simonejester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
simonejester) wrote2013-03-15 04:50 pm
simonejester) wrote2013-03-15 04:50 pm
Sherlock Fic Quotes #9 (One NSFW)
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: 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)