Set pretty much straight after Series1: Episode 1
Prompt:-
SH: I can always predict the fortune cookies
JW: No you can't
For Kitty
Fortune Cookies
We are stretched out on the floor, back to the sofa, an empty bowl of dim sum on the carpet between us. Sherlock has been using chopsticks expertly, the click click clicking an extension of his long pale hands. He gave me a look to say "It's easy", and I gave him a look to say "Get me a fork". He didn't and I, shattered from the night's events, didn't move either.
He now leans his head back as far as the seat cushions, vulnerable looking without the protection of his scarf or distraction of that stupid upturned collar. I wonder how well I really know him.
Mycroft was right – in a few days we met, moved in together and then I killed a guy for him. I know without needing to voice it that I will never leave his side. He will already know that I will never want to.
He starts to throw things across the room, annoyed when – despite his estimated trajectory – the chopsticks fail to hit his scull on the mantelpiece. He reaches for the bowl and I snatch it away from his fingers, preventing the left over fluids from splashing across the floor. I place it down on the other side of me and reach for my cookie. He is already twisting and turning his in an attempt to get the fortune out without breaking the biscuit. I shake my head.
"You'd do anything to stop being bored." I state simply.
"Well, how about it?" He turns and looks straight at me. I snap my cookie in half without ever leaving his eyes.
"How about what?"
He glances down and for a second I wonder what he is insinuating and I freeze a little further when one of those pale hands reaches out towards me. He has scooted closer and gently lifts the small slip of paper from the cookie and into my hands. I look down at it.
Anything
And I want to ask him how he did it, how he knew so well what I was going to say – how he snuck it in. And as much as I know how Sherlock likes to show off, this time I don't want to find out how, because the idea of why has got my heart jumping.
"Anything" I read aloud, in barely a whisper. He is so close now he takes my voice as an invitation and uses one hand to sweep the fortune cookie from my lap, the other to find my face. He pauses just before touching me, hand hovering in mid air. His green eyes are oddly transparent and I feel I could drown in them.
"Anything" I repeat with more confidence, and without expression – without a smile or a word he places his palm to my cheek and kisses me. And he is soft, so much softer than a man should be. But I remind myself he is so much more than just a man.
He breaks away, then, before I could have time to hesitate he finds my lips again; a different angle this time. And I think maybe I am another experiment – like eyes in the microwave or thumbs in the fridge. Something else to stave off the boredom. But if he is aiming for laboratory conditions he is out of luck, for I am grabbing at fistfuls of his hair, running my fingers down his skin, pulling him closer and closer to me until there – I can feel it: he is smiling into me, cocky that once again he has been proven right.
I am glad I moved the remains of dinner for now I am rolling over him, pinning him to the floor. And I know he wants to make quips about me not being gay, and I want to make quips about him being married to his work, but most of all I just want this, him. And right now that's enough.
Much later I will find the remains of his fortune cookie under the sofa, the slip of paper simply reading He Loves You.
Turns out Sherlock can always predict the fortunes after all. I should hardly be surprised.
