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Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting: Part XIV
Giggles at the Palace
Please check the Sticky Post to find the newest active part and post your prompts there.

+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.
+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, after the freeze 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.

Please consider warning for triggery prompts (and also for fills, because some people read in flat view) and phrasing prompts in a manner that strives to be respectful.

Things which you might want to consider warning for include: Rape/Non-Con, Death, Suicidal Thoughts, Self-Harm, Underage Relationships, among others.

That being 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 are highly encouraged 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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Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!


John is a wizard who has some kind of job in St. Mungo's. Sherlock is a squib. (Mycroft isn't, which adds to The Childish Feud, obviously. Also, unbeknownst to most people, Mycroft actually is The Ministry of Magic.) They live in 221B, solve crimes together etc.

As Sherlock and John are returning home late at night, either after solving a case or still in the middle of solving one, they get attacked by dementors. John saves them with the expecto patronum spell but it's still rather horrifying for a number of reasons, the most bewildering one being the fact that attacks like this one should not happen. At all. What's going on in the wizarding world?
Something unbecoming, that's what. Sherlock and John investigate.

...I may or may not have had a craving for dark Harry Potter crossover fics since I saw the latest Potter film. Oh, that was a long time ago.


What would Sherlock and John see in The Mirror of Erised?


Should Sherlock ever be a commentator of quidditch matches, what would come of it?


Should Sherlock and John ever be teachers in Hogwarts, what would come of that? ...what would they teach? What would their methods of teaching be like? What would their lives in between classes be like?

Re: Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!

IMO, Sherlock teaches potions - in a much more "I don't care if you explode my dungeon, you idiot" way than Snape.
John teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Re: Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!

And there would still be a dark, swishy-cloaked professor in the dungeons. Huzzah!

Re: Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!

I did not need this plotbunny right now. I've already got one Sherlock/HP crossover going; I don't need a second.

... Tracking this thread anyway, in case I get bored later.

Re: Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!

... another crossover you say?

any chance you'd be willing to share a link?

Re: Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!

Ohhh I love the idea of Sherlock being a squib. I bet he would be all 'magic? who needs magic? my powers are the powers of... OBSERVATION!!'

Re: Four Harry Potter crossover requests and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas!

Oh my god the matches. Imagine the possibilities! Also, John acting as McGonagoll to his Lee Jordan?

Also, The Mirror of Erised sounds like it should be a requirement for all fandoms, y/y?

Fill 1/?

John dreams of the lake.

Then a floorboard creaks and he is up and reaching for his wand before he’s even truly awake; the room is dark and quiet and that can mean all is well, or it can mean someone bigger than you has disabled your wards.

“John,” Sherlock murmurs from the dark at the foot of the bed.

John blinks. The shadows shift into the shape of Sherlock’s face, those wide, pale eyes gleaming out at him. You can always tell a Holmes by his eyes, people used to say.

“John,” Sherlock says again. “What did the Dementors make you see?”

It’s not the kind of question a wizard is ever meant to ask another wizard, outside of the Wizengamot or perhaps the War; every child who has passed through Hogwarts knows this. Sometimes John isn’t quite sure how much unspoken etiquette of the Wizarding World simply passed Sherlock by and how much he just chooses to ignore. It’s never seemed important enough to ask.

“Come over here, would you?” John says at last. “I prefer talking to faces over talking to sinister blobs.”

The mattress shifts and creaks. Sherlock crawls across the covers towards him, pressing his face into the pillow. His hair falls into his eyes - hair always too long, as he doesn’t trust magic or Muggle technology or anything that isn’t Sherlock Holmes – and eventually John brushes it away himself so he can meet Sherlock’s gaze.

“Nothing,” he says softly, at last. “I didn’t see anything. They trained us not to be affected by Dementors, you know that.”

Sherlock stares up at him, moonlight picking out the edges of his cheek and jawline. Then he closes his eyes and turns his head, all sleepy naturalism, until hair and pillow cover his face completel .

“I didn’t see anything either,” he says.

Sometimes Sherlock Holmes is a very bad liar. Sometimes John Watson is a very good one.


Molly is fumbling and new; somewhere beneath the nervousness lies the makings of a damn good healer, John knows, but whenever she sees him she drops something.

“Sorry, sorry,” she stammers as she gathers up a broken jar of dried Phoenix feathers and mutters a quick reparo. She’s got the look in her eyes.

Everyone knows the stories of the Aurors from the War. Even now, years since John hung up his Auror uniform and took on a job at St. Mungo’s instead, he can see the moment in people’s eyes when they read his name badge and all those stories rise up in their minds. John Watson, the bloke who kept on patching up his team in the middle of a Death Eater battle; John Watson, the Auror who almost lost an arm to the Dementor’s touch.

That’s the look in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Molly,” John sighs. “What did you need?”

She snaps herself back to attention. “I’ve a little girl in Artefact Accidents who crashed her brother’s broom. Couldn’t fly it at all. Her parents think she might be a...” She pauses, lowering her voice.”A squib. And I know you’re good with, with – squibs – so I thought perhaps you could have a chat with them?”

‘Good with squibs’. If Sherlock were here right now, John thinks.

Everyone knows the stories of the Holmes family, too. One of the oldest and purest in the country, rumours they had a hand in the founding of Hogwarts, and then whilst the elder son is waltzing through his N.E.W.Ts it comes out that the younger is a squib. Mycroft is a genius, a wizard, a politician, and little Sherlock Holmes is never heard from again. That’s where the story stops for most people. Only John and a few others know how it ends.

Molly is still looking at him, expectantly. John can picture already this frightened little girl who crashed her brother’s broom and may have changed her life forever.

“Squibs are just people, Molly. You know that, right?”

“Of course, sir.”

Not many people know that, John has learnt. Not many people do.

Well this is already amazing. *camps out to wait for more*

Oman. I honestly cannot wait for more, this sounds amazing already!

Re: Fill 2a/?


It’s almost the end of John’s shift when an owl message appears in his in-tray. ‘Come to the Ministry at once,’ it reads. ‘Lestrade says we could be in danger; I say it could be exciting. SH.’ It’s been a quiet day at St Mungo’s; John reckons he’s earnt the right to duck out a few minutes early.

It would be quicker to Floo to Lestrade’s department, but these days John is used to walking. He wears muggle boots because they’re better made, and he nibbles on a regulation chocolate bar as he ducks from seething London high streets to tiny, winding shortcuts and back again. It’s easy to forget the Dementor attack and last night’s strange dream when he’s walking in bright autumn sunlight with solid, muggle ground beneath his feet. John’s whistling by the time he catches a phonebox down to the Ministry, to the Auror Liason department.

Lestrade’s office is standing room only, filled with faces John doesn’t recognise and the buzz of uneasy chatter. He has to scan the group before he can spot Donovan, and Anderson, and Lestrade himself stood in front of his desk with his arms grimly crossed. Something big must be happening.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Sherlock murmurs in John’s ear.

John glances up at him, unsurprised. “About as exciting as a kick in the teeth.”

“Personally, I find kicks to the teeth to be very exciting .” He cracks a smile. It looks painful.

“All right.” Lestrade claps his hands together, stepping forwards from his desk. A hush falls. Somehow the press of the crowd around John shifts and lessens, people melting back until he and Sherlock are standing in the centre of the room with Lestrade.

“Any news on the Dementors?” John asks.

“Any news on how a pack of Dementors came to form in the middle of a densely urban area and attempted to eat mine and my colleague’s brains, he means,” Sherlock says.

He looks exhausted, John can see now there’s room to do so. Neither of them really slept last night, and with that John has to wonder how bad he must look. Bad enough, from the expression on Lestrade’s face.

“No news, as such. Not directly,” Lestrade says slowly. “Look, are you sure you’re up to this? Ministry employees always get a couple of days off after a Dementor attack, and technically – technically, I said-” He shoots Sherlock a glare, Sherlock’s mouth snapping shut on the protest he was about to make, “Ministry employees is what you are. You’re both free to sit this one out.”

“I’ve had plenty of experience with Dementors,” John reminds him. A couple of the younger recruits shift nervously at his words, obviously reminding themselves of all the overblown tales of John Watson’s courage in the face of the Kiss.

“Yeah, you have,” one of the says quietly from the back, “but what does the squib know about it?”

“They can’t even see Dementors, I heard,” someone else whispers, even quieter.

John flinches. Sherlock doesn’t react.

“None of that, thank you,” Lestrade says. He steps forward, shooting a look at them both that clearly reads well, don’t blame me if you wind up with a case of the screaming heebie-jeebies. Around them the lights dim, as he raises his wand and draws a rough map of London in the air. The lines shine in a bright gold, shifting and spidering and growing in detail until a beautifully intricate map of the city hangs in the air before them.

With one last jab of his wand, a shower of red sparks flies up into the air before landing on the map seemingly at random.

“Last night, twenty-eight people died across London,” Lestrade says. “Magic and Muggle alike, absolutely nothing in common except-”

“The time of death?” Sherlock interrupts.

Lestrade rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and-”

“I imagine it was the same time John and I were making our new Dementor friends, yes?” Sherlock steps up closer to the map as he talks, gazing at John through its cobwebs of light. The gold and the red shines in his eyes like a fire. “Otherwise you would have imposed your boring little days off on us and attempted stagger blindly through it yourself, correct?”

Re: Fill 2b/?

Ignoring Lestrade’s irritable reply, Sherlock tugs his gloves off and reaches up to brush a finger through – through the site of the Dementor attack, John realises, recognising the shape of the road. The golden line curls smoke-like around his finger, the ends joining back up once he’s passed through as if he had never touched it at all.

“But this,” Sherlock murmurs, “this is much more interesting, isn’t it? This is a message, and they want me to work out who it’s from before I can read it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, come on. Twenty-eight people? Multiples of seven? That’s the deepest kind of magic - if you believe in such nonsense,” he adds, tone making it clear he for one does not. “Our killer might as well have painted ‘I am a serious, dark wizard’ on the walls in blood or something equally Voldermortian.”

Even now, there’s a quick, collective shudder at the name, which Sherlock ignores.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Donovan says. She folds her arms, staring hard at Sherlock until he looks away from the map. “It wasn’t a dark wizard. It wasn’t a wizard at all. We checked all the sites with that new charm Granger’s been working on, the one that seeks out magic traces, and there was nothing. Not even from the wizarding victims.”

“Then the spell is wrong.”

“Have you met Granger?”

“Don’t need to know her to know she’s stupid. It’s like you’re all walking around with one eye closed, the whole lot of you. Creating spells to track a person’s magic when you could just track the person, and suddenly the magic disappears and you all go blind.”

Sherlock steps away from the map, tugging his gloves back on in sharp little movements. Donovan is glaring at him. Almost everyone in the room, John works out from a quick scan, is glaring at him.

“I’m amazed you all even manage to dress yourselves in the morning,” Sherlock says in something like awe. “We’ll need to see the bodies, we’ll need to see the crime scenes, we’ll need to see all your dull and probably – no, make that certainly incorrect reports.”

“You have a lead then?” Lestrade says, tightly.

“Of course.”

Sherlock smiles. It starts life sarcastically, but as he scans the room the sharper edges melt away beneath the promise of the thrill of the chase. By the time his gaze meets John’s, he’s simply smiling.

“We’re looking for a dark wizard,” he says. “With or without the magic.”


Re: Fill 2a/?

The thing about squibs is that anywhere they go is a struggle. They can’t belong in either world, not really. If it’s picked up early enough, the kid can be packed off to muggle relatives and grow up with no connection to the wizarding world at all; if it’s picked up too late, then the kids get to grow up on the edge of a whole world they can never quite reach. John isn’t really sure which way is worst.

“My parents’ way was the worst,” Sherlock had said, the one and so far only time the subject had been broached.

Later that same day, as if he somehow listened in for keywords in 221B Baker Street conversations, Mycroft had confided in John that Sherlock had made it so far as to be enrolled in Hogwarts and kitted out with a wand before anyone had picked up on what was wrong.

“He got a wand?” John has said. “But how? He can’t even work the entrance to Diagon Alley. How’d he make it that far?”

And Mycroft had looked at John as if it were so utterly obvious, and, “Why, how else? By tricking everyone,” he had said.


Outside of the Ministry and onto the streets, Sherlock is still far too pale, even by his own pallid standards.

“Catch,” John says as they walk, tossing him the last of the regulation chocolate from his pocket. Sherlock glares – he would prefer to pretend the Dementors have no affect on him whatsoever – but he catches the bar regardless.

“Eat it,” John says. “I know you didn’t touch any this morning, so eat it.”

“You can’t actually make me.”

“Well, no,” John concedes. “But I bet Mycroft could have a law passed by tomorrow making it illegal for you to disobey me.”

With a look of abject horror, Sherlock stuffs the chocolate into his mouth. It makes for an odd sight, Sherlock tall and impeccably dressed and yet with a face like a hamster. John doesn’t even try to pretend not to laugh; he just lets it out.

“So, a dark wizard?” he says, once Sherlock can speak again.

“Yes. Very. There’s nothing darker than a wizard who wants the world to know he’s dark. Sooner or later the world will ask him to prove it.”

“Even if your wizard isn’t actually magical?”

They round the corner onto Baker Street, where the sky is growing dark and the lamp-post lights are turning on like a welcome home parade for them alone. Sherlock is smirking.

“Even if,” he says. “Perhaps especially if. Anyone can be a dark wizard. I can be a dark wizard. I suspect it’s just a state of mind.”

“If anyone could be a dark wizard without even being a wizard,” John mutters, “it’s you.”

Sherlock beams at that, seemly taking it as a compliment, and he turns to John with door key in hand and he says-

- a white rowboat drifting by, so light on the water it’s almost flying across the lake. The lake. John, the lake. John


He blinks. He looks over his shoulder, to where Sherlock is standing by their front door. John had walked right past it, somehow, and now Sherlock is looking at him the same way he looks at a crime scene; very interested, very curious, and prepared to get the answers very right.

“John?” Sherlock says again.

“Sorry,” John says. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

He turns around and follows Sherlock up the steps and inside, and he doesn’t look back over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to know what’s at the end of the street.


^ That is Fill 3/? up above ^

Doh. That's what I get for writing when I should be sleeping.

Re: Fill 2a/?

Oh this is very intriguing. I'm curious to see where you will go.

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