“Do you trust me?”
The voice vibrates in his ear, low and deep and resonating. John swallows. He’s blinded. No, not blinded. Blind-folded. His hands are tied behind his back, around the chair he’s been seated in. He can feel the warmth of the fireplace curling around…
Guysguysguys. BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH, SINGING.
So he’s a fabulous actor, does lovely things for charity, is sweet and friendly to his fans, has a face carved by angels and a heavenly voice to match, stands up for the arts funding, AND HE SINGS, TOO?
If anyone knows how the man could be more perfect, answers on a postcard, because I have no idea.
im just imagining sherlock skipping round the kitchen with a beaker and a pipette singing this. and then john walks in like, THE FUCK
ohgawd brb laughing until the end of time
Sherlock’s had lovers who enjoyed talking dirty, calling him a whore and slut and other nasty, sexy things. Except Sherlock didn’t think they were sexy, but thought that was normal, so didn’t know how to tell his partners he didn’t like it.
One night, John starts that, but HE notices how Sherlock flinches and closes off a bit. After that, all dirty talk in 221B Baker Street is pure compliment.
Well, unless Mrs. Hudson… but do we really WANT to know about that?