Hey guys! Sorry this took so longgggg! School has been Hell (and not the good kind) and I really want it to be June/July already so I can leeeeeeave!
But nevermind my misery, I hope this (slightly longer than usual) chapter will sate your appetite until I can give you more!
Disclaimer: DeiDei does not own Sherlock. It would be nice, but she probably wouldn't be able to handle so much responsibility.
It was half past five on the following Friday evening and John was snickering silently in the doorframe as he watched his room mate. The taller man was slumped forward, wrapped up in his dark blue dressing gown as he gazed blankly at the television screen, his eyes glazed and features slack. If only the great consulting detective could see himself, sucked into the programme like the 'ordinary folk'. As much as the doctor hated to interupt such a priceless moment, he knew if he didn't let Sherlock know, with eye contact and everything, that he was leaving for his date, then he would either end up with several confused phone calls or an irritated detective when he woke the next morning. Better to get it over with.
"Sherlock?"
John's voice barked out into the semi-silence of their living room, startling the dark-haired male [or rather, his form of startled] away from the enticing tales of Dean and Sam and into the reality of their flat. The doctor was currently stood at the doorway, wrapped up tightly in both jumper and thick coat, accompanied by gloves and a woollen scarf. His cheeks were flushed sightly from the heat of the flat but he knew that it was anything but warm beyond the front door. Even though the detective hadn't said anything to acknowledge the other, John knew he had his attention.
"I'm going out now Sherlock, for my date. You know the rules and all that. And please, if you're going to be doing another of your experiments, let me know so I don't give myself an aneurysm."
Sherlock flashed him a small grin, before considering something.
"You're leaving earlier than last time."
"Yes, well. It's cold out and meant to be snowing soon. It's better to have a bit of time just in case, you know."
"I suppose.."
John waved another goodbye, but was barely noticed. It bothered Sherlock slightly that he hadn't known about the weather, but maybe he was right. It would be better not to get caught up in snow..
With a little more order and reserve than the previous week, even though he bubbled with excitement inside, Sherlock went through the same bathroom routine as before. His clothing choice was no longer an issue, as he had taken the time normal people would be sleeping to pick out an outfit and slide it to the side of his wardrobe. Simple yet comfortable. Dark navy jeans with a cosy mauve shirt. Remembering John earlier made him grab the black turtleneck at the last minute. Pulling on his coat and trademark scarf, he calmly exited 221B, smirking lightly at the text that had just appeared on his phone.
Wrap up warm. It's cold out. -JM
James Moriarty's flat was nothing special. It had no defining features, nothing that made it stand out. He made no loud or unexpected noises, made no mess. If you were to ask the neighbours, they would have no idea that it was a consulting criminal living beside them. But that was his specialty, being a man who could adapt and thrive in any situation. He kept his extravagant personality under wraps when need be but relished in releasing it for all to see.
Of course, Sherlock noticed all this the moment they first met. Even when he was just Jim from IT, he could see what was hidden beneath him. He was even right about the sexuality, in the end that is. All in all, James' flat was everything he expected. Plain and simple on the outside, yet all Moriarty on the inside. He took a moment to admire it, since he had been so rushed the last time he was there. The furnitures were a mix of soft oaks and dark mahogany, elegant in style and perfectly shaped. Most of the walls were painted a soft ochre, framed by a shimmering golden border. A traditional coat stand stood neatly beside the door, followed by a small clean mirror with a hook in the wall next to it.
Upon knocking at the flat, James had told him to come in, and so Sherlock simply hung his coat and scarf up on one of the hooks, remembering to wipe his shoes at the door before walking down the corridor to the living room. Only the bedroom and the living room stood out against the earthy tones of the flat. The living room was washed out with silvers and pale blues across the walls. The sofas and curtains were a deep royal blue, similar to the shade of his own scarf that now hung back by the door.
Moriarty himself was seated comfortably on one of the sofas, phone in hand, grinning softly as he watched the taller man enter the room. Sherlock met his smile with a small smirk, following James' eyes and taking a seat beside him. There was a comfortable silence for a while, during which Sherlock tentatively placed his hand over the others. The peace was broken by a buzz and a bleep, the screen on Moriarty's phone flashing up briefly. Locking eyes with the detective, he chuckled.
"Better go get your coat back on."
The car was plain and simple, a sleek black and slightly old, not unlike Mycroft's usual pick-up car. The seats were a dark and soft leather, and Sherlock could feel the heat radiating from them even through his jacket and turtle-neck. For the first time in a while, the detective had no idea where he was going. Throughout the better part of the journey, he had [surprisingly] been distracted by the other occupant. James had taken to blowing out small bubbles of gum between his lips, the tip of his tongue reaching out to draw it back in once it had popped. It both amused and confused the detective, who had never before felt so compelled to watch such a menial and average task. Yet it amused the gum's owner even more, who had silently noticed Sherlock staring and had deliberately doing it as seductively as possible.
Both were knocked from their daze by the soft screech of brakes. Outside the car, it was already dark and the bridge they were at was completely empty. No security cameras were lit up with their recording light and fake barricades had been put at either side to ensure there was no interruption.
It was quiet as the two of them stood there, their bodies lent ever so slightly against both each other and the rail. It was dark and, as John had said earlier, it was snowing. Just light enough give the ground and the metal of the bridge a shine. It trickled down slowly, sliding softly from his skin to his clothes in a way that made Sherlock sigh in contentment. This in turn made James smile, as he knew from that moment that his plan would be a success. The car they had come in was a short walk away, and yet far enough so that the two of them could be left alone in peace. Thanks to a few pulled strings and maybe one or two threats, the bridge they were currently stood upon was "closed off for maintenance" and all nearby cameras were either turned off if unnecessary or constantly pointed in the other direction. This was the first time they had physically been outside "together" and Moriarty wasn't about to let a single slip up in to ruin it.
Seriously, this was a man who would kill someone for a mistake like that.
Unbeknownst to his partner, Sherlock had made his own preparations. Like Jim, he also wanted to make sure nothing would ruin this moment; that he could pretend for a moment that he was entirely normal, like everyone else was, like they wanted him to be. Granted, his current relationship was with a male psychopath who had set off the chain of multiple murders, including what he had once thought was his own. However, taking the secrecy out of it made him feel a little better about the situation.
Sherlock felt the smile pull at his lips as Jim stuck out his tongue, eyes focussed intently on the falling snowflakes as he caught them. A thin layer of snow had built up on the rail around them, chilling the metal beneath their hands. He probably would have regretted not bringing gloves if it wasn't for the distracting beauty before him, not only the weather and the view, but also the man, wrapped up tightly in a black parka with his cheeks flushed red. Sherlock's own hands were just as red yet he paid them no attention, choosing instead to flick a chunk of snow against James and chuckling at the shocked expression.
Jim always knew there was a part of him that stayed a child. For a while he had thought it was normal to have that, but most of his life had proved to him that it was something rare. This was one of those moments that he could unleash the child within. He was a lover of snow, something hardly anyone knew. Catching snowflakes on his tongue was part of a cherished routine, every time the weather became appropriate for it. One problem was how caught up he got in it. Usually he made sure he was alone, so no one could sneak up on him. This was part of why it was so surprising to feel something cold and wet thud against his cheek. Turning in shock, he noticed the taller of them chuckling, his deep baritone echoing around the metal structure on which they stood. However, he also noticed that the detectives eyes were closed, giving the criminal opportune time to sneak back and launch his projectile. The laughter was cut of swiftly as the snowball hit him directly in his face.
In a matter of moments, both males had positioned themselves on opposite sides of the bridge, smirks on their lips and playful glints in their eyes. The two usually stoic men had become children in a matter of seconds, hurling snowball after snowball across the distance between them and giggling like madmen. Without realising it, an hour had passed and the breeze was starting to pick up. Both were soaked through, the damp material of their shirts sticking to their chests and beginning to freeze whilst the jeans they were wearing had already become solid around their numb feet. It was at this moment that Jim decided it would be best for the two of them to get somewhere warmer.
Moriarty knew his car would definitely need cleaning out before the night was over and the melted snow and ice dripping from them had time to ruin the leather seating, but luckily, he had someone to do that for him. Being completely honest, he still would've done it, even if he had to clean the car out himself. To see a true smile on Sherlock Holmes' face was something to marvel at. It didn't happen very often, and only around certain people, and Jim was glad to be one of them.
He was also glad that he had remembered to have his flat warmed up by the time they arrived back. Their wet clothes were drying stiffly against their bodies and it was becoming quite uncomfortable. Passing swiftly through the kitchen, he clicked the kettle on before getting what he needed from the bathroom cupboard.
Sherlock was able to feel the enticing heat from the flat about five foot away from the open door, and it definitely felt good against his numbing body. Clicking the door shut, he took off (with difficulty) his sodden scarf, coat and shoes, hanging it up on the peg beside Jim's parka. He then proceeded to stand there awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do as he listened to James click the kettle and wander about the house. It provided ample time to daydream (or as he would say, "visit his mind palace"), and to store the evening in that special "room", the one that held only the most precious memories.
He was knocked back to his senses as something soft yet heavy landed on his head, blocking all light. He jumped slightly before pulling it off, revealing a soft towel and dark blue dressing gown. Looking up, he saw a smirking Jim Moriarty, already dressed in a similar black dressing gown and holding a small tray of tea like a serving wench.
"Strip off, or you'll catch a cold" was all that was said before the consulting criminal went into the living room, leaving the momentarily confused detective stranding and dripping water in the hall.
And that was how the two of them ended up snuggled against each other on Jim's sofa, the fake fire roaring and a rather interesting American TV series playing, about an ex-junkie crime solver going about New York with his assistant, Joan. The empty tea cups had been abandoned on the floor, and both males, who were considered to be oh so intimidating, were yawning like new born kittens, and falling asleep to the heartbeats of each other.
Just like a real couple...
Boom! Chapter three is complete! and cute! (hopefully)
Btw, did you guys catch my next TV reference? I might end up making a puzzle out of this..
Hope you guys all enjoyed this, and will review and provide the muse I need to get out of the schoolwork-schlump!
