Sherlock - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
Anxiety
The cab ride home was silent, neither of them said a word. Back at 221B, Sherlock sat in his chair, while John busied himself in the kitchen. Some moments later, he fell down in his own chair across from Sherlock, sipping his tea. “So...” he said, eventually breaking the silence. “You didn't seem very frightened. Earlier, looking directly into the barrel of a weapon.” It wasn't phrased as a question, but Sherlock knew what John was referring to, and he was too tired to start arguing with him. “No,” he just said instead. This evening, they had chased a suspect through the streets of London, running through small alleyways and climbing over walls. Sherlock had been some steps in front of John, and when he'd approached the suspect, he was facing a gun, aiming at his brow. For a moment nothing had happened, then John had arrived, grasped the situation and tackled the man to the floor, all within a few seconds. He'd looked horrified, far more dishevelled than Sherlock, but they were both fine.
“No anxiety? No... I don't know, fear?” John pressed, but Sherlock simply shook his head. “But you were facing death!” John blurted out. Sherlock looked at him with a blank expression. “You're not afraid of death, are you?” John asked, his exasperated tone morphing into real interest. Sherlock shook his head. “What are you afraid of, then?” he asked, and Sherlock frowned. 'Of you,' the answer floated through his mind. 'Of the amount of love I'm capable to feel. I'm afraid to let it show, afraid to lay me bare. I'm afraid of loosing you, afraid of being left behind. I'm afraid of you, finding someone else. Every time you're on a date, I'm scared. You're frightening. I'm scared of you leaving, I'm scared of you staying. I'm afraid of myself...' He blinked at John, taken aback from the unexpected question. “I...” he started. “Well, I think what scares me most, is the abyss of the human soul. That's the only thing you should really be afraid of..." Now it was Johns turn to frown at him. “Is this so?” he asked, but more to fill the silence, to cover his utter surprise. Sherlock shrugged. John looked at him for a moment, as if he was not sure whether he could believe him or not, but then he nodded and excused himself for the night. 'I'm afraid, John,' Sherlock thought. 'And I don't know what to do...'
Well, another day, another prompt
Just tagging along...
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@angstober
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Actually love the fact these OS make me angry at John and at the same time- god the feels
Taught you better
“I'll be right back, just helping Mrs Hudson,” John said, just after he had put Rosie on his chair, and off he was again. Not even a hello to Sherlock. But maybe he really was just in a hurry and wanted Rosie occupied upstairs, while he was quickly helping his former landlady. Sherlock remained in his own chair and smiled at Rosie. “Good afternoon little Watson,” he greeted her warmly. “Hi Sha!”She was making progress with her speaking, but Sherlock remained 'Sha'. She wriggled on the chair, turned on her belly and carefully slid down Johns chair to the ground, smiling proudly when she eventually stood on her feet. She gave Sherlock a wide grin, then she looked to desk and back to Sherlock again, a questioning look on her face. He nodded. Whenever Rosie was with him because John had something on, she takes Sherlock's hand and together they walk to the desk so Sherlock could give her the Rubik's cube. But now Sherlock was watching her take her first steps towards independency by walking there on her own and reaching up to grasp the cube. He watched her with a proud smile and a warm flutter in his stomach. Just as Rosie actually reached for the cube and took it down, John came back. As he entered the room, he saw Rosie on the desk, price in hands, and Sherlock still sitting in his chair, apparently coming to a wrong conclusion. “Rosie,” he said in a scolding voice. “You can't just go and take anything you like in a flat you don't live in!” John sank to his knees in front of his daughter, taking the cube from her hands and replacing it on the desk. Sherlock saw her eyes going wide. Of course she didn't know what she did wrong, she always got the cube when she was with Sherlock, and Sherlock had allowed her to take it on her own. “John,” he started, but John cut him of, waving a dismissive hand behind his back. “I taught you better Rosie, you can't behave everywhere like it's your home.” That hurt. Sherlock could feel the warm feeling from earlier fade, and be replaced by a hot burning and something clenching in his chest. He still considered Bakerstreet as a home for John, and therefore for his daughter. But even if he wouldn't, even then, he would want them to feel comfortable in here, not unlike a home, wouldn't he as her godfather? “John, she really-” he tried again, but John interrupted him once again. “No Sherlock, why do I tell her something? Just for her to ignore it?” Sherlock took a deep breath and tried not to let any of his hurt show. He nodded. Rosie looked sad, and still as if she didn't really know what she'd done wrong. Sherlock couldn't blame her. He searched her gaze and said: “I'm sorry.” After that, Rosie looked even more sad and lowered her gaze to the floor. Sherlocks throat felt tight and he really hoped he imagined the sting of tears in his eyes. But little Watson was in trouble, just because of him. She didn't understand why her father was angry with her, and for some reason she was sad that her father seemed to be angry with him too, and Sherlock felt like he was burning inside, as if something ripped him apart. “But John, I really-” “Sherlock! I'm raising her, yeah?” John's voice was really getting angry by now and Sherlock had to briefly close his eyes. He took another deep breath and stood. “Tea,” he rasped out and fled into the kitchen. He leaned heavily on the counter and let his head hang between his shoulders. No matter what he did, it was wrong, he couldn't do it right, no matter how desperately he wanted to, he wasn't able to. But now he wasn't just getting himself into trouble, but little Watson too. What could he possibly do, to do it right? Or was he just not able to? He sighed and filled the kettle, waited for the water to boil.
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*squeaks in pain*
System collapse
When Mrs Hudson entered the sitting room of 221b Bakerstreet, a smile appeared on her face. John had brought his daughter to Bakerstreet this morning, mumbled something about striking daycare and a sick babysitter and left in a hurry. And since then, Sherlock was apparently enjoying his time with the little girl. He was lying on his back on the floor and Rosie was sitting on his chest, playing with the stuffed bee Sherlock had given to her in the early days, and giggling vigorously. Sherlock was smiling up at her, watching his beloved girl with a warm and fond gaze.
“Juhu,” Mrs Hudson announced herself while entering the flat. “I've brought some tea and biscuits, thought you could need some, after all this playing around.” She saw Rosies eyes widen in delight, nod excitedly and jump a little on Sherlocks chest, what forced a huffing sound from the man. “All right little bee,” he said and wrapped his large hands around her body. He lifted her abruptedly and held her in the air with outstretched arms, hovering over his own body. She burst into laugher, the sound light and clear and she was wriggling and squirming in Sherlocks grasp. When he was about to lower her to her feet she screamed 'noo' and Sherlock lifted her up again, mirroring Rosie's grin.
Mrs Hudson smiled while setting the table and followed the scenery from the corners of her eyes. If only John could see how lovely Sherlock was with the little girl. But he was always so reserved when John was around. Finally Sherlock put Rosie down on the floor. “Well, I think this is enough,” he smiled at her and wanted to stand up himself, but as he put weight on his left foot, he winced slightly. He'd had a sprained ankle some weeks ago, but apparently it still ached when he put weight on it after sitting for a long time. Rosie must have noticed as well, because she stopped on her way to the kitchen and turned towards him. “Papa?” She asked concerned.
Mrs Hudson froze at the exclamation and just stared for a moment. Eventually a warm feeling exploded in her chest and she gasped and put her hands over her mouth to cover the delighted sound that wanted to escape her. This was so adorable, Rosie and Sherlock really had a special-
But as she turned her gaze to Sherlock, Mrs Hudson's smile faded and the warm feeling turned to ice, apparently boring holes into her chest and knotting her stomach. The man was displaying an expression of utter shock, he was pale, even more so than usual, his breathing was strained and ragged, it was as if he was paralysed, except his violently shaking hands and rapid blinking. Mrs Hudson felt like she could watch his mind work, the wheels turning and turning, but not coming up with anything. And she could see this brilliant mind collapse, just... shutting down. Completely. Sherlock was staring at the girl with wide eyes, not moving for a very long time, and he looked so scared, nearly horrified, that Mrs Hudson couldn't move either. She could see that Sherlock was taking deep breaths, trying to regain control, but she could still see the utter panic in his eyes when he crouched down in front of Rosie.
“Rosie,” he said, his voice trembling and a bit hoarse, but urgent. “Don't... Please, don't say that in front of your Daddy, or mention it at all.” Mrs Hudson's mouth was hanging open. No, he couldn't mean that, could he? What was he saying? Rosie seemed confused as well. “But,” she said, “But you play with me, I have my own bed here, and I've read that some children have two Mothers or two Dads. Why can't you be my Dad? Daddy likes you too.” Sherlock shook his had. “Please, little bee, I don't think your father would like this idea, he doesn't like me like this, like-” He paused, swallowed. “I'm just a friend. You belong with him. Please, don't mention it to him, yeah?” And just with that, Mrs Hudson could feel her heart crack. Did Sherlock really think- Well, what did John make him think? She wasn't able to find words for the misery she saw right in front of her, for the pained expression on Sherlock's features, his obvious hurt when he told Rosie not to call him her father, even though he clearly wished she would. He was so deeply, deeply in love with the Watsons, with John, as with the little girl, but he was afraid of John's reaction. Because he didn't dare to show his feelings. Because he thought John wasn't reciprocating. Well, Mrs Hudson wasn't sure herself. Sometimes she thought, there must be something, clearly, but sometimes the doctor was denying it so profoundly. And wasn't that terrible in itself? Rosie was nodding slowly and said hesitantly: “Okay...?” It sounded more like a question. “Thanks,” Sherlock said, but he was still looking so incredible sad. Oh God, Mrs Hudson thought, oh dear Lord. It was as if the ache in her chest was caused by a real dagger made of ice. “Oh Sherlock...” she said, and the man lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes wide, and he was looking so young, so unbelievable young and vulnerable.
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Thank you, OP.
Face the consequences
In fierce determination John made his way through the halls of the Diogenes Club. Sometimes a chaperone or a servant would try to stop him, to kindly tell him to piss off or something like that, but he just raised a hand and stomped past them. By now he had been here often enough to find the way to his destination without any problems. He reached the door, knocked and entered without waiting. “Where is he?” he demanded. “Good afternoon to you too, Dr Watson. What can I do for you?” Mycroft was smiling at him from behind his desk. “Where. Is. He.” John pressed out through gritted teeth. “Please take a seat, John.” Mycroft gestured to the chair in front of his desk. John pulled the chair out and made no attempt to hide his impatience and annoyance. “I assume with 'he', you mean my brother?” Mycroft continued, unbothered, the false and smeary smile not leaving his features. “Yes,” John said. “I've tried to reach him for a week now, texts, calls, I was in his flat, but he's not there. He won't answer me, and no one makes an effort to tell me where he is. They 'don't know.'” He emphasized the last two words. “And you came to me because...” Mycroft asked, his eyebrows lifted expectantly. “Because you now where he is and why he won't answer me. You always know.” Mycroft tilted his head. “Why are you so eager to know, John? As far as I am informed, it is not unlikely for my brother to disappear for some days, or not to answer a text. Not to mention phone calls, I thought you would know that by now.” John was getting more and more annoyed. “Well, I know that. But... I worry about him. I texted him and he didn't answer. And when I went to see him, Mrs Hudson could only tell me that he has been away for a few days. I just want to know he's alright.” At this Mycroft's eyebrows went up. “You want to make sure he's... alright?” he asked, nearly disbelieving. “Yeah,” John said, his patience clearly coming to an end now. “I know, must be quite shocking for a friend to want to know that the other is doing fine. So, tell me.” Mycroft said nothing, just looked at him. “Well, I'm his friend, I have a right to know where he is.” Silence followed. “Why is he not answering?” Still silence, and John huffed in annoyance. Then Mycroft said in a low voice: “He's on a case. For me.” John frowned. “He never took cases from you.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “He does now,” he just stated. “Why?” John asked confused. “You tell me, Doctor Watson,” was his answer. John decided to ignore whatever implication that should be. “And when will he be back?” he asked instead. Mycroft shrugged, but after a glare from John he added: “Maybe he will text you sometime...” “Sometime?” John asked. Mycroft watched him with a thoughtful expression. “Well, you married, Dr Watson. You married someone else. Face the consequences.” John's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. “Wha-” He couldn't find any words. How could Mycroft say that? As Mycroft watched him, his expression darkened, slowly morphing into disappointment and bitterness. “Now Dr Watson, I'm sure you'll find your way out, as you came to me so confidently.” He stood, walked around his desk and opened the door. “Well?” He looked at John, and John was clever enough to see his chance to go before Mycroft would call security. And he would. John stood and turned to leave the office, still speechless. What the hell? What was Mycroft implying? He was tempted to turn and just ask, but the look he'd already received in the office discouraged him. So he left the building, much slower than on the way in and somewhat intimidated.
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@angstober
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when john said "professor james moriarty :)" on the shout-outs i almost threw my fucking laptop
the scene in sherlock and co that made me think "this podcast FUCKS" was when sherlock and john in one of the first cases are talking and john's trying to guess what sherlock's thinking and sherlock's like:
"cold."
"warmer."
"warmer."
"hot."
*kettle whistles*
*with an audible sly grin* "boiling."
*cue theme music*
A sketch of Benedict Cumberbatch Sherlock 😊 this Show ist just great❣😍 #sherlock #sherlockholmes #benedictcumberbatch #drwatston #johnwatson #martinfreeman #bbc #sherlocktv #sherlocktvshow #moriarty #microft #art #artwork #artist #illustration #illustrator #sketch #doodle #drawing #painting #traditionalart #digitalart #ink #inked #traditionalpainting #sketchbook #fanart #drstrange #stevenstrange #stephenstrange https://www.instagram.com/p/BYnEPE0B9rM/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
fbi agent monitoring my computer: get off tumblr and do something with your life, i never get to leave my desk because of you
Okay, let’s play.