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Prompting Part XXXII

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GUIDELINES

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PROMPT FREEZES
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During the hiatus Mycroft and John begin a relationship. Mycroft knows that Sherlock's alive, but doesn't tell John. When John finds out, this takes it's toll on their relationship. To say the least.

Through some random circumstances, a young adult! Sherlock (20-ish) stumbles across kid! John (7-9) and starts talking. Sherlock fully expects to send the kid screaming and crying for his mummy (seeing as that's what normally happens) but instead John says he's brilliant. Sherlock then correctly deduces that John is abused so, like any reasonable adult, he decides to kidnap him because hey, John isn't boring, so why not. John doesn't mind at all, because Sherlock doesn't hit him and he's now best friends with the world's coolest detective.

Bonuses:
+Mycroft or Lestrade find out how Sherlock 'acquired' John and are really unnerved but don't know what to do about it.

+John following Sherlock everywhere with hearts in his eyes.

+Protective Mama Bear!Sherlock.

The thousand-and-first time Sherlock kissed John Watson, John Watson was dying.
The thousand-and-second time Sherlock kissed John Watson, John Watson was dead.

(Yeah so I posted this in the wrong place before, sorry)

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I want something where John is hurt/sick/whatever and he needs Sherlock to help him with everyday tasks, especially feeding, dressing and bathing

Bonus if Lestrade or someone comes in while Sherlock is feeding John and John gets really embarrassed.

Sherlock/ NCIS crossover in which Abby is Sherlock's sister! (because really, deducing and science genius, dark hair blue eyes.. I really think it could work!)

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/triple-checks anon

After John settles into married life, Mrs. Hudson decides that Sherlock should settle down too. Since John didn't work out for Sherlock, she'll have to take matters into her own hands.

Molly will do well enough. Now Mrs. Hudson just has to make her into the perfect partner for her dear boy.

+ 1 for magical realism where Mrs. Hudson puts a spell on Molly so she can't escape / resist / etc.

+ 1,000 if Mrs. Hudson teaches her how to properly please a partner sexually, preferably demonstrating with a strap on

+ 1,000,000 for utter creepiness dirty/bad/wrong with Mrs. Hudson calling Molly 'her little girl' / making her wear childish clothes / going on about how she's going to grow up to be perfect for Sherlock

Totally stupid, but where do I click to actually get to the story?

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Any medical man with a doctorate can tell you that laying on a couch that is just barely your size with someone that is at least a good head and a half taller draped over you like you're his own personal life-sized teddy bear will lead to some complications, despite how often it is romanticized in books, movies, and the like; some of these problems include loss of blood flow, the 'pins and needles' that one gets when they stay in one place for too long, strained muscles and various other medical sounding things that let you know that the above scenario is generally a bad idea...

As far as John Watson was concerned, they could all go to hell.

The pressure of the body cutting off his circulation was more proof to his overwrought brain that the man spread over him was really there, the steady heartbeat drumming against his knee and pressing it against the bars of the couch a rhythm that he could have danced to if he was in any position to do so, and the heavy weight of Sherlock's head, with its adornment of long, ebony curls, pressing against his chest was a weight he would gladly carry... even if it was cutting off his airway at the time.

It was only the thought that he couldn't go through Sherlock coming back from the dead just for him to die on the consulting detective instead has John moving at all...

At first, John just shifts a little, trying to gauge how deeply Sherlock is sleeping; the man grumbles a bit before tightening his grip on John, burrowing his face in the smaller man's chest even more deeply, a half formed word-a word that sounds suspiciously like 'don't'-slipping past his lips. It takes a few minutes of John stroking his fingers through Sherlock's hair, murmuring soothing words into his forehead, before Sherlock calms down enough to loosen his grasp.

Keeping his fingers tangled in their dance across Sherlock's skull, John tries moving again; this time he's able to rearrange his body into a more comfortable position before Sherlock mumbles a bit and then states, very clearly, “Stop fidgeting, John.” before mumbling some more. He also shifts a little bit, so more of his weight is on the couch instead of his flatmate, so he must have been able to figure out that John wasn't trying to get rid of him and was simply uncomfortable.

John smiles-smiles-as he looks down at Sherlock's tucked in form; even in his sleep, the man can't stop deducing things...

Incredible.

Amazing.

Fantastic.

Oh, god, he's going to start crying again if he thinks about it, and he hasn't cried this much in the three years Sherlock was gone, why has he turned into such a leaky hose now...?!? By all rights, he should be bloody furious; Sherlock tricked him, Sherlock lied to him, and-worse of all-Sherlock made him think that the man was dead...

He can feel his anger simmering underneath his skin, a heavy weight pressing against his chest that offsets the lightness of the head that rests there; it's a coiling sensation that flows through his veins much like many poisons he's had to deal with in his medical career, a poison that John had hoped he had cured with the three years of grief and mourning that he had to deal with, but all that hard work is destroyed the instant that the man he thought all that pain was for showed up on his doorstep.

”I had bad days!” That had been an idle rebuttal when he had spat it at Sherlock, but there had been days when the anger that he had been feeling-at the war, at how useless he had felt when he had been unable to save someone, the days when it felt like the whole world was against them-made him pull a few of his mates away from everyone for a good ol' round of fisticuffs. There were days when he had not stopped until one of them was bloodied and bruised, the droning ringing in his ears finally settling down into a dull hum as those around him shook their heads and told him he needed to find a different method to deal with his boredom.

John sat in the pub carefully nursing a drink when a tall pretty woman sidled up to him smiling kindly.
‘Hi there, you look lonely.’ She said in a sultry tone and John smiled back.
‘I wouldn’t say that, but I suppose company is always welcome.’ John returned her smile.
‘Drowning your sorrows then?’ She asked and John shrugged.
‘I just got off work and because I had a row with my flatmate this morning I am trying to postpone going home, very mature.’ He joked and she giggled appreciatively.
‘I can think of a few ways you could postpone going home, for quite some time.’ She said and John was struck by how forward she was being. This wasn’t just flirting, she was being very overtly sexual for eight o’clock and only one pint under the belt. He felt awkward when he found that his private parts actually responded to her suggestion as he grew half hard.
‘That’s a kind offer but I really don’t think that is a good idea. I should just work it out with my friend. Would you excuse me for a minute?’ He said and absented himself to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and took the time to decide that beautiful as the woman was he was not going to jump into bed with her just because he had the opportunity. He was not a one night stand kind of guy.
He returned to his seat at the bar with the firm determination to get to know the pretty woman and ideally get her number but certainly not go to bed with her. He seemed to be doing rather well with this mission as by the time he was ordering his second pint she had given him her name and number and was still interspersing her retellings of bits of information from her life with an alarming amount of sexual innuendo which was doing frustrating things to John’s increasingly hard cock.
John is surprised to find that the room has grown very warm and his head seems to be spinning somewhat. He feels far more drunk than one pint on a warm autumn day warrants and yet the thought that he’s been drugged doesn’t enter his mind even as the woman leads him behind the building and pushes him down on the ground.
It is quiet behind the pub and the air is warm against his skin as she divests him of his trousers.
‘No, don’t… I wasn’t going to… please stop.’ John tries to protest but his penis seems to have grown a mind of it’s own as it is quite happy to respond to the woman’s ministrations and stands proudly erect as she lowers herself onto it.
John feels ashamed at his own body’s reactions as ripples of pleasure wash up his spine as the woman rides him while she pins him to the ground. His mind may be numb but he is quite aware of the strange contradiction of trying to tell her to leave him alone while his body is simultaneously screaming for her to keep going. Below him the edge of the pavement digs into his back, gravel scraping against skin and above him is all wet, warm and female and he moans with what could equally well be enjoyment or agony.
He cries when he comes and he honestly can’t tell if they are tears of pleasure, pain or just pure shame it all seems to be one and the same at this point. There is no cuddling, no gentle kisses. Once it is over she leaves and John finds himself on the ground in a back alley with his trousers in a pile next to him and with tears streaming down his face and everything just seems very wrong.

John struggles to his feet and puts his clothes back on. The Jeans feel tight against the bruises forming on his back but he needs them on and the pain is strangely grounding. By the time he leaves the alley he has stopped crying and even though he is limping he is distinctly more aware of his surroundings than he was some half hour ago, feeling just a little bit more human.
That being said he is almost run over twice on his way home because he is far more confused than is healthy while walking around in London traffic. He falls over twice and by the time he makes it home his right hand is bleeding and he has been sick enough times that he is now bringing up nothing but bile. He feels disgusting.
Dragging himself up the seventeen steps to their flat he stumbles into the bathroom, ignoring Sherlock’s comments from the living room. He tries again to vomit but his stomach is empty and all he manages is retching into the toilet bowl.

Decided to fill this so here goes.

John sat in the pub carefully nursing a drink when a tall pretty woman sidled up to him smiling kindly.
‘Hi there, you look lonely.’ She said in a sultry tone and John smiled back.
‘I wouldn’t say that, but I suppose company is always welcome.’ John returned her smile.
‘Drowning your sorrows then?’ She asked and John shrugged.
‘I just got off work and because I had a row with my flatmate this morning I am trying to postpone going home, very mature.’ He joked and she giggled appreciatively.
‘I can think of a few ways you could postpone going home, for quite some time.’ She said and John was struck by how forward she was being. This wasn’t just flirting, she was being very overtly sexual for eight o’clock and only one pint under the belt. He felt awkward when he found that his private parts actually responded to her suggestion as he felt a slight stirring between his legs and felt his face grow warm.
‘That’s a kind offer but I really don’t think that is a good idea. I should just work it out with my friend. Would you excuse me for a minute?’ He said and absented himself to the bathroom where he splashed cold water on his face and took the time to decide that beautiful as the woman was he was not going to jump into bed with her just because he had the opportunity. He was not a one night stand kind of guy.
He returned to his seat at the bar with the firm determination to get to know the pretty woman and ideally get her number but certainly not go to bed with her. He seemed to be doing rather well with this mission as by the time he was ordering his second pint she had given him her name and number and was still interspersing her retellings of bits of information from her life with an alarming amount of sexual innuendo which was doing frustrating things to John’s increasingly hard cock.
John is surprised to find that the room has grown very warm and his head seems to be spinning somewhat. He feels far more drunk than one and a half pints on a warm autumn day warrants and yet the thought that he’s been drugged doesn’t enter his mind even as the woman leads him behind the building and pushes him down on the ground.

It is quiet behind the pub and the air is warm against his skin as she divests him of his trousers.
‘No, don’t… I wasn’t going to… please stop.’ John tries to protest but his penis seems to have grown a mind of its own as it is quite happy to respond to the woman’s ministrations and stands proudly erect as she lowers herself onto it.
John feels ashamed at his own body’s reactions as ripples of pleasure wash up his spine as the woman rides him while she pins him to the ground. His mind may be numb but he is quite aware of the strange contradiction of trying to tell her to leave him alone while his body is simultaneously screaming for her to keep going. Below him the edge of the pavement digs into his back, gravel scraping against skin and above him is all wet, warm and female and he moans with what could equally well be enjoyment or agony.
She’s rough, unpleasantly rough, she slams his hands into the pavement over his head and pound into him making his back bounce against the edge of it underneath him. ‘Please don’t it hurts’ he tries to make his voice steady but instead of relenting she smilingly slaps him across the face and the proceeds to kiss him.
The strange combination of cruelty and tenderness is dizzying. He is a gentle lover careful of his partner’s feelings. This kind of intricate torture is something he has never experienced first hand. To him it belong in porn or the sobbing statements of bruised girls asking for morning after pills and STI screening and neither of those two are categories he ever thought of as applying to him.
He cries when he comes and he honestly can’t tell if they are tears of pleasure, pain or just pure shame it all seems to be one and the same at this point. There is no cuddling, no gentle kisses. Once it is over she leaves and John finds himself on the ground in a back alley with his trousers in a pile next to him and with tears streaming down his face and everything just seems very wrong.
John struggles to his feet and puts his clothes back on. The Jeans feel tight against the bruises forming on his back but he needs them on and the pain is strangely grounding. By the time he leaves the alley he has stopped crying and even though he is limping he is distinctly more aware of his surroundings than he was some half hour ago, feeling just a little bit more human.
That being said he is almost run over twice on his way home because he is far more confused than is healthy while walking around in London traffic. He falls over repeatedly and by the time he makes it home his right hand is bleeding and he has been sick enough times that he is now bringing up nothing but bile. He feels disgusting.

Dragging himself up the seventeen steps to their flat he stumbles into the bathroom, ignoring Sherlock’s comments from the living room. He tries again to vomit but his stomach is empty and all he manages is retching into the toilet bowl.
By the time he has rinsed his mouth with mouthwash six times he is aware of a presence behind him and he slowly turns to see Sherlock looking thoughtfully at him, as though he is a particularly interesting experiment. ‘I got a bit drunk.’ He tries but it doesn’t work for a second
‘You got a bit raped, by a woman no less. Some kind of drug, Rohypnol maybe, more likely GHB. You will need to go to hospital, she didn’t use protection and she injured both your hand and your back.’ Sherlock says proudly as though the deductions are somehow not both offensive and extremely private.
‘No I wasn’t I had sex, it is quite normal for a man my age and she was both attractive and quite skilled.’ John says but his eyes do not meet Sherlock’s and he is clutching his injured hand to his chest. ‘And she has nothing to do with my hand, I fell and landed on something sharp, not sure what but it wasn’t her fault.’
‘Well, seeing as you wouldn’t have fallen over if you weren’t drugged and she’s the one who slipped you the drugs I would say your hand is most certainly her fault, oh and if you weren’t drugged you would have noticed what you cut your hand on, and yes John you were raped. There is evidence that the encounter made you cry and the way you are currently trembling is suggestive of trauma meaning the crying was not caused by pleasure something which is further evidenced by the way you hold yourself. This combined by the fact that I can tell your back is hurting and you have never been one to go in for rough sex with your previous girlfriends so I am pretty sure you asked her to stop on multiple occasions. Forced intercourse when asked to desist is I believe the definition of rape John.’ Sherlock pushes and he isn’t entirely aware of when John’s face drains of what little colour it has remaining and he sits down on the bathtub. He does notice however when the first sob escapes from between John’s trembling hands.
‘Shut up, shut up. Please just don’t’ John begs and Sherlock suddenly realises that those deductions were probably as John would put it ‘a bit not good’.
‘Please Sherlock, just leave me alone.’ John begs and Sherlock hesitates.
‘John I really think you need a hospital.’ He argues and John nods slowly.
‘I probably do, but I need a moment to myself more so please Sherlock stop deducing me and go do something useful, like … I don’t know… make a cup of tea.’ The suggestion makes them both giggle and it almost restores normality, only John’s breath hitches and suddenly he’s not laughing he is crying again and Sherlock very hesitantly closes the door to the bathroom making his way to the kitchen. ‘Don’t lock the door he says carefully. He has seen enough rape induced suicides in his time working with Lestrade and he does not want John to become a statistic.
Twenty minutes later John emerges from the bathroom with his hand wrapped and refusing to meet Sherlock’s eyes. He does however accept the lukewarm mug of tea that Sherlock offers and when Sherlock offers to call a taxi to take them to UCH he nods hesitantly. His breathing has grown increasingly shallow and he is beginning to feel lightheaded.

I'd love to read a fic where Harry has the mind of Sherlock Holmes. Not looking for a crossover, just how the story would change if Harry was a brilliant "high functioning sociopath," easily bored, manipulative, entirely lacking in social graces, and adventurous. He doesn't see himself as a hero, but he's on the side of the angels.

Is anyone interested in writing a fanfiction where Harry Potter is adopted into the Holmes family and becomes Sherlock and Mycroft's younger brother (maybe the Holmes are distant relatives of Lily's and they find out the Dursleys aren't taking proper care of Harry)? I want to see how Harry influences Mycroft and Sherlock and their relationship with each other. I also want to see Harry's response to the magical world given a happy upbringing and two intelligent brothers who've taught him the ways of deduction.

Wow. This is brilliant! I am a hopeless romantic, so I usually have to really be in the mood for a fic like this, but this just called to me. I can totally see Sherlock having to delete absolutely all of John else they'd have to lock him up!
****Slight(sortof) S3 Spoilers****
I mean, look what happened to him in S3! And that wasn't nearly as permanent!!!

So, I was looking at Boy meets Girl (2009), and I found myself liking how Martin acted as a female in male's body, but didn't look extravagant. It looked natural (but I could be biased). Then again, I only have seen the episode 2 of the show.

So, I wanted to see a story where John swapped bodies with a girl stranger (as for the how, I'll leave that to you). The girl in John's body was freaking out and ran away (at night/when Sherlock was somewhere else/when John was somewhere out of the flat/whatever plausible), which worried Sherlock. The girl was also good at hiding, and Sherlock thinks John was kidnapped or something.

The girl can be Veronica from the show, or an OC of author's liking, or whoever. But the girl should have a life, which boggles John at how... mundane and normal it was (and boring). But, like in the show, he knew how absurd it was, so he lived the girl's life for a few weeks as he searched for his body. He tried calling Sherlock, but Sherlock was too busy searching John to bother with an unknown number, a possible girl in distress, or a potential client. In fact, I wanted him to yell at John in the girl's body, which distressed John. (through phone or face to face, doesn't matter)

Now, I don't mind smut, but if it does get included, I do prefer bottom!John. In fact, here's a thought - in the show, Danny in Veronica's body did get some from the boyfriend (though I'm not sure if he/she enjoyed it), I don't mind seeing that here (preferably as John's first time with a guy). John could either like it (and hoping to repeat the experience with Sherlock), horrified that he did it (curiosity and stress was a funny thing together), hate it immensely (because the guy wasn't sherlock, tee-hee), or even indifferent (because okay, that was different, but I'll like it better with my own body).

How John get back to his own body or whether or not Sherlock found hin as the girl all up to you. I do like it if Sherlock got terribly jealous (because possessive Sherlock is HOT), and the girl was very terrified of Mycroft (and if Mycroft drawn the wrong conclusion--tortured, etc--would be all the better!)

Anyway, this is long, but I don't think I've seen this yet. RTYI also welcomed!

If you are familiar with Holly Black's Curse Workers series.... I would LOOOOVE ANY sort of Johnlock fill for this AU~*~*~ I feel like the universe could really lend itself to the series. Preferably pre-series 3/Mary...... But will be happy with WHATEVER. Smut, fluff, casefic.... All welcome. Pleaseeee I would love ANY fill!!!

My captcha is "fairy tale" ...... This has to happen!!!! Pleeeeasseeeee

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