Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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

+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.

There's a link to this at the bottom of the 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 mod 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/Lestrade established relationship.

Lestrade really doesn't mind that his boyfriend's best friend is a crazy loon who interrupts their dates, walks in on them shagging, or occasionally just steals John when Lestrade had plans for him. But occasionally, just sometimes, he feels just that wee bit possessive, and he likes to let Sherlock know that John is also his. By shagging John senseless and marking him with very obvious lovebites.

Re: Possessive!Lestrade/John


Re: Possessive!Lestrade/John


Re: Possessive!Lestrade/John

This is basically everything I love in a fic. John/Lestrade hotness! Crazy Sherlock! Weird triangular friendships!!! <333

Re: Possessive!Lestrade/John

I love a possessive!Lestrade especially when it's about John. <3

Re: Possessive!Lestrade/John

Oh, this makes me so happy in the down below areas.

FILL: Territorial (1a/1)


Lestrade understands.

No, really, he does.

Sherlock Holmes is practically a force of nature, the type that blows in without warning. The type that creates chaos all around it. The type that is awe inspiring to watch from a distance, but is an absolute adrenaline rush to see up close.

He's always been like that, ever since Lestrade first met him, so, yes, he gets it.

But no one ever said he had to like it.

Six months into his acquaintance with Sherlock, Lestrade was able to look past the incredible feats to the destruction left in it's wake. The irritated officers, hunched over and groaning like a house blown over in a wind storm, questions left hanging like broken branches, deductions impacting like hail the size of footballs. Five years later, it is all more than a little common place.

But John is still head over heels for the entire act, like a kid gaping at the sky in the midst of a lightening storm, oblivious to the wind and the rain and the chance of death before every thunder clap.

And more often than not, Lestrade lets him. He smiles in acquiescence when John mobile goes off when they're out together. He reassures John that no apology is needed when he cancels their plans last minute. He agrees to cut dates short when Sherlock shows up, demanding their presence. He knows John, knows that John lives for those adrenaline soaked occasions that only Sherlock can provide. Honestly, he's perfectly fine with it most of the time.

Not right now, though.

If there is a hell, thanks to their most recent case together, Lestrade now knows what it feels like. It’s been nearly forty days of tracking down the latest sick fuck to creep around London, some mentally disturbed jilted lover that's been cutting male prostitutes to pieces. It was a long case, especially by Sherlock's standards, and for Lestrade it was utterly agonizing. And sure, he can understand John's aversion to having sex during a case like this- seeing what those poor boys had been subjected too didn't put him in the mood either- but this case had involved a particularly grueling amount of legwork. Legwork by Sherlock, and therefore, legwork by John.

Lestrade is fairly certain he hasn't been alone with John since the case started, which maybe explains his urgency.

The quick, affectionate glances they're sending each other over Sherlock's slumped shoulders don't help matters at all. Forty days of case related starvation and sleep deprivation was close enough to Sherlock’s limit that the damn idiot nearly passed out at Scotland Yard, immediately after drawing his final conclusion. Half the officers there helped to stuff him into a car, but it was up to the two of them to get him inside the flat, one arm each, as Sherlock made a token attempt to shuffle his legs in the right direction.

The steps are enough of a trial that John agrees to leave him on the couch, fussing about with a pillow and a blanket as Lestrade heaves his legs up onto the couch cushions and slides his shoes off. Sherlock grimaces and shifts, pressing his nose into the back rest; he'd probably wake up sometime tomorrow afternoon, dehydrated and ravenous. But that was tomorrow.

"Tea?" John quietly inquires, and before Lestrade can respond, he's already in the kitchen.

Lestrade resists the urge to groan as he follows him in. He pauses at the sliding doors to glare at John as he fills the kettle, before turning around to slide the opaque glass doors together. The kettle has just been placed on the burner when Lestrade approaches John's back, bringing hands up to grip his hips.

"Later," Lestrade mumbles before pressing kisses to the side of John's neck.

"Wait, Lestrade," John pushes back just enough to turn around and press himself to Lestrade's front. One hand rests on Lestrade's chest and the second settles at his waist as John presses kisses to his face and lips. It's sweet. Nice. Gentle.

FILL: Territorial (1b/1)


It is also the exact opposite of what Lestrade wants right now. Needs right now. But every attempt to deepen the kiss, to instill in John the bone aching desire he has for him right now, is skillfully rebuffed. He tilts his head back slightly, watches John though half lidded eyes. There’s the tiniest of movements, as John flicks his eyes towards the sitting room door.

And it hits him. As if being at the man's beck and call for the last forty days isn't enough, the fucking considerate bastard is still worrying about the man who is most likely comatose in the next room over. It's the same reason why they never hook up at Baker Street, fucking loyal, fucking considerate John just can't stand the idea of making Sherlock uncomfortable with their rampant hormones.

Which, fine, it's fine, that's not the problem. The problem is that Lestrade has been in second place for the last month and a half, and is still in second place to a man who will be dead to the world for the next ten hours at least.

Well, fuck that.

He kisses John again, squeezing hard at his hips before releasing one hand to cup his jaw, to press a thumb against the joint there. There is a noise from John as Lestrade licks along his bottom lip, a bit of a moan at the light pressure, before finally, finally, he opens his mouth for him.

Lestrade takes complete and utter advantage of that, tongue diving in as his hips press John's into the countertop behind him. John's never been the sort to take this kind of treatment lying down, but nonetheless Lestrade enjoys several long moments of uninterrupted exploration before John retaliates with teeth and tongue. It's a battle for dominance that Lestrade has no intention of losing, as he applies a bit more pressure to his thumb and forces John's mouth to where he can attack it properly.

By the time they rip their heads apart both are panting shallowly, and Lestrade smirks as he rubs a thigh against John's growing hard-on. He entertains the thought of shoving John over the kitchen table, but dismisses after realizing it would be a terrible place to pass out afterwards. Sherlock's bedroom is the closest, and the mental image of John spread out across Sherlock's bed sends a sharp twist of desire down his spine. Condescending bastard has definitely earned it, but Lestrade's far too occupied to even imagine what might be lurking between the sheets.

John's bedroom it is, then. Lestrade reluctantly peels himself away from John while pulling the man towards the door to the stairs. There is another glance towards to sitting room, but Lestrade grins in triumph when he sees John's resolve melt away.

They ascend the stairs quickly and quietly- John because, as stated, he is a considerate bastard, and Lestrade because he wants to avoid getting shushed- only for Lestrade to slam the door shut immediately after they cross the threshold. There is a second thud, when John is shoved backwards into the wall, but that one isn't quite so loud.

Lestrade is quick to resume his previous position, flattening John against the wall as he grinds a thigh upwards; John's mouth opens readily when he attacks it, allowing his hands to pluck and pull at the thick jumper he's wearing. It is with great reluctance that he leans back to shed his jacket as John peels the jumper off, but the resulting hip motion is absolutely delicious, so he spends the extra few seconds it takes to undo his button up and remove his t-shirt enjoying the motion.

John's shirt is only half unbuttoned when Lestrade leans forward again, this time aiming for his neck. They've discussed, repeatedly, that John is a medical professional who happens to be pushing forty and it simply will not do to show up to work with a neck covered in bite marks. Lestrade usually spends those discussions nodding and making agreeable sounds while watching the purple splotches on John's neck shift with every head turn and replaying in his mind the choked exhalations John made while he put them there.

FILL: Territorial (1c/1)


John's making those noises now, and like always, they go straight to Lestrade’s dick; he's not complaining about it now, he never does, only after, when Sherlock sees him and scoffs. The idea of Sherlock seeing this, seeing what Lestrade does to John, what John lets him do, fills his chest with satisfaction; it makes one side of his mouth curl up as his teeth bite down.

Both their hands are busy- it is rather complicated to remove clothing when both parties refuse to separate- so while John fumbles at his trousers, Lestrade finishes the column of buttons at John's front before sliding two hands underneath the t-shirt and pulling both shirts off at once. It's a messy tangle of cloth that forces them apart as he manhandles the fabric over John's head and down his arms before pressing him back up against the wall, where John wriggles appealingly as he attempts to free his hands.

‘Attempts’ is the key word.

"Wait, wait, Lestrade- the cuffs-" John shoves him back a bit with a shoulder as his arms flex, trapped behind him. The cuffs, Lestrade realizes, the buttons on John's shirt cuffs were never undone. He can't remove either shirt from where they've been wrapped around his wrists.

Lestrade feels a wicked grin crawl up his face.

"Oh, you utter wank-" That's as far as John gets with his insults before Lestrade occupies his mouth quite thoroughly. It's up to Lestrade, then, to remove trousers and pants; John is entirely unhelpful, with his frustrated wiggling, but that just makes it all the better when they finally press together, skin to skin.

An excellent handful of minutes are spent just sliding together like that, and Lestrade splits his attention between the hand he's wrapped around the two of them and the way John's chest and shoulder muscles shift underneath his skin and he tries, in vain, to bring his hands forward. And it really is excellent, wonderful, even, but it's just not enough, so Lestrade grabs John's thigh to wrap a leg around his waist, and is scrambling to grab the other, to wrap John around him and force him into the wall when a startlingly strong pelvic thrust from him makes Lestrade stumble.

He nearly drops John's leg, nearly drops John, and there's an awkward moment where it looks like neither of them are going to remain upright until Lestrade smacks a hand against the wall to regain his balance. The look he gives John when they recover is half confusion, half smoldering frustration.

"Bed." There is no room for argument.

Lestrade tries anyway, "But-"

"Bed." John gives another violent forward push.

Lestrade frowns, but says nothing, just drags John away from the wall by his hips only to cross the room and push him backwards onto the bed. His head lands mere inches from the headboard, and Lestrade can't help but smirk as John shuffles ineffectively; he lays a hand on John's chest to feel the muscles jump as John attempts to find a comfortable place to wedge his trapped hands underneath him.

That hand trails slowly downward as he climbs onto the bed, situates himself between John's knees and leans over him. Lestrade takes a moment to enjoy the view; John, red-faced and ruffled, glares back in a manner that is completely irresistible, so Lestrade doesn't resist. Just trails his hand down to John's erection and grips as he smothers the resulting moan with his lips. His second hand he flings out to the side, groping along the bedside table for the bottle of lube that just has to be around there somewhere.

Success in locating it would have been met with a crow of triumph, had John not been attempting to suck his tongue out.

He's had years of practice opening the lube one handed, and John is rather distracted, so Lestrade manages to catch him by surprise with the first finger he inserts. It's been a while, a long fucking while, and John feels so goddamned tight, but Lestrade can't really manage to prep him in a manner that is anything but perfunctory; just slicks up John, slicks up himself, grabs a handful of arse to tilt John's hips and thrusts.

FILL: Territorial (1d/1)


This time they're both caught by surprise- Lestrade lays a palm on the wall above the headboard to keep from collapsing at the sensation as John turns his head into the pillow and hisses. With his open hand, Lestrade grabs a knee to drape over his shoulder, curling John to a near right angle as his shoulders remain flat on the bed and his arms trail underneath him.


"You fucking- just- Yes! Move!" John pants as he shifts his hips.

Lestrade doesn't have to be told twice, starting with short, forceful pushes that curl them both towards the headboard. The wall is absolutely brilliant leverage, allowing him to draw out slowly, even if it doesn't help going forward; he'd wrap his hand over top of the headboard if he wasn't afraid of losing his fingers. He makes due, slowly lengthening each thrust, aiming near downwards for maximum force as John rolls his hips upwards to meet him.

It also means he only has one hand for John, and it is very busy. He pinches John's nipples hard before scratching nails down his side, making John gasp out curses every other breath. John's never been loud in bed (fucking- considerate- bastard- Lestrade thinks with three aggressive thrusts), but he does have the tendency to go from manly, quiet moans and exclamations to higher pitched gasps and whimpers as he gets close. He'll make fun of John for it, afterwards, he always does, but fuck it all if they're not the most erotic sounds he's ever heard.

John's making them now, cursing less, gasping more, and Lestrade can feel heat curling low in his stomach, so he angles himself properly and brings his hand down John's body. He's close, he's so fucking close, so he grabs John's erection to give it long, hard pulls in time with his thrusts. John tries to arch his back, to press his arms into the bed, and Christ, but it can't be comfortable for him, folded in half with his elbows underneath him, but he's still whimpering like it's the most fantastic he's ever felt.

That thought alone is almost enough to make Lestrade lose his rhythm, but he holds on, recovers with a series of sharp stabs and a twist of the wrist that makes John's breath catch in his throat as he comes all over his stomach. Lestrade fucks him through it, closes his eyes so he can focus past his own harsh panting on the soft, drawn out noise that sounds like it is being squeezed out of John's throat, and follows him over.

FILL: Territorial (1e/1)


They both groan when Lestrade manages the coordination necessary to pull out; John rolls onto his side as Lestrade attempts to unlock his elbow and remove his hand from the wall without crashing forward onto the bedspread.

He fails.

"If you-" John pants, "If you fall asleep before my hands are untied, I will literally kill you."

Lestrade winces, immediately feeling guilty as he rolls to face John's back and pick at the mess encasing his wrists.

"Sorry, sorry. I wasn't thinking." He mumbles as his shaking fingers fiddle with the plastic disks, "Is your shoulder alright?"

"M'fine." Is the response he gets, but John still hisses through his teeth once the shirts are removed and he moves his shoulder forward.

"You should have said something." Lestrade presses his hands to the muscles surrounding the scar, rubbing circles into the skin.

"It's fine. Really," John reaches his right hand across his chest to grab hold on Lestrade's over his shoulder, and squeezes as he rolls onto his back.

"It serves you right," Lestrade grumbles as he shifts to lie on his back next to him, "I wanted to fuck you against the wall." He says as he squeezes John's hand in return.

John scoffs, "Last time you did that, you nearly threw your back out, idiot. I just saved you a month of agony." He grins at Lestrade as he heaves himself up to search the floor for something to clean up with.

Lestrade shuffles about for a blanket, watching John reach out; the way John's stretching, he can see the red blooms along his neck, the teeth marks that will be purple come tomorrow. As John returns with the t-shirt that had recently been keeping his hands behind his back, Lestrade imagines he can hear the squeal of couch springs as Sherlock shifts in the room below them. He feels completely and utterly satisfied.

"Alright, fine, you're a considerate bastard. Now come to bed."


Sorry about the weirdly short last two chapters- blame the character limits!

Re: FILL: Territorial (1e/1)

*purrs* You beauty.

Re: FILL: Territorial (1e/1)

God, yes, this was wonderful!

Re: FILL: Territorial (1e/1)

** stares **

This fill, right here? Thing of beauty. Thank you, authoranon!

Re: FILL: Territorial (1e/1)

Oh yeah, Possessive!Lestrade, tied in his own clothes!John. YUM!

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