#sawprompt

[sner2000]

The last scene of Titanic where we follow the camera through the wreck of the ship until we find Jack waiting for Rose at the grand staircase but instead it’s the camera going through the corridors until we reach the Saw bathroom and Adam is there waiting for Lawrence.

[rolaplayor101]

A page of a comic that doesn't exist but could if People want it to😶😶

I mean, only if you're wondering why Danny's mad👀👀

[smarthily]

I saw this conversation in @writingwife-83's post about nicknames

love-yellow-door said: I think when Molly hears Sherlock call her ‘Doctor Hooper’ when they are alone together, she knows things just got interesting. 😊

writingwife-83 said: @love-yellow-door mmhm, yep I agree with that! 😏

juldooz said: That’s a lovely headcanon @love-yellow-door

love-yellow-door said: @writingwife-83 @juldooz we should all write a version of this occurrence!

love-yellow-door said: The ‘Don’t call me baby’ Challenge!😁

writingwife-83 said: @love-yellow-door that’s an awesome challenge! 😆 👏🏻

juldooz said: 🤣 👏🏼@love-yellow-door that’s a wonderful challenge! 👍🏼😅

and I agree that @love-yellow-door's idea is great 👍 This should be a thing! Let's make it a thing! Maybe we could have it as @sherlollyappreciationweek monthly prompt? We haven't had those in a while. Wouldn't it be cool? I'd love to see lots of versions of it from different authors, varying from G to E 😏 I'm sure each author would tackle it their own way, so it should be really interesting ;)

[rolaplayor101]

Ben is probably coming back from hell.

"Dark Hallway"

[rolaplayor101]

Fluffy

Preserum Steve x Thor for @leisurelypanda

Proshippers and exclusionists don't interact!

[rolaplayor101]

Deviant

Finished Picolo's Raven the other day and immediately got to drawing

[hobbitsdoitbetter]

A Tight Squeeze

Since I haven’t been able to do something for every day of SAW2020, I decided to combine a couple of the prompts. This is for the prompt “confined space,” and “rivals to lovers.” Enjoy!

London,

St Bartholomew’s Morgue

1895

Hooper knows as soon as she hears the door shut.

There is a particular click to it when it is locked, and that click is currently echoing through the morgue.

Well, she thinks. Blast.

Holmes’ head flicks up sharply, eyes going to the door and his frown tells her that he heard it too. He straightens up, the cadaver he’s examining momentarily forgotten.

“Anderson?” He inquires, his tone irritated.

When something goes amiss in the morgue, Anderson is usually to blame.

Hooper shakes her head. “LeStrade wouldn’t let him act the jackanape,” she points out. “Nor would Doctor Watson.” Both of whom were in the morgue with Holmes a moment ago- Curious that they should take their leave without saying anything. As she speaks she moves across the morgue to the door. Pushes it, just to be sure.

It doesn’t budge.

“Let me try,” Holmes says impatiently, bustling her out of the way in that peremptory, irritating way he has, and putting his shoulder to it.

Hooper grits her teeth, pretending as she does so that she can smell neither his cologne nor his pomade- Such an irritating creature should not smell nearly so delicious as Holmes- Nor should he look so handsome in naught but shirt, vest, trousers and braces, his body taut with the effort of opening the door-

Despite herself Hooper notes, with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, the way his biceps and pectorals strain against the fabric of his sleeve. The way his breath huffs slightly in the silence of the morgue. One lock of that perfectly oiled, slicked back hair has jostled loose, just calling out to be stroked back into place…

Immediately she chides herself, turning away. She will not lower herself to ogling Sherlock bloody Holmes.

Or, if she cannot help it, then she will not bloody well be foolish enough to get caught.

“It’s locked,” he announces, and she rolls her eyes.

“What magnificent observational skills you have,” she snaps. “And here, I thought they only came into play when there was someone to impress about.”

Holmes turns, his back to the door. He glowers down at her. “Tell me, Hooper,” he bites out, “how did you ever manage to get through your youth without picking up a single element of feminine charm?”

Hooper crosses her arms, glowers right back up at him. “In much the same day you managed to reach adulthood without ever learning how to behave like a gentleman around the opposite sex!” She snaps.

The detective lets out an overly dramatic gasp and crosses his arms over his chest, cocking an eyebrow at her. The brute has the barefaced audacity to look insulted. “I am a perfect gentleman,” he says.

“No,” Hooper snaps. “You can play the perfect gentleman- Just as I can play the perfect lady.” At his horrified expression she smiles darkly. “It’s not hard really: all you have to do is glare and strut and blurt out bombast if you’re a man, and simper and smile and pretend to be brainless if you’re female-“

Holmes snorts. “You couldn’t reptend to be stupid if you’re life depended on it, Hooper,” he says.

“Oh really?” She demands.

Somewhere, dimly, she acknowledges that she’s not actually being insulted, but she’s never let that get in the way of a good argument with Holmes, and she’s not going to start now.

“Yes!” Holmes snaps. “Intelligence oozes out of your every pore, and always has,” he says roughly. “Even before I realised what- who- you were, I could see that!”

As he speaks he sounds on her, punctuating each statement with a step forward, and forcing Hooper to take a step back. There’s a light in his eyes, intense and predatory, that she has never seen before. “You were always impossible-“ one step- “incorrigible-“ another step- “Inescapable,”- another step-

“You want to escape me?” She breathes out.

Her skin feels like it’s on fire.

“God, no.”

His eyes blaze, blue and green and intent, in the gloom of the morgue. 

And then suddenly, in what Hooper can only describe as a moment of madness, Holmes and she are in one another’s arms and kissing madly. 

Passionately. 

Acrobatically.

She launches herself at him with such force that he slams back into the morgue door and the guttural growl he gives upon impact makes her damn near melt.

For he gives an “oomph!” And a “damnation!” And a “Hooper!” And then suddenly, without either of them putting much thought into it they’re tearing at one another’s clothes. Tossing them aside with reckless abandon. Holmes’ trousers and smalls get thrown into the darkness, possibly never to be heard from again. Hooper’s wig and moustache do likewise, her shirt buttons flying in every direction as Holmes pulls the linen apart.

He swallows her gasps with his kisses, hooks his fingers into the bandaging across her breasts and pulls it down, his mouth feasting on the soft, sweet flesh of her breasts. It feels bloody divine. She rakes her hands through his hair and writhes in his lap, murmuring to him that she wants him, she needs him, she doesn’t care what she does to have him-

*****

Outside, down the hall, LeStrade and Watson hear their friends’... interactions.

Their very loud, very enthusiastic interactions.

With a smug look the good doctor holds out a hand and LeStrade reluctantly places a guinea in his palm.

“How long should we give them, do you think?” He asks. “Before we unlock the door and let them out ?”

There’s a womanly, low growl from the behind the morgue door, followed by the sound of a man’s voice, moaning, and the two men exchange glances.

“Tomorrow morning it is,” LeStrade says, and he and Watson beat a hasty retreat.