Happy Birthday Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, sorry that character you hate is what you’re known for.
only 5K … neat, guess us older folk are scarce here on tumblr
I still have nightmares about the last two jfc
oh my goooood
I remember being like 7 and terrified of that last screen. Like what if I forgot to wait and just shut off the computer before it was “safe” to do so? Would it self-destruct and blow up?
Anon. You are seriously pretty damn smooth.
Anon, I think you just made my day.
What people don’t realize is that Sherlock is constantly mocked and bullied. His flatmates meet him, realize he’s hard to be around and leave. He doesn’t have any friends, his own brother only seems to care for him because he’s family and might cause a bad image, but otherwise doesn’t give a flying fuck about him.
At work, he’s called ‘freak’ and his deductions are doubted even after they’ve seen hundreds of solved cases under his reign. Lestrade is only his friend because he’s useful, he calls Sherlock a right git and doesn’t do anything to stop Donovan or Anderson from mocking him and making his job harder.
Ms.Hudson is his landlady, the second person who doesn’t show outright care for him, but to a mind like Sherlock, he assumes it’s because she feels indebted to him. It doesn’t make sense for her to actually care about him, he’s ‘heartless’ and ‘freakish’ to everyone around him so why would a sweet old lady care about him?
Above all, Sherlock is utterly lonely. He’s got his experiments, he’s got his work, where he’s bullied and mocked so much that he promptly ignores and then he has the occasional flatmate that try to befriend him and suddenly stop caring when they’ve had enough.
And then there’s John Watson. Sherlock expects him to leave, that’s why in the beginning, he’s more charming then usual, winking at him when he leaves, smiling when they go to check out 221b and getting reservations for dinner. After the drugs bust, Sherlock is sure John will leave— not even Mycroft cared when he found out about the addiction and at least part of Sherlock is craving attention.
Sherlock is probably the most lonely person on the show. Not John, the quiet blogger. Not Lestrade, the man invested in work when it’s his division. Not Ms.Hudson in her quiet dusting and “Not your housekeeper”s. Not even Molly with her silent wanting for Sherlock. Finding John was probably the best thing that could happen to him.
It’s like every time Benedict greets someone he knows, he just defaults to Bromance Mode.
Across the entire Universe. Never stopping, never faltering, never fading. People and planets and stars will become dust. And the dust will become atoms and the atoms will become… nothing. And the wave length will continue, breaking through the rift at the heart of the Medusa Cascade into every dimension, every parallel, every single corner of creation.
The day the angels fell.
asked by anon.
this is the best post ever okay
oh shit this is brilliant
The day the Angels fell we were at home, sitting around the dinner table.
We weren’t alone when the first lights started falling, everyone was curious, no matter who they were, where they were or when.
It was happening.
I remember my mum closing the curtains, shooing my brother and I off upstairs to bed.
“No watching the lights you two. Off to bed.”
She tried to not make a big deal out of it, but we could tell she was worried. Scared even.
It was only a week later when things started going wrong. Power outages, water contamination, mass pandemics sweeping through nations.
People started fighting amongst themselves, even families, for basic necessities.
Black eyes started showing up in the streets. Cruel grins and the deadly thoughts they wore on their faces gave them away.
It was a black eye that killed my mother. My brother too.
I don’t know what happened to my dad. He disappeared one night and never came back.
It’s been a year since the Angels fell, six months since the black eyes showed up and a week since I made it to America. I’m in Detroit now, searching for something.
I’m tired now. Too tired to care about anything. But something is drawing me here, something deep down inside that I can’t fight. I’m too tired to fight it.
And that’s why I’m standing on the top of a three storey building watching a man run from the lacky’s of the black eyes. I don’t know what they are, we didn’t have them in Europe - at least, not when I left we didn’t.
I hope they don’t kill him, it’s a shame to watch people die. But I’m not going to help him. If he can’t look after himself then he’s better off dead in this world.
My dad used to talk a lot about the apocalypse how the Catholic Church got it wrong. How they wouldn’t be able to save people, how they weren’t the real followers of God. I don’t know if he’s right about that, but he was right about one thing.
”We won’t know what’s hit us when the Apocalypse comes.”
And we didn’t, did we?
“I got a call from my mom and I couldn’t answer because I was fucking working, (he says quietly, voice shaking). ” She left me a voicemail, then two hours later my grandma called me, crying, saying “something happened to your mom… Go to the hospital” I was freaking out, one of the ladies drove me because they didn’t want me driving because i was so scared, and as soon as I got to the hospital there was an ambulance pulling in and they pulled my fucking mom out and that was the last fucking time I saw her.- Austin Carlile
it took me a second and then