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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
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.
+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 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.

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.

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...
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!

- 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 3(/5?? I really, really hope?)

The police station is a relief; the only things dead in here are the plants and John's had a black thumb his whole life. He's still relieved when none of the desiccated ferns say anything. Sherlock sweeps through the station, John nodding distractedly to the various people he recognises as he hurries after him.

Anderson isn't in (wife's started to suspect the affair and he's taken her on a 'spontaneous' romantic weekend. It might have worked but the B&B owner has a good memory for faces and thinks Sally can do better). Sally smiles at him and John bites his lip thoughtfully. (Time to introduce her to Harry, maybe?)

Then Lestrade (looking much better, Raphael must be nearly ready to move in) gives Sherlock a package and John's heart stops. He manages, somehow, to bluff Sherlock into believing it's embarrassment. Sherlock is too wrapped up in the parcel to pay enough attention to spot the misdirection. John's eyes are magnetised to the phone and all he can hear is the hiss of sand running though his fingers.

He's twitchy, hyper-alert in a way that he hasn't been since before he was shot. Old habits, even his gait falls into the familiar military cadence and his thigh twinges with just enough pain to make his steps uneven. It would be a dead give-away to anyone that knows him but Sherlock's the only person that does now, and he's too enchanted with his new puzzle to notice a beat-up old soldier throwing a strop.

(n the back of John's mind, a countdown starts. Tick-tick-tick...)

He follows Sherlock down into the bowels of their home and goes tense and still in the small mouldy room. The shoes feel like booby-traps, like bombs and he's careless, tense and jittery when he speaks. He nearly jumps out of his skin when the phone goes and the room goes grey for second.

The conversation is agonizing. John has to clamp his mouth shut on a scream.

The woman (Elaine Dugs, 39, single mother (two boys, one in college, one doing his A-levels), works in Barclay's and her co-workers are planning a huge surprise party for her fortieth birthday and her team are paying for a proper holiday) is almost hysterical. She's praying, soundless heaving gasps of piety underneath the sobbing words and god, John can't do this.

He has to though, so he follows Sherlock out to the taxi, shoes tucked with great care into a brown paper bag that John charms out of Mrs Hudson. Lestrade gives him a significant nod as Sherlock hails the taxi, keep me informed, yeah? and John smiles awkwardly and nods.

Naturally Sherlock drags him straight to Bart's and John honestly wants to kill him for it. A whole lab full of pieces and fragments of humanity and all of them are fucking talking. As if that wasn't enough, John can feel Elaine Dugs' desperation seething around the fringes of his mind and he's snappish, short-tempered and Jim, sleazy nasty little Jim, passes him by completely.

John might, even then, have been able to stop it. He might have known, given some time, that Jim was Moriarty and the faint chlorine reek wasn't from Jim visiting the pool but instead, Sherlock hands him the shoes. John's been able to swim all his life; mostly in rivers or at the sea and god, he never thought of how much chlorine burns or how horribly bloated lungs full of water would feel, the way a heart would race and pound and struggle against the mass.

It takes three minutes to die of drowning. It feels like three years. John can almost taste the boy's confused panic, the hundred and one tiny things he wanted to have done better.

He offers a terse summary of what he can prove the shoes are telling him. Boy, big boy who took care of his shoes (first thing he bought with the money from his job down the supermarket), old style sneakers (80's and god, John had forgotten how foul hair spray smelt) and how worn they'd become (loved to swim but running was something he could do with his dad).

What John doesn't say is: his name was Carl and he was a good boy (occasionally thoughtless, occasionally cruel) and someone had killed him, in the most agonising, torturous way they could and he'd never even known who it was.

"I mean, you missed almost everything of importance."

Re: Shadows on the Wall 3(/5?? I really, really hope?)

nonononono, no need to hope. This is beautiful and gorgeous and amazing, and the more there is of it, the more ecstatic we'll all be.

ha, Harry/Sally!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 3(/5?? I really, really hope?)

Oh poor John. It feels a lot like he's just barely holding onto sanity here, like at any point he could lose it. And the head talking, and the explanation of his limp! Wow.

(I'm also pleased that it went up to 5 pieces, haha. XD)

Hoping to see more soon, anon! :)

Re: Shadows on the Wall 3(/5?? I really, really hope?)

LOVING THIS TOO! So happy there's more!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 3(/5?? I really, really hope?)

So Good. So, so fucking GOOD.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 3(/5?? I really, really hope?)

There needs to be more of this! Pwease?!

Shadows on the Wall 4(/Buggered if I know?)

There should, John decides bitterly, be rules.

He's never been around Sherlock this long while it's been flaring up and it's harder to keep being the dumb sidekick when the truth is jabbering away in the back of his mind. John isn't like Sherlock - the meeting with the 'widow' (who is only partly outraged and mostly afraid that this police-sanctioned nut job is going to mean more interviews, she doesn't like the cold at this time of year) proves that beyond all doubt.

John can't shrug on or off emotions like that; the best he can do after nearly sixteen years in the Armed forces (seven and a half in the sandy hell that was Afghanistan) is to pretend that he's himself when his mind is screaming that something is going to happen nownownownownow. Even with all that, he's only just able to fool a sociopath who isn't looking at him for more than three seconds per minute.

It still makes him shiver in reaction. The guy in the car isn't dead, John knows that immediately. The blood is too old and there's no pain rising from it; this wasn't an attack, more a gruesome graffiti attack. It's only just starting to coagulate which doesn't make sense and John barely looks when Mycroft's insistent texts start coming.

He's stamping down the clamour in his head when Sherlock drags him off to Janus Cars. They're running for the Tube when his scarf comes loose, baring a modest triangle of pale skin at the base of his throat. John gets a high-definition snapshot of the salt/sweet taste of his skin and how it flushes a delicate rosy pink under John's lips.

John nearly falls off the platform and Sherlock has to bodily haul him onto the train. He's too close and John closes his eyes and tries to beat back the avalanche of images. He's not opposed to men, sexually speaking (even if it has been largely hypothetical for the last 10 years) but Sherlock is so far from his type that it's ludicrous. John likes his men to be bigger, built and gruff; the sort of people who can pin him to a bed and hide him from the world if he's in the mood or take up all the space beneath him if he's not.

Quite why it is insisting on filling his mind with the burning stretch of interior muscles and the bruising grip of clever, long fingers on his hip, John doesn't know. He shifts in the seat as Sherlock demands to know how in the world John managed to trip over the measly two inch gap between train and platform. John mumbles something unconvincing about his leg and Sherlock huffs. John trails after him in a daze.

The interview is skin-crawlingly creepy. The man behind the desk (real name Bernard Copen, thirty four convictions, wanted on parole charges but he'll be gone before Lestrade arrives) is something poisonous. It isn't his company but someone nearly as clever as Sherlock has gone to a great deal of trouble to make it look like it is. John wouldn't have seen the signs either but he was watching for them.

Sherlock wants to go to back to the lab, John – already exhausted – can't face the idea of listening to the thready, confused whisper of Mrs Cavendish's kidneys asking where she is and if her grandchildren have been. "Well, not like you need me for that, I suppose?"

Sherlock looks at him lips (that taste of bitter coffee and ginger biscuits) compressed. "I suppose not. You can do some checking for me. I need you to-"

John notes what Sherlock wants, already filtering out what he's really looking for and where John's going to have to go to find it. (He's going to have to hack MI6 again. Better use Sherlock's laptop so Mycroft doesn't suspect). He gets the bus home and feels a short vicious tug when it passes a small traffic island. There's some guys standing – one with a mobile pressed to his ear.

John climbs the stairs to the sound of Joe's singing coming from the fridge. His leg is screaming;.the pain is wrong, muscles knotted wrong and John stops, panting, halfway up the stairs with Joe's nasal singing floating down and his blood runs cold with realisation. It's not the old wound. Not a mixed-up old memory; it's not a memory at all.

It's a wound that's waiting to happen.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 4(/Buggered if I know?)

It's a wound that's waiting to happen.

Ahhh, now we're getting somewhere.

I especially love the line describing the poisonous little man and someone not quite as clever as Sherlock.

*-sits and waits for more-*

Re: Shadows on the Wall 4(/Buggered if I know?)

How very interesting... Liking where this is going.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 4(/Buggered if I know?)

This is amazing!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 4(/Buggered if I know?)

This just keeps getting more incredible. Poor John! And that ENDING. I'm so worried now.

This is so TOTALLY the top of my "waiting for more" list. *settles in*

Re: Shadows on the Wall 4(/Buggered if I know?)

God I love this! Moremoremore please!

Shadows on the Wall 5(/?)

By the time Sherlock finally calls, John is pretty much certain that he's snapped. He's huddled on the couch, hands pulled up inside the sleeves of his jacket and arms wrapped around his legs. He can't touch anything, doesn't dare.

(In the kitchen, the cup that Sherlock had on the table in his room while he was wanking and saying John's name is in shards on the floor. In the hallway, John's cane is lying where Sherlock and Mrs Hudson will never see it but Anderson will trip over on the next-but-one drugs bust; the one where he calls John a deviant in the kitchen while John taps at his laptop on the armchair...)

He can't even use his laptop any more and there's the tiny part of John that clings to denial even now which is proud that he got the information Sherlock needed and sent it to him before he stopped being able to read what was on the screen.

(The front page on his blog is a notice from Harry giving the date for his funeral. The front page of the newspaper cycles through headlines about 'UNEXPLAINED EXPLOSION'/'BOMB VICTIMS IDENTIFIED'/'POLICE CONFIRM COUNSULTANT AMONG THE DEAD'. The television keeps playing that daft make-over show and that stupid Connie Prince woman keeps stopping in the middle of the clip to look at him and say "Aren't you going to sort it out, dear?")

Sherlock's ring tone makes John startle and he's got his gun in his hand and pointed at the table. Joe's singing cuts out and he starts complaining about the racket.

"Come at once," Sherlock demands. "I have it!"

"What?" John sighs. "Fine. Where are you?"

He lets Sherlock give him directions and isn't entirely surprised that Sherlock is waiting for both him and Lestrade in a theoretically secure lock-up. He is surprised when the visions and the dizzying feeling of seeing how every action triggers a wholly predictable chain of events just ...stop as soon as he hears Sherlock's voice.

It disappears, not even flashes of Sherlock naked and instead of being relieved, John's pulse kicks up a notch. He stays as close as he can justify and watches Sherlock explain the case to Lestrade. John stays in the background, mind racing.

There's something more here; John doesn't dare touch the car because there's bitter dread on the back of his tongue and even ducking to look at the too-perfect blood stain makes his skin prickle like he's in front of a bonfire.

He lets Sherlock have his moment of triumph and they're leaving when Sherlock says "I am on Fire!"

John's brain whites out – there's the smell of chlorine and mould again and a high-pitched mad giggle and Sherlock, all stark lines as the air goes orange/red and the explosion sweeps towards him.

"John? John!" Sherlock sounds annoyed but with the inflection John has learnt means that he's actually feeling worried.

"I'm fine," John lies. He sees Sherlock's eyebrows fly up and gropes for an explanation that will satisfy Sherlock long enough for his mysterious opponent to start the next stage of the game. Right on cue, his stomach rumbles.

"When did you last eat?" Sherlock demands, expression already smoothing into irritation now that he believes he knows what the problem is.

John shrugs. "Head in the fridge, remember? I wasn't going to risk the rashers after that."

Sherlock looks cross which John automatically translates to 'guilty'. John pinches the bridge of his nose. "What did you do to the rashers, Sherlock?"

"I needed biological tissue and pigs are an acceptable substitute," Sherlock lectures him on the genetic similarities between pigs and humans the whole way to the nearest greasy cafe and hovers until John orders enough food to satisfy whatever random quantity Sherlock believes constitutes a 'proper' meal.

The food helps and John relaxes a little. The deluge of information has stopped and he's feeling more grounded now that he isn't half-fainting with hunger. He isn't stupid and he's dealt with it for years.

"Is it him? Moriarty?" John asks and feels the rushing heat of the explosion when Sherlock shoots him that shy/enchanted smile. The food in his stomach feels like a lead weight and John swallows the taste of his own blood.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 5(/?)

my dear, I don't know if you meant to but you de-anoned, but I am glad you did, so that I can properly express my undying affection. I am SO VERY in love with this story, and the more it goes on and the more John becomes unraveled, the deeper in love I fall. Thank you for continuing! I wait with bated breath for the next installment ♥

Re: Shadows on the Wall 5(/?)

*Cheers* I love the update. And I love that its going to be longer than five XD Can't wait to see what Johns going to do.

BTW like twig_tea said idk if you meant to but your no longer anon.

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