OH HOT DAMN. THIS IS MY MAN.Oh god it’s Benedict on a motorcycle. Oh god. Oh dog. I. I. I CANNOT EVEN. CAN’T. HANDLE. THIS. MADNESS.
His hair is shorter, his jacket leather, but it’s the motorcycle that makes him unrecognizable. Under the helmet, the rider could be anyone. His ride is loud, unsubtle, and no one would ever dream this was a man attempting to avoid detection. An excellent disguise, so plain in sight that the only second glance leveled his way was one of appreciation or envy.
He’s accustomed to that now. It’s been difficult, but he’s taught himself to ignore, to not engage, to - most difficult of all - keep quiet and never mention the unending flood of information the world insists on pelting him with. No more interacting. Even when he recovers his helmet from the local gang of bored teenagers, he doesn’t do much more than scoff and glare. Alone is what he has, alone is the only thing he has out here, tracking down the remaining shreds of Moriarty’s network in this deceptively idyllic locale.
It’s what he has until the moment John Hamish Watson decides to take a holiday abroad.
This is the exact moment alone because loneliness.
Terror as well. The terror need not be forgotten, not when John is so close to those who would destroy him. And Sherlock as well, but he’s had more than enough time to acclimatize to this notion.
It’s possible Sherlock immediately begins to stalk his old flatmate.
It’s possible Sherlock begins to stalk him relentlessly.
On Day Two of this, Sherlock realizes this is unfeasible. Less from the noise of the bike, but more from John’s appreciative eye toward it - and him. Sherlock has followed John back to his hotel, sits on his motorcycle and quite obviously checks his own watch before looking up and down the road, clearly waiting for someone, clearly not there for John. John seems to be there for the same reason - curious - and it’s not long before John’s attention wanders to the man on the motorcycle.
The helmet is all that saves him. When John looks straight at him, when John runs his eye down Sherlock’s body with a small yet excellent smirk, the helmet is the only thing that saves them both.
Sherlock immediately swears to keep his distance from now on.
Sherlock immediately changes his mind.
Not out of sentiment - never out of sentiment, not even for John - but because the man to meet John at the hotel, the man John greets with a smile and a wave, the man who answers with a familiar “how’s the shoulder?”, that man is Colonel Sebastian Moran.
This is a surprisingly awesome thing.
(Source: vitalyorlovs)
John’s stories of Sherlock are Mary’s favourite because John always looks happiest when he’s telling them.
also this song
Oh God, it hurts.
(Source: bottlenext)
