E THEME BY EXCOLO

Hello hello.
Welcome to my art blog.
You may also find an occasional fic or two.
Have a cup of tea & enjoy your stay.

angel(s) falling from Heaven.

**Please do not repost anything of mine, and please ask before using anything as icons, sidebar images, etc. Always credit!!
Thank you!!!

My heart no longer aches.

My tears no longer sting.

My ears ring with a deafening silence,

and it echoes through my hollowed chest.

This is the only thing that is worse than feeling:

This is feeling nothing.

For anyone who has had a major heartbreak, you’d probably understand this kind of “numbness” after all the pain. It happens. The heart can only take so much before you just stop feeling all-together. I imagine John would lapse into such a numbness after so many years of mourning.

This is for Reapersun’s “Let’s Draw Sherlock” collab. Lol, wonder if this is an acceptable take on the prompt. Sorry, I can’t help drawing more Reichenbach stuff. What can I say? My creativity feeds off tragedy.

Sorry for the rubbish art! But yeah, felt like drawing a Sherlock angel after listening to Benedict voicing Angel Islington (damn that baritone).

"A cup of tea, Jawwwn? A nice, hot cup of tea with a lot of sssssssssugar?"


(I’m sure I’m not the only one going a bit crazy over the wait for season 3…)

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?

I could really use a wish right now, a wish right now, a wish right now.

- “Airplanes” by B.o.B.

- - -

Sorry, this is a really half-assed WIP. I got lazy and need to go out for a bit so I’ll finish this later.

So here’s the deal with this pic:

In this Wholock AU, John decides to build his own replica of the Tardis and sits in it every night, wishing the Doctor would come to help him find and save Sherlock from the Fall.

When it’s all done, this picture is going to go in the Tardis on my blog so it’ll make more sense later (see current theme).

Also, Sherlock will look more like a ghost in the finished picture.

They say that smell is the strongest sense,

When it comes to memories…

But it hurts too much to remember.

- - - -

Here, have some Sherlock angst :> Been too long.

EDIT: Whoops! Sorry for the repost. I wanted the picture to show in full size so I had to separate it into two images. Stupid tumblr.

"John," said Sherlock earnestly, "if I — if I’m not quite —" he stopped and tried again — "John, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?"

At the time, John had not realized the full import of those words.

Sherlock did not live to be 100.

But John would be haunted by the memories even when he was 99.

- - -

AU: Where Sherlock and John meet as kids and become the best of friends, and Sherlock does not fake his Reichenbach death but actually sacrifices his life for John’s. Also, in this version, Sherlock’s a year older than John vs. Doyle’s version where John is 2 years older than Sherlock if I remember correctly (And for those of you who couldn’t tell, the quotes are from Winnie-the-Pooh, A. A. Milne’s original book version)

So I was listening to the OSTs for the LotR trilogy and it got really depressing, really fast.

So all of a sudden my mind went from crack crossovers and hilarity to BOOM! Reichenbach angst.

Yeah.

Finally done! PHEW.
Click here for progress pics.
Totally dodged and burned the shit out of the hair and I gave up on Benedict’s hand cause I got lazy but WHATEVER! I’m done.
—-
And here’s a ficlet to go with it:


"Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move."
He stretched out his hand.
Another hand instinctively responded.
Between their fingers, there now lay several meters of air and buildings and people. Yet, only yesterday, Sherlock’s fingertips had been pressed gently against John’s neck and chin, had tilted John’s head up so that their lips were only a breath apart.
Hold still…

…what? Why?
Don’t move.
Sher—
John, close your eyes.
…what?
But they had already shut.
Sherlock leaned in slightly until their bodies touched, chest against chest, legs intertwined, and then, just hovered. His eyes passed over every detail of John’s face. His mind recorded everything he saw. This was important. This was not to be deleted.
For a moment, there was silence—
A subtle touch of fingertips against skin. A soft hum of breaths intermingling. A low, slow drum of heartbeats. Everything synchronizing into one great ebb and flow of rise-and-falls and ins and outs, and gravity gently beckoning, beckoning each towards the other.
For an eternal, intensified moment, there was silence.
…what is it?
Sherlock blinked.
No-Nothing.
"Goodbye, John."


[Sorry sorry. Such a terrible ficlet this time cause I’m brain-dead from exhaustion today. Too many papers and exams lately.]

Finally done! PHEW.

Click here for progress pics.

Totally dodged and burned the shit out of the hair and I gave up on Benedict’s hand cause I got lazy but WHATEVER! I’m done.

—-

And here’s a ficlet to go with it:

"Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move."


He stretched out his hand.


Another hand instinctively responded.


Between their fingers, there now lay several meters of air and buildings and people. Yet, only yesterday, Sherlock’s fingertips had been pressed gently against John’s neck and chin, had tilted John’s head up so that their lips were only a breath apart.


Hold still…

…what? Why?


Don’t move.


Sher—


John, close your eyes.


…what?


But they had already shut.


Sherlock leaned in slightly until their bodies touched, chest against chest, legs intertwined, and then, just hovered. His eyes passed over every detail of John’s face. His mind recorded everything he saw. This was important. This was not to be deleted.



For a moment, there was silence—

A subtle touch of fingertips against skin. A soft hum of breaths intermingling. A low, slow drum of heartbeats. Everything synchronizing into one great ebb and flow of rise-and-falls and ins and outs, and gravity gently beckoning, beckoning each towards the other.


For an eternal, intensified moment, there was silence.



…what is it?

Sherlock blinked.

No-Nothing.


"Goodbye, John."

[Sorry sorry. Such a terrible ficlet this time cause I’m brain-dead from exhaustion today. Too many papers and exams lately.]

A year ago, today, I felt your presence even in my sleep.

Now, I can only almost feel you.

And “almost” always hurts the most.

- - -

Trololol. I’m just going to keep vomitting Reichenbach feels on you guys until I can finally get over it. I might just end up fanarting this stuff until the new season comes out. Who knows.

Also, trying out a new style. Don’t know what to think of it.

Got lazy with the background and didn’t feel like drawing the kitchen …hence the random heavenly light. Ignore that.

Anyways, enjoy the angst.

P.S. Just in case you missed it, the placement of the sleeves of Sherlock’s jacket is intentional in the second panel. Think about it.

(click on click through link for higher resolution)

Hmm… So tumblr is terrible for posting huge image files, as many of you know. And needless to say, this is one huuuuge vertical image file. Tried a text post but it doesn’t reblog well.

So here’s a gif set that may reblog better.

Text post here.

Full image, hi-res here.

And larger view of the note:

image

—-

And a little ficlet to go with this:

Later, when John asked Mycroft about the note, the other man calmly told him that he should make another appointment with his therapist, that it was another hallucination, and that when he got back home, the note would surely have disappeared. Indeed, when John returned, the note was nowhere to be seen.

And yet, desperately scrutinizing the place where it had been this morning, John couldn’t help but notice four lines of faded newsprint where the adhesive end had been.

The note had been real.

It had to have been.

—-

You cannot keep doing this, little brother.

I can’t keep covering for you.

-MH

Sherlock, what you’re doing isn’t making it any easier for him.

-MH

He can’t take much more of this.

-MH

Neither can I.

-SH