three weeks of sherlock

Sherlock Season 4: A Summary

sherlock pointed a gun at himself and john just stood there
john was drowning and sherlock just stood there
SHERLOCK HOLMES IGNORED VATICAN CAMEOS
Doctor John Watson: I can break every bone in your body while naming them
Also Doctor John Watson: idk man these bones are… small
mycroft literally allowed two of the smartest and most destructive psychopaths of the century an unsupervised conversation (as a christmas gift what mycroft wyd??)
why does redbeard have a dog bowl HE WAS A BOY
Sherlock Holmes: predicts people’s moves three weeks in advance
Also Sherlock Holmes: fails to see that there was no glass between him and eurus
why was mary able to send DVDs to Baker Street randomly COME ON SHE’S DEAD
Eurus Holmes: literally kills five people without a second thought, is manipulative, is obviously dangerously psychotic
Also Eurus Holmes: my big brother gave me a hug so I’m okay now
Entire Sherlock crew: this season is going to be groundbreaking we’re going to make history
Also entire Sherlock crew: the season finale has been leaked twice in the last 24 hours, we’ll make sure more people go watch the leaked version by announcing it on our facebook page

Me, after the 47 second long trailer of Sherlock series 4 aired:

Originally posted by trust-no1

I´m not prepared for series 4, aka 270 minutes full of (more or less angsty) sherlock content distributed over three whole weeks. I´m not gonna survive this.

im not ready for us to be like this im still on making posts about how john thought sherlock had given up on getting in touch meanwhile sherlock was planning their getting back together THREE weeks in advance and then getting high and having breakdowns about it

Sherlock has screwed up.

Which is why he finds himself wandering aimlessly through streets crowded with last-minute Christmas shoppers, wrapped up warm against a chill he can’t seem to shake, a chill that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with his own stupidity running through his veins like ice water.

He shouldn’t have yelled at John. He shouldn’t have pushed. But he hadn’t been able to sit there in silence anymore. And now he’s screwed everything up. As usual.

John’s only been home for three weeks. He’d shown up at Sherlock’s door with a bag of clothes and an overstuffed diaper bag in one arm and Sophia in the other, and Sherlock had let him in without a single question. Why would he question it? John coming home was everything he’d wanted, everything he had expected, though it had taken far longer than he thought for John to give in to the inevitable. The next day he’d had Mycroft send some of his people round to John’s house to collect more of his things and deliver them to Baker Street, and the two of them–three now actually–had simply gone on living as if nothing had changed.

Except that everything had.

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The Fandoms right now...
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  • MCR fandom: "When I was (sobs) a young boy (sobs)..."
  • The Walking Dead fandom: "OH GOD ONE MORE WEEK LEFT PEOPLE ARE GOING TO DIE PLEASE GOD NO"
  • Doctor Who fandom: (Prepping for 10 year revival anniversary)
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  • Game of Thrones fandom: "Just three more weeks..."
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Closed | BoJHW

Sherlock had known John was going to hide his suppressants; knowing and seeing? Were two different things. When he forced himself to climb from the bed and leave the comfort of the scent of John and their recent mating behind, Sherlock dragged a hand down his face, willing himself to not get angry at his missing medication.

There would be no finding it, of that Sherlock was sure. John would do more than hide them, after all: he would throw them away.

That had been three weeks ago.

The first week had been fine; Sherlock’s body was still overcome with the bonding, was still settling in as a mated omega.

The second week, everything had settled and Sherlock was beginning to feel what he had long since suppressed. An omega, after all, was more than just womb; while the lacked the strength of an alpha, they had the senses of one.

The third week? Those senses Sherlock had long suppressed, came back.

It was overwhelming and he laid, sprawled on the couch with a cool, damp cloth over his eyes to block out the world around him and, to attempt to tame the throbbing in his skull. Migraines were awful things.