sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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It's obvious to Mary post-HLV that John and Sherlock are in love. In a bid not to lose John, she suggests a threesome, to which both men agree (albeit reluctantly).

While fucking Sherlock (bottomlock only, please), John lets go in a way he never has with Mary, pulling Sherlock's hair and smacking his arse and swearing a blue streak. John is a master of the art of talking dirty. Watching this makes Mary extremely jealous. As a "bad girl," she's always wanted John to drop the tea and jumpers facade and give her the good, hard fuck she craves, but when he fucks her, it's always slow and sweet.

I'd prefer if this isn't written from a pro-Mary persepective, but I don't like Mary-bashing, either. I don't think John and Mary's relationship is healthy, or that Mary is "on the side of the angels," but she's an interesting character and I hate when writers make her a one-dimensional witch.

Bonus points if the sexytimes are set against a greater plot about Moriarty's return and Mary's involvement in it.

Greg gets abducted or beaten up and thrown in a ditch in the countryside, or buried alive or anything at all, and Sherlock and John rescue him. After the rescue and appropriate medical care they can deliver him to the loving arms of Mycroft, or the loving arms of the Yarders, or into the loving arms of Molly, or into each other's loving arms, or to his lonely bachelor flat and the loving paws of Sir Waddlesworth the Third his elderly asthmatic beagle, it doesn't really matter. I'd just like Lestrade hurt and in danger without Mycroft helping in any way because that's too easy an out and I'd like the focus to be on Lestrade, Sherlock and John.

TLDR: Lestrade's in serious trouble and Sherlock and John rescue him.

Alpha!Sherlock/Omega!Moriarty:

Sherlock can smell that James is an Omega even though he takes suppressants, and other precautions (James can't have people using it against him). How can Sherlock smell it on him? They're mates. Sherlock is his Alpha. Maybe Sherlock's scent even jump starts James' heat? Get as down and dirty (knotting/self-lube) and fluffy (pet names/over all affection) as you want. It can be set on the roof if that works for you. ;)

John reads the letter three times, trying to get some feel for Sherlock's state of mind. He sounded rational enough, and it seems hopeful on some level, but there is an underlying current of finality which John keeps coming back to. He can't seem to pinpoint it. The closing... it feels like a goodbye.

Should he attempt to go after Sherlock? Could he, even? If anyone could ever chose not to be found... His mind keeps popping up with new worries. There are countless boltholes scattered throughout the city where he could stay temporarily, but where would he go? He thinks of Sherlock's months-- no, years-- in hiding, of the time he found him kipping on a disgusting mattress in a drug den "for a case". Would the homeless network help John find him, or would they just turn away? He thought more about it. Would Sherlock warn everyone not to disclose his location to John? He'd have to tell them something. Have to tell them some reason why his partner can't know where he is. Or maybe he wouldn't be concerned with keeping John away. Maybe John is meant to just know to give him space and time...or...maybe he is meant to find him and talk to him and save him from this burden. He runs his hands through his hair. Can you save someone from something you did to them? John just hopes Sherlock has someone to go to. To talk to. Wonderful, Watson, now you're compassionate. Now you're worried about his feelings. He told you not to do this. More than once, even.

John fights the urge to drink himself into oblivion. He needs to be alert, but he doesn't know what for. He doesn't know what to do. Yes, love is a fucking paralytic.

This is Sherlock's bedroom. He shouldn't be in here. This is not his space, he has no right to it. He heads out to the sitting room. Sits. Stares at Sherlock's chair, like he did when Sherlock was dead. His mind spins. He eyes his phone, lying on the table, daring him to pick it up. Ten minutes later he is still eyeing it. He checks his blog for any messages. He reads the paper, or rather his eyes move as if he is reading. He tells himself he should eat. Or at least make tea.

A key turns in the lock. A door closes. Mrs Hudson going out. No one is coming in. Wishful thinking.

He turns on some crap telly, just to cut the silence. It's still on when he wakes up. He has no sense of time, still in a fog when he hears the second door, the one to the room he is in, open. He's not entirely sure that he's awake, that it's really Sherlock there. His "Sherlock," is still tinged with doubt as John stands awkwardly, leaning on the sofa for support.

"This is my home," Sherlock says. John hears just enough to register it is him in the flesh and doesn't look at him directly. He heads toward the stairs, to his room.

"I understand," John says as he passes the man standing silently behind him. "Just give me a moment to pack a few things..."

"No! No, John. I mean..." he is at John's side in a flash and reaches out to place his hand on John's shoulder, but pulls it back abruptly before making contact, "my home is with you." John looks up. Sherlock looks desperate. He's seen the look before... in the train car. For all his brilliance, Sherlock doesn't know how to make this better. Neither does he. "I don't know how to do this," Sherlock adds, softly.

"No. You shouldn't. You don't understand. I tried to... I somehow managed to convince myself that it was something you wanted. That anything you said was just nerves talking, and, that-- that you wanted me to take the lead and guide you through it. Seeing you, really looking at you afterward-- it just..." John breaks eye contact. "But, what I did was bad enough, Sherlock. The thing you don't know, that you need to know, is," John swallows, closes his eyes, and forces the words out, "how much I wanted it."

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "Of course I know. That was obvious."

John flushes red and sprints up the stairs without giving Sherlock so much as a glance.

Sherlock is yelling after him over the echo of his feet on the wooden steps. "I meant that you wouldn't be able to do it otherwise! I mean... oh bloody hell... don't go, John! Please, John, please listen! Surely you owe me that!"

John freezes in his tracks just short of the last step.

"I didn't mean physically</ I>! I meant that you wouldn't have been able to go through with it if you hadn't been thoroughly convinced that was what I wanted. I know you couldn't have done it otherwise. And perhaps, I... understand, a bit, why you thought I did want it. After all...I... once did."

"Not like that."

"No. Not like that."

"Maybe not even at all. Outside of your head."

"Yes. I..." John turns around just in time to catch Sherlock's smile. It is so genuine and so goddamned beautiful John wants to cry again. "This part is easier than I thought. So long as you continue to accurately voice my thoughts for me. Can we, sit?"

John looks up at his room. His body is still leaning forward as if to propel him the rest of the way up the stairs. He longs to grab an overnight bag and leave.

"Yes, John."

"Yes? I didn't say anything."

"You don't need to say anything." Sherlock sighs. "But we should." Sherlock is tearing up too. "Yes, this way is harder. But we are nothing if not brave."

John nods tightly, and they head to their chairs.

Once they are seated, John realises he hasn't eaten anything. He is certain Sherlock hasn't either. He scarcely realises he's gotten up before he's already grabbing some biscuits and a tray. It feels good, doing something as normal as making tea. With Sherlock here. In their home. Sherlock had said it... that it was their home. He makes it the way Sherlock likes without even thinking.

"This is my home," Sherlock says. John hears just enough to register it is him in the flesh and doesn't look at him directly. He heads toward the stairs, to his room.

"I understand," John says as he passes the man standing silently behind him. "Just give me a moment to pack a few things..."

"No! No, John. I mean..." he is at John's side in a flash and reaches out to place his hand on John's shoulder, but pulls it back abruptly before making contact, "my home is with you." John looks up. Sherlock looks desperate. He's seen the look before... in the train car. For all his brilliance, Sherlock doesn't know how to make this better. Neither does he. "I don't know how to do this," Sherlock adds, softly.

"No. You shouldn't. You don't understand. I tried to... I somehow managed to convince myself that it was something you wanted. That anything you said was just nerves talking, and, that-- that you wanted me to take the lead and guide you through it. Seeing you, really looking at you afterward-- it just..." John breaks eye contact. "But, what I did was bad enough, Sherlock. The thing you don't know, that you need to know, is," John swallows, closes his eyes, and forces the words out, "how much I wanted it."

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "Of course I know. That was obvious."

John flushes red and sprints up the stairs without giving Sherlock so much as a glance.

Sherlock is yelling after him over the echo of his feet on the wooden steps. "I meant that you wouldn't be able to do it otherwise! I mean... oh bloody hell... don't go, John! Please, John, please listen! Surely you owe me that!"

John freezes in his tracks just short of the last step.

"I didn't mean physically! I meant that you wouldn't have been able to go through with it if you hadn't been thoroughly convinced that was what I wanted. I know you couldn't have done it otherwise. And perhaps, I... understand, a bit, why you thought I did want it. After all...I... once did."

"Not like that."

"No. Not like that."

"Maybe not even at all. Outside of your head."

"Yes. I..." John turns around just in time to catch Sherlock's smile. It is so genuine and so goddamned beautiful John wants to cry again. "This part is easier than I thought. So long as you continue to accurately voice my thoughts for me. Can we, sit?"

John looks up at his room. His body is still leaning forward as if to propel him the rest of the way up the stairs. He longs to grab an overnight bag and leave.

"Yes, John."

"Yes? I didn't say anything."

"You don't need to say anything." Sherlock sighs. "But we should." Sherlock is tearing up too. "Yes, this way is harder. But we are nothing if not brave."

John nods tightly, and they head to their chairs.

Once they are seated, John realises he hasn't eaten anything. He is certain Sherlock hasn't either. He scarcely realises he's gotten up before he's already grabbing some biscuits and a tray. It feels good, doing something as normal as making tea. With Sherlock here. In their home. Sherlock had said it... that it was their home. He makes it the way Sherlock likes without even thinking.

I imagine they are still going to face some difficulties but I love the ending so much!!!

Thank you! I had a hard time deciding how to end it...not just in terms of it being hopeful of helpless, but also making it feel like a stopping point ( because they still have a tough road and it could have gone on a long time without any clear point of resolution)--- so I'm very happy to hear the ending worked for you!

AYRT: Here's the rtyi, hope you enjoy! I also hope the actual prompt gets filled.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/806621/chapters/1521942

After John and Mary's wedding Victor Trevor comes back into Sherlock's life. Sherlock dates then marries Victor in an attempt to get over John. Victor is aware of Sherlock's feelings for John but hopes that with time Sherlock will grow to love him. I would like for them to eventually realize that they married the wrong people and married for the wrong reasons. Happy Johnlock ending please :)

i have a little something like this in my head,. I'm planning an Omega Werewolf John and a Alpha vampire sherlock, well of coarse they can't really bond cuz they're different, but yeah, that's my jam.
plus a butler named Gladstone

May I share this idea too?

May I have this plus Omega werewolf John and Alpha vampire sherlock?

Like whoa undeed.
Thirded!

Captcha says "groundhog day". Interesting if you consider it for this prompt. What would break the loop?

loudest-subtext-in-television.tumblr.com/tagged/sherlock-sitcom-AU

also has some entries that weren't tagged but related to sitcom au, enjoy :D

also

fuckyeahshezza.tumblr.com/post/59220854396/sallydonovan-sherlock-as-a-sitcom-requested-by

While helping Sherlock with something, Greg Lestrade is shot/really injured. He'll make a full recovery, but it will be a long road back to health. After the immediate surgery he is transferred to a rehab facility... or so he thinks. In actuality Mycroft has been pining after him, and feels guilty on his brother's behalf. Couple those facts with Mycroft's propensity to take things to ridiculous lengths, and you get a Mycroft who will outfit a downstairs room in his house with medical equipment and pay for 24 nursing just to keep Greg close. Because of the demands of his work schedule Mycroft doesn't see Greg as often as he would like, but does manage to go sit by his bedside every few days. Greg has no idea that he's not in a medical facility, and is confused as to why Sherlock's brother would be coming to visit him so often but he's getting to know the man inside the suit and really likes him so Greg doesn't ask Mycroft, not wanting anything to change. As he starts to be able to get out of bed for short lengths of time Greg begins realizing something isn't right...he's in a private residence. Confronting Mycroft, Greg asks if this is standard procedure for all of Mycroft's agents. Something in Mycroft's expression/face/eyes/answer/whatever tips Greg on to the truth, Mycroft is head over heels for him. Some type of awkward conversation follows, probably with Greg having to drag the truth out of Mycroft, but that's okay because their feelings are mutual. ;) Happy ending please!

Please don't refer to Mycroft as My or Myc. Mycroft is the name his mother gave him, so see yourself all the way to the end please. ;) Rating is up to you, but bonus points if there's gentle, still-recovering, mind-blowingly hot, sensual sex. Thank you!

I love this! :O

Thank you so much!
De-anoning over at AO3...with some cleaning up. http://archiveofourown.org/works/2132343/chapters/4656630

I'm on it!!

"Sherlock," Lestrade stopped the detective in his tracks, putting a hand to separate the young man and the door, "I don't think anyone has told you what you're dealing with." Sherlock rolled his eyes in a way John had told him once should be patent pended as the official, 'Are you fucking kidding me?' look and scoffed at Lestrade.
"They didn't need to. Child, six years old, only witness to the crime scene. Sally did tell me that she wanted me to make the child talk, correct?" Sherlock said, to which John smirked at Lestrade, as if saying, 'mmhh, take that.' Lestrade sighed and dropped his hand before whispering to Sherlock, "She's talking about pirates."
"Oh no," John said from behind Sherlock.
"Oh yes," Lestrade confirmed, looking back up at the detective. "Are you sure you'll be able to handle this?" Sherlock rolled his eyes because he was Sherlock Holmes, and if there was anything he could handle, it was a child, even if the child was only going to speak of pirates. Sherlock had a large knowledge of practically everything in the world, (as he reminded John time and time again,) and that knowledge was not limited to pirates. He popped his collar up without another word to Lestrade and pushed open the door, beckoning for John to follow him. He sat across from the young girl, two blonde braids running down her back, tied off at the bottom with blue ribbon. She looked up at Sherlock and his partner and waved shyly. John waved back with a small smile, but Sherlock was having none of it. As horrible as he was with adults, he was even worse when interacting with children. Their small intellect made him sick, he had once told John.
"Hi mister," The child said in a small voice that would have made any man coo. That is, any man besides Sherlock Holmes, of course.
"What are you called?" Sherlock asked, looking up at the child for the first time since he entered the room. His hands were folded on the table and his razor-sharp glare was focused on the young girl.
"Annabeth," The blonde answered simply, to which Sherlock nodded.
"Hello Annabeth. Now tell me, what did yo-"
"Which do you think is cooler, pirates or ninjas?" Sherlock looked a little taken back by the question, but quickly shook that off, seeing as though he was Sherlock Holmes and nothing could keep him startled for more than a minute or two.
"Ninjas. Now if you could pl-"
"Really?" Annabeth broke in again, "I think pirates are cooler."
"Well," Sherlock said quite seriously, "Ninjas are quite obviously more versatile. They can blend into things and move without being detected an-"
"Yeah," Annabeth cut him off, to which John snickered in the background, "But pirates have like, cool boats and things. And all ninjas have is like, weird black masks."
"Boats are for idiots like yourself." Sherlock remarked without a second thought.
John gasped behind him, "Sherlock!"
"Pirates are cooler than ninjas and that's that!" Annabeth said finally. Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Well, of course you would think that."
"What are you saying?"
"You are obviously a dull child, not by fault of your own, most likely by fault of your parents for not giving you a proper education or having a mentally stilled child."
"Sherlock," John said in a warning voice. Both Annabeth and Sherlock ignored him and continued their fight.
"Are you calling me dumb?"
"Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" Sherlock proclaimed sarcastically.
"Pirates are cooler."
"Ninjas are."
"Pirates."
"Ninjas."
"Pirates."
"Ninjas."
"PIRATES!"
"SHERLOCK HOLMES," John yelled, which caught Sherlock's attention. Sherlock nodded and smoothed his shirt before sitting back down again.
"My partner is right, we shouldn't waste our time arguing about such petty matters. Now, if you would please." Annabeth took after him and sat back in her chair, "Now, where were you the evening of-"
"But what about beavers and otters?"

Edited 2014-08-30 19:34 (UTC)

Lol. That was funny. :)
Sherlock is obviously in denial since he wanted to be a pirate when he was a child. :)

where i went to college, they had this street fair type thing on the first friday of every month, and there'd be vendors and dancers and people playing music, so i thought what if sherlock goes to something like this every month and plays violin, and john also goes every month, always looking for that handsome and talented violin player. and then maybe they meet one night at a cafe or something after everyone's packed up?

Oh, of course he is :) Glad you liked it !!

Sebastian proposed to Jim, who exepted (possibly because he found the idea as hilirious as I do...). Problem is, neither of them has any friends, so Jim thinks it's totally reasonable to ask Sherlock to be the Best Man. Sebastian doesn't. John does neither. Sherlock, however, seems to understand Jims logic, as twisted as it might be.

Make it as deadpan and 'serious' as possible. I love my crack to be served dry.

(Okay, this one is too good not to share. Mycroft!Captcha asks: "What is for dinner?" :D )

Sherlock returns from his hiatus, hiding his ptsd remarkably well. He hasn't played his violin for two years though and his fingers have become stiff, maybe he's had a few broken fingers/fingers broken along the years... anyway, he picks up his violin and it's just not working, it doesn't feel right, it doesn't sound right... it's too much after everything that's happened and he finally breaks down crying.
I'd like it if John is there. Or maybe Mrs. Hudson calls him in distress cos she's never seen Sherlock cry before? Either way, John finally realises something is seriously wrong and h/c ensues.
Thank you!

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