I Don't Feel like Sleeping

letterstomycruft:

Posted 20-5-86.

(via anarmydoctor)

jamanddogtags:

godjamit:

justonelasttrick:

I’ve seen a lot of posts about “omg… everyone in the Sherlock-fandom is leaving!” … yeah. I’ve seen it too. The Avengers has taken over my dash… and I don’t even follow a single avengers blog.

But anyway.

All I could think about was: I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP!

So I make this Cumber!Captain to cheer you up! Cumberbitches! Stay strong!

I… wa.. 

… just… breathe girl, breeeeathe….

nng!

(via cumberqueen)

Phil Phillips - Sea Of Love (by cinaglodok)

xxxxxx6x:

Freaky and his little Jonny.

Some kind of Sherlock and Frankenstein crossover story.

(via bearicle)

walkamongstthestars:

#this scene just hurts so much #because you can tell Sherlock thinks John is starting to lose faith #or perhaps he just wants John to lose faith so it’ll be easier to leave him behind #but John is so steadfast despite everything everyone always said #he will endure every rumor and every background comment #just to stand up for Sherlock #partly because he needs to believe #and partly because he does believe and he knows he’s right #because John has so many trust issues #yet he trusted Sherlock from the start #for so many reasons and yet for no reason at all #and he’ll always trust Sherlock #and for once he shows how much he really does love Sherlock #because he actually cares what people think now #he cares and he wants everyone to go to hell because the one thing that mattered to John is getting ripped away from him #and people say John might’ve dreamt it all #but it doesn’t matter #because this would’ve been the only reality he ever needed or wanted

(via the-visual)

cumberbuddy:

moriartysskull:

That’s so strangely sexy…

This is GPOY me 99% of the time when on Tumblr. 

penandpage:

wholockappreciationblog:

howtheyfly:

perfectbenny:

pernillo:

dragoninatrenchcoat:

pernillo:

icantcareaboutanything:

You have my axe

And my bow

And my, uh, harpoon.

don’t forget the riding crop

And his gun.

And the best part, his head.

(via snugglyjumpers)

(via sorefootking)

I’ve posted this before. But it’s too awesome not to reblog.

(Source: vimeo.com)

sigtryggr:

teacupsandcyanide:

abitofholmesandwatson:

lilajanet:

#sherlock is so much more fragile than john

can i hold you please

yes i agree

ye s

why does nobody

omfg

every time i see john reduced to this whimpering little moe sad-sad lovestruck jumper babbu i just want to scream and punch things because NO OMFG he’s a WAR VETERAN he’s killed in cold blood and joked about it he takes every second of shit that’s thrown at him and he’s still standing and yeah he’s hurt but he’s also strong and he does not take shit from anyone for a second, least of all sherlock, and PTSD does not make you a delicate fragile flower that needs to be kept safe from the big bad mean world

whereas sherlock’s this ex-addict waif with too much brain and too little people skills and he’s been called a freak and a jerk all his life and yeah he’s gotten used to it but it’s so clear that it still hurts and it’s so blatantly clear that even before john he’s always needed so much looking after just to function, just look at how lestrade and molly and mycroft hover over him, and god sherlock underneath his shell is so fucking damaged 

i

have a lot of feelings about this

Yes ugh

Also John is obviously tough-as-balls. I mean, even just putting aside all of the crack-shot, shoot the cabbie to save Sherlock, don’t drop a tear whilst being strapped to a bomb etc hardcore stuff he’s obviously capable of, he puts up with Sherlock. When you think about it, really think about it, that’s not an easy task. Sherlock is the worst nightmare of a flatmate. He chucks half his stuff out into the living room and the kitchen and litters the place, keeps experiments in the kitchen and body parts in the fridge, shoots the wall, stabs Cluedo to it, keeps impossible hours and drags you into all of his shit whether you like it or not. He’s also a fragile person, as pointed out above. Dealing with someone who you care about who might be in danger of a drug addiction relapse at any time and also has a nicotine addiction to overcome is very difficult and very emotionally taxing. Sherlock also has a few other insecurities, and although they seem to have gotten much better since we were first introduced to him in Study in Pink, (the most obvious and telling change being that he’s no longer underweight), they must be difficult to live with.

Sherlock just by nature is pretty demanding and difficult to live with. He monopolises John’s time a lot. And John is somehow able to get past all that and still have a supportive and trusting friendship with Sherlock, who has a lot of walls up. What John does for Sherlock is really quite incredible when you think about it, really think about it how trying it must be to be around Sherlock Holmes most of the time. John isn’t afraid to tell Sherlock when he’s being a total dick, and the both of them really do make each other better, happier people on the whole.

John is really quite a tough nut, not a crushed little thing who needs to be rescued by Sherlock. Yes, Sherlock definitely gave John that boost he needed to wake him up, but if anyone has “saved” anyone else it’s John who saved Sherlock from himself. Sherlock who didn’t believe himself capable of caring or having a constructive relationship with other people, who is used to being called a heartless, arrogant freak, who led a dangerous and unhealthy lifestyle and needed someone to just nudge him back in check a tiny bit without controlling him as Mycroft does. People don’t often seem to look at just how much Sherlock needed John.

Ugh yes excellent post let me contribute to this because I have feelings.

 

If I may indulge in some extended metaphor, imagine their relationship like this: Sherlock’s the crux, but John’s the anchor. John came home needing a life, needing something to be a part of because that’s who he is; Sherlock has a life, too much of a life, and it’s killing him. He’s got too much life for one person. The world Sherlock has made threatens to overwhelm him, and he’s got no-one crazy enough to share with him.

Other people have orbited around him for a while: Mrs Hudson and Lestrade and Mycroft try to take care of Sherlock because someone has to (Sherlock’s certainly not doing it), but they’re the ones who come in to help him when he’s already fucked up and half-killed himself. They all sort of just throw up their hands and assume he won’t listen to them until after he’s gone back to a substance, or half-starved himself, or done something stupid like get into a car with a serial killer. Then, they yell at him and take care of him and get him back on his feet and send him off again.

John doesn’t take shit, though. He’s not tolerant, and he doesn’t start out with the knowledge that Sherlock’s living his life on a tightrope. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft: they’ve known Sherlock for too long, seen him fall before, have gotten too used to his antics. John comes in right in the middle of Sherlock’s life, during a period of stability: he meets an arrogant, insane, brilliant nutter who doesn’t seem to need anyone. In fact, Sherlock’s so good at seeming like he doesn’t need anyone that John nearly gives up multiple times in ASiP, because all of the ways Sherlock has tried to use him — assistant, sounding board, travel companion — make him feel like a hanger-on. Sherlock uses him in the ways he uses his other handlers. Sherlock doesn’t think that maybe John’s going to be different, not until John makes himself into Sherlock’s brother-in-arms. John doesn’t wait to save Sherlock; Lestrade shakes his head and wonders at what the nutter’s up to, but he doesn’t try to stop him or figure out what he’s doing. John doesn’t do that. He doesn’t allow Sherlock to do cases by himself, to take on danger by himself, fall by himself; he runs right in there and stops Sherlock from falling at all. And that’s new, and that makes Sherlock desperate to keep him, just for a little longer.

Sherlock doesn’t benefit from care and coddling and admonishing because he doesn’t entirely understand it. As a child, he’d have been the sort to fall out of a tree while taking samples from bird’s nests and tune out the tearful scolding and patching up he got afterwards, because what do they know? Sherlock benefits most from John’s direct, tough approach; John’s been in the action all along, saw him climb the tree and climbed up with him to make sure he didn’t do something moronic up there. John saves Sherlock from his own stupidity, his own idiocy, if you recognize the reference. John doesn’t until later realize that Sherlock’s entirely fucked up and isn’t just a complete git and has a bit of a heart, too, though he pretends he doesn’t.

Does John give emotional support? Not directly. John’s a stoic, stiff-upper-lip sort of man with some macho soldier thing going on; Sherlock wants to forget he’s got a heart simply by ignoring it. They don’t talk about feelings, at least not their own. The two times Sherlock tries to wheedle John’s affections for him out of him (the fight in TGG and the “it bothers you what people say about me” scene in TRF), John clams up. In THoB, Sherlock refuses to apologize the proper way because he doesn’t want to admit he was wrong; he doesn’t even want to say out loud that John’s his only friend, he just gives a number. When Irene Adler is proved to be alive, John fails to get Sherlock to talk about how that affects him. It’s possible the “you machine” speech is the only time anything ever really gets broached, and that’s a heartrending argument had as the world is collapsing. It’s also the last time they speak face-to-face.

These two don’t do feelings, or affection, or coddling. It’s not really emotional support John gives him: it’s more like he’s there to knock sense back into him. John heads Sherlock off before he does anything harebrained, and Sherlock cares about what John says because he’s not one of these “useful” people, he’s just a friend, and Sherlock has some dim idea that that’s a bond more about mutual respect and listening to each other than it is about doing what he wants and expecting to be patched up later.

Sherlock grows up, living with John. He understands that there are good actions and there are bad actions, and they’re not just good or bad depending upon what ends up happening to him, they’re good or bad before the fact. His decisions don’t just affect him anymore, because John doesn’t let him do that and anyway solitude has now become loneliness and isn’t that weird when did that happen anyway? When did chasing killers become as much about the running and giggling and takeaway after as it was about the mystery-solving? He vaguely wonders at this, but because these two are both morons who have never looked at themselves or each other properly in a mirror and have no idea what they mean to each other, he has no answers.

Idiots.

I have an answer for them: John props Sherlock up, with Sherlock’s arm wound around his shoulder. Sherlock gives John somewhere to take him. They stumble on like that, except if you look closely it’s not really stumbling at all.

sweetlittlekitty:

sketchlock:

radiolocked:

thebritishteapot:

I’m afraid it will take a long time

The fanfic that will take ages to update.

LOOOOOOOOOL

(Source: sherlockscones)

(Source: iwantyousafe-mydoctor, via amenaza)

abitofholmesandwatson:

lilajanet:

#sherlock is so much more fragile than john

can i hold you please

yes i agree

ye s

why does nobody

omfg

every time i see john reduced to this whimpering little moe sad-sad lovestruck jumper babbu i just want to scream and punch things…

authormichals:

Manueluv and I are convinced Agent K is Coulson’s father. Hell, MIB is even owned by Marvel. 

(via sonicsaltandsherlock)

thescienceofjohnlock:

timemachineyeah:

twelvebats:

concludes:

ayamayamayam:

do-you-have-a-flag:

concludes:

weavile:

quick speedpaint ‘cause this has been in my head for ages. phone depicted above is Sherlock’s, not John’s.

#I imagine there are days where John probably can’t even make the stairs and slumps against the staircase and holds his head in his hands #and wonders why of all the things that had to be taken away from him it’d be Sherlock 

jesus chriiiist and some days he texts sherlock without thinking: ‘gone to tesco, what do you need? -JW’ and sherlock’s phone pings from inside his trouser pocket and if john could breathe from the ache in his chest he would scream

stop it

no

stop

And then, on good days (when he can stand to think about him and all the good memories they had), John calls Sherlock’s cell just to hear his voice before he leaves a voicemail. It’s a ridiculous sounding message, but so inherently Sherlock, spoken in that bored and exasperated tone John knew too well: “Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. Don’t bother leaving a message if it isn’t pertinent to a case.”

And, sometimes, hearing his voice would be enough for John. Enough to make him smile and laugh, and hang up and go about with his day.

Sometimes, though, he’d have to leave a voicemail. Just a “Hey, Sherlock, I’m not going to be at the flat tonight, just wanted to let you know” or even “Mrs. Hudson said you shot her wall again. I’ll let you take care of it this time.”

And, just once, years after Sherlock’s death, he said,

“I love you.”

Once was enough.

OMG UGLIEST CRYING

John stops blogging. He can’t see the point of it; nothing ever happens to him anymore - he’s just staying alive. But the good days begin to outnumber the bad ones through sheer bloody-minded placidity, and John fills the inbox of Sherlock’s phone with inane little messages and expects nothing back. With: “How many times can I get into a row with the chip and pin machine before they ban me? -JW”, or “Triple murder in the papers today. You’d have loved it. -JW”, or simply “Bloody raining again. -JW” - hundreds of texts about everything and nothing at the same time. And John stops blogging. But he never stops talking about his day.

JFC AS IF THE WOUND ISN’T FRESH ALREADY!

why are you doing this to me 

all my brainings are crying mushes now

no why did you type any of that

And then one day, while John is in Tesco ambling around with a half empty basket, the phone, Sherlock’s phone buzzes inside his pocket. He stops dead, eyes widening and pulls it out. Before looking he stills himself and reminds himself that it’s probably just a wrong number or a mistake of some kind, maybe even a message he sent himself that has been delayed for some reason, it happens.

He sighs and turns the phone over, running his fingers over it like it’s some kind of precious object. The screen is lit, telling him there’s a new message, he pushes the button to open it.

Suddenly stiff fingers drop the shopping basket, sending it contents scattering across the vinyl floor. The phone slips from his other hand, bouncing on the hard surface and the screen cracks as once heavy feet are suddenly light in their hurried flight from the store.

The phone lies broken but still on and readable, the message reads *I’m sorry John, come home and don’t forget the milk. -SH*

(via ilovemyjawn)