John’s brow furrowed, forming well-worn wrinkles as he settled heavily against his too-thin friend. The first time he’d heard Sherlock utter this specific question had been three weeks ago, just after John had finally given in to the soft smirks, the messy dark curls and absentminded touches. Oh, and stupidly adorable clumsy flirting. On both their ends.
Considering the compromising situation they’d been in when Sherlock had asked, he hadn’t given the question much thought.
“Avoid using the word ‘very’ because it’s lazy. A man is not very tired, he is exhausted. Don’t use very sad, use morose. Language was invented for one reason, boys - to woo women - and, in that endeavor, laziness will not do.”—Dead Poets Society (via intricate-perception)
“I’m a geek. I’m a writer. I spent all of my time in my childhood obsessing about Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Who. I was alone, I was an outsider — what do you expect? I was that bullied kid at the back of the class weeping for loneliness. I don’t think, generally speaking, people become writers because they were the really good, really cool, attractive kid in class. I’ll be honest. This is our revenge for people who were much better looking and more popular than us. I was a bit like that, I suppose.”—