i just fell down the stairs and my mum took a photo
incase u think im lying
(via me-charlie-you-angels)
I can’t not reblog a lion playing with a football sorry.
(Source: togifs, via dancinglikeahippogriff)
Always reblog the no-look pass.
Could he just make an entrance like in the first gif every time he enters a room? He looks so cool when he does that.
No, but what if every time John walked into a room that Sherlock was in, he would just throw something to Sherlock, whatever had to do with the case, or just a pen, and Sherlock would use it, because John could tell what he wanted each time. Pen, shoe, scarf, phone, tea mug, anything.
Then, the day after Reichenbach, out of habit, John walked into the flat, and instinctively picked up and pen and threw it. He only remembered Sherlock wasn’t there when he heard the pen clatter to the ground.
nice to meet you satan
Three years have gone by and finally John has lost the habit of throwing things to a man who is no longer there. He’s broken at least 8 mugs since Sherlock’s dea- no. He still cannot think the word. As long as he refuses to believe Sherlock is gone, he will still be there.
One night after a particularly long day consisting of far too many meetings John walks home to 221B. He imagines Sherlock’s eye-rolling, and scoffing reactions to Anderson’s many idiotic theories about their latest killer, and smiles to himself. He unlocks the door, enters, and throws his jacket over the nearest chair. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sherlock’s old mobile, and for a moment forgets everything that happened. He wraps his hand around the device, and tosses it behind him, silently cursing himself for probably breaking one of the last pieces of Sherlock in his possession, as he waits for the inevitable clatter of plastic on wood. But there is no sound.
“Hello, John.”
you made it better
you soothed the wound
i like the way that both urls had TARDIS in it.
(Source: ughbenedict, via dancinglikeahippogriff)
