(Source: professionalblunder)
(Source: professionalblunder)
(Source: professionalblunder)
Screencaping for the perfection of this set and the amount of notes. B|
[[ 
]]
[[ As much as I’ve tried, my muse for this account has pretty much dwindled down to a bare minimum, and I’d hate to force myself to reply here and only give half-assed characterization.
What this means:
- I will be here, on and off. I will be slow, and I don’t promise I’ll be on for more than an hour or two a day.
- By no means am I abandoning the account completely, I’m hoping to dig out some of the books, maybe think up a plot, rewatch the series etc.
- If there’s a post you really want brought to my attention, you can use one of the contacts to talk to me.
- I love everyone who has stuck around for this ridiculous brain-dead time of mine, and I hope I’ll be back to normal soon enough.
Contacts:
MSN - x_invalid_x@live.com
Skype - thestarkcissist
Personal Tumblr - betterclenchup-legolas
Include your URL when contacting me, and take care. ]]
(Source: professionalblunder)
The outburst caught him off guard. John had maintained composure in the most stressful of situations, and yet somehow this had set him off more than each of those. However, it did nothing to drive the point any further home than he’d been doing previously, and Sherlock took a step toward, keeping his eyes fixed on the doctor and lowering his voice.
“You do not get to decide which of us deserves to live more, is that understood?”
There was a firm tone to his voice which didn’t give way to the sharp stab of distress the idea caused him. Of walking away, of finding out that the other man might have harmed himself if he hadn’t been there to distract him.
That he truly would have preferred to die, than harm someone else.
“The world will always have detectives, but it will always need doctors,” Sherlock said calmly, lifting his hands and setting one on either of John’s shoulders, “Don’t argue about this with me, we both know once I’ve made a decision, there is little someone can do to dissuade me,” He said firmly.
“I have no interest in finding you dead some day due to my negligence.”John felt the hot thrum of anxiety and shame of his illness. Something he had thought he was long past, but that was the tricky thing about a disease like that. One did not easily recover, there was always the chance of the psyche being dragged back into the pits of an uncertain hell. When Sherlock was there, there was always an outlet, a distraction but for those three years he had been gone, John felt his own shortcomings at his throat. And then the man tried to convince him that he wasn’t simply replaceable.
“You’re wrong you know…..Saying that the world will always have detectives….maybe, but not like you. You’re the only one in the world.” He finally pulled hos eyes up to meet Sherlock’s “You have no interest in finding me dead, just the same as I have no interest in find your corpse….I’ve done it once….imagine how I’d feel If I were responsible for it Sherlock.” He knew the other man wouldn’t….couldn’t understand. But he understood Sherlock’s stubbornness, the meaning behind it. Sherlock wanted to fix the problem.
“You can’t help me if you’re dead.”
“And I can’t help you if you won’t allow me to be present.”
Exhaling impatiently, Sherlock took a step forward, gripping one of John’s wrists and tugging the man, urging him to meet his eyes. “You know what I do for a living, I have put myself in countless positions of danger, all for strangers, and the mindless-If you presume to think I wouldn’t do the same for my friend then you have made a very poor deduction of my character,” He said calmly.
Amidst the conviction, and that sheer stubborn will, there was concern. The sick turn of his stomach which told him that he might one day find John hurt because he chose to turn his back.
“I don’t care for your approval in the matter-When you need help, you will come to me. It isn’t a request, John.”
Yes-Really, how are you having difficulty grasping that?
[Exhaling, he rolled his eyes, sinking back into the couch further.]
Hm? Oh, no reason. He’s annoying me. He keeps texting me about some kidnapped diplomats daughter, as if I should care. It’s hardly my fault they don’t invest in decent security, or that the ‘not-so-secret’ service is so dull as to have missed all the obvious clues.
[He kicked up his heels, propping them on the arm of the chair as he crossed his arms, dropping his phone carelessly on the couch beside him.]
I don’t see why you’re being so difficult over this-It wouldn’t take you more than a few seconds, must you be so childish, John?I’m being childish? First of all, you want me to send a text you easily could’ve done yourself and saved all the trouble. Secondly; bloody hell, Sherlock! I know you’re not this heartless! You honestly can’t expect me to know you haven’t solved it in your head already.
There’s a poor girl out there, Sherlock, going through God knows what, and you have the audacity to sit here when you have the answers floating in front of your nose? If you’re so adamant on having me text Mycroft, just simply tell me where you’ve deduced that she’s at and I’ll tell him for you.
Of course I know where she is, don’t be dull.
And she’s in no immediate danger.
It’s an attempt to rally sympathy for the diplomat in an upcoming election. She’s staying with her Aunt overseas-Now, would you text Mycroft already.
The confidence you have in me is truly staggering if you would assume I’d let a case go unsolved simply because I take issue with my brother.
