a-candle-for-sherlock:

ink-in-murder:

love-in-mind-palace:

I…I did a mistake of looking into the quotes. And I hate you so much….

✎

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. 

-Bella Swan.

✎

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. -John Watson.

✎

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smouldering. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

-Bella Swan.

✎

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments.

-John Watson. (I always black out when I read this)

✎

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

-Bella Swan.

✎

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply.

-John Watson. 

✎

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

-Bella Swan.

✎

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and i felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering. 

-John Watson. 

There is more. I need to breathe.

In which John Watson is anything but a heterosexual male

He is so utterly transparent