Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting: Part XVIII
Giggles at the Palace
Please check the Sticky Post to find the newest active part and post your prompts there.

Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post

+Anon posting is most definitely allowed, but not required.
+All kinds of fills are accepted! Fic, art, vids, cosplay, interpretive dance--whatever. Go wild! :D
+Keep things neat! Read prompts before you post to see if something similar has already been done, and while you are encouraged to prompt as much as you like, try to fill as well.
+Please do not re-post prompts unless the last time they were prompted was on an older part. Simply put: ONE posting of each prompt per part.
+RPF (real person fic, i.e. fic involving the actors themselves) is not supported at this meme.
+Depending on the rate of activity, there may or may not be a prompt freeze when a part reaches 2000 and 4500 comments.
+However, there will be one when it reaches 7000. Also at 7000, after the freeze a new part will be posted, and all prompting should happen on the new part.
+Multiple fills are encouraged! :) Just because a prompt has already been claimed or written by someone, do not be afraid to offer up a second fill.

Put your fills here. There are instructions on the actual post. I ask that if the part you wanted isn't up yet, just wait and one of the archivists will get to it, but please, once it is up, please make sure you post your fills there according to the guidelines. DO NOT skip out on doing this because it seems like too much effort.
Do not be afraid to ask questions about how it works if you are confused! The mods would be happy to explain.

Your mods for this meme are snowishness and marill_chan. 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.

Please consider warning for triggery prompts (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.

That being said, this is a kink meme. As such, there will be prompts that could offend you in a number of different ways. Not every prompt will have a trigger warning, and not every prompt will rub you the right way. If you have an issue with a specific prompt, feel free to bring it up in a discussion that takes place off the meme. However, flaming will not be tolerated regardless of origin.
You are highly encouraged to scroll right past a prompt that you dislike.

Remember, guys; Be civil, be friendly, but don’t be shy!

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John is secretly a unicorn.

Sherlock is a virgin.

John is understandably possessive/protective.

Mmm, troll or simply an anon looking for crack? Either way, that's gloriously cracky and it should happen.

actually, in my head, it's not the least bit cracky. I seemed kind of serious and deep. I don't know, it seems in today's world John would have a hard life as a unicorn what with the rampant promiscuity and whatnot. v!Sherlock would seem a well of calm that he could latch to (as odd as it would seem because Sherlock is anything but stable).

Though, I of course wouldn't say no to crack, if that's what someone felt inclined to fill it as.

I think I understand where you're coming from. Just give me a little while, I'm trying to work something out.

Sweet! I look forward to it

This is adorable.

I love the idea of unicorn!John posing as an ordinary army doctor and sneakily healing people with his magic horn. Is that weird?

I love this prompt! :D It's so cute!

FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus

(On the Truth of the Modern Unicorn)

Out of the hidden gulfs I made thee, free and by form unbounded. Wilt thou accept shape upon Earth, that thou mayst supply a service even greater? - The Unicornis Notebooks of Magnalucius

They were thought to have gone the way of the sphinx and the manticore, if they were thought of as having been real at all. They were not forgotten, though, not like so many of the old gods, but then, also unlike the gods, their continued existence was not dependent on the sustained belief of human beings.

This, he knew, was a good thing. In the present day and age, all a unicorn was supposed to be was a horse with a horn.

It wouldn't have bothered him so much if it hadn't been horses, with their inelegant noise and heavy feet. He wouldn't have compared unicorns to any earthly animal at all, to be honest. The people who knew what they were talking about compared them to goats, to deer, to particularly graceful gazelles and antelopes, but even that fell dreadfully short of the mark.

Unicorns were unicorns, defined by - but so much more than - their possession of a single, spiral horn, and that was all there was to that. End of story.

Well, not really, not end of the entire story as such. Even unicorns had to change with the times, to learn to walk amongst concrete and steel and smog,
to live with taxis and the Underground and aeroplanes.

He missed the old days of course, but he didn't find the present day strange. He had seen it grow up, so to speak, from the days of fire and the wheel, and so he was accustomed to the world as it was now, though every now and then he would come across a something new, an invention or some such thing, that would make him raise an eyebrow and wonder whatever mankind could possibly think of next.

It was, however, getting harder to find people to choose and to cherish. This was their primary function, the purpose for which they had been created: to guide people to the right path, to stay in the light, to help them, in other words, to walk the straight and narrow. It could be argued that they ought to be there for the people who needed saving, those who had fallen and needed more than a nudge in the right direction. And to this he would say, well, yes, but you needed to be pretty damn special to get a unicorn, just the right kind of person, even if you had fallen a little ways, and there were other beings for those who were in need of a greater amount of salvation.

And being a virgin was still a prerequisite. So was a certain degree of innocence.

He hadn't had many charges in the twentieth century. The twenty-first century had found him one Harriet - Harry - Watson, who had been beautiful and brilliant until she discovered women. And alcohol. She had cried when she realized that he was gone, and maybe that was when she started to truly come undone, and maybe it wasn't. But she had lost her unicorn, and he couldn't come back, not even to reproach her with his sad, ancient eyes.

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus

ooo!! Niiiiiice! More please. Please?

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus

Thank you. :) (And, yes, working on more.)

But....but where is the rest???? You can't leave it off there.

This is awesome, seriously, I think I might love you right now.

Mycroft, when you put the words upside-down and backwards, it makes me unsure of what to type. Clever sir, very clever.

Eep! I forgot to put in the "1/?" bit. But there is more, just give me a bit. I am immensely glad you like it so far!

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus

I love it when prompts that seemed to be made for crack actually produce serious and wonderful and fascinating fills such as this: I'm loving this, absolutely loving this, if you write more I'll be more than happy to read and read again and read a third time just for the sake of it! Wonderful job! ♥

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus

Thank you, and thank you, and thank you! :D

FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 2/?

The unicorn mourned the loss of his Harry and all that she could have been, in his way. Unicorns can sorrow, but they cannot regret, and he could only move on.

William Murray, Bill, had been found fairly quickly afterwards, which was practically a miracle in itself. He had some small magic of his own, an easy, open smile, and a constant sense of bewildered wonder at the fact that he merited a unicorn. He would reach out to touch the unicorn when it showed itself to him, his fingertips only just brushing the white coat, worshipful and just enough to confirm that yes it was real. This flattered the unicorn, or pleased him, rather, to put a nicer word on it.

Bill had not expected the unicorn to follow him to Afghanistan. He had, in fact, tried to dissuade him from coming, certain that he would lose the unicorn there, one way or the other, and he didn’t think he could bear it if he did. And the unicorn had told him that, bugger all, what kind of guardian did he think he was? He had walked with warriors before, and it was his job to keep Bill Murray safe. Mostly to keep him good, but safe was also a pretty high priority.

The unicorn wondered, much later, if it had been a near-terminal attack of hubris that had driven him then. He was, though immortal, much less than divine, and open to temptation. If unicorns had any sin at all in them, it was pride. Pride and vanity. For what greater feat was there than to keep a man innocent in the midst of battle? And who better to accomplish that than this one unicorn and his Bill Murray?

Things went well until they met the dragon.

It was on no-one’s side. Bill's unit came across it in the desert one night, and it would have left them alone - for mankind does not need dragons to do evil, and it was content to live on the chaos and carnage of a pointless war - if it hadn't seen the unicorn.

The unicorn and the dragon are natural adversaries. There is nothing a dragon delights in more than the destruction of a unicorn, the dimming of a light placed by the Creator on the Earth.

Men died in the moment when the unicorn stood frozen in horror and disbelief.
And more would have been killed if the dragon hadn't stopped to roar his triumph in a sound that shook the stars in the sky. (Dragons are also guilty of conceit.)

He charged as the dragon gloated, horn lowered, aiming for the monster's heart. Bill was still alive, and the unicorn was damned if he was going to let his charge die by dragon-fire.

The dragon lowered its head on its long, serpentine neck and locked its gaze on the figure galloping towards it across the sands. The eyes of the two creatures of legend met, and things began to look very bad for the unicorn. For one of his kind, there is no more deadly trap than to look into the eyes of a dragon and know darkness and despair.

The unicorn stood, unable to move, in front of the dragon, small and white, the brilliance of his horn lost in the smoke and flames of the beast’s breath. He knew he was lost.

And then Bill Murray worked the greatest and last magic that he would do in his life.

There had been a real John H. Watson, Harry's brother, who had, by complete coincidence, been a friend of Bill’s in the army. He had been an essentially good man who had done his quiet best, and, to be honest, the unicorn would have chosen to follow him rather than his sister if he hadn't lost his virginity and his innocence at fifteen (the girls liked John Watson, oh yes they had, and John Watson had liked them, oh yes).

He had died that night, burned out of existence by dragon-fire when he threw himself at the monster in an attempt to save his unit. A good man, a hero, if the unicorn had ever known one. And a complete life to step into.

Things could have been worse.

I am really getting into this now. The world building is magnificent. I hope you continue soon.

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 2/?

This is delightful!

FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 3/?

Or maybe not.

The dragon lingered for a while, sniffing for its prey, the breath from its nostrils still hot enough to make the air shimmer even if it wasn't precisely flaming. Failing to find the unicorn and unaccustomedly confused, it spread its wings, immense starless shadows against the night sky, and took off.

It left behind a dark figure crumpled on the sand. The dragon's fire had caught the unicorn on the shoulder, but that was just a postscript to the real damage. He made a helpless sound. In another creature, or if he had known how to cry, it would have been a sob. The world was so small now, and still shrinking.

"What have you done to me?" were his first words when he recognized who was running towards him by the light of the still-burning fires. (By sight, just by sight, only by sight, how was that possible when he would have known Bill Murray and exactly where he was if he had been put in a lead box and dropped in the middle of the sea?)

Bill stopped a respectful, regretful distance from what had used to be his unicorn. He held his hands away from his sides, stiffly, as though afraid of what they might do next.

"I'm sorry," said the self-confessed purveyor of small illusions and minor miracles. "I tried to work on the dragon, but it was too big. I couldn't. And. And I saw you, and--I was--I was only trying to help."

"Turn me back! For God's sake, turn me back!" screamed the unicorn thinly, through strange lips with unfamiliar lungs. He tried to get up and failed because he was coordinating a two-legged body with a four-legged mind.

There was a long moment when Bill stood, fiercely intent, all of his being concentrated on his unicorn. Nothing happened. He sagged and fell to his knees, utterly wretched. "I'm sorry. I don't know how. I'm sorry. I don't know how I did it. It was the first thing I could think of. It wanted a unicorn."

"You should have let the dragon take me then," said the unicorn bitterly, and it was a new feeling that twisted his mouth and tasted wrong. "You've robbed me of what I am. The dragon could only have killed me."

"I couldn't let it do that."

"You should have," said the unicorn again. "I can feel this body dying around me. How can you stand it?"

He began to cry then, and he thought he would die of it. Bill, helpless himself, placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on the unicorn's - what had been a unicorn's - undamaged shoulder.

It was the first time that he had touched, actually touched, the unicorn, beyond the little worshipful fingertip brushes. The weight and warmth of his fingers and palm confirmed, irrevocably, that the unicorn was no longer sacred and inviolate, which was much more jarring than being merely mortal.

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 3/?

Just found this, and I'm amazed. It's beautiful.

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 3/?

Thank you. :)

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 3/?

*flail* You are wonderful. (I'm also assuming that you've read/watched The Last Unicorn, in which case I'm squeeing at being able to fangirl over it with someone who is not my sister, and if not, you really, really need to read it after you've finished this fic)

Re: FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 3/?

Yes, I've read and watched The Last Unicorn (yay, another fangirl!) and I'm borrowing plot shamelessly here. I'm immensely glad that you like it, and especially love that you know where it's coming from. :)

The plot thickens! My love for this just keeps growing and growing.

FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 4a/?

It was the beginning of dark times.

Something broke inside Bill Murray that night as he held the unicorn while they waited to be rescued, careless of what the other survivors thought. He had taken something beautiful out of this world, had diminished and degraded a unicorn, his unicorn, and he didn't think he could live with that. He couldn't quite meet the unicorn's eyes anymore, afraid of seeing unicorn eyes in a human face, and even more afraid of not seeing them, of knowing for certain that his unicorn was lost forever.

If the unicorn had been in his proper shape, he would have stopped following Bill at this point. He was still a good man, he would always be a good man, but some vital quality had been lost, replaced by an unyielding despair like a cold ball of iron sitting above his heart. The unicorn felt some measure of guilt at having caused such a change, and he didn't know how he could make things better, wasn't sure that he could. (He would have just left before, simply gone away, because it wasn't his responsibility anymore.) But he looked at his human hands, flexed the fingers, felt the stiffness and pain in his human shoulder, and suddenly he wasn't altogether sure if he wanted to.

John Watson's shoulder was burned so badly that he was invalided home. (The story was that it had been some sort of bomb. It was how the human brain handled things. Even the other people who had been there had convinced themselves of the truth of this.) He was diagnosed with PTSD and given therapy for that and a psychosomatic limp.

Therapy did not work. Therapy was bullshit. It wasn't their fault, the unicorn thought, trying his best to be kind. They weren't treating him for having been attacked by a dragon and trapped in a human body, and if he had told them so, explained to them exactly what he was having a bloody hard time with, they would have locked him up for a lunatic.

Still, he was sometimes tempted to tell his therapist that no, it wasn't adjusting to civilian life that would take some time. It was adjusting to mortal, human life, so would she please shut the hell up and leave him be?

She was right about the limp being psychosomatic at least, if entirely wrong about the reason for it. If you had walked on four legs since the dawn of time, of course you'd limp if you hurt your shoulder, and it was rather a hard habit to beat even if - especially if - you found yourself suddenly bipedal.

FILL: De Veritate Unicornis Modernus - 4b/?

Aside from when he was at therapy, John Watson (it was so strange having a name, he'd never needed a name before, simply being what he was had been enough) didn't talk much. He would sit in the small set of rooms that had been found for him, alone, listening to his heartbeat counting out the seconds of his life, quite unable to make himself do anything else. There didn't seem to be any point.

Bill kept in touch, tentatively, and, well, it was something to do, corresponding. They even met once in a while when he was sent home too, even if they hardly had anything to say to each other that wouldn't hurt, and had even less to say when Bill told the unicorn shyly, sheepishly that he was getting married. It was one of the nurses he'd met in Afghanistan. The unicorn had simply left then, limped away from the restaurant where they were having lunch. I thought you were better than that, he wanted to say, I thought I was important to you.

John - yes, he supposed he was John now, with the name settling on him like a well-worn jumper - avoided Bill like the plague after that, which was easy. He had a harder job avoiding Harry, who was genuinely concerned for her brother's welfare, if unable to do sod all about it, what with being half-soaked in drink most of the time. He was terrified that she would be able to tell that it wasn't her brother who had come back to England, or, worse, that she'd be able to tell that it was the unicorn inhabiting his shape. He wasn't able to dodge her entirely, and she pressed her mobile phone on him, saying she didn't want it anymore. John was almost sure she knew then, when she looked him in the eye and told him, begged him, to keep in touch.

He never used the phone. And he didn't blog. He went on living from day to bleak day, waiting for his body to die, impatient for it, in fact, until he met Sherlock Holmes.

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