I FOUND IT AGAIN YES
i was scrolling and i nearly had a subliminal heart attack when i saw it.
NOBODY IS KIDDING WHEN THEY SAY THINGS LIKE THAT ABOUT DAVID BOWIE.
Lord, someone hold me while I gush over Megamind’s soundtrack.
the bill is almost due
I’m sorry I’m so random, sensitive, and impulsive.
I tell you, you will not hear from me again.
Warning: there is sherlolly, but this is adlock fic.
First Look at Chapter Three of The W Hypothesis:
"I heard she’s an American heiress. New money. Oil, I believe."
At 70 years old the newly raised 1st Baron Aldenham, Lord Henry Gibbs, is rumoured to be wed. A landmark birthday, a peerage and a new fiancee - the coincidence of three wonderful occasions calls for one massive party. To Sherlock, this is all fine and dainty, that is, if he hasn’t been asked - no, demanded - to attend.
Mingle. Smile. Don’t be yourself.
Mycroft, that complete arse, Lord I-cannot-attend-so-as-my-brother-you-must-in-my-stead Holmes, is going to die a slow and painful death. Sherlock has planned at least five successful ways to murder his brother and get away with it. However, by the rate this evening is progressing, he harbours serious doubts that he’ll survive long enough to complete his revenge.
So, my dad’s growing his curly hair. He always boasts that granted his kind of hair’s rare enough in the Philippines (or it’s just him, y’know, but I prefer to indulge him in the meantime), and that his hair curls upward.
I showed him Benedict Cumberbatch’s hair as Sherlock, to which he scoffed that hell no, his hair’s cooler than Ben’s, and that without the bangs.