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PRRRROMOTIONS of a Queer Sort

 Posting a reply to post #40740
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40740 No.40740
I won't even pretend to know what number thread this is...

Expand all images
No.40777
bummpp

No.40793
I fear this may be the Reichenbach falls.

No.40828
http://liquidfic.net/Holmes_Watson.html

You can imagine any of the actors you want for these. I personally fave RDJ and Jude Law.

No.40914
>>40777

Hummpp

No.41347
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41347

No.41349
>>41347

Lmao WTH thats cute

No.42290
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42290
DON'T DIE ON ME DAMNIT

No.42291
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42291

No.42292
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42292

No.42295
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42295

No.42297
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42297

No.42331
The Other Way of the World, Holmes/Watson, R, 14896 words. A long night in a dirty city. Part 2
http://candle-beck.livejournal.com/141565.html - first part



Watson took his detective home.

Holmes had a knot on the side of his head that likely bespoke concussion. The thin membrane over his eyes flickered, his kinetic dreams mewed up, encrypted. Watson held up his slumping insensate body in the cab, an arm around Holmes's shoulders, Holmes's head dipping and bumping his chin.

Watson kept pressing his fingers under Holmes's jaw, sliding his thumb down Holmes's rough cheek. His friend's pulse was thready, distractingly present, and Watson found it again and again, touching the concealed beat of Holmes's heart like a talisman.

Holmes resurfaced as Watson wrestled him out of the cab. He jerked in Watson's hold, an instinct towards flight drawing his muscles taut. Watson stiffened his arms in resistance, letting Holmes twist against him ineffectually.

"Settle, settle, it's all right," Watson said under his breath, and Holmes mumbled his name, his head lolling as heavy as a sack of flour on Watson's shoulder. "Yes, Holmes, it's me, I have you. It's all right now."

The gentling sounds appealed to Watson, soft edgeless shapes in his mouth, so he continued to murmur and cajole as he half-carried Holmes into 221B. Holmes woke up enough to get himself up the seventeen steps, and then they were in the sitting room and Watson deposited his friend on the settee, where Holmes slouched, strings cut and legs akimbo. Watson straightened, and his hands itched for Holmes, but he held back. He went to pour himself a drink.

When Holmes awoke, Watson thought, things would regain their solidity, the concrete nature of reality reasserting itself. This shaded half-world would not stand the detective's scrutiny, and once Holmes could see clearly again, then Watson would too. There was light on the other side of this, or so the doctor had to believe. It had been an exceedingly difficult adventure.

Watson yawned into the glass, more tired than he realised. He sat down next to Holmes's untidy form and let his head fall back, his eyes closing as sweetly as clover. Watson let out a long graduated sigh, feeling the endless day seep out of his body. He could hear Holmes breathing beside him and it poured into the empty space in his chest like cool clear water, like a witnessed miracle.

*

Holmes was dreaming of Corsica.

The pictures in his mind were of medieval fortresses on long shores, cliffs and ragged juts of stone, the ocean water a chemical blue colour reminiscent of verdigris. Holmes was sitting on a beach of pale skin-like sand. He was barefoot, his trousers rolled up like a kid's, and the wind pushed his hair hard to the side.

Holmes was comfortable and warm, watching the narrow-bodied boats slip through the waves like blades. He knew where he was in numbers, latitude and longitude, so many miles from London, so many feet away from the ocean. He knew it was Corsica even though that was a place he had never been.

Away on a cliff, Watson was waving at him. Holmes squinted to see him standing like a punctuation mark against the sky, and he wished for Watson to be nearer and in the next breath Watson was, sitting beside him on the beach with his toes dug into the sand. Watson put his chin on his knees and smiled at his friend, and it was such a perfect thing that it startled Holmes awake.

He was home. Baker Street fell into being around him, the placement of the walls and the clutter packing every horizontal surface. He was on the settee, his head throbbing like an echoless pit, and Watson was asleep beside him, a glass of brandy balanced on his knee with limp precarious fingers.

Holmes subsumed the ache in his head, buried it in a tide of observation. He studied Watson, the dirt on his cuffs and the matchlight burns at the tips of his fingers, the stain of old blood on his trousers. Holmes wove together the noctivagant narrative of Watson's night, everywhere he'd been and everything he'd seen, and once the detective had that set in his mind, he just looked awhile longer.

Watson was ordinary, and remarkable, and impossible. He was a knight as a child would conceive it, brave and righteous and true with hair of gold, eyes blue as the sky. Sometimes Watson hardly even seemed real. Holmes wanted to break him open and study every piece. He wanted to bring Watson forcibly into the physical world, down to his own wretched level, and the thought sent a frisson of heat through him. Holmes carefully lifted the glass off Watson's knee and finished the drink himself, considering his friend over the curved rim.

Eventually Holmes set the glass aside and nudged Watson.

"Doctor."

Watson's face creased as he frowned in his sleep, rolling his face away from Holmes. Holmes half-smiled, poked him harder. "Watson. John Watson, wake up."

A shimmer passed over Watson's face, that blur of returning awareness, and his eyes blinked open. Holmes watched avidly as Watson first just lay there smiling at him vaguely, and then clarity swept across his face and he sat up, reaching for Holmes.

"Are you all right?" Watson asked, and Holmes thought, no, but he didn't say it.

He kissed Watson instead.

*

Watson closed his eyes and kissed him back.

It was only for a moment or two or five. Holmes's hand rose and settled lightly on the side of Watson's face, his raw fingertips brushing on Watson's temple, the slightest pressure to keep Watson tilted into him. Watson was conscious of the heat scratching in his stomach, and the rough drag of Holmes's mouth against his own, and the goosebumps racing across his skin, and then all the clues fell into order and he realised what he was doing. He ripped away from Holmes, a gasp torn between them.

"Holmes," Watson said, a frenzied question in it. Holmes still had a hand bent on his face, and Watson took his wrist but didn't pull him away.

"You must allow me this," Holmes said. He sounded hurried and dark, a corrupted edge to his voice that made want curl thickly in Watson's stomach. "I know I am not--I know you feel as I do."

Before Watson could answer, Holmes leaned forward and kissed him again, kissed him hard with his tongue swiping in, Holmes's teeth catching on the underside of his lip. Watson jerked, a shocking burst of arousal pulling through him. His hands were twisted in Holmes's filthy shirt, and somehow he managed to push him away.

"Don't, don't," Watson stammered, fingers convulsing, head afire. "Why are you-"

"You know why," Holmes interrupted, a brilliant certainty glowing in his face. His lidded eyes were locked on Watson's mouth. "It's been between us, every day of our acquaintance--every minute. I would simply prefer to acknowledge it, for once."

Watson was shaking his head even though it was true, of course it was true. Holmes was insane and he was a genius and somewhere between the two he was the most beautiful thing Watson had ever seen, and that wasn't something you mentioned in polite society. It stopped the breath in his throat to hear Holmes say it so plainly now, the taste of him still sharp and unfamiliar on Watson's lips.

"Why now?" Watson asked. His voice was like splinters.

Holmes's hand slipped to the back of Watson's neck, wild flashes of calculation skittering through his eyes. "I have had an appalling week. I am attempting to remedy that."

He swayed in again, but Watson's mind was clearing and he was able to press Holmes back.

"You, you have concussion. You are in no condition-"

Holmes laughed, a crooked humourless thing that smuggled a chill up Watson's spine. "Some hours ago you laid claim to my soul, and now a bump on the head is enough to deter you? O faithless man," and Holmes darted in to steal a kiss off him, a surprise attack.

Heat stained Watson's face, his mouth feeling swollen, and he stared at his hands fisted in Holmes's shirt so he would not have to look at the man himself.

"Any other epithet I will take from you, but there is no justice in that one," Watson said quietly.

There was a pause. Holmes's fingers moved thoughtfully through Watson's short hair, sending subtle trembles through his body. Watson wanted to close his eyes, but he knew he could not trust Holmes if he did.

"You're right," Holmes told him, and tipped forward, touching his forehead to Watson's with the utmost care. "Will you forgive me?"

Watson broke then, a tangible feeling like a harpstring snapping in his chest as he lifted his chin, fit his mouth against Holmes's and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. He curled his hands in Holmes's hair and bore him down on the settee, covering Holmes's body with his own and kissing him until they were both weak and starry-eyed and breathless.

*

No.42332
There was no air. Watson was on top of him, weighing him down. Holmes had one leg pulled up and half-bent around his friend's back. His hands on Watson's face tried to guide him to a better angle, but the doctor would have none of that, kissing Holmes deeply and without grace. Holmes licked against Watson's tongue, pressing up slow and intentional with his hips.

Watson hissed in a breath, and thrust back against him, and Holmes felt him hard through his clothes. A maddening rush of heat went through Holmes, skittering along the knife edges of his nerves, and for a moment he was senseless, just a body moving and drugged by desire. One hand spread out wide on Watson's neck, Holmes pulled his head back and affixed his mouth to the wild running pulse in his jaw, and it made Watson groan.

Holmes sucked a bruise just where Watson's collar would cover, and then lifted his head.

"What will you do?" Holmes asked, sounding distant and eager to his own ears.

Watson looked down at him with a wonderfully complex expression on his face. His hands were bunched up on Holmes's chest, knuckles stony and round, eyes blown black with desire. He hesitated, hovering above, and said in a hoarse tone, "Anything you wish."

A shiver rattled through Holmes, and his eyes went wide. He was not used to his body reacting with so little input from his mind. Watson saw his look and smirked, lowered his head to nip at Holmes's jaw.

"What shall I do for you?" Watson whispered, low and full of promise, and Holmes shivered again, his back arching.

"There are--many things," Holmes managed, his mind a useless wreck. His hands pulled Watson's waistcoat open and tugged his shirt free of his belt, slid underneath to find warm skin, and then they were both shivering.

"Name one," Watson said, and Holmes had to close his eyes, fiercely marshalling his control.

"Watson," he said, teeth gritted. "I must ask you to stop talking."

Watson grinned, unutterably wicked man. "Must you?"

It was somehow terrifying. Watson was letting him do this, and that was one of the impossible things, like the moon falling out of the sky or the ocean turning to dust. Watson was more than just letting him, bitten-lip and joyful as he flushed and ran his hands over Holmes's body. Watson wanted Holmes in the same way that Holmes had always wanted him, hard against each other and laughing, and that fact struck an off-key note in the detective; instinct told him that it did not belong.

Holmes hooked his leg firmly around Watson's hips, and rolled them so the doctor was pressed against the back of the settee and Holmes was pressed against his friend. Watson's shirt was rucked up, half the buttons popped off, and Holmes couldn't stop staring at the pale spread of his hands on Watson's chest, how strange and out of place they seemed. His fingers iced across the top of Watson's trousers and Watson bit back a gasp, the muscles in his stomach trembling.

"Please," Watson said, voice cracking, and Holmes buried his face in his friend's neck, knowing that he did not deserve this. His fingers worked Watson's flies open, pushed inside where Watson was stiff and hot and aching. Holmes took hold of him with his eyes closed, his mouth open against bare skin, and Watson's moan vibrated on his lips.

*

There was not room enough in Watson's body for the wave of sensation that broke over him at the touch of Holmes's hand. Eyes pasted shut, he moaned helplessly, and rocked his hips into Holmes's grip, and did not care about the picture he must be making.

Holmes was bringing him off slowly, long careful strokes with his thumb rolling over top. He was learning Watson, playing him into a symphony of groans and cut-off oaths, and Watson felt like he was being dismantled, broken down piece by piece. Holmes's lips moved silently against his throat, keeping count, and Watson thought that he would like to go to his knees for this man. He would like Holmes to have him in every way.

Watson had one hand in Holmes's hair, cupped around the base of his skull. His other hand was restless and grasping, moving over Holmes's back and down the sturdy curve of his shoulder, feeling the rhythmic tension of Holmes's arm. All the while his hips kept rocking, dizzying bursts of heat scattering through him. The world was Holmes's hand around him, and Holmes's mouth on his throat, and Holmes's legs against his own, this too-small settee with the frayed silk threads at its edges and nothing else.

He finished suddenly, without warning. His fingers clenched in Holmes's hair as he came wet over the detective's hand, and Holmes choked on a breath as if shocked. For a long minute, Watson knew only pleasure and peace, an elysian field stretching before him under a powder blue sky.

Then he regained his better senses, and processed the warmth of Holmes against him, Holmes's hands still curious under his clothes.

"My dear fellow," Watson said, his voice rusty and stupefied. He ran a disbelieving hand down the back of Holmes's head.

Holmes sighed, and kissed Watson's collarbone, and pushed away from him. The detective sat up, gingerly cradling his head. He was turned away from Watson, and the doctor fixed his trousers, levered up to rest his chin on the back of Holmes's shoulder.

"Allow me to repay that debt," Watson said into Holmes's ear, and slipped an arm around his friend's waist. Holmes shivered, some sort of conditioned response, and put his hand on Watson's arm, stilling him.

"I. I do not require-" and then Holmes stopped short, a strange hitch in his chest.

Watson rubbed his face on Holmes's shoulder, breathing deep of his friend's muddled scent, tobacco and char and river water and blood. A growing sense of calm had lodged in Watson, and he was able to appreciate the smallest elements of the moment, the coarseness of Holmes's hair against his forehead and the slick feel of shirt buttons like pebbles under his fingers.

"I wish to do you a kindness," Watson murmured, and kissed the back of Holmes's neck.

Holmes pulled away from him. He got to his feet and stood with his back to Watson, his shoulders as hard as a bridge. Watson blinked up at his friend, a confounded fog settling over him. Things made much less sense when he didn't have his hands on Holmes.

"Thank you, Doctor," Holmes said tonelessly, setting loose a frozen spider to skitter along Watson's nerves. "But I believe I will retire. It. It has been a very long day."

To the doctor's astonishment, Holmes moved for his bedroom, which was still sporting its splintered door. In a blink, Watson was on his feet and across the room, barring the passage with his arm. Bewilderment worked through him like a narcotic, making him slow and stupid.

"You would leave me?" Watson asked, disbelief rife in his voice. "Now?"

Holmes shook his head, but he was not looking at his friend. "A man is owed his night's rest."

"Not when he has just made criminals of himself and his dearest friend," Watson said sharply. "I should think the guilt would prove a rather substantive distraction."

It was a ploy, and a good one. An irascible shadow passed across Holmes's face, and he met Watson's eyes with a furious lost gaze. The doctor's heartbeat quickened, knowing he would have the fight he wanted.

*

No.42333
Holmes spoke without thinking.

"I have made you into nothing you were not before."

And he marvelled at his own stupidity, a rather novel sensation. Watson laughed out loud, his face bright with jeering malice for an instant. Holmes grimaced, fisted his hand at his side. Watson was still too close to him.

"I won't waste the breath needed to refute you there, old boy," Watson told him, a tinny sound to the familiar endearment. "I'm sure you know even better than I the extent of the changes I have suffered under your companionship."

"Suffered, now?" Holmes said, too quick again, too damned quick. "I would consider you much improved."

"Oh yes, I am quite, what with my increasing experience in the areas of housebreaking and fisticuffs and now evidently sodomy."

Watson's mouth warped horrifically around the word, and Holmes flinched like he'd been slapped, a bolt of antsy heat scraping through him. He couldn't help the images that flickered through his mind, Watson bent over the side of the bed with Holmes's hand on the back of his neck, Watson's legs over Holmes's shoulders, and he had to look away, swallowing hard.

"I, I," Holmes attempted, and he didn't know what was wrong with him, every good word having absconded to higher ground. "I would never presume-"

"You already have, Holmes. You have presumed far beyond what a gentleman's conscience might bear."

Holmes jerked his head up, a shredded-wire smile on his face. "It's a happy thing neither of us can claim that title, then."

Watson stepped forward, closing the space between them to an inch or less. It was unambiguous, startling in the intensity of its effect. A breath stuck in Holmes's lungs, a heartbeat stalled in his chest so that his blood felt thinned, watered-down. Holmes's body understood everything about Watson's proximity, unsatisfied and yearning, his back itchy-hot under his shirt. What his skin wanted was Watson's skin.

"If we are not gentlemen, then I may speak plain," Watson said in that roughened low tone that did such awful things to Holmes. "You are not currently in your right state of mind. In your right state of mind, you would not reject me."

"In my right state of mind, I never would have touched you in the first place," Holmes said, brittle and cutting.

Watson's eyebrows flicked that away dismissively. He leaned closer to Holmes, one hand on the doorframe above the detective's shoulder.

"You would still desire the privilege," Watson told him without a shred of doubt. Holmes kept quiet, his face dull red. "And it would still already be yours."

Holmes looked up in shock, and Watson kissed him. His head thunked against the door and Watson tasted deeply of his mouth before pulling away as quickly as he'd come. Holmes noticed that his hands were on Watson's hips, traitorous fingers curled tight.

"All right?" Watson asked. His hand slipped through Holmes's hair, snagging and soothing.

Holmes shook his head, but he was leaning into Watson, his mouth aching from not having the doctor's upon it. Watson was looking at him softly, singularly, like all the world had paused for the two of them, and Holmes could not see that, he could not bear it.

He said too fast, too loud, "I did not turn him."

A slow blink was Watson's first response, and then, "I beg your pardon?"

A mad laugh scrabbled in Holmes's throat but he choked it back. "The boy. The unlucky Philip Townshend. I had not--I did not expect to find him there. I had tracked Melchiori to that room but I believed the boy was being held somewhere farther out of town. I was chasing Melchiori, do you see?"

Holmes had a hard grip on Watson's elbow, and Watson nodded silently, eyes watchful and wide.

"And when I came in, I saw him bound on the floor, and Melchiori was going out the window. I did not, I, I cut the boy's bonds and he woke up, he, he. He was awake, Watson. I checked his head, and I felt his arms and legs for fractures, but I did not turn him. I did not see the wound in his back, and the blood--I observed the blood but I did not see. It was so much. Too much, and I. I was thinking about Melchiori. I was trying to deduce the direction in which he would run, and the boy was awake, he was conscious. I told him I would return for him, and then I left him there, I left."

The final word broke on his tongue. Holmes dug his fingers into Watson's arm because his legs were shaky, his whole being throbbing with remorse. Watson made a faraway sound, almost a hush, but Holmes was not looking at him anymore.

"I was certain he would live," Holmes said hoarsely. "I was certain I would be back in time."

"Holmes," Watson said, pressing his hand to Holmes's cheek. The gesture spooked Holmes, and he shook it off, drawing away from his friend.

"So you see," Holmes continued, blind now and hardly recognising his own voice. "I do not deserve you tonight. And I--if we are speaking plain, I do not deserve you at all. That is only a fact. We must leave this thing here."

He wrenched himself away from his friend. Watson said his name again, in that insupportable way that Watson always said his name, like they spoke two separate languages and that was their single common word; it had to stand for everything.

Holmes wished to be away from here. The room had become suffocating, overfull with cries and curses, all the dreadful things that had passed between them. He slipped into his bedroom and saw that Watson had kicked in his door, which was unfortunate but not much of a surprise. The doctor had always had a temper.

Holmes sat on the edge of the bed, clasping his hands between his knees and ordering his extremities to cease shaking, his heart to slow to a more sustainable rate. In the corner of his eye, he could see Watson leaning in the doorway, watching him. It made invisible ants crawl on the back of Holmes's neck, his mind obsessively showing him a heat-soaked memory of Watson pressing him onto his back and kissing him like he would never stop.

Closing his eyes, Holmes pushed a hand into his own hair and twisted hard, whispering beneath the gasp of pain, "Stop it."

*

Watson was stuck against the doorframe, and for a long moment all he could do was watch.

Moving with the tardigrade care of an old man, Holmes pulled the braces off his shoulders, his back in a sorrowful curve. He jerked at his hair a few more times, that odd tic of his that tugged at something in Watson too, and took off his belt and boots. Holmes was pretending Watson wasn't there, and Watson did not like the feeling at all.

Holmes thumbed open the buttons of his shirt and shrugged it off, sat there in his undershirt for a moment with his head bowed. Watson looked at the clean line of Holmes's neck disappearing into the black chaos of his hair, and he thought that it must have been days and days since his friend last slept.

Watson stepped out of Holmes's bedroom, and went to turn down the lamps and lock the sitting room door. He stripped out of his waistcoat and shirt as he did, leaving them fallen like leaves on the carpet. Fearful anticipation rioted in his chest, his heart sounding a rataplan.

Holmes had his head in his hands when Watson returned to the room, but he looked up as the doctor entered, a momentary expression of surprise immediately banished. Holmes registered Watson's change in attire with a wary lowering of his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?" Holmes asked, aiming for that casual authority he wielded so well but missing badly in the tumult of the moment.

"I would apologise about your door, but that would be disingenuous, as I am not actually sorry," Watson said. "I'll call someone in about it tomorrow."

He sat down next to Holmes's on the edge of the bed and began picking at his shoelaces. Holmes stared at him, clearly suspecting a trick.

"Hang the door," the detective snapped. "Please explain what you're doing right now."

"I am removing my shoes," Watson replied.

"Do not toy with me, man," Holmes said fast, his voice rising on a jagged scale. He was panicked, Watson realised. It was strangely comforting to think: at least they were together in this as well.

"Lie down, Holmes," Watson told him, and stood to turn down the lamp. Holmes became ethereal in the muddy light, his eyes like wet ink, his mouth a flawless shape. He did not move, and so Watson took his shoulders and pushed him down on the bed.

"Don't-" Holmes began, pitched high with tension, but Watson wasn't interested in anything that started with that.

"I shall do as I please," the doctor told his friend, and climbed over him to the other side of the bed.

Holmes gaped at him for a moment, and then said in a reined-in tone, "Watson, get out of my bed."

"Thank you, but I'm quite comfortable."

No.42334
Watson punched the pillow into a more amenable shape, and ignored the scattershot feeling of anxiety pumping through him. He risked a glance and Holmes was staring at him, baffled, sick with exhaustion and strain.

"Are your faculties impaired?" Holmes asked. "Did your hearing lapse when I said we must leave this?"

"No, I heard you very well. I did not in any way agree, of course, but I did hear you."

"You cannot just, just insinuate yourself," Holmes said, blustering, striving for some level ground on which to fight.

Heart in his mouth, Watson rolled up to his knees, swiftly straddling Holmes's body and riding out the compulsive buck of his hips. Holmes's hands came up to grab Watson's arms, and Watson braced to be thrown off, but it never happened. Holmes was shaking, his noiseless mouth open.

Watson told him, "You will not save every life."

Holmes stiffened, and Watson stroked a hand down his throat, calming and keeping him from bolting. Everything felt incredibly delicate, just now.

"On occasion, the outcome will not be as you've predicted it," Watson continued, watching a dark storm batter in Holmes's eyes. "Some of your schemes, Holmes, some small number of them are going to fail spectacularly."

He couldn't help himself, running his fingers down the neat line of Holmes's nose, scuffing his knuckles over the detective's rough cheek. Holmes made a vaguely strangled sound, staring at him with a blackening gaze.

"This is the way of the world," Watson said, secretive and hushed. "No man is allowed more than his meagre share of perfection. It does not make you any less than what you are."

Holmes's face twisted, and he turned his head aside, the muscle in his jaw flickering with tension. Watson curved his hand around Holmes's chin and drew his attention back; he didn't feel wholly visible unless Holmes's eyes were on him.

"And you must understand," Watson said, a hitch of breath interrupting him. "It does not matter if you deserve me--though of course you do, you bloody great idiot, what an utterly absurd thing to think--it doesn't matter, it's irrelevant. I am already yours. I am going to fix your door and sleep in your bed and follow you into every danger, because I am yours. And that. That is the other way of the world."

Watson stopped, hauled in a ragged breath. Holmes had gone still beneath him, wide-eyed. A fraught moment passed, the span of seconds between lighting the fuse and hearing the deafening roar of a cannon. Watson became self-conscious of his position, his knees pressing into Holmes's sides, but he did not move. It seemed unspeakably important that he not move.

"You are a fool," Holmes said. Watson flinched, a spasm of dark feeling rattling through him.

"I know that."

Holmes shook his head, a frantic light growing in his eyes. "You are a fool," he said again, harder and with all the surety he could summon, and then he reached up and took Watson's face in his hands, pulled him down into a kiss that went on and on, through the straits and trials of this world and into the next.

*

Holmes woke up under the doctor's arm.

Sunlight fell in distorted patches across the floor, hosting a miasmata of dust motes like minute fairies dancing. Out the window, a shard of the sky showed crystalline and clear over the slanted tarred roofs, fleeced of clouds. Holmes's head hurt a great deal less than it had. The weight of Watson's arm over his waist was strange and not entirely welcome.

Holmes shifted, and felt the moment Watson awoke, the slight tightening across his whole body. Watson's eyes came open, foggy and oceanic and blinking dumbly like a blind man seeing the colour blue for the first time.

"Good morning," Watson said, and did not move his arm.

Closing a solid fist in the sheets, Holmes said by rote, "And to you."

Watson yawned, bumped his head into Holmes's shoulder. They were both still wearing their trousers, lying atop the blankets like children sent for a midday nap. Watson radiated heat, his hair a mess of tawny spikes, his arm barred across Holmes's stomach.

"It is early yet," Watson said in a sleep-muffled tone. He curled a hand around Holmes's hip, tugged him closer. "We might sleep a few hours more."

"Lazy," Holmes said, speaking as if from a script. Watson smiled, unconcerned.

"I can hardly be blamed for that."

Holmes shifted again. He wanted to get up, escape this room. He wanted a cup of tea and a pipe and the chair by the window. He did not want Watson beside him because someday Watson would not be.

"That brain of yours is an absolute curse, you know," Watson told him. Holmes chanced a look at him and Watson's eyes were closed. He was still smiling, the faintest curve.

"I am aware that there are disadvantages," Holmes answered. He sounded hollow, stunned.

"It will be the great work of my life," Watson mumbled absently. His hand on Holmes's hip felt like the only thing connecting them to the material world. "It will take years, likely decades. On my deathbed they will ask of what was I most proud, and I will tell them that I knew Sherlock Holmes."

A sinking feeling happened in Holmes's stomach. He closed his eyes against the tyranny of the light, and found that his arm had slipped around Watson, his hand moving slow on the doctor's back. Watson sighed against his neck, content and already half-asleep again.

All the mysteries in the world, Holmes thought in a daze, all the secrets and riddles and cryptograms, and nothing could compare to this. Some things were too vast, too inarguable. The ocean required no explanation. It simply was, as it had always been, and with Watson against him in the gathering strength of the morning, Holmes understood at last that they had both drowned long ago.

THE END

No.42338
Thank you for reviving this thread!

No.42392
File: 127507946829.jpg-(238.92KB, 600x612, holmeswatson_springsnog.jpg)
42392

No.42409
File: 127508622866.jpg-(401.66KB, 612x842, afe14abb4655bf7935a2b58e43828f8e.jpg)
42409

No.42472
File: 12751043292.jpg-(132.08KB, 670x608, hw_dawn.jpg)
42472
Just saw this...

No.42478
>>42472
These will never cease to frighten me

No.42508
>>42472
...

I'll be in my bunk.

No.42529
>>42472

That not scary, thats hot.

No.42677
File: 127527032833.jpg-(136.26KB, 467x757, snowy.jpg)
42677
I actually have something NEW to contribute that's not just crack like my navi/holmes Link/watson pic!!

No.42683
>>42677
...And where might this alleged picture be...?

No.42940
File: 127542499664.jpg-(284.78KB, 510x2115, Manipulating_And_The_Gullible_by_Envious_chiko.jpg)
42940
I almost feel bad for laughing at this...

No.42941
>>42940

Hah! This reminds me of a fanart. "Wait, I tell you I'm pregnant and your first reaction is to punch me in the stomach?!"

(I think it was Snake/Otacon)

No.42948
>>42940

Oh god, that's hilarious.

No.43229
File: 127558827023.jpg-(216.23KB, 600x1595, Hallucination_by_MigraineSky.jpg)
43229

No.43251
File: 12756023224.png-(149.98KB, 649x630, DEAR_DIARY_by_MooseyDoom.png)
43251
Brb laughing until it hurts.

No.43267
File: 127560932718.jpg-(40.20KB, 692x591, 2013 - sherlock homos.png.jpg)
43267

No.43272
>>43267
Who is Watson with?

No.43305
>>43272
that's Holmes, dude. looking rather unflattering there.

No.43344
File: 127568512812.jpg-(132.54KB, 1024x1158, I__m_Leaving_Now__Holmes_by_craxy_nights.jpg)
43344

No.43557
>>43251

fuck yeah, bitches be lovin' my doodles.

No.43600
File: 127588517991.png-(384.95KB, 600x1030, 10sketch2part4mini.png)
43600

No.43601
File: 127588526299.png-(483.00KB, 600x1080, 10sketch2part3mini.png)
43601

No.43783
>>42683
It's showing up fine for me...

No.43810
File: 127605069522.jpg-(153.34KB, 750x620, holysweetchrist.jpg)
43810

No.43827
>>43810
Oh. My god. This is easily the most beautiful thing she's done yet. I am dead over here.

No.43861
>>43810
HHHHHHNNNNNGHH

No.43948
GET BACK ON THE FIRST PAGE, YOU!

No.43998
>>42409
That is too precious.

Having said that, has there been any Dredger/Holmes fic out there at all? I think I've read one and that's it.

No.44117
File: 127624228511.png-(440.82KB, 600x550, cec2bd9d99c66a53c8ffc39254939d30.png)
44117
:D

No.44120
>>44117

FFFFUUU-

awesome

No.44229
Lestrade Catbus! Oh shi-
Any more Lestrade out there?

No.44254
File: 12763517743.jpg-(324.59KB, 565x628, Chaaair.jpg)
44254

No.44431
>>43783
No, silly, I meant the one with Link and Navi. :)

No.44613
File: 127659354676.jpg-(260.90KB, 612x792, Wink_and_Havi_by_Ryngewar.jpg)
44613
>>44431

I think they mean this one (unless there is some whole subfandom I don't know about). I found it on DA.

No.44680
>>44613
Best. subfandom. ever.

No.44702
File: 12766484576.jpg-(254.30KB, 781x432, 1276646568481.jpg)
44702

No.44703
File: 127664849433.jpg-(211.77KB, 736x1200, 1276551652052.jpg)
44703

No.44753
File: 127666989259.jpg-(286.58KB, 667x500, rivalnamewin.jpg)
44753
I thought this was cool...

No.44761
File: 127667830579.jpg-(310.02KB, 371x453, 234243.jpg)
44761
Is photoshopping your OC in a picture with RDJ weird?

No.44762
>>44761
It's certainly weird on a gay porn board. And by OC you mean yourself?

No.44775
File: 127669833073.jpg-(21.51KB, 352x400, do-not-want-dog.jpg)
44775
>>44761

No.44783
>>44762
It's actually a celebrity she's *using* as her OC

No.44837
>>44753
FUCK YEAH AWESOME :D Where is that?

>>44761
Yes, it is.

No.44890
Oh my...

No.45015
File: 12768825082.jpg-(520.55KB, 500x2819, d00b428a6c087219d7f9e9e755422e95.jpg)
45015

No.45044
>>44753
Shit yeah! We've got one of those down the street that I go to all the time.

the bathroom is hidden behind a bookcase.

No.45220
>>45044

Where is said magical place?

No.45249
File: 127706029235.jpg-(974.84KB, 1000x862, Different_thoughts_by_traumjanos.jpg)
45249

No.45672
File: 127725009650.jpg-(129.56KB, 700x561, minyi - Are you done yet Dear Watson.jpg)
45672

No.45998
File: 127734733056.jpg-(593.71KB, 900x873, 00022xh5.jpg)
45998

No.47087
File: 12777895011.jpg-(45.66KB, 498x403, RDJJudesie-Desat.jpg)
47087
Oh please don't die on me, Magnificent thread

No.47088
File: 127778960911.jpg-(93.96KB, 901x601, 3.jpg)
47088

No.47089
File: 127778992254.jpg-(10.56KB, 400x206, sherlock-holmes-movie-poster-snippe.jpg)
47089

No.47090
File: 127779008654.jpg-(36.16KB, 480x319, 12437-02.jpg)
47090

No.47130
File: 127782651431.jpg-(136.34KB, 500x592, 4742444562_bca5f3a00c_b.jpg)
47130

No.47131
File: 127782654568.jpg-(172.79KB, 800x507, 4736665631_67d4e55bd8_b.jpg)
47131

No.47165
>>47131
Holy shit, do want.

No.47170
File: 127785283152.png-(465.14KB, 428x543, 1b5c14727b9dcc7804f030decb3ca1b2.png)
47170
>>47130
HHNNNGGGGG-

No.47171
File: 127785301056.jpg-(229.64KB, 584x1450, Drunk_Vision_by_Envious_chiko.jpg)
47171

No.47172
File: 127785317476.jpg-(171.18KB, 680x1368, Brother_In_Law_by_Envious_chiko.jpg)
47172

No.47173
File: 127785327591.jpg-(169.81KB, 521x1760, Another_Holmes_Comic_by_Envious_chiko.jpg)
47173

No.47881
File: 127810499234.jpg-(277.07KB, 700x855, hw_patience.jpg)
47881

No.47998
File: 127814134240.jpg-(102.93KB, 633x1040, captionfail.jpg)
47998
I'll just leave this here.

No.48080
File: 127819345426.jpg-(179.95KB, 889x966, comic1.jpg)
48080
>>47998

No.48172
File: 127823904815.jpg-(68.87KB, 450x650, 1270909421.jpg)
48172

No.48173
File: 127823910510.jpg-(48.13KB, 327x411, Holmes-hw-kissme(s).jpg)
48173

No.48174
i like how RDJ's hand is on the back of JL's chair for the entirety of >>48080 and >>47998

polite sage

No.48318
File: 127833686980.jpg-(80.65KB, 418x594, 1268089754521.jpg)
48318
>>47998
Gee boys, I have no idea!
Maybe it's the CUDDLING?
Maybe it's the EYESEX?
Maybe it's because RDJ's GAY COMMENTS IN INTERVIEWS?

For Christ's sake, just fuck already you cocktease tandem.

No.49539
File: 12788790855.jpg-(68.97KB, 450x600, 100325_holmes_cp.jpg)
49539
bump

No.49750
>>49539

Who is this magnificent artist?

No.50246
File: 127925782963.jpg-(354.04KB, 500x706, 11562231.jpg)
50246

No.50288
>>50246
so wrong, yet so right

No.50318
File: 127931834890.jpg-(192.74KB, 880x650, 11929051.jpg)
50318

No.50520
File: 127943622787.jpg-(79.27KB, 450x600, 100314_holmes_cp.jpg)
50520

No.50521
File: 127943633071.jpg-(59.97KB, 450x650, 100322_holmes_cp2.jpg)
50521

No.50522
File: 127943638730.jpg-(69.17KB, 480x550, 1273346467.jpg)
50522

No.51490
File: 128025469092.jpg-(2.56MB, 1500x2089, d24912da3006bd7.jpg)
51490
Anything with Moffat's Holmes yet?

No.51521
Preview:
Watson’s been drinking.
Holmes can always tell. He can tell by the way the front door slams shut downstairs, by the heavy and uneven steps on the staircase, by the clumsy sounds from Watson’s bedroom as he gets ready for bed. And Holmes knows that, after all that, there is only one direction in which Watson’s steps will turn.


Read more here:
http://theladywilde.livejournal.com/675.html

No.51576
>>51521
This is good. A very interesting way to write their relationship. Are you writing more?

No.51612
I doubt anyone knows what I'm talking about but... is there any slash fanart involving the Russian Sherlock Holmes? He's one of my favorites. <3

No.51677
>>51576
Thanks! And yes, I'm writing more. I have one fic that's mostly done that's a lot cuter and lighter and . . . not as angsty as this one. And I think there will be a follow up to this one as well :).

No.51753
File: 128042884234.jpg-(914.31KB, 500x2857, j__y_penserai_plus_tard_by_thenizu.jpg)
51753

No.51833
>>51490
Should not, yet do, want.

No.51837
File: 12804650251.jpg-(146.37KB, 549x799, PerficAnnina.jpg)
51837

No.51838
File: 128046508010.jpg-(178.80KB, 647x900, Zel - Taking care Sherlock Holmes movieverse.jpg)
51838

No.52130
>>51490
I'm curious too.

What'd you think of today's episode? Sort of fell sort of the first, I thought, but still very good

No.52142
>>51490
I may have to write for this. Sherlock's mouth is perfect. Like, perfect. I don't even.

No.52170
File: 128077382432.jpg-(341.83KB, 425x600, 1280602598658.jpg)
52170
>>51490

No.52171
File: 128077397628.jpg-(49.43KB, 800x528, 1280672901445.jpg)
52171
>>51490

>>52142
Please do. I'd be highly appreciative.

No.52182
>>52171
God I love this girl.
Also, the show has a really rather good kink meme located here http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/

No.52211
>>51490
This is so very relevant to my interests.
>>52171
Please, do continue.

No.52237
>>52170
I need moar of the new Sherlock. Watson is just too hot.

No.52273
File: 128082116816.jpg-(1.75MB, 800x6914, 2095520952.jpg)
52273
>>52211

No.52300
File: 128086254883.jpg-(133.98KB, 670x608, cat Holmes.jpg)
52300
>>42472

>.>

No.52336
File: 12808855512.jpg-(133.89KB, 600x590, blackwood_coward.jpg)
52336

No.52529
>>51490
Martin Freeman is just too damn cute for his own good.

No.52633
File: 128106812954.jpg-(114.84KB, 900x591, _no_title_by_Lagro_Ross.jpg)
52633

No.52684
File: 128112189826.png-(70.15KB, 600x533, Breakfast at Baker Street.png)
52684
>>52633
Fffffff- why do I love this so much.

No.52743
the new Sherlock needs more art, his face is could not be more beautiful

>>47881
and wth happened to his cock?!?!

No.52852
File: 128124510429.png-(179.81KB, 580x418, 1281180406986.png)
52852
Adorable

No.52905
Just saw the new episode.
fff slash potential I love you.

No.52908
>>52905
and we get a sequel!! that's at leas 3 more eps of this new SH who i adore (but i miss Watsons tash!)

No.52909
>>52908
Exactly! I am excited, not gonna lie.

No.53235
File: 128151421624.jpg-(108.28KB, 800x673, SH___limber_by_FerioWind.jpg)
53235
hey im quite new to this fandome so only have the pics from this thread and No.6 i was wondering is some of you would mind zipping up some of the pics from the previous threads for me?

thanks and sorry if this is a repost

No.53303
>>53235

Is it sad that I find this sexy ONLY because it looks like a gun?

No.53569
File: 12816942673.jpg-(425.08KB, 1867x1275, BBC_Sherlock_by_Barukurii.jpg)
53569
Baru is always credit to fandom.

No.53570
File: 128169434597.jpg-(139.54KB, 463x700, tumblr_l6yfok5vOJ1qcnsh9o1_500.jpg)
53570

No.53799
File: 128187828486.jpg-(61.55KB, 500x500, 12496500.jpg)
53799
aww, want more 2010 BBC Sherlock! >///<

No.53804
File: 128188152623.jpg-(427.67KB, 500x707, 12255931.jpg)
53804

No.53809
File: 128188419073.png-(442.08KB, 516x720, sherlockhelps.png)
53809

No.53829
File: 128189692534.gif-(524.78KB, 275x155, oh snap.gif)
53829
>>53828
I LOVE THIS AUTHOR SO MUCH I NEED MORE...

all the new fic for the tv show has been wonderful.
I am most definitely loving sherlock/lestrade

http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Sherlock%20%28TV%29/works?page=1
here is fic for the new show. john/sherlock and sherlock/lestrade
all good...pretty much. Some good Gen as well. I am a sucker for Gen/pre-slash

No.53850
File: 128191125242.png-(117.35KB, 396x614, f6fc5d7e34e1f22583a36d38dd1c1112.png)
53850
>>53809
*___*~<3

No.53905
File: 128196450485.gif-(160.48KB, 800x830, 12549695.gif)
53905

No.53923
File: 128198379452.jpg-(141.91KB, 470x700, 4896205808_f92c154869_b.jpg)
53923

No.53927
>>53828

http://community.livejournal.com/libraryofsol/152600.html#cutid1

A sequel was written

No.53956
>>53927

IN MY PANTS

No.54185
File: 128216151079.png-(155.70KB, 460x402, gaygaygaygayholmo_by_Squeek_a_chu.png)
54185

No.54200
File: 128216852858.jpg-(284.93KB, 800x469, 12644040.jpg)
54200

No.54313
File: 128226034594.jpg-(134.62KB, 500x533, lestrade_holmes.jpg)
54313

No.54351
This anon apologizes if it's common knowledge, but this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR5Dyt2CwNY) gives me hope.

Anyone else feel there might be some legitimate gayness in the future of Sherlock? Just listen to that description of Holmes and Watson! (Or maybe my slash-vision is too strong...)

No.54354
>>54351
Are you watching the episodes?
I don't think an episode goes by where people don't think John is Sherlocks boyfriend. Very hilarious.
Mrs.Hudson especially thinks they are domestic partners.

But like sherlock said in the first episode when he thought John was trying to ask him out, he isn't into ANYONE sexually. So I doubt they will ever have actual guy on guy action in sherlock. But damn if they won't mention it once an episode and the look sherlock always gets on his face when he figures out someone might be hitting on him is always funny.

No.54499
hey guys.

Rec here
http://spikeface.livejournal.com/88797.html#cutid1
BBC sherlock/watson
focus on sherlock being a "high functioning" sociopath

No.54545
I hope I am not being annoying with all the fic recs!
http://phantomjam.livejournal.com/39844.html
bbc sherlock/watson

watson still sees his therapist, who does not like sherlock holmes.

No.54583
>>54545
I quite enjoyed that. Thanks for the rec.

No.54598
File: 128250226867.png-(92.06KB, 400x697, sherlock1.png)
54598

No.54605
File: 128250770728.jpg-(216.19KB, 400x632, 12685959.jpg)
54605
>>54598
haha I'm so glad the possibilities with that scene didn't go unnoticed.
Are there any fics with John being forced to say humiliating things? I haven't found any.

No.54643
>>54354

Yes, that too. I think there at least four mentions of them being gay for each other in the first episode alone.

Someone sat down and intentionally wrote that into the script. I love them. (Gatiss, Moffat, I've my eyes on you...)

No.54644
I decided to not spam and just save my recs over the past few days

all are sherlock/watson sorry sherlock/lestrade fans!

http://sam-storyteller.dreamwidth.org/157115.html
cute and hot fic. watson tries to have a nice christmas dinner with his family. He ends up spending the night with sherlock.
everythingwentbetterthanexpected.jpg

http://irisbleufic.livejournal.com/223090.html
it will make you say ADORABLE.
Watson is there for holmes.

http://vegarin.livejournal.com/51451.html
what can I say about this great fic?
a follow up to what happens after episode 3.
hella good

http://nekomitsu.livejournal.com/54598.html
sherlock keeps taking in strays, much to watsons annoyance.

http://beedlebarg.livejournal.com/54568.html
this is hot, but there is one part where sherlock says something pretty out of character.
but then, in this story sherlock is trying to drive watson mad with want and ends up going a little lust filled himself. So I give it some slack because it gave me a hard one.

http://flying-android.livejournal.com/21019.html
pure fluff reallly no plot other than that.
sherlock likes how short watson is. Size difference in partners is a kink of mine. So I really liked this.

http://lace-fic.livejournal.com/8301.html
real real short
sherlock finds watson saying clever things impossibly hot

http://pforte.livejournal.com/40519.html
no plot beyond hot ass sex
watson ,for once, figures out sherlock might get off on watson being under his complete control in bed. A good story if your kink is when people get held down, teased and fucked.

No.54645
File: 128253514372.jpg-(296.46KB, 900x1158, Sherlock_by_dumbfishie.jpg)
54645

No.54646
File: 128253525319.jpg-(565.26KB, 1218x1580, Sherlock2_by_dumbfishie.jpg)
54646

No.54653
>>54605
I've only managed to find one fic.
It is incredibly sexy and filthy with John being forced to say and do naughty things to Sherlock. And Sherlock loving it.
http://phantomreviewer.livejournal.com/171506.html

No.54671
>>54653
hnnnnnnng. I'll be in my bunk

No.54695
>>54645>>54646

this shit is wonderful.

No.54788
>>54545
Thank you so much for this.

No.54804
>>54644
thanks for the recs anon! I enjoyed them all

No.55008
File: 128271681944.jpg-(250.68KB, 1102x876, 12663594768.jpg)
55008

No.55009
File: 128271688279.jpg-(93.53KB, 512x561, gianttentacleholmes_s.jpg)
55009
D-does anyone have any good tentacle Holmes fics they could rec?

No.55010
File: 128271691249.jpg-(370.95KB, 600x471, 1281749644102.jpg)
55010

No.55011
File: 128271695273.jpg-(180.22KB, 837x600, 1281996650988.jpg)
55011
This needs to be posted and reposted and reposted.

No.55012
File: 128271699921.jpg-(247.53KB, 1024x516, 1281083623083.jpg)
55012

No.55013
File: 128271703939.png-(961.96KB, 750x615, 1280886039482.png)
55013

No.55014
File: 128271708897.jpg-(386.41KB, 631x900, 1281723101607.jpg)
55014

No.55015
File: 128271711088.jpg-(240.74KB, 500x757, 1281819226346.jpg)
55015

No.55032
>>55009
Can I be curious and ask if this request stems from the picture alone? Or is there some actual cannon story mentioning tentacles?

No.55093
File: 128276429210.jpg-(622.16KB, 900x579, Evil_Holmes_and_Watson_by_HarrietKaarre.jpg)
55093
>>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.

No.55120
>>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

No.55132
>>55120
That is one of my favourite stories, no joke. Actually, is there any fanfic of it?

No.55142
>>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.

No.55176
File: 128280528290.jpg-(112.74KB, 800x528, 416978 - Dr._Watson Sherlock_Holmes.jpg)
55176

No.55313
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.

No.55579
File: 128304313744.png-(490.70KB, 750x1106, key.png)
55579

No.55580
File: 128304331572.png-(519.67KB, 736x1162, wat.png)
55580

No.55596
>>55579
>>55580

I love you.

No.55774
File: 128315240355.png-(1.31MB, 800x3323, 1283145210943.png)
55774
this person does the cutest shit

No.55795
File: 128317578524.jpg-(15.43KB, 215x227, Photo-0346.jpg)
55795
drew this yesterday, Benedict Cumberbatch is so fun to draw.

No.55802
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.

No.55803
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.

No.55951
>>55803
More?

No.55963
>>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.

No.55965
File: 128328671834.png-(1.04MB, 700x2630, shdontstareitsrudemini.png)
55965
Can anyone recommend me some good Granada Holmes (Jeremy Brett) fics?

No.55976
File: 128329205948.jpg-(202.89KB, 800x1000, sir_arthur_conan_bronte_by_dumbfishie-d2xnhxm.jpg)
55976

No.55985
>>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

No.56122
File: 12833707197.jpg-(109.17KB, 588x702, 4541625646_03d5cb8125_o.jpg)
56122

No.56378
File: 128357509054.jpg-(338.53KB, 733x475, Makeout.jpg)
56378

No.56471
File: 128365477498.jpg-(46.47KB, 593x690, Midydoof - SH Height difference.png.jpg)
56471

No.56498
>>56471
OH NO POOR JOHN.

I need lots more like this.

No.56513
>>56471
Bahahahaha YES!

No.56546
>>56471
oh durp I completely forgot to post that myself, sorry

No.56564
File: 12837116562.jpg-(50.14KB, 636x643, Midydoof - SH bed hogger.png.jpg)
56564
>>56498
he's gonna get kicked off the bed... lol

No.56569
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.

No.56570
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.

No.56571
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!

No.56585
File: 128373275179.gif-(2.00MB, 600x338, oldspice sherlock.gif)
56585
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

No.56596
>>56585
Here's another Moriarty. Pre-slash as well.
http://defiant-deviant.livejournal.com/2171.html#cutid1

No.56603
>>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!

No.56617
>>56564
oh you

No.56662
File: 128382785739.jpg-(35.61KB, 300x354, Haters gonna hate.jpg)
56662
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

No.56981
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56981

No.56988
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56988
This thread needs content. Have some creys by FerioWind.

I hope to see more Sherlock BBC though

No.57101
Oh god, I love this thread

No.57127
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57127
>>56662
Your recs are amazing and I thank you for them.

No.57142
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57142
>>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

No.57147
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57147
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

No.57150
>>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

No.57219
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57219
>>57150
well done, i didn't think t go to fanfiction.net thank you

No.57307
I should not prefer Holmes/Lestrade to Holmes/Watson. And yet I do. Stupid sexy silver fox.

No.57319
>>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

No.57334
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57334

No.57355
>>57334
love it!!!

thread is autosaging :(

No.57474
>>57411
^^new thread

No.57681
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57681

No.57957
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57957
Not porn but amazing

No.57959
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57959



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