tatsubaki:

No idea why would people think that

bbcsherlockftw:

nobody-tells-me-nothin:

brittfaceness:

bowtieatthedisco:

pati79:

artvandelayy:

I don’t think the bike hitting John was organised, I think it was a genuine accident.

I don’t think Sherlock asked John to “keep watching him” to prove that he…

the-only-consulting-criminal:

Hello, welcome to Jim Moriarty’s IT Tech Support.

For disguises, press 1.
For Spanish support, press 2.
To be made into shoes, press 3.
To be burned, press 4.
To see me in a crown, press 5.
To be skinned, press 6.
To be convinced to jump off a building, press 7.
For a semtex hug, press 8.
For an app for anything, press 9.
For a bedtime story, press 10.

And for the real tech support? Good luck with that.

godtiss:

inspector-radio:

And my heart ached ;;;;

He manages to convince himself that it’s the right thing to do.

Three years to the day since the death of London’s greatest mind, since the death of the world’s only consulting detective, since the death of the great Sherlock Holmes.

Three years to the day since the death of John Watson’s best friend, and the pain of it has not been dulled by a single passing moment. He is tired. So, so tired.

He looks out over the rooftops, out over London. Below him, the world moves on, takes no notice the small figure standing on the ledge of Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.

Three years, to the day. It’s oddly poetic, if he were inclined to such sentiments. He tells himself that he’s doing what’s best – he hasn’t been the same since Sherlock died, hasn’t laughed and hardly ever smiles. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson tried, at first. He’d invite John out for a pint, she’d bring him tea in the mornings.

Nothing helped. Eventually they got the message.

John moved out of Baker Street two months later. Found himself a small flat he was able to afford on his army pension and whatever money he managed to make at the surgery, on the days he decided to show up.

Sarah was understanding. She put up with him longer than he could have asked for.

Now he’s jobless. Nearly homeless. Living off of tea and crap telly to numb his mind. No one to miss him because he’s pushed everyone away and the only person who really mattered, John buried three years before.

He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. Sherlock wouldn’t have wanted him to, but Sherlock’s not there to tell him so. That’s the problem.

On the street below, no one takes notice of the man on the roof who spreads his arms wide, feeling the breeze telling of distant rain whisper against his exposed skin. He looks down – it doesn’t seem so far, I wonder if this is what he felt like, maybe I can ask him soon – takes a deep breath.

John Watson closes his eyes. Leans forward. Feels himself begin to fall-

-is violently snatched from behind, strong arms curling around his chest, yanking him back.

His savior doesn’t let go when they tumble backwards, landing hard on the building below them. John breathes deeply, evenly through his nose, does not open his eyes. The feel of those arms around his chest is oddly comforting, the scratch of wool on his cheek distracting, the scent of tea and unidentifiable chemicals familiar…

John opens his eyes, sees nothing but the sky thinly veiled by clouds. The arms around him remove themselves. His savior shifts.

Suddenly the sky is replaced by two pale eyes, half-lidded and grieving.

“You were going to jump after me,” Sherlock says. It’s the first time John can remember hearing the great detective say something so obvious.

johngreenismypatronus:

Superwholock is the best.

martinfreejam:

whosherlocked:

captainlanta:

hippity-hoppity-brigade:

CRUMBLEBREAD

CRUMBLEBREAD

CRUMBLEBREAD

This reminds me of Bakery Street. The adventures of Sherloaf Holmes and Johnnycake Wheatson, potrayed respectively by the actors Benedict Crumblebread and Martin Pieman.

Don’t forget Mycrust Holmes, Sherloaf’s brother.

Not to mention Detective Inspector Lestrudel over at Shortcake yard.

Often Sherloaf is thwarted by his nemesis, Moritarty, and his sidekick, Sebastian Meringue; but he always managed to pick up the breadcrumb trail and save the day!

I fucking lost it at Lestrudel.

I fucking lost it at Lestrudel.

Lestrudel.
I fucking lost it. 

reapersun:

omg you guys did i ever tell you how much i fucking love mitchell and webb no right

i might have cried a little at the old sherlock sketch ;-;

nipahchan: Can you draw Sherlock as Sir Digby Chicken-Caesar and John as Ginger from That Mitchell and Webb Look?

reapersun:

“john, have you ever fired two guns whilst jumping through the air?”

frodo-get-out-of-my-tardis: Do you think you can draw a Hot Fuzz/Sherlock crossover?

reapersun:

“john do you think it’s odd-“

“what’s odd? the madman who says he’s a time traveler and has conversations with you through videos? quantum locked ancient monsters that turn to stone when seen? wibbly wobbly timey wimey? no sherlock, certainly not odd at all”

“no john… i mean that a moment ago there were four stone angels in front of us… and now there are only three”

reapersun:

HAPEE BIRFDAY SHARLOCK

I GOT YOU MURDERS

why that’s just lovely thank you jawn~<3

padontworry: Today is a Sherlock’s birthday! Can you draw something about it? <3

brittnm89: How about something for Sherlock’s birthday! It’s on the 6th!

edit: haha oh fuck lestade let me fix that

sherlockk:

#you call it sexism i call it returning a favour

timelordsandarmydoctors:

1/3 ‘The Woman’

justbeencumberbatched:

theumbrellaseller:

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten as angry over a show as I did when I saw what those men had done to Mrs Hudson. I was FURIOUS. Actually shaking with fury. And I realised that though her presence is slight in the canon, though she is frequently ignored or underused in adaptations, finally here we see Mrs Hudson’s true character. This Mrs Hudson had a husband who treat her so appallingly that she was glad he was executed. This Mrs Hudson hides phones in her bra to protect her tenants. She gives these men food and shelter and comfort despite the danger to herself (and you know this is not the first, nor the last time Mrs Hudson has been threatened) because she loves and respects them fiercely, and she is loved and respected just as fiercely in return. Mrs Hudson is as intrinsic to Baker Street as Holmes and Watson, as Sherlock and John. And you do not fuck with her.

I ran over to the TV ‘cause I wanted to hug her. *sobs*