oh no (au)

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

After the arrests have been made, the pieces have been picked up, Sherlock comes bounding home, covered head to toe in green paint and vibrating with energy.

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[napoleonofcrime]

He's only just gotten off the phone when the door opens, and Jim slowly turns, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Sherlock?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Hah!"

Gracious? Sherlock.

"Got you. Got them. If you need me to get your half of the rent next month, I'll understand, I'm afraid I just punched a substantial financial hole-"

Except he can't finish that sentence because he's grabbed him into a furious kiss, getting green paint all over his Westwood.

[napoleonofcrime]

Jim doesn't return the kiss- in fact, he shoves him furiously away, looking down at the paint stains with a scowl.

"You've done nothing. Don't worry about rent."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He rocks back, astonished. This is the first time that's happened.

"I did too."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Well, I suppose you did just ruin a five hundred pound suit."

Unbuttoning his jacket and turning away.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You're upset."

He divines, solving that with as much concentration as any of his cases.

"This was the goal. The competition."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Yes."

As if that's an actual answer. Jim drapes the ruined jacket over the dining room chair, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He pulls his coat and scarf off, following him to their little kitchen to drop the painty things in the sink. Jim has one gorgeous, green handprint splayed across his cheek and throat, and Sherlock is still vibrating with excitement and wants to pounce, wrestle, lick-

He restrains himself, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Sorting things out," he finally says, moving for the bedroom. "Don't disturb me. I'll be a few hours."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Jim?"

His voice twists, uncertainly. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

[napoleonofcrime]

"What!?"

He turns suddenly, fiery with rage. He's always had an extremely poor control over his emotions.

"As you so cleverly pointed out, you won. You get to go home sated and forget about it, I need to put in countless hours of damage control."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You knew that would happen! Just like I put in countless hours on my end! Did you expect me to work for days tangled up around you and not cause damage?"

He lashes back, furiously hurt.

[napoleonofcrime]

"No, but you need to understand that when your work ends, mine begins."

Gritting his teeth.

"I need time. Leave me alone."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Fine!"

Gritting his teeth.

"Let me get clean clothes, then I'll be out of your hair, I promise."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Hm."

And Jim flips his phone open furiously- it's been practically exploding with texts since the moment he hung up.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

Sherlock bolts past him to the bedroom, grabs a few things, then bolts.

He leaves his phone on the dresser.

[napoleonofcrime]

He doesn't try to call until late in the night anyway, after he's settled down a bit and the right men had been flayed.

When Sherlock's phone rings on the dresser, Jim has to just roll his eyes, flopping back down onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. There's still smears of paint on his neck.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He goes out and gets gloriously, raggedly, vengefully high. It hurts and feels wonderful and then doesn't feel like anything at all.

He calls from a pay phone the next afternoon.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Mm?"

Picking up the phone with an unintelligible groan. Sherlock isn't the only one who's needed a little something extra in the past twelve hours.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You too, hm?"

He asks, letting himself to slur just slightly. Normally he'd pretend, but it seems ridiculous and like too much effort to try.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Come home."

Quietly.

"I want to paint you proper."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I need another day."

He admits, voice rasping.

"Are you still green? I am. Under my fingernails, in my hair."

[napoleonofcrime]

"My neck."

He rolls over onto his side.

"I'll set something else for you. We'll redo the other day."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Doesn't matter."

He promises, sagging down the glass, as far as the phone cord will let him.

"Remember Nathan?"

An ex-dealer. The hard stuff.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Yeah."

A long sigh.

"You went back?"