Some silly crack I wrote to cheer myself up. Enjoy
Fandom: Sherlock
Title: Phone sex
Word count: 700 approx
Rating: soft R
Summary: Sherlock gets a job as at a sex phone line for a case. Hilarity ensues.
Disclaimer: May Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss never find out what I have done with their interpretation of Arthur Conan Doyle's beloved character.
Author's notes: Written for this prompt on the kink meme.
“What are you wearing?” Sherlock asked for the umpteenth time that day, bored out of his skull. Not that you’d guess it from his tone, he was far too professional to let the dribbling sex-crazed morons on the other end of the line know exactly how tedious he found them all. Well, he wasn’t really, but this was important. Unfortunately. But, if the only way to solve the linked killings of sex workers had been to pose as a rent boy and suck off Johns (unfortunate slang, he thought inwardly and crossed his legs) in an alley until he got the information he needed, he’d have done that too. This was easier on the knees anyway.
“Three piece suit and a smile, brother dear,” came the hateful and hatefully familiar voice of his archenemy (Moriarty be damned, family was important).
“Mycroft, get off the line!” he shouted. He could feel a flush (not a blush, definitely not a blush) creeping up his collar.
“So it’s true. The sex trade, Sherlock, really. Mummy would be so disappointed, was this what she sent you to Harrow and Cambridge for?”
The bastard actually tutted at him. Tutted.
“It’s for a case,” he hissed down the receiver, pointedly ignoring the look from his ‘co-worker’ in the booth opposite (dumpy woman, mid fifties, voice like dark chocolate melting on Marilyn Monroe’s inner thigh). “And public schoolboys are a bunch of tarts and we both know it. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got five paying customers on call waiting.”
“Unless it has escaped your notice, as I am paying £3.50 per minute for this little chat, I am a paying customer of... oh dear, ‘Hi, I’m Horny’” He pronounced the company name like it was a foreign phrase he wasn’t quite sure of the correct accent for.
“Listen, just fuck off, you fat waste of space. If I don’t find the right sex starved loser with a pronounced lisp and a penchant for baritones in the next 24 hours, an innocent man may die! He’d be the fourth, do you really want that on your conscience just because you decided to be petty?”
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table and glared at the flashing switchboard in front of him. He flinched at the gusty explosion of static in his ear as Mycroft sighed dramatically and hung up.
Well. It had only been a matter of time, it’s not like the nosy bastard wouldn’t have found out sooner or later, and all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. There was still the implicit threat of blackmail, but that implied that Sherlock had an ounce of shame in his body.
Still, if this information was to be splashed around his circle of acquaintances, he’d rather it was after the case was over so no more of his time was wasted with immature crank calls.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and put the poor bugger on line three, who had been waiting for ten minutes, through.
“I’m fingering myself, I’m all wet and open for you, please, won’t you fuck me?” he said in his most convincing sex-voice, with a slight whine at the end.
“Hi Sherlock, I was just going to ask you what you wanted for dinner,” came John’s disgustingly amused voice from the other end of the line. “I had to request you specially on this bloody thing since you weren’t answering my texts.”
“John. ”
“I suppose you’re not supposed to take personal calls though. So, I was thinking shepherd’s pie? We’ve got one in the freezer, next to the monkey brains.”
“John. Please get off the phone. Murderer. Must thwart. Care not about shepherd’s pie. And did you tell my sodding brother about the phone sex line?”
“Hmm? No, why?”
“Never mind.”
“Shepherd’s pie then?”
“Fine.”
“And if you’re really good, I’ll give you a good seeing to after dinner.”
It was possibly the first good luck he’d had all day when the phone didn’t break with the force he slammed the receiver down with.
Title: Phone sex
Word count: 700 approx
Rating: soft R
Summary: Sherlock gets a job as at a sex phone line for a case. Hilarity ensues.
Disclaimer: May Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss never find out what I have done with their interpretation of Arthur Conan Doyle's beloved character.
Author's notes: Written for this prompt on the kink meme.
“What are you wearing?” Sherlock asked for the umpteenth time that day, bored out of his skull. Not that you’d guess it from his tone, he was far too professional to let the dribbling sex-crazed morons on the other end of the line know exactly how tedious he found them all. Well, he wasn’t really, but this was important. Unfortunately. But, if the only way to solve the linked killings of sex workers had been to pose as a rent boy and suck off Johns (unfortunate slang, he thought inwardly and crossed his legs) in an alley until he got the information he needed, he’d have done that too. This was easier on the knees anyway.
“Three piece suit and a smile, brother dear,” came the hateful and hatefully familiar voice of his archenemy (Moriarty be damned, family was important).
“Mycroft, get off the line!” he shouted. He could feel a flush (not a blush, definitely not a blush) creeping up his collar.
“So it’s true. The sex trade, Sherlock, really. Mummy would be so disappointed, was this what she sent you to Harrow and Cambridge for?”
The bastard actually tutted at him. Tutted.
“It’s for a case,” he hissed down the receiver, pointedly ignoring the look from his ‘co-worker’ in the booth opposite (dumpy woman, mid fifties, voice like dark chocolate melting on Marilyn Monroe’s inner thigh). “And public schoolboys are a bunch of tarts and we both know it. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got five paying customers on call waiting.”
“Unless it has escaped your notice, as I am paying £3.50 per minute for this little chat, I am a paying customer of... oh dear, ‘Hi, I’m Horny’” He pronounced the company name like it was a foreign phrase he wasn’t quite sure of the correct accent for.
“Listen, just fuck off, you fat waste of space. If I don’t find the right sex starved loser with a pronounced lisp and a penchant for baritones in the next 24 hours, an innocent man may die! He’d be the fourth, do you really want that on your conscience just because you decided to be petty?”
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table and glared at the flashing switchboard in front of him. He flinched at the gusty explosion of static in his ear as Mycroft sighed dramatically and hung up.
Well. It had only been a matter of time, it’s not like the nosy bastard wouldn’t have found out sooner or later, and all things considered, it could have been a lot worse. There was still the implicit threat of blackmail, but that implied that Sherlock had an ounce of shame in his body.
Still, if this information was to be splashed around his circle of acquaintances, he’d rather it was after the case was over so no more of his time was wasted with immature crank calls.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and put the poor bugger on line three, who had been waiting for ten minutes, through.
“I’m fingering myself, I’m all wet and open for you, please, won’t you fuck me?” he said in his most convincing sex-voice, with a slight whine at the end.
“Hi Sherlock, I was just going to ask you what you wanted for dinner,” came John’s disgustingly amused voice from the other end of the line. “I had to request you specially on this bloody thing since you weren’t answering my texts.”
“John. ”
“I suppose you’re not supposed to take personal calls though. So, I was thinking shepherd’s pie? We’ve got one in the freezer, next to the monkey brains.”
“John. Please get off the phone. Murderer. Must thwart. Care not about shepherd’s pie. And did you tell my sodding brother about the phone sex line?”
“Hmm? No, why?”
“Never mind.”
“Shepherd’s pie then?”
“Fine.”
“And if you’re really good, I’ll give you a good seeing to after dinner.”
It was possibly the first good luck he’d had all day when the phone didn’t break with the force he slammed the receiver down with.