Meretricious to my Sherlock Secret Santee, luffinthemuffin!  Winglock seemed appropriate for the holiday season.

Hello future, goodbye past – now each breath may be my last
Will I see another dawn, will I be reborn?

Let the sun rise, let the birds sing
Let there be light, let there be morning
I don’t know how I’ve made it till now
Let there be light, let there be morning

Let there be morning

(Print available on redbubble.)


S: John!
J: Aw, c'mon Sherlock. Just one kiss!
S: You are insufferable!
J: But it’s tradition!
S: Since when have I cared about the practices of normal people?
J: Indulge me.
S: But you’re a doctor! You know just how unhygienic kissing is!
J: Oh come off it you berk!
S: I don’t want your cooties! There’s no known cure! I could die!
J: Mmm, you’re right. Could be… dangerous.
S: …Yes. I suppose it could.

In which two idiots come together under the mistletoe. Sherlock’s scared away yet another of John’s dates, so John turns to his best friend for his Christmas kiss.

This is my Sherlock Secret Santa gift for aerolock!
I hope you like it! HAPPY NEW YEAR! ♡

Uhm… here’s my embarrassingly late Sherlock Secret Santa entry for namara-ashina!

I hope you enjoyed the Holidays and that you’ll enjoy my little silly present :)
It’s sort of a teenish!fem!johnlock eheheh
Sherlock is a girl name after all…

Sorry again! And as an apology feel free to drop me an ask asking for another picture/comic/thingie I may do for you in order to apologize!

With Words Unsaid

 for sleepeatdancedream! Surprise! I’m your Secret Santa! :)

Sherlock Holmes is all of sixteen years old when he hears the words of his soul mark, and he screwed his mouth shut and nodded curtly to the brown haired girl that had so timidly asked “Hi, do you mind if I sit next to you?”

Caring is not an advantage, love is a chemical defect, soul marks were designed for the weak of heart. His mind chanted the mantra as his eyes flitted over her form, wondering if and where his mark was hidden on her body. The teacher was calling role, giving Sherlock a curt nod at finding his name and then moving on. 

“Molly Hooper?” The girl next to him raised her hand and gave a small wave. Sherlock would spend the next ten years trying to convince himself that he did not strategically catalog her name into the his mind palace. The year was fairly miserable, though Molly was not slow minded or dim, Sherlock had become tired of not speaking a word in her presence and batting off her dropped cues for conversation. Caring is not an advantage, love is a chemical defect, soul marks were designed for the weak of heart. 

She either didn’t mind his coldness or didn’t pay him any mind, her cheerful demeanor stayed in place, as unwavering as her quick grin. Sherlock knew that if he so much as opened his mouth, he’d be well and truly sunk. Then the seat next to him was suddenly empty again, quick grins were gone, and Molly Hooper had moved cities. He swallowed down the white hot flash of guilt and subconsciously rubbed his let clavicle, right where her words were scripted. “Hi, do you mind if I sit next to you?” was just another person. Another goldfish swimming aimlessly along, no matter how pretty her smile had been or how sharp her mind was.

For the record, Sherlock Holmes could delete anything out of his mind palace at any given point or time if he chose to do so. Especially the words marked right above his iron rusted heart. “Hi, do you mind if I sit next to you?” that crept upon the walls like ivy. Imagine his surprise when a case calls to him, asking him to go to the morgue, and she’s there with her elbows deep into a stomach cavity. Molly Hooper, his mind supplies traitorously, almost sighing the name in content.

Lestrade approaches her and he hears his name name spoken as he follows behind. Molly smiles brightly, still holding the man’s liver in her hands, making Lestrade look uneasy and a bit peaky. “Oh yes! We went to school together. Hello, again!”

“Yes, hello.” If he hadn’t schooled himself, Sherlock would have flinched at the way Molly’s eyes widened a little. Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she placed the liver on the scale, chewing on her bottom lip, no doubt wondering the question Sherlock already knew the answer to.

Caring is not an advantage, love is a chemical defect, soul marks were designed for the weak of heart. 

He asks her for the autopsy report, and the moment has thankfully passed. Sherlock Holmes will spend the next six years wondering where exactly “Yes, hello.” is scripted on Molly Hooper’s skin.

Mine, the walls in his mind palace shook with the force as it bellows, mine! Tears stand on the brim of Molly’s eyes as he turns the package over in his hands and everything screeches to a halt as he reads the tag addressed to him.

Three x’s means a romantic attachment. His mind supplies and a quiet mine follows behind it. There is a deeper ache as Molly flees from the party after his apology and his mind whispers mine in longing manner, because he knows it cannot be.

Mycroft takes him to see the body of Irene Adler and Molly stands before him. “Everyone else was busy with… Christmas.” And Sherlock squelches down the feeling of shame, even as his image of Molly in his mind palace sits on the steps sadly in her black dress and painted lips, twirling the sliver bow in her hands. She whispers to him as he takes a drag of the cigarette. “You say such awful things. Every time. Always, always.”

And Mycroft reminds him that caring is not an advantage.

Mine, his mind whines, mine. Sherlock can’t help but think of it as he makes his way down the stairs, the way Tom’s hand rests on Molly’s hip. He can’t help the smug satisfaction he feels at Molly’s eye roll at her fiance’s meat dagger commentary. He can’t help but feel the boiling sensation of shame as her hand whips across his face.

And as he boards the plane, walking towards his certain doom, he rubs his left clavicle. “Hi, do you mind if I sit next to you?” in Molly’s cramped and hurried writing and he asks himself one last time where “Yes, hello.” is written 

He doesn’t have to wait much longer, as he rushes back to Baker Street to defeat Moriarty once and for all. His heart catches and his breathing stops as Molly sits in his armchair, sniffling quietly. She hears him, of course she does, and gives him a watery smile and waves a vanilla folder of what he can only assume are Mycroft’s personal records for him.

He approaches her slowly, hands shoved deep in his pockets and he says the only thing he can think of. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”

Molly’s eyes flash in recognition and she gives a watery laugh as she stands and walks in front of him. “Yes, hello.” is her only reply before she slowly raises herself on her toes kisses him softly on the corner of his mouth. Sherlock’s eyes flutter shut and he bends his head down to rest his forehead against hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and Molly’s head resting gently over where her words were.

They let the moment pass between them, thankful for the words that were unspoken.


This is my Sherlock Secret Santa gift for eccentricandfantastic!!!

It’s a piano piece I arranged blending SHERlocked and Far Over The Misty Mountains High.

I hope you like it!!

Sherlock Secret Santa for Nixiesaurus!

Obviously a lover of Moran and Moriarty, mainly with Fassbender fancast as Moran (occasionally reblogging art/gif edits with other actors, but all commissioned fanart of the two show Fassbender’s traits) - interested in their dynamics with a fondness of the occasional intimate moment inbetween much snarking! General tendency to reblog things with soft colours (which I ultimately ended up not making much use of for the picture) and Moran in jeans, leather boots, a leather jacket and leather gloves (did not make use of the gloves either, incidentally). She seems to focus more on them as a professional duo (at times transgressing into something else) rather than overly domestic.
I chose to go with something that hinted at their respective possessive behaviour - Moriarty who thinks of Moran as someone he ‘owns’, and Moran possibly as the active part of the dynamic, ever the former military man.

I hope I got some of it right and that you like it, Nixiesaurus! Happy Christmas and sorry about taking so long with it!

So we signed up for the Sherlock Secret Santa and got riddlest, who is a major Martin Freeman fan. Aaah, a girl after our own hearts! He, too, is ruining our lives.

So we, at the BSB, bestow upon you, a Pocket!Martin in Christmas finery. And everyone go check out her blog, because it’s full of Martiny goodness.

Pocket!Martin was drawn by BSB kafers.