No, you guys….I’m calling it. Sherlock is about to tell John everything. We’re going to be freaking out, alert and ready for two years of deciphering and deducting to be proven wrong or right. Finally. Finally, we will know. And then John is going to say this. And that’s going to be the end of it. We’re never going to figure out how he faked his death. Moffat and Gatiss are going to troll us. Televisions are going to be broken. There are going to be casualties. Some people are never going to fully recover. Mrs. Hudson is going to leave London. The world is going to collapse. And not even Peter Capaldi’s forehead can save us. (via marauders4evr)
In which case, I am just going to start laughing. I’m going to start laughing, very hard, and the laughing will never, ever stop. It’ll be ninety years from now and you’ll still be able to hear deranged laughter coming from six feet below my tombstone.
Downton Abbey: Where nobody has aged since 1912