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Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting Part XX
Giggles at the Palace
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Repost: Criminal John! Prompt

Unfortunately I didn't think up this totally awesome prompt but I would still love to see it get completely filled. An author on the original prompt


did a mini fill that was just so many types of awesome so if someone wants to take it from that tone I would love them forever.

Anyway here is the original prompt

"Sherlock learns that a spat of recent killings was done by a professional assassin. A man so feared that the criminal underworld is afraid to whisper his name. Sherlock goes off on his own to track him down, and is captured.

Sherlock braces himself for a cold-blooded killer, with nerves of steel and no remorse, with a reputation for ruthlessness that makes several hardened criminals check their closets before they go to bed - and meets John. Easygoing, good-natured, cuddly jumper-wearing John. Who thinks he's brilliant and hilarious, and can he take him out for a coffee?

Cue the weirdest courtship ever. Like, dates being crashed by Russian assassins, epic gunfights in the middle of London, Lestrade and the Yard going WTF, Mycroft questioning his brother's taste in men, etc."

So many reasons that this is made of win that I just can't list them all.

Re: Repost: Criminal John! Prompt

I second this. I second the crap out of this.

Re: Repost: Criminal John! Prompt


Re: Repost: Criminal John! Prompt

This is made of glory and kittens.

Re: Repost: Criminal John! Prompt

I love this prompt so much.

Re: Repost: Criminal John! Prompt

I loved the minifill, and a complete fill? In the same tone? PLEASE.

small (but not tiny) fill (1a/?)

A/N: Opening with a chase scene. I've had this Sherlock chase scene in my head for a while, but no context with which to match it.
A/N: Yes, I know UK police don't have guns. Assume it's an AU.


“Thus,” Sherlock said to Lestrade regarding the mysterious person who shot the pill-wielding cabbie, “we're looking for someone left-handed, five foot seven, military trained, with a strong moral principle...” his voice trailed off when his quick eye caught a sandy-haired man behind a police car who seemed to match his description exactly. The man whirled around and started running off as soon as Sherlock saw him. Sherlock bounded towards him.

“Wait, where are you going?” Lestrade asked, grabbing Sherlock by the arm.

Sherlock briefly entertained the idea of telling Lestrade that the shooter was right there, running away, but he still did not know the motivation of the shooting and did not want to risk New Scotland Yard botching the interrogation. Nothing for it-- he would have to go alone.

“Oh, I have to go,” Sherlock mumbled. While he was making up excuses, it occurred to Sherlock that the shooter was probably still armed. He let Lestrade pull him in and snaked an arm behind him to pickpocket Lestrade's gun and shove it into his own pocket.

“I, uh, just remembered that I have a date--”

“At one in the morning? With whom?”

“Better late than never. And that's my business.” He glared hard at Lestrade.

“Fine, we'll have your statement in the morning. Off you go.”

Sherlock was off and running before Lestrade finished that sentence.


/It really is Christmas,/ Sherlock thought as he slipped down a fire escape after the shooter. For the second time in one evening, he was giving chase across the city, and this time his prey was on foot and competent.

He turned after him into an alley only to find that it looked deserted.

/No sewer access from here,/ his internal map told him. The only way he could have gone is up. He looked at all the fire escapes. None of them had been touched recently. There was only one explanation. The man was still in the alley on ground level. The ground was strewn with rubbish and there were several dumps.

Sherlock set himself to examining the first dump in the alley. As soon as he turned towards it, however, he heard a scuffling sound from behind him and twirled around just in time to see a small figure jump from the edge of the dump and pop himself off the opposite wall to land on the ladder of a fire escape. The figure then scurried up the ladder.

With several inches of height on the other man, Sherlock did not need to pop off the wall to jump on to the same fire escape and within seconds he was nearly within reach of his prey. Once the man had run to the middle of the roof, however, he slid his small frame through one of the ventilation shafts going into a stairwell.

Sherlock knew that even with his considerable flexibility and dexterity, he would not be able to follow the man down the shaft with nearly enough speed to have a chance of catching him. Having explored this area many times before, however, he also knew that they were on top of a building with a great refractor telescope, the dome of which could be opened from the outside, and the stairwell from which led to the same hall as the shaft his prey had gone down.

He bounded on to the dome, heaved open the aperture, and jumped through it towards the stairs. Once he had glided down a flight of stairs, he could hear the man again and knew that he was hot on the trail. The man opened a door and ran through a hallway with a private art gallery.

As soon as Sherlock ran into the hallway, however, his prey, who had made it to the opposite end of the hallway whirled around with his gun in hand.

Re: small (but not tiny) fill (1a/?)

Awwww, John. He's just the cutest little ninja assassin ever!

small (but not tiny) fill (1b/?)

Sherlock's hand automatically went to the weapon in his own pocket, but the man hardly gave him time to react before a bullet ripped through the air and lodged itself in the frame of one of the most expensive paintings in the hall.

It took a split second for Sherlock to react. When he did, he leapt back towards the exit, knowing that a bullet to the frame of the painting would activate thief alert and clamp down the hallway. He was just an instant too late, however, and slammed into the metal shutters that descended from the ceiling, blocking off the exits as part of the thief containment measures.

The only remaining exit out of the hallway was now a small ventilation shaft. Sherlock sighed. He would have to navigate the shaft system after all. He pulled out the small screwdriver he kept with his lock-picking kit, unscrewed the shaft cover, and heaved his body into it. When he managed to crawl through the shaft, he grabbed the nearest ladder. He made his way down the ladder and ducked his head in to the nearest shaft below.

He hardly done crawling out of the other end of the shaft and did not have any time to orient himself before he was shoved against a wall with a cloth pressed against his face over his nose and mouth.

Sherlock could feel the halothane on the cloth. He tried to struggle without breathing, but stopped when he heard the safety switch click off on a gun.

“You know I would,” the man said, pressing the muzzle of the gun under Sherlock's chin, “because you know I have, and that cabbie was a lot less armed than you are.”

Sherlock stilled and started to breathe the pleasant-smelling air through the cloth.

“Don't worry; I know you have questions,” the man continued calmly after a minute of listening to Sherlock's slowing breaths, “just rest yourself now, and we'll get to them soon enough.”

Sherlock felt himself falling into a warm woollen jumper as his consciousness slipped away.

Author!anon notes (Anonymous) Expand

small fill (2a/?)

It was with great difficulty that John carried Sherlock up the steps to his flat on Montague street. He laid him on the couch in his living room and left the gun that had been in Sherlock's pocket on the coffee table. He contemplated leaving a bucket next to him in case he felt nauseated when he came to, but he had not got sick last time, so it was unlikely that he would this time.

John slipped out the door and made his way back to his own flat. He wanted nothing more than to get some rest and put all of this behind him, but knew that that would be unwise. Between the shock of rejection and the fact that it was nearly dawn, his mind was not up to its usual speed, but he could still see now that Sherlock's pursuit of him over the last few months had not been out of personal interest as he had expected given the man's own unconventional methods, but out of a desire to hand him over to authorities.

In light of this, it was of utmost importance not to be found.

Given the man's observational power, John supposed that even though Sherlock had been drugged on both the journey to his flat and away, he would have the location worked out within minutes of waking up, so John needed to move out as soon as possible. Luckily enough, as a former military man with a risky job, he was always ready to be on the move. He packed his few personal items, along with his more useful tools, into his backpack, put his weapons on him, and headed out the door.

In his rush to leave, he had not fully worked out where he would go, but he had been prepared for this sort of situation. What he needed was sleep; it was getting painfully hard to think. He considered checking into a hotel, but he knew Sherlock was a formidable computer hacker, so it would not be wise to leave any records. There were a couple of places where the homeless lived and nobody asked any questions. Like most criminals worth their salt in London, John was aware that Sherlock had a homeless network, so he could not stay long, but if he chose an unexpected area of London he should at least be able to manage some sleep for the next few hours before Sherlock found out that he had moved, and sent out feelers for him. All he needed was four or five hours to regain his ability to think.

As John strode towards the three taxis by the Tube stop, however, he sensed that something was off. He stopped and looked around, but there was nobody on the street except for the cabbies. He continued his stride, but could not quell the tingling of his senses.

When he got to the first taxi by the Tube stop, he examined both the car and its driver very carefully before getting in. The man could be part of Sherlock's network (did it extend to cabbies, too?) but he did not seem to suspect anything of John. It was likely that Sherlock was awake by now, but it was not likely that he would have been able to put his network on the lookout for John so quickly. John got in the car.

“Elephant and Castle Tube stop, please” he told the driver.

John knew what had been bothering him as soon as the taxi pulled onto the road. The surveillance cameras were following him.

Oh, you're being too slow, John thought. Of course he didn't contact his network. He contacted umbrella man. From whispers among the criminal classes, John had heard that Sherlock had a very influential friend who liked to wield umbrellas and train surveillance on Sherlock and his associates. He also knew that Sherlock did not generally approve of his methods, and rarely went to him for help. He supposed that anything goes when you have been kidnapped.

John had to reformulate his plans; between the homeless network that saw everything that the umbrella man's cameras did not, there was no respite to be had in London. Probably not anywhere in the United Kingdom, even.

“Change of plans,” he announced to the cabbie. “We're going to Heathrow now. And fifty extra quid if you can make it there by six.”

“All right, sir” the cabbie responded, turning the car to make for Heathrow. As John desired, he drove recklessly, flouting speed limits, traffic lights and all manner of signs.

Re: small fill (2a/?) (Anonymous) Expand

Author!anon note and question

Hi all,
Thanks for the kind comments!

I did want to say that an update is not likely to happen in the next few days because I am moving to a different continent in two days [no, not in the same style as John, fortunately (or unfortunately?)], so it's really hectic right now, and I might not have Internet immediately upon getting there.

An update is, however, likely to happen by next week.

I'm really sorry to keep you waiting, and I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible.

In the meantime, I have a question for the OP and other readers: how do you imagine John's moral principle to work? Does he have one?

I have not said much beyond that he doesn't kill for fun, but an assassin like him can be pretty choosy with his clients.

Where I take the next chapter sort of depends on this, so I would actually like feedback.

small fill author de-anon b/c want to be able to delete

Hi all,

I know what was requested was fluff/crack and this next chapter definitely took a dive into moral ambiguity and convoluted ridiculousness (not the good kind), so I suspect that it's not what you want.

I mostly wrote it because I wanted Sherlock and John working totally in-sync doing something that actually goes generally according to plan, to show how much they're meant for each other, but it got convoluted and I can definitely see how it might not be as fun or funny as crack.

I have de-anon'd specifically so that I can delete this chapter (chapter 3) if it's a screw-up, so do tell me. I would replace it with a short fluffy/cracky chapter about other characters reactions to the new relationship. (Otherwise, fluffy reactions section will be chapter 4/4).

Note: If you want me to delete chapter 3, please tell me by responding to this comment, not to the actual chapter.

(Sorry for asking for help so much; this is my first fill longer than a single Livejournal part, so I'm not very confident.)

Warnings: Morally reprehensible behaviour on parts of both Sherlock and John. Also some sexual innuendo and dirty talk. (But no sex and no death.)

Sherlock had just wiped the acetone off his fingers and disposed of the rest of his costume when he saw John heading towards the currency changing station. He weaved through the crowds to get in line behind John. He was 98% sure he had read the situation correctly, but a small wave of apprehension still coursed through him when John whirled around.

“Green coloured contacts,” John said with a small smile, raising his eyebrows. “I should have seen it.”

“Probably,” Sherlock smiled. “That was also not the most romantic thing you could have said in response to my heartfelt letter.”

“Romantic? Was it romantic to pick-pocket me?”

“I had to get the message to you without you fleeing at the sight of me. And besides, you kidnapped me.”

“You were pursuing me across London! And then you chased me halfway around the world.”

“But you enjoy a good chase.”

“God help me, but I do,” John laughed and any apprehension Sherlock might have harboured melted away as he joined in the laughter.

“How do I know you won't turn me in?” John asked, suddenly serious, when the laughter died down.

“How do I know you won't kill me?” Sherlock replied.

“So,” he continued as if they were talking about the weather, “we could stand here all day.”

“Ah, of course, let's head out. Have you been to Boston before?”

“Boring, and no, I haven't. Let's go back to London.”

“What makes you think it's boring?”

“It's not London.”

“No. We didn't come all the way out to America just to go back to London. Let me show you around; Boston's not all boring. I'll show you the interesting parts.”

“You couldn't do that in public,” Sherlock muttered in as off-the-cuff a manner as he could.

“What-- did you just--” John sputtered.

“Hmm?” Sherlock tilted his head to one side with a blank, innocent expression.

“Never mind,” John replied.

Sherlock smirked. John narrowed his eyes, but did not respond, opting instead to finish changing currency and drag Sherlock into a taxi to down-town. A blast of freezing air greeted them as they stepped out of the taxi.

“Dull and cold,” Sherlock whined.

“You are just sulking because your deductions don't work on this side of the pond.” John goaded.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Sherlock snapped. “How much do you want to bet that the man we just walked by came here from the Southern part of the United States within the last few hours to visit friends or family?”

“I believe you,” John replied. “But how do you know? His coat looks worn enough to me.”

“Boots,” Sherlock rattled, “dirty, but without salt stains, so where he's coming from it hasn't snowed for a while. The coat is, as you say, worn, but it's not his; it's too short for him, and the wearing on the right side shows that the person who normally wears it always holds his briefcase in his right hand, while this man holds his in his left. This also settles the question of visiting friends or family--why else would he be going around in a borrowed coat?

“That he came from the Southern part of the US follows from the fact that his skin is not dehydrated even though he has not applied any cream, so he could not have travelled by aeroplane. He would have to travel for days to get here from another country or from the West coast without a plane--this country is spread out across vast expanses of boring--and he isn't weary enough for that to be the case. So the south it is.”

“That's fantastic!” John exclaimed, ignoring the jibe about 'expanses of boring'.

Sherlock decided that that was a response he could get used to. He smiled, and continued to deduce things about the other people on the street-- a cellist who just got in to a major orchestra, a plumber who returned from his cousin's wedding, etc.-- while John interjected with the occasional “brilliant!” or “amazing!”.

Sherlock stopped, however, when he looked across the street.

“That woman on the phone across the street is talking to her kidnapped daughter. They are demanding something other than money.”

Re: small fill (3f/?) (Anonymous) Expand
Re: small fill (3f/?) (Anonymous) Expand
Re: small fill (3f/?) (Anonymous) Expand
Re: small fill (3f/?) (Anonymous) Expand
A/N Final chapter, which I hesitated to post, as I wrote it mostly because the OP specifically asked for the reactions of other people, but I also lost the OP somewhere around chapter one...
Warnings: Implied S/J slash and slight references to Moriarty/Fem!Moran (her name is Siobhan).



“So, London?” Sherlock asked as he and John left Kayla's house, giving the taxi driver arbitrary directions. “There's a Virgin Atlantic executive who owes me a favour; she should be able to get us on the 2AM flight.”

“No-one gets between Sherlock and his beloved London,” John chuckled.

“You did. For twelve hours.” He paused. “That was a declaration of affection, if ever I knew one.”

“No,” John replied. “This is.” He leaned over and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. Sherlock turned to him in an attempt to catch his mouth, but John pushed him away. “Not outside of London,” he explained when Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Besides, we both smell like crap.”

“Change of plans; Logan airport please,” he said to the cabbie.

At that moment Sherlock's mobile chimed to notify him of a text message. He glanced at it before turning to John.

“It's my brother,” Sherlock giggled. “He would like to congratulate you on the shot with the cabbie and on the trick at the airport, so he has probably finally worked out that you aren't trying to murder me. He has been so slow on this one..”

Sherlock giggled again, and John wondered if he was always this childish with his brother.

The mobile chimed again. This time Sherlock frowned and started to type out a response.

“He also wants to offer you a job. Probably to spy on me. I'm telling him you're refusing. He has enough spies as it is.”

John wondered if both Holmeses were this childish with each other. Another text came in.

“Hm, so it wasn't to spy on me. What? Oh!”

Sherlock pouted and started typing furiously and receiving messages every few seconds.

“What is going on?” John asked. Sherlock ignored him. Since the text exchange was clearly about him, John decided that he had a right to know. He kicked Sherlock in the ankle, distracting him enough that he could pluck the mobile from his fingers.

“Hey, give that back!” Sherlock cried, but John successfully blocked him away as he flicked through the recent texts.

No! He's MY assassin. I found him first. -SH

Finders keepers does not apply to people; he is not yours. He is, however, a subject of the United Kingdom. I am offering him the perfect career. -Mycroft

You lie. There is nothing in MI6 worth his talent. -SH

That is for him to decide, is it not? -Mycroft

You can't take him away from me! I have had no one since Victor. -SH

Victor? So that's what this is about? Fascinating. -Mycroft

And there was one unsent message:

NO. Unlike with Victor, you are NOT going to

“I have changed my mind,” Sherlock said after watching John read the messages. “Let's not go back to London. Ever.”

“Aw, Sherlock,” John replied. “I'm not going to take your brother's job offer. MI6 can't be as interesting as you are, yeah?”

Sherlock sighed. “Obviously that's not what I'm worried about.”

“What are you worried about?”

“He'll kidnap you,” Sherlock pouted. “He'll kidnap you and you'll decide that my whole damn family is just too much and you'll leave and go find someone normal.”

John could not stop himself from chuckling.

“Do you even hear the things you say?” John asked. Sherlock glanced at him sharply and smiled.

small fill posted in one part on my LJ

This story cleaned up and posted:

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