i just love sherlock too


countdown to series four // day 16 - favourite outfit Look™

Sherlock’s favorite case. 

  • *Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw Potions*
  • Molly: *setting up her cauldron*
  • Sherlock: *watching her*
  • Sherlock: *annoyed* How much shampoo did you use this morning, Molly?
  • Molly: *confused* Sorry?
  • Sherlock: Bit excessive, don't you think?
  • Molly: *frowns* The usual. Why? What's wrong with it?
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Nothing *setting up his work* It's distracting.
  • Molly: *offended* Distracting? What about you? You smell like you slept in a coffee shop.
  • Sherlock: *rolls his eyes* I've had one cup. Don't you like it?
  • Molly: *scoffs* Whatever. Shut up.
  • Professor Slughorn: *enters* Settle down, class, and direct your attention to the front of the class. More specifically *taps a cauldron* Amortentia! The most powerful love potion in the world.
  • Sherlock & Molly: ...
  • Professor Slughorn: It is said to have a different aroma for everyone who smells it, reminding each person of the things that they find most attractive
  • Sherlock & Molly: *glance at each other*

“They’re still here!”

“So’s Magnussen. He should be at dinner, but he’s still in the building.”


Scarlett Johansson, my first full watercolour portrait.

I used 

Daniel Smith watercolours in Payne’s Grey and Shadow Violet, Winsor & Newton Watercolour Marker in Ivory Black (with a bit of cadmium yellow hue) on Strathmore Watercolour paper. 

A Man from U.N.C.L.E. Sequel Is in the Works
Star Armie Hammer breaks the news.
By Joanna Robinson

Don’t tease me! You better write it AND make it!


What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John? Did I do it wrong?
No, you didn’t.  C o m e  h e r e .

Sherlock x reader

Oh Gosh, my first Sherlock one shot… I’m awful at this…it’s my first time, so it’s gonna suck.. 😫😩 I hope you enjoy anyway ❤ ____________________________________

 It was normal night in 221B, as normal as it could get with Sherlock laying on his couch, his fingers steepled under his chin as he thought. John went out an hour ago on another errand, leaving Sherlock and Y/n alone in the flat. One thing was on Sherlock’s mind at the moment: Why. Why was he feeling this way? Sherlock is a man who would use his mind for everything, never once listened to the trivial thing called a heart. Besides, caring is a disadvantage. He doesn’t have the ability to care–to love for that matter. But here he was, wondering why he cared so much for her. She was intriguing yes, interesting too. He knows so little about her, and for Sherlock Holmes, that’s saying something. He knows her likes, her dislikes, what ticks her off. He knows why she spends so little time with her family, but he couldn’t deduce her, he just can’t. It’s like every time he tried, there’s a wall, blocking him from view. There was just something about Y/n L/n, something he just can’t put his finger on. But maybe, it wasn’t her, maybe it was him. Maybe he wants her around, for the sake of just being there. That every time he’d try to deduce, his mind would block him from doing so, to try to get to know the girl like a normal man would, not by a glance. Maybe he– No. Not the time Sherlock. Remember what Mycroft said. 

Caring is a disadvantage.

 Remember what you told yourself. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. Nothing to gain from caring for someone, he preferred to be alone, alone protects. When you’re alone, there’s no one to worry and fuss over, you have no one’s back to watch but your own. Sherlock’s eyes open, staring up at the ceiling, taking a breath as the girl herself walks into the room from the kitchen, two cups of tea in her hand. She came back from work a while ago and had already changed into one of John’s old jumpers and a pair of comfortable sweat pants, her hair tossed up in mess of a bun. “Oh, Welcome back Holmes.” she muses, putting one of the cups down on the table close to him, “Thought you were gonna stay in there forever.” Y/n smiles at him, and Sherlock didn’t know why, but he smiled back. Sitting up, running a hand through his curly mop of dark hair, he takes the cup off the table, taking a sip of the liquid. “You brought new tea in.” He states, Y/n looks up from her book that was propped on her knees, eyebrows raised, “Oh, yeah. I noticed you ran out.” Sherlock takes another sip of the soothing Earl Grey, not his usual choice of tea, but this’ll have to do. “Sherlock.”                                     “Hmm?” The detective hums, pulling his eyes away from the window to look at Y/n, her brown eyes boring into his. “When was the last time you’ve eaten?” Sherlock sits up straight at the question, opting to lie to her, but that’ll be useless, he could lie with a straight face,no problem, but she always knows. “Three days ago. Why?”                                                                              “Three days……” Y/n trails off, closing her eyes in frustration, sighing she looks back at him, “You know, eventually your body is going to shut down on you because you’re not taking care of yourself.” He does that a lot, he doesn’t eat much, neither does he sleep much because he usually on a case and too busy thinking to focus on those normal important human things. “I take care of myself.” Sherlock scoffs, watching her get up from the armchair, walking to him to pull him up by his hand. “ C'mon We’re going out.” Sherlock reluctantly follows the girl out the flat, the two head up to Northumberland street to  Tierra Brindisa because Y/n was hell bent on Angelo’s best pasta.Upon getting there, the two walk to a table by the window, getting a clear view of the street and the people passing by. Y/n sighs sitting down as Sherlock does the same, resting his chin on his hand, staring out the window. Y/n starts eating when the food came, and to her surprise Sherlock did too. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself Sherlock, you’re gonna get sick.”                                                                   “Not like I haven’t done this before you know, I’m fine.” Sherlock counters, and Y/n fixes him with a look that makes him continue eating his food silently. The two had a light conversation, as light as it could get with Sherlock Holmes, Y/n is quite used to the man’s sarcastic nature by now, so it doesn’t bother her when he blatantly point out that she looked half dead with her lack of sleep. Between the times she works and bouncing around at any ungodly hour with Sherlock and John, she was way past insomniac. She stares at Sherlock, watching the way he rolls his blue green eyes at something she said the morning earlier. Reminding her of the time they got drunk and tried to solve a case. It was utterly embarrassing, and by far the most ridiculous thing she’s ever done with the boys. She was stone drunk, so was Sherlock and John, and she never got over the fact that John had spiked the drinks, and that they were drinking from measuring cylinders and no one said a word. Only to end up in custody, and a very long lecture from her uncle Lestrade, on the safety of drinking, blah blah blah. Y/n laughs, covering her mouth with her hand, Sherlock looking at her confused as he sip from his water. “What?” he asks, smirking slightly. “Oh, nothing. Just that you were practically kissing the floor rug.” The detective catches on, his smirk fading into a half glare. “That experience was utterly embarrassing, I made a fool out of myself.”              “You? I started crying because found one side of that lady’s shoe at the club.” Sherlock and Y/n share a laugh at the memory of her crying over the lost shoe of a woman she didn’t even know. Sherlock suddenly becomes serious, studying her, her smile, the way she’d laugh and sometimes snort somewhere in between. The way her eyes would always light up when he speaks to her, there was never a dull moment with her. She was always there, always caring, putting up with his shit. No matter what it is, though it did take her awhile to get over that time he faked his death. She welcomed him back with opened arms, it took a while, but eventually everything went back to normal. He being his arrogant and obnoxious self and she sassing him every time she’d get. And Sherlock had to admit, he cares for this girl–too much– he would go far enough and say he… loved her. Y/n sat and waited for him to stop thinking, smiling at him. He blinks a few times, “Why do I care for you so much?” he asks, tilting his head, looking much like a confused puppy. “Because that’s what friends do Sherlock, they care for each other. You are human you know, you have feelings.” she says, smiling still, taking his hand that was resting on the table, giving a gentle squeeze. While Sherlock tried to figure out a way to tell her, to even begin to tell her. Everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve done, all the time she’s been there. Yes, He loved her, very much too. Sherlock has the ability to care,to love. “Y/n… I-” he stops himself, furrowing his dark eyebrow as the words in his head just seem to jumble up. “Don’t worry Sherlock. I know. I love you too.”

Originally posted by highfunctioningosociopath-221b

I’m still distraught about Sherlock Series 4.

But not distraught enough to stop wearing my Sherlock Replica Coat once it gets cold outside.


At that point Sherlock made a choking noise, it took him a fraction of a second to realise this was a sob. The sob made him loose himself, he just sobbed harder, they racked through him, making him shake.

“Sherlock?” John’s concerned voice cut through. He looked up through the tears as John sat next to him. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“N-nothing… I’m fine, go to your date, she-she’ll be waiting for you.” Sherlock choked out before sobbing again, John put an arm around Sherlock to comfort him.

“Sherlock, something’s bothering you. Tell me, I’m not going till you do.”

“It’s s-silly really, st-stupidic, moronic…”

“Sherlock, I doubt that.” John said and moved some of Sherlock’s hair out of Sherlock’s face. “Tell me, maybe I could help?”

“I-I’ve f-fallen in love….”

“Oh, is that the problem? That you don’t want to be in love?”

“Th-the problem… the problem is; is that h-he w-won’t love m-me back…” Sherlock tried not to sob again, but completely and utterly failed, his body shook as it left his throat.

“How do you know?”

“John, g-go… go to your date, h-have fun.”

“Sherlock. How many times have you cried over this git?”

“He’s not a git…”

“Clearly, if you love him but he doesn’t love you then he’s a git in my mind okay?”

“W-we aren’t dating… h-he’s n-not gay..”

“Okay, well then how many times have you cried over this fellow?”

“A-a few… mostly wh-when he goes on dates or I’m in bed…” Sherlock looked down at the floor making sure he didn’t look at John, he was certain John was straight.

“So… he had a date tonight?”

“He has one, but he won’t leave for it.” Sherlock kept his eyes averted.



“I might not be gay but I’m not straight.” John’s statement made Sherlock lift his head. “Why didn’t you just come talk to me?”

“I-i… you’re… you’re… you might have gotten angry…” Sherlock felt John’s arms wrap around him, in a comforting hug.

“I wouldn’t have, and I’m not angry and I want you to know Sherlock that, I love you too.”

“y-y-you love me? But… but why the dates?”

“They’ve only been women, I don’t know I think I thought I’d compare men to you and not women but… I did, Sherlock, I was trying to get over you.. you said you were married to your work and everything so I just…. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around John as well and snuggled into him……..

Around 15 minutes later Mrs Hudson received a phone call…

“Good evening. Mycroft here, Sherlock’s brother.”

“Yes, I know who you are love, what’s the problem?”

“I know it’s not your job but could you go up into the boy’s apartment and maybe put a blanket over them, they’re on the couch.”

“Wh- of course dear. Good bye now.” She hung up and went up the stairs quietly but excitedly, she opened the door to the boys flat and clear as day, they were cuddling on the couch, asleep. Mrs Hudson found a blanket and covered them with it. The sight made her feel proud and happy.

  • *late evening, 221B*
  • Sherlock & Molly: *having dinner by candlelight*
  • Molly: *smiling* This is nice. Why do we never do this?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* Busy schedules, too much effort, general unwillingness...
  • Molly: *chuckles* I suppose. So, what's the special occasion?
  • Sherlock: *swallows; leans forward* Molly-
  • Rosamund: *runs out of Sherlock's bedroom* Uncle Sherlock, I can't sleep.
  • Sherlock: *frowns* You were doing fine just now.
  • Rosamund: Can I have a drink?
  • Sherlock: *still frowning* You've got one.
  • Rosamund: Oh. Okay *skips back to his room*
  • Sherlock: *shakes his head* Um, yes...anyway, you're very important to me. I-I honestly cannot imagine my life without you.
  • Molly: *smiles* Awww *reaches across the table to hold his hand*
  • Sherlock: *takes a deep breath* Molly, we've known each other a long time...which is why I know you'll fully understand how much I mean what I am about to say.
  • Molly: *nods slowly* Okayyy...
  • Sherlock: *nervous* Molly, I love you and-
  • Rosamund: *trots back into the kitchen* Uncle Sherlock, can you read me a bedtime story?
  • Sherlock: *through gritted teeth* I did the first time you went to bed.
  • Rosamund: *bats her eyeslashes* Can I have another one?
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Fine, yes *half-smiles at Molly* excuse me.
  • Molly: *nods* No, it's fine.
  • -ten minutes later-
  • Sherlock: *returns* Sorry, she wanted the voices *thinking* where was I?
  • Molly: *patient* We've known each other for a long time...
  • Sherlock: *fidgeting* Oh, yes. Well, the thing is...until you came along, I never had the desire to share my life with anyone. And now I don't want anything less. Because of you.
  • Molly: *blushes* Oh.
  • Sherlock: Molly-
  • Rosamund: *beside the table* Uncle Sherlock? Can you tuck me in please?
  • Sherlock: *frustrated* No. Go to bed.
  • Rosamund: *yawns* Can I have a goodnight kiss, then?
  • Sherlock: *softly* Come here *holds his arms out*
  • Rosamund: *hugs him and kisses his cheek; whispers* Get on with it before we all die of old age.
  • Sherlock: *puts her down* Get out.
  • Rosamund: *giggles* Night, Auntie Molly *scurries back to bed*
  • Molly: *also giggling* Goodnight Sharlotte.
  • Sherlock: *grumpy* Right *pauses; glances at the bedroom door* as I was saying *pauses; looks over at the bedroom door* Molly Hooper *shuffles out of his seat onto one knee* will you marry me?
  • Molly: *leans down and kisses him* Yes. Of course I will.
  • Rosamund: *cheering in the bedroom*
  • Sherlock: *mutters* We're not having one of those.

“I play the game and I play it to win. I’m better, more evolved. No one sees me coming until it’s too late.”

The answer, as they so often are, is never that simple.

She would shoot, she should shoot.

Her breath comes as a thick cloud of worry.

“Perhaps this time I’m on the side of angels.”

She says nothing for a long time, a shiver caught up in her spine.

It’s another leg up in this never-ending game between them, where the roles of cat and mouse are forever blurred into something obscure and ever-changing.

She was as the gods of her childhood fascination were once: cold, aloof, and alone in the universe.

Two roads in a wintry wood, a third leading back the way they’ve come.

Only this is the city and no one has any time for poetry.

Snow has started to fall.

He’s gone.

This place is haunting, stirring up memories of a time she’d buried long ago.

She’ll remind them again why they’re afraid to even speak her name above a whisper.

There’s a small smile curling at her lips, breath a hazy cloud before her.

She hates it, hates how it makes her weak, makes her remember things that are meant to stay buried.

She’d been a god, torn down and turned around by the same fallacy that they fall prey to eventually.

Love, lust, it is all the same in the end.

Perhaps this is her Christmas present.

Perhaps this was her doom, to always remember how she could have given up her enterprise for that feeling, and how she’d never even considered it.

The nightmares turn to dreams, and it is in the dream world that she is at her most vulnerable.

And the beauty of a winter night all covered in snow is all that keeps her from feeling as though she’s gone truly mad.

Everyone has to have a secret lair somewhere.

A plot like Macedonia was probably beyond her now, with her secrets twisting like sparks – ash in the wind.

“You’re a monster.”

“I’m playing a role, darling, same as everyone else.”

Equality in any relationship is a fallacy but the honesty is what keeps them all sane in the end.

She climbs the stairs silently, breath steady and even.

His blood would spray so pettily against these pristine white walls.

The problem with snakes is that they have a strong sense of self-preservation. They know when they’re beat, when they are too injured to get away from what is sure to be certain doom.

“Do you think she cares for the stars?”


poison was women’s work and yearning was poison for me;

(e.j.k. & anamatics - words compiled from ‘a viper in the city’)

(could alternatively be titled 'it’s probably not a good thing that I have a friend who writes such great fanfiction that I’m falling in love with Jamie Moriarty again but I’m not entirely sure that I mind’)

A False Sense of Security
  • Sherlock: *strolls into the lab; yawning* Morning... *kisses Molly's cheek*
  • Molly: *blushing* Wow... a 'morning' and a cheek kiss.
  • Sherlock: *yawns again* It's been a long night. Mrs. Johnson's results in?
  • Molly: Yeah, hang on *moving to her desk* So, who died?
  • Sherlock: *rubbing his neck* Six students were found brutally murdered in a house on the outskirts of their University campus.
  • Molly: *sifting through papers; intrigued* Hmmm...so what happened?
  • Sherlock: *rolling his shoulders* Upon further investigation, we found instructions informing them the door would be locked behind them and their mission was to find the key. They were pitted against each other, mental trickery and cunning wordplay. One of the professors owns the house. A social experiment gone wrong. He tried to pass it off as a student party horror show *shaking his head* Tedious.
  • Molly: *flipping through the file; smiling* Well, Mrs. Johnson is no horror movie massacre.
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Good.
  • Molly: *reading*
  • Sherlock: Well?
  • Molly: *shakes her head* You were right. Asphyxiation caused by tetrodotoxin. Japanese fugu, wasn't it?
  • Sherlock: *nods* Exactly. Thank you, Molly. Now I have a husband to arrest *leaving the lab*
  • Molly: *beaming* Anytime.
  • Sherlock: *stops at the door* Oh by the way, I'm in love with you *smiles; leaves*
  • Molly: ...
  • Molly: *drops the file*