sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXV

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Prompting Part XXXV

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Mary is gone, Sherlock and John get together. It's Sherlock's first sexual relationship and he is overjoyed that his love is returned, he finally has the man he wants, but for those reasons, he's also emotionally vulnerable.

Then John calls him "Mary" in the heat of passion.

Angst . . . maybe a happy ending when John suitably makes it up to him?

It had been over a year. The grief he felt was all encompassing, deeper than when he thought Sherlock gone. John knew that he should give it time, he gave Sherlock time.

But his grief for Sherlock had been tamed, dampened by the act he'd done. He knew he couldn't stop it, that it was Sherlock's choice. That Moriarty had a massive role. Yes, he'd missed the man, but he found friendship, and support. Finally he'd found Mary.

Yes, their were the complications, the truth that was obscured. But Sherlock hid so much, Sherlock had complications. Sherlock was the jagged rock he needed to hold onto while he tried to keep from drowning.

Mary was the mainland. She provided shelter, safety, love. She gave John what he needed to live and grow.

Sherlock forever seemed to hold him back. Wanting him as the John 'before'.

When Mary died, Sherlock gave empty platitudes of sympathy. John knew it was either at the advice of Lestrade or Mycroft.

He sat and watched as Sherlock made tea.

He sat and watched as Sherlock placed something in the tea. John held the mug "what's in this? What did you put in it?"

Sherlock frowned "wh-"

"Sherlock" John sighed. "Either you're so distracted by your damn act of sympathy that you put...whatever in without trying or-"

"I'm not trying to experiment on you. You haven't slept in three days." Sherlock rubbed his leg

"It won't be a betrayal. You are the most faithful man I know. You're bi. She understood our relationship, and she would feel nothing but happiness to know that-"

John threw the mug "what, that we slept together? That I miss it. That I miss her so much I can feel it? I won't do that to you. Or to her."

Sherlock turned his head "I want it though." He stepped forward and brushed his fingers through John's hair. "You won't be betraying her. You know that."

John lowered his head. At first it was just small tears. They turned into choking sobs.

Sherlock knelt down and held John. Half an hour later, John leaned back, pulled a tissue from his trouser pocket and wiped his face and nose clean. "Not very romantic."

Sherlock grinned "have I ever seemed one to want romance?"

John shook his head, let Sherlock pull him from the floor and followed Sherlock into his room.

The sex was fantastic.

Sherlock had been wanting John since nearly the moment he saw him. He knew John would be perfect. He was right.

John was pleased. Sherlock knew some advanced tecniques that he'd never been privy too. During the height of sensation, John screamed out Mary's name.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The third time, Sherlock became limp. John looked down "what?"

"I had concluded you only wanted me." Sherlock frowned

John couldn't hold back a giggle. "After all of that? After everything you said about Mary? Christ, Sherlock, you called out other names too!"

"Did not" Sherlock crossed his arms

"Jesus, if you'll do this every time. You can call out Greg's name, and...two? Yeah, two others. But ai can't call out my wife's?"

"She's dead."

John couldn't help it. His anger was seethed in every inch of his body. He punched Sherlock. "Don't give be that bloody bullshit. Fuck! Fuck! First you tell me it's okay and now this?" What the hell are you...." John rolled out of the bed and hasitily put his clothing on.

Sherlock sat up "I've never had sex before!"

"Liar. I know when you're lying." John looked up "was everything else a lie? Now I'm ome of your conquered?"

Sherlock crawled toward's John "I've read, I've watched, I've studied...."

John snorted "your arse speaks otherwise."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "there are ways of...opening."

John knelt down "so you lied."

"I omitted the fact."

John stared at Sherlock "never contact me. Actually, if you do I'll ignore it. If you try and break in to my home, or corner me, or see me at all I'll ring the police. Police that you don't know."

John nearly fled from the room

"John! No...please." Sherlock stared at the wall, his hands were restless. He cried, and didn't try to stop.

Wow

so much angst please fix

Two days later, Sherlock received a call from Mycroft.

"I'm not taking on whatever-"

"John tried to kill himself. He was very nearly successful."

Sherlock did not move or speak.

"You can thank Greg. He made an unplanned visit to John's home. Said John is always in certain evenings and thought it odd the 'telly was on but John didn't answer.' Greg broke a window and found John in his bedroom."

"Wha-"

"An extremely potent combination of pills. Greg called 999 and then myself. I was able to expidite an ambulance. John is in critical condition. His heart stopped three times-got you beat there-he's in coma and it is unknown if he will survive."

"When!"

"Several hours ago, you loathe waiting rooms and I was not about to let you rush in. You may see him. However you will abide by all hospital rules or I will ensure you cannot visit."

Sherlock finally moved, he stood and screamed into the phone "how dare you?"

"I dare because while it was ultimately his act, we both know who drew him to it." Mycroft ended the call.

Sherlock stood, unmoving, for fifteen minutes. When he finally moved, he left the flat, slowly decended the stairs and did not utter a single complaint when he entered one of Mycroft's cars that was waiting.

Re: No 4/

vinib.livejournal.com - 2014-04-01 07:00 (UTC) - Expand

No 5/

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-01 11:25 (UTC) - Expand

No 5/

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-01 19:19 (UTC) - Expand

Author Anon: ^^^ PART SIX!!!^^^

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-01 19:20 (UTC) - Expand

No 7/

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-03 21:07 (UTC) - Expand

No 8/

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-03 22:54 (UTC) - Expand

No 9/

(Anonymous) - 2014-04-08 03:03 (UTC) - Expand

Will fill soon. =)

'Mary's gone.'

Sherlock looks up from the microscope, stalling his examination of a peculiar fungus. John's stance is rigid, and the deductive reasoning of the world's only consulting detective is far from necessary to read the lines of distress on his face and the creases of his clothing. Regardless, Sherlock examines each tell, adding up the sum total of each to come to his conclusion: not good, not good, not good.

The quiet anguish written in the lines of his face causes a sharp pang in his heart. He never did like seeing John in pain. In this moment, Sherlock is almost ashamed of the other emotions that wash over him at the news. He knows he ought to say something, something to show that he cares about John, and he knows that it certainly isn’t ‘good riddance’ or ‘she should have never insinuated herself into your life.’

But Sherlock has never been . . . good with people, and he hasn’t the foggiest what the appropriate response is. He swallows and asks, ‘tea?’

For once in his life, Sherlock makes the tea, and he doesn’t poison it.

He clears the table of some of the paraphernalia associated with his experimentation (or rather, a small surface of the table), and John sits with a harsh sigh, placing his elbows on the wood and his head in his hands. He looks even smaller like that, the overwhelming sense of hopelessness acting like a magnifying glass in reverse. Something intangible in him has crumpled, his visage that of a beanbag popped, the stuffing draining out, and with it, all that his marriage to the woman of his dreams had imbued him with.

Seeing John so small, so down, . . . Sherlock finds he doesn’t much like it. He wants to make sure John never feels that way again, wants to protect him like he did when he walked, no, jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, wants to bring him back to life like he did when they first met.

But—

Over. It was over, finally over, and Sherlock wouldn’t have to share John with anyone any longer. But that wasn’t a good thought, was it? John was hurting, John had lost his wife, and here Sherlock was thinking about how he would benefit from the unfortunate situation.

He tamped down on the thoughts, and pushed them away. Sherlock knew he was a selfish person, but he would do anything for John Watson. He would die for him (and he had), he would kill for him (and he had), and he could certainly pretend he didn’t feel the slightest relief or happiness in the face of the situation.

Because Sherlock Holmes was John Watson’s best friend, and he would try his best to keep that title. It may not be the sum total of what he wished to be, but it would have to be enough because he could not lose John Watson.

_TBC

Wow...I know what the prompt said but this is a blatant ripoff of the above fill. Bad form.

Um, how do you figure? They don't seem much alike to me. Except maybe for Sherlock (in this fill) mentioning not drugging John's tea, and John being suspicious of just that in the first fill? Considering it's canon that Sherlock doesn't usually make John drinks, and at least once (but probably a few times) when he has, they've been spiked, that's not much to go on.

Whaat? Jesus, dude. If Sherlock making John tea is "a rip-off", then I can think of at least twenty S/J fics or fan arts that should go to the bin. Please. The writing styles are not the same, and the only similarities comes from both authors following the prompt. Cut that cuppa some slack.

Second author, I like your premise. Hope to read more of this.

+1

NA

I think the accusing anon is just the first filler who's pissed their fic has competition… It's clearly not plagiarism

_{Author Anon here.}

Thank you.

This is my first fill on this kink meme and I honestly wasn't expecting such a negative response. I feel bloody awful now.

Author anon here.

Ah. Erm. I barely even scanned the first fill. And when I did, it was hours before I even wrote my own fill. I see now that yeah, there was tea in it, can't believe it slipped my mind, but I truly don't see how one similarity has to damn me. I forgot all about that (I read quite a few fics each day, and read quite a few between scanning the first fill and writing my own). I'm not going to 'rip that fic off,' I have a plan for it that is very, very different. I'm sorry you feel that way, but it was not my intention to do anything like that.

I only put in the tea because I wanted to give Sherlock a way to do something nice without having to talk about the ordeal with John. I certainly know that if someone came into my house, my kitchen, and I wished to comfort them, I would make them a bloody cup of tea!

I feel rather awful now, to be honest. All I wanted to do was to fill the prompt. My apologies for your ire, for never was it my intention to plagiarise anyone. When I came on today to look for feedback, I certainly was not expecting to be torn to shreds for 'plagiarism.' Don't you think that if I were to plagiarise, I would not do it right underneath the writing I was plagiarising? Certainly not.

Everyone loves second fills. However, I must agree with the first anon. This is a huge copy of the first fill. You changed some events around but it's just exactly the same. The tea(ooh, NOT SPIKED) the grief mentioned. You just took events from the first fill and tweaked them. Near plagiarism is what it is.

na

I don't see it. Jokes about the tea being spiked have occurred in at least half post-S3 fics, and it seems pretty natural that John would grieve the loss of his wife.

Not plagiarism, IMO, just two fairly unoriginal fills.

After reading both fills we concluded that the similarities were incidental and so widespread in this fandom that plagiarism is not involved.

'Mary's gone.'

Sherlock looks up from the microscope, stalling his examination of a peculiar fungus. John's stance is rigid, and the deductive reasoning of the world's only consulting detective is far from necessary to read the lines of distress on his face and the creases of his clothing. Regardless, Sherlock examines each tell, adding up the sum total of each to come to his conclusion: not good, not good, not good.

The quiet anguish written in the lines of his face causes a sharp pang in his heart. He never did like seeing John in pain. In this moment, Sherlock is almost ashamed of the other emotions that wash over him at the news. He knows he ought to say something, something to show that he cares about John, and he knows that it certainly isn’t ‘good riddance’ or ‘she should have never insinuated herself into your life.’

But Sherlock has never been . . . good with people, and he hasn’t the foggiest what the appropriate response is. He swallows and asks, ‘tea?’

For once in his life, Sherlock makes the tea, and he doesn’t poison it.

He clears the table of some of the paraphernalia associated with his experimentation (or rather, a small surface of the table), and John sits with a harsh sigh, placing his elbows on the wood and his head in his hands. He looks even smaller like that, the overwhelming sense of hopelessness acting like a magnifying glass in reverse. Something intangible in him has crumpled, his visage that of a beanbag popped, the stuffing draining out, and with it, all that his marriage to the woman of his dreams had imbued him with.

Seeing John so small, so down, . . . Sherlock finds he doesn’t much like it. He wants to make sure John never feels that way again, wants to protect him like he did when he walked, no, jumped off the roof of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, wants to bring him back to life like he did when they first met.

But—

Over. It's over, finally over, and Sherlock wouldn’t have to share John with anyone any longer. But that wasn’t a good thought, was it? John is hurting, John has lost his wife, and here Sherlock is thinking about how he would benefit from the unfortunate situation.

He tamps down on the thoughts, and pushes them away. Sherlock knows he is a selfish person, but he would do anything for John Watson. He would die for him (and he has), he would kill for him (and he has), and he could certainly pretend he didn’t feel the slightest relief or happiness in the face of the situation.

Because Sherlock Holmes is John Watson’s best friend, and he would try his best to keep that title. It may not be the sum total of what he wishes to be, but it would have to be enough because he could not lose John Watson.

_TBC

_{AN: My apologies the repost -- I noticed some verb shifts.}

I am extremely sorry that people felt the need to go and actually attack you!!!

Over tea? And grief? And....I'm literally shaking my head here.

If I had been aware that this was happening I would have left a note from the very start.

You have done nothing wrong. Nothing. It will be interesting to see where your story goes and I look forward to reading it. I truly hope you continue.

-AA

Thank you so much. That makes me feel a lot better. I shall keep a look out for yours as well.

-author Anon the Second

I'm really hoping you'll continue :)

I really liked your writing style and where you were going with this. I hate that you were unfairly attacked & that it apparently turned you off continuing this story; please know that it was appreciated in its own right and that I for one wish for more.

First of all loving the fill and don't let people with too much opinion and too little common sense (it's two fills for the same prompt... OF COURSE they're going to be similar), stop you from continuing it!! Please? pretty please with a cherry on top?

I liked you fill very much, darling :)

If I have one word of advice, from one author to another, it would be to not let naysayers affect whether or not you continue to write. I've been writing fanfiction for over twelve years now. In 2004, when I was 16, I posted my first story that was kind of a hot mess, but liked well enough. I had to take it down a few years later due to privacy reasons. When I began a repost in 2008-2011 I found that it made its way to a community called 'bad slash' or 'MST', which is basically a group of overly critical and cruel fans who literally ripped all my stories apart comma by comma. I stopped writing for two years.

I returned to writing in 2013 on this fandom, and found, for the most part, other writers to be very kind and supportive (so far, knock on wood, lol!) but you're always going to find people that have unkind words, or even just don't like your stories, and you know what? /That's okay./ My heart still races every time I get a comment alert from AO3 in my email because I remember how gutwrenchingly painful it was to read such awful, awful things about something I worked really hard on. There will always be people who love your writing and people who hate it, and all manner of people in between. Don't write for them; write for yourself.

I think you show a lot of promise, and I hope you continue to write and fill prompts. It can be awful to not get the response you were hoping for, but for every person who has negative comments, there will be those who have positive :)

xx lilylashes

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