Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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

Prompts from this post can be filled on the Overflow Post

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

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.
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  • 1
because virgin!Sherlock and jealous!John are two of my favorite kinks in this fandom.
John/Sherlock, Sherlock/Other

Virgin!Sherlock starts dating [insert whatever OC or canon character here!]. John really wanted to be Sherlock's first. His jealousy would be easier to ignore if Sherlock would stop coming to him for advice, being unsure of what [other character] expects of him.

(Angst and pining or John/Sherlock ending both welcome!)



And my personal vote is for angst and pining AND John/Sherlock ending. <3


And seconding the Angst and pining with Sherlock/John ending. Can we throw in John getting Sherlock's cherry after all? *blushes and hides*

yes virgin!sherlock and jelous!john are my favorite kinks as well!
so, fourthing this!

oops forgot to go anon...oh well! :D

The Everthere Part 1/?

Er...hope this is what you wanted. The title is from the beautiful song by Elbow, which is my ultimate Holmes/Watson(anyverse)track.

John doesn’t like Daniel Vaughn.

Perhaps it’s because he’s very definitely a ‘Daniel’ and never a ‘Dan’. Perhaps it’s because he is privately educated and went to Cambridge and got a double first and isn’t the least bit show- offy about it. Perhaps it’s because he’s a human rights lawyer and is therefore extremely clever but not the requisite level of bastard that the word ‘lawyer’ usually implies. Perhaps because he’s a full six inches taller than John. And has the kind of naturally thick, auburn hair that is usually on achieved with extremely fancy dye and a high powered hair dryer. Perhaps it’s shoes (bespoke Italian leather) or his eyes (melting pools of dark chocolate).

Most likely, though, it’s because when Sherlock looks at Daniel Tall Ginger Human Rights Lawyer with A House In Kensington, he blushes.

John grits his teeth, which reminds him he has to book an appointment with the dentist because one of his crowns has come loose. Daniel has teeth which wouldn’t look out of place in a Colgate advert.

They met at Sherlock’s tailor and apparently, oh John it’s just so funny, Daniel didn’t know the difference between a tuxedo jacket and a double breasted suit jacket. Can you imagine? John can actually, it doesn’t make the story more interesting.

Daniel looks at Sherlock fondly, brown eyes twinkling. John thinks he’s landed in some sort of gay rom -com fairytale and Daniel is going to take Sherlock on a mini break to the Cotswolds and they will rent a tandem and go boating and then make energetic love in a bed and breakfast room tastefully decorated in Laura Ashley home furnishings.

“Right.”John says, and feels awkward in his own living room. John doesn’t want to feel awkward in his own living room. It’s his living room. He should be free to sit around in his stained jumper, or possibly just his pants and not feel awkward because some smug git is smiling at him and has his hand on Sherlock’s thigh.

“Tea?” he asks, because tea makes everything better.

Daniel looks charmingly apologetic. “Oh, I’d love to but I actually don’t drink anything caffeinated after midday.”

Of course he doesn’t.

Things get so, so much worse.

Sherlock and Daniel go for dinner on Tuesday and John considers target practice in the flat. Sherlock comes back, looking slightly moony and Sherlock considers target practice in Daniel’s house.

Daniel comes around for afternoon tea (he has de-caf) on Wednesday and charms Mrs Hudson, despite the worried glances she keeps throwing at John. Because Mrs Hudson, their lovely, all seeing not Housekeeper, knows.

She doesn’t ask if he’s alright, or says anything about there being a lot of marine life in the ocean, but she squeezes his arm as John gathers up the tea things (Daniel and Sherlock have gone for a walk in the park. It is a beautiful spring afternoon, after all.)

On Friday Sherlock and Daniel go out for dinner again and Sherlock comes back well past his normal bedtime (believe it or not, he does have one. He likes two digestive biscuits with his final cup of tea for the day and to be tucked up by half eleven if there isn’t a case on) with a positively goofy smile on his face and swollen lips.

John considers target practice on Daniel’s face.

But this is all bearable, to a certain extent. Yes, it feels like someone is dragging broken glass across his skin and he’s constantly dealing with the urge to either be sick or punch someone (and no, not always tall human rights lawyers. Sometimes it’s just people who happen to remind John of him).

Apart from the occasional cup of tea at the flat with Sherlock and a spade a spade, Watson... boyfriend he doesn’t actually have to witness any of the dinners and romantic walks and shared glances and smiles and touches and kisses and John disengages brain.

Re: The Everthere Part 2/?

Until Sherlock starts asking him things.

He doesn’t exactly know where Sherlock has gotten the idea that John is some sort of all-knowing relationship expert. Since moving in to 221b over a year ago, John has dated exactly three women and none of them successfully. The failure of these relationships is down entirely to the fact that he has fallen hopelessly in love with a certain oblivious consulting detective, who decidedly does not return his feelings.

John hadn’t even let himself dare hope that he might ever feel the same way. Sherlock never seemed to want anything even vaguely like a romantic relationship in his life. John had convinced himself that friendship was enough, that he could put aside his more romantic notions (about twining the curls that fall over Sherlock’s forehead between his fingers, about kissing that smart mouth, about touching that tantalizing pale skin) in the deep freeze. To accept Sherlock’s friendship and not resent having nothing more because Sherlock doesn’t want those things with anyone.

Except apparently, he does. Just not with John. And it’s ripping John’s strained heart to pieces, even as he tells himself it’s fine, it’s all fine.

It’s when he’s making himself his umpteenth cup of tea of the day (tea makes everything better is fast becoming John’s mantra. In fact he might just fill the bath with it and drown himself, for all the good it actually does) that Sherlock comes into the kitchen and stands awkwardly in the doorway.

“You want one?” John asks, because Sherlock occasionally forgets to drink on top of forgetting to eat and sleep. He can live for a while without the other two but not without hydration.


Sherlock seems nervous about something, which is odd enough to give John pause, even as he ladles a couple of sugars into Sherlock’s favourite mug and adds the water.

“John...can I ask you a question?” Sherlock starts, hesitantly when they are sitting in their respective chairs in the living room.

Inwardly John sighs. Somehow, he knows this is about Daniel.

“Of course.” he says, hoping he sounds neutral and vaguely interested.

“It’s about Daniel.”

John hates it when he’s right.


“Mm. You see... I don’t...I’ve never I suppose you could say I’ve never had a serious relationship before and well...” Sherlock trails off.

John feels like he’s been dipped in ice water. ‘Serious relationship’ is clattering around his brain like a caged bird.

“... and?” John chokes out.

Sherlock quirks his lip a little self depreciatingly.”I suppose I’m just not really sure what’s expected of me.”

Oh Christ. Sherlock actually wants to know how to act in a relationship. He’s actually attempting to learn about social conventions. For someone else’s sake.

John hides his disappointment behind a swallow of tea.

“Well...” God, how is he supposed to begin this, “I would erm .Be courteous. Try not to call him an idiot too much. Don’t blow bubbles in your lemonade.”

That earns him one of Sherlock’s rare smiles. It actually causes pain in John’s chest.

“I don’t really know what to say, Sherlock. Just be nice to him. If you like him.”

Sherlock nods.”I do like him. He’s very interesting.”

John wants to throw his cup at the wall. ‘Interesting’ is about the best compliment Sherlock can give someone.

“But...” John peers at Sherlock and realises the other man is blushing.

“I don’t know how to... um...that is I’ve never...”once again he trails off.

John is confused for all five seconds. Then it’s his turn to blush.

“Oh. Oh.” is all he can seem to say.

Re: The Everthere Part 3/?

Sherlock looks down at his hands and starts fiddling with his shirt cuffs, “Yes, well I realise that in a thirty two year old man it’s hardly normal to be a virgin but I would have thought a doctor could appreciate-”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m just surprised.”

“Why? I did say this ‘wasn’t my area’.”

That doesn’t mean you don’t have a body that’s built for sex, a mouth that’s invitation to sin, limbs that someone could get tangled up in or pin down, eyes that are just dying to have their sharpness fogged with lust. John has to block that line of thought as his they drift towards how Sherlock’s spine would arch, the noises that he could potentially make with that deep baritone because that... that is just torturing himself.

“Well...yeah. Sorry, should have, um, known.” he says, intelligently.


“So, what?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes like John is being deliberately dense.

“What do I do if he wants to have sex with me?”Sherlock asks, bluntly.

John knows that Sherlock doesn’t have the first clue about how John feels for him, but God, it feels like Sherlock is being deliberately cruel. Asking about how to have sex with another man, a better looking, probably cleverer , richer infinitely more interesting man than John, is just about the worst thing Sherlock could possibly do to him.

Sherlock doesn’t seem to notice John’s inner turmoil. In fact he’s still talking.

“Obviously I know about the kissing side of things and in theory I know about intercourse. And I realise that you don’t have experience with men to draw on but I imagine it’s not that different with women so-”

“I have experience with men.” John says, before he can stop himself. Sherlock stares at him, eyes wide.


John sighs, “I’m bisexual, Sherlock.”


John actually chuckles at that. “I am attracted to and have sex with both men and women.”

“No I meant how have I missed that? You haven’t dated any men since living here though. I would have noticed.”Sherlock is frowning and has his deducing face on.

“ It’s generally easier for me to pick up women and I haven’t met anyone I’ve wanted to date so...” Apparently that satisfies Sherlock’s interest in the matter.

Then Sherlock smiles, an oddly innocent, pleased expression.

“This is excellent ,John You can give me more practical advice!”

John shuts his eyes for a moment. He’s entered his own personal hell: teaching Sherlock how to make love to another man who is not, nor ever shall be, John Watson.


John opens his eyes to see Sherlock looking at him askance.

“If the idea doesn’t appeal to you then I won’t ask you to tell me about your sex life it’s just... you are the only person I trust to help me.”Sherlock says.

John’s sense of pride and self preservation is screaming at him not to, but he knows he’s going to cave in. To be Sherlock’s only trusted friend is still something, something wonderful and important so he won’t take it for granted.

“No... it’s fine.” he sighs, slightly and hardens his heart. He puts on his trained medical professional voice.

“Alright. Make sure you use a condom.”

Sherlock scoffs, “Of course, I’m not an idiot.”

“Yes, but some people like to imply that sex without a condom is better and shows more trust of a partner. It doesn’t, its recklessness, especially the first time. You might not have had sex before but I’m sure Daniel has, so don’t let him pressure you.”

Sherlock looks wide eyed again. “Alright.”

“When going down on someone make sure you go at your own pace and communicate with your partner so it doesn’t get too much. It’s easiest if you hold the base of the penis so that you can guide and dictate the rhythm, and don’t try to deep throat the first time. Your partner would be concerned if you started choking. Likewise if you’re receiving oral sex don’t try to pressure your partner, and certainly make sure that – Sherlock are you alright?”

Sherlock looks...well shocked is probably an accurate description. He catches John’s eye, and his cheeks go a deep pink colour. He crosses his long legs and nods.

Re: The Everthere Part 4/?

“Sherlock? Are you sure?” he repeats, just to be safe.

Sherlock nods again.

“Yes, John it’s fine, I just didn’t expect...” Sherlock looks away clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t expect the, um, mental images.” he squirms in his seat a little and it’s suddenly obvious why he’s uncomfortable.

Oh brilliant. Sherlock is becoming aroused. Thinking about having sex with another man. Thinking about going down on bloody ‘squash three times a week and swimming every morning ‘ Daniel Vaughn.

“I can stop if you want? Or write it down so you can read it in your own time?”

Please, please let me stop, John thinks.

“No, it’s fine.”

For you, John thinks bitterly, it is fine for you. For you this is probably enjoyable.

“Look, what it boils down to is communication with your partner. If you don’t like something, tell them. I can’t really give you any sounder advice than that.” John can’t believe that his pathetic devotion to Sherlock has really come down to giving him practical sex advice to help his burgeoning relationship.

John supposes that’s what his love for Sherlock means. He will do anything, absolutely anything, to help Sherlock, to stop him from getting hurt in any way.

“I think I understand. Now about foreplay...”

“Sherlock.”John holds up a hand, “Stuff like foreplay, that’s just something you have to go with. If you aren’t enjoying something or you want to try something just tell your par- Daniel.”

“I just wanted to ask how long it’s supposed to go on for.” Sherlock sounds a bit put out for.

John looks up at the ceiling and wonders which God he offended in a past life to deserve this kind of treatment. Perhaps if he were just sexually attracted to Sherlock it’d be fine, maybe he’d even be able to get off on the idea of Sherlock with another man. But he’s in love with Sherlock, wants him in ways that have nothing to do with sex. He wants to be there when he’s ill, help him with his problems, be his companion. He wants to grow old with him. So thinking about Sherlock getting hot and bothered under someone else’s touch is like a waking nightmare.

“For however long you want it to, Sherlock.” John says.

Sherlock nods again. Before he can ask another question John is standing up and pulling on his coat.

“I’m going to go for a walk, I’ll get some milk. See you in a bit.” he calls on his way out.

OP (Anonymous) Expand

Re: The Everthere Part 7/?

The next day finds John at a windswept crime scene on Hampstead Heath. It’s a freezing cold morning and John’s pretty sure his eyelashes are developing their own icicles but he doesn’t much care.

Sherlock is swirling about in his ridiculous coat, looking gorgeous and insane, doing all the things that made John fall in love with him in the first place. Being rude, being right, caring about the truth, justice, and even the victim, despite claiming not to.

It’s impossible for John to know Sherlock and not to love him. He knows that he’s a veritable mass of contradictions: self assured yet incredibly fragile, a self proclaimed sociopath who spends his life solving stranger’s problems, possibly the most physically attractive man John has ever seen and still a virgin.
Although getting closer to losing said virginity with every passing day. The weekend loomed over John like a dark cloud, knowing that Sherlock would be spending it in Kensington, becoming someone’s lover. It doesn’t bare thinking about. Doesn’t mean John hasn’t spent hours having horrible daydreams about it.

“Alright, John.” Donovan wanders over and gives him a polystyrene cup of what is probably meant to be coffee, although it neither looks nor smells like it.

“Morning, Sally.”

They watch Sherlock yell something at Anderson and Sally giggles slightly. She stopped seeing him months ago (John had asked her about it and she’d mumbled something about Jurassic Park so he’d decided not to question further) and had warmed significantly to Sherlock and John.

“I saw Freak the other day in Covent Garden with Daniel Vaughn, that lawyer bloke. Are they friends or something?” Sally asks a little too casually.

“They’re dating.” John replies, flatly.

“Bloody hell.”Sally takes a restorative gulp of coffee. “You OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Sherlock and I were never together.” As he’s explained this week to Mrs Turner (next door’s landlady) Felix and Jeremy (said married ones) Angelo, Mr and Mrs Cheema who run the corner shop and Dave, the taxi driver who is usually the one to get called to 221b at bizarre times of the night when the need a taxi fast. All of them offered John their commiserations with a sad, pitying look. John knew they were trying to be kind but it really doesn’t help.

“Yeah but...I mean we all thought it was going to happen. I mean, it was so obvious. ”

Despite being well meaning, tact has never been Sally’s strong point. John wonders if Sally is ever given the job of telling people they’ve lost a family member. He somehow doubts it.

“The looks he gives you. So obvious.”
John’s nonplussed. “Sorry, what?”
“When you say something intelligent, he looks at you like the sun’s shining out of your behind. And Christ, he doesn’t half show off when you’re around.”


“Oh don’t get me wrong, he always used to show off, but he’s gotten more over the top since he met you. Like his deliberately trying to impress you.”

“Oh.”Is all John can say in response. Because really, what is he supposed to do with that?

“Can’t believe that Daniel Vaughn is gay as well. I was part of a team that worked with him a couple of years ago, trying to get a group of illegal immigrants we’d rescued from a drugs ring legal asylum. He was brilliant. I suppose once you get past thirty in this city all the single ones are gay or proper fucked up. No offence, John.”

“None taken.” He suspects he’s both. Not that it matters, he has no interest in making himself available to anyone.

Sherlock’s on his way over to them, coat flowing, eyes blazing. The game is on.

Sitting in a taxi later and Sherlock’s phone keeps bleeping his message tone at him. He yanks it out of his pocket, sees who the message is from and grimaces slightly.

“What’s up?” John asks.

“Daniel keeps texting me.” Sherlock sighs and drops his phone onto his lap.

“And that’s bad because...?” John feels a little burst of hope in his chest.

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

“It’s not bad it’s just... I’m on a case.”

“Oh.” John feels the hope die, and wishes it would just stay dead.

Sherlock sighs. “What you do in this situation?”

John considers telling Sherlock that he’d dump Daniel and focus on the work. For one minute he thinks that would be brilliant. And then he remembers Sherlock’s happy smile and knows he can’t do it.

“I suppose you have to explain about the work.”

Sherlock nods and then looks pensive. “What if he doesn’t understand?”

John inwardly sighs. “Then it’s his loss, Sherlock.”

Sherlock chews his lip.

“Look, he has a busy job too; surely he knows what it’s like? I bet he gets snowed under sometimes.”John wants to kick himself. Why does he have to be such a bloody understanding friend, why?

Although he thinks ‘understanding friend’ in this context is actually a stretch and really it means ‘complete doormat’.

Sherlock relaxes a little and gives John a quick smile. Then his thumb starts flying over the keys of his Blackberry, obviously composing a text to Daniel. He sends it with a fairly decisive tap and then spends the next few minutes nervously awaiting a reply. John tries to quell the nasty little part of him that wants Daniel to be not at all understanding about Sherlock’s work.

The message chime rings out in the quiet cab and Sherlock reads the text. And smiles.

“He’s taking me out for dinner as soon as the case is over.”

Damn him. Damn him for seeing just how much Sherlock is worth, even when he’s crazy and obsessed.

“Which means we have to miss out on our usual post case meal.” Sherlock frowns, “I could tell him I can’t do that night?”

Sherlock already has his phone primed and ready to send off another text.

“No, its fine, Sherlock.”John says. Even though those post case meals, when Sherlock is relaxed and loose and funny after days of being wound up are possibly the best times they have together. It wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable knowing that Sherlock would rather be elsewhere.

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

*clutches heart* Poor John!

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

Oh god, you're killing me here. John's heartache just gets to me!

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

*chokes on tears* Poor John!!! *hates Daniel* Though he does seem to be getting a bit more sinister... (Nobody is THAT perfect.) The scene in the stairwell just proves it. I can't wait for more. I'm thinking I need to hunt up a better supply of sap until we get to where John gets his man! *hopes he will in the end*

Excellent job!

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

At this point I'm actually hoping Daniel turns out to be a right bastard so John will have the chance to punch him. If he turns out to be a cherry-picker, there won't be a hole in the world big enough for him to hide in.

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

Well I'm in tears. Really. Damn you John for not seeing how much you're worth!

I love this, in case that's not coming across, and will be waiting anxiously for morep

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

I'm loving this story! And REALLY hoping Sherlock just can't go through with sleeping with Daniel. XD

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

Oh, John, no! Tell him he CAN do that! Because he can! He doesn't have to do every little thing Boyfriend wants! And now Sherlock's going to think the post-case dinners don't mean anything to John... NO!

I like Sally being nicer to them now that she's dumped Anderson (heh heh Jurassic Park). And everyone being sympathetic to John, thinking they were together - so sad!

Re: The Everthere Part 7b/?

Oh god. I'm actually hoping Daniel is like a murderer or something at this point. I know he's a bit of a tosser, but nothing he's done so far actually deserves the level of burning hatred I have for him! I'm actually reading this and laughing at a: how much I want to punch his smarmy bastard face in, and b: how much this fic is pretty much the story of my damn life.

Re: The Everthere Part 8a/?

AN//:Cannot believe the response for this fic! You guys are lovely! So encouraging, I love you all and like the ideas flying around about where the plot's going...hope you enjoy this next bit.Warning for injured!John and blood. Also thanks to the OP forthe wonderful prompt,and Mycroft,for giving me a murder victim...

It’s Monday when the case is finally cracked. The victim, a one Cornelius Oldger, had been a snitch on an underground crime syndicate. Sherlock and John had spent the weekend chasing through the seedy underbelly of London, narrowly avoiding getting killed at every turn. John had to physically pull Sherlock out of the line of fire twice, and the second time he was the one who ended up getting hurt.

He didn’t even notice at the time, that his left arm had been grazed with a bullet. His primary concern was getting Sherlock, that beautiful glorious idiot, to safety behind a skip as three men were shooting at them and only John was armed. John had shoved Sherlock out of the way, felt a slight stinging pain in his arm, drawn his gun and fired, three times, perfectly economically. He’d had to kill one of the men firing at them, with a single bullet to the head. The other two he’d managed to disarm by shooting their guns out of their hands.

“Are you alright?” John asks Sherlock, as the other man’s eyes are wide and wild with panic. John bends and tries to reach out to Sherlock with his left arm, the one not holding the gun and the sudden, shooting pain causes him to cry out.

“John, oh God.”Sherlock springs up and is immediately in front of John, wrapping a supportive arm around his waist. Blood is dribbling steadily down John’s arm, trickling down from his bicep to his wrist. Sherlock is getting more panicked, John can tell by the way his eyes are skittering everywhere even as he rings for and requests an ambulance.

“Sherlock it’s OK, I think it’s just a graze.”

Before John knows it, Sherlock has whipped off his scarf and tied it tightly around John’s bleeding arm and is guiding him to sit down on the pavement. He hides John’s gun in his coat pocket, lest the police and ambulance crew should see (Mycroft will sort out the dead body and two wounded ones, but it’s just easier if there isn’t agro at the actual scene).

“I’m alright, Sherlock.”John insists.

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, except to Lestrade when he arrives on the scene a few minutes later, to explain the loose threads that tie the case together, and to the paramedic who attends to John. Apparently Sherlock will be riding with them to the hospital.

John wonders if Sherlock is angry with John for getting hurt. Sherlock’s expression is certainly tight, and he actually closes his eyes when John winces in pain as the paramedic undoes the makeshift scarf bandage. John thinks that he’ll buy Sherlock a new scarf, to replace the one that is now sodden with about half a pint of John’s blood.

John is whisked away on his own to have his arm seen to and stitched once they reach other hospital. It’s a fairly clean graze, a little groove in the side of John’s arm, that’ll heal to a clean scar, given time. He didn’t lose enough blood to require a transfusion, thanks to Sherlock’s quick thinking with the scarf. The nurse attending him is actually more concerned about John’s general health than the wound. He knows he looks tired, but he didn’t realise quite how much weight he’d lost until he’d taken off his shirt in the Minor Accident and Emergency room and caught a quick glance at himself in the mirror. He could actually see the bottom three of his ribs through his skin.

The nurse wants to get a doctor prescribe him sleeping tablets for his obvious fatigue, but he manages to persuade her he’ll do it himself: she looks like she trusts him; he is a GP after all.

He pulls his t shirt back on, but his jumper is a write off, so it is dumped in the clinical waste bin. He wanders out into the corridor, his arm bandaged and in a sling, to find Sherlock pacing pensively, face even paler than usual. He seemed to calm slightly when he saw John, his eyes tracking all over his body, settling briefly on the sling.

Re: The Everthere Part 8b/?

“See, I told you I’d be fine.”John says, hoping to quell the upset look in Sherlock’s eyes. Surely Sherlock understands that John is out of any danger now.

“Will you stop saying that? For God’s sake, John!” Sherlock hisses at him, his voice filled with the kind of cold anger John never expected to have focussed on him. Especially as he’s standing in a hospital with a fresh bullet wound smarting his skin.

John doesn’t know what to say for a moment, he’s so taken aback. And hurt. But he’s getting good at not showing when he’s hurt these days, he hopes that whatever Sherlock sees in his expression he’ll write it off as physical pain. He looks down at the scuffed lino and tries to affect nonchalance. Suddenly Sherlock’s leather shoes appear in his line of vision and his friend is right in front of him.

“ I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock whispers, sincerely. “Just...John it is never ‘OK’ or ’fine’ if you get hurt, do you hear me? So don’t try and tell me it is.”

John meets Sherlock’s eyes and there is genuine remorse and compassion in them. The expression of a caring friend.

“I hate it when you get hurt, especially when it’s because of me.”

That explained the anger then, not fury at John for getting hurt, but anger at himself for leading John into a situation where he might be hurt.

“Sherlock ,I do choose to go with you, you know. I do know the risks.”

“You and your love of danger.” Sherlock says almost fondly.

John smiles, a little sadly. He is playing a dangerous game just standing this close to his friend. He has the strongest urge to lean into his friend, to tuck his face alongside his pale neck, seeking comfort and warmth. Sherlock smells ridiculously good, like expensive cologne, soap and leather.

“John... what is going on?”Sherlock asks, breaking John out of his happy hallucination. He’s going to try and blame it on the painkillers he was given.

“How do you mean?” John asks lightly, hoping that Sherlock hadn’t noticed his desirous gaze.

“I am referring to your weight loss and your lack of sleep. Is something troubling you?” Sherlock’s voice is gentle, worried. John realises that without his jumper to hide it, Sherlock can see how much weight he’s lost from his stomach and torso. And there’s no hiding the bags under his eyes.

John shakes his head. “I’m fine, Sherlock.”

This, apparently is not the right thing to say in any situation today. Sherlock’s face twists with frustration, and what John suspects is hurt.

“You are clearly not fine. John, I trust you with my problems. I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to but I would like to repay the favour.”

John shuts his eyes, and considers pretending to faint just to avoid this conversation. “Sherlock, it...I’m not... I can’t talk about it.”

He opens his eyes and sees his friend looking at him narrowly, deducing his symptoms.

“Are your nightmares back?” he asks.

Thank God. Sherlock’s not a mind reader ,and he takes the evidence then reaches the most logical conclusion. Clearly everything points to a return of John’s PTSD. And has provided John with a brilliant lie.

“Yeah...I didn’t want to worry you. I was thinking about going back to my therapist, you know.”

Sherlock nods. “That might be for the best.”

‘Yes’, John thinks, looking into the sombre eyes of his flatmate who he desperately wants to kiss, ‘I certainly need some therapy’.

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The Everthere Part 14a/?

AN: Good lord, guys. That awkward moment when people start discussing character motivations (yay, people dont think Daniel is the Mary Sue I was worried he might be! Or they do and are too polite to say!) TBH make what youlikeof Daniel,I lov ethat there are debates*feels like a special snowflake* all will be come clear in the end, ortowards the end,and it comes down to something rather simple. And also, ho wmuch space is there over here? Look at it!It's amazing! I'm sorry I got us all cramped up on the right sideof the screen...Thankies for allthe lovely comments,I'd offer marshmallows but they are foul so have some gin instead, and do not worry! Prufrock moment is not far away!xxx

Writing a note was evidently the hardest part about the whole thing. Harry was thrilled to hear he wanted to come over, so he’d booked a cheap ticket to Reading on his laptop (apparently mid afternoon on a Thursday wasn’t a peak travelling time, who knew?)But the note writing... It seemed so impersonal, considering the fact that the only times John usually wrote notes to Sherlock were to say things like ‘Fingers do not belong in the spaghetti jar’ and ‘If there is no milk when I get home it will be your fingers in the spaghetti jar, I do not care if that is hypocritical’(rather difficult to the second one into one note, he’d had to write really small and Sherlock had claimed he couldn’t understand his ‘doctor’s chicken scratch’ anyway).

John sighs and stands holding the Post It pad in his hand, his old army kit bag over his shoulder. So far he had the utterly original ‘Sherlock’ written down. He eventually gives up on attempting to write anything more flowery than simply ‘gone to Harry’s, text me if needed’. He sticks it to the fridge where Sherlock might eventually see it. When he comes back tonight.

If he comes back tonight.

John pushes that thought out of his mind. It’s none of his business, anyway.

The tube ride to the train station is depressing. Someone is listening to tinny dance music on headphones and John wonders how anyone can enjoy dance music when they aren’t, you know, dancing. The carriage is overly hot and there is a business man with a hacking cough who apparently wishes to infect the world with his sickness, according to his blatant disregard for the common courtesy of putting a handover his mouth. Memories assault John even here, remembering the few times he and Sherlock took the tube, usually because they were so dirt poor John had been forced to buy shop brand beans. Sherlock had entertained John on the noisy, cramped journey by deducing people, standing or sitting close, whispering in John’s ear.

John wondered absently if Sherlock had ever really understood what standing that close to John did to him, if Sherlock has become aware, since dating Daniel, that social conventions like space invading are generally restricted to someone you’re in a relationship with. For about the four hundredth time since he wrote that note, he tells himself that he needs to stop thinking about Sherlock, that this is what the long weekend and Harry’s is about: detox.

He won’t let himself think about what the cardboard boxes he dragged upstairs after the people at Speedy’s had said he could take them meant. That’s for when he gets home and is ready to real with reality.

After a brief grapple with the self service ticket machine, which involved swearing, and arguing but no outright punching after a polite girl with pink hair and far too many earrings explained where he was going wrong, John boards the train, buys a disgustingly over priced coffee and watches as central London, then the suburbs drift past his window.

Just over an hour later his taxi pulls up in the leafy neighbourhood where Harry and Clara had set up home before John left for Afghanistan. Now Harry occupies the small terraced house by herself, but Clara has been spending more nights there, after their tentative dates. John has high hopes for them, especially since Harry has started attending her counselling sessions.

Re: The Everthere Part 14b/?

The front door swings open and he sees his big sister standing there with a grin on her face. It promptly slides away when she takes in his weight loss and obvious fatigue.

“Good God, John, you look worse than you did when you came back from the war!” she says, hustling him into the living room.

John thinks briefly about Sally, and that he probably likes her in the same overly tolerant way as he does his sister, because she reminds him of Harry in her complete lack of subtlety in delicate matters. He flops down onto Harry’s overstuffed sofa and attempts to let some of the tension he’s been carrying with him roll off his shoulders. It isn’t so easy with his sister clucking around; he probably should have booked into a hotel for a few days to get some solitude. Then John realises that makes him seem like an ungrateful bastard, so he accepts his sister’s offer of tea.

“So...are you going to tell me?” Harry flicks some of her long brown hair over her shoulder and gives him the patented Watson Look.

And somehow that does it, and weeks of heartache and depression are spilling out like bile all over Harry’s Persian rug and Ikea furniture. His elder sister listens, patiently to everything he has to say, prompting him only occasionally and asking surprisingly few questions.

When John finishes his tale he doesn’t feel better but he certainly feels lighter, somehow. As nice as other people have been to him about it, he hasn’t had the chance to verbalise how he’s been feeling. It’s not as if he can blog about it. It’s kind of like swearing when you burn yourself, John thinks: ultimately pointless as it’s not going to make it hurt any less, but oddly satisfying all the same.

At the end of the tale Harry nods, and sips her tea. “You can stay as long as you need, Johnny, the futon has your name on it.”

John hated the futon; the futon was like sleeping on railway sleepers cushioned by tissue paper. It was sad that it was his best option. “Thanks, Harry.”

“S’alright... look John ,I know this is probably like rubbing salt into an open wound but... have you thought of the possibility that Sherlock likes you? I mean, it’d explain why Daniel was such a dick-”

“He wasn’t being a dick, he was telling the truth, Harry. And no, I think it’s fairly obvious that Sherlock doesn’t ‘like’ me at least in that way. He’s dating almost the exact opposite of me.”

Harry goes quiet and slightly pensive. John thinks she’s going to launch another argument, but then she says “I’m going to make lasagne and you are going to eat it.” so John is safe from further interrogation.

Re: The Everthere Part 14c/?

John gets drunk on top of eating lasagne. Harry sticks to orange juice and then tea, while John gets through a bottle of Clara’s red wine on his own. Harry insists its fine, she can cope with people drinking in front of her, especially when it’s John, who can be a hilarious drunk, apparently. Considering how tired he’s been of late, it goes straight to his head and he actually finds he’s enjoying himself for about half an hour while watching old Have I Got News For You and turns to Sherlock to say something and remembers.

He doesn’t receive a single text from Sherlock all evening, and hasn’t even when he slinks off to bed at 1am. Harry assures him that he’ll have a massive headache in the morning and that now he’s turned into a ‘brooding drunk’. John has a brief laugh about himself as Heathcliffe or Mr Rochester, but of late he’s been sympathising much more with the mad wife locked in the attic.

Mycroft texts sending Harry his regards and expressing his wish for John to be back in London soon. John wonders how long he’ll have Mycroft as his ally. Somehow, despite Mycroft’s reassurances and overtures at friendship, John imagines that family ties are more important and that he’ll come to accept Daniel within time.

The lack of text from Sherlock mean one of four things: Sherlock has come back and not seen the note because he’s too distracted by something else shiny or Sherlock has come back and read the note and either doesn’t care or is in a strop because John isn’t around for entertainment purposes. Or Sherlock hasn’t gone home and is currently in a bedroom in Kensington, rolling around in expensive Egyptian cotton sheets making love with Daniel.

A wave of nausea hits John ,and he’s surprised to learn that the pain is even more acute than it had been a few weeks ago. The combined tastes of lasagne, cheap red wine and attempted vomit mean that John scrubs his teeth extra hard before bed, hoping he can Colgate his brain of that mental image of Daniel kissing the alabaster skin at Sherlock’s throat, Sherlock’s eyes fluttering closed and a gasping a small moan of throaty pleasure as Daniel starts sliding his strong, tennis player’s hands between Sherlock’s thighs and- John all but punches his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

This was exactly what he wasn’t going to do, he reminds himself. He was going to start taking a mature, calculated response to Getting Over It. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, pathetic pining and impotent heartache weren’t getting him anywhere. He had to start being a grown up, not some wimpy fifteen year old with an unattainable crush.

John thought it was rather ironic that his first steps at ‘being a grown up’ had involved a)running away, b) to his big sisters and c) getting so drunk that it took him five minutes to work out how to unfold Harry’s futon. He eventually passes out with his mouth open, having failed to get the requisite morning after glass of water and paracetmol. His phone is utterly silent.


The next day John woke up mid afternoon to the sound of something exploding. He genuinely thought it might be his brain for a few seconds, before he realised that his phone was vibrating on the pillow next to his head. It only vibrated when he got a phone call, because he hadn’t been able to work out how to turn off that function yet. Sighing he clicked the ‘answer’ button, expecting it to be either Lestrade, Harry or work as they were the only people who ever rang him.

“Hello?” he says, his voice sounding like gravel fighting a cat in a blender.

“Oh ,John, thank God.” Sherlock says, sounding genuinely relived and also like he is in a tiny echo-y box.

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Re: The Everthere Part 15a/?

Forty nine minutes later John is sitting in Harry’s lounge, coffee cup in hand, hair still damp from the shower, when the doorbell rings. It shouldn’t really be such a surprise, since he heard the taxi pull up. But there’s still a sickening jolt as he realises that Sherlock is here and he wants to talk. If he hasn’t worked everything out already, he will have done within two minutes and John will be absolutely sunk.

Heaving a sigh he stands up and goes to answer the door. Harry’s at work and John is on his own in the house, apart from Harry’s goldfish, Butch and Sundance, who aren’t going to be any help when Sherlock inevitably turns away from him in disgust. He walks down the hall and he can see Sherlock’s familiar, imposing outline through the stained glass panels in the door. Even just the suggestion of Sherlock makes his heart lurch in complicated ways.

He flicks the Yale lock just as Sherlock presses the doorbell again so when the door opens everyone’s a little bit off balance because they weren’t quite expecting that to happen. Then Sherlock smiles a little tentatively and John smiles back, even though it hurts to do so.

“May I come in?”Sherlock asks. John’s doing that hovering in the doorway, not letting anyone in thing again. It’s becoming a bad habit.

“Yeah ,of course.”John steps back and walks down the hall as Sherlock enters and shuts the door.

“Do you want tea?” John calls, hoping to stall for some time.

“I had some at the station. John I’d prefer it if we sat down and talked.”

“Alright.”John acquiesces, although he’d happily put this talk off until... oh, 2089? When he’d hopefully be dead.

John leads them to the sitting room and sits down on the settee, Sherlock picks Harry’s wicker chair. He sits down and winces slightly, the wicker creaking under his weight as he shifts to a more comfortable position. John nearly asks whether he’s in pain when he realises the most obvious reason why he would be having difficulty just sitting down. Apparently it was a fun night in Kensington. John flushes uncontrollably feeling absolutely miserable

“I’m not really sure where to start,” Sherlock begins and John resists the urge to scream because he really, really doesn’t want to do this, ever.

John grits his teeth. “Sherlock, it’s fine ,I-”

“John, it is clearly not fine if you’re planning on moving out of 221b.” Sherlock interjects, sharply.

John sighs. “I wasn’t planning on leaving permanently, I just need some space to get myself sorted out.”

“Space.” Sherlock repeats quietly.

“Yes, space.”

“From me.” Even quieter.

“From everything.”

“But mainly me.”

“Yes.” John agrees.


John actually laughs at that. It’s a bitter harsh little noise that contains absolutely no humour at all.

“Because, Sherlock, things were too difficult. Are too difficult.” John can feel a thickness in the

“How do you mean?”Sherlock asks, coolly. His earlier quietness gone, replaced with a similar tone he uses on witnesses.

“Sherlock ,please. You know why.” A horrible sensation is gripping John’s stomach, making him physically hurt. He’s not sure that there’s enough still left in his body to let him throw up again, even if he wants to.

“I’d like to hear you actually say it, John.”

John had expected lots of things from this conversation. He’d expected to be hurt, but only as a reaction to Sherlock’s lack of romantic feelings for him to be finally, obviously and explicitly laid out in front of him. But he didn’t expect this cold, collected interrogation.

John can’t speak, his tongue feels thicker than it should, waves of misery and exhaustion roll over him and John thinks he’s finally reaching breaking point.

“Come on, John, if you were willing to move out over this it’s something that we need to talk about.” Sherlock’s tone has that vaguely chivvying note that usually gets used on members of the police force who aren’t being quite as forthcoming as they might be about evidence.

Of all the things John expected he didn’t expect Sherlock to actually attempt to take him apart like this, to treat him like he was being some silly teenager overreacting. John certainly didn’t expect to be mocked.

: The Everthere Part 16a/?

AN: Hey guys, sorry again for the unexpected hiatus! Crazy times here at hbomb mansions,and I'm off down to that London tomorrow to see a certain two ex Dr Who actors in a certain Shakespeare production (jelly?) Also,I'd like to say a big, big thank you to the people who were concerned that I was upset by negative comments! The messages on here and the ones sent to me in private certainly made me feel like I'm part of a lovely big fandom, fullof lovely caring people.And the ones who don't like this? Can *insert Malcolm Tucker comment here* :D You don't have to read it, I never claimed to be Moffat of Gatiss, this isn't next seasons canon, it's fanfiction, Thankyou, have a wonderful life, try not to be sick into your own scorn.

John startles awake and for a moment is completely disorientated. He’s in a darkened, rather unfamiliar room, the only light is the glow of a security light peeking in through the split in the drawn curtains. Then he realises that he is back at 221b. Then another wave of panic hits him, thinking that maybe everything that happened at Harry’s was merely an exhausted hallucination. He calms down almost immediately when he realises where he actually is: in Sherlock’s bedroom, lying on Sherlock’s surprisingly soft bed, surrounded by Sherlock’s unsurprisingly weird mess.

There’s an honest to God stuffed kestrel sat in a round glass case in pride of place on Sherlock’s paper-drowned desk. Its yellow glazed eyes glow ethereally in the low light, and John wonders how the hell Sherlock ended up with the thing. Then John wonders why he’s wondering about a piece of bloody taxidermy when he’s actually lying in Sherlock’s bed. He grins to himself, in the dark, feeling content for the first time in weeks. It was so wonderful to wake up without having that horrible moment, the loss- filled surge to wakefulness.

He starts remembering the afternoon after Sherlock had gently shaken him awake. He’d slept for about half an hour and in that time Sherlock had managed to bully Mycroft via text to send them a car to pick them up and take them back to 221b. John had packed his bag and just had time to leave Harry a note when a sleek black car pulled up outside the house. Sherlock rather determinedly took John’s bag from him, and held his hand as they walked outside. And continued to hold it all the way back to London.

They didn’t speak much in the car, which would have worried John if it wasn’t for the fact that Sherlock chose to sit in the middle seat, crowding into John’s space and sat for most of the journey with his face pressed against John’s hair. It’s a bit hard to feel insecure about the way someone feels about you when they spend a sixty minute car journey smushed against you, smiling into your scalp like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened.

When they got home Sherlock insisted that John get some sleep before he did anything else. John was a little bit taken aback and had started to make his way upstairs, only to have Sherlock grip his wrist and drag him into his own room, just off the kitchen. Sherlock’s room is slightly bigger than John’s own, with a built in closet, which Sherlock, while tugging off John’s shoes as he’d sat him down on the edge of the bed, warned him never to go into. John was more than a little surprised at Sherlock’s casual ministrations ,and even more surprised when his friend tugged off his own shoes and suit jacket and got both himself and John under the covers.

Sherlock had rearranged them so John was lying half across Sherlock’s chest, his face against Sherlock’s neck again.

“Don’t we need to talk?” John asked, despite the fact he was rather tempted to just shut his eyes and drift again, Sherlock and his bed were excessively comfortable.

“Later, right now you need sleep. And when you wake up you need food. And then we can talk.” Sherlock brushed his lips against forehead, the lightest touch of skin on skin and John felt himself floating off to sleep again, feeling warm and comforted and whole in a way that he hadn’t felt in weeks.

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