Everything is Johnlock and Everything Hurts

lordofthejohnlock:

#013 - John pulls rank and Sherlock takes notice.

rotashark:

do-i-ship-johnlock:

hahahahah ohmygod

WHO EVEN THINKS OF THIS?

tennants-hair:

imawesomelikebarneystinson:

tennants-hair:

GUYS GUYS HE SAYS ”THE BEDROOM”

THE BEDROOM

YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS RIGHT

That Sherlock actually sleeps?

there are two bedrooms. he doesn’t say my bedroom. conclusion : only one bedroom is in use.

(Source: thedoctorsjawn)

everyholmesneedshiswatson:

curlyboff:

jellyfishonanescalator:

bulecelup:

dat-patriot:

superlockedhogwartianinthetardis:

bulecelup:

the-221st-doctor:

cumberbauched:

aiwa-sensei:

bulecelup:

Sherlock & De-aged!John (Kid!John)

OH GOD WHY?! 

the saddest part is this is probably what would really happen

John smiled down at his drawing, setting down his paint brush. After 30 minutes of hard work he had managed to paint a hedgehog and an otter, or him and Sherlock with the paints Mrs. Hudson gave him. The otter and hedgehog were holding hands on a happy summer day, and John couldn’t wait to show Sherlock how well his painting turned out.

He hopped down from his chair, careful to not trip. He carefully picked up his painting and ran over to Sherlock who was working on another experiment, one that would bring John back to normal. “Look! Look! Sherlock, I made you something! It’s the otter and the hedgehog!” John yelled excitedly, holding up his painting for the detective to see. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Do you like it?!” John asked, his eyes bright, but the brightness left at Sherlocks unimpressed ‘oh.’

“It doesn’t even look like an animal.” Sherlock spat, glaring down at the blonde child. “More like a rubbish scribble.” John’s smiled dropped, and he stared up at Sherlock, looking hurt and lost. Sherlock was unfazed as he continued “Do something useful, John. Your childhood is boring.”

John felt tears well up in his eyes and soon they were spilling over his cheeks. He looked down at his painting and said “But it’s you and me…” He hiccuped, lifting his hand and wiping the tears from his face only for more to fall. He gripped the painting in both hands and he ripped it right down the middle. Then again and again until the painting laid in scattered pieces on the floor. 

When John ran up the stairs to his room, he heard Sherlock shout “Stop being so dramatic!” and his chest tightened as he laid down in his bed and cried. Nothing he did was ever good enough for Sherlock.

FREAKING FLYING FUCK NOW WITH FANFIC I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS ANYMORE

FUCK YOU AND YOUR FAN FICTIONS I NEED TO SOB MY EYES OUT CAN WE FUCKING NOT

John woke up the next morning, his eyes feeling dry and itchy from crying. Sitting up in his bed, he felt an ache in the center of his chest that hadn’t left since he’d shown Sherlock his picture yesterday.

He really didn’t want to go downstairs.

His mind replayed the scene again against his will, playing over and over like a broken recording how Sherlock had sneered at his hard work. How it lay torn and ruined on the cold linoleum.

Before his eyes began to fill again with more tears, his stomach gave a deep, long growl. John clutched at his middle through the jumper he’d fallen asleep in yesterday having run off to his room before he’d had his supper the night before.

And as much as he didn’t want to leave his room, he really was hungry…

John sniffed slightly, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve before inching off his bed and shuffling over to the door.

He only hoped Sherlock hadn’t woken up yet.

His hopes were in vain when he heard the tinkling of glassware coming from the kitchen, as well as the sound of the kettle boiling away. John swallowed slightly before mustering his resolve and trodding downstairs and into the kitchen, his head held low to avoid meeting Sherlock’s gaze.

“You should change your clothes before you fall asleep, John,” was all Sherlock had to offer.

John didn’t have it in him to respond. He glanced at Sherlock for a moment, but his attention was still on his microscope. John turned his head away, deciding he might not be that hungry after all when it caught his attention.

In two pieces, John’s torn picture hung haphazardly on the fridge, stuck there with magnets in a way that matched the frayed edges together.

He sucked in a shaky breath and looked from the picture to Sherlock and back again. There was another ache in his chest, but this one felt much tighter than the other, and a lot less empty.

A watery smile broke out onto John’s face before he ran over to Sherlock and gave him a quick, tight hug around the middle before running off.

Sherlock looked on after him, hearing the padding of feet on the stairs and the click of a shut door. He turned to look at the damaged picture on the refrigerator, a small smile ghosting across his face before he settled in to complete his experiment.

THANK YOU FOR FIXING IT

fyck im crying

likeifyoucried

littlemisshamish:

comic #29: john watson u little shit

bennyslegs:

mindpalaceofversailles:

Sherlock and the accidental curse of the glowing bits

omg cayla drew my idea 

kreamasuzuki:

Speeding Cell Painting of John and Sherlock Chibis - First time ever recording :) Look how I draw!