it's not from sherlock but whatever

In which Sherlock comes back after pretending to be dead for two years, finds John moved out of Baker Street and nearly engaged. He’d deduced two possible reactions… but not this.

Of all the outcomes Sherlock had prepared himself for, this was not one of them. There had been two scenarios in his head, two ways John’s emotions could play out. Shock was, in both scenarios, naturally the primary stage. That is logically what happens when a previously thought dead person presents themselves. It was the stages that came after the shock is where it got tricky, given that Sherlock had to take into factor that they were surrounded by the public eye, in a very crowded, very upscale restaurant. It was where the road split. Road one: Shock would be followed by disbelieve, perhaps tears, but most likely not with John. No, it was more likely disbelief would lead to laughter, the slightly bitter kind that Sherlock could picture on John’s face, the kind that would melt into relief, maybe even a slightly uncharacteristic hug. It might be a briefer display of emotion due to the public eye but at least Sherlock would know it was alright now.

The second road was not preferred but it ended the same. On this path anger followed the shock, maybe John stormed out of the restaurant, maybe delivered Sherlock a rightly deserved punch… But they were together in the end. Sherlock was forgiven in the end.

He never thought, however, that the stage of anger would be so prolonged. He never imagined that John wouldn’t eventually get along to embracing his lost best friend. Sherlock never pictured John leaving him standing alone on the curb of a dumpy fish and chip place with a bloody nose.

Ms. Hudson, on the other hand, had had exactly the reaction Sherlock had predicted when he walked into 221B. She’d screamed, cried, screamed again when he placed a gentle hand on her arm, and proceeded to alternate between the two for the next hour. Sherlock could barely focus on her however, only being able to think about how, as she wrapped him in a very tight hug, he would do anything to have experienced this reaction twice that night.

“Oh Sherlock,” Ms. Hudson patted his cheek fondly, a smile brightening her face, “I take it you’ve seen John?”

Sherlock tense, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She laughed delightedly, squeezing his hand before bustling into the kitchen, “I’ll get the kettle on for you two, then.”

Sherlock unknotted his scarf, hanging it on the familiar coat hanger, taking note in the back of his mind the relief that filled his chest at being, well, home, “Sorry?”

Ms. Hudson looked over her shoulder, “Well, I gather he’ll be around shortly, yes?”

Sherlock froze half way through shrugging out of his coat, the thought hitting him harder than he expected. Would he?

“Yes.” Sherlock said stiffly, dropping his coat over a chair—John’s chair—with a flourish, “Yes, of course. Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Ms. Hudson gave him another firm kiss on the cheek and a Oh Sherlock, do play some violin for me tomorrow. I can’t tell you how I’ve missed it, and left him to “get settled.”

Sherlock had prepared the tea with shaking fingers. Of course John would be around. He wouldn’t let the night end like it had would he? He’d want to see Sherlock. Definitely. John was a man of answers, and he had two years worth of questions to ask. Sherlock had poured the water into the tea pot, set out two cups (he’d looked for John’s favorite mug only to find it no longer in the cupboard), milk, and sugar. He’d put it all on a tray, set it rather too harshly onto the coffee table, fell into his chair…

And the waiting had begun.

Sherlock was very good at sitting still usually. He could go days on end without speaking, without moving. But he couldn’t seem to manage it tonight.

He paced, drummed his fingers, watched the clock. By the time he decided to change into his pajamas, it was nearly two in the morning and he had already retuned his violin and stabbed the fireplace mantle approximately 57 times. The tea was cold and he hadn’t had a drop. He hung his coat up from its place on John’s chair, fluffing the flag pillow and smoothing the velvet out.

It was two thirty and Sherlock listened to Ms. Hudson’s bedroom door close downstairs. No doubt she had been waiting up for John. She’d given up. He wouldn’t.

Sherlock kept his phone in hand. John may call rather than come over now that it was so late. He had a…fiancé now, after all. Sherlock swallowed hard at the thought, checking his phone again. Another outcome Sherlock had not expected. Of course, he felt foolish now, thinking John had—thinking John could ever feel… whatever Sherlock had felt. Whatever Sherlock feels. That it was John and him, him and John. He never dreamt that there could be any other version of either of their lives, he never thought…

Sherlock pressed his hands over his eyes.

But perhaps he should not have left for two years. For a so-called genius, he seemed to have a habit of realizing things too late when it came to John Watson. Maybe one could only be a genius in one aspect of life, one field. Sherlock considered this. If that was the case, he’d gladly trade his knowledge of chemistry, of crime, of anything, for an upstanding understanding of John. Just John. It may not be more useful in his line of work. But he would be happier. Emotionally. Sherlock blinked at the realization. He was surprised, but it felt… true.

It was approaching four in the morning when Sherlock resigned to his bed. He couldn’t stare at the empty chair across from him any longer. If he did he was worried he may throw something, or miss the mantlepiece and stab himself instead with the amount he’d been at it. He let his phone rest on his chest, fingertips to his chin.

He didn’t want to admit it, but his hopes were crumbling around him. John was not calling. John was not coming up the stairs. John had left him on the curb after hitting him once, twice, three times. He found that his chest hurt more than his cheek or nose.

Sherlock was just beginning to resign himself to a few more hours of sitting completely still until it was considered a socially acceptable hour to rise and start a day in the life of the living, when his phone buzzed against his ribs, shocking Sherlock’s eyes open.


The screen said John.

Sherlock had barely picked up before he was saying his name.

He was met with a few beats of silence and then, slowly, “You’re awake.”

Sherlock felt pinned against the mattress, “You don’t sound surprised.”

The response was more immediate this time, “I’m not.”

You’re awake.”

Sherlock nearly closed his eyes at the familiar scoff, “Yes, of course I’m awake.”

“I… I’m not surprised… either.” Sherlock had never struggled for words so much in his life.

Silence followed and Sherlock thought he heard John pouring himself tea, or maybe a drink.

“Jesus,” A chair scooted back over the line and John sighed as he sat now, “I’ve not a clue what to say. How’s the nose?”

Sherlock felt himself smile a little at the comment. This was the most normal he had felt in two entire years, “Not as bad as the ribs.”

John chuckled softly, the way he did when he was confused, “What? I didn’t hit you in the ribs.”

“No. You didn’t.”

Silence followed again. Sherlock heard John’s breathing stop and restart, “Sherlock-“

“Don’t worry, I’m okay-“

“No, that’s not the point, Sherlock, the point is that you let me- You let me knock you around when someone else had been doing god knows what god knows where.”

“Don’t worry, you’re much gentler than Serbian interrogators.”

He heard John set his tea down too hard, “What? I- Oh my god, I swear, if you’re joking-“

“I don’t joke.”

Another laugh, this time disbelieving. It sent another shock of relief through Sherlock, “Yes you do, Jesus, Jesus-“

“John. I’m okay-“

“Well, you were dead this morning!”

John’s breathing was harsh over the phone. Sherlock could picture him rubbing his eyes. Sherlock just listened for a moment to the familiar sound. He didn’t know how to start. Sorry was nothing, not what was needed, it wasn’t enough.

“John…” Sherlock let out a breath, “I-“

“Don’t you dare say you’re-“

“I wanted to tell you so many times-“

“God, did you now?” John was nearly fuming again, “That’s the first time you haven’t given into one of your impulses.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. Hardly, John. Hardly.

Sherlock breathed deeply through his nose, “You’re right. I should know better.”

Sherlock heard a clatter that sounded like John throwing his cup in the sink, “Yes. Yes, you should.”

“Maybe I’ll give into one right now.”

A beat of silence, “What?”

Sherlock was already halfway to the door, “I’m coming over.”

The laugh was back, nervous and relieved this time, “Sherlock it’s nearly five-“

“I’m giving into an impulse, John.”

“Right…” A chair scraped back, “Yes, okay. Alright.”

“I’ll catch a cab. Text me the address, would you?”

Sherlock thought he heard a hitch in breath, a small sniff maybe. It made his chest ache, “Yeah.”

Sherlock shrugged half way into his coat, “Okay-“

“Right, can we not say goodbye?”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed, “John?”

“’s just the last time you said…” John couldn’t seem to finish but he didn’t have to.

Sherlock understood. He understood and he knew he’d never utter the word ‘goodbye’ to John Watson again.

“See you soon, John.”

@mid0nz wrote:

I’ll just end with this– the greatest missing scene of all. Eurus, Sherlock and Mycroft weren’t born. They were made. HOW? What would she have had to suffer to be that conniving child? What did she see? How did she learn? She learned to speak the language of the sociopaths who raised her. 

I don’t see this.  While I agree about the Holmes parents’ monstrousness (though I don’t think the show meant for us to read them as such), one of my greatest frustrations with the writers’ S3/S4 choices is that they really do seem to think that Sherlock was “made” by a single traumatic event (and, in consequence, that now that he has recovered his memory of the event, he can relatively easily remake himself into a nice, normal person).  I find this crudely reductionist and emotionally unsatisfying, even for a genre show.  Meanwhile, Euros’s childhood sociopathy/whatever malignant mental illness the show thinks she has appears to have arisen solely from her intelligence and its unavoidable concomitant, lack of feeling.  There’s no other explanation even hinted at in the text.  Mycroft…well, who bothered to think this through for Mycroft?  Apparently he’s just another, but lesser, unfeeling-brain-by-nature who merely happened to be in the vicinity when the murder and self-harm and multiple arsons and supposed death by fire of his sister went down.  No trauma involved for him!  (For all that MG infuses Mycroft’s flashbacks with real feeling, there is not a single moment when anyone in the story acts as if Musgrave would have been a horrifying experience for Sherlock’s thirteen-year-old brother, as well.) 

In earlier years, fandom liked to toy with all kinds of Grand Guignol theories about childhood at Holmes Manor.  I never thought the Holmes parents could be Quite Right, but a few of the theories seemed excessive even by the new TFP standard.  So, while I wasn’t thrilled with the Middle-Class McNormalsons reveal of S3, I could begrudgingly bring myself to live with it.  But what the two theories in their more reasonable incarnations had in common was that the Holmes boys, while obviously responding to their environments, shaped themselves.  Neglect, whether benign or malicious, left them to grow up as hothouse flowers, cultivating their own strange characters.  Reducing all their splendid self-willed oddity to “well, Sherlock had one Really Bad Experience as a child” and “Mycroft is smart therefore naturally inhuman” is just so unsatisfying for me.  I’m sure part of this results from the clumsy, inconsistent, preaching-not-showing “S4 is a speedrun of itself” showrunning, but I’ve read enough Moffat interviews to believe that he really thinks that TFP solved the ultimate mystery of Sherlock Holmes (“How can anyone be like that and not be a monster?”) and that the answer was “His childhood friend was murdered.”

(I cannot work out a way to selectively quote long nested texts on Tumblr, so apologies for this formatting.)


Sherlock belongs to us now

Seriously, the writers essentially gave Sherlock William Scott Holmes to us. 

Moffat and Gatiss completed their part in his story, and set up each happy ending that we could want.  Now, it’s up to us all to make that happy ending into the story we all want to see.  No one’s end wasn’t real.  No lies were told.  All I Love You’s and texts and caresses gave us all exactly what we wanted and they were all as real as we want them to be.  Sherlock belongs to us now. 

Steven and Mark are finished telling the story they wanted to tell.  Now it’s our turn to continue that into whatever we wish.  Don’t talk yourself out of your happiness.  We all deserve our happy endings.

  • "Do you realize what you just did?"
  • "Is everyone okay?"
  • "I have no idea what to say to that."
  • "Why do you have to break my heart this way?"
  • "I'm going to go down in history for this."
  • "No one is walking away from that."
  • "What did you expect?"
  • "That shouldn't have happened..."
  • "You are driving me mad."
  • "Whatever you say, Sherlock."
  • "What makes you think that is a good idea?"
  • "Did you kill them?"
  • "We need to do something."
  • "No. Just... no."
  • "I shouldn't have gotten out of bed."
  • "Are we going to walk away from all this?"
  • "Maybe we're destined to do this."
  • "Let's jump."
  • "Change is necessary. It's the only constant in the universe."
  • "I'm starting to get excited for this idea."
  • "I can't... What?"
  • "Did you have to do it?"
  • "There's no stopping this."
  • "It's coming..."
  • "I'm not going to sit here while you destroy yourself."
  • "Didn't you just say the opposite of what you said two minutes ago?"
  • "Leave me here."
  • "Why bother?"
  • "I'm not going to sit idly by and let the world burn."
  • "Can we vote on this?"
  • "That's fucked up, man."
  • "We can't do this ourselves."
  • "We have to try."

mild-lunacy  asked:

I have a question I think a lot of us in fandom struggle with: how do you manage to ignore not just the *specific* things Moffat and Gatiss say about John and Sherlock, but the overall idea they have always suggested that they genuinely didn't mean to write Sherlock as in love with with John and vice versa? Obviously, they *have* indeed written it regardless, but how does one integrate their constant denials with that? Aside from dismissing the importance of Authorial Intent entirely, I mean?

I’m afraid that’s not a path I can go down. I continue to admire these writers and what they’ve created, though I don’t understand why they would discredit a perfectly valid reading of their story. I stand by the reading I see, and while you and they are welcome to decide that I am too fanciful, overthinking things, or am seeing what I want to see rather than what’s actually there, I am confident that what I see in the story is defensible as a reading, backed up by textual evidence perceived through reasonable eyes. I’m happy to continue interpreting and re-interpreting that evidence here among other fans, being influenced by others and tweaking my views on this story in perpetuity. The evidence exists to support these conversations and interpretations, and frankly that’s enough for me.

As you know, I have never predicted that any particular ending was inevitable. Stories have patterns, but stories are engineered by human beings and are not predictable. But ships cannot be killed by creators; they only get more interesting the more obstacles get thrown in their way. I object to all attempts to control a fandom through creator edict. 

Stories are always collaborations with the reader, or in this case, the viewer. I reserve the right to interpret as I see fit. What I will not do is insist that the writers see it the way I do, defend their choice to write a story different than the one I would write, or question why they do what they do. None of us can guess at that. You can spin any theory you like about why this or that pressure from there or whatever is the cause, but I won’t follow you there. I don’t write meta about human beings, I write about fictional people. Fictional people can be fully known and dissected; actual people, you, me, the writers, cannot.

We may never know the answers to your questions, and we have to accept that. We aren’t owed the inner thoughts of Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. They are free to say what they like.

To me, the story stands alone, and the story is generous with its evidence. I’ll stick to that.

Sangwoo’s Borderline Personality Disorder PART 2

(Remember this is mostly for high-functioning BPD and not the discouraged, powerless type like Yoonbum! Please read PART 1 before sending asks or commenting )
Trigger Warning for people with BPD. Includes the description of this disorder’s negative traits. Don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable.

Here’s the examples of Sangwoo’s BPD from the comic:

Keep reading


honestly i dont even really know how to begin this like??? i feel like i have so much to say it was just the best day of my Entire Ugly Life. im so honored i really am it was just the most beautiful experience ever nd also so funny lkafsfsa i can’t wait to share with you !! 

Keep reading

sometimes i envision the TJLC “inner circle” as like yknow in movies where a character becomes inundated to an exclusive interesting new life or whatever, and theyre like “we were living the high life, the money kept coming and i didnt question from where, i was living a life i didnt even know was possible” except its just like me and my friends exchanging doodles of john and sherlock kissing and yelling “OH MY GOD THEY KISS GOODNIGHT IM CYRING” at each other

ID #58799

Name: Alice
Age: 17
Country: France

Hi ! I’m Alice. So i’ve wanted to have a penpal for a long time now and here seems the right place to find one.
I live in Brittany, in France. I can speak english and a little bit of spanish. I’m very open minded, accept all sexualities and gender. I love to discover new cultures and see how people live in other parts of the world ! I would be thrilled if you wanted to learn French, and i would gladly help you if you do. I like dramas (It’s Okay It’s Love is my all-time favorite ♥) & tv shows, especially Shadowhunters, Sherlock, Doctor Who and i plan on looking at Stranger Things. I absolutely love listening to music, and i can listen to pretty much everything : Kpop, pop, classic, oriental, jazz… If fanfics count as books, then i’m reading A LOT. I also read books of course, but i really have to be interested in it. I love photography, especially landscapes and my friend’s beautiful smiles.

Preferences: Any nationality, gender, sexuality, skin color, hair color… Whatever ! Just maybe someone around my age ;)

andthatsthytea  asked:

does sherlock eat cereal? does he like cereal? does he like only one brand? has he even eaten cereal? im thinking he would like sugary cereal a bit but does he like any notsosugary cereal? does john buy cereal? does sherlock say he doesnt like cereal but john can tell he likes the sugary stuff anyways? does sherlock dump sugar on his already sugary cereal? im pretty sure they've eaten cereal on the show but im having doubts, am i hallucinating?

im doubtful theyve ever actually shown him eating it but i think:

he likes sugary cereal though he usually eats more sugar than is good for him even though he knows its not good for him and chooses to pretend its not that bad until he feels bad later

i think he eats it dry usually, sometimes just with his bare hands as a snack- which is especially good when hes Not Eating (because he really does feel it, even if he denies it) during a case or experiment

the consistency in flavor and texture and lack of complication of something like a handful of cheerios makes the autisms happy

Loves The Crunch

unfortunately sherlock is a heathen who will drink cow milk because thats what john likes and is whats in the house even though hes lactose intolerant so sometimes when he eats it with milk its that (so if he eats a sugary bowl full with milk its extra bad times later)

he thinks its neat when the milk turns chocolate

they probably have a few types of cereal in the house:

  • normie type thats just lightly sweetened crunchy bits but make for good snack thats not gonna hurt sherlocks stomach and dont taste like Death or anything
  • sugary type (varies between brands, usually just whatever strikes sherlocks fancy when he actually goes to the store)
  • healthy type like raisin bran or something that john buys for himself on the rare occasion he eats cereal but that sherlock often steals handfuls and sometimes bowlfuls from and feels like hes So Mature And Responsible For Being Healthy

Meanwhile john, as i said, usually only eats cereal on the rare occasion- he’s more of an oatmeal man (loves putting things in it like fruit and cinnamon)

 though a bowl of cereal in the dead of the night sounds really nice to him (sugary especially)

Stradivari (An Adlock x Eurus Fanfiction)

(I get waaaaay too crazy when I write fics, and switching from Irene, Eurus, and Sherlock’s characterisation here is an internal experience on its own. This is exhausting to write tbh. Should I make a blog post about it? Gaaaaaah, whatever. On to the fic!)

The wind howls intimately against the crashing waves as the helicopter touched the cold cement of the building. Sherlock turned up the collar of his coat to hide his neck from the chilling breeze, entering the confines of Sherrinford to provide company for his sister. 

It was devastating just to think that he had promised her home and yet she’s still locked up like nothing’s changed. But if there is one thing he has gotten into terms with through the years, it’s that home is not a place, but it is a sanctuary found in the arms of the people you hold dear. 

His eyebrows furrowed as soon as he heard the echoing tune from her chambers, the familiarity of the curve of the notes making him sigh. 

With her back to him, she played the theme he wrote for The Woman, her head slowly swaying to the solemnity of the music. She paused for a moment, recognising that he had entered the room, and continued playing until the edge of the last note she had heard from him when she asked him to play once before. 

“Can you teach me the rest?” Eurus said calmly, putting the violin down to her side and turning to face her brother. 

Sherlock squinted at her, trying to guard his expression. “You told me we’re playing Chopin on my next visit.”

Eurus tilted her head slightly, raising an eyebrow at her brother. “That’s way too easy. No story. No excitement. I want to know more about this.”

Taking his own violin in hand, he started to tune the strings, eyes avoiding his sister’s. 

“We both know where this is going. Just tell me and save us both the agony.” her voice had a sing-song tone to it, drawing near the glass to look at her brother closely. 

“I’ve written it a long time ago.” Sherlock muttered, plucking some of the strings. 

Eurus’ stare was boring deep into him, and he could tell that she was studying him closely. 

“Oh, I’m not interested in when. I want to know why you changed the way you play it.” 

Sherlock put down the violin to meet his sister’s eyes, reading into her knowing expression. “Did I?”

Eurus smiled. “Oh, yes. I can tell. The way your fingers caress the strings… The absolutism in every stroke of the bow… When you wrote it, it was meant to show grief, frustration… confusion.”

The older Holmes remained stoic, still waiting for his sister to conclude her own amused inquiry. 

Her eyes turned to look at his fingers against the bow, a smile creeping up her face. “Now it’s full of passion,desire, longing… How long was it then when you last slept with her before we met for the first time? A week ago? More like two… three days?”

Sherlock looked at her pointedly, sensing a challenge in his sister’s voice. He figured there was no point in arguing. “Just out of a quiver of a note?”

Eurus smiled, looking pleased with herself. “That… and the cuffmarks on your left wrist that day. I’m quite surprised Mycroft didn’t notice.”

The detective gave an amused smile. “Oh, he did. He just got caught up with everything that he failed to make a fuss about it.”

There’s a slight relief that came with the sight of Eurus’ eyes twinkling with glee, and he could already tell she wasn’t giving up the matter at hand. It was not the best idea to have her be curious of Irene Adler, but it was already a lost cause. Needless to say that even if he didn’t want to admit, Eurus somehow made it easier to talk about The Woman. 

He saw his sister walk over to her bed to reach for her violin once more, looking at him expectantly as she claimed the form to play. 

“From the beginning, then.” Sherlock commanded, holding his bow to start the melody.

With Mycroft’s request, his next visit dawned earlier, much to Eurus’ demand. 

“I can’t play it right.” the younger Holmes snapped upon the arrival of her brother. 

Sherlock studied the tense movements of his sister, amused at her rampage. “Mycroft tells me you’ve memorised the piece entirely.”

“It wasn’t complicated, Sherlock, but what I can’t accept is why it doesn’t sound right. With you it was easy to read everything into the music, hardly a difficult deduction, really, as you are already well aware… but even if I try to channel the intricacies of the emotions you weaved into playing, it doesn’t work. As I’ve said before, what’s the point if the piece being beautiful and right isn’t the same thing?” 

There was spite in her voice, as if she was given a problem she cannot solve and the situation was foreign. Sherlock could recognise the same tone, similar to a tantrum, as he was also prone to such when he finds himself blind on a case. 

Still, how does a mind surpassing Newton unable to come into terms with a mere violin piece? 

Breathing heavily after playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Sherlock could not hide his surprise upon seeing how quickly Eurus had recovered from the extraneous piece, her fingers curving once more to start what happened to be a screeching mess of notes. 

“What is it now?” he tried to hide the annoyance in his voice, but failed evidently. 

Eurus looked livid, playing an earsplitting tune that caused a violin string to snap. Sherlock looked at her, bewildered at her actions, to which her expression turned blank. 

“I would need another violin.” she said in a deadpan voice. 

Sherlock took it as a dismissal and turned to take his leave when his sister called once more, still in the same chilling voice, with another request. 

“And on your next visit, bring her.”

Eurus was not accepting any visitors unless her request was merited. 

“Oh for God’s sake! Have we really gotten to the point where family affairs and petty arguments involve bringing in national criminals in an institutionalised facility, who, by the way, are supposed to be officially dead?” Mycroft sighed, rubbing his temples in exasperation.

John couldn’t help but snort at the statement. “And this is new because…?”

Mycroft glared at the doctor, to which Sherlock laughed. The eldest Holmes darted back to look at his brother, a sour smile in his face. 

“You think this is funny, Sherlock? Who thought it was a clever idea to confuse our dear sister with matters of the heart?” Mycroft hissed. 

“You’re blaming me?” Sherlock spat back, rolling his eyes at Mycroft as if the suggestion was preposterous. 

John scoffed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but Mycroft does have a point. You fed her this obsession, mate.”

Mycroft scorned. “Sentiment is not something she’s very familiar with, dear brother. She sees romance and love on a spectrum that is to be analysed logically — something you claim to be unfamiliar with but we all see the obvious. I believe — and hope in the heaves above — that she will come into a conclusion once she meets Irene Adler.”

The helicopter ride to Sherrinford was silent. 

Sherlock could feel Irene’s eyes trained on him curiously, but with only the information that Eurus wants to meet her, he couldn’t blame the burning look she was giving him.

“This will be interesting.” Irene mused, sliding the coat off her back before entering the room where the youngest Holmes resided. “Should I expect her to be worst than you?”

“You’ll know when you meet her.” Sherlock simply said as he followed her in. 

They saw Eurus sitting on her bed, expectant upon their arrival. Sherlock saw that his sister’s eyes were quick to scan Irene’s gait, expression turning from unreadable to purely amused.

“You exceeded my expectations.” she said bluntly, completely ignoring her brother, eyes only focused on The Woman. 

Irene gave her most intrepid smile, meeting the other woman’s challenging gaze with a spark from her own. “And that is?”

“I know you will be easy on the eyes, but I didn’t expect you would… sting.” Eurus simply replied. 

Sherlock studied the two of them, eyes piercing towards each other. It was like watching a dance on flames, and he was sure that if someone was going to get scorched, it would most likely be him. 

“I take that as a compliment. You’re not so bad yourself.” Irene addressed Eurus with a slight nod, causing the latter to narrow her eyes. 

Walking closer to the glass and still not acknowledging her brother, Eurus asked Irene to draw nearer. Sherlock wanted to protest but clearly they are lost in their own game, and he remained where he stood. 

“When you walked in, I thought the song made less sense, but seeing how my brother has been hovering nervously at the corner since you entered, I go back to where I stand.” Eurus affirmed haughtily. 

Irene grinned. “He pretends to be distant than he really is, but he’s easy to read. But I’m sure you already know that.”

Eurus looked amused. For the first time since her visitors arrived, she turned to her brother, and as quick as a whip, her voice was demanding. 

“Play it.” 

Sherlock looked affronted. “Why does it matter that much?” 

“Because I want to know why I’m wrong. I don’t like being wrong.” she said, deadpan, reaching for her violin as well.

Irene was watching in full interest, a smile playing on her lips as Sherlock rolled his eyes, giving in to the request. 

He sighed, fingers slightly trembling. He realised that he only played the piece for Irene once, a couple of years ago, the courage supplied by slight intoxication.

Taking his bow, he started, as accompanied by his sister. Halfway, he realised she stopped and left him to finish on his own, eyes fully focused on his movements, mirroring Irene’s own steady gaze. 

Lingering on the last note, Sherlock gave the bow one last stroke, before ending completely. 

Gathering his composure and trying to ignore the heat rising up his neck upon meeting Irene’s eyes, he turned to his sister. 

“Well?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Eurus pursed her lips slightly, before giving him a nod. “Interesting… I need to rest. You may leave.”

Irene raised her eyebrows in amusement, walking towards Sherlock. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Instead of replying, the youngest Holmes took her violin in hand and started to play Paganini Caprice No. 1 with brevity.

“Until my next visit, Eurus.” Sherlock breathed before heading out. 

To his surprise, Eurus abruptly stopped in the middle of playing, sniping a remark at both him and Irene before she continued to play as if nothing happened. 

“Judging by the tension, I suggest you take the third room three corridors from here. I assure you it’ll be free from disturbance. ‘Til next time, Sherlock, Ms. Adler.”

“You didn’t take my advice. Was it easier to have sex in your flat? I assume the landlady wasn’t very happy about the creaking floors.” Eurus stated bluntly after finishing another piece from Bach. 

Sherlock let out a sigh, expecting his sister’s comments were long overdue ever since he arrived. 

“So, Eurus, what was your experiment about?” he asked, also curious about the conclusions her sister drew from the brief encounter with Irene. 

He saw her studying him, as if he was nothing more than a specimen for her to dissect. “I won’t play it anymore. Only you can play it. You make it beautiful. I can only play it right.”

“I thought you believe the two has to be the same thing?” Sherlock mused. 

“You proved me wrong. It was a song only you can play because you play it for her. I can’t play it because I don’t see her like you see her, and clearly romance or whatever is it you have with her is not something I’m akin to. But for all graciousness, and as I am fond of you, dear brother, then I would not butcher the song you obviously hold so dear.” 

Eurus recited the words as if it was a monologue she was merely reading, but Sherlock figured it was as sincere as she could get. 

“I… ah… thank you.” was all he managed to say. 

“Oh, but one last thing Sherlock.” Eurus noted.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, wondering what could it possibly be at this point. 

“I’d like Irene to be my Christmas present. 5 minutes of unsupervised conversation would do.”

anonymous asked:

Can you explain the trans Sherlock theory?


First of all, thank you for saying theory, not just headcanon or au, since there’s evidence for Sherlock being trans, as well as there’s evidence of Sherlock being gay, and most people in this community would not dispute that. 

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@lovelybluebox wrote:

I don’t know if you’re still interested in prompts but a fic just came across my dash that had this prompt: tooth-rottingly fluffy and I immediately thought of you and Joanlock, because you’re amazing and I just love the way you just catch the tone of those two perfectly….. Cheers!

Thank you … I think … actually I specialize in cavity producing sweetness so … hear ya go!

“What do you think?” Joan held up her left hand and waved it in front of Sherlock. The diamond glittered on her ring finger.

Sherlock, his arm casually slung around her shoulders, smiled, “I think it is almost as beautiful as you, sweetheart.”

Joan smiled and ducked her head down in pleased embarrassment. She pressed in close to his chest and he placed a small kiss to the top her head before addressing the antique store owner. “What is the provenance of this ring if I may ask?”

The older man put on his bifocals smiling kindly at the couple, “Let me check our records.” He pulled out a leatherbound book and began flipping through its yellowed pages.

Marcus, who moments before had walked into the store looking for a gift for Chantal’s mother, stood dumbfounded. Obviously, they weren’t aware of his presence and he wasn’t sure he wanted them to be. They stood at the glass counter cooing at each other of all things. There was something wrong here - unless he had completely misread Joan and Sherlock’s relationship all these years … No. They were up to something. Perhaps investigating forged antiques or laundered money or …. oh, oh no, they were kissing … full on the lips… Embarrassed, Marcus didn’t know where to look.  He scanned the shelves, picking up an ancient-looking brass oil lamp and examining it way closer than he’d ever examined an ancient-looking brass oil lamp before. This wasn’t right…. This just was not right.

Sherlock spoke. “Nevermind sir. We’ve decided to take the ring no matter what its provenance. You’ll take American Express or does it need to be cash?”

Ah hah! thought Marcus, this is where they get the evidence they need to flush out whatever scheme they were trying to flush out. Marcus watched as the transaction was sealed. He stood transfixed as they turned to leave and spotted him.

Sherlock discreetly removed his hand from Joan’s shoulders. Her cheeks turned pink as she spoke. “Marcus, what are you doing here?”

“I… uhm … Chantal’s mom’s birthday …” he waved the brass lamp in front of them.

“Interesting choice.” Sherlock regained his composure. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with the possiblity of conjuring a djinn.” He nodded at Marcus who, still stunned at the encounter, awkwardly nodded back.

“Well,” Joan spoke up. “Nice to see you but we’re running late.” She touched Sherlock’s arm, “We need to go.”

“Right. Right. Off we go then.”

With that, they exited the store leaving a confused Marcus about to purchase a $150.00 slightly tarnished oil lamp.

My working title for the next chapter is “"Marcus and the Djinn.” (joking)

I’m Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective.

I’m not going to go into detail about how I do what I do because chances are you wouldn’t understand. If you’ve got a problem that you want me to solve, then contact me. Interesting cases only please.

This is what I do:

1. I observe everything.

2. From what I observe, I deduce everything.

3. When I’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth.

If you need assistance, contact me and we’ll discuss its potential.

Framing: Visual Storytelling Sherlolly version.

Alright so! lets get down to this mini meta I had in my mind for a while, after watching The Final Problem countless of times. There will be spoilers under the cut for the episode and of course, Sherlolly speculation based on the episode’s framing and the actor’s ability to convey emotions through their expressions. Mind my english this has no beta and english isn’t my native language.

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isn’t it great that the show BBC Sherlock does not have fourth series. isn’t it amazing that whatever garbage was masquerading under its name in january was literally not the same show that aired from 2010-2016 and had none of the same characters or plots in it, so we don’t even have to worry about it now. what a blessing. 


My fic from a couple of years back.I have updated it for their anniversary (originally valentine’s day)

Happy Anniversary- Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

“John why the hell is Angelo here?”

Sherlock looked around him like he had just entered the twilight zone. There was soft music playing somewhere in the background of this scene that seemed more relevant to one of those soppy films his friend secretly liked to watch, than it did in the dark and dreary setting of Baker Street.

“Angelo is cooking us dinner tonight.”

John brushed past Sherlock to retrieve two wine glasses from the cupboard. Sherlock quickly noted, between wide eyed blinks of incredulity,that the kitchen table had been laid out to look like Angelo’s restaurant . He noted Angelo’s smirking face as he prepared the food and he noted the unnerving calmness of one John Watson. He noted all of these things, and yet all of his deductions would not piece together effectively to give him a clearer indication of exactly what was going on.This angered him.

“What do you mean he is cooking us dinner?Has your restaurant finally been seized by environmental health?”

“No his restaurant is still intact”

“Why are we not in it then?”

“Sit down Sherlock and I’ll explain.”

Sherlock threw himself down onto the kitchen chair in an obvious impatient huff of not understanding.His case hadn’t been going well and John inwardly scolded himself for choosing to do this now. However since it was January the 29th, a date with a significance Sherlock had clearly and thankfully deleted, John and his romantic nerve only had tonight.

“Do you remember the first case we went on together?”

“Obviously John.”

“You took me out to dinner during that case.”

“So seven years later you’re returning the favour during this case?John there are no murderers to catch tonight from Baker Street.Other than the three standing in this kitchen.”

“Was the case the only reason you took me there that night?”

Sherlock was about to answer with something much more sincere.He was about to talk about curing limps and building lasting friendships from loneliness, when a clang of cutlery reminded him of the fact that there was in fact a third person in their kitchen. His mask was firmly fixed in place once more.

“Yes of course it was.John what is this nonsense all about?”

“I’m explaining.”

“We’ll explain better.”

“We had a conversation that night that I want to have again.”

“You want to repeat a conversation we had seven years ago?For what purpose?It sounds unnecessary and tedious.”

“Indulge me this once…please Sherlock…”

There was something in the way John asked which caused Sherlocks stomach to flip in an uneasy manner.There was something about the way that John was now anxiously biting his lower lip when looking at Sherlock, that made his words catch at the back of his throat.

“Well get on with it then.”

John motioned for Angelo to approach the table.This was a very strange occurrence in such a tiny kitchen space as theirs and as ridiculous as the situation they now found themselves in.

“ANGELO could we have a candle on this table before you leave?”.

Sherlock choked on his water as he processed the words John had said. The restaurant owner had an encouraging and wistful smile on his face as he quietly collected the candle he had brought from his establishment. He placed it gently on the table between them.

“Why in Gods name do you want a candle ?”

John looked towards Angelo, a signal to provide the response that Sherlock was searching for.

“Because Mr Holmes it’s more romantic that way…”

The ex-criminal wished them goodnight and exited the flat leaving them completely alone.Sherlock,who up until that point had his piercing eyes firmly fixed on the crook restauranteur ,snapped them confusedly back to John the minute he heard the door click shut.

“But you never liked him putting candles on the table in our dinner outings together.Not once were you comfortable with that John.You worried constantly that people would stare and think…things….about us.”

“The truth is, although I complained every time, the minute he stopped doing it I began to miss them.I found myself obsessing over there not being the usual flame between us anymore.”


“I guess over time people can change.Their feelings about things that relate to other human beings can change.”

Sherlock was fully aware now that this wasn’t normal behaviour from John.John had always been the one who was mortified at any suggestion of them being, ‘together’ , and yet the impression he just gave Angelo was definitely not one of platonic friendship.His thoughts were stirred by the voice of the person who sat gently smiling at him over the dancing heat of the candle.

“Do you have a girlfriend ?”

The blush in Sherlocks cheeks slowly rose and he dropped his eyes to look away from the doctor.

“Don’t be outrageous John.No.You know I don’t.You know I’ve never.You know all of that.”

“You don’t want a girlfriend then?…EVER?”

“Girlfriend? NO! Seven years later. it’s still NOT my area John.That’s always been your department not mine.”

“How do you know that’s my only department?”

“Most of the evidence I have gathered over our acquaintance points to it.”

“I did have quite and interesting and intense life before meeting you, you know.Well until I got injured that is.”

“Nothing I have ever personally witnessed deviates from the pattern, John.”

“Then you’ve not observed correctly.Cause there’s a pretty big arrogant exception to your perceived pattern.You are seeing but you are not observing.”

“I ….John what is all this about?”

“All right Sherlock.You need more ….data.Okay. Lets continue then.”

John swirled the cold,congealed food around on his plate,long forgotten by both men.

“Do you have a boyfriend then?Which really would NOT be fine with me.I would mind.”

Sherlocks mouth began to go very dry.He gulped down some of the wine John had given him to combat this.Unfortunately in his nervous haste, some of it missed his mouth and dripped down his chin.It ran like blood towards the crisp white collar of his shirt.John followed its progress with his eager looking eyes. He licked his lips. Sherlock was beginning to feel fuzzy but rather than bring a halt to the conversation and escape quickly to his room, like his mind was practically screaming at him to do, he instead pushed ahead, his curiosity and obsession with everything John to blame.

“You Would…why?”

“I’d be insanely jealous of him. A bit like I was with Irene and Janine.”

“We are not repeating the conversation of seven years ago John.Not as I remember it anyway.”

Sherlock scraped the chair back quickly and jumped from his seat.He strode towards the wine on the counter and began fidgeting with the cork.He poured another glass of wine and finished it before he had even reached the table.He never even tried to offer John any. John didn’t look interested anyway. His only focus was the detective emotionally crumbling in front if him. John stretched his hand across the table but quickly retreated before he made contact with the man who now had his own clasped hands laid out in front of him.The whites of Sherlocks knuckles began to dig into the table cloth.John cautiously spoke like a hunter calmly trying to ensnare their prey rather than startling it into freedom.

“No, but we are adding seven years worth of friendship and love and feeling to it now.We’re changing it for the better.Do you understand what I’m trying to say here, Sherlock?”

“I have understood since the minute you began talking about ‘other departments’.Understanding is not the reason this conversation is continuing. It’s continuing because I am finding it difficult to believe what is currently transpiring between us. I am finding it even more difficult, as you are the one suddenly and unexpectedly initiating it. Things were normal yesterday. Why now?You, who has spent our entire friendship, correcting anyone who you felt had misunderstood our relationship due to its seemingly ambiguous nature.”

“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“So it must, John and yet in this Instance you are my exception also.I shall therefore need more substantial and solid proof of your feelings, than you merely stating my own utterances back to me as explanation for all of this.”

John rose from the table and walked around it until he was towering over where Sherlock sat.He extended his arms in a manner which seemed to encourage Sherlock to grasp them. When their hands where joined, John pulled him upwards and towards his body until they where merged together. He rested his chin on the taller mans shoulder and began to sway. Suddenly Sherlock was reminded of the romantic sounding music that surrounded them. John was dancing with him. He hadn’t danced with him for such a long time and yet they effortlessly moved in sync. John began to speak once more, only this time it was now into the shoulder of the detective.

“So have you got a boyfriend?Or maybe you would quite like a boyfriend now?Maybe there is Someone you can imagine being your amazingly smart,good looking,grey haired,soldier boyfriend one day soon if you were really lucky.”

As if to make his point even more obvious, John angled himself until his nose was completely submerged in the crook of his friends neck.He took a long inhale which seemed to suck up every ounce of pheromones that danced on that exposed piece of naive flesh. Sherlock shuddered and hissed at the contact to his starved eager body.

“No. I don’t have a boyfriend. There is ….someone..he’s a bit annoying but incredibly loyal. He hangs on my coat tails and follows me around like a little lost puppy dog at times, but he’s alright I suppose.If you are into that sort of thing.”

John chose this moment to French kiss Sherlocks neck.He could feel the pulse of the man throbbing quickly on the tip of his teeth, as his words and tongue slowly travelled from neck to jawline.

“Which you are.”

“MMMMhhhmmm …”

It was Sherlock turn to bury his face into the greyish hair of his friend and seductively breathe in his smell.The Doctors body responded by pressing himself intensely closer until each of them ached.His next words came out strained.

“Right. Okay. So You’re unattached like me and looking for that one person that means the world to you.That you would do anything to keep safe and to make happy.The person that makes you live. Fine. Good.”

John slid his hands slowly down the torso of the shaking detective and pushed them underneath his suit jacket until they were locked at his back.He used this possessive lock to pull Sherlock as tightly against him as possible. There was no space between them now and no mistaking the effect John was having on his friend. Sherlock arched backward slightly to mildly reduce the contact and to allow himself access to look into the glazed and aroused eyes of the man swaying in front of him.

“John, I think you should know that even with all of that said the fact remains that I STILL consider myself married to my work…however…”

John Suddenly bolted backwards from their embrace and put distance between them.

“Ahhh. Right then. God I feel like a massive dick now. I must have read this wrong…well of course I bloody did….you would never make that mistake….sorry about bloody confusing you like this. I thought, Christ…the problem is I wasn’t thinking, or if I was it wasn’t with my brain. I thought you’d be ready for this. God how pervy I must look right now, forcing myself at you like this. You didn’t need to feel like you had to participate in what we’ve just been doing.I didn’t want you to feel forced into doing that.”

Before John could apologetically dig himself further into an emotional crisis, Sherlock literally pounced at him, cupping his shocked friends face in his hands as he backed him up towards the kitchen table. John half collapsed onto the table top, as Sherlock leant in with one leg pressed between both the doctors.

“Do shut up, John.”


“If you had let me finish,I was about to highlight to you the fact that you being my blogger and sidekick, means you now encompass at least 99.99% of my work.”


Before John had any time to register what Sherlock was implying, the detective pressed his lips onto the shocked doctor. Their was no slow build up. No quick pecks. It was hot from the minute their mouths slid together. Their soft sighing was suddenly like another language to them both. They could hear the translation of it thudding against their ears.Sigh….I love you…sigh…I’ve always loved you…..sigh…why the hell has it taken us this long to be brave and admit this feeling between us existed….

After a while both men pulled away from their embrace. They smiled downwards at the floor, as they clung to each others shirt collars and caught their breathe by resting their foreheads together.

“I’m flattered by your interest, Sherlock .”

“I think that was my line, John.”

“It’s mine now. Things have changed.”

“Stop being so damn cocky, John.”

Both men began to laugh in unison as they finally separated. John lifted his hand so that it rested on the detectives cheek and he used it as a way to lock their eyes together and keep them momentarily and intimately connected.

“ We can do anything you want together you know. I’ll take anything you can give me Sherlock. It’s all fine.”

“Good. Thank you. I accept. Everything. With you John. Everything. Always.”

A noise at their door alerted them to the fact that the biggest champion of their relationship was now entering their flat.

“Dears, I couldn’t borrow one of your phones could I? My phone battery is really low and I ‘m so late for bingo….dears?.”

Mrs Hudson had a quick scan of the scene of them both standing there looking flushed and slightly sheepish, before brushing it off and impatiently tapping her foot. John moved himself closer to Sherlock before replying to her.

“No problem Mrs Hudson, Sherlock do you have your phone?”

“Yes, John.”

“We’ll go and bloody get it then.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and strode towards the hall to find the means of getting the cause of this interruption to the night, out of their way. As Mrs Hudson and John stood smiling at one another and waiting in the kitchen, the landlady looked around her, noting the candle and the romantic music. However she said nothing.

“Me and Sherlock are just having dinner together.”

“I can see that dear. Didn’t you manage to get a date for tonight?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Oh did she let you down then, so Sherlock is eating with you now instead.”

“No….no…Sherlock is my date tonight, Mrs Hudson.”

Mrs Hudson looked at him for a second before bursting out laughing. She was wiping tears from her eyes as Sherlock was entering the kitchen again with his phone. He tossed the phone at her before putting his hands in his pockets and resuming his position next to the flustered doctor.

“Oh, John what are you like.I’m past all that nonsense now. I know you two aren’t at it. Though you really aren’t doing anything to help these rumours yourself dears, by having romantic looking dinners like this together on your little friendship anniversary.”

Sherlock turned to John and nudged him.

“Ahhhh so that’s why it’s now, John ….”

John refrained from making eye contact with his friend and continued to focus all of his attention on their land lady.

“Mrs Hudson, there is something we would both like to tell you.”

“Just phoning my taxi John, give me a minute, better reception in the living room.”

Mrs Hudson walked away from them and Sherlock chose that moment to grip John by the arm.

“John we can keep this quiet …for a while at least. You tell Mrs Hudson and we might as well stand with a megaphone and shout it from the rooftop. Are you sure, John?”


“Oh God she will be insufferable.”

“Best to get it over with then, when she is late for bingo and just phoned a taxi. Tomorrow and three cups of tea later, she’d still be here.”

“Genius, John.”

Mrs Hudson angrily stormed into the kitchen again.

“Twenty bloody mins they’ve said! Mrs Turner will be ever so mad. Now what was it you wanted to tell me John?”

“I’ve met someone wonderful.Someone that I’m deeply in love with and i’ve decided I want to spend the rest of my life with them. If they’ll have me.”

“They’ll have you, John.”

“Sherlocks right. Whoever the lucky girl is she’d be crazy to say no. So what’s she like?”

“Perfect. I just click with him.i’ve always just clicked with him.’

"I’ve always said … find the person you click…wi……him?”

John took the opportunity to clasp his hand with Sherlocks and move it towards his mouth. He kissed it once.


Mrs Hudson practically ran towards them, throwing herself in between her two boys. Her two stupid boys who had FINALLY saw sense.

“ I bloody knew it! Didn’t I always tell you two boys you were mad for one another!”

As Sherlock prised her away, he began to gently guide her towards the door. She continued to prattle on nonsense in his direction.

“Turns out I’m the best deducer at a Baker Street…. who’d have thought it!”

“Yes…yes you can take over my job tomorrow. I’ll inform Lestrade. Now Off you go to bingo…”

As Sherlock began to shut the door, she pushed her head back in between the open space.

“Awww, I’m ever so pleased for you both…FINALLY!..when’s the wedd…”


“Okay dears, see you tomorrow. Come and have some dinner. I’ll make your favourite.”

When she was gone Sherlock threw his head back against the door and began to giggle. John did the same.

“I’m tired John. Are you tired?”



Sherlock looked so vulnerable in that moment.He was clearly not used to this. John would have to be the one to take control and that was one thing John didn’t mind doing.

“So lets go to bed together, Sherlock. You must be starving.”

There was no unravelling of shirts as they thudded against walls towards the nearest bedroom. There was only clasped hands and gentle caresses, as they walked quietly towards their future together.

Dating Stiles Would Include.
  • ● "You know Stiles you look pretty cute when your stuffing your mouth with curly fries."
  • "Shupht oopp, mm-k!"
  • "Sorry what was that, I don't speak chipmunk."
  • ● "I just don't get it okay, I don't get the case!'
  • "Stiles chill! Sherlock Holmes always says that once all logical scenarios have been eliminated whatever is left must be it, or something like that."
  • ● "Stiles Stilinki if you don't wake up right this instant,  I will literally never kiss you again!"
  • "I'm up!"
  • ● "Hey can I borrow a funnel?"
  • "Yeah, take the red and blue one; it looks good on you."
  • ●"Stiles always makes me the little spoon Malia, I mean it's cute and all but sometimes I just wanna be the big spoon."
  • ●"From now on we always tell the other if they were almost eaten or killed by a supernatural being."
  • "Unless you're already digested or dead."
  • "Right, I think you're missing the point Y/N."
  • ●"Scott will hate me, Y/N."
  • "No he won't Stiles, you're his bestfriend, his brother you're are his pack memeber. Chances are you're gonna fight but that's what happens in a relationship, Stiles it's natural."
  • ●"Stiles, what was your mom like."
  • "Were do I start."
  • "It's okay you don't have to tell me. "
  • "No I want to. "
  • ●"Call me okay? Call me when you get into the car, when you're half way there when you get there, when you're leaving when you're half way back home and when you get home, got it?"
  • "Yes Stiles, I will call you."
  • "Y/N he does know he's coming too, right?"
  • "Yes Lydia Stiles does in fact know, he just doesn't care."
  • ●"You have to watch Star wars, there is no opinion actually.  We're watching Star Wars!"
  • "Okay Stiles, I'll get the popcorn and soda."
  • ●"I'm not going to math."
  • "Yes you are."
  • "No I'm not."
  • "Yes you are, you need math Y/N."
  • "No, I don't, what I need is love and food."
  • "That's great, we're still going to math."
  • ●"I say we-."
  • "No Stiles we are duct taping Liam to the back of the jeep!"

anonymous asked:

"And now we're action figures," John says shaking his head when a box from a toy company arrives at 221b. "No, action figures move," Sherlock corrects, "we're collectibles." "Whatever," John grumbles. A few weeks later a second box arrives with identical action figures, save for one small detail. "Now we have two sets of useless collectibles," John sighs. "These are more accurate," Sherlock smiles and removes the John figurine from the box revealing an extra large bulge in its trousers, "see?"

PFFT!!!! Omg hahahahahahaha XD