Archive of Our Own ^beta

In his defence, it wasn't usually this boring.

Sure, he had suffered through long periods of time without much entertainment before, but never had he descended to this level of boredom. No cases, no experiments, no John around to have a conversation with. No gun to shoot the remaining traces of that yellow smiley-face on the wall, no decapitated heads or severed thumbs in the fridge to examine. There was only Sherlock and the vast halls of his mind-palace, which, rather unfortunately, he was slowly realising wasn't as enjoyable a place to be as he'd originally assumed. As it turns out, keeping yourself locked up in your own head for the better part of five hours can lead you to some unpleasant and significantly troubling thoughts.

And so that was how he'd ended up here, mobile phone in hand, texting the only person he knew could keep him entertained.

Are you busy?   - SH    (10:35pm)

It took exactly one minute and ten-point-five seconds for his phone to buzz in response. Sherlock had counted.

I'm always busy, my dear detective, but I can make an exception if that's what you'd like.   - JM    (10:36pm)

If it's too much trouble, don't bother. I know you must have crimes to plot and people to kill.   - SH    (10:37pm)

True, however, you're much more interesting than any crime. What's up?   - JM    (10:37pm)

Bored.   - SH    (10:37pm)

Ah, I see. So what time should I be there?   - JM     (10:37pm)

I didn't say you should come here.   - SH    (10:38pm)

You didn't have to, darling. You're quite predictable.  - JM

So, what do you say? I can do 10 minutes. 5 if there's no traffic, but you know what London's like.   - JM    (10:39pm)

Don't murder anyone on your way here, please, Jim.   - SH   (10:39pm)

I'll try not to. ;)   - JM   (10:40pm)

Sherlock put his phone down.

"Jim, that's John's walking cane, he'd kill us if we stole it for this!"

Jim bit his lip and grinned at the same time, still gripping the cane in his left hand. "Well, in that case, we would kill him first. This can hold up that blanket in the corner, see?" He ducked down and moved towards the weakest corner of the fort they'd built in Sherlock's living room, and carefully, never once losing focus, he balanced the cane underneath the blanket, surrounding the bottom end with pillows to keep it from falling over. When the knitted roof of the fort didn't collapse, he cheered, and Sherlock laughed. Jim glared at him. "What's funny? What did I do?" 

His eyebrows were furrowed, and he had a sort of pout on his face that vaguely resembled that of a small child. Sherlock noticed a few stray hairs hanging over Jim's forehead, which was unusual in the sense that he usually applied enough product to his hair that every black strand remained perfectly slicked back for a full day.

"You were so fixated on that blanket...God, I don't think I've ever seen someone concentrate that hard." Sherlock reached out a hand to grab the sleeve of Jim's Westwood suit, pulling him down until he sat next to him, backs leaning against the couch and shoulders pressed together. "It's cute."

The pout was still on Jim's face, albeit a little less obvious now.

"I'm not cute, Sherly. I'm a criminal mastermind. A murderer, a thief."

"Hm."

At Sherlock's response, or lack thereof, Jim rested his head on the detective's shoulder and let his eyes wander around the space they'd created. It was good, yes - of course it was, it was built by two of the greatest minds of the country, if not the continent - but there was something missing. Something obvious, something he should be able to notice the absence of.

"Sherlock?" He lifted his head up as Sherlock looked down at him. "What's missing?"

Without missing a beat, Sherlock replied, "lights."

Jim opened his mouth to ask another question, but Sherlock got there first. "They're in a box under my bed. You're quite predictable, too, Jim." He made to stand up, and grabbed the criminal's hand to pull him along, and they went to collect the fairy lights Sherlock had left under his bed from last Christmas.

"There."

The multi-coloured fairy lights were now strung around the edges of the fort, casting them both in a dim, red-blue-yellow-pink glow, as there was no other source of light currently switched on in the apartment. Jim had returned to his place next to Sherlock with his head on his shoulder, and Sherlock was tapping an annoying rhythm on the floor with his fingertips. Jim put his hand over Sherlock's to silence the tapping.

"So, Mr. Holmes," he said quietly, almost whispering. There was an atmosphere that seemed to have developed in the fort, something calm like a clear blue lake or a forest, and Jim felt the need to make as little noise as possible, as not to disrupt the water of the lake and the swaying trees. "How did I do?"

Sherlock matched his volume level, he, too, feeling the sense of calmness around them. "With what?"

Jim exhaled through his nose in what Sherlock assumed was supposed to be a chuckle. "You were bored, so you texted me to entertain you. How did I do? Are you still bored?"

"No, I'm not. You did great." Sherlock shifted so his torso was facing more towards his so-called enemy, and smiled. "I hereby declare myself: entertained."

Jim found himself looking straight at Sherlock's face, studying each crease around his eyes and mouth. A few strands of curly brown hair fell over his left eye, and Jim reached up to brush it away. He tried to play it like he'd done it absentmindedly, but when his fingers lingered on Sherlock's cheek and the detective brought his own hand up to hold Jim's wrist, he knew Sherlock could feel his pulse, and that he'd notice his dilated pupils and sweaty palms, and that he'd finally put it all together.

Jim blinked and looked away, attempting to pull his hand back but finding that Sherlock was still gripping his wrist. He sighed, and looked up again.

"Jim."

"Yes?" He bit his lip.

"Don't look so scared. You are a criminal mastermind, after all. A murderer, a thief." Sherlock smiled at him again, a smaller, shyer smile that Jim returned. Sherlock was closer now, and obviously Jim had noticed the distance decreasing slowly, that much wasn't surprising - but what was, in fact, surprising, was the way that Jim could feel himself mirroring Sherlock, letting his gaze flicker down and then back and forth between Sherlock's blue-green eyes. 

"Hm," was all Jim said, before he was tilting his head and meeting Sherlock in the middle, and then somehow they were kissing, and it was clumsy and new and sent a sudden ripple through the waters of the lake that they'd tried so hard to keep undisturbed. It lasted exactly ten-point-five seconds. Jim had counted.

When they broke apart, it was because of a noise outside of the fort that sounded like the door opening, and the confused voice of Mrs Hudson. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at Jim, smiling apologetically before standing up to see what his landlady wanted. His head stuck out of the top of the fort almost comedically, and Jim heard Mrs Hudson gasp.

"Sherlock, what on Earth are you doing? What's this? A pillow fort?"

"Yes. That's exactly what it is. Great observation skills." 

Jim could hear shuffling, and assumed Mrs Hudson had stepped into the flat.

"Oh, sweetie, did you build a pillow fort on your own?"

Jim couldn't help but snort at that. Sherlock glared down at him.

"No, Mrs Hudson, I did not. I had help from a...friend of mine. He's right here, actually." He reached out a hand for Jim to take, and soon enough, Jim's head had appeared next to Sherlock's. He grinned.

"Hi!"

"Hello," she said uncertainly, eyeing the new face. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met?"

Jim still had Sherlock's hand in his. "Oh no, we haven't. I'm Jim. Sherlock's boyfriend." Sherlock squeezed Jim's hand as a warning. Jim ignored it. A look of understanding washed over Mrs Hudson's face, and she smiled slyly.

"Oh. Right, then, I came up here to check on you, Sherlock, but I think I'd best be off," she said, clearly building up to a lie. "Actually, now that I think about it, I left my oven on." There it was. "Have fun, boys."

She winked at Jim before shuffling out of the flat and closing the door, and Jim broke down laughing, retreating back into the safety of the fort, pulling Sherlock with him. The detective shot him a quizzical look and raised an eyebrow.

"Boyfriend?"

Jim smiled. "I mean, if you want. It's a bit messy, considering I'm a consulting criminal and you're on the side of the angels, but-"

"Yes."

Jim kissed him. Just a gentle peck on the lips, nothing extreme, enough to let him know he had feelings. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock leaned back against the couch again, and let Jim nestle into his side under his arm. "Absolutely."

BONUS SCENE

John checked his watch as he started up the stairs of 221B. 02:24am. He hadn't meant to stay out this late, but Mary had wanted to see a film that began at quarter-to-midnight, and so here he was. Once he'd stepped foot in the flat, his eyebrows knitted themselves together, and he took in the scene.

The first thing he noticed, naturally, was the gigantic pillow fort in the middle of the room.

The second being the light snoring coming from somewhere inside the blankets.

The third thing John Watson noticed upon entering the flat was the absence of his cane by the door. After a closer inspection of both the flat and the fort, he decided he would have to go inside the construction to find his missing cane. By process of elimination it was the only possible whereabouts of it.

And so John, expecting only to find Sherlock and the cane, entered the fort, and froze.

The cane was there, yes. It was acting as a support beam for one of the larger blankets. But what John was more shocked by was the sight of Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty, enemies, arch-rivals, peacefully asleep in each other's arms, wrapped up in an excessive amount of blankets. John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"For God's sake, Sherlock."