A/N: First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you for everybody who fav/alert this story. You are the people who keep me going. And special thanks to Almecestris for your kind comments. I'm extremely chuffed (to use the British slang) and happy you enjoy this. I didn't put this into the crossover section because at the time this story was first published there wasn't one and I sort of rebuild the entire Kuroshitsuji's universe to fit it in Sherlock's which I'm not sure the fans over there will like. (There's no catchphrase like "Yes, my lord" and "I'm simply one hell of a butler" because they are just so out of context. I have to substitute them for something that sounds more plausible.) But I'm definitely considering your suggestion since it is already there.

And again, sorry for the sparse update and any grammar eyesore. I've tried to edit this but might have missed some.

Part 12: Common Practice

The perk of having a personal car and a personal driver was obvious when one was caked in mud from a backstreet and soaked through and through: you didn't need to wait for a cab to agree on a lift.

He wouldn't be able to stand long enough to hail a cab with a sprain ankle anyway. He cursed under his breath as he limped up the stairs to his flat. He needed a shower and a warm cup of tea – some biscuits would be nice, too.

Trailing behind him was Sebastian who looked slightly amused. "You should have let me carry you," he said.

The young man turned sharply and replied, "I'm capable of walking up the stairs on my own, thank you!"

The man just shook his head with an audible tut-tut and hopped up the steps like it was nothing. Ciel glared at him with open hostility but didn't breathe a word. He was daring Sebastian to make that comment. He could run all possible insults through his head and find every possible way to retort. They had been playing this game with each other for too long that everything came to him as reflexively as breathing.

But Sebastian didn't say a word. He simply graced Ciel with his usual smile and opened the door to let the young man in as if he finally decided that silence was golden for this moment.

Ciel gave him a sideway glance before hobbling towards the bathroom, but not before Sebastian caught up him. "Would you need my assistance?" he asked.

The young man grabbed the door frame to steady himself and looked the older man in the eye. "Yes," he replied, "I want a set of clean night clothes with my dressing gown in the bathroom and my dirty clothes out of my sight before I finish the bath. Also, I want my flat clean of any trace of mud or water, and a cup of tea on top of that would be nice."

Without as much as a flinch, Sebastian straightened with his customary "As you wish" before he disappeared into Ciel's room. Satisfied with getting Sebastian off his back, the young man went on to strip and get ready for a good bath.

As good as his word, Sebastian got absolutely everything done by the time Ciel got out of the bathroom. The dirty traces were gone, not that any of it was on anything difficult to clean, but still. He never learnt how Sebastian managed a feat like that time and time again for the past ten years. Even the tea was timed to be ready exactly when Ciel was done.

He had known people calling this ability 'creepy'. He guessed he was too used to it to care.

"How is your foot?" asked the man as he placed the tea and biscuits on their coffee table. The gentle aroma of Camomile eased Ciel to relax. He limped his way to the couch and slumped on it, dragging his feet up on the footstool.

So Sebastian got that stool out as well. Good thinking.

He slowly realized that Sebastian didn't just think about the stool, he purposefully moved the couch so that Ciel was able to reach for his tea on the coffee table with his feet pointed to another couch in which Sebastian sat on, complete with cream and bandages.

Ciel felt the sudden rush of annoyance when he realized that Sebastian had everything thoroughly thought out yet again.

If the man had noticed the glare, he wasn't bothered. He simply took the cream and rubbed it gently on Ciel's swollen ankle, taking great care to not cause more pain than necessary. "I would have to remind you that your ankle is not in its best shape and you are not exactly athletic. Could you please be more careful next time?"

Ciel rolled his eyes under Sebastian scrutinizing gaze and drank his tea. "I slipped, that's all. It happens."

Now it was Sebastian's turn to roll his eyes. "You know very well that the very reason you slipped is because you have a weak joint here." He drove his point home by purposefully twisted Ciel's foot and the young man nearly yelped but was still dignified enough to swallow it. "You might not need a cane anymore," continued Sebastian as he massaged away the tension in the muscles that suddenly cramped, "but that does not mean it has completely healed."

It would never completely heal, Ciel knew. The feel and sight of having a heavy metal band on his ankle were still remarkably vivid, more vivid than the months spent with healing and rehabilitation, more vivid than the first moment he was able to walk on his own again. The pain never left him, not completely, like a ghost from a long forgotten nightmare.

Somehow, it was assuring.

Ciel was driven out of his thought with the feel of Sebastian hands on his calf, expertly kneading away the tension as the hand slowly crawled to his knee. It was relaxing. He could have let Sebastian just massage him to sleep, but there are boundaries Ciel would not cross and one of them was being manipulated by those hands.

"That's enough," said Ciel with the most commanding voice he could mustered at almost three in the morning. He was tired and sleepy. He had no interest in playing games at this moment. Sebastian released him after a few more rubs and faint ghostly touches of his fingers. Ciel commanded himself to not let out a sigh of disappointment. "I'll go to bed," he said, driven his point home by taking his feet down from the stool and stood up. His ankle felt much better, but he was not able to fully put his weight on his injured foot. Still, he didn't let it get in his way of getting to his bedroom on his own.

Sebastian seemed to sense his mood. He didn't make any comment or tried to help Ciel. He slipped into his professional persona as he informed his employer, "There are some businesses to finish before you head for school tomorrow. I'll wake you up at nine."

Ciel remembered thinking he wasn't up for games, but he couldn't help teasing back. "Something you can't handle?" he asked with an eyebrow lifted slightly.

Sebastian scowled at him with a subtle reduce of space between his eyebrows. Nevertheless, he kept his tone perfectly neutral. "Lau contacted me today about a case he needed your assistance. A man was found dead on the bank of the Thames."

"I've heard that one is trivial."

"That man was not supposed to be found."

A realization dawned on Ciel then, followed closely by annoyance. "I've told him before that I'm not responsible for his mistake," said the young man firmly; "If it is out, it is out."

"He knows that we still need him," reminded Sebastian; "We are currently not in the position of losing him."

Ciel nodded curtly. Of course, he realized that. Given the eyes and ears Lau had on the streets of London, he was too valuable a piece to let slip. Commissioner Randall would not be pleased, but if the move must be made, it must be made. If anything, it would put Ciel on even with Lau under the Code of Debt. He'd be able to mobilize Lau's people if Moriarty decided to plant a bomb in some random place in London again.

"Fine, I'll talk to Randall tomorrow," said the young man as he shut the door behind him.

Apparently, Sebastian forgot to tell him that there wasn't just Randall he had to deal with.

He ended up spending his breakfast on teleconference with the development team in Funtom who just had to run an idea through Ciel right then instead of waiting another two days when Sebastian could secure a time to meet him in person. It was too early in the morning and he had just barely six hours of sleep the night before. He couldn't be held responsible for slipping in a lot of colourful insults he usually tried to avoid for the sake of professionalism. Well, professionalism be damned; it was their call after all.

Then he and Sebastian had to sit down to plan out timelines for current on-going projects, namely an exceptionally boring video game that Ciel had another 15 levels to go through. He could finish it up at home, of course, but that goes against the 'broken telly' story if Sherlock didn't see him with it for a couple more days. If anything, it would leave a more pronounce impression of Ciel's professional life aside from school. Ciel was too tired to argue with Sebastian about that.

Then it was time to call Randall. Apparently, Sebastian had already arranged for a teleconference with the Commissioner's PA the day before even before the issue came to Ciel's attention. The young man sighed inwardly, irritated to find that Sebastian had everything well-planned yet again. He felt like a pawn sometimes given how well Sebastian could gauge his reaction and went five steps ahead without even needing his input. But, of course, if he ever mentioned that, Sebastian would simply look at him pointedly and told Ciel that it was his job after all.

For today, Ciel had to let that slide without scheming against his perfect assistant just to remind Sebastian how unpredictable he could be at times. Randall's face came to view barely ten seconds after the call was put in, and the young man straightened himself a bit – his chin slightly higher than it normally would. He could see the Commissioner narrowing his eyes at him.

Commissioner Randall wasn't pleased with the news. He was doing an equivalent of a tantrum for the next five minutes, lecturing the young man on how their agreement did not cover a case like this. Ciel let him say what he pleased without as much as flinching; he knew better than to let Randall know he was equally frustrated with the situation. Emotional responds only undermined the ability to win a negotiation; he learnt that early on.

Upon gaining no reaction, the tantrum ceased and finally Ciel could go down to business of preventing the case from going into prosecution. It was a tricky manoeuvre, involving finding loopholes and bending rules which, luckily, Ciel was quite adept with. He had the pleasure of watching the commissioner fidgeted. The man was never comfortable with the way 'justice' was handled by the Phantomhives. Randall called it anarchistic, Ciel called it maverick.

They reached an agreement as they always did regardless of all the arguing and verbal slapping. Ciel thanked him and cut their connection. He turned to find Sebastian standing by his side, Ciel's phone in his hand.

"There was a message from Sherlock Holmes," he said flatly, "he mentioned something about your belongings left at his place and a meeting at two this afternoon."

Ciel had a class at half past one, but it didn't change his decision. "Drop me at the tube station. I am going to skip the afternoon class."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, "I don't think that is wise."

"I said I am going to skip the afternoon class," repeated Ciel sternly; "now get my cane."

Sebastian sighed, but did so anyway.

"Oh. Hi. You're early… Are you all right?"

The concern was in the Doctor's voice when he saw the young man's cane. Ciel flashed a smile and nodded. "A sprained ankle, nothing serious," he replied while limping into 221B Baker Street without much difficulty. John simply eyed him, but said nothing as he led them up to the second floor at a pace adjusted for Ciel's lack of speed. It was somewhat infuriating, but the young man was not going to stop being good-nature around John Watson just yet.

"How are things? Did you find the thumb owner?" he asked.

"Yeah, we did," answered John as he opened the door and let Ciel into their living room where Sherlock was typing away on his computer.

Without diverting his attention from the screen, the detective informed him, "Victor Hatherley, hydraulic engineer, has been captive for almost five days, two spent without his thumb. He's lucid enough for questioning now at the hospital."

Ciel nodded as he slumped on the couch. "Is that where we are going?"

"Yes. And Scotland Yard. John and I were contacted about last night."

"It's going to be a disaster," John sighed before taking a seat in front of the young man. "How are we going to avoid saying we broke in now that he probably said we did?"

"We don't have to. We'll just tell Lestrade everything. The counterfeit money is enough to get the spotlight off us," replied Sherlock.

"Counterfeit money?" Ciel asked before his eye widened, "I see. That's how it was, wasn't it?"

"Wasn't it what?" John asked, looking at Ciel curiously.

"Victor Hatherley was the hydraulic engineer called in for the printing machine," said Ciel, "He threatened to expose them, so they…. Why would they keep him there when they could just get rid of him?"

John was more startled by the suggestion than he would like to admit. Not that it was unthinkable, but the way Ciel made the remark offhandedly disturbed John. It took him a moment to realize it was not the first time he was troubled by a comment of this nature; he just got too used to Sherlock to think too much of it. There never was any malicious intent.

Boy, they were more alike than he first thought.

"No, they couldn't, and this is probably why," replied Sherlock as he handed the young man his laptop. Ciel took a quick glance at it.

"A hydraulic engineer murdered six months ago," the young man read with a smile before he handed the computer back. "So that was the first incident. Six months later, it broke. They found another hydraulic engineer to do the repair. When he wouldn't comply, they have no other choice but to try and make him. They were going to kill him anyway, but they would rather have just one body than two."

"Precisely," replied the detective with a smirk on his face.

"But why cut his thumb?"

"Accident from a struggle," said Sherlock; "Clearly, he was in the machine room being forced to do the repair, but then an opportunity arose when he realized the room was right at the fire escape. We know how that escapade ended."

John nodded then asked, "So we know the story. Why do we need to meet him?"

Sherlock's answer was "It is merely a hypothesis until we can confirm it. And you'd just want to."

"Right, that make sense," replied John, half lied. He can understand Sherlock wanting to confirm his theory, but why was him any factor in that?

Ciel, however, just gave him a smile after seeing him puzzled. Then the young man asked, "So, do you mind if I borrow your telly again?"

Baldroy looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand for probably the fifth time in the past minute. He wasn't sure, really, if this really was his assignment. The first paragraph pretty much told him that this was probably a mistake. Bard could grill some thugs, no problem, but a posh public-school chap? He looked at the clock for about the third time – it was half-past-three in the afternoon – and asked, "You want me to leave now?"

Sebastian simply looked up from the laptop on his desk and stare from over his glasses (the one Bard swore Sebastian wore them because they looked good on him; the guy's eyesight was perfect, goddamn!) It was enough for a 'yes'.

Bard scratched his neck for a moment, itching for the cigarette in his pocket like nobody's business. The address scribbled was clearly Norfolk, not Norfolk something-something London but Norfolk. "And you aren't even coming. Jesus, man, do you know how long it takes to get to Norfolk and back on public transit?"

"You are not driving my car," Sebastian replied, his eyes were back on the computer probably answering hundreds of emails coming through Ciel's account.

Yes, of course, why would Sebastian even let Bard touch his precious S80! It was for the young master, not them. Bard looked at the name and address again, unsure how to start. "How am I supposed to talk to this Trevor dude looking like I just step out of Afghanistan after four hours on the goddamn road in the goddamn evening? He'll turn me to the police, that's what."

"Stop whining and get going, and don't take your gun" replied Sebastian, still not looking at Bard and definitely had missed how exasperated the ex-soldier looked.

"C'mon, Sebastian, you usually do this chitchat, not me," he said with a sigh. "I can do chitchatting when there are guns or beer – preferably not both at once – not over wine and steak and stuff like that, you know."

"Then learn how to do it," answered Sebastian, finally looking up for once, but Bard would probably feel better if he didn't. An annoyed Sebastian was something everyone even Maylene who was unhealthily obsessed with the man wanted to avoid. Bard was usually exceptional at annoying the guy, too.

So Bard tried to take the calm approach. "Look, mate," he paused, "Since this paper is coming from you and not the Old Man, I'm sure Tanaka-san didn't think of me as his first choice. And you're obviously bored to hell with whatever mundanity is on that shit." He gestured the compute and continued, "I'm not trying to get out of this, okay? I just know you don't really trust me to do this – you never – but you're pushing me when you could have done it in like five hours top. Your style. I just don't get why."

"My order is to be available in case of emergency, remember?" Sebastian answered, going back to his computer again.

Bard sighed. "The Young Master will be fine for half a day. He's busy with that Sherlock dude, isn't he?"

"Yes," Sebastian replied but said no further. Bard shrugged and decided to go upstairs to his room to pack for the night. He definitely would not be back until at least tomorrow.

TBC.

A/N: I've been thinking about what car suits Sebastian the most. Volvo was my friend's answer to my impromptu question and I was sold on an image of a (sleek) black S80. What do you think? Should Sebastian drive something else instead?