simonejester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
simonejester) wrote2013-03-17 11:28 pm
simonejester) wrote2013-03-17 11:28 pm
Sherlock Fic Quotes #10 (Many NSFW)
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)
“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)