Another night of secret meeting, hitched breathing, messy angry kisses and fierce sex - Sherlock lied on his back panting with his mouth open. As Jim tried to touch his face, Sherlock turned away, closing his eyes. Jim just smirked and sat on the bed, legs crossed, drawing circles on the pale chest of his now seemingly unwilling partner. Not so unwilling forty five minutes ago.
- Sherlock-Sherlock, let me tell you one fairy tale, you might even recognize one character or two.
He stretched in the dim lights of a small hotel room and spread himself across Sherlock's chest, looking him in the eyes, unblinking but with a small smile. Then he started the story, in his best tell-tale voice, the closest to an actual story teller manner.
- There was a man and he had a puzzle-heart. He was created that way - the heart could never be truly broken, easily put together, easily back into pieces. You see, his creator was a Da Vinci fan.
Jim chuckled as Sherlock stared at him in a slight disbelief.
- Maybe he wasn't, but I quite like the idea. Many hands tried to touch that heart, tried to mend it, get it together. And all the hands and minds which made an effort to solve that puzzle, really a hard one, got different outcomes. Most of them got brain, amazing and brilliant in its genius, some of them got a mask. And always there were some pieces left. There was once one man, a Doctor…
Jim pressed a palm to Sherlock's chest to keep him in place and continued.
- Yes, a Doctor. He got as close as no one before him could - he got the most beautiful and complicated brain out of that riddle, that brain was nearly as mighty as a Heart, the true form of the puzzle. But there was one piece left out - Doctor was a little bit afraid the Heart will love him and he won't be able to return the feelings. So he left out an essential part, making the man with a Puzzle a bit crippled, not noticing it.
Jim winked at Sherlock, who listened very carefully, his hands around Jim's shoulders now.
- In the end, no one had the right skill, motivation and passion to get the the puzzle right…
Using Sherlock's concentration on the story, Jim slowly laced his fingers through slightly damp black curls, moving the fringe from the forehead.
… To solve that riddle an put the puzzle together. Until the storyteller came. He looked at that brilliant brain and felt a lie at the core of it - it wasn't the true form, no-no-no.
And he used all the semtex in the kingdom to blow the Brain up. Eventually, he stole the puzzle, stole all the pieces and climbed the high tower. And, sitting on the top of it he solved the riddle, and in his hands was the true form of the puzzle - the big, beating Heart.
Last words Jim nearly breathed into Sherlock's lips, placing a palm on his chest, feeling the heartbeat, slightly faster it was, he could swore.
- And storyteller was so tempted to break that Heart, burn it down, crush it into tiny pieces… But he couldn't - he spent so much time and efforts solving the riddle that he got used to the man with a Puzzle and his Heart. So he carefully stole the Heart to make the man follow him…
Sherlcok cleared his throat:
- Let me guess, the man never got his heart back and died chasing the mad storyteller?
Jim tugged the black curls in his hand, Sherlock hissed.
- No, you fool. Storyteller was searching for his own heart to give in return to the man with Puzzle. He might be very close now. Though he needs the stupid man with a Puzzle to help him, just a little bit.
That kiss was the kiss of a given chance, of cautious hope and bitter understanding of rather pleasant answer to their own riddle