Reblog this if you pronounce 221B as “two-two-one B.”
I’m trying to prove something to my little sister.
If you pronounce it as “two-twenty-one B,” go to this post.
If you pronounce it as “twenty-two-one B,” go to this post.
If you pronounce it as “two-hundred-twenty-one B,” go to this post.
You don’t have a girlfriend then.
It’s not really my area.
Oh. Oh right. Do you have a boyfriend?
YOU ARE LITERALLY BATTING YOUR EYELASHES AT HIM
yeah just blinking
one extra gift for zhellyzee / skinofstripes because i was practicing drawing her Moran hehe
KEEP BEING AWESOME
still fucking laughing at that moment in the reichenbach fall when john opens the envelope with bread crumbs and then we have the americans over here like, ‘fucking hell that’s anthrax don’t touch it.’
Yeah, he gave me a fucking heart attack with that scene.
au meme → surprisingly, sherlock is the first one to say it.
“Hey, man, we’re sorry,” says the blonde one, the de facto leader of the group. He’s tall, strong, conventionally handsome, no older than 25, and wearing an ascot that must have been a gift from an older female. (Mother? Sister? Then again, it could be his girlfriend over there…) ”If we’d known about someone else investigating this place, we would’ve cut out a lot sooner.”
Sherlock just shrugs one shoulder—and suppresses a wince because it still hurts. ”I haven’t any interest in collaboration, but you weren’t completely underfoot.”
”What Sherlock means to say,” John adds (unhelpfully), “is that you saved our lives and we thank you for it.” He shoots a warm, relieved smile at Sherlock, which Sherlock has to appreciate a little bit. Just a little.
The blonde one laughs out loud, still shaky from the adrenaline rush of the past hour. Between giggles, he admits, “I wasn’t much of a help at all. You’d have to thank him for getting us out of that sticky situation.” He gestures with his thumb (a lifetime of playing American football, it looks like) at the group of twenty-somethings giving testimonies to Lestrade.
”Him” refers to the proud-looking Great Dane (purebreed) that’s busy sniffing around Lestrade’s feet. Against all odds, despite displaying abject cowardice earlier in the evening, that dog single-handedly prevented a deranged bootlegger from killing everyone. In retrospect, the entire sequence of events leading up to now almost seems cartoonish in its improbability. Sherlock still isn’t sure what happened actually did happen. Maybe John was right about that concussion.
”He’s saved our butts more times than I can count,” the blonde one is saying. ”We’re way used to it by now, trust me.”
‘Accustomed as I was to my friend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three times before I was certain that it was indeed he.’
This Belongs to weaslee
MorMor spam request :) (by anon)