Totoro on the Pond
Totoro!!! I just love him! here is my first addition to the ever growing amount of Totoro fan art out there.
I haven’t posted anything in ages and part of it was because I was having artist block. I wasn’t coming up with anything I really wanted to draw. But last Sunday I did a little doodle of Totoro and next thing I knew this happened.
I apologize for the crappy quality and that about an inch if the border was cut off. This is a photograph of the original because my scanner isn’t working.
Based on the fan art I will try to fix you by staypee on Deviantart.
So, here is a mini fic that I just wrote on this fan art. Hope you guys like it.
If there was something John didn’t like, it was broken things. He wanted to be a doctor later, he wanted to fix things, he wanted to fix people. To make them right, to make them happy and smile again. John would do anyhting for people he liked to smile.
When he received Sherlock, he was just five. A baby. He didn’t have any proper friend before Sherlock. There was the big teddy, of course, that he had named Mike, but the big teddy wasn’t as pretty as Sherlock. Then, there were his bunch of green little army men, but they were too focused on declaring war to each other to care about him. And John couldn’t take care of them in that case. Then, he had received a whole set of Playmobil, courtesy of his aunt, and John had built London. Or what he thought London was. With little people, and little cars and it was exciting. John would play in London all day, making people go to work, or save each other. There were heroes in his London, and people were nice to each other.
But when he turned five, John received Sherlock. With his little coat and his scarf. But Sherlock never smiled and that was perfect for John because he could never get tired of Sherlock, and would just try to make him smile. Of course, his little brain couldn’t yet grasp that Sherlock was just a doll and would never smile, but John kept trying. He was a little stubborn and a little naive, with a heart full of hope.
He had loved Sherlock since the very second his eyes met him. Because he was pretty, John thought. And because Sherlock was something to be fixed. So everyday, John played in London with Sherlock. Sherlock was his new hero, the one who saved his little people and wouldn’t even want credits for it. A bit like Robin Wood. And a bit like James Bond. And even in the darkest of nights, when John had been naughty and his parents would ground him in his room, he had Sherlock to count on. He would just be there, pretty, unsmiling, but so comforting, and fluffy and warm. And John would just stop crying and hold Sherlock in his arms until he would fall asleep. And Sherlock fixed him. Sherlock always fixed him.
So, one day, just like that, Sherlock had become his friend. His best friend. Of course he still had Mike the teddy bear, and the little army men, but none of them could compare to Sherlock. He brought him everywhere, nursed tightly against his chest, told him stories about the Solar system that he had heard in school, and they laughed together about the neighbors’ kittens. One would never see John without Sherlock.
Until that very day.
Everything started well for a five year old John Watson. He woke up in the morning and took Sherlock to breakfast. Sherlock didn’t eat, but it was fine. He just stayed there and watched John have his mug of hot chocolate and toasts with jam on it.
Then, John had his bath, with lots of bubbles in it and Sherlock sat on the counter, looking after him. Baths never took too much time though, otherwise they would be late for school, and John had been taught to never be late. He took Sherlock with him to the bedroom to get dressed, nothing too fancy, but decent. A jumper — John did have a fondness for jumpers that he had surely inherited from his parents and his grandparents — and just jeans before he grabbed his backpack and left for school, with his usual cheerful mood and his Sherlock.
Everything went well. People at school knew Sherlock. Greg liked him too but was a bit put off by the lack of smile. He had told John once that stuffed animals should smile and John answered that Sherlock wasn’t a stuffed animal. That he was Sherlock, his friend. Then there was Molly. Molly wanted a Sherlock too because she found him pretty but John didn’t want to give Sherlock to Molly, no matter how nice she was. And Molly couldn’t take care of Sherlock, couldn’t make him smile — to be fair, neither could John but he had that impression that Sherlock was better off with him. And then James.
John thought that James was jealous of his Sherlock. After all, Sherlock was the hero of his London, he was pretty and John liked him very much. James only had a tiger that he had named Sebastian, and, in John’s opinion, Sebastian looked too fierce and wasn’t as pretty as Sherlock. And John didn’t like him in general. That was why John always tried to keep Sherlock away from James. Well, that was the usual scenario. But today was different.
And it started when John woke up from his nap when the bell rang the end of nap time. Usually, Sherlock would be here, cuddled against him, but he was nowhere to be seen and John grew worried for his friend instantly. He asked the teacher where his Sherlock was, but Mrs. Hudson just shook her head and apologised. “Ask the other children, John.” She said to him fondly and John went to ask Molly — she was very likely to kidnap his Sherlock after all — but Molly just grew as worried as him and shook her head apologetically. “Do you want me to help you, John?” She asked, ready to leave behind her drawing to come help him but John refused. He had to find Sherlock himself and rescue him. Sherlock was a strong hero and John wanted to be one too.
John jogged on his little feet to Greg but there was no sign of Sherlock with Greg. “I saw James with your Sherlock.” He said though and when he offered his help, John refused again. He was upset at James for stealing his Sherlock away. What if he hurt him? John still needed Sherlock, after all and he didn’t want his friend to be hurt.
He went look for James who was in a corner of the classroom, with his stuffed Sebastian and John’s Sherlock. “You stole Sherlock!” John whined out, tears in his eyes as he approached the other boy.
“He likes me better!” James retorted and held Sherlock close to him, as firmly as he could. He had wanted Sherlock since the very first time John brought him to school, and now that he had him, he wouldn’t let go. But he didn’t know how stubborn and protective of his possessions John was. He didn’t know about the little blonde boy’s perseverance and love towards Sherlock. John wanted to fix him and wouldn’t give up on him until he would succeed at his task.
“No. Sherlock is mine. Give him back!” John yelled, grabbing a handful of Sherlock’s curly black hair and pulling him towards him.
James wasn’t impressed though and pulled him back to him, holding on him tightly, whining and screaming that Sherlock was his now and that John could find himself some other toy to play with. But for John, Sherlock wasn’t a toy. He was a friend and John didn’t want any other friend.
He didn’t see it coming though. He didn’t see it until Sherlock’s head opened and got torn until the red stuffing inside of him pulled out. James released Sherlock immediately, grabbed Sebastian and quickly left before anyone would blame it on him. “I don’t want it anymore. It’s broken!” He hissed before running away, leaving John with an handful of Sherlock’s red polyester stuffing.
The sight of his friend, laying on the floor, broken and torn brought tears to John’s usually cheerful bright eyes and he sat on the floor, legs sprawled in front of him and took Sherlock against him.
He had failed to protect his friend, after everything Sherlock had done for him. He had failed to keep him away from bad people who just wanted to hurt him, and he had failed to fix him. Now, Sherlock was broken and it was all John’s fault. Had he been more careful, Sherlock wouldn’t have lost his stuffing.
John just sat there, and cried silently with no one else noticing his distress.
“I will try to fix you, Sherlock. I promise.” He murmured.
Are Benedict Cumberbatch’s eyes blue or green? Fun fact, they’re actually both. Benedict has a genetic mutation called Sectoral Heterochromia Iridum. What this means is that the pigment found within the iris, called melanin, is unevenly distributed, and causes a distortion in the colors. Blue eyes have a very low level of melanin, while green eyes have a higher amount. When inherited, the mutation is harmless - it does not affect the vision or weaken the iris muscle in any way, just gives it a very mystical, rainbow-like effect. Benedict’s eyes are a combination of blues and greens, with some gold around the pupils.
(pictures not mine)