Father Brown slid silently out of the office is his usual 'subdued' manner, an act he put on every time Sullivan warned him not not to meddle in his cases. As soon as the priest shut the door, Sullivan buried his head in his folded arms and let out a frustrated groan. How did that bloody man work it out before him? He'd had no police training, no letters of recommendation from his old bosses, no titles like, "Youngest DI in wherever." He groaned again, rubbing his tired eyes against his starched shirtsleeves.

"I've got to talk to you."

Sullivan jolted upwards and tried to appear as though he was working hard deciphering case notes. But it wasn't Goodfellow that had just entered. Sid Carter was standing in his office, sheepishly closing the door behind him.

Sullivan blushed, but shook it off and regained his professional attitude.

"What is it, Carter? I'm a busy man." He asked impatiently.

Sid put both his palms on the desk in front of him and leaned forward, until he was close enough to the Inspector for him to smell cigarettes off his breath.

"About Friday night." He mumbled in an unnaturally quiet voice, his face grave and intense.

The policeman's eyes widened, and his breathing sped up slightly. When he had woken up hungover and stiff on Saturday morning in a very unmade bed with some very suspicious marks on his neck, the regrets of the night before had hit him like a bulldozer. He hadn't spoke to Sid since; he'd crossed the street twice to avoid him, and even ducked down behind some bins to hide from him. Yet now he'd trapped in the office, leaning over him, his face only inches from his own.

"Were you serious about that arrangement?" Sid mumbled, so quietly that Sullivan almost didn't hear him.

Despite his mortification, some unknown force within Sullivan made him nod.

Sid's eyebrows raised slightly, but he remained in his unnaturally serious state.

"Would tonight suit?" Sullivan whispered.

Sid paused for a minute. "Yeah," he mumbled, "But do you still want me to just... Let myself in?"

Sullivan blushed at his ridulous, trusting, drunken self.

"Only if you tell me that you're doing it first."

Sid puffed out his cheeks, and pulled himself back up to his full height.

"Well Inspector, if that's who you think did it you're barking up the whole wrong forest." Sid announced loudly.

"I think you'll find that I don't rely on the likes of you to solve my cases for a reason, Carter." Sullivan retorted loftily and equally loudly.

Sid pulled a face and opened the door. "I'm telling you, if I was in charge that crime would be solved by now," He shouted to all possible witnesses in the entire Gloucestershire area.

See you tonight, he mouthed back at Sullivan.

Sullivan nodded back enthusiasticly, then employed his usual frown on disapproval as he saw Goodfellow approaching over Sid's shoulder.


Sid fell back among the pillows panting heavily, with Sullivan lying gasping for air beside him.

"That," Sid wheezed, "was definitely better sober."

Sullivan tugged the duvet over his chest and folded his arms. "Pretty good," he agreed breathlessly.

The two men lay for some comfortable minutes, skin touching under the heat of the duvet, both staring intently at the plaster cracks in the police cottage ceiling. The last beams of daylight trickled through the window, casting a golden hues and shadows over the bedroom.

"Sullivan?" Sid asked.

"Yes?"

"What's your first name?"

Sullivan stopped breathing. Cold fear engulfed his body. Panic seeped into his muscles, horror into his bones.

"No." He replied.

"What?"

"No." Repeated Sullivan in a rather high voice.

Sid screwed up his face in pure confusion.

"Why do you not want me to know?"

"Suppose- you forgot yourself and... said it in front of someone. Then everyone would know... Stuff." Sullivan spluttered distressedly.

"It's something really stupid isn't it?"

Sullivan became very interested in the light fitting.

"Like I said," He told the ceiling, "If I did tell you, you'd only blurt it out at a crime scene or somewhere, and then people would start wondering how you knew, and then they'd start asking questions-"

"Does anyone in Kembleford actually know your first name?" Sid butted in.

Sullivan considered for a minute, then yawned.

"No one that I know of."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, nobody's asked me."

The air grew still and strangely uncomfortable, but after a few minutes Sid realised that the silence was largely due to his companion being asleep. Chuckling softly, he dressed as Sullivan lay blissfully unconscious and after one final glance at Sleeping Beauty, left as quietly as he could.