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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 7(/?)

They have to go to the morgue and John, still caught by that momentary flicker of emotion doesn't think of an excuse for why he should wait outside or go back to the flat until it's too late. There are dozens of bodies in the drawers of the morgue. (Cassie, who just wants her mum and is swearing that she'll never touch the hard stuff again (true)/Shaz who saved ten quid on that beat-up old helmet and bitterly regretting it/Marge who is waiting for her funeral and the chance to pass on the same way she waited stoically for the cancer to kill her.)

"You all right?" Lestrade asks while Sherlock rifles through the official autopsy report.

"Fine," John lies. Lestrade sighs, unconvinced but he's got more on his mind than a beat-up old war relic (Raphael is going to agree to move in with them tomorrow night. His wife, Beth, is going to book them a table at the posh restaurant in Holburn. Lestrade will be ordering their desserts when the call about the explosion comes in-)

John closes his eyes, lets the excess information stream away. He can still hear them but the voices fade into background chatter for a minute. Sherlock's watching him when he opens his eyes again. For a second John thinks Sherlock is going to ask him something, then the orderly comes back to tell them Ms Prince's body is ready. John braces himself and sure enough, Connie starts talking almost before he's in the door.

"I don't see why they couldn't at least have made me up. I look so pale and ugh, it simply isn't right. I should never have trusted Mark with anything." There's more along the same vein but John's listening to what she's saying. "Could barely stand," Muscle spasms. "Such a hard time speaking. I thought George – our sound producer – was going to have a fit. I couldn't breathe for nearly a whole minute." Laryngospasm. "You know, I think it was a heart attack"

It wasn't, John knows that. He looks down at her body and can see where the bacteria is thickest; tiny red points. There's none near the thick gash on her hand. She was gardening, Lestrade said but John has been listening to Connie since last night and her idea of gardening seems to involve her brother doing the hard work and her supervising with a drink at her elbow. (Gardening. Raoul who looked so delightful without his shirt. Such a waste, Connie always thought.)

Sherlock says something about the cut and John turns to look at him. "How long would the bacteria have been incubating?"

"Eight, maybe ten days?" John guesses – she'd stopped being able to hide the spasms four days ago.

Sherlock smirks and John feels slow and stupid as all the pieces slot into place. The wound has to have been inflicted after death. He goes when Sherlock sends him off to investigate the brother, leaving the whispering dead behind. He calls Mrs Hudson to ask if she can find the address for him. He tells her a little about the case and Mrs Hudson is quiet for a moment. "I'll just put the tea on then, shall I?"

"That would be lovely, thank you Mrs Hudson." John smiles. Bloody useful thing, having a former MI6 agent as a landlady.

Mark Prince takes one look at John and insists that his assistant let him in. John follows him into the living room with a growing sense of dread. He nearly fumbles his temporary cover (thank you, Mr Hudson) when the man sits down beside him. There's no visions or anything which is why it takes John several seconds to realise Mark is chatting him up. John hasn't been in this position since his last tour and he's caught completely off-guard.

The blasted cat crawls into his lap again, radiating shame and misery and John has an idea. It's a pretty good idea so of course not only is he proven wrong but Sherlock bloody Holmes had ruled it out before he started talking in the morgue. John thinks for a second of punching Sherlock in the face; that awful house, that poor cat but Sherlock wanted time, wanted to one up the bomber.

It still takes every ounce of self-control not to ask if Sherlock would have been so fucking clever if the hostage didn't remind him of his great-grandmother but Sherlock's following Lestrade into the office and there's nothing John can do but follow.

Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

It comes flooding back the second he steps inside the door.

Lestrade has been doing background work too, 'useful work' Sherlock calls it. Sherlock explains the evidence in detail, showing the records from his Home Office pal (Susan who owes Sherlock for introducing her to his brother who is going to make her Prime Minister in ten years) and Lestrade sets the official wheels in motion. John thinks of Raoul (Mark didn't love him, never did love the boys his sister brought him but they were so pretty, so kind but he liked them which was why she did it. He loved her first, of course. First and only and poor silly Raoul is going to die in a prison fight a month before the trial, never knowing.)

John stands off to one side of the desk, eyes on the carpet and lets the two experts

"Do stop sulking, John." Sherlock has appropriated Lestrade's laptop and is busily hopping through the encryption hooks on his website. (Only looks like 32-bit password encryption on first pass. Moriarty's computer-literate and has probably already spotted the traps and tracks on the first two levels of encryption. He's going to miss the third.)

"Sulking?" John wants to laugh. "What could I possibly have to sulk about?"

"Your discomfort at being the amorous target of a gay man does make your previous claims about being 'fine' with gay men somewhat less plausible." Sherlock observes and Lestrade heaves a sigh.

"My discomfort, as you so quaintly put it, wasn't because he was gay and you aren't gay so you don't count," John says, ignoring the flash of images and the phantom feel of Sherlock's long, clever fingers on his inner thighs.

"What makes you think so?" Sherlock is tapping away, not looking up and John snorts.

"Well, you might be but, fashion sense aside, I really doubt it." John says before he can catch himself. Lestrade hides his smile by scowling down at the files. Sherlock looks up at John, fingers pausing over the keyboard and his eyes narrow for a second. Then his website comes up and he turns back to typing out the answer. The phone goes immediately and Lestrade and John watch him bring it to his ear.

Ruth cries out for help and Sherlock relaxes (wasn't sure Moriarty would have left her alive. He'd have hunted the man across every continent if he had). John can't; Ruth sounds exhausted, despairing and she's going to do something. Sherlock asks for the address and he's not listening, not paying attention. John feels his heart sink. (She's not alone even now. The sniper is next block over but the man who has been guarding her is still in the room. Ruth hates him, hates him more than she hates the drunk driver that killed her George and she thinks, she thinks it would be worth it-)

John doesn't hear what she says, just the note of panic in Sherlock's voice when he tells her to stop, to be quiet, not to tell him anything. He knows that in the cheap, dingy flat the man is clawing at the door's deadbolt. Too late.

Sherlock goes very still, eyes wide and he calls out once. Then he holds the phone away from his ear. John pushes away from the wall, ignoring Ruth's last viciously satisfied thoughs. "What's happened?"

Sherlock sets the phone down and doesn't look at either of them. Lestrade swears and John puts a hand on the back of Sherlock's chair. He can guess (feel) the echoing, hollow pain already being ruthlessly suppressed and it terrifies him to watch as Sherlock's icy mask descends again.

It's terrifying because now John understands. Sherlock isn't a sociopath; John's met sociopaths before and they were nothing like Sherlock. This is something more horrifying and John understands suddenly why Mycroft is so worried for his brother. Sherlock isn't a sociopath but he's so clever, so passionate about his work that he's trying to make himself a sociopath through sheer force of will.

John bites his lip and takes over getting Sherlock back to Baker Street and out from under Lestrade's feet. His mind races the whole way home. He's going to have to fix this, no question. Sherlock is such a fucking over-achiever; if he decides to be a sociopath for real then there's no way of telling what he'd do and John has so little time left.

The clock is still ticking but time's running out.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

ladhsfalshdf I LOVE THIS. I love how John's desperation is getting more and more pronounced, and the thing about Sherlock's grandmother and then about how he isn't a sociopath but is trying to make himself one through sheer force of will is just BRILLIANT and PERFECT. I love Ruth's vicious final thoughts, and John's glimpses into Lestrade's home life, and how we're getting hints that Sherlock knows something's up but we don't know quite how much he knows yet... it's all just so wonderful ♥

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

I'm really glad you're enjoying this. Sherlock's Grandmere will come up a little later, once I get them a little further on. Sherlock's definitely spotted something all right.

Thanks for reading!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

(Anonymous)
Oh.

...nothing more coherent at the moment, sorry. This is fabulous.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

Thanks for reading, I'm really glad you enjoyed it.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

I have no coherent thoughts to share. I'm huddled under my shock blanket. Just wanted to say, moar plz kthx. :(

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

I promise, I'm absolutely going to finish this, hopefully before the end of the month but RL ate me for a bit and I'm behind. ::flails::

Thanks for reading.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

this is just fantastic, the way you tie John's ability to canon and Mrs Hudson as a former MI6 agent! <3!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

Mrs Hudson is just made of awesome and I love her to pieces in pretty much ever iteration of canon.

Really glad you're enjoying this.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

It's terrifying because now John understands. Sherlock isn't a sociopath; John's met sociopaths before and they were nothing like Sherlock. This is something more horrifying and John understands suddenly why Mycroft is so worried for his brother. Sherlock isn't a sociopath but he's so clever, so passionate about his work that he's trying to make himself a sociopath through sheer force of will.

Yes, I think that terrifies me too.

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

There...isn't any more! *aaaargh! WIPS! There needs to be more of this! Please tell me you are working on it?

I love your characterisation, and Mycroft is perfect in this chapter, and the idea that Sherlock is forcing himself to "be a sociopath" is excellent, nad I live John, and and and... *inarticulate keyboard mashings of glee*

Are you writing it? Have you written it?

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

need more!!!!! now!!!!! please!!!!!

Re: Shadows on the Wall 8(/?)

How did I miss this latest installment? I am a bad, bad reader. More please, wonderful author! *snugs John and Sherlock* Good luck, boys!!

Shadows on the Wall 9(/?)

Sherlock doesn't talk at all for the whole cab-ride home. John doesn't try to make him, too distracted by the dizzying flashes of potential futures. Almost none of them make any sense which means, John thinks as he follows Sherlock up the stairs, that there must a million possible futures spinning off from what happens next. There must be so much depending on the conversation John knows they need to have.

Inside the flat, Sherlock paces around the room, throwing off his coat and refusing to turn on any of the lights. John takes his own coat off and goes into the kitchen. Joe is still singing and there's a shrill harmony coming from the skull. John goes back out into the living room and turns the skull away from the kitchen. The skull stops singing and starts complaining in a nasal tone that grates down John's nerves like an angle grinder. "You're a bloody wanker, you know that?"

John grits his teeth, doesn't answer, doesn't even fucking twitch and goes back into the kitchen instead. Sherlock's gaze drags over him as he moves but it's distracted and god, John can practically see Sherlock repressing emotions and memories and he has to bite his tongue bloody to keep from asking why Sherlock is doing this. He needs more time to plan but watching the façade of Sherlock-bloody-Holmes being rebuilt so fast is leaving him with a sinking feeling that his window of opportunity is being slammed shut.

He doesn't react when the skull calls him a poofter and a tosspot from the mantlepiece. Instead he puts the kettle on and opens the fridge.

"Queer sort, ain't he?" Joe comments, so loud that John's shoulders tense for a moment, irrationally certain that Sherlock will hear him.

"There's no milk, John," Sherlock says, petulant and exasperated, like John is being obtuse on purpose.

"So there isn't," John says calmly, breathing in deeply and he turns back to switch the kettle off. Sherlock's turning on the tv when Joe says "Bit of an arse, really, your boy."

John stops for a second and closes his eyes. The skull sniggers. "Matched set, if you ask me."

No-one did. No-one is going to ask you. John thinks viciously because the fucking news is coming on and the news anchor is telling the world about the 'gas leak' and thinking all the while about how he wants to call his old mum and how he's going to drop into the church across the way at lunch time to say a prayer for the victims and how guiltily relieved he is that it wasn't his mum's block of flats.

Mycroft isn't behind the cover story, not directly. John can see how Mycroft will frown when the report finally crosses his desk. (He's just back from the hospital and this proof that his carefully arranged network failed to detect this threat to his brother in time will drive him into a rage. The underling responsible will be found in the Thames, Cole, Ingrebourne and Brent rivers and no identification will ever be made.)

The news reports are all vague and there's an expert talking knowledgeably about the unreliability of London's gasworks and how Brian Johnson should be ordering commissions to have full inspections. John takes a seat, watching the television but still hyper-aware of Sherlock's ruffled, feline impatience.

"Old block of flats," John points out uselessly because he can't think about Ruth or how satisfied she'd been. He's somewhat surprised to discover that he's still capable of anger, slow and smouldering. Moriarty is going to pay for this, and pay, and pay and pay. (Ruth had been an old woman but the flat underneath had been a family and somewhere in London, Rashid Imhran is being called away from his crappy little desk to be told that his wife of fifteen years and three of their five children were in their flat when the 'gas leak' exploded. He's never going to recover properly and when his eldest daughter is married in December, he'll let himself just slip away one night.)

"Obviously I lost that round," Sherlock says peevishly, stabbing at the remote. "Although technically, I did solve the case."

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