The night Sherlock wore nothing but a bed sheet
and made mischief of one kind and another
John called him "WILD THING!"
and Sherlock said "I'LL EAT YOU UP!"

John gave him a long, searching look.
"Was that an innuendo?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Sherlock asked, suddenly coy.

So he was sent to bed without eating anything.

That very night in Sherlock's room a forest grew and grew —
and grew until his ceiling hung with vines
and the walls became the world all around
and an ocean tumbled by with a private boat for Sherlock
and he sailed off through night and day
and in and out of weeks and almost over a year
to where the wild things are.

And when he came to the place where the wild things are
they clicked open their terrible lube
and waved their terrible dildos
and snapped their terrible cock-rings
and brandished their terrible butt plugs
and wielded their terrible riding crops
and flaunted their terrible anal beads
and displayed their terrible handcuffs
until Sherlock said "BE STILL!"
and tamed with the magic trick
of trying all their sex toys without coming once.

And they were frightened
and called him the most wild thing of all
and made him king of all wild things.

"And now," cried Sherlock, "let the wild orgy start!"

"Now stop!" Sherlock said,
and sent the wild things off to bed
without any orgasms.

And Sherlock, the king of all wild things, was lonely
and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.

Then all around from far away across the world
he smelled good things to eat
so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.

But the wild things cried, "Oh please don't go —
we'll eat you up — we love you so!"

And Sherlock said, "No!"

The wild things waved their terrible dildos
and snapped their terrible cock-rings
and brandished their terrible butt plugs
but Sherlock stepped into his private boat
and waved good-bye
and sailed back over a year
and in and out of weeks
and through a day
and into the night of his very own room
where he found John waiting for him…

And he was still hot.

End Notes: Last night I published "The High-Functioning Sociopath Who Walked by Himself," and the first reader to comment over on AO3 said the story reminded her of "Where the Wild Things Are." Well, that was too much inspiration to pass up. So here is another bastardization of a classic children's story. Please review — you just might inspire my next work.