss to the side of John’s neck. S'good, he mumbles, so John rips him off another piece, and together they stand there sharing John’s toast until the buttery kisses have traveled from neck to jaw to mouth and the tea never does get made.

imagine john forgetting about pancake day because sherlock can’t be bothered to celebrate christmas, let alone a holiday dedicated to eating pancakes…imagine how surprised he’d be to come home to find sherlock covered in sticky batter while the smell of burnt pancakes fills the flat,, and sherlock would be upset because he’d just wanted to make john happy and he’d be blushing and apologizing but john takes no notice and kisses him on the nose, “you’re amazing love, here let me give you a hand” and he stands behind sherlock, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist so that he can guide sherlock’s hands while they make pancakes together,,and when john flips the mixture sherlock lets out a rare giggle and john thinks it’s the most adorable noise he’s ever heard, so much so that he turns the detective around to kiss him…needless to say these pancakes end up a tad burnt but they still taste delicious

anonymous asked:

My mum and friend ships me with you' AU

Sherlock Holmes is part of a conspiracy. He doesn’t quite know how, nor does he know the exact nature of the conspiracy, but he knows it involves what he’s currently doing. Of course, it would be helpful if he actually knew what he was doing.

Somehow, it’s all to do with his mother. That much he does know.

Keep reading

“…and John will cry buckets and buckets. It’s him that I worry about the most. That wife…”

Notice how Jim refers to Mary as John’s “wife” in a sequence taking place in Sherlock’s head. Not “that Mary Morstan”, which would be more applicable, but she’s being labeled as the only remaining piece of information that’s still true about her from Sherlock’s point of view. This is cross-referenced by images of Mary in her wedding dress pulling the trigger because “that wife” and “that assassin who’s past life I completely missed this whole time” collided in to one image for him.

“Mary Morstan” is currently an enigma or “liar”, so Sherlock knows nothing about her now besides the fact she’s still married to John. Therefore, Jim could have referred to her by any number of crude, mean, or spiteful names if I was really supposed to get the sense Sherlock secretly hates her - be that as a person or for what she’s done here - but “that wife” was chosen specifically, preceded by the statement of “it’s John that I worry about the most”.

John’s life is about to get a huge wake up call in that his wife is not exactly the person he thought she was. Remember in the beginning of this series both John and Mary are posing to be these mild-mannered citizens with their average jobs and normal lives where nothing interesting or over the top happens because they’re both secretly trying to leave pasts behind them for various reasons. Little did John know, however, he still subconsciously found that same source of danger he thought he left behind when Sherlock died through Mary (who also found it again through John).

This series was as much about Sherlock embracing his emotions as it was John coming to terms with the fact he’s just as dangerous as “the psychopaths” he seems to have a knack for surrounding himself with. The longer it takes him to accept this the shorter his fuse is going to get. He knows the violent streak that’s in there and he’s warned people about it before, but what he doesn’t understand is that everyone already knows this despite the facade he puts up. Just this series alone he’s spurring on fights, carrying weapons ~just in case~, and beating up junkies for next to nothing - he enjoys it. Mycroft called it when he first met him, Sherlock indulged him in it, and Jim teased him over it. Thus, I’d too be worried about his reaction to finding out “that wife” - the one person who’s not supposed to be caught up in all this violent stuff is actually closer to it than he ever could have imagined being a former assassin and all - is now added to that pile of people who also saw it in him despite his best efforts, but didn’t love him any less for it when no other woman thus far did. Everyone can read John like a book, but he can’t read any of them - how frustrating is that?

With this reveal, on top of Sherlock possibly dying here, it’s really no surprise Jim then went on to say “You’re letting him down, Sherlock. John Watson is definitely in danger”. What would have been a major blow out between John and Mary over her past (and possibly even some of his), plus Sherlock’s death where John would cry buckets again, still wouldn’t have eliminated the ever growing Magnussen problem that John (and Mary) continues to be tied to and thus in danger from that Mary was initially trying to fix for everyone. Without Sherlock’s mediation to keep everyone together, this could have been even more disastrous than it was already shaping up to be, so he had to get off his ass and go return to them to sort things out.

So when Jim says “that wife”, it reads closer to “That (situation with that) wife! *blows noises* Hoo boy, that’s gonna be a fucking mess when John finds everything out. Wouldn’t wanna be around for that one…”, and not some secret insight to Sherlock’s true feelings about Mary where he feels disdain and loathing. If anything, this is all Sherlock acknowledging what Mary was trying to do from the start, however haphazard it may have been, and that he’s concerned with what’s going to happen to the Watsons because of it, especially John who - surprise, surprise - flips his shit when all of this comes to light because this the billionth time someone has majorly lied to him on this show and he’s angry about it. If there’s anyone who has a first-hand account of what John’s reaction was going to be to something like this and how to handle it, it’s Sherlock. Helping Mary out was the least he could do for “that wife”.