"So remind me again, what exactly am I doing here?"
"We're looking through this considerably large collection of old police transcripts to find even the tiniest link in this, this dead-end of a case between our murder victim, A, and our murder suspects, B, C, and D."
"I get that bit," says Bell, watching Holmes carefully arrange the contents of a folder about him on the floor in a sort of paper temple. He's wearing an old tshirt, sweat pants, and socks, and he looks ready for a long night. Bell sighs as he loosens his tie, and glares back down at the dusty folder in his lap. "What I don't understand is how you've got me helping you, and not – "
"Watson is in Copenhagen, as you will recall, and Kitty isn't equipped for this sort of thing."
"She can read, can't she?"
"That's not really what I meant," mutters Holmes, and Bell isn't sure he's just imagining things when Holmes looks him up-and-down, before waving his hand as he goes on quickly, "She lacks certain – assets, that you possess. I sent her out for the evening."
It occurs to Bell that this is the third compliment – if it is a compliment – that Holmes has paid him today alone, and that in fact Sherlock's been remarkably complimentary lately, ever since – well, ever since the previous Tuesday when Bell had told Sherlock and Joan that he was gay. Now that he thinks about it, in addition to the compliments, it's a little too warm to be sitting cosily in front of a roaring fire with hot chocolate. Bell narrows his eyes.
"What kind of "assets" are we talking about?"
"You're the detective." Holmes shuffles some more papers around on the floor, and the small smile that plays at the corners of his mouth definitely isn't just Bell's imagination.
"Holmes." Bell leans forward in his chair by the fire place, his voice a warning. Sherlock finally looks up; looks at Bell like he really ought to understand what Sherlock is insinuating and he's being deliberately obtuse if he doesn't.
"You're joking, right?"
Sherlock doesn't answer.
"You're fucking kidding me."
Sherlock sighs huffily. "It's a perfectly reasonable offer, is it not? You've just come out, congratulations, well done, you'll be wanting someone to shag – I happen to have had some experience in that area, by the way you're looking at me it's clear that you don't find me unattractive, and sex helps to bring out new perspectives on a case, I always find – it's a win-win situation. I mean, we can discuss the conditions further, of course, but – "
"I don't believe this," says Bell, laughing without humour. He shakes his head, looks away. "Did you even try this on Joan before, because you know she would have ripped you a new one - "
"I'm sorry, I've offended you." Holmes appears doubtful about whether this is the case; even more doubtful about what to do next, as Bell jumps to his feet.
"Listen, forget it. If you need a prostitute to shed some new light on this case or whatever it is you do, just – I don't wanna know about it. I'll see you tomorrow."
Sherlock hears the front door slam behind him; he doesn't get up, just stares at the fire, trying to work out how he could possibly have gotten it so wrong.