prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, OCs
Rating: Mature/R
Tags & Warnings: Vampire John, Angel Sherlock, Religious Themes, Demons, Vampires, Angels, Fallen Angels, Unhappy Ending, Revenge, Hell, Spiritual Corruption, John's life being all terrible all the time
Notes: A prequel to Graceless by belladonna_q, with her kind permission.

John learns, with clawing, bloody slowness, how to fend for himself. He learns the capacity to love wasn’t taken from him, or the need for it. He learns what it is to starve. To need things that aren’t given to him.




Hell is not a place, but a state. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: R
Tags & Warnings: bloodplay, rough sex, possessive Sherlock, violent fantasies, weird romance



It’s the transitive property. John is Sherlock’s; therefore, what belongs to John belongs to Sherlock. It’s the closest Sherlock can get. John’s laptop, John’s bed, John’s tea mug, John’s toothbrush. And it’s utterly unfair that while the skin cells and hair strands and traces of DNA can transfer, the significance John imbues these items with does not. Sherlock does not become more a part of John’s morning routine for taking his tea mug.

Well. That’s not entirely true. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17
Tags & Warnings: Omegaverse, tentacles, sexswap
Notes: Written for michi_thekiller. Betaed by the always delightful LapOtter!



Sherlock and Jonnie both gasped and jerked as another of Sherlock’s knots popped into her.

“Four,” Sherlock groaned. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Originally posted by [livejournal.com profile] prettyarbitrary at Filthy filthy BBC Sherlock WIP
I just rediscovered this half-completed fic I've had lying around in my WIPs folder for...*checks datestamp* two years. It's a fairly polished 2000 words, but I never managed to complete everything I wanted to do with this story.

Originally for a prompt on the BBC Sherlock kink meme: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/18842.html?thread=112049050#t112049050

Warnings for omegaverse, glory holes, and everything you can figure goes along with that.

Nothing gets Sherlock’s blood up—among other parts of him—like a nice, intense, freshly solved case.

It’s the hunt that does it. That intoxicating savour of a competitive victory…and occasionally the thrill of a close escape from death. The knowledge that yet again, he’s taken on all comers, some of them armed, and come out on top, shown the world that not only is he the best at what he does, but no one is even capable of doing what he does.

He knows this to be objectively true, as even the alphas of his acq1uaintance can’t help but admire his skills. Or display their jealousy of them. Same thing, really.

Unfortunately, the more clearly his superiority is displayed during a case, the more urgent his desire to…physically demonstrate it afterwards.

Read more )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: R
Tags & Warnings: dubious consent, supernatural elements, monster Sherlock
Notes: Prompt from dirtycorzaharkness: "john/sherlock cthulhu or ballroom dancing au."



John opens his eyes when he feels the bed dip. Sherlock swings one immaculately naked ivory leg over his hips and stretches out luxuriously atop him, a heavy, living weight of muscle and bone.

He is cold as winter marble.

John can’t move, except to reach up and wrap his arms around Sherlock’s frigid shoulders. The chill soaks into him till he’s wracked with shivers, but Sherlock’s eyes are so warm when they meet John’s with a teasing smile, and his lips are the perfect soft kiss of the first winter snowfall as they brush at John’s with gentle desire. Even though John knows what comes next, he can’t bear to turn that affection away. He’s wanted too badly for too long, aches too deeply, and Sherlock knows it.

They kiss langorously, mouths moulding and tasting, in just the way John never believed he could have. And when John’s lips part under Sherlock’s coaxing tongue, Sherlock’s breath pours into him, a gelid tendril creeping down into his lungs. John can feel it there, the frost piercing the blood-air barrier of his lungs to invade his bloodstream, feasting on his heat to multiply in his veins and spread through his body.

He wakes up alone, chest aching with the cold. Every night, it seeps a little deeper. John doesn’t know whether to love or dread sleep.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG-13
Tags & Warnings: Incest, dubious consent
Notes: Prompt from [livejournal.com profile] missilemuse:
Background- Mycroft/Sherlock in a serious 'Holmesian' relationship since their teens. S-J epic friendship. I want John's reaction to the revelation/accidental discovery. Exact reaction up to you (but not too accepting or too offhand.) I mean John may be awesome but he's human. I'm sure this has been done before (though I haven't seen). Sorry for the boring prompt, but I read 'PHYSICS OF PRESENT TENSE' coupla days back, and the fact that John was oblivious to the end has left an itch under my skin.
Okay, so I don’t do Holmescest, so I didn’t approach this from the shipping direction, but the idea of an ill-considered relationship and John finding out and reacting to it was interesting.




In hindsight, John thought he must’ve been picking up signals all along, because when he caught the shared glance and flicks of elegant fingers between the Holmes brothers, he just knew.

He didn’t bring it up then; frankly, he wouldn’t have known where to start. In fact, he never brought it up at all. Sherlock did, two weeks later, over breakfast.

“You disapprove,” he said around his toast. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17
Tags & Warnings: Non-con, mind control, captivity, bondage, blood, vampires
Notes: Inspired by Sherlock’s skin was as cold as the steel around John’s neck by archiaart.
Prequel to "The Lamps of His Eyes".




John watches the candle flickering on the nightstand a few feet from the bed. "For you," Sherlock had said with a little smile when he'd lit it, and John had wondered: why a candle? Why not a lamp or a night light? Something with less risk of mess or burning the place down.

He still doesn’t know, but he’s grateful all the same. The little flame dances like it’s keeping him company, a fluttering reminder that life and warmth still exist in the world beyond the cold circle of metal around his neck and the weight of Sherlock’s body draped over John’s.

Somewhere outside, the sun is traveling across the sky, pouring its light over London’s gleaming buildings and grimy pavements. John might never see it again. “I’m going to keep you,” Sherlock had told him, when he’d bound John tight and chained him into his bed. But a vampire’s thralls tend not to last for long.

Everyone is fascinated by the bite. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17
:Tags & Warnings: Dub-con, vampires, blood, captivity, mind control
Notes: Inspired by art from archiaart. Betaed by the redoubtable michi_thekiller!
Sequel to "Candlelight".




"Come here, John."

Sherlock is standing in the bedroom doorway, silhouetted in the golden lamp light. John goes to him, wraps his hands around Sherlock’s bare biceps and lets strong arms come up around him.

Sherlock's thumb strokes at the place where John’s trapezius sinks into his collarbone. His mouth lowers to it and he bites.

John sighs through the pain and leans against him. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Greg Lestrade, John Watson (mentioned)
Rating: G
Tags & Warnings: Historical AU (Great Depression), Boxing,
Notes: Any resemblance to Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer" is entirely intentional.




The wind off the Hudson is bone-cuttingly cold. The New York City winter can bleed a man if he’s not careful. It would remind Sherlock of London, if he ever let himself think of London.

Fortunately he’s found enough pain and distraction on the boxing circuit. He doesn’t need any more.

He tugs the collar of his wool coat closer around his neck and lets himself into his manager’s office. The man’s at his desk, silver head bent over a sheaf of papers which make a run for it from the gust of frigid air that follows Sherlock in.

Lestrade slams his hand down on them before they can escape, and looks up with a scowl. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17
Tags & Warnings: Historical AU (Medieval), Historical Inaccuracy, Dubious Consent, Bondage, Secret Relationship, Corsetry, Outdoor Sex, Bathing/Washing, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Religious Guilt, Master/Servant, Sexual Coercion
Notes: Props to my betas: hiddenlacuna, bachin221b, mydwynter, aria, deuxexmycroft, michi_thekiller. Lacuna and Deux, in particular, really take the credit for this story, since they both grabbed me at certain key points and shook me till I agreed not to delete it.

Historical inaccuracies in this story are mostly deliberate, because WTF history, why don't you let me do what I want?




John sprawls exhausted among the bedclothes, the air of the bedchamber icy against his damp skin, and watches the firelight flicker on the stone and tapestry walls. It cuts shadowed wells into the ceiling and glitters in the snow piling up outside the casement window, and turns the man stretched like a cat against John’s flank into a beautiful demon sculpted from fire and darkness.

Maybe it only reveals him for what he is. Devil. Man. Prince. Temptation taken mortal form. Self-recrimination is a constant, almost comfortable companion for John now.

Sherlock’s touch is hot, and soothes the chilled ache from John’s back. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade
Rating: NC-17
Tags & Warnings: Threesome, consensual voyeurism, orgasm control/denial




And here Lestrade had thought the eye-fucking was hot. But tonight he has them all to himself, Sherlock and John naked as the dawn in the midst of their own flat, kissing while he watches. Just for him. And they generate enough sexual tension to light a house when they’re just standing there looking at each other, but the way they kiss is the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

Sherlock looks like some sensual Greek statue to begin with, made up of a thousand miles of translucent skin and those immoral fucking lips. But John, the little trooper, refuses to be left behind. Sherlock comes down on him from on high with those sinful lips parted all set to devastate, and John rises right into it, shoots up on tiptoe into the collapsing grotto of Sherlock's personal space to meet him halfway, mouth to mouth.

They tangle, god, they drink from each other like men dying of thirst, and then part just enough to let Lestrade see the twining of their tongues. They stroke their noses together, faces brushing so close that their eyelashes mesh. Lestrade nearly comes in his pants at the sight, so intimate that he wonders what the fuck he’s doing here. No one touches like that with another person watching. It isn’t right. But oh, Holy Mary, is it amazing to see.

He’s agreed not to touch, and they’ve agreed to obey, and his palms ache so badly that he needs someone in this room to get more. So, “Kneel,” he tells them. He watches them sink down to the nest of blankets on the floor in a knot of bare limbs, and imagines what it must feel like for them to have nothing at all against their skin but each other.

It’s some kind of dance, the way they move. Or, hell, it’s sex, the way these two wrap around each other and sway in their own private wind. Their fingers paint lines over one another’s bodies whose afterimages all but glow to Lestrade’s sight, searing his eyes with the strokes over jaw and spine and the curve of a shoulder blade. They forge into the secret hollows on the backs of their necks and the small of their backs. The match of their skin is fucking artwork, alabaster against pale gold. And the twist of their bodies together, Sherlock with his endless elegant lines and John's tidy compactness moulding right in against him...

Lestrade inhales when John’s hand slides forward on Sherlock’s hip. “No.” John’s breath catches; Sherlock’s hand tightens to dig dimples in John’s arse. “Just like this,” he adds, voice rasping. He rather wants to find out what they look like when they’ve been driven mad with desire.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG-13
Tags & Warnings: Valdemar fusion, fantasy AU, magical animals
Notes: Written for a Tumblr prompt from persian-slipper, who wanted 'John/Sherlock, Valdemar.'




John feels with his healer’s gift along Sherlock’s body, sinking his awareness into the tissues to find them abused, battered, swollen. "This isn’t new damage," John tells him almost accusingly. This is old, unrepaired, neglected by a man who doesn’t eat or sleep enough. No wonder the K’Vala scout leader sent Sherlock to him.

Sherlock simply huffs, lip twisting into a contemptuous curl that should not be as appealing as it is. John closes his eyes as the disdain washes through him, hot and oddly elegant.

:He doesn’t take care of himself,: Sherlock’s owl grumps. :It’s boring, he says. Says his mind gets too busy if he lets himself get distracted.: John can feel her piled-up irritation, her prickly sarcasm directed at Sherlock like a barb, shiny and well-worn, and a mimic-perfect mirror image of what’s rolling off Sherlock where he sits.

"My mind needs to stay busy," Sherlock says, as if even bothering to speak is a mighty concession. "Yours may plod; mine races. It needs problems that will occupy it, not…" He flaps a graceful, sharp hand. "Trivialities."

Good lord. Mages. John scratches the poor despairing owl behind her head, and then turns back to Sherlock. "Trivialities, eh?"

Sherlock lifts a cocky, ascerbic eyebrow. "Do you have a prescription for an overabundance of intelligence, kestra’chern? A rock to the head, perhaps?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." John grins wickedly and slides in to straddle Sherlock’s lap, tugging the collar of his robe open. "I have just the thing to occupy that overactive mind."
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG-13
Tags & Warnings: nape admiration, neck biting
Notes: Written for professorfangirl when she was having a bad day




The back of John’s neck is warm, and soft, with a subtle nap that’s a delight for Sherlock to have under his lips. Living with it is ceaseless temptation; at times, like this one when the afternoon light pours through the windows to gleam in the fine golden fuzz at John’s hairline, Sherlock breaks. He pulls John back into his arms and nuzzles until, with a sigh, John tips his head forward and allows Sherlock to help himself to that delectable nape.

Sherlock laps at him like a grooming cat, tongue spread broad and clinging to feel every grain, to taste John to the full in this expanse of him that’s so naked yet forbidden. It helps him think, knowing that John is stowed safe and snug in his arms, all his intimacies accessible should Sherlock want them. He can safely let the world beyond them fall away, shrunk down to the space encompassed by John’s warm body and that which immediately partakes of it.

Sometimes the gentleness of lips and tongue aren’t enough, and nothing will do for that sweet, soft nape but to be possessed by a corresponding hardness. John gasps, then, as the sharp edges of Sherlock’s teeth sink into his flesh and grip. Sometimes that’s enough, a reminder of roughness, a celebration of the vulnerability of that beautiful span. But at other times, Sherlock feels himself creased with the need for John to feel him to his utmost, through every filament of him. And then, oh then he bites down, seeks and finds the tendons of John’s trapezius and captures them, squeezes them between ridges of enamel till the pressure pulls John’s neck into an arch and his body surrenders itself, enervated, into the clasp of Sherlock’s arms.

Caught in that grip, Sherlock knows, John can feel him in his fingers and toes, the backs of his knees and the small of his back, over the curve of his arse and his belly and nipples and in the roots of his teeth. It drives John slowly, beautifully mad, to be held this way. Sherlock keeps him, caught and feeling, till John’s hips are rolling gently against his groin and he can taste John’s rising pulse against his tongue.

Sometimes John wants to be fucked like this, caught between Sherlock’s teeth and cock, but today, this is enough for them. At length, John pulls Sherlock’s arms tighter around him. Sherlock finally releases him to nibble gentle apologies up and down his neck, and they stand together, feeling the tingle of each other in their bodies.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG-13
Tags & Warnings: hand kink, handfeeding
Notes: Co-authored with persian-slipper! Wrote this one a while back, and just realized I never posted it here.

In which Sherlock and John share a meal, conversation, and a mutual appreciation of hands.




“You gather up the rice like this,” John instructed, teasing the rice into a bite-sized ball and then pressing it into a flattened pad, “and then use it to scoop up the meat and drippings.” He snagged a bit of lamb and its juices with the rice ball and held it up for display, then popped the whole thing tidily into his mouth.

Sherlock took in every detail. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: John Watson, Bill Murray
Rating: NC-17 (explicit m/m sex)
Tags & Warnings: Omegaverse, Serviceman, explicit m/m sex, drabble
Notes: Written to a Tumblr prompt from otterondeck.

John’s shared his heats with a lot of men, but none of them have ever made him feel so…at home as Bill Murray. Never mind that he’s a beta; gathered up in the big man’s arms, cradled against that broad chest as he shakes and whimpers on Bill’s cock, John feels so protected, so safe, so loved.

Bill tilts John’s chin up to kiss him, on the lips, the jaw, each cheekbone, the bristly beginnings of each eyebrow, and then licks the tip his nose till John can’t help laughing.

"Ready, John?" Bill murmurs against his temple. At John’s nod, Bill hugs him close. As fingers work into him to supplement Bill’s knotless cock, John lets go, safely surrounded as he’s taken apart.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG
Tags & Warnings: magical realism, fantasy, magical circus
Notes: Written for a Tumblr prompt from thatworldinverted




By daylight, the palomino and the black stallion can be found side by side on the carousel, transfixed in place via metal poles through their backs as they ride in endless circles for the delight of children.

At night, after the crowds have gone home, Sherlock and John stroll, shoulders bumping, through the sulphurous haze of the sodium lamps on the abandoned midway. When they pass the chuckling mechanical fortuneteller, John stops Sherlock with a touch to his shoulder and heads over to drop in a token.

She does her chortling dance over her crystal ball, and drops a ticket into the chute. 954876, it reads.

"You don't have to stay," John says, just like every night.

Sherlock gently pulls the ticket from John's fingers and drops it in the rubbish bin. "You owe this debt for my sake, John. I won't leave you to pay it alone." He wraps his arms around John and pulls him close, and keeps him there while they walk through the tattered magic of the circus after-hours.

In the morning when the box office opens, the black and the palomino are back on the carousel. The next night, John consults the fortuneteller again.

953436 revolutions to go.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, ensemble
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Warnings: This story is slash, though by that I mean it's basically their canon relationship with occasional sex added on.
Notes: Yep, still writing this! The result of yet another prompt on the Sherlock kink_meme. The Man who Sold the World - because linking David Bowie is never gratuitous. Though the same can't be said for that Ziggy Stardust image they pasted to that video. Just...listen, don't look.
Beta Credits: Teahigh and Lifeonmars for restoring sanity.

If you remember getting exploded in 2010 and now it's 2007, does that make you dead, insane, high, or a time traveller?




“A favour,” Mycroft repeated as though the words were new to history. He spun his umbrella on its point. “Twice in one week. Are you quite certain you’ve contracted no terminal illnesses I should know about?”

Sherlock deflected the sarcasm with a curl of his lip. )

Parts: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | TBA
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Sherlock-John in a bedsheet

The bedsheet imbalance was catastrophic and needed redress.
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG
Tags & Warnings: Romance, Discussion of death, Death imagery




When they're curled on the sofa, heads sharing a cushion and their sweat and breath swirling invisibly together in the air, Sherlock says, "I would like to rot with you when we die."

"You need to brush up on your pillow talk," John tells him.

Sherlock hums in agreement and strokes the contours of John's bicep with a finger. "Dirt together, though; you can't say it hasn't got its charm. In a few decades, no one would be able to tell your flesh from mine. Maybe even a plant...hmm, a hawthorn tree. It'd grow from the nutrients in our mingled blood. Almost like a child." His smile flashes sharp and amused. "Beautiful and vicious. Seems fitting, doesn't it?"

John rolls his head toward Sherlock. "Who would you get to plant a hawthorn tree?"

Sherlock shrugs and reaches up to trace the curve of John's brow ridge. “Our bones would fall together once the connective tissue had decayed. Think of it, John: your ulna, tucked cozy between my ulna and radius. My fibula snugged up to your tibia.” He curls over, crowding John as if to demonstrate, his lower register a hot thrum of black velvet against John’s ear. "We’d lie locked together, our skeletons interlaced. I’d weave my ribs in with yours, and come to rest in your abdominal cavity.”

John lies quietly for a long moment, Sherlock’s spread hand hot and broad across his belly. Finally he begins to wriggle free to his feet. When Sherlock looks up at him, indignant and nonplussed, John smiles an invitation and holds out a hand. “Come to bed.”

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