"Hey you, and me, keep on dancing in the dark, never known what we are! Hey you and me keep on tryin'a play it cool, now it's time to make a move and that's what I'm gonna do!"
"Richard," Sebastian said, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I thought this was something only Jim did."
"What? Dance? Sing badly?" Richard asked, letting the pop-stars sing the song as he did some dance move that couldn't have even been cool when it was invented.
"No, this show, this fucking sound track, what the hell?" Sebastian. Watching Richard shift into some move that involve hand clapping and shaking shoulders. Richard could be graceful when he wanted to be, and as stupid as the dance looked, Richard knew exactly what to do with his body.
"I don't know about Jim, but Molly got me attached to it," Richard said. "Light up the world to night!" he sang along,
"I will murder you if you don't stop singing," Sebastian said, throwing himself onto the chair that used to belong to Sherlock Holmes.
Richard laughed, tossing himself into Watson's chair. "Come on, it's a good acting exercise, playing along to the music."
"You're not secretly harboring the dreams of being an American teeny-bopper sensation?" Sebastian asked.
Richard let out a loud peel of laughter, laying back in the chair he occupied once he could stop laughing. "I swear," he said when he could finally stop laughing. "Can you just imagine me in some technicolor hoodie?"
"Yes," Sebastian said without inflection.
Richard shook his head. The flat had changed barely at all since Richard had moved in. Certainly it was much cleaner, and the furniture had been rearranged to a certain extent. The books on the shelf were in a completely different order, not that anyone would notice. Though the three people who'd seen the flat had seen the difference: Richard because he did it, Sebastian because he had to be that observant, and Mrs. Hudson because she'd cleaned Sherlock's books for so long.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Richard asked. His room had changed the most. It had been Dr. Watson's room, and Richard had completely rearranged it, added some nice movie posters that Sebastian had brought him (Casablanca and Arsenic and Old Lace were posters that had hung in some of Jim's hide outs. Richard didn't comment on that). It looked liked Richard's room. The room that had been the least bothered was the room of Sherlock Holmes. Richard went in every few days to keep the dust from settling, but other than that the room stayed exactly as it had been.
"Mrs. Hudson offered me a batch of biscuits is I helped her with a bit of house work," Sebastian said with a smirk.
"Dammit, how do you get every woman to fall in love with you?" Richard grumbled. "I've been here for a month and she still barely tolerates me," he sulked.
"Do you leave a mess for her to clean up?" Sebastian asked.
Richard scoffed. Even Sebastian knew it was a stupid question. If Jim was the neat freak, Richard was the neat maniac. He kept everything as perfect as he could and was just this side of obsessive compulsive. "No, you know exactly why she hates me," he said, slumping down in his chair.
"Maybe you should spend less time inside," Sebastian said. "Go and try to find a job."
"No one will hire me."
"Now come on, Richard, if you're going to lie to me, at least try and make it a teensy bit convincing," Sebastian said with a smirk, getting up and plucking a book off of Holmes' shelf, starting to thumb through a guide on practical bee-keeping.
Richard scowled. "Sometimes you're too like Jim for your own good," he said. He bit down a smile though when Sebastian turned and flashed him a far too innocent grin. Yep, way too like Jim. "Seb, if they would hire me, it would be because they want Jim, not me. They want me to play Jim Moriarty, or they want to advertise as 'the first appearance of Richard Brooke since his role of Jim Moriarty'. They don't want me or my skills. They want Jim," Richard grumbled.
"Maybe you should stop complaining so much," Sebastian said.
"I'm sorry I can't be a stone wall, like you."
"Okay," Sebastian said, starting to get annoyed. "Look at it this way: if Jim hadn't so publically made himself into Richard Brooke and Sherlock Holmes a fake, then every criminal organization in the world would be after you for your help, especially after that fucking trial."
"Oh," Richard said, feeling a bit rocked by the words. He'd never considered that, but what's more, it meant that Jim had been planning everything, even possibly his death, since before the trial. And Sebastian recognized that too. "You're right, I'm sorry."
"Damn right, I'm right," Sebastian muttered. "I'm borrowing this, by the way," he said.
"What are you going to do with a book on bee keeping?"
"No idea, but it doesn't remind me of anything to do with your brother, so I think I'll enjoy it. Any problems with that?" Sebastian didn't want any of Richard's sympathy.
"No, it's probably a good idea," Richard said, standing up. He stretched a bit, his arms clasped as they reached for the sky. He brought them down out straight in front of him, rolling his shoulders simultaneously. "I think I should go out for a bit."
"Visiting Molly's flat?" Sebastian asked, his nose back in the bee keeping book.
"It's not like I'm going to pop by Kitty's and say hello," Richard said, grabbing a jacket and his keys as he went out. No goodbyes necessary. Sebastian didn't even look up from his book.
Molly Hooper had Sunday off, every Sunday. She also got off early on Saturday evening and Wednesday evening. Those were when Richard took Molly out for an evening. But Sunday wasn't a day they often met. Molly had told Richard that mostly she kind of liked her day off as a chore day. He'd stopped by once or twice and helped her with her chores. He could still remember how she blushed at him washing her bras. It was so cute, but when he was cleaning he didn't see anything by the task at hand and so he probably wouldn't have even noticed or care if he'd been cleaning Hitler's undies. Molly's squawking only brought his attention to what he'd been doing.
Molly was what broke up Richard's monotonous weeks. Richard had seen more crap telly in the past month than he thought he had in his entire life time. He also had the bad luck of running across some Bug Bunny cartoons and bursting into tears the same time Mrs. Hudson had come up to deliver jam (even if she hated him, she'd still take care of her tenant). Trying to figure out how to explain exactly why he was sobbing over a cartoon had been one of the more difficult things he'd ever done. He'd finally just told the truth when he'd been able to stop crying and speak. ("The last time I saw any of these was the last time… the last time… the only time I saw Jim really hurt. Please, I don't want to talk about it." ) She'd left it alone, but she seemed even more unsure of him than she had before.
But Molly was Richard's savior. He spent more time planning their dates than anything else during the week. He tried to surprise her, to impress her. She'd enjoyed seeing Macbeth at the Rose, and she'd allowed him to geek out about it the entire rest of the evening and when he apologized she'd just giggled and kissed his cheek. It was one of the few times he let himself out around her. He wasn't pretending or hiding, he was just getting caught up in his own excitement. The problem was that the only time he did that was when he was talking about acting. He wondered when she'd get sick of him talking about himself only in a context of acting and demand more.
That prospect worried him, because he wasn't really sure what else to share with her. He had a lot of stories, but even when he got his courage up to tell her, he would falter. It felt like he couldn't tell her, that he shouldn't, that she'd leave him if he told her. He certainly didn't see himself as strong or self assured or any of the other things Jim had been. His most interesting stories involved Jim, also his most painful. When in doubt, he'd switch to a story that involved Jim. Molly constantly had to remind him not to do that. He'd always and try to tell her another story, but they were never as interesting.
Richard sighed and scrubbed his face over his hands. He knocked on the door to Molly's building and her landlady answered. The woman let him right in without a word. She'd been doing that an awful lot recently. At first she'd questioned him endlessly about who he was and why he was there, even after Molly had introduced him, but for the past two weeks the woman just let him in and otherwise ignored him. He simply offered a smile and bound up the stairs to Molly's flat, knocking on the door.
"Hold on!" Molly called. Richard smiled. He didn't normally surprise her like this. He'd surprised her once by coming down to her work. She'd been so shocked and so flattered that he'd come to walk with her to lunch, even when it was only to the cafeteria, but then she understood how uncomfortable the dead made him feel.
After a few moments of waiting, Richard wondered if maybe he should have called before he arrived, since maybe she was still in her night clothes or something. The startled look on Molly's face when she saw him clenched it. "I'm sorry," he said instantly. "I should have called first, I'm so sorry."
Molly looked shocked for another moment before reaching out and gripping onto Richard's jacket. "No," she said. "Well, yes, you probably should have, but I'm glad you're here," she said, tugging him inside. "Would you like to go out and have lunch?" she asked. "Just let me get my shoes."
"I'm sorry, did I interrupt anything?" He asked, glancing around her flat, which could use another scrubbing, and which she clearly hadn't been cleaning. She was also completely dressed and she looked like she was dressed up nicely too, to meet someone. This wasn't something she'd done in a hurry.
"No, nothing, so, lunch?" she asked, quickly pulling heels on that he knew she hated because they hurt her feet, but she'd worn them on their first real date because she'd wanted to impress him.
"Molly, who's here?" Richard asked. He could feel rejection settling in his stomach. Couldn't she have just told him?
Molly looked up at him, looking momentarily stumped. "Richard… please, don't think like that," she said softly.
"Look, I know I'm not smart like Jim, but I am his brother and I'm not an idiot," Richard snapped. He saw the hurt in her eyes and he looked away. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Can you just tell me who it is?"
"I can't," she said. Her voice sounded so agonized. She was pleading with him to understand.
"Why?" Richard asked. "You think I'll do something? There's nothing I would do even if I could."
"Richard, please, please, can we just go to lunch?" she asked.
Richard didn't look up at her. He did look around, though. His eyes fixed on the closet. "Yeah, okay, why don't you get your coat? It's a bit chilly outside."
"No, I'll be fine," she said.
"Oh come on," Richard said. "You're kind of bad at this, by the way," he said, walking to the closet and grabbing the handle.
"Richard, please," Molly said.
"Oh come on, I wouldn't take you outside without a coat when it's this chilly outside, even if I didn't know you'd shoved him into the coat closet," Richard said, pulling the door open. What he saw inside was truly not what he expected.
He wasn't sure who he expected to see, but Sherlock Holmes was not it. The man pushed his way out of the coat closet, looking annoyed. "I told you this was a terrible idea, Molly," he said, looking annoyed at having been stuffed in a closet when it didn't work.
"I'm sorry," Molly said softly.
"So," Richard said, trying to get his thoughts together. "This is why you didn't want me to see?"
"Yes," Molly said softly. She couldn't look at the two men sizing each other up.
"You thought I'd be angry?" Richard asked.
"Yes," Molly said again in the same soft tone.
"Doofus," Richard muttered, tearing his eyes away from Sherlock Holmes and ignoring him completely. He grabbed Molly and dragged her into a hug. He was relieved, very relieved. Okay, so she had a crush on Sherlock Holmes, but at least she wasn't hiding another lover from him, and she didn't think he'd be like Jim and do something.
"Richard!" Molly gasped. She had not expected to be dragged into a hug.
"Yes, dear?" Richard asked with a smile.
"Why aren't you angry?"
"Angry? Why would I be, this is great!" Richard said before turning to look at Sherlock Holmes.
"Am I supposed to call you Richard?" Sherlock asked with a scoff.
"I mean, yeah, it's my name," Richard said, sticking his tongue out at Sherlock Holmes, who looked properly taken aback. "You're just like Jim too, no wonder he was so obsessed," he grumbled, hugging tighter to Molly as if she were a security blanket he hadn't been sure he'd ever see again.
"Richard Brooke," Sherlock said, really seeing it. "Fascinating," he said, moving over to a chair and throwing himself down in it. "Molly said Jim had a twin, but then you know how gullible she is."
"And you got taken in by Jim the first time too," Richard said, having gotten Jim's first hand gloating on that little adventure.
"And you were the one telling Kitty Riley the story," Sherlock said. "A fine bit of acting," he added.
Richard couldn't help but smirk at that. "Yeah, that's still not going to get me to move out of your flat. I like it there, thank you very much."
"Don't worry, I won't be needing it for a while," Sherlock said.
"Why?" Richard asked. It suddenly occurred to him that if Sherlock was alive that he should have come back a while ago, and that John Watson should know. "Oh," Richard said. "Jim really is a bastard," he said, finally getting it.
"Not the most eloquent word, but fairly apt," Sherlock said.
"So, tell me," Richard said.
"Tell you what?"
"What happened on the roof. Tell me," Richard demanded, throwing himself down on the sofa right next to Sherlock Holmes.
"Jim Moriarty decided that I should jump off St. Bart's," Sherlock said. "When I figured out I could keep from having to jump so long as I had him, he decided to shoot himself."
"Of course," Richard said with a heavy sigh. "So, who did he threaten? Dr. Watson, right?" Richard asked. "But more than that, your face says. Don't worry, I'm just very good at this… so, Dr. Watson… and Mrs. Hudson? Right, of course, she adores you… and someone else I don't know, so no go on figuring that one out. Am I right?"
"Yes, exactly," Sherlock said.
"And you can't come out of hiding until you can be sure that those people won't die," Richard said. "Well… sorry about that," he said.
"Is there anything you can do?" Molly asked.
"Not unless you want me to pretend to be Jim for the rest of my life, no," Richard said, standing up. He offered Molly his best disarming smile. "So? Lunch?"
A/N:
Back from Russia! Fun times, exhausted now, but I was planning to update all my Sherlock stories for Sherlock Week. I'm trying to get back into the swing of things… and as you can probably see, I kind a failed, oh well, I took a week off because of Russia. Back to work!
Also, I told you that Richard dances to pop music… just a lot. It's adorable.