NOTE : Set in modern day because...I wanted to.


Charlie moped on the threadbare living room sofa, his feet cold and bare on the hard wood floor. With a disenchanted sigh, he cracked his neck and stared sullenly at the blank Word Document that glared at him from his Apple MacBook Pro screen. He released a ragged noise as he tipped his head back and rested it on the sofa's wooden frame. Charlie wondered what was the point of studying Journalism if he only ended up getting writer's block after sitting through that ridiculously expensive education.

"Ste-ven!" He half shouted and half whined through the slender house. Charlie could hear Steven moving about upstairs and frowned at the lack of attention he received. "Ste-ven!" He tried again childishly dramatic. "I need he-lp!"

"God knows you do," Steven descended the bamboo stairs with a blue and white Adidas duffle bag and adorned in matching sports clothes. "It might be easier listing the things you don't need help with."

Charlie's face fell flat, "I'm going pretend you meant that lovingly."

"Well keep on Columbus because I really didn't."

Charlie stared at the preoccupied Meeks with an insincere hateful glare before he pushed his laptop aside and nimbly jumped over the couch to join Steven who was tying the laces of his sneakers. "And what are you all dressed up for?" Charlie smirked and circled Steven in a predatory manner.

"I'm not dressed up Charlie, I'm going to the gym." Steven replied flatly as he straightened himself.

"You always do look so good in shorts..." Charlie was pushed away firmly. Steven was holding back his bashful grin as he shot Charlie a warning glance before he shouldered his duffle bag.

"I have badminton and tennis to get to, don't you dare try and distract me. Now, be fore I go," Steven paused, distracted by the unruly folding of Charlie's burgundy shirt collar under his light tan vest. "I don't understand why you insist on dressing for cold weather at the height of summer-now, before I go," Steven grinned smugly as he dropped his bag and yanked Charlie forward by his collar, the person in question released a yelp of surprise, "What did you need help with?" Steven kissed him, a soft peck before pushing Charlie back so he could have his personal space.

Charlie blinked before his brain processed the question and then growled in his frustration and fell to the floor. "I have no inspiration, complete writer's block. I could kill myself I'm so frustrated!" He sat up to look at a silently amused Steven, "I mean, how does me, Charles Dalton, a writer who is praised as the modern day Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and who has won countless awards for his novels and ended up disgustingly rich get writer's block?" Steven merely raised an eyebrow and Charlie pondered to himself, "More importantly, how do I get rid of it?"

"Well, the money you can split, half goes to me, the other to charity-"

"Very funny Steven."

Steven realized that through all of Charlie's entertaining antics, he really was serious. And, surprisingly, Charlie looked very concerned over it. Steven knelt down next to him and cupped Charlie's strained face in his hands. "Look, you're stressing yourself out by forcing yourself to produce something that's pulitzer prize quality. You need to calm down, get out of the house, go and find something active to do. Pick something Sherlock Holmes used to d-no, not cocaine. Not funny. We went through that once, let's not do that again." Steven kissed Charlie's forehead as the brunet pouted. "You could always come to the club with me." Steven offered as he searched Charlie's unenthusiastic eyes for an answer.

"No, I'll stay here for a bit. Maybe I'll watch Young Sherlock Holmes and brush Coon."

"When I come back, I'm forcing you out of this house. That's final." They shared a goodbye kiss, Charlie less than enthusiastic about it as Steven departed after announcing he'd be back in an estimated three hours.

After the redhead radio producer left, Charlie thumped back down on the floor half-heartedly and stared up at the white void of the ceiling. The clock mounted in the kitchen echoed through the first floor and heightened Charlie's trance-like state. It was the attention-seeking meow and paw of a purring siamese cat smacking his nose that startled the haggard author. "Hey Coon." He scooped the cat and shuffled over to the pea coloured sofa to drop her down on it before he set up Young Sherlock Holmes and watched numbly. Until of course a particular scene ignited an idea...


"Good game Steven!"

"Thanks Mark," Steven gasped appreciatively as he reached for his water bottle. Uh-oh, Char-lie...an automatic alarm went off in his head that left Steven digging through his bag for his phone. Nothing? No missed calls? Messages? Steven frowned and lost himself in thought. A quiet Charlie usually meant he was doing something stupid or plotting to do something stupid.

"Engarde Meeks!" In this case, he was doing something stupid.

Steven jerked when something hard jabbed into his back. "What the he-oh. My. God." Steven picked up his glasses, adjusted them and blinked. "Charlie..." He sounded lost and confused as his partner grinned at him.

"I signed us up for fencing!"

Steven slapped a hand to his face. Charlie was always finding ridiculous ways to keep himself (and a reluctant Steven) very preoccupied.