It was their own fault, Greg reflected. There was John, with his fluffy jumper and his little face, looking like he ought to be presenting children’s telly. And there was Sherlock, brittle and spiky and expensive-looking. The one looked cuddly and the other looked untouchable, and so strangers came up and touched John and nobody much ever touched Sherlock.
Only it was all backwards, because John was the one who actually winced sometimes at accidental contact, and Sherlock was the one who’d lean on your shoulder and reach into your pockets if he thought he could get away with it. Greg reckoned John had got a bit too much intimate touching through being up to his wrists inside people’s guts. There was no need to speculate on how Sherlock had ended up so touch-starved — he’d just been himself and people had shied away in droves.
u kno when u put off ur homework on the weekend and then sunday rolls around and u just remember what u did and
I think it’s safe to say we’re all in love with a serial killer and his boyfriend.
Today on “which fandom is this?”…
i guess its hannibal
It’s probably Hannibal
could be Supernatural
or doctor who even
maybe sherlock
Reminder:
doesn’t this worry you guys at all?
I finished my Mystrade fic! Ended up being 4 chapters, here’s the completed thing:
Who Picks Up the Pieces – Six months after Sherlock’s suicide, Greg takes Mycroft for a weekend away to try to get him to deal with the loss of his brother.
Crossdressing for cosplay…
If you’re a girl you’re like…
If you’re a guy you’re like…
And either way, going to the bathroom sure is an adventure.
