you just like this dog, don't you?

pls ignore this and go to @seducing-a-vampire because i didn't know how to use tumblr!!!   used to be an-east-wind

[lake-shark]

the concept of how sir arthur conan doyle was as a person always sends me into fits. imagine making the most famous literary character of all time but you hate the character so much you try to kill him off. but everyone is so horny for this asshole detective they make you bring him back. even your own mother gets mad when he’s dead because she likes him. raising your prices to ridiculous rates to avoid writing holmes stories backfired and now you’re rich. it’s absolutely a pain because it’s keeping you from your true passion which is spiritualism despite how one of your good friends harry houdini keeps telling you it’s bullshit. you consider your best novels to be historical ones but they’re well over shadowed by the nemesis of your own creation sherlock fucking holmes. some fake photographs from some kids convinced you faeries were real and you wrote a whole book about it. you started writing stories in medical school. and yes, also you are a doctor. after you’re dead, they erect a statue of sherlock holmes across the street from your birthplace, causing you to probably roll over one hundred eighty degrees in your grave and scream into your casket pillow.

[ariaste]

this is all true and correct but i want to tweak the perspective a little bit – ACD probably didn’t hate Sherlock as a character *until the Sherlock fandom got wildly out of control and obnoxious and harassed him on a daily fucking basis*, and nobody in the world had literally EVER had to deal with that level of Fandom before, so he handled it with about as much grace as mid-2000s/early-2010s showrunners did, and tbh? i can’t blame him

[seducing-a-vampire-2]

Dana, you're a beautiful soul and deserve all the happiness in the world. 🤩🥺💙😍💜🖤💖💕❤️⭐️🥰

@sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

y u make me cry

[andreauxminyard]

w. what is tjlc what is going onnn

oh honey lol 💛 it’s a true and correct understanding of the hit british gay comedy BBC Sherlock

[pbstv]

in the teaser, does sherlock say i love you to john?

John is clearly standing behind him in the trailer, so unless he’s talking to a mirror for some very bizarre reason, I should think not.

-Mark

[swoopyswish]

Reblog to renew your TJLC Vows:

[sherlockscriptbot]

         JOHN: Could you like coffee?

         SHERLOCK (pointing at him angrily): How dare you say that!?

All scripts on this blog are AI-generated.

[impossibleleaf]

Any idea how many gay jokes there are?

I just want to point out something. A joke is only funny when it isn’t used ad nauseam.

So, basically, when can we say this isn’t a joke but that there’s serious intent? How many times before we can rightfully say: this isn’t a joke, this is a pattern. This isn’t a bonus, this is the heart of the text?

10? 15? 20? One per episode? Twice per episode?

(Brace yourself)

Keep reading

[brandyalexanders-moved-deactiva]

[kanatsubamarias]

Here’s a nicer one though reblog and tag it with everything that comes up when you type “i love”

[siminiblocker]

Oscar Wilde for May~

(Uppercase Planner)

[atikiology]

i live for the day rosie learns what the word gay means and she proceeds to aks john “dad is sherlock gay?” and john goes into this fucking endless spluttering explanation about how sherlock is a very complicated person and we just. we just don’t know. we can’t be sure. one time a woman sent him 57 text messages so probably not. and the next time they’re over at 221B rosie looks up from sherlock’s picture book about poisonous plant she’s studying with her plush bumblebee, gives sherlock a look and asks “are you gay, sherlock?” and sherlock, without missing a beat, just says “yes” and continues drinking his tea and rosie says “ah” and goes back to her plant book and john nearly doubles over in the corner like SAkfjalsöölsakdjflsdjEFpsflksdjfslfjsfk

[skulls-and-tea]

i can’t breathe

[theleakedproblem]

@bbcone u disappointed my dad

[nlogtaem]

what kind of bros share their income… did they even realize what tf they were doing… alla that…. any of that…… im losin my mind

[marcelock]

litwrally 2 months in and sherlocks giving john his card and his bank pin take my hand take my whole life too fuck

[rthrmrgn]

sherlock:

[culverton]

*Rosie reads the blog for the first time* this is pretty gay dad 

[vitruvianwatson]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

The kettle had already boiled and John was pouring the tea by the time Sherlock came back downstairs.  John had flipped the switch on the baby monitor and listened as Sherlock had placed her into her crib.  Rosie had just barely woken enough to say “Daddy” again, and Sherlock’s voice had drifted through the static in a quiet, soothing murmur–”Yes, daddy’s here.  Daddy’s always here.  Sleep now, little one.”–until she’d settled down.  John hadn’t thought it was possible to fall more in love with Sherlock Holmes than he already was, but this was about the third time he’d been proved wrong that night.

The kitchen seemed somehow smaller when Sherlock stepped into it.  John stirred his tea without looking up, focusing instead on the steam rising from the surface of the liquid.  He could feel Sherlock watching him.

“Yours is ready,” John said, nodding toward the other mug beside him.

A few seconds later Sherlock’s shoulder brushed against his own, his long, pale fingers curving around his mug.  He peered into it.  “You only put one cube of sugar in it.”

John laughed because honestly how could he not?  “You utter berk.  ‘Too much sugar, John!  Not enough sugar, John!  Do you even know what sugar is, John?”

Sherlock glanced at him.  “Your impression of me really needs some work,” he said drily.

John smiled down at his tea while Sherlock added another cube to his own, and for a moment they were stirring silently side-by-side, their shoulders nearly pressed together in the small space.  When it had cooled enough John picked his tea up and took a small sip.  He turned to face Sherlock and leaned his hip against the counter, both hands wrapped around the warm mug.

“You do make better tea,” he said.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth lifted.  “I know.”

John kicked him lightly, and Sherlock’s smile widened.  He set his spoon aside and took a sip from his own mug.  John’s eyes fell to the curve of Sherlock’s throat, watching as it worked around a swallow.  His mouth felt very dry all of a sudden.

The clink of Sherlock’s mug against the counter made him look back up guiltily, but Sherlock was staring down at his drink, his smile replaced by an oddly anxious look.

“John, I…I’ve never asked her to call me that.”

John frowned, tilting his head a bit to try and get a better look at Sherlock’s face.  “I never said you did.”

Sherlock’s fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against the counter.  “I know.  I just wanted to make it clear that I never meant to insinuate that she was–that I was–”

“Her father?”

Sherlock flinched as if John had slapped him.  “I’m not her father, John,” he said firmly.

John’s chest throbbed painfully.  Part of him worried that maybe Sherlock didn’t want Rosie to see him as a father, but that idea didn’t add up when taking into account his behavior during the past hour.  Not to mention the past three months.

John set his tea down on the counter and scratched at his left eyebrow, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Sherlock’s elbow.  “Well.  Do you want to be?”

Sherlock’s fingers went still, and when John convinced himself to look up again Sherlock was looking at him, his brows drawn together in confusion.  “I’m not–I don’t–”  He huffed in frustration.  “What do you mean?”

John licked his lips.  “Rosie loves you.”  I love you.  “You’re in her life now.  In our lives.  And that…that’s good.  Isn’t it?”

The ghost of a smile flitted across Sherlock’s face.  “Yes, John.  It’s good.”

The tight spot in John’s chest loosened a bit, but then Sherlock turned and leaned back against the counter with a sigh.  He gazed out at the expanse of 221B, but his eyes were still and almost frighteningly blank like he wasn’t really seeing anything at all.

“I don’t know how to be a father, John.”

A nervous bubble of laughter burst from John’s throat.  “And you think I do?”

Sherlock turned his head, his brow furrowed.  “You’re a wonderful father.”

He said it with such conviction that it made heat rise in John’s face.  He pushed off from the counter and turned to lean back against the table instead so that he was facing Sherlock.  Their feet nearly met in the middle, and John stared down at Sherlock’s toes as he spoke.

“I do my best.  And that’s all I can do.  That’s all anyone can do, Sherlock.”

One of Sherlock’s feet slid forward until it was pressed against John’s, but when John looked up Sherlock was staring down at his own hands.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

John’s eyes burned.  “Sherlock, I’m not blind.  I’ve seen you with her.  You adore her.”

Sherlock smiled sadly.  “I do.  But I can’t…”

He trailed off, and John gently nudged his foot.  “You can’t what?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and finally met John’s eyes.  “I can’t allow myself to even consider being a permanent fixture in her life when I don’t even know if I am one in yours.”

And on that note, I’m sorry.  D;  And a special shoutout to @sherlockhxlmes who listens to me scream while writing this and offers wonderful advice.  :D Just tags below the cut.  If I forgot anyone I apologize profusely, but my brain is fried, and I haven’t eaten dinner.

Keep reading

[seducing-a-vampire-2]

Family: Are you ok? You're kinda weird lately.

Me: Yeah. Just don't get much sleep. You know it's Sherlock time

Family: But isn't that over? The third episode aired one week ago.

Me: is it?.... Is it?... Is it really over ????

*breaking into luniac laughter*

[vitruvianwatson]

Part One | Part Two

“Read!  Read, Daddy, read!”

John couldn’t help laughing as Rosie waved the magazine she’d found on the sitting room floor in Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock’s small, fond smile was enough to make his throat tight.

“Yes, yes, all right, I’ll read to you,” Sherlock said, taking it from her and looking at the cover.  He frowned and looked at John.  “Does she normally want to read your boring medical journals?”

John looked across at him from his end of the sofa.  Sherlock was on the other end, his legs stretched out, his toes just barely pressing against John’s shin where he had his leg bent so he could face them.  Rosie settled herself neatly in between Sherlock and the back of the sofa and poked impatiently at the magazine.  John couldn’t be arsed to care about Sherlock insulting his reading material.

He smiled, and if his voice was softer than normal he honestly didn’t care. “She doesn’t care what you read, Sherlock.  She just wants to hear your voice.”

The small bob of Sherlock’s Adam’s apple was the only sign that John’s words had affected him in any way.  He didn’t reply, simply opened the magazine, found an article that he apparently deemed interesting enough, and began to read.  Rosie giggled and snuggled up closer to Sherlock, and John just watched them.

Rosie was still flushed with fever, but her spirits had improved markedly ever since Sherlock had taken charge of her.  She’d been loathe to take the medicine John had for her, but Sherlock had held her up, putting their faces close together, and explained to her in his very serious and straightforward way that the medicine would no doubt taste awful, but it would make her feel much better.  John hadn’t quite understood how this sort of logic had managed to work on a baby, but he wasn’t going to complain, not when Rosie obligingly opened her mouth and accepted the spoonful of liquid.

Now, as she sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here.  Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life.  His disastrous marriage had been proof of that.  But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

He’d resisted the temptation to move back into 221B for months because he’d been sure Rosie would disrupt Sherlock’s life.  He wished he could say he finally caved because Sherlock had openly asked him to come back and told him that Rosie wouldn’t be a bother at all.  But really he’d only come back because, selfishly, he wanted to.  He’d missed the mess, the noise, the excitement, the sound of the violin, the bickering, the quiet nights in, the takeaways, the giggling at crime scenes.  He’d missed…Sherlock.

He hadn’t even told Sherlock he was coming back.  He’d just shown up one day and never left.  Sherlock being Sherlock, of course, had seen it coming, and John really shouldn’t have been surprised to find that the flat was already baby-proofed when he got there.  And the rest was history.

And now.  Well, now they were…a family.  Weren’t they?  

John shifted slightly on the sofa, his back twinging where the armrest was digging into it, and Sherlock’s feet pressed more firmly against his shin. Sherlock glanced up at him for just a second, but he didn’t miss a beat in his reading, his voice deep and soothing.  John leaned his head against one hand and smiled at him.  Before he even stopped to think about it, he let his other hand wrap loosely around one of Sherlock’s feet, his thumb tracing along the curved arch.  Sherlock’s voice did falter, then, only barely, but he simply cleared his throat and went on.  If there was, perhaps, a slight pink tinge to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before neither of them mentioned it.

John closed his eyes and listened.  It was absolutely ridiculous that Sherlock’s voice could be such a relaxing sound when he was reading something as tedious as an article on Achilles tear surgery.  But, if John was being honest with himself, he would gladly listen to Sherlock read from the dictionary and it would brighten his day.

Lost as he was in his own thoughts, he only opened his eyes when Sherlock’s foot wiggled in his hand.  Sherlock had stopped reading and was looking at him, and John had the distinct impression that he’d said John’s name several times.

“John, she’s asleep.”

Rosie was indeed fast asleep, her head on Sherlock’s stomach, her tiny little mouth hanging open.

“Right,” John said, shaking himself a little.  He let go of Sherlock’s foot, not missing the way Sherlock’s toes flexed slightly.  “Right, um, let me just get her back into bed then.”

He sat up straighter, stretching a little.  His back cracked painfully, and he winced.

“Let me,” Sherlock said.  “I can pick her up without moving her too much from here.  She won’t wake.”

John looked over at him and then down at Rosie who had one fist curled into the tattered fabric of Sherlock’s shirt.  “Yeah, all right,” he said.  “You do that, and I’ll put on the tea, yeah?”

Sherlock frowned.  “John, it’s two o’clock in the morning.  Aren’t you going back to bed?”

Not without you.  The words flashed in John’s mind, unbidden, and he felt a sudden heat in his cheeks.  He cleared his throat.

“No, I’m…I’d rather stay up a bit.  Besides,” he added, smirking, “we still need to take a look at your cheek.  Banged it up a bit when you fell out of the bed, remember?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “You’re lucky your daughter is asleep on me.”

“Oh?” John asked, amused.  “What would you do if she wasn’t? Fall off the sofa in retaliation?”

Sherlock huffed and–with great care that was at odds with his sour expression–curled Rosie into his arms and stood up.  She turned her head against his shoulder and let out a little sigh, but she didn’t wake up.  

“You better make the tea correctly. Last time you put too much sugar in mine,” Sherlock said haughtily as he swept past John.

“Yes, your majesty,” John said, grinning and getting to his feet.  “Wait.”

Sherlock stopped and turned back around, and John stepped into his space, close enough to press a soft kiss to Rosie’s head.  “Goodnight, love,” he whispered, and then he lifted his head and met Sherlock’s eyes.  

Sherlock’s face was so close his breath made the thin strands of John’s hair flutter.  He stood still as a statue except for one nervous swallow.  

“Don’t take too long, okay?” John said, his voice quiet.  His gaze dropped to Sherlock’s lips without his permission, and when he looked back up Sherlock’s face was even redder than it had been when John had touched his foot.  John was pretty sure his face was in much the same condition.  He cleared his throat and stepped back.  “Wouldn’t want your tea to get cold.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly and then seemed to come back to himself.  “Yes,” he said, sounding strangely unsure of the word.  He nodded.  “Yes.  Tea.  I’ll just…”

He gestured with his head toward the stairs and then turned toward them and a few seconds later John was standing alone in the sitting room, listening to Sherlock’s footsteps ascend toward his room.

Wow, that…got long.  Um.  Sorry.  There will be a part three because I’m apparently incapable of getting my boys to kiss to in a timely fashion.  Ahem. Hope you enjoyed!  <3  Just tags under the cut. I’m so sorry if I forgot anyone or if your URL didn’t work for some reason. It was…a lot of tags.

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