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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Check the Sticky Post to find a list of all the prompting posts.

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Warning: bestiality

Werewolf!John mates with human!Sherlock while in his wolf-form. No non- or dub-con, please.

Thank god there's anon option because I need this. ((hides in shame))

Lurking on the Supernatural kink meme has thoroughly desensitized me. While "our" werewolves here are protective, angsty, and plotty, over there they have alpha/omega action and mostly fuck their brains out. :-D


anon is about to venture for the first time in this werewolf kink

but anon is confused: what is this knotting you mentioned and should I be scared? XD

Re: anon is about to venture for the first time in this werewolf kink

Oh god, the things I never thought I'd actually have to google. My life.

"Male canids are the only animals that have a bulb or locking bulbus glandis, a spherical area of erectile tissue at the base of the penis. During copulation it becomes engorged with blood.[1] Together with contraction of the vagina, this traps the penis inside the female.[2] This is known as tying or alternatively knotting. While characteristic of mating in most canids, the copulatory tie has been reported to be absent[3] or very brief (less than one minute)[4] in the African Wild Dog, possibly due to the abundance of large predators in its environment.[5]

"Once the penis is locked into the vagina by the bulbus glandis (when the stud is "tied"), the male will usually lift a leg and swing it over the female's back while turning around. The two stand with their hind ends touching and the penis locked inside the vagina while ejaculation occurs, decreasing leakage of semen from the vagina. After some time, typically between 5 and 20 minutes[6] (but sometimes longer), the bulbus glandis disengorges, allowing the mates to separate."

Re: anon is about to venture for the first time in this werewolf kink

Oh dear, the things I didn't know and will never be able to delete... XD

Thanks for the explanation!

LJ hates me and I didn't see this prompt before making my similar one below. Pages haven't been loading properly for me for a few hours now. Oh well, tracking this too, and definitely seconded!

This kink meme really has a hive mind, it seems. I'm going to track your prompt too, just to be on the sure side. :-)

Mycroft says: ffillec thousand. So, obviously we'll get one thousand fills.

with this much bestiality on just this one page this obviously needs to happen.


Thirding or whatevering this prompt because if the rest of us can get our D/s and rape fantasy and drugsex and vampire prompts filled a million times over, the two OPs deserve to get their kink written, too. Yay!

I don't think I'll ever be able to get over how wonderful and open-minded everyone here is.

IDEC Seconding. ^\\\^

and you may call me the big bad wolf 1/???

John was sitting at the desk, frowning at something on his laptop. Sherlock was slouched low in the armchair, staring at a blank television. Not an unusual occurrence, any of it.

"What is it like, when you're a wolf?" Sherlock asked.

John poked out another word before answering. "You've asked that before."

Sherlock twisted around in the chair so that he was perched on the balls of his feet and half-leaning over the back. "Yes, but I want to know what it's like in your mind. How much do you remember of being a man?"

"Mmm, a great deal." John tilted his head, but didn't look away from the screen. He was probably writing one of those blog entries of his. Those were the only things that ever took him this long. "I mean, you've seen me. Do I look feral to you?"

"No," Sherlock allowed. John as a wolf was a great deal like John as a man: a little small, a lot unassuming, but very, very dangerous. The difference was that the danger was a lot more obvious when John had 42 highly specialised teeth. "But I've also seen you eat rubbish and howl at the moon, which is not behaviour you're prone to at other times of the month."

"Ah. Well." John rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. "Well. It's hard to explain. It's like, all the thoughts are there, the human thoughts, like, I know what a cab is and I can recognise people and all that, but it's, you know, the instincts. Rolling about in a skip seems like a really excellent idea, as does smelling people's bums, and if I don't watch myself then I'll really go and do it. Or sometimes I let myself do it anyway, if no one else is around."

"Or me," said Sherlock.

"Or you." John favoured Sherlock with a faint smile, and Sherlock returned it with a faint flutter somewhere in his chest. "Only because I know you won't mind it, or will actually find it fascinating, or something."

"Everything about you is fascinating," Sherlock murmured. He ran his tongue round his teeth. "So you recognise people?"

"Of course I do."

"And you remember them?"

John frowned. "I already said that. You know that. What're you getting at?"

"I'm merely trying to ascertain whether or not you hold the same level of desire for me as a wolf as you do when you're a man," said Sherlock.

John opened his mouth, shut it again, repeated the gesture, and finally said, "Why do you want to know this?"

John wasn't an idiot; he knew where this conversation was going, he was just feigning ignorance in hopes that Sherlock didn't mean what he thought he meant. Sherlock rolled out of the chair and padded over to the desk, so that he could lean against it with both palms on the wood and look directly into John's face. "Because, John, I'd like very much for you to take me at the next full moon."

All the blood drained from John's face, until it was as pale as his clenched knuckles. "What?"

Sherlock generally never repeated himself, but he did this time.

"Why," John whispered. "Are you--do you--"

"I am not a zoophiliac, if that's what you're wondering," Sherlock said, patiently. "Think about it logically--"

"No." John had stopped looking at Sherlock or at his computer screen, mainly because he had his eyes squeezed shut and was clutching his own hair, elbows braced on the desk. "How can you--this isn't logical, it's not logical to want to have sex with a wolf--"

"You aren't a wolf, you're John," Sherlock said patiently, but he could feel his own pulse in his throat. He'd known that John would react this way, but he had to, he had to make John see-- "You just said so. You retain your memories, your knowledge; it's only the instincts that come to the fore. And those instincts still want me, don't they?"

"Sherlock." The name came out high and strangled, and Sherlock knew he was winning; he had to press his advantage.

"Don't they?" he asked, leaning on the words.

"Shut, sh--fuck you." John stood so suddenly he banged one knee against the table leg, but he didn't seem to care. "I can't believe you even--no. No." He didn't even bother to close his laptop; in fact, he left it on the table as he stormed up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.


Re: and you may call me the big bad wolf 1/???


Re: and you may call me the big bad wolf 1/???

Great start, and I'm VERY MUCH looking forward to more! - second!OP

and you may call me the big bad wolf 2/???

Three hours passed, and John still didn't come out of his room.

Picking the lock always upset John, so Sherlock knocked and said, "John, we need to talk."

"Fuck off."

Sherlock leaned against the doorframe and tapped his forefinger against his lips. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't realise it would upset you."

A frustrated sound, closer to the door. John was probably standing on the other side of it. "How could you not think it would upset me? Finding out that my lover wants to be penetrated by a, by a gigantic wolf, that's a bit upsetting."

"But why?" This was a genuine question, and Sherlock let it infuse his voice. John rarely got upset when Sherlock sincerely wanted to know, and for John's sake Sherlock let them clutter up his hard drive. For John's sake he tipped cab drivers, stayed silent at the theatre, and didn't tell Mrs. Ashbury that her son was dead (even though he knew it was true, even though her hopes were unfounded; he let Lestrade break the news, when they finally found the body). "It would be consensual," he offered.

The door creaked slightly, which meant John was leaning against it, probably with his back. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, so low that Sherlock could hardly hear it. Then, "Why? I mean, why do you want this, if it's, if it's not some kind of fetish?"

There were a thousand reasons why. A great deal of them were mapped out on a spreadsheet on John's laptop--amazing that he hadn't found it yet; it was hardly hidden--which backed up the hypothesis that their sexual encounters increased in frequency and roughness the closer it was to full moon. Sherlock pressed one hand against the wood of the door and murmured, the deep rumbling that he knew John liked, "I have a fetish for you, John. I want to know everything about you. Including what your knot feels like inside me."

A sharp intake of breath. John was definitely on just the other side of the door. "Jesus, Sherlock." He sounded half awed, half afraid.

"I've done the research," Sherlock said.

John opened the door. His hair stuck up every which way. He chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments, then said, hoarsely, "I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock bent his head close so that he could feel John shudder when he replied, "But I want you to hurt me."


Re: and you may call me the big bad wolf 2/???

"But I want you to hurt me."


How did I miss this until now??? Great start, can't wait to read more!

Is it okay if Sherlock tops?

Not exactly what I had in mind, but you are the author, I'm going to be happy with anything you write. :-)

Re: OP

Okay, cool. The fill is really for both you and the OP of the one below you, but I'm planning on posting it down there (it's a WIP right now, but it's been giving me a little bit of difficulty), so keep an eye open for it!

REWRITE and you may call me the big bad wolf 1/??

Okay so I looked at the first two parts and was like argh, this sucks, and decided to rewrite it. And now I am posting it without any editing at all. I hope it's what you wanted, OP.


Sherlock was meticulous in all things, and so he had a spreadsheet (on John’s laptop, of course; he could hardly be faulted if the man didn’t notice things on his own computer) in which he catalogued everything about the man, from how much milk he liked in his tea (no sugar, but milk) to which clothes he wore on which days (there was no pattern, really, unless one counted John’s moods and the weather; it did, however, allow him to extrapolate the contents of John’s wardrobe and his sartorial taste without actually going through his physical wardrobe, always a useful exercise) to how often he got his hair trimmed. The spreadsheet wasn’t really necessary--Sherlock was disgustingly happy to keep all things related to John Watson on his mental hard drive--but he liked the order of it.

After they commenced what was generally termed a “romantic relationship,” Sherlock added a new tab to the document for charting their sexual encounters, because he was nothing if not thorough. At first it was routine, just another thing to be filed, but three and a half months into the endeavour he noticed a pattern.

It had never occurred to him that there was a correlation between the phases of the moon and John’s sexual behaviour, but the pattern was there: John was unfailingly considerate and gentle after the full moon, but as the full moon closed in their encounters not only increased in frequency, but also roughness. John would initiate sex in places other than the bedroom, pin Sherlock down, leave marks, and the next morning run his fingers over the bruises and smile--reluctantly, perhaps--when Sherlock moaned. Perhaps some of that gentleness was in unconscious apology for his behaviour beforehand. It did seem like the kind of thing he would do, unnecessary as it was; Sherlock liked it when John was possessive.

Then the moon would wax full, and John would be unavailable for two to three days. Before they began their “relationship” John would take himself out of town for the event or vacate to his sister’s, but now he was more content to stay in the flat, although it was hardly big enough for a 160 pound wolf. Sherlock supposed it was one of those “intimacy” things, much like how when one began a committed long-term relationship with someone it was suddenly permissible to fart in front of them. But it was nice to have John in the flat, whether he was on two legs or four. John as a wolf was much like John as a human: a little small, a little unassuming, and very, very dangerous. John was simply more obviously dangerous when he had 42 very specialised teeth.

It bothered Sherlock, a little, that there was a gap in his spreadsheet, in his knowledge. There was something he didn’t know, and he hated not knowing things, especially when it came to John.


REWRITE and you may call me the big bad wolf 2/??

“What is it like, when you’re a wolf?” Sherlock asked, craning his head over John’s shoulder.

John frowned at the pan and poured on a glassful of wine. “You’ve asked that before.”

“Yes, but I want to know what it’s like in your mind. How much sentience do you retain? All your human memories?”

John made a noncommittal humming sound. “Pass the tomato sauce, and then could you go sit down or something? You’re making me nervous.”

Sherlock passed the tomato sauce and then went to sit at the kitchen table. John pushed the onions and mushrooms around in the wine for a bit, scraping the burnt bits off the bottom of the pan, before pouring in the sauce.

“Well, yes, basically,” John said at last. “I mean, you’ve seen me. Do I look feral?”

“No,’ Sherlock allowed. John as a wolf generally did all the same things as John as a man, such as sit in a chair and watch bad telly (though he was under the impression that wolf vision was very poor; perhaps he enjoyed the sound?) and attempt to tidy, although it was a great deal harder without hands. “But I’ve also seen you eat raw beef and howl at the moon, which is not behaviour you’re prone to at other times of the month.”

John made a sound between a cough and a clearing of the throat. “Ah. Yes. Well.” He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “It’s hard to explain. All the thoughts, the human thoughts are there. I know what a cab is and I recognise, say, you, and Mrs. Hudson. But it’s the, you know, the instincts. Rolling about in a skip seems like a grand idea, and so does pissing on trees, and if I don’t watch myself then I’ll really go and do it. Or sometimes I let myself do it anyway, if no one else is around.”

“Or me.” Sherlock didn’t bother to repress his faint smile.

“Or you.” John favoured Sherlock with a return smile and went back to stirring the sauce. “Only because I know you won’t mind it, and will actually find it fascinating or something.”

Everything about John was fascinating. It was actually a little annoying. “So you retain full use of your human faculties, with the addition of lupine instinctual behaviour.”

“Yeah, basically,” John said, after a brief, thoughtful pause. “What’s this about, then? You interrogated me about this ages ago.

“New data,” said Sherlock. John accepted this as he always did, with weary pragmatism, and set the sauce to simmer while he salted the water for the pasta. He waited until John had dumped in the spaghetti before saying, “So do you want to have sex with me, too, when you’re a wolf?”

John hit his hand on the side of the pasta pot and yelped, but probably not because he’d burned himself; it was much too brief a contact for that. He ran the tap anyhow and put his hand under it. “You did not,” he said through gritted teeth, “did you really just--no, you did, of course you did. Why would you ask that?”

“Because I want to have sex with you,” said Sherlock. “At the next full moon. Of course, if you’re averse to it, then that’s fine. But it’s fully consensual on my part,” he added. John always got very worked up about the consent thing.

John stared. “You want to have sex with me.” He always repeated the last thing Sherlock said when it was a Bit Not Good.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, and really, what was the problem here? He was being very forthright and communicative; John was always harping on that.

“As a wolf,” John said.


“Er.” John stared at the pan of sauce as if it might provide some enlightenment. “Why?”

Sherlock contemplated what John might want to hear, or rather, what he might not want to hear, which was usually the more important. John looked a bit stricken by this news, so probably he didn’t want to hear something like, “Well, John, I’ve noticed that you tend to be a bit rougher around the full moon, and I’ve really enjoyed that, so I thought we might take it a bit farther.” Sherlock could say something nearly normal, such as, “Well, I love you and I want to take our relationship to the next level,” but that would be out of character and John would see through it in a microsecond. So he settled for the truth, or as close to it as the English language would allow, which was, “I want to know everything about you.”

REWRITE and you may call me the big bad wolf 3/??

John pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb and said, “You realise that most people don’t want to have sex with wolves.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Honestly, ask once whether the Earth revolved around the sun or vice versa and people never forgot it. “But you’re not a wolf, you’re John.”

“Yes, but.” John licked his lips. “The wolf shape, that’s usually a turn off. For most people.”

He’d leaned a bit on the phrase most people, which meant it was important. Sherlock ran through it a few times before it dawned on him. “Oh! You’re implying that I have a bestiality fetish, which is not the case here. I’m not attracted to any other animals, or even your animal in particular, except inasmuch as he is also you.”

“That’s.” John cleared his throat. “That’s very flattering. But. Um.”

Sherlock cocked his head. “The idea makes you uncomfortable,” he observed. “Like I said, John, it’s fine if you’re averse to the idea.”

“Right. Well.” John looked at the floor, at the edge of the counter, anywhere except Sherlock. This was not going well at all. “That’s. Yes. Because I am. Averse to the idea.”

“Then I won’t bring it up again,” Sherlock said, with every pretence of serenity. John continued staring at the cabinets, the skin around his eyes twitching minutely. Sherlock said, delicately, “Is dinner ready?” prompting John to remember that he was, in fact, cooking, and so rescued the spaghetti from being overcooked.


John was the one to bring it up that night, as Sherlock anticipated. Dinner conversation had been stiff and perfunctory at best, and afterwards John had retired to what had once been his bedroom and was now an office slash storage space, ostensibly to write a blog entry but probably to think. Sherlock made no attempt to initiate sexual intercourse that night, and neither did John.

Sherlock was nearly asleep, one arm and leg flung comfortably over John, when John said, “People usually don’t you know.”

Sherlock rolled onto his side, so that he could look at John. “Don’t what?”

“Have sex with--I mean, you and I are hardly the first human/werewolf couple. But most werewolves do, do um, mate, hook up, whatever, with other werewolves. It’s just easier that way. And the human/werewolf couples, well, they don’t really cross the, the interspecies line. It’s too. . . it’s weird.”

“I don’t see why,” Sherlock said. “It’s not really bestiality. There are no consent issues, if there’s proper communication and precautions are taken. It’s not as if there’s any possibility of children. And in your case, you were born a werewolf, so it’s not even as if you can pass the condition on to me.”

John shuddered. “If there were any--”

“But there isn’t, so there’s no point,” Sherlock said, firmly. “I said it was fine, if you were averse to the idea.”

“Liar,” John said, but there was no heat behind it. “You want this, or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“So do you, if what you said is true,” said Sherlock. “You’re just being gentlemanly about it. Which is absurd, when I’ve already consented.”

John made a frustrated sound. “It’s not just--it’s not just that. It’s not safe. Instincts, they’re unpredictable, not to mention the--the--I can still hurt you.”

Sherlock rolled onto John then, pinning him down with half his weight. He lowered his voice to that rumbling register that never failed to send a shudder through John and said, “I want it.”

John closed his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, but I want you to,” said Sherlock. “I want you to hurt me.”


REWRITE and you may call me the big bad wolf 4/??

John didn’t like Sherlock around when he transformed--another useless hangup, but Sherlock would deal with that later--and so while John shut himself in the storage room and went into cardiac arrest while his internal organs and skeletal structure rearranged themselves, Sherlock took a shower and cleaned himself out. He set out the lube, a bowl of water and a couple of flannels, and after some thought, left the condoms in the drawer. He put some plastic down on the bed, as this was likely to get messy, and also John would probably get fur everywhere.

Sherlock was on the bed, working a slicked-up toy into himself, when John nosed the door open and padded up to the bed. Sherlock grunted and eased the toy out; John regarded him with laid-back ears and a nervous tail.

“You were so worried about hurting me,” Sherlock murmured. “I wanted to be ready for you.” He held out a hand. John smelled it, nose twitching, and licked his palm. Sherlock sat up and patted the bed next to him. John wrinkled his nose at Sherlock and drew his lips back from his teeth, but only briefly: a very human gesture, one that said, I am not a dog. Don’t treat me like one. But he leapt onto the bed, and Sherlock turned himself onto hands and knees.

John did sniff at his bum, and lick at the crack, but then he turned his attention to nosing between Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock was already half-hard from the stretching he’d done earlier, and John’s tongue was warm and wet on his balls, and then along his shaft. He made an approving humming sound, and John nudged him with a nose to his flank. Then he did it again, harder, now shoulder to hip. John was very strong, and Sherlock let himself be rolled onto his back, bracing himself on his elbows so that he could see was John was doing.

What John was doing was licking his cock all over, spreading his saliva everywhere. Sherlock groaned and spread his legs wider, raising his knees and planting his feet flat on his bed so that John could access his balls. John, crouched between his legs seemed content to lick forever, panting warm, moist breaths over the sensitive skin. Sherlock found himself wishing, dazedly, that there was some way John could take his cock in his mouth. If only there was something that could be done about all those teeth.

Sherlock unlocked his fingers and brought his left hand up, tentatively, to the fur on John’s head. He’d petted John before, of course, when they were both lazing on the couch or had been wrestling on the floor: he was acquainted with the thick, plush fur and knew that John liked being rubbed at the base of the ears. When John sucked him off, Sherlock often buried his fingers in the man’s hair. He hypothesised the wolf would receive it in the same manner.

John stopped licking and turned his head into Sherlock’s hand. His ears made a peculiar swiveling motion. “Hmmm,” said Sherlock, and sat up, scooting forwards so that he could bury both his hands in the wolf’s thick ruff. He tugged at the fur a little, which made John flatten his ears and growl--all right, so that was like hairpulling, then--and then scratched his nails through it, up John’s back and partway down his flanks. John made a little crooning, growling sound, and Sherlock, half on a whim and half out of curiosity, leant forward and dragged his tongue across the front of John’s snout.

John started and jerked his head back, ears up and eyes wide. Sherlock pulled back as well, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. The experience had been mildly disagreeable; John’s nose and lips were cold, and his whiskers were bristly against Sherlock’s tongue. Not something he’d willingly repeat, and from the way John was staring at him, not something John cared to repeat, either.

“Roll over,” Sherlock instructed. When John stared at him blankly, he said, “Well, if you’re going to be like this, there are parts of you I’d like to examine.” John laid his ears back and lowered his muzzle. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If you insist, I won’t press the issue, but I did suggest this.”

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