John chinning the chief superintendent for calling Sherlock a weirdo 🙏🏻💯👌🏻

guy

how many eye contact until date

2-2-1-b

did sherlock write this post

this is absolutely the best thing I have ever seen.

sherlocks-mind

Coordination

2-2-1-b

SHERLOCK GENTLY CLUTCHING THE SLEEVE OF JOHN’S COAT!!!

for someone who apparently values intelligence over all other things Sherlock seems to really like it when John pulls rank or beats somebody up for him lmao…

hint: it’s because he’s gay

love-in-mind-palace

That slight nod and turn as if he is being excused from duty. Can you hear my heart breaking.

2-2-1-b

see also

Sherlock: … Your previous commander, Sholto.
John: Previous commander.
Sherlock: I meant “ex.��
John: “Previous” suggests that I currently have a commander. Which I don’t.
Sherlock, smiling: Which you don’t. Of course you don’t.

Imagine if you will, a young Sherlock in his grade school class.

The teacher has proposed a game of heads up seven up. Easy. Little Sherlock is picked the first round, thumbs down, and when it comes his turn to guess who tagged him out, obviously, he knows who immediately. He explains, tiny as he is, in great detail. 

He loves the game because it gives him an opportunity to deduce, and do so out loud for the class, and he does it smiling because he loves it. it’s like his own personal show and tell. Firstly, he explains a few things. How he listened to the slightly weightier footsteps of whoever tagged him and through the process of elimination decided who it might be and who it clearly wasn’t. He explains how he felt the brushing of a long shirt sleeve against his wrist. More possibilities eliminated. He goes on and on, until he wins. Maybe he goes a little too far and deduces for everyone who was picked. Maybe he accidentally misses the point of the game and solves the whole thing, calls each person out one by one. His classmates aren’t happy. Maybe, after that, they even start being mean to him.

The next time the game is played, Sherlock like usual is excited. He’s ready to participate and play, and he waits and waits and waits and expects to be picked, but… no one chooses him. He doesn’t get to play, and class lets out. He goes home feeling isolated and disappointed, and more than just a little sad. He feels lonely. Then comes the third and the fourth game, the fifth and the sixth. It’s a reoccurring theme now that his classmates aren’t picking him, and being the smart little guy he is he knows that. He knows it’s deliberate. He goes from playing the game, to being on the sidelines, sitting in the middle of the classroom. Alone but surrounded. Excellent but never picked. He’s not being included anymore and it hurts somewhere in his funny little head knowing his classmates don’t like him because he’s weird or a show off or whatever other names they call him. He puts his head down on his desk and tries to play anyways. Maybe he holds onto a shred of hope that he will be picked, eventually. Maybe the teacher will make everybody be nice to him.

Then one day, his heart aching, his little face buried in his arms on the desk waiting to be picked— someone makes him jump. Someone does the unexpected, and they tap him. He’s filled with bewilderedness and excitement and anticipation and it takes all of his energy not to cry or peek, and when it comes the time to finally look up, he does so with his thumb down for the first time in weeks. He’s confused, feeling a million things at once— and then he locks eyes with an unfamiliar face among the rest at the front of the class. A new student, one that had been introduced a few days prior. John Watson. And he’s smiling at him.

Sherlock knows it’s him, obviously, but he guesses wrong on purpose. He wouldn’t want to scare off his new friend with his cleverness. 

2-2-1-b

currently thinking about how sherlock gently dragged his fingertips up john’s shoulder towards the nape of his neck as he went to embrace him tbh

2-2-1-b

ben knew what he was doing lmao

currently thinking about how sherlock gently dragged his fingertips up john’s shoulder towards the nape of his neck as he went to embrace him tbh

2-2-1-b

Sherlock never actually needed a flatmate. His name was already on the lease, Mrs. Hudson already adored him, already owed him a favor. Sherlock is well-off when it comes to money anyways. His big brother occupies a “minor” position in the British government, for god sakes; or rather, he is the British government. There is absolutely no reason for him to have needed help paying the rent, and I really don’t think he did. The fact he was already moved in says enough that he didn’t, actually! And the fact that Mrs. Hudson thought John was Sherlock’s partner is even more telling, because chances are, he didn’t explain why he was suddenly bringing another man home to live with him. She obviously would have known that he didn’t actually need help paying the rent, so he didn’t bother lying to her. He didn’t offer the same explanation that he did for John or Mike Stanford, and because he didn’t, she was left to her assumptions. Why, honestly, would she have assumed that they were gay if Sherlock told her in advance that he just needed help paying the rent? She wouldn’t have. The only reason she did was because Sherlock didn’t tell her he had intended on splitting the rent with someone. Why would he, if it would have been obvious to her that it was a lie? I don’t think he needed help with the rent at all.

I think, rather, he was lonely and interested in having a ‘goldfish’.

2-2-1-b

In other words, John Watson was the closest thing to a partner Sherlock would have allowed himself, and he was curious. Their meeting, and their companionship, was very intentional. It was planned. Sherlock intended for it to give him insight on what it was like to have company, but more importantly, what it was like to have a friend. So I will reiterate one more time: their meeting had nothing to do with splitting the rent.

John, sneaking up behind a very thoughtful Sherlock, casually drapes his arms over his shoulders. He starts feeling over his chest, petting him, kissing his ear, ect. Anything he can think of to get Sherlock’s attention, he does.

Sherlock seems to ignore him for a few moments, fingers still steepled at his chin, before finally peeping up. But the tone he takes on isn’t a warm one. It’s cold, analytical, and entirely focused on something that obviously isn’t his flatmate. When he speaks, the octave is low, and his words dismissive: “… Please, do try to keep your distance. I am trying to think, and your hands are very distracting.”

John, being a tease and apparently not catching the seriousness in Sherlock’s tone, continues anyways. His hands continue to trail over the front of his shirt, smoothing out the fabric, and affectionately mapping out the definitions of his chest with his fingers: “Are they now? Distracting you.”

Sherlock’s silence has made a sudden comeback and he doesn’t even bother with a reply. He simply sits, utterly still, with his fingers resting against his chin. He isn’t receptive at all to the touches he’s receiving, and John feels almost like he’s hugging a statue. Only then does he get the idea. He pulls away reluctantly, and stands up straight as if ready to walk off. His voice holds a bit of disappointment as he speaks: "Right, then. Affection is bad news for brain work I suppose… sorry for interrupting.”

The silence continues for another brief moment before Sherlock realizes John’s hands are missing from him, and something about the absence, apparently, bothers him; he perks up, opens his eyes, and turns suddenly, looking aghast if not slightly offended that John had actually removed himself from his person: "Wait, what— where are you going, what are you doing?”

John pauses for a good few seconds, and then tries to bite back a bit of an intrigued, if not slightly confused grin. He looks Sherlock up and down and quirks an eyebrow before speaking up, quietly:��“I’m… stopping, leaving the room? You asked me to.”

Sherlock looks bewildered, his expression feigning offense still. He glances down at a random object to his left as if looking for an answer there, then turns to John again, his eyebrows furrowing:��“No, I didn’t.”

John is full on grinning now, though he looks even more confused than before, even having to fight a laugh at his lover’s sudden change in mood: “Sherlock—”

Before he can continue, he’s rudely interrupted by the detective, who has now turned his attention away again: “I was only complaining. I don’t recall asking you to stop.”

Now it’s John’s turn to be silent, bewildered. After a moment’s hesitation he quietly resumes his position behind Sherlock, and gingerly wraps his arms around him again. Sherlock’s posture softens under his hands, and his eyes close as if ready to pick up where he’d left off the first time. He waits until John has settled completely to steeple his fingers at his chin again, and mutters quietly: “Yes. Thank you.”

More silence passes between the two of them, Sherlock apparently in his mind palace, and John holding onto him for warmth. He nuzzles at his ear softly, and mumbles against it after a few quiet moments:��“… I know you’re here, Sherlock. How long do you intend on sitting, pretending to be in your mind palace like this?”

With that, the detective smiles, finally. He leans his head against John’s and chuckles, keeping his fingers neatly steepled at his chin though the both of them know there’s no reason for them to stay there anymore. When his reply comes, it’s soft and simple, and he emphasizes his contentment by leaning into the warmth of the other man’s lips against his ear.

“… Ages.”

Imagine if you will, a young Sherlock in his grade school class.

The teacher has proposed a game of heads up seven up. Easy. Little Sherlock is picked the first round, thumbs down, and when it comes his turn to guess who tagged him out, obviously, he knows who immediately. He explains, tiny as he is, in great detail. 

He loves the game because it gives him an opportunity to deduce, and do so out loud for the class, and he does it smiling because he loves it. it’s like his own personal show and tell. Firstly, he explains a few things. How he listened to the slightly weightier footsteps of whoever tagged him and through the process of elimination decided who it might be and who it clearly wasn’t. He explains how he felt the brushing of a long shirt sleeve against his wrist. More possibilities eliminated. He goes on and on, until he wins. Maybe he goes a little too far and deduces for everyone who was picked. Maybe he accidentally misses the point of the game and solves the whole thing, calls each person out one by one. His classmates aren’t happy. Maybe, after that, they even start being mean to him.

The next time the game is played, Sherlock like usual is excited. He’s ready to participate and play, and he waits and waits and waits and expects to be picked, but… no one chooses him. He doesn’t get to play, and class lets out. He goes home feeling isolated and disappointed, and more than just a little sad. He feels lonely. Then comes the third and the fourth game, the fifth and the sixth. It’s a reoccurring theme now that his classmates aren’t picking him, and being the smart little guy he is he knows that. He knows it’s deliberate. He goes from playing the game, to being on the sidelines, sitting in the middle of the classroom. Alone but surrounded. Excellent but never picked. He’s not being included anymore and it hurts somewhere in his funny little head knowing his classmates don’t like him because he’s weird or a show off or whatever other names they call him. He puts his head down on his desk and tries to play anyways. Maybe he holds onto a shred of hope that he will be picked, eventually. Maybe the teacher will make everybody be nice to him.

Then one day, his heart aching, his little face buried in his arms on the desk waiting to be picked— someone makes him jump. Someone does the unexpected, and they tap him. He’s filled with bewilderedness and excitement and anticipation and it takes all of his energy not to cry or peek, and when it comes the time to finally look up, he does so with his thumb down for the first time in weeks. He’s confused, feeling a million things at once— and then he locks eyes with an unfamiliar face among the rest at the front of the class. A new student, one that had been introduced a few days prior. John Watson. And he’s smiling at him.

Sherlock knows it’s him, obviously, but he guesses wrong on purpose. He wouldn’t want to scare off his new friend with his cleverness. 

Thank you @eternaljohnlock for pointing out how perfect this song is for the baker street boys. It really is the sweetest thing, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard a song better suited for them than this one.

love-in-mind-palace

That slight nod and turn as if he is being excused from duty. Can you hear my heart breaking.

2-2-1-b

see also

Sherlock: … Your previous commander, Sholto.
John: Previous commander.
Sherlock: I meant “ex.��
John: “Previous” suggests that I currently have a commander. Which I don’t.
Sherlock, smiling: Which you don’t. Of course you don’t.

2-2-1-b

Sherlock is in love with John Watson. Pass it on.

221bsherlockedbitch

John Watson is also in love with Sherlock.

Keep on passing it on.

myinfinitevariety

Mrs. Hudson loves that Sherlock loves John Watson

Pass it on

2-2-1-b

S1 E3

Let’s talk about the scene that comes right after the opening credits real quick. (From the moment it pans in on sherlock to the explosion that happens shortly afterword. If you need to, go re-watch it… anyways.)

I don’t really feel like writing a novel at the moment, so, to shorten things up a bit.

SHERLOCK IS JUST A MISCHEVIOUS LITTLE CHILD IN A GROWN MANS BODY. LIKE A BABY, EXCEPT TALLER. WHAT GIVES HIM THE RIGHT.

John (in canon) acting blatantly jealous of Irene, Molly, Janine and even Moriarty…

Sherlock (in canon) acting blatantly jealous of Sarah, Jeanette, Major Sholto, and even Mary…

rt if you agree 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

2-2-1-b

I think we all loved stag night. We got the leg touch™ and our boys damn near cuddled on the stairs, not to mention the fact that they played a silly game together drunk as absolute piss. Now, I’m definitely one for overanalysing johnlock moments. So I might be reaching a little bit here— but I want to talk about their client and dissect the dialogue between them a little bit, just because it’s fun to think about. So here goes:

“I don’t, a lot… I mean, I don’t date all that much and… he just seemed nice, you know? We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night, dinner. Such interesting conversation, it was lovely.”

John smiles like a doofus and even chuckles softly, glancing at Sherlock. I’d like to think he’s kind of reminiscing about the first night they met as he listens to her speak, because it went exactly like that, didn’t it? Even down to the bit about John not dating or going out much. Even down to dinner. Even down to them connecting almost instantaneously. One night was all they needed for a connection to be made.

“To be honest, I’d love to have gone further but—“

At this point Sherlock startles a little bit, suddenly removing his arm from behind John and his hand from his back once he realizes exactly how close they are. It’s almost as if he has to remind himself to, lest he get too carried away with it. Because god knows he���d love to go further, but he’s aware that he shouldn’t and the words of their client is what reminds him to not let his guard down. You can tell his hand was actually resting on John just from how quickly he retracts it, and how John responds once his touch is gone. He’d love to have gone further, but, no. He couldn’t allow himself. Thank god somebody reminded him he was getting too close. They’re kind of applying the story she’s telling to themselves. I think Sherlock is applying it to the present more than to the past, though.

And then comes the line where she says “maybe he wasn’t as keen as I was” and boy, is the face that John makes telling. He looks up at the ceiling, and in my opinion, kinda looks like a chord has been struck with him. Which is why he looks away. He believes his feelings were unrequited. He’s been in their client’s shoes before. One lovely night with so many expectations that were never actually met, because maybe Sherlock wasn’t as keen as he originally thought. Maybe he was lead on. When the simple truth is that Sherlock just didn’t want to get too close, which is a feeling he’s still battling with. He can’t get passed simply testing the waters, and neither know what the other is thinking— but we the audience can read it in their faces and in their body language, which is a reoccurring theme throughout the whole episode. How they feel about each other is tragic, and here’s the reason:

They are in love, but they are in love in silence.

2-2-1-b

As an added bonus, when Sherlock finally peeps up and rouses John out of his sleep? He puts his hand out of frame (presumably on his thigh— I think squeezing it after a moment because John doesn’t respond immediately) and John smacks it away for waking him up! Then Sherlock says this.

“I apologize about my— y’know— thing…”

What did you actually want to say, Sherlock? 🧐

for someone who apparently values intelligence over all other things Sherlock seems to really like it when John pulls rank or beats somebody up for him lmao…

hint: it’s because he’s gay