install theme
Oct 14, 2013
Ñ thescienceofobsession:

voodooling:

Another lazy doodle.

the sentiment behind this is blinding.

thescienceofobsession:

voodooling:

Another lazy doodle.

the sentiment behind this is blinding.

(via sassiest-assbutt-in-the-garrison)

6 
6
    120900
h
5
Sep 15, 2013
hodgepodgeofablog:

ship-hard:

x-benedict-cumberbatch-x:

thetigerandmagpie:

itwasignacio:

mollyhooperthoughts:

lunathic:

consultinggallifreyandectective:

curlyboff:

nixiesaurus:

cocokat:

Very boring up here. 
No crimes in Heaven, apparently.
SH
—-
Met an angel called Castiel.
Was looking for a human body.
SH
—-
Have I told you about the Winchesters?
SH
—-
I miss you and your complaining horribly
SH
—-
Met Einstein! Was appalled at how little I knew about space.
SH
—-
John, your mother and father say ‘hello’.
SH
—-
I wish I could talk to you
SH
—-
God won’t let me visit Hell. 
But I’m bored. There are bound to be murders there!
SH
—-
If you end up here anytime soon I may have to kill you
SH
—-
Still missing you horribly
SH
—-
Was told you got married. “Mary Morstran”.
A woman even I might admire. Good Job.
SH
—-
People keep finding me here. Say that I solved the crimes surrounding their deaths.
Keep thanking me.
Somewhat annoying.
SH
—-
Really, John? You named your son “Sherlock”?
Someone is getting too sentimental.
I’m touched.
SH
—-
Met Mycroft. I’m not surprised he’s here a bit early.
Still as annoying as ever.
I miss when you used to punch him for me.
SH
—-
You’ve become so good at writing.
I miss you.
SH
—-
There are so many things I should have said.
Down There.
SH
—-
Sorry
SH
—-
I miss you
SH
—-
I love you.
SH
—-
Won’t you hurry up?
SH
—-
Don’t come too quickly, though.
SH
—-
Met with Mummy.
She cried. I don’t understand it.
SH
—-
I love you
SH
—-
Being an old man doesn’t suit you. 
You’re done fighting, John.
Come home.
SH
—-
Stubborn to the last, my John.
SH
—-
I love you anyway.
SH
—-
“Welcome home.”

Could you imagine one for MorMor, though?
You won’t believe this.  Down here, there’s a statue dedicated to me! -JMx
—-
It’s not very boring, here, I have to say. -JMx
—-
They’re letting me torture people, Seb!  It’s like a vacation resort! -JMx
—-
There’s a soldier down here, says he served in Kabul with you. -JMx
—-
Scratch that.  Says you killed him in Kabul.  Oops. Now I get the dishonourable discharge thing. -JMx
—-
The man in charge says he likes my Westwood. -JMx
—-
You really should stop drinking and smoking.  I think it’s ruining your organs.  Then again, that means you get here sooner.  That being said, keep up the good work! -JMx
—-
Actually, scratch that last one.  I forgot how good you looked in a sunset’s glow. -JMx
—-
Oh.  It’s terminal.  It’s only been a few years, Seb.  I told you to cut that shit out. -JMx
—-
I always knew you could handle pain.  I never knew that was only because I was there whenever it happened. -JMx
—-
I’m sorry you’re alone. I promise it’ll be over soon.  It spreads quicker than you could ever imagine. -JMx
—-
Just close your eyes. -JMx
—-
“Stupid, simple tiger.  You never did listen to me.”

NO
NO
NO
I WAS FREAKING NOT READY FOR FEELS. WHY DOESN’T SOMEONE JUST MAKE A MYSTRADE ONE AND KILL ME ALREADY.

Well, I always said that I could use a break from my job.
MH
—-
This is just a bit more permanent.
MH
—-
Sorry, you know what happens when I try to make jokes.
MH
—-
Sorry they didn’t let you keep the umbrella, it was evidence. You should know better.
MH
—-
Wish you were here.
MH
—-
Actually no, I don’t.
MH
—-
I don’t understand why you text dead men, really I don’t.
MH
—-
Why did you quit? You always said you loved your job?
MH
—-
Greg, what the hell are you doing. Put the damn pills back.
MH
—-
I don’t want you here.
MH
—-
That’s a lie.
MH
—-
Wake up.
MH
—-
“You shouldn’t have come, love.”

.

[This is on my dash again, to make me cry, as if I wouldn’t need my feelings…god the mormor…]



WHOEVER WROTE THE MORMOR ONE, I’M GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE FOR HURTING ME LIKE THISonceicanstopbawlingandseetopullmyselfoffthefloor
*curls up in a corner to sob*

this is the saddest thing ever oh my god why?

but the mYSTRADE WHY

*curls into a ball; cries*

hodgepodgeofablog:

ship-hard:

x-benedict-cumberbatch-x:

thetigerandmagpie:

itwasignacio:

mollyhooperthoughts:

lunathic:

consultinggallifreyandectective:

curlyboff:

nixiesaurus:

cocokat:

Very boring up here. 

No crimes in Heaven, apparently.

SH

—-

Met an angel called Castiel.

Was looking for a human body.

SH

—-

Have I told you about the Winchesters?

SH

—-

I miss you and your complaining horribly

SH

—-

Met Einstein! Was appalled at how little I knew about space.

SH

—-

John, your mother and father say ‘hello’.

SH

—-

I wish I could talk to you

SH

—-

God won’t let me visit Hell. 

But I’m bored. There are bound to be murders there!

SH

—-

If you end up here anytime soon I may have to kill you

SH

—-

Still missing you horribly

SH

—-

Was told you got married. “Mary Morstran”.

A woman even I might admire. Good Job.

SH

—-

People keep finding me here. Say that I solved the crimes surrounding their deaths.

Keep thanking me.

Somewhat annoying.

SH

—-

Really, John? You named your son “Sherlock”?

Someone is getting too sentimental.

I’m touched.

SH

—-

Met Mycroft. I’m not surprised he’s here a bit early.

Still as annoying as ever.

I miss when you used to punch him for me.

SH

—-

You’ve become so good at writing.

I miss you.

SH

—-

There are so many things I should have said.

Down There.

SH

—-

Sorry

SH

—-

I miss you

SH

—-

I love you.

SH

—-

Won’t you hurry up?

SH

—-

Don’t come too quickly, though.

SH

—-

Met with Mummy.

She cried. I don’t understand it.

SH

—-

I love you

SH

—-

Being an old man doesn’t suit you. 

You’re done fighting, John.

Come home.

SH

—-

Stubborn to the last, my John.

SH

—-

I love you anyway.

SH

—-

“Welcome home.”

Could you imagine one for MorMor, though?

You won’t believe this.  Down here, there’s a statue dedicated to me! -JMx

—-

It’s not very boring, here, I have to say. -JMx

—-

They’re letting me torture people, Seb!  It’s like a vacation resort! -JMx

—-

There’s a soldier down here, says he served in Kabul with you. -JMx

—-

Scratch that.  Says you killed him in Kabul.  Oops. Now I get the dishonourable discharge thing. -JMx

—-

The man in charge says he likes my Westwood. -JMx

—-

You really should stop drinking and smoking.  I think it’s ruining your organs.  Then again, that means you get here sooner.  That being said, keep up the good work! -JMx

—-

Actually, scratch that last one.  I forgot how good you looked in a sunset’s glow. -JMx

—-

Oh.  It’s terminal.  It’s only been a few years, Seb.  I told you to cut that shit out. -JMx

—-

I always knew you could handle pain.  I never knew that was only because I was there whenever it happened. -JMx

—-

I’m sorry you’re alone. I promise it’ll be over soon.  It spreads quicker than you could ever imagine. -JMx

—-

Just close your eyes. -JMx

—-

“Stupid, simple tiger.  You never did listen to me.”

NO

NO

NO

I WAS FREAKING NOT READY FOR FEELS. WHY DOESN’T SOMEONE JUST MAKE A MYSTRADE ONE AND KILL ME ALREADY.

Well, I always said that I could use a break from my job.

MH

—-

This is just a bit more permanent.

MH

—-

Sorry, you know what happens when I try to make jokes.

MH

—-

Sorry they didn’t let you keep the umbrella, it was evidence. You should know better.

MH

—-

Wish you were here.

MH

—-

Actually no, I don’t.

MH

—-

I don’t understand why you text dead men, really I don’t.

MH

—-

Why did you quit? You always said you loved your job?

MH

—-

Greg, what the hell are you doing. Put the damn pills back.

MH

—-

I don’t want you here.

MH

—-

That’s a lie.

MH

—-

Wake up.

MH

—-

“You shouldn’t have come, love.”

.image

[This is on my dash again, to make me cry, as if I wouldn’t need my feelings…god the mormor…]

image

WHOEVER WROTE THE MORMOR ONE, I’M GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE FOR HURTING ME LIKE THISonceicanstopbawlingandseetopullmyselfoffthefloor

*curls up in a corner to sob*

this is the saddest thing ever oh my god why?

but the mYSTRADE WHY

*curls into a ball; cries*

(via myavatardis)

6 
6
    89915
h
5
Aug 26, 2013
Ñ casual-geek:


i-o-u-a-fall:

mindpalaceofversailles:

Obviously their boggarts would be each other’s corpses.

If Sherlock hadn’t known what it was John was seeing, he would have rolled his eyes; would have cast the spell himself; would have scolded John for freezing up at the sight of his worst fear. They were third year students who had tangled with trolls , aggravated acromantulas, and made friends with the merfolk of the Black Lake. This wasn’t above them by any means, and John was a capable-enough wizard to know how to best a boggart.
However, Sherlock knew exactly what it was John was seeing. He was there, behind the line, watching the boy panic at the sight. And, he had seen the same when he had taken his turn with the beastly boggart: the corpse of his best friend.
(John’s throat bit out by some monster or other, his eyes turned up to the ceiling, wide and empty, his blood pooling around him, staining his tawny locks, paling his skin— No. He couldn’t think of it again. Couldn’t think of the way John called his name behind the other students, trying to reach out, trying to protect him from the trick; how his hands had shaken, how he had stammered out the counter spell, how he had pushed his way back to John’s side and stood in stoic silence, unreachable.)
He watched the young Gryffindor’s hand tremble as he held his wand to his chest in a death grip. John seemed to be choking on breath, trying to contain the tears glistening in his eyes. He looked physically ill, unsteady and ready to be knocked over by a mere breath. Sherlock knew the other students were muttering about themselves in judgment. He didn’t care to hear their words himself, but he knew John would (and more importantly, he hated to see John lose himself), so he stepped forward, ignoring the rule not to intervene, and gingerly reached to touch John’s shoulders.
A tiny yelp escaped the boy, who flinched greatly under the touch which burned him. John turned away from the boggart to look at the offender. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s, damp and overflowing, and in his friend’s gaze he saw confusion and fear. John looked back to the boggart, blinked hard and gazed his way again, then returned to the trick before him, whimpering and entirely unsure which was reality and which was fraud.
"Come on, John," Sherlock said quietly, supportingly, in the way John would encourage him. "’Riddikulus’. It isn’t real.” A sharp breath shook the Gryffindor’s entire frame, and Sherlock saw tracks of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks. His hands gripped John tighter, hoping the grip would bring him back to reality.
"I-I can’t," John choked at last, his horrified eyed not on his friend but on the boggart at his feet (at the picture of Sherlock’s still body soaked with blood, lifeless, no more brilliant charms or incantations slipping from his lips, no light in his eyes, no more Sherlock Holmes). John shook his head feverishly. “I can’t," he squeaked, and a desperate sob escaped him as he said again, “I can’t.”
With a glance to the professor and a nod of approval received, Sherlock tugged John aside - and he fought against him, uttering ‘No, no’, desperate to stay by his corpse’s side - without waiting for the professor to intervene with their own boggart, with their own jestful spell, with their own solution. He grabbed his and John’s bags and left the building, ignoring the hushed murmurs of their peers as they passed.
There is a secret room in Hogwarts that not many people know about. It burned the last time it was used, but Sherlock knew how to find it. He had read about it, had heard rumours, and now he and John were masters of summoning the Room of Requirement. And there they found themselves again and once more; and within the walls of the secret hideaway, John screamed at Sherlock, screamed at him what it was he saw as if Sherlock hadn’t seen as well; and within the walls John broke, falling to his knees, his hands on his eyes in anguish, sobbing out apologies that Sherlock was sure involved the illusion of his death; and within the walls Sherlock let John in, holding his frame and trying to soothe the distraught boy as best he could.
And he didn’t judge John at all, for he was the stronger of the two in Sherlock’s mind. He was the one who could let himself cry at the thought of his best friend dying. He was the one who cried for them both.
"It’s fine, John," Sherlock murmured, his cheek in John’s hair. “It’s all fine."
He pretended not to notice the fingers wrapped around his wrist, counting his pulse, each pump of blood bringing them both back to life.

casual-geek:

i-o-u-a-fall:

mindpalaceofversailles:

Obviously their boggarts would be each other’s corpses.

If Sherlock hadn’t known what it was John was seeing, he would have rolled his eyes; would have cast the spell himself; would have scolded John for freezing up at the sight of his worst fear. They were third year students who had tangled with trolls , aggravated acromantulas, and made friends with the merfolk of the Black Lake. This wasn’t above them by any means, and John was a capable-enough wizard to know how to best a boggart.

However, Sherlock knew exactly what it was John was seeing. He was there, behind the line, watching the boy panic at the sight. And, he had seen the same when he had taken his turn with the beastly boggart: the corpse of his best friend.

(John’s throat bit out by some monster or other, his eyes turned up to the ceiling, wide and empty, his blood pooling around him, staining his tawny locks, paling his skin— No. He couldn’t think of it again. Couldn’t think of the way John called his name behind the other students, trying to reach out, trying to protect him from the trick; how his hands had shaken, how he had stammered out the counter spell, how he had pushed his way back to John’s side and stood in stoic silence, unreachable.)

He watched the young Gryffindor’s hand tremble as he held his wand to his chest in a death grip. John seemed to be choking on breath, trying to contain the tears glistening in his eyes. He looked physically ill, unsteady and ready to be knocked over by a mere breath. Sherlock knew the other students were muttering about themselves in judgment. He didn’t care to hear their words himself, but he knew John would (and more importantly, he hated to see John lose himself), so he stepped forward, ignoring the rule not to intervene, and gingerly reached to touch John’s shoulders.

A tiny yelp escaped the boy, who flinched greatly under the touch which burned him. John turned away from the boggart to look at the offender. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s, damp and overflowing, and in his friend’s gaze he saw confusion and fear. John looked back to the boggart, blinked hard and gazed his way again, then returned to the trick before him, whimpering and entirely unsure which was reality and which was fraud.

"Come on, John," Sherlock said quietly, supportingly, in the way John would encourage him. "’Riddikulus’. It isn’t real.” A sharp breath shook the Gryffindor’s entire frame, and Sherlock saw tracks of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks. His hands gripped John tighter, hoping the grip would bring him back to reality.

"I-I can’t," John choked at last, his horrified eyed not on his friend but on the boggart at his feet (at the picture of Sherlock’s still body soaked with blood, lifeless, no more brilliant charms or incantations slipping from his lips, no light in his eyes, no more Sherlock Holmes). John shook his head feverishly. “I can’t," he squeaked, and a desperate sob escaped him as he said again, “I can’t.

With a glance to the professor and a nod of approval received, Sherlock tugged John aside - and he fought against him, uttering ‘No, no’, desperate to stay by his corpse’s side - without waiting for the professor to intervene with their own boggart, with their own jestful spell, with their own solution. He grabbed his and John’s bags and left the building, ignoring the hushed murmurs of their peers as they passed.

There is a secret room in Hogwarts that not many people know about. It burned the last time it was used, but Sherlock knew how to find it. He had read about it, had heard rumours, and now he and John were masters of summoning the Room of Requirement. And there they found themselves again and once more; and within the walls of the secret hideaway, John screamed at Sherlock, screamed at him what it was he saw as if Sherlock hadn’t seen as well; and within the walls John broke, falling to his knees, his hands on his eyes in anguish, sobbing out apologies that Sherlock was sure involved the illusion of his death; and within the walls Sherlock let John in, holding his frame and trying to soothe the distraught boy as best he could.

And he didn’t judge John at all, for he was the stronger of the two in Sherlock’s mind. He was the one who could let himself cry at the thought of his best friend dying. He was the one who cried for them both.

"It’s fine, John," Sherlock murmured, his cheek in John’s hair. “It’s all fine."

He pretended not to notice the fingers wrapped around his wrist, counting his pulse, each pump of blood bringing them both back to life.

(via myavatardis)

6 
6
    60176
h
5
Nov 25, 2012

curlyboff:

majorsarcasm19:

time-lord-on-baker-street:

frenchhornsandunicorns:

sherittarius:

xsadiax:

reichenfeels:

the-purple-shirt-of-sex:

obstinatrix:

 #a wild kink appears

#a wild kink appears

#A wild kink appears

It’s super effective. Sherlock is turned on.

So am I.

I mean what

CORPORAL LYONS, MY LOVE I HAVE FOUND YOU AGAIN ON MY DASH I HAVE MISSED YOU SO, MY LOVE, YOUR PRESENCE IS ALWAYS SO FLEETING. UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN, MY LOVE

Sherlock loves it when his man get’s all authoritative. He’s planning how John is going to use that during the night.

“Jawn. Do what you did earlier today.”

“Do what?”

“That… military thing.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Knock it off, Sherlock.”

“Is that an order, Captain?”

The cheering at Sherlopalooza when this happened was amazing.

(Source: devonandersons, via timetravelingdetectiveincamelot)

6 
6
    132130
h
5
Oct 29, 2012
Ñ benedictatorship:

timelordy-teganbreann:

 #this cosplay gives me feelings
THIS IS A COSPLAY?!

THIS IS THE BEST FREAKIN’ COSPLAY 
EVER

benedictatorship:

timelordy-teganbreann:

 #this cosplay gives me feelings

THIS IS A COSPLAY?!

THIS IS THE BEST FREAKIN’ COSPLAY 

EVER

(Source: quitebrilliantindeed, via thumbsinthefridge)

6 
6
    35478
h
5
Oct 09, 2012

anindoorkitty:

completelycumberbatched:

lumalls:

Oh Lordy, is there anything this man does that isn’t achingly sexy?

Is the correct answer.

(Source: cupcakesandleprechauns, via timetravelingdetectiveincamelot)

6 
6
    6133
h
5
è