Sherlockery
So I felt this was necessary to post on Tumblr just so I can share it with every other Sherlockian out there. I wrote this as an informal personal essay for my English class. Hope you enjoy.
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I am Sherlocked. A Benaddict. Possibly even a Cumberbitch, but that’d drop a few too many jaws if I introduced myself as that. Despite that, I still unhealthily love Benedict Cumberbatch and his manfriend with benefits, Martin Freeman. Even Steve Moffat’s Sherlock on BBC America plays on the weakness of raving fangirls by exploiting this steamy bromance with subtle hints and an indecent amount of fanservice, I must admit.
Sherlock Holmes: His voice is liquid sin. His dark curls like Lucifer’s halo about his crown—the emperor of intellect—a highly functioning sociopath. Sharp piercing cheekbones you wouldn’t want to slap lest you want a scarlet gash staining your palm. Tall, towering above the sky, one hundred eighty three centimeters. Teasing, mocking; just a quirk of his lips, adamant not to break his pokerface while he is poking fun at everyone. Apparently his slim elder brother is fat, Anderson’s face inappropriately invades his “mind palace,” Mrs. Hudson needs to shut up sometimes, and John is an idiot. But the way this consulting detective looks at John seems to spark him back to life; he is never bored anymore, never too mean anymore.
John Watson: His speech is sweet as strawberry jam, yet he speaks as crudely as any tired man would. His short dulled blond hair, straight, frames his face, soft and rounded out. He looks the farthest from a deity—he is a mundane—a pudgy one at that. And yet his whole persona exudes the adorable presence of an old man and a nagging wif—err… a flatmate who constantly complains that Sherlock never fetches the milk. He is soft as fleece blankets, 168 cm short, tied to earth. He is an ex-army doctor who served in Afghanistan, now suffering post traumatic stress disorder with a psychosomatic limp and a continual tremor. Yet when he is back on the battlefield with Sherlock, his issues fade away. Sherlock cured his “damn leg.” Sherlock = Jam. John loves jam. Do the math.
Johnlock: the pure definition of the pairing, Dr. John Hamish Watson and the one and only Sherlock Holmes.
Yes, I sure as hell am Sherlocked. AND I LOVE IT.
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