Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."


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


GUIDELINES
  • Anon posting is not required, but most definitely allowed. If you think you recognise an anon, keep it to yourself and don’t out them. IP tracking is off, and will remain that way.
  • Multiple fills are encouraged, and all kinds of fills are accepted! Fic, art, vids, cosplay, interpretive dance — whatever. Go wild! :D
  • Don’t reprompt until TWO parts after the last posting of the prompt.
  • RPF (real person fic, i.e. fic involving the actors themselves) is not supported at this meme.
  • Concrit is welcome, but kinkshaming, hijacking, and flaming are not tolerated.
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Sherlock is colourblind

(Anonymous)
Sherlock is colourblind. Nobody notices until he accidentally calls a red not the lurid green it actually is. People laugh and try to mock him. Sherlock's response is mature and adult understanding that over 1/3 of all men are colourblind.

Re: Sherlock is colourblind

Haha I think I'll second this one ;D
Where did you get the idea? XD

With the expectation of riots the met has been shipping uniformed officers in from all over. Most of the volunteers are bully boys who take Anderson and Donavon's trash talk far more seriously than they do.

The bully boys get wound up and decide to teach Sherlock lesson in front of Anderson and Sally. They're ready to get involved when Sherlock starts laughing and verbally castrates each of the bully boys.

Any chance I can get an Adventures of Jim in IT crack/humor? I used to work in IT and I can't imagine him dealing well with some of the calls I got about how to do relatively simple things and the corporate philosophy that "there is no such thing as a stupid question" (however I think Jim and I, on occasion, would agree there is such a thing as a stupid person).

Edited at 2013-01-13 08:25 pm (UTC)

Re: Jim in IT

(Anonymous)
Hmm...wasn't there a similar prompt a while back? It's yet to be filled, though.

http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=123149807#t123149807

Con artist John

(Anonymous)
Might be hard to do in character, but I'd love to see a John/Sherlock AU where John tries to con Sherlock to get at Mycroft's money. Naturally, Sherlock figures it out almost immediately, but decides to go along with it anyway. Because it's Mycroft.

Re: Con artist John

(Anonymous)
Yes, please!

I need a body-swap fic, please...

(Anonymous)
But not your standard body-swap. No, I need one where Sherlock gets switched with Anderson. How it happens/gets resolved is up to you.

Bonus points for:
- Sherlock discovering that Anderson has an unusual or interesting hobby (that is, one Sherlock himself finds interesting)
- Anderson portrayed as an actual person, even if he is kind of a resentful jerk
- Lestrade demonstrating far more glee than sympathy
- The swap leading John and Sherlock to figure out how they feel about one another

Gen/friendship isn't a dealbreaker, for all I prefer slash -- basically, as long as there's the swap and a good dose of humor from the results, I'll be happy. Thanks!

Johncroft arranged marriage

(Anonymous)
You know how two people are to be married, and they both hate it at first, but then warm to each other and then (P0RN) live happily ever after? I don't think I've ever seen it happen with John and Mycroft. The one I've seen them together actually ended up Johnlock.

Could I get one where it's played straight with Johncroft? Pretty please?

Re: Johncroft arranged marriage

Yes! Need!

Mycroft/Lestrade - AU, UST

(Anonymous)
AU where young Mycroft, still fresh on his work at the Government, is framed with murder. Apparently someone up in the chain food messed up and their solution is to frame the new "naive" and young employee who doesn't have a built up career to loose.

DI Lestrade is assigned to the case. At first he really believes that Mycroft is guilty but after hearing Mycroft pledge for his innocence, he re-examines the evidence and finds out that maybe Mycroft's telling the truth.

The main evidence gets invalidated, so Mycroft gets a free pass out of jail. Since Lestrade won't let him help in the investigation (for obvious reasons), he starts to investigate on his own but there are people watching him and a hired killer tries to take his life. Instead of going to the police, Mycroft calls Lestrade who finally gives in.

As Lestrade and Mycroft work together in secret and start to go deeper in the investigation, the more dangerous it gets and the more they are aware of how attracted they are to each other.

I want a lot of UST between young Mycroft, who's very charming and smart, and DI Lestrade, who's almost getting married and trying to resist him.

Bonus if they shag at a cheap motel while in hiding for one of their secret meetings.

Feel free to tweak a few things on the prompt to make it more believable.


tl;dr AU where young worker Mycroft is framed for murder and at-first-skeptical!Lestrade tries to help him clean his name while there's a lot of delicious UST going on between them

Re: Fill: Sans Frontières (2b/?)

(Anonymous)
Pumped for the next installment!

Re: Fill: Sans Frontières (2b/?)

glad to hear it! :)

Prompt: Sherlock is made John's servant/slave

(Anonymous)
Through circumstances up to your imagination, Sherlock is given to John (who is in a position on power, such as a king, a sultan, etc) as a servant/slave.
He is ordered around and humiliated
Top!John, Bottom!Sherlock
jealousy from either party
Eventually, John and Sherlock develop strong feelings for each other
Love to see Sherlock as strong, smart and independent as he is in humiliating circumstances, and compliant with it.

Re: Prompt: Sherlock is made John's servant/slave

(Anonymous)
forgot to mention:
no dark!fic
no incest
no Mpreg
no gender switch
BDSM is ok

thank you!

Re: Fill: Sans Frontières (2b/?)

(Anonymous)
This is FANTASTIC.

Re: Fill: Sans Frontières (2b/?)

thank you so much! <3

One of us is the killer... (possibly John/Sherlock, Sherlock/Irene, and/or John/other)

(Anonymous)
This is your pool of characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Mycroft, Anderson, Donovan, Mrs. Hudson, Irene*, and Molly. At a crime scene, Sherlock comes to the conclusion that without a doubt, one of them is absolutely the murderer in this case — and it was a cold-blooded killing, too.

Obviously tensions are high, and accusations fly. Donovan's always suspected Sherlock, Anderson thinks it could be Sherlock OR John (or both!), Lestrade thinks Mycroft's a bit iffy, Molly points out that nobody would think of Mrs. Hudson, etc... (You don't need to follow this to the letter, but you get the general idea.)

For John, though, the absolute worst part is when he realizes that Sherlock considers him a suspect as much as the others, and that he is high on the fairly limited list. Okay, well, no, the worst part is that somebody among them is a killer and somebody is dead, but it's still pretty bad. HE doesn't suspect Sherlock at all, actually.

Neither Sherlock nor John is the killer, in the end.

Sherlock/John is my favorite, BUT I'd glady accept them as a friendship with Sherlock/Irene (especially if he turns to her when he thinks he can't trust John) and/or John/somebody (Sarah, random OFC, or Molly). Or it could be total gen.



*Although I confess I'd prefer her presence, Irene may be omitted if she can not be neatly brought in. It'd be awesome if she'd still feature in the story, though.

You may also replace her with/include as well Mike Stamford, Sarah, and/or Harry Watson if you so please, to pad the pool.

Post-TRF, hurt hurt hurt maybe comfort

(Anonymous)
For three years, Sherlock has been alone, thoroughly beaten, starved, drugged, injured, sick, kidnapped, tortured, warped beyond recognition. The only thing he has to hold onto is life at 221B and John.

When Sherlock returns, John is angry. He says things he'll regret later, but he's justifiably infuriated and not thinking straight. He doesn't mention the fact that he wants to talk later and sort this mess out, when his head is on straight. He sends Sherlock away.

That last thread cut, Sherlock shatters.

Re: Post-TRF, hurt hurt hurt maybe comfort

(Anonymous)
I think this is my weakness, because I will always second prompts like this.

The thing is... (Anonymous) Expand
Re: The thing is... (Anonymous) Expand
OP (Anonymous) Expand
(Deleted comment)

Caught in a vulnerable moment

(Anonymous)
People Sherlock doesn't particularly trust catch him in a very human, vulnerable moment: when him and John are cuddling, when he has a massive headache and is trying to practically bury his head in John etc.

genderbent MorMor

(Anonymous)
This is the FIRST genderbent couple I have ever liked. Could I please get something deliciously dark with just a hint of sexy for them?

Preferable after a good murder or something 'fun' like Seb doing a sniper job.

The courting and mating behaviour of silver foxes (well, one in particular)

(Anonymous)
Make it Mystrade and you'll have a happy nonny. :-)

What happened to Anthea? Where did she go? Why was Mycroft alone?

Reading the previous prompts I can't help but wonder what happened to Anthea? We are all focused on the aftermath of TRF for John and Sherlock that we are forgetting all about the minor but no less important characters. In my headcanon Mycroft banished Anthea forever because she broke his heart by failing to tell him Moriarty had strapped a bomb on John and held Sherlock at gun point in TGG. Or probably Moriarty planted some evidence to set her up as a traitor, so he could burn Mycroft. And Mycroft acted as if getting rid of her was a minor inconvenience, even though he had bought her an engagement ring.
So while Sherlock tries to hunt down the remnants of Moriarty's organisation Anthea tries to help him however she can even though she was banished and all and has to work as a barmaid somewhere and pay rent. She tends to his wounds feeds him up that sort of thing. Sherlock can't understand why she's doing that doesn't she hate him by extension for ruining her life, she doesn't tell him the truth just says that she is very sorry for what happened to him and wishes she could do more to help him catch the bastards who hurt him and Mycroft. Sherlock being Sherlock figures the whole thing out and makes it right between his brother and Anthea. I can just imagine John's face when after 3-4 months of being back Sherlock drags him to Mycroft's for the birth of his niece/nephew and John is like "What? Who? How? And who is the mother?".
I really wish there was someone else out there who shares my love for BAMFAnthea and who'd write something to redeem her in the Mycroft/Anthea pairing because there are too few fics out there which even acknowledge this pairing that's made of awesome.

Re: What happened to Anthea? Where did she go? Why was Mycroft alone?

I totally agree with you. I would love to see what had happened to anthea, Seconded without a doubt!

Mystrade domesticness

(Anonymous)
Mycroft or Greg starts exercising/already follows an exercise regimen. Not because he's self-hating, but because he's middle-aged, and keeping himself fit stops his back from hurting or whatever.

His partner is cool with that, because taking care of yourself isn't a bad thing.

Basically I just want some acknowledgement that occasionally working out doesn't make you a self-hating vain bitch. Thnx.

THIS IS A PROMPT FREEZE!

Prompting will be frozen for the next 48 hours. Please do not post any more prompts during this time, but fill as much as your heart desires.

Dark!Sherlock gets you addicted to drugs and makes you sell your body to him

(Anonymous)
Sherlock shoots John full of heroin and fucks him through the high

Re: Dark!Sherlock gets you addicted to drugs and makes you sell your body to him

(Anonymous)
A feggit. If I fill this will it still get deleted?

Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 4a)

Sherlock paced in his bedroom. It was a month since he was last in John’s bed. The failed experiment with tranquilizing John had left him discouraged and rightfully dejected. He was terribly tired, complete with frayed nerves, a blunted mind, and sanity beginning to crack. Sherlock looked at his bed, which by all accounts wasn’t too different from John’s. The only meaningful variation was its contents.

He glanced over at the prescription bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. It had come to this, at last. Two final options.

Sherlock could deign to voluntarily take the medication and hope that his body learned to sleep regularly and, eventually, on its own. That end result was not guaranteed, however, and he would effectively be crippling the most vital part of himself. He'd tested the effects of such soporifics on several occasions, and it always left him with a cloudy and unobservant mind. He wouldn't be able to work. He wouldn't be able to do anything useful. But, in the face of insanity and enforced hospitalization, it might just be preferable.

The other choice was to go take exactly what he wanted. He would explain it to John, if need be, and run the risk of his refusal. Either way, he was to the point of not caring. Let John do what he wanted, let him become enraged and insulted and whatever else he deemed it necessary to feel. It didn't matter. Sherlock just wanted this to end, to finally sleep and shut down the pain of the waking world.

To hell with it.

He left his room and pattered up the stairs as quietly as possible. It was very late, and John would almost certainly be in the midst of a REM cycle. At the top of the landing, Sherlock gently pushed the door open and slipped into the darkness. He went round the bed to the unoccupied side, avoiding the creaky spots perfectly even though he couldn’t see.

Sherlock stopped and listened. He could hear John’s breaths, slow and relaxed. He was still asleep. Sherlock carefully pulled up the covers and got in the bed. The sheets were heated with the familiar warmth of John, and he settled down to enjoy it.

It seemed the movement of the mattress was sufficient to wake John, because he suddenly jolted. After a moment, a loose sigh escaped into the dark air. “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

He pressed his head against the pillow, oddly thankful that his night vision wasn't in effect and he couldn't see John. It would make this easier. “I need to sleep here.”

The mattress dipped a bit, and Sherlock presumed John had risen up to face him. “Did you take your sleeping pills? I don’t remember where-“

“No,” Sherlock said firmly. His fingers grasped onto the fabric of the duvet as if it could anchor him to the bed. “I need to sleep here.”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed,” John informed him coolly. He didn’t sound pleased.

“Unfortunately for you, that’s what’s going to happen.”

“There’s a little thing called common courtesy,” John warned. “Tell me what’s going on or get back downstairs.”

“I have insomnia."

He could almost hear John rolling his eyes. “Yes, I’ve noticed. That’s what the pills were for.”

Sherlock drew a tight breath. “I haven’t taken the pills,” he admitted sourly.

“Well, there’s your problem, then.”

“No, John," he said, scrunching his eyes shut. "I haven’t taken them. Ever. Since you first gave them to me in Westcliffe. You know I don’t use medication that dulls my senses.”

“What? You said they were working…”

“It’s not the pills, it’s you,” Sherlock said, biting off the words. Time to put everything on the table. “I’ve tested it every way I know how, and I’ve verified that sharing a bed with you is the only way I can fall asleep.”

There was a stretch of silence that lasted so long Sherlock began to wonder whether John was actually going to answer or simply remain mute for the rest of his life.

“How- how does that work?” John asked finally, carefully balancing his tone.

Good, this was good. No sign of enragement yet. “I don’t know why, precisely, but I think your natural circadian rhythm sort of realigns mine. It’s relaxing to have you near, and I just follow your lead.”

“Is that what this whole affair has been about? And why you were in my bed that last time?”



Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 4b)

Sherlock tugged the covers closer around himself. “No. You surprised me. I thought I could suffice with an environment that reminded me of you. It worked out in the end, though.”

“And… and the…” he trailed off. Sherlock easily pictured the blush that was undoubtedly spreading across John’s face.

“I believe my touching you was an unconscious, automatic response. I didn’t do it intentionally. I don’t think you did, either.”

John was quiet again. Did he even know he had reached out in turn?

“Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning?” John inquired. “You don’t usually have trouble asking for exactly what you want.”

“I expected you would say no.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to be silent as he considered it. John was right. Why had he been so deterred from asking? He did things all the time that upset John. Including drugging him, recently. Somehow, those actions didn't seem to carry the same weight or importance. Asking for something like this, something he actually needed and wanted, was far more personal.

The sheets shifted, and Sherlock felt a warm hand settle on top of his underneath the covers.

“You were afraid of rejection,” John noted softly. He sounded closer. “Interesting.”

“Can I stay?” Sherlock asked, raw and uncomfortable. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and he didn’t like it all that much.

John shifted indecisively and sighed.

“It’s beneficial for you, too,” he offered. “I know you still get nightmares. You sleep better for several nights after I’ve been here with you. Tell me I’m wrong, John.”

The hand curled around his palm.

“All right. Tonight, all right,” John said. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.”

They settled back down in the dark, John on his back and Sherlock on his front. Their hands remained together, hidden under the covers. Sherlock kept his eyes open until his night vision developed enough for him to make out John's outline next to him. As his curiosity grew, he slowly slid his fingers down to John’s wrist.

His pulse was elevated. John was anxious.

Sherlock fell asleep wondering how long it had been since John realized he wanted this, too.

---

He drifted back to wakefulness with the feeling of warm breath on his neck.

Everything was warm and subdued. Peaceful, even. The sun must be just approaching the horizon, because the light from the window was low and tinted a deep orange. Sherlock shifted against the pillow, coming into contact with short hair that tickled his nose.

He opened his eyes slowly and found John's head almost entirely filling his vision. Sherlock nudged in a bit closer, then breathed in against him. The comforting scent of home and contentment washed through him.

It struck Sherlock with calm clarity that he didn't need a box like the one John kept in the back of his cupboard. He didn't need small objects and papers to remind him of happiness. Sherlock had a living embodiment with him every single day, everywhere he went. When he looked at John, he was looking at all of his favorite memories wrapped up in one single smiling doctor.

Sherlock flexed his muscles, gaining a sense of his body. He was splayed halfway over John, who was still on his back. Their arms tangled around one another, once again, although the distinct heat on Sherlock’s back told him that John had pushed a hand up under his shirt. The familiar rush of dopamine soaked through him, and he knew this could quite easily become his favorite part of any day.

He raised up a bit and glanced down at the rumpled covers. Yes, he was definitely smothering John the entire way down. It was a strange sight in the light of day.



(Deleted comment)

Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 4c)

John pulled at him in his sleep, grunting in displeasure and trying to get Sherlock to lie back on top of him. Sherlock obliged, settling down and placing his head next to John’s again. John sighed contentedly, a long exhalation that Sherlock felt along his whole body, then tilted his head until it was resting against Sherlock’s forehead.

In that moment, Sherlock experienced a startlingly piercing sense of yearning. He wanted this far more badly than he'd ever wanted anything. More than a good serial murderer, more than he wanted Mycroft to evaporate every time he saw him. He wanted to hold on John every day, every night, and be allowed to do it whenever the mood struck him. He wanted to have John near and not let him go, to continue touching him until he discovered whether there was some finite end to this excruciatingly insatiable need.

But he knew what would happen when John awoke. He would tell Sherlock that it wasn't to happen again, that Sherlock needed proper medication and couldn't use him as a sleep aid any longer. John knew everything, now, and it would be impossible for Sherlock to trick him any longer. He'd paid dearly to have this, but somehow the price-to-outcome comparison didn't seem as unbalanced as it should.

He closed his eyes and spent the next ten minutes firmly implanting every detail, every slight observation and sensation, into his permanent memory. John peacefully continued breathing under him, untroubled. With enough focused meditation and hypnotic exercises, Sherlock might be able to recall it realistically enough to convince himself he was back here with John after he was declared permanently ostracized.

Task completed, Sherlock knew there was no point in prolonging things. Still, it inexplicably took another few minutes to force himself to speak.

“John,” he said softly against his hair.

Clearly recognizing his voice, John smiled lightly.

“Wake up, John,” Sherlock said again, sliding an arm down his side.

Eyes fluttering open, John shifted underneath him. He drew a sleepy breath and flexed his hands. His body gradually filled with tension, and Sherlock knew he was regaining awareness. John's fingers slid slowly along the skin of his back, then froze abruptly. Realizing he had one hand buried under Sherlock’s shirt, John quickly pulled it out.

John didn't say anything, though. Sherlock stayed in the same position, waiting and observing his reactions from an angle. They were intimately close, pressed against one another, heads touching.

The tension escaped from John, finally, as he let out a long sigh and loosened. John seemed to give in, purposefully wrapping himself closer and leaning into Sherlock. The arm against Sherlock's back moved slowly, affectionately. This close, it was easy to feel John’s heart rate increasing.

John closed his eyes, sliding his hands to rest over Sherlock's shoulder blades. Sherlock remained perfectly still as he attempted to process how impossibly better this felt than before. Sensing John voluntarily holding onto him was impossibly, incalculably better.

"We'd better put a stop to this now,” John said quietly. “Before it becomes a bad habit."

Bewilderment flared through Sherlock. He shifted finally, rising up on his forearms to better see John. He looked sleep-tousled against the pillow, cheeks touched with pink. "A bad habit?"

"Yes, Sherlock." John's face reddened further. He was self-conscious about the circumstance.

Sherlock blinked in confusion, taking in their relative positions. "We obviously both enjoy it. I don't see a problem."

“We shouldn’t, though,” John replied, and this time there was a sad edge to his voice.

“Why not?”

“Because… because, Sherlock.”

He laughed briefly. “Not the most convincing argument I’ve ever heard.”

There was no humor in John’s eyes. "Most people would consider it... a bit too familiar," he said uneasily, shifting under Sherlock's weight.

“Familiar?”

John rolled his eyes as if Sherlock didn’t understand a very basic concept. “Male friends don’t normally do this sort of thing with one another.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Who cares what people normally do? It's not as if the entirety of the world is watching, John. It's just us."



Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 4d)

"I... how can I explain this?” John pleaded to the ceiling. He turned his eyes back to Sherlock. “I don't even do this with my girlfriends. Not until I've known them for a while."

Whatever sort of argument John was attempting to make, it was falling very flat. "You've known me longer than any of them," Sherlock reasoned.

"Yes, but... it's just... not..."

John struggled to coherently communicate his problem. Sherlock shook his head and decided to intercede. At least it would speed things up. "Besides, you're far more 'familiar' with me than any of those women. Shall I list some examples for you?"

"No, there's no need-"

"You touch me an average of 4.6 times per day. You regularly grab or hold my hand to get my attention, even when vocally alerting me is an available option. You don’t think anything of sharing a bed at a hotel. You stand roughly 5 inches closer to me than anyone else and respond to my texts nearly two minutes faster. Your blood pressure, respiration, and heart rate all incrementally increase when I enter the room. When faced with a choice between accompanying me out on an investigation or spending time with your woman of the week, you always, always choose me. Then there's all the medical care. Your express an excessive level of concern over even the most basic of injuries, going so far as to ignore your own until I am seen to. You become irritable when you are not my primary caregiver and much prefer to administer any required treatments or medications yourself. And this is all quite public, if you'll recall. So tell me, John, what's the difference?"

John grew quiet, face flushing further in embarrassment. He looked away.

Sherlock leaned closer, trying to get an actual response out of him. "I don't see any. Do you?"

John’s eyes flicked back to meet Sherlock’s. He was upset. The hands on Sherlock’s back suddenly slid up to his head, and John pressed in for a hard kiss. It was fast and unexpected, and it left Sherlock staring in shock.

When John pulled back, his eyes were soft and sorrowful. "It's different, Sherlock. It's different because... because for me, it means something. It means something beyond friendship, and I don't want to go down that road with you. Not if it's something you can't return. Or won't."

"John,” he whispered. A thousand thoughts careened through his head.

John forced a small smile. "I don't blame you for being... you. Some doors are best left closed, though, and I’ve tried to maintain that boundary. But lately you've been knocking rather loudly.” He closed his eyes, drawing a difficult breath, then reopened them. “Please don't tempt me to open that door. Not if it's something you don't want, because it would be very hard for me to close it again."

Sherlock watched him critically, judging what was truly going on. For John, this seemed to be an issue of on or off, yes or no, black and white. He framed it in his mind as being stuck between these two states, middling on the fence and waiting for confirmation that he would be welcome on the other side. Sherlock tried to comprehend the odd perspective, comparing it with his own. It wasn't about yes or no, as John assumed. It was about how much.

"Stupid,” Sherlock muttered, shaking his head.

“What?” John asked, crestfallen.

“You. Isn't it obvious? The evidence is there, laid out to see. I realize we think very differently, but I honestly believed it to be apparent.”

John frowned, unsure what Sherlock was getting at.

Sherlock brought a hand up to the side of John’s face. John tilted his head, eyes widening as he correctly interpreted the gesture to be affectionate. “I've already chosen you, John. I chose you long ago.”

John's expression lightened, but he looked even more confused than before. “What… does that mean, exactly?”

"I chose you for the long-term. I need you with me, and I always will. Haven't you noticed how differently I treat you?" Sherlock inquired. Honestly, John could be so frustratingly dense sometimes. "You say you wouldn't share a bed with just any new woman. Well, I wouldn't do this with anyone but you, full stop."

"Long-term?" John asked, hung up on the word.


Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 4e)

“I've anticipated from the beginning that we would remain together for the rest of our lives, although it’s taken me far longer to understand in what capacity that would be,” he explained. His eyes moved to the hand near John's ear. His fingers threaded into the soft blonde hair. “You’re in my mind, now. All the time. Everywhere, in everything I do. I can’t get you out, and I wouldn’t want to remove you even if I could. I want to touch you every time I see you. This is a new area for me, and I’m finding internal analysis to be very difficult. Perhaps you can interpret it, John?”

“You’re the detective. You tell me,” he said quietly, eyes locked on Sherlock.

Sherlock thought about it, dissociating his description and judging it as if someone else had said it. “I’m exhibiting signs of deep infatuation," he concluded.

John smiled, warmth returning to his features. He looked so very surprised, yet pleased and inviting. Without thinking, Sherlock tentatively dipped his head toward John, who met him halfway for a slow kiss. John slid his fingers around the sides of his head, guiding him until they were perfectly slotted together. The cracks in the floodgate in Sherlock's brain grew until they shattered completely, rushing chemicals through him in a wave of positive reinforcement. Sherlock immediately felt his list of things he wanted to do with John expand with frightening speed.

John broke off, sucking in a steadying breath.

"What is it you want?" John asked in his ear.

"You," Sherlock told him, breath caught in his throat. “I'll take whatever you're willing to give me, because anything at all from you is better than whatever I could receive from anyone else. There’s no competition. It’s you or no one, and if given a choice I’d much rather have you.”

“You already do,” John whispered.

But John didn't move to kiss him again. Rather, he gently slid and tugged Sherlock so that they lay side by side, folded into a close and intimate embrace. Sherlock was confused briefly as John brought his arms around him, until he considered John's words. This, for him, meant something extraordinarily substantial. And now he was doing it of his own accord, by conscious choice. As obvious as John's physiological clues had been, knowing he chose Sherlock, in return, was incalculably staggering. They simply held on, sharing in the underlying meaning until the sunlight coming through the window was strong and bright.

A sliver of doubt lingered, though, that required resolution. Apparently, it was critical that Sherlock confirm that John's perceptions matched his own in such an important situation. "Are we together, now?" Sherlock asked cautiously, tilting his head up to look at him.

John laughed, a hearty and comforting sound. "Yes, I would think so."

"And I can sleep here?"

"We can sleep anywhere you want, whenever you need it," John affirmed, smoothing a hand protectively along Sherlock's back. "I'd like to get you back on a regular sleeping schedule."

"That shouldn't be too difficult. We already know you're a terrific soporific," Sherlock mused.

"Don't tell me you're just interested for my medicinal benefits," he replied with a teasing smile.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed. "You're my match, John. My complement. When I'm without you, I don't feel right. I don't feel whole." He found John's eyes with his own, reinforcing the indisputable nature of his conclusion.

"That makes two of us," John sighed in response, soft and equally certain.

END

Re: Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 4e)

This is lovely.

(Deleted comment)
The prompt freeze is now over! Let your prompts run free!

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