psa: sherlock threatened john in his blog to make john come downstairs to him
psa: sherlock blogs naked
psa: john took sherlock out for xmas shopping and sherlock yelled at santa about murder
I JUST REBLOGGED THIS BUT IT GOT BETTER
If you think about it Ursula was actually really nice because she only promised Ariel legs, and she gave her really nice legs that matched her body type and skin color when she could have just as easily given her goat legs
i’d like to pretend that john took this picture when sherlock was in a good mood one day. he made some stupid joke then when sherlock was smiling, called his name and snapped this. he had it printed out and now keeps it in his wallet.
John found that sometimes the mornings were the hardest. After Sherlock died, John would dread waking up in the morning and coming downstairs to a cold, empty flat. He kept on with his routines, for John was a man who took comfort in routine, but he never could get used to the silence of Baker Street.
And when things got a bit too rough, when the echo of his spoon clinking against his tea mug was too loud in the kitchen, or when he leaned a little too far to the side whilst walking on the pavement and bumped into no one, or when he heard the sirens of a police car pass him by without the slight feeling of anticipation forming in his gut, John had his photo to look at. The corners were getting dogeared from the way his thumb would rub against the edges as he held it, a sad, soft smile forming on his face when he remembered the madness of the case they’d been on, when Sherlock had stolen a tour bus and they’d only escaped serious trouble from the police by the timely intervention of Mycroft.
John could remember the crisp spring wind that had been just on the wrong side of chilly as they’d stood on the rooftop of some building he’d long forgotten, watching the tourists mill about the (artfully) parked bus below, as police officers sorted out the mess. And the laughter. John remembered most the carefree and bright smile that Sherlock had had on his face. He’d taken the photo then, too wrapped up in the giddy fun feeling of the chase to realise that he had just taken one of the most important photographs of his life.
The photograph that made him smile again, however small, whenever he woke up in the middle of the night with tears in his eyes from the guilt of not being able to save his best friend. Sherlock had yanked John out of a depressed non-existence in one short night, but John would never forgive himself for not being able to do the same for his friend. The photo was a reminder though, not of his failing, but of the fact that even after being invalided back to London he had once been happy.
And John would smile at the grinning Sherlock, a small huff of air escaping his lips as he told himself that the madman was worth it, and that John had no regrets running after Sherlock Consulting Detective Holmes. Normally he’d go back to sleep afterward, dropping off after only a small struggle, but this night was different. This night the picture of Sherlock was illuminated by a flashing blue LED, and John frowned at his phone as he picked it up to see who could be bothering him at this hour.
A picture message, of him working with Sherlock on another of their cases after the rush was over and the suspect had been caught. John wasn’t looking at the camera, and could only deduce that Sherlock had been sneaky enough to take it without him realising.
Sentiment is harder to ignore than I thought.
PS, if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m home.
-KISSES YOUR FACE-