"Be back in ten minutes I ought to go check on something anyhow," he said to john before he walked out, Sherlock stood as soon as the door shut and strode over to john, looming over him so close the john had to take a step backwards. " John asked bewildered "Answer the question Afghanistan or Iraq," "Afghanistan," john managed, "how did you.." "You were shot.
"Does it read zero," he hissed, "just plain grey zero? Sherlock rolled his eyes and snatched the cane from johns hand taking his arm in the other and shoving up his sleeve. You died and went into cardiac arrest four times," Sherlock stated "How did you know this?
One, written by a relative, said: 'RIP to our beautiful cousin, still can’t get my head around it.
Frida Kahlo, one of Mexico’s most important artists, understood the power of a selfie well before it became a pervasive part of popular culture.
Washington has previously lashed out at Moscow for resorting to alleged "nuclear sabre-rattling" as East-West relations fell to the worst level since the Cold War following Russia's seizure of Crimea from Ukraine in March 2014.
It comes after Putin cancelled a planned visit to France amid a furious row over Moscow's role in the Syrian conflict and just days after it emerged the Kremlin had moved nuclear-capable missiles nearer to the Polish border.
Urge and urge and urge, Always the procreant urge of the world.
Out of the dimness opposite equals advance, always substance and increase, always sex, Always a knit of identity, always distinction, always a breed of life.
The smoke of my own breath, Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine, My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood and air through my lungs, The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn, The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies of the wind, A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms, The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag, The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides, The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. 3 I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end, But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.
There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is now, And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.