Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting: Part IX
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 2000 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!

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The softer side of Sherlock

Returning home one cold and rainy night, Sherlock finds a lost/abandoned puppy huddled in the doorway of their building trying to stay out of the rain.

He's not crazy about bringing it inside, but he really doesn't want to leave it out there to die of exposure either, so he grudgingly tucks it under his arm and takes it upstairs.

Cue John being all O.O "W...T...F?" as Sherlock sets about drying puppy off, building up a fire, and sitting in front of the fireplace with a towel-wrapped puppy in his lap.

Re: The softer side of Sherlock

This is amazingly adorable and I want it asap. SECOND.

Re: The softer side of Sherlock

Where the above Bee prompt broke my heart, this one has put it back together with rainbows and kittens and yes, puppies.

Re: The softer side of Sherlock

omg! gladstone fic ♥ please somebody fill this!

(i want to try but author!anon is scared to write in modern!sherlock verse)

mycroft intones: Bodicat con
wth? bodicat? mycroft are you on drugs?

Re: The softer side of Sherlock

I might take a crack at this :3

Re: The softer side of Sherlock

YAY!! :D :D :D

Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 1/7

OP: You didn't specify a pairing, but you also didn't say that you preferred gen, so I hope John/Sherlock is okay! If you don't want to see slash, you could skip the last maybe two parts and still get lots of puppy fic. Hope that's okay!

Sherlock/John, hard R

It was a cold and frankly horrible night, and John was entirely glad he'd begged off accompanying Sherlock to his latest crime scene. As always, he felt a bit twitchy just sitting at home when he knew there was excitement to be had, but London had been plagued with a nasty, freezing rain that showed no signs of letting up or turning into snow.

John had spent most of the evening slouched on the sofa, enjoying the unusually quiet flat and its lack of interruptions. He'd gotten through an entire episode of QI without any scathing commentary, and he'd even had a nice pasta without Sherlock trying to experiment on it or him. It wasn't the sort of evening he'd want so often, but it was a nice change of pace.

He was just beginning to contemplate another cup of tea when he heard the downstairs door open, hitting the doorstop with a force that indicated Sherlock was trying to juggle some sort of parcel. This was a fairly common occurrence, and John allowed himself a moment of wondering just what was coming in with Sherlock. He really hoped it wasn't something moldy. John hated mold.

He dragged himself up, groaning a little at the familiar but still arresting ache in his shoulder, a testament to why he shouldn't spend entire evenings sitting in one place. Forcing himself to ignore the dull pain, he walked to the door and opened it for Sherlock, who glanced up at him all wet-haired and pale. For once, John was taller than Sherlock, and there was something about seeing him from above all cold and tired with his eyes fluttering toward closed, that made John a little short of breath.

Then Sherlock's coat began to whimper. “Er,” John said, looking pointedly at the lump under his coat. “If that is a head,” he said, “I am going to scream.”

Sherlock gazed up at him, shivered mightily, and quirked a smile at him. “He has a head, of course,” he said, and then, “Let me in.” John realized he was blocking the door and stepped aside, eyebrows firmly raised. “What does?” he asked suspiciously.

Sherlock swept past him toward the bath, leaving John to trail in his wake. “Gladstone, of course,” he said, as though that was something obvious and not at all gibberish, and leant over to run a bath, John looking on in great confusion from the doorway.

“People generally close the door when bathing,” John pointed out. “It is the usual thing.”

“Gladstone is not people,” Sherlock said. John turned toward Sherlock, still crouched by the bath, and all of a sudden he saw a tiny, wrinkled head peeking out from under Sherlock's coat. Ah yes, Gladstone was a puppy.

“Bulldog,” Sherlock said, following his gaze. “Old English, I imagine. I found him by the gutter.”

“And you brought him in?” John said, which was obvious but a testament to his surprise. Sherlock didn't seem the type, although come to think of it he often collected stray people, too.

“Well, yes,” Sherlock said, sounding frustrated. “He was shivering, and making a noise.”

“Ah,” John said slowly. “May I see him?”

“Only if he wants to see you,” Sherlock said sulkily, but shrugged out of his coat to reveal the dog.

He was tiny, huddled in Sherlock's lap and quivering out of what seemed to be a combination of fear and cold. John knelt down beside Sherlock, leaning close to run careful hands over the creature's filthy, matted fur. He didn't look ill and John could see no wounds or sores. He just looked tired, hungry and frightened, as well as rather dirty. John ran a gentle hand over the dog's wrinkled brow. “Hello,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and soothing. “You'll be all right, now.”

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 2/7

He looked up at Sherlock, only to find that Sherlock was gazing down at him with a strange, contemplative expression. “I don't know anything about veterinary medicine,” John said quietly, “But I know someone we could take him to, tomorrow. And we can give him scraps tonight but we shall have to see about proper food. The veterinarian ought to help with that, too. He might need a special diet until he plumps up a bit.”

Sherlock rolled up his shirtsleeves and carefully lifted the dog into the bath, leaning over to comfort him as he began to scrabble nervously. “It's all right,” he murmured.

He turned over his shoulder to glance at John, not stopping his ministrations. “You mean you want to keep him?” he asked, sounding surprised.

John leaned over to help, watching Sherlock's slow, capable hands as he carefully washed the dog. “You've already named him,” he said, and they were so close that his breath was ghosting over the curve of Sherlock's shoulder. His gaze felt heavy, and he couldn't help but watch the muscle and sinew shifting in Sherlock's forearm as he slowly moved back and forth. “And I'm sure that you've deduced that I adore dogs.”

“Yes, but it isn't practical at all,” Sherlock said. His motions were incongruously gentle, a contrast to his stymied tone. “What will Mrs. Hudson say? And me? I'm terrible with animals.”

“Mrs. Hudson will say what an adorable dog, especially after we ensure that he's housebroken,” John said easily. “And I'm disappointed in your detective skills, because you're obviously not terrible with animals. Look at him, he's devoted to you already.”

Sherlock shifted awkwardly, his shoulder brushing John's in a slow slide of expensive fabric. The small room was warm and close, yet he still felt cool to the touch. It reminded John that Sherlock was as wet and bedraggled as the dog. “I'm not good at--” Sherlock paused, looking supremely uncomfortable. “Saying nice things.” He coughed, staring pointedly down at the dog and away from John.

John reached for a towel and tossed it at him, smiling fondly. “That's the beauty of dogs,” he said. “You don't have to say anything at all. They still know. Now dry your hair. You look nearly as bad as he does.”

Sherlock made an impatient noise but did as he was told, John taking over the careful washing of Gladstone. He dropped the towel a moment later and his hands joined John's, combing carefully over the puppy's coat in search of any source of discomfort.

“He seems fine,” John said, after a moment. Sherlock's slump of relief was minute but John felt it all the same, and he leaned into the touch for a moment, comforting. Sherlock would never say anything about it aloud, but John suspected he liked it all the same. After a long moment Sherlock pulled away, reaching for another towel and wrapping Gladstone up in it. He looked frankly ridiculous, tiny and so wrinkly and wrapped up in swaddling.

“Start a fire, will you?” Sherlock said, and John nodded crossed through the sitting room to do so. Sherlock joined him and sat down before it, long limbs crossed, Gladstone in his lap. John pulled a throw blanket off the couch and joined him, patting Gladstone on the head. Gladstone seemed to like that, so John kept on until the fire had built up enough to radiate a bit of heat and his shoulder was aching unbearably, and then just a little longer. Sherlock was silent, staring down at the dog as though it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. John had to agree. Every tiny movement or noise the puppy made seemed consumingly endearing. John felt rather like a parent.

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 3/7

John rose after an indeterminate period of time, the minutes soaking together in a haze of comfortable warmth and quiet. In the kitchen, he found a few scraps that seemed acceptable puppy fare, adding water in a small bowl and tea for Sherlock and himself. Sherlock took his tea milky and sweet, and there was a strange satisfaction that came with knowing that John was making it exactly how Sherlock liked it best. He shook his head, piled everything onto a tray, and brought it back to the hearth-side.

They took turns feeding the puppy, who was surprisingly gentle for being so undoubtedly hungry. They were careful and slow, murmuring quiet nonsense to the dog all the while. After he'd lapped delicately at the water and finished off the food, Gladstone's head dropped heavily to Sherlock's knee. He began to snore almost immediately.

“You must be so stiff,” John pointed out. Sherlock hadn't moved an inch since taking his seat by the hearth.

“Unimportant,” Sherlock said, still gazing down at the puppy. His expression was one John had never seen before, something open and strange, almost hesitant.

“All the same,” John said, “Go to bed. Take him, too. I can already tell he's going to be the sort of horrendously spoiled dog that wants to be under the blankets.”

“He gets cold,” Sherlock said defensively. John couldn't hold back his grin.

“As do you,” he said. “A perfect pair, although how you'll keep each other warm, I don't know. You'll be matching blocks of ice.”

Sherlock glared at him, but without heat. “We'll manage,” he said.

John smiled and stroked Gladstone one more time, his newly clean fur silky against John's palm. “I'm glad to hear it.” He heaved himself up, sighing. “Good night.”

Sherlock didn't reply, but he did shoot John a long unreadable gaze, watching him go.

John's bed was cold, and entirely lacking in puppies. He wasn't really the sort to be jealous, and it was only natural that Sherlock, having found and become so immediately attached to the creature, would be its primary caregiver. Besides, a dog was exactly what Sherlock needed, since it would probably not care at all about Sherlock's absolute lack of social skills. Still, John found himself unable to sleep, tossing and turning and thinking how nice it must be to have Gladstone's small, wrinkly head pillowed on one's arm or curled up behind a knee.

He had just shifted more tightly into his blankets for about the thousandth time when his door opened, admitting a sheepish Sherlock and an armful of dog. His dressing gown hung loose about his shoulders, and beneath he wore a worn tee shirt and faded pajamas that looked very soft.

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 4/7

“My room is cold,” Sherlock said a bit petulantly, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

It was entirely inappropriate, but John didn't even hesitate for a moment before patting the unoccupied side of the bed. “I wouldn't want Gladstone to be cold,” he said cheerfully, and lifted up the covers. Sherlock hesitated for a moment, then climbed onto the bed and slipped under the blankets, depositing Gladstone between them. The dog yawned and turned in a circle before flopping down, curling up tightly against Sherlock's chest. John reached out and touched his ear, aware that he smiling like an idiot. He pulled the covers up around all of them, and found it surprisingly easy to fall asleep.

He awoke in the middle of the night, looking blearily about and trying to determine what the lumps in his bed were (Sherlock and a dog, right) and what had caused him to wake up. The latter was also Sherlock, who was twitching in his sleep, evidently caught in the throes of a nightmare.

John leaned half over Gladstone, who was snoring contentedly, and fumbled a hand over Sherlock's shoulder. It was narrow, the bone sharp and prominent. John, still half-asleep, felt guilty about how much he liked it.

He mumbled Sherlock's name, slurred and indistinct, gently but firmly shaking him. It took a moment, and then Sherlock woke up, his eyes snapping wide open. He gasped sharply and his arm shot out, his fingers cold against John's shoulder. Even when mostly asleep, Sherlock managed to avoid the always aching scar tissue and place his hand at the base of John's neck, his thumb over John's collarbone. He stayed that way for a long moment in which John didn't breathe at all but didn't let go of Sherlock either, watching him through half-closed eyes. He was still drowsy and yet his stomach felt tight in a way that couldn't be anything but alert, and his pulse was swift and loud.

“I had a--, a horrid dream,” Sherlock said finally, almost whispering. He was gasping quick, shallow breaths, and his eyes were squeezed shut. All of a sudden, John wasn't afraid at all.

“It's all right,” John said quietly, and he let himself rub the tense curve of Sherlock's shoulder. He was starting to shiver, the covers dislodged at some point during his nightmare or subsequent awakening, and John pulled them back up around him.

Sherlock didn't seem to like being touched, although John had begun to see that he was an exception to the rule. Tonight, though, he showed no hesitation, leaning into John's hand in a way that John suspected he never would have done, had he been entirely awake. He looked young, all the curious hard edges of him softened with sleep. He lacked the cold, careless air he usually carried, soft and crumpled in his pajamas, his lips parted slightly, slick where he'd just licked them.

John felt something tighten in his chest, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, forcing back the shivery rush of sensation and whatever thoughts might have accompanied it. “You're all right,” he said again, and allowed himself the small indulgence of running his palm down the length of Sherlock's arm, clasping his calloused, practical hand over Sherlock's delicate, more finely wrought fingers and drawing his hand over to where Gladstone lay stretched comfortably out between them. Sherlock smiled sleepily, the tension seeping out of him, and for a moment their fingers intertwined, clasped gently over the soft heat of Gladstone's small belly. John thought he'd never sleep again after that, but he did, almost immediately.

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 5/7

When John woke up again it was morning, although the pale stillness of the day suggested it was still quite early. Sherlock was lying half on top of him, his hair tickling John's cheek, one arm thrown carelessly over John's middle. Gladstone was curled against the underside of Sherlock's arm, a heavy but pleasant warmth that was distributed over John's stomach.

Sherlock muttered something incomprehensible against the side of John's face, writhing a little as though he was trying to shift more deeply into the cocoon of blankets and John's appendages. John chuckled sleepily and twisted his arm around to brush a hand over the back of Sherlock's head, far too comfortable to have any sort of crisis over how good the whole thing felt.

Sherlock spoke again, still muffled but now at least somewhat coherent. “Don't move,” he said, huffing a warm breath against John's neck, and then he was sliding out of the covers and lifting Gladstone up into his arms, padding out of the room.

John stretched, letting his eyes drift shut as he luxuriated in warmth of the bed. He felt as though he probably ought to be concerned, or at at least confused, but it all just felt comfortable, right.

Sherlock returned a few minutes later, without Gladstone. “He's asleep on the couch,” Sherlock said, before John had a chance to ask. I turned on the heating and he's got a blanket. He is housetrained, by the way,” Sherlock added, sounding pleased. John smiled drowsily.

“That's good, then.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock said quietly, and in three strides he'd crossed the room, climbing back onto the bed. He didn't bother to get under the covers. Instead a warm weight descended over the length of John's body, one hand reaching out to clasp around John's jaw. Sherlock's breath was cool, laced with the scent of toothpaste. John gazed up at Sherlock, who was looking down at him wide-eyed and breathless, and then Sherlock kissed him.

It was a slow, warm kiss, Sherlock's mouth tasting sharply minty in a way that made John a bit self-conscious about his own probably stale breath. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, though, melting easily into the slow slide of their mouths, parting his lips against the slick pressure of John's tongue. By all rights, John felt he ought to be surprised about this turn of events, but he felt strangely confident. It was Sherlock who had begun to tremble finely against him, Sherlock whose quick, shallow breaths seemed as much nervousness as excitement.

John stilled him, cupping a hand around the base of Sherlock's head gently but firmly. “Hey,” he murmured, “Hey. If you want to stop at any point, it's fine. I mean it.” He ducked his chin toward his chest to brush a kiss against Sherlock's collarbone. “I want this, but I won't be upset if you can't, if you aren't ready or just don't want to at all. All right?”

Sherlock shuddered against him, and for a moment John felt the brush of his dick, heavy and full against John's thigh. “All right,” Sherlock said finally, breathlessly, and then he tore the blankets away and wrapped his hand around John's dick and everything went fuzzy around the edges.

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 6/7

John endured a few moments of the almost-too-good feeling of Sherlock's slow, messy strokes, then abruptly decided that he was far too close to coming and flipped them neatly over. It made Sherlock gasp in some combination of shock and arousal, and John smirked down at him, pleased.

He helped Sherlock out of his shirt, drunk on so much pale skin. He followed the upward path of the shirt's hem with his mouth, lavishing messy kisses over Sherlock's flat, twitching stomach, dragging his tongue over Sherlock's nipples until he made a strangled sound that was almost a scream. John was terribly warm, buzzing all over with pleasure, and so, so achingly hard. He dragged down Sherlock's pajama bottoms and wrapped a firm hand around his dick, sighing in satisfaction at the hard, silky feel of it against his palm. He ground against the hard line of Sherlock's hip, making a noise that was embarrassingly close to a growl when Sherlock moaned and thrust into John's hand, writhing against the bed.

Sherlock didn't last long, which was fine because it was exactly what John wanted. It was fast, desperate, helpless and messy. Sherlock fell apart beneath him, writhing and shuddering as John worked his dick, brushing his thumb over the slick head of it and mouthing along the delicate hollow of Sherlock's neck until he gasped and spent in long pulses between them, his hips working up off the bed into John's hand. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's narrow waist and pulled him closer, reveling in the sensation of Sherlock shaking apart with John's name upon his lips.

Sherlock was boneless beneath him for a moment and John felt unspeakably smug, still desperately turned on and rather pleased with himself, too. After catching his breath, Sherlock worked John's pajamas down to his thighs and jerked him off, fast and delicious, his breath coming as quickly as John's as John groaned out surprisingly filthy things, a gasped recitation of all the delicious, dirty things he wanted to do to Sherlock, suck him off for hours, fuck him until he begged to come, lick every inch of his body, drag him into the men's toilet at the Yard and not care if everybody heard it all.

Sherlock was gasping beneath him, working John's cock in delicious, furious strokes. “I--” he said breathlessly, “I want to put my mouth on you, next time,” he managed, and that was it, John came so hard his vision went sparkly and indistinct, his hips bucking hard as he spent in slick strands all over Sherlock's long, pale fingers. John's arms gave out, and Sherlock caught him easily, tucking him along the line of Sherlock's side and leaning in to press his sweat-slick forehead against John's cheek. John stroked a slow hand over Sherlock's chest and Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, his lips still slick and parted as his breathing slowed.

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 7/7

“I thought you'd be more afraid,” Sherlock admitted, after a few moments of pleasant silence. “I thought you might not want to, that you might think I wasn't capable of feeling that sort of thing.”

John let out a contented breath and wrapped a hand around Sherlock's hip, rubbing his thumb gently against the bone. “I might have thought that,” he said quietly. “But then I saw you with Gladstone.”

Sherlock's nose brushed against his cheek as he turned, and John knew he was raising his eyebrows even though John couldn't see it. “Well, that wasn't about a case, or anything else that would have benefited you,” John said. “That was just kindness, and caring. I'd never seen you like that before, so open, but once I did, I realized you are like that all the time, in little moments where you think nobody will notice. It's all well and good to say you don't feel anything. You're not used to feeling anything might be more accurate, though.”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said musingly, stretching. “I liked that. I would like to do it again, once we're both capable. And then many more times, if you're amenable. And I'd rather if neither of us did it with anyone else.”

“I would like that too,” John said. He kissed Sherlock, slow and sweet, thrilling at the easy way in which Sherlock's lips parted for him, the way he went soft and pliant at John's touch. “Now, shall we have a bath?”

So they squeezed into the bath together, John relaxed against Sherlock's chest and Gladstone curled up in a nest of towels on the bath mat, making low, pleased woofing noises when John reached over and scratched behind his ears. Sherlock mouthed slow, reverent kisses along John's neck, which soon became bites to match those that John had left on the smooth curve of Sherlock's throat. Anyone who saw them would know exactly what they'd been up to, and that, that was surprisingly fine. John found that he didn't care at all if people knew, so long as he didn't have to share Sherlock with anyone, and so long as it didn't cause Sherlock any pain. He had enough of people staring at him and making awful assumptions about him. John was more than happy to take some of the burden for him.

After, once John's neck was stiff from craning around to kiss Sherlock, they got out and toweled each other off, and John kissed each of Sherlock's pruney fingers. Sherlock sucked him off in front of the hearth, slow and indulgent, his fingers wrapped around John's hips and pressing pleasantly against the bone, digging into the curves of John's arse in a way that made him buck shamelessly. Afterward, having cleaned up and stretched out again, John put on one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, which was too long and looked ridiculous but he didn't bother him at all. Gladstone tottered over and curled up between them, resting his head on Sherlock's arm. John curled up close and dragged a blanket over both of them, his hand warm against Sherlock's cheek, his thumb grazing the long line of Sherlock's nose. this is good, John thought. This is all fine.

Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 7/7


Re: Fill: The Curious Case of the Dog and the Detective's Heart 7/7

Oh, god, puppy cuteness and sexy hotness, in one fic! I am done in!

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