Chapter Text
Sherlock Holmes was quite aware he lived a pretty reckless life, especially after he ended up in prison for 6 months accused of theft. However, back then he couldn’t even imagine that the real adventures for him were only about to start. Within a month he was accused in a murder, exposed a fake Chinese princess, rescued his mother from the asylum, uncovered his family mystery, found out his sister was alive all of that time and defeated his own father in his plans to spread a deadly chemical weapon around the world. And, of course, met his love in James Moriarty. For the record, their relationship during that time also had its challenges, but after all, they’d managed to sort it out. The biggest of them is Moriarty’s possession of power. Holmes didn’t understand that since the thrill of the investigation was something making him feel alive, he simply couldn’t come up with a proper explanation for why it wasn’t enough for James. And yet, Sherlock couldn’t help but ask himself, wandering through his mind, if he had something similar deeply inside of his soul. At the end of it all, James was one of a few people who could compete with Holmes’ intelligence, as sharp and brilliant as Sherlock, like they had one mind split into two bodies.
Returned from Constantinople, they’d settle in the Appleton Manor to keep an eye on Cordelia while she was getting used to living on her own without asylum or husbands' supervision. Both Sherlock and James knew they'd leave the house eventually, but for a couple of months it was more than suitable to decide what to do next. And there was a lot to think about. First of all, Silas left Sherlock a key to a secret safe in his London office with a comprehensive set of materials for blackmailing the most influential people of the world. Second, there was Beatrice Holmes settling in London and, likely, adopting the remains of Silas's drug web, considering reviving it. And third, both Sherlock and James actually needed an occupation to have some wages to live. And even though Cordelia told them she would be happy to see them around as long as they’d like to stay, the lives of two young men in love craved some proper privacy.
In two weeks since they’d returned from Constantinople, Sherlock and James had barely found anything useful on Beatrice, despite her two visits for Sunday dinners, focusing on her over other tasks. They’d agreed that she was the most dangerous threat to them at the moment, so figuring out her business would give them some space to move with other questions. Gladly, the things were about to change since, on Friday morning, Mycroft arrived at the Appleton Manor with some news. At first, they had lunch. Cordelia was so interested in everything her eldest son had to do in the ministry lately, sharing in return how her things were going at home. After lunch all four of them went hunting, spending an hour around the river drinking fresh cordial, and only at sunset moved back into the house to prepare them for dinner. Mycroft excused three of them to have a private conversation in Silas’ study, and their mother smiled knowingly, informing them she’d go to the village to meet Mrs Tilcott, with whom they apparently became friends after Beatrice returned.
“So what is it you want to share without mother hearing?” Sherlock asked him straightforwardly. He and James took seats in the armchairs, drinking whisky, while Mycroft stood in front of two of them with his glass.
“It is about Beatrice, as you have guessed already.” Mycroft wasn’t doubting Sherlock’s intelligence, and James could only chuckle at that.
“Oh, your little sister finally made her move?” Moriarty grinned.
"No,” Sherlock shook his head, watching his brother closely. “It was Mycroft who did his move. As far as I recall, it was you who asked her to come back to London.”
“Nothing gets past you, doesn’t it?” Mycroft chuckled, lowering his eyes. It was a rare occasion when it was Sherlock to catch him, not otherwise. “After my report to the embassy in Constantinople, they’d wanted her here. Our secret services were looking after her for two weeks, but she did nothing suspicious. That is why I have reached her recently and asked to be our informant.”
“Beatrice? Informant? That’s the twist!” James laughed, sipping from his glass.
“Despite the fact she should be charged for her crimes she committed alongside Silas, it is a logical outcome, I suppose.” Sherlock nodded. “She shares quite a deep insight on those who were involved in Silas’ distribution web and how they were involved.” He left out the fact he had even more evidence and names that Beatrice would ever be able to give to the government.
“Correct, brother dear.” Mycroft gave out a tense smile. “The reason I’m telling you two all of this is that, in my opinion, Her Majesty’s government tends to trust her too much, overlooking her previous actions.”
“Not the smartest decision.” Moriarty evaluated.
“As you can see, I don’t trust her. I believe at first she would give out some unimportant names to make us let her out of sight. But then, I suppose, she would use her protected position to push forward the web. I need someone out of the government office to have an eye on her in criminal circles. To see where she is going and to check her insights.” Mycroft finally shared his request.
“And you want us to do that, brother dear? Pretend criminals to spy on her?” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow.
“Exactly, brother dear.” He confirmed. “You’ll have my full protection. And to show you how much we need your help, I managed to recover James’ scholarship in Oxford and set a place for you as well.”
“As a scout?” Sherlock specified.
“As a student,” Mycroft replied. “You can choose your major. But I beg you, for once in your life, behave well there.”
“You know I can’t promise that.” Sherlock smirked.
“For Lord’s sake, at least try to.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Lestrade will be covering you at the police and providing you with leads they have, so you can address him as well as me.”
“Very well,” Sherlock agreed, offering a hand to submit the offer.
“But what will we have in return?” James asked, covering Sherlock's hand before he could grab Mycroft’s. Both brothers glared at him. “Don’t get me wrong, but that’s quite a lot to do. I think it is only fair to have… a compensation for that.”
“I believe we can discuss it based on the evidence you’ll bring and its value. For now, I think my patronage over you two in Oxford is a good advance.” Mycroft gave him a stiff look, and James only shrugged with a smile, letting Sherlock’s hand free. Sherlock took it as his agreement.
The dinner was ready at 8 o’clock, so they were sitting at the table all together with Cordelia, tasting the duck Mycroft managed to shoot earlier at hunting. All of them had to admit he had an eye on that bird, since it was fleshy and juicy, those features enhanced by a marinade made of oranges and honey. Cordelia shared this recipe with Mrs Crowell after she learnt it from Xiao. Truly, Chinese knew some secrets of taste.
“Mother, we have some wonderful news.” Sherlock said, raising his glass. He smiled brightly at her, giving a glance to his brother and James. “Mycroft arranged for me and James back in Oxford for pursuing a degree, so soon we will leave Appleton Manor.”
“Oh! That’s wonderful!” Cordelia gasped lovingly and turned to Mycroft. “That must be a difficult thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“A new headmaster is my good acquaintance, so I simply pointed out that James’ expelling was under no reason. And, perhaps, mentioned Sherlock was eager to have a degree as well.” He replied, raising a glass to Sherlock.
“And now we celebrate a new chapter of our life journey.” Sherlock smiled back and bowed a little. They clinked glasses and drank, cheering the news.
“Darling, what are you going to study?” Cordelia asked him when all of them finished tasting wine.
“I am considering a major in forensics and might take a minor in chemistry. Yet, I am about to have a proper look at course opportunities tomorrow.” He answered.
“And you, James? What were you studying before?” She looked at him as lovingly as she was looking at her sons.
“Oh, I’ll get my mathematics degree. Can’t cope with unfinished melody.” Moriarty grinned playfully. “By the way, Mycroft, when are they expecting us?”
“On Monday. I do not think it would be a problem for you. And you can visit mother whenever you are free, since Oxford is nearby.” He replied, taking another piece of the duck.
“That won’t be necessary,” Cordelia said suddenly. She grabbed the hands of both of her sons. “I also have news for you. Mrs Tilcott and I decided to have a world tour. We signed the papers with Thomas Cook and Son, and the very next Sunday we are setting off. So all of you have to promise me to write a letter each week.”
“Mrs Holmes, that’s incredible!” James gave her a toast and drank to that.
“Mother, that is very unexpected news indeed.” Mycroft chuckled. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”
“Yes, where are you going?” Sherlock asked as concernedly as his brother did.
“His route is quite spectacular. He was inspired by Jules Verne's book, Around the World in 80 Days. We are going from Liverpool to the USA, then Japan, India, China, Palestine, and then back to Britain. And you don’t have to worry; this respectful man is going with us.” Cordelia shared. “I have his promotion in my room; you can have a look if you’d like. He says we are going to travel in comfortable compartments and on specialised ships. And during the trip we are going to see the most outstanding and compelling sights of each country.” She was talking about her upcoming adventure with excitement.
“That sounds enthralling,” James supported her. “I am sure you will enjoy it a lot.”
“Thank you, James!” Cordelia smiled. “There will be other tourists as well, so I believe, with good company, this adventure will become even better.”
“Then, we should raise our glasses for new adventures!” Moriarty suggested it.
The conversation was alive till the deep night. They were talking about Sherlock’s and James’ future studies; Cordelia brought the promotion paper, showing all of them places they were about to visit; Mycroft was simply happy that life finally seemed normal again. He left Appleton Manor only the next morning, saying he had a lot of things to do in London. The rest of the day James and Sherlock were packing their belongings before their departure to Oxford, and on Sunday it was dinner with Beatrice, where Cordelia shared all the news. Sherlock could tell Beatrice glances at him with no good intentions, yet it wasn’t enough to prove she wanted to get an advantage from the situation.
Their first day back at Oxford was surprisingly calm. The new headmaster, Mr Malcolm Williams, met them in his office, giving his apology to James for Hodge's actions (and Sherlock could tell James enjoyed every second of it), suggesting they apply to their courses and asking Smudger to show them their dormitory rooms. Smudger gave Sherlock an unreadable look but politely led them to the dormitory, his lads bringing their luggage. Once they had left, Holmes forgot about the suitcase with his clothes and study supplies and went to James’ room straightforwardly; gladly, it was just next to his own.
“Sherly, you’ve missed me that soon?” He smirked as Sherlock walked in the room. Holmes cocked his head but said nothing. “I have to admit it is rather odd to be here as a scholar again after all of that mess.” James looked around the tiny room, the same one he was occupying before Hodge kicked him out. “We are going to be a thing of rumours for a long time.”
"Rumours don't bother me,” Sherlock said, finally moving to sit on the small trunk bed, where James put his backpack.
“Perhaps they should from time to time. Especially knowing the audibility of this place is rather good here. Imagine what our neighbours would think after I get my hands on you.”
“Not the best time for flirting,” Holmes replied stiffly, despite his appreciation of the idea of James having his hands on him. “Our sexual activities are the least of our concerns now.”
“Killing the mood,” Moriarty shrugged, leaning on the windowpane. “Then what are our concerns for now? I expect something is bothering your mind if you say so.”
“How are we going to slip into the criminal world to provide Mycroft information, residing in Oxford or in Appletone Manor, where we don’t have constant access to the community?” Sherlock looked at him sharply.
“Actually, I thought about it.” James relied easily, smirking.
“Mind sharing?” Sherlock asked with his brow up.
“We could rent an office or an apartment… Yes, I think apartment would be better… And start something like a consulting service.” Moriarty suggested, watching Holmes furrowed. “We share a unique ability to get down to the truth. You have managed to uncover all Silas's crimes he was building for years with tiny threads leading to him. And I bet there are people who would pay you for helping solve their mysteries.”
“It’s a business plan, not a plan to fulfil Mycroft’s request,” Sherlock argued.
“Sherly, come on, you can do better than this.” James chuckled lovingly. “Minor cases could be addressed to police; even they have enough brains to track a street pickpocket. For tracking intimate affairs, there are private detectives. And we could be above them, solving problems where other services can’t handle them. And who would need such a service?”
"Those whose problems lie in between legal and criminal worlds, I suppose.” Sherlock got his idea. “And that would be a perfect cover to follow Mycroft’s and Lestrade’s leads while investigating real cases. Brilliant, James.” He admitted honestly and smiled brightly.
“Thank you.” Moriarty bowed to him with a smirk. “I believe we should place an ad in the newspaper and explain our services to get first clients.”
“Where do you think we should rent our place?” Sherlock asked, imagining the map of London. “Probably York Street? It is close to Mycroft.”
“Or Milbank Street? Scotland-Yard is near that one.” James suggested in response.
“I don’t think we can afford an apartment on the Thames bank, James.” Holmes shook his head.
“I thought Mycroft was helping us in that business.” He replied innocently, and Sherlock stared at him. “Alright, we need a place in an area with a good reputation so our potential customers would feel safe coming to us without being suspected…”
“... And a place convenient to investigate Beatrice and her words, meanwhile.” Sherlock continued.
“Where is such a place?” Moriarty asked him, looking closely.
“Brook Street." Sherlock finally said with a smile, looking at James proudly. “All the railway stations are close, so we can conveniently travel to Oxford; it’s close enough to Scotland Yard, and there is Bethlehem Hospital in case we need access to their patients.”
“Excellent!” Moriarty leant to him and placed a kiss on his lips. "Now that we sorted it out, can I finally flirt with you?” James murmured, cupping Holmes’ cheek.
“Well, maybe a little.” Sherlock smirked shyly, tilting his head to kiss James back.
Their idea to start up a consulting service was pushed aside for a while since both of them spent a couple of days to get used to the classes' schedule and, based on that, determine their work hours. Most of them fell into evening hours, which James found useful, since it was convenient for their potential customers to visit them after their daily routine. Sherlock telegraphed Mycroft, sharing their enterprise idea, and his brother found it to be rather smart. He promised to take a look at unoccupied apartments on Brook Street and send them back an address of the most suitable place.
For a while, Sherlock and James were just enjoying their college life. Not that they made any friends among children of wealthy men, as it wasn’t the case for their previous time in Oxford. And yet, they had a little fun while there was no news on Beatrice or calls from either Mycroft or Lestrade. They had some shared classes in maths and physics, and James was shushing Sherlock before he started to boast because, after all, Mycroft asked them to behave themselves. Of course, after Holmes gave up plans to argue with a professor, he did exactly the same as Sherlock was trying to do. Holmes was insulted a couple of times at first but then accepted the challenge to outsmart James before he stole his glory of being the smartest in the class. And that wasn’t the only thing arguing with Mycroft’s nurture to behave well, since another day Sherlock had stolen keys from Smudger’s office, so he and James could sneak into the chemistry lab and drink whisky borrowed from chemistry professors’ bars from vials while discussing the periodic table and the idea of alchemy. And kissing drunkenly after Sherlock ran out of his arguments, and probably because James looked too seductive, rounded with glittering glass in the light of street torches.
On the next Thursday the reply from Mycroft finally reached them. The telegram said he found a fine apartment at 122 Brook Street, mentioned the renting price and said that the landlord would wait for them on Friday at 4 o’clock to set their agreement. They went to London straight after James's class on stats was finished. Brook Street in Lambeth was apparently calm, the place in the middle of railways. Their cab was the only one in the street, and bypassers even glanced at the newly arrived men. Near the mentioned door was a tiny shop market held by a nice Indian fellow, who was trying to sell the rest of the most recent Times newspaper. Silently estimating the surroundings, Sherlock and James entered the mentioned door and were greeted by a local maid. She said that Mr Chesterton was waiting for them upstairs on the second floor and left to prepare the drink for the guests.
Mr Chesterton was a man in his 60s with a massive bottom and bold head, wearing small glasses on the tip of his fat nose. He was smoking a cigar in the armchair turned towards a fireplace on the left of the entrance. He turned his head lazily towards the guests, stood up and placed the cigar in the ashtray.
“You ought to be Mr Holmes and Mr Moriarty?” He said, greeting both of them with a shake. “Mr Mycroft Holmes mentioned you are looking for an apartment. Are you planning to rent it together?”
“Yes, sir," James smiled politely at him. “It is a costly expense for two fellow students to rent a good property in London today. And your place just fits our budget perfectly.”
“Don’t you mind if we have a look around?” Sherlock asked, turning his head around, already inspecting the place.
“Yes, of course, let me show you around.” Mr Chesterton hummed, awkwardly heading through the tiny corridor. “There are two bedrooms on this floor.” He opened two doors in the corridor right next to each other. Both rooms were furnished alike: double beds, chests of drawers, bedside tables, wardrobes and chairs. The only difference was in the colour of walls and curtains. Sherlock entered the closest room and went around to see everything in detail.
“Who was occupying this place before?” James asked to distract Mr Chesterton from confusingly watching Holmes inspecting the room.
“A mother lived here with her son for two years.” Mr Chesterton answered, allowing Sherlock to inspect the other bedroom. “They moved away recently, after her son went to military service for Her Majesty, and the mother left for the countryside to her sister. At least, they said so.”
“How convenient for us.” James smiled while Sherlock looked through the small room in front of the bedrooms with a tin transportable bath, sponges and other bath supplies.
“She moved to her lover.” Holmes said suddenly, finally back in the corridor. “And her son is now working as a bouncer at a gambling house on Milman Street.”
“What?” Mr Chesterton asked shockingly.
“I believe my dear friend is trying to say…” James put an arm on Sherlock’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “... is that we will never find out the truth. People tend to say a convenient thing instead of a real one." Moriarty levelled Sherlock with a glance.
“Er… Right," Mr Chesterton huffed. He glanced at both of them, James' hand still on Holmes’ shoulder, and continued. “I live on the first floor, but most of the day I spend at work; I leave early in the morning. Ms Flourish, my maid, occupies the ground floor. You can address her with your needs.” He explained, considering if he was forgetting anything.
“This property is fine," Sherlock said promptly. “Mr Chesterton, don’t you mind if we have our visitors here? My dearest friend and I are starting a consulting service, so we need a place to arrange meetings. We will provide you with our schedule.”
“Unless you won’t wake me up, and luckily, I sleep rather well, I don’t object.” Mr Chesterton smiled widely. “I do appreciate young businessmen breaking the market with hot ideas.”
“Very well then!” James finally removed his arm from Sherlock’s shoulder and clapped. “Shall we sign the papers?”
“Of course." Mr Chesterton nodded, and all of them went back to the living room.
Sherlock paid the first rent charge, while James read through the agreement paper. Mr Chesterton asked Ms Flourish to bring two keys to their new tenants and left them to set up the place before they transfer their belongings in a couple of days. When Mr Chesterton finally left and they stayed alone, James let himself enjoy the view of the street from the window.
“Not as spacious as Appleton Manor, is it?” He asked mockingly.
“I find this apartment quite suitable.” Sherlock responded, watching his back. “Why did you stop me from telling him about his previous tenants? We actually can find out the truth about their real reason to move out.”
“Yes, Sherlock, I’ve also noticed scratches on the floor in her bedroom and cutouts from the newspaper.” Moriarty rolled his eyes and turned to him. “But there is no need to tell all of that to Mr Chesterton; he is fine with the explanation already given. It is simply a small talk, not a class where you have to prove your point.”
“He said himself it was what they told him, like if he was interested in if that was the truth." Sherlock argued, furrowing his brow.
“Oh, relax, Sherly,” James chuckled. “He doesn’t care at all; he is renting two students an apartment in Lambeth for less than a dormitory in Oxford. I have to assume he is just tired of looking for occupants, and probably Mycroft said a word or two in our favour.”
“I have to admit that might be the case.” Sherlock cocked his head, taking a seat on the sofa. “So when do we start our business?”
“As soon as we check the audibility of this place.” Moriarty smirked, approaching him. “Mr Chesterton said we should not disturb his well sleep, after all.”
“I think the proof you got in Oxford tells quite clearly we can handle any audibility level,” Sherlock scoffed and smiled back. “But for now we need to move in and place an ad in the newspaper about the service. I think you can take care of the last thing.”
“I’d prefer taking care of you first, but if that is what you want, I’m heading to the publishing office right away.” James stopped in bare centimetres before he reached Sherlock and turned to the door.
“I’ll meet you back in Oxford," Sherlock told him. “And probably we could practise lowering our sound level a little after you’re done.”
“You’re a tease.” Moriarty chuckled, placing on his hat.
“You find it one of my most compelling traits." Sherlock grinned at him.
“My bad. I can’t help it anyway.” James looked at Sherlock from the doorframe. “I hope you’ll be prepared once I’m back.” And with those words he left.
They hadn’t spent too much time moving in, just ensured to leave in Oxford their study supplies and some clothes to change into in case it would be required, and finally settled into their rooms on Brook Street. Actually, their room, since they had made the other one only look like someone resided there. Given the opportunity to finally share a bed on a daily basis without a risk of being caught by anyone snooping in the corridors of the Oxford dormitory, they were enjoying falling asleep and waking up together.
Another morning a few days after their move-in when both of them had a free day from classes, Sherlock entered the bedroom dressed only in his drawers with a newspaper wrapped in his hand, watching James look at him sleepily. Holmes smiled at that softly, knowing Moriarty woke up the second he left the bed to get to the loo and was listening attentively to understand where Sherlock had gone.
“Just delivered.” Holmes waved the newspaper, crawling back under the blanket into James’ embrace. Moriarty physically relaxed, holding him and kissing his head immediately. “The freshest copy of Times.”
“I wonder which dirty gossip they are brining up today.” James replied without enthusiasm, stroking Sherlock’s skin. Holmes flipped through the pages, reading quickly the headlines, before he reached the advertising section.
“Moriarty and Holmes Consulting Service?” Sherlock asked playfully. “Why is that your name going before mine?”
"You are the one who sent me there; I just took the advantage.” James grinned, now reading the post on the page attentively. The description said they were providing a deep investigation into the cases where private detectives and police had limited success. It stated they could find a solution to the most complicated problems for the fair price, mentioning their address and working hours. “Well, now we can only wait for people to decide to hire us.”
Sherlock couldn’t respond before they heard a knock on the door. Sherlock closed the paper, gave James a look, and left to see who was behind the door. It appeared to be Ms Flourish, who brought them a telegram. It was sent by someone called Mr Colin Hartnell, mentioning he would drop by at 8 o’clock that day to discuss his problem. He didn’t write what was the problem he had or any other details, so Sherlock and James had nothing to speculate on. And yet, it was still exciting to find out what this Mr Hartnell had to bring them.