sherlock poem

Sherlock’s Poker Face- a Poem about Johnlock

@shag-me-senseless-watson @kateis-cakeis @savedbyholmes @love-in-mind-palace @carefreegirlat221b (I’m working on Greg, just… give me time, gurl) @simpleanddestructivechemistry @alexxphoenix42

I didn’t make this to bash John, for the record! I just wanted to make something angsty and show the strain in their relationship by the time that the fourth season ends. It’s like they know each other on a surface level, but the longer they’re together the less they truly know one another in the way that they did in TRF or pool scene where they both decided to die together with a single look. 

Also, I needed to make this after seeing @addignisherlock‘s art (go check it the fuck out, seriously) where I sorta wanted to cry seeing the bruises and marks left by John on Sherlock after the morgue scene. It was not okay. Poem is by Lang Leav. So yeah. Peace! -Andrew

Season Finales

So I wrote a poem:

Harry Potter is over,
And Merlin is too.
The Doctor’s last fight
Is finally through.
Sam and Dean are both gone,
While Adam’s in Hell.
Mary hurt her dear John,
And Sherlock as well.
The Hannibal clan
Has gone up in flames
Though if you’re not a fan,
Your life stays the same.
Our families are crumbling,
We can’t pick up the slack
Hurry up, Castiel,
And bring everyone back.

John Watson: The Nonbeliever

John Watson and why he writes. Writers often write to heal the old wounds and bitter regrets that still haunt them, and in some ways this could show in their writing. 

Because sometimes we’re too afraid to say what we want to and we never get another chance to say them again. The poem is, again, completely my own. I’ll be trying this out some more, perhaps with other characters and pairings. Tagging others. @shag-me-senseless-watson @savedbyholmes @kateis-cakeis @love-in-mind-palace @redhead-at-221b @inevitably-johnlocked

Sherlock had brains

He was frighteningly smart

John was his partner

And had quite the heart.

John couldn’t help it 

And oh, how he tried!

But he often was captured

By Sherlock’s blue eyes.

And his soft brownish curls

And his beautiful gaze

And his dazzling smile

Put John in a daze.

John didn’t quite get

How he felt for his friend

And he wondered about it

For fortnights on end

Until one day he realised:

“Oh, heavens above!

Goddamnit, John Watson,

You’ve fallen in love!”

Why is it always the simple things that break us? Why is it always the things that make the most sense that hurt the worst? Because I broke the string on my violin after a tough day, and now I’m sobbing into my knees with five sleeping pills clutched in my palm. Because I depend on music to feel sane and my earphones just broke, and I don’t want to use the old white pair my father lent me because my father implanted a lot of mental issues into me, and now I’m doubled over in a spasm of panic with my head against the wall and my breaths coming so fast I think they might fracture my chest.

That was all.

A broken violin string, a broken pair of earphones.

And I feel like my entire world has shattered.

So why is it always the little things that send us into such abysmal places? The things that usually make us go ‘c'est la vie?’ The things we saw coming that dig into us like crooked fingernails?

And maybe it’s just the last straw, just the final little thing that sets off a giant ticking bomb of bottled up problems. Maybe there’s an explanation, but still.

This is horrible.

It can’t just be me. I can’t be the only one falling apart for what looks like no godamn reason.

These are logics, mechanics, predictions.

The small, simple things in life that go wrong for us all on a daily basis.

Why do they do this to me? Am I going to be called a drama queen? An attention-seeker? Will you look down on me like a weed growing inbetween the cracks in the pavement and screw up your face in repulsion?

You’ll break me if you do that, if it’s anymore possible to break something already so bent on self-destruction.

And maybe I really am all of the mentioned above, maybe you have every reason to judge me, and maybe I’m finally just loosing it.

But why is it always the simple things that break us?