dr-john-h-watson:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

dr-john-h-watson:

-raising my hand from my arms as the sound of bow on strings. startled. having imagined that sound countless times, I’m not comforted by the reality of it. sitting still, curled in on myself, just listening to you play. closing my eyes and imagining the last time I watched you play the violin. remembering the melody. my mind jumping to my pathetic attempt to learn the violin a year after your death. my fingers clumsy where yours were clever and sure. waiting a while longer. standing, gathering myself together, and going downstairs. standing in the hallway, facing the shut door. my hands frozen at my sides.-

*eyes closed, simply pouring all emotion into the music, even with shaking hands, I never miss a note. wishing more than anything that you will come back to me. continuing to play before stopping suddenly, choking out your name* John. *dropping the instrument to the ground, throwing my bow across the room, hearing it hit the wall not nearly hard enough. just sitting there, staring at the floor, frustrated with my lack of ability to fix this*

-hearing my name and a crash. steeling myself and opening the door. walking to the discarded bow, picking it up. offering it to you like an olive branch-

*hands tented in front of my mouth, looking up at you, eyes shining ever so slightly. reaching a hand out to accept the bow, eyes fixed on yours* I’m so sorry…

dr-john-h-watson:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

dr-john-h-watson:

-pulling back, away from you. not returning your kiss- I can’t, Sherlock. -wiping your tears from my face.- I can’t. -rushing up to my bedroom. feeling like a foolish teenager, but not knowing what else to do. closing the door behind me. crumbling to the floor with my back to the shut door. finally letting my sobs out.-

*heart breaking at the sound of you in your room, standing there in the middle of the room for what felt like hours and seconds all at once. mind flashing through every possible thing I could do or say, none of which were good enough. after a few minutes, noticing my gaze was fixed on my violin, striding over to it and picking it up, the feel of it in my hands exactly as I remember. sitting in my chair, playing a soft, slow, mournful tune, trying anything to stop the hurt of your rejection, to think of what to do*

-raising my hand from my arms as the sound of bow on strings. startled. having imagined that sound countless times, I’m not comforted by the reality of it. sitting still, curled in on myself, just listening to you play. closing my eyes and imagining the last time I watched you play the violin. remembering the melody. my mind jumping to my pathetic attempt to learn the violin a year after your death. my fingers clumsy where yours were clever and sure. waiting a while longer. standing, gathering myself together, and going downstairs. standing in the hallway, facing the shut door. my hands frozen at my sides.-

*eyes closed, simply pouring all emotion into the music, even with shaking hands, I never miss a note. wishing more than anything that you will come back to me. continuing to play before stopping suddenly, choking out your name* John. *dropping the instrument to the ground, throwing my bow across the room, hearing it hit the wall not nearly hard enough. just sitting there, staring at the floor, frustrated with my lack of ability to fix this*

catp0rn:

submitted and edited by imagineyourwildestdream

(via catp0rn)

dr-john-h-watson:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

dr-john-h-watson:

Snipers. So Mycroft told me. -looking up and out the window- You know we could have taken care of it together. Was I not good enough for that? I wanted to take care of you for the rest of my life. I wanted so badly to spend it with you. Gave you everything that I had. -turning my head and looking straight into your eyes for the first time. not saying a word. letting the silence stretch.-

*watching you, mind reliving every second on the rooftop, knowing there had been no way to let you know without placing you in even more danger. looking directly into your eyes then closing the space between us, mouth meeting yours, tears still trailing down my cheeks, trying to show you how much I missed you, how much I still need you, pouring every emotion into the kiss, desperately trying to make you understand*

-pulling back, away from you. not returning your kiss- I can’t, Sherlock. -wiping your tears from my face.- I can’t. -rushing up to my bedroom. feeling like a foolish teenager, but not knowing what else to do. closing the door behind me. crumbling to the floor with my back to the shut door. finally letting my sobs out.-

*heart breaking at the sound of you in your room, standing there in the middle of the room for what felt like hours and seconds all at once. mind flashing through every possible thing I could do or say, none of which were good enough. after a few minutes, noticing my gaze was fixed on my violin, striding over to it and picking it up, the feel of it in my hands exactly as I remember. sitting in my chair, playing a soft, slow, mournful tune, trying anything to stop the hurt of your rejection, to think of what to do*

anestablishedarmydoctor:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

anestablishedarmydoctor:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

Sherlock, no. 

What? Why are you looking at me like that?

(via anestablishedarmydoctor-deactiv)

dr-john-h-watson:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

dr-john-h-watson:

-jerking away from you as though I might burn- Three years. -my shoulders shaking with the effort to not cry, to not lose all the composure I fought three years to maintain- It took weeks for me to leave the flat. I sat, every Sunday, and told a headstone about my week. I kept making too much tea and forgetting that I only needed to make enough for myself. My nightmares came back and I told the empty air about them to try and feel better because you weren’t there. I spoke at your funeral, for fucks sake. Told them all how much I loved you and how you were my best friend. I told them how you saved me and how you were there when I had no one. -focusing on a spot on the floor again. my rambling fading away-

*silent tears falling down my face at the realisation of what I’ve done to you. bottom lip trembling, needing to do anything to fix this* I…I had to protect you, John. *my voice barely audible* I couldn’t let him hurt you…so I had to.

Snipers. So Mycroft told me. -looking up and out the window- You know we could have taken care of it together. Was I not good enough for that? I wanted to take care of you for the rest of my life. I wanted so badly to spend it with you. Gave you everything that I had. -turning my head and looking straight into your eyes for the first time. not saying a word. letting the silence stretch.-

*watching you, mind reliving every second on the rooftop, knowing there had been no way to let you know without placing you in even more danger. looking directly into your eyes then closing the space between us, mouth meeting yours, tears still trailing down my cheeks, trying to show you how much I missed you, how much I still need you, pouring every emotion into the kiss, desperately trying to make you understand*

anestablishedarmydoctor:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

anestablishedarmydoctor replied to your post:Sherlock, the head in the fridge is starting to smell awful. If you don’t deal with it I will. -JW

Sherlock, no. 

(via anestablishedarmydoctor-deactiv)

belislythindor:

sherlock pinup. by ~RustyGrass33

(via dr-john-h-watson)

dr-john-h-watson:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

dr-john-h-watson:

-turning my back to you, sitting down heavily in my arm chair. looking at yours; still empty. feeling odd about the familiarity of that chair being empty when every time before I had begged the universe to put you back there where you belonged. leaning forwards, my elbows against my knees. dropping my head in my hands. my voice a strangled whisper- I was…am engaged to a dead man, She- -cutting off. your name catching in my throat-

John…*unable to speak louder than a whisper, taking a step forward, only an arms-length away from you now* I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. *wanting, no, needing to get rid of your pain, reaching out a trembling hand, placing it on your arm* I’m here…still here.

-jerking away from you as though I might burn- Three years. -my shoulders shaking with the effort to not cry, to not lose all the composure I fought three years to maintain- It took weeks for me to leave the flat. I sat, every Sunday, and told a headstone about my week. I kept making too much tea and forgetting that I only needed to make enough for myself. My nightmares came back and I told the empty air about them to try and feel better because you weren’t there. I spoke at your funeral, for fucks sake. Told them all how much I loved you and how you were my best friend. I told them how you saved me and how you were there when I had no one. -focusing on a spot on the floor again. my rambling fading away-

*silent tears falling down my face at the realisation of what I’ve done to you. bottom lip trembling, needing to do anything to fix this* I…I had to protect you, John. *my voice barely audible* I couldn’t let him hurt you…so I had to.

anestablishedarmydoctor replied to your post: Sherlock, the head in the fridge is starting to smell awful. If you don’t deal with it I will. -JW

(Source: myqueenmycroft, via anestablishedarmydoctor-deactiv)

dr-john-h-watson:

detectiveoftheconsultingvariety:

dr-john-h-watson:

You’re sorry. -my voice bland, devoid of any emotion. staring at a dent in the floor.- Three years. -my voice raising. standing. still looking at the floor. taking a step towards you. finally raising my eyes to meet yours.- THREE FUCKING YEARS AND YOU’RE SORRY. -shouting. wondering for a split second how I came to be shouting. before I have the chance to stop it, my fist connects with your jaw. standing there looking at you, breathing hard. my voice finally cracking into broken sobs- We were getting married.

*knowing what you were going to do and standing there anyway, not even reacting when you hit me. simply watching you, a tear escaping the corner of my eye. frowning a moment when you speak again, opening my mouth to speak, closing it again before letting out a broken word* Were…?

-turning my back to you, sitting down heavily in my arm chair. looking at yours; still empty. feeling odd about the familiarity of that chair being empty when every time before I had begged the universe to put you back there where you belonged. leaning forwards, my elbows against my knees. dropping my head in my hands. my voice a strangled whisper- I was…am engaged to a dead man, She- -cutting off. your name catching in my throat-

John…*unable to speak louder than a whisper, taking a step forward, only an arms-length away from you now* I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. *wanting, no, needing to get rid of your pain, reaching out a trembling hand, placing it on your arm* I’m here…still here.

hvit-ravn:

the kiss

(via anestablishedarmydoctor-deactiv)

ununpentium:

timelordy-teganbreann:

llnd:

John knows how to pick handcuffs. 

I’ve been staring at this for far too long

They waited rather a long time to do that, though.

(via anestablishedarmydoctor-deactiv)