The John to her Sherlock.

starfishface:

loving-once-ler:

wellimthelordoftime:

0ct33pus:

deadinmagazines:

likeadeadchinadoll:

hxcallum:

How does this animal exist seriously

LOOK AT IT WADDLE

PLATYPUS

YU GRUMPY!!?!?!?

Oh my god I’ve never even seen a platypus move it even looks like a duck and a beaver with how it’s moving it’s so cute I can’t even.

This is adorable.

Aaaaaah look at the waddle. 

Why are they so impossible and adorable?!

(Source: hermajestyschimera, via improbablenormality)

lundora:

moriartyyy:

mrs-benaddict-cumberbutt:

sigtryggr:

mirabilelectu:

sigtryggr:

all I want for that damned reunion is for these two idiots to just hug already goddamn it

preferably after John’s beaten Sherlock up a bit and shouted obscenities, and they’re being really awkward at each other, and then Sherlock just hugs him and it’s really stiff and weird and it takes John a bit to relax into it but he does because they both need it 

idiots 

The punch had been first.

It had been instinctual - what else could he do when faced with the ghost of his dead best friend? He was a soldier, not some damned medium who faced the spirits of the long dead and supposedly forgotten. But the face his knuckles had connected with had been distressingly real, unnervingly solid, impossibly warm and soft and alive even as the man who should not be there rocked back on his heels from the fore of the blow.

Then had come the shouting. That had been natural too, something he had not even realized he was doing until he was listening to his hoarse yells ringing in the evening air. He hardly even recognized his own voice as it bounced back to him it was so raw and angry, so full of pain that it should belong to a man a thousand years older than him in experience and misery. The words didn’t matter, really. Whatever he said was lost in a haze of anger and blind fury, vanishing the moment they left his lips to fly at the man who should not be standing there. The man who was standing there, accepting them all with quiet resignation and exceptional stoicism.

But then, when the words had run out and the bruises were already beginning to form on a face too thin and too pale for comfort, the remarkable happened. Even more remarkable than Sherlock, Sherlock, standing whole and mostly undamaged in front of him, even more unbelievable than John feeling alive for the first time in three years with the anger and elation pumping through him, was Sherlock stepping forward to wrap his absurd and bony arms around him. 

John nearly collapsed to feel the reassuring solidity of Sherlock’s body against his, the warmth of him soaking through the chill that had enveloped John’s life and telling John that yes, this was real. No, this was not in his head and not another dream or fantasy come to torment him. This was Sherlock, hugging him.

Shock held him stiff and inert at first, frozen in surprise and anger and a thousand other feelings that he could not name and yet tore him to pieces. They had never done this before, or anything like it, and if it had not been for the slightly awkward and yet reassuring strong embrace of Sherlock’s arms John would have fainted dead away from the disbelief and newness and strangeness of it all. But as the hug continued and Sherlock did not pull away, did not release him, did not vanish from his arms like a puff of smoke John could feel himself begin to relax just enough to sag into his arms. Tears were burning in his eyes, his throat closing impossibly small, his breath coming ragged and raw as he tried desperately not to sob into the shoulder of the man who had destroyed him and saved him in a moment. But sob he must, and sob he did, and he could not find it in himself to be ashamed.

As he wept for everything he had lost and everything he had found, a hand came to cradle his head and the ghost of a whisper brushed into his ear, nearly lost amidst the tears. “I’m sorry John.”

Well. 

(if you’ve seen Reichenbach…)

READ THIS ^

OH MAI OH
ALL THE FEELS

y OU 

I

WHY

This has been a day if feels.

utterly-johnlocked:

rawrded:

ununpentium:

lostwithoutmyboswell:

bingerdinkhumpydunky:

foreverwholockian:

ibeggedformercytwice:

ironspy:

Okay, everything else awesome about Scandal in Belgravia aside (which is actually everything)

Is anyone else imagining John and Sherlock playing a game of Cluedo that gets so heated Sherlock stabs the fucking board to the wall.

I giggled at the milk. 

“It was the dagger on the Cluedo board in the living room!”

This clearly happened because, somehow, John beat Sherlock at Cluedo.

Sorry guys i accidently a board game crack ficlet.

7:10
Sherlock fails to grasp the concept of Cluedo. 

7:18
Sherlock still fails to grasp the concept of Cluedo. 

7:23
“Where’s the logic? How can i deduce the motives of plastic pieces?”

7:26 
There is a mad rush for the best Cluedo characters. In the end, John claims Colonel Mustard, Sherlock is Professor Plum, Mycroft has Reverend Green. Greg is left with Miss Peacock. 

7:27
Greg sulks. John tries not to laugh. 

7:28 
Sherlock asks if he can take Reverend Green in for interrogation. John explains that’s not how the game works. 

7:28
John sees Lestrade’s cards reflected in the mirror behind him. He now knows it was the lead pipe. 

7:29
Sherlock asks for all the other characters cooperation in recreating the scene of the crime. John explains that’s not how the game works. 

7:32
Sherlock wants to know if the victim is related to any of the suspects. John explains that’s not how the game works. 

7:33
Mycroft can see through John’s paper due to the lamp behind him. He now knows it was the lead pipe in the kitchen.   

7:34
Lestrade can only seem to roll the numbers one or two and so never actually manages to get into any room. He sulks. 

7:35
Sherlock is choosing which room to enter, John gets out Miss Scarlet and has Colonel Mustard chat her up. 

7:35
Sherlock sees Miss Scarlet and Colonel Mustard getting a bit too friendly in the billiard room and decides to investigate.

7:36
Reverend Green gets restless whilst waiting for his turn and starts dancing with Mrs White in the ballroom. 

7:37
Sherlock thinks Mrs White has an uncanny resemblance to Mrs Hudson. 

7:37 
Mycroft chooses to say nothing. He is a little frightened that anything said against Mrs Hudson would result in him taking several trips out the window.  

7:40
John sees Mycroft flinch and forces back a smile. He agrees that yes, she does have an uncanny resemblance to Mrs White. 

7:38
The game has turned into a soap opera. Colonel Mustard is having an affair with Miss Scarlet who is engaged to Reverend Green. Professor Plum knocks over Miss White in a fit of rage and Miss Peacock seems to still be wandering around the corridors aimlessly.

7:45
John reveals the cards and wins the game, the truth is that it was Professor Plum in the kitchen with the lead pipe. Everyone looks at Sherlock with mock how could you expressions that soon crumble when he gasps “that cannot be right!” and looks for all the world as if he has just been framed for a real murder.

7:46
Sherlock refuses to accept that he was the murderer without knowing he was the murderer. 

7:46
Lestrade tells Sherlock it is just a game and he won’t be taken into police custody. 

7:46
Sherlock gives Lestrade the evils of a lifetime. 

7:50

Sherlock throws Professor Plum like a toddler throwing a tantrum. John will find it a week later on top of the bookshelf. 

7:47
John proposes they play Monopoly.
Sherlock proposes they burn Cluedo in the fiery depths of hell. 

8:00

In the end, Sherlock stabs the Cluedo board to the wall in a fit of rage and John wonders, not for the first time, if the consulting detective is actually five years old.

That ficlet. THAT FICLET. 

Sherlock refuses to accept that he was the murderer without knowing he was the murderer. 

That’s just what I needed.

‘Greg is left with Miss Peacock’ instantly reminded me of this

(via spamthedamage)