The day had started out uneventfully enough. Sherlock had gone so far as to call it boring, but for John it was simply relaxing. Life as the only consulting detective in the world's husband was full of excitement and wonder, but there was hardly a moment to breathe between cases at times, and John treasured days like these.
It was nearing lunchtime when Mrs. Hudson came up to their flat.
"Sherlock, John, Mrs. Turner and her boys are coming around for tea, and I was hoping you'd join us. They're nice boys, and John, she says one of them's an army man like yourself. You should have loads to talk about."
Neither John nor Sherlock had any burning desire for tea with Mrs. Hudson's friends, tenants or no. The last time that they had done so, Mrs. Hudson's day for hosting bridge two months ago, had ended with an overeager widow's advances being rebuffed by a deduction of the origin of her (not so genuine) diamond necklace by Sherlock, and a very long and unnecessarily detailed explanation of Mrs. Forrester's kidney trouble to John.
Still, it seemed obvious that Mrs. Hudson genuinely wanted them to join her, and John was not one to deny their landlady. So, before Sherlock could even manage a "boring," John replied.
"That'd be lovely Mrs. Hudson. When do you think tea will be?"
"Oh, around three, I think. I'll yell up the stairs when they get here," Mrs. Hudson replied.
As soon as Mrs. Hudson left, Sherlock moved from his Sulking Position on the couch.
"Why did you say yes? You hate tea with Mrs. Hudson's friends as much as I do," he said, sitting up to look at John.
"She knows that, Sherlock, and she wouldn't have invited us if it didn't mean a lot to her. Also, don't you think it's time we met the neighbors?" John replied, shifting aside a severed hand in the fridge to find something edible for lunch.
"Why, so we can sit there and you can pretend to care about their niece's graduation? Neighbors are boring, John, just extra people you feel obligated to care about." He got up, restless, and moved toward the stairs.
"You never know, Sherlock," Watson said, catching him around the waist to press a kiss to the back of his neck. "They might be interesting."
Interesting, these neighbors turned out to be. When Sherlock and John trooped down to 221A at 3:05, they were greeted by the highly improbable sight of James Moriarty gently setting down a cuppa in front of Mrs. Hudson. John would later swear he heard Sherlock stifle a gasp. There was a long, drawn out silence which, though it seemed to go on for hours to John, in reality only lasted thirty seconds. During this silence, he noticed the other occupants of the flat. He had met Mrs. Turner, a kind, slightly hard-of-hearing widow with cropped gray hair and a penchant for purple, previously, but not the man whose arm was curled possessively around Moriarty's waist. He surpassed Sherlock in height, but where Sherlock was long, thin limbs, this man was mostly muscle, and his bearing clearly said military.
"Why hello, Sherlock, John! You're just in time," Mrs. Hudson said, smiling up at them as Jim did the same, now standing several steps behind her chair.
"Yes! Tea's just ready," he added, coming forward.
"This is Jim," Mrs. Hudson told them cheerfully.
"Jim Moran," he smiled, shaking their hands.
"John Watson, pleasure!" John managed.
"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock almost grumbled, voice low.
"And this is Sebastian!"
The other man came forward, an inviting smile on his face. Still, despite his overwhelmingly friendly manner, John could see the same look in his frozen blue eyes that he had seen in those of the soldiers whom the war consumed, swallowing them up in its darkness and occasionally sending them back home on a mental health discharge.
"Sebastian Moran," he greeted them, his grip firm. "John, Mrs. Hudson tells me you fought in Afghanistan."
"Yes, yes I did," John replied, almost automatically.
"I was in Iraq myself, discharged on a back injury," Sebastian replied with an easy grin.
"I was injured too," John replied without a second thought.
At this, Mrs. Hudson had to stop herself from gasping. John seldom spoke freely of his service in the army, and never to a stranger. Perhaps it was a common bond between veterans, she supposed as Sebastian and Sherlock shook hands.
Sherlock, however, saw past that fallacy. There was something genuinely odd about this man, as well as John's reaction to him. Still, he was somehow…disarming, and, dare he say, charming.
No wonder Moriarty chose him. Excellent at obtaining information, he thought.
Sebastian took his seat next to Jim, scooting his chair over until the man was practically in his lap. John sat across from Sebastian, Sherlock eyeing Jim warily as he sat across from him.
Silence fell again as the tea was poured, and reigned until Mrs. Hudson finally decided to try for some small talk.
"So, how's the knee, Rose?" she asked Mrs. Turner.
"Oh, just dreadful. It's started waking me up in the night. Jim's a sweetie, though, he fixes me the perfect cuppa. I don't know how he does it, but it works, and I feel fit as a fiddle before I've finished my last sip."
Jim smiled bashfully. "Oh, it's nothing, Mrs. Turner. It's Seb's brew. I make it whenever his back bothers him."
"Oh, how is that, dear?" Mrs. Turner asked, turning concerned eyes toward the soldier.
Sebastian shook his head, sighing. "It's been acting up again. Jim gives great massages, though," he smiled at his husband, who returned a smirk that could only be described as sinful.
"Is that what you do for a living then, Jim? You're a masseuse?" John asked innocently despite the gobsmacked expression on his husband's face.
Jim gave John a knowing smile, a smirk that said you know exactly what I do for a living, Johnny-boy, before giving a chuckle.
"Oh no, John. I teach Maths at the LSE. Have taken some massage classes though."
"What about you, Sebastian? I don't think Rose ever told me just what you do," Mrs. Hudson asked before taking a sit from her cup.
"I'm a florist," he replied, his smile seeming to brighten, if that was at all possible.
"Really? Oh, that's just lovely! You can never go wrong with flowers as a gift, that's what I always say," Mrs. Hudson replied, smiling.
"Exactly. There's a different flower for every occasion," Sebastian replied, seeming genuinely passionate about his work.
"And Sebby knows all of them," Jim purred, placing a hand on his husband's bicep.
"Oh, Sebastian, what were those lovely white flowers you gave me on my birthday?" Mrs. Turner asked.
"Calla lilies, for beauty," Sebastian said, grinning at her.
"Oh, Sebastian, you're such a charmer! Isn't he?" Mrs. Turner asked with a laugh.
"Yes he is," Jim drawled, leaning into Sebastian.
"I don't remember Martha ever telling what you boys do for a living," said Mrs. Turner, looking inquiringly at Sherlock and John.
John answered "Oh, I'm a doctor and he's-ˮ
"I'm a consulting detective," Sherlock interrupted.
"A consulting detective?" Jim repeated, sounding vaguely intrigued. "That sounds interesting. What exactly does that entail?"
"Whatever the police can't manage to accomplish on their own, which is almost everything," Sherlock said as Jim gave a knowing smile. "I catch the culprits they just can't seem to get."
"Really?" Jim asked, stirring milk into his tea while staring at it intently. "How exactly do you do that?"
"By doing what I must. I play their games," Sherlock replied, his voice barely above a husky whisper.
"How fun!" Jim exclaimed, looking up.
"Indeed," Sherlock replied.
A silence followed these words, during which Sherlock and Jim seemed to stare each other down. While this was going on, John and Sebastian looked up at each other simultaneously. In that look, a mutual understanding of the true natures of their husbands passed between them, not needing words. There was also an apology for the awkwardness of the scene there, too, and a strange sort of connection that neither man could place, and one that was not soon to be broken.
However, the silence was ended by Mrs., Hudson with a somewhat awkward laugh.
"Well, I never knew that anyone else would find crime as fun as Sherlock," she said. "You two should do tea again sometime."
"We should," Jim agreed, never taking his eyes off of Sherlock.
"John and I could tag along," Seb chimed in, wrapping an arm tightly around Jim, his jealousy evident, all the while never taking his eyes off of the doctor. "I'm sure we could find something to talk about."
At that moment it seemed that all eyes in the room shifted to John, as though expecting an answer.
"Oh yes, I'm sure we could," John managed, washing his words down with Earl Grey.