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ivyblossom:

This lie is a kindness.

John already lost Sherlock, buried him, and never managed to stop mourning him. There was no getting over Sherlock’s death for John, even after two years, and I expect he never really would have got over it if it had been true. When he talks about Sherlock two years on, he looks just as broken  as he did immediately after it happened. Sherlock’s death always stays fresh for him, even after he decides to move on. That’s a wound that wouldn’t ever entirely heal, unless Sherlock could do the impossible thing and do what John asked of him: don’t be dead.

The first time, he could.

So this time around, Sherlock knows he’s going to die for real, but keeps that fact from John. He lets John think that after his six months undercover, he’ll have some unknown, new adventure somewhere. And then another, and another. Swashbuckling his way across the planet, getting into scrapes and getting out of them again. Instead of John mourning Sherlock’s death forever, he could imagine him out there somewhere solving crimes, being brilliant, making the world a less dark place. He’d read about mysterious, amazing things in the papers and wonder if it’s Sherlock’s work. For the rest of his life he could image him like that, Sherlock the lone crusader, changing the world, unable to come home, unable to take John with him, but not for lack of wanting to, and not for lack of love. It’s just circumstances beyond their control. He’d be gone, but for John he’d still out there. Missing Sherlock is hard, but mourning him is harder.

Mary can tell when Sherlock is lying, but John can’t, and Sherlock knows it.

Sherlock now understands what his death would do to John. So he very kindly gives him something better.

(Source: darlingbenny)

fantasticallyficticious:livesandliesofwizards:

At twilight on August the 25th 1999, one week before classes were to begin, Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, a wand box clutched under her arm.

Headmistress McGonagall was waiting for her outside the Three Broomsticks. The two women greeted each other warmly, and then set off towards the castle. Or rather, towards the grounds outside the castle.

They chatted amiably as they strolled towards the groundskeeper’s hut.  Hagrid, sitting outside and darning a pair of enormous socks, looked up as they approached.

“Good evenin’ Headmistress, Hermione,” he said with some gruff surprise.

“Good evening, Hagrid,” replied McGonagall. “May we go inside?  I believe Hermione has a proposition to discuss with you.”

If you had stood outside the hut as the evening darkened and the stars rose into the sky, you’d have heard the rumblings of an argument coming from inside the hut. You’d have heard Hagrid’s gruff refusals, Hermione’s calm (and then not so calm) rebuttals, and the very occasional interjection of the Headmistress.

Hermione did not emerge until the moon had fully risen and darkness enveloped the grounds. But in the light of the nearly full moon, you could see a smile on her face.

~

The Shrieking Shack was no longer widely believed to be haunted, now that the story of Remus Lupin was fully known.  Still, the residents of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts avoided it out of a mixture of respect and residual fear.

This suited Hermione perfectly. The interior of the Shack was now stacked with books and bottles of potion ingredients. A cauldron sat in the corner, a telescope pointed out a cracked window, and cushions lined one wall. A table was covered in parchment, broken quills, ink pots and stains. Once a week, Hermione would apparate into the Shack and go over her notes from the previous session while she awaited her student’s arrival.

Sometimes he was late without explanation. Sometimes he would bring a wounded bowtruckle he wasn’t comfortable leaving on its own.  Sometimes Fang would follow him and sit in the corner whining while his master sweated and cursed over a cauldron. Hermione was calm but firm, making adjustments as needed and letting Hagrid’s frustrated words roll off her back like water droplets. 

The Hogsmeade residents may have turned a blind eye to the goings-on in the Shrieking Shack, but that didn’t mean they weren’t relieved as time went on and there were fewer and fewer roars of anger echoing through the village.

~

The OWL testers had been warned in advance that they would have an unusual student that year. That didn’t mean they weren’t taken aback when Rubeus Hagrid appeared on their testing scrolls. They all knew of him of course, knew the role he played in the Second War and of the false accusations leveled against him.

They were worried they would have to be kind.

They needn’t have. No one could have Hermione Granger teach them personally for a year and not improve in all aspects. His potions may not have been textbook perfection, he may not have fully transfigured his toad, but Hagrid had clearly worked hard to master his long dormant abilities.

Rubeus Hagrid may not have followed the traditional path to wisdom.  But he had a new wand, the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, classes to teach and 6 OWLs.

Including the highest score ever recorded on Care of Magical Creatures.

(written and submitted by ppyajunebug; please excuse me, because I have something in my eye. Oh yes, it is my joyful tears. ppyajunebug has a way of bringing those out of me, you see. Their submissions tackle some of the saddest moments in canon, turning them around and making something beautiful out of them.)

THIS WAS SO STINKIN CUTE EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND READ THIS

I had a wonderful dream last night. Yesterday - that wasn’t a dream, that was real - was rubbish and I just wished for a tight hug by my best friend. Problem is he lives 800km away from me. So I went to bed, sad and crying and then somehow still managed to fall asleep. And then I dreamed he was there and he was hugging me so tight and stroking over my back and telling me everything would be allright. And I slowly woke up with the feeling of his arms still around me. And that was the best way I’ve woken up in years.

thedimensionjumpingmagician:

favabean05:

a-weeping-angel-just:

watchtheskytonight:

fishthatcanswiminfog:

Just press play.

image

That moment when I paused the music to reblog, but the gif didn’t stop and I was confused for like three seconds.

This won the internet you can all go home

I will reblog every one of these. This is the best one.

How the hell did I know

SO MUCH SASS

wow

(Source: livelong-and-dftba)

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