So I have a huge arranged marriage kink. I need the first time Sherlock meets John to be on their wedding day.
At first everything is super awkward. John thinks that Sherlock's standoffish attitude is because he doesn't want to be married, and Sherlock can't figure out why John won't just kiss him already, but is too proud to admit that he wants John to.
Eventually after much angst and confusion someone is like “You know what? We’re /married./ We don’t really have to follow all the crazy dating rules.”
And so they have hot surprisingly intimate sex and fluff abounds :D
This is not *quite* right (they meet each other before the actual wedding) but it has awkward miscommunications and arranged marriage (gay royalty au!) and it's great.
Fill: Bound in Gold 1bpennin_inkFebruary 26 2011, 06:36:42 UTC
Mycroft shrugged, an elegant and dismissive gesture. “Be that as it may, mummy is set on tradition and I can’t be made a hypocrite by sheltering my own brother from a practice I’ve publicly lauded. You will marry Dr Watson next month, you will follow every ceremony, every ritual and you will maintain at least a facade of enthusiasm while the cameras are present. Do you understand
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 1cpennin_inkFebruary 26 2011, 06:37:25 UTC
“Come back, Sherlock. You’ve gotten lost in your brain again.” Mycroft chided. Sherlock dragged his attention back to his brother and the fitting room.
Mycroft smiled, much the way a fox does when greeting a house full of hens. “I’ll expect you at dinner in one hour, Sherlock. Mummy will be so pleased to see you wearing that.”
Sherlock’s protests of lost appetite died on his lips. The warning was soft, but genuine. It was clear he would not get away with slinking off to avoid dinner and tearing the bracelet from his wrist at the first opportunity. First rule of being a Holmes son: Thou shalt not break mummy’s heart. It was as close to gospel as Sherlock would ever acknowledge. With one last, bone-weary sigh, he let his whole body sag and nodded his head. He’d be there. Jingles and all
( ... )
Re: Fill: Bound in Gold 1asherroldApril 6 2011, 04:13:25 UTC
I enjoyed the hell out of this story, and have already rec'd it to friends.
There is the tiniest small thing that, if I'd written it, I'd want to know. If I'm wrong, and you'd rather not know -- my honest apologies.
There's a bit towards the end where Watson sees Sherlock slide over the bonnet of a car, and thinks about some Yank show he watched in Afghanistan... ...um, when Watson was growing up, one of the most popular shows in Britain was called The Professionals. Every male kid watched it. And the Starsky and Hutch of that show, Bodie and Doyle, made somewhat of a habit of bonnet sliding. Basically I can't imagine Watson thinking of Yanks instead of Bodie and Doyle for such things.
Re: Fill: Bound in Gold 1apennin_inkApril 6 2011, 04:24:38 UTC
Dukes of Hazard.
As a Yank, I've honestly never heard of The Professionals, but hood-sliding (as it's called here in the states) is synonomous with Dukes of Hazard, which is a very silly show and beloved by good ol' boys and red staters and John would NOT have managed any length of time with American National Guardsmen wihtout being subjected to Dukes of Hazard DVDs. Trust me on this, my dad is one of them.
If I'd known about and used The Professionals, though, the scene would've probably had a different tone. More fond, less exasperated. Could've been interesting. Also, now I feel I should look up The Professionals.
Fill: Bound in Gold 2apennin_inkFebruary 26 2011, 06:46:26 UTC
Dr John H Watson was not a poor man. He wasn’t a wealthy man, but his family had been comfortable throughout his childhood, and he had never wanted for much beyond a flashier car or trendier clothes than were necessary for an adolescent boy. As a man, John had wanted for even less. And as a soldier, he had wanted for nothing.
He’d been content, between the bouts of terror and agony, to simply be Captain Watson of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. He’d been proud. He’d been happy. He’d been useful.
And then he’d been shot. And just like that, John Watson wanted for everything. He wanted two good legs, instead of an excruciating limp from a wound he’d never received. He wanted a healthy shoulder, instead of ravaged muscle and torn sinew that ached and seized in damp and cold weather. He wanted a good night’s sleep, instead of nightmares that left him gasping and crying into his cold and empty bed.
But right now? In this moment? More than anything, John Watson craved sanity“This is just too much, Johnny!” Harriet cried for the eighty-
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 3apennin_inkFebruary 26 2011, 07:15:42 UTC
Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He craned his neck and peered through the window, desperate for a glimpse. Just a glimpse. Some clue he could work from to create a mental image of the man who had been contracted to ruin his life
( ... )
Re: Fill: Bound in Gold 3b OP
anonymous
February 26 2011, 08:18:36 UTC
Kyaaaaa~!!! This is brilliant! It's just so perfect and hits all my buttons while still managing to be Sherlock-y and did I mention perfect? Me and this fic need to get married. :D
Thank you! I'm eagerly awaiting news of what happens next!
At first everything is super awkward. John thinks that Sherlock's standoffish attitude is because he doesn't want to be married, and Sherlock can't figure out why John won't just kiss him already, but is too proud to admit that he wants John to.
Eventually after much angst and confusion someone is like “You know what? We’re /married./ We don’t really have to follow all the crazy dating rules.”
And so they have hot surprisingly intimate sex and fluff abounds :D
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Seconding the prompt as well!
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Mycroft smiled, much the way a fox does when greeting a house full of hens. “I’ll expect you at dinner in one hour, Sherlock. Mummy will be so pleased to see you wearing that.”
Sherlock’s protests of lost appetite died on his lips. The warning was soft, but genuine. It was clear he would not get away with slinking off to avoid dinner and tearing the bracelet from his wrist at the first opportunity. First rule of being a Holmes son: Thou shalt not break mummy’s heart. It was as close to gospel as Sherlock would ever acknowledge. With one last, bone-weary sigh, he let his whole body sag and nodded his head. He’d be there. Jingles and all ( ... )
Reply
There is the tiniest small thing that, if I'd written it, I'd want to know. If I'm wrong, and you'd rather not know -- my honest apologies.
There's a bit towards the end where Watson sees Sherlock slide over the bonnet of a car, and thinks about some Yank show he watched in Afghanistan...
...um, when Watson was growing up, one of the most popular shows in Britain was called The Professionals. Every male kid watched it. And the Starsky and Hutch of that show, Bodie and Doyle, made somewhat of a habit of bonnet sliding. Basically I can't imagine Watson thinking of Yanks instead of Bodie and Doyle for such things.
Otherwise -- wonderful long work!
Reply
As a Yank, I've honestly never heard of The Professionals, but hood-sliding (as it's called here in the states) is synonomous with Dukes of Hazard, which is a very silly show and beloved by good ol' boys and red staters and John would NOT have managed any length of time with American National Guardsmen wihtout being subjected to Dukes of Hazard DVDs. Trust me on this, my dad is one of them.
If I'd known about and used The Professionals, though, the scene would've probably had a different tone. More fond, less exasperated. Could've been interesting. Also, now I feel I should look up The Professionals.
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PS thank you for the story: it's one of my kinks too!
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He’d been content, between the bouts of terror and agony, to simply be Captain Watson of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces. He’d been proud. He’d been happy. He’d been useful.
And then he’d been shot. And just like that, John Watson wanted for everything. He wanted two good legs, instead of an excruciating limp from a wound he’d never received. He wanted a healthy shoulder, instead of ravaged muscle and torn sinew that ached and seized in damp and cold weather. He wanted a good night’s sleep, instead of nightmares that left him gasping and crying into his cold and empty bed.
But right now? In this moment? More than anything, John Watson craved sanity“This is just too much, Johnny!” Harriet cried for the eighty- ( ... )
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Thank you! I'm eagerly awaiting news of what happens next!
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