Disclaimer: I do not own anything. A.N. I was prompted on Tumblr by the delightful missmuffin221 with 'Tell me a secret' and Jim/Sherlock. This was supposed to be a drabble, but it ran away with me. And I know I cheated (sorry, honeybun), because this is not Sheriarty…but if I know the prompter well enough I hope she, at least, will forgive me…and I hope you all will enjoy it.
Dicker
"Tell me a se-cret, Holmes," Jim singsonged, cornering the lanky, curly-haired teenager while he was sneaking a cigarette in the school's garden.
"I am not insane, Jim," Sherlock replied, blowing smoke right in the other's face. "Why would I?"
If the taller one hoped to make the other choke, it failed entirely. Moriarty inhaled with evident, even overblown pleasure. "Because I am offering you a trade – I have a secret you really want to know, trust me, and a barter is only fair, isn't it? Of course, we could arrange alternate methods of payment. I would accept a kiss. Lasting at least forty-five seconds. With tongue. But somehow, I doubt you'd go for it." He chuckled mockingly.
Well, Jim was right about one thing. He was a complete virgin, even unkissed – the fact that anytime he hoped his mouth people wanted to punch him made his considerable charm rather useless – and there was no way in hell that he'd surrender his first to Jim bloody Moriarty in a barter. "You really think that you have a secret which I can't deduce on my own, and that I would be interested in hearing?" Sherlock hissed haughtily.
Moriarty chortled again, half amused and half condescending…and all irksome. "I thought you'd say that. Fine, I'll give you an incentive. It's about John."
The taller teen glared down his nose at him. "Now I know you're stringing me along. There is no way that John decided to confide you a secret. Especially one he would keep from me."
Jim raised his hands in a placating gesture. "True, true…but you see, this particular secret wasn't confided. It was…stumbled upon. And not even by me, I admit your little friend is likely to be on guard when he thinks I might be around. But he does play rugby with Sebby," he explained.
"Sebby?" Sherlock echoed, blinking. He ignored people he didn't care about a little too well, right.
"Moran. One of the props. Definitely eye candy," Moriarty pointed out, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Oh yes…I think John mentioned him once or twice," the curly haired teen acknowledged, a wary look in his eyes. It might still be a ploy, a scam…but it made sense. The other boy hadn't even said that Moran had been told the secret, just that he'd accidentally discovered it. It could have happened.
"So? Do you want to know?" Jim asked, with a smile full of teeth. He took a step back, almost as if he wasn't interested and was about to leave if his favourite rival dillydallied any longer.
"Yes," Sherlock breathed. It would be the ruin of him someday, but he wanted to know absolutely everything about John Watson…in excruciatingly intimate detail.
The shorter teen raised an eyebrow, clearly impatient.
The problem was, while the younger Holmes knew plenty of secrets about anyone he crossed paths with – deducing them an automatic reflex, and dismissing them as petty and ridiculous just as automatic – he didn't really have many secrets of his own. It might be caused by living with Mycroft, from whom it was sadly impossible to hide anything at all, but Sherlock had developed a devil may care attitude. He'd do what he pleased, when he pleased, and if people saw, they could look the other way, or yell at him for being a freak. Either way, he wasn't interested in their reactions.
Well, that wasn't entirely true…there wasn't something he'd never vocalized, and…well, not exactly hidden as tried desperately to downplay…so he supposed it counted as a secret. And honestly, being finally able to form the words, even if in front of an already bored-looking Jim, might be a relief. God knew (or he would if he existed) that this sentence clung to the back of his throat all the damn time, choking him at the most inconvenient moments, forcing him to swallow it back again and again…but never actually going away. Maybe he could manage to push them further down after airing them once. Sherlock breathed, so soft that it was almost inaudible, "I am in love with John Watson."
Any relief the wannabe chemist thought he'd feel vanished seeing Jim shake his head, clearly disappointed. "Oh, pet, I asked for a secret. Anyone with the use of half of a single one of his senses can see that. Well, not John, but he's an idiot. Never understood what you see in him, honestly. Your love can be seen, heard, smelled, and bloody tasted. You'll have to do better than that if you want to know," his tormenter declared, clicking his tongue.
"I think you don't know anything, and are just playing with me," Sherlock accused, flushing a lovely bright red.
"As much as I do love playing with you, doll, I am serious now…and really, I have your best interests in mind. Fine, I'll give you another encouragement. Want to know how Sebby overheard this secret? I'd detained him just after practice because…well, I don't really need to discuss my tastes, even if I suspect you might share them. Anyway, when I finally allowed him to go shower, the others had long since left the room. Not John, though, who'd apparently been detained too…or maybe he had purposefully waited for a bit of privacy…" Moriarty claimed, leering. He didn't think it was possible, but the other teen flush actually deepened.
It could all be an elaborate lie. Of course it could. And really, even if it wasn't, knowing that John sang off tune under the shower or whatever else Moran had happened to overhear wasn't worth putting himself under Jim's thumb. True, the teen made it sound like a…dirty secret, but Jim made everything sound sexual, even the lunch menu probably.
Sherlock was on the brink of walking away. He should have, really. He could just ask John what happened, and even if his friend refused to reveal it (which he very rarely did), his reaction would be telling enough to allow Sherlock to deduce it. The blond boy was a terrible liar.
But if he asked, he would be forced to explain how he knew that anything odd had happened at all. John would know that Moran knew, Jim knew, and possibly the whole school would know if Jim was ever bored enough. He'd be embarrassed (never mind how minor the thing could be, John always cared way too much for people's opinion), then agitated, then…this had to be avoided at all costs. John must not be upset. Ever.
Suddenly, Sherlock knew what he needed to do. "If I tell you another secret of mine…Something not even Mycroft knows…" he bartered, "will you tell me and only me? I mean it, Jim. I want the exclusive on this piece of news, and if you or Moran spread it further, I will find a way to make you regret it. I have talent in chemistry, you know." At least, he was pretty sure his brother didn't know. Otherwise, the annoying git would have lectured him long ago.
Jim's eyes shone with greed, and he grinned. "Of course I won't spread it…because you'll spread it for me, very soon," he declared smugly.
"I would never betray John's confidence," the taller teen growled, earnest.
"Of course, of course…now, this secret?" Moriarty demanded, leaning forward again.
"I-keep-a-collection-of-samples-from-John-and-he-doesn't-know," the curly haired boy whispered, all in a breath.
"Samples, uh?" Jim echoed, rolling the word in his mouth and clearly liking its taste. "Biological ones?"
Sherlock nodded silently, but then added, just as softly, "Not only…things he's touched, too. Little things, not anything he'd miss…empty pens, and the like."
Moriarty laughed, too loud and too smug. "My dear little apprentice stalker… Some day we'll make a proper crook of you, Sherly," he remarked, more hushed but still not murmuring. "Until then, you've definitely earned your secret. Seb overheard our known ladykiller John pleasuring himself in the shower… Naughty boy, really… and he said he called your name."
If Jim had cared at all, he'd worry about having caused the only other not entirely dull boy in school a heart attack, given his reaction – or lack of one – for the following seven minutes. The fact that he hadn't walked away from him, bored, spoke only of his curiosity, honest. He'd never murdered anyone without meaning to yet.
When Sherlock's brain was finally back online, he lunged at him screaming, "Liar!" It was a lie, it had to be,
"I'm not. I'm not trying to trick you into confessing and being broken hearted when he'll refuse you. You'd start sulking, and that is mind-numbing. Besides, if anyone has to break your heart, it's gotta be me deary, and not by proxy," Moriarty declared, deftly sidestepping the angry boy and slipping behind him. He patted the other's back encouragingly. "Go get him, kitten. Watching you pine is tiresome." He walked away from a rigid, confused, frustrated Sherlock. "I'll expect both your thanks!" Jim called in a Parthian shot.