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justmysillydoodles:

ivorylungs:

sherlock saying that very soft and subtle thank you he did while he was drunk and john said he was funny but this time he’s thanking john for loving him and john tearing up over it and holding him so hard and not saying anything and sherlock is so confused over john crying and john is so very sad for sherlock and doesn’t want to let go of him ever again

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I’ll just leave this here…

archiaart:

I’m currently working on my next artbook, a greaserlock comic where John is trying to study for Very Important Exams. Sherlock, who hasn’t seen his boyfriend for an unconscionable amount of time, climbs in through John’s bedroom window and proceeds to distract him.

Obviously it’s going to be nsfw again ^___________^

I think I have a better idea of how to make an artbook this time, so the process should be smoother. Right now I’m just sketching out panels, but I’m very excited so I thought I’d let you all know :D

thexth asked:

How you imagine john and Sherlock's first kiss would happen/be like if they became canon!

mojoflower:

navydream:

Not shitting you, I have money on it! like 25 cents

Yeah.  If it were canon?  If Moffat were writing it, egged on by Gatiss?

I think it would be a little thing.  A surprise peck when Sherlock is leaving to meet Moran, knowing it will be dangerous, and unwilling to involve John.  I think he will shrug into his coat… his battle-dress, and turn at the door… hovering uncertain on the landing.  John will stand, limned by the horrible fluorescent kitchen light, suspicious and hurt that Sherlock is leaving him home.  His hands will be clenched by his sides, legs spread in a stance meant to brace, to steady him against the buffeting of life.  And his eyes will glare, stare, BURN into Sherlock’s, because he KNOWS it’s a lie.

And Sherlock will pop his collar and look at the man.  His eyes will travel over worn skin, deep carved lines, rendered sinew and uncrushable determination.  He’ll be more trapped in the gaze of navy blue than John will be enmired in a churning sea of blue and grey.

Because it’s the last chance.  Sherlock knows it.  He lives his life running numbers, playing opportunities, gambling for the next answer at the expense of his life. 

Sherlock will jolt forward, surprising them both.  Uncharacteristically clumsy, he’ll grab the cheap polyester, plaid collar before him, drag John forward until they bump at the wrong velocity, mash dried lips against a surprised gasp.

And then he’ll run away.  He won’t stay to make it right, to make it sexy.  He’ll leave John with wide eyes and opened mouth.  He’ll leap down the stairs three at a time saying in his head, “I’ll be back before midnight, John,” but actually forgetting to say anything at all.  He’ll call a cab and slide inside before John’s removed numb fingers from buzzing lips.

That’s their first kiss.

And their next interaction is John’s frigid anger, while he cleans and stitches Sherlock’s bullet wound.

And after that.  After that.

Things heat up.

And the screen will fade to black.

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