cumberbitchsandwich:

anothermindpalace:

Photos/Videos of Sherlock on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/29561950

I see that the someecard I made is still making the rounds….:)

Modern parenting, works for me!

(via valeria2067)

dduane:

rectumofglory:

ontd comments say that he apparently said this too: “Think along the lines of Harry Mudd or Trelane or Gary Mitchell or the Talosians or the Horta. Actually it’s one of those that I named.”

prayer circle for trelane~

…And if it was Gary Mitchell, they wouldn’t even have to turn his eyes silver.  :)

Can’t tell you how much I hope it’s Gary Mitchell. Best. Episode. Ever.

eatmorebananaz asked: I loved 'An Evening in Fitton'. If you wrote it - write more? Please? It was so good!

Thank you so much, I did write it.  I’m not sure where it would go, I certainly didn’t intend for it to go where it went!

It starts in this way.  John has been chasing down yet another lead in his quest to prove that Moriarty was real, that Sherlock wasn’t a fraud. He is exhausted and for once he goes into a pub in the god forsaken little village where he’s ended up.  It’s so insignificant that he can’t even remember its name, just that it has a little airfield and there were rumours that Jim Moriarty had used a charter business based there to remove one of his victims from the country.  He’d talked to the CEO of the business but it hadn’t really moved things on.  And now he’s shattered and for once he’s allowing himself to feel the misery and the frustration and the tiredness.

Usually John doesn’t drink, he’s far too aware of his family’s history when it comes to alcohol to make it a habit, but tonight he doesn’t care, tonight he just wants to take the edge off and while he’s aware that this is probably the world’s worst reason to drink for a man who comes from a long line of alcoholics, he does it anyway.

Everything changes when he looks across the room and sees Sherlock.

Well, that’s his first thought.  His second thought is that Sherlock must be in disguise.  His third thought is that he’s lost his mind.  There across the room from him is, well, it clearly isn’t Sherlock, even in disguise Sherlock couldn’t look that … unassuming.  But it could be, it really could be Sherlock apart from that.  The hair is different, it’s a startling ginger in fact, but the cheekbones, the eye colour, the strange angularity of his features, they all could be Sherlock.  When John looks more closely he can see more differences, this man is shorter and slighter even than Sherlock and he has a general air of being life’s punch-bag that Sherlock could never have.  Still the resemblance is striking and the fact that he’s seen this man (he narrowly avoids thinking of him as a boy, although he must actually be about the same age as Sherlock would be) when he’s following up a Moriarty lead makes John decide to go over and talk to him.

To say that John is not used to picking up strange men in bars would be an understatement, he’s not even that used to picking up strange women in bars, so he spends a couple of minutes trying to work out what he’s going to say to the man.  While he’s trying to work it out he keeps glancing at him, at least partly trying to be sure in his own mind that it really isn’t Sherlock.  At least half of the time he’s looking at John when John looks at him and that sets a song off in the back of John’s mind.  Why does it always seem to be, me looking at you, you looking at me he hums under his breath as he makes his way across the pub to sit down next to the Sherlock-alike,

“I couldn’t help noticing that you were looking at me and I wondered why?”  John begins, having decided to go for the direct approach to the situation.

“That’s a bit rich!” he replies and John can’t help but close his eyes briefly overwhelmed when it turns out that he even sounds a little like Sherlock, slightly different timbre, not quite so resonant, not so practiced, John realises, but a similar RP accent and similarly deep in pitch.

“Yes, I know,” John replies, “it’s just …” he pauses, swallowing before continuing, “it’s just that you look an awful lot like a friend of mine that I haven’t seen for some time.”  The man is gazing directly at John clearly taking in details.  It’s a way that John hasn’t been looked at for just over eighteen months and each look feels like a punch in the guts.

“He must have been a close friend?”  It’s asked like a question but it isn’t one, and Sherlock would never do that, he always made statements, he was always confident or at least John has realised in the last eighteen month that was the impression he tried to give.  John looks down before he answers,

“Yeah,” he wants to say more but his throat is so tight that he can’t.

“Did he go away?”

“No,” John struggles again to speak, “he died.” John swallows again and again trying to regain some sort of composure, he hasn’t had this much trouble for months; it must be the drink he supposes, whilst knowing that’s not it.  When he finally manages some composure he continues, “I watched him die.”

“I’m so sorry.”  John believes him like he’s never believed anyone else when they’ve said that, even though it’s peculiar to hear that said honestly in (almost) Sherlock’s voice. “My name is Martin.  Why don’t you tell me about him?”

alex987854:

Earthlight

bakerstreetbabes:

fuckyeahgranadaholmes:

Elementary, My Dear Watson: An Interview with Edward Hardwicke

The interview is split into two parts. You can watch the second part here.

This really is a wonderful interview with the late and great Edward Hardwicke, and I encourage everyone to watch it.

Go! Watch!

evawrites:

videohall:

Slinky is trying so hard

CLOSURE.  I NEED CLOSURE.

No!! Keep going in a straight line Slinky!

It’s GOT time!

theliterarysnob:

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
The Bible - Council of Nicea
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
…