Devil strikes

nadzo3:

attentionoutofstock:

iggymarauder:

zombieboyfriend:

boxoflife:

mynameisgrey:

iggymarauder:

nadzo3:

пересматривала сегодня наш “Приключения Шерлока Холмса и Доктора Ватсона”. Момент где, Ватсон играл на скрипке.

It took a while. It really did.

But John wouldn’t, refused, physically could not just leave Baker Street.

So he spent a few nights with Harry, of all people, and then returned to the flat.

Mrs. Hudson wasn’t in; it was just as well, because John really didn’t feel like talking to her, or anyone really. Not now.

He carefully, slowly, made his way up the stairs - seventeen, exactly - and into the flat.

Everything was as it had been when they had been arrested.

All of Sherlock’s possessions sat, untouched. His computer was still open, but John didn’t feel like snooping around. He had the nagging thought that he never would.

His throat was closing, tears stinging in the back of his eyes and the tip of his nose getting that peculiar tingly feeling it had whenever he began to cry.

Blinking and taking deep breaths, he surveyed the room again, unsure of what to do.

His eyes fell upon Sherlock’s violin.

It sat, leaning to one side, in Sherlock’s chair. The bow sat with it. Together, placed as such, it looked like Sherlock as a violin, one hand under his chin as he scowled into the nothingness, lost in his own mind. A small, hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat and died in his mouth.

John fancied it decomposed on his tongue. Or perhaps that was the faint taste of bile as he tried not to vomit from all of this emotional and mental upheaval.

Without thinking about it, he stepped forward and gently picked up the instrument. It was light, making John feel as if it were fragile, made of thin, brittle glass - which was completely untrue, considering the number of times Sherlock would throw it down in frustration onto his chair and whip the bow about as if it were a sword he was threatening his brother someone with.

John stared at it. It didn’t bite him, it didn’t make some snarky, deep-voiced remark, and it certainly didn’t bring the owner of the snarky and deep voice back. But it did, however strangely, make him feel better. Comforted.

He gingerly settled it between his left shoulder and chin, as he had seen Sherlock do so many times. His scar gave a dull twinge at the unfamiliar position, but John ignored it.

He picked up the bow, placed it on the strings, and then thought better of it and, in a flurry of fiery determination, searched for the rosin. Once found, he carefully stroked the horse hair over it, mimicking Sherlock. He refused to break this by being idiotic.

Once he had put what he felt was a sufficient, and then some, amount of rosin on the hairs, he returned to his previous position.

He took a breath, and then gave a slow, sweeping stroke across the violin.

It didn’t sound half bad, but he knew the instant he tried to press the strings for other notes, he would sound horrendous.

But that didn’t deter him.

And so, he spent his hours, long into the night, playing the violin - violating it, making atrocious noises, but refusing to give up. Or even stop. Mrs. Hudson gave up after fifteen minutes of trying to get his attention, and eventually came back with a small meal that went unnoticed.

It took two days of almost non-stop playing to sound somewhat decent.

It took five months to sound like an amateur.

And it took three years to compose his first, and only, piece, simply titled, To Love.

/SCREAMS

THIS IS WONDERFUL

ow my heart

The end absolutely killed me.

Oh my god, it made it back around to me.

WHAT HAVE I DONE.

Uhh, you done did wrote something awesome. Congrats.

:’D

ihavebeensherlocked:

afrogeekgoddess:

ihavebeensherlocked:

Okay, so there are a few different Survival Theories floating around. I’m not going to discuss them because this is a post about Sherlock’s Acting.

So, in some of the theories, this is actually Sherlock right here, laying on the pavement. He’s got some fake blood splashed on him and he’s using the trick of the rubber ball (which we saw him bouncing not long before this) to make his pulse in his wrist stop.

So we have Sherlock here, playing very convincingly dead, with his eyes open and everything. He is laying here staring at John, his best friend, who is in complete shock and pain over Sherlock and he can’t react in any way at all.

Can you imagine having to lay still and watch your best friend go through that? JFC, Sherlock.

I can hear him. Above the din of my racing heart and the noise of the crowd, I hear him. His voice, wavering and rising and breaking and falling like so many dead birds in the street. 

At the edge of my unblinking eyes, I see his face, lined and weathered already, shattering and freezing like the rain that is starting to fall.

I feel his hand on my wrist, his shaking fingers locking around mine in a cuff of flesh.

I want to take his warm, soft, steady hand in mine. I want to trace my name into his skin with my fingers. I want to tell him everything. I want so much.

I want so much.

HERE. HERE JUST TAKE ALL OF THESE PIECES. IT’S ONLY MY SHATTERED HEART.

 Now not only Sherlock and John are (heart-)broken but also the whole fandom. Thank you.

;____;

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

reapersun:

“it’s just for an experiment i’m just showing you see”

“uh okay… so why are you holding it over-“

“it’s definitely not because i’m hoping we’ll kiss or anything”

BUT THEN

there’s kissing anyway

strawberrybubblewrap: It would be amazing if you could draw some sort of Christmas fuzz for Sherlock and John. Kissing under the mistletoe, maybe?

ladydoctor: John and Sherlock’s Christmas at 221b, of course. Bonus cookies if mistletoe.

starwarscastlegeek: Could you draw some Sherlock / John Christmas fluff?

arsvivendi: Sherlock and John at Christmastime?

tpuppets: Please draw something cozy and Christmassy.

reapersun:

this seemed appropriate for thanksgiving

i got kinda carried away trying to paint honey can you tell

anononthewater: oh plz draw them feeding each other (doesn’t matter who whom), based on atlin merrick’s fic feeding sherlock.

therealjohnwatson: If you’re still doing requests, then I’m just going to quietly mention the lovely Atlin Merrick’s “Feeding Sherlock,” which, if for some reason you’re unfamiliar with it, is pretty much just what it sounds like: a giant food kink party.