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Elementary Kink Meme!
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Hello everyone! With a lot of requests in the tag for one, as well as a few in the elementasquee tumblr ask box, I decided to make an Elementary Kink Meme here! You guys can private message me for more ideas to where we can extend this kink meme family or whatever.

This link here goes to the all-encompassing Sherlock Holmes meme. 
Fulfilled prompts go here.

  • Please don't do anything that breaks the law.
  • You can post anonymously if you want.
  • Tag/title any trigger alerts in the subject title, please.  
  • No kink shaming! Your kink may not be my kink, but that's ok!
  • You can prompt/request if you'd like, but try, in return, to write something for an unfilled prompt!
  • Don't be rude.
  • I will be very mad if I see Elementary bashing here.
Contact the elementasquee tumblr or the kink meme tumblr for any concerns. 
Mods' tumblrs: itshiddles, plathgirl, endquestionmark, relaxandjustpanic

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erotic asphyxiation - sherlock likes it when joan chokes him during sex


Watson does this for him because she loves him and if she didn't he would go back to the kiss of the needle. But it scares her either way, the things Sherlock Holmes does that puts the mind he values at risk. And if she didn't do it for him, he would do it himself and never know when to stop. Holmes takes things too far always. Watson was afraid she would come home to their Baker Avenue address in The Bronx and find him dead. Dead with one hand on his prick and one hand still stubbornly pulling his scarf in a fatal embrace, with a death erection.

Like many things, Holmes' instances of keeping bees on the roof and his general mess, this was something he could not be talked out of. When Holmes got an idea in his head, the only way he got rid of it was if he felt he had no need for it. He had talked a length about attics and keeping them clean for someone who wanted their apartment undusted. He had a meltdown when she had attacked the worst of the dust because it was bothering her allergies every time she walked inside.

If she couldn't talk him out of it, she could play along. She had been a surgeon. She had capable hands, hands that could sense the stilling of a man's pulse. Holmes trusted her hands. "They're good steady hands," he said, clasping his bandaged ink and chemical stained hands over hers. "You wouldn't be my Boswell otherwise." He kissed her hands rather worshipfully for someone who considered kissing to be the most unhygienic act know to man. ("All of those germs in a mouth, Watson. Ick.")

When they have sex?love?fuck? (she's not sure what to call it) they never kiss. She rides him hard, her nails scoring the fur of his chest, drawing blood sometimes. The pink lines stand out in contrast to the ink. Her hands have mapped his tattoos countless times, enough to feel the whisper of the burn scars he hides beneath them. There are countless other scars on his body, scars where he was too slow and others where she too late to aid him.

Holmes keeps his fingers aways from Watson's own scars, the entry scar that she received in a base raid in Afghanistan and the scar left over from repairing the damage. She had joined the Army Medical Department or AMEDD when she was younger and more carefree. Her mother and father had been nothing but concerned. What would the army think of a half-Chinese, half-Scottish woman? She had smiled and shrugged and said, "If I never join, we'll never find out."

Six months. Sixth months of scorching sun and sand everywhere, but it had been worth it. She sent back letters that she was safe and sound. She spent nights gambling in the mess hall. She got two tattoos, one of Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female doctor in the world (she got asked endlessly who the old lady on her arm was) and the other of her family's motto "Insperata Floruit." She had no idea what it mean, but family loyalty was part of both parts of her heritage.


Her army career ended with a bullet that bit deep into her belly on an army raid. She wouldn't have gotten shot, but she had been operating on someone and had thrown herself over him in an effort to keep the soldier safe. He was younger than she was. Just a child. If she had to die to keep him safe, so be it. But the bullets kept flying, around her and he caught a bullet in temple and died anyway. When she slowly rose off him, her own torso and scrubs dripping with blood, she saw the bullet had kept traveling through her and into him, winking at her wickedly through the open surgical incision.

Watson's uterus had been torn apart that day. She couldn't have children. Still a barrier of latex separated the walls of her vagina from his cock. He was a former IV drug user who had several tattooed lovers equally as depraved in their kink if not more so than he. Who knew what went through Holmes' veins now? He's damaged as much as she. She stares at him and thinks, "Look at him, look at the poor damaged man."

When he shows signs of orgasm, she wraps her hands around his throat, fingers keeping track of his slowing pulse. She'll save Holmes from himself. And she will remember to let go before he dies. His life is in her hands, seconds being the difference in safe and brain damaged. Holmes' body arches beneath her and she lets go of his throat.

His hand brushes her cheek. "Thank you," he rasps.

She doesn't feel thankful. Holmes shifts off the bed and she hears the rustle of a cigarette package. "You shouldn't be smoking after this." She hears his coughing and adds, "Told you."

Holmes presses the cigarette to her lips and gets off the secondhand smoke. It's just another addiction, but there are worse addictions in the world. Perhaps Siger Holmes is right. Perhaps she has no business being a sober companion. "Don't think that," Holmes says.

"Don't tell me you're a mind reader now. Or have you been reading my Facebook page. I keep that locked and you're not one of my friends now for that reason." Watson retorts, cigarette balanced between her fingers.

"You have a bad habit of making your inner monologues vocal," he replies.


"I don't mind."

And then there's silence. She wishes that this calm could be like this all the time. But Holmes will get bored again and she'll risk damaging him and chipping aways at her conscience. She doesn't want to be a killer. Not again.

Author's Notes: Insperata Floruit, the Watson clan motto means "It has flourished beyond expectation". A fitting motto for any Watson.

Surprisingly melancholy for a kink fic, but lovely just the same. I like Joan's inner monologues and I hope her canon counterpart is just as angsty because ... hnnnng. I love her here that's for sure.

Very well done!

I love this! It's gritty and raw, which makes the touches of softness interspersed all the more impactful. Especially loved this line:

He kissed her hands rather worshipfully for someone who considered kissing to be the most unhygienic act know to man. ("All of those germs in a mouth, Watson. Ick.")

love how in this line you manage to encompass his POV as well as hers. awesome.

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