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simonejester ([personal profile] simonejester) wrote2013-04-28 12:18 pm

Sherlock Fic Quotes Omnibus #1 (Quotes 1-10)

To think, he first thought this case would be boring. Not a murder, just a simple counterfeiting ring. Dull. Probably be over in two hours. Sherlock was never happier to be wrong. Not when the counterfeiter led to a drug ring, human trafficking group, and an international smuggling operation. In one night, Sherlock had successfully put the London branches of two major crime families out of business, and it all terminated in a thrilling chase across the roofs of London as the original suspect tried to make his escape. When they finally cornered him, John pulled his gun and very politely convinced him to come quietly. If they hadn’t been working, Sherlock would’ve jumped John right there. The only thing that could have made tonight better would’ve been getting a blow job while Anderson sobbed in the corner.

--After Case After Care, bu (AO3)round_robin, (John/Sherlock)

===

Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori,” he whispers.

“What the bloody fuck?”

“It’s Latin. Look behind you. Remember that you are but a man. Remember that you will die. When a Roman general won a major victory over the barbarian hordes, they gave him a big party and a parade. He was essentially elected a god for the day. During the parade a servant would whisper those sentences in his ear, I suppose to make sure he didn’t get too far above himself. The senators hated it when one of their own got too powerful. It’s why they offed Julius Caesar. Conspiracies again: I suppose all empires have them.”

Toby takes another hit, then stubs out the joint. “People used to think about death all the time. That poster is a memento mori: See the flower and the hourglass on either side of the skull? They’re remembrances that things don’t last. Time fades every flower. ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ is not just a pretty verse. Pick some posies, fuck your lover, because you’ll both be wormfood soon enough. Sooner than that, if the Powers That Be have their way.”

--

“Fuck you, I’m not leaving,” Victor shoots back at Vi. “Ford asked me to be nice to Sherlock.”

“Ford asked me to be nice to him. I’ve got a lot more riding on this than you.”

“Oh, you think so? You’re not the only one who wants an Oscar someday.”

“You are such a selfish prick—”

You can both be bloody nice to me,” Sherlock says. “If you promise to quit talking about my brother. Because honestly, if you keep bringing him up there’s not going to be enough cocaine in the world to keep me from losing my erection. Especially since it’s so obvious that you two are in love with each other, despite this rather tiresome Beatrice and Benedict impersonation you are indulging in. That’s a Shakespeare reference, in case you’re curious, I know Americans get a bit lost when you go beyond Romeo and Juliet. In any event, before my brain chews itself to pieces with sensory overload, and before I grind my teeth down to bloody nubs from this quite stunning cocaine, provided by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, can we please shag already?”

There is a beat of silence.

“Shit,” Violet says. “He talks.”

--

“He gets angry all the time watching telly. Yells at the chat shows and news reports. Has a fine time. He looked—” John stops. “Blank. But not his I’m-crawling-into-my-mental-treehouse-for-a-bit-and-pulling-up-the-rope-ladder-behind-me sort of blank. A sick blank. Don’t know if that makes sense.”

--

Though Irene is about the last person John wants to spend a quiet evening with, he really has been trying to get along. Good of the case and all that. But who the fuck does she think she is, calling Sherlock a freak? She laces herself in a corset and spanks naughty MPs for a living.

--

Okay, it’s later. Everything all right? —N

No. He’s advising the fucking barrister on fucking criminal procedure. –J

::face palm:: –N

It gets better. He just characterized Moriarty as, and I quote, ‘not a man at all. He’s a spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads’ Fuck me. –J

So much for simple. –N

CHRIST SHERLOCK DON’T START DEDUCING THE SODDING JURY —J

Go down there and smack him. Quick. Just like curbing a cocker spaniel. –N

Too fucking late. Judge banged him up for contempt. Have to go. Have to call Harry. –J

Right, of course. Drinks later on? I think you could use one. Or many. –N

All the scotch in fucking Scotland. —J


--

“I’m not falling for it. Not again.”

The cat fixes earnest eyes on him. He manages to give the impression that he has no idea what Sherlock is referring to. He crooks his big white paws like the most innocent of woolly lambs.

“Fine. If nothing else will please you.” Sherlock buries his hand in silky fluff. He gets in two good rubs before Faust convulses like a cobra. Claws dig into Sherlock’s arm while his palm is poked by razor-sharp teeth. Faust does not press down, but he has his prey securely trapped.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. Very clever.”

Green eyes blaze at Sherlock triumphantly.

“My hand is dead. You, Faust the Inexorable, the Irresistible, have killed it. What a magnificent predator you are. Now let go, please.” Sherlock carefully pulls back as Faust gums his knuckles with mock-ferocity.

--

"That evidence isn't going to tamper with itself."

--

Then she picked up his gun: “Browning nine millimeter semiautomatic. Hmm.” She flicked the safety and tucked it into the back of her tight jeans. “You get this back when you are not drunk. This is how my cousin Sava lose his tentacles.”

“Testicles,” Sherlock put in.

“Yes. Those. His wife leave him. Very sad,” she said, as she began cleaning the puke off of John with business-like efficiency. Clearly, this is a woman with her priorities firmly in hand.

--Miracle Year by (AO3)Chase820, (Sherlock/OFC/OMC, Sherlock, John/OMCs, Sherlock/Irene, Sherlock/John)

===

“Molly says you’re a detective of sorts: sounds like an interesting job. What are you doing today then?”

“Testing semen samples, flagellating corpses and suffering through inane conversations, apparently.” Sherlock smiles toothily.

That goes right over Mike’s head. “God, must be terrible. What does the missus think of that?”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “There is no missus.” Inwardly, he shudders at the thought. Marriage makes one soft-headed and likely to coo over infants, to best of his knowledge. The only good type of marriage, in Sherlock’s book, is the type that leads to a nice, bloody murder.

--

“You know, Molly always seems like a good sort-”

“Not my type.” Though frankly, having a new makeup trick every-time he walked in was no end of useful. The way cosmetics could transform a face was remarkable, he really ought to get a better study going on that. Sherlock mentally resolves to ask Molly for the loan of her cosmetics box. With any luck, such a request will kill two birds with one stone.

--Just Another Day, by (AO3)shirleyholmes, (gen)

===

Greg crossed to wrap his arms around John from behind and plant a kiss on the back of his neck. "Definitely. This is rather homey of you."

"It's just bacon and eggs."

"It's like having a wife again."

"If this is a crack about me taking it up the arse, you can kindly fuck off." John's tone was good-natured, though, and Greg grinned against his skin.

"My wife never took it up the arse -- at least she didn't take mine. Come to think of it, she didn't fix me breakfast very often either."

"She didn't know what she was missing." John leaned back against him slightly, and Greg felt a pulse of pleasure at the way their bodies fit together.

--

John gave him a long look. "You said no experiments. You threatened him with bodily harm."

Greg clenched his jaw. "I may have changed my mind."

John's eyes widened. "Oh God, don't tell me. What, did he bribe you with sexual favors?"

Greg felt heat rise to his cheeks. "It wasn't just that."

John rolled his eyes. "You are so whipped."

"He sucked my cock for an hour. What was I supposed to do?"

"Reattach your bollocks, apparently."

"Get the fucking beer, John, and let it go."

--The Making Of, by (AO3)emmagrant01, (Greg/John, Greg/Sherlock, Sherlock/John, Greg/John/Sherlock)

Ships: Sherlock/John, gen, Sherlock/Mycroft, Mycroft/Sherlock/John and variations thereof, Mycroft/Moriarty)

He is about to turn six and his mind won’t stop, unless he’s sleeping and even then, he dreams in bright colours; vivid, clear details; a jerky half-linear fashion that only breaks up if he’s distressed or overheated in his blankets. He remembers almost all his dreams. He feels like he’s constantly searching, running to connect the dots and he can’t sit still, he might miss something otherwise. He stays up as late as he can, fighting off drowsiness, something might happen while he’s sleeping and that is impossible, he won’t allow it. He occasionally forgets about food until Mycroft or Mummy snags him and plunks him into a chair. He runs and runs and runs and runs. His mind is big and it echoes and he’s dropping coins in the well to make noise.

--

“So many problems can be solved with the proper application of fire.”

--

Sherlock scowls, eyeing Mycroft up and down. “So you’ve come to fetch me. Like a stray pet.”

“Well, you did wander away and roll in something undesirable.”

“I don’t need a bell, or a leash,” Sherlock says and Mycroft smirks.

“That would certainly make our already unique brotherly relations more interesting.”

“Don’t be perverse in the middle of a police station, Mycroft.”

--

Lestrade is struggling to subdue the killer as an awkward Met rookie fumbles with the handcuffs. The killer’s screaming about how he’s the father, the little girl is his, that fucking rat-bastard Roger was in the way, he loved Michelle, he didn’t mean for her to die, and Sherlock is reviewing their chess moves, studying the board in his mind.

Crime of passion. MH

The homicidal impulse hasn’t left his system.

You’re about to be the victim of a crime of passion. SH

I cannot wait. Explain it to me like a good villain before you kill me. MH

I don’t have time to explore your hidden kinks, Mycroft, I’m at an arrest. SH


--

“What’s that hammering, who’s hammering, why are they hammering,” Sherlock says, hand to his head, stepping careful, barefoot, to the window and Mycroft crosses his arms as his brother without a stitch of clothing on ducks out the window to see and he’s shivering as he says, “Ah, boards.”

“Your intelligence clearly knows no bounds,” Mycroft says, waving at Sherlock as he jitters his way back to the bedroom, “since you don’t think to put on clothes when you haven’t any windows.”

“I have windows, Mycroft, they’re just useless at the moment.” Sherlock gives him a patronising glare. “Besides, you’re wearing my pyjamas. Give them back.”

“Why, you have other pairs.”

“I want those.”

“You want these because I’m wearing them.”

“That should be reason enough.”

--The Physics of Present Tense, by (AO3)paxlux, (Mycroft/Sherlock)

===

Rolling over he began to shake Sherlock, knowing Mycroft might actually wait for the man to wake up on his own if he didn’t. “Sherlock, wake up. Your brother is here.”

“Nice to know,” he muttered, before covering his head with his pillow.

“No, no, no,” John said, yanking it away from Sherlock. Shaking him harder, he added, “If I have to have a pantsless conversation with Mycroft, you do too.”

“If you want, I can hand you your pants,” Mycroft offered.

--

“You know, if I’d have known that getting a concussion would get me this kind of attention, I would’ve done this ages ago,” he joked, since it felt as though it was fairly rare for him to get the comforting. He was a doctor, after all. His whole career hinged on making others feel better.

Going back to carefully massaging his scalp, Mycroft said, “You can’t possibly be surprised that we’re concerned for your well being.”

“No, but it is nice having you both here. What do I get for getting shot?”

“An evening alone while Mycroft and I torture that person to death,” Sherlock said far too quickly.

“Right. Won’t get shot then.”

--

It didn’t actually matter where Sherlock Holmes was, he was always someone John occasionally just had to walk away from. And perhaps it was the strange onslaught of cases that had begun to come their way after Sherlock and his recent fame, but John knew that if he spent one more minute trying to talk the man out of one of his riduclous ideas, he might just drown the man. After all, that’s what holidays by the beach were for, to some extent; killing people in open water with no one noticing.

--The Holmes Dilemna, by (AO3)jdmcool, (John/Mycroft/Sherlock and variations thereof, Mycroft/Moriarty)

===

"SHERLOCK!"

He spun, staggered and grabbed the doorframe.

"What."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Even in this state – and Sherlock was willing to concede the concussion – he could tell John was upset about something.

"First off," John said, "it's 3 am. Secondly, unless you want me to have Lestrade arrest you for indecent exposure, I would suggest you find some clothing other than your coat and scarf, and thirdly, Sherlock, what in fuck are you on about?"

Sherlock froze. He had wondered why it was a bit nippy around the dangly bits.

--

"His name is George. Hers is Ann," was his only reply, as the Smileys winked at him from the wallpaper.

"Oh, bugger, you're not going to shoot the other one, are you?" John whinged.

--Meet the Smileys, by [personal profile] sc010f, (gen)

===

From what John knew, Sherlock cared very little for sex. John had never witnessed any interest, never walking in on him at an undue moment. If only John was so lucky himself. He’d given up counting the times Sherlock had walked in on him, to the point where John didn’t even bother to lock the door anymore when he took care of business in the shower because Sherlock was invariably there, lock be dammed.

The first time it had happened, John had been mortified and angry, and slightly creeped out. But after a point, it became just another one of Sherlock’s peculiarities, not all that different than the head in the fridge and the eyeballs in the microwave or Sherlock’s lack of tact and knack for saying the inappropriate. And it wasn’t like John wasn’t used to it from his time in the army. People either lost their modesty, or they didn’t wank.

--The End of a Dream, by (AO3)heeroluva, (Sherlock/John)

Ships this post: gen, John/Sherlock (second quote comes from a story with triggers)

John really, really doesn't want to know why there are two dresses on Sherlock's bed.

Really, he doesn't.

Because he has a terrible suspicion.

He hopes that he's man enough to say "no." He hopes even more fervently that when the time comes, he'll not have to wear the dress with the peacock feathers.

--Don't be a Drag, by [personal profile] sc010f, (gen)

===

“And those ridiculous paintings – all flowers and and fields and colours as though the patients and visitors are meant to forget they're in the hospital. As if you ever could with that distressing smell of disinfectant about the place...one would think they had people bleeding out every two feet with the way they're layering it down...”

For a moment, just a moment, John could almost believe this was normal – well, his and Sherlock's version of normal, anyway.

Which is why his mouth opened on a retort automatically, instead of just basking in Sherlock's return to bitter sarcasm. “Oh, leave off, Sherlock, they do the best they can. Besides, some of us actually like nice, colourful paintings of flower fields.”

As soon as the words were out his mouth, John could have kicked himself. Now Sherlock would back off and shut up as he'd been doing for days, because god forbid John should get distressed in any way even though he'd been frustrated and on-edge since this whole train wreck had started, and really, there was very little Sherlock could do it make it worse.

But Sherlock paused in his stream of dialogue, narrowed his eyes briefly like he was looking at a blood sample under a microscope and then...acted as snotty as ever.

“Wouldn't have taken you for the type to like flowers, John.”

John was so relieved the words shot out of his mouth on pure reflex. “I was in the army, I shoot like a sniper, and I played rugby in spite of being the smallest guy on the field – at this point, you can't make me insecure about my masculinity just because I like flowers.”

--Reaction, by (AO3)Blind_Author, (Sherlock/John, TW for rape and rape aftermath)

===

Gradually, as the chatter continued through morning coffee and a late breakfast, it began to sink in that John wasn't going to mention it at all. As if kissing Sherlock had not been in any way remarkable for him.

Remarkable... Extraordinary... Singular... Worthy of remark. Sherlock scowled.

Two sulks later he decided that it was for the best. If John didn't think it worth noting, then neither did he. Sherlock settled down with his laptop and determined to put the whole business out of his mind.

He lasted three minutes.

"So, if you like men, why were you never attracted to me before?"

--

"Well - now I know. And guess what? The sky hasn't fallen and the world is still turning." He hesitated, his authoritative stance wavering. "It's supposed to do that. Turn, I mean."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and John raised his hands defensively.

"Sorry, sorry. I just wasn't sure what had survived the 'great astronomy purge' of nineteen-whatever."

--

John took a mouthful of his tea and settled deeper into his chair. "So correct me if I'm wrong, but we seem to have accidentally kick-started your sex-drive, yes?"

Sherlock grimaced, but nodded.

"So, what do you want to do about it?" John took another drink.

"Other than wank myself into an early grave, you mean?"

John's tea made an unscheduled re-appearance.

--

He checked his watch, then got to his feet, deciding to take a circuitous route back to collect John. Anything was better than sitting here anthropomorphising the wildlife. Things would improve in time. They must... or he was going to be risking repetitive strain injury - and to his bowing hand, no less. Not acceptable.

--

Almost immediately he was forced to revise an earlier opinion, since he had previously assumed that there was no method by which the experience of kissing John could be improved, it already being so very, very, vastly, enormously, radically, superlatively better than the experience of kissing anyone who wasn't John. Clearly he had theorised ahead of his data because it was now extremely apparent that kissing John while they were both naked added an entirely new dimension, taking the whole thing from 'who is this man and what is he doing to me?' to 'who am I and why aren't we shagging already?'

--

"Why would he bite back a curse? Even the BBC's censorship policy is not that illogical… What's his thinking? It's all right to carry out an armed robbery as long as you don't swear while you're doing it? Ridiculous!" Sherlock shook his head. "No… the other thief's name is what he started to yell - a much more likely reaction and the reason it was cut off."

John opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"What?" Sherlock looked piqued by the silence.

"I'm trying to think of a variant on 'amazing' that I haven't used before."

--

He started stroking upwards and Sherlock shifted his legs apart in invitation, wishing he'd worn looser trousers… wishing he owned looser trousers… wishing his trousers would just evaporate when John touched them… and oh. John's hand had arrived.

--

John took a half step closer. "Look, I promise not to get more emotionally invested than I already am, OK?" That was easy since it would be virtually impossible, short of him turning into a Time Lord and suddenly having an extra heart to deal with the overflow.

--

"So you don't think Mycroft and I are alike?"

"God, no!" John nearly snorted himself off his cushion. "Can't imagine Mycroft jumping around yelling 'It's Christmas!' at the news of an exciting coup coming up." John's imagination immediately proved him wrong, which was a rather disturbing visual.

--

John stirred slightly, not entirely sure of what he'd heard, but aware that something had reached down through the last few layers of sleep and poked his consciousness right in the 'Huh?'

--

Sherlock reeled in all the brain cells that were currently lying on their backs with their legs in the air and called them to attention.

--Given in Evidence, by (AO3)verityburns, (John/Sherlock)

Ships this post: Mycroft/Sherlock/Greg and variations thereof, Mycroft/Sherlock, John/Sherlock

As soon as the curtain rises he's completely absorbed. His eyes are bright, his lips slightly parted, he's almost vibrant with anticipation and suddenly he seems younger. This is what he must have looked like as a little boy, when he was told a story at bedtime or when he was taken to the pantomime; he must have had the same air of gleeful expectation, ready to let himself be carried away and to marvel. I'd like to have known him as a little boy. I'm not especially fond of children but I'd have loved this one. I'd have protected him from any evil and any suffering. I don't consider myself cruel by nature but I think I could hurt those who would have wished John harm when he was a child. And if this hadn't been enough I'd have taken him in my arms and cradled him to comfort him and I'd have told him that it didn't really matter, it was going to get better, he'd become a good and a strong and a wonderful man and one day we'd find each other and we'd love each other and then nothing could affect us any more. Mycroft would be so amused if he knew that such fantasies cross my mind. I'm afraid he knows already. I even suspect he's secretly pleased. The smug sneerer.

--My Favourite Hobby, by (AO3)Chocolamousse, (John/Sherlock)

===

"You've got questions," Sherlock says.

"Yes, loads. But later. For the moment I may be a bit in shock."

"It's quite normal. Finding out that your flatmate is from another planet doesn't happen every day."

"Oh no, I'm not talking about that. That explains a lot actually. I always thought there was something otherworldly about these eyes and these cheekbones."

"John..."

"And of course your eating and sleeping habits should have aroused my suspicions."

"John!"

"Not to mention your first name obviously."

"In fact it's quite a..."

"And I must say that your spectacular ignorance about astronomy is all the more appalling."

"That's really not..."

"Oh God, I called you 'Spock' once, I'm so sorry."

--Going Home, by (AO3)Chocolamousse, (John/alien!Sherlock)

===

They'd carried on a fairly normal relationship for years, if it was possible to describe an incestuous relationship between volatile geniuses as normal.

--

Mycroft resisted the temptation to gloat; well, he resisted the temptation to visibly gloat. It was a victory and they both knew it.

--A Study in Blue Silk (Day 8), by (AO3)chasingriver, (Mycroft/Sherlock)

===

"How's he doing, Mr Lestrade?"

"Please, nghhh… call me Greg." Greg was having a difficult time keeping his composure. "God, he's good."

"He is talented – I trained him well. But he's a filthy little whore. That's the problem with pain sluts – they're so hard to discipline." He turned to look at Greg. "And with this one, the only real punishment is to withhold sex."

Greg's eyes widened slightly at the implication. Brothers. He did a quick moral inventory and decided if Sherlock was his brother, he'd fuck him, too.

--

"That's it… take it, brother-mine. Take it all." Mycroft's gaze shifted hungrily over Sherlock's body, absorbing every detail and storing it for later. "You love it, don't you – being filled with so much cock like this?"

Sherlock saw no point in trying to answer. It was obviously a rhetorical question. Besides, his mouth was full.

--

"Well, clearly you've had your fun, little brother. Gregory, what do you say we have a little fun of our own? Or, if you'd prefer, we can go back to sleep and punish him in the morning. It's your choice, of course. Either way, I can hardly allow you to leave our little establishment with the notion that our pillows ejaculate on your face. Or at least that they do so without properly apologising."

Greg snickered. Mycroft could make reading the phone book sound posh. And funny.

--

He handed Greg a plastic squeeze bottle filled with honey. "Would you like some honey for your bread? Or perhaps you can think of a better use for it," he added with a grin.

"You're damned right I can," Greg replied, downing the last gulp of his wine before he started squeezing lines of honey around the delicately placed objects on Sherlock's chest. "I think we need to start testing his resolve, don't you?"

"Cake first?"

"Bloody hell, Mycroft," Sherlock piped up. "What is it with you and cake?"

Mycroft shoved a bit of sandwich in his mouth. "None of that, you little brat," he said affectionately.

--

"I really am sorry, Mycroft. I wasn't trying to be rude." The very last thing he wanted to do was offend him. "I just never thought I'd have this particular conversation with a stunning man on a secluded beach while I licked honey off his brother's chest. You have to admit, those seem like long odds."

Mycroft cracked a smile. "Yes, I suppose it is a little unusual."

"This should be obvious," Sherlock remarked dryly, "but he's not laughing at you, Mycroft. Besides," he added sarcastically, "I'd like him to get on with what he was doing, if it's quite alright with you."

--

Greg was silently glad for their remote location and the apparent privacy it afforded. Three men - two dressed and one almost naked except for his boots - heading for a cave… it would probably be a bit hard to explain to the locals, and he didn't think his badge from the Yard would get him out of this one.

--Torquay Arms by (AO3)chasingriver, (Mycroft/Sherlock/Lestrade and variations, BDSM, AU)

Ships this post: Anthea/Mycroft, Greg/Mycroft, John/Sherlock, John/Greg.

“Damn it!” he moans, digging his teeth into one freckled forearm to keep the whole office from knowing that he’s your bitch right now.

--The Woman Behind the Man by (AO3)deklava, (Anthea/Mycroft)

===

Mrs. Hudson looked terrified but she also looked steady, and he remembered that this was the woman who, confronted with CIA-trained killers, had hidden the object of their search down the front of her blouse.

--

“You are a great deal of trouble,” he remarked.

“Thank you,” said Sherlock.

--An Empty House by (AO3)earlgreytea68, (Greg/Mycroft, John/Sherlock)

===

“You solve murders for a…hobby,” Lestrade said, deciding that was more accurate than for a living. “And you haven’t given any thought to how it would be done properly?”

“That’s boring.” Sherlock waved a hand about.

“Getting away with murder is boring?” said Colin.

“Yes. Who cares about getting away with a murder? I don’t care about the crime; I care about solving the crime. The crime could be anything. I don’t care, so long as it’s interesting, and interesting people seldom commit petty theft, let’s face it. But what’s the point of any of it if I’m the murderer? That would take all the fun out of it. The best part would never happen: There would never be a puzzle. I would always know it was me. So no, I have not considered how I’d get away with murder; the answer doesn’t interest me.” Sherlock took a sip of his beer, then said, self-consciously, to the staring Lestrade, “What?”

“Donovan was so wrong about you,” Lestrade realized.

“Donovan was an idiot. Colin’s much better.”

Colin choked on his beer.

Lestrade said to Sherlock, amused, “You’re possibly drunk.”

--

“Don’t be childish,” said Sherlock, on a sigh, as if he weren’t the most childish person Lestrade had ever met.

--Experiments with Tequila, by (AO3)earlgreytea68, (John/Sherlock, Greg/Mycroft)

===

Get your arse back home.

- John



Impatient. Did we not partake many times this morning?

- Sherlock



Sherlock.

- John



I get so hot when you start trying to be authoritative.

- Sherlock



NOW.

- John



Are you going to tie me up and have your wicked way with me?

- Sherlock



I’m going to tie you up and leave you there.

- John



Oooh, John, you know just what to say. Mmm, what are you wearing?

- Sherlock

--John is a Bloody Saint by (AO3)PC_Hopkins (orphan_account), (John/Sherlock, Greg/Mycroft)

===

He was unsure if being offered tea would increase his chances of coitus, but agreed, as a general rule of his was to never refuse tea when the invitation was extended. Except if it were poisoned. He did hope that it wasn’t poisoned; that would put a slight damper on their relationship.

--Faintly Amused (But Seriously Bewildered) by (AO3)PC_Hopkins (orphan_account), (Greg/Mycroft)

===

Mycroft was determined to employ just the right person as Sherlock’s “annoying, dull idiot,” which was Sherlock’s official term. He didn’t care how long it took him to find just the right “annoying, dull idiot”; he would come to some sort of arrangement with his tutor about whatever he was missing at Cambridge. Learning how to coexist with others was the point of school for him as well as Sherlock, and Mycroft was much farther advanced in that particular lesson than he thought Sherlock was ever going to be.

So Mycroft was willing to take his time, and he didn’t mind if Sherlock kept asking inappropriate questions during the interviews, mostly because Mycroft hadn’t yet come across a single person who he thought capable of handling Sherlock. Sherlock asked questions like: You have quite an extensive pornography collection. Which item would you say is your favorite? And: If I replace all the alcohol in the house with water, will I find you searching the medicine cabinet for mouthwash? And: I’m not willing to be kidnapped to be held for ransom to satisfy your gambling debts. Well, that last wasn’t a question, but Mycroft had already reached the same conclusion about the candidate in front of them, so when Sherlock said it Mycroft did nothing but make a poor attempt to suppress his smile. He had several of the candidates tell him that he only encouraged Sherlock’s unacceptable behavior, and Mycroft supposed that was true and thought he really ought to be stricter with Sherlock, but it was hard to be strict when Sherlock was almost always right. Never polite, but almost always right.

--

Sometimes Greg thought John was an absolute saint to be able to spend as much time with Sherlock as he did, and then there were times when Greg saw what he was sure John must see in Sherlock. Something about him rewarded patience, made you feel like all your hard work gave you a glimpse of a remarkable person in there that the rest of the world didn’t get to see. Greg had the same thought about Mycroft, felt that there were times when he thought he might be the only person who looked at Mycroft and was allowed to see what Mycroft allowed him to see, and that was heady and addictive. Someday, Greg thought, when John Watson was older, he was going to take him for a pint and commiserate over being in love with Holmes men.

--Saving Sherlock Holmes by (AO3)earlgreytea68, (Greg/Mycroft, John/Sherlock, schoolboy AU)

===

John smirked, as much as any man can smirked when he's being ridden hard by a gorgeous bloke swearing in Italian.

--Un Bel Giro by (AO3)ficsa, (John/Greg)

Ships: Mycroft/Sherlock (1), Lestrade-centric gen (all the rest)

===

'We can't ever let anyone know.'

'I know,' Sherlock huffed. He paused before saying, 'Anthea knows.'

'Well, she's a smart young woman,' Mycroft said. 'And she walked in on us in my office.'

Sherlock smiled at the memory. Mycroft had been stuck in meetings all day and had ignored Sherlock's texts. The younger Holmes had made his way to Mycroft's office- the real one, not the one John went to- and had promptly bent Mycroft over the desk and taken him roughly. Anthea had walked in, taken one look, and said, 'Sir, your three o'clock has rescheduled, you have half-an-hour.' Then she'd turned and walked out, locking the door behind her.

--Everything That I Want, I Want From You, by (AO3)IBegToDreamAndDiffer, (Sherlock/Mycroft)

===

25 . He's never had a one night stand. It's his go-to whenever the drinking games start up and someone suggests "I Never." He's not really sure why. He supposes it's because he likes it to mean something. Dimmock thinks this is beautiful. Donovan thinks this is ridiculous. Sherlock doesn't know what a one night stand is, and John has to explain it.

--

29 . He started going grey around the time he met Sherlock. More than enough said, really.

--

43 . He loves the rain. People complain about gray, rainy London, but he likes the rain. It's calming, it's beautiful, it helps him think. And in the rain, no one can tell if you're crying or not.

44 . Some nights he sleeps in his desk chair. Sometimes there's so much work he just doesn't bother leaving. It's not like he has anything to go home to. Sometimes it's not even a decision, he just passes out late one night and wakes up eight hours later.

45 . He thinks he's meant to be alone.

--45 Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

2 . He still watches stars from his rooftop. The roof outside his bedroom window is near flat, just like when he was a teenager, and just like when he was a teenager he crawls out the window some nights to lie on the roof and look up at the sky. It's wonderful, and peaceful, and it helps him think, but when he thinks too much he starts to cry. So he tries not to think, just stares up into the stars and pretends he's falling – no, flying, - flying through space and he focuses on that and tries not to wish he had someone lying next to him so that they could fly through those stars together.

--

6 . His favourite time of year is the summer. Summer is long warm nights and brilliant sun and barbeques and bare feet and picnics in the park. It's blue skies and freedom and swimming pools and parties after dark and no responsibilities. At least that's what it looks like outside his office window.

--

35 . He's not okay. He acts it so convincingly that sometimes he forgets he's acting. But it's still there, at the back of his mind, the bottom of his heart, the Not Okay. No one else knows. They swallow the performance hook line and sinker, which is what he wants, really. Even though sometimes he wishes he acted Okay a little less well. Even if sometimes he wishes just one person would see the Not Okay in his eyes, would see the actor behind the mask. He wants someone to see, and to try to help. Even if it's just a hug. He wants -

But no one sees. No one realizes. He's very much Not Okay but he spends his life devoted to acting Okay and the world sees and swallows and falls for it. Sometimes he wishes he was less good of an actor.

He supposes he's had a lot of practice.

--35 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

17 . He loves his team. Dimmock is arrogant, Anderson is stupid, Donovan is rude and Gregson is an outright pain in the ass. They piss him off sometimes, all of them. But he knows every name, every junior officer, every constable, every single man and woman at New Scotland Yard. They're a family. They quarrel and argue and act like children, they make and lose bets and they steal each other's things. They make fun of his weight and his hair. But they love each other like family, and he's hit with a burning sense of pride when he sees them all standing round a crime scene. His team. He's woken up in the hospital to them clustered round his bedside, having broken every of the hospital's rules to be there. He's been in the middle of a couple of team group hugs, and they're absolutely the best feeling he's ever had. They're a constant in his life, and he loves every last one of them. Even Anderson.

Kind of.

Sometimes.

--

21 . Sherlock Holmes is a great man and one day he is going to be a good one. Lestrade knows it.

--46 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

2 . He loves kids. Children are brilliant. He wants his own so badly he can feel it, a constant weight inside his chest. But for now he contends himself with watching, watching other people's children fly down the street on their bikes, play football in the park, walk home from school laughing and talking. There's kids everywhere in the city, and he smiles at them, at how happy they are. But he doesn't watch them for too long because people don't take kindly to weird middle-aged guys staring at their kids, even if you are a police officer.

--

8 . He can whistle. His grandad taught him when he was six, and he's never lost the touch. He can whistle songs – he gets every note of the scale on the right pitch – but it's rare he'll whistle when he can sing. So when he does whistle it's usually the two fingers in the mouth cab-hailing traffic-stopping attention-getting shriek. Usually reserved for trying to get his team's attention. He spent a whole summer practising to get that one right, and it wasn't in vain. He ends up using it a lot.

--

14 . He still gets that thrill when he gets to turn on the sirens in the car.

--

23 . He's brilliant at checkers, but miserable at chess. No one ever taught him to play chess, and so Sherlock tries, but Sherlock has the patience of a four-year-old and yells at him for being stupid when Lestrade can't get it right. He always forgets what all the little pieces do, and it takes too much time. Games take hours to complete, and half the game is sitting and waiting and strategizing, and it bores him. So he gives up, and he ends up teaching Sherlock to play checkers instead, and they play that. Sherlock beats him ten games in a row, gets bored, and leaves. But it was nice to have someone to play with while it lasted.

--

32 . He goes to see Avengers with Dimmock. Four times. In the same day. They scream like excited twelve-year olds and clutch each other and laugh hysterically and argue over whether to buy separate popcorns and if the money saved is worth the risk of people thinking they're a gay couple. They're more excited than the throngs of ten year old boys filling the theatre, and they scream and cheer and laugh and cry and quote lines from the film all the way home and for days and days afterward. Lestrade wants shawarma after. He's not entirely sure what shawarma is, but he knows he wants one, except that Dimmock says no because he doesn't want people to think they're on a date. Lestrade says they are on a date, it's a man-date, and he laughs for two minutes straight because he's drunk on adrenaline and popcorn and four back-to-back showing of Avengers. Dimmock punches him in the gut and calls him an idiot.

Lestrade laughs harder.

33 . The next day they have shawarma together.

--34 More Things You Dont Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

Ships this post: Greg-centric gen (all)

2 . Sherlock calls him "father" once. It is a mistake, an errant slip of the tongue – Sherlock is talking too quickly and without thought, and when Lestrade interrupts him mid-stream the word comes out unconsciously. The second he realizes, Sherlock goes very quiet. He flushes, which means for Sherlock that his porcelain skin gains a more healthy shade of pink, and quickly excuses himself from the room while Lestrade locks himself in the toilets and cries in a very masculine way. Sherlock has always been his son, but to know that the feeling is reciprocated makes him immeasurably happy.

--

32 . He will do anything for Sherlock. Anything at all, without question, without thought for consequence to himself. He thinks perhaps this is what it is like to be a father.

--34 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

6 . The first time Mycroft attempts to kidnap him he refuses to get into the car. It is the night after he first met Sherlock. He proceeds to beat up the driver and the two men in suits who try to force him into the vehicle until a third cracks him over the head with something very hard. He wakes up tied to a chair. He will attempt to explain to Mycroft many times over the next few years that a text message saying "Hi, I'm Sherlock's brother, can we talk?" would have been much more effective, but Mycroft simply refuses to listen.

--

35 . Sometimes he will feel suddenly very sad, and he does not know why.

36 . When he was a child, he always wanted red hair. Red hair is a magical thing. Rare. When sunlight hits brown hair it looks red. When sunlight hits red hair it looks like a world on fire. He lived his childhood in constant envy of those select few.

--

40 . He is good with words. He always knows what to say, to crying widows at crime scenes, to angry superiors on the phone, to arrogant consulting detectives. It is a skill that he hardly notices, but is greatly admired by his co-workers. They do not admit this of course, but continue instead to tease him about his inability to use the coffeemaker.

--51 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

3 . Joseph Michael Keates. Jimmy Keates to his friends, of course, and Lestrade was his closest. Inseparable from the age of eight. Lestrade had had dozens of friends in his youth, many different circles of them, but Jimmy was on the innermost circle and he will remember him always the best. Jimmy was solid. Steady. Kind and clever and a bit on the shorter side. He sees him in John Watson sometimes. Jimmy would help him with his math when no one else could, calm him down when he was angry, stand by him when he was sad. They lose touch after graduation, having promised they would see each other again. One day he will enlist Sherlock's help in finding Joseph Michael Keates only to find that he was killed in action a few years earlier. Iraq. Not Afganhistan. He does not think it possible sometimes for the world to weigh any heavier upon him, but time and time again the world proves him wrong.

--

9 . When he dies, Sherlock can have everything. God knows what he's going to do with all those DVDs and comic books, but they're there if he wants them.

10 . Someone calls Sherlock a freak the very first time Greg brings him to a crime scene. Greg screams at them for nearly ten minutes before having realized that he has opened his mouth at all, that it is his own voice echoing around the place. Sherlock is much more than that. He swears and threatens and the officer who had insulted Sherlock bows his head and leaves. The hurt in Sherlock's eyes changes from hurt to surprise to awe. It makes Greg wonder if anyone's ever stuck up for the poor kid before.

--

15 . He still refuses to get in the car. If Mycroft wants him so badly, Mycroft is expected to leave him a polite text from his own proper phone asking for him. And not at ridiculous hours of the night and day, either.

16 . He's always friendly to the rookies. Hey, he was one of them once.

--

41 . Sometimes when he goes running in the mornings, he will go by Bart's to see John. Greg runs a lot. He runs hard. He is prone, sometimes, to sudden and terrible bouts of sadness and rather than deal with this he gets to his feet and runs away from it. He will run and run until the pain in his muscles and his lungs is greater than the pain of his heart and he will feel better. This is good pain. It distracts from the rest. John will see him from his office window and sometimes come down and toss him a water bottle and they will sit on the curb for a bit and talk. John is a good man, a good friend. Other times, still, he will run to 221B and collapse on the steps, watching the traffic. Sometimes Sherlock comes out to scoff at him. Other times, not. But it never ceases to make him feel just the slightest bit better.

--

45 . Sometimes he looks at Sherlock and has an insatiable urge to scoop Sherlock up in his arms like a child and carry him away from all the pain in the world, the cocaine and the dark and the hurt and take him somewhere safe. But no such place exists, and the world is a cruel place full of cocaine and dark and hurt and Lestrade can only stand in front of Sherlock and pray that the world will take him first.

--45 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

Ships this post: Greg-centric gen (all)

12 . He calls Mycroft every Christmas. He knows the man spends it alone and he knows how lonely that must be. Every year Mycroft fusses at him for tying up his phone line and I did not give you this number for social calls, Gregory and Yes, Gregory, I can see that it is snowing and Gregory I am expecting a very important call from the ambassador of Canada if this is not about my brother I will hang up. Christmas phone calls between them last an average of forty-five seconds. But he will still call every year.

13 . He beats Sherlock at Cluedo every time. It infuriates the detective to no end, but it makes Lestrade feel proud.

--

32 . He does not like to talk to strangers. He is not the one to make idle chitchat in the line at Tesco, waiting at a bus stop, on the tube. He is often lost in his own thoughts anyways. If people speak to him, he will reply, and he will chat easily, pleasantly, but he will never turn to anyone just simply to talk to them. He is not entirely comfortable doing so, and he does not. It is no great loss to him. He likes to talk to people, and he will be funny and amiable and pleasant, and he will enjoy it, but he never seeks out people to talk with.

--

34 . Originally, it was supposed to be the other way round. Sherlock was supposed to need him. But no, he needs Sherlock so much, for everything, and he does not mind at all. Greg loves to need Sherlock. Greg loves to wake up and have a reason to get dressed and go to work and smile and laugh and live, and this reason is Sherlock Holmes and one day he will tell him how grateful he is once he is, once he has worked out the right way to say it.

35 . He will never ever ever get tired of the way Sherlock's eyes light up when he hands him a new case.

--

38 . He loves reading John's blog. He checks it religiously, hoping for updates. Sherlock is not the type to chat about a case once he has finished, unless it is to boast about how extremely clever he was in solving it, and he leaves out little details. If the case does not come from Lestrade, he does not hear about it. He likes to read John's writing and he smiles at the stories that are so invariably Sherlock. And yet sometimes, still, he feels something akin to hearing the details of a party he had not been invited to, something like sadness, like jealousy. But he ignores that, and it goes away.

--

49 . He hopes – and if all goes well, he should, but still he prays – that he will die before Sherlock. He cannot imagine a world in which Sherlock is not there. He imagines such a world must be dull and without colour and vibrancy and that he would very much not like to live there.

--45 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

17 . He can crack eggs using only one hand. Despite his less-than-perfect culinary skills, he's able to pull off this impressive trick with a snap of his wrist. Sherlock taught him this once, and Greg does not know why the detective had known this in the first place or why he had thought it important enough to store on his hard-drive. It took him hours to perfect the trick, but he had done it, and he always feels proud whenever he can deliver that little snap and crack the egg perfectly with one hand, even though whatever he is making turns out a mess later.

--31 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

17 . The comic book villan he hates the most is Howard Stark. Not a villan? It doesn't matter. You can lie and cheat and plot and steal and blow things up, but neglectful father always wins in Lestrade's books. Or loses. Whatever.

--

24 . He loves giving Christmas gifts. He buys everyone in his division presents. Even Gregson – they have their differences, sure, and he always uses a lot of tape on Gregson's gifts, just to frustrate him, but it's Christmas. And that's a time to put aside your differences. He loves shopping in the crowds, wrapping presents in his sitting room, the thrill of finding the perfect gift and the look on the face of whoever opens it. He buys gifts for everyone he can just for that thrill.

25 . A promotion would be brilliant, sure, but truthfully he loves where he is.

--

27 . If he could change one thing about the world, just in a small way, it would be to exempt children from suffering.

--

52 . He is sad. Very sad. He has been very sad for a very long time and his heart hurts from it and he cries sometimes, often, and no medication takes it away. He is empty and he is lonely and he is sad, though he hides it very well.

53 . He is happy. He is, really. There is a wonderful world that he lives in, and it is a world with friends and with music and with work and with Sherlock. All of these things make him very happy. He loves his life, even when it hurts. And he will always, always, always love Sherlock.

Even when it hurts.

--53 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

Okay, so there were a few more of the "Greg facts" quotes, but these are the last I have in my quote collection.

Ships this post: Greg-centric gen (3), John/Mary (1), unrequited Sherlock/John (1), John/Sherlock (1), John/Greg (2), Mycroft/Greg (2)

20 . He has a lot of thoughts and ideas and things that might make a good book. At least some poems. Except when he tries to put thoughts and ideas and things down on paper it all gets messed up somewhere in the transition from his head to his pencil and everything ends up stupid. He used to write books and poems and stuff when he was a kid but he never finished them because he got so bloody frustrated with that transition thing. Nothing sounded the way it did in his head. Maybe he's a thinker, not a writer, but his thoughts don't make all that much sense either. That's probably why he's a detective. You don't have to think deep things and you don't have t write them down.

--

27 . He is secretly terrified of being buried alive. The very idea makes his throat close and his heart pick up speed. "When I'm dead." he says to Sherlock one day. "Cut off my head or something. Just to make sure I'm really dead." Then a thought occurs to him. "You can't keep it, though. My head. I don't want to be in your fridge when I'm dead."

--

38 . He thinks he might want to be cremated when he dies. He's signed up to donate every organ he has, but there's still the rest of him to deal with. It's easier that way. It takes up less space and less money, and being a dead body under ground with a tombstone and everything is really depressing. Granted, the thought of dead people burning in a fire freaks him out a bit. Also, he always wonders about what if someone doesn't clean out the crematorium properly and bits of other people's ashes get mixed in with his. Not that that would bother him much because he would be dead, but it is a bit of a weird thought. He wonders who would even want his ashes. Who a can of dead him is going to be forced upon. He thinks it would be nice to have his ashes scattered somewhere, except he's heard that that can be dangerous to wildlife and things. He might even leave his body to science, only because Sherlock would be rather cross with him if he didn't. He always imagines Sherlock pulling him apart after he's dead. Thinking about all that is kind of sad, so he tries not to. He wishes your body would just disappear when you died. Evaporate into the air. Everything would be easier.

--52 More Things You Don't Know About Greg Lestrade, by (dA)~SaskatchewanStardust

===

He stands up so abruptly that he knocks his stool over, and it’s only the shock of the clatter and the way that Molly jumps back that keeps Sherlock from hurling a petri dish across the room. “For the love of God you insufferable woman, the last thing in the world that I need is your pity!”

His voice cracks on the second-to-last syllable, and when he sags back, he wishes he hadn’t knocked his stool over. Molly supports him with a hand on his back, and suddenly Sherlock cannot stay there any longer.

“Don’t say that everything is going to be alright.”

“I wasn’t going to.” She reaches down and picks up Sherlock’s stool for him; she puts two firm hands on his shoulders and coaxes him back into it. “I know how you feel, you know.”

Sherlock musters up a hollow laugh. “I bet you think I deserve it.”

Molly steps away, and does not touch him. Sherlock is grateful for it, though he is not quite sure if he wants her to leave. “Nobody deserves it, Sherlock.”

--

When he was young, he would hide in the hall closet and wait for someone to come and find him, between the coats. He liked this hiding place because if he listened, he could hear the conversation, count the hours down until the exact moment they noticed he was missing, listen to the panicked phone calls, if they were made.

Of course, they never were. He was never noticed. In the evenings, when it was time for him to go to bed, just when he started hoping again that someone would realise he was gone, Mycroft would open the doors and scoop him into his arms. Sherlock would bury his face in Mycroft’s neck and cling to him, even after Mycroft had lowered him into bed.

He hates feeling like a child again. He hates that no one’s coming.

--Master and Hound, by (AO3)joolabee,

===

Sherlock's mouth opened a little more. Then even more than that. At this rate I was going to be able to fit inside that yap no problem. But words? Still nada. Nothing. Zip. Sherlock Holmes, struck mute. Quick, buy me a lottery ticket, hell has frozen over, and I think I just saw a unicorn prance past the window.

--Skullduggery, by (AO3)AtlinMerrick, (John/Sherlock)

===

Donovan knocked on his open door and came in. "Freak's new boyfriend in the clear then?"

Lestrade sighed. "Sherlock's not a freak and Dr Watson isn't his boyfriend."

"Could have fooled me - on both counts."

"Which is why Sherlock has to keep pointing things out to you, Sally," Lestrade snapped, instantly regretting it. "Sorry... Look, just... please, don't call him that. Apart from anything else, it's unprofessional."

"Doesn't mean it's not accurate," Donovan muttered.

"We're all freaks, Sally. Some of us just hide it better than others..."

--

"Then what? He used to be a woman? He's got a mad relative hidden in the attic? He's actually a trained assassin for Mycroft on the weekends?"

"Don't be absurd. Mycroft has full-time assassins. [...]"

--Lone Wolf, by (AO3)WastingYourGum, (Greg/John/Sherlock)

===

"I think I could make you come without even touching your cock..."

A third spank and this time the hand moves to the end of the butt plug and gives it a gentle thrust and ever-so-subtle twist.

"Just by punishing this delectable arse."

The sensation is amazing. The thought is mind-blowing. The ridiculously posh accent with which the voice says "cock" and "delectable arse" is the icing on the cake.

Lestrade would obey any command issued by a voice like that. He can't help himself. God knows why - outside this room he won't take crap from anyone no matter how much money they have or where they went to school - but here, when he's like this, he's mentally bowing, scraping and tugging his forelock because that voice is in charge. That voice has the right to be in charge because it is perfect and Lestrade is a snot-nosed brat from the West Country who probably wouldn't even have been allowed to polish that voice's boots a hundred years ago.

It probably means he's deeply fucked in the head or something - but who cares? Right now he just wants deeply fucked in the arse - or the mouth, wherever...

Anything... Just use me... please!

--Be Prepared, by (LJ)wastingyourgum, (Mycroft/Greg)

===

Lestrade chuckled and some of the tension in the air dissipated. "Five grand's a lot of money."

"Police welfare is a cause I am remarkably passionate about - and in my opinion I got a bargain."

"Put Gregson's nose out of joint anyway. Mind you, they'll all be busily discussing exactly what you're doing with your five thousand pound policeman."

"What does one usually do with things one buys at auction?"

Lestrade had only ever bought an extremely beat up old Ford Cortina that way. He thought the answer was probably not "Run it into the ground until it falls to pieces around you" - or at least he hoped not.

"I could take you home and hang you up on the wall," Mycroft suggested.

"That doesn't sound at all kinky," Lestrade muttered.

"Better than being packed in a box in my attic. Beautiful things should be admired."

--Because You're Worth It, by (AO3)WastingYourGum, (Mycroft/Greg)

Ships this post: John/OCs (1), Sherlock/OCs (1), John/Sherlock (1), Greg/Mycroft (1), John/Greg (1)

Respice post te. Hominem te esse memento. Memento mori,” he whispers.

“What the bloody fuck?”

“It’s Latin. Look behind you. Remember that you are but a man. Remember that you will die. When a Roman general won a major victory over the barbarian hordes, they gave him a big party and a parade. He was essentially elected a god for the day. During the parade a servant would whisper those sentences in his ear, I suppose to make sure he didn’t get too far above himself. The senators hated it when one of their own got too powerful. It’s why they offed Julius Caesar. Conspiracies again: I suppose all empires have them.”

Toby takes another hit, then stubs out the joint. “People used to think about death all the time. That poster is a memento mori: See the flower and the hourglass on either side of the skull? They’re remembrances that things don’t last. Time fades every flower. ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’ is not just a pretty verse. Pick some posies, fuck your lover, because you’ll both be wormfood soon enough. Sooner than that, if the Powers That Be have their way.”

--

“Fuck you, I’m not leaving,” Victor shoots back at Vi. “Ford asked me to be nice to Sherlock.”

“Ford asked me to be nice to him. I’ve got a lot more riding on this than you.”

“Oh, you think so? You’re not the only one who wants an Oscar someday.”

“You are such a selfish prick—”

You can both be bloody nice to me,” Sherlock says. “If you promise to quit talking about my brother. Because honestly, if you keep bringing him up there’s not going to be enough cocaine in the world to keep me from losing my erection. Especially since it’s so obvious that you two are in love with each other, despite this rather tiresome Beatrice and Benedict impersonation you are indulging in. That’s a Shakespeare reference, in case you’re curious, I know Americans get a bit lost when you go beyond Romeo and Juliet. In any event, before my brain chews itself to pieces with sensory overload, and before I grind my teeth down to bloody nubs from this quite stunning cocaine, provided by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, can we please shag already?”

There is a beat of silence.

“Shit,” Violet says. “He talks.”

--

“He gets angry all the time watching telly. Yells at the chat shows and news reports. Has a fine time. He looked—” John stops. “Blank. But not his I’m-crawling-into-my-mental-treehouse-for-a-bit-and-pulling-up-the-rope-ladder-behind-me sort of blank. A sick blank. Don’t know if that makes sense.”

--

Though Irene is about the last person John wants to spend a quiet evening with, he really has been trying to get along. Good of the case and all that. But who the fuck does she think she is, calling Sherlock a freak? She laces herself in a corset and spanks naughty MPs for a living.

--

Okay, it’s later. Everything all right? —N

No. He’s advising the fucking barrister on fucking criminal procedure. –J

::face palm:: –N

It gets better. He just characterized Moriarty as, and I quote, ‘not a man at all. He’s a spider at the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads’ Fuck me. –J

So much for simple. –N

CHRIST SHERLOCK DON’T START DEDUCING THE SODDING JURY —J

Go down there and smack him. Quick. Just like curbing a cocker spaniel. –N

Too fucking late. Judge banged him up for contempt. Have to go. Have to call Harry. –J

Right, of course. Drinks later on? I think you could use one. Or many. –N

All the scotch in fucking Scotland. —J


--

“I’m not falling for it. Not again.”

The cat fixes earnest eyes on him. He manages to give the impression that he has no idea what Sherlock is referring to. He crooks his big white paws like the most innocent of woolly lambs.

“Fine. If nothing else will please you.” Sherlock buries his hand in silky fluff. He gets in two good rubs before Faust convulses like a cobra. Claws dig into Sherlock’s arm while his palm is poked by razor-sharp teeth. Faust does not press down, but he has his prey securely trapped.

“Yes, you’ve caught me. Very clever.”

Green eyes blaze at Sherlock triumphantly.

“My hand is dead. You, Faust the Inexorable, the Irresistible, have killed it. What a magnificent predator you are. Now let go, please.” Sherlock carefully pulls back as Faust gums his knuckles with mock-ferocity.

--

"That evidence isn't going to tamper with itself."

--

Then she picked up his gun: “Browning nine millimeter semiautomatic. Hmm.” She flicked the safety and tucked it into the back of her tight jeans. “You get this back when you are not drunk. This is how my cousin Sava lose his tentacles.”

“Testicles,” Sherlock put in.

“Yes. Those. His wife leave him. Very sad,” she said, as she began cleaning the puke off of John with business-like efficiency. Clearly, this is a woman with her priorities firmly in hand.

--Miracle Year by (AO3)Chase820, (Sherlock/John)

===

‘You know,’ Greg grunted, hips moving quickly, ‘teasing sucks when you’re on the other side of it.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Myc?’

‘Yes, Gregory?’

‘You can have your present now.’

‘Hmm,’ Mycroft said, eyes dropping to look at the ribbon around Greg’s cock. ‘I’m not sure I want it.’

‘You realise I’m going to stick it in your arse, right?’

That broke Mycroft completely.

--Wrapping on Presents, by (AO3)IBegToDreamAndDiffer, (Greg/Mycroft)

===

John pulled himself up and managed to fix his clothes back in place. Greg followed and they smiled at each other.

‘What, exactly, was that?’ Greg asked.

‘Sex,’ John shrugged. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you say stop.’

Greg chuckled. ‘No, I didn’t. But normally we’re drunk.’

John shrugged again. ‘Greg, I’m not in a relationship and neither are you. If one of us finds someone, good, we can stop then. But really, we’re adults, where’s the harm? Not like we’re hurting anyone, you know? Sometimes I need some stress relief and I know you do.’

Greg couldn’t help a smile breaking across his face. ‘Is that what I am? Stress relief?’

‘Mm,’ the doctor nodded, ‘I think of you as one of those squishy balls people squeeze when they need to calm down.’

Greg chuckled and pulled his jacket back on. ‘Right, well carry on.’

--Alcohol Fuels Everything, by (AO3)IBegToDreamAndDiffer, (Greg/John, Sherlock/John, Mycroft/Greg)