Okay This Is Mj Filming Peter Singing & Teasing Him About It To Annoy Him

Way to go Princess 👊🏼

Gif form per request. 

I 'VEALWAYS KNOWN THEY SWITCH POSITIONS!!!!!

After they got married, Sherlock randomly starts introducing John and/or himself with a double name, despite the fact that they both decided to just keep their names as they are. John, obviously, doesn’t say anything against it, in fact he loves the little proud face that Sherlock makes each time he gets to introduce himself as “Sherlock Watson-Holmes”, but - and it takes John a little while to notice it - at times Sherlock exchanges the two last names and makes it a “Holmes-Watson”.

At first John can’t quite make sense of these very randomly occuring changes, nor can he place the almost gleeful smirk accompanying Sherlock’s name being mentioned first other than as Sherlock’s usual, occasional hubris.

That is, until the realisation what the decisive factor is hits John unexpectedly at their next crime scene, and he pulls Sherlock aside, not sure if he should rather be angry or burst out in a giggle fit.

“Sherlock, you cock, stop doing that!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking-”

“Don’t you even try. Just… stop switching the names.”

“John, as you might remember, we didn’t agree on having a shared name, so neither of these two options is exactly false-”

But John cuts him off by pulling him dangerously close, which makes Sherlock startle for a moment, and drops his voice as he continues:

“But I, for my part, do not want the entire Yard to eventually figure out that it’s code for ‘who of us topped last night’, so I suggest you drop it or I’ll make sure there won’t be a Mr Holmes-Watson for a very long time.”

Wow not gay at all

They’re so married :3

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

MOANA🌀

are they....

holding hands??????

[ source: tubular_reddie on instagram ]

Richie is being dumb and stupid again when he's with Eddie

He didn’t intend to say it.

He’d been toying with it the last couple of weeks, rolling it around silently in his mouth, just trying it out.

(He’d whispered it out loud, just once, in the mirror.)

(Maybe twice.)

It was too soon to say it. Mary had only been dead for six months. He and Rosie were only sleeping at Baker Street once or twice a week. He was maybe two months into what would probably be a lifetime of therapy to cope with his anger issues and his betrayal issues and his trust issues and his sexuality issues and fuck, he had a long way to go.

It was too late to say it. He’d let so many chances go by. Even now, after everything–after Moriarty and the Fall; after Mary and Magnussen and the tarmac; after Smith and the morgue and Eurus and the hug–he still didn’t know what to do. Because despite “it’s always you, John Watson” and “the man you have saved” and “that’s why he stays”, John was afraid. He was afraid that he wasn’t the man Sherlock saw. He was afraid he never had been, and even more afraid that he never would be.

So he wasn’t going to say it. Not yet. Not till things were a little more…settled. He’d told Ella as much not thirty minutes before, and had felt certain about the decision the whole way home in the cab.

A low rumble of laughter drifted down the stairs as he closed the front door behind him, followed by his daughter’s shrill shriek of joy. He took the stairs slowly, wrapped up in the sound of their voices, so comfortable together. So…right. (Not yet. Not yet. Soon.) He opened the door to the flat and froze, his field of vision narrowing to the two people standing in front of the fireplace.

Sherlock was wearing slim black trousers (finally filling them out again after months of John and Mrs. Hudson trying to feed him up) and the deep sapphire shirt that had narrowly edged out John’s old purple favorite to currently hold the number one spot on the mental list of favorite Sherlock clothes he would never admit to having. He had Rosie propped on one hip before the mirror and his other hand held her favorite stuffed bee, which he was currently flying about both of their heads while making a buzzing sound low in his throat. Every once in awhile the bee would “land” on Rosie’s flower-printed pajamas. Rosie would fling her arms out in an ineffectual attempt to catch the bee, the bee would “fly away,” and the laughter would follow.

They were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

John watched a few more rounds of this, his heart expanding every time, before Rosie spotted him in the mirror. “Da!” She burst out, flailing one arm in his direction. Sherlock looked up, surprised, and their eyes met in the mirror.

“Not often I catch you by surprise,” John managed as they turned to face him. Sherlock’s cheeks flushed, and he waggled the bee.

“Bees, John. Very…diverting.”

“Bee!” Rosie yelled, and Sherlock handed it to her. She held the bee in both arms and dropped her head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Very good enunciation, Watson,” Sherlock said, and his now empty hand automatically came up to slide gently over the back of her head. “You’re becoming an excellent apiculturist.”

“I love you.”

John felt his own mouth drop open as he saw Sherlock’s do the same. He watched Sherlock look to Rosie, and then back to John, as if tracking the path of his gaze. John felt an unexpected calm begin to settle over him now that the words were out, so he stepped a little closer and tried it again.

“I love you, Sherlock.” He took a deep breath. “I have loved you so long I hardly remember a time when I didn’t, and I have been waiting to tell you. For years!” His voice broke on the last word, and he cleared his throat. He would get this out. “And now I have been waiting, again, trying to figure out if I can be the person you want me to be. The person you seem to think I am. But…I am, already, aren’t I? You’ve always seen exactly who I was, and loved me anyway.” He felt a grin begin to spread across his face. “Sherlock. You love me.”

Sherlock, who had been silent and staring through his entire speech, nodded. His beautiful eyes were bright and his hands held John’s daughter with unwavering strength and care, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet, and deep, and sure. “Yes, John. I love you.”

It wasn’t too soon.

It wasn’t too late.

It was what it was, and what it was was good.

And now.

And always.

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