Reblog if you are a part of the Cumbercollective.
Real BABY Benedict!!! Be still my heart….
Photo from Mirrorpix. Caption:
Mum and dad Wanda Ventham, well know actress of television, and her husband Tim Carlton an actor, show off their newborn baby son. Benedict (Cumberbatch), Ben for short, was born at the Queen Charlotte’s Hospital in West London, weighing nine pounds and 2 ounces.
At filming today Benedict held up a sign saying that he wasn’t on twitter. This is the best shot I could get (the boom alas gets in the way) but hopefully you can make out most of the message which I think read:
“Im Benedict Cumberbatch. I’m not on twitter. Never have been ever.”
Posting with Benedict’s express permission as he very much wants to get the message out there that he is not on twitter so I’d appreciate it if you could re-blog/retweet.
Do you love to write fanfic? Do you love to post it on AO3? Then please consider joining our auction!
We are going to hold a fundraiser auction, where people can bid on new work by their favourite authors. All funds will go directly to the AO3, the money will never end up in a…
The third batch of #Shellock eggs!
Do you have a favourite Sherlock Scene? Why not re-enact it with eggs or decorate an egg Sherlock style and send it over to us. We’ll create a collection of any entries we receive and put them together in an album on our Facebook, Tumblr and Pinterest pages for all to see. You can tweet, tumble, Facebook or email your episodes to us, just be sure to include the hashtag #Shellock.
You can see the full episode - SHELLOCK – The Reichensplat Fall over on our website.
Sherlock’s Last Smile
It was the photograph he kept in his wallet. Dog-eared. Well thumbed. Curled at the edges. The surface scratched now, eroded. The memory that went with it had not faded, though. Still as sharp as ever. That smile. The twinkle in his eye.
Lestrade had taken the shot in Devon. Outside the pub, while the three of them had shared a meal. The Hound had been discovered, silenced forever, Sherlock’s genius once again proven beyond doubt. He had laughed. They had laughed together. A gentle moment shared before they returned home to London. It was the last time John could remember seeing Sherlock happy.
A little black and white shot was all he had left of that moment, of the memory of Sherlock’s last smile. Time and again he had taken it out, holding it up to the light, searching for some clue, some tiny signal of what was to come. Some sign that he could have, should have read, some mark that would have told him how to save his friend. But there was nothing.
Nothing, save the relaxed, happy face of a man who had never done relaxed or happy before John. Nothing but the evidence of what true friendship had done to change a lonely life beyond recognition. That, and the realisation that nothing John could have done could have diverted the terrible trajectory Sherlock was already on.
(A little off the cuff response to this poignant gif.)
Evenlode’s Friend
