Re-post An Old Fic!

St patricks day past me by, but better late than never.

Holmes not giving a single damn about where he’ll have to go or how far he’ll have to run, because as long as Watson is there with him it’ll be home to him.

And Watson agreeing to leave everything behind and follow Holmes wherever, for however long, to the ends of the earth if must be, without even a second’s hesitation.

I’ll never not be crying over this scene.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, James Moriarty, Mycroft Holmes Summary:

After the pool incident. Sherlock tells John of how he knew James Moriarty in his youth when he was his...benefactor.

Excerpt:

“The third time that I met James Moriarty, I was twenty. I was standing on a street corner in tattered jeans and an old jacket. University hadn't agreed with me. Not after I started taking drugs to numb the aftermath of a bad love affair. I know, you're shocked. You don't see me as the kind of person who has love affairs. I don't. Not anymore.

"I was in danger of getting expelled from Uni, and Mycroft exploded. He put a freeze on my funds. Told me that I wouldn't get another penny until I improved my performance there. I told him where to shove it. I spent my nights on the couches of people I knew, until I wasn't welcome anywhere. I was so bored and lonely that I went to bars and let men buy me drinks only to pickpocket them when they were drunk and use the money to buy cocaine. I was high, and bored, and desperate, wondering where I was going to sleep that night. Wondering if I knew anyone else who might give me enough for another hit when a car stopped beside me.

"I remembered him, vaguely. He certainly remembered me. I climbed inside. I often think back to that moment. I could have walked away, and everything would have been different. If I had simply walked away, that woman might never have died, and you might not have been taken. Then again, who knows what Moriarty would have done. Needless to say I did climb into the car. That fact can't be changed.

It is sad that in every age we must be reminded that it is wrong to kill children.

On July 1942, 2, most of the children of Lidice, a small village in what was then Czechoslovakia, were handed over to the gestapo office of the gestapo.

These 82 children were then transported to the of extermination camp 70 kilometers away. Once they arrived, they were gassed to death. This remarkable sculpture by Marie Uchytilová commemorates this massacre.

A group of Bronze Sculptures, paying tribute to the children who died. Its construction was decided in 1969 by the woman sculptor, Marie Uchytilova. As a symbol of an imaginary tomb of the 13 million most innocent victims of the war - children, she chose as model, 82 children of lidice asphyxiated in the gas rooms of chelmno.

She took 20 years to make this beautiful sculpture because she used the vintage documents to reproduce the faces of the missing children and to represent them according to their exact size.

A visual representation of the US's new unemployment claims over the years, for better context of the past month.

Some new photos have surfaced on Twitter from here, a really cool ‘3 Minutes With’ series. Nice Alan Rickman one on there as well <3

Window. “My favourite celebrity is Benedict Cumberbatch. He was totally creative himself, had a good shot at the shooting and suddenly he jumped to the window sill.”

Devil John 7 - Sex

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: Explicit

Excerpt:

In the army, his unassuming nature and his ability to get a repeat date with any woman who had dropped her knickers for him once was what spurred the men to name him Three-Continents Watson.

He couldn't help the desire he felt whenever a pretty woman walked by, but it was contained somewhat by his certainty that he could have them begging and calling his name if he wanted them to. Even so, he always felt a little tense when he was alone with a woman.

Men, for the most part, did nothing for him. John found them uninteresting, almost without exception. Until a man had strutted across the lab toward him with his cheekbones and his tailored suit and John had felt it like a punch in the gut. He'd even had the gall to wink at him on his way out, just like she had, reminding him of what it felt like to be powerless.

When Sherlock had taken John's very mild query into his sexual orientation and thrown it in his face, John knew that his momentary thought of perhaps giving the other side a go was never going to happen. He put it out of his mind.

And yet, Sherlock always had a way of throwing him off balance. He definitely was NOT a woman, but sometimes the ever-changing color of his eyes, or the pale freckles on his neck as he stood playing the violin, or the rounded curve of his ass would hit John in a way that made him feel like he was back in that referee's closet.

continued on AO3

Sars doesn’t stand a chance.