#bbc sherlock /

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

I WAS BORN AND RAISED THERE TOO OMG

You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

[holmosexualitea]

Finally getting to share my biggest art project yet!

The art exhibit yesterday was absolutely lovely, the amount of support and kind words was genuinely unbelievable! Thank you to everybody who supported me and followed my journey while making this massive project!

[oceanbilly]

stradivarius

[helloliriels]

Sherlock firmly believes intuition.

Sometimes what is known is the omission ...

For when all you have left,

Is the space now bereft;

Your mind can fill in what went missing.

A belated (January haha) addition to May is for Limericks on AO3

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[azirastars]

me watching people be so sure that buddie and byler will be canon but im a destiel, johnlock, lokius, and swanqueen stan so i refuse to let myself ever really believe in them until it actually happens

[lokijiro]

One detail that I love in this flashback is that Mycroft, impeccably dressed, sits against Sherlock's side on the mattress.

Mycroft is a very fastidious character. Sherlock is willing to wade through skips or dead blokes' dirty underwear if a case requires it, but the elder Holmes doesn't have his brother's bravery in this area. Yet here he is, sitting on an appallingly dirty, disgusting mattress that must smell horrible. And there's zero need for him to do that; he could have just reached down for the list. But he chose to sit with Sherlock.

(screencap source)

[vargdottern]

and if a double decker bus crashes into us

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Unbearable Itching

“Get a grip. You’re a grown man, for goodness’ sake!” he berates himself.

But old habits die hard. Even as a little boy, he hated coarse fabric against his bare skin. He turned his t-shirts inside-out when his mother refused to remove the labels. The more worn and softened they were, the more he relaxed. He couldn’t stand it when he started to outgrow them, and constantly needed new ones. It took weeks before they transformed into how he needed them to be.

Not for the first time, Sherlock wonders why it’s only his torso that reacts to stiff and itchy fabrics. He never needed to wear his pants inside-out, despite the label in the back. 

Freak!

The word that has haunted him his entire life, appears, unwelcome even now.

***

When Baker Street blew up, all his clothes were ruined. Sherlock hadn’t given it much thought until he realised, he couldn’t wear the same clothes for weeks without changing them for new and itchy ones. His rant, directed at Mycroft, unfair as it was, didn’t make him feel any better. 

Mycroft knew his secret, and to his credit has bought the softest t-shirts available, and removed every label, but still Sherlock is in agony.

John has never noticed this, but now, as they rebuild 221B together, Sherlock registers that John has changed. He’s far more perceptible than before. It must have something to do with becoming a father, Sherlock thinks. 

“What’s wrong?” John asks when Sherlock throws a paint-tainted rug across the sitting room.

“Nothing,” Sherlock mumbles and scratches his nails over his chest.

His t-shirt gets pulled out of his trousers when Sherlock lifts his arm to reach the itch just above his shoulder blades. A gasp from John, stills Sherlock’s movements.

Shit, shit, shit!

John is not meant to see this. What will he think when – 

“Sherlock,” John says carefully. “Where does this rash come from, and why haven’t you got a prescription for a cream or ointment?”

When Sherlock waves it away without answering, John places his paintbrush on the tray, and approaches Sherlock.

“Let me have – “

“Not necessary,” Sherlock interrupts him.

“Look here, smartarse. I’m the doctor here, so let me be the judge, yeah.”

Before Sherlock can move away, John is there, lifting the t-shirt higher, exposing the alabaster skin, stained with pink blotches. Sherlock desperately wants, needs, to get moving, but now John’s fingers are stroking, soothing the itching, and God, it feels good. A strangled sound escapes him, and he feels his face blushing.

“John, please,” he whispers, uncertain of what he pleads for exactly.

“Shh,” John soothes, and continues to stroke his torso. “New clothes, yes?”

Sherlock hums in agreement, to his embarrassment leaning into John’s touch. He wants to hide, but John won’t let him.

“Take it off. You can have mine,” John says.

He withdraws and pulls his own, worn, soft t-shirt off, standing bare-chested in front of Sherlock. It takes all his willpower not to reach out to touch the golden skin of his best friend, the man he loves more than anything, the man he’s died for, and will die for again if it means that John Watson lives.

John’s t-shirt is far too small for Sherlock’s taller frame, but it’s soft, and more importantly; it smells of John. Sherlock inhales and strokes down the fabric with trembling hands.

“Better?” John asks fondly.

Sherlock looks at him and starts to chuckle. John looks like a schoolboy wearing his father’s clothes. Despite the tight fit of the tee, it’s far too long for John’s torso, but it clings beautifully to his broad chest and shoulders, Sherlock thinks.

John glares at him in mock annoyance, and Sherlock can’t help himself. He dips his index finger in the white paint, smearing a stripe on John’s cheek. John’s eyes widen in surprise, before he narrows them into slits, and attacks.

The air leaves Sherlock’s lungs when he hits the floor, though his head is carefully cupped by John’s hand.

“Git,” John growls, letting his left hand tickle Sherlock relentlessly until Sherlock begs for mercy.

“John, stop! I can’t stand it anymore. Plea – “

The last word is effectively stopped when John’s lips connect with Sherlock’s. As the kiss deepens, Sherlock feels like floating in the ocean, no more itching. In its wake only waves of pleasure and softness remain. And John. Always John.

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[marcoaalanisko]

Sherlock

[221berkeleysquare]

HE FEELS EVERY LAST BIT OF IT

He doesn’t feel things that way… I don’t think.

[calaisreno]

There Is No Poetry in Unfinished Business by siennna

"There were times when John was across the universe at the other end of the sitting room leaning against the bookcase or reading in his chair, and you wondered what would happen if you waded through the distance and curled around him like smoke—just wrapped your arms wherever they fit and tucked your face into the warm skin of his neck and just breathed."

Let me just say: Only 51 kudos?

Lines like this:

Regret scuttles through your hollow chest like a cockroach. You feel filthy with things you didn't do.

And this:

In the quiet corners of your mind, you kissed him.

@lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels

@redmondcollege @raina-at @7-percent @lhrinchelsea

Please let me know if you do/don't want to be tagged 💕

[anne-adler]

[dorythewritingfish]

Thinking about my little

Jegulus x BBC Sherlock idea again and Uhm

They would start out as

Mr. Black

And

DR. POTTER

idk, but This just sound so cool and hot….

James calles Regulus by his first name rather quick, but James stays Dr. Potter for a while and when Regulus finally called him James.

James dies a little inside.

It went like this:

Regulus: Good job, you are learning James.

James: What did you just call me?

Regulus: By your name, Idiot.

James *blushing, dying inside*: yea, but you said James, you called me by my first name and not Dr. Potter.

Regulus*panic because he didn’t realise he did that and his feelings for James Dr. Potter are getting out of hand*: oh, what? No, don’t flatter yourself Potter.

James *pissed, crossing his arms*: I know what I heard.

Regulus: Sure, now about the case…

James: *shots Regulus a hurt look*

[a-victorian-girl]

ooowwwww Unaaaa ❤️❤️❤️

After this week’s Sherlock, I reckon 221B’s very own bad-ass mother-figure needs her own promotional material…

[vargdottern]

the way john and sherlock's voices go all soft when they ask if the other is okay <33