There is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace.
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amisplacedlonelyheartsad:

I’m not entirely pleased with how these came out, but I’m tired of fussing with them, so here they are: Sherlock and Mycroft, an attempt at the style of Frederic Dorr Steele. Drawn in Photoshop CC.



The snow in the mountains was melting, and Bunny had been dead for several weeks before we came to understand the gravity of our situation. The Secret History by Donna Tartt

NO BAFTA FOR JEREMY BRETT

sherlockology:

VERY sad news indeed that The British Academy of Film and Television Arts will not be honouring Jeremy Brett with a posthumous Award.

Despite BAFTA 4 JB’s valiant fight, creating a petition and generating massive support for the cause with even several leading actors, producers and directors getting behind it, the Board of Trustees decided that their initial decisions on posthumous Awards would not change.

For many people though, Jeremy Brett will ALWAYS be THE Victorian Sherlock Holmes, and with or without a BAFTA Award, his legacy will always live on.

To read more visit bafta4jb.com

peabodywunderkammer:

GPL Presents: Love Letter Advice from the Past!

Though today it would be rather creepy to receive, say, an email or a tweet requesting a lock of hair, it used to be the height of romance! So popular indeed was the amputation of hair in the pursuit of love that stock letters were created for the terse of word!

From: Frost’s Original Letter Writer (1867)

Call No.: 808.6 F9296 1867
Location: George Peabody Library

Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old lovers are the worst.

Victor Trevor, The Adventure of the Gloria Scott
But love is an emotional thing, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment.

Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of Four

I love your topaz-coloured eyes
That light with blame these midnight streets,
I love your body when it lies
Like amber on the silken sheets.
I love the honey-coloured hair
That ripples to your ivory hips;
I love the languid listless air
With which you kiss my boyish lips.
I love the bows that bend above
Those eyelids of chalcedony:
But most of all, my love, I love
Your beautiful fierce chastity.

Oscar Wilde, Remorse (via wastrelle)
coded by ifallontragedy