Prompting Part XXXIV

[sherlockbbc_fic]

S3 SPOILER POLICY
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Please consider warning for prompts that may trigger people (and also for fills, because some people read in flat view) and phrasing prompts in a manner that strives to be respectful.

Things which you might want to consider warning for include: Rape/Non-Con, Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Underage Relationships, among others.

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Your mods for this meme are ellie_hell, charname, anonspock and anonbach. If you have any questions, concerns, comments about anything at all on the meme feel free to send a PM or contact us via the Page-A-Mod post.

MEME LINKS
Pinboard Archive - Delicious Archive - Guide to the Archive
Filled Prompts Posts: Parts 1-23 - Parts 24+ - Spoiler Free
The Glorious FAQ - Page-A-Mod

Flat View of This Page - Newest Page in Flatview - Newest Page of the Meme

Love Post - Chatter Post - Searching Post
Concrit Post - Story Announcement Post - Orphan Post
Spoiler Free Prompt Post - Overflow Post

Links to previous prompting parts

OTHER LINKS AND AFFILIATES
sherlock_rant: A place to rant about or discuss anything with few to no restrictions.
sherlock_rpf: This is a kinkmeme for RPF about the show.
sherlockcrit: A multi-fandom betaing/concrit community, with a focus on BBC Sherlock.
sherlockbbc: A community dedicated to the BBC adaptation of Sherlock Holmes.
Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
Sherlock screencaps.

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Comments

Fill: No Refuge from Memory: 13a/?

[cbzofdeath.livejournal.com]

TRIGGER WARNING: DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

Part 13: Finger on the Trigger

John couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Sherlock truly was a genius. He took back every mean thing he’d ever thought about his flatmate.

That deep, soothing voice said, “Would you like me to do your legs?”

John grunted and nodded.

Strong hands, musician’s hands, pushed his pant legs up over his knees, then began to spread oil on his right calf. John let out a deep sigh of bliss. The hands moved down to his ankles, then his feet, carefully avoiding his cuts.

Finally, he was done. He heard Sherlock move back up the bed. John whispered, “Thank you. That was-that was quite nice.”

He heard a rustle of fabric as Sherlock leaned in to kiss him on the brow.

*

Sherlock’s wrists and hands were a bit sore, but otherwise, he felt wonderful. On impulse, he leaned in to give John a final kiss on the forehead. Nothing sexual, just comforting. His lips brushed John’s skin. He could feel the slight prickle of John’s eyebrow against his chin.

Suddenly, there was an explosion of limbs. Sherlock was thrown to the floor. His backside felt like one giant bruise. It took him a moment to figure out which way was up. He heard the metallic click of the slide of a semi-automatic pistol being pulled back. When he got himself sorted, he looked up to see John standing over him holding a gun.

His eyes were glazed and blank, like they had been four days ago.

Sherlock looked at the weapon then at John.

“John.” He said. His voice cracked.

“John, wake up. It’s me. I’m not going to harm you. Please, please wake up.”

John gave no sign he heard. Sherlock studied the gun. The safety was disengaged and the chamber was loaded. His finger was on the trigger. There was no way Sherlock could disarm him without getting shot.

“John, you need to return to the present. I can’t imagine that you want to do this.” Sherlock kept talking.

He didn’t know how long he spoke. Toward the end, he lost track of what he said. John’s arms began to shake from the weight of the pistol.

Slowly, the blankness receded from John’s gaze. He jerked the gun away from Sherlock’s form. The magazine hit the floor with a hard crack. The bullet ejected from the chamber pinged against the floorboards.

John was on his knees with his arms around Sherlock, “Oh God, what did I do?”

Sherlock pulled away. He tried to be matter-of-fact. “You had some sort of dissociative episode, probably triggered when I kissed your brow. You knocked me to the ground and held a gun to my head for quite some time. You need to tell me what’s going on. It feels like every time I turn around I accidentally do something to hurt you. I can’t keep stumbling around in the dark like this.”

John barely took notice of Sherlock’s words.

“I have to go.” He said.

“What? Just tell me what’s wrong.” Sherlock’s eyes widened with shock.

John’s hands balled into fists, “That’s the problem. I don’t know. It’s like, after we kissed, all of this weird stuff started happening inside my head. I’ve somehow unlocked some horrible monster that’s been trapped inside my brain. I’ve felt miserable and strange ever since. You’ve been my only solace, but at the same time, I’m terrified of hurting you. And I have hurt you, both physically and emotionally. I can’t bear it anymore.”