It was on a bitterly cold and frosty morning during the winter of ‘97 that I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. It was Holmes. The candle in his hand shone upon his eager, stooping face and told me at a glance that something was amiss.
“Come, Watson, come!” he cried. “The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!””
Anonymous said: Peterson . . . put down your goose.
Well played anon,… well played.
No, but seriously… If anyone suggests Benedict Cumberbatch is the only attractive Sherlock, I’m just… Watch the first few minutes of the Granada Blue Carbuncle.
Nothing is hotter than Jeremy Brett in his dressing gown, hair rumpled, frantically running around looking for a light and then taking a satisfying puff.