sherlock-holmes-bbc

10

The best of The Abominable Bride pick-up lines, based on number of notes.

I just realized I never did a photoset for this episode! #FlashbackFriday?

john: *keeps phone number*

me:

"ITS AN EXPERIMENT"
  • john: *comes home to find sherlock microwaving something* oh god sherlock, is the flat going to smell like burnt flesh for a week again?
  • sherlock: there is no flesh involved, so no.
  • john: are you making something to eat? i usually don't see you use the microwave to make food.
  • sherlock: no.
  • john: well what are you doing?
  • sherlock: science, john.
  • john: i'm relatively scared. it's not blood or anything, is it?
  • sherlock: no, but that's a good idea.
  • john: what is it then?
  • sherlock: a thing.
  • john: sherlock, WHAT IS IT?
  • sherlock:
  • sherlock:
  • john: ok i'm too paranoid. *walks over and pulls it out of the microwave*
  • sherlock:
  • john: sherlock,
  • sherlock: yes, john?
  • john: are you really microwaving a marshmallow to see how big it will get?
  • sherlock: yes, in the name of science.
  • john:
  • sherlock: because i'm BOOOOOOORRRRREEEEDDDDDD
  • sherlock: *goes on a crazy rampage in the kitchen and destroys everything*
  • john: i should've just let him microwave the marshmallow.

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.

John

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.”

Lol remember when Irene told us she was gay and her sexuality was ignored by viewers and even the writers made her fall for Sherlock

Let’s be honest. Even if Sherlock Holmes screams from the rooftops: “I’m gay” they would still be like “he’s kidding” “he was using the term ‘gay’ loosely” “he did it for an experiment” because people are dicks

anonymous asked:

Imagines for Mycroft's partner affording? Like his reaction and caring for them etc

This is worded a bit funny but I’m guessing you’re alluding to how Mycroft feels about being able to provide comforts to his partner? Correct me if I’m wrong but I’ll go ahead and give it a whirl.

-M

Mycroft takes immense pleasure in being able to afford nice things for the people that he cares for and his girlfriend would be no different. (Okay SLIGHTLY different but I’ll get to that later.)

It brings Mycroft a sense of security that his girlfriend is taken care of in the most minuscule ways from her cab fare to lunch.

Yes, Mycroft does enjoy being taken care of (paid for) every now and again but it kinda of puts him off kilter when he’s not the one paying. You’re pretty much better off cooking for him rather than paying for dinner.

Sometimes he goes a bit overboard with what he spends (very high quality dresses, shoes, accessories, technology, guns, etc.) but he will almost always cite that its because she deserves it, she needs it, and it was (supposedly) a good deal compared to what else was on the market.

Mycroft is really doing it to ‘buy’ your love per say, but showing that he thinks of her and cares when he’s more than often away from home. Almost akin to a ghost-he does things that you don’t notice until its there and he texts you.

When his girlfriend accepts his little ways of showing he cares it gives Mycroft a sense of pride. We all know the man bends over backwards to protect and take care of his family with little to no gratitude so seeing his girlfriend appreciate it can turn a really shitty day at work much more tolerable.  

Alright, I said I would explain why his situation with the girlfriend would be slightly different and here it is: Sometimes Mycroft may end up buying something for her that’s also for him. Lingerie, toys, those spa days so when he comes home she’s ready to go, etc. You know, stuff that you wouldn’t buy for your parents or siblings.

It just comes second nature to Mycroft really and to a lesser extent Sherlock who does about the same but without paying for it.

So whoever Mycroft dates better get used to being taken care of and doing a whole lot of cooking/crafting if they want to get even.

2

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Hey guys! sry for not posting so much ;/
My family and I finally found a dog we want to adopt.. and now we have to prepare everything c: Also school has started again and a lot of exams are on the way ^^

I really wanted to draw something small today c: so I decided to redraw a picture I’ve found on google to practice my new style a bit c; I hope you like it <3 I also want to draw john soon ;w;   

*Update*  Here’s the John Watson I promised :D I hope you like it <3

Imagine:  Out-Smarting the Holmes Brothers

Originally posted by sherlockspeare

Originally posted by bbcsherlockimagines

(Gifs are not mine!  Credit to original owner!)

(Request: … I would love one about Sherlock and Mycroft facing off in deductions and being suddenly, to their surprise bested by the reader, who is in fact as logical as them but just far more humble about it.)

   “Male.  Brown hair.  Brown eyes. Approximately thirty-one years old. The line of pale skin around his wrist suggests that he was tanning with a watch on.  Considering the weather in the area, he must have recently traveled,” Sherlock deduced.  “Hair is combed, and facial hair is well-groomed.  Both his suit and shoes are quite pricey.  I’d say he was gone on business.  The pamphlet sticking out of his pocket suggests it was a company cruise.”    

   “Ah-ah-ah.  You’re missing something, brother mine,” Mycroft told him smugly.  

   You rolled your eyes as the two brothers stood on the sidewalk, watching strangers walk by.  You knew exactly what was coming.  

   Spending the last year solving crimes along with Sherlock and John had changed everything.  You were always smart, but it wasn’t until observing Sherlock in his element when you realized that you also had a gift at deduction.  No one knew except for John, who was amazed at a deduction you made about him as a practice exercise.  

   Along with the crime-solving and shenanigans with your flat-mates, you had to deal with the ongoing drama between the Holmes brothers.  Sherlock always got so competitive whenever Mycroft was around, and Mycroft couldn’t resist rising to the challenge.

   “Clearly,” Mycroft continued, trying to rub in the fact he noticed something his brother didn’t, “there was more to that trip than just business.  Look at his left hand.  There’s no mark where his wedding ring should be, so he must have removed it before the cruise began.  I’d say it was an affair disguised as a business trip.  Perhaps with someone in the office.”

   Sherlock scoffed at Mycroft’s deductions, but reluctantly nodded in agreement.  Your eyes scanned the man, checking the accuracy to Mycroft’s deductions for yourself.  He was a little off on something.  But before you could speak up, Sherlock cut in.  

   “He’s glancing around rather nervously. It seems that he’s meeting the mistress here.  He’s afraid of someone he knows seeing him with her.”

   “He keeps looking at his wrist as if trying to check the time.  She’s late,” Mycroft added.  As if on cue, a beautiful woman wearing an expensive red dress, high heels, and a long coat over it walked up to the man.  Her hair and makeup were nothing extravagant.  She wore cover-up, a little lip-stick, and some mascara.  The important thing, you noted, was the wedding ring she had on her finger.  A big smile spread across the man’s face as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.  

   Mycroft nodded, satisfied that he had been right. Sherlock pursed his lips as the couple exchanged greetings, looking very happy to see each other.

   “It’s not an affair,” you spoke up suddenly, making both of the Holmes brothers look at you in confusion.

   “What do you mean?” Sherlock questioned.  “Of course it’s an affair.”

   “Did you see them just now? No embrace.  No passionate kiss.”  You shook your head.  “It’s not an affair.  Look at their walking patterns, so similar.  And watch their mannerisms.”  The three of you went silent as you observed the couple for a minute, proving your point. “Gentleman, that man and woman are brother and sister.”

   “But his wedding ring-”

   “He isn’t wearing one because he isn’t married,” you finished Mycroft’s sentence.  “You were right about the business trip, Sherlock. He’s very serious about his work. I mean, he’s wearing a suit to meet up with his sister.  He’s a workaholic who doesn’t have time to go meet anyone and get married.  The woman, on the other hand, is happily married for at least five years.  She is taking care of herself, but not going overboard with makeup and hair products like she would be if she were trying to attract a potential lover at work.”

   The Holmes brothers both stared at you, mouths open in surprise.

   “_______,” Sherlock said finally.  “I knew that your intelligence was much higher than the average person- I know this because having you around helps me deal with everyone else’s ignorance- but I did not realize you were capable of such observations.”

   “Well, unlike you two, I don’t go around showing off,” you teased with a laugh.  “Anyways, are we able to get going?  Now that your deduction battle is over, I’d like to get back to the flat.  John is probably wondering where we all are.”

   “My dear Miss ________,” Mycroft told you, impressed.  “You certainly are full of surprises.”