clockwork-tin-soldiers:

Does it make me the biggest nerd

That the first thing I thought was

That is not right he is wearing the monarch’s crown he would be “Your Majesty”

Probably.

Dear Mr. Moffat,

First, I would like to comment on your name. What the hell is a moffat? Is it a kind of pastry? Is it something people sit on, like a tuffet? Are you related to Little Miss Muffet? Did history get it wrong? Was it actually Little Miss Moffat? Do you fancy curds and whey?

Now that we’ve followed that line of inquiry to its logical conclusion, I have several complaints to register.

The first, and I’ll admit it’s a very slightly petty one, is that this is my face before watching Reichenbach:

Whereas this, of course, is my face afterward:

I know it’s difficult to see the difference, but as an observant man I trust that you will notice the nuanced variations between those two gifs. For example, in the first I had a vigorous love for life and a will to live it. In the second, I did not have either of those things. I did, however, want to see you die in a fire. More on that later.

While my mental trauma is certainly upsetting enough on its own I would not have written this letter if there wasn’t more. I was traumatized by Micky Mouse at Disney World when I was seven, and I certainly haven’t written him a letter of complaint. Perhaps because he terrifies me, perhaps because how would he read it with those gigantic soulless rodent eyes. But I digress. My second complaint is a social one. You see, while before Reichenbach my social life looked like this:

After watching the final episode, it looked a bit more like this:

I could not maintain the level of charismatic wit and social elegance I’d had before the episode. All I could talk about was Reichenbach, and it made people very annoyed. Also, I had a tendency to cry when I’d had more than two shots of anything.

To conclude, you are a soulless, godless machine of mental and social destruction and I hate you down to the very core of my rage-filled heart, to the farthest reaches of my mental map beyond which There Be Dragons. Jump in a lake, and then into a fire (the former so that you burn more slowly in the latter), and then sit in the corner and think about what you’ve done.

Oh, and never change.

Sincerely,

Natalie Hoyt

Does anyone else get the feeling

That maybe Moriarty is completely uninterested in Sherlock

And the one he really wants to fuck with

Is Mycroft