There’s an uncredited repost of this going around; here’s the original with a justified 14,000 notes! The smooshed cheek makes me want to write ballads.
Sherlock got a new friend.
The beauty of art is that I see a white wing and a dark wing, when perhaps the artist meant it to be background and Sherlock’s scarf…
Either way, this is lovely.
An experiment in style…
Yes. Absolutely yes.
Doodled some Jotun Loki =)
Well, I’m glad that’s decided.
I’m sending Docspocklock her weight in glitter. She’s now become my preferred purveyor of sparkly awesome and, apparently, penis hats.
this is sillyAnonymous asked you:
So, I have this visual in my head of a very cold Bat John hiding in Sherlock’s trousers to try and stay warm and suddenly he tugs on his foreskin a bit to cover the top of his head like a tiny beanie. In all honesty, I’ve been giggling about this all day and my husband is beginning to suspect it’s something naughty! Thank you for not only your art but for silly moments in my day like this that you are the direct inspiration for.Anonymous asked you:
Requests? You’re so good to us!! Please some Bat!John and Sherlock cuddles?
“I’m not dead.”
Totally just wasted 30 minutes of my life that ill never get back oh well.
Creepy and gorgeous and gorgeous.
And suddenly there is glorious beelock…
commission for Cecelia @ v @;;;
They wanted any form of Sherlock. New, old, revamp. so I uhhh I dont know what I did but its supposed to be sherlockeeeee…… sherbee. clusterfuck. sumtin. hope its alright @ v @
( i’m working on the requests don’t worry )
It began when Sherlock was a boy.
Began when he wasn’t yet tall, when he was three and four and still lisped if he got excited or talked too fast, which was always. Back then, in those so-early days, he didn’t have words for the busyness in his brain, didn’t know other people didn’t know what was in a wrapped-tight birthday box or behind bedroom doors, didn’t know others didn’t think, think, think so very fast about so very much, but he knew his head was noisy and loud and one day he stomped his little foot and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Buzz!”
Eleven-year-old Mycroft stopped drawing, drawing, drawing the periodic table from memory and looked at his sibling and waited.
The red-faced little boy yelled again. “Bzzzzzzzz!”
Mycroft had seen the signs but hadn’t been sure; now he was. With a nod and an extended hand he said, “Come.”
Wound up with he knew-not-what, vibrating with knowledge he was too young to understand, Sherlock just hollered that one word again.
So Mycroft nodded and whispered, “Yesssss. Buzzzz,” and Sherlock nodded and grew quiet and he laced little fingers into big.
The sky was blue, the grass behind the back garden gone long and wheat-field pale. Mycroft carried his brother on his back and after awhile they came to a quiet spot where Sherlock had never been but a place to which he’d wear his own meandering path within weeks. They came to a neighbor’s field and her beehives.
Mycroft put Sherlock down and hand-in-hand they crept close, careful and quiet, until at last they knelt near the hives. For the next hour they peered at the busyness all around them; they sniffed and imagined they smelled honey; and for a long time the brothers listened and they listened to the bees soothe them sweet and soft.
Yes, murmured the bees, buzz. Buuuuzzzzz.
This stunning artwork created by JustOneLastTrick, and it made me think that so much of who Sherlock became would come from Mycroft—who had to deal with the buzzing in his head long before Sherlock did. I think the bees would have been one of many gifts—coping strategies—he’d have given his baby brother.
Holy hell this is beautiful. And why is it the hand that so perfectly makes it?
I’ll just politely add my ‘holy crap’ to the pile, all right? Because holy ever-lovin’…. [x]
Not mine, but holy crap.
Oh this is done so well! His plump little face and unruly hair and… *perfect*
Sherlock in 1989