Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting: Part VIII
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.
+Depending on the rate of activity, there may or may not be a prompt freeze when a part reaches 2500 and 4500 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 or written by someone, do not be afraid to offer up a second fill.

There's a link to this at the bottom of the post. I ask that if the part you wanted isn't up yet, just wait and one of the archivists will get to it, but please, once it is up, 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.
Do not be afraid to ask questions about how it works if you are confused! The mod would be happy to explain.

Your mod for this meme is snowishness. If you have any questions, concerns, comments about anything at all on the meme feel free to send a PM or contact me via the page-a-mod post.

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
Check the Sticky Post to find a list of all the prompting posts.
Flat View of This Page
Love Post - Rant Post - Chatter Post
Sherlock RPF Request Post
Overflow Post

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Dear, sweet, kind John has an unbelievably filthy mouth during sex. Like, make-a-sailor-blush, hardcore porno, even-the-devil-is-impressed, filthy mouth. Immediately after orgasm he turns back into dear, sweet, kind John. Sherlock is shocked/aroused.

i am also shocked/aroused.

please, god, let this happen!







I'm so on it, like Dimmock watching Sherlock bend over at a crime scene. Word. Give me a day.

Question for OP

Does OP have any objection to (mention of) puppy-play, pony-play, and fisting?

OP here.

Not at all! In fact, those sound like quite dirty subjects for dear, sweet John to bring up in bed!

i'll take this, but uhm...can i make it so that sherlock hears john having sex with someone else, and is shocked and aroused?

i just haven't been able to get sherlock and john fucking yet in my fic world.

i know. i know.

i'm trying!

OP here.

I really prefer Sherlock/John. Someone said they'd take it above, but there's no reason we can't have multiple fills, is there?

Also LOLing because hello, we know each other! ;D Funny running into you in this fandom. I'll give you a clue who I am: check your twitter.

FILL: Dirt·y –adjective (dirtier, dirtiest) (1/?)

WAT IS THIS I feel like some sort of smutty troll. I’ve never…
Well anyway. I’m not any of the other anons who said they’d have a go at it, and of course I don’t mean to interrupt their flow, but…anyway.


–adjective (dirtier, dirtiest)

1. soiled with dirt; foul; unclean: dirty cups.
2. vile; mean; sordid; contemptible: to play a dirty trick on someone.
3. unfair; dishonest; unscrupulous; unsporting: a dirty rumour.
4. obscene; pornographic; lewd: she told a dirty joke.

Antonyms: clean, moral, upright, John Watson (exception defn. 1. in cases of criminal chase terminating in rubbish skip)

Really, the man wears jumpers, for a start. As much as John likes to complain about people assuming he’s some sort of caricature of a ‘nice person’, his fashion choices do send certain signals in modern society that even Sherlock can pick up on.

But beyond that there are other reasons why John Watson cannot be considered dirty. He has fought for Queen and country; taken a bullet for England and barely complained about it, even to his therapist. His ethical code is sound and he’s as brave as he is loyal, especially when it comes to protecting those he loves. Sherlock likes to think he’s now barreled his way into a place on John’s ‘loved’ list, and he has evidence to prove this going as far back as John turning down Mycroft and shooting a cab driver for him.

John only ever gets mean when his frustrations are pushed to the limit by Sherlock, and even then he becomes more irritable than antagonistic, and he never lets the mood go on for more than a few minutes. His usual method is to simply remove himself from the situation or premises rather than endure outright confrontation.

John Watson is so nice, in fact, that he is a man even ex-lovers speak fondly of, as a grumpy Sherlock finds out on occasion when he runs into people like Sarah randomly at the supermarket (“I must say I do miss certain things about John. How’s he doing these days? And how are you, Sherlock? Sherlock? Where are you goi– well, it’s nice to see you too.”) or when Billy at Angelo’s is feeling particularly talkative and just has to mention for the umpteenth time the one fantastic evening he had with John that left him “positively ruined for other men”. Is his world really so boring that some romantic intercourse would ruin him forever? Sherlock has to wonder.

In any case, these are the facts, well observed and studied by Sherlock Holmes. Thus, it is simply the natural order of things that his flatmate is a kind, honourable, and unequivocally clean sort of person.

Despite how it may sound, Sherlock Holmes does not have a problem with this nor the desire to change it. Not one bit. This is because a clean John Watson is predictable. Safe. Secure. Exactly the way a consulting detective needs an assistant to be.

Whoever Sherlock manages to annoy, John politely placates. If Sherlock messes with a crime scene, John puts things back together as best he can for the benefit of the other investigators. When Sherlock spills mysterious substances on the carpet, John cleans them up (though not without a great deal of complaint). Sherlock can throw his dirty socks on the floor and count on John to be there to pick them up, put them in with his own laundry, and maybe even hoover afterwards. Most importantly, when Sherlock is bored, John will entertain him in some way, usually with an argument.


There is also the issue of their inevitable relationship.

Sherlock is sure it will begin sometime soon now that he’s finally managed to wheedle John down to single-and-eligible status. Having accurately deduced the often-absurd sexual proclivities of half of Scotland Yard, he is quite frankly glad John Watson is the man he is, because they are obviously ideal for each other. With his low libido, Sherlock doesn’t think he could tolerate some strange costumed intercourse in a train toilet or a mystery multiple-partner sex dungeon. John wouldn’t be like that. He’s just...simple enough for Sherlock Holmes to tolerate having sex with with as minimal effort and disgust as possible so that John’s needs are taken care of and they can stay together as a perfect pair.

FILL: Dirt·y –adjective (dirtier, dirtiest) (2/?)

Which is why their first (actually, second) kiss comes with as much surprise as is possible for the consulting detective.

Their evening, it, begins with crap telly, finger-typing blog entries, a bit of sulking, and more than a few longing looks. Altogether a normal evening in 221b Baker Street.

It’s 11 o’clock and John has just finished his shower and is back down to brew Sherlock a final cup of tea for the evening, knowing Sherlock will probably be up half the night anyway so he can probably use the caffeine. John’s dressed in sleep clothes, an old shirt with a hole in the neckline and a pair of shorts, and his blond hair lies on his forehead, still a bit heavy and damp. Sherlock is propped up on the sofa not really listening to the chatter in front of him when the kettle whistles and John starts to fuss with a cup and spoon. He then turns off the lights in the kitchen and leaves Sherlock in only the glow of their small lamp and the television.

“Good night, then,” he says, moving next to Sherlock, and Sherlock looks up at him. Then the detective stands quickly, and because John doesn’t move back (he’s holding a hot beverage after all) he’s close enough to feel the heat of the doctor’s body. They’re standing closer together than John has told him time and time again is normal for normal people. Sherlock both hopes and assumes that there’s a high percentage chance that John will correctly interpret this as a rather unskilled Sherlockian attempt at seduction.

John places the tea on the small table behind him, not breaking their eye contact. Then John’s hand reaches up to grasp the back of Sherlock’s neck and he’s leaning up and their lips are trying to find each other. There’s a bit of an awkward chuckle from John as they try to move at the right angle and then their lips are touching.

It’s soft, gentle. So much like John. Surprisingly, it’s not all that unpleasant, either. His lips taste faintly of toothpaste. When they break apart, he sees John’s kind face smiling at him as if he’s just been given the best gift in the entire world. Then he’s moving in again, this time coaxing Sherlock’s mouth open ever so slightly. When they come apart this time, their breaths are heavy and their mouths are open. Then Sherlock hears it.


He’s surprised, and backs away with a slightly indignant expression that ends up quickly buried under another strong kiss that’s now got the full length of John’s body behind it. It’s strong enough to back him into the furniture, hitting the end of the sofa and the new ottoman before his back collides with the patterned wallpaper. John’s practically attacking him, now, though it’s still careful and precise. Sherlock can count on one hand (one finger, actually) the number of times he’s been kissed before, and it certainly didn’t compare to this. It was Mummy, after all.

“Oh yeah,” Sherlock hears John mutter between slips of the tongue. Sherlock doesn’t possess his skill but he’s good at replication, and he tries his best to duplicate the movements John is showing him as he delves into his mouth. He thinks he should be more revolted by how unhygienic this exchange of saliva and bacteria is, but all he can think is how good it feels. He lets his hands go to John’s head from where they’ve been hanging uselessly at his sides.

Suddenly John makes a hungry sound, and Sherlock’s being pulled back from the wall and pushed in an entirely new direction. They’re still kissing, but it’s like John’s hands can’t figure out what they want to try to take off of Sherlock first and his feet can’t figure out where they want to take them. The detective’s own hands are grasping at the top of John’s faded green shirt as they make it across the room, missing the table and ending up against the bookshelf. Solid, steady John has a leg thrust obscenely between Sherlock’s, but he still utters the command: “Open your legs.”

Sherlock lets out a soft noise in response, relaxing and letting John’s hand replace his leg to run boldly up his inner thigh. It stops, teasingly, just before the junction where his legs meet.

FILL: Dirt·y –adjective (dirtier, dirtiest) (3/?)

“Mmm,” John inhales close to Sherlock’s neck, pulling them as close as possible together with his other free hand. “Did you know I could smell you all night?”

Offended is the first thing he feels, wondering why John would imply that he’s anything other than perfectly hygienic. But then John continues.

“You were so turned on, weren’t you? Thinking about me when you were reading that magazine, watching telly. That thick, heavy smell of sex.” His hand pushes up against the rising sign of Sherlock’s arousal. “You wanted it so desperately. Still do, I know you do. Come on, then, show it to me.” The fingers of John’s dominant left hand struggle to shove Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms down over his thin hips because he’s not getting much help from stunned Sherlock to move his shirt out of the way. John only has two hands after all, and one of them is busy holding Sherlock right where he wants him.

Sherlock is still going over what John just said to him (did he really just say those things to him?) so he doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed as he’s freed from the confines of the garment. Not that he has anything to be embarrassed about, it’s a perfectly normal biological reaction and it’s a perfectly adequate size. However, it’s greeted with a “That all you got? Oh I don’t think so.”

“John, what-” he manages to choke out before John’s finger is on his mouth as if to silence him, spreading some of the moisture left over from their kiss over his bottom lip. John’s body is following the path his pyjamas have taken, dropping down. Sherlock almost accidentally knees him in the face in an effort to try to kick the bottoms off of his foot where they risk eventually tripping him, but John luckily manages to catch his leg firmly.

And then John is…God, he’s…

Sherlock cries out as if in agony, and hopes Mrs. Hudson or the neighbours don’t fear the worst. He can’t help it; the wet heat of John’s mouth is unlike anything he’s ever felt, unlike anything his uncreative imagination has come up with. Sherlock’s eyes are large and wide and open, but he doesn’t dare look down at what John is doing because he’ll probably lose it right then and there. Luckily (unluckily?) the sensation quickly stops because John is talking again, rubbing him off with his left hand and kissing and licking everywhere his hand doesn’t cover, as if committing every inch to memory.

“Love your hard cock in my mouth, love sucking it. I want to taste you. You’d give me loads, wouldn’t you? Think it would be too much for me to swallow?” Sherlock’s eyes clench tight and he whimpers, feeling the hot breath as John talks against his skin.

What’s happening? What’s happened to his John? Clean John?

He doesn’t know, but he’s so turned on that he has to struggle to keep his wits about him and soon even those simple questions have a hard time forming in his hormone-flooded brain. He can feel his leg being manhandled out of the way and sees his pyjama bottoms thrown behind them to land on the light fixture. Then John is back up and they’re kissing again, trying to maneuver towards what Sherlock assumes will be the armchair. When they miss it, John’s arm finding only air, they stumble into the kitchen. John’s kisses are so heated and enthusiastic that half the time they miss his mouth entirely, sloppily covering other parts of Sherlock’s face. It should be unpleasant, Sherlock thinks, and yet he’s still rock hard.

“Next time I’m going to slide my cock between your slick lips, ohhh yeah, open wide, just like that-” John’s fingers are in his mouth now. Sherlock doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s following the indecent atmosphere and he licks at them, which doesn’t seem to displease John in the slightest. “Fuck deep into your throat. You’d take it for me, because you’re all mine.”

Suddenly the combined weight of their bodies finally hits the kitchen table with a crash, sending expensive chemistry equipment and cutlery and dishes flying onto the floor and Sherlock swears he can hear an all-too-polite tapping on the wall from Mrs. Hudson below as he scrambles to find purchase on the table.

OP here. (Anonymous) Expand
Re: de!anon author here (Anonymous) Expand
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