posted hace 1 semana with 6 notas

This is the reason why I have not been around here lately. They are five tender, playful, demanding reasons. Most of them are going to their new homes in a few days. I think I will have more time to play here then. I hope I will not be so scratched on Tumblr as I was with them. :)


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From the horse’s mouth, so to speak…


“We like BIG movies,” Downey says of Team Downey, which he runs with producer wife Susan (Levin) Downey. “We are working on a Sherlock Holmes 3,” he says, without providing details. 

(From RDJ’s interview published in the Toronto Sun, August 27, 2014)

Lots of other good news in the interview, too, but that was what we focused on!

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It seems that we’re adopting this mom… Ok,  actually SHE is adopting us. Many days ago she came to our house’s porch. She was pregnant and she chose that place like her delivery room. She gave birth to five kitties last night. :) Life is a miracle!! <3

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holmes&watson | little details

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My life currently is all about waiting for the third Sherlock Holmes movie.

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Lie down with me, Watson.

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Wake Your Watsons Up 17/30: Hiatus

doodle by ireallyshouldbedrawing • ficlet by ColebaltBlue

also on AO3


The private carriage was courtesy Mycroft and the swathes of bandages and blankets insured our relative anonymity as we returned to London. Holmes had not regained true consciousness since I had found him splayed out on the rocks at the foot of the falls. I was a doctor and I knew what this meant - a brain injury of this scale. I could only hope that he would be one of the miracle cases, but the Sherlock Holmes as we knew him was dead.

We settled him in my home in Kensington - a sunny bedroom at the front of the house - and I began my vigil. My practice suffered greatly for the time I spent by his side. But I didn’t care for anything but my patient.

He began to slowly awaken from his coma. Confused, struggling to form words, and completely unaware of who or where he was. I would not give up. I would never give up for him. The pieces of his mind returned slowly.

I folded his hand around cups and encouraged him to drink. I read to him, endlessly, and wrote furiously by his side. But he seemed not to know me from anyone else.

Then one morning I awoke, a sore neck, stiff shoulder, and aching leg to the soft whisper of, “Watson?”