Sherlock Fandom, WTF?

sherlockwhovian:

youcantsaymyname:

stumblinguponmymind:

sherlocked-inside-the-tardis:

sherlock-and-his-coat:

dmcxwtf:

consultingdetectiveofgallifrey:

deductism:

celestialnexus:

thenextdragonborn:

whiskersandmagic:

bamfinajumper:

i-was-so-alone-and-i-o-u-so-much:

sherlockstuff:

WTF

I want to make your skin into a lampshade, John.

I’m coming after you. I hope you’re a light sleeper. Have you changed your locks recently? Heard Sherlock is going to be out of town a while.

Homicidal Greg.

#when the sherlock fandom starts to make homicidal greg is when we need now s3

we were shipping sherlock/door just weeks before S2

i’m looking forward to the next year of mentally-damaged sherlockians

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME”

You’re walking down Baker Street. There’s no one around and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye you spot him: “Greg Lestrade”. He’s following you, about 30 feet back, he gets down on all fours like the Hound of Baskerville—he’s gaining on you! GREG LESTRADE. You’re looking for 221b but you’re all turned around! He’s almost upon you now and you can see there’s BLOOD on his face! My Godtiss there’s blood everywhere! Running from your life from GREG LESTRADE. He’s brandishing a badge. It’s GREG LESTRADE. Lurking in Londooon. Detective Inspector GREG LESTRADE. Living in the shadows. GREG LESTRADE. Going on vacation. GREG LESTRADE. Finding all the bodddiiiiiiesss. Actual Psychopath GREG LESTRADE. Now it’s dark, and you’ve seen to have lost him.  But you’ve hopelessly lost yourself. Stranded with a detective. You creep silently around St. Barts. Ah-Ha! In the distance, there’s 221b with it’s light on! JOHN! You move stealthily toward it. But DAMN YOUR LEG! Ahh! Moran blew it off! Getting a cane! Deduce deduce. Limping into the flat. Deduce deduce. Now you’re on the doorstep. Sitting inside is GREG LESTRADE. Playing on his phone. GREG LESTRADE. But he doesn’t hear you enter. GREG LESTRADE. You’re sneaking up behind himmm. Strangling Detective GREG LESTRADE. Fighting for your life with GREG LESTRADE. Using your cane on GREG LESTRADE. VATICAN CAMEOS! Safe at last from GREG LESTRADE. You limp back to Baker Street, blood oozing form your damn leg. But you’ve won. You have beaten GREG LESTRADE.

omfg^^

The owner of this blog can no longer breathe properly. If convenient, send help. If inconvenient, send help anyway.

If possible, do not send a now deranged psychopathic detective inspector, as that would only exacerbate the problem.

OH MY DEAR GOODNESS I AM DEAD

IM DYING LOOOOOL