Don't Make Me Shoot Holes in The Wall
ireallyshouldbedrawing:

stid: the summary (non-benedict edition)

ireallyshouldbedrawing:

stid: the summary (non-benedict edition)

traumachu:

johnnybooboo:

subtle shit
idk can you tell it’s potterlock i don’t think so

The Gryffindor dormitories were horrendously and predictably outfitted in garish red and gold. To look was to be nauseated; prolonged exposure surely would be enough to drive one mad. This would be logical explanation for the behaviours of most Gryffindors. Sherlock himself would have been suffering a headache (at least) this very morning, if not for the fact that he currently had an unclothed John Watson nuzzling his throat.
“I hope they executed the decorator responsible for these crimes against humanity,” Sherlock said. “I hope he was decapitated and his head placed upon a pike for the crows to pick at, as a warning to all future school dormitory decorators.”
“Oh, Sherlock,” John said, and gave an exaggerated moan, “I do so love it when you talk interior design to me. That’s so dirty.”
He dropped a kiss on the line of Sherlock’s jaw.
“I’ve been in these rooms for seven years. This is the first time you’ve ever commented,” John noted, with amusement.
“I’ve never had a reason to spend any prolonged amount of time in them before.”
“You must have a very good reason now, to subject yourself to the horror of such awful decor,” John said, cuddling on top of him. It was not a bad position for him to be in, especially not with the way their bodies rubbed together whenever John shifted around.
“I suppose it’s adequate enough,” Sherlock said. He was eying John’s mouth, and the indecent way John was currently running his tongue over his top lip. “May I one day, with any hope, recover fully from the retinal damage.”
“When did you first start liking me?” John wanted to know.
Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, abruptly losing all interest in the conversation. He was especially uninterested in any conversations where John stopped doing interesting things with his mouth and wanted to do something boring like talking about sentimental things. He made a sound that could have been loosely interpreted as “Do we really have to do this?” He would have much rather slept, which was saying something. Or had sex again, of course, which should always be included on any list of options when options were available (and even when they weren’t).
“I’ll tell you when I first knew,” John said, wriggling a little, which admittedly caused Sherlock to regain some of the lost interest. “Right after the Yule Ball. You kissed me under the mistletoe. And I knew, and I didn’t want to know, so I pretended I didn’t know, and I spent so much telling myself otherwise, but…it was, as you say, so obvious.”
“Must have been some kiss,” Sherlock observed.
“It really wasn’t. I think you’ve greatly improved now.”
“Hm,” said Sherlock, and kissed him, so that they could have some evidence for comparison.
“You’re not distracting me that easily.” John said when he pulled away,  and he nipped playfully at Sherlock’s lip as punishment. He was smiling and his eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed and he was panting a little, soft little huffs of breath between them. It was enough to make a man want to kiss him again. Devious.  “Now you go. When did you know you first wanted me?”
Logically, Sherlock figured, the sooner he gave John what he wanted, the sooner he could get what he wanted. He relented.
“Remember when you first asked to be my partner in Potions?”
“You said no,” John said, brow furrowing at the memory. “You told me I would only muck things up.”
“Right then,” Sherlock told him. “Right that very moment.”
“Sherlock, we were eleven.”
“I’ve always been, as you remember, a precocious child.”
“So all this time—” John said.
“Well,” said Sherlock, “You have always been a bit slow on the uptake.”

traumachu:

johnnybooboo:

subtle shit

idk can you tell it’s potterlock i don’t think so

The Gryffindor dormitories were horrendously and predictably outfitted in garish red and gold. To look was to be nauseated; prolonged exposure surely would be enough to drive one mad. This would be logical explanation for the behaviours of most Gryffindors. Sherlock himself would have been suffering a headache (at least) this very morning, if not for the fact that he currently had an unclothed John Watson nuzzling his throat.

“I hope they executed the decorator responsible for these crimes against humanity,” Sherlock said. “I hope he was decapitated and his head placed upon a pike for the crows to pick at, as a warning to all future school dormitory decorators.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John said, and gave an exaggerated moan, “I do so love it when you talk interior design to me. That’s so dirty.”

He dropped a kiss on the line of Sherlock’s jaw.

“I’ve been in these rooms for seven years. This is the first time you’ve ever commented,” John noted, with amusement.

“I’ve never had a reason to spend any prolonged amount of time in them before.”

“You must have a very good reason now, to subject yourself to the horror of such awful decor,” John said, cuddling on top of him. It was not a bad position for him to be in, especially not with the way their bodies rubbed together whenever John shifted around.

“I suppose it’s adequate enough,” Sherlock said. He was eying John’s mouth, and the indecent way John was currently running his tongue over his top lip. “May I one day, with any hope, recover fully from the retinal damage.”

“When did you first start liking me?” John wanted to know.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, abruptly losing all interest in the conversation. He was especially uninterested in any conversations where John stopped doing interesting things with his mouth and wanted to do something boring like talking about sentimental things. He made a sound that could have been loosely interpreted as “Do we really have to do this?” He would have much rather slept, which was saying something. Or had sex again, of course, which should always be included on any list of options when options were available (and even when they weren’t).

“I’ll tell you when I first knew,” John said, wriggling a little, which admittedly caused Sherlock to regain some of the lost interest. “Right after the Yule Ball. You kissed me under the mistletoe. And I knew, and I didn’t want to know, so I pretended I didn’t know, and I spent so much telling myself otherwise, but…it was, as you say, so obvious.”

“Must have been some kiss,” Sherlock observed.

“It really wasn’t. I think you’ve greatly improved now.”

“Hm,” said Sherlock, and kissed him, so that they could have some evidence for comparison.

“You’re not distracting me that easily.” John said when he pulled away,  and he nipped playfully at Sherlock’s lip as punishment. He was smiling and his eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed and he was panting a little, soft little huffs of breath between them. It was enough to make a man want to kiss him again. Devious.  “Now you go. When did you know you first wanted me?”

Logically, Sherlock figured, the sooner he gave John what he wanted, the sooner he could get what he wanted. He relented.

“Remember when you first asked to be my partner in Potions?”

“You said no,” John said, brow furrowing at the memory. “You told me I would only muck things up.”

“Right then,” Sherlock told him. “Right that very moment.”

“Sherlock, we were eleven.

“I’ve always been, as you remember, a precocious child.”

“So all this time—” John said.

“Well,” said Sherlock, “You have always been a bit slow on the uptake.”

ghostbees:

I like you as I’ve never liked anyone.

ghostbees:

I like you as I’ve never liked anyone.

hellmandraws:

Cricketing cuties.

cinderko:


*
see-next-issue:

omg gtfo by *onehundreds

Just trying to figure out how to draw these stupid idiots silly thieves…

zamii070:

some gumballee for you~

hellmandraws:

I produced it with a hand whose trembling I tried in vain to still, and could have died for Raffles when he made no comment on what he could not fail to notice. His own hands were firm and cool as he adjusted my mask for me, and then his own.

I like how whenever you quote something from these books it just ends up sounding like you’re quoting a slash fanfic.

The tag was getting clogged up with Singapore so I drew something quick. Reclaim the tag! (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧


For a month we had been, I suppose, the thickest thieves in all London

For a month we had been, I suppose, the thickest thieves in all London