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Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme

"we get all sorts around here."

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Prompting: Part XVI
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.
+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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Four at The Thousand Faces 1/?

I've never written anything like this. I hope this doesn't make OP regret this prompt of brilliance. (Despite appearances to the contrary, this isn't intended as crack.)


Four at The Thousand Faces

A dream, John Watson told himself. This has to be a dream.

But whose?

He faced a wall of fog that devoured light and swallowed sound. Turning in place, he was careful not to take a step lest he fall off the edge of the Earth. He put the fog behind him.

Ahead, draped in veils of mist, rose a stone building. It called to him as clearly as if it had voice.

With a glance to his left he found Sherlock, a dark exclamation point in the greyness, long coat flowing, scarf tucked just so, an expression of utter fascination lighting him up from within. Oh no, this wasn't boring in the slightest.

A look to John's right showed him Lestrade. The detective inspector wore no coat, merely a nondescript suit and a plain white shirt, both rumpled. Silvering hair stood out in all directions, mapping the path of his fingertips, and stubble glistened along his jawline.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade breathed in wonder, meeting John's gaze with wide eyes.

Beyond Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes folded his hands over the handle of his umbrella. Immaculate and commanding as always, he surveyed the landscape as though he owned it.

"Right," John said. "Any ideas?"

"No data," Sherlock said.

"I really couldn't say," Mycroft said.

"I need to go there." Lestrade pointed at the building. "Don't know why, though."

"Yeah," John agreed, feeling the pull. "Me, too."

"What's the last thing you remember? Anyone." The demand was Sherlock's.

"I was in my office at home," Mycroft said. "I poured a brandy, returned to my desk, and opened a report to read, the last one of the night. I already knew what it said, but one goes through the motions."

"Leftover takeaway and crap telly," Lestrade added. "Never made it past the sofa. Thought I was too tired to sleep."

"Sitting on the edge of my bed," John explained, "trying to work up the energy to do my physio exercises for my shoulder. I don't think I ever did." After a beat, "Sherlock, we can't be, not all four of us, I mean–"

"I've offered no theories," Sherlock said. "I need to observe." He nodded toward the building.

They moved forward as one, side by side.

John certainly didn't feel like a projection of his own subconscious or the figment of anyone else's imagination. He patted at his body and found it substantial enough. His favourite jumper, the colour of oatmeal. His keys and mobile phone in his pockets. His service sidearm at his back, tucked into the waist of his jeans.

He wore no jacket, and yet he felt no cold.

Could this be some ambush of Moriarty's design, designed to entrap them? No, John knew it in every fibre of his being, even though he couldn't begin to explain how.

By unspoken assent they paused as they drew up to the building. Modest and square and surrounded by a wide stone portico, it seemed as old as Stonehenge and every bit as imposing. Except for the sign.

"Now there's a combination you don't see every day," John said, intrigued.

Turning, he saw Mycroft raising an inquiring eyebrow and Lestrade frowning in confusion.

"I mean the sign," John said.

They blinked at him.

"What about it?" Lestrade asked.

"The sign. Over the doors."

After a moment, John said, "The sign: 'The Thousand Faces Tea Room and Shooting Range.'"

Mycroft and Lestrade exchanged glances. John looked to Sherlock, but he was on one knee, examining the cobblestone walk, oblivious to their discussion.

"What," John tried again, slowly, "do you think it says?"

"'The Thousand Faces Pub,'" Lestrade said.

"'The Thousand Faces Gentlemen's Club,'" Mycroft said at the same time.

John took a deep breath and pursed his lips. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Sherlock, humour us," John said. "What does that sign say, above the entry, there?"

Glancing up and narrowing his eyes, Sherlock said, "How clever. Why is that clever?" He rose to his feet in one swift motion. "'The Thousand Faces Mortuary and Concert Hall.'"

For a moment the four of them were silent.

"It wants all of us," Mycroft said.

"Looks that way," Lestrade agreed.

Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 1/?

Intreiguing :) *camps out for more*

Anon here

Thanks so much! :)

Four at The Thousand Faces 2/?

Just then the massive doors swung open with a sound of creaking timber. A figure emerged, and all of the breath left John's lungs. Small and slight, the girl was old enough to be considered a woman, but only just. The simple white gown she wore, gathered against her body by gold cord, nearly glowed against her olive skin and long black hair.

She had the gravity of entire planets in her dark eyes.

Her face was proud and stern, but as she considered them the look on her features was benign. Then she descended the stone stairs to stand an arm's length before them.

Gravely, she began to speak. The words sounded like gibberish to John. He shared a blank look with the other men.

The young woman abruptly stopped, gave a sigh, and rolled her eyes. As a delicate blush climbed up her neck, no words were needed to communicate her exasperation and embarrassment. Then she plunged delicate fingers into the fold of her gown, withdrawing a palmful of items.

She handed small, metallic badges to Mycroft and Lestrade, and then passed by John to present the last to Sherlock.

A huff of air, almost a chuckle, came from Lestrade. "Just go with it," he said aloud, although the sentiment seemed self-directed.

"It seems the thing to do. When in Rome," Mycroft agreed, sotto voce.

Mycroft and Lestrade at once affixed the pins to their lapels. Sherlock blinked at his.

"Communicator," Lestrade explained. "With a universal translator."

Mycroft's expression managed to convey both pity and contempt as he took in Sherlock's bemusement. "He's deleted it."

Throwing a glare in his brother's direction, Sherlock considered Lestrade's lapel and then attached his badge as the detective inspector had done.

The young woman held out something different to John. It was violently yellow and wriggling.

Aw, bloody hell, John thought.

Tipping his head on one side, he placed the Babel fish in his ear. After a few involuntary shudders and spasms, he straightened again and nodded.

"Hail and well met," the young woman said. "This is The Thousand Faces, where all heroes are welcome."

Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 2/?

*giggles* ofcourse John gets the babelfish.

(Alas, it is the wee hours of the morning where I am and I need sleep, but I want more. Gah the evil conflict between work and play) ;)

Anon here

LOL! ;)

Aw, I'm so glad you're interested! Thanks for reading/commenting. Good night (or, er, early morning) to you! *gives you virtual nighttime tea*

Four at The Thousand Faces 3/?

Heroes? John wondered.

"Those of us who have been here for the longest time share the happy responsibility of greeting new visitors," she continued. "I am Antigone, and I am pleased you have joined us. If you will permit me, I will complete your invitation. I am familiar to these stones, and they will recognize my touch."

Moving a step closer to Sherlock, she gazed up into his pale eyes with sombre concentration, which he returned in kind. Then she raised her hand and, stretching, placed her palm to the centre of his forehead, leaving it there for several heartbeats.

When she turned her earnest face up to consider John, he couldn't help but smile. Her fine features shifted in delight, giving his kindness back to him. After brief thought, she reached out and placed her palm over his left hand, where it lingered.

She bestowed a similar smile on Lestrade, whose lips quirked in a boyish grin. When she touched him, she placed her hand over his heart and held it there.

Her expression grew serious again as she contemplated Mycroft, who regarded her with equal solemnity. At last she raised her hand to cup his long throat. John could see the man swallow beneath her fingers.

"Thank you. Now then, please join me," Antigone said, and she led them up the steps.

Before the doors, she faltered. "Oh, forgive me. If we could pause but for a moment, please. Out of respect."

They gathered in a silent group at the far side of the front portico. John followed her line of sight and realized they weren't alone.

Four at The Thousand Faces 4/

Opposite them on the other side of the entry stood a lone figure, slender and tall and ramrod straight, dressed in the elegant but understated attire of a Victorian English gentleman. He faced the fog. His finely carved face appeared more beautiful than handsome, although the severe sweep of his dark hair and the haughty set of his thin lips gave him an air of scorn that bordered on cruelty.

Just once did he glance in their direction. His attention passed over the others to rest only on Sherlock, whom he inspected from shoes to curls. Then he sniffed in apparent disdain and refocused his attention on the cobblestone walk.

Moments later the figure of a man emerged from the mist, broad-shouldered and faintly limping, wearing a bowler hat. As he drew closer, John could make out the lines of a sturdy body beneath his tweed, a kind face and warm eyes and greying moustache.

On the portico, the elegant figure positively transformed, the harsh angles of his face easing into a portrait of joy. His arms opened, and a faint "Ah!" escaped his lips. Several long-legged strides put him at the top of the stairs.

The approaching man smiled and waved.

John felt certain he was witnessing something that deserved respectful privacy, and yet he could not look away.

In a voice as choked as it was rich and deep, the man on the portico said, "My... dear... fellow."

"I have," the other replied, walking more briskly, "I fear" – he huffed – "kept you waiting."

The tall man's shoulders shook with a near-silent laugh, and he blinked rapidly.

The two met midway up the stairs. The man in the hat extended his square, blunt hand, which the tall gentleman caught in both of his and cradled between long fingers.

John knew he wasn't meant to hear the whispered confession, or the tears that cultured accent couldn't hide, and yet somehow he did. "As I'd predicted, I was lost without my–"

"There, there," the new arrival said with a gruff voice, clearly fierce in his affection. "No longer, and never again."

The elegant man nodded, drew his considerable dignity around himself like a cloak, and cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes, I shall hold you to that, my good man."

As they proceeded to the doors, shoulder brushing shoulder, Antigone said, "Welcome home, Doctor."

The newcomer removed his hat and inclined his head. "Thank you, my dear. Thank you very much." With a polite nod to the four men beside her, he followed his companion through the doors and into the building, a protective hand at the other's narrow back.

John studied his shoes, deeply moved.


Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 4/

Oh. My. God. (okay, first, the cuteness of everyone getting Star Trek transmitters for translators except John who gets a babelfish- love it. Adorable.)


ACD!Sherlock and John. Just. The entire scene. Afterlife, I assume, but irrelevant. It's gorgeous and moving and good god perfect. I can't wait for more.

Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 4/

Aw, thank you so much for reading and commenting! I'm somewhat horrified by all the little typos/errors I've found. This will require a bit of a "clean up" before I post it all together as a fic. I'll do my best to do better in subsequent updates.

I'm so glad the reunion scene worked for you. It was my own small way to give a shout out to the now late and always great Edward Hardwicke, who was the first real media!Watson who actually seemed to me to fit the character ACD described. I got misty-eyed when I read of his death, but I imagined his reunion with Jeremy Brett's Holmes, and that eased my heart a bit.

More soon! Thanks again for reading.

Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 4/

Aw, thank you so much for reading and commenting! I'm somewhat horrified by all the little typos/errors I've found. This will require a bit of a "clean up" before I post it all together as a fic. I'll do my best to do better in subsequent updates.

I'm so glad the reunion scene worked for you. It was my own small way to give a shout out to the now late and always great Edward Hardwicke, who was the first real media!Watson I saw who actually seemed to me to fit the character ACD described. I got misty-eyed when I read of his death, but I imagined his reunion with Jeremy Brett's Holmes, and that eased my heart a bit.

More soon! Thanks again for reading.

Anon Reply Fail (Anonymous) Expand

Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 4/

I think you just made my life with ACD!Holmes and Watson. Seriously that scene between them was deeply moving and I can not wait to see more of your work.

Anon here

Oh yay! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I hope you like the other encounters coming up. *fingers crossed* Thanks so much for reading/commenting!

Four at The Thousand Faces 5/?

Beside John, Lestrade crossed his arms and raised his chin. "So, are we dead, then?" he asked, steady and straightforward.

Antigone shook her head, gentleness in her dark eyes. "No, good heroes, only sleeping after dangerous trials. Your stay here this time will be brief, and we hope you will enjoy others in the future. But if you so choose it at the end, you may make this your final home. The Thousand Faces welcomes permanent lodgers."

"You say heroes..." Sherlock began.

"You could not have journeyed to this place if you were not one," she said simply. "I recognize it, and the stones recognize it, even if you do not see it in yourself."

Raising a hand, Antigone deflected their replies. John realized that a blushing Lestrade had drawn a breath, as if to protest, while Sherlock and Mycroft wore matching – if fleeting – scowls of scepticism. He himself felt only painfully and absurdly humbled. After a moment he straightened a bit where he stood, and a beat later he sensed that Lestrade did the same.

She considered each of them in turn. "After you depart today, you will not remember your time within these walls. If, however, you find comfort or encouragement here, you will take it with you. I suspect you will want to begin in the wing for the Contemporary West, but of course you are free to venture anywhere you wish."

Wing? John thought. The building was square, and he doubted it could hold a single ballroom.

"Let me guess." John said, after he scrubbed his hand over his face. "It's bigger on the inside."

Antigone grinned and graced him with a decidedly undignified wink before moving toward the doors.

"I wonder," John said, "if this is what those bloggers call a 'mashup.' Or is it 'AU'?"

"How about that collective unconsciousness thing?" Lestrade said, gesturing vaguely. "What's the word? Ah, monomyth?"

"Platonic ideal forms," Mycroft murmured, perhaps to himself.

All eyes turned to Sherlock.

"How many times must I repeat myself?" The consulting detective huffed, though the twitching of his lips and flexing of his fingers betrayed his excitement. "It's a mistake to theorize before you have data."

As the doors opened, music spilled out to flood the air around them.

"Wagner," Sherlock said.

"The King's Singers." That from Mycroft.

"The Clash," Lestrade added.

"Actually" – awed, John chuckled – "it's Gerry Rafferty. 'Baker Street,' in fact."

The fresh thrill that coursed through his veins was echoed in Sherlock's eyes. No, not boring at all, this.

As John passed through the open doors, he mouthed the words without giving them voice:

"When you wake up it's a new morning,
The sun is shining, it's a new morning,
And you're going, you're going home..."


Re: Four at The Thousand Faces 5/?

*loves this so much*

This is so lovely and so much fun. Their reactions, the pop culture references, the SONGS! :D
I'm definitely looking forward to more!

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