221bottlesofbeeronthewall

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like sherstrade, and johnlock.

You: You've slept with him, haven't you? GL

Stranger: With whom? Regardless, the answer is 'no'. SH

You: With John. GL

Stranger: Good lord. No. SH

You: Were you thinking last night? GL

Stranger: For god's sake. I'm with you, am I not? SHJ

You: Last night when we were fucking were you thinking about him? GL

Stranger: No! SH

You: Then why did you bloody say his name! GL

Stranger: {delayed} You're hearing things. SH

You: I am fucking not. GL

Stranger: Why the hell would I want him? SH

You: Why the hell would you want me? GL

Stranger: Please tell me you're not being serious. SH

You: You shouted his name. GL

Stranger: Look. I've just been a little preoccupied lately. SH

You: Yeah, well, now you've got one less thing to worry about. GL

Stranger: What's that supposed to mean? SH

You: It means that you're single now. Congratulations. GL

Stranger: Greg, don't be ridiculous. SH

You: You can forget my name again now. GL

Stranger: I don't WANT to forget your name. SH

Stranger: No, don't do this. Please. SH

You: You don't get it do you? GL

Stranger: Please. SH

You: Sherlock, I can't do this. I can't be the man who fucks you and gets nothing. I can't be nothing to you. GL

Stranger: You're not nothing to me. Don't do this. Please, Greg. SH

You: Goodbye, Sherlock. GL

Stranger: Marry me. SH

You: [Delayed] Sherlock, you can't just do that. GL

Stranger: It'll prove you don't mean nothing to me, won't it? SH

You: No, it'll prove your desperate not to be alone. GL

Just go cuddle up to John. He's been desperate since his last break up, I'm sure he'll /love/ the way you suck cock. GL

You: ((Brb for a min))

Stranger: Are you trying to imply I'm some sort of slut? SH

Stranger: ((ok :3))

You: ((Back))

I'm trying to imply that you don't need me. GL

Stranger: Bullshit. SH

You: I'm saying you can just as easily find someone else to fuck you to sleep. Now leave me the fuck alone! GL

Stranger: {No Reply}

You: [Hours later] God, I fucking loved youu. GL

Stranger: Evidently not if yuo fnid yousdelf capable oif catsing me asid.e so easily. SH

You: You think that was easy!? You have no idaea GL

Stranger: Didn't taake a sneceon d thoght. SH

You: I can't keep doing thias! You kleep breakingg my fucking heart. GL

Stranger: Yuo left mE! SH

You: I had to! GL

You: What's wrong with you? WHy are you typing like that? GL

Stranger: {No Reply}

You: Sherlock, where are you? GL

Stranger: {No Reply}

You: Sherlock, answer me or you'll never get another fucking case again. GL

Stranger: {delayed} Hmome. SH

You: You're high. GL

Stranger: No. SH

You: Drunk then. GL

Stranger: {delayed} Yess. SH

You: Two drunk detectives. One broken heart-ed and the other just broken. GL

Stranger: Yuo're a trerible defective. SH

You: Yeah, well you're a terrible boyfriend. GL

Stranger: {delayed} I konw. SH

You: Wecan't keep doing this. GL

Stranger: {No Reply}

You: You know we can't. GL

Stranger: I htae yuo. SH

You: No, you're annoyed that I took away your fuck toy. GL

Stranger: Leaav me alone. SH

You: Just be honest! GL

Stranger: Wyh. Noone blieves me wehnm I am. SH

You: You haven't been honest with me. GL

Stranger: Pooint poven. SH

You: You asked me to marry you. GL

Stranger: How supid of me. SH

You: How cruel of you! GL

Stranger: Ah. Yesss. Socopath. Forgott. SH

You: What do you want? GL

Stranger: Nothing. SH

You: Why are you doing this to me? GL

Stranger: {No Reply}

You: Why couldn't I have just been smart enough not to fall in love with you? GL

Stranger: Whyy are yuo punishing me? SH

You: I haven't done anything to you! GL

You: I gave you bloody everything! GL

Stranger: {delayed} Cmome home. SH

You: Sherlock...GL

Stranger: Please. SH

You: Shouldn't. GL

Stranger: Please. SH

You: [Delayed] I'm on my way. GL

Stranger: Thank yuo. SH

You: Open your door.. GL

Stranger: Reading the last message, Sherlock blinked a couple of times, before dragging himself from the armchair, as if every bone in his body ached. Unsteadily, he made his way downstairs, pulling open the front door, before he slumped against the wall, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

You: Greg's eyes were red and his body was rigid. He didn't know what he was doing here, in fact he definitely should not be here, here is the last place he should be. Drunk and emotionally exhausted and with the man who he was madly in love with who could never love him back. It was ridiculous really, "You're going to need some water," he said as steadily as he could manage.

Stranger: Pushing a hand through his hair, Sherlock shook his head, refusing to meet Greg's gaze. Greg's words had hurt; even more that Greg had terminated their relationship over text and over a misunderstanding. "Don't want water," he muttered under his breath, before finally pushing himself away from the wall. "And I'm not broken."Turning, he headed back to the stairs,making his way back to the living room where he took his seat, curling up on his side.

You: He groaned and shut the door behind himself, knowing he would regret saying that Sherlock was broken when he was sober. He went to the kitchen and got out a glass, filling it with water and drinking one whole glass himself before refilling it and bringing it to him, leaving it right in front of him, "Drink it and then you're going to bed."

Stranger: As he listened to Greg pottering around the flat, Sherlock closed his eyes, folding his arms tightly. After hearing Greg's voice once more, he looked up, his attention on the glass of water in front of him. "Stop trying to tell me what to do," he whispered quietly. "You /left/ me because you're stupid enough to think I want someone else. You don't get to tell me what to do."

You: "You asked me here," he said, his voice sharper than it had been, "And I came. So drink this water and do as I ask," he snapped, holding out the glass impatiently and waiting for him to take it. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to listen to listen to him manipulate him back into his arms.

Stranger: At the tone of Greg's voice, Sherlock looked up, almost meek, before sitting up and taking the water with a mumbled thanks. He drank the water in silence, his attention fixed on the floor once he emptied the glass, turning the the glass in his hands as if it may hold some solution to this problem.

You: He knew that Sherlock would probably need a bit more water than that but maybe he didn't mind the idea of Sherlock being a bit hungover and in pain. He sighed and stepped forward, "C'mon then," he said, sounding more tired than anything else.

Stranger: "Why don't you believe me?" Sherlock wasn't entirely sure where the question had come from, but as Greg had stepped closer, he'd leant away, as if he needed this answer before even agreeing to anything else. "Do you truly think me that cruel?"

You: "I don't know what you expect me to believe," he said, shaking his head, "Sherlock, please, just come on." He didn't feel like he could handle this. He didn't know if he was capable of anything but getting him to sleep right now. He still wasn't sure if he could climb into that bed.

Stranger: "Me, for a start," Sherlock whispered, his voice sounding choked whilst he refused to meet Greg's line of vision. But still, he stood, almost hesitantly, walking past Greg and heading towards the bedroom.

You: "You haven't asked me to believe anything, you just asked me to marry you and said please," he said under his breath. He felt like a right fool. He followed the man up the hall and felt his breath hitch when he reached their bedroom.

Stranger: With that, Sherlock spun around, all his (albeit drunken) attention fixed on Greg. "You asked whether I'd fucked John. I told you no. You didn't believe me. I asked you to marry me, and you seemed to think I was doing it out of some desire to be that dickhead that you believe me to be. You wonder why I refuse to tell you that I love you? Because you prove, every time you doubt my intentions towards you, that despite your words, you truly don't love me."

You: "You shouted his fucking name!" he screamed, shoving the drunken man back against the wall and hearing some frame smash to the ground and shatter, "You screamed his name, you shouted it and you expect me not to care? You weren't thinking about me! You haven't thought about me for a while!"

Stranger: "Because you triggered a bloody flashback!" Sherlock's voice echoed through the hallway, before a choked sob followed, leaning back against the wall, trying to ignore the dull ache from where his back had hit the wall. Bowing his head, he looked down at the shattered glass, before shaking his head. "But then I didn't expect you to understand that."

You: "To understand /what/?" he asked, his voice softening. He felt the anger escaping and he wanted to hold on to it but he couldn't, he never could.

Stranger: Sherlock closed his eyes, shaking his head. He wanted to explain, but the words felt like they were stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he finally looked back up at Greg, a faux-defiance on his features. "Why don't you just hit me. Will probably make you feel better."

You: He gave Sherlock a look of complete disgust and pushed away, "Fuck you, I'm not going to hit you," he hissed, going to the bedroom and going to the drawers that belonged to him. He began pulling his things out and gathering them up. He couldn't do this. He needed to get away from him.

Stranger: n3v3rwh3r3

Stranger: (*sorry, ignore that completely...)

You: ((Lol no problem!))

Stranger: It felt as if Greg's judgement was harsher than any punch. Watching Greg head for the bedroom, Sherlock tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, clenching his hands into fists that left crescent shaped dents in his palm. He followed, watching from the doorway for a moment, long enough to decide he couldn't bear this scene any longer. Turning, he headed back to the kitchen, pouring himself another whiskey. "You always did expect the worst from me," he called, not moving from the counter as he fixed the lid back into place. "Always."

You: "I /worshiped/ you!" he shouted, dropping the pile of his clothes as he headed back to him, "I loved you and I begged for you to come to me, to notice me and then you did and I was so thrilled I didn't care that you didn't love me back." He shook his head, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and opening it again as he shouted, "You knew what you were doing to me and you wanted something from me so you didn't care!"

Stranger: "I didn't want you to worship me!" Sherlock slammed his glass down on the counter, his grip tight enough to shatter the glass with the impact. Cursing, he looked down at his hand, pulling out a shard of glass. "I wanted you to see that I was broken, that since I've come back, I've been a damned mess. Not to be put up on some bloody pedestal.I needed to know that you'd love me, broken or not. But you couldn't."

You: "I'm here aren't I?" he hissed, putting the bottle down and coming forward to take his hand, "Fuck, Sherlock," he said, removing small pieces of glass from his hand, "Don't move," he said, hating this, not sure what they were doing here.

Stranger: "You're here because you're leaving me," Sherlock pointed out, his voice low and remorseful. "You're here because you got a taste of how broken I am, misinterpreted it, and even when given the truth, couldn't take it. You're here because your perfect illusion's been shattered, and you need the exit."

You: "You haven't told me the truth!" he shouted, his voice breaking as he looked up at him, "You haven't told me /anything/, you never tell me anything, you just call me an idiot or kiss me or offer to suck me off. You never talk to me. You stopped talking to me."

Stranger: Sherlock winced, looking away as Greg spoke, and shook his head. "You never gave me the chance to," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I disappear, and you assume I've relapsed. I call out his name, and you miss the sheer panic in my voice. How could you have mistaken that for me wanting him?" He swallowed, drumming his fingers on his uninjured hand against his dressing gown. "Post-traumatic stress disorder. That's what my psychiatrist calls it."

You: He looked at him with complete confusion, his whole body stopped as his mind raced to process what he was being told, "You don't have a... What are you talking about?"

Stranger: Sherlock chewed on his lip, still looking away. "Just because you've never met her. You really think I escaped... That... You think I came back unscathed? Good lord, you've seen the scars..."

You: "I asked you about them, you said it was nothing, that it was all part of the work," he said, still craddling his bleeding hand in his own, "Sherlock... you've been shoving me back since you got home. Don't tell me I didn't give you the chance, you wouldn't let me have one."

Stranger: "You asked once, Greg. And I wasn't ready to discuss it. Once." He looked up at Greg at last, his own eyes slightly watery from the threat of tears. "And then last night. You pinned me during sex. You... I meant to safeword, but you... it... I had a flashback. And I panicked. Thought John was in danger..."

You: Greg swallowed, looking up at him and feeling his throat closing up, the lump that had seemed to have been there all night not moving one bit. "Sherlock..." he pulled him close and hugged him tight, "I'm sorry."

Stranger: As Greg pulled him close, Sherlock felt his throat constrict, the threat of tears worsening. A moment passed, before he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Greg, burying his face in his shoulders.

You: "I love you, I love you broken and bastard," he said, kissing his jaw softly, his face burying in his neck. "I'm sorry I didn't understand, but you can't keep pushing me away, promise me you won't."

Stranger: Sherlock shook his head against Greg's shoulder, swallowing deeply. "I... I'm trying to get better," he whispered, tears soaking through Greg's shirt. "I'm trying, I promise. But I... It's not that easy."

Stranger: (I'm going to have to go to bed. If you like, we can carry this on over email? )

You: ((Sure I'm **, just email me the log and your reply))

Greg pulled back just enough, "Sherlock, I can help you... you just have to let me." He pulled back just a bit, "C'mon, let's patch up your hand and get to bed. We need some sleep. Tomorrow... you can tell me everything. Or whatever you're ready to tell me."

Stranger: ((OK, will do so. :) Thanks. This has been great so far))

Stranger has disconnected.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

***TW: physical abuse**

      You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

  You both like adlock, shirene, unilock, sherene, and teenlock.

  Stranger: Take a photo. It lasts longer. IA (20)

  You: I'm not staring at you. SH (19)

  Stranger: No? Then what are you staring at? IA

  You: The bruise on your waist. SH

  Stranger: Then you are staring at me. Leave it alone. IA

  You: Who? SH

  Stranger: Who what? IA

  You: Who hurt you? SH

Must have been a man, given the size and shape of the bruise. SH

Thought you didn't much like men. SH

  Stranger: I do sometimes. I'm just more picky with men. Why do you think they hurt me? It could very easily be a mark from a good fucking. IA

  You: Because it wasn't. SH

  Stranger: And how would you know? IA

  You: The angle, the way he held you, the way you moved... it wasn't a kind bruise, it wasn't to hold you in place it was to hurt. SH

  Stranger: [Delayed] Yes, it was. IA

  You: So who hurt you? SH

  Stranger: No one you know. IA

  You: Irene. SH

  Stranger: It doesn't matter. Leave it alone. IA

  Stranger: Besides, it isn't like you can do anything about it. IA

  You: If it doesn't matter then tell me. SH

  Stranger: Moran. IA

  You: Thank you. SH

  Stranger: Now, leave it alone. IA

  You: Why? SH

  Stranger: Because it doesn't matter. He won't do it again. IA

  You: He won't? You know that? SH

  Stranger: No. IA

  You: Then let me be. SH

  Stranger: He could break you in half so I wouldn't bother attempting to try anything. I

  Stranger: IA*

  You: Oh I won't do anything physical. SH

  Stranger: Explain. IA

  You: He won't be bothering you any more, Irene. SH

  Stranger: Why do you even care? You don't care about anyone. IA

  You: He took advantage of someone weaker than him. He shouldn't have done that. SH

  Stranger: He does it all the time. He's a prick. IA

  Stranger: What are you planning to do? Tell me. IA

  You: He won't touch you again. SH

  Stranger: Tell me. IA

  You: You know what I do, how do you think I am going to insure that he will stop? SH

  Stranger: You're going to try blackmail him? IA

  You: Try? SH

  Stranger: Blackmail him with what? IA

  You: With what I have. SH

  Stranger: If you think the knowledge of him fucking James Moriarty will be enough to blackmail him, you're mistaken. IA

  You: I have more than that. SH

  Stranger: Oh? IA

  You: Do you really care how I make him stop, Irene? SH

  Stranger: Yes. IA

  You: Why? SH

  Stranger: Because I'd rather he didn't hurt you too. IA

  You: Sentimental. SH

  Stranger: Hypocrite. IA

  You: Just let me handle it, Irene. SH

  Stranger: No. IA

  Stranger: I know what he is capable of. IA

  You: And I can stop him! SH

  Stranger: No, you can't. IA

  Stranger: He will break you in two. IA

  You: Irene, please. SH

  Stranger: No. Just leave it. IA

  You: I cannot, not knowing what he does to you. SH

  Stranger: He thought I was getting to close to Jim. That's why he did it. IA

  You: Is it the first time he's touched you? SH

  Stranger: [Delayed] Third. IA

  You: You can't expect me to just stay. SH

  Stranger: I'm asking you too. If he does it again, then fine. You can stop him. IA

  You: I don't want to wait for him to maybe hurt you again, Irene. SH

  Stranger: And I don't want him to hurt you. IA

  You: I would rather that than know that I did nothing. SH

  Stranger: I would not rather that. IA

  You: You don't get a say. SH

  Stranger: Yes, I do. IA

  You: Why do you care what happens to me? SH

  Stranger: Why do you care what happens to me? IA

  You: Fine. SH

  You: If he so much as thinks of laying a finger on you, I step in. SH

  Stranger: Fine. IA

  You: You will keep me updated on this, yes? SH

  Stranger: I'm sure you'll see the bruises. IA

  You: Even if they're well hidden? SH

  Stranger: I will tell you. IA

  You: Good. SH

  Stranger: Can we get off the subject now? IA

  You: Fine. SH

  Stranger: Thank you. IA

  You: So who have been your victims lately? SH

  Stranger: The Head of Literature mainly. He's lovely. IA

  You: You really ought to leave the professors alone. You're going to abandon them and leave them fixated. Soon half the staff will have been your playthings. SH

  Stranger: Isn't it amazing? I feel so powerful. You know the Chem tech still send me orchids. She thinks I love them when I really don't. IA

  You: No, you love lilacs. SH

  Stranger: How do you know that? IA

  You: Obvious. SH

  Stranger: Syringa Vulgaris, yes. I like mostly wild flowers. IA

  You: You never tell your clients that. SH

  Stranger: No, I don't. IA

  You: They all send you a different flower. SH

  Stranger: Yes. Literature sends me Tiger Lillies. Chem tech, orchids. Maths, tulips. Godfrey Norton gives me white roses. IA

  Stranger: No one ever gives me red roses, which is strange. IA

  Stranger: I'm quite fond of those too, which is very cliche of me. IA

  You: You will eventually run out of departments, Miss Adler. SH

  Stranger: And they'll all be fawning over me. I won't have enough room for all the flowers. IA

  You: You like the attention. SH

  Stranger: Yes, I do. IA

  You: Do you require the attention from so many? Does the attention of one not sate you? SH

  Stranger: I get bored. I move on. IA

  Stranger: No one is interesting enough yet. IA

  You: I see. SH

  Stranger: You have to admit, everyone here is dreadfully dull. IA

  You: Yes, I'll consent to that. SH

  Stranger: Exactly. Maybe I'm just trying to find someone interesting enough to keep me sated. IA

  You: [Delayed] Well, I hope you find someone willing to sate you. SH

  Stranger: Maybe I already have. IA

  You: Maybe you have? SH

  Stranger: Yes. But I doubt he feels the same. IA

  You: He? A man? SH

  Stranger: Yes. IA

  You: Again, I thought you weren't too interested in men. SH

  Stranger: Like I said, I'm just more picky with men. IA

  You: You hardly seem picky at all lately. SH

  Stranger: That's because I'm bored. IA

  Stranger: Besides, none of them were ever going to be potentially my only lover. IA

  You: And this man is? SH

  Stranger: No one you know. IA

  You: You said that about Moran. SH

  Stranger: I did. IA

  You: So? SH

  Stranger: So I'm not telling you. IA

  You: Why not? SH

  Stranger: Because nothing will come of it. IA

  You: Of telling me? SH

  Stranger: No, of my liking him. IA

  Stranger: I'm more than certain he does not want anything with me. IA

  You: You have been wrong before. SH

  Stranger: I hope I'm wrong this time, but we'll see. IA

  You: You have never been shy. You approach your lovers constantly, why not approach him? SH

  Stranger: Because maybe he's special. IA

  You: What makes this boy so different? SH

  Stranger: He's not boring. He's clever. IA

  You: Clever. SH

  Stranger: Yes, clever. IA

  Stranger: Though you probably wouldn't approve. IA

  You: I wouldn't? SH

Its not Moriarty, tell me it's not him. SH

  Stranger: Yes. Moran beats me for even talking to Jim, but yes, I'm after Moriarty. IA

No, you idiot. It's not Moriarty. IA

  You: You're sadistic, perhaps you're also masochistic. SH

  Stranger: Not that much. Maybe a little. I

  Stranger: IA*

  You: You used to come after me. SH

  Stranger: You weren't interested. IA

  You: Never knew you as one to take that as a sign to give up. SH

  Stranger: You're making it sound like you enjoyed it. IA

  You: I never said that. SH

  Stranger: Did you? IA

  You: That's not important. SH

  Stranger: You did, didn't you? You liked me chasing you. IA

  You: What difference does it make? SH

  Stranger: A whole lot. IA

  You: Why? SH

  Stranger: It just does. IA

  You: Why so chasing me can distract from this bloke you're so in love with? SH

  Stranger: [Delayed] I'm not in love with him. IA

  You: Aren't you? The one man who can sate you? He must be so /wonderful/. It's no wonder you've lost interest in me. SH

  Stranger: He is wonderful. And so what if I'm in love with him? IA

  Stranger: It has nothing to do with you, so stop being an arse about it. IA

  You: [No response]

  Stranger: [A week later] He did it again. IA

  You: I'll handle it. SH

  You: [Delayed] Are you alright? SH

  Stranger: He cut my cheek. IA

  You: I will come tend to you when I am done. SH

  Stranger: Can you bring me cigarettes too? IA

  You: Yes of course. SH

  Stranger: Thank you. Be careful, please. IA

  You: Leave your door locked, only open it for me. SH

  Stranger: I'm not an idiot. IA

  You: Some time later, Sherlock came down her hall, knocking on her door impatiently. Adrenaline was still coursing through his system from his exchange with Moran but he was done, the man would not harm Irene any more. He had known quite a bit more about him that Irene had expected, he had known far more than he ever hoped anyone would find out and that had proven incredibly useful.

  You: He knocked on her door, holding her brand of cigarettes along with a bouquet of wild flowers. He felt a bit like a fool with the flowers, but he thought she might like them, that they might let her know that their exchange last week hadn't ruined anything.

  Stranger: As she heard the hard, fast knocks on her door, Irene sighed as she stood from sitting on the floor at the end of her bed, tried tears on her cheeks as she held a wet cloth to her cheekbone. She should have asked him to bring her some ice or frozen peas. Or whiskey. She was already a little tipsy but more alcohol wouldn't hurt. Looking through the peephole, she smiled a fraction at the sight of the flowers before she opened the door, glad to see he wasn't hurt. "Cigs and wild flowers. You're not a bad date so far," she managed to tease him gently, stepping back to let him in.

  You: He hummed and laid the flowers on the table, "Saw them on my way over, thought they would distract you," he said, shrugging as though he always brought everyone flowers. He noticed the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and raised his brows. "You have been drinking."

  Stranger: Irene glanced back to the bottle and nodded her head. "Yes. We were at a party," she replied simply, removing the cloth from her face and setting it down on the table before she picked up the wild flowers. She took the white roses from Norton out of a vase and replaced them with the wild flowers with a small smile, gently arranging them neatly on her windowsill. Her fingers moved delicately over the lilacs before she turned back to Sherlock. "Thank you," she said softly and quietly, smiling too much and hissing through her teeth as her cheek throbbed in result.

  You: He came forward and held her face gently in his hands, examining it, "Where is your first aid kit?" he asked in a whisper that was just loud enough to carry to her ears.

  Stranger: Lips parting a little as he came closer to her and held her face, Irene let out a soft breath and swallowed. Christ. He had never been this close to her before. "Under the sink in the bathroom," she breathed back quietly to him, unable to take her eyes off of him. How had be not figured it out yet that the 'bloke' she wanted was him? He was supposed to smart.

  You: He went to the sink and collected the kit, taking a moment to breathe as he tried to focus on just cleaning up the wound and getting back to what he was doing here. He couldn't think right. He went back to her, carrying the kit and opening it on the table. He made a note to keep calm as he took out some antiseptic and wet some gauze before returning to her.

  Stranger: As he left her, Irene let out a shaky breath and ran her hand through her hair before she quickly walked to her dresser to take a swig of the whiskey to calm her beating heart. Damn him. Why did he have to be so protective over her? As he returned, she sat down on the edge of her bed and let him come to her to tend to her swollen cheek. "Why do guys always manage to hit a girl right on the cheek so it feels like your eye is going to explode?" She murmured.

  You: He frowned, "I've never attempted to hit a woman before," he said, hating how she said guys like Moran wasn't the first to have hurt her. "I wouldn't know," he used the gauze to dab at her cheek, cleaning up the bits of blood around the wound before murmuring, "Now stay still," and cleaning the wound itself.

  Stranger: "Good. Don't do it," Irene whispered back to him, closing her eyes as he started to work on cleaning her face up. She gasped a little in pain when she felt him dab directly on the wound and her hand held onto his thigh, her eyes squeezing shut. After a moment or two, she got used to the pain and her eyes flickered open as she watched him, her hand just resting on his leg now rather than gripping it.

  You: He didn't register the pressure of her hand on his leg, so focused on her wound and hurting her as little as possible. He wanted her to not have any scarring and so he was careful to clean it properly, trying to keep it from being infected. He blindly grabbed the plaster and opened it up, carefully covering the wound and letting his thumb smooth down the end of the bandage.

  Stranger: As she felt his thumb press the plaster down, Irene watched him with her eyes half open and her lips parted. He was being so gentle with her, like she was as delicate as the flowers he had brought her. She swallowed, not used to being treated in such a way and finding it unnerving that she liked it so much. "Thank you," she breathed quietly, the words for his ears only as she practically stared at him.

  You: He didn't say anything, merely nodding and looking from the plaster to her eyes to her lips and back. He had to stop this, this moment, he had to find something else to do with his lips than to claim hers. He blinked at her for a moment before reaching over for the pack of cigarettes and taking one out, digging for the lighter in his pocket and lighting it with a sigh. He took a drag that felt like it calmed the urge to lean in and kiss her lips.

  Stranger: Blinking as he broke the moment rather quickly between them, Irene coughed a little and shifted where she sat, watching him light the cigarette. Why would he do that? He had pretty much admitted he liked her chasing him and yet whenever she attempted to do so, he would give her the cold shoulder. No, this wasn't good enough. Taking a cigarette from the packet, she placed it between her lips before placing her fingers under his chin and turning his head to face her whilst his cigarette dangled from his lips. Slowly, she leaned in so the tip of her cig was pressed against his, her eyes staring back at him once more. She sucked, lighting it from his.

  You: The moment was odd, this cigarette led kiss of theirs was strangely intimate and the way her cheeks hollowed and her lips rounded made him want the cigarettes long gone from their mouths. And then she was gone, the cigarette lit and her fingers under his chin would be gone in just a moment. He closed his eyes, savoring what he could of it before he took the cigarette from his mouth, "I could have leant you the lighter," he said after a long moment.

  Stranger: Irene smiled, removing the cigarette from her lips and her fingers from his chin before she shrugged. "That would have been a waste of gas," she replied simply, letting the moment pass again, this time to tease him, to make him want more, to make him chase her. Standing up, she picked up the whiskey bottle and took another swig, walking to the window and opening up so they didn't make her room smell completely of smoke. She perched herself on the windowsill, taking it in turns to smoke and drink.

  You: He watched her for what felt like a long time, letting the silence between them settle in to being comfortable, he reached over and took the bottle, taking several swigs of the liquor before handing it back, "Catching up," he muttered, licking his lips and looking at her longer than he should have. He sat opposite her and looked out the window, staring at the buildings around them before finally muttering, "He's going to stop. If he ever even comes near you again, you are to let me know and I will release the information I have on him."

  Stranger: The student nodded her head, figuring that out anyway considering he didn't have a mark on him. Lucky bastard. "Thank you," she replied gently, gazing across at him as he looked out of the window. He was so stunning to her. He was tall, a little gangly, incredibly rude and a terrible know-it-all with cheekbones that could cut glass and a wit as dry as the Sahara. She was smitten. She curled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them, merely looking at him.

  You: He could feel her gaze and sighed, reaching out for the bottle of whiskey and taking a long drag from it, "Why did you let it go on so long?" he asked softly, finally turning his gaze to her and feeling the hurt and fear he had been feeling for her.

  Stranger: Irene didn't look away from him, merely shrugging her shoulder absently as she watched his lips curl rather enticingly around the neck of the bottle. "I was rather powerless to stop it." She said back simply. "I didn't know you had information on him and it wasn't as if I could stop him myself. He could break me, if he wanted to," she said honestly, seeing no reason to lie to him now.

  You: He would have, Sherlock knew that. He felt bile rise up in his throat and he swallowed down another swig of the alcohol, feeling his head start to swim. "You could have come to me, at the very least I could have tried to help, I could have acted last week, saved your face."

  Stranger: She smiled a little at him. "My face is fine. I'm just glad he didn't hit my nose. I look a little more devil-may-care this way," she smirked, breathing a soft chuckle and resting her head back on the wall, closing her eyes and finally letting him fall out of view, despite how much she enjoyed looking at him.

  You: He took this moment, her moment of vulnerability to really take her in, to observe and see properly every bit of her. He saw the fading bite marks, just below her shirt and felt a rush of jealousy. He let his eyes drift back up to her lips, so perfectly parted and pleasantly pink. He licked his lips and turned towards the bottle, nearly finishing it before putting it on her nightstand. He sighed and just watched her, waiting for her to open her eyes, to catch him. To laugh at him and send him away.

  Stranger: Irene could feel his stare burning into her and she allowed it for a little while, basking in the fact that he was just looking at her. She slowly licked her lips, hearing him place the bottle down and she could tell from the noise it made that it was almost empty. "You owe me more whiskey," she murmured, her voice low and holding a slight purr beneath it as she slowly tilted her head back down and lifted her eye lids.

  You: He looked at her and hummed back, "I'll have to remember that for the next time I come by," he said, licking his lips just as she opened her eyes. The alcohol was helping, drowning the sensation that he wasn't loved. He swallowed and replaced her, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Though to be far, I did just save you from your abuser, that ought to count for at least half a bottle."

  Stranger: She smiled, ignoring the pain of her cheek as she took this opportunity to get closer to him. She dangled one leg out of the window and the other into her room, gently edging closer to him until her face was a mere few inches from his. "I think it counts for a little more than that too," she whispered back to him, letting her eyes wonder down his face and his neck. God, she would love to sink her teeth into that untarnished bit of flesh.

  You: He opened his eyes and felt how close she was now, he forced himself to stay back against the wall and not lean in to her, "What does it count for exactly?" he asked, moving slowly and taking a long drag from his cigarette before putting it out and tossing it out the window, the smoke leaving his lips with his breath.

  Stranger: Irene did the same, throwing her half smoke cigarette out of the window. "Anything you like," she whispered, biting down on her bottom lip and holding his gaze. How many more clues did she have to give him? Was he really so insecure that he genuinely couldn't guess that it was him that she wanted?

  You: He looked her over and knew instantly that if he wanted, she would have intercourse with him now. He knew that all he had to do was lean in and she would kiss him and they would fall back together and make love and he would leave his marks next to the marks all the others left on her body. "I don't want to be one of your adoring fans, Irene."

  Stranger: As his words reached her ears, Irene's lips parted and her brows pulled in as she felt her whole chest constrict in pain. He didn't know that she wanted him and only him so it shouldn't really have hurt her that he thought that was all she wanted but it did anyway. She sighed heavily and dropped her head, closing her eyes. "You're so fucking stupid," she muttered, sitting back and resting on the wall once more, looking out of the window and not at him anymore.

  You: His eyes flashed with anger at her reaction, "I'm stupid? For wanting to protect you? For saving you? For not wanting to be one of the many people you /fuck/ to get flowers and love letters and favours? I don't /want/ to bring you flowers that'll go next to all the others you receive," he spat, feeling cruel for saying these things but also feeling well within his rights.

  Stranger: Irene's eyes darted back to Sherlock's, a similar fire and anger reflected in them just as she could see in his. "No! You're stupid because you don't see that isn't what I want from you. You see only what you want to see. Norton's stupid roses are on the floor, replaced by yours. I would replace all of them with yours. I would replace all of them with you! So get off your fucking high horse and stop thinking you're just another notch on the bed post. Prick," she muttered back to him, turning her gaze back out of the window.

  You: He was too angry to process what she was saying properly and wanted to keep yelling, despite the fact that she had just shocked him more than he could say, "You expect me to believe you think I'm so special? All of your lovers think their special, Norton thinks he's special, that he's your favourite lover and yet his flowers are on the floor the second he's out of sight."

  Stranger: She sighed heavily as he continued to yell and try and argue with her, gently rubbing her temples before running her hands through her hair tiredly, curling her legs up to her chest. She closed her eyes, not wanting to hear him insult her anymore. It didn't matter when other people did it, but it did when he spoke to her like that. "No, I don't expect you to believe me, but I'm telling the truth," she said quietly once he had stopped talking. "I want you. You're the so /wonderful/ bloke."

  You: Her soft voice was what made him pause, his hands shaking slightly as he went about his processing. He wanted to keep shouting but all the anger, all the words died in his throat, "Oh for fuck's sake," he said, and before, he could stop himself he had leaned forward, carefully stretching over her curled up knees and kissed her lips.

  Stranger: A small noise of surprise left her throat as he kissed her again, Irene's eyes closing as she kissed him back easily, letting her legs fall down so he could get closer to her. Her hands curled into fists by her sides as she tried to control herself, so she didn't just grab him and drag him to her bed. After a moment, she broke the kiss gently and her breath hitched, her eyes opening to show her pupils blown wide. "Why did you do that?"

  You: He swallowed and shook his head, "Because I'm an idiot," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, hovering just above her mouth, "If you are lying, Irene," he warned, his voice tender and shockingly vulnerable, "If you are lying, stop me now."

  Stranger: Irene let a quite whimper escape her as he came so close to her, his lips almost but not yet brushing against hers.. God, she didn't think she had wanted anything more in her entire life than for him to kiss her right now. "It's you... It's always been you," she whispered back, her voice conveying an equal amount of vulnerability.

  You: He kissed her then, letting his lips get well acquainted with hers, letting his lips memorize the taste and touch and feel of kissing her. It was so different than anything he had expected, it was so perfect.

  Stranger: She whimpered helplessly, lifting her arms to wrap them around him happily, smiling against his lips unable to help herself. This was all she had ever wanted, for so long, and now she had it. Had him. He was hers and hers to keep and god, she wasn't ever going to let him go. "How could you not see it?" She mumbled against his lips.

  You: He sighed, not wanting to relieve the moment he had realized she was done chasing him, that she had given up and that he was meaningless to her. He had studied her then, that was how he had known her favourite flower. And he had tried to bring them to her. And that's when he had heard her moaning someone's name through the door. He hadn't bothered allowing himself to entertain the notion much since then. "You hid it quite well."

  Stranger: Irene pulled back gently, resting her forehead on his and closing her eyes, letting her nose gently brush against his. "I chased you for so long.. You gave me nothing. What was I supposed to do?" She whispered, cupping his cheeks and pecking his lips once more in a most tender way to let him know that she wasn't lying to him anymore. "I thought you didn't give a shit about me."

  You: He just kept kissing her, pulling her against him and holding her close to him. He didn't want to tell her that he didn't, because if he told her now, she would know everything and he would lose to her. He would never win again should he admit now that he loved her more than he ever thought he was capable.

  Stranger: Moaning a little as he tugged her closer, so much so she ended up half perched on his lap, Irene wrapped both her legs and arms around him, happily kissing him back with all she had, pouring all her emotions into it by her lips. They didn't need to say anymore. She didn't want to know that she had hurt him with all her lovers and she knew that he didn't want hear he had hurt her with his indifference to her. That didn't matter anymore.

  You: They were kissing the wounds better, letting them heal and letting them come together now. She was cleaning out all the wounds with her kisses, letting him know that perhaps he was loved in the same way that he loved. He fell back on to the bed with her, wanting to kiss her for hours, to truly understand every millimeter of her mouth.

  Stranger: Irene lay her body atop of Sherlock's, legs tangling together as they kissed for what seemed like eternity. It wasn't the kind of kisses she shared with her lovers, which always lead to sex. No, they were kissing just for the sake of kissing. She had almost forgotten how nice it was just to /kiss/. Finally, she pulled back for air, panting quietly as she looked down at him, a silly smile on her lips as the tips of her fingers grazed over his bottom lip which was now slightly swollen.

  You: "Did I do something wrong?" he asked, wondering why she looked so amused, his eyes focused on hers, watching the way they watched his lips. He swallowed and felt his sore lips and wanted nothing more than for her mouth to come back to his to soothe them.

  Stranger: She shook her head. "No. I just... like kissing you, is all," she relied softly, pressing her lips back to his, this time being even more gentle than the last. Her lips merely grazed his, teasing him a little before she nipped at his bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth. Finally, she kissed him again properly, hands cupping his cheeks.

  You: He hummed into her mouth and held her close to his chest, wanting to absorb her into him, wanting to feel her deep within his body, "Irene," he whispered, his hands on her hips, feeling where the bruise had been on her waist.

  Stranger: "Yes?" Irene whispered back, feeling him press a little on the still slightly tender flesh of her waist. She didn't mind though. It was like his fingers were soothing the bad mark, making it all go away, just like he had made Moran go away too.

  You: "You'll stop seeing the others, won't you?" he surprised himself with the sheer amount of fear in his voice as the words let his lips, "My flowers will be the only ones?" he asked, clearing his throat and hoping his voice would steady with the process. ((Hey, it's getting super late here and i need to be up super early, anyway we can continue via email?))

  Stranger: [Sure! What's your email?]

  You: ((I'm))

  Stranger: [Great! I'll email the log and my reply :)]

  You: ((Thanks so much! Have a great night! Also do you mind if I post this on tumblr?))

  Stranger: [You too! No, go ahead :D]

  You: ((Great! Goodnight!))

  You have disconnected. ((Post isn't empty you dumb thing))

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

So I've still been bad with RPing lately because I'm actually the worst.

But! Announcement: I am moving to London for the next six months! Anyone in the area should feel free to message me! And anyone not in the area is welcome too! Stop by, say hi, tell me what to do with my time in London!

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like unilock, teenlock, johnlock, greaserlock, and femlock.

You: ((Greaserlock, GreaserSherlock left a note in John's locker, can be femlock if you prefer!))

Listen Johnny, I know you asked me never to speak to you again but I can't do that. If you can honestly say you don't think about that night, that you've forgotten about me then fine. But if not...meet me at our spot today after class. I'll be waiting. SH

Stranger: John had though long and hard about that note all through Chemisty. All through Maths, too. And lunch, and English, and the rest of his day, and still couldn't come to a decision. A part of him hated Sherlock. A part of him wanted to tear up that note into a thousand little pieces and throw it out for the winds to scatter across the country. But another part of him just couldn't say no to him, never could escape the danger that always seemed to follow that boy, and it was what brought him to their spot after the bell rang, as instructed, glancing around nervously trying to decide whether this had been a good idea or not. He was leaning more towards the latter.

You: Sherlock was fidgeting. He hated when he felt like this, the nervous energy of anticipation of something that may or may not come. John usually helped him with this kind of thing. He hated how much he was hoping John would show up, he hated how stupid he had been in allowing himself to fall in with this boy that was meant to be a game. He was on his fifth cigarette when he heard footsteps and straightened. He wasn't facing the right way and he didn't dare turn around for fear that he wouldn't see John, that it would be some one on a hike or some couple sneaking off.

Stranger: And there he was, Sherlock Holmes, in his leather coat and slicked back hair, looking as cool as always. John stiffened. Okay, relax. Now or never, he supposed. "You know I don't like cigarettes," he called, stepping forward until he was right behind them. "Awful smell."

You: He let out a breath of air that felt like it took a weight away with it and he turned around, taking in the sight of his ridiculous boy with his stupid glasses that had stopped being the correct prescription months ago and that left him squinting just a bit. His lovely, beautiful John. Sherlock dropped the cigarette and put it out under his boot, "I know you don't like cigarettes," he said softly, stepping closer to the stiff boy with the squinty eyes. "I didn't think you'd come. I thought you hated me."

Stranger: His depth perception had never been the greatest. John didn't notice how close they were to each other until Sherlock stood, and his every instinct was telling him to step back and keep the boy who'd brought his to cursing as far away from him as possible. Instead he straightened and puffed out his chest, as though that could make him any taller, and stood his ground. "Who says I don't?" he replied, cool as a cucumber or so he hoped.

You: "You wouldn't have come if you hated me," he said, a note of thankful knowingness in his voice. He wanted to reach out and touch him but he knew that would earn him a slap or worse. He licked his lips, "You think about that night still."

Stranger: His jaw was set, and John nodded, one curt little tilt of his head. He feared that if he let himself acknowledge any more he might lose it right here on the spot. "Hard to forget something like that," he agreed, and the bitterness was clear in his voice. Such an ugly thing that hadn't been there before that night. John cleared his throat. "As much as I'd like to."

You: He knew that John was lying but he also knew that he had to be careful now, he had to say the right things. Why now were no words coming to mind? He stepped closer and paused, knowing he would only back away or worse if he got too close. "You're not a game, John. I know why you think that, I do... but you're not. I don't know how to tell you..."

Stranger: "You tell me I wasn't just a game for you to joke about with your buddies?" John snapped, rounding on him. There was fury in his eyes as he raised his hand, finger pointing right into Sherlock's smug little face as he shook in anger. "Your /greasers/? That I wasn't just another toy, to see when little Johnny let you pop his cherry, is that what you were going to say? Because that's exactly what I was to you."

You: "It started that way!" he shouted, feeling the pressure in his chest rising at the injustice of it all, the need for John to just understand so none of these things had to be said aloud. "It started as a game, I would tease you, drag you around, see what I could make you do and then you started to tell me things, secrets. And then it stopped being fun, it stopped being a game and then I just couldn't stop thinking about you or wanting you or needing your hands or your voice to make me calm down. I told you things too, things my /buddies/ don't know about. I trusted you!"

Stranger: "And what did you think I did?" He was screaming now. "I told you things I'd never told anyone! I.... did things I'd never done with anyone. And you... I didn't matter to you!" John was tugging at his hair trying to calm down. It wasn't working. "Why did you have to chose me, huh? Did you like the challenge of seeing me cry? Seeing me fall in love-" It was out of his mouth before he could take it back, and John just pressed on. "I bet you went home laughing after that night. I bet that was just the ending you were hoping for to your /stupid/ game."

You: "Are you even listening? God, you're so stupid sometimes," he hissed, as he went forward and grabbed John's arms, "You mattered you idiot, you matter," he said, practically screaming at him, "I never wanted to see you cry, I just told you that you know me better than anyone and you think you don't matter to me? That night I went home and I told my fucking friends off, told them that you didn't let me touch you, that the game was over. I didn't want them to know, okay? I wanted it to be our night!"

Stranger: He fought him at first. Got ready to scream, get right in his face; his glasses became askew on his bright red face, anger ready to explode. But then he heard it. "You... didn't tell them?" John stopped struggling in his arms. He stared at him. "Nothing?"

You: "Nothing," he spat, shoving John back and breathing hard, like that had taken all of his effort, "But I'm just some no good greaser you can't trust, right?" he said harshly, "I tried to tell you and all you did was scream," he shook his head, feeling his throat starting to close and swallowing to cut it off.

Stranger: "Sherlock..." He was upset. Frankly, John was too, and he wanted to just reach out and tell Sherlock that it would all be okay. But he didn't have the heart to lie to him; out of the two of them, he at least wanted one of them to have never lied to the other. And maybe forgive the lies that had been told. "I thought... I didn't know you called the game off."

You: "I tried to tell you," he said, wanting to cave in on himself, feeling suddenly incredibly weak. "You wouldn't listen," he said, shaking his head. "I tried to tell you that I... I was..." he was starting to shake.

Stranger: John reached out and pulled Sherlock into a hug before he could argue. "Shh, it's alright," he murmured, holding the shaking boy tight in his arms. "I'm sorry."

You: He felt a rush of anger but also a rush of calm that left him stunted and confused before he finally just collapsed into the familiar hold of John's arms and whispered the one thing he knew, "John."

Stranger: "I'm sorry," He just kept saying it. It seemed to be the only thing he knew, and John closed his eyes, screwing them shut tight to try and stop the tears. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

You: He didn't let himself say anything else, just John's name over and over in a mantra that was all he could hold on to. He nuzzled closer and closer until his mantra found John's in the small space between their lips and then there was no space at all. There was just John and John's perfect lips.

Stranger: Words died in his throat. They were replaced by a pair of lips speaking his name even in the silence that their joined mouths created. His own apologies joined, and in every press of one person against the other he poured more of the things he hadn't gotten to say until the sheer volume in which they were speaking became deafening, but he didn't dare break away, not for air or peace or anything on this planet. He just clung to Sherlock like he was the earth, moon, and sun all wrapped in one.

You: There was a desperateness behind the kiss, an urgency for John to understand. His lips moved, only to be closer to him and then he was pulling at him, his hands hard on John's flesh and his eyes wet and blurry with lust and tears.

Stranger: His glasses fell off somewhere in the scuffle. Usually John was good with his possessions; he wouldn't dare so much as scratch a lens, his mother would kill him. Sherlock's hands had a way of making him forget the world around him, and his own hands pawed at him, needed to feel every inch of Sherlock he could reach as though checking that he were really there, kissing him, and not some cruel dream.

You: This was nothing like that first night they were together, this was far different and this was far more personal. He felt them, both of them, felt their desperateness filling the air between them.

Stranger: He never wanted Sherlock to go. Not from this moment, not from his life, anything. Cutting him out had seemed the safest; he hurt him, John left. But that wasn't true. It hurt more to be angry, it hurt more to shout and be apart, and now they were trying to ease that hurt as they grabbed at each other like drowning men seeking out a partner to fall beneath the waves with.

You: The kisses were growing deeper, his hands searching for somewhere to dig into his flesh as he pulled him tight against himself, feeling the shorter man give to his pushes and pulls.

Stranger: It was like a dance between the two. Sherlock lead, and John followed. Sherlock placed his hand on his waist, John pulled at his shirt collar to keep them together. They moved, one against the other, neither wanting to stop.

You: He barely registered when their clothes were being pulled away and before he could properly thing about it they were both exposed and he was palming John as his tongue delved into his mouth.

Stranger: They were bother naked, outside, with Sherlock's tongue down his mouth and his most intimate park rocking into his hand. John didn't care. He reached to stroke Sherlock softly with his own hand as they continued to kiss, gasping into his mouth as his arousal grew.

You: It was so incredibly easy not to think as he rutted into his hands, there was just something about John that soothed him in a way he couldn't seem to manage on his own.

Stranger: He wanted Sherlock to know he was sorry. To know he was cared for, cherished, loved. But John couldn't say it, it was too terrifying to face the words out loud. So he kissed and stroked and poured every word and desire he couldn't speak into Sherlock's body, expressing this admiration the only way he knew how.

You: He loved him so desperately and he needed him to know without the words leaving his mouth. He felt himself leaking on to John's hand, the two of them stroking together in an an attempt to come together.

Technical error: Server was unreachable for too long and your connection was lost. Sorry. :( Omegle understands if you hate it now, but Omegle still loves you.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

Lately for whatever reasons I've been rping and not posting it so I'll fix that now. Sorry for sucking, thanks for sticking around.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like johnlock.

Stranger: Where are they? SH

You: Where are what, Sherlock? JW

Stranger: Where did you move my thumbs? SH

You: [Delayed] I don't know what you're talking about. JW

Stranger: Come back and find me my thumbs, I'm certain whats-her-face will understand. SH

You: I'm on my sixth date with this girl and I'm actually really enjoying my time with Sandra so shut it. JW

Stranger: She's not sleeping with you tonight. She's waiting for the "I Love You". SH

You: You know nothing of sex so I doubt you'll know when my girlfriend is going to fuck me. JW

Stranger: I know enough to know she's really into stable and committed. And she lays like a drugged mattress. SH

You: Oh fuck off, Holmes. JW

Stranger: Prove me wrong. Tell her you think you're falling for her, and talk about wanting to take a trip together. SH

I don't know where you keep finding these women, honestly. SH

You: This one was from the supermarket, now shut it. If I'm going to be having sex tonight I can't be talking to you all night. JW

Stranger: You'd be better off if you were. SH

You: What was that? JW

Stranger: It would benefit you more long term to stop picking up brunettes with Daddy issues and stay home with me. SH

You: No, Sherlock, sex would be rather hard to come by if I stayed home every night. JW

Stranger: You assume so, but have you ever tested that theory? SH

You: Sherlock, what are you playing at? JW

Stranger: Playing at nothing. Drinking at the scotch Mycroft bought you. Flirting at you. SH

Is it working? SH

You: You're fucking with me. JW

Stranger: You wish I was. SH

Either tell her you love her and go up for coffee, or come home. I'll be waiting in your bed. SH

You: There is no way you aren't messing with me. JW

Stranger: [Picture attached]

Don't let her see it, I don't share my cock with just anyone. SH

We need more scotch. SH

You: Oh my god. JW

You're smashed. You must be. JW

And fuck, how big are you? JW

Stranger: That's my hand, make your own deductions, my dear Watson. SH

Come home and you can measure it . SH

You: Sherlock, you're being ridiculous. I'm not going to measure you. JW

Stranger: Can I measure you? I have deduced you're disproportionately massive, the way you walk. She knows it too. SH

You: Sherlock... JW

Stranger: The all have John, why do you think it's so easy? SH

You: What's so easy? JW

Stranger: Picking up women at Tesco. You walk like a good fuck. SH

Stranger: This is good lube, John SH

You: What is? JW

Stranger: The one in your drawer. SH

You: Sherlock, what do you want? JW

Stranger: More scotch. A dozen good murders. You. SH

You: In that order? JW

Stranger: No, but I'll take what I can get. Lie to get her into bed, or be honest with yourself and come home. SH

You: Sherlock, you're drunk. JW

Stranger: Come home and get drunk with me. SH

You: If we get drunk we're going to have sex. JW

Stranger: That's why you get drunk every other time. SH

You: I've never had sex with you, Sherlock. JW

Stranger: When the Tesco women don't put out, I know for a fact you go pull at pubs, getting smashed so you don't feel guilty. Come home and don't feel guilty with me. SH

You: Fine. JW

Stranger: Bring more scotch. SH

You: Okay. JW

Stranger: Sherlock stretches out on John's bed, running his hand up and down his body, waiting for the click of the door and John's angry steps on the stairs. John would be furious with him. It made Sherlock tingle in anticipation.

You: "Sherlock!" John was a little drunk already and very horny and very angry. Sherlock Holmes was seducing him and he didn't know how he was supposed to react. He guessed that Sherlock would be where he said, in John's bedroom and stormed up the steps, "Sherlock!" he yelled again before freezing at the sight before.

You: *him.

Stranger: Sherlock's arse faced the door, slicked already from teasing himself to his first come. John's voice had his cock twitching in anticipation. "John." He moaned, deep and rough.

You: He was frozen for a long moment, trying to process his flesh, trying to understand all of this,"Th-that's not fair," he managed, ripping off his coat and moving towards the bed with a speed he barely understood.

Stranger: "When have you known me to play fair?" Sherlock slurred.

You: His hands landed on his hips and he flipped the man roughly, cursing and kissing him hard as their bodies slid past each other. He wanted to be a bit more coordinated about this but as soon as his lips met Sherlock's all thoughts were gone except for the thought of touching him more.

Stranger: Sherlock kissed uncoordinatedly, swooning at the force of John, the heat and taste of him. It's better than he ever dreamed it to be. He rolled his hips, seeking friction, tired of waiting.

You: "You prick," he managed, finally getting his shirt off and letting his hands grab at Sherlock's surprisingly warm flesh, "God you taste good," he murmured, kissing him again and again before ripping at his trousers.

Stranger: Sherlock hands scrabble for purchase, pulling him closer each time he tried to pull back and reach his trousers.

You: He groaned impatiently and rolled them so that John was between Sherlock's legs and looking down at him, "Sherlock," he whispered, finally getting his trousers off.

Stranger: "Do it John." Sherlock challenged him, reaching to stroke his cock. "Show me how mad you are at me."

You: He groaned and kissed him hard once more before he managed to line up his hips with Sherlock's and press inside of him, "Oh fuck," he hissed into his mouth.

Stranger: "Oh. God. Ohgodohgodoh-AAHHHHH" Sherlock cried out, body shaking for the pain-pleasure mix, the stretch and the knowledge that it was John doing it.

You: He kissed him again to shut him up as he started slamming into the incredibly tight man beneath him.

Stranger: Sherlock wrapped his lega around John, gasping and swearing inbetween kisses, brain blank of anything but need.

You: He couldn't believe he was doing this, fucking Sherlock was like a dream and his inability to think of anything other than his lover was what kept him from panicking at this very moment. He relied on instinct, slamming into him with a quickness that startled him.

Stranger: "I'm...I'm...Ohoohohoh!" Sherlock screamed against John's mouth, half muffling the sound as he came between their bodies.

You: He was impossibly close so incredibly quickly, perhaps it was because he spent the entire cab ride home hard as a rock. He kept slamming into him, "Sherlock," he moaned, "Sherlock, oh fuck, Sherlock!" he gasped as he finally released.

Stranger: Sherlock choked out a few sobs as he was filled, oversensitive already nearly to the point of pain after coming twice in under two hours. John fucked him hard through his come, not letting up until he slumped hard on Sherlock's body, a warm breathing blanket that smelled of sex and tasted of sweat, and Sherlock dozed lightly with that pleasant thought in mind.

You: John was exhausted and completely unable to compose himself. He barely managed the strength required to pull out of Sherlock before collapsing and panting to try and calm his body down, "Fuck," he managed.

Stranger: "You did." Sherlock joked, giggling as if he was hilarious.

You: He groaned loudly, "Idiot," he managed, rolling off of him and taking in a deep slow breath, "What... made you... do that?"

Stranger: "You were going to come home angry and sexually frustrated, wank in the show, and be shit for days. This is better."

Stranger: *shower

You: He started to laugh despite himself, a breathy, slightly annoyed but mostly amused sound, "And what was your plan if I took your advice, if I told her I loved her?"

Stranger: "You'd never have done it. It's more than a bit not good." Sherlock said in his bet John impression, wagging his finger comically

You: John smirked before biting Sherlock's finger playfully. "You think you know everything," he murmured, kissing his finger where he had just bit it.

Stranger: "I know John Watson." He said certainly, dopey smile on his face. He leaned over and kissed him softly, like a lover rather than a lustful beadmate.

Stranger: *bedmate

You: He kissed him slowly, matching the passion he had and sighing against his mouth, "How come you didn't do this sooner?" he whispered when he pulled away.

Stranger: "I'm not gay." He says, again in his John impression. "I'm not his date. We're not a couple."

Stranger: His voice breaks on the last word.

You: He lay on his side, looking over at Sherlock and trying to understand him fully, "You weren't after sex with me," he noted softly, "You were serious, you want me."

Stranger: "What's the difference? All we were missing is the sex." Sherlock's copious amounts of scotch and sex hormones have begun to run dry, and the maudlin mood of earlier has returned in force.

Stranger: "John, if you'd rather..."

You: "I thought you knew me," he said, shaking his head and looking at him like he was a complete fool.

Stranger: "I know you're not /like that/." Sherlock said softly. "Or at least, you don't want to be."

You: He thought for a long moment and then looked up at him, "Sherlock, what were you expecting this to be? Did you think I was going to fuck you and walk away?"

Stranger: "Maybe. If was good enough, you might come back for more." Sherlock rolled off the bed, limping over to his pajama trousers and shirt in a pile by the half bath.

Stranger: *If I was

You: "You're such a twat," he said, letting the sheets pool in his lap as he sat up, "You really are," he shook his head in disbelief, "You think you know everything but you haven't got a clue. You asked me to get drunk, asked me to come home... to have you. And I came!"

Stranger: "And you got your shag, you're welcome!" Sherlock shouted back. No, this was not how this was supposed to go, but Sherlock couldn't figure for the life of him how to get it back on track. "You don't need to go pull and pick up sti's now, happy?"

You: He threw the pillow at him with as much force as he could muster, angry that it was only a pillow and wouldn't do nearly as much damage as he hoped or intended. "Fuck you! You don't know anything about me, you can tell a stranger their darkest secrets and you haven't got the first clue when it comes to me."

Stranger: Sherlock straightened his shirt, glaring at John. "Those strangers are normal. Easy. Not tea making adrenaline junkie closeted bisexuals in cuddly jumpers who attract damaged people people like flies. Where the fuck do I start?"

You: He shook his head, "You knew enough to ask me here, to kiss me like that... how /dare/ you act like I might not want you in the end?"

Stranger: "Want, yes. Need even. Everyone /needs/ a good fuck every once in a while." Sherlock growled, throwing open the door and stomping down the stairs. Let Mrs Hudson come up crying "Neighbors!" It would only improve the night.

You: "Fuck you, Holmes!" he screamed after him, "And I threw out your fucking thumbs!" he felt like he had been smacked, Sherlock had no idea who he was, after everything they had been through he didn't have a clue and that hurt more than anything. Maybe he had just wanted the fuck, maybe that kiss really had meant nothing.

Stranger: "You fucking did and all it did was make you an ass." Sherlock shouted back, fleein back into the flat and to his room. He shook with rage, at himself as well as John, More towards himself. /Get drunk and fuck me/ is a poor way to say don't leave me, but Sherlock didn't have words for what he meant, they wouldn't come. So he said /Dangerous/ and /Run/ and /Get drunk and fuck me/ and /Tea/.

You: He felt sick and more lonely than he had felt after any of the drunken one night stands he had had in the past. This was awful because he couldn't go home to Sherlock. He was already home and his Sherlock wasn't his Sherlock anymore. He screamed a wordless roar of frustration and looked for the bottle of scotch he had brought home.

Stranger: Sherlock slept fitfully, waking often to reach for someone who wasn't there. He ached all over, most painful in his head and his well used arse when he finally got out of bed, looking for paracemitol, or perhaps something to put his poor hungover brain out of it's misery. More scotch sounded like a good lan, he wondered when John had left it last night.

You: John sat in his chair, the half empty bottle in his hand and his eyes rimmed red as he stared at the chair that belonged to the man he had just fucked with a regretfulness he had never expected. Sherlock didn't know him and therefore he couldn't love him. John wasn't anything to him and Sherlock was everything to him. That fucker. He was almost asleep when he heard the footsteps and jumped slightly, looking up to him with confusion and selfpity. ((Any chance you can continue via email? I love this!))

Stranger: (that would be wonderful. )

Stranger: (do you know how hard it is to find a good "John" on here?)

You: ((I'm , could you email me the log and your response? I haven't had one this fun for a while!))

Stranger: (will do)

Stranger has disconnected.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

All the time in the world. Dedicated to Text Messages from Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

cuddles after a busy day in the garden uvu listen to this for retirement!lock feels

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You both like sherlolly, molstrade, sheriarty, mormor, teenlock, johnlock, and femlock.

You: John felt his back press against the wall as Sherlock pressed up against him. Okay, fine. Even John was willing to admit they had had a bit too much to drink. It had started with a glass of wine, which led to a sixth glass of wine, which led to them getting closer, which led to kissing, which led to John pressed up against the wall and begging for more. Somewhere, dimly in the back of his mind he knew he ought to stop this but he didn't want to, he really didn't want to. ((Femlock or teenlock or both is totally fine with me!))

Stranger: [Fem!Sherlock is mine]

Stranger: If Sherlock had been thinking clearly, she could have rationalized a thousand reasons why this was a bad idea. Why drinking around John at all was a bad idea. But at the moment, her whirling mind had slowed beautifully, and all she could think about was John's lips on hers. /Finally/. He hadn't pushed her away, and his body language was screaming at her to continue. Sliding one hand up into the doctor's greying blonde hair, Sherlock broke apart from the kiss and trailed her lips down his neck.

You: God, he was too old for shit like this. He was too old for drunken hook ups and letting lust get the better of him. This was /Sherlock/, his beautiful Sherlock Holmes, if they came to regret this he would never...oh, her mouth was on his throat now. Her hair was a bit matted and his fingers got tangled with the mess and he yanked her back, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. He knew in that instant that if she didn't say stop he was going to fuck her and oh was he going to like it.

Stranger: Feeling John's pulse quicken under her tongue, Sherlock smirked and nipped lightly at his perfect tanned skin. Flicking her eyes up to observe him, she pulled back just long enough to open her mouth, intending to say something, but then... /oh/. She was pressed up against the wall now, his strong hands on her hips. Her head swam, she was awash in contrasting chemicals. Sherlock tried very very hard not to actually /whimper/, and managed. "Yes," she whispered, her voice softer than usual. "Please."

You: He crashed their mouths back together, his hands growing frustrated with her buttoned shirt and ripping it open. He felt her skin under his hand and groaned loudly. She was softer than he imagined, warmer too. Everything about her seemed icy and hard, sharp edges that would cut you if you dared but she was nothing like that. She was practically melting beneath him.

Stranger: Much to her own embarrassment, a whimper passed into the kiss and Sherlock felt her knickers grow impossibly wet. She'd always loved it when her blogger pulled rank, even touched herself a few times thinking about his voice, but this... this was different. This was real. Standing properly and trying not to stumble, Sherlock tugged John by the hand over to the sofa and pushed him down. "Off," she mumbled, and pulled his jumper over his head, tossing it somewhere else. Anywhere else but on him because Jesus, Mary and Joseph his body was perfect. Sinking down onto his lap slowly so that her skirt rode up, she pressed her lips immediately to the starburst scar on his shoulder.

You: He whined, watching her kiss his scar. That wasn't lust, no, that was sentiment, how could sentiment be here? How could she really want him? He leaned forward, kissing her chest, his hands on her smooth, soft waist. "More," he murmured, their one word communications were more than enough, she knew him, didn't she? And he knew her, he loved her for fuck's sake, that was never more obvious than this moment, licking an X over her heart.

Stranger: Shuddering, Sherlock dug her nails into John's shoulder when he licked her. She'd been with a few men in the past, but nothing had ever felt this... primal? That was the right word. Flicking her silvery eyes up to meet his deep blue ones, she lowered her head and pressed a few more open mouthed kisses to the marred flesh. She loved the scar, it was what had brought John home to her. She also loved John, more than she could ever say. "Please," she pleaded again, and wriggled her arse against the bulge in her doctor's jeans.

You: His hand came up, wrapping around the panties she wore beneath the skirt, not bothering with wasting his time with the actual removal of the skirt, hell, they couldn't even make it to the bedroom. His short nails dragged along her thighs, leaving small red trails in her creamy flesh as he pulled the panties down. Her skirt was up high enough that now he could see her but he wasn't looking, his attention on her mouth as it kissed and tended to his scar.

Stranger: When she felt her knickers being pulled away, Sherlock grinned to herself and reached down to untie the black ribbons at the sides. With a small wink, she pulled them off and tossed them in the same general direction as John's jumper. Now bare-arsed, she leaned up to capture his lips in a heated kiss that was just on the other side of desperate. She flicked open the button of his jeans and with only a bit of difficulty, worked his zip down. Then, Sherlock paused. "Condom?" she asked softly, though she didn't see the need for one. She was clean and had an implant.

You: He was a doctor, he really, /really/ should care and he would blame at least this part on the alcohol tomorrow, "No," he said, it wasn't a demand, it was a beg. He was pleading with her to let him have her, to let him feel her, to really just become a part of her. "Please, Sherlock," he whispered, that was the first time he had said her name and it sounded so good on his mouth. There was a box of condoms upstairs in his room and if she insisted he would drag her up there but he wanted /this/.

Stranger: Trying very hard not to sigh in relief, Sherlock nodded and cupped his face gently, leaning her forehead against his. "Take me, then," she whispered, and pulled her hand away to reach back and unclasp her bra. "John," his name spilled from her lips like a prayer. "I need you. Any way you want." She didn't want to say what she was thinking, which was dear God in Heaven hold me down and own me, take what you want, I'll willingly give it to you.

You: He prayed that if anything was lost in sleep tonight, that he would remember her saying those words, saying his name, "Oh God, yes," he whispered, just like he had when she first invited to that crime scene in Laurelston Gardens. He shifted her gruffly so she was on her back, his trousers and pants shoved down so he could properly do this. His face hovered above hers and his eyes locked onto her stormy irises before he thrust up and into her.

Stranger: Sherlock barely had time to shift so she was comfortable before he was in her. She cried out in equal parts pain and pleasure, pain, because she hadn't had anybody in a very long time, and pleasure because he was bigger than anyone she had been with. "/John/," she repeated over, and over, and over, lifting her hips so she could wrap her legs around /her/ blogger's waist. After a few moments, she felt herself approaching the edge and fell off with a choked off sob, leaning up to bury her face in John's neck.

You: He could feel her trembling, clenching and he was losing himself in her, forgetting where his body ended and hers started, "Sher, oh Sherlock," he would whine between desperate kisses and well deserved pants. He wanted to remember every second of this vividly, he wanted it documented permanently. His own release came up on him with surprising force, he hadn't expected it but when she came he tipped over like that was the final blow. He screamed, loudly and unrestrained.

Stranger: When she felt him spill inside her, a second wave crashed over her and she arched into him with a cry. Years of bitterly sneaking cigarettes while he was on dates and then /married/ all culminating in this. At the moment, she couldn't be arsed to care if the morning after was awkward, so long as he was still there. Collapsing with a small, contented sigh, Sherlock leaned up to press a softer, chaste kiss to John's lips.

You: He collapsed against her, their sweating bodies laying entangled and he had little intention of untangling them, "Fuck, that was brilliant," he whispered, kissing her softly, slowly. He was so used to praising her but this was a new level, this was perfect.

Stranger: Sherlock chuckled at the first coherent sentence she'd heard from him in a while and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I strongly agree," she breathed after a moment, and stroked softly up and down his strong back. "Should move this to the bedroom, though, I think. More room."

You: He was so, so incredibly thankful she didn't push him away when they had finished. He groaned and buried his face in her neck for a moment, "Just give me a minute," he said, still panting and breathing in her skin. He kicked off his trousers fully and wrapped his arms tightly around her, "Fantastic, brilliant, beautiful Sherlock," he murmured, punctuating his words with kisses.

Stranger: "Flattery will get you everywhere," she murmured with a smile, sliding her hands into his hair and tugging gently as she mouthed up his neck. "I love you," she whispered after a few moments of silence. It needed to be said. Out loud, not just etched into their bodies. Not that that wasn't good, it had been... "Perfect," she mumbled. "My perfect, wonderful, kind John."

You: He almost didn't hear her whisper that she loved him and when he did it settled into his bones and gave new meaning to everything, "Oh, Sherlock," he whispered, his voice flooding with emotion. Some how he had known, he had to have known, "I love you, my Sherlock Holmes." He couldn't have pictured this better, her saying I love you with him naked and sore and still inside of her... it was right. It all just felt /right/.

Stranger: Beaming at the words - because she hadn't known until now, how could she have been so magnificently /blind/? - Sherlock linked her ankles together behind John's back, completely fulfilled in every physical and emotional way, but still needing to be as close to him as possible. Stifling a yawn, she buried her face in the doctor's neck and sighed. "Any chance I could get a cigarette?" She tried after a moment, peeking up to grin at him. "I know where you hid them this time."

You: He laughed at that, shaking his head at the grin and deciding that he could, and would, spank her in response, "If you even think about it, I will find some punishment for you." He brought her close, pulling out carefully and then slowly, bringing them up, standing with her still wrapped around him with the surprising strength of a former soldier.

Stranger: Whimpering, Sherlock wrapped her arms around his neck and tried her hardest not to fall asleep like a child. She was grateful that he'd lifted her when he stood and buried her face in his chest, greedily inhaling the scent of him. "Bed," she mumbled, monosyllabic again, and yawned into her arm.

You: He had never realized how small she was, she always seemed so tall and towering and now, curled against him, she was nothing. She was a sleepy little girl that he loved more than anything. He went to her room with her and carefully laid her on the bed, waiting to see what she would do, if she would insist on him staying wrapped in her of if she would expect him to crawl into bed beside her, it was all on her now.

Stranger: The next thing she knew, her head was hitting the pillow, but John wasn't... he'd pulled away. "Please stay," she mumbled, and reached out to grab his arm. The wine was catching up to her now, her head was starting to pound, and headaches always made her crabby because aspirin didn't help, but she'd be damned if she'd let John sleep alone tonight or any other night.

You: He smiled slightly, climbing into bed with her and letting her sleepy voice tell him what to do. She was so beautiful, and she was his. He wanted to mark her but now that their lustful and needy shag was over it seemed inappropriate, like it would just wake her up. He wanted her to curl against him and he settled down wondering if she would.

Stranger: Smiling when she felt him stretch out next to her, she reached up to secure her messy curls into a haphazard ponytail with a rubber band from around her wrist, and then slung an arm over her blogger's waist. Sherlock shifted forward and rested her cheek against his chest, slinking a leg between his. "Only one bedroom needed in 221b, yeah?" she mumbled, trying to blink herself awake and failing.

[This is actually the best Johnlock I've ever done, thank you. Next morning, please?]

You: ((You're so cute and I have loved this, you're a lovely Sherlock! Yes!))

John smiled, wrapping his arm around her form and cuddling her to him. She was so small, so fragile feeling now and he loved that. This was a drunken mess but he couldn't regret it for a second. He nuzzled into her and kept her close all night. When he woke with the morning light he did so with a small sigh of contentment. He felt arms around his waist and for once, his hope was reality, Sherlock Holmes was curled around him and snoring softly and he couldn't have been more pleased.

Stranger: Sherlock fell into an easy sleep for the first time, and for the first time in months, she didn't dream about being tortured while she was away. John hadn't even seen the whip marks on her back, or the bullet wound on her stomach. Before tonight, she'd never even dream of showing those to anyone, but now, she hoped he'd seen them.

When she woke late the next morning, though, her brain kicked into overdrive, and she shot up, instinctively covering herself with the comforter. But then, she realized where she was and relaxed, looking down at her blogger with a smile. "Morning," she whispered, bending down to kiss his cheek.

[

You: "Alright there?" he asked, remembering that that was how he used to wake from sleep after he had returned from service. He saw them then, the whip marks on her back. When had she been whipped? And when so badly that it would scar over like that? He remembered, of course, the bullet wound and where that came from. He still felt somehow responsible for that. He sighed, "You look beautiful when you sleep," he noted.

Stranger: Sherlock shook her head, noting the sigh. "No nightmares, not last night," she mumbled, and rubbed the remnants of her eyeliner away. Raccoon eyes. /Lovely/. "I look a dreadful mess, and my head is killing me," she grumbled, but wrapped herself around John again anyway. "Thank you." She didn't bother elaborating, the words had multiple meanings, and they both knew what each one was.

You: He gave her a soft kiss, licking his lips and keeping it chaste as he pressed against her mouth. He liked this too much, the feel of this. He wanted to know what this was like all the time, he never wanted to stop kissing her. "We both need to thank each other."

Stranger: Rolling on top of John, Sherlock grinned, and rested her forehead against his, filling her entire field of vision with her blogger's crinkled eyes. "I love you," she whispered, stroking down his cheek gently. After a moment, she sighed. "I love you, but I need to visit the loo. Be here when I get back?" Sliding down off the bed without another word, she padded out of the room, scooping up an old t-shirt as she went.

You: He watched her walk out and sighed softly, of course he was going to be here, where else would he go to? He would love to spend all morning cuddling and cozying up to her. He wanted to know about those scars, he wanted to know about all of her scars and he wanted to know why she focused so much on his scar, he wasn't sure she fully understood and he wanted to, he needed to.

Stranger has disconnected.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

A Faun!lock (paired with Greg or John) learning English, one afternoon he deduced something from some show on the telly and John/Greg gave him a kiss on the nose. Faun!lock can't explain his happiness and can only go around deducing everything just for more nose kisses.

Sherlock sat on the floor, a bed of John’s sweaters surrounding him. They were soft, Sherlock liked soft things, soft was one of the first words he learned. He looked up at John and told him who the killer was on his crime show. It was easy really, obvious. John had laughed when he had been right, he had smiled and ruffled his hair, giving him a kiss on the nose.

Sherlock let out a sound between a giggle and a pleased sigh, wanting nothing more than to receive another kiss. He didn’t know the word for that. He had to make John do it again, press his lips like that. He had gotten kissed because he had been right. So he would have to be right about everything. He deduced the product in the commercial and turned to look at him, closing his eyes and pressing his face forward, offering his nose and smiling brightly when there was a pause, a chuckle and then, finally, a kiss.

He ran around the flat, looking for things he could tell John, looking for things that would make John give him more kisses. John followed him into each room, giving him kisses when he came to him. He had lost count of all the deductions, each kiss still felt new and soft. Like John’s jumpers.  “Sherlock,” John finally said, holding his soft face between his hands, “You don’t have to deduce things for kisses. I can just give you kisses if you like. Though you’ve been very good today.”

Sherlock giggled and clapped, “K-kisses?” he asked, “Kiss!” he shouted gleefully, “Kiss?” he asked this time waiting for John to give him what he asked for.

From then on, most silences were filled with the fauns soft voice going, “Kiss?” and to be very honest, John never really felt like denying him.

((This was cute! Never done faun lock before. Hope I did alright!))

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

Sherlock having a breakdown in front of Mycroft and saying “all I wanted was to be like you, to make you proud” and Mycroft just looks at him sadly and says “oh Sherlock”

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

SHERLOCK REALIZES HE LOVES MOLLY AND THEY END UP MAKIN OUT BUT LIKE *NOT* SMUT. YOU'RE GREAT

"Molly?" Sherlock asked, staring at her as he waited for the centrifuge to finish spinning the vials of blood he was testing. It had occurred to him that despite what he previously thought about her being rather average she wasn’t. He found that she was incredibly surprising, her tastes, her reactions…she understood him in a way he hadn’t expected. He warned her off her new boyfriends frequently and about three boyfriends ago it stopped being just because he wanted to be kind…there wasn’t even anything wrong with the last three. He just didn’t like the thought of her being genuinely happy with someone else. He liked the way she would stare at him when she thought he couldn’t see her. He liked the way she knew sometimes just how to handle him, even John didn’t know that.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up from her graduated cylinder with a small bounce to attention. God, she was always so charming, or perhaps he was just increasingly charmed with her. Sentiment was a fickle thing.

He didn’t actually know what he was going to say, he couldn’t just say now that he cared for her, no that would sound ridiculous. She would think he was bored or that he was joking and would stalk off in a huff. Instead he asked, “Why do you always wear your hair up?” His eyes on her, as he stood and moved to look at her, ignoring the sound of the centrifuge finishing it’s task.

She clearly hadn’t been expecting that question, “Um… I don’t know,” she said shrugging, her stupidly lovely shoulders moving beneath one of her more ridiculous jumpers, “I just do?” He stepped up to her, pulling the hair tie out of her hair and fixing the falling strands.

"You look rather beautiful with your hair down," he said simply. He had noted it before, but always silently, always alone in his thoughts. Her cheeks were turning a deep shade of red and he smiled slightly, coming to touch the flesh that changed color beneath his hand as her mouth opened and closed like a fish trying to figure out what to say.

"I-uh…" she looked up at him, trying to understand his motives, at least, he supposed that’s what she was trying to do, "Thank you?" she said as though she wasn’t sure that was the right response. That was when he kissed her, the woman he loved so plainly. He heard the graduated cylinder crash to the floor as their lips met, tongue flicking out to taste, so curiously. His hand stayed on her red cheek as she let out a surprised gasp and then turned, kissing him deeply.

Their experiments forgotten, their mouths became the only thing he could focus on, their bodies pressed together tightly. He wanted her to understand why he was doing this, to understand his mind with a kiss. She always knew so much more than she let on, she would come to understand this too. Their lips learned and explored and his lungs began to burn with the effort but he didn’t dare stop until they heard a cough in the door way. John Watson stood there with the same red on his cheeks that Molly had had just before, “You two need some time alone?” he asked awkwardly, “I can come back…”

"No," she said and he smiled, looking down at her and seeing a bit of understanding dawning in her eyes, "We’re just fine."

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

Sherlolly jealous sherlock

Molly Hooper looked, in a word, gorgeous. No, that wasn’t the right word…breathtaking? Sexy? Amazing? Drop dead beautiful? His lexicon was not expansive enough for how taken he was with her tonight. He didn’t like that anyone else could see her in this state of perfection, it wasn’t fair he had to share her with her tinkling laughter and her pretty smile and stupid, stupid police galas that he had to go to because of stupid Lestrade.

John was busy trying to explain to him what the purpose of the event was and was talking about some guy named Greg and he expected he should know who Greg was but it escaped him as she brought the cherry from her drink and plucked the round fruit onto her tongue with her teeth, the stem leaving what he used to think was her too small mouth. He was so blind then.

That was when some officer, young, stupid and clearly attractive came up to Molly, to his Molly. He felt an immediate predatory response to the man and then it wasn’t just a man, it was several, all wondering if they could get her anything, if she wanted company. She was blushing a ridiculous shade of red while Sherlock fumed in his seat, now completely and blatantly ignoring John. He stalked off, moving to her and pushing the men out of the way before kissing her deeply, thoroughly. His tongue slowly excavated every tiny section of her gorgeous mouth and he felt a victory in the way she melted against him. “Mine.”

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

3. If you're in the mood for fluff or something more romantic, a proposal. I would love to see what you do with that. I could probably come up with more, lol.

They had been rolling around in bed, taking turns straddling each other and giving new marks and new memories in their aching flesh. He would be leaving soon, going back to John after two years of taking out Moriarty’s network. She knew he needed to go and he knew as well, they could never just stay like this, it was their lives on pause. But oh what a wonderful pause, the way their flesh made music against each other, their minds working together to be one of the more lovely and more dangerous teams that even a network like Moriarty’s had ever come up against. They had won, they were celebrating their victory with their small battles here and now.

They weren’t really speaking except the occasional comment or instruction, hisses and moans instead filled the room they had been sharing for the time being. He hadn’t thought it through, in fact he was quite certain there were many flaws to the idea that slipped between his lips as she pinned him down, kissing his mouth with a force that made him wonder how she had been so soft beneath him just a minute ago. “Marry me.” The words rang through the air between them, reverberating off her lips and soaking into the bruises and marks on her chest. They didn’t even come out as a question, barely a request, more of a statement of what they should do. 

He knew that it would be unconventional, that he would be living in London, the one place she couldn’t go and yet…the words were honest and he meant them. It would be a terrible separation, in fact, there was no guarantee he’d ever see her again when he returned. She would disappear and he would return to the spotlight and to the Work. The Woman seemed to search his eyes for an eternity before humming a simple, “Of course.” He didn’t seem to care about the legality of it, that seemed contract enough for him, perhaps they would sign a document, perhaps they would lay here in bed for the rest of their time together but it didn’t matter. He smirked slightly before hooking his arm around her waist and flipping her, letting her land with a thud as their game continued.

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

MYCROFT AND CAKE.

The first cake Mycroft really remembers was when he was from his six birthday party. No one showed up to the affair and so the cook told him he would get to keep the entire cake to himself. He didn’t know that was allowed, it was beautiful really, frosting that melted on your tongue and a cake that wasn’t too dry but would crumble in your mouth. It was safe to say young Mycroft had fallen in love and it was a love affair to rival the classics.

***

His affair with cake seemed to last through any attempt at a relationship he had ever had, in fact, cake was sometimes his most lovely companion. Sherlock would never resist the urge to mock him for his affections, “You know, I think perhaps cake and you are your longest relationship, excluding me of course but then, I’ve tried to extricate myself, you just keep appearing. So cake it is, your longest and most affectionate relationship.” Sherlock smirked as he walked away from his brother who glared and took another bite of the confectionery delight.

***

He would have bouts where he would attempt to give up his fated love, diets and health scares and wanting to lose the bit of pudge that forced him to sit just a little too far from his desk. But those bouts never lasted long, he could never quite stay away.

And when Sherlock returned from the grave, having been abused and tortured in Serbia for several months, Mycroft only saw fit to serve one thing, one lone dish, his own favourite but he was sure Sherlock wouldn’t object too much. “Still going strong then?” Mycroft just hummed happily from behind the fork.

((That was genuinely way too much fun. Hope you like it my darling! Send more prompts!))

[221bottlesofbeeronthewall]

Now taking prompts! Any pairing! Any topic! Please, I'm bored love me!