OTP!

epicspacenshit:

Freaking FINALLY. My submission for the Let’s Draw Sherlock challenge! This was an absolute blast. Here is Sulamith Wülfing’s original art!

(via letsdrawsherlock)

iamnotoneofthem:

Based on this gifset by shipimpala.

At first I wanted to write angst but it’s 2am, and I RPed enough angst already, so here fluff.

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When Q first found out that he wasn’t alone, he had nearly broken down crying.

After years of thinking that he was some freak of nature, a genetic monster and an abnormality, years of trying to remain human when all he wanted to do was curl up, shift and become a cat like he always wanted to, leave behind the cell, the cage, he came to know as his human body and let his soul run free; after all those years, he found a partner in the person he would never have taken for one like him.

James Bond.

He couldn’t remember how he had found out, if it was in Bond’s files, the ones no one but M and the heads of Q-branch and H-branch had access to, or if someone had dropped it in a conversation. All he remembered was his own reaction, and how his legs had shaken in the realisation that he wasn’t alone.

There was someone else, someone who could turn just like him, whom he could talk to and who he could be himself around; only a few days after finding out, they had shared their first kiss, two months later they moved in together.

Much to Q’s surprise, James never was human at home.

The moment he had stepped into Q’s flat for the first time, had sniffed the air and pursed his lips in the natural reaction of a feline to another’s territory, he had taken off his clothes, neatly folded them together to put them on a chair and then shifted into a cat, sitting to Q’s feet and looking at him in mild amusement.

James was beautiful.

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iamnotoneofthem:

To say that Sherlock was pissed off would be a great understatement.

He wasn’t remotely sure what made him want to murder someone today, it wasn’t a rare occurrence and almost was normal, ordinary, for him, but maybe it was the fact that his fourteen year old brother fell in love with a nineteen year old man.

It didn’t sound as dramatic as it was in his head, might have to re-phrase it.

His underage, innocent and virgin brother fell in love with the captain of their track and field team, a nineteen year old man called James Bond who was known for his endless stories of women and men he had put to bed in the year and a half he had been in this university.

Sherlock had no idea how they even met, because he surely didn’t foster a relationship with the man, and he for sure hadn’t encouraged any interaction between the two of them.

Mycroft would have his head, if he could be arsed to move his fat bottom off his chair; he would be less than pleased and would cause havoc. It would almost be worth the troubles to see that, but Sherlock had little interest in getting caught in the crossfire and would rather just sit there watching from afar than being an active part in this little game.

He pushed away a fellow student and ignored her protests, knowing she just came back from her private lesson with the math teacher; her skirt wrinkled, a hickey underneath her shirt’s collar and the grade on her test edited for the third time in short intervals. Q hadn’t been in his room, which he didn’t share with anyone but which was close to the professors’ just in case.

It was a rarity that a fourteen year old was intelligent enough to go to university already, and the Holmes family took great pride in the fact that all of their three children had managed to set new records and standards. Mycroft finished university with seventeen, now worked as a civil servant; Sherlock was in his last year and, apart from his drug problems and the way he kept on insulting the professors, working on his graduation in chemistry and physics.

Q would study IT technology and science, wanted to work for the government later.

Just like Mycroft; it almost was a shame.

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