Ground floor

verity-burns:

“Where’s your bride?”

“Mary? Oh, she’s not my bride.”

“What?”

“No, she’s just a friend. A good friend, mind you, but no more than that.”

“What are you talking about? You’re marrying her in a little less than half an hour.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you hit your head?”

“Nope.”

“You’re serious?”

“I’m dead serious.”

“Then why on earth have we gone through this rigmarole?”

“Got you here, didn’t it? And wearing a TIE, no less.”

“Of course I’m wearing a tie - I thought you were getting married today!”

“Oh, I am.”

“What?”

“Or at least, I hope to be.”

“You are making no sense whatsoever.”

“I know how you feel about me.”

“No you don’t. How do you?”

“Suspected soon after you came back, actually. But I couldn’t be sure until I saw your face when I said I was leaving.”

“So this whole thing has been… what? Punishment?”

“Would you rather I’d punched you?”

“You did punch me!”

“Well, you deserved it.”

“And did I deserve this? To have to stand here and watch while you… Oh.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not marrying Mary?”

“I’m really not.”

“But you are getting married.”

“Well, that rather depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you’ll have me.”

“…”

“Sherlock?”

“But… One can’t just turn up in front of a vicar and get married, John. There are formalities…”

“It’s amazing what you can arrange when the British government owes you a favour.”

“But… Me?”

“Of course you.”

“But we’re not… I’ve never even…”

“If you want me. So do you, Sherlock? Do you want to marry me?”

.

.

“I do.”

(Source: bluebellglowinginthedark)

(Source: xlrecordings)

cathysphere:

I hereby found the International Society for Bopping Mads Mikkelsen on the Head with Toast

(Source: tutti-frutti-vegan)