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)
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: 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: 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.”
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: John Watson, Greg Lestrade
Rating: NC-17/Explicit
Tags and Warnings: BDSM, Object Insertion, Handcuffs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Aftercare, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Established Relationship
Notes: A gift fic for airynothing, simply because she's wonderful. The agreed-upon number of souls to lapotter and hiddenlacuna for their divine beta skills.

The problem with the sorts of cases Sherlock enjoyed was that they always turned out to be the crazy ones. 85% of Greg’s professional life was taken up with poring over spreadsheets and timelines, but then Sherlock signed on board and suddenly people were getting shot at and super-villains were falling out of the trees like acorns in a stiff wind.

A bloke built up frustrations, dealing with that sort of nuttery. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock, John
Rating: Teen
Tags and Warnings: Non-explicit m/m sex, explicit bloodplay

Blood is the hot interior of the body, a smear of passion, a proof of living, breathing, fighting survival in the face of the odds.

Blood is beautiful. Everything about it. )
prettyarbitrary: (Fuzzy Cthulhu)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Assorted very small OCs
Rating: PG
Tags and Warnings: Adventure, Fluff, Cute urchins

Sherlock’s work gets them into a lot of strange situations, but up to his armpits in cute little orphans is not a place John ever expected to find himself with Sherlock.

They’re sitting across from each other on beds in an orphanage dorm, surrounded by the small occupants of the room, under Sherlock’s insistence that these children hold the key to solving their current case. If anyone ever found them here, they’d both go to prison for a thousand years, pointedly locked in with a large, tattooed serial offender suffering from chronic loneliness. But between their surprise entrance through a second floor window and Sherlock’s general...Sherlockness, the kids are quite prepared to buy into the story that they’re ninjas here to hunt down their rogue ‘ninja brother.’

Between the crowd of urchins and Sherlock with his rakish hair and voluminous coat, John feels like he took a wrong turn into a Dickens novel. )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
This is a bit of ridiculousness I wrote for somebody, somewhere. It's not even a real fic, but I want you to have it, Internet. It seems like your kind of thing. <3


"John, hey!" Rory said when they crossed paths by the coffee machine. "Haven't seen you lately. How's the love life?"

The way John snorted might've been more appropriate if someone had asked him how his latest traffic accident had turned out. "I'm dating a beautiful redhead and running after an offensively tall madman with insane hair and a brain that sometimes makes me want to hit it with a cricket bat in hopes it'll teach him how to talk like a human."

Rory froze. "Oh god. Are from the future? Did I shrink? Our hair is the same color. Oh my god, we have the same nose!" He looked around to see if he could spot the places where the universe was probably crumbling.

From behind him, John snapped, "Oi! Did you just call me short?!"
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: John Watson, Mycroft Holmes
Rating: R (non-explicit M/M sex)
Tags and Warnings: slash, sex, food!porn, this fic may make you crave sweets
Notes: For a kink meme prompt, naturally.

Mycroft loves the taste of sugar in John's mouth.

The sweet familiar flavour morphs when it comes into contact with him, some mysterious natural alchemy in John's body turning it richer, deeper, more nuanced. Mycroft discovered the phenomenon the day he 'kidnapped' John to La Cercle, kissing him over a caramel amaretto latte after one too many nervous flicks of John's tongue over his lips finally shattered his self-discipline.

Since then, it's become something of an obsession. His fetish, if you will. There exist a thousand different sugars in the world, from agave nectar to sugar cane, and a million desserts to be made with them, and Mycroft wants to know how every single one tastes when he licks it off John's tongue and smooth, smooth skin.

Sprawled on his stomach, John hums, all but purrs as Mycroft draws a wet line of saliva up the beckoning curve of John's spine. John tastes of chocolate there, for no reason at all that Mycroft can determine. "You haven't been painting yourself with candies before you come over?" he asks against the plane of a shoulder blade.

John laughs, high and soft. "I leave the painting up to you." The muscles of his back flex delightfully as he lifts himself to roll onto his back, eyes glinting up at Mycroft like amused, murky sapphires. "Mycroft Holmes, are you calling me sweet?"

"Mmm, no. I'm calling you delicious." He reaches over to the dish of Chambord sorbet on the bedside table. When Mycroft offers him the spoon, John obligingly allows him to slip it between his lips and out again. If the slow sensuous slide of it is reminiscent of other penetrative acts, well, it's a calorie-free indulgence on Mycroft's part.

John seals his lips around the spoon as it pulls out and smiles instead of swallowing. Mycroft can all but see the sorbet melting into thick syrupy streams; frosted raspberries and liqueur coating John's rich, warm interior. Who could possibly resist? Why should he try?

When Mycroft laps into him, John sighs luxuriously and opens up to be devoured.
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: PG for a bit of rough language
Tags and Warnings: slash, no sex!, James Bond hate, snark, a bit of adventure, really what is with the acid baths?
Notes: Surprising no one, this is written for a prompt on the kink_meme

"Death by Hollywood, John. I cannot think of a more degrading way to go."

They are tied together and hanging on a hook over, of all the asinine things, an acid bath.

A fucking acid bath. )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Dupin the Parrot. Guest-starring Lestrade
Rating: G
Tags and Warnings: gen, humor, fluff, parrot!
Notes: Written for a prompt. Fact-checking services provided by Lucky the Quaker Parrot.

Sherlock acquires a pet that's the Sherlock of the animal kingdom, and John finds himself at war.

Dupin had found John’s shoes.

John had been so careful to keep them out of the bird’s line of sight. He didn’t know what had clued the little feather duster in. That bird was almost as observant as its owner. And now John’s best Oxfords were…well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be wearing these on any more dates.

Maybe the leather finish was toxic to birds. Could he be that lucky? )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: NC-17 (explicit m/m sex)
Warnings: slash, shameless smut, possible cruelty to expensive clothing, suit!porn, clothes kink, fingering, sex in front of mirrors, semi-public sex.
Notes: MY GOD, IT'S NOT A PROMPT. Written as a gift for Random_Nexus.

If you want inspiration for the visuals in this fic, check out the 'Martin Freeman in a classy bastard of a suit' pic that kicked this story off for me: The suit Sherlock puts John in, however, is a different specimen from Mark Powell's gallery (as well as the Soho location, where his actual shop is). Go to the 'spring/summer' ready-to-wear gallery; the specific suit featured in the fic is the fifth one from the left, gray with a waistcoast, though John wears it in a paler grey with a dark shirt.

Sherlock only wants the same thing everyone wants: to dress John up in a £1000 suit and then strip it right back off him.

"When you said you wanted to dress me, Sherlock, I thought you meant in the morning. Not…" John gestured hopelessly around the expensive tailor's shop he'd been led to like a sheep to slaughter. "You deliberately misled me!"

'You predictably misconstrued!' )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Rating: G
Tags and Warnings: Gen, humor, the establishment of weird Christmas traditions, Uh...spoilers for the status of Santa Claus's existence?
Notes: Naturally, a prompt.

In which Sherlock and Santa have an adversarial relationship, and John invents a new holiday tradition.

John liked Lestrade’s crew. He was comfortable around them, for one thing; police and soldiers lived in similar worlds in some respects. For another, they really knew how to throw a holiday party. The eggnog was homemade, the music was live, courtesy of the CID’s very own barbershop quartet, he didn’t think it was his imagination that the girls from Intake were plotting to catch him under the mistletoe, and this was the first chance he’d had to dance since the case of the disappearing night club logos.

After a couple of turns about the floor with Sally, who turned out to be an excellent dancer, he headed back to Sherlock, whom he’d caught spectating with a wide, amused grin. “She had better not become the next Future Ex-Mrs. Watson, John, or you and I are going to have to revisit the terms of our arrangement.”

John sneered companionably at him. )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes
Rating: PG-13 (references to sex, racy PDA)
Tags and Warnings: slash, sexual references, humor, Sherlock wields PDA as a weapon
Notes: The kink meme prompt that prompted this. Figured I should post some humor after the angst.

There are some things a man doesn't want to know about his brother, no matter how fond he is of spy cameras.

John wasn’t thinking about the previous night when Mycroft knocked on the door.

Well. To be fair, he’d been thinking about it less than a minute earlier, and most likely would again within the next two minutes, with the way he and Sherlock were pressed together from shoulder to elbow and hip to calf. But they were sitting together on the sofa, sharing a medical article on a study about residual toxins in a new line of lipid-reduction drugs. It was all perfectly innocuous. The sitting room door was even open.

So when Mycroft didn’t actually enter upon John’s welcoming gesture, it took him a moment to realize why the elder Holmes had frozen at the threshold. The suspiciously blank look on his face helped, as did the way his eyes kept flicking between the flat’s two occupants.

Heat rose in John’s cheeks. Trust a Holmes to spot all the embarrassing details. )

Get a Room tag--because my brain is never content to leave well enough alone. )
prettyarbitrary: (Default)
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Inspector Lestrade, ensemble
Rating: PG (more face-punching)
Tags and Warnings: gen, post-Hiatus, still no spoilers, angst, fluff, h/c, Lestrade gets a word in
Notes: A follow-up to Still Two Days Till We Say We're Sorry. Because someone said, "I'd love to see what Lestrade does!" Sure thing, reader!

Assassination attempt at 224 Baker Street. 2 am tonight. Bring backup. -- SH

It was John Watson's mobile number. )


prettyarbitrary: (Default)

October 2015

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