Sherlockholics

According to Wikipedia and that London map website I love using, Richmond Terrace is directly across from Downing Street.   I like the idea that Mycroft’s main headquarters is technically not in Whitehall like the majority of England’s government branches’ offices are based, but close enough. I’m easily amused. Also, was I the only one who thought the office in the series 1 finale was just not Mycroft’s? There were three windows and that transom opening over the door that would be child’s play for an assassin to use. Several assassins at the same time! And the décor was like it was right out of some f

   "Well Pond, you dragged me here. Where are we going?" The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, onto a sidewalk corner directly in front of a sketchy-looking brick building. "What IS this place? A factory?" He could feel the beat of some weird music coming from inside.     "No, of course not. It's a club." Amy strode out of the TARDIS and zipped up her leather jacket over her purple minidress. "And I told you to change."    "I DID change!"    "I've learned that just changing a tie doesn't count, Doctor," Rory said, following close behind. "Last time I tried that, she got mad and we didn't go out.

    I wish Sherlock were here. He'd know what to do. But then again, if he were here, I wouldn't need him. I miss my best friend. He once told me that he didn't have friends, just one. I was beginning to feel the same way, as his insolent presence usually drove away all potential friends.     I would give all of my friends to have him back. I know he was telling the truth.  It's true what I said, that no-one could fake being such a dick. Even then, I know he couldn't faked it. Could he? It's the doubt that keeps me worrying, the doubt that after everything it is all true. I want so much to be

Sherlock sat in the ally way a few blocks from 221B, a cigarette burning lazily in his right hand, a phone in his left. His eyes were glued on the phone, the pink silicone case feeling smooth in the palm of his hand. As he raised his right hand to his lips to take a long drag of the cigarette, his eyes fluttering closed, memories rushing back to him. " You don't have a girlfriend then? " "Girlfriend? No, not really my area. Oh, right then. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way." "No." "Right, okay. You're unattached, just like me. Fine. Good." "John, um… I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work an

Sherlock Holmes was built for running: tall, long-legged, graceful. John Watson, however, was not quite as suited for these cross-city chases. John puffed as he ran after Sherlock, only able to keep up with the detective due to his time in Afghanistan and the military. The mess of black curls bounced in and out of view between heads in the mob of people as John tried so desperately to keep up with the Consulting Detective. "Sherlock, slow down, please!" John sighed, his endurance was not endless "You figured out who the murderer was about one hour ago, tell me why we have to run NOW" Sherlock couldn't hear John, he was too far ahead, his