You are truly beautiful and amazing just the way you are.Remember that always, and never let anyone try to tell you otherwise. Mkay? Smile, you are loved <3
Okay but let’s get something straight: Mary didn’t just try to kill Sherlock once. Right here, at this very moment, we have a proof she would do it again. I really don’t know if there’s anything else you need to know about her.
Thanks to bartimaeu2s for pointing out the way John is rubbing his left hand here. So what might we deduce about this?
Well, the first thought that comes to mind is that it’s John’s ring hand. He’s only been wearing his wedding band for a few hours now, so he’s highly aware of it.
But this is also John’s “intermittent tremor” hand. Click on that link and you’ll see just how often Martin incorporates this particular character tic into his performance. You see it when John is feeling vulnerable. And here, seated next to his new wife, near the end of Sherlock’s speech, John seems to be really feeling it. So much so that it’s not an unconscious twitch, but something he’s so aware of, he’s trying to massage it out.
This directly follows Sherlock dropping his champagne glass, so it’s hard not to get sucked into his POV, particularly since he spends an extended period of time in his MP. But for everyone else, this all passes by in a few seconds. Let’s back up and take a look at what’s going on from John’s POV.
"Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson."
Does anyone see joy or excitement there? I see a man bracing himself, eyes full of uncertainty. And let’s not forget his discomfort with his middle name (just one of a few secrets John would prefer to stay secret, sexy. *wink*).
"The two reasons why every one of us is…here today."
(Can’t overlook the symbolism here – raising a glass to toast a marriage only to have the glass shatter. Slipping this into my increasingly large “proof the Watsons are doomed” file.)
Sherlock is visibly flustered as he accepts a new glass and tries to get back on track while Mycroft is still in his mind, telling him something is going to happen. Here’s the next time we see John, who (like everyone else in the room) is wondering what the hell is going on with Sherlock right now.
Hang on, look closer…
Either John’s playing table spider, or the tremor’s already bothering him. So in the last 10ish seconds, Sherlock has announced Mr. and Mrs. Watson for the first time, John visibly displayed signs of uncertainty and fear, Sherlock became so unhinged he dropped his champagne glass, and now John’s so-called “post traumatic stress” tremor is back.
(Is anyone really still on Team Platonic? I just…anyway.)
Remember, no one in the room knows that Sherlock is trying to figure out the Mayfly Man mystery right now, including John. To them, Sherlock’s just acting kinda batshit. Well, more so than usual. Next, he tells the room he’s just asked to stand, to sit back down.
"And down again…"
This is beautiful. Mary and Janine both stare out at the crowd with similar WTF expressions, and Janine hesitates before starting to sit.
John literally bows his head with Sherlock’s hands like a goddamn puppet. Doesn’t matter what the reason, doesn’t matter how bizarre the order, John just does what Sherlock says. For fuck’s sake, John wasn’t even standing to begin with, and he still “obeyed,” bowing his head and lowering his eyes as if in prayer.
"Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech."
Can’t see John’s hand…but Sherlock clenches his.
"Get off early, leave ‘em laughing…"
John glances at Mary, insert joke about getting off here, still can’t see John’s hand but it must be bothering him because—-
"Wise advice I’ll certainly try to bear in mind, but for now…Part Two!"
—-he starts to massage the tremor out.
"Part Two’s a bit more action-based. I’m gonna walk around, shake things up a bit."
Part two. The next chapter. A bigger adventure, a new, unbroken glass, massaging the tremor out, facing fears and uncertainties, shaking things up – that’s where we’re heading now.
Could be all over-analyzation, all coincidence. But we all know what Mycroft would say to that. ;)
i’m sorry but look at his pensive look. he just… pauses, then asks and the pause is so important, so important, he’s like “hummm should i try… something?” he looks away, thinks and then just “alright fuck it, it’s just a question right? just to make sure because this is not weird or anything to ask this question to my flatmate i barely know”
this is how someone who’s not straight tries to know if they have a chance. i *do* this all the time with girls i’m interested in but who seem heterosexual.
LOOK AT HIS FUCKING SMILE THIS IS NOT THE SMILE OF A GUY WHO’S ALL “OH WELL EVERYTHING IS FINE BY ME I’M NOT A HOMOPHOBE I’M JUST ASKING” THIS IS THE SMILE OF A BISEXUAL MAN WHO THINKS “YES HE DID ANSWER DIFFERENTLY TO THIS QUESTION HE SOUNDED DIFFERENT WHEN I ASKED ABOUT HIS BOYFRIEND. TIME TO MAKE SURE HE’S SINGLE OR NOT.”
also look at how he shakes his head when he says “so you’ve got a boyfriend”, he’s anticipating a negative answer so he can go for the kill later
i repeat: this smile is not the smile of a man who’s like “wow okay i’m sorry if my question bothered you”, this is the smile a man who’s relieved and happy because he thinks he has a chance. and don’t let me begin on the lip thing. he’s like “hum yes, great. he’s single, i’m single, this is amazing.”
DAMN JOHN YOU’RE SMOOTH. AND BISEXUAL.
Unlocking Sherlock ➙ Through the monitor
Here’s a scribble while I continue to work on the HoB remake!
FYI, just in case you want to see what the article looks like. Nothing new. (source: my copy of the mag)
ETA: the cover in high res: http://imgbox.com/bSoR5q6X
high res. #Cumberbatch
Do keep up, John. +
That’s just sacrilege!
I suppose it is.
No you don’t.
No, I don’t. Sorry.
Anyway… I don’t have any places in mind. I’m not that much of an exhibitionist. And I’m revoking his privilege of answering this one on a public forum.
I apologise, I’ve tried to answer four times and he deleted them all. The time for these answers will come again. I won’t give up.
You know I read them before I deleted them, right? Not all hope is lost, don’t be so dramatic.
Well, this is going to work out far better for me than for you lot. Not sorry.
I never said I’d agree to all of them. But a few of them…
Offline discussion time immediately.
Let’s actually try to have a discussion. With words.
It’s not nearly as fun that way, but if you insist.
- SH & JW -
Kisssss! kismanip. For all who want to see the lips meet…..
OH THIS IS ONE OF YOUR FINEST!
[WIP | Full Size] literally never look at me again i don’t usually draw stuff like this
"John," Sherlock winds the ribbon of tagliatelle around his fork, "What do you think would happen if I set this over the candle?"
John looks up, more than a little alarmed. Sherlock inches the little spun nest of pasta toward the melting wax. Jesus Christ.. does he mean to coat it in the stuff? Probably.
"Don’t," John warns, heeding the mischievous glint in Sherlock’s eyes. It would be exactly like Sherlock to conduct an experiment of pyrotechnic proportions right in the middle of the bloody entree. "Just eat it."
"Already finished. I’m waiting on you," Sherlock passes the palm of his hand over the flame. The disturbance causes the light to flicker and dance, casting Sherlock in a soft glow. Shadows waver and lick at Sherlock’s neck in a way that John finds absolutely lovely.
It’d be a great deal lovelier if Sherlock wasn’t intent on possibly setting bits of carbonara on fire.
Sherlock hovers the forkful precariously over the flame, begins lowering it when John shakes his head in disapproval.
"Bored," says Sherlock, looking pointedly at John.
"I’m eating," and it’s rapidly becoming clear by the tone in Sherlock’s voice that Sherlock is angling for a different sort of experiment. One that has nothing to do with pasta and candles. John shifts in his seat, tries to ignore his Pavlovian response to that particular timbre.
"Bored," Sherlock repeats, and John angles toward him. Consciously. Subconsciously. Doesn’t matter, not when Sherlock’s eyes are hooded that way.
"We’re in public,” and instead of John’s voice coming out admonishing, it’s breathless and, ever so slightly, desperate.
“Bored,” and suddenly the fork is over the flame and the smell of of burning pasta is just beginning to—
John drops his napkin.
Sherlock lifts the scorched bit of tagliatelle away from the candle, just a little, waiting to see what John will do next.
John kicks the napkin underneath the table.
"I’ll have to get that," John announces.
"Quite right." Sherlock gives a quick look around the restaurant. It’s a new one they decided on randomly. Very nice, white linen tablecloths, a crystal chandelier strung from the ceiling. A tank full of lobsters that Sherlock looked at with a little too much enthusiasm, like he might possibly make off with it later. A flat full of lobsters. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing they’ve kept.
"Are you.. are you actually taking us out to celebrate our two month anniversary,”John had asked, incredulous. At the first month anniversary, Sherlock had declared all celebrations of the occasion, “superfluous and predictable.”
John ended up having him over the arm of the sofa, arms pinned behind his back, wrists held firmly in John’s grasp. Another hand buried in warm curls. Bliss.
So all in all it was considered a win.
"Of course not. You’re hungry, this is convenient."
Oh, Sherlock. Transparent.
John watches pale eyes track the movement of waitstaff and patrons alike, then he sees the upward twitch to Sherlock’s lips and suddenly John is climbing down to get his napkin. It must look hilarious, like when kids drop the crayons under booths and go in after them. Ah, well.
The floors are clean, that’s nice. Thank Christ the table cloths are long, and that their table is somewhat hidden in a corner. John pushes himself up between Sherlock’s legs.
They could get caught, locked up for public indecency. Sherlock is such a bloody prat, and it would serve him right if John—
Long fingers comes under the table, flick open the button to his trousers. Sherlock draws himself out of his pants, and he’s already fully aroused. John’s trepidation begins to vanish. Spidery fingers stroke over his erection.
Well, that’s certainly flattering.
John leans forward and up, hands on Sherlock’s knees. He licks once at the fraenulum, and immediately there are fingers in his hair. Not pushing, which is commendable where Sherlock’s patience to get off is concerned, but tightening and holding. John licks again, a slow stripe, bottom to top, before remembering that he can’t really take the time to be artful.
There’s no drawing out a blow job for the sake of creativity in a public space. There will be time for Sherlock shaking, and begging underneath him later.
John dives in, wraps his lips around Sherlock and immediately begins suckling in earnest. A noise comes from above him, metal clattering, Sherlock dropping his fork. John hums something of a laugh, and oh, yes, that seems to do it. Sherlock is pushing at the top of John’s skull with urgency. Spoiled rotten.
John tries to keep up, tries not to bang his head on the underside of their table, tries not choke, and fails at all three.
But it doesn’t seem to matter, it only takes a sputter, a lick, and two solid sucks, and Sherlock comes with little warning at all. Again, not surprising.
"You’ll swallow anyway," he always says as an excuse.
And this is true, John is swallowing and swallowing, and when it seems Sherlock has settled he pulls off with a soft pop. Sherlock’s hand falls heavily out of John’s hair, pets his cheek.
John pinches the inside of his thigh in retaliation of Sherlock’s unsurprisingly rude blow job etiquette. Begins crawling out from underneath the table to—
Their server, as if directed by fate itself, walks up right at that moment with the dessert menu. Eyes wide, mouth opening at what must be John’s tousled hair and bruised lips.
John laughs awkwardly, stands and looks quickly to Sherlock who can only seem to pant and blink. His cheeks flushed pink, lower lip shiny from being bitten to keep himself quiet.
John sucks his lips in, gestures toward their leftovers, “Can we get a to go box?”
Uh… happy penis friday, here’s the quickest write of porn I’ve ever done in my life.
//shoves public blow job at you
Take it, I don’t want it anymore.
I don’t even know.
I had a shitty day and this is how I cope with it.
*stuffs head in pillow*
"John, pass me my phone."
"Where is it?"
John smiled to himself as he stood up from his chair and tossed the newspaper he’d been reading onto the side table. He’d always sworn that if the opportunity ever arose again, he wouldn’t let it slip by.
He walked casually over to the kitchen, to where Sherlock was perched on a stool, glaring into his microscope as if he dared it to challenge him. John circled behind Sherlock, braced one hand on the table beside Sherlock’s right elbow and pressed his chest, sternum to hipbone, flush against Sherlock’s back, setting his chin on Sherlock’s shoulder.
He could feel Sherlock’s breath quicken, could feel him swallow hard and press just a little bit back into John’s body. He stroked one hand inside Sherlock’s jacket, let his fingers wander idly over smooth dress shirt and warm skin, slowly dipped into the pocket to retrieve Sherlock’s phone as he whispered hot and damp into Sherlock’s ear, “Anything else I can do for you?”
(Must be one of those edited scenes, right?)