#watson in bed

[beautyarchive]

Lucy Liu in the 'Dead Clade Walking' episode of Elementary (2014).

[doriana-gray-games]

can we get a snippet of Dr Watson taking care of Sherlock? :>

“You were foolish—“

“Calculating—“

“Foolish!”

“I miscalculated,” you correct. “Or missed some variable. Being wrong, in some small way, is not the same as foolish. Truly Watson, to think you so against learning, improving oneself by accepting failures—“

“YOU BROKE YOUR TOES!”

“Just the one toe…”

“The important one.”

“I don’t discriminate on such things.”

Watson pushes you down to remain on the bed. “I need to bind it. How’s your pain?”

“Tolerable. Unless…”

“No—“

“Then do not ask.”

Your good doctor had kept you in bed, elevated foot and everything for far too long now. It had been nearly an hour.

There’s tea on your cupboard. Extra sugars. And the very best biscuits, the one Watson hoards for the longest of days.

“Watson?”

They hum a soft sound, an acknowledgment, as they bind your broken appendage with steady and careful hands.

“If I am forced to endure monotony, I shall demand you do it with me.”

Watson looks at you, over those steady shoulders. A small smile across their lips. “I shall remain by your side. For as long as�� as you need me, Sherlock. I can promise you that.”

[youkaiyume]

I didn't quite make it in time for Halloween, but it will always be Halloween in my heart.

The gang's trick or treating! Noah, Kris, and Mirage as Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles of course. Bumblebee and Charlie as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Arcee as Princess Leia....Optimus is supervising.

[fogdraws]

I couldn't resist. I drew it. It's an urge deep within that I can't deny.

The two of them are living in my head rent free (among all my other obsessions ofc, they never really left)

The part of the book that I used is below the cut:

(There's not much need of a cut but I really like using it)

[tlj1988]

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 22 -  Ghosts

After quite a long day interviewing everyone thoroughly at the mansion, and running around after Sherlock all over the estate, John had been exhausted. The hostess had wanted to have them at her table for a formal dinner and John had actually dozed off, sitting upright at the table. He had put in his apologies and headed up to his room to prepare for sleep. In the end, it had been too late to get back to the train, so they would stay the night and head home the next morning.

Sherlock of course, had been right. The daughter was responsible for the theft and had eventually admitted to the crime and returned the jewels all before sunset. John had at least felt useful to some degree, having been the one to go and sit with her and sympathise, until she exploded into tears and admitted it all. Sherlock had lathered him with praise for his work, which felt ridiculous. It really just consisted of him being a good listener, but he would take the praise wherever it was bestowed. Especially when Sherlock was doing the praising.

He and Sherlock had been given adjoining rooms on the second floor of the mansion. There was something comforting about having his own space but also knowing Sherlock would burst through the adjoining door whenever he wanted, as he was prone to doing. He opened the French folding doors which allowed him to walk out onto a shared balcony and take in the beautiful tailored gardens below. John couldn’t imagine what life would like to be so wealthy, that you would own an estate of this size. It felt overwhelming despite its beauty. Standing there, alone, he suddenly felt a pang of sadness. They would be returning home in the morning. Back to London. Back to routine. He could already feel his chest tensing, his mind closing up. Over the last few days he had been sure that there had been… something brewing there with his flatmate. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what had changed to make him think it. Not to mention, he would never make an assumption of someone like Sherlock without actual, verbal confirmation from the detective’s mouth, but even so, it felt like things had shifted with them. Perhaps it was just a shift to a more intimate friendship in Sherlock’s eyes? They had shared more stories, more confessions, but also more physical touch. In any case, John had been enjoyed it all. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he would feel back in London being that way in public with his friend. They endured enough crap as it was. No matter how many times he told people… they never believed him. 

Not gay.

And he wasn’t. Not exclusively. Not entirely. Mind you, he thought he would simply make an effort, try to make an impression on Sherlock, show he was serious about the work and dress up a little bit. And the way Sherlock had looked at him when he came down to breakfast in his suit! But he didn’t expect the detective to wear that shirt. That was a spanner in his plan. He was pleased to see Sherlock was a little surprised by the outfit, and a little thrown, perhaps? Or maybe he was just sleep deprived too. But the man had struggled with words for the entire day. Did it mean something?

John had left Sherlock at the table to speak with their host a little longer and talk her through the next steps now that her daughter had confessed.

He undid his tie and shirt and smiled to himself, as he began to get changed for bed. The last few days had really taken a toll on him somehow though, combined with the sleep deprivation of the night before. It was time for an early night. It took him very little time to fall off to sleep in the large, very soft and comfortable bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows. He intended to sleep well.

He didn’t know how much later it was, but he awoke in the dark, with Sherlock kneeling beside him up on the bed, holding his shoulders.

“Sherlock?” he croaked out, sleepily. “What is it?” He pushed himself up a bit to be able to look at his friend who flopped his weight back to his knees with a heavy sigh. “What? What is it?”

“A nightmare, John. Or a night terror, more accurately, I’d say.”

“Oh, are you alright? Do you need me?” John asked, becoming more alert.

“Not me, John. You. You were screaming.” He swallowed loudly, his voice sounded shaken. “You were screaming my name. Over and over. I was sure you were being murdered in your bed,” Sherlock rasped out, his voice full of worry.

“Oh. God I’m sorry I don’t… I don’t know what that was even about.” He rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about but it completely escaped him now. “I don’t… I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Sherlock said, relaxing further onto the covers. “You didn’t do it on purpose. I had to shake you awake. I hope I didn’t… hurt you?”

John shook his head as he tried to register any feeling in his body. “No. No, I’m fine.” He looked at Sherlock who seemed terrified still. Even in the dark, he seemed to be shaking slightly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Honestly, John. It’s fine." Sherlock straightened his shoulders, his voice sounding more calm now. "Do you really not remember what it was about?”

John looked at his lap, just breathing, trying to remember. “It’s usually just about… the war… ghosts. People I’ve lost, moments I wish I could change. The day I got shot. The day one of my friends died in my arms.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be free of those ghosts.”

Sherlock watched John for the longest time and finally put a hand on his thigh. “I’m sorry.”

John shook his head again. “Not your doing.”

“Is that why…” Sherlock cleared his throat, rethinking the question.

John raised a brow, looking at his friend who suddenly seemed unable to speak. That was very unlike him. “Why what?” “Is that why you don’t like to… make friends? Make… connections with people?” Sherlock asked.

John frowned. “I don’t think I…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I think you’re the very best friend I’ve ever had, closer than any of those blokes,” he said candidly, his brain waking up slowly. “I don’t trust people easily, that’s true. And I don’t like people because they don’t… understand me. But you do, Sherlock. I don’t think I’m… restricting myself. Not with you. And I don't need any more connections than that.” He blushed a little, knowing of course there were some things he wasn’t going to tell Sherlock, but otherwise, Sherlock had access to everything about him. “I protect you so fiercely, when we’re on a case, when people say things… because you’re my very best friend and I wouldn't be able to… survive a loss… of that,” he said honestly. He swallowed hard and flopped back onto his pillow. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’ll probably stay awake now,” Sherlock sighed. “It’s three A.M.”

John sighed. “Me too.”

As he lay there in silence he felt the bed move and Sherlock was suddenly lying down beside him, on the other pillow. He had his hands clasped together chastely on his stomach and he looked at the ceiling, not making eye contact. “We could tell ghost stories? While we wait for the sun to rise?”

John turned his head to look at Sherlock and smiled. He always knew how to cheer John up. Sherlock didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling, so John turned his head to look up at the ceiling too. There was an ornate light fixture and beautiful plaster work to observe and the moonlight made shadows that created changing patterns there. He could stare at those and keep his eyes away from his friend lying beside him. “Okay. You go first, though,” John suggested.

“Okay,” Sherlock said with a smile and so he began.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart 

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[pining4treez]

top 10 bedhead moments

[thekittyfox2999]

went to Baker Street

can confirm John Watson has no bed but a cabinet with a shelf full of books about all the ladies Sherlock has “seduced”.

I think the Sherlock Holmes museum headcanon for Watson is that he’s a cuck.

[mouse-of-mischief]

They say that people usually take on a little niche interest, or subtle personality trait, or similar quirks to their comfort characters that they grew up reading/watching.... Well, thank you, John Hamish Watson for giving me a life-long obsession with knitted jumpers, and a stubborn tendency to "hunt and peck" when I write!

[renthebarbarian]

Innkeeper in a small English village: We’ve prepared a room for you and your companion, Mr. Holmes, but unfortunately the only room we had left has just one small bed that you and Dr. Watson will have to share. I hope that’s not a problem?

Holmes and Watson: *quickly* No.

[voilaammayi]

I just can’t stop wondering how much we don’t know because we can’t hear it - because of sherlock & co being recorded.

how many times had john rolled his eyes at sherlock when he was being ridiculous, but smiled to himself the moment he turned around? how many times had mariana leaned in the doorway to 221b baker street and silently but fondly watched john and sherlock bickering? how many times sherlock just didn’t say anything when archie climbed on his lap and instead started to scratch behind the dog’s ears?

how many gentle smiles, cheeky grins and warm gazes with sparkling eyes? fingers touching one’s arm, hands on the shoulder or tight hugs? how much affection spread without words?

how much is being not said, left to imagination?

[doriana-gray-games]

[sygneth]

it is pretty late and i had the most exhausting day so i may be totally overanalysing BUT

Holmes' "you never heard me talk about Victor Trevor?" as a statement of how important both of them were/are to him? A disguised "taken how often Victor comes to my mind, how come I never mentioned him" and "I want you to know what made me into what I am now. I want you to see me as I was before I became the man you know", and I think it's beautiful

[wintergrofyuri]

so. have any of yall thought about skeptic/paranoid. like. ok here's my thought process.

so there's this trope in film noir-esque detective stories. i call it a trope but i can only rlly think of 2 examples. the woman assistant to the detective who snarks at him a lot but is actually secretly in love with him despite how much a dick he is bc she knows he's a good guy. im now realizing im also describing that one guy from house.

anyways, thats what comes to mind when i think of cage paranoid. skeptic is already very detective-y, its not a big jump. maybe ive just listened to city of angels (the musical) too much.

theres also the fact they seem to be the ones most interested in the construct itself and the looping and like. the nature of the situation they're in. paranoid has his whole moment in apotheosis and skeptic is just. like that. also they seem to be more in tune with the body itself (heart lungs liver nerves and skeptic stopping ur heart). and also seem to be the ones most insistent on keeping the blade. granted, they all seem to prefer it but they like. Actively fight you on it.

idk. paranoid and skeptic seem to be the investigators. the ones asking questions. trying to figure things out. i think they could work well together. skeptic seems like an all business type of guy tho. i think he'd be less attentive to para's needs. definitely a complicated relationship. very meaty.

[gutsygremlin]

MJ/Peter B/Miguel is such a god tier throuple. They saw him from across the bar and wanted to treat him RIGHTTTTTT

[blistering-typhoons]

watson + silver blaze (ft. say it right by nelly furtado lmao)