For the third time that week, Sullivan had not slept a wink the night before. Though the talk with Father Brown and Mrs McCarthy had eased his suffering a little, he now finally knew what was wrong.
He missed Sid.
Desperately.
Every evening when he came home to the cold, empty house so devoid of human contact, his heart sank a little deeper.
Eating alone made him lose his appetite.
Flicking through the magazines became pointless.
Turning on the radio was a painful chore - it just filled the house with ghosts and shadows of people he'd never speak to, and ones he didn't want to.
Nighttime was the worst. He'd toss and turn, constantly reaching out for him but all he grasped were cold, empty sheets.
He'd lie awake until the morning, lying staring at the empty pillow where Sid's head should be.
Some nights he stayed up and read; losing himself in books instead of losing himself in his own thoughts. He read the same classics over, the same well-worn paragraphs that always soothed him into sleep but nothing worked. Warm milk, copious amounts of hot whiskey, long baths before bed- it all ended the same. Just staring blankly at the ceiling until the alarm clock rang.
Except for tuesday, when he realised that he was reading Emma at three o'clock in the morning.
He looked at the clock in his office, even though his eyes were almost blurry with tiredness. Still, these forms needed to be finished.
Goodfellow came in with a cup of tea. Probably to check he was still awake.
"How's it going sir?" He asked cheerily.
"Very slowly," Sullivan said, taking the mug in his sleepy hands. "Please make sure no one disturbs me Sergeant - I really need to get this finished."
"Of course sir. I'll see to it that you're not disturbed."
He smiled kindly and Sullivan smiled tiredly back. The moment Goodfellow left the room the drowsiness got worse. He drank his tea down in one gulp in the hope that the caffeine in it might wake him up but alas; Goodfellow had made it white (the way he liked it) and it was really just a cup of warm milk.
He set it down and stared at the page again, picking up his pen and aiming it at the page. The writing was tiny, and kept dancing around in front of his weary eyes.
He put his head forward, closer to the page, desperate to make sense of it all...
"Sir. Sir." Someone was shaking him by the shoulder.
"Mm-five more minutes..." He mumbled groggily, before realising what had happened.
His head snapped back, suddenly very wide awake. Goodfellow was looking at him in concern. Panic set in.
"Oh my god-have I been asleep?" He asked pointlessly.
"Well, yes, sir." Goodfellow said warily.
"But, for how long?"
"Well I don't know exactly sir, I know you told me you weren't to be disturbed around quarter past three, but I thought you'd been very quiet for a long time so I thought I should come in and check..."
"What time is it now?" Sullivan asked in despair.
Goodfellow looked at his watch. "Bout ten to seven."
"Oh God..." Sullivan rubbed at his eyes. "Did anything happen while I was out?"
"Oh not much, though Sid Carter came in to see you-"
"What!" Sullivan lept out of his chair, Goodfellow lept back in shock.
"Yes, about half six - I told him you were busy, and he told me to tell you that he's sorry for what he said?" Goodfellow looked confused.
Sullivan's eyes widened like saucers.
"I have to go find him." He said, reaching for his coat. "Do I look alright?"
"Beg pardon, sir?"
"I've been asleep on a desk for about four hours, do I look a bit rough?"
"Oh no, not at all sir - though you have a few inkstains on your left cheek. Must have been rubbing up against the form." Goodfellow said.
Sullivan spun around to look in the mirror in the corner of the office.
"Oh damn-"
"Here sir," Goodfellow passed him a handkerchief, "That should take it off - but, if you don't mind me saying so," He said kindly, "I don't think Sid will care a jot about a bit of ink."
Sullivan turned to him with an almost teary smile.
"You think so?"
"I know it. And I'd like to wish you all the best." He said, beaming happily.
Sullivan stopped his frantic dabbing. "Thank you sergeant," Sullivan said, throwing the handkerchief aside, "When I get back, I'm going to ring head office and get you a promotion-no, scratch that! I'll phone the Queen! You deserve a knighthood!"
He hurtled out of the station, leaving Goodfellow chuckling. They'd had their ups and downs - he'd seen that after the Inspector's father had shown up - but they were a nice pair, even though he couldn't fathom how they'd found their way to each other. Still, what did it matter? They'd found each other now, and Goodfellow was truly made up for them.
It was snowing, flakes gently falling on the quiet village as Sullivan tore around the streets searching for Sid. He was heading for the presbytery; Sid hadn't been anywhere else and he was growing desperate.
He raced down the side of the church, shoes skidding across the slippery pavements and cobblestones. The light was on outside the building, and there were voices, people outside, just exiting a vehicle and marvelling at the falling snow.
Lady Felicia, her niece, Mrs McCarthy, Father Brown - Sid!
He skidded to a halt, stones scattering across the frosty ground. They all heard the noise, and turned around to look.
Sid saw who it was, and his mouth fell open.
Suddenly, Sullivan couldn't speak. Sid came running towards him, and slipped on the perilous gravel. Sullivan jumped forward and caught him. Having Sid in his arms again... The warmth seeping through the scratchy fabric of his winter jacket, the way he wound his arms round him for balance, the way his cheek rested for just a moment on his neck...
"I'm sorry." Sid said quickly.
"But you did nothing wrong!" Sullivan was already confused.
"I yelled at you and you -"
"Oh! Can we just... move on from that?" Sullivan asked, looking very distressed. He rubbed his hand on Sid's jacket to steady his nerves. "I have to talk to you."
"Well," Sid took his hands and looked him in the eye, "I'm listening."
"I-I- I think I'm - I miss you!" All the words Sullivan wanted to say got lost in his mouth as he gazed into Sid's eyes. "I miss you so much! I can't eat, I can't sleep-"
"Whoa whoa-" Sid cut him off, "When you said that, do you mean me-" He asked, pointing at his head, "Or me-" He gestured below his belt.
In the background, Bunty stifled a laugh. Mrs McCarthy shook her head in despair.
"Just-you! All of you!" Sullivan was now completely lost but he kept going, "I miss talking to you and the way we looked at the magazines and the way we... We..."
He trailed off. Sid was looking at him, also rather confused. They'd managed to trip each other in their thoughts.
"I think-Maybe-I'm in love with you. At least, I think I am, I don't know." Sullivan stared at Sid again, reaching up to rest a hand on his face, "I've never felt this way about anyone before, and I don't really understand it. But I want to-I just-"
He had a minor brainwave.
"Maybe if I loved you less, I could talk about it more."
"That sounds quite familiar." Lady Felicia mumbled.
"Jane Austen's Emma." Father Brown whispered back. "Knightley confesses his love to Emma."
There was a pause. Sid stood speechless, still with his arms around Sullivan.
"Sid, please," He begged, "Say something!"
"Perhaps we should go inside." Father Brown suggested. The gang disappeared inside and Sid heard the kitchen window opening.
Sullivan's blue eyes pierced into Sid.
"Well," Sid began slowly, "I'm not that great with words, but I've missed you too. And I definitely am in love with you, and I love you way more than that Darcy git loved Lizzy, even though I can't propose to you all fancy like he did."
"You mean that?" Sullivan whispered.
"Definitely." Sid said, "Let me prove it."
He pressed his lips to the other man's, simultaneously running his hands through his hair and across his face. Sullivan, initially startled, melted into his embrace. The kiss was slow, delicate, lingering.
Both men closed their eyes in bliss as they stood in the falling snow, arms around each other, with their only care in the world now abolished.
Eventually, Sullivan broke free of the kiss, but kept his eyes closed, forehead resting against Sid's.
"Can we change the arrangement?" He breathed, before kissing Sid again.
"What part?" Sid asked, breaking away for just a moment.
"The no-strings bit. Unless there's anything else you want to fix." He asked.
Sid was thinking, but then Bunty broke the spell.
"Oi, lovebirds!" She shouted from the doorway, "We're all terribly happy for you but Mrs M is ordering you both inside for hot drinks before you catch your deaths!"
"One minute!" Sid shouted back. Sullivan giggled as he rolled his eyes.
"What is it you can't say in front of Mrs McCarthy?" He asked.
"You need a better mattress, cause your's is like sleeping on a bloody brick wall." He said.
Sullivan laughed. "Is that all?"
"Well, where the mattress is concerned, no." Sid said, before lowering his voice to a whisper that warmed Sullivan's ear.
"Because after what I've planned for tonight's activities, it'll be damaged beyond repair."
Sullivan shrieked with laughter, face lighting up in a glorious shade of red. Sid grabbed him and kissed him again, a long overdue passionate kiss that sent flames surging through the freezing December night.
