or is it sherlock

Why am I so taken by the Jonerys hand grab?

I mean, generally speaking, holding hands is barely something to get this excited over right? (or as my friend so eloquently put it, “It’s freaking Game of Thrones and you’re excited about people holding hands???”). To which, my answer is:

I’m not just excited about them holding hands (although I’m crazily obsessed with it, and have watched that scene a couple million times already). It’s the fact that Jon ‘You-know-nothing’ Snow, clueless Jon, naive Jon who despite being told this:

Still didn’t make the first move. Who’s always had that ‘I’m adorable but I don’t know it’ aura around him. Who’s always been so reserved and so..just so unsure about himself nearly always. 

The thing which made me go crazy about the Jonerys hand holding was Jon making the move y’all!! 

Jon!!!, our Jon!!, reaching out!!, grabbing her hand!!!, not letting go!!! 

I can watch this forever and still not get tired, because this shows Jon Snow reaching out for something that matters to him, Jon Snow holding on and not letting go because he wanted this. He wanted someone for the first time in forever and he went for it and he didn’t want to let go!

And this, this, is why the Jonerys handhold will always be the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen on GoT, because we have a vulnerable hesitant Dany, and a ‘dammit all, I’m going for this’ Jon, and that was the most beautiful scene I had seen in a really long time!

Molly: Now, ask me nicely.

Sherlock: Ask you nicely what?

Molly: Ask me nicely to marry you… Sherlock.

Sherlock: What does that mean?

Molly: You heard me. On your knee.

Sherlock: *kneels* Fine. Does this work for you?

Molly: Oh, I like this. Yeah.

Sherlock: Here you go. Will you marry me?

Molly: No. Say it like you mean it.

Sherlock: Molly.

Molly: Yes, Sherlock?

Sherlock: Sweet Molly.

Molly: I’m listening.

Sherlock: Would you please, with cherries on top, marry me?

Molly: I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, but I’ll do it.

  • *221B*
  • Sherlock: *enters, yawning*
  • Molly: *curled on his chair, wearing his dressing gown; working on the laptop*
  • Sherlock: *raises an eyebrow* Everything alright?
  • Molly: *shrugs* Bored. Need the space.
  • Sherlock: *points* That's my laptop.
  • Molly: Mmm. 'Molly Holmes' is not a good password, you know *smirks*
  • Sherlock: *blushes; mumbles* Shut up *pauses* why couldn't you do that at your flat?
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* You're not there.
  • Sherlock: *blushes more* Oh *shuffles awkwardly*
  • Molly: *looks up* Takeaway?
  • Sherlock: *smiles* Are you trying to seduce me?
  • Molly: *sighs* Yes. Is it working?
  • Sherlock: *kisses her nose* Always.

Eurus: If we’re going to be working together, we should bond. So what do you guys like to do?

Jim: Murder’s pretty fun.

Irene: I like stomping on people. And high heels. I like stomping on people with high heels.

Sebastian: I like being the only sane one in the group I’m in. And guns, I like guns.

Eurus: We’re all going to get along so well.


Jo Watson, sitting the back row of an Introductory Psychology lecture, had almost completely tuned out the professor when it happened:

“Yes, Holmes?” The professor sounded more than a little bit resigned to being corrected yet again by Sherlock Holmes.

“This whole concept is extremely heteronormative and sexist. Why is it still included this course? It’s essentially useless.”

Jo snickered. The professor looked taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

Sherlock Holmes was without question the smartest (and fittest, but that was beside the point) student in their year – she had no business being in anything as basic as an introductory course, but prerequisites were prerequisites even for a genius – and spent more time correcting professors than taking notes. She was in three of Jo’s other classes and although she’d never worked up the nerve to so much as introduce herself, Jo found herself nursing something of a crush on her.

“I said, the entire concept of sexual selection and parental investment theory is heteronormative, outdated, and vaguely sexist. It doesn’t take into account the existence of gay or bisexual people.”

“There’s no need to be political, Holmes. I’m sure all of that is irrelevant to our discussion today…” the prof – who, Jo noted, was one of the oldest in the department and staunchly heterosexual (not to mention more than a little homophobic) – trailed off awkwardly. “Now, as I was saying –”

“But shouldn’t modern social science and psychology be trying to include lesbian and gay perspectives?” another student piped up, cutting the professor off again. “It’s important, after all, and since none of us like to think of ourselves as homophobic, shouldn’t we be the ones making that effort?”

“There, you see!” Sherlock sounded triumphant, and Jo grinned to herself. Despite being a chemistry major, Sherlock could correct most of the profs in the required introductory courses. Jo could picture her self-satisfied grin and the slight blush she knew would be on those sharp cheekbones – Sherlock may be outspoken, but she could also be painfully shy, and it showed in the way her face flamed every time she spoke up in class. “Very little of the data – if you can call it that – you’re presenting is applicable to queer people, and it’s absurd to leave out such a significant portion of the population.”

The professor took a step forward, frowning thunderously at the continued interruption. “Holmes, you have yet to demonstrate why any of your leftist idealism is relevant to my lecture today. I must insist you stop interrupting, or I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Maybe she’s a dyke!” a student sitting behind Jo shouted out. Jo turned to glare at him, not at all surprised to see that it was a stereotypical white-frat-boy who’d made the comment.

There was a wave of uncomfortable giggling and muttering. “You can’t just say things like that, it’s offensive,” someone stage-whispered, sounding scandalized. “Although I did always think it was rather obvious.”

Sherlock stood up and whirled around, her face red and twisted in anger, her shoulders tight and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “And what’s it to you if I am?” she demanded.

Continue reading on AO3 !

based on this post from @grumpy-swoop​ and an addition by @justanotherwritingaddict​. Also tagging @shylockgnomes​, @chriscalledmesweetie​, @posh-boyy@cj-holmes and @sherlockstims ‘cause they expressed interest and/or I just think they might like it :)

Sherlock getting ready for a date with Molly

Mycroft-I never thought I would see the day that my brother would lower himself to something so plebeian as dating

Sherlock- how is lady Smallwood by the way? Still keeping her private number on you?

Mycroft is annoyed but lets it go. Watches as his brother dresses with elaborate care.

Mycroft- please tell me you are taking miss Hooper somewhere appropriate…if you need somewhere I can make a reservation

Sherlock-(bitingly) no thank you. Neither Molly or I want to be spied on all night

Mycroft-ah so you require privacy? How quaint. How romantic

Sherlock shoots his brother a dark look. His expression eases as he puts on his suit jacket, he looks good. Molly will certainly approve.

The belstaff is the last part of his armour. It feels good. He feels like himself. No matter how alien this feeling for Molly was. No matter which way the evening ended, and god he wanted it to go well. But at least he looked the part.

Mycroft- I suppose it’s customary to express well wishes at times like this

Sherlock snorts derisively

Sherlock-don’t strain yourself dear

Mycroft-I have no intention to. Perhaps I will simply remind you of Miss Hooper’s many accomplishments and devotion to you–

Sherlock- I don’t need a reminder of that!

He looks in the mirror, marvelling at how calm he was on the outside when his insides twisted with nervousness.

Mycroft- Don’t mess this up brother mine-you may well not get another chance.

An echo of that very thought has reverberating through his mind, it’s easier to ignore it in Mycroft’s voice. That’s why Mycroft said it.

Without a word he exits his brother’s office.