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Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting: Part XII
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 mods for this meme are snowishness and marill_chan. If you have any questions, concerns, comments about anything at all on the meme feel free to send a PM or contact us 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.

I also urge you to consider warning not just for triggery prompts, but also for fills, because some people will be viewing in flat view.

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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Check the Sticky Post to find a list of all the prompting posts.
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Double the tragedy!

S/J and M/L are together and happy. Moriarty and his gang kill John and Mycroft, in pretty horrific circumstances and make Sherlock and Lestrade watch, now they want and will get revenge. They team up and go looking for Moriarty.

After losing John I can see Sherlock going psycho pretty easily but I'd love to see good copper Lestrade so full of rage and grief that he forgets about the law and goes for torture and murder of the bad guys along Sherlock.

Bonus points if Sherlock and Lestrade have sex, but they are thinking about J and M all the way and they just want to feel alive for a little while.

Depressing prompt is depressing!

Re: Double the tragedy!

And since Lestrade knew John well and Mycroft was Sherlocks older brother, there would be four times the angst.
S-Seconded. ;_;

Re: Double the tragedy!

O.O Whoa. Love this.

Suggested bonus, if the OP agrees: maybe this can be a sequel to this fill? http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/6487.html?thread=33100375#t33100375

Re: Double the tragedy!

Incidentally, I was considering writing in reply to this prompt as a sequel to that.



if OP is okay with it? (anyone else can feel free to try also. I'll blush like a madwoman.)

Re: Double the tragedy!

OP is fine with it:)

I just read your most excellent fic ♥

You really know how to fuck Greg up, you made to be his choice?!? Damn, now i want see this Lestrade going fucking insane looking for Moriarty and even worst I can see Sherlock blaming Lestrade a bit and everything is even more fuck up than I imagined.


Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (0/1, NC-17)

A/N: Theoretically everything you asked for is in this, even though it’s... probably not quite what you expected. And despite there being sex, I... really wouldn’t call it ‘sexy’. Uh, yeah.

starting out, POSSIBLE TRIGGERS: mental unstability, violent sex, character death, dark

And this very relevant poem

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

-Robert Frost

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1a/1)

Lestrade gagged, sucking in a wheezing gasp as Sherlock’s hands closed around his throat, pale eyes blistering with fury and pain. “It should’ve been you. It should’ve been you in that cage.”

“Yes,” he gasped, arching. He struggled to think past the darkening of his vision, rapidly melding until it was only them and that scream that would never leave him, the sound of the world ending. Them and two corpses, swaying behind bars. His body blazed to life, tensing, burning with sensation. “Yes.”

Sherlock’s weight was full on him now, straddling him into the hard floor. Tightening his fingers, Sherlock leaned close. Lestrade arched and gagged, curling his fingers around the man’s wiry wrists but made no move to remove the hands.

“You could’ve been John.” Sherlock’s voice sounded different, soft and defeated, distant. Relaxing his grip to stroke one hand over Lestrade’s face lightly he rocked forward.

Lestrade sucked in a shaky breath, throwing his head back as he gasped, coughing.

Sherlock stroked long fingers down the rapidly purpling skin. “John,” he whispered, a pain and a prayer as he traced the edges of first bruising. His eyes were dark with something else, hazy with memory, the image of an empty body lax in his arms, a thick, shining violet line across a white throat. “John,” he repeated, stroking his thumb against Lestrade’s Adam’s apple. “This could’ve been you. It could’ve been you.”

He leaned down to run his tongue against the abused skin- Lestrade gasped softly, whimpered, pushing up.

“Why did you pick me? Why? Why why why why? Of all the stupid, stupid-”

“Only you can catch him, Sherlock, only you.”

“No, Mycroft could’ve caught him-“ he made a sound like cracked whimpering, curling around his lover’s still body, pressing his face against a cool throat. “Mycroft could’ve, Mycroft, oh Mycroft, my brother Mycroft.”

Lestrade stumbled sideways, eyes wet and sightless as he sank down and down and down. Mycroft, his Mycroft, his brilliant, fascinating, caring, perfect Mycroft, gone gone gone, leaving only this broken thing: Sherlock, his only legacy.

“I trust you to protect him,” Mycroft had said, the very first time they’d met. “I trust you,” he’d said every time after that, and Lestrade had known what it meant.

How could he protect anyone from this empty nothing, this pain like a black hole in his chest, this place where nothing else would ever fit, how could he protect Sherlock from that?

“Mycroft, my brother Mycroft, oh John, John, my John, my amazing, my brilliant my absolutely unsuspected, my- oh god John, John, John, no, no, no, no. I’ll kill him I’ll fucking kill him, I will BURN him.’

“John,” Sherlock panted, rocking mindlessly now, hot tongue tracing patterns across the other man’s collar-bone, peeling Lestrade’s clothes apart, layer after layer, empty kisses and harsh bites when he remembered who was beneath him, mumbling hot against his skin.

“John, my John, my doctor Watson, my blogger, my lover, John, this could’ve been you, it could’ve been you.”

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1b/1)

Lestrade sobbed wordlessly, fire through his veins, need as thick as regret as he writhed beneath chemical-stained fingers. He felt apart under Sherlock’s fingers, crying out sorrow and loss. Sherlock pressed a hard kiss against the skin of his belly, traced a line around Lestrade’s hip bone with his lips.

Tearing aside his trousers, Sherlock gripped Lestrade’s erection painfully, pressing his nose against it, lightly running his tongue along the underside. The ex-cop twitched once, whimpering. Sherlock gripped Lestrade’s leg suddenly, pushing it up so that it was flush up against him, and sank his teeth into the man’s thigh.

Lestrade thought he heard himself scream but it sounded so much like that great, living grief roaring constantly in his ears he couldn’t be sure it was real.

The sound receded when Sherlock replaced his teeth with his tongue, lapping away blood with a hot sigh.

Lestrade shuddered, knees falling apart. Sherlock nuzzled against him, idly suckling at the base of his penis, fingers idly rubbing against his perineum, mumbling cracked ‘could’ve been you’s.

‘You’re the last thing I have,’ Lestrade thought brokenly, feeling as though he was burning up, like the pit in his chest was finally eating him alive, like maybe he’d finally have some sort of peace in eradication. ‘The last thing I have of him, the end of me. You are the end of me, Sherlock.’

He felt the pain before he knew what was happening- Sherlock was kissing him, violently, destructively, nails digging into the wound in his thigh, blood running hot down his skin. He responded just as violently, clawing at the man’s shoulders. He bit when Sherlock pressed his fingers against Lestrade’s lip, then sucked like he was trying to draw life out of it, to pour it into him until he felt like something human again.

Sherlock barely seemed to notice, eyes glassy as he muttered meaningless platitudes against the man’s silvering stubble, rocking instinctively, the words tumbling out of his mouth meant for someone that was rotting away. Sherlock’s mouth was against his again and he tasted smoke.

Ashes drifted from the sky like dark snow, slowly turning the world grey. It had already turned grey, all but the violent violet bruises ringing the dead men’s necks. They watched in silence, expressions cold and empty as the rising inferno turned their skin to paper, burned the tears out of their eyes. Baptism by Fire. Welcome to Hell. Living after Death. Hello, My Reaper.

Sherlock cradled The Shell of John Watson against his breast, mouth dangling open, eyes like a ghost. Beside him Lestrade held hands with Once Mycroft Holmes, their unmatched rings gleaming almost-white from the rising flames.

He screamed when the first finger pushed into him- the second, the third, pausing to pant as Sherlock withdrew long enough to push his own trousers down his hips. Sherlock pushed into him with a single, violent trust.

Lestrade threw his head back, shriek torn from him, pressing himself closer even as every muscle contracted in defense.

The sound seemed to upset Sherlock because he stroked his fingers against Lestrade’s face, tracing the bridge of his nose and across his lips as he burbled. “No, no, John, wait, wait, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, it’ll be good, I promise, just wait, wait, it’s okay, I’ll kill him, I’ll destroy him, we’ll break him, we’ll tear him to pieces. John, John, it’ll be so good, I promise, I promise, just wait. Wait wait wait wait.”

‘This is all I have left,’ Lestrade thought hysterically, desperately thrusting back against the rocking body, feeling pain tear through him- the physical barely noticeable again the great din of grief like a constant scream in his head, a mere changed pitch in a cacophony of twisted metal. ‘This is all I have of you, Mycroft, this is everything you’ve left behind.’

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1c/1)


Switzerland was cold, but they didn’t care about cold now. Moriarty is standing before them, snow and nothing between them and him, only a great long fall behind. Despite that he looks certain of himself, grinning against the cold nothing of Sherlock’s hard expression.

“Here we are, my friends,” he said, looking at them in turn as though re-familiarizing himself with old comrades, undaunted by the pistol Sherlock had trained on him. Moriarty flashed a quick smile, raising his eyebrows. “Found me at last. What shall we do now? Discuss things?”

“I should like to kill you, instead,” Sherlock answered expressionlessly, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the wailing wind, over the constant buzz in Lestrade’s ears.

“With that?” Moriarty laughed, glancing disdainfully at the gleaming barrel. “Not afraid your fingers will shake? After all, you’re no J-“

The shot went off before he could get any farther defiling the dead man’s name. His expression of surprise really was quite fascinating. Strange, that he should feel so astonished- after all, he had driven them to this.

Gun lowered, Sherlock and Lestrade stared impassively as Jim Moriarty raised his fingers before his face, sticky and bright from the blood and acid that gushed from his abdomen, stumbling backwards.

He made a blot of colour against the endless stretches of white snow and black rock, already shivering with the inset of shock.

They stood and stood and stood, frozen figures vacant against the roar around them, the world ending again, baptized by the cold flurries drifting down from the sky. They watched as Moriarty twisted and writhed, digging himself deeper into the cold ground, a self-made grave. They watched as the strangled gurgles died away, as his eyes turned yellow and then empty, watched as he finally stilled with a last whimper. Watched and watched as the body slowly vanished under a sheet of white.

Sherlock did not shake once. He moved for nothing. Not anymore.

Lestrade did not stir once. He moved for no one. Not anymore.

They had frozen long ago.

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1c/1)


Darkly good, goodly dark and desperate - I loved the first part especially, their inner monologues calling out to the absent partner and the difference, too, Lestrade trying to acknowledge Sherlock as a legacy while Sherlock loses himself in his grief.


Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1c/1)

This was the shit. Honestly, it was. It was so driven, driven by this consuming grief and anger; I love it.

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1c/1)

Wow, that is BLEAK. Very good, but bleak.

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1c/1)

Intense, dark, and satisfyingly terrible. Woe!

OP here!

You're right, it wasn't what I expected but it was brilliant none the less!

I loved the image of the fire and then the cold, the poem was the perfect touch!

Lestrade thought he heard himself scream but it sounded so much like that great, living grief roaring constantly in his ears he couldn’t be sure it was real.

Fuck! WHat a brutal line! Poor Lestrade and completely psychotic Sherlock!

‘The last thing I have of him, the end of me. You are the end of me, Sherlock.’

I like that you wrote "The ex-cop" so we can imagine that he truly left everything behind and that Sherlock is the only thing he has left. Those poor bastards:(

The scene with Moriarty was perfect, I could quote everything.

Thank you for such an incredible and heartbreaking fill :D

Re: Fill: Carry Me Into Hell (1c/1)

...why do I keep reading fics I know are going to break my heart?

Its okay though, I have a spare to give to you: <3

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