[I’m wasted, losing time. I’m a foolish, fragile spine. I want all that is not mine. I want him, but we’re not right.] DOWNLOAD from ge.tt;
A longing/pining fanmix asked by scruffy-regency; please reblog or like this post.
I’d like to ask every one of you to always have this image in mind when you think of me.
I just really really really need a Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy x Cabin Pressure crossover. Just imagine Martin Crieff and Arthur Dent together! I wish I could draw.
You can’t choose what stays and what fades away
And I’ll do anything to make you stay
“My name is Amy Pond. When I was seven, I had a friend called Sherlock Holmes. Once he told me he borrowed a box that could travel in time and space. He said he was going to take me with him, but then I didn’t see him for fourteen years. Last night was the night before my wedding. Sherlock came back and took me away.” [part one]
“D’you miss them?” John asks. He doesn’t need to specify who, Sherlock knows too well. He’s thinking about the same thing. The Doctor, Amelia, the TARDIS, time, space, danger, joy. “Of course”, Sherlock replies, feeling something twist painfully inside his ribs. “So do you.” It isn’t a question. John sighs. “All the time.”
“My name is Amy Pond. When I was seven, I had a friend called Sherlock Holmes. Once he told me he borrowed a box that could travel in time and space. He said he was going to take me with him. He didn’t. I haven’t seen him ever since.” to Ragna
“His smile becomes so real and vivid it makes her look away, right to the picture of her husband. Oh, she thinks, and immediately on its heels: Oh, Sherlock.”
Amazing plot, such a terrifying Moriarty, stunning writing, incredibly hot sex scenes. This fanfic has all of that. But that small part, a simple tiny moment between Sherlock’s mother and John is probably my favorite so far because it was what made me all glossy-eyed and emotional. She sees John’s smile and she knows, she just understands why her brilliant son has chosen such an ordinary person to be with.
I JUST CAN’T OK
You can read it here.
The best part of my day was when my brother WHO DOESN’T EVEN LIKE SHERLOCK HOLMES started a great argument to prove that Sherlock is gay.
Sherlock has always wanted more than he can have, wanted to be good and right and important, wanted to not drag the people he cares about into danger or damage them through his accidental and inevitable neglect. Sherlock thinks about John and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and Molly—Molly, who seems to be able to find nothing but compassion inside her for everyone and anyone, who cares that he gets it right, who has done nothing but help him, and whom he has discounted and ignored and forgotten, unforgivably, twice. The first time saved his life; the second may cost her hers, and she didn’t even get the opportunity to yell at him because he used up the last of her conditioner. Sherlock doesn’t want any of that. He wants it erased. He wants her home and safe, Lestrade home and safe, Mrs. Hudson home and safe, John home and safe, and himself being nowhere breaking nothing at all. Sherlock wants to stop being an expense for which other people pay.
the sensation of falling as you just hit sleep by greywash