“Something sweet, cute fluff. Like the two boys on a sofa, covered in cuddly blankets”. Ok, more or less… ;)
requested by the lovely miss-comatose
Pencils, charcoal, soft pastels
Sherlock Holmes knows a little about sex; he knows less about sexual intimacy - but he’s a quick study, and he has a good teacher. He’s about to learn about sex, laughter and raspberries.
Inspired by atlinmerrick
Please leave a message as I have gone to my special place. The one where my fists are in a great deal of godly hair.
Bloody hell!
This has caused me to give birth to kittens of joy and unicorns of glee. The snake heels! Also—sheet! Miamam, you are so witty!
My first attempt of Klimt!Sherlock ever :D Anyway, I really enjoy the Let´s Draw Sherlock project and here I am with my bit.
This is also kind of dedicated to amazing Atlin Merrick, look, ehm, down on those stilettos… B-)
(And in case you haven´t read her fic How to Kill John Watson, Easy Peasy, you should do so now. It´s really great.:-P)
Original picture
:
Sherlock 221B:
The concept of normality had never been a visitor to 221B, even at the very beginning. Unexpected was expected, bizarre was ordinary and in the air was a rare, mad sort of relationship, a form of love which resisted definition. John and Sherlock were quietly grateful that they’d shown ‘normal’ the middle finger a long time ago - it made the strangeness of the weeks after Sherlock’s return resonate less harshly with the past.
Once a semi-routine had tentatively established itself and echoes of anger had faded into the city half-quiet, the feeling in the flat was one of restlessness. For a few weeks there was an endless, silent litany.
I’m sorry.
I know.
There were long talks and there was lots of sleep. There were no nightmares. Weeks became months, uncertain touches and glances became imbued with fervour, and suddenly Sherlock was catching the coat John threw at him and following him out of the door.
They ran. It rained.
John led for a while, sprinting down Baker Street towards the river. Sherlock soon caught up and they ran together through their city, through rain that was so heavy that they laughed. They laughed at the rain and at being alive until they were half-blinded by tears, sweat and raindrops, until they had to stop to kiss and catch their breath.
His eyes are the size of dinner plates. Dear lord what is this optical sorcery?
(This must be from the pilot; I do not remember this from the pilot.)
Hell yes! Everyone ahead, warp factor *fun*
im sO EXCITED FOR ALL THE NEW TREKKIES THAT ARE GOING TO JOIN US AFTER INTO DARKNESS AND THERES GONNA BE ART AND FIC AND GREAT THINGS YOU GUYS
WELCOME EVERYONE JUMP ON IN THE WATER IS FULL OF SPACE AND RAINBOWS
Queen Bee
The bee dreams started when Sherlock was four.
The first time he woke from one he stared at his tiny hands, wondering what had happened to him. When he realised those pale, wiggling fingers were what his body really looked like he cried in great wracking sobs, unable to explain to anyone what was wrong.
The next dream came three years later, the next almost five after that, and though he’s had fewer than a dozen, Sherlock remembers each with the sharpness of memory.
They’re always dreams of hives and honey and the buzzing hum of life. He dreams his back bears wings and his spine a stinger, and most of all he dreams he’s one of so very many, he’s among, with, part of.
Never alone, Sherlock is touched everywhere and touches back, drowsy little antenna dancing across the bodies of his kin, his queen, and there are no uncertainties or questions, just one sweet goal: Help the colony thrive.
Though he’s had these dreams as long as he can remember, Sherlock never thought to share them, and then one night, a few years after me became we, his midnight laughter woke them both.
“What is it,” John murmured, “What’s made you so happy?”
There in early-morning dark Sherlock told him, and then told him more, sharing each and every buzzing adventure.
And then a rare thing happened: The next night they each woke to John’s soft giggle, and in the dark Sherlock danced pale fingers over his lover’s body, filling the silence with dreamy deduction.
“You brought the queen honey, a dozen times a dozen kinds. You flew everywhere, took just a little from so many neighboring hives. You danced for her, you touched her, you mated.”
Sherlock wrapped his long body around John’s, grinned against his ear, “I was the queen.”
They’ll change through the years, these two, needs and dreams waxing and waning, but one thing will remain forever fixed: No longer alone, they’ll be part of, with, they’ll be us and we…forever and always their own sweet colony.
Previous: The Bigger Man | Next: The Look
From fine antenna to sharp stinger, Chellokoru’s beautiful Beelock was irresistible from the moment I saw it. Thank you for this sweet artwork, Chellokoru!
I’m fairly sure this is a gif of Atlin Merrick.
This is actually a compounding of badassery! Atlin, of course is a total BAMF (for reasons that are obvious and numerous), who looks a lot like Ms. Kingston (notice you never see them in the same place together?). Ms. Kingston is talking about one of her ancestors who was the proprietor of a “house of ill fame” in late 19th century London. The ancestor, Elizabeth Braham, was unabashed, and actually proud of running a successful business. Elizabeth left behind quite a substantial amount of property in trust to her granddaughter Rosa. Here’s the link to the show on BBC and here is the (unofficial) link to the show on YouTube.
I love everyone.
![I just love the idea of (say with reverb and echo) Sheeeerlock Iiiiin Spaaaaace! [x]](http://25.media.tumblr.com/c51f2d1b059feac8edaef06cad1c822a/tumblr_mlwwc0s1zA1qja1bno1_250.jpg)
Fic: Chapter Five of Inevitable
I say this now to those who have believed and still believe that Sherlock Holmes is without a heart and cannot feel – this man feels more keenly and has a bigger heart than any of us. He held me in his arms and in doing so he stopped my heart breaking with the guilt of having broken his. He dried the tears and clasped the hands of the man who, in his cowardice and blindness, had hurt him. This was belief and faith and love beyond boundaries, beyond explanation. And, I knew, certainly beyond what I deserved.
See this BAFTA- and Oscar-winning documentary. It will be 83 minutes very well-spent, and you’ll buy the songs right after.
I’m not even a music person and I can’t shut up about Rodriguez and Searching for Sugar Man.
