i’d probably talk about seb being in dublin, possibly in a smelly alleyway, garbage cans infested with diseased rats, cats, shit, and it was a cold cold cold november afternoon. he flicks his cigarette and tosses it on the ground and stubs it out with his tattered-looking boots then walks away with his hand smoothing over his jacket (that probably contained a smith and wesson pistol in the back pocket) just get rid of the grime he earlier touched on the surface of the bricked walls
Do you know why the Sherlock fandom ships John/Sherlock? They're not paid or anything. They like it. They get off on it. The more intricate the fanfic the more they get off and do you know what? One day just writing fics and drawing fanart won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round Cumberbatch and Freeman superglued together in compromising positions and the Sherlock fandom will be the one who put them there.
Sherlock:It's dimensionally transcendental. Obviously it's bigger on the inside. It's a Type 40 Time And Relative Dimensions In Space TARDIS. Approximately 900 years old. Its chameleon circuit became dysfunctional sometime in the 60's, which explains it's obsolete police phone box disguise, and you haven't gotten around to fixing it. The way you hold yourself and the goofy smile on your face signifies that you're clearly trying to cover up your dark past, and considering the fact that you have two hearts, which is made obvious by the double pulse coming through your carotid, you're a time lord. The last of the time lords. Am I wrong?