“John is still, he’s stoical, he’s very watchful, he’s very very strong-willed, a strong-minded person, he’s not easily flappable.
You know he’s an alpha male, he saves lives and can kill people; like if it wasn’t for Sherlock he’d be the most impressive man in the room, you know because he’s knocking about with someone who’s even more fucking alpha than he is. All of which is interesting to play because you’re playing someone who is very much their own man, they’re very strong.
He doesn’t do a lot of vocal flourishes, he doesn’t do a lot of showing off, it’s just he’s still in a way that I envy about some men. He’s got a real strength to him.”
So I started watching Sherlock and look
The library
I legit just sat here for a minute saying “oh my god” over and over again…
Are you trying to tell me that the Sherlock fandom has never noticed this, cause…
That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.
Welcome to the BBC. We have 12 actors, 3 locations, 1 deerstalker, and 1 headstone. Have a nice day.
Twinklingray asked for a story about Sherlock buying John a cake. This became Sherlock buying John a birthday cake…
Also, if someone arts any of this for me I will love you forever:
When Sherlock Buys the Cake – Sherlock tried to make John’s birthday right. Unfortunately, this is Sherlock we’re talking about…
teaser below the cut
Sherlock woke early. He rolled over and found a sticky note in Mrs. Hudson’s handwriting: “John’s Birthday today. Cake.”
He sat up quickly. “Yes, cake,” he muttered to himself, getting up and dressed. The other side of the bed was empty, which meant John had already left for work. He briefly wondered how Mrs. Hudson had come up with the sticky note without waking him, but dismissed the thought as unimportant.
He went straight into the front room and grabbed his coat, noticing that John had left him some toast and jam on the table. He grabbed it and ate as he headed down the stairs, wondering where one would acquire such a thing as a cake.
He pulled out his phone and quickly did a search for bakers. There appeared to be one just a few blocks away. This should be a simple matter.
Stepping into the bakery, Sherlock froze in place, momentarily blocking the door. The place smelled of bread and sweets and one large case contained a virtual cornucopia of cakes of all sorts of shapes and sizes. Blinking, he stepped towards the cake, trying to ascertain which one John would prefer.
“Can I help you?” Sherlock glanced up at the man. Middle aged, family business, three kids and a cat. Wife deceased two years earlier.
“I need a cake,” he announced.
