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safedistancefrombeingsmart · 3 months

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The Season 3 John Watson Look was quite something

#martin freeman #john watson #sherlock bbc #my gfx #bbc sherlock #martinfreemanedit #martin freeman is a handsome bastard #the empty hearse #the sign of three #his last vow #tv edits #televisiongifs #tvgifs

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illir · 1 year

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sherliam in tuxedo art dump

(i like to imagine sherlock sometimes says things like this... but it doesn't work because i personally think liam can flirt much better than sherlock so he thinks it's lame)

heheh (⺣◡⺣)♡

#sherliam #william james moriarty #sherlock holmes #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #my art #i actually wanted to draw more but nvm... me tired #i already like three piece suit abnormal amount but tuxedo....?!?! sign me tf up #wait i just remembered that one bonus illust card where they were on the sofa they also wore tuxedo... i forgor

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if-came-the-day · 1 year

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And there’s Sherlock, in the loneliest place on Earth - in the middle of a dance floor, no partner, all the couples swirling around him.

--The Sign of Three Final Shooting Script

#bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #the sign of three #tsot #sherlockedit

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calaisreno · 5 months

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Yes and No

“Do you love her?”

It had taken them less than thirty minutes to go from the Rizla game to just asking each other random questions. The only celebrities that Sherlock knew were nineteenth-century chemists and twentieth-century criminals, which had more or less spoiled the game, and Sherlock had declared it pointless.

Then he suggested Yes or No, which at least required some deductive reasoning, and John agreed. But Sherlock was very good at this game, having deduced nearly everything about John in the first days of their acquaintance. Without asking any question, he deduced that John would choose violin, a human liver, Mrs Hudson’s nephew, and Sherlock’s old mouse-coloured dressing gown.

John gives up. “Fine. What don’t you know about me?”

Do you love her is a real question, he gathers— from the look on Sherlock’s face, which is serious and a bit sad.

The answer, which should be yes, of course I love her, instead comes out, “I’m marrying her.”

“People marry for reasons other than—“ Sherlock stops, appearing to realise he is going in a direction that can only lead to bad feelings. “Sorry, not a fair question. Better: When did you know that you loved her?”

He remembers grief. The intense pain of the days after he saw Sherlock die on the sidewalk in front of Barts. There are few details he can recall after that moment. It was as if the pain had receded just enough to let him breathe, and a kind of grey fog had descended. Pain, then sorrow.

Somewhere during the sorrow part, Mary had appeared. She may have been there sooner, but he hadn’t noticed. At some point he became aware of her bringing him coffee, talking to him, urging him to come out for lunch. Always there, cheerfully bullying him back into life. Eventually he noticed that he wasn’t quite as sad, and that she was rather pretty.

But the pain was still there, a tender spot in his memory, and most days he still felt defeated. Mary helped, though, and he thought that if she stayed, everything would be easier. He didn’t need to explain; she understood. He could keep the memories at bay when she was around.

By then he was having sex with her. He didn’t remember exactly how that had begun. Maybe it was a pity fuck one night when he’d had too much to drink. He woke up in her bed hungover, waiting for the darkness to descend like a weight on his chest, and she was there, making him a cup of tea, urging him to have some toast, sweetly solicitous and not accepting any excuses.

Does he love her?

Sherlock is still looking at him, the question in his eyes.

“She was there when I needed someone,” he says. “I just knew.”

He’d known that morning that he needed to move on, to leave what had happened in the past and live his life. And there she was.

“Your turn,” Sherlock says.

John thinks of all the things he’s ever wanted to know about Sherlock, but has never asked because it has never seemed a good time. Sherlock has a way of warding off questions with just a look. An armour that does not allow anyone in, not even John. He’s wondered about a lot of things, but asking has never been an option. Sherlock never has to ask; he simply deduces. John is terrible at deductions, as Sherlock often reminds him.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Sherlock doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Twice.”

“That was a yes-no question, so I get follow-up. So, the first. Who was he?”

Sherlock smiles. “You’re assuming it was a man.”

“Wasn’t it? I thought… you’re… erm…”

“Gay? Yes, I am.”

“You loved a man,” John says. Obviously.

“Well, a boy. I was twelve. I suppose it wasn’t love so much as infatuation and hormones. His name was Victor. I never told him until I met him again at uni.” He gives John one of those looks that makes him feel like he is being x-rayed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”

“I’m not gay,” he says at once. “I mean, why would I kiss a man if I knew I wasn’t gay?”

“Follow-up question, then. When did you know you were not gay?”

John’s mouth may have been open for a bit. It’s an odd question. Everybody knows they’re straight until something happens and they know they’re not. Isn’t that the way it works? “I just knew. When did you know you were gay?”

“When I was twelve. I was at a stupid birthday party my mother made me attend, and we were playing Forfeit. I was asked a question I didn’t like to answer and took the forfeit. Up until then the penalties were stupid things like singing a song or doing a dance, but this time it was kissing a girl. The girl was willing, and I was curious, so I agreed. That was when I realised girls weren’t my cup of tea, so to speak. I wanted to kiss Victor.”

John says nothing, though it’s his turn. He remembers a similar party, a boy who wanted to kiss him, and feeling terrified that his parents would find out if he did. Harry had just come out, and he was trying very hard to make up for all of her shortcomings.

Sherlock asks, “How do you know you’re not gay if you’ve never kissed a man?”

“I’ve kissed lots of women,” he replies. “I don’t need to kiss a man to know I’m not gay.”

Sherlock shrugs. “I assumed that I was like everyone else, that some day I would meet the right girl, get married, and have children. That was how it was supposed to work, and I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t like girls that way. All my fantasies were about boys, but I thought I would eventually be attracted to girls as I got older. That kiss told me I would never love a woman.”

“You think I should kiss a man just to see if I’m a bit gay?” He laughs.

“It’s your forfeit, for not having an answer.”

“I’m not going to kiss some random bloke just because you—“

“Not a random bloke. Me. Kiss me.”

This is dangerous ground. Somewhere in his libido lies something that he’s thought about. Maybe he’s even fantasised about kissing a man. Having sex with a man. Just a lark, maybe. Don’t lots of men go through that? It doesn’t mean anything.

But, Sherlock. He lived with him for a year and a half, and they’d been friends. And he grieved when Sherlock died. Not grieved like a friend. He’d lost friends before, and this was nothing like those losses. Pain, darkness, unending regret. Even after Mary, some of that darkness remained. Moments when he remembered something Sherlock had said or done, a stab of pain. If it hadn’t been for Mary—

And it came to him. Mary was balm for his wounds. She brought him back from the edge. He is grateful to her. But gratitude isn’t love. Being in such pain for so long, and then a bit of light— that isn’t love, it’s relief. He’s seen patients in physical pain become almost giddy when given a dose of something that takes their agony away, not even enough to make them high. Relief feels like intoxication when pain has gone on so long.

If it hadn’t been for Mary, he would have understood what he’d only begun to see. She helped him, saved him even. But she was a distraction from the pain, not a cure.

He glances at Sherlock, who is pulling back, looking like he wishes he hadn’t just asked for a kiss. Maybe he’ll make a joke about their game, move them towards goodnight, goodbye, see you at the wedding.

“Yes,” he says. It’s an answer to everything— regret, grief, sorrow, love. It’s an apology for not seeing sooner, for the night at the Landmark, for his anger and cruel rejection of the man he has loved for years. “Kiss me.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Sherlock is right. The kiss tells John things he’s tried hard to forget. It tells him that has loved men before, but called it friendship, that he has wanted to touch men and kiss them, and called it lust, or fantasy, or a phase that all men go through. Women attract him too, and he grabbed onto heterosexuality like a life-raft because he was afraid of the alternative. His sister and his father, yelling. Harry thrown out of the house. His father, looking at him, saying not you too. Never you, my boy.

The kiss tells him that has already met the love of his life.

“I need to call Mary,” he says when they break away.

Sherlock looks sad. He nods. “Of course.”

“One more question,” John says. “Who was the second person you loved?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he says. “I’m about to call my fiancee and break our engagement just days before the wedding because I’m in love with my best friend. So please, answer the question.”

Sherlock’s face does something John has never seen. It crumples and tears fill his eyes, and then he’s laughing and crying and not able to speak.

John kisses him again.

Author note: This is an old ficlet, from Trifles, posted here.

#my fics #johnlock #bbc sherlock #stag night #sign of three #fixit fic

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thelostsmiles · 7 months

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@giftober 2023 ★ day 2: coffee/tea

#giftober2023 #benedict cumberbatch #sherlockedit #sherlock holmes #tvedit #dailytvgifs #the sign of three #bbc:rewatch #mygifs #*tsot #mine:giftober #tea

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bluebellinbakerstreet · 9 days

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~

#sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock holmes #john watson #martin freeman #johnlock #sherlockedit #bbc sherlock #the sign of three #mine

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curlyjohnlock · 6 months

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You can read my latest fanfics here 🥂

#john watson #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock #sherlock bbc #martin freeman #sherlockbbc #sherlock fandom #benedict cumberbatch #sherlock x john #sherlock holmes/john watson #the sign of three #his last vow #john x sherlock #johnlocked #instatumblr

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geeoharee · 24 days

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I posted about this last year a bit, but it's now officially time to Post About It

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

This is the FIRST PAGE of the book. Fucking strap in (and then take that tourniquet off before you lose the arm)

There's a much better post somewhere about how intravenous morphine use (Watson only mentions morphine once, I personally don't think there's solid evidence of him using it, but that's debated - anyway) was considered effeminate. Syringes were for girls. Men smoked opium. So that's already setting Holmes up as suspiciously unmanly within the culture, but it's the penetration imagery here that absolutely kills me. It's SO unsubtle. Was it necessary to say 'thrust', Watson

He does also make a point of describing the syringe as tiny, every time it shows up. Do with that what you will...

Oh, yeah, and 'fingers' with three adjectives. Three is too many, Watson. We know you like his long fingers, you've said.

#three times a day #in the living room #I mean it's just indecent #sherlock holmes #letters from watson #sign

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r2y9s · 7 months

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[sherlock holmes]

The floor was covered thickly with the prints of a naked foot - clear, well-defined, perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of an ordinary man.

'Holmes,' I said, in a whisper, 'a child has done this horrid thing.'

this is basically how it went down in The Sign Of Four right? featuring Jon bc i can

#sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes chapter one #sherlock holmes the awakened #johnlock #jonlock #johnlockjon #or whatever the three of them are #don't ask why they're in holmes's room in cordona during the sign of four #holmes had his 221b room decorated identically or smth #i know canon watson is like in awe of the footprint #but new awakened watson gives me 'this meeting could've been an email' vibes #also this is my favorite outfit to put sherry in #it's the best all around when going to ask ppl for info bc everyone loves a pretty one in a dress

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thebeesareback · 10 months

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Hello again

It's weird shit Sherlock time

- there is a man who is simply called "Bannister"

- to hide their identity, two people write a note and trade off words so their letters are harder to identify

- one character anonymously sends pearls to another so she doesn't feel alone

- Sherlock likes to greet inanimate objects: "hello, what's this? A peice of paper?"

- over the series Watson uses the word "ejaculated" instead of "said" about 10000 times. If anyone has a searchable pdf, feel free to let me know the exact number

- 221b Baker Street is in Central London, near to Parliament, a couple of palaces, cathedrals, Marylebone Station and just off Oxford Street, which might be the busiest shopping street in the UK. The whole area is rammed with people. Sherlock still regularly looks out of the window and identifies clients

- several plot points in different stories involve people holding important documents and then wandering off, sometimes because they fancy a coffee

- one man has a bad day at work and takes six weeks off because he has "brain fever". Wish we could still get away with this

- Sherlock and Watson visit a house in Kent and find it packed with Indian and Hindu decoration, so it looks like a palace

- Sherlock disguises himself as an elderly priest and fools Watson