#ofdeductiions

[watsonofagun]

@ofdeductiions because SHERLOCK STRANGE NO.

           “I’m going to let you walk into the next pillar if you don’t            bloody pay attention right now, Strange.”

[crimeblogger]

@ofdeductiions

[ text ; s. holmes ] You were gorgeous last night. Just brilliant. [ text ; s. holmes ] What have you got on today?

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

@ofdeductiions

“Well well, Sherlock Holmes, isn’t  it? Mm, you’re lankier than the tele makes you out to be.” 

Commander James Norrington, of Scotland Yard Police, stood with a hand extended to the other man. He hadn’t been Commander very long, but his reputation and quick ascent through the ranks gave him a bit of a reputation of his own.

His father had been Commissioner before he had died, James was clearly gunning for that title. Daddy issues, and all. Quite stiff, despite his facade of sass, by his tense shoulders. But other than this, he wasn’t giving him much to go by. 

[holmeshandler-blog]

@ofdeductiions liked for a starter

“Sherlock.” It’s been a solid five minutes and the man still hasn’t moved from his armchair. It’s not surprising but he’s in a bit of a RUSH given there’s been a murder and he has a crime scene to tend to. Another to add to the pile on his desk and one that’s too strange for him to deal with on his own when he’s got two others he needs to follow up on. The man still doesn’t stir and he takes a few more steps into the flat, raising his voice. “Sherlock! If ya need a nap, take one in the car. We’ve gotta go.”

[jawnlovesjumpers]

It's Quiet Uptown | @ofdeductiions

      Losing a child was never something John Watson had prepared for.

And yet, here he was.

      He should have known. He should have seen the signs. He was a doctor, for Christ's sake. How could he miss something so critical? How could he have been so blind?

      If he had known, if he had seen the symptoms early enough, perhaps Mary would have understood, even if they were unable to save the child. Perhaps she would have understood, and perhaps she would not have left him. Perhaps she would not have become overcome with grief, and perhaps she would not have decided that it was best for her to be as far away from John as she possibly could.

It wasn't my fault.

      John had spent his entire life in the city. Yet now, it was all too much for him. He needed a peace he knew he would never find. But he thought it might be easier to find if he were away from the noise. From the crowds, from the busyness, from the city. He needed away.

Anywhere.

      Since the death, he had not spoken to many people. His sister, once. Mary, a few times, before she decided it was all too much and walked out of his life like this wasn't something they had to deal with together, leaving him completely alone and wet in the freezing winds of London. The one he'd spoken to the most, perhaps not unsuprsingily, was Sherlock. His best friend. His former flatmate. His...well, whatever he was to John. He'd spoken to Sherlock several times, and had mentioned once needing to get away from the city. Sherlock mentioned a property that he owned out in Sussex. Finances were strained, and John was desperate; he would not have been above begging, if Sherlock had not, in his own way, offered to let John stay for a bit.

      He hadn't felt much since his daughter's passing, the monumental grief eating up everything else, leaving no space in his tired, aching body for a single shred of anything else. But John was grateful for the opportunity to get away. He was unsure of how to properly thank Sherlock, and so decided to do nothing more than a simple "thank you." He needed to get away as soon as possible. The city became more overwhelming every day. His grief grew bigger and darker every day. He wasn't sure how much longer he could handle both of them.

[drcpalmer]

He’s seen her blazing down the halls, coat fluttering behind her like she’s some kind of  clocked figure in those old black and white movies his grandmother used to watch with him as a child. It takes three weeks for him to gather the courage to approach her, he very much doubts she even knows he exists outside of the fact that he’s hospital staff and new. She’d accepted, probably out of some sense of pity, he thinks, and it had been a disaster. But he musters up some the last bit of his dignity and asks her for a second date, again she agrees and he promises himself this time will be different. 

So with a small array of sunflowers he waits for her to descend the steps of Baker St, in a blazer and slacks, hoping not to fuck this up this time. When the door open he looks up from scuffing his shoe against the pavement and gives her a small smile, holding out the blooms for her, “Evening, Ms. Holmes.” 

@ofdeductiions

[ask-john-the-army-doctor]

@ofdeductiions

“Move in with me.”

[watsonofagun]

continued with @ofdeductiions !!!

When John received the texts from Sherlock, he wondered if it was to show him another scientific discovery he had made from his experiments, or a highly interesting case he had spotted from the papers or emails. Those were usually the case, after all.

So when he came clambering down from his bedroom, curious of the violin music coming from the flat while tying the knot on his pinstripe dressing gown and smoothing down his hair, he had to stop himself right at the door, staring at the well-dressed Sherlock with one corner of his lips turned up in mild amusement at the mannerism. Then he laughed, rubbing his face and then gesturing down at himself.

        “Seriously? You could’ve warned me first. I’m not even dressed         for it, Sherlock.”

Not to mention having two left feet. Just because he had nothing to hide from his flatmate, didn’t mean he wanted to display how poor he was at anything as elegant as dancing.