Sid took one last drag of his ciggarette befire flicking it away, as they casually ambled past the cottage.

The one belonging to Inspector Sullivan, which housed a multitude of interesting case files in the spare bedroom - one of which was Father Brown's current keen interest.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" Sid asked the Priest. Normally he'd treat a job like this as a normal day at the office but given the man who resided in the house... This was a whole different kettle of fish. The thought of encountering Sullivan alone in the dark did terrible things to Sid's stomach.

"Of course," Father Brown agreed absentmindedly, plucking blackberries off the overgrown bramble bush beside him, "Provided that you don't take the wrong one, or become overtaken by the urge to steal something, he'll be none the wiser."

"What if he comes in and catches me?" Sid asked.

"I will be praying that he doesn't." Father Brown mumbled lowly. "Blackberry?"

Sid took the offered fruit and chewed loudly. "Oh, they're sweet."

"Its been a good year for blackberries. There's a marvellous hedge on the way to Lady Felicia's -" The priest attempted to change the subject but Sid held up a hand to silence him. They walked for a minute in silence, their footsteps loud on the warm tarmac of the quiet road. This was a quiet road, only five houses, but it housed at least two notorious busybodies, and Sid had spotted a net curtain twitching.

A dog emerged from a house, hurling itself at a garden gate and doing its best to throw itself through it. Sid unconsciously assumed that Sullivan probably had a huge and very vicious guard dog. One that matched its owner's temper.

"Seriously though," Sid mumbled, in case the dog's owner might appear, "Its one thing to filch stuff from the station but - this is his house. This is where he lives."

"Sid, its a spare bedroom that he uses as storage." Father Brown reasoned. "He'll never know you were there."

"Don't feel right though." Sid mumbled at his feet. "He's bad enough at the station. What would he do if he caught me breaking into his digs." He looked at his shoes morosely. "Reckon he might just shoot me." He added glumly.

Time to take action. "Well," Father Brown chided, "Suppose I could always find somebody else, if the great Sidney Carter is too scared..."

There was one place to hit Sid, one place where it really hurt, and that was in his pride. Immediately he bristled and drew himself up to his full height. Before he even spoke Father Brown knew he was determined to do it.

The cottage looked different in the dark. Sid, sloping along the wall in his old black shirt and trousers (too warm for the jacket), had grown greatly in bravado and was actually starting to look forward to this little stunt.

Well, it was fun, wasn't it? The mighty Inspector may nab him for every other crime, but he could never prove him of one committed at his very own house - that's if he noticed the file missing in the first place. It might just turn up again, who knows? Anyway, if anyone asked, he'd be at Lady Felicia's, giving her a hand cleaning out her spring wardrobe in preparation for summer stock. He had a great eye for fashion, everyone knew that.

The window was even open. Propped open just a crack, enough so that he didn't have to pick the lock and risk leaving fingerprints. Perfect. He shook his head at the Inspector's lousy security. It was almost like he wanted intruders.

He shimmied up the drainpipe with practiced finesse, and slowly eased open the window so that it wouldn't creak, leaving him enough room to clamber in. The curtains were closed, so he pushed them aside to stop himself from getting tangled in them; lessons were learned that night in February when he'd managed to wrap himself into a cocoon sneaking in. He delicately felt about with one foot, felt the carpet, and then climbed in. He turned around smiling, then immediately stuck his fist in his mouth to stop him from yelping in horror.

This wasn't the spare room. There were no boxes of case files, and it wasn't empty.

Directly in front of him was a bed, and with a petrifying thrill of terror he realised that Sullivan was in it.

Oh good God. How could he make such an awful mistake? Of all the scrapes he'd got into over the years he could not ever had imagined himself in such a deadly position - hovering by the window of a police Inspector's house, with said inspector slumbering only three feet away from him. It was a wonder he didn't feel Sid's heart beating through the floorboards.

Sid hazarded another glimpse to check that he'd definitely got the wrong house (that would be bad, but not as bad at this) but the man in pyjamas (dark green ones, from what he could see over the covers) was undoubtedly Sullivan. It wasn't a nice, calm, amicable, thief-understanding stranger or mild acquaintance. Drat.

Fast asleep, but in Sid's opinion a sleeping Sullivan was still a dangerous Sullivan. Perhaps even more dangerous than awake Sullivan. Sid, who was often subjected to his perpetually annoyed demeanor, had often thought that Sullivan wasn't a great sleeper, and even the Father could be crabid if he woke him up as he struggled up the presbytery steps while suffering the dark side of beer. Oh Christ, he was going to die.

He (Sullivan) was on his back, one arm pointing up on the pillow with his face nestled into it. He wasn't snoring, but he seemed to hum when he breathed in. Sid struggled to breathe himself as he watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, so blissfully unaware of the intruder. Probably dreaming about arresting him for some other crime.

He stood by the window, paralysed with fear. He knew he couldn't stay there. He backed towards the window, and somehow, his torch (a heavy steel contraption) made an escape, falling out of his pocket. It hit the ground with an earth shattering bang, the cold metal ringing across the wooden floorboards and reverberating through the air loud enough to pierce through Sid's eardrums. Sid, practically drowning in sweat at this point, closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and quickly tried to make peace with the Lord.

Sullivan didn't stir.

Sid opened one eye, then the other. He breathed again. Must be a heavy sleeper - which was strange, given how jumpy he was when he was awake. Still, if that bang didn't rouse him, Sid didn't know what would. He could probably make it past and into the other room, snatch the file on the way and then slip out through the window without the man being any the wiser. As long as he didn't leave mud on the carpet.

Agonisingly slowly, barely lifting his feet off the floor, Sid started making his way towards the door. As he passed, he watched Sullivan's sleeping face. He looked turbulently peaceful. For the first time, Sid could get a proper look at the man's features, without getting his head bitten off in the process. He stopped and stared. May as well get a decent gawk while he could, he'd never get another chance like this again. Talk about curiosity killing the cat.

Pretty. Without his eyebrows scrunched together and signature frown, Sullivan looked shockingly pretty. Younger, too. The worried, cross look that clouded his face may have made him broodingly handsome, but now, with his face blank and open, his hair freshly washed but ungelled and falling across his forehead, maybe even in waves, Sullivan was just a man. There was something transfixing about it, seeing him look not quite perfect - hair tangled, arms thrown over his head, pyjama top unbuttoned in a way his shirt would never be, lips parted ever so slightly. There was even a loose hair, maybe an eyelash, stuck to his cheekbone.

Without thinking, Sid leaned over the sleeping man and brushed it off.

Turned out that Sullivan wasn't as heavy a sleeper as Sid thought. The moment Sid's fingertip touched Sullivan's cheek, his eyes opened, and then he jolted backwards with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Panting for breath, he scuttled back until his back hit the headboard of the bed and he opened his mouth to scream. Sid, who was now regretting ever being born, wisely realised that the open window meant the neighbours would hear the scream and it was one thing to be caught in a policeman's bedroom by the policeman himself, but quite another to be caught in a policeman's bedroom by members of the general public, and so he quickly slapped a hand over Sullivan's mouth and muffled the scream as best as he could, hoping that Sullivan would calm down.

He did not. He bit him.

This hurt enough for Sid to momentarily forget the danger of being heard and having removed his hand from the mouth, he began swearing very loudly. Sullivan, who was now too breathless to speak, flattened himself against the headboard and done his best to feign off cardiac arrest.

Sid turned to him again. Sullivan opened his mouth to scream and Sid seized him by the shoulders.

"Quit it, will ya!" He shook the man's shoulders, his head bouncing back and forward, "It's me, Sid!"

Sullivan, chest heaving and mouth open wide enough to park the Rolls Royce in, stared at him, incapable of speaking. Eventually, he managed to hiss,

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Sid suddenly remembered how much trouble he was in. His blood ran cold.

From the looks of it Sullivan's veins had frozen up like pipes in the icy weather. Though he had a feeling he was going to get astronomically angry, so maybe those pipes would melt. And then explode, killing Sid.

"I, ah... I... Well, I um..." He began, adopting a calm tone, as if he'd somehow taken a wrong turn and ended up in a policeman's bedroom as an honest mistake, "Eh, um...Do you... Do you need any odd jobs doing?"

Sullivan couldn't quite fight off his terror enough to look furious. "That's not funny! What are you doing in my house?"

Sid shrugged. "Well, I reckoned... Cause I was passing earlier on, you see and, well, I thought I might just, you know."

Were this not a very combustible situation, Sid might have laughed at the look of confusion on his face. He got a strange urge to stick a finger in Sullivan's gaping mouth but thankfully managed to resist it.

"Why did you touch me?" Sullivan asked suddenly, his face suddenly serious.

"I didn't." Sid immediately lied.

"Yes you did." Sullivan countered. "You touched my face. Just here." He pointed at the offending spot. Sid wondered if he could feign innocence but realised that this was Sullivan he was dealing with. It might not be beyond the man to take fingerprints of his own face.

"Oh, yeah, well, you had a hair on you. Or maybe an eyelash. Or maybe a bug - probably a hair though." Sid thought it best to speak the truth.

"Wha- urgh-" Sullivan started swatting at his cheek, attempting to remove said bug.

"Its gone, its gone." Sid thought for a second that he should turn a light on but decided against it. Best if Sullivan didn't see his burglar get up. He may have revealed his identity but at least he could keep his outfit secret.

Bit like a reverse superhero.

Sullivan had sank backwards, rubbing his forehead, looking like he was past all emotion. He stared at Sid, realised that Sid was staring at him, and looked away again.

Sid suddenly hissed. "That really hurt." He winced, poking gingerly at the palm of his hand.

"You shouldn't have put your hand over my mouth." Sullivan reasoned.

"And let you wake the whole house? You with a man on your bedroom?" Sid snapped.

There was a sharp intake of breath. "In case you hadn't noticed, Carter," Sullivan's voice had returned to its usual arrogant, angry tones, but with an undisguisable hint of fear, "I live alone."

"Got neighbours." Sid reminded him, recovering that menacing voice he usually reserved for winding Sullivan up, but with a hint of danger, "Real nosy ones as well."

"She's half deaf." Sullivan tried to argue, but it wasn't really working. Sid could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tried to hide his quick breathing.

Sid knew he was in dangerous territory. Sullivan was on edge. He was trying to make his face unreadable but Sid saw right through his facade. He was unnerved, and Sid knew it. It was intoxicating, seeing the effect a few slight jibes could have on the man.

"Not blind though, is she?" Sid snided, and Sullivan shivered, "And I bet she'd be up those stairs before you could think of a decent cover story."

"I don't need a cover story!" Sullivan hissed, "You broke in! You're trespassing! I should arrest you!"

Sid chuckled. He sat down on the bed beside Sullivan, inching his face closer he could feel Sullivan's breath on his face, warm and smelling of mint toothpaste.

"How come you didn't arrest me as soon as I woke you up?" He asked softly, watching Sullivan shift uncomfortably. "And you could arrest me now, but I've a feeling that you won't." He smirked at Sullivan. The moonlight made it hard to see, but he could almost feel Sullivan blushing.

"You won't, will you?" He taunted.

"No." Sullivan whispered. The air between them seemed to crackle, like it was filled with static electricity. Perhaps that was why the hair along the back of Sid's neck were standing on end.

He sighed, and reached out to adjust the collar of Sullivan's pyjama top, resisting the sudden, mad urge to reach inside it.

"Bit of a lonely existence you've got here." He remarked casually, if it they were chatting on the street, instead of on Sullivan's bed.

"That's none of your business." Sullivan replied. "And I'm not lonely."

"Course you are." Sid retorted, "The first man to crawl in and instead of arresting him, you're letting him sit beside you and chat."

"I never said you could sit down." Sullivan argued feebly. "What are you planning to do now? Rob me off all my possessions or keep flirting?"

Oh. So Sullivan clocked this as flirting. Well that was good to know.

Sid let out a low whistle. "I only ever climb in through a lover's window on invitation, so this ain't flirting."

Sullivan went purple and his eyes slowly widened, and he breathed loudly in and out through his nose like a horse.

Sid leaned closer again. He felt carefully through the gloom, and rested his hand on Sullivan's knee.

"What are you trying to say, Inspector?" He taunted, his voice smooth as melted caramel.

"I'm not implying anything." Sullivan said through gritted teeth. "I'm merely associating your actions with your well know reputation."

"Is that why you haven't locked me up? You enjoying it too much? Living in hope?" Sid teased, leaning forward to rest a hand on Sullivan's shoulder. He was bolt rigid, and didn't reply. That being said, he didn't say anything negative. He seemed to be looking at Sid with (dare he say it?) bedroom eyes.

Sid whistled lowly. "This really your lot?" He asked, "Solitary, I'll tell you that." He looked around the empty bedroom, which had obviously been decorated by somebody else. "Aren't you lonely?"

"Why are you asking me all this?" Sullivan asked. The tension in his shoulders was starting to hurt the hands he was leaning on. "Why don't you just continue robbing me of everything except the clothes on my back?"

"I rather like those pyjamas." Sid sniggered. "Let's have a proper looksie."

Sullivan gasped, audibly. "No," He protested, as Sid pulled away the covers, "No, don't you dare-"

Sid let out the most theatrical gasp of his life, staring at the unbelievable scene before him.

"Well," He breathed, as Sullivan (who had abandoned the tussle for the blanket) buried his scarlet, burning face in his hands. "Well, well, well Inspector. What do we have here?"

"Oh just leave it, will you?" Sullivan pleaded limply from behind his hands.

"Sit up, let me get a proper look."

"Oh shut up."

"Look at that."

"Sid I -" Sullivan groaned, "I bought them from an over-enthusiastic salesman, I didn't know they'd be like this."

"Then why are you wearing them?" Sid beamed, smiling like a cat that got a whole milk churn of creamy milk. ''The illustrious Inspector Sullivan wears babydoll pyjamas.''

Sullivan was outraged. ''They are not.''

''They are too!''

''They're not!'''

''What do you call 'em then?'' Sid asked.

That shut him up. He thought for a moment.

''Summer pyjamas.'' He announced.

Sid burst out laughing. ''Summer pyjamas!'' He wheezed.

He looked down again to get a proper look at the skimpy pyjamas. They were short, to say the least. Silk shorts, showing a hell of a lot of leg.

Perhaps the most gorgeous legs that Sid had seen in Kembleford.

His mind was fast heading south. Perhaps Sullivan realised this, as he was fighting to regain control of his quilt, but Sid had clenched onto them. Probably out of shock.

"That's a cracking pair of pins you got there." He said, rather gravely.

"Oh," Sullivan remarked, at a rather high pitch, "Um... Thanks. I take it that's a compliment, giving how many you've seen."

He only really realised what he'd said after he'd said it. He opened his mouth to apologise but after Sid started chuckling deeply, he just left it open.

Sid, for some strange reason, flicked his lip with his forefinger and smirked.

"Nah, it's alright... I've seen a fair few thighs in my time but yours beat most. You ought to show them off more."

Sullivan lost the ability to speak. Sid took this silence as an opportunity to rest his hand on the warm, smooth skin of Sullivan's knee. He fully expected to have his hand swatted away, but it stayed there.

He started to rub circles, and then, as Sullivan put up no protest, he slid it further up his thigh. Unfettered by the fabric, his hand could slide, nearly into Sullivan's underwear. If he was wearing any underwear. Which many people didn't under their pyjamas.

The skin under his palm quivered, and Sullivan let out a rather breathless sigh.

''They're certainly short enough.'' Sid remarked.

''It's summer,'' Sullivan retorted, shrugging his silk shoulders, ''I get hot.''

He leaned his head back and breathed in deeply through his nose. He was moving his leg in a way that signified bliss. A tiny little gesture seemed to overpower the man.

''When was the last time someone touched you like this?'' Sid asked.

''Can't remember. Don't think anyone ever did.''

Sid pushed his hand up further. Sullivan gasped, and started panting.

''Such a shame,'' Sid tutted, ''Those great legs going to waste like that. Thank God you've got them on show tonight, I could have missed out big times.''

''You still haven't told me why you're here.'' Sullivan quipped.

Sid halted his hand. Sullivan scoffed in annoyance, and pulled Sid closer to him.

''Do you really wanna know?'' Sid asked, lips ghosting over Sullivan's as he slipped an arm around Sullivan's small waist. Of all the directions he expected this evening to go in, this was completely off any map. Sullivan laughed softly, his eyes hooded and fixed on Sid's. He gently wrapped his arms around Sid's neck, and he rubbed his cheek on the silky fabric of his pyjamas.

''Oh to hell with it,'' He laughed, ''Tell me tomorrow morning.''