sherlocks-trousers:

#You strapped my John to a bomb #I don’t like this game anymore

areu:

You, being all mysterious with your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.

dorks.

lol i love this scene - I have a feeling he knew her name and was totally trolling just to sabotage John’s relationship

“John?! John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!”

“Yes, alright - not to overdo it” 

“You’ve never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable!” 

“Cheers - what?” 

“Some people who aren’t geniuses have the amazing ability to stimulate it in others.”

“Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago, don’t spoil it!”

“Heartwarming and counts as a Crowning Moment of Acting on both sides- at the beginning of A Study in Pink, both Sherlock and John seem absolutely incapable of actually, genuinely smiling. John’s been through a lot, is depressed, and hasn’t got a lot of reason to. Sherlock does try to smile on occasion, with hilarious results (he seems to think ‘move lips outward at both ends briefly but enthusiastically’ is the definition of ‘smile.’ You can really see it after he tells John “prospective housemates should know the worst about each other” and it crops up in other places where Sherlock evidently feels a smile is in order. It’s awkward as hell.) In any case, the ice-breaking conversation at the restaurant and the chase after the cab are a watershed of sorts for both of them. They laugh about “welcome to London”, and by the time they arrive back at Baker Street they’re both giggling like loons, which is hilarious and adorable.”

- TV TROPES (SOURCE)

bbcsherlockftw:

ibeggedformercytwice:

televisionismypatronus:

mystolenthunder:

yourlandladynotyourmanservant:

myrealityisobscured:

sussexdowns:

murrehtrishoos:

sussexdowns:

murrehtrishoos:

theraggedyhipster:

SHERLOCK THESE ARE NOT THE WORST THINGS ABOUT LIVING WITH YOU

#we will never be short of body parts #i do not approve of using the kitchen for something as silly as food #my brother will probably kidnap you every so often #our flat will be searched for drugs occasionally #the rent will fluctuate depending on bullet holes explosion damage or acid corrosion #also you will never be allowed any other friends

#none of your property is sacred#personal space is a non-issue#all your money are belong to me#you are expected not to leave the house unless following after myself#starving is always a possibility#as is ingesting toxins by mistake#insults will be issued on a regular basis#oh and don’t mind that smell it’s just Mrs Hudson in the flat below — she does enjoy her soothers…

#you will have to cook and do the washing up and even my laundry #and apologize to everyone on my behalf because i’m a twat #the violin-playing will be dismal and out of tune and not actually have any semblance to music#also it will be played at random times like four in the morning #you might be taken hostage or hurt every so often #and oh #you will have to do the shopping of course #don’t forget the milk

#You’ll be expected to come when I call#A bit like a dog actually#But a dog that understands text messages…#Actually speaking of text messages: you’ll be expected to send my texts when I am too lazy to do so myself and this includes times when you are half way across London and have to run all the way back#Also you’ll have to ignore your doctor’s instincts because I don’t take shit from anyone and I’ll neglect food and load up on excessive amounts of nicotine patches and punch sleep in it’s metaphorical face if I want to because I can and there’s nothing you can do about it#My brother will stop by more regularly than pleasurable and probably victimize you with insults you won’t even understand until three days later#Which I may also do at times#You’ll be doing all of the house keeping because our landlady is in fact not a housekeeper and I can’t be bothered to do anything about that but make bigger messes so good luck with that#The bills and all manner of unpleasant business will be your responsibility#Including dealing with Anderson after I tell him off#And you’ll inevitably have to deal with the fact that people are going to assume that I not only dominate all of your time and effort in every day life but also you in the bedroom#They’re going to call you gay John#Very very gay

THEY ARE GOING TO CALL YOU GAY JOHN

VERY VERY GAY

^

This post just keeps getting better and better every time it appears on my dash. 

ALWAYS REBLOG.

#I am going to ruin every relationship you are in#I’ll make you my friend#before I drug you and force you into a cage#I’ll then drag you half way across London#after you punch the chief superintendent #from that I’ll then just jump off a building#and leave you depressed for three years#You’ll be the grieving widow#The very very gay grieving widow

I will always reblog this, because every time it comes on my dash, there is a new tag that makes me about piss myself laughing.

ihavebeensherlocked:

radiolocked:

nurfherder:

investigation-sherlockwatson:

lilyswhisper:

So sweet! 

This is so cute ohmahgawd.

THIS IS ACTUALLY HOW IT WILL HAPPEN. He will come back and John will kick the living shit out of him then patch him up and do that manly hand-shake thing then say FUCK IT and throw their arms around each other and HUG. IT. OUT. WITH. TEARS.

I LOVE THIS FRIENDSHIP LIKE NO OTHER.

Okay this is good. I love that he uses the baguette as a weapon. I just love everything about this. LOVE

THIS IS MY FAVORITE

motherlethe:

thehappyincident:

tugamaggie:

fuckbyte:

behindtintedglass:

fandombeatslife:

sherlockspeare:ktbakerstreet:tangofox:valeria2067:ununpentium:

It’s a glimpse, nothing more. A flash of dark hair and high cheekbones and pale eyes. And John knows it’s insane, knows it’s impossible, but it looked exactly like him.

Their eyes meet for a second, and the pair on the other side of the tinted taxi window show no signs of recognition. But not for a moment does John let himself believe it could be anyone else. He simple didn’t see him in the crowd, or did not have time to react between recognising him and the car drifting smoothly around the corner.

He must believe these things, because he must believe in who it was in that cab.

There was no-one else like him. No-one else it could have been.

It was Sherlock.

It is all John can do not to drop his bags as he races around the corner, breathing that name repeatedly under his breath.  For the first time since Switzerland, he runs with no limp, he runs like he only ever did with Sherlock.

But even free from psychosomatic pain, he is not as fast as a car. He knows he will never catch it. “Sherlock… Sherlock…” he pants, even as he grinds to a halt in the middle of the road. He feels the name bubbling up inside him, becoming a shout as the car disappears.

“SHERLOCK!”

For several seconds, John just stands there, watching the point where the taxi disappeared. He is aware of people around looking at him, a car slowly pulling towards him, expecting him to move. He doesn’t care. It has just hit him, really, truly, that Sherlock Holmes is dead. He will never ride a London cab again, never look over the city with those cool, colourless eyes. No matter how hard John wishes, he will never come back.

The car behind him beeps its horn, and John limps away.

~

Sherlock turns and watches the figure, once he is sure it can no longer see his face. It runs after him, mouth forming his name over and over. As he watches, a burning desire grows, and he wants nothing more than to stop the taxi, jump out and gather the man in his arms. He never meant to hurt anyone. He never meant for this.

“You know that guy?” the cabbie asks, noticing what Sherlock is staring at. “You want me to stop for him?”

Sherlock turns around, catching the driver’s eye in the mirror. “No, it’s fine. Keep driving.”

He has whipped out his phone before he even knows what he’s doing.

Take care of him.

- SH

He has already sent the message before he taps out an afterthought.

Please.

- SH

Seconds later, his phone chimes.

Already picked him up.  Have been following him since he left Baker Street.

- MH

And before he can even draw the breath to think of a reply, it seems that his brother also has more to say.

He’s crying.  I don’t know what to do.

- MH

There is anger in that message.  And desperation.  And remorse.  And most of all—there is guilt.  The words blur in his vision, and with trembling fingers, he wipes the tears that have dropped on the screen of his phone. 

Neither do I.

- SH

He never sends that last message.

BRINGING THIS BACK OKAY

you are the hole in my head
you are the space in my bed

cumberbutt:

radiolocked:

comradewodka:

tarteauxfraises:

Gee I really love Kate Beaton

GROSS SNIGGERING

NO FREAKING WAY OH MY LORD I LOVE THIS

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FOR A LONG LONG TIME