NAME: John W
AGE: Legal
Place: Mariana's Trench (Sherlock's cheekbones)
Fan of: William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Sherlock Holmes' body, Sherlock Holmes'everything. Oh, and Mummy Holmes' youngest son.
Occupation: Part-time working...
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"Seriously, Mary, why is everyone asking if I'm really a boy? Do I look like a girl on my profile picture to you? Is John a girl's name? No it's not right? I really don't get it." I whined to my best friend through the phone. "Listen: Is that you in your profile pic? Or you are a famewhore to get in more attention?"
"Well..." she paused. "You're babbling like a girl." I gasped.
I gave her a deathly glare as if I'm seeing her right now.
"Oh! That's not true! I can't even-" "Yes, John. I can't even what?" "Huh? I don't get it. What do you mean?"
I frowned at her while I'm opening my laptop whilst typing the password. A picture of Sherlock Holmes only on his sheet during their music video of 'A Scandal in Belgravia'. Something bubbles inside me. Damn you, Sherl. Damn that chest. Being hot shouldn't be legal.
"You just said, you can't even. You can't even what?" I sighed. She needs a lot of learning.
"That was the end of my sentence. It's what people actually say when you don't know what to say next. Do you actually read my blog? It's full of 'I can't evens, RIP OVARIES and there goes my ovaries."
"Did you listen to your Biology teacher, John you're a boy, you don't have ovaries. And I don't see any reasons why people question even your penis."
"Speaking of penises, you can totally see that bulge in Sherlock's tight-pants." Click- save folder- SH. I zoom in and yes, definitely a stiffy there. I chuckle to myself, completely zoning out of the world because , wow, Sherlock's legs in those jeans is insanely mental.
"John, I'm hanging up now. See you tomorrow at work." I have other stuff and obligations to do anyway. Like saving my blog fans the disgrace of being denied by a fantastic photo. The world has to drool over with my babe, which I am kind enough to share with. Because HE'S A WALKING PROMISE OF A WILD AND DIRTY SEX and I, as his blogger, it is my responsibility to do my unpaid duty.
I click onto Twitter and scroll through the tweets filling my timeline. Is it sad that I want to rip those girls hair when they got a picture together with 221B? It's not that I'm jealous or anything. Wait, scratch that. I am terribly jealous! They met my idols! They know what Greg smells like! And how gorgeous Molly was! They've talked to Myke and had Sherlock's hand on their lower backs! I imagined Sherlock Holmes' skillful hands on your back, long fingers carefully pressed into your skin. Your hands on is waist, feeling the outlines of his body under your fingers as you carefully press yourself further into his side. The camera flashes and the picture is done. You smile up at him to thank him but before you have the chance, his lips hover yours and-
