Your mom is a fruitcake factory.

mu5icliz:

navydream:

reichenbach-zero:

ilegzz:

I wanted to draw Sherlock turned into a little kid and John dragging him everywhere cause he refused to be with anyone else and whenever John is not near he stars wailing so Mrs Hudson made him a John like plushie to keep him entertained…

The things I think sometimes… :/

I had to finish your thought…

When You Think He Can’t See You

The first time John left Sherlock after he’d degenerated back into a child, he returned with a carton of milk a box of Cheerios to find Mrs. Hudson rocking a red-faced, Sherlock, who screamed into the floor.

John dropped the shopping and slid to his knees, thinking the worst; that Sherlock was hurt, or his de-aging painful, or that his tiny bones were twisting and shrinking and killing him slowly…

 But the moment John’s hand pressed through his curls, Sherlock sat up, his eyes wild, red, and wet. His quivering mouth let out a low sound and it was something so pained and inhuman that a child should not have been able to make it. Sherlock’s chubby legs and arms scrambled to become free of Mrs. Hudson’s grasp. He detangled himself from her dress and he lunged for John, his arms wide and face desperate.

The little boy barreled into John’s side, and buried himself in the oatmeal jumper, his body shook with quiet sobs.

John pressed a gentle hand to Sherlock’s tiny back and rested his mouth against the top of his curls. He glanced, wide-eyed at Mrs. Hudson, who had tears in her own eyes.

“The moment he realized you’d left, he just up and went running about!” she put a hand to her mouth. “Started screaming, the poor thing. I couldn’t get him to stop crying. He just kept trying to say your name and he wouldn’t listen to a word I said. I think he thought you’d left for good. That you weren’t coming back…”

Sherlock’s fingers ran over the contours of John’s face, feeling the familiar lines as if he didn’t trust his eyes to tell him that John had definitely returned toBaker Street.

“Hey,” John said softly into the little boy’s ear. “Sherlock, look at me.”

Sherlock shook his head once, stubborn as always, before he peeked up at John from beneath a handful of jumper.

“I promise you that I will always come back, all right?” He smoothed away some tears and snot from Sherlock’s puffy cheeks with his sleeve. “And I always keep my promises.”

Sherlock nuzzled his forehead into John’s hand and breathed in deep.

The next morning John sat at the kitchen table, looking over Mycroft’s impossible notes about Sherlock’s impossible condition when—

“Yoo hoo!” Mrs. Hudson tapped the doorframe. In her hands she carried a small plushie. “Hope you don’t mind, John,” she began, a bit hesitant. “I don’t know if this might help things in the future… had a bit of spare time last night to sew and I… well…” she handed the doll to John.

It was him. Well, a resemblance of him. The doll was a tan material with pink fabric circles for rosy cheeks and gold yarn for hair. Its mouth was wide and smiling and two little blue buttons served as shining eyes. It even wore an oatmeal jumper and jeans.

John blinked at the little doll and then at Mrs. Hudson. “I… don’t understand,” he said.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “It was a silly idea, really…” she wrung her wrinkled hands. “You can’t be beside him every moment of every day and well…” she glanced down at little Sherlock, who sat at John’s feet, his bright eyes intensely focused on his mobile phone. “He was so upset last night. I just don’t ever want him to feel that alone again.”

John’s chest suddenly felt very tight. He swallowed and smiled up at his landlady. “That’s… that’s brilliant, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you.”

She beamed.

John nudged Sherlock. “Hey, look what Mrs. Hudson’s made for you.” He held the doll out to the boy.

Sherlock took it in his little hands, his brow furrowed. With a look of distaste he dropped the doll and grabbed John’s sleeve instead.

Mrs. Hudson looked a bit hurt.

John opened his mouth to say something when his mobile rang. He picked it up with an apologetic look at the older lady and she waved him off and puttered around, picking up scraps and books.

Before John could even say hello to Mycroft, the eldest Holmes brother barked, “You’re needed at the research lab. There is a car parked outside of 221B. Leave my brother with Mrs. Hudson. I don’t want to risk further exposure to whatever did this to him.”

John could neither confirm nor deny Mycroft’s request because the call ended.

Mrs. Hudson must have recognized the hesitancy on John’s face because she met his gaze and nodded once.

John gulped and got down from his chair to kneel at Sherlock’s level.

Sherlock waved in his face and did not look at him, a silent, but familiar, ‘Not now I’m busy.’ But John prodded his side again, and the little boy looked up at him, annoyed.

“I have to leave again,” John said softly.

Immediately Sherlock threw himself at John, his grey-blue eyes wide and pleading.

John sighed and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart. “Hey now, none of that,” John whispered and rubbed Sherlock’s tiny back. “You remember everything always. I promised I would come back. I’m just going for a little while to try to help make you big again and then I’ll come straight home.”

Sherlock shook his curly head and beat a fist against John’s knee.

“Sherlock, I promise.” John insisted and peeled his little form away from John. “You have to be a big boy and let me help you for once, okay?”

He shook his head desperately and John sighed. “Mrs. Hudson will be here and you have this amazing new John doll. See?” He picked up the doll from the floor and gave it to the little boy, only to watch Sherlock throw it across the room.

John smiled at him. “Now you’re just being silly. You be nice to Mrs. Hudson,” he warned and she shooed him off.

John grabbed his coat and when he was almost at the door, Sherlock whimpered and John had to steel himself a moment to walk out the door.

Sherlock screamed when John was out of his sight and John froze, unable to leave. But Sherlock was quickly subdued by Mrs. Hudson’s soothing words. Surprised, John peeked back through the door.

Sherlock sat at Mrs. Hudson’s feet, wrapped up in one of John’s freshly laundered jumpers. His rosy tear-stained cheeks were pressed into the plushie John doll. The little boy sniffed, closed his eyes, and buried his red nose into the doll’s yarn hair.

John’s heart clenched and his eyes began to sting. He ran a hand over his face as he watched Sherlock babble into the doll’s ear and press his mouth to the fabric cheek in what was unmistakably, a kiss.

John was entirely tempted to walk back into the sitting room and pick up the little boy, who cradled his John doll, and never let him go, but John would be back. He promised Sherlock, and John would always come back to him.

OH MY GOD, GUYS….GUUUUUUUUYS!!!!!!!! THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER! I FUCKING CRIED!

thank you♥

I’m so glad this is coming back

Source: navydream

copyranter:

How to perfectly fold a t-shirt.

Source: copyranter

haphazardtechie:

There are two ways to read this.

Source: haphazardtechie

Source: neilcicierega

cruzzerrrr:

fandom-explorer:

lamour-sans-fin:

fuckyeahmusicnerds:

asecond-madworld:

peacelovealohaaa:

marchingartsphotos:

It’s only fair if I post cheerleaders in band, I should post football players as well.  (Although, I’d really like to see this guy’s practice schedule…)

REBLOGGING ON THE RIGHT BLOG.

Oh god. Why can’t I do this?! I WOULD. 

This reminds me of this one time there was a football player who played our HS that marched flute.

I am extremely impressed by the badass levels in these pictures.

Is he center marimba??? I am amazed. I wanna give him a hug.

THE FLUTE PLAYER THOUGH (sorry, I’m a bit biased to my own instrument and this just makes me smile)

See this kid? He’s been in my high school’s football team and marching band for three years. This year, he’s quitting football to march drum corps. And he’s one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met.

Source: marchingartsphotos