plot-insight:

Sherlock somewhat embarrassedly tell John that “somebody” personalised their text alert noise on his phone for a joke, but it stays that way for months. Even though he looks mortified every time it goes off, Sherlock never takes the ten seconds or so to simply change the text alert noise back to something else. Why not? Because it’s turning him on, on some level. And as John remarked in his blog (over Sherlock’s Heroic BSOD over Irene’s ‘death’) it’s highly likely that Sherlock, having had pretty much no experience in this kind of thing before, doesn’t really understand what he’s feeling every time he hears the text alert noise. Only that it feels kind of .. good.

Or he enjoys the fact that it makes other people uncomfortable.

Or he enjoys the fact that it means that EVERYONE knows each time Adler texts him. He never responds. She texts relentlessly. He likes knowing that everyone else knows he has some degree of hold on this strong, independent, much-desired woman that makes her chase him.

(via iidelirium)

Source: plot-insight

Lucia Micarelli “Kashmir” (x)

“I’m not taking anything out on anyone. I just want to know when it became a thing to play ‘Kashmir’ on a violin.  These days every idiot with a fiddle does it.”

-Verba de Futuro, a Sherlock fanfic

(via thatgeeklover)

Source: allthatechoes

221books:

theboywhofangirled:

Remember that time when we all thought Mycroft was Moriarty 

Remember that time when we all thought John was Moriarty

Remember that time when that gay guy turned out to be Moriarty

Well that sums up season 1 well. 

I still say Mycroft is Moriarty.

The day Sherlock returned from rehab, Mycroft slipped an envelope into the pocket of a cabbie named Jeff.

(via bisho-s)

Source: theboywhofangirled

bakerstreetbabes:



I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lieder, and other favourites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes, the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favourite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - « A Study in Scarlet » (1887).

Your regularly scheduled violin porn.

(via shaddicted)

Source: deductivism