Can you tell?
I’ve decided to simply embrace my name. I am, after all, a tomato. Deal with it.
At least that’s what it seems to be. What do I care if you have a nice body and the face of a model? Those kinds of people couldn’t talk their way out of a paper bag, let alone a meaningful career. Using your sexuality as your only ‘positive’ attribute is equally pathetic between women and gay…
^This
fatass the stupid turtel
Detective stories
Warnings; bbc Sherlock oneshot, Au, post!Reichenbach, kid fic, fluffy non-graphic het (John x Mary), character’s death and terminal illness.
Summary; John stops writing the blog after Sherlock’s fall, almost stops writing completely. Then he finds a new audience.
Detective stories
1.
For a long while after breaking free from 221B, John doesn’t know what to do. He has a new apartment – smaller one, poorer one than 221B but it’s still in London and closer to his work than Baker Street, and it’s nice enough now that it’s furbished. He has his things sorted out – his bills, for once, are all paid, his finances in something like an order thanks to what Sherlock had left him in his will, and he don’t have to fret about whether or not he can spare the money for biscuits the next time he goes to shop. He work is better than ever – his psychosomatic problems didn’t come back, thank god, and he can take more hours at the clinic than before without having to worry about being called away by Sherlock.
This is amazing. It’s pretty much the most perfect thing I could have ever wished for.
