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Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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

  • Anon posting is not required, but most definitely allowed. If you think you recognise an anon, keep it to yourself and don’t out them. IP tracking is off, and will remain that way.
  • Multiple fills are encouraged, and all kinds of fills are accepted! Fic, art, vids, cosplay, interpretive dance — whatever. Go wild! :D
  • Don’t reprompt until TWO parts after the last posting of the prompt.
  • RPF (real person fic, i.e. fic involving the actors themselves) is not supported at this meme.
  • Concrit is welcome, but kinkshaming, hijacking, and flaming are not tolerated.
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Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 2a)

As any scientist knew, the true test in validating a hypothesis was to reliably replicate the results. Sherlock strongly suspected that John was the source of his newfound ability to sleep, but he was determined to rule out all possible extraneous variables. If John truly was the cause, careful planning would be required to successfully integrate him into Sherlock’s sleeping practices.

He was refreshed by the one night’s sleep at the inn in Westcliffe, but weeks of sleep deprivation couldn’t be resolved so quickly. Soon after they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock felt the familiar weariness sink back into him. He needed another good night’s rest, and soon, if he was to remain functional. The symptoms were abated, but it was only a matter of time until they returned in force.

For the first few days, he set about recreating the experience at the inn as fully as possible in his bedroom. Heating, lighting, humidity, background noise – everything he could possible think of. Sherlock procured identical sheets, and acquired a mattress topper and pillows that precisely matched everything from that night. Nature was even on his side, for once, as a persistent rain fell that adequately simulated the weather from before.

Once everything was set, Sherlock conducted dozens of tests so see if the environment was sufficient to help him sleep. No matter what he tried, however, nothing seemed to work.

He stuffed a weighted pillow in the bed next to him, hoping the mass would successfully serve as a surrogate for John. It didn’t help, so Sherlock dug around in his cupboard until he found one of the three jumpers he’d liberated from John’s room and wrapped it around the pillow. When that failed, he added an electric blanket around everything to replicate John’s body warmth. Still, he was unable to sleep. The resulting conglomeration was a dismal substitute for John.

After four days, he was at wit’s end with frustration. There was only one avenue left to explore, and that was John himself.


The main problem to consider was John’s privacy about his room and belongings. Sherlock rarely entered the upstairs bedroom when John was at home, and if he suddenly began popping in it would seem very suspicious. He couldn’t ask John directly to allow him to sleep there, as consensual bed sharing with another male was a practice John would consider outside normal behavior and therefore uncomfortably taboo. Experience told Sherlock that John would respond defensively and reject him outright if he brought it up so bluntly. It was best that he find an alternate avenue to trick John into allowing him to sleep in the same bed.

Before embarking on such a delicate errand, however, there was one last strategy Sherlock was willing to try. He received the opportunity to do so the very next evening.

He sat at the sitting room table in his dressing gown, browsing lazily on his laptop for potential schemes to which John might easily fall victim.

“I’m off to Natasha’s,” John told him lightly, pulling on his coat near the doorway. He glanced over at Sherlock to see if he was listening.

Sherlock furrowed his brow, not bothering to look up. Natasha, Natasha? Oh, of course. That had to be the name of John’s latest lady friend. A pang of annoyance tightened in his chest. Why couldn’t John just stay here? Sherlock flicked his eyes up at him and made an ambiguous sound. John always seemed to interpret that noise to mean whatever he wanted to hear.

“Right. See you, then,” John replied with mild irritation. He hefted a medium-sized bag off the floor and over his shoulder.

The movement suddenly caught Sherlock’s attention. The bag had enough room for a single day’s worth of clothing, plus whatever toiletries John might need for the evening. He was staying overnight at this Natasha woman’s place. Which meant John would be gone at least until mid-day tomorrow, and his room would be empty.

“See you,” Sherlock said with a sarcastic flare of his eyebrows and a bitter grin.

John twisted his expression, confused briefly by the sentiment behind the statement. Nevertheless, he simply sighed and departed down the stairs.

Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 2b)

Sherlock watched from the window until John hailed and entered a cab. The vehicle pulled away, and he shut the curtain. It was time to put his theory to rest, once and for all.

Rocketing up the stairs with impressive speed, he halted abruptly before the closed bedroom door. Sherlock carefully reached out, turning the handle slowly and pushing it open. He glanced cautiously into the empty room in the unlikely event John had set any protective measures against possible intruders. Unsurprisingly, there were none. He wasn’t Sherlock, after all. Still, it never hurt to check.

Sherlock flitted inside and silently closed the door behind him. The room was dark and painfully tidy, as usual.

John didn’t own a great many things, but those he considered most important were stored carefully in a box in the back of the cupboard. A sentimental fellow, John. When he was away for extended periods, Sherlock often spent a significant amount of time poring over everything – photos and souvenirs from his tours in Afghanistan, postcards and letters from friends and family, and even some old certificates and prized coursework from his time at university. Most of it was functionally useless. Sherlock sometimes thought that if he looked at John’s mementos long enough, he might be able to fully decipher what made John so very… John.

Over time, other things began appearing in the box. Newspaper clippings of cases they’d worked on together. Brochures and pamphlets from significant landmarks they’d visited in the course of their investigations. An array of grainy printed photos, obviously taken with John’s phone, of various crime scenes and other locations. Sherlock usually stood somewhere in the frame of each, pacing or crouching or inspecting one object or another. John seemed to enjoy taking pictures of him in the midst of deep thinking spells, though Sherlock couldn’t fathom why.

In the dark silence of the room, he peeled back the neatly-made bedclothes and slid between the sheets. Perhaps, if he was lucky, his insomnia could be defeated simply by John’s scent and the nearness of things that belonged to him. If that was the case, Sherlock would be able to sleep while John was out of the flat. Such an arrangement would be far easier to manage without drawing suspicion.

John’s bed was chilly and the sheets were tucked too tightly. Sherlock kicked at them until they were sufficiently loosened, grumbling at the weak amount of heat generated by the friction. He tugged at the covers, flipping onto his stomach and drawing them close around him like a cocoon. Sandwiched between the pillow and blankets, the lingering scent of John flooded his senses. Sherlock’s muscles slowly relaxed, and he practically melted into the mattress.

Sherlock laid there for several hours, trying and trying to let sleep take him. He remained in drowsy half-doze, mind erratically jumping between disconnected and unwanted thoughts. The atomic numbers and individual properties of the noble gases. The most efficient ways to clean bloodstains from silk. An alphabetical index of all species classified under genus marmota.

Insufferable. He reached an arm along the surface of the sheets, touching the side of the bed where John obviously slept. The ramblings in his brain slowed, then quieted, as he focused on the sensations under his fingertips. This was where John lay every night when they were home. Sherlock imagined him curled up there, looking and feeling identical to the perfect memory he retained from the night at the inn. The way he breathed. The way he just… existed. As if it wasn’t anything remarkable. As if he didn’t know how effortlessly he inhabited the thoughts of others.

The door to the room suddenly banged open, the overheard lights flicking on with painful brightness. Sherlock tensed where he lay, caught as a deer in headlights. He hadn’t heard anything from downstairs. How hadn’t he heard anything?

John breezed into the room, flinging his bag against the cupboard door in a huff of aggravation. He placed his hands on his hips, then casually glanced around. When he spotted Sherlock lying in his bed, John physically startled. “Jesus Christ!”

Edited at 2013-01-05 04:51 pm (UTC)

Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 2c)

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked abruptly.

John blinked rapidly in surprise, eyes wide. He opened and closed his mouth, thrown off by the question. “Er… it’s my room, Sherlock. I think the more relevant question is what are you doing here?”

They stared at one another for a few seconds. It was sufficient time for Sherlock to read what had happened via John’s body language and clothing. He’d arrived at Natasha’s fully expecting to spend the night. He’d felt slightly uncomfortable there at first but after a few glasses of wine he’d relaxed a bit. At some point within the next ninety minutes, they’d had a massive row. John had been seeing her for less than two weeks, so it was almost certainly an argument about his work and priorities; namely, all the time he spent with Sherlock. John grew upset and had ended things right then and there, taking his belongings and returning home.

John still watched him, waiting for an explanation. Sherlock immediately identified the most suitable defense in this situation: fragility. John was compassionate and always ready to help those he perceived as weak or damaged. Sherlock adopted his best mimicry of unspeakable anguish.

Unimpressed, John raised an eyebrow and sighed. He wasn’t buying it. “No need for theatrics, Sherlock. If you need something, just ask.”

Need something. Sherlock dropped his false expression and frowned. Maybe John would capitulate if he just told him what he needed? No, there remained a significant risk that John would become uncomfortable and unilaterally reject the idea. Then where would Sherlock be? Still sleepless, and living with an angry, affronted blogger. Who owned a handgun. No, thank you.

Sherlock looked away. “I couldn’t sleep,” he remarked quietly.

“You’re still not sleeping?” John asked, an edge of worry invading his tone. His demeanor transformed into his professional medical persona, critically examining Sherlock from where he stood. “Let me see if I can find any pills.”

John left the room, and Sherlock sank further into the bed. More sleeping pills? This could work. Yes, this could be perfect, if he played it right. He listened as John fumbled around in the bathroom next door, carefully plotting his next crucial moves.

When John returned he carried a small plastic prescription bottle. He opened the lid and poured out two pills into his hand. They were blue and elongated.

Sherlock accepted them, poking at the pills with a finger. He glanced up at John. “You don’t have the ones from last time? Those worked.”

John sighed, then muttered something about seeing if he could find them. He left the room again.

Clasping the pills tight in his hand, Sherlock crept from the bed as quietly as he could manage. He padded across the floor, avoiding all the creaky spots he’d memorized, then bent and flung the pills behind the radiator.

By the time John returned, Sherlock lay on the bed performing the best impression of sleep he’d ever pulled off in his life. The hand that had been holding the pills was slightly outstretched and open, suggesting that he’d taken them and quickly succumbed to their soporific effect.

It was now or never. Sherlock listened, eyes shut, as John shifted slightly, clearly indecisive about whether he should wake Sherlock and force him to go downstairs. He waited, waited... then heard John kick off his shoes onto the floor. John shuffled around with his bag, shut off the ceiling light, then left to go to the bathroom next door.

Fifteen minutes later, as Sherlock sustained the illusion of sleep, John returned and quietly clambered into the bed. He brought the familiar aromas of soap and toothpaste. Sherlock heard him sigh softly as he dropped flat against his pillow.

John finally settled to stillness, and Sherlock smiled in the dark.


He woke with a small start, mind wrapped in a lingering veil of drowsiness. The spectrum of light coming through the window coupled with the time of year told Sherlock it was still night. And, mercifully, he had managed to fall asleep once again.

Awareness of his body kicked in, and immediately something felt odd. Sherlock glanced down in the dimness to inspect the foreign, heated mass between his arms.

Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 2d)

What he saw unequivocally confirmed a propensity to grab hold of John as he slept, which might be an inconvenient and disconcerting trait if it wasn’t so incredibly comfortable. He had one arm snug across John’s chest and around his side, and the other inexplicably buried underneath him. It took a moment to recognize the pressure along one of his thighs was, in fact, because it was woven between John’s legs. Sherlock almost entirely enclosed him in a cage of limbs. But, in a strange deviation from predicted behavior, John’s unconscious self didn’t seem to mind.

John lay mostly on his back, head tilted towards Sherlock. He felt shockingly solid and real between Sherlock’s arms, which was an absolutely ridiculous observation because of course John was real. Why did it seem so unexpected? Sherlock could feel every shallow rise and fall of John’s chest and sense his heart where it beat a steady rhythm against his bicep. Normal signs of life, with nothing of concern to note. And yet, Sherlock’s mind circled uselessly in a loop of confused awe over this verification of the obvious.

John shifted in his sleep. Sherlock stiffened as he began moving of his own accord, turning inward until he was completely on his side. Pliant and relaxed, John folded against him as if it was the most natural position in the world. His face settled level with Sherlock’s collar bone. He was so warm, and Sherlock couldn’t help but immediately file away his observations about his temperature and weight and a thousand other infinitesimal details.

Other people saw John as this stoic being, a steadfast mountain resisting Sherlock’s gale. But if any symbolic comparison to a state of matter ought to be made, Sherlock would name him water. Stronger than stone, as water was nearly unbreakable. More resilient and patient, too, as no matter how you mangled and changed it, water would always coalesce back into to its natural liquid state. No matter if it took a dozen years, or fifty, it would just patiently recollect itself until the transgression was wiped away.

It was fitting, too, as a perfect complement to Sherlock’s dry and often brittle nature. John formed himself to all the cracks and textures, filling in new gaps as he encountered them and leaving Sherlock with a sense of wholeness. Without any effort on John's part, he was always exactly what Sherlock needed him to be.

Even now, he unconsciously fit himself next to Sherlock, molding and settling against his body. John drew a slow, deep breath and exhaled a warm puff onto Sherlock’s chest.

He suddenly let out a soft laugh in his sleep, mouth curving into a smile. Sherlock wondered what he was dreaming about. John's arm twitched briefly, then moved into a slow slide toward him. He gently pushed his hand along the curve of Sherlock’s ribs, encasing him in a return embrace. John nudged his head inward, brushing his forehead against his shoulder.

All at once, John’s usefulness as a sleep aid seemed curiously less important. An odd tingling gathered in his chest, and Sherlock guessed with relative certainty that his dopamine levels were rising. For some reason his body deeply enjoyed holding John so close. He found himself unaccountably pleased that it was him, not that Natasha woman, who got to experience John this way tonight. Why hadn’t he thought to do this with John long ago?

Ah, that's right. Because, as much as Sleepy John was stimulated by it, Awake John would not react so favorably.

It was time put his full energy into placing himself in John's bed every night. Regardless of what must be done, it would be worth it to experience this regularly.

Sherlock let himself fall back into an untroubled sleep.

Re: Fill: A Terrific Soporific (Part 2d)

I love this even more than I thought I was going to from the prompt, and then again from the first part. Absolutely cannot wait for more!

Betrayal and Redemption

I want a story where BBC Sherlock betrays Watson (or seemingly) to their enemies. Watson is then captured, tortured, or shot while trying to wrap his mind around what has happened. Then maybe end with some h/c.

Re: Betrayal and Redemption


Mycroft has gone across into some war torn country, and gotten stuck there. His country deserting him in his time of need.

His husband Lestrade goes to Sherlock for help.

Or is it too late?

Cracky fill

I saw this on tumblr

and now I´m dying for a fic.

Re: Cracky fill

OH MY GOD YES. That post is my favoritest post on all of Tumblr, honestly, and I don't know why I never thought of wanting of fic of it, but yes, fic please!

Accidental stimulation

Give me some accidental stimulation/involuntarily arousal.
Awkward situations between John and Sherlock (maybe caused by to much friction?)
A lot of blushing and mumbling occurs :) Wether they do something with it or not is up to you ;D

Re: Accidental stimulation

Yeeeeeeees! I totally love this!

Repurposed canon quote challenge

I find it hugely satisfying when a quote from canon is used in a new context so that its significance is completely turned on its head. The more established alternative backstory the better.

What I DON'T mean is something like:

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," said John, stripping off his pilfered roller derby gear.

"And you invaded Afghanistan!"

because it is essentially the same joke as we've already heard.

I'm thinking more along the lines of:

"How did you figure out that I'm a robot, John?"

"Real people don't have arch-enemies"

which is short, and lame, and mis-quoted, but perhaps you get the idea?

Anons, your challenge is this: please take no more than one line of canon dialogue, and make it into the resolution of a new scenario. You may give the line to a different character, or mis-quote slightly it if you like, so long as we can tell where it came from originally. It doesn't have to be a joke, but it does have to impart a new meaning.

Multiple fills encouraged.

The Dynamics of an Asteroid

Sherlock needs to find out more about space, due to a case.

While researching, academics in the field tell him he really must read "The Dynamics of an Asteroid" by Professor Moriarty, and oh, isn't a shame he isn't teaching anymore?

Molly Gets Drunk (And It Is All Mrs Hudson's Fault)

Molly likes the way the cherry liqueur and tonic fizzes down her throat. She likes the way the bottle curves so gracefully, how it almost looks natural between Mrs Hudson's china tea set and 221B's curlicued wallpaper. She likes the way it leaves her mouth red and sticky and liable to run away with her.

Molly is somehow in 221B/221C. Molly gets a little tipsy (on sweet liqueur, because she is Molly and because it was all that was left in Mrs Hudson's liquor cabinet and because Mrs Hudson is really rather devious and knows Molly has a weak spot for it) and starts running her mouth. Naturally, this is all planned on Mrs Hudson's part from the start, because Sherlock and John are not the only ones in 221 Baker Street who can be clever. They end up having some sort of Conversation about Molly and her life - well, as much of a Conversation as they can have when one of them has willingly snipped their mouth's brake lines (and the other was the one who gave them the shears).

Whatever pairings you like, whatever universe you like. Go nuts. I really don't mind if you make it some sort of weird fae/Omegaverse/lobsterverse fic or-

Look, I just want some Molly & Mrs Hudson bonding because they would get along great, and some drunk!Molly because I think it would also be great. Also, bonus points if Molly gets into some sort of stream-of-consciousness rant.

Re: Molly Gets Drunk (And It Is All Mrs Hudson's Fault)

Totally seconding. This just sounds like fun.

There is a case involving Sherlock's old school. He shows John around the place.

Hello. So. Yes. Sherlock went to an old public school, and in the course of a case ends up showing John around the buildings and/or nearby town. John is amused by Sherlock's "insider knowledge" (the hollow desk legs, the gaps in sightlines where you can't be seen from windows, the nonsensical traditions...) and greatly entertained by the stories of how he acquired it.

Re: There is a case involving Sherlock's old school. He shows John around the place.

Oh this sounds so fun!

Johnlock or any/Sherlock- losing control, Possible dub/noncon (or just con)



I just really need ANYTHING with highly aroused Sherlock who is also incredible oversensitive and didn't think it was possible to orgasm so much with a unsympathetic John (or whoever) keeping him orgasming and denying him over and over.

The sex doesn't end with him getting a final orgasm. It ends with him being on the brink of it, his partner pulling out and orgasming all over him while Sherlock is still erect.

Sherlock not wanting to end it as such and complaining about it but his partner is having none of that.

They possessively curl around him when going to sleep which just makes it harder for Sherlock because he can rut against his partners hand but he knows he isn't suppose to come regardless.

He honestly can't keep himself from coming at some point when he is being denied which is why he doesn't get his final orgasm.

John sucks him off in the morning while Sherlock is all sleepy and exhausted.

Sherlock refuses a case because he can't get up.

OP adds

would it be too greedy to ask for cuddling and soft kissing and comfort after as another bonus? sorry .-.

Re: OP adds (Anonymous) Expand

any/any- omegaverse

When an omega is close to heat or in heat they only accept an alpha or beta one of two ways: The person wooed them beforehand or impressed them somehow which made them worthy of sharing their heat.


The beta/alpha overpowers the omega in heat. Which is difficult because an omega in heat is ruthless and strong regardless of how weak they are out of heat.

Once an omega has decided an alpha/beta is a worthy mate its kind of impossible for them not to cuddle with the person and aggressively seek them out through sprawling, constant touching, and generally just acting incredible touch starved when their around.

Sherlock/any other character somehow decides that a person is worthy of his heat and is all over that character.


They weren't in a relationship before which makes it confusing as fuck.

If they were in a relationship before the heat the person honestly thinks they will have to overpower their omega before mating with them which makes him kind of nervous...and are shocked when Sherlock/Mycroft/whoever is all touch starved near them.

Johnlock or Lestrade/John or Mystrade and the first signs are out in public like a crime scene or something.

If Sherlock (or Mycroft) people were generally too scared of him to even consider overpowering him so even though his smell is arousing as all fuck during a heat (I can just picture a younger!Sherlock trying to leave the flat when in heat) its also a bit terrifying and no one really got to know him enough to woo him so its one of the if not the first time Sherlock has these ~feelings~ over another person.

I would love some beta/omega action because I've read in some fics where its essentially like stealing some kind of treasure and is kind of frowned upon by alphas so the couple is all like 'fuck everyone else I'm happy.'

Omega/omega action while in heat is completely different .

John/Sherlock, dysfuncional relationship, violence

Sherlock an John are in a poisonous, dysfunctional, abusive relationship. They genuinely hate each other. Neither wants to stay but they just can't let it end, either. They abuse each other verbally, physically and mentally. Prompt inspired by Bang (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OheqT66MlTI) by Armchair Cynics, I recommend any potential authors to listen to it (as well as readers, if this prompt is filled). Ending is up to author.

Optional bonuses (and I really mean optional, I'd be incredibly happy even if someone filled this without any of these):
+ One of them making the other jealous by cheating or flirting with someone else.
+ No one really knows where everything went wrong; it used to be a healthy, loving relationship.
+ Pre-Reichenbach
+ Mrs. Hudson knows but can't do anything about it even though it hurts her to know her boys are unhappy.
+ Lestrade and Mycroft know and try to help
+ Donovan and Anderson don't realise the severity of the situation and pick on Sherlock and John.

Detailed prompt is detailed.

(If the prompt seems familiar you've may have seen my similar prompt on norsekink.)

Re: John/Sherlock, dysfuncional relationship, violence

For some odd reason I can see this as one of those arranged relationship things ...second