I fucking love that jacket.
I fucking love that tongue.
I fucking love that face.
I fucking love John Watson.
I’ll fucking fuck him.
I’ll have the fucking coffee.
“Oh yeah…this is my walking stick. Leather handle; satin finish; and a solid fucking adamantium core.
Do you want to touch my walking stick? Go on. Touch it. You know you want to…oh yeah. Just like that. Stroke it, baby, stroke it.”
I’ll stroke that psychosomatic limp right out of you, John Watson.
Also: where the hell did this jacket disappear to after that day (did they film this scene last or something)? How much you want to bet it’s actually Martin’s?