Nonsensical Whatnotterist
John's breath caught as his glance turned into something much more than just passing. He was transfixed, watching his cock slide in and out of that bone-studded mouth, watching Sherlock's hands caress the ridges of the bone with tenderness. The skull was slick with lubricant, but still Sherlock's grip held. "Sh-Sherlock." John's voice shook, a plea for more as he struggled with the urge to thrust up into the skull's wet heat or grind his hips back against Sherlock's sizable erection.

Oh, my!

I’m wondering what Sherlock has filled the skull with… *evil snorfling*

Fun, m’dearie, still smutty fun.

"Oh, John..." Sherlock's voice was a deep rumbling in his ear, a current that sent another wave of pleasure down his spine. "You should open your eyes, see how it looks to have him taking your cock so well. You're thicker than I am, you know, he must be so tight around you." John couldn't hold back the whimper at his lover's words, just as he couldn't resist a look -just a glance, he promised himself- at his crotch where Sherlock was expertly moving the skull over his cock.

*still grinning hugely*

Oh, Sherlock, you kinkmonster!  *cackling*


John bit his lip, eyes pressed tightly closed as he tried to turn enough to hide his face in Sherlock's shoulder. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Sherlock chuckled, nuzzling against the nape of John's neck as his hands worked over his lover's hard cock. "You were the one who brought up a threesome, and my ex is so willing to accept no strings attached..." John groaned in response, trying not to thrust into the wet heat as Sherlock guided the skull down onto his prick.


You wicked ficcer, that was smutty fun!

Beeblock Drabble: About The Bees

Title: About The Bees (Also on AO3)
Rating: G
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, OC
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: Not owning, claiming, profiting, or quitting anytime soon.
Spoilers: Nope.
Warnings: Surprisingly, no.
Summary: A client has come to talk to Sherlock.
Author’s Notes: No idea. Was doing playlist fic roulette, writing a few sentences or so of whatever came to mind as I listened to random songs on my playlist. This one grabbed me, not sure why. Might be more, might not; your guess is as good as mine - ask the Muse. ;D

rox712 reblogged your post Beeblock Dream Fic: Rooftop Confession and added:

Argh, I’m in love with this!

<3 Thank you! <3

Beeblock Dream Fic: Rooftop Confession

Title: Rooftop Confession (Also on AO3)
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock BBC
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Word Count: 2,516
Disclaimer: No claiming, owning, profiting, or stopping.
Spoilers: Yes, for S3, E2 & E3 (tiny, but there)
Warnings: Not really, except - Men who want to partner with men, Talk of Manly smooches, Possibly oddball and unsatisfying dialogue, YMMV.
Original Prompt: My sleeping subconscious.
Summary: Sherlock asks John to join him for a slightly unexpected discussion.
Author’s Notes: As those who know me have prolly heard at some point, I’ve always dreamt pretty vividly. Lately, in fact, I’ve had some pretty involved doozies, like this. No, really. About 9/10ths of this was straight up dream-factory issue; I just polished it a bit and fixed a few weird non sequiturs, as well as reconstructing a few bits of dialogue that I sort of lost between waking and getting to a notepad, then to the PC to get more of the basics down. No, I don’t know where Mary is supposed to be or anything about the baby, I didn’t get anything but these two chaps. I was going to keep it to make something larger with later, but I know how I am, that’ll never happen. So, here it is.

Also, it’s really kinda neat having Martin Freeman’s voice narrating in my head. I’m hoping I’ll get something with the delicious Cumbervoice next. You hear that, subconscious? Talking to you, yo!



YES!  YES IT IS FROM YOUR FIC!  *snags brownies and redbull, keeps brownies, gives redbull to Muse*  ;D

In fact most, if not all, of the MH & GL snippets from my Sunday Six posts are from your fic.  I started with bits from chapter 1 and have been pulling a bit from each chapter in succession each Sunday that I posted a Sunday Six (I’ve missed some here and there).

So, if you want to backtrack to This Post, that’s the one with stuff from chapter 1 in it.   Or I think they’ll all show in this tag search I did HERE.


Beeblock/Neverland - SH/JW, PP, TB

“What is the meaning of this?!”  Captain Hook’s expression went from stunned to outraged with an obvious thread of growing alarm and, even as he was shouting the question, his distraction allowed Peter to twist out of his hold, shooting upward with a glad cry of triumph.

A deep voice from the flying ship boomed out, “Ahoy, Peter!  I bring greetings and reinforcements from Princess Tiger Lily!”  

The braves had already begun to shift the balance of the battle, freeing captured Lost Boys and ruthlessly taking advantage of the element of surprise to mow down Hook’s pirates with blood-curdling war cries and taunting laughter.  

“Holmes!” Peter shouted with surprised glee, swooping up and around to hover above the Bumblebee’s deck.  “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”  He took off his green cap and waved it with excess excitement as he did a loop-de-loop around the tall form of the recently-minted Captain Holmes.



Beeblock - From a prompt by mystradedoodles

[Looks like He’s close to soltion. Up fr pint Friday if we surbive this case?/ - JW]

[Wrong number.  – SH]

[Bugger. Sorry. – JW]

[When you manage to get the correct number, tell Lestrade I will require more cold cases by Monday. – SH]

[You solved it already?! Knew you would! Shiuld I grt Chimrsr on way homr? – JW]

[Are you typing with your elbows? Spellcheck! Yes, of course, and yes. Gyoza, please. – SH]



Beeblock - MH & GL


Mycroft hadn’t missed the pause when Gregory had noticed Mycroft’s own evening wear, even knew the other man approved by what he could see of his expression; the echo of it had still been in his features when he turned back to Mycroft more fully.  However, aside from a bit of colour in Gregory’s face, already fading by the time Mycroft was experiencing his own multi-layered reaction, no comment had been made.  Uncertain of the full ramifications of his own response and unwilling to examine Gregory’s too closely just yet—all of this flashing through Mycroft’s mind in but a few seconds—Mycroft defaulted to a pleasant, polite demeanor, rather than a cool, neutral one.  Gregory would suspect something was amiss if Mycroft offered him a mask the other man had made clear he knew for what it was.  Adding an approving nod, just to be certain Gregory wouldn’t feel self-conscious, Mycroft was immensely grateful for Dali’s timely appearance.

Going to their table, and through the motions of discussing wines with their server, Mycroft’s inner turmoil wasn’t settled wholly, but he compartmentalised it for the time being. 


Greg was almost surprised when they arrived at the hotel, the grand ballroom of which was hosting the fundraiser.  Getting involved in a discussion of one of his cases was par for the course, a regular occurrence, and it had been all the more interesting with Mycroft’s very canny input—Greg half-expected Mycroft to deduce everything, or to at least tell Greg he was wrong in something, or several somethings.  However, unlike Sherlock, Mycroft didn’t bludgeon Greg with his take on the case; to the contrary, he’d sought Greg’s reasoning on a few details, had asked leading questions on a few others, and then had given a slow nod and agreed that Greg’s new direction sounded promising.  The whole experience had been far more satisfying than Greg could have expected, as well as bloody useful.  He felt a great deal less tense about the case and, in fact, was almost looking forward to getting back to work on it.  

Oddly enough, Greg was a little thrown by the fact that talking about coffee—preferences, methodology, and additives—had been almost as enjoyable and nearly as engrossing as the earlier ‘shop talk’ had been.

So, just because I’m having fun with it (not that it’s necessarily good) I wanted to mention that there’s going to be another bit of beeblock/neverland(disney) crossover.  (Ref: This Post)

On an entirely related note: Mumford & Sons is working REALLY good for the Muse on this. It was very hard to pull away to go do necessary things.

Johnlock Fan Fic Rec 30 Day Challenge



Johnlock Fan Fic Rec 30 Day Challenge

Day 8 - Favorite AU

The Stars Move Still by BeautifulFiction


"What could I want so desperately that would make me sell my soul? What could possibly compel me to surrender the part of myself that makes me who I am: the source of my magic, my self-control, everything?"

Comments: So this was one of those fics that once I started reading it I was just like “Holy crap, how have I NOT heard about this before?!” because it’s pretty much amazing.

It’s a magic-realism AU that starts off with Sherlock and John helping Lestrade investigate a crime scene where they discover a powerful demon, Moriarty, trying to make it’s way into the human world. I really don’t want to give too much away because it’s really such an awesome read, the less you know the better.

I will say the relationship that develops between John and Sherlock is beautifully told in this one, it quite literally moved me to tears (happy ones, I swear)


Thank you so much, darling! I do LOVE (love, love, love) seeing Stars Move Still getting some love, because it’s so different from my other works - and was so MUCH fun to write. <3

Chiming in: I adore that fic, too.  It’s f’ing awesome!  ^5


Fic:  Minutiae 

It’s an anomaly of the human spirit that sometimes the deeper the pain the more silent the sufferer. By the same note the greater the relief, the weaker the ability to express it.

So John showed Sherlock how to express it…
  ~ Read more: AO3 | LJ | FF

This particular Minutiae was SO SO SO VERY GOOD!  (Though, honestly, they all are, aren&#8217;t they?)


Fic: Minutiae

It’s an anomaly of the human spirit that sometimes the deeper the pain the more silent the sufferer. By the same note the greater the relief, the weaker the ability to express it.

So John showed Sherlock how to express it…


  ~ Read more: AO3 | LJ | FF

This particular Minutiae was SO SO SO VERY GOOD! (Though, honestly, they all are, aren’t they?)

OrigFic: The Mer-bell



Title: The Mer-bell  (Also on AO3)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3,301
Warnings: Second-hand, non-graphic mention of whaling/killing whales.
Original Prompt: A post on Tumblr with the sentence = ‘Badass mermaid gangs who demand a stop to ocean pollution and warn ships about imminent storms.’”  [Please note - don’t try to click on the original post, it took me to random porn sites when I tried - this link here is to angelblack3's reblog of it, which is safe.]
Summary: A crewmember of a ship out at sea experiences what can happen when the ship’s Mer-bell rings.
Author’s Notes: I saw this post a while back and, srsly, I wanted to write a fic for each of the things listed in the post, but the mermaid line caught me first (being the first one) and, as I told my beta for another fic I’m working on, “The Mer people have stolen my Muse and won’t give her back till I write this fic!” So… yeah, it may be a bit odd, maybe even a bit boring, but I enjoyed writing it and I hope some of you enjoy reading it. It’s not precisely to the letter of the sentence that nabbed the Muse, but I think it’s in the spirit of it.

The Invitation


Because I suck at titles. Sorry.

This is for vaginal-diabetus because it’s her prompt and I adore her. I shower you with cucumbers and cheese! Anyway, the original post is here and I was kindly given permission to steal it. Apparently it’s a multi-chapter. I was not aware of this when I started writing it but such is life. It won’t be a LONG multi-chapter, though. Mostly just convenient bits for me to stop and guzzle some cider.

Aaaanyway. I talk too much. Here is the first bit. Unbeta’d and whatnot. All horrendous mistakes and butchering of the English language are all my own fault.


“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Mary says. Her hands are tapping at the steering wheel impatiently and the yellow glare of the streetlamps are casting weird shadows on her face, moments of bright and dark that seem to make no sense alongside the geometry of her features.

John glares at her from the passenger seat.

Her eyes flicker briefly towards him as she navigates a roundabout and she purses her lips. “She’s my friend, John. And Sherlock is your friend, in case you’ve forgotten that.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“So what’s the problem, then? Are you just in a strop because I didn’t ask for your permission first.”

“You don’t need my permission,” he mutters, then seems to reconsider. “Actually, no, hold on. Yes. Yes, you do. When you decide to accept invitations on my behalf, then yes, yes I would prefer to actually be asked first instead of just having it casually mentioned to me over lunch break that oh, by the way dear, we’re double-dating tonight, I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart. Well yes, I bloody do mind.”

There is a silence in which Mary grips the steering wheel a bit tighter and John glares out the window, his jaw working frantically and his hand clenching against his thigh.

There’s a red light and the car slides to slow stop.

“What if I’d had plans?” John demands, his voice bursting into the silence with the force of a grenade and Mary rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Did you have plans, John?”

“No. But I might have.”

“What plans could you have had? Anyway, I would know.”

“No. You don’t actually know everything, you know. There are some things that you don’t know. For instance.” He pauses. Frowns. The light turns green and Mary drives on.

Three blocks and another traffic light pass before John suddenly speaks again. “I could have been meeting Mike at the pub,” he says with an air of triumph. “Or Sherlock could have needed me for a case.”

“Mike is out of town, you told me last week. And we’re going to Sherlock’s for dinner.”

John glares again. “He could have forgotten.”

“Janine wouldn’t have, though. And besides, he hasn’t called you for a case in months.”

John says nothing but he sniffs, the exaggerated drag of his nostrils that always reminds Mary of a bull about to charge. She half expects him to start kicking at the ground when he does it, but instead he just turns away, slumping further down in his seat and clenching his hands in his lap. She sighs and focuses her attention on the road, ignoring him.

The car turns onto Baker Street and John stares out the windshield as the black door comes into view, its brass numbers glinting dully.

Mary pulls into a spot across the street, shifting into park and turning the ignition off. There’s a moment in which John worries about the sudden silence but it’s not even a second and she’s climbing out of the car without looking at him, shutting the door behind her, the gesture just a few inches short of a slam. He watches her walk towards 221B, staring at the sway of her coat and the way the street lamps turn everything slightly sickly. When she gets to it, she reaches towards the brass knocker and even in the car he can hear the high hollow slap of metal on wood and he feels a completely irrational but undeniable sense of propriety towards the knocker that she so casually manhandles and he wonders if she knows and is doing it on purpose even though he knows it’s ridiculous and it’s just a bloody knocker, Jesus Christ Watson, get a grip.

With a drawing of breath he pulls the latch on the car door and clambers out. He is familiar with the feeling at the pit of his stomach, heavy and hollow all at once. He used to feel it in Afghanistan, every time they passed from the safe zone and into territory that hid the potential of death, or worse than death, behind every corner or rise of ground, that brief flutter of awareness before he ruthlessly shut it down.

And this time is no different as he deliberately ignores it, pushing the awareness of it aside. This isn’t Afghanistan and no one is going to die tonight, however fervently he might be wishing it right now. He glances up as he slams the car door and is just in time to see the twitch of the sitting room curtain on the second floor. He drags his eyes away immediately, suddenly terrified.


He looks over. Janine is standing in the open door and she and Mary are standing there, watching him, black head and blonde, and something about the sight bothers him but he can’t figure out what. Mary is staring at him, one eyebrow high on her forehead and her mouth twisted in an expression that reads like an unpleasant mix of impatience and annoyance with that odd touch of disdain that he’s begun to see more and more. He has no idea if he’s imagining it, but he’s more than half afraid that he’s not. He averts his gaze, feeling as if he’s seen something he shouldn’t.

“John, come on!” Janine calls again. “Dinner’s going to burn. You know how useless Sherlock is.” She is grinning, a look of puzzled amusement on her open face and in that moment John hates her with all his soul.

But it’s only for a moment and he shoves it down, with the terror and the hollowness and the heaviness and the fear. He pushes it down and shuts the cellar door because there are some things that just aren’t meant to be looked at too closely.

“Coming!” he calls, smiling broadly, overcompensating far too much and he’s worried they’ll notice, but Mary and Janine have already turned away, vanishing through the door and into the shadow of the hall and John forces himself after them.


Part Two   Part Three   Part Four

This is immensely excellent ficcery here, go, read, enjoy. \o/

tysolna replied to your post “tysolna replied to your post “April Fool’s Fake-Out Challenge: Last…”

I never said I thought it was supposed to be funny - I’m just AMAZED that you write stuff like this for APRIL FOOLS it’s so damn good and that line about who the dangerous one is killed me so yeah THIS WAS GREAT! *gesticulates* :-D

OOoooooohhhhhhhhhh!!!!!  How did I miss that?  Clearly I am not firing on all cylinders today! 

Thank you, sweetie!  And I’m tickled now that you liked it!  (I was grinning soooo hard typing that line, srsly!)  \o/