John Watson. Crack shot even in the situation like this. Brave. Loyal. I want him.
I love how John is literally the physical centre of this scene, the anchor around which all the other characters revolve. Lestrade’s stepping close to draw his pistol, Henry’s flinching away, Sherlock’s moving back, Franklin’s making a break for it…and in the middle of this chaos, stock-steady and absolutely sure, is John Hamish Watson.
I feel like there is a point during a person’s relationship with fictional characters where they just love them TOO MUCH and it’s inappropriate and embarrassing. I passed that with John Watson a long, long time ago.
(via fyeahsherlock)
