"And are you two a couple?" the woman at the desk asks with the kind of bright disinterest that only a secretary can perfect.
"Fuck buddies," Seb grins. Oh he used to be so polite and charming. Now he is simply brash indelicacy.
"I'm sorry?" the secretary's eyes widen. I heard exactly what you said but I'm going to pretend I didn't until you rephrase it, was what she mean.
"Partners," Jim corrects, slinging an arm round Seb's waist. "Just waiting for the law to be passed, ma'am."
She ticks a box on the form and scribbles a note. She tears something off the bottom of the page and hands it to Jim, clearly having taken a disliking to Seb. "Your appointment is this afternoon. Come again."
"Well yeah, we're coming this afternoo-"
"Thank you for your time," Jim interrupts, slapping Seb on the backside and driving him away.
Once they are outside they spring apart, no longer needing to pretend they are a normal happy couple who don't spend every conversation arguing. Well, that's not fair. They flirt an awful lot too. But these days they mostly just argue. In fun, in play, but in a way that cuts off any doorway to delicate conversation they might have had before. They understand each other completely, respect each other and are fond of each other- but they never say that.
"What a bitch," Seb grumbles.
"You say everyone's a bitch," Jim points out.
"And I'm right and you agree with me," he smiles. "You're a bitch too. Don't you ever slap my arse again."
Jim reaches round, leering, but Seb hops away. "I will shoot you."
"I'll let you," Jim replies neatly, still grinning sleazily.
Seb rolls his eyes and smooths down his dirty blonde hair. He never combs it but usually when they go out he puts a bit of gel in. Today he just could not be bothered.
"Why did we need to do that again?" he asks, stretching his arms out in a yawn as they set off down the street and Jim begins tapping away on his phone. It's early in the morning and the streets are mostly empty. His breath mists on the air.
"I need to be on the roof of St Barts today," Jim says. "Can't get in without an appointment."
"Why the hospital?" Seb frowns. "Cos baby if you need fixing I can-"
"Because I'm meeting Sherlock Holmes," Jim interrupts, though he sounds a little reluctant. Seb has spent the last few months taunting Jim's obsession with the consulting detective. Mainly because it's hilarious, but also because he's jealous as hell. Jim tries to change the subject. "That blood on your glasses?"
Seb takes them off to clean them. "Yeh, cheers," he says. "We gonna get coffee?"
"No time, I have to plan," Jim says, turning his attention back to his mobile. "Who would you say is the best hit-man? Robbins or Jameson?"
"Me," Seb replies.
"That's why I need you on John Watson," Jim says. His brow furrows. "Oh I'll just flip a coin."
"You want me to kill the doctor bloke?" Seb asks. This wouldn't be the first time Jim has made that request.
"No, I want Sherlock to kill himself," Jim sniffs.
"Oh," Seb says.
"It's going to be wonderful," Jim beams.
"Killing ain't beautiful, death ain't beautiful," Seb says. "I know you think it is but I don't get the appeal."
"Says the hit-man," quips Jim.
"Job is a job," Seb shrugs, watching pigeons fly overhead. "Killin' is simple enough. I don't get what's so wonderful about it. You shoot 'em, boom, done. You shut 'em down, you pull the cord, unplug them. There ain't no curtain call, it's just done. There's them and then they're not there any more."
"Do you care?" Jim has stopped walking.
He sounds surprised, almost betrayed. This is a man who dances in death, shakes hand with the devils and leaves destruction in his wake with a manner more calm than any fairy tale villain. He doesn't care. He never cares. He just keeps on picking the rubble off his suit and carries on. Like he's on a quest but he never find the end.
"Nah," Seb shrugs. "I imagine if it happens to someone I like I will do. But nah, I'm good. S'not like I'll ever let it happen, anyway."
"What if I die?" Jim asks.
Seb laughs. "You high, sir?"
Jim rolls his eyes.