sherlockbbc_fic | Prompting Part XXXVII

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Prompting Part XXXVII

This is the new prompting post for the Sherlock Prompting Meme. Prompts from LJ can still be filled there with links here or filled here in the new overflow post.

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Useful resources for Sherlock and LiveJournal.
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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sherlock likes to crossdress, and he especially likes it when Mycroft calls him pretty. Can be sexual or non-sexual

Like many young children, Sherlock had, on multiple occasions between the ages of three and six, broken into their mother’s makeup cabinet to try out all the different pastes and powders. Unlike most young children their age, they had an accurate memory of what went where and in what order, as well as a fairly solid grasp of colour theory. The end result was hardly polished, manual dexterity and fine motor control not having fully developed yet, but it wasn’t quite the garish mess that one typically expected from a small child’s attempt at makeup application.

Sherlock had no plans to cite this story, if ever asked about the origins of their understanding of their own gender identity. Children of that age barely had a concept of gender beyond ‘girls have long hair, wear skirts, and play with dolls, boys have short hair and trousers, and play with cars’, after all. All it showed was that young Sherlock, like most other children of his age, had been at the developmental stage of imitating the people he looked up to.

Fast forward then to a Sherlock who is a little older and a lot taller, fifteen years old and filled with the same pubescent malcontent that plagues most adolescents. Or, well, perhaps not the same kind. Sherlock would say, most likely, that it was a different and more potent kind. Or perhaps only different.

Other teens, after all, had to deal with their desperate need to be liked by their peers, on top of crushes, and girlfriends, and boyfriends, and all that hot, hormonal mess that Sherlock felt nothing of, for some reason.

Instead, while other boys crowed over increased height and muscle gain as though it were some kind of achievement, rather than a natural biological process that all of them would go through at some point or other, Sherlock only felt uncomfortable at growing out of the comfortable androgyny of childhood. Their cheeks lost their baby fat, their voice deepening to near-subsonic levels, and where once they’d been more or less an outcast, girls giggled amongst themselves when Sherlock walked past, and they even caught a longing look or two from boys in their school.

The thrift shop at the local church knew Sherlock fairly well. Ever since they were allowed to go out where they liked, they’d been coming down to poke about through other people’s castoffs. Even if they found nothing interesting, it was a useful exercise in deduction to see how much he could figure out about a person just from a discarded trinket or item of clothing. Sometimes they could even pinpoint exactly which person had donated the item in question.

The upshot of the old ladies in the shop knowing Sherlock so well was that when they came in and started poking about the ladies’ section, none of them batted an eye, even as they grabbed an armful of dresses and disappeared into the changing room.

A few months later, they’d amassed something of a collection. It was fortunate that their parents respected the sanctity of their room, because only a little poking around would have revealed a wealth of skirts, dresses, and blouses that would have been hard to explain away. They never wore them out, of course, only tried them on in the privacy of their room with the curtains closed, watching themself in the mirror as they tried on a variety of items.

They liked the way they looked, like that. They felt comfortable, confident. Their usual boys’ clothing was perfectly fine, but there was something special about this. Something they felt reluctant to keep hidden away, though they did anyway. There was no need to give people more reasons to punch them.

Around the holidays, they got a text message from Mycroft as he was coming down from London.

Let Mummy know I’ll be there in two hours, sister dear. MH

Sherlock scowled, tossing the pager on the bed, and changed into their regular clothes to go downstairs and relay the message. Later, after Mycroft had arrived and after all the hugging and catching up was done, Sherlock grabbed Mycroft by the sleeve and hauled him out into the back garden.

“I’m not a girl.” They hissed. “And get your cameras out of my room, you pervert.”

Mycroft blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “You’re not?” He narrowed his eyes, scanning Sherlock’s face. “Ah, I see. I apologise.”

Sherlock cocked their head as it dawned on them that Mycroft hadn’t actually been mocking them. It had been a gesture of support. They shoved their hands in their pockets, looking uncomfortable.

“Thank you. I guess. Even though you’re stupid for theorising before all the facts.” Part of them couldn’t help crowing a little. It was so rare that Mycroft got something wrong.

“And for the record,” Mycroft added, “there aren’t any cameras in your bedroom. Only the hallway. You’re incautious when Mummy and Father aren’t home.”

Sherlock wrinkled their nose. “Still weird that you’ve been spying.” They grinned up at Mycroft, annoyance abruptly forgotten as they realised they finally had someone they could share their little secret with. “Do you wanna see?”

Mycroft hesitated, then gave a short nod. “All right.”

Sherlock showed off what had become their favourite outfit- a simple white crop halter top with a pleated plaid miniskirt and knee-high socks. They changed shamelessly in front of Mycroft. After all, it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. Mycroft, for his part, averted his eyes delicately. For all Sherlock’s accusations of perversion, he had no desire to see them naked. When he turned back to look at Sherlock’s, his eyebrows lifted.

“Well that’s… showing more than expected. I have to say, I’m glad you keep it inside the house, if that’s what you’re wearing.”

Sherlock rolled their eyes. “You’re such a prude, Mycroft.”

“Yes, well.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “You look… very pretty.”

Sherlock smiled a bright, genuine smile, a pleasantly warm feeling bubbling up inside them. Granted, it was only their brother telling them such things, but for a second, it gave them an image of a future, one where they didn’t have to hide away in their bedroom. They imagined a future where they could finally tell their parents, and be accepted, where they found a name for what they were, where they had, maybe, a boyfriend who really did think they were pretty. For now, it was only Mycroft, but it was their first step towards a future where they could be themself.

((Not really Mycroft/Sherlock at all, but it does have Mycroft calling Sherlock pretty so I'm just going to put this here. Sorry if this isn't really exactly what you were looking for. It's also cross-posted on Ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/16751692))

Established johnlock, where john is still off at war but nobody knows they are together or that john exists except mycroft until one day at a crime scene some military people show up to inform sherlock that his husband is dead, killed in combat. Maybe even as a plot twist, after showing sherlock's grief for a while, where lestrade slowly uncovers who this "john" is, we find out john isn't actually dead and sherlock is just like "aaaaaaaggggghhhh!!!!" Ultra bonus for johns funeral. Could someone please write this?!

The first inkling that Greg Lestrade had of John Watson-Holmes was the news of his death. He’d been at Baker Street, trying to convince him to come in on a case. Sherlock had his coat on and was following him out the door, but as they were about to step out into the street, they were stopped in their tracks by a man in a military uniform, fist raised as though poised to knock.

Sherlock halted in his tracks, eyes scanning up and down the figure. “Yes, all right, I understand. Talk to my brother if you want to hash out the details. No doubt he’s already been in contact.” He turned to Lestrade. “Apologies, Lestrade, I won’t be joining you after all.”

Lestrade stumbled into the officer as he was bodily pushed out onto the street, the door slamming in his face. As he attempted to regain his bearings, an anguished, almost inhuman scream echoed out from the other side of the door. Lestrade started for the door, but hesitated, thought better of it, and stepped away. He had a case to get to.

*****

Lestrade had no idea what he was doing at the funeral of a man he’d never met. He hadn’t even known his name until he turned up. It had been Mycroft, of course, the mysterious fucking bastard, who’d instructed him to wear a dark suit and then just sent a towncar to kidnap him out of his house when he’d planned on having a day off, depositing him at this funeral for a John Watson-Holmes.

He hadn’t seen Sherlock since that day the officer had turned up. He scanned the crowd for the man, but didn’t see him anywhere. Surely the man wouldn’t skip his husband’s funeral? Lestrade hovered near the back uncertainly, looking for anyone he might recognise. There were a bunch of men in dress uniform, and what looked to be the family at the front of the room. Finally, he spotted Mrs Hudson, only halfway recognisable under her massive black hat. He stepped up beside her, glad for a familiar face.

“Oh, Detective Inspector, it’s so good of you to come.” She said through tears, clutching at his arm.

He awkwardly put an arm around her, patting her consolingly. “Yes, well. Hrm. Did you know him?”

She nodded, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. “Yes, of course. Such a lovely boy. And he made Sherlock so h-happy.” She burst into a fresh set of tears, burying her face in her hands.

Lestrade stuck to patting Mrs Hudson, continuing to scan the crowd for Sherlock as the service began. It wasn’t until the eulogy that he came up from behind, Mycroft putting a hand on his shoulder and whispering something to him before he mounted the podium.

Compared to the Sherlock of just a few days ago, the man had undergone a drastic change. He’s lost that manic energy that buzzed constantly about him, and he seemed ever paler and thinner than ever before. Listening to him talk about his husband was surreal. He hadn’t even known that Sherlock was gay, let alone married. Yet it seemed that he’d been in a committed relationship for longer than Lestrade had even known him. How had he missed this? From just a five-minute speech, it was clear that Sherlock loved his husband deeply. Why had he never mentioned him?

It wasn’t hard to find Sherlock at the reception. He was at the bar, drinking heavily and glaring at everyone who came up to talk to him. Resigning himself to being snapped at, Lestrade stepped up to sit beside him, fully expecting to be rejected but figuring that he had a duty to at least try.

“Oh, Lestrade it’s you. Good. Keep these vultures away from me.” He said flatly. Downing another shot, he folded his arms and buried his head in the countertop.

Apparently he’d been assigned bodyguard duty. Lestrade turned to face the room, reaching out to pat Sherlock lightly on the shoulder.

Sherlock jerked away sharply. “Don’t touch me.” He hissed.

Lestrade pulled his hand away, lifting them in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t.”

“Good.” Sherlock muttered, then dropped his head back onto his forearms.

Sherlock’s shoulders were shaking, Lestrade realised after a minute. His fingers clawed at the wooden countertop as he trembled violently.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade said hesitantly, just barely remembering to keep his hands to himself.

When he lifted his head, Sherlock’s eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, his hollow cheeks streaked with tears. “Fuck.” He muttered, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm. He stared through Lestrade, hardly seeming to register him at all. “What am I going to do without him?”

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something comforting, then closed it, as no words were forthcoming. Fortunately, Sherlock didn’t seem to be expecting an answer, waving down the bartender for another drink.

“I need to leave.” Sherlock said, finishing his drink in seconds. “Can’t stand all of these people, hanging around, imagining to themselves that they knew my John.” He scoffed. “They didn’t know him any more than you did.”

Lestrade blinked. “I… didn’t know him at all.”

“Precisely.” Sherlock muttered. He got up abruptly, swaying slightly on his feet and grabbing at Lestrade’s shoulder for stability. “Come on. I’m going to kip at yours.”

“What? You are?” Lestrade protested as Sherlock drunkenly fumbled him towards the door. “Why?”

“Can’t stay at ho- at the flat. Too many memories. Been at Mycroft’s, but you’re a much better option.”

Lestrade softened a little. “Yeah, all right. You can stay over. Come on, let’s get a cab.”

Even falling-down drunk, Sherlock had the magical ability to summon cabs out of thin air. Not long after, he was curled up in Lestrade’s bed, fully clothed but for his shoes, and thankfully well on his way to being fast asleep.

When Sherlock shuffled back into the living room, it was late in the evening. Lestrade glanced up from the telly, giving him a little wave with the remote.

“Hey. You hungry? I ordered in Chinese, didn’t want to wake you but there’s some in the fridge if you want it.”

Sherlock gave him a blank little look, then shook his head and disappeared into the kitchen. “Coffee.” He said, a little hoarsely.

He still had that drained look about him from at the funeral. He looked gaunt enough that Lestrade sort of suspected he hadn’t really had solid food in days, but he didn’t dare press it. He just nodded, giving him directions for where he kept the coffee.

*****

Two days later, Sherlock was still there in Lestrade’s flat, moping about the place. He seemed lost in a fugue, staring disinterestedly at the ceiling or picking morosely through Lestrade’s cheap paperback collection. He didn’t even seem to have the energy to mock Lestrade for his poor taste in literature.

On the second night, Lestrade had reclaimed his bed, evicting Sherlock to the sofa. Sherlock put up no protest to this, simply stealing a pillow and heading silently out to the living room.

At the very least, Lestrade had figured out how to get Sherlock to eat. Full meals he rejected, but when presented with a plate of biscuits and either tea or coffee, he would finish it off over the course of the next couple of hours.

“You know, I think I almost miss that verbal diarrhoea of yours.” Lestrade said to Sherlock’s form as he lay unmoving on the sofa. He’d grown tired of the oppressive silence. Just because Sherlock wasn’t speaking didn’t mean Lestrade had to follow suit. “You’re kinda worrying me here, Sherlock. You’re acting nothing like yourself.”

Sherlock flipped over, regarding him lifelessly. “I’m nothing without him.” He said flatly.

“Come on, that can’t be true.” Lestrade cajoled. If Sherlock was finally talking about it, he couldn’t let this opportunity go. “He’d want you to go on, I’m sure.”

Sherlock grabbed a sofa cushion and hugged it to his chest, gripping it so tight Lestrade feared it might burst. “Of course he would. But I- I can’t- How? I can’t even remember what it’s like not to have him.”

Sherlock’s face was a mix of desperation and frustration, and it was a mark of how awful the past couple of days had been that Lestrade was relieved to see him have any facial expression at all.

“You’ve been together a long time, then?” Lestrade probed cautiously.

Sherlock deflated suddenly, a long breath rushing out of him. “Since we were fourteen.” He murmured. He settled the abused cushion in his lap, picking idly at the seams. “But we met in kindergarten. I meant it literally; I have no recollection of a time when I didn’t have him by my side. Until now.” His face crumpled, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying and failing to stave off the tears that formed in the corners of his eyes.

Lestrade nodded, standing. “Well then. I think what you need is a couple stiff drinks, and then you can tell me all about him.” Sherlock just nodded, and Lestrade patted him on the shoulder as he headed into the kitchen.

*****

“He was like… light.” Sherlock slurred, clutching his half-empty glass. “And now it’s like… I can’t see. Can’t think. It’s all gone.” Sherlock seemed less averse to touch than he had been at the wedding, so Lestrade had an arm slung around him, squeezing his shoulder. “I need him. Need him back, Lestrade.”

Lestrade had nothing to say to that. Not even the Holmes’ genius could raise the dead. “How did you two start dating?” He asked, trying to turn him towards happier memories.

Sherlock actually smiled, a little. “I loved him. Loved him, loved him, and I told him so. Cos he deserved it. Gave him everything and told him so, cos that’s what he deserved. And when he loved me back it was the sweetest gift.”

God, who knew Sherlock Holmes was secretly a giant romantic? They’d all imagined he was asexual because he never took a second glance at anyone, no matter how beautiful they were or how hard they were flirting. Apparently he was just the most devoted husband on the planet. Who’d have guessed?

Sherlock was looking at him now, a vague, drunken approximation of the look he hadn’t worn in days, the one Lestrade normally saw on crime scenes. He was being deduced.

“Hm.” Sherlock muttered. “Not a horrible idea, Gerard. I suppose I might as well.”

Lestrade frowned. “My name’s Greg. What idea? What are you-” His next words were lost as Sherlock planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, hands going for his buttons with surprising dexterity. He hastily untangled himself, planting a hand on Sherlock’s chest to keep him at arm’s length. “No. God, no. That is not what I was thinking at all.” He stood, hauling Sherlock to his feet once it seemed that he wasn’t about to attempt a repeated assault. “You’re grieving, and you’ve had a little too much to drink. I’m definitely not your type, so let’s just sleep it off, eh? Come on.” He bundled Sherlock onto the sofa, flipping down the afghan to cover him. Sherlock gazed up at him, looking a little more lucid than he had before, though that wasn’t saying much.

‘You’re right, of course.” Sherlock mumbled. “Terrible idea.” Lestrade politely didn’t point out that he’d just said it wasn’t a horrible idea. “You’ll never erase him. Nothing can. Don’t even wanna. I’ll never, never… always.”

As Sherlock slowly lost all coherence, Lestrade turned down the light, ruffling Sherlock’s hair lightly. “G’night, Sherlock.” The only reply that came was a light snore.

*****

The next morning, Sherlock was gone. Lestrade had to admit, he was impressed that he’d managed to sneak out while sporting what must have been a massive hangover. Still, he was a little worried, so he fired off a text.

Where are you? GL

Went home. Text me when you have a case. SH

Are you all right? GL

Fine. SH

It took a week before a case came up that warranted Sherlock’s attention. Lestrade texted Sherlock the details, getting a terse ‘Coming, 20 mins. SH’ in reply. Lestrade walked out to the tape to meet him as Sherlock came striding up to the crime scene.

Sherlock looked better. He wasn’t back to normal, not by a long shot. He still seemed a little more withdrawn than usual, but he wasn’t as gaunt as he’d been a week ago, and there was some life in his eyes as he met Lestrade’s gaze. As Sherlock brushed past him, Lestrade heard a whispered ‘Thank you’, barely audible, but spoken nonetheless. Lips twitching into a smile, he followed Sherlock into the crime scene.

((Didn't manage to get John to come back without it feeling shoehorned in, so I left it. Hope this is ok! Fic is also posted on Ao3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/16772155))

I keep having a very specific scene in my head with no idea as to where it goes (or even what genre it ends up belonging to), but:

Basically Sherlock (any season, but probably 'famous enough to be known to criminals') is cornered in an alleyway by a bunch of guys in suits. Maybe guns. One of them says to him, "Our employer wishes to speak with you."

And that's really about it. Said employer in my brain's gone from 'bad guy with morality who just needs a lil help and is so sorry to inconvenience' to 'I'm a bastard that makes modern-day Baron Gruner adaptations look like Hello Kitty Adventure'.

Happy with any interpretation that wants to take that prompt on a plotty spin.

There are a whole lotta fics about John taking care of Sherlock. How about a fic of Sherlock taking care of John. Perfably without Mary or the baby.

I'm not to particular on how, he could be injured or sick, just some Sherlock taking care of John

Most of all age play stories I've seen had Sherlock as the baby and John as the daddy can we get a reverse where John is little and the one that regresses

WANT TO SEE THIS!

Holmes brothers are supernaturals/otherworld and loose power/magic if they consort with humans. To get back the power/magic they must eat the human they consort.
Lust/Attraction = hunger. The more they like or attracted to someone, the more they want to eat that someone. To keep from eating the human they are attracted to, the supernatural/otherworld Holmeses eat other people to satiate or diminish the hunger pains.

Sherlock ate Victor Trevor.sherlock regrets and resorts to drugs so he will not be hungry.

Holmes brothers are finding it more difficult to hide from Lestrade/John. Mycroft is fat from substituting other humans to his hunger for Lestrade. Sherlock controlled himself thru drugs. When sherlock met John, Sherlock asked Mycroft's help to find substitute food that's why he gained weight. John thinks its his good influence. Sherlock makes secret drugs so he can control his hunger for John. Lestrade is overseeing more missing persons cases.
Problems come when Holmeses discover someone else wants to eat Lestrade &John

So what if...

Sherlock returns home post reichenbach because of an immediate threat to John. Only he arrives just too late and witness's John's death. He mourns and becomes almost useless in his rage and depression over John claiming to see him everywhere but people think it's just the drugs and the grief. Meanwhile Moriarty (he just didn't die either its ignored or it was also faked) have rigged the whole thing. John isn't dead it was faked and he was kidnapped, then brainwashed tortured and manipulated until he devoutly believes that he is in love with Moran, they live together work together etc. and Moran has trained him to believe that Sherlock is the enemy. What happens when Sherlock sees him again while John is on a mission to kill him as the enemy? What happens when Sherlock sees Moriarty touch his John while John claims to love Moriarty in return? How will he fix it?

Mycroft suddenly looses his deduction skills, vast knowledge, and some memories. He also resigned from being "the government" and mellowed to a very kind "ordinary" man.

Sherlock is not happy and cannot cope with it, he tries everything to return Mycroft to the Iceman he once was.

plot bunny dialogue:
Sherlock: *screaming* you're supposed to be the smart one!
Mycroft: *hugs sherlock* I'm sorry I am not the brother you remember so dearly,but I love you and care for you as much, if not more, than he.
Sherlock: *cries*

Everyone is born colored.
Grey/Partly grey people are very sick (any aspect) or dying; and are stigmatized because there's a belief or phenomenon that they transfer their grey; like virus or disease.

Neutral things are only either black or white. Things become colored by whoever owns/works/cares about the thing.

Holmes brothers are grey but were born colored. Or they were thought to have been born grey but they were really silver.

Hi.

I'd love to read a fic in which Sherlock is a cat that John adopts. John soon realizes that this cat is a genius who seems to be able to understand a lot of what john says and may even be able to read. This mysterious cat always seems bored or annoyed, but John can tell Sherlock cares about him because of how Sherlock treats everyone else. One day, the cat is messing around with chemicals. The next thing John knows, Sherlock is a human who...doesn't seem all that different than when he was a cat. He still mostly ignore John, acts aloof, barely eats, and always seems bored. The reason Sherlock became human could be because he wanted John to understand him, because he thought it would be more fun, or whatever other reason. Preferably no slash, but pre-slash is okay. Mycroft, Lestrade, and whoever else can be in this fic if you want.

Thank you in advance!

Moriarty stuffing Mycroft until he's gained back all the weight he had worked so hard to lose and giving him a handjob while he lists his plans for him

John doesn't get shot - he works his way up to special forces during Mycroft's fieldwork days and Mycroft becomes his handler - and they're undeniably attracted to each other

established relationship or bickering leading to sex, I don't really care

Sherlock suffers a head injury after the roof stunt and ends up with amnesia. Mycroft tries to keep everything under wraps but Sherlock gets out one day and while wandering the streets of London, John spots Sherlock

Omegaverse: the criminal world is full of hotheaded alphas and Jim Moriarty is known as a dangerous omega capable of using his sexuality to get what he wants.
Char of your choice (any ship) is hiding that they're an omega and Jim as an alpha is revealed when they accidentally get stuck together somehow and the suppressants wear off and they're blindingly attracted to each other

… it is not canon-compliant, OOC, of dubious morality and no one would probably want to read, let alone write it, but I just really need to get it out of my system.
Can be one long story or two separate ones.

Act One: As he gets to know Sherlock better, John assumes that people who are not “idiots” actually like the Consulting Detective, despite his quirks. John is, therefore, shocked, when he finds out that Lestrade is, in fact, Mycroft’s friend (friend-with-benefits/lover/husband), who can’t stand Sherlock but tolerates him to make Mycroft’s life a little easier. I envision something like John going to confront Lestrade, because Sherlock is bored, but Lestrade refuses to give Sherlock cases as he had insulted Mycroft, but the exact circumstances don’t truly matter.

Act Two: Season Four never happened and Season Three could be less dramatic, but John did marry Mary and sever all ties with Sherlock. What he didn’t realise was that interacting with Sherlock had brought him a number of significant benefits (carrying an illegal weapon, nicking Sherlock’s checks, using Sherlock’s card as stated in the show itself, plus whatever you can come up with), and with Sherlock out of his life all these boons suddenly disappear.
Extra proverbial cookie if John goes to Lestrade, fearing Mycroft wrath, while Mycroft would just have said that “caring is not and advantage” and getting attached was Sherlock’s own fault, - and it is, in fact, Lestrade who uses his influence to punish John.
And another imaginary cookie if you make a reference to Lestrade originally deducing Mycroft’s existence because, at the very beginning of his association with Sherlock, every time the Consulting Detective created an unnecessary problem for the DI, one of Lestrade’s personal problems (like the landlord refusing to fix pipes in his flat, or something) would disappear.
Thanks for listening ;-)

interesting!

Mary and John leave for a medical conference or something and leave Rosie (age 7-8?) with her Uncle Sherlock for the day. Sherlock's feeling slightly under the weather, but, since he's the self-destructive giant toddler we all know and love, doesn't mention it. Anyway he feels worse as the day goes on and it ends up with Rosie and Mrs Hudson taking care of him - fluff ensues and Mary and John come home ti find the three of them :D

I've had this idea in my head for a while but I'm hoping that somone with more honed creative talents can fill it for me :D

Thank you!!!

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.” ― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

enter the Holmes bros

John, during a "break-in" at mycrofts, sees mycroft sleeping and wheather he is fully naked or has a top on, his bare bottom is on display.

John, not being that creepy(creepy enough to break in appearantly, but it is pretty in character, sadly)covers him with a blanket, but he just cannot stop thinking about that sweet bum. Spanking mycroft, being inside him. And maybe mycroft notices him staring every time he bends over. I would ideally like a rather shy mycroft and a rather forceful, but conflicted John, still insisting that he "is not gay!"Also Mycroft trying to stay aloof while having his bottom rubbed vigorously.

Spanking, fucking, medical play, dildoes are all things John can choose to do to that bum, but it can be less smutty as well.

What it says on the tin, basically.

I checked AO3 and found no fics tagged with double-ended dildo for this whole fandom -- seems like a missed opportunity.

BBC Sherlock, Johnlock or John/Sherlock/Mary.

Sherlock is not really a sociopath or psychopath. he's really an empath an feels too much. he's just very good at acting. because caring is not an advantage

challenge here is how to interweave the 2 concepts and make him still be in character

Either by self neglect or someone's abuse, or someone not taking care of Lestrade

John's a doctor so he sees signs and is concerned for his friend
Sherlock notices but doesn't want to confront Lestrade about it but wants to

polygamy or friendship

Mycroft is a voyeur and he can't get off unless he's watching, but hides this fact. He starts a relationship with any character (your pick) and they keep putting off sex until his partner confronts him about it, and Mycroft admits he wants to watch his partner with someone else (your pick)

I want Lestrade/John to put Mycroft/Sherlock in a Sensory Deprevivation hood. I will use Llestrade and Mycroft in my example.

Mycroft comes home from work, he and Lestrade have a few planned days off, no work to be done unless theres an absolute emergency. But Mycroft, being Mycroft, can't seem to help himself (he's been working non stop and can't turn his brain off for long enough to relax), and knowing the only way he's going to bring his lover down, Lestrade pulls out the Sensory Dep hood, and locks it in place.

He then proceeds to give Mycroft a bath, removes the gag part of the hood to feed him a nice dinner. regags him and removes the blindfold (both does something so he can only look straight ahead) so Mycroft can watch his favourite forgein movie with subtitles, and when he takes him to bed, he unblocks his ears so he can whisper sweet nothings to him while they have sex. The he waits until Mycroft is asleep before remivng the hood completely so they can start their time off the next day with Mycroft switched off from work.

My first post here.. looking for some new fics where Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson break into the flat on a "drugs bust" and catch Sherlock and John snogging/ shagging/ first kiss
If anyone wants to add the same thing but w/ Mrs Hudson that would be great too xo
(ive read most of these, looking for original ones!)

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