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Paperflower86 — Texting
Published: 2010-08-23 08:58:54 +0000 UTC; Views: 13699; Favourites: 453; Downloads: 81
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So I read this amazing fic over at the kink-meme the other day that had the funniest text message just begging to be illustrated. So that's what I did ^^ All credit for the text goes to the lovely anon who wrote the fic, I just added the last line.Related content
Comments: 138
i could definitely imagine Sherlock breaking the TV.
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Hahahah he broke the telly! But the ending was cute as hell.
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so adorable... and in-character
-"Watson, hand me my mobile?"
"Where is it?"
-"In my pocket."
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That Scene! The show writers just love to tease us.
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Yeah... and I honestly don't know if I'm angry or happy about it ><
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Thank you very much, I'm glad my old Sherlock art is bringing people so much joy
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Haha, it's my pleasure I assure you. 
Oh yes... much joy indeed... C:
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Somehow, Sherlock manages to make it all worth it.
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He knows when some sweet talk is nessecary XD
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oooh, it's so cute! and so sherlock^^ (yes, i'm crazy about Sherlock and Watson 
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you should put a link to the fic ;D
wonderful last panel!
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Give me the link and I'll put it in
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AWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! SO CUTE!!!! <33333333 *-------*
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Glad that you like the comic
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hahaha
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Glad that you like the comic
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Haha, Sherlock knows how to deliver bad news
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"I may have also destroyed the television" yup , definitley needed that last line to keep John from strangling Sherlock. Very well done on the phone detail.
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Thank you muchly.
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I love love love this pair (: you illustrated their cuteness well <3
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i love how all is forgiven.. it always is...
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Sherlock is pretty hard too resist ^^
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...we all know that...
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Can you maybe post the link to the fic? I love this picture and cannot wait to read the fic that accompanies it.
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I lost the link but someone pasted the ficlet into the comments.
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Thank you muchly.
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omg, this should so be turned into a meme of its own!
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Oh, it turns out I copied the fic to my big@ss file of Sherlock fics. I've lost the link, but will attempt to paste it in its entirety here.
One
"Stand back," John mutters. "I'm going to try science."
Sherlock turns his head just enough to shoot him a withering glare before returning all of his considerable attention back to the kitchen table and its array of... are those contact lenses? They rustle like tiny, fantastically creepy insect shells when John nudges them with a fingernail.
"I am going to bed," he announces wearily. "Where I suspect I will have horrible nightmares about beetles. Are you coming or not?"
"Mmm," Sherlock mumbles at him, distractedly. "Not unless you think you'll be able to dream up which of these brands has the precise melting point of the l--"
John left him to it.
Two
They are the police. They will not need to go to the trouble of calling the police when John punches them in the face, because they are the police and they're hardly going to call themselves, are they, and God he's thinking in furious little circles now to stop himself from saying the hell with it and just wading in with fists clenched anyway.
Donovan, he thinks, does it more out of habit to the point where it's almost affectionate; certainly Sherlock leaves her smiling more often than not. Anderson, though...
John takes a slow, deliberate breath in through his nose and lets it whistle out through his teeth. Sherlock continues inspecting the body, apparently oblivious to the snide remarks (or too disdainful to care), but John himself can feel himself getting more homicidal with every sneer.
He won't undermine Sherlock, or make him appear weak by Defending His Honour. But oh, he wants to.
Three
He didn't want to see this, he didn't ever want to see this - John swallows hard, pushing the anger and the helpless fear down hard into his belly where he can deal with it later, and rests the palm of one hand against Sherlock's unlined forehead.
Sherlock smiles at him, slow and pliant, eyes dark and dazed and barely even aware of who is crouched before him. He turns his face into John's hand, affectionate and trusting and wrong.
"I know you tried," John tells him, weary. "I'm not angry." It's only a very small lie, after all.
Four
NEED URGENT ASSISTANCE AT BAKER ST. SH.
BRING CURRY. SH.
ALSO GARLIC NAAN. MRS H WANTS MANGO LASSI. SH.
I MAY HAVE DESTROYED THE TELEVISION. SH.
HAVE DEFINITELY DESTROYED TELEVISION. SH.
PLEASE BRING HOME NEW TELEVISION. AND CURRY. SH.
Five
He checked his phone again, as if maybe the battery had died at some point in the last two minutes since he'd checked. No messages, battery charged, plenty of reception... No messages.
The clock didn't actually make a sound as the minutes ticked over, but John heard it anyway; the imaginary grinding of enormous gears and the thud-clunk of tumblers, and still his phone was conspicuously silent.
No sound of footsteps on the stairs, either. Mrs Hudson was not chatting happily with anyone on the ground floor. No ambulance sirens, which he told himself was good. No sounds of police coming to knock on his door and say... what? We're terribly sorry sir but your, uh. Boyfriend?
Friend. Partner. Flatmate. Significant Other.
Your Sherlock is dead, sir. Our condolences.
The front door downstairs slammed, and the sound of someone trotting up seventeen steps, and then the door opened and there he was, dishevelled and distracted and wearily wonderful and John wanted to murder the bastard, he really did.
"What?" Sherlock blinked at him, confused, and held up the plastic bag in his right hand. "Lestrade made his arrests. I brought chips."
One
He panted out a shocky little laugh, pressing one hand hard against the bleeding furrow on his outer thigh. Deep, he judged, plenty of stitches in his future, but nothing to get the bugle out over.
"Not so psychosomatic anymore," he giggled, and waited for Sherlock to laugh as well.
Silence, and John glanced upward into a face so white it might have been made entirely of polished bone. Bloodless and terrified, and Sherlock's eyes were wilder than anything he had seen in war.
"It's just a flesh wound," he said lamely, and watched Sherlock's expression turn anguished for a second, maybe two, before he blinked rapidly and huffed out a breath.
"Of course it is," he snapped. "And you're bleeding all over my crime scene." John could still see the whites of his eyes, though, and the hand he pressed down against the wound was ice-cold and shaking. "Be more careful next time." A pause, and a shuddering inhale. "Please, John."
It was almost worth it, to see the heart behind the machine.
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AHAHAHAHA! I love his expressions! So perfect!
Link to the fic, please! I think you can choose "thread" to get the link for that particular comment. I actually know which one you're talking about, but I've lost it.
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Awww, that is so adorable
John's face in the last picture! Oh for this to happen.... :L
Great work
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