this time, Mrs Hudson didn’t blame him.
llnd:
John knows how to pick handcuffs.
So here’s a question.
If he knows how to pick handcuffs, why didn’t he pick them before the journalist arrived?
Because bondage sex in a stranger’s flat is just what was needed to relieve some fugitive stress.
That comment. It burns with accuracy.
You may think that I made this because his profile was too beautiful to resist. Hahaha, of course he’s beautiful but no, I made this because of the way his thumb moves. Quite sensual, isn’t it? …..Why are you looking at me like that?
I don’t know. This is why I shouldn’t make gifs at 2 am.
LOL
he was born to be an actor.
I was extremely impressed with the way he played the part of losing his mind.
^ Same. He is an incredible actor. He didn’t make the suicidal element feel cliché, he made it feel very raw and real. You felt positively awful for his character; he was honestly having the breakdown. He was the character. He was the psychosis.
Seamless performance by Russell Tovey; I’d love to see him play more roles like this.
God, yes. His acting was so fantastic… I thought he was going to, for a moment, and I wanted to hold him..
Can someone please draw Sherlock as a princess is his mind palace?
Oh LORD
And suddenly it all connects. Mycroft is the Queen and Sherlock is the princess.
AHAHAHA
I love that this happened so quickly.
OH God.
Dear lord.
I have no words that describe how thrilled I was when he put the deerstalker on.
I squealed out loud.
It gives my url so much more meaning.
I screamed when I saw this.
It reminded me of a part of this fanfic that I read a LONG time ago:
Title: Three Ways Sherlock Conformed to His Stereotype
Author: starjenni
…
“Merry Christmas,” said John, and held out the offending article.
Sherlock eyed it warily. “What is it?”
John shifted. “It’s a hat.”
Urge to roll eyes, quashed. “Yes. I can see that.”
“It’s called a deerstalker.”
Sherlock held it up. The tweed side flaps flopped around unenthusiastically. “I see,” he said.
John scratched his head. “I don’t know what I…I saw it in a shop and for some reason I thought. I don’t know, it was like it already belonged to you.”
Sherlock looked over at John. He hated Christmas, just like he hated everything to do with the ordinary, and he thanked God that John hadn’t wormed his birthday date out of him yet, but John seemed to find it important.
He sighed, and wondered why he bothered (he shouldn’t care about John’s feelings, why did he care?), and put the hat on.
John’s expression changed. “That’s odd,” he said.
“That would be the ear flaps,” Sherlock said.
John shook his head. “No, no…I mean. It…kind of suits you.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. He felt like a total idiot, but he wasn’t going to tell John that. He shifted around to the mirror and inspected himself.
“Oh,” he said, finally, and not mockingly. John joined him, the two of them staring into the mirror together.
“You see what I mean?” he said.
Sherlock nodded, slowly. It looked stupid, old-fashioned and peculiar, and it didn’t match with his usual neat, trimmed suit, but…there was no denying that it gave him a certain…something. Maybe it matched the look in his eyes or something. But it wasn’t bad exactly.
It made him look like…him.
“Thank you for the hat,” he said, and realised he meant it, which was most probably the biggest shock of the day.
He wondered what Lestrade would say if he turned up at a crime scene wearing it.
…
