Okay so this is the second time I posted chapter seven, I put it up and then realized that I put the version up that hadn't been edited. And then I realized that the newer version I put up had only been partially edited, so, if you see the name John when it should be Jim, sorry about that, folks, I tried to catch them all! As always, thank you very much for reading and reviewing the earlier chapters, and I hope you feel inclined to do the same with this one! Especially because I'm afraid that I'm getting Jim and/or Sherlock out of character, and, as their relationship is, after this chapter, going to be totally different than it has been, I want to make sure that doesn't happen. Thanks so much!
"Breakfast?"
The two men were laying on Jim's bed; Jim was sitting up straight, his back against the wall and his arms around Sherlock. Jim smiled and shook his head sadly "Love to, my dear, but some of us actually have to go to boring nine to five jobs to pay the bills." He winked at Sherlock. "We can't all chase series killers and master blackmailers all day."
Sherlock chuckled. "If that's what you think I do, you've been sadly misinformed. For London being such a happening city, it can be rather dull."
Jim cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a bad thing." Dull? He calls my work dull?
"It is when you rely on it for your bread and butter. After all," he said with a smirk, "we can't all have boring nine to five jobs."
They giggled and Sherlock felt Jim tighten his grip around him. Gently, Sherlock brought one of the man's hands up to his lips and pressed a firm kiss to the back of it. "Maybe I'll stop by Bart's around lunchtime, then."
Jim kissed Sherlock's temple. "As lovely as that would be," he whispered into the detective's ear, "I'm afraid I already told my boss that I'd take her out."
I wonder what he did about Molly, Sherlock thought. But don't ask. He told you that if he broke it off with Molly he'd expect you to date him. Don't commit to that. After all, there's always the chance that John will suddenly realize he's madly in love with you. This thought made Sherlock chuckle.
"What?" Jim asked, smiling. "What are you laughing at?"
"N-Nothing, just-just something John did."
"Ah," Jim said. He didn't bother to hide the disappointment in his voice. "How's Johnny boy doing these days?"
Sherlock shrugged against Jim's chest. "Fine." He snorted. "As in-a-relationship as ever."
"Now, now," Jim said, brushing Sherlock's hair away from his forehead. "You remember what I told you the first time we were together? He doesn't know what he's missing, Sherlock. You're breathtaking. Nothing at all like Molly described you."
"Oh?"
Jim shook his head. "No. She always made you sound like such a prick. She said you were rude to everyone, no matter who they were, and that you didn't give a damn about the rules if you thought you were right about something."
"Huh," Sherlock sighed. "Well, maybe you just bring out the best in me."
/break\
When Sherlock got home, the first thing he did was text John and ask him if he'd like to lunch. The response was almost immediate.
Of course. Where?
I'll be in the lab at Bart's, Sherlock wrote back. Just pick me up when it's good for you.
You're just full of surprises, aren't you? he asked himself. First, you make a true friend, something you never thought you'd do in your life. Then, you meet someone that you invite to lunch before you invite said friend. Two friends? Is that even possible?
Sherlock rubbed his eyes and sighed. What am I doing? Jim's nice, but he's not John. I love John. Jim is just…he*'s just a distraction. You need to stop toying with him, Sherlock. It's cruel. Which, granted, you've never cared about before, but maybe he would be a good place to start. John would certainly call it a change for the better.
It was nearly ten o'clock by the time Sherlock changed clothes and caught a cab. He'd brought the severed head with him, one so that he could test his findings, and two so he could return it the morgue. As he walked through the front door, he contemplated going upstairs to visit Jim, but he immediately decided against it. I don't want to look that desperate. And, I don't think he'd appreciate me bringing a head. Maybe flowers, or, cookies, or something equally ridiculous.
He went to the morgue first and dropped off the head, then walked down the familiar staircase leading into the basement, where the lab was located.
"Now then," he said, his voice sounding louder than it actually was in the empty lab, "what experiment should I perform…blood acidity in different body parts? At various intervals before and after death?
A snort of laugher made him flinch and spin around to look at the door. Jim was leaning against the door, a wide smile on his face, his arms crossed. He was wearing light khaki pants, into which was tucked a crisp maroon shirt with black stripes, the sleeves rolled up to Jim's elbows. A black scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck. "I doubt you need to research any of that. After all," he said, uncrossing his arms and letting them sway lightly at his sides as he walked towards Sherlock, "you didn't get labeled as a genius for not knowing about something as simple as the alkalinity of blood."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows and tried to keep an amused smile from turning up his lips. "Are you implying that I'm not a genius?"
Jim chuckled again. "No," he said, now only two feet from Sherlock. "I'm saying that you already know everything there is to know about it. So, why perform the tests?"
Sherlock couldn't contain his smirk anymore. He was a sucker for flattery, and Jim was only too happy to give it. "I enjoy them," he admitted. "It's routine, yet enlightening. You might even say it's my idea of…fun."
"Ah," Jim said with a nod of understanding. He stepped closer to Sherlock. "I know other ways to have fun. They don't involve blood-" he paused and winked suggestively-"unless that's your thing, of course."
Sherlock stepped back. "I don't know if now is-" he stopped mid-sentence and squinted at the man standing before him. "How did you know I was here?"
Jim hesitated before answering-it was only for a split-second, and no one but Sherlock Holmes would've caught it. "I saw you when you were leaving the morgue," he explained. "I shouted at you, but, guess you didn't hear me."
"No, I didn't. I thought you worked upstairs?"
"I do. But, the coffee machine is on the ground floor." He smiled mischievously. "Is it your habit to interrogate everyone you associate with?"
Sherlock shook his head with a sly smile. "Only the ones I like."
They both snickered and Jim turned to put his elbows on the counter, looking up at Sherlock. "Well, my dear, if you won't let me rip your clothes off in this eerie, fluorescent lab, can I watch your experiments?"
Sherlock wheeled around his stool so he was facing Jim. "Shouldn't you be working?" he asked teasingly. While waiting for Jim's answer, he pulled open the counter drawers and retrieved three test tubes, knife, a beaker, and a Bunsen burner. "Will you reach into that drawer behind you and get the litmus paper?"
Jim reached into the door and retrieved the vile of paper slips. He held it out to Sherlock, but when the detective reached for it, he jerked his hand back. "Uh-uh. It'll cost you." Jim turned his head so that his right cheek was facing Sherlock.
Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly but leaned forward and planted a firm kiss onto Jim's cheek. Jim smiled in satisfaction and dropped the vile into Sherlock's outstretched palm.
"Thank you."
Jim walked behind Sherlock and leaned over his shoulder, watching Sherlock slit his finger with the knife and squeeze blood into the test tube until it there was about three centimeters in it. Sherlock wiped his hand carelessly on his pants as he set to work with his other pulling a piece of litmus paper out of the tube.
"That looks painful."
Sherlock was aware, very aware of how close Jim's lips were to his ear. With every word he spoke, his breath danced across Sherlock's neck. Sherlock shook his head. "People have suffered much more in the name of science."
"Yes," Jim purred in agreement. "And it's worth it to you?"
"Very much so," Sherlock said, nodding. "My work is everything to me. Without it, I'd go insane."
"I see," Jim murmured. Sherlock tried to keep a surprised flinch from twitching his face when Jim wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his nose to his ear.
"And what about John?"
Sherlock licked his lips as Jim squeezed his waist tightly. "Jim-"
"Shh. Just answer my question."
Sherlock found himself squeezing the test tube containing his own blood tightly as Jim nuzzled his ear slowly, sensually. He could feel something hard and long prodding against the small of his back, and he felt his own groin stirring at the sensation. "John…he's just special."
"And what about me?"
Sherlock gasped when he felt Jim sliding his hands from his waist to caress his inner thighs, then his balls. He heard the sound of a zipper being unzipped, and didn't realize until Jim's hand came in contact with his bare cock that it was his own.
"You, Jim…you…oh, Jim!"
The detective felt Jim's mouth turn up into a smile against his ear. "Finally," Jim whispered. "I've got you crying out my name instead of his."
Jim continued to pump Sherlock's cock with one hand; the other was busy trailing up and down Sherlock's chest, playing with his nipples, trailing over his collarbones, clutching at his pale throat. His hips slowly flexing forwards and backwards, making his hard cock thrust against Sherlock's back.
Sherlock leaned his head back as he gasped and let his head rest against Jim's chest. Jim, smirking, leaned down and kissed the dark curls that adorned the sallow forehead. The gyration of his hips sped up, as did the hand that was sliding up and down Sherlock's cock. Both men gasped and sucked in as many short, ragged breaths as they could, and it was only a few minutes until they were past the point of now return.
"Fuck," Jim hissed in Sherlock's ear. "I'm gonna…I'm gonna come…in my pants…fuck, Sherlock, oh my God…"
Jim and Sherlock came simultaneously, both in their trousers. Between his and his partner's gasps, Jim heard another sound, the sound of glass shattering and of hissing. Both men were panting desperately, but, Jim noticed, Sherlock was also groaning. He took in a long, slow breath and spun Sherlock's stool around so they were facing each other.
"You okay?"
Sherlock nodded and jerked his head towards his hand. "I got a little too excited."
Jim's gaze went from Sherlock's face to his hand, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. Sherlock's hand was dripping blood, trails of that seemed to go from the tips of his fingers down past his wrists. The fingers were curled and trembling.
"Christ," Jim said, quickly pulling the scarf off his shoulders and wrapping it gently around Sherlock's hand. "What the hell did you do?"
"I broke the test tube," Sherlock explained calmly. "Don't worry, a lot of it's the blood that was already in there."
"Still," Jim pressed, "you need to wash it. Here, I'll help you." He grabbed the crook of Sherlock's arm and began to pull.
Sherlock held up his uninjured hand and shook it. "No, no. I'm all right. I'm in a hospital, what do you think's going to happen?"-Jim smiled at this-"You need to get back upstairs; you've been gone for almost an hour. They're going to wonder what's happened to you."
Jim sighed. "You're right. As always." He cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pressed his lips against the other man's, almost simultaneously pushing his tongue into the detective's mouth. Sherlock reciprocated immediately.
They didn't have enough time to pull away from each other, they just didn't, when the door to the lab was pushed open and John strode inside, a relaxed grin etched onto his face. When he caught site of Sherlock and Jim, the grin immediately vanished, replaced by a deep frown.
"John!" Sherlock gasped. He put his hand on Jim's chest and pushed him away, then stood up and took a few steps towards his friend. "You're…you're earlier than I expected."
John glanced from Sherlock to Jim. "It's nearly eleven thirty. I sent you a text…seems you were too busy to check it."
Shit, Sherlock cursed tossing his head back to look at Jim. Jim looked like a deer caught in headlights; his eyes were wide and his breathing was quick. He looked back at John.
"John," Sherlock was rambling, "you remember Jim from the other day, right?"
"Of course," John said, smiling sarcastically. "Molly's boyfriend, right?"
Jim lowered his eyes to the floor nervously. "Well, um, not-not anymore." He looked up at Sherlock. "Sherlock, I-I had better be going."
"Right," Sherlock agreed curtly, his eyes not wavering from John's for a second.
"I'll see you later?"
Sherlock shrugged half-heartedly. "We'll see."
Jim nodded wordlessly and slid past John and left the room, leaving the two roommates staring at each other.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Sherlock asked. He stepped closer to John. "Where are we going to eat?"
John snorted in disbelief. "Seriously? That's it then?"
Damn it, John, can't you just leave it be? I'm sorry, all right? "John," he tried again, trying to sound as confused as possible, "I don't understand, what are you-"
"You called him, didn't you?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What business is that of yours?"
"None. It's none of my business. But it is Molly's."
"Molly's?"
"Yes, Sherlock!" John said, his voice nearing a shout. He sighed in exasperation. "You had to have known that this would break them up. You're the world's greatest detective, how could you not know something as basic as-"
"Look, it's not my fault he's gay."
John laughed, and it sounded almost maniacal. "Oh, that's right, you can't. And I suppose you also couldn't stop your fingers from dialing his number, or your voice from inviting him out to get off?"
"Why are you so upset?" Sherlock asked, genuinely interested.
Please, please let it be jealously. Please, please, please.
"The girl adores you, Sherlock! She puts up with you being a bastard, she puts up with you insulting her, she goes out of her way to get you what you need and make sure you can use any damn thing in here that you want, and how do you repay her? You steal her boyfriend! Does she even know he's with you?"
Sherlock shrugged. "I have no idea. And I didn't steal her boyfriend, John. The man's gay; it would've happened sooner or later!"
"So you took it upon yourself-"
Sherlock slammed his fist down on the counter. "Look, I didn't do anything wrong!" he yelled. "People break up, it happens, get over it!"
The look in John's eyes is one that Sherlock knew right away he would never forget, and it was one that he would never make John have again. "I see," John said softly. "So she's just another name on the long list of people that you use but don't really give a damn about. What about Jim, is he on there too? What about me?"
Fuck, John. Why can't you see how much you mean to me? His mind automatically reminded him, look at the way you treat him.
It's not my fault! I can't think straight when I'm with him. He just…Sherlock looked up to see John watching him expectantly. What should I tell him? I can't tell him that I love him, especially now, he'd never speak to me again, and I couldn't bear that.
"No, John," he finally said, so softly that he could barely hear his own words. "No, you're not."
Needless to say, the two didn't go to lunch. John texted Sherlock when he got off work:
Going to Sarah's. I don't know when I'll be back.
Sherlock had written him back, saying, I didn't mean to upset you, but John hadn't responded. Sherlock hadn't expected him to, really, but he had still hoped. It was almost seven o'clock. He was back at Baker Street, sitting in his chair, and smoking his fourth cigarette. The nicotine patches weren't working-they weren't enough.
"Don't look at me like that," he told his skull, blowing the gray smoke out of his mouth as he spoke. "I've had a horrible day. Besides, John's not here to stop me, so why shouldn't I?"
/break\
Your parents are both resident patients at Angel's Touch Nursing Home in Gargilesse. Rose and Vincent McCarthy. Your husband Jonathan is currently away on a business trip, and is staying in room two-hundred and twenty-seven at the Westin Excelsior, one-twenty-five Via Vittorio Veneto, Rome, Italy. Your infant son and daughter are both at your sister's, at-
The woman on Jim's monitor could take no more. As he'd been typing, tears had begun to prick at the corner of her eyes; now, they were streaming down her face. "I'm sorry!" she shrieked. "It wasn't my fault! There was nothing I could've done-"
I very much doubt that.
"Please, believe me!" she begged. "Sir, please, I'll do anything. Don't hurt my family. Please."
The black phone in his pocket vibrated. Jim pulled it out eagerly. Sherlock would get his mind off this woman's incompetence.
Can you come over, the message said. He took his time in responding to Sherlock's text, only because he liked seeing the woman on the edge of her seat.
Yes. Now? Tell me your address again?
Jim chuckled to himself as he set his hands on the keyboard again. "221B Baker Street. As if I didn't already know that. Not only have I seen the outside of your home, Sherlock, but I've been inside it. I've seen your books, your chemistry set on the kitchen table, the skull you have sitting on your mantle…oh yes, I've seen it."
Sherlock wrote back to him, but Jim didn't read it; instead, he was writing another text to Moran.
I'm going to Sherlock's tonight. You're going to drive me. And, send Smith and Mendoza to the sister's house and kill her. Leave the children to starve.
Second chances are not something offered in this business, he wrote to the woman. Unfortunately, I have other responsibilities to attend to, so I have to cut this lovely conversation short.
She seemed to look relieved for a moment, and Jim snickered at this, too.
I think I'll dispose of your sister. After all, who, then, will watch after your children while you're…incapacitated?
The last thing Jim heard as he shut off the computer was the woman's scream, followed by a gunshot, and then silence.
/break\
"Hi," Sherlock said as he pulled the door open and stood aside for Jim to enter. "I'm sorry about the mess. I wasn't exactly planning on having company, or else I would've tidied up a bit."
Jim smiled. "It's all right, after all you've seen where I live. I'm sure-" he stopped in mid-sentence as he glanced around the apartment. "My god," he said, his voice in awe, "this place-it's-it's huge!" He walked into the living room excitedly, letting his eyes dart around. "You have a full-sized fridge, and a stove, and a sink? And-" he went into the kitchen and next down next to the dishwasher-"a dishwasher! You lucky bastard!"
Sherlock chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't have any of it if it weren't for John."
Jim tried to keep his smile glued onto his face. He walked over to Sherlock and stroked his cheek gently. "How did Johnny boy take the news?"
Sherlock leaned into Jim's touch and sighed. "Not well. He was furious at me. He said…he told me that I use everyone and don't give a damn about anyone."
"Hmm," Jim hummed sympathetically. "If only he knew."
"He can't know," Sherlock said adamantly. He turned away from Jim's hand. "He'd never speak to me again. He'd move out."
"It'd be his loss," Jim said helpfully.
Sherlock smirked and locked eyes with Jim. "Why are you so quick to stand up for me?" he asked. "You don't know anything about me. I don't know anything about you-not even your last name."
Jim smiles, and Sherlock knows instantly that something-something-isn't right.
"Sherlock, I think you know more about me than you realize. And I know more about you than you realize. See, that's another thing we have in common."
Sherlock tried to force a smile onto his face, but he knew Jim could tell he was faking it. He took a step back, only to see that Jim took one towards him. "Another thing?" he repeated, trying to keep his voice under control.
"Yes," Jim said, closing the distance between them until Sherlock's back was against the olive-colored wall. "We both enjoy a good puzzle. We both don't give a damn what the rest of the world thinks of us. We're both loners and, up until a few days ago, we preferred it that way. We're both geniuses, and the creators and sole members of our chosen professions."
Sherlock felt his heart racing as Jim leaned in and forced a deep, rough kiss onto his lips. When Jim pulled away, he whispered, "It's like I've been trying to tell you…we were made for each other, Sherlock."
Sherlock's heart stopped.
Moriarty.
The last thing Sherlock felt was a hard, heavy blow delivered to the side of his head, and then darkness surrounded him.
