Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Welcome! (Prompting: part i)
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

This is a fic prompting meme based around the BBC series Sherlock, written by Stephen Moffat & Mark Gattis.

There are a couple of communities that have sprung up already, namely here and here and here, and also a very busy sherlockkink meme based around the Robert Downey Jr/Jude Law film, but since there's a GAP IN THE MARKET for a BBC Sherlock prompt meme and people are gnawing off their own hands in need of fic, here we go!

ETA: There's also a very dedicated meme here which covers all varieties of Sherlock Holmes adaptations/ spin-offs.


1) This is a Sherlock meme, so no RPF please! We don't want any legal trouble.

2) Feel free to post anon by all means, it's a matter of personal preference.

3) Remember to include a warning in the title for anything a little more "niche" or that people might have a problem with - non-con, dub-con, death!fic, incest, death!fic etc. Other than that, anything goes - crack, slash, het, gen, fluff, angst, whatever floats your boat.

4) Feel free to prompt as much as you like, but do try to fill as well as prompt; we don't want pages full of frustrating unfilled prompts!

5) Have a look beforehand to see whether your prompt has already been prompted - we want to avoid duplicate prompts as much as possible!

6) Please, be civil, be friendly, but don't be shy!

*Any problems, please message jjgd *


Delicious Archive * sherlockfest * List of all the Prompting Posts * Overflow Post *

  • 1

Fill: 1/5

"Where are we going?" Sherlock demanded, tugging at his ear. The device inside was cold, nestled against his eardrum from the feel of it. He brushed his hands through his hair, feeling the small line of stitches so easily concealed there. He hadn't been home in two days; but he'd left John without warning for longer than that. His mind was in a fog, whatever drugs Moriarty had subdued him with still coursing through his system, leaving him thinking slower than the average police officer. He grimaced.

The man next to him smirked. "You have your instructions, we have ours," he said. Sherlock shuddered, turning away.

Suddenly the car jerked to a stop and hands were pushing at him, shoving him from the vehicle and onto the sidewalk. Sherlock heard the car door slam behind him as he swayed on his feet, blinking heavily. He looked up, startled, as the car behind him peeled away.

Baker street?

Do I really need to start with telling you to go inside your own home? an amused voice said in his ear. He jerked his head instinctively, lip curling.

"What am I doing here?" he muttered, more to test the device than anything else. He pushed his key in the lock and eased open the door, so as not to wake Mrs. Hudson.

Just going to see a friend, my dear, Moriarty said mockingly.

"If you hurt him..." Sherlock said softly, climbing the stairs.

You'll what? Have half your brain explode and drool on me? Now be careful, Sherlock, he said quickly as the top step creaked under his weight. Give nothing away, or -

"I know," he said as he pushed the sitting room door open. John looked up from where he'd been watching television.

"I was wondering when you'd be back," he said, turning back to the television. "Know what?" he asked.

I know I've been beaten," Moriarty said immediately. Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes as shame swept through him.

"I know I've been beaten," he repeated softly. He heard a soft click as the television shut off, and then John was crossing the room, grabbing Sherlock by the wrist and leading him inside. He pushed Sherlock into his chair and knelt in front of him.

"Don't say that. That man, he -"

I want him to say my name, Moriarty said suddenly. Sherlock shuddered slightly at his tone.

"Say it, John," he said reluctantly. John looked at him quizzically. "His name," Sherlock clarified.

John swallowed, still watching him warily. "Moriarty," he said finally, and there was a deeply satisfied groan in Sherlock's ear that made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

Oh yes, he breathed in Sherlock's ear. I know just what I want. Sherlock closed his eyes, pressing his palm against them. He could feel nausea rising within him, but could do nothing to stop it. A hand gripped one of his wrists lightly.

"Sherlock?" John asked, leaning closer, obviously concerned. He realized John must have continued talking, but he hadn't heard a word of it.

Yes, Moriarty hissed. Tell him you want him.

"J-John," Sherlock licked his lips, eyes still darting over the room, searching for any evidence of cameras. "I want... that is..."

I want you.

"I want you," he blurted out, watching as John tilted his head, looking at him quizzically.

"You want me to what?" he asked finally. Another groan in his ear.

I want you to do so many things...

"I want you..." He couldn't finish the sentence, but John's eyes suddenly went wide.

"Sherlock," he said hesitantly, "You... want me?"

God yes! Moriarty gasped in his ear. He shuddered.

"Yes..." He could feel a blush overtaking his features, mortification finally settling in. John's eyes swept over his face and he smiled, obviously assuming he was aroused.

Kiss him.

Re: Fill: 2/5

Resigned, he leaned forward, gripping John's shoulders clumsily and drawing their lips together. John's breath hitched just before their lips met, and he molded them together instantly. Sherlock fought the urge to whimper as John gently urged him to part his lips, his tongue delving inside. He tried to jerk away; the sensation strange and new, but John held him tightly, stroking his tongue until Sherlock was shuddering against him, whimpering. He could feel his trousers beginning to tent, arousal and panic beginning to thrumb through his veins. He could hear Moriarty's breathing in his ear, tilting his head as though he could escape the sound.

Take his clothes off, Moriarty said suddenly. Sherlock wrenched his lips away, swearing as he tugged at the bottom of John's jumper nervously. John stilled his hands with a smile, gripping his hands and pulling him to his feet.

"Come with me," he said softly. He lead Sherlock toward his bedroom. No, came the sudden command. He froze instantly, and John turned to look at him nervously. "Unless you'd rather not...?"

Your room, Sherlock, came the soft, purred command, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Cameras, he confirmed. Cheeks burning, he nodded toward his own room, tugging at John's hand. John nodded, relief flooding his features as he smiled.

Sherlock led him reluctantly to his room, gently urging him down onto the bed. Sherlock sat, heart hammering in his chest. "Don't look so nervous," John muttered as he tugged his jumper over his head. He tossed it to the side, smiling warmly as he reached to unbutton Sherlock's shirt.

He managed a tense smile. "Sorry," he muttered as he shrugged out of the shirt. He stood, quickly stripping himself of his pants. John stood as well, unzipping his jeans. The tip of his erection jutted out of the waistband of his underwear, a thick bead already formed there. John hooked his thumbs in the band and began to slide them down.

No, Moriarty said suddenly, and Sherlock found himself grabbing John's wrist before he realized. Just like that. Sherlock drew him closer, leaning back until he was laying on the bed, pulling John on top of him. John smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly.

There was something soothing about John's sturdier frame pressing down on him, and he found himself relaxing into the kiss, running his hands down John's sides and marveling at the way he shivered, sliding their shafts together. He threw his head back as John bent to his behind his ear, nuzzling the sensitive flesh there.

John, please... came a soft voice in his ear.

"John, please..." he repeated, the words rolling around in his mouth, unfamiliar, "I need you."

"Are you sure?" John said breathlessly. Sherlock's heart began to pound, nerves flooding him.

Oh yes, I'm sure, Moriarty laughed in his ear.

"I'm sure," he whispered. He rolled over, taking deep breaths into the pillow, hoping John wouldn't notice the tension in his shoulders.

John ran his hands down his back, pressing against some of the knots there and making him hiss in pained pleasure. Finally his hands drew away entirely, and Sherlock leaned against his arms, heart hammering in his chest. He nearly jerked away when he felt slick digits press against his opening; a moment later, a finger was pressing into him, making him gasp at the sensation.

He'd never been a very tactile person; a hug from close family members on special occasions pretty much monopolized his exposure to such things. Now, he writhed against the intrusion even as his mind rebelled, a painful feeling of betrayal overtaking him as his body responded and his cock swelled, leaking as John shifted his fingers inside of him. He jerked as John scissored his fingers, a nearly painful need surging through him. He wanted to pull away; to categorize the experience for later review; but all he could do was duck his head farther, letting the feelings wash over him. John finally withdrew his fingers. He felt something blunt press against him, and that was the only warning he had before he was being stretched, a burning sensation overwhelming everything else as he shifted to accommodate his lover.

Re: Fill: 3/5

He nearly gasped when the head of John's cock pressed against his prostate. He tried to hold as still as possible as John eased inside of him, hands gently caressing his hips, whispering soft, reassuring words. He drew a deep breath, trying to adjust the sensations. John shifted his hips slowly, gently pumping in and out, sending sparks of pleasure through him. He shivered.


He bit his lip. He'd given nothing away, except... he stifled a groan. The bastard could hear the changes in his breathing.

Now, Sherlock, or I'll -

"Faster," he gasped, biting his lip as John let out a strangled groan and thrust rapidly, striking his prostate harder until he felt the skin of his lip break, he was trying so desperately not to cry out.

Shhh, came the soft, mocking voice. Does it feel good? A little too much, perhaps? A pause. Then, Harder.

He opened his mouth, but could only gasp insensibly for a moment as John's hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise.

Harder! Moriarty snarled.

"H-harder!" he managed to gasp, nearly sobbing as John eagerly complied. Every nerve felt electrified, every touch magnified tenfold, until he could do nothing but surrender to the burn that swept through his very being. He could feel the muscles in John's thighs quivering against his own, the way the zipper of his jeans bit into his thigh with each movement. The sound of his own harsh breath mingled with John's, and the deep gasps of a third voice in his ear.

Tell him to come. Tell him to come in your arse, now.

Sherlock gasped, fervently hoping for release from these overwhelming sensations. "Come," he rasped, "Oh God John, come, please." He pressed back desperately, feeling himself tense around John's shaft as he thrust deeper, grinding against Sherlock as shudders wracked his body. John gripped his hips even harder, rolling his hips in a circle as he drew out his release.

You too, came the mocking voice. You as well, Sherlock, or this isn't over.

John withdrew, panting, and Sherlock nearly sobbed as he rolled onto his back, drawing John's hand to his erection. The first touch was almost painful; he flinched hard enough to draw a concerned look from John.

"Please," he panted, wrapping John's fingers around his cock.

Tell him to suck you.

His entire body spasmed, precum leaking from his cock at the thought even as his overwrought body protested. "No!" he snarled.

John jerked his hand away. "No?" he asked carefully.


"No, I - I want you to - your mouth, please, John..."

John looked at him appraisingly, and for a fleeting moment Sherlock thought that maybe, maybe this beautiful, wonderful, dim-witted man had worked it out on his own; then, he carefully spread Sherlock's legs and crouched between them, running his tongue over the head of Sherlock's erection experimentally. He stared down, feeling himself begin to unravel in ways he couldn't begin to comprehend as John drew him into his mouth slowly, his eyes falling shut, his features set in a look of pure bliss. He laved his tongue over the head, and Sherlock jerked, moaning, his hands hovering next to John's face. The need to touch him was nearly overwhelming, but he held back.

Run your fingers through his hair. came Moriarty's soft, mockingly kind voice in his ear, and suddenly he was fighting the urge to draw his hands away. Still, he reached out and cupped John's head, unable to stop his fingers from threading through his hair. He watched as John opened his eyes and looked up at him, his eyes radiating pure happiness as he licked playfully at the underside of the head of his cock. Looking down at him, Sherlock suddenly felt a surge of strange feelings course through him.

"John..." he breathed, voice thick with emotion. John hummed gently in response.

Fill: 4/5

Good, good, Moriarty cooed in his ear. Now, grab his hair. Fuck his face. Sherlock fought the urge to gasp, gripping John by the hair and jerking him farther down his cock than the other man felt comfortable. John's smile vanished, his eyes suddenly dark as he tried to keep up. He squeezed them shut, then, sucking harder until Sherlock was groaning aloud, one hand on John's jaw, feeling the muscles flex, the other still threaded through his hair.

His heart was racing, whether from pleasure or fear of loss of control he couldn't tell. He could hear himself panting, moaning as he shifted his hips, trying to get farther inside John's talented mouth even as the rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop. John gripped Sherlock's knees, forcing them up and sliding his hands down the backs of his thighs. Pleasure shot through him as John cupped his sac in one hand, pressing gently as his other hand slid lower. He pressed two fingers inside, eased by his own release, pumping his fingers as he drew Sherlock farther into his mouth, humming. He pushed himself to his elbows, looking down at the debauched acts on display for him and suddenly he cried out, body tensing. He gripped the bedsheets as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him, watching John's throat work, his muscles spasming around John's fingers and drawing out his release. Finally John pulled away, sliding up Sherlock's exhausted body and stretching out next to him. Sherlock watched him, eyes blurry, as he drew the blanket over them and leaned closer to nuzzle his neck.

"That was enthusiastic," John said with a soft smile. He leaned forward, bumping their noses together. Sherlock hummed, eyes drifting closed as he pressed closer to the warmth at his side.

Now, now, you don't want to fall asleep yet, came a voice in his ear. He jerked awake, and John sat up and looked at him questioningly. You have two hours to have the nano removed. If it hasn't been, then... Sweet dreams! Moriarty sing-songed. Sherlock bolted upright.

"What's wrong?" John asked nervously.

Sherlock threw off the blankets. "I have to get to a hospital, now." He crossed to the dresser and started to pull out some clothes. He paused when he realized John was still laying in bed, looking at him quizzically. "Well go," he insisted, gesturing toward the door. "Get us an ambulance. Something."

"If I've hurt you -"

"No," he snapped, buttoning his shirt. "This is a matter of life or death, John. Move!"

John snapped back to himself, throwing off the blankets and digging his phone out of his pants, which were still bunched around his knees. He pulled them up with one hand while he rattled off their address to the operator.

"Our emergency...?" he trailed off, looking at Sherlock quizzically.

Sherlock stalked over to him, jerking the phone out of his hands.

"I have an explosive device implanted in my head," he said, voice level. The operator sputtered nervously; John's mouth fell open slowly as a painful realization overtook his features. Sherlock turned his back, focusing on the call. "I assure you, this is not a prank. Contact DI Lestrade if you must to confirm my name and address, but send someone straight away."

The phone clicked shut. Silence fell over the room.

John sat on the bed, covering his face with his hands. He mumbled something into them. "What?" Sherlock snapped, looking out the window.

"He was telling you what to do," John repeated. "What to -"

"What to say, yes," Sherlock said impatiently. He turned away from the window to see John staring at the floor in front of him, face pale. He heard the siren approaching. "It's time to go." He strode toward the door, only stopping when he realized John wasn't moving. He looked over his shoulder. "Are you coming?" he asked briskly. John winced at his choice of words, squeezing his eyes shut. With a muttered curse, Sherlock hurried down the stairs and met the ambulance in the street.

"Let's go," he said immediately, swinging into the back as soon as the doors opened.

Re: Fill: 5/5

Sherlock blinked, looking up at the ceiling. St. Barts, he realized. He reached up to brush his fingers over the bandages covering his head. Groaning, he tried to sit up.

"You shouldn't be sitting up yet," came a soft whisper from his bedside. He could feel a hand hovering next to his shoulder; he looked over and it jerked back.

"John," he said softly. John shook his head violently.

"No, Sherlock," he said, voice growing firmer. "Don't say it. What's been done to you... I'm so sorry."

Sherlock looked at him quizzically. "It's not that big of a -"

"He raped you, Sherlock. He raped your mind, and he used me to... he used me to rape your body. Oh God..." he buried his face in his hands again. "I've packed my things," he finished softly.

Panic flooded him. "Don't be so melodramatic, John," he said immediately. "You had no idea what was going on. There's no logical reason to blame you." He pushed himself up again, ignoring John's weak protests. John leaned over him, attempting to guide him back to the bed, and Sherlock snaked a hand out, gripping him by the collar. John shook him off violently, his face suddenly chalk white.

"I'll move my things out tomorrow," he breathed, crossing the room quickly.

"Has it ever occurred to you that's what he wants?" Sherlock asked. John froze, his hand on the door.

He spun around to face Sherlock, anger suddenly flaring in him. "Of course that's what he wants!" he hissed. "It's what a normal person would do. You can't even hate people properly," he said with a bitter laugh.

"You should be glad," Sherlock pointed out softly.

"Well, I'm not."

There was a long silence. "Come here," Sherlock said finally.

"Don't try to make me feel better about this," John said as he crossed the room reluctantly. Sherlock tilted his head.

"When have I ever done that?" he asked. He gripped John's hand and tugged until they were sitting next to each other on the bed. "I don't want you to go," he said simply. "So you won't."

"And... what? We'll just pretend this never happened?"

Sherlock sighed, struggling for the right words to express himself. He was drugged, once again, and John really was very dense, he realized. He thought suddenly off all those horrible sappy movies Mrs. Hudson liked to watch. He could feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he forwent words entirely and leaned forward, pressing their lips together.

Blessed silence. Just the two of them. He cupped the back of John's neck with one of his hands, opening his mouth in a silent invitation. John's tongue flicked over his hesitantly before he pulled away, looking Sherlock in the eye. Sherlock did smile, then, his heart fluttering.

"Just us," he murmured, and John smiled back hesitantly.

"You want this?" he asked, gripping Sherlock's hand.

"I want it to go slower," Sherlock warned. "It's a lot to process," he admitted.

John nodded immediately. "Yeah, okay," he said, clearing his throat and looking around the room nervously. He smiled broadly suddenly, looking down at their entwined fingers before meeting Sherlock's eyes. "Yes, that would be for the best." He leaned forward and kissed him again, softly, and Sherlock sighed against his lips.

"I could get used to this," he smirked as John urged him to lay flat once more. John gave him an exasperated smile, tugging the blanket up to cover his chest.

"Eventually, perhaps," John conceded. Sherlock smiled.

"That sounds good to me," he said softly.


*swallows tongue*



Um... wow. Okay. Yes. Perfect. Right. Everything. Brain ceased functions. In my bunk.

*wanders off all dizzy*



*does exactly the same as the op*

Um... I'll be in my bunk ;)


thirds response...



Wonderful. Intense and scary and hot and sweet and just. Wonderful.

Re: Fill: 5/5

Gaaaaah, what a great fill!

Re: Fill: 5/5

Fuck or die fic for the win!

Awesome story!

One of those fics that I'm so glad exists but also am so glad won't be canon (b/c my bbs, oh, i care for them too much!). Fantastic!

Wow. That was incredible, for all the wrong reasons and all the right ones. Fantastic.

(Deleted comment)
  • 1

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