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Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."


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Prompting: Part II
Giggles at the Palace
sherlockbbc_fic
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


GENERAL GUIDELINES
+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.
+Until further notice, RPF (real person fic, i.e. fic involving the actors themselves) is not supported at this meme. UPDATE: sherlockrpf</lj> has set up an RPF meme post in their community. Anon posting is on, and that meme is free for you all to use.
+Depending on the rate of activity, there may or may not be a prompt freeze when a part reaches 5000 comments.
+However, there will be one when it reaches 7000. Also at 7000, 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 by someone, do not be afraid to offer up a second fill.

THE FILLED PROMPTS POST
The new Filled Prompts Post is officially up and running! I’d like to ask that you all are patient as we work out the bugs in the system, but other than that, 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-- While a mod will do an archiving sweep every now and then, we don’t want to be putting every single fill in the post.
Do not be afraid to ask questions about how it works if you are confused! Either of the mods would be happy to explain.

CONTACTING MODS
There are two mods for this meme. Your main mod is jjgd , and any questions, concerns, comments about anything at all on the meme should be directed to her via either PM or the page-a-mod post.
There is also an archivist: snowishness . If you have questions or concerns regarding the Filled Prompts Post (general questions, broken links, etc.) she can be reached on the page-a-mod post as well.

RE: OFFENSIVELY WORDED PROMPTS
Guys, I will only put in one reminder about this.
Think before you prompt about the way you are asking. It isn’t difficult, and it will only take a minute or so of your time.

That said...
DISCLAIMER
This is a kink meme. As such, there will be prompts that could offend you in a number of different ways. Not every prompt will have a trigger warning, and not every prompt will rub you the right way. If you have an issue with a specific prompt, feel free to bring it up in a discussion that takes place off the meme. However, flaming will not be tolerated regardless of origin.
You have rights to an opinion, of course, just as you have the right to scroll right past a prompt that you dislike.

Remember, guys; Be civil, be friendly, but don’t be shy!

LINKS AND AFFILIATES
- Delicious Archive - Filled Prompts Post - Page-A-Mod - List of all the Prompting Posts - Flat View of This Pagesherlockfest - Sherlock RPF Request Post - Overflow Post -


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Shadows on the Wall 19(/23)

John gets bundled into the back of a white van with four big brutes (the Ukrainian minders that got the Golem out of the Vauxhall Arches, they're all carrying guns and they're loyal to Moriarty because they're out of other options – there are six figure bounties on each of them in the Baltic).

"John, John, John," Moriarty – because it is Moriarty, the last lingering traces of 'Jim the gay computer techie' were discarded as soon as he was sure John understood - has his hands clasped in front of him and he's smiling. "How nice to see you!"

John licks his lips and says nothing. His heart is racing and the tick-tick-tick of the clock is getting louder every second. He's keeping his breathing even with an effort; it's like the first time parachuting into a hot spot all over again. He knows he's done (almost) everything he could, taken every reasonable precaution but now he's in free-fall and the only thing he can do is hope he's done enough.

"You're being very quiet, Johnny-boy," Moriarty's tone is darker. He's still gleefully playing the supercilious little bastard but John recognises the tell-tale signs of a genius feeling under-appreciated. "I thought you'd have more questions."

"You're Moriarty," John says flatly. "I think that tells me everything I need to know, don't you?"

"Oh very good, John," Moriarty claps slowly, dark eyes contemptuous and his smile showing too many teeth. "It's like seeing a dog who's learnt a trick. Adorable but really, it's rather pathetic to watch. Do you know what happens now, Johnny?"

"Fifth pip," John says automatically and Moriarty looks at him sharply.

Fuck, John clearly wasn't meant to guess that. John stares back, stomach clenching as Moriarty regards him and he has to dig his fingers into his leg where Moriarty can't see to keep his expression from giving the game away. Moriarty giggles.

"Oh, well done, Johnny," he pats John's head like John really is a dog and John has to dig his fingers in harder. "Did it hurt, thinking that hard? Or is dear Sherlock rubbing off on you?"

His fingers brush the side of John's head as he pulls his hands back and John gags on a sudden surge of bile. (so much he wants from Sherlock, his attention, his focus, his brilliance, his mind, his long pale legs spread wide, his pleas, his tears, his soul...) John wrenches away from the sickening images and swallows hard.

"Not getting sick, are you, Johnny?" Moriarty coos and John nearly is sick this time. He can't feel the future shifting before him anymore; it's gone. John's rigid expression makes Moriarty smile, cruel and exultant and he has to work very hard not to throw up for real.

As Moriarty starts to laugh, John feels the gaping hole of uncertainty open around him. Has he just been mad all this time? No, there's the Golem but-but Lestrade could have gotten information from anywhere! He could have just stumbled across the Golem. John's delusions aren't proof of anything. Oh God, what sort of damage has he done?

He's in shock, John thinks, as Moriarty's thugs drag him out and strip away his own jacket. He doesn't fight when the nervous kid who reminds him of Molly straps on the vest. It's Semtex or something close to it and John inhales the familiar reek of explosive. He can't even begin to calculate how much damage this will do.

"Sherlock's invited us for a swim," Moriarty purrs in John's ear. He's crowding into John's personal space, has been since John got strapped into the vest and he fluffs John's hood and checks the earpiece is in place. "Such a good idea. Do I need to remind you of the rules, Johnny?"

"No," John rasps. "I know this one."

"So biddable," Moriarty smirks, thumb rubbing along John's ear as the snipers take up their positions. "I can almost see what he sees in you."

Moriarty's phone rings and he puts it to his ear. The slow smile that spreads across his face tells John all he needs to know; Sherlock's here.

"Time to dance, Johnny-boy," Moriarty pushes him back into the cubicle. John doesn't resist, hyper aware of the weight of the bomb. Moriarty checks the earpiece is securely tucked into John's collar before he closes the door, leaving John alone with his fears.

Shadows on the Wall 20(/23)

Sherlock is, John thinks, a bloody melodramatic wanker. If he was going to get out of this, John would kill him. Maybe Lestrade will beat some sense into him after this. Or Mycroft, at least. John can hope and wish he'd added that in a postscript. Moriarty waits until Sherlock is waving around the sodding USB key – so much for 'Mycroft was ecstatic to have it back' – before he orders John out to say hello.

"Evening," John says evenly. Sherlock spins to look at him and he looks stunned. "This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

John's prepared for Sherlock's anger. Moriarty's set-up is beautifully done; Sherlock will already be pulling back into the role of 'great consulting detective', clipping away any lingering emotional connections and reducing John to just another idiot with information Sherlock wants. Data to be analysed, nothing more. John's ready for that.

"Bet you never saw this coming," John braces himself as Sherlock turns to face him full on.

He's not ready for the devastation, the so-human incredulity. Sherlock sways towards him, breathes his name like John can fix this; like even now, John can make everything all right again. Sherlock looks at John like he wants to save him. John's heart contracts, a sharp stabbing wound that burns like wound fever. John looks straight into Sherlock's eyes as he continues to parrot Moriarty's taunting words. He can't let himself think of how open, how hurt, Sherlock looks or he'll break the rules and they'll both die.

What would you like me-" and John's voice only cracks a little as he takes his hands out of his pockets and opens the stupid coat. Sherlock's pupils blow wide as he takes in the wires, the Semtex – the bomb. "To make him say next?"

Sherlock starts looking around immediately, back straightening as he tracks the laser sights, looks around the apparently abandoned pool. Moriarty's voice hisses in his ear and John obediently parrots "Gottle o'geer. Gottle o'geer."

His voice cracks on the third repetition and Sherlock isn't even looking at him but he responds immediately. "Stop it."

Sherlock's coming closer, turning to look at every inch of the pool but always coming closer to John. Closer to the damned bomb! Moriarty is still talking and John has to concentrate to keep the words coming.

"This is a nice touch, the pool where little Carl died," John remembers the way the chlorine had burned, the desperate straining for air. "I stopped him."

That's important, John knows, that should mean something but all he can do is stare at Sherlock who is tight-lipped and furious and still coming closer. His eyes are so bright, so tormented and how in god's name did John ever think this man was a sociopath?

"I can stop John Watson too," John repeats, monotone because he can't – won't – let Sherlock hear the aural venom of Moriarty's tone. It's an act of will to keep eye contact with Sherlock as the red dots shift pointedly across his chest. "Stop his heart."

John lets his gaze fall away as Sherlock spins to look out over the pool again.

"Who are you?" He demands.

Moriarty answers; of course he does. There's no point in all this foreplay unless you mean to follow through after all. John hears Moriarty laugh and the earpiece goes quiet behind him. Sherlock is still looking in the direction of the snipers which means he's looking the wrong way.

"I gave you my number. I thought you might call." Moriarty strolls out from the door at the other end of the pool and John angles his head away, can't look at Sherlock and keep his heart beating. The last shred of 'Jim from IT' vanishes from his voice as he comes out into the light.

"Is that a British Army Browning L981 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?"

Sherlock draws John's gun from the back of his trousers in one fluid motion. "Both."

Shadows on the Wall 21(/23)

ohn doesn't expect the gun, never even looked for it. Sherlock points it straight at Moriarty and keeps it trained on him as he finishes his introduction. It's more dramatic than effective and John taught Sherlock better than that. Sherlock adjusts his grip, free hand coming up to the proper position as Moriarty starts to pace along the side of the pool. Sherlock's fingers tighten on the gun as Moriarty comes closer.

The red dot flickers up across John's face and he catches Sherlock's nervous sidelong glance with grim resignation before looking away again.

"Don't be silly, someone else is holding the rifle," Moriarty drawls, pulling Sherlock's attention back to himself. "I don't like getting my hands dirty."

Fucking liar, John thinks. Moriarty is still talking but John's breathing in the memories of Carl Powers, Elaine Dugs, Connie Prince, Ruth-Elizabeth Darlington, Rashid Imhran, Alex Woodbridge, Professor Abigail Cairns and all the other faceless victims and he tastes blood on his tongue. They weren't saints or heroes but they were good people who tried as hard as they could just to get by. They didn't deserve what Moriarty did to them.

John hates Moriarty more in that one incandescent second than he would ever have believed possible.

"Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me," Sherlock breathes, the light of revelation shining in his eyes and John focuses fiercely on the exit door behind him. It's about five metres away, he thinks. A straight line and John looks up at Sherlock for a second then back to the door. He's seen Sherlock run; how fast could he cover that distance? Five seconds? Seven? Surely not more than that.

Sherlock and Moriarty are still talking, Sherlock unwinding the whole sordid web and that's-that's good. Now Sherlock knows everything he'll need to know for the war ahead and as Moriarty starts walking again, John closes his eyes and works out the angles and the speeds. The pool building is old, solid brickwork. It won't survive the explosion but it'll absorb most of it. Anyone outside should be fine.

"-have loved this game," Moriarty's saying and John's fists clench. He can't help the frown and Sherlock shoots him another glance, eyes snapping back to Moriarty again. "Playing 'Jim from IT', playing gay. Did you like the touch with the underwear?"

"People have died," Sherlock says, quiet and intense like he means it; like those people mattered.

"THAT'S WHAT PEOPLE DO!" Moriarty screams. The echoes die away.

"I will stop you," Sherlock says and it's a promise. Thank fucking god, it's a promise. Sherlock will stop Moriarty; break the strands of his web and be an even greater man than Lestrade can imagine. John tenses a little, ready now for his last move. "You all right?"

Moriarty comes up behind him and John is icy calm. His left hand is steady and he's ready. Just a little closer, just a little-

"You can talk, Johnny-boy," Moriarty says in his ear, still relishing being the puppet master. "Go ahead."

John looks at Sherlock and nods tightly. He wants to talk – wants his last words to of love and understanding – but even if he was willing to give Moriarty the satisfaction of obeying him, he can't risk it. He hopes that Sherlock will be able to deduce what John wanted to say. After.

He's not expecting Sherlock to all but shove the memory stick up Moriarty's nose. He's definitely not expecting Moriarty to throw it in the pool but it puts Moriarty in front of him. It puts him between John and the sniper for one crucial second and John shifts his balance. Moriarty is distracted by his grand little gesture and John lunges forward. His arm locks around Moriarty's neck as he shouts for Sherlock to run.

Five seconds; the best sniper in the SAS couldn't change targets fast enough to hit Sherlock before he's out the door. John's dead the second he starts to move, of course but it's worth it. He knows with every fibre of his being that it is worth it.

Sherlock doesn't even move. John struggles to keep Moriarty in place as the madman laughs. He looks up. The gun is still trained squarely on Moriarty.

Sherlock isn't running.

Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

John makes the best of it, struggles to keep Moriarty in place long enough for the daft bloody genius in front of them to run. Moriarty is still supercilious and aloof. He doesn't even look at John, talking to Sherlock like John's not there and calling him a pet.

Then he is talking to John. "You've rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson."

A red dot appears, dead centre, on Sherlock's forehead. John looks into Sherlock's eyes and goes stone still. There's a split second, a flicker around his thoughts-...and John lets Moriarty go, stands back despite Sherlock's head shake. Moriarty threatens Sherlock like he's forgotten John is even there.

"I'll burn you, Sherlock. I'll burn the heart out of you."

"I've been reliably informed," Sherlock answers coolly, some of his familiar hauteur creeping back in. "That I don't have one."

"We both know that's not quite true."

Sherlock looks at John, just one tell-tale flicker of a glance then back to Moriarty. John's heart gets snagged somewhere around his Adam's apple. He doesn't even dare to breathe. Sherlock can't just let Moriarty go, of course. Too simple. He has to threaten Moriarty right back. Moriarty doesn't even bat an eyelash, half-daring Sherlock to pull the trigger.

"Ciao, Sherlock Holmes," Moriarty says as he turns to walk away.

"Catch. You. Later." Sherlock covers him the whole way out, crossing so he's closer to John again. He keeps the gun on Moriarty until the door clicks closed and the red dots wink out. Then he drops the gun, right into a puddle and he's tearing at the coat/the bomb/John himself like a madman.

"All right? Are you all right?" He demands and the tension floods out of John like a tidal wave.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," John manages as Sherlock strips him and hurls the coat away from them. "Sherlock, Sherlock!"

Sherlock bolts after Moriarty. John gets an instant of respite. Then his leg buckles and his head explodes with images and thoughts and visions. He has to grab for the wall of the cubicle, staggering under the sudden deluge.

It's back, with a vengeance.

"Oh, Christ!" John's leg is still agonizing, thigh burning with pain but he barely feels it under the crushing weight of the visions. The clock is still ticking, not as fast as it was but still counting down. He pants for breath and Sherlock comes back in an explosion of fretful energy.

"You all right?" Sherlock's pacing, John can't even look at him without getting motion sick. He nods though, waves the gun around like he's forgotten it's there. He stammers a little, relaxes after forcing out the most awkward thank you John's ever received.

"That thing that you tried to do...that was...good."

John nods and cracks a weak joke about Sherlock stripping him, just to see Sherlock smile. He feels punch-drunk, hazy with the psychic residue of the whole thing. He tugs at his cardigan and tries to stand. The dot is stark against the dark wool and John looks up in horror.

Sherlock goes blank and Moriarty throws open the doors. (never left, Sherlock only had time to check the outer door, not the door to the family changing rooms) "Sorry, boys! I'm so unpredictable!"

Sherlock looks at John, then up to where the snipers are waiting. (same place, they didn't move even though they should have.) Moriarty is still running his mouth and John breathes in deeply.

"You can't be allowed to continue," Moriarty says fondly. "You really can't. I would try to convince you but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!"

Sherlock looks at John. He waits for John's slight nod before he turns to point the gun at Moriarty. "Probably my answer has crossed yours."

Then Sherlock aims at the bomb. John's leg gives an agonizing pulse of pain. Moriarty is smiling and John's mind kicks into gear at last. Sherlock will pull the trigger (won't regret it, won't hesitate now that John's given his consent) and the bomb is real. They're all going to die here.

John's eye flicks to the clock on the wall. Three minutes. He just needs three minutes. John glances at Sherlock then back to Moriarty. He's known that this was coming. He's done everything in his power to make sure this worked out properly.

What's one last sacrifice?

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

No you cant leave it there I hate cliff hangers.(Goes to cry quietly in the corner)

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

Apologies! I was trying to pull an all-nighter to finish this but my body quit on me.

All finished now. =D

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

Dude, you have me on the edge of my seat, NOT BREATHING. This is amazing I'm so sad it's almost over!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

Apologies for the cliff-hanger. ^^;;;

All finished now.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

arg! this is crazy, and crazy good. loved the part about the postscript to beat some sense into sherlock. ;) still loving this. thanks for writing.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

Thanks for reading! Hope the end lives up to your expectations.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

Nonononononononononooooooo!! What a place to end! I'm camping here.

Aside from the cliffy, I love this story and your John-voice. It's so real, and it fits so well. Thank you for taking the time to write all this out.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 22(/23)

omg omg omg omg ooooommmmmmmmgggg. this is so good im almost sobbing from how good this is!

Shadows on the Wall 23(/24) [stupid sodding character limits]

Sherlock's finger tightens around the trigger. John doesn't have time to think, much less plan. He simply reaches out for the voices and for the second time that night, his lips shape the words of the voice in his ear.

"Jimmy More-y-farty," John's voice comes out a pitch higher and in the taunting sing-song of a child. "Teacher's pet. Going to cry, Jimmy-boy?"

The effect on Moriarty is electric. The smug expression cracks and peels away. He's looking at John now, Sherlock forgotten, eyes wide with horror like he's seeing a ghost. (Not that he's looking in the right direction. Carl's standing behind him, eyes alive in a bloated, rotting face.)

"Shut up!"

"Mori-arty, always late to the party," John mocks, not looking at Moriarty (or Carl who is starting to get angrier and his anger is as cold and bitter as rotten lemon juice, souring on the tongue), "Always laughing, always trying to be one of the big boys."

"Stop talking! Shut up!" Moriarty is pale and sweating already. In the tiny kernel of his mind that is still him, John is surprised at how fast Moriarty is breaking. The price of genius, he supposes. All that brilliance is dazzling but crystalline and every crystal has its resonance frequency.

Less than a minute and Moriarty is shaking with the resonance of shared memories. John wants to throw Ruth in his face, tear and worry at Moriarty until he comes apart in bloody chunks, but Ruth is too much later. Ruth was killed by a man without a conscience, she's no use against the boy who couldn't even kill a goldfish.

"He laughed, so I stopped him," John repeats, Carl's contempt curling his lip. "But you didn't do it, did you, Jimmy boy? Too cowardly, too frightened."

"I killed him! I did! ME!" Moriarty sounds unhinged, now.

"Liar," John snaps back. (curly hair and a frilly dress. She wasn't a girly girl but her father wanted her to be.) "All the blood on your hands, James Arthur Moriarty but not this, not Carl's. You wanted to do it, you planned to do it but you didn't have the balls to do it.."

"You're LYING!!"

"She had to do it for you, didn't she?" John mocks. "You brewed up the cream but you couldn't kill Carl. Your da would have had your hide if he'd known so she had to and you messed it up."

"Shutup!Shutup!ShutUP!"

"Did you cry, Jimmy," John's trembling now, shaking with the chill and his breath comes out in clouds of vapour. "Did you cry into your teddy bear while your da beat her? Did you cry when he left her to bleed to death on the floor?"

Sherlock is watching them, gun forgotten in his hand. He doesn't react in time and Moriarty snatches the gun out of his hand and points it straight at John.

"SHUT UP!"

John stares up in the gun (angle's all wrong. He won't die cleanly, he'll feel the gaping hole, the blood draining out and the pain) and his leg twinges. John focuses on the pain, uses it to drag his mind back under his own control. His vision greys out (Carl wants revenge more than he ever wanted anything while he was alive) and John is looking at the clock when his eyes open.

12:18 and John looks up, past the black hole of the gun bore, past the mad rictus of Moriarty's face to meet ghost-pale eyes and he smiles.

"Out of time again, Jimmy," he says. His own words in his own voice and his smile inches a little wider. "Allow to to introduce you to the most dangerous man in London."

"My blushes, Doctor," Mycroft. Right on time, thank God. The smarmy bastard just strolls in, umbrella swinging casually. His eyes are hard and intent. John's seen eyes like that before, usually over the barrel of a gun and a shiver runs down his spine.

Moriarty is distracted for a crucial split-second and Sherlock does something complicated and vicious that breaks Moriarty's wrist (.clean fracture of the radius and ulna, depriving blood flow to the scaphoid) and the gun falls to the tiles.

John is already lunging up and he catches Sherlock around the waist just as the (last) sniper pulls the trigger. Pain explodes up his left leg and they hit the water like an express train. John tastes chlorine as he sucks in a lungful of water.

Then everything goes black.

(Deleted comment)

Re: Shadows on the Wall 21(/23)

O_O *quivers with excitement* Oh my! On the edge of my seat here. I know I've already seen this scene (*snerk* Sorry), but from John's point of view.. This is breathtaking.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 21(/23)

Poor John, he's trying so hard to do the right thing and only partial sure he's succeeding.

Nearly finished now.

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