My Own Inner Cosmology

(via the-doctors-consulting-detective)

(via fuckmesherlock)

fictionalfeather:

A Rupert Graves Appreciation Post.

I want to glue this to my face somehow so that I can look at it all day for the rest of my life

(via itsnotgayitsbritish)

sherlocked-inside-the-tardis:

thatclaired:

WHY MUST YOU MIX MY TWO TRAGIC OTPS. FUCKING GODDAMMIT FUCK YOU JUST AHRGI;OEHARGOIAEH

This needs a fic or something. I need to write one anyway. I have no other way to get rid of the feels.

—

Mycroft looked at the army doctor in front of him, knowing full well that he didn’t want to be there. However, Sherlock had specifically requested that Mycroft check up on John frequently to make sure the man did nothing drastic, as Sherlock feared he would.

However, like his younger brother, Mycroft Holmes was not one for small talk or comforting.

“It’s been over a year, John.”

John said nothing, merely looking down at his untouched cup of coffee. Sighing, Mycroft leaned back in his chair. Why couldn’t Sherlock just tell John that he was alive and put an end to this little game of his? If Mycroft were ever a man for having half a mind, he  would have had one to tell John the truth himself.

“We used to come here,” John said after a moment. “Sherlock and I, that is. Usually after he’d finished up at crime scenes.”

Mycroft nodded, not knowing what else to do. He supposed he should just let John talk. That was how he had heard people should be comforted, after all.

“He was happy, you know?” John continued. “Solving those crimes made him smile…made him laugh…it made him human.”

“I don’t know about human,” Mycroft muttered under his breath, but John either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him.

“He was more than my best friend. He was—” But John cut off, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Mycroft considered telling him that this was not particularly good for his eyesight, but he figured that John did not really care about optical health right now.

And then—

“John…are you crying?”

John hastily wiped the telltale salty drop off of his cheek. “No, no I’m not.”

“You can’t lie to me.”

John was silent, his eyes still covered.

“You love my brother, John Watson.”

John froze for a second and moved as if to deny what Mycroft had said, but finally nodded, affirming what Mycroft had held merely as a loosely supported theory.

“After all this time?”

John looked up, finally meeting Mycroft’s gaze for the first time in months.

“Always.”

(via walkamongstthestars)