>>55009
Can I be curious and ask if this request stems from the picture alone? Or is there some actual cannon story mentioning tentacles?

>>55032
Hahah no, no canon stories. Holmes is always very realistic.

There was a period either last year or the year before where tentacles became slightly popular in fandom. I know there were a few pictures thrown about and at least one fic (over here http://laclarity.wordpress.com/, which was never finished, sadly) and I was just wondering if there was anything else I'd missed.

>>55093
and there's the excellent Neil Gaiman story, A Study in Emerald. no tentacle!Holmes but tentacles, and also Holmes, and also it's brilliant. PDF is here: http://www.neilgaiman.com/mediafiles/exclusive/shortstories/emerald.pdf

>>55120
That is one of my favourite stories, no joke. Actually, is there any fanfic of it?

>>55132
not that I know of, but I may just have to write some myself when I have time- it's one of my favourites, too, and the idea of fugitive!Holmes and Watson hiding out together, on the run, having adventures and killing some goddamn monsters is kind of too good to resist.

since some of you seemed to like my other recs last week I have one new ones

sherlock/watson bbc
http://community.livejournal.com/fic_flail/133992.html
sherlock decides he wants to collar watson, because he is HIS, Damn it. I don't usually like D/s relationships and find most fics with even hints of it cliche and laugh out load bad. But this is really on the light side and more possessive than anything else. I think because the fic has watsons "oh well, that is just sherlock holmes, what can you do? I love the weirdo" voice.
Plus it is really hot.

>>55579
>>55580

I love you.

this person does the cutest shit

drew this yesterday, Benedict Cumberbatch is so fun to draw.

Thank you lj for these fics.

Sherlock/John
By toestastegood


John should have known that his night was destined for trouble long before he and Sherlock left the flat that night.

Firstly, he's going out with Sherlock: nothing ever goes smoothly. Secondly, neither of them want to be attending Mycroft's black-tie event in any case, yet after solving the riddle of a terror plot and saving the country (again) their presence is apparently required. The most vital piece of evidence that he had overlooked, John thinks as Sherlock shoves his hand greedily down the front of John's trousers, had been the covetous way that Sherlock had stared at him while they were getting into their suits.

Half an hour into the party, once they have shaken hands with worryingly important people and after Sherlock has tried to insult every big-wig that tries to schmooze with him, John had found himself pulled into one of the back rooms, slammed back against the wall and kissed incredibly thoroughly by an extremely bored genius.

So he finds himself here, at Sherlock's mercy (and experience has taught John that Sherlock doesn't actually have any) with his trousers open and his stiff cock being fondled with rough determination. Sherlock's mouth descends to his throat and sucks marks there: he's going to have to go back out to the party after this. He has no idea how he will be able to do it without his face igniting from being so red.

Right now, with Sherlock all over him, he doesn't care.

"I don't know why Mycroft insists on making me come to these things," Sherlock whispers in irritation.

John can tell from his tone that he is preparing for a week-long sulking fest; in the interests of London's safety, he opens up Sherlock's trousers for him, hoping that entertaining him for the evening might cheer him up. "Appearances. We did good, didn't we? We deserve recognition."

"They could have sent a letter," Sherlock complains - with considerably less irritation than he had had just seconds ago, now that John's able hand is manipulating his cock. It feels strong andinsistent in his hand, and John can't help but wonder how long he's been hard like this; maybe since they left the flat, nursing it all this time, waiting for an appropriate moment to get him alone. The thought makes him groan, eyes shivering, and he feels the twitch of Sherlock's self-satisfied smile against him. "Careful, John. We wouldn't want to attract attention."

John grits his teeth and sucks in air through his nose. His grip on Sherlock's cock becomes a little tighter, a little faster - enough to make him grunt and bite down sharply on his bottom lip as if he can physically hold in any reaction. "Yeah, Sherlock. Careful," John repeats, breathless and far too pleased with himself.

Sherlock looks down at him - and John knows that he does this on purpose, uses his lanky height to intimidate. He's seen him do it to suspects on their cases before, but not to him. He probably knows John better than to try; probably knows that John is a trained soldier and has faced far more intimidating enemies than Sherlock.

None of those enemies had had a secret weapon up their sleeve: Sherlock removes his hand from John's flesh, suddenly and abruptly.

John splutters and swears, far louder than he ought to, and Sherlock hushes him with all the fake-scandal of a school teacher. He reaches for John's thin black tie and loosens it from around his neck. With no consultation, he pulls it up and slots it into John's spluttering mouth instead, reaching around to tie it at the base of John's head. "Much better," he declares - but his eyes don't break contact with John's for a moment, as if waiting to check that this is alright.

For most sane people, it wouldn't be. 'Sane', however, isn't a quality much associated with those who spend any time in Sherlock's orbit.

John nods and they return to how they were, pressed tight against each other with hands pulling each other off. Sherlock's free hand is tracing the tie at the edges of his mouth, feeling the way that it presses into his skin. He soaks in every muffled whimper that comes from John's mouth: "I knew this would come in useful," he says. "This is what I've been thinking of doing since you put it on."

John bites down on the tie in his mouth to stop himself from groaning, but the thought of Sherlock using that big brain of his to fantasise about this is too much for him. He rests his head back against the wall, eyes screwing shut, hand tightening on Sherlock's member, and with a moan that seems to explode from his chest he comes, splattering Sherlock's trousers with his seed.

Sherlock reaches for his hand, covering it with his larger one, and he guides John into giving him what he wants, using John's hand as an instrument as he jerks himself off. John lies passively against the wall and watches, head still spinning, as Sherlock's impassive face twitches and contorts in twisted pleasure. It isn't long before Sherlock comes as well, inside his trousers, completely wrecked.

Sherlock slumps against him, resting his forehead against John's shoulder even if he has to stoop in order to do so. John reaches up to undo the knot himself, seeing as Sherlock seems in no hurry to do so himself, and they rest together for a moment, listening to the chatter of the party going on outside.

"Mycroft has a spare set of clothes for us upstairs," Sherlock says, sounding completely unaffected now that he's pulled himself together.

John doesn't bother to ask exactly how or why his brother knew they would find themselves ruined and in need of spares: when it comes to the Holmes brothers, he has discovered that it is best to give up and simply go with the flow.

Distraction Techniques - Sherlock/John (BBC)
by entangled_now

You didn't even know you liked feet.
--------

It all starts during an episode of Time Team. When Sherlock slides his bare feet into John's lap. It's one movement, a slither that's almost proprietary, and he has the longest, palest feet John has ever seen. They're balanced carelessly across his thighs in a way that's nothing but laziness.

John knows the right thing to do would be to shove them straight off and remind Sherlock that he isn't furniture, no matter what he seems to think sometimes. He knows he should do that. That he should do that now.

He gets as far as thinking about curling his hand round one of them and his brain comes to a messy stop.

There's no way Sherlock knows, because no one knows, he's never told anyone, he's never even given any indication. It's just a thing - it's just something he thinks about sometimes.

But suddenly he's staring at Tony Robinson rambling about Anglo-Saxon burial grounds and he's not listening to a word of it. Because he can feel the slow drag of Sherlock's heel through his jeans, and the way his toes catch on the edge of John's jumper every time Sherlock stretches.

John's not going to touch. He's not going to do anything. But he wants to and he knows it. His hand twitches on the arm of the sofa and then closes into a fist. A whole world of restraint

He shifts like he's trying to get comfortable, hoping Sherlock will drag his feet away on a huff. Because there's no way he can sit here with Sherlock's feet in his lap and act like everything's fine. But he underestimates Sherlock's ability to keep whatever he finds and he resists the movement. For just enough long enough that there's no way, no possible way, that Sherlock can't tell that he has an erection.

The silence hangs, and John's half terrified he knows what's coming. But then he listens to a page turn, nonchalant, completely uncaring. He doesn't look over, doesn't dare. He's not quite sure how he's still breathing.

John looks down, then wishes he hadn't because Sherlock's toes curl and then stretch in a way which shouldn't be distracting but somehow is - and he's watching the television again with his fingers dug into the leather of the sofa and not hearing a single world.

Until Sherlock's foot moves, it's one slow drag against the fly of his jeans, which is clearly designed to arouse and can't possibly be mistaken for any sort of accidental brush.

John breathes out in one shuddering exhale, perfectly loud enough for Sherlock to hear and it's maddening that there's no reaction there. Just the rustle of paper.

He starts to think he's imagined it.

And then Sherlock's foot moves away, just a fraction, just enough that John could slip a hand down and unzip his jeans if he wanted to.

Oh Jesus.

John's hand slides off the arm of the sofa, almost without his permission, hovers somewhere near his own knee, uncertain.

Sherlock shifts his foot away a little more and John swallows a lump of something that wants to be either panic or desperate, shaky arousal. He doesn't even know anymore. His hand falls, fingers pressed into the button for a long second, undecided because, Jesus, this isn't the sort of thing that he does.

The zip goes down almost completely silently.

Sherlock's foot shifts back, toes flicking the fly open, and John inhales, quick and rough through his nose. Because there's almost nothing between the curl of Sherlock's toes and the sensitivity of his dick. And maybe he was wrong about how much he wanted this because he has his teeth dug into his lip and a whimper somewhere in his throat and he wants it so badly he thinks he might actually pass out.

It's too close and he can feel the steady press of Sherlock's foot, the curve of it, carefully shifting, one slow glide up and then down.

John drops his hand without thinking about it, fingers curling round the smooth arch of Sherlock's right foot, thumb laid over his toes and he drags in a breath because it's impossibly, shockingly intimate in a way he doesn't expect.

Sherlock doesn't seem to mind, the press and rock is lazy, unconcerned by the slow tighten and release of John's hand. John's struggling not to pull, not to do anything that will make this more scandalous than it is. Though he's not quite sure how he could possibly do that.

He wonders, briefly, what it would be like if he dragged his boxers down as well, if it was bare skin pressed into bare skin.

John's fingers tighten, holding Sherlock's foot still and he makes a noise, a stunned exhale and everything is briefly too hot and too shrp.

He loses about half a minute of time trying to relearn how to breathe, wondering how exactly he's supposed to explain this.

John slowly comes down from the dizzy thrill of orgasm that he never actually got his boxers off for. Someone on TV is talking about pottery shards and Sherlock is very carefully rubbing his toes back and forth over the meat of John's thumb.

>>55803
More?

>>55951
Fics by the same author? Yes. Feet, no. Not yet.

Another Sherlock/John by entangled_now
----


It's not intentional, not the first time.

Sherlock's reading the paper, sprawled out in the chair in a way that looks horrifically uncomfortable, muttering to himself about whatever he seems to think is most moronic today.

John sighs and leans over the back of the chair, hand wrapped round the leather and reads over his shoulder. Because Sherlock rarely notices, or cares, and the paper doesn't tend to stick around long, before being screwed up in a huff, or stolen, or set fire to in some sort experiment. He lets his fingertips rest against the back of Sherlock's neck, fidgeting restlessly, while he reads a story about bad street lighting.

He manages three more stories before he realises that Sherlock hasn't turned a page. Usually he's more reckless and abusive in his page turning. Today he doesn't actually seem to be reading at all. Instead he's holding himself very still, head tipped to the side just slightly under - under the mindless drift of John's fingers.

John thinks about snatching them away. It's a knee-jerk reaction because he doesn't - they don't - not like that. But John has never seen Sherlock indulge in anything, not like this.

After a pause, in which his brain is mostly curiosity and madness, he very carefully moves his knuckles, one rolling glide down the back of Sherlock's neck.

The are no words to that, just a quiet gasp, and there's no way of mistaking exactly what sort of gasp it is. What sort of indulgence this clearly is.

John wonders what on earth he's doing, why he hasn't stopped yet. Instead he's shifting his fingers, slowly, but unmistakably, intentionally, against the back of Sherlock's neck. Swallowing roughly under that rush of strange, helpless arousal that comes when you know you're doing something you shouldn’t. When you're doing something you never expected to find yourself doing. But it's suddenly impossible to stop.

He risks turning his hand round, fingertips gliding up and then down the length of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock inhales, sharply through his nose, and for a fraction of a second John thinks he's going to pull away, or tell him to stop. But then his head very slowly tips forward. Far enough that John can get his fingers down the back of Sherlock's shirt collar. Where the skin is warmer and impossibly smooth. He can hear Sherlock's rough, shaky swallow, and the way air rushes out every time his thumb trails the hairline.

The paper eventually slithers out of his grip entirely and hits the floor in pieces.

John turns his hand, fingers curling up into Sherlock's hair, pushing it the wrong way and Sherlock tips his head back into the pressure. His fingers are now curled round the metal of the chair's arms so hard they've gone white

John's watching Sherlock crack in a way that's honest, and absolutely human. A way he was fairly sure he'd never see and it's - he wants to say fascinating but the hard thumping on his own heartbeat and the unsteady, unexpected weight of his own arousal, tells him it's more personal than that.

He's afraid to speak, he's half afraid to breathe.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks and is astonished at how rough his voice sounds.

"If you do I will kill you," Sherlock says and he sounds half-drunk.

John manages a broken, startled breath of laughter.

He's low enough that his knee's nearly on the carpet, decides 'to hell with it' and settles there. One hand curled round the back of Sherlock's neck and the other - the other dares to tug his collar aside and slide inside. Working on instinct more than common sense.

"Jesus, Sherlock."

Sherlock's shirt is tight and there's almost no room to slip his hand in, to lay his fingers on skin, warmer than he's expecting, smooth and flat. The shirt buttons protest in sharp creases of cloth. But Sherlock curves back into the chair, shoulders shifting to give him room.

"Sherlock," John says again, barely more than breath into the curve of his ear. It's half desperate, trying to find some sort of reassurance that this isn't a huge fucking mistake. Some sort of reassurance that this is ok.

His fingers spread on Sherlock's chest, his smallest finger dragging over Sherlock's nipple and one of Sherlock's shoes slides across the floor in a rush of sound. John does it again, just to hear the ragged bitten-off gasp.
John can't reach any lower, can't get past the third button, but Sherlock has his head pressed into John's so hard it almost hurts, and there are no words anymore. John's other hand is pushed up into his hair, tangling there too tightly while he breathes warmth into the shell of his ear and Sherlock shudders like there is nothing else in the entire world he'd rather be doing right this second.

One of Sherlock’s hands leaves the chair arm, the movement quick and jerky like he can't help himself. He curls it over his head, fingers tangling through John's too-short hair.

John doesn't stop, locked helplessly in this strange intimate moment that feels indecent and claustrophobic and more than half-mad. Too aroused himself to do the sensible thing. He turns his head, swears, opens his mouth on the back of Sherlock's neck and bites down.

Sherlock goes completely taut in the chair, makes a noise that's half-strangled.

John's still breathing too fast into his hair when Sherlock relaxes completely, slumps in the chair on a thready little half-breath, head rocking back to rest against John's shoulder.

He's breathing slow and rough, eyes half closed, the skin up his throat and on his cheeks is flushed pink.

Can anyone recommend me some good Granada Holmes (Jeremy Brett) fics?

>>55963
Okay where are you finding these? I watch the SHIT out of her LJ and Library of Sol and have never found these fapfapfapfapfap

>>56471
OH NO POOR JOHN.

I need lots more like this.

>>56471
Bahahahaha YES!

>>56471
oh durp I completely forgot to post that myself, sorry

>>56498
he's gonna get kicked off the bed... lol

Fic Time!

Sherlock shivered and bit his thumb in an effort to silence the whimpers threatening to burst out of his throat. Sniffling noises escaped anyway, his breath hissing as he shoved in more fingers to no avail. I withdrew my mouth from his member and smirked, sliding an escaped dribble of precum back onto my lips with my own thumb. I watched him tremble, his fingers slick with spit, his body taught like one of his violin strings just before they broke under a feverishly jigging bow. I played his body now, but he wouldn't be breaking until I let him.

As I admired him he became aware of the fact that I had stopped, and the groans that finally escaped were a combination of relief and torment. He was leaning against the large writing desk in our sitting room with his shirt on and his pants around his ankles, his knees shaking from the effort needed to maintain an upright posture. The hand he was using to brace against the desk slipped, sweaty and weak, and sent a stack of papers flying to the floor. He was balanced on just an elbow now, looking down at me with piercing blue eyes filled with bewilderment, and just a touch of fear. His wet fingers slipped from his mouth, clutching against the desk.

"John". I swear he whimpered my name. "What…" He flushed a deeper red than his already pale face wore from exertion, embarrassed to hear his own voice in such a state. And embarrassed that he was nearly begging me to continue. I couldn't hide the dark grin that strode across my features.

I slowly stood and rubbed against him, eliciting a gasp and more shuddering as his body pressed against mine, still fully clothed. Half bent to the side as he was, the delicious detective was actually shorter than I, and his icy blue eyes looked up at me briefly, before flickering down in shame. I was unbuttoning his shirt, letting him broil in silence for a few more seconds, seeing if he would continue the question. I finished with the buttons, and so supplied the answer myself.

"You've done a fine job of wetting your own fingers. Might as well put them to use, yes?" I asked with a smirk, sliding his shirt down over his shoulders. His blush seemed to extend down to his chest, which rose and fell frantically as he fought for control. He tried to move his arms - perhaps to do as I'd suggested - but I'd stopped halfway, trapping his elbows for the few seconds it would take him to navigate out of the shirt on his own. Still, the momentary entrapment had its intended purpose: distracting him, breaking his focus and sending him into a mild panic. My smirk widened to a smile.

I moved away from the desk to give him room enough to finish disrobing, which he did by unceremoniously dumping the shirt on the floor. He began to take a step towards me and almost fell, having forgotten about his pants, still trapped on his feet by his shoes. I stepped forward and caught him, shaking my head and tut tutting.

"Can't even manage to undress by yourself now, can you?" Sherlock was so thoroughly out of his element he couldn't even reply. He was never so nervous, or incapable of linear thought, or incapable of even the simplest actions such as removing his clothes in the proper order. I'd completely undone him… And to think, it had been all his idea... in a way.

I wasn't even sure of the details, only that at the time Sherlock had stated in his typical monotone that we needed to kiss as a client walked in the door with Inspector Lestrade. I wasn't completely adverse to the idea, and even laughed as the client - apparently a gigantic in-the-closet homophobe - dashed out the door sporting several shades of green with the inspector on his heels. I was in the process of extracting myself from his long limbs and chuckling over the success of the endeavor when I noticed the tent in his pants.

"Sherlock… I thought you said you were married to your work." I nudged him with my thigh, and he stiffened, clutching the edge of the desk we were propped on.

"I… am. This is purely a physiological reaction."

"Sherlock, it's not a physiological reaction to get a raging hard-on from pretend kisses meant to embarrass clients." To prove the point I gestured at my own groin, which was perfectly flat. He pressed his lips together tightly, looked to the side and huffed.

"Are you implying I am un-arousing?" He asked, and I almost laughed. Then a dark thought crossed my mind, seeing the discomfort on his face. I leaned in against him, rubbing against his groin with my thigh some more. He squirmed against the edge of the desk, knocking pens and cards to the floor as his hands searched for purchase.

"It could have been better." I replied, and his face snapped to mine, his blue eyes piercing me, trying to read my intentions. He swallowed heavily after a moment at what he saw there. His eyes dashed about, trying to search for an answer.

"How should I have-" I had taken his mouth with my own, biting his lower lip and pulling none to gently. He'd barely had time to gasp before I kissed him again, pulling his head down with my hand and holding him there. This kiss was much better than our "pretend" kiss had been. I slid my tongue deeply into his mouth and he inhaled sharply through his nose.

I palmed him through his pants, pulling his shirt out and unbuttoning his pants. I did it all so quickly he didn't have time to protest until my hand plunged into his boxers.

"John, hold on! I-"

"What? It's just a physiological reaction, right? I'm a doctor. I'm just treating your condition." I grinned darkly, and then bit a trail down his chin and neck before dropping to my knees in front of him. From there, you know the rest.

He was by now properly undressed, and I took stock of him. "Hmn, you took so long with that simple task your fingers have all dried up." I said with a depreciative tone, examining his hand with the cold air of a general practitioner performing school check ups. He tugged at his hand to return it to his mouth, but I held on and slid his long fingers into my own mouth. The response was excellent, as he exhaled sharply with a hiss and nearly fell to the floor. His fingers trembled as I removed his hand, and he stood there, waiting for me to tell him what to do next since clearly, he couldn't figure it out for himself at this point.

"Kneel." I commanded, and his black curls descended past my face, down beyond my chest, stopping at waist height. I had to hold back my own quickening breath at the sight of him looking up at me like that, his long face framed by those curls, those blue eyes still so intense. "Slide your fingers inside," I suggested, running my fingers through his marvelous hair, tipping his head to the side to get a better view as my free hand trailed against his ear and neck. His face contorted as he lost control again. He reached up and clung to my pants with his free hand, his other sliding behind. He gasped as the cool sensation hit his entrance, then nearly swore as I pulled his attention away by caressing his ear. He couldn't decided where to pay attention, his normally focused attention completely destroyed. I maintained this torture as he pressed against himself, and I soon had his face rubbing against my pants, panting with two of his fingers stretching inside.

"London's greatest genius… rubbing his face against my pants like a whore." He shuddered. No sane man could have stood such sights and sounds without becoming aroused, and his face pressing - no, rutting - against me was just too much. Keeping my fingers locked in his hair I undid my belt and pants, my breath quickening as his jaw dropped open unconsciously, oblivious to my actions. I drew myself out and his eyes opened, looking at it. He didn't seem to need instruction this time, using the hand he'd been clinging to me with to prop it up and guide it towards his mouth.

He was tender at first, giving the bead of precum a tiny lick. He tasted more, sliding his tongue over the head, experiencing the texture and heat for the first time. He wet his lips and then slid in the entire head, taking it so slowly I was beginning to lose my own control. My fingers tightened appreciatively in his hair as he began sucking in more, utilizing his hand to slick down the rest of my length.

"Ooh…" I closed my eyes and relished the feeling of his hot mouth. He seemed to remember some of the techniques I'd used on him a few minutes before, using his hand as an extension of his mouth as his lips grew numb. I quickly found myself moaning in delight, unable to prevent tiny flicks of my hips as he grew more comfortable, sinking me deeper and deeper into his mouth. I opened my eyes to watch as he plunged his two fingers inside himself timed with his bobbing head. He started to moan around me, vibrations tingling up my spine. I felt my body flush, and a sudden, uncontrollable bucking of my hips made him gag. I pulled away, holding him by his curls, gathering myself together.

"Not getting me off that easy," I gasped, reaching behind and pulling down my pants and underwear to my thighs. I knelt down as well, forcing a kiss before speaking again. "Turn around," I ordered, crawling between his legs and leaving him little choice, lest he wanted to fall backwards. He turned, placing both hands on the floor, his arms shaking. I exhaled slowly, running my hand over his smooth bare backside, sliding up his spine before descending between his legs.

"I'm gonna bugger you into tomorrow," I whispered as he arched his back and bit back a moan. I toyed with the soft skin behind his scrotum, and he shook so badly I swore he was going to fall out of his skin. I raised my fingers to my mouth and licked them before placing my middle finger against his entrance. My other hand held his hips firmly in place as he squirmed at the unfamiliar touch. My finger slid in without much resistance, his breath becoming reedy as he was filled once more. I dipped my finger downwards, searching for his prostate. I knew I'd found it when his whole body arched and he spluttered out an obscenity.

"Fuck!"

"That's what we're doing Sherlock." I replied dryly.

I slid in a second finger and scissored them as his hips shook. His breathing came in jerky bursts as he tried to adjust to the sensation of my fingers inside of him, but I had no intentions of letting him get comfortable. I licked my hand and slicked myself up, fucking him with my fingers in the meantime. I slid in a third finger just as he began to gain a rhythm, and it paralyzed him once more. I could hear him choking back moans as the muscles twitched around my fingers, slowly relaxing. I slid my fingers deep inside and brushed against his prostate, eliciting a keening moan that brought his head up. I caught a glimpse of his face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth frozen in an O. I pulled out my fingers and he seemed to deflate, nearly collapsing to the ground. His respite didn't last long, for just moments later I pressed my member against his entrance. He sighed gently and pressed back against me. I smirked.

"Ask for it," I said in a dark tone, and he froze again. He didn't speak for a long moment. "Ask for it, Sherlock," I crooned, leaning over his back, running my fingers up his spine. He shuddered, his mouth trying to move without sound. "Come on, whore. Ask for it." He gasped and shook even harder, and I grinned, biting his shoulder blade.

"y…es…" I heard him audibly whimper. I pinched one of his nipples and he hissed, his back arching up against my stomach.

"What was that, slut? Try again." I curled my hand down his stomach, teasing around his side, feather light touches against his flanks that made his stomach seize up and his whole body squirm as he gasped.

"Yes!" He choked out as I drew my soft fingers against his lower back, making it arch painfully downwards.

"Yes what?" I crooned, laying my head on his upper back, my hands traveling down his thighs. I could hear his heart pounding in his chest as his legs quivered.

"Do… it, John…" I closed my eyes and hummed as I heard my name uttered so deliciously desperately. To my delight he continued without prompting. "Fuck me, John!" I almost laughed with joy, but it came out as a triumphant moan as I pressed against him, feeling his entrance slowly give away beneath the pressure.

Sherlock stuttered, his teeth chattering as he trembled, waiting for the penetration. Still, I couldn't let him off this easy. I leaned forward, careful not to press into him just yet, and grabbed his member. He hissed, arching his back and then dissolved into moans as I stroked firmly. I kept the pace moderate, and with just a few strokes I felt his hips shaking, then twitching, then finally thrusting forward into my hand. I leaned forward with his hips, and as they curved backwards once more he impaled himself on me. I sank in an inch or so, my breath lost somewhere between my last exhale and now.

Sherlock cried out and froze, processing the new sensation of me inside him. I didn't wait for him to finish analyzing. I stroked him mercilessly, and much against his control he drew his hips forward, slipping off of me. The next moment brought his hips backwards again, and this time I slid in several inches as he gasped and shook. He was receiving dual stimulation now: my hand sliding down his cock as he thrust forward, and my own member filling from behind as he pulled back. It was all his own body providing the stimulation. I held still and let him thrust into my hand and shove himself upon me.

I was flushed, my own breath growing ragged from the control needed to stay still as Sherlock mindlessly fucked himself beneath me using my hand and my cock. His long pale back undulated, spine flexing, skin sliding and shining as sweat beaded from his neck to the fine round moons of his ass. I ran a hand along his hip, trying to steady myself as I felt the tension growing. I closed my eyes and tried taking deep breaths, my hand on his hips and ass beginning to tremble. My short breaths gradually changed to moans, and finally I could take no more. I reached down and grabbed him by the hair, sinking my fingers deeply into those black curls, and pulled him up. I wrapped my free arm around him and began thrusting with abandon.

His hand joined mine on his member, and I uttered a litany to feel his thin fingers intertwining with my own. His fingers were hot and dry; mine, cool and slick with precum. I could feel him squeeze, the increased pressure accentuating the feel of his cock slipping through my hand, bursting forward with each thrust. I moaned against his shoulder as our thrusts became synchronized, no longer a counter-rhythm. Through the pounding in my head I became aware of his voice, thready and desperate.

"Oh God John... Oh God... Oh God- Oh God!" His hips beat the air frantically, nearly drawing him out of our joined hands until suddenly he shivered and let out a long, drawn out moan, cumming in our hands and leaning heavily against me. His ass tightened around me and I rode the excitement of his orgasm to my own conclusion a few moments later, orgasming nearly on the thought of his debauchery alone.

I sat back on my heels, holding him on my lap for a few more moments, gently sliding our hands around his softening member, enjoying as he twitched and whined. Finally his breathing slowed. I pressed our joined hands to his chest, feeling his pounding heart begin to pace itself once more. He swallowed for the first time in minutes and let out a shuddering breath before speaking.

"Thank you... Doctor." He managed, and I grinned into his back.

"My pleasure."

"I think I will... require follow up examinations." He added, and I nearly giggled at the thought.

"Of course you will." I replied, and laid a kiss on his spine.

THE END!

We have some Moriarty in the mix today! long time no rec!

Lets get this party started

http://vegarin.livejournal.com/49630.html
more gen than anything or as I call it PRE-SLASH, Moriarty is a character I want to see TONS MORE OF. I want to slash him with everyone. And I have yet to find a 3some fic of sherlock/watson/moriarty, which would be epic. oh god so epic.
Anyway john and Moriarty have a conversation. Watson is as cool under pressure as always.

http://nekomitsu.livejournal.com/54933.html
5 times mycroft failed to hook sherlock up and one time he succeeded
The end will make you go LOL OH FIC!

http://moony.livejournal.com/1602038.html
preslash
it is cute? I mean... if you are a sociopath?
It is sherlocks birthday, oh dreaded of days.

http://unsentimentalf.livejournal.com/57263.html
preslash...or I guess watson and sherlock could be partners if sherlock were asexual? haha so canon.
Anyway takes place long after "the great game" sherlock has been moping and depressed/bored for months. Until he gets a gift in the mail. Backaground crazy moriarty flirting is always nice.

http://community.livejournal.com/sherlockbbc/169385.html#cutid1
this is a great great fic. Do you like surreal dream like stories?
Well then you will love this fic, Five ways things could’ve gone, and one way they did—but which one’s which? 
Sherlock dreams all the endings, but which one is real?

http://luchia13.livejournal.com/249948.html
sort of pre sherlock/lestrade
The only person who helped Lestrade find his little boy was a half-dead junkie in a condemned townhouse.
sad story, good of course. It seems many sherlock fics have taken a sad turn while the show is on hiatus haha. I love Lestrade here, he is obviously heart broken in this story, but he just keeps on living and doing his job.

http://feuervogel87.livejournal.com/1799.html
PWP and only sex fic I rec today
sherlock/watson
Sherlock contemplates how watson should look the fool while having sex, but watson doesn't
I jizzed in my pants

enjoy the gif

>>56585
Here's another Moriarty. Pre-slash as well.
http://defiant-deviant.livejournal.com/2171.html#cutid1

>>56596
omg anon how did I miss this? I love you so much, bless you.

right in my pants, right in my pants.
Sudden stop though I read more!

>>56564
oh you

wow, I don't know what it was about this weekend but I read tons and tons of crap. Just complete and utter crap.

I hope you all enjoy these recs, forgive me if they aren't up to the usual par but like I said TONS OF CRAP. So my taste level is way lower than usual.

http://community.livejournal.com/sherlockbbc/514417.html?#cutid1
moriarty/sherlock
phone sex, the kind of phone sex you would expect them to have.
hot, but also funny? detective-skills/intelligence=sex

http://nekomitsu.livejournal.com/56226.html
lestrade/sherlock
where sherlocks flirts like a grad school kid, pranks and hair pulling.
Plus Lestrade has a secret texting admirer.
Story from Johns point of view. I like stories like this, where sherlock or watson are in love with other people, but sherlock and watson are still a team. BROS FOREVER.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/112734
IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE
hahah once I read the science bit I laughed out loud.
sherlock/watson
well written and funny. Sherlock wants to figure out why watson likes a little slap and tickle in the bedroom if you catch my drift *wink wink*

enjoy

This thread needs content. Have some creys by FerioWind.

I hope to see more Sherlock BBC though

Oh god, I love this thread

>>56662
Your recs are amazing and I thank you for them.

>>57127
I do it just for you man.
Just for you.

Not a big group this week. Though I still have a few fics to read. This was all I could find worth mentioning. I want to point out I haven't been reading the sherlock/watson like I should, there is just such a large group of them and to many shit ones. It has kinda put me off. So forgive the lack of sherlock/watson, I just don't feel up to reading through that much crap to find the diamond.

http://community.livejournal.com/watsons_woes/345707.html
watson/moriarty
NOT BBC SHERLOCK
kind of book and also RDJs? watch the vid before reading.
jude law as watson and edward norton as moriarty

I give it a rawr out of rawr.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/113715?view_adult=true
ok back to BBC sherlock
watson/mycroft
yes you read that right. And it so WORKS.
Sherlock scares off all of watsons girls, because he is a dick.
This soon back fires on sherlock in the funniest and hottest way.
Give it a chance, I only read, to be perfectly honest, because I tend to skim the summary and didn't see the pairing. So I had thought it was another sherlock/watson fic, until I realized it wasn't, oh anon, the look on my face.
where is my sequel :(

http://community.livejournal.com/sherlockbbc/432493.html
http://community.livejournal.com/sherlockbbc/642519.html?#cutid1
sherlock/lestrade

The first fic is alright, kind of a rehash of the same old thing. A friend of mine really likes it though. So it might just be I read to much fic and get bored with certain set ups.
I LOVE the second fic though, not so pwp and when sherlock is just curious in the shower.. unf.
really looking forward to the third one.

only 3 recs! enjoy the image

i was wondering if you could help me find the second ch to this story: http://whiteshadow.pornopartners.com/http://community.livejournal.com/sherlockbbc/329722.html

Title: The Other Moriarty
Author: gracious_anne
Rating: PG-13 for violence.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Jim Moriarty, OC.
Spoilers: The Great Game.
Word Count: 3064/7000-ish
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Holmes and Watson must endure a test of loyalty if they want to leave the pool where Carl Powers died alive.
Author's Notes: Eventual angst and I suppose pre-slash if you squint at it.

and think of it as a rec too

and image sauce: http://slinkers.deviantart.com/art/Opposites-Sherlock-Spoiler-175890679?q=boost:popular+sherlock&qo=9

>>57147
rec fag here

is this it?
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6224002/1/The_Other_Moriarty
is there nothing I can't find?
HAHAHAH so ronorey

>>57150
well done, i didn't think t go to fanfiction.net thank you

I should not prefer Holmes/Lestrade to Holmes/Watson. And yet I do. Stupid sexy silver fox.

>>57142
Wow. Now I love Watson and Mycroft.

People who like this should also read the two by the person that author wrote for.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/110216
Sequel: http://archiveofourown.org/works/110630

>>57334
love it!!!

thread is autosaging :(

>>57411
^^new thread

Not porn but amazing