Christmas Present Fic: Lestrade and the Clammy Chlamys

BBC!Sherlock

Rating 15 (swearing, implicit slash and violence)

Summary: A fancy dress party gets a little too exciting for Mycroft and Lestrade

Someone on the Mystrade Fest prompt post wanted John's "ripping your clothes off" line from The Great Game applied to Mystrade.

This is for my devoted beta Blooms84 who loves wet!Lestrade

Special thanks to my beta for this work: Fengirl

( "I will kill you, My," Greg announced, giving me a particular dirty look. "I swear I will kill you for this." )

Christmas 221B Request: A Morbid Taste for Bananas

Happy Christmas to rabidsamfan

Rating: 12 (embarassing medico-historical facts)

Prompt: Harry/Molly, last word "bananas"


“We get to the junction in about a m-mile,” Harry said, staring at the map by torchlight.

“And what direction do we go?” Molly asked. There was a moment’s intense concentration in the passenger seat.

“Left,” Harry announced triumphantly.

Molly tried not to look relieved when the signpost confirmed that Shrewsbury was the next turn on the left. It hadn’t been an easy drive.

“I could have come on my own,” Harry said mildly. “Taken the train.”

“I wanted to come. You need...” Molly paused. She mustn’t say: You need looking after. “You need someone to discuss medieval medicine with.”

“They should have invited you to speak, not m-me,” Harry said. “Why does a Cadfael Weekend want a historian of eighteenth-century crime?”

“Because one of the organisers heard your talk about hanging, and thought it was brilliant,” Molly replied, smiling. “But please don’t mention post-mortem priapism this time.”

“Not very Ellis P-Peters?” Harry asked. “But it’s fascinating.”

Molly had mostly got over her fear that Harry would start drinking when she went off to conferences. Now she just worried that she’d tell a roomful of elderly women about hanged men getting erections. Or forget to sleep or eat properly. Which was why, besides the sexy underwear she’d packed for herself, their luggage also included ear-plugs, lavender oil, cereal bars and bananas.

Christmas 221 B Request: Banned Aid

BBC Sherlock

Happy Christmas to flawed amythyst

Rating 15 (slash, crack)

Prompt: John/Sherlock, last word bandage


John supposedly had a good bedside manner, but strangely even his professionalism faltered when Sherlock and he were both naked.

“Hold still,” John barked again. “I need to clean the wound.”

“It stings!”

“Shouldn’t have left that ornament on the floor. I told you it was hazardous.”

“You said ‘tripping hazard’, not ‘falling onto and cutting your head open hazard’,” Sherlock retorted. Not that good a retort, but his head hurt.

“And what did I also say?” John replied patiently, as he reached into the first-aid kit. “About the kitchen table?”

“A really stupid place for sex. But when you came home and there I was on it-“

“Doing obscene things with extra virgin olive oil-“

“You didn’t say no, did you?” Sherlock smirked.

“The problem is,” John said wearily. “You’re irresistible and an idiot. It’s a dangerous combination.”

“If you hadn’t thrust so hard, we’d have been OK. And I did warn you.”

“You yelled, and I quote: ‘So near the edge, John’. I presumed that meant of an orgasm, not the table.” John’s voice now had a familiar rueful note, and Sherlock seized his chance.

“You said ‘you are irresistible’, not ‘you were’. So?”

“So, yes,” said John, “Mainly to distract you from the pain. But in bed this time. And only when I’ve finished putting on your bandage.”

Christmas 221B request: The Lying Detective

Happy Christmas to Xitheta

BBC Sherlock

Rating: PG

Prompt: Sherlock/John, last word bridge

Inspired by ACD's The Dying Detective


Sherlock frequently relied on John forgiving him, but it wasn’t working this time.

“I go away and you do this to Molly?” John said in disgust.

“It was for a case!”

“You made her think you were dying.”

“She’s simply incompetent.”

“No, she trusted you, didn’t realise you’d swapped the blood samples.”

“They showed I had a fatal disease, yet she didn’t insist on intensive care.”

“You begged to stay in 221B, so you could die in peace. Asked her to bring Culverton Smith over, so you could ask his advice.”

“And still she wasn’t suspicious. Nor was Smith, so I caught him red-handed. He was, of course, a murderer.”

“You took advantage of Molly, Sherlock.”

“What a quaint turn of phrase.” Why did it stir echoes? John was still glaring at him.

“Sometimes I think you are a sociopath.”

“You know I’m not.” Sherlock’s memory abruptly located the long-forgotten song:

Here am I with all my bridges burned
Just a babe in arms where you’re concerned
So lock the doors and call me yours
Coz you took advantage of me.

He understood that lyric now, the vulnerability love could bring. So maybe...

“If I apologise to Molly-“ he began.

“It’d be a start,” John said.

The first step to re-establishing John’s trust, Sherlock thought. Starting to build a new bridge.



Ella Fitzgerald singing "You Took Advantage of Me

Christmas 221B Request: Calm and Storm

Happy Christmas to fengirl88.

BBC Sherlock

Rating: 15 (femslash)

Prompt: Sally/Ella

Notes: Sequels to PC World and Straight, Scholar, Smooth

Calm

Ella was a careful woman, especially when her straight friends were concerned. There was a fine line between appreciation and causing alarm. Though less so with Sally Donovan. Sally was breathtakingly sexy sometimes, almost demanding that everyone in the room should desire her. Ella had grown used to letting her eyes linger unashamedly on Sally's breasts, or the strip of pale brown skin between crop top and jeans.

“What do lesbians do in bed?” Sally asked her out of the blue one day.

“Whatever they find erotic,” Ella replied calmly.

“Wanna show me?”

Sally was adventurous; it was doubtless the taboo-breaking that was driving her interest more than Ella. But she was also gorgeous.

“If you like,” she replied, and let her hand reach out to brush Sally’s cheek.

***

As she’d expected, Sally was impatient, almost aggressive in bed. Used to men with inadequate foreplay, Ella deduced. Let’s try and change the tempo a bit.

“Lie still,” she murmured, “I’ve been longing to get my hands on you.” Her skilful fingers started a slow, thorough exploration of Sally’s body, from the dense spring of her hair to her pale insteps. Only then did they reach into the warm heat inside Sally, slowly increase the intensity till she had her panting, desperate. Afterwards, Sally didn't speak, just lay there, gasping for breath.

Storm

Ella had dignity, that was the word, Sally decided. The calm, ageless beauty of a bronze statue. Not like her, always losing her rag, letting the bastards get to her. Ella had poise and Sally admired, envied that. But sometimes she found Ella’s self-control unnerving. Every action, every word carefully considered, as if she had forgotten the rawness, the passion that she must once have had.

Even in the bedroom, Ella found it hard to lose control: a slow simmer rather than boiling lust. But Sally was a detective: it wasn’t long before she found the parcel hidden away at the back of Ella’s wardrobe.

“You into handcuffs, then?” she asked, dragging them out.

“Not really,” Ella replied smoothly. “I bought them ages ago, but my partner then didn’t like the idea.”

“What you need a copper for,” Sally said smiling. “Teach you to use them properly.”

“I don’t need you to-,” Ella began, and Sally knew she was blushing now, even if she couldn’t see it.

“You didn’t return them or dump them.” Sally let her voice grow husky.  “You still wonder, even though it feels wrong. Maybe specially 'coz it feels wrong. Tonight, Ella, we’re gonna do dirty things together, all the things you've never dared to want. And I’m gonna make you come till I melt your bones."

Christmas 221B Request: Re Joyce

Happy Christmas to Blooms84

BBC Sherlock

Rating: U

Prompt: Harry (the historian) and Sherlock, last word bloom/blooms


"How can you n-not have heard of Ulysses?" Harry protested. "I'm not expecting you to have read it, but it is a landmark of m-modernist literature."

"I know nothing about literature," Sherlock replied, smiling.

"It shocked p-people when it appeared. The British and American authorities banned it."

"Is it still banned?" That sounded more promising.

"N-no, they lifted the restrictions in the 1930s."

"Hence no longer a book provoking criminal activities, hence not my area."

There was a look on Harry's face that reminded Sherlock of John discussing the solar system. Followed by an even more alarming expression. Harry was a lecturer, after all, and she'd obviously decided this was a teachable moment.

"Why do I need to know about Ulysses?" he protested half-heartedly; knowing he'd be on firmer ground if he hadn't just spent forty minutes explaining what could be deduced from a five line e-mail.

"Because one day," Harry said triumphantly, "you'll get a case where someone claims as an alibi that they were in Dublin on 16^th June and you will kn-know they're lying because they haven't mentioned the Bloomsday celebrations."

"Which involve?"

"Book readings, pub crawls. People dress up."

Moriarty was a Dubliner. Perhaps it might be useful information.

"And why's it called Bloomsday?"

"After the central character of Ulysses," Harry began. "A man called Leopold Bloom..."

Christmas 221B Bonus edition: Once Were Warriorbots

Happy Christmas to Warriorbot, who deserves a special 221B for getting Mary Sue Sutherland writing metafic.

BBC!Sherlock

Rating 15 (frankly alarming fiction)

It was December 15^th and it was quiet.

"Too quiet," Lestrade said.

"On the streets?" Donovan asked.

"On the RPF meme. You've been monitoring it. What are they up to now?"

"Sure you wanna know?"

"Mistletoe and mince-pies? Sherlock uttering the phrase 'Happy Holidays'?"

"Rare pairing fest," Donovan replied. "Would you believe there are people out there wanting Moriarty/Anderson slash?"

"That'll pay Anderson back for posting photos of Mycroft on Tumblr," Lestrade said. "Just tell me no-one's imagining me with Sherlock again. It upsets My and John and I don't want any more writers damaged."

There was a particular intensity to Donovan's silence by now.

"Worse than that?" Lestrade demanded.

"Someone's requested Dark Lestrade/Dimmock, sir."

"Yes, but no-one's insane enough to write... Oh God, they haven't let Sutherland near the internet again, have they?"

"It's not just her, sir. They're all out again: Mary Sue, Foxycop and Warriorbot. The word on the tweet is they're collaborating now. And we've just intercepted this message." Donovan handed him the print-out gingerly, obviously unwilling to read it out.

Dear MSS, OK so we're agreed: Holmescest with voyeur Lestrade it is. I do the porn, you do the angst and Foxycop does the adjectives. Love 'Bot.

Well that solved the problem of Mycroft's Christmas present, thought Lestrade. Just get him a gallon of brain bleach.

Notes: Lurking on the Sherlock Rare Pair fest there are indeed alarming things. Foxycop first appears in Going Down With This Ship by Warriorbot, and her legendary fic I'm not Your Sniffer Dog is here.