Ok it’s really fucking creepy that the Internet is down and now my phone service isn’t working.
No but guys imagine this
Imagine the opening scene of the first episode of s4
The camera pans up from the bottom of a double bed in a darkened room. John is asleep on his back in bed, and the camera comes to a stop on him. His right hand is behind his head, his left resting, complete with wedding ring, on his chest. A baby can be heard mewling in the background; cue a close-up of John’s face as his eyes flicker open and he hums quietly, before easing up onto his elbows, glancing over at the alarm clock beside him – it’s 3:30am – and the blinking lights of the baby monitor next to it. The lights wobble as a gentle shushing comes through from the other end, and the baby’s noises grow softer, quieter, less afraid.
John looks to his right: the blankets are rumpled and pushed back, the other occupant of the bed clearly having risen to tend to the child. John takes a moment to lie back down, rubbing at his eyes in an effort at waking himself up. He gazes up at the ceiling (and the camera) in the semi-darkness, and slowly a small, tired smile curves his lips. There is no doubt in our minds that he’s worn out, but happy.
The next shot is of John getting out of bed, slipping on his dressing gown; close-ups of his hands as he preps a bottle and heats it up in the microwave. Then we see him walking upstairs, bottle in hand, and easing open a door that creaks ever so slightly on its hinges. John enters, pausing on the threshold. He looks remarkably younger in the silver moonlight that slants in through the open curtains, all evidence of war and pain smoothed away. Another smile. After a moment of watching, he steps closer, offering up the bottle in his hand. “Here,” he says, and places it into an outstretched palm. As the hand is retracted, we see a wedding band glinting unmistakeably.
A soft, deep voice murmurs, “Thank you.” John takes another step, grinning. “I guess she inherited my appetite,” he says, and as he reaches up a hand to touch the small of his partner’s back, the camera continues upward, revealing pale, milk-white skin and a mess of dark curls, and Sherlock is smiling as warmly and sincerely as he did the day he and John became a duo again, facing London’s paparazzi together outside 221B for the first time in two years. “Yes,” he replies. “I believe she did.”
Then the opening credits kick in
And the next scene is a fucking flashback to six months prior because that’s exactly what Moffat would do