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“They kicked me out of the brothel.”
James blinks and considers Sherlock for a long moment before he speaks. “Did they also give you that shiner or is that for some other reason?”
Because if they did, I’ll be having a word with the owner.
James thought to himself as he waited for a response.
Sherlock pushes past him and walks into the room. It is a quarter past 3 in the morning and the entire campus is sleep. James’s room is basked in darkness, the only light source being the moonlight cast through the dirty window. James closes the door and watches as Sherlock sits on the edge of his unkempt bed only to stare down at his own hands.
James approaches slowly and stills shy of a feat from him. “Well?”
Sherlock’s head jerks up. “What?”
The angry purple around his eyes is recognizable even in the dim light. James notices the other bruised cheek and does his best to avoid touching the busted lip, knowing full well his friend would not appreciate the touch.
“Who beat you?”
“Nobody beat me.” Sherlock says offended. “A few punches were thrown…”
“So you punched him too?”
“Well of course.” Sherlock is quick to confirm before his shoulders drop. “I mean at first…”
“So you did get beaten. After you throwed the first punch.” James concludes mockingly which manages to get a raise out of the other man.
“It wasn’t just one punch James!”
“How many was it then?” James asks to taunt him.
Sherlock’s mouth opens and closes a few times without him making a sound before he crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. “I have no wish to talk about it.”
So Sherlock Holmes comes to his room at 3 in the morning looking bloody and bruised and he still has the nerve to say he doesn’t want to talk about it? not to mention all of this took place in a brothel.
“Why did you come here then, if you won’t talk about it?”
Sherlock has the audacity to look offended again. He stands quickly. “I’ll be taking my leave then. Sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you James.” He doesn’t even manage to take a step before James pushes him not-so-gently on the bed, only for Sherlock to lose his balance and end up flat on his back.
“It’s 3 in the morning and despite my relentless efforts you’ve once again proven yourself to be a shitty fighter. I’m not going to let you out of that door now.”
Sherlock leans on his elbows mortified. “James you can’t just make me…”
“Oh I can Sherlock.” James says as he steps away to get some fresh water and a clean cloth. “I can and I will.” His tone leaves no room for further arguments. He knows Sherlock won’t try to leave now but he’s also well aware of just how uncooperative his friend is going to be for what he’s about to do. James quickly gathers what he needs and walks back to Sherlock with a newly lighted candle. He drags his chair to the bed and puts everything on it before sitting beside Sherlock on the bed.
“Up you get.”
Sherlock mumbles some sort of a protest but sits nonetheless. James holds the candle close to his face to examine the injuries. It’s probably not as bad as it looks but there are a few cuts here and there that need cleaning up. Not to mention the busted lip that ideally would require stiches.
“For what it’s worth I didn’t come here for you to play doctor with me.” Sherlock says like a petulant child. He manages to look at everything in the small room but James.
James sits the candle on the chair again. “3 in the morning and we’ve already stablished two main reasons that you are absolutely not here for.” He dips the cloth in the water. “What are the chances that we might find the real reason come sunrise?”
Sherlock manages to make a face of fond annoyance but remains quiet. James starts to gently wipe the cut on his cheek but Sherlock flinches at the contact. “James!”
“Do try to keep still now, will you?”
“It hurts!”
Sherlock’s miserable voice elicits no sympathy from James. “Perhaps you should’ve considered that before throwing the first punch.” He dabs the cloth in the water and takes a moment to observe as Sherlock’s blood mixes with the water.
“You say that as if I did it for pleasure.”
The trans broken, James gives him a cold look. “Were you not in a brothel?” he resumes cleaning the cuts and grips Sherlock’s shoulder as he flinches once more. “I’m not washing your face Sherlock. Just stay still. It cannot possibly hurt worse than being shot in the stomach.”
Sherlock does nothing to fight his grip but doesn’t shut his mouth either. “I was given pain remedies when I got shot. You’re just scrubbing my face with a rag!”
James throws the rag in the bowl and crosses his arms over his chest. “If you expected elite class medical care you should’ve gone to a hospital, sweet prince.” He says the last words with a level of mockery he didn’t expect of himself.
Sherlock, as oblivious as he might be, catches on that and almost frowns. “I didn’t go there for what you may think.”
James scuffs. “Your mind reading abilities is even worse than your fighting Sherlock.”
Sherlock has the gal to look offended. “I mean it James.” He stares at the other man directly in the eyes. “I wasn’t on a case.”
Oh Sherlock.
How sweet of you to think I am upset because you didn’t take me with you on a case.
“Why else would Sherlock Holmes pay the brothel a visit if not for a case?” James manages to sound every ounce accusatory as he feels. He might not be able to voice the real reason behind his displeasure but he can still manage to convey the emotion.
Sherlock looks at him dumbfounded as if he hasn’t expected the question. A small crease forms between his brows and he looks away. “I have to no wish to talk about that.”
Why not? What are his reasons that he can’t even tell me?
“I thought so.” James hides his increasing irritation behind being upset. He fishes the now-fully-soaked cloth out of the bowl. “Either lay on the bed or keep very still. I have no desire for this take anymore time than it should.”
James knows Sherlock is staring at him but doesn’t turn to him till the boy lays back on the bed. James leans over him and starts cleaning the cuts again; his touch less gently than before. Sherlock’s eyes are still fixed on him but he doesn’t acknowledge the gaze, preferring silent treatment over actually pressing him for an honest answer.
A silence fell over them, only to be broken occasionally by small noises as Sherlock winces or groans in pain. James pays him no mind, knowing very well that he’s not doing anymore damage that has already been done. He’s most likely doing it to make me react. He knows very well how to get my attention. James thinks to himself and just works faster. He saves the busted lip for the last.
“James.” Sherlock drags his name.
“If you keep talking you reopen the wound here.” James says dryly as he tries to wipe away the clotted blood around Sherlock’s lower lip, all the while very much aware that Sherlock’s eyes haven’t left his face for even a moment.
“You haven’t looked at me in the past 10 minutes.” Sherlock says with grievance. “Why haven’t you looked at me in the past 10 minutes?”
James doesn’t take the bait. “Well forgive me for not staring deep into your soul as I clean your busted lip, which is going to start bleeding any second now if you keep running your mouth.”
“James…” Sherlock doesn’t get to finish as James holds his jaw closed with one hand to clean the wound with the other. He tries to talk again but James’ grip tightens around his jaw and in a moment of justified panic, Sherlock grabs both of his wrists in an iron grip. It’s only then that James finally graces him with a direct look.
The look lasts for long moment in which James sees all of what Sherlock “didn’t wish to talk about” so he loosens his hold enough to let the boy talk. “Anything on your mind?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as Sherlock swallows before he speaks. “Why are you angry with me?”
“Not angry Sherlock, just tired.”
A flash of pain crosses his green eyes. “Of me?”
James takes his sweet time to appreciate the effect he has on the younger man. He could play along this new line of conversation for a few seconds, if only to see the intensified hurt on Sherlock’s face. It would be a fitting punishment for what he’s done tonight.
James is tempted more than he’s willing to admit.
A corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Not of you Sherlock.” He frees himself on Sherlock’s grip and sits upright. “Never of you.”
Sherlock mimics him in sitting, barely concealing his joy of James’ answer he asks again. “Well if you’re not angry or tired of me then why are you treating me this way?”
A lot of things. James could name them all in one breath but Sherlock was not ready for that answer. “It’s 3 in the bloody morning Sherlock and this is no hotel. How did you expect me to treat you beside managing your wounds?”
“Well I…” Sherlock cuts himself off as if he’s searching for better words to eventually settle for something. “I suppose I should’ve lead with an apology for visiting unexpected.”
“Don’t be daft Sherlock, I don’t need apologies from you.” James says dismissively before fixing Sherlock with a look. “I do however, need something more clarifying than “I don’t wish to talk about it” when you show up here injured looking the way you did.”
Sherlock bits his lower lip before hissing in pain as he checks to see if he’s reopened the wound. James has half a mind to slap his hand away but he stops himself. “Do you think you can maybe shed some light on the matter or is apologies all you’re capable of?” James says irritated as the other man remains quiet.
Sherlock steals his eyes, suddenly fascinated by the bed sheets. James decides he’ll aim lower if the self-proclaimed detective doesn’t open his mouth in the next ten seconds and starts counting in his head.
“Do you remember the night in Constantinople when you bid me goodnight right before Xiao Wei came to the balcony?” Sherlock asks without looking at him.
Of course he did. James had no idea what possessed him to call the other man sweet prince but he’d liked how it sounded so he still uses it sometimes but never as a gesture of mocking like tonight.
“Yes, What about it?”
Sherlock glances his way. “She kissed me.”
James is certain his emotions don’t show on his face but just to be safe, he looks away as he tries to suppress the sudden wave of irritation.
It is no surprise that she fancied the young Holmes as she made sure to make advances even when the others were present. But Sherlock, probably unknowingly, had brushed her off and James was ignorant enough to believe that would be the end of it.
When he turns back to Sherlock, he finds him waiting for his reaction with a frown. James smirks. “Honestly it doesn’t come as a surprise to me.”
“Will it did to me.” Sherlock says curtly.
James nods. “I still don’t see how that’s relevant to you going to a brothel.”
“The kiss itself is really not of importance. It’s what she asked me afterwards that stayed with me.”
“And what was that?”
Sherlock sighs heavily. “She asked me: how do you feel? I answered: how am I supposed to feel?” Sherlock recounted the conversation and makes gestures with his hands to show who was giving the dialogue. “She asked in return: how do you want to feel? And I answered with: however I’m supposed to feel.” He finishes with his hands held in front of him in a praying gesture and his eyes fixed on James.
James goes through several possible responses as he tries to stifle a laugh but eventually fails. The sound of his laughter fills the dim-lighted room and will most likely carry down the hall what with thin walls and all, but he doesn’t care. Sherlock drops his hands and manages to look offended once more. “Don’t laugh James!”
James wipes the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Sorry lad. Don’t mind me. You were saying.”
Sherlock looks irritated. “That was it.”
The answer elicits a new round of joyous laughter from James that last even longer. Somewhere along the line, Sherlock joins in too, even if he doesn’t find any of this funny.
“Oh, Sherlock.” James shakes his head in fondness as he tries to catch his breath. “Wish you told me all of this the morning after. We could all use a little cheering up back then.”
“None of this is funny James.” Sherlock says without any bite, traces of laughter still evident in his voice. “I am very disappointed that you treat my problems as a mean of sport.”
Oh darling. You think I don’t know you keep me around just for that purpose?
“You draw your own conclusions. I still fail to see any relevance between this encounter and your visit to the knocking shop.” James was still expecting Sherlock to drop more details if only to make this make sense.
Sherlock’s mouth opened in a smile that soon vanished with a soft pained noise that made James sit straighter. There was something about seeing Sherlock hurt that he hated very much but also couldn’t deny how strongly it made him feel and he wasn’t ready to acknowledge that yet.
“I’m glad you asked.” Sherlock said with a smaller smile. “I understand that kissing others, even strangers, is meant to awaken feelings or in the least stir reactions; that is probably the only reason why human race is not extinct yet.”
Whatever helps you sleep at night Shirly.
James remained quiet, his full attention now on Sherlock.
“I also realized that night that I was an exception to this rule. So just like any good scholar, I decided if I wanted to study plants I should go to a forest and because getting to a forest is not always the easiest way, I decided a greenhouse will have to do for now. Therefor I decided I was going to a brothel to test my theory.”
“And pray tell, what might that theory be?” James asks, half dazed by Sherlock’s scientific explanation.
Sherlock’s smile widens. “That the only reason I had no reaction to Xiao Wei was because we were both not experienced enough to know how to do it.”
James stares at him with his mouth hanging open. “Just like any good scholar.”
“Just like any good scholar.” Sherlock, pleased with himself, confirms.
How could a man so brilliant and intelligent be so ignorant and stupid? James thought to himself with a mix of awe and annoyance. At this point he actually wished Sherlock was just playing dumb and wasn’t really this ignorant.
And he’s even survived prison for six months, dear God!
Of course, he says none of these things. “Well don’t keep us waiting Sherlock. How did you test that theory?” he says with the most serious tone he can manage. As oblivious as Sherlock Homes is to emotions, he can read micro expressions faster than anyone James has ever seen-save for himself- and that, makes pretending in front of him all the more difficult.
Sherlock looks radiant. “I thought of a few methods but eventually decided that giving the subjects too many instructions might spoil the mood as people say.” He gives James a pointed look as if he’s just mentioned a secret joke, which James has no idea what it might be. “So I resolved to create the same situation; by which I mean asking the workers there to engage in kissing with me.”
There are so many things wrong with what Sherlock just said that James has no idea where to begin with. How does one even come to such an outrageous idea? The man’s ideas are not the paragon of sanity but this is too farfetched, even for him.
“Workers?”
Sherlock is dumbfounded. “Pardon?”
“You said workers, not just one worker. You used plural.”
Sherlock’s face falls. “What manner of question is that? You can’t have only one sample when you’re conducting a field-research. You need a set of samples. You even need a control group which I failed to come up with but that’s not the point.” He frowns once more. “Are you even listening to me James?”
No, not really. James almost said out loud. The picture of you going around a brothel asking people to “engage in kissing” with you is a little too strong for me to think about anything else.
James notices Sherlock is still going on about. “… truly I thought it would be harder than that but they were very respectful. I thought I’d have to pay them in a way but they all did what I asked immediately and without an exception. It is truly shameful that there is a stigma about people who work in this line of occupation and I believe…”
“How many?”
Sherlock is cut off midsentence. “Excuse me?”
James looks at him friend who is considering him with joyous confusion. Bushy brows raised in a questioning gesture, green eyes attentive and focused, trace of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth and the general state euphoria he must be feeling at recounting every detail of his research.
And here he is, wondering why everyone was so quick to kiss him on those full symmetrical lips.
James pinches the bridge of his nose between his index and forefinger as a mean to gain some control over himself. “How many samples did you collect?”
“Oh. 24.” Sherlock answers enthusiastically. “12 men and 12 women. So that we could say gender is not a bias.”
24.
He hears Sherlock’s voice repeating the number a few times in his head and of all the things he could think of, he is suddenly reminded of Mycroft Homes. He chuckles loudly as he pictures the older brother’s face when he eventually finds out about this.
“Did I mention something funny?”
This innocent question is what finally breaks the dam.
One moment James is sitting beside Sherlock and the next he’s pulling Sherlock towards himself till they’re inches apart; his jacket lapels caught in James’ iron grip.
Sherlock exclaims in shock, considering James with those green eyes wide open. “James…”
“Did it, at any point in this field trip of yours, occur to you that you might be putting yourself in great risk by just being in there?”
The anger behind his words renders Sherlock speechless. “I… Why…”
James shakes him violently. “Did you stop to think for a moment that you might contract all manner of diseases? That you might get robbed, or I don’t know, actually die a horrible death because of your research?” he spits out the words in Sherlock’s face and doesn’t try to control his voice. He’s beyond that now.
“James…”
“24 people Sherlock? 24 prostitutes! It’s not just a job, you ignorant bastard. It’s their life!” James can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears and the thunderous beating of his heart. “Do you have any notion as to what their life is like? You think it’s just an occupation? Do you know what they’re forced to do in order to keep that job?” he shakes the other man again. “You could’ve been stabbed you moron! You could’ve been beaten within an inch of your life and no one would’ve even found you for days, if ever!” James pushes Sherlock on the bed aggressively and gets to his feet.
James’ mind is a blank page; he can’t linger on any idea long enough to put it into words. He can’t even express his anger through any means other than his fist and even though he’s saying a litany of curse words directed at the shocked motionless man on his bed, he can’t bring himself to take a swing at him.
Sherlock eventually finds his words. “James I didn’t…”
“Don’t say a word Sherlock!” James yells at him, pacing the small room. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Sherlock is both serious and stubborn. He stands abruptly. “I truly believe this to be an overreaction on your part and a miscommunication on mine. Perhaps if we could sit down and…” breath is knocked out of the younger man as he is pinned against the wall in a blink. James is giving him absolutely no room to free himself or even move, their chests touch as Sherlock tried to inhale.
James cocks his head to one side in the way he does when he’s focused on something. His face is hard as marble and his eyes shine in the dim candlelight the way it did when he came back to that French hospital and told everyone he was fine. Sherlock feels his chest tighten a little.
“I understand your carelessness when we are in the middle of a case. I even admire it.” James leans over him to the point that Sherlock is tempted to turn his face. “I partially understood the risks you took when we were searching for Bea even though I couldn’t care less about any of it.” his grip around Sherlock’s collar tightens more. “What I don’t understand is why you insist on that sort of behavior when you are pursuing something as insignificant as this.”
It is a moment before Sherlock can gather his words among the hurt he’s feeling. “It is not insignificant when you are the only odd one out, James.”
James’ grip tightens to a choking point and Sherlock fights to not groan.
“That’s why I am here Sherlock. You are not the only odd one anymore.”
“But you weren’t here James… you were with Bea.”
Silence falls over them for a long moment. James is distracted enough by his shock that Sherlock manages to push his away and free himself. He rubs a hand down his throat, knowing James hasn’t caused him any real harm.
“I gather you weren’t really expecting that blow now, were you, FRIEND?”
James is almost slapped by Sherlock’s cold tone. He knew very well that Sherlock being himself would eventually catch on to the truth; he just didn’t expect it coming up this way.
“I…” Had it been with anyone else or under any other circumstances, James would’ve offered no explanation, but it was Sherlock standing in front of him and something about the way he was looking at James reminded him of the night they found out about Silas being a liar. “I was attracted to her before in knew she was related you.”
Sherlock chuckled bitterly. “But She entertained you because you are my friend.”
James knows this to be true but admitting it will not help his argument. “She is a woman of her own. A very smart one at that. She doesn’t choose her lovers mainly because it might stir something in his estranged brother.”
Sherlock erased the distance between them in a blink. “An it’s not just because of that, James. Do not pretend that there is no hidden agenda at play here.”
James eyes traveled between Sherlock’s, green orbs filled with righteous anger that James has somehow missed for so long. This argument is not going the way he intended and he must do something very quickly.
He smirks. “So first it was because of Xiao Wei, now it’s because I slept with sister dearest. Anyone else you might want to blame your foolishness on?”
He half expects it when Sherlock’s fist hits him square in the jaw.
James has to catch himself on the edge of his desk as the force of the blow pushes him a step backward. He tastes iron in his mouth and his fingers come back red when he touches his already bruising cheek. A humorless laughter is ripped out of his throat. “I must admit I’m proud to see you fight better than I taught you.”
The cold look in Sherlock’s eyes is replaced by shock as he realizes what he’s done. “James. God. I am sorry. I don’t…” His words are cut short once more as James yanks him forward by his jacket and presses his lips to Sherlock’s.
It’s more of hard press of lips against each other than a kiss but James is equally fueled with anger and passion so he can’t fully focus on one feeling to pour that into the kiss.
Sherlock’s eyes widen fully now and his body goes rigid against James. He notices the other man is not even breathing but doesn’t end the kiss. He pushes Sherlock back and makes him walk all the way to the bed only for Sherlock to lose his balance as they reach their destination and to bring down James with him.
James pushes away enough to see the young Holmes still staring at him with wide eyes filled with shock and fear in equal measure. He smiles. “Kiss me back Sherlock.” He captures the soft wounded lips between his own before he realizes the other is still motionless. James breaks the kiss once more and considers the younger man. “Breathe Sherlock. This is just a kiss. No need to be so shocked when you’ve already done it at least 24 times tonight.”
For some reason that manages to make things even worse as a single tear slips down Sherlock’s bruised cheek.
Good lord, I’ve broken him.
Perhaps this was a little too early too much.
James wipes out the single tear gently over the hot skin and caresses the bruised cheek with a feather like touch. Staring into the frightened eyes he speaks with his sweetest voice. “This is not a punishment for punching me Sherlock. You’ve already had 24 samples, let me be the 25th.”
Nothing.
It’s like he’s shut down completely save for the tears that keep coming faster than James can wipe them away.
Something similar to concern tightens James’ chest. He drags his hand down on Sherlock’s body all the way to the center of his chest where he can feel the thunderous beating of his heart. His smile widens. “Breathe darling. It is alright. I do not intend to force this on you.”
No reaction, save for the ever-escalating heartbeat.
Ok. Sweet talk is over.
“Either you breathe on your own or I’ll force the air down those lungs myself. And trust me, the latter is not the best idea for the first kiss with you FRIEND.”
The loud inhale comes as a shock to James as Sherlock breathes in and almost sits up straight only for James to gently push him down again.
I am not done with you yet.
He pats the other man’s chest as he hungrily takes in the air, all hopes for wiping away the tears now lost as fat drops stream down his face. James strokes his hair as gently as he can. “That’s it Shirly. That’s it. you’re alright.”
Sherlock’s eyes focusing on him again brings James such unexpected relief that he frowns at himself.
“James.” Sherlock says out of breath.
James manages a smile. “Glad to see you’re back with me again.”
Moments pass and the tears stop, Sherlock’s panting turns into normal breathing, his eyes never leaving James’ as if they’re searching for something. James’ gaze moves all over his face and lands on those full lips time and time again; he doesn’t move to kiss him again, for now content by heartbeat beneath his palm and just stroking Sherlock’s hair.
“You’re bleeding.”
The soft broken voice makes James feel a pang of guilt. Sherlock really wasn’t ready for this.
He brushes his thumb over Sherlock’s forehead as he caresses his hair. “Your own handy work I’m afraid. Hope you’re satisfied now.”
“No!” Sherlock manages to push away from James -who mainly allows it because he wants to see him from a proper distance after kissing him like that- and sit on the edge of the bed facing away from him. “I must apologies. I don’t know what came over me. I promised myself not to lay a hand on you again after… well, the last time.” Sherlock sighed with guilt.
It is truly endearing how he believes himself to be a danger to me. At least in the physical form.
“Then do so.”
James watches in real time as Sherlock’s head jerks back toward him. “What?” confusion written all over his beautiful face.
James smirks. “You said you must apologies. I’m telling you to do it.”
Guilt overtakes the unwillingness in a moment. “I am sorry James.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Not like that.”
“WHAT?”
James shrugs, a devious smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “I have no need for your verbal apology Sherlock. If you truly desire to make amends, do so properly.”
It takes a moment for Sherlock to come to the conclusion. His face twists in manner of frustrated bewilderment. “For the love of God James. Why would you even suggest that?”
“Why not?”
Those green eyes widen again. “You have an arrangement with my sister!”
James huffs out a laugh. “What does this have to do with Beatrice?”
Sherlock’s eyes falter. “Everything.” They focus on James with a new-found irritation. “Besides, if it is a kiss that you want, then you’ve already had your compensation.”
“That didn’t count for shit. You were outside your body my friend.” James points out with a raised eyebrow.
“Damn you James!”
Sherlock gets to his feet in anger but he sways and his knees falter before he can grab onto something for balance. James is there to catch him before Sherlock’s knees can touch the floor.
“Easy now, darling. Wouldn’t want you to get anymore bruises now.”
Sherlock grabs the other man’s shoulders before he can think better of it. “Stop calling me that.”
James gives him one of those pointed smiles. “Don’t tell me name calling is off limits too.”
Sherlock takes in a shaky breath but manages to find the words. “Everything that puts that look in your eyes is off limits.” Sherlock feels his eyelids getting heavy. He frowns. “I don’t feel very well.”
Feeling the heat coming off his body, James holds him even tighter. “Must be all the punches and of course, the 25 samples you’ve so skillfully collected tonight.”
A weak punch land on his arm as Sherlock frowns adorably. “It’s 13 men now. My sincerest gratitude to you for forcing me into finding another female participant.”
“Using every chance you get to kiss a pretty woman Sherlock? And I thought you weren’t exactly prone to feeling in that particular way.”
The idea of Sherlock kissing another woman after this doesn’t sit right with James. He dumps the other man not so gently on the bed and stands over him with his arms crossed over his chest. Sherlock is flat on his back and staring at him strangely with narrowed eyes. “Says the man who forced himself on me only a few minutes ago.”
James can’t place Sherlock’s tone and he realizes he doesn’t care for now. “I didn’t force myself on you, that would’ve looked very different and you wouldn’t have liked it at all. It was just a kiss.” He says absentmindedly and continues before Sherlock has a chance to reply. “Were you hit in the head? You’r symptoms match those of concussion.”
Sherlock closes his eyes. “I don’t believe so but I cannot be sure.” He sighs. “I wasn’t expecting a fight with you tonight and I… I acted very emotionally.”
Your emotions I can handle. You being unwell without any obvious reasons, I cannot.
James walks away to pour them both some wine. “What happened really? Was being punch a part of your brilliant methodology as well?”
“No it was not.” Sherlock answered annoyed. “There was this big man who was treating a resident worker ungentlemanly so I intervened.”
Of course you did.
James shakes his head fondly and hands Sherlock a drink. “I didn’t teach you fighting to play knight in shinning armor.” He sips his drink and gives his friend a pointed look. “You are not that kind of man, Sherlock.”
Sherlock sits up with some effort and raises the glass in mock salute. “Well tonight I decided I was and here I am.”
James smirks. “And here you are.”
They lock eyes and stare at one another for a long moment in the dim candle light that makes shadows play abstract patterns on their faces.
“Kiss me.”
“Sherlock…”
“I’ve inquired 24 times tonight and I’ve been accepted every single time. I do intend to be refused now.”
James is on his knees a blink. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, height almost matching that of Sherlock’s sitting. He stares into those green orbs. “You don’t have to make any decision just because I made a hasty move earlier and teased you about compensations. You need to be certain.”
Sherlock takes in a shallow breath. “I cannot be certain unless we try again.”
“Your earlier reaction was not the normal reaction people have to unexpected kisses.”
“I didn’t know what to think. I thought you were going to take a swing at me then you were towering over me and I just…”
“Sherlock…”
James doesn’t get to finish his protest as Sherlock kisses him. Nothing fancy, just an intentional press of lips but enough to make him want more.
Then it’s over.
James opens his eyes to see Sherlock is looking at him nervously. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “How do you feel?” he repeats the familiar question.
It takes Sherlock a moment to answer. “Different.”
That’s something at least.
James’ smile widens. “That’s good for now. We can figure out the rest later.” He makes to stand up but Sherlock rests a hand on his shoulder. His face a mix of sadness and shame. “About you and Bea, I didn’t mean to be offensive, I just couldn’t…”
“Sherlock.” James mimics his gesture and rests his own hand on the other man’s shoulder. “We can talk about this some other time. You need to rest and I need to be able to keep an eye on you.”
Sherlock frowns in anticipation. “What are you suggesting?”
James stands up and shakes his head. “That you take the bed and I sleep on the floor; the bed is not big enough for the both of us genius.”