The first time

the address is two-two-one b baker street :: unaired pilot

I was going through some screengrabs from the first two episodes of Sherlock and the amount of eyesex between Sherlock and John is just… wow. We all know Martin ships Johnlock like a fucking maniac. (Maybe even more than the Sherlockians?) This image is from the unaired pilot (“Study in Pink”, 60 min version), and I love Ben’s face in it. The grin. The fringe. It’s all utterly perfect. Anyhoo - this is John’s first trip to Baker St., before they decide to be flatmates.

Actually, let me correct that. Sherlock KNOWS they’re going to be flatmates. John is not sure at this point. I’m not really sure he actually ever makes the decision.. I think it’s more like he goes along for the ride because Sherlock gives him everything he didn’t know he was missing.

That got me thinking about first times. (Not necessarily THAT first time. Get your head out of the gutter.) I mean these kind of first times:

The first interview for your first job.

The first time you lay eyes on the guy you’re going to spend the rest of your life with.

The first time you watch a TV show that changes your life.

The first time you set foot in a city that - impossibly - feels like home in a matter of seconds.

The first time your father tells you he’s proud of the person you’ve become.

The first time a short story of yours makes someone cry.

The first time you dump your feelings into a silly little html document.

The first time you realize that some people don’t deserve your loyalty.

The first time someone breaks your heart.

The first time you fall in love with a child. (Not like that, peanut gallery.)

The first time that thing that’s bothered you your entire life gets a name.

The first time you realize it’s all going to be OK…

And the first time you realize that life is nothing but a series of first times. Every day a new beginning. A fresh start.

I like that about living. It gives me something to look forward to…

HAPPY TOWEL DAY!

you are still missed, mr. adams

Do you know where your towel is?

HIM: That means I have to carry a towel with me all day. Do you think Martin Freeman’s carrying a towel today?

ME: Martin Freeman is such a BAMF, the towel carries HIM.

 

Holy shit. It’s one of THOSE nights.

Let me set the scene: I’m in the middle of discussing - again - my fascination with how gay sex is written in fan fiction…

HIM: What was that term you had to look up?

ME: I don’t know. I’ve looked up lots of them.

HIM: Rogering?

ME (really loudly): OH! GOD! YES!

Fifteen years, folks. Fifteen years…

I am two kinds of people

ME: What? You’ve never seen me give a popsicle a blow job before?

HIM: So…you’re telling me I need a grape flavored penis?

ME: (laughing hysterically, literally crying) You bastard! Now my hand’s going to get all sticky!

Boo-hoovian

this episode was perfect in so many little ways

The Doctor: Between you and me, in a hundred words, where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?

Curator: Well… um… big question, but, to me Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all. Certainly the most popular, great painter of all time. The most beloved, his command of colour most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty. Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world, no one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world’s greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.

I haven’t seen this episode in a while, and these quotes still deliver a hard kick right in the feels.

——

For once, J gave me constructive criticism on something creative I’ve done.

Which means, there’s going to be some revisions to ye ol’ JohnLock fan fic before it goes on to my proofreader…