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- You both like sherlolly, molstrade, sheriarty, mormor, teenlock, johnlock, and femlock.
- You: John felt his back press against the wall as Sherlock pressed up against him. Okay, fine. Even John was willing to admit they had had a bit too much to drink. It had started with a glass of wine, which led to a sixth glass of wine, which led to them getting closer, which led to kissing, which led to John pressed up against the wall and begging for more. Somewhere, dimly in the back of his mind he knew he ought to stop this but he didn't want to, he really didn't want to. ((Femlock or teenlock or both is totally fine with me!))
- Stranger: [Fem!Sherlock is mine]
- Stranger: If Sherlock had been thinking clearly, she could have rationalized a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea. Why drinking around John at all was a bad idea. But at the moment, her whirling mind had slowed beautifully, and all she could think about was John's lips on hers. /Finally/. He hadn't pushed her away, and his body language was screaming at her to continue. Sliding one hand up into the doctor's greying blonde hair, Sherlock broke apart from the kiss and trailed her lips down his neck.
- You: God, he was too old for shit like this. He was too old for drunken hook ups and letting lust get the better of him. This was /Sherlock/, his beautiful Sherlock Holmes, if they came to regret this he would never...oh, her mouth was on his throat now. Her hair was a bit matted and his fingers got tangled with the mess and he yanked her back, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. He knew in that instant that if she didn't say stop he was going to fuck her and oh was he going to like it.
- Stranger: Feeling John's pulse quicken under her tongue, Sherlock smirked and nipped lightly at his perfect tanned skin. Flicking her eyes up to observe him, she pulled back just long enough to open her mouth, intending to say something, but then... /oh/. She was pressed up against the wall now, his strong hands on her hips. Her head swam, she was awash in contrasting chemicals. Sherlock tried very very hard not to actually /whimper/, and managed. "Yes," she whispered, her voice softer than usual. "Please."
- You: He crashed their mouths back together, his hands growing frustrated with her buttoned shirt and ripping it open. He felt her skin under his hand and groaned loudly. She was softer than he imagined, warmer too. Everything about her seemed icy and hard, sharp edges that would cut you if you dared but she was nothing like that. She was practically melting beneath him.
- Stranger: Much to her own embarrassment, a whimper passed into the kiss and Sherlock felt her knickers grow impossibly wet. She'd always loved it when her blogger pulled rank, even touched herself a few times thinking about his voice, but this... this was different. This was real. Standing properly and trying not to stumble, Sherlock tugged John by the hand over to the sofa and pushed him down. "Off," she mumbled, and pulled his jumper over his head, tossing it somewhere else. Anywhere else but on him because Jesus, Mary and Joseph his body was perfect. Sinking down onto his lap slowly so that her skirt rode up, she pressed her lips immediately to the starburst scar on his shoulder.
- You: He whined, watching her kiss his scar. That wasn't lust, no, that was sentiment, how could sentiment be here? How could she really want him? He leaned forward, kissing her chest, his hands on her smooth, soft waist. "More," he murmured, their one word communications were more than enough, she knew him, didn't she? And he knew her, he loved her for fuck's sake, that was never more obvious than this moment, licking an X over her heart.
- Stranger: Shuddering, Sherlock dug her nails into John's shoulder when he licked her. She'd been with a few men in the past, but nothing had ever felt this... primal? That was the right word. Flicking her silvery eyes up to meet his deep blue ones, she lowered her head and pressed a few more open mouthed kisses to the marred flesh. She loved the scar, it was what had brought John home to her. She also loved John, more than she could ever say. "Please," she pleaded again, and wriggled her arse against the bulge in her doctor's jeans.
- You: His hand came up, wrapping around the panties she wore beneath the skirt, not bothering with wasting his time with the actual removal of the skirt, hell, they couldn't even make it to the bedroom. His short nails dragged along her thighs, leaving small red trails in her creamy flesh as he pulled the panties down. Her skirt was up high enough that now he could see her but he wasn't looking, his attention on her mouth as it kissed and tended to his scar.
- Stranger: When she felt her knickers being pulled away, Sherlock grinned to herself and reached down to untie the black ribbons at the sides. With a small wink, she pulled them off and tossed them in the same general direction as John's jumper. Now bare-arsed, she leaned up to capture his lips in a heated kiss that was just on the other side of desperate. She flicked open the button of his jeans and with only a bit of difficulty, worked his zip down. Then, Sherlock paused. "Condom?" she asked softly, though she didn't see the need for one. She was clean and had an implant.
- You: He was a doctor, he really, /really/ should care and he would blame at least this part on the alcohol tomorrow, "No," he said, it wasn't a demand, it was a beg. He was pleading with her to let him have her, to let him feel her, to really just become a part of her. "Please, Sherlock," he whispered, that was the first time he had said her name and it sounded so good on his mouth. There was a box of condoms upstairs in his room and if she insisted he would drag her up there but he wanted /this/.
- Stranger: Trying very hard not to sigh in relief, Sherlock nodded and cupped his face gently, leaning her forehead against his. "Take me, then," she whispered, and pulled her hand away to reach back and unclasp her bra. "John," his name spilled from her lips like a prayer. "I need you. Any way you want." She didn't want to say what she was thinking, which was dear God in Heaven hold me down and own me, take what you want, I'll willingly give it to you.
- You: He prayed that if anything was lost in sleep tonight, that he would remember her saying those words, saying his name, "Oh God, yes," he whispered, just like he had when she first invited to that crime scene in Laurelston Gardens. He shifted her gruffly so she was on her back, his trousers and pants shoved down so he could properly do this. His face hovered above hers and his eyes locked onto her stormy irises before he thrust up and into her.
- Stranger: Sherlock barely had time to shift so she was comfortable before he was in her. She cried out in equal parts pain and pleasure, pain, because she hadn't had anybody in a very long time, and pleasure because he was bigger than anyone she had been with. "/John/," she repeated over, and over, and over, lifting her hips so she could wrap her legs around /her/ blogger's waist. After a few moments, she felt herself approaching the edge and fell off with a choked off sob, leaning up to bury her face in John's neck.
- You: He could feel her trembling, clenching and he was losing himself in her, forgetting where his body ended and hers started, "Sher, oh Sherlock," he would whine between desperate kisses and well deserved pants. He wanted to remember every second of this vividly, he wanted it documented permanently. His own release came up on him with surprising force, he hadn't expected it but when she came he tipped over like that was the final blow. He screamed, loudly and unrestrained.
- Stranger: When she felt him spill inside her, a second wave crashed over her and she arched into him with a cry. Years of bitterly sneaking cigarettes while he was on dates and then /married/ all culminating in this. At the moment, she couldn't be arsed to care if the morning after was awkward, so long as he was still there. Collapsing with a small, contented sigh, Sherlock leaned up to press a softer, chaste kiss to John's lips.
- You: He collapsed against her, their sweating bodies laying entangled and he had little intention of untangling them, "Fuck, that was brilliant," he whispered, kissing her softly, slowly. He was so used to praising her but this was a new level, this was perfect.
- Stranger: Sherlock chuckled at the first coherent sentence she'd heard from him in a while and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I strongly agree," she breathed after a moment, and stroked softly up and down his strong back. "Should move this to the bedroom, though, I think. More room."
- You: He was so, so incredibly thankful she didn't push him away when they had finished. He groaned and buried his face in her neck for a moment, "Just give me a minute," he said, still panting and breathing in her skin. He kicked off his trousers fully and wrapped his arms tightly around her, "Fantastic, brilliant, beautiful Sherlock," he murmured, punctuating his words with kisses.
- Stranger: "Flattery will get you everywhere," she murmured with a smile, sliding her hands into his hair and tugging gently as she mouthed up his neck. "I love you," she whispered after a few moments of silence. It needed to be said. Out loud, not just etched into their bodies. Not that that wasn't good, it had been... "Perfect," she mumbled. "My perfect, wonderful, kind John."
- You: He almost didn't hear her whisper that she loved him and when he did it settled into his bones and gave new meaning to everything, "Oh, Sherlock," he whispered, his voice flooding with emotion. Some how he had known, he had to have known, "I love you, my Sherlock Holmes." He couldn't have pictured this better, her saying I love you with him naked and sore and still inside of her... it was right. It all just felt /right/.
- Stranger: Beaming at the words - because she hadn't known until now, how could she have been so magnificently /blind/? - Sherlock linked her ankles together behind John's back, completely fulfilled in every physical and emotional way, but still needing to be as close to him as possible. Stifling a yawn, she buried her face in the doctor's neck and sighed. "Any chance I could get a cigarette?" She tried after a moment, peeking up to grin at him. "I know where you hid them this time."
- You: He laughed at that, shaking his head at the grin and deciding that he could, and would, spank her in response, "If you even think about it, I will find some punishment for you." He brought her close, pulling out carefully and then slowly, bringing them up, standing with her still wrapped around him with the surprising strength of a former soldier.
- Stranger: Whimpering, Sherlock wrapped her arms around his neck and tried her hardest not to fall asleep like a child. She was grateful that he'd lifted her when he stood and buried her face in his chest, greedily inhaling the scent of him. "Bed," she mumbled, monosyllabic again, and yawned into her arm.
- You: He had never realized how small she was, she always seemed so tall and towering and now, curled against him, she was nothing. She was a sleepy little girl that he loved more than anything. He went to her room with her and carefully laid her on the bed, waiting to see what she would do, if she would insist on him staying wrapped in her of if she would expect him to crawl into bed beside her, it was all on her now.
- Stranger: The next thing she knew, her head was hitting the pillow, but John wasn't... he'd pulled away. "Please stay," she mumbled, and reached out to grab his arm. The wine was catching up to her now, her head was starting to pound, and headaches always made her crabby because aspirin didn't help, but she'd be damned if she'd let John sleep alone tonight or any other night.
- You: He smiled slightly, climbing into bed with her and letting her sleepy voice tell him what to do. She was so beautiful, and she was his. He wanted to mark her but now that their lustful and needy shag was over it seemed inappropriate, like it would just wake her up. He wanted her to curl against him and he settled down wondering if she would.
- Stranger: Smiling when she felt him stretch out next to her, she reached up to secure her messy curls into a haphazard ponytail with a rubber band from around her wrist, and then slung an arm over her blogger's waist. Sherlock shifted forward and rested her cheek against his chest, slinking a leg between his. "Only one bedroom needed in 221b, yeah?" she mumbled, trying to blink herself awake and failing.
- [This is actually the best Johnlock I've ever done, thank you. Next morning, please?]
- You: ((You're so cute and I have loved this, you're a lovely Sherlock! Yes!))
- John smiled, wrapping his arm around her form and cuddling her to him. She was so small, so fragile feeling now and he loved that. This was a drunken mess but he couldn't regret it for a second. He nuzzled into her and kept her close all night. When he woke with the morning light he did so with a small sigh of contentment. He felt arms around his waist and for once, his hope was reality, Sherlock Holmes was curled around him and snoring softly and he couldn't have been more pleased.
- Stranger: Sherlock fell into an easy sleep for the first time, and for the first time in months, she didn't dream about being tortured while she was away. John hadn't even seen the whip marks on her back, or the bullet wound on her stomach. Before tonight, she'd never even dream of showing those to anyone, but now, she hoped he'd seen them.
- When she woke late the next morning, though, her brain kicked into overdrive, and she shot up, instinctively covering herself with the comforter. But then, she realized where she was and relaxed, looking down at her blogger with a smile. "Morning," she whispered, bending down to kiss his cheek.
- You: "Alright there?" he asked, remembering that that was how he used to wake from sleep after he had returned from service. He saw them then, the whip marks on her back. When had she been whipped? And when so badly that it would scar over like that? He remembered, of course, the bullet wound and where that came from. He still felt somehow responsible for that. He sighed, "You look beautiful when you sleep," he noted.
- Stranger: Sherlock shook her head, noting the sigh. "No nightmares, not last night," she mumbled, and rubbed the remnants of her eyeliner away. Raccoon eyes. /Lovely/. "I look a dreadful mess, and my head is killing me," she grumbled, but wrapped herself around John again anyway. "Thank you." She didn't bother elaborating, the words had multiple meanings, and they both knew what each one was.
- You: He gave her a soft kiss, licking his lips and keeping it chaste as he pressed against her mouth. He liked this too much, the feel of this. He wanted to know what this was like all the time, he never wanted to stop kissing her. "We both need to thank each other."
- Stranger: Rolling on top of John, Sherlock grinned, and rested her forehead against his, filling her entire field of vision with her blogger's crinkled eyes. "I love you," she whispered, stroking down his cheek gently. After a moment, she sighed. "I love you, but I need to visit the loo. Be here when I get back?" Sliding down off the bed without another word, she padded out of the room, scooping up an old t-shirt as she went.
- You: He watched her walk out and sighed softly, of course he was going to be here, where else would he go to? He would love to spend all morning cuddling and cozying up to her. He wanted to know about those scars, he wanted to know about all of her scars and he wanted to know why she focused so much on his scar, he wasn't sure she fully understood and he wanted to, he needed to.
- Stranger has disconnected.
Sherlock sat on the floor, a bed of John’s sweaters surrounding him. They were soft, Sherlock liked soft things, soft was one of the first words he learned. He looked up at John and told him who the killer was on his crime show. It was easy really, obvious. John had laughed when he had been right, he had smiled and ruffled his hair, giving him a kiss on the nose.
Sherlock let out a sound between a giggle and a pleased sigh, wanting nothing more than to receive another kiss. He didn’t know the word for that. He had to make John do it again, press his lips like that. He had gotten kissed because he had been right. So he would have to be right about everything. He deduced the product in the commercial and turned to look at him, closing his eyes and pressing his face forward, offering his nose and smiling brightly when there was a pause, a chuckle and then, finally, a kiss.
He ran around the flat, looking for things he could tell John, looking for things that would make John give him more kisses. John followed him into each room, giving him kisses when he came to him. He had lost count of all the deductions, each kiss still felt new and soft. Like John’s jumpers. “Sherlock,” John finally said, holding his soft face between his hands, “You don’t have to deduce things for kisses. I can just give you kisses if you like. Though you’ve been very good today.”
Sherlock giggled and clapped, “K-kisses?” he asked, “Kiss!” he shouted gleefully, “Kiss?” he asked this time waiting for John to give him what he asked for.
From then on, most silences were filled with the fauns soft voice going, “Kiss?” and to be very honest, John never really felt like denying him.
((This was cute! Never done faun lock before. Hope I did alright!))
"Molly?" Sherlock asked, staring at her as he waited for the centrifuge to finish spinning the vials of blood he was testing. It had occurred to him that despite what he previously thought about her being rather average she wasn’t. He found that she was incredibly surprising, her tastes, her reactions…she understood him in a way he hadn’t expected. He warned her off her new boyfriends frequently and about three boyfriends ago it stopped being just because he wanted to be kind…there wasn’t even anything wrong with the last three. He just didn’t like the thought of her being genuinely happy with someone else. He liked the way she would stare at him when she thought he couldn’t see her. He liked the way she knew sometimes just how to handle him, even John didn’t know that.
"Yes?" she asked, looking up from her graduated cylinder with a small bounce to attention. God, she was always so charming, or perhaps he was just increasingly charmed with her. Sentiment was a fickle thing.
He didn’t actually know what he was going to say, he couldn’t just say now that he cared for her, no that would sound ridiculous. She would think he was bored or that he was joking and would stalk off in a huff. Instead he asked, “Why do you always wear your hair up?” His eyes on her, as he stood and moved to look at her, ignoring the sound of the centrifuge finishing it’s task.
She clearly hadn’t been expecting that question, “Um… I don’t know,” she said shrugging, her stupidly lovely shoulders moving beneath one of her more ridiculous jumpers, “I just do?” He stepped up to her, pulling the hair tie out of her hair and fixing the falling strands.
"You look rather beautiful with your hair down," he said simply. He had noted it before, but always silently, always alone in his thoughts. Her cheeks were turning a deep shade of red and he smiled slightly, coming to touch the flesh that changed color beneath his hand as her mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to figure out what to say.
"I-uh…" she looked up at him, trying to understand his motives, at least, he supposed that’s what she was trying to do, "Thank you?" she said as though she wasn’t sure that was the right response. That was when he kissed her, the woman he loved so plainly. He heard the graduated cylinder crash to the floor as their lips met, tongue flicking out to taste, so curiously. His hand stayed on her red cheek as she let out a surprised gasp and then turned, kissing him deeply.
Their experiments forgotten, their mouths became the only thing he could focus on, their bodies pressed together tightly. He wanted her to understand why he was doing this, to understand his mind with a kiss. She always knew so much more than she let on, she would come to understand this too. Their lips learned and explored and his lungs began to burn with the effort but he didn’t dare stop until they heard a cough in the door way. John Watson stood there with the same red on his cheeks that Molly had had just before, “You two need some time alone?” he asked awkwardly, “I can come back…”
"No," she said and he smiled, looking down at her and seeing a bit of understanding dawning in her eyes, "We’re just fine."
Molly Hooper looked, in a word, gorgeous. No, that wasn’t the right word…breathtaking? Sexy? Amazing? Drop dead beautiful? His lexicon was not expansive enough for how taken he was with her tonight. He didn’t like that anyone else could see her in this state of perfection, it wasn’t fair he had to share her with her tinkling laughter and her pretty smile and stupid, stupid police galas that he had to go to because of stupid Lestrade.
John was busy trying to explain to him what the purpose of the event was and was talking about some guy named Greg and he expected he should know who Greg was but it escaped him as she brought the cherry from her drink and plucked the round fruit onto her tongue with her teeth, the stem leaving what he used to think was her too small mouth. He was so blind then.
That was when some officer, young, stupid and clearly attractive came up to Molly, to his Molly. He felt an immediate predatory response to the man and then it wasn’t just a man, it was several, all wondering if they could get her anything, if she wanted company. She was blushing a ridiculous shade of red while Sherlock fumed in his seat, now completely and blatantly ignoring John. He stalked off, moving to her and pushing the men out of the way before kissing her deeply, thoroughly. His tongue slowly excavated every tiny section of her gorgeous mouth and he felt a victory in the way she melted against him. “Mine.”
They had been rolling around in bed, taking turns straddling each other and giving new marks and new memories in their aching flesh. He would be leaving soon, going back to John after two years of taking out Moriarty’s network. She knew he needed to go and he knew as well, they could never just stay like this, it was their lives on pause. But oh what a wonderful pause, the way their flesh made music against each other, their minds working together to be one of the more lovely and more dangerous teams that even a network like Moriarty’s had ever come up against. They had won, they were celebrating their victory with their small battles here and now.
They weren’t really speaking except the occasional comment or instruction, hisses and moans instead filled the room they had been sharing for the time being. He hadn’t thought it through, in fact he was quite certain there were many flaws to the idea that slipped between his lips as she pinned him down, kissing his mouth with a force that made him wonder how she had been so soft beneath him just a minute ago. “Marry me.” The words rang through the air between them, reverberating off her lips and soaking into the bruises and marks on her chest. They didn’t even come out as a question, barely a request, more of a statement of what they should do.
He knew that it would be unconventional, that he would be living in London, the one place she couldn’t go and yet…the words were honest and he meant them. It would be a terrible separation, in fact, there was no guarantee he’d ever see her again when he returned. She would disappear and he would return to the spotlight and to the Work. The Woman seemed to search his eyes for an eternity before humming a simple, “Of course.” He didn’t seem to care about the legality of it, that seemed contract enough for him, perhaps they would sign a document, perhaps they would lay here in bed for the rest of their time together but it didn’t matter. He smirked slightly before hooking his arm around her waist and flipping her, letting her land with a thud as their game continued.
The first cake Mycroft really remembers was when he was from his six birthday party. No one showed up to the affair and so the cook told him he would get to keep the entire cake to himself. He didn’t know that was allowed, it was beautiful really, frosting that melted on your tongue and a cake that wasn’t too dry but would crumble in your mouth. It was safe to say young Mycroft had fallen in love and it was a love affair to rival the classics.
His affair with cake seemed to last through any attempt at a relationship he had ever had, in fact, cake was sometimes his most lovely companion. Sherlock would never resist the urge to mock him for his affections, “You know, I think perhaps cake and you are your longest relationship, excluding me of course but then, I’ve tried to extricate myself, you just keep appearing. So cake it is, your longest and most affectionate relationship.” Sherlock smirked as he walked away from his brother who glared and took another bite of the confectionery delight.
He would have bouts where he would attempt to give up his fated love, diets and health scares and wanting to lose the bit of pudge that forced him to sit just a little too far from his desk. But those bouts never lasted long, he could never quite stay away.
And when Sherlock returned from the grave, having been abused and tortured in Serbia for several months, Mycroft only saw fit to serve one thing, one lone dish, his own favourite but he was sure Sherlock wouldn’t object too much. “Still going strong then?” Mycroft just hummed happily from behind the fork.
((That was genuinely way too much fun. Hope you like it my darling! Send more prompts!))