the beginning of the end

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

It's been a long time, since Carl Powers drowned all those years ago. Sherlock and Jim have waxed and waned, spent months inseparable, then not seen each other for half a year, fought like mad, worked together now and again to knock off a truly insane criminal.

And then, when Sherlock is twenty seven, he laughs, and remarks to the ceiling, smoking, with his hand on Jim's chest;

"When we were children, I thought for sure you'd be the head of the criminal underworld by now, and I'd be a Nobel laureate."

He goes away for a case a day or so later, leaving Jim to his thoughts.

It doesn't happen right away after that. There are a few more visits, another Christmas that sees Sherlock tied by his wrists to the ceiling fan, serenely still while Jim blows thumb tacks at him out of a drinking straw, and then in return Jim limping for a week and one very ruined crucifix and his good, high thread count sheets ripped to shreds and coated with droplets of wax besides.

Intense, distracting enough that Sherlock doesn't see it coming.

Comments

[napoleonofcrime]

He shakes his head.

"It's not your fault, let's not jump to conclusions."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I did, though. When it first went bad, I should have put my pride aside."

[napoleonofcrime]

"I'm just as guilty of that as you are, you know."

He sighs, glumly.

"Moreso, considering that I'm the one who finally acted on pride."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"I don't think I believe that."

Though he isn't sure why.

[napoleonofcrime]

Jim shrugs.

"Then let's stop assigning blame. Breakfast?"

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

That's so... companionable, so normal, it jerks him abruptly and leaves him looking like he has whiplash.

He can only nod.

[napoleonofcrime]

Jim nods back, before slipping off the bed to get the breakfast cart he'd ordered earlier, rolling it next to the bed. On it are all kinds of breakfast food, melon and cereal and cheese and pie and cold pitchers of milk and three kinds of juice-

"Hopefully, there's something that you like there."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Do you remember?"

Cocking his head at him.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Your favorite?"

Jim helps himself to a plate of fruit.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Anything like that. Our old domesticity."

He doesn't move to taste any of it.

[napoleonofcrime]

"I remember your Christmas visits."

He smiles to himself.

"Planning by the fire. Taking down criminals together."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"And school?"

Quiet, drawing his knees to his chest- then wincing, pulling his pyjama shirt up, trying to get at the scar from the bullet.

[napoleonofcrime]

Jim has to look away from that one.

"Breaking into morgues. Getting caught necking with ears in our backpacks."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

He smiles, and looks down at the wound-

"I've been out a long time."

[napoleonofcrime]

"Why in hell did you come at me like that?"

His voice breaks a little.

"You knew the gun was loaded."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You were going to shoot yourself."

He reminds him, running fingertips along the nasty scar.

[napoleonofcrime]

"Rather myself than you."

He shakes his head.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"That's idiotic. I was there to die."

[napoleonofcrime]

"So was I."

He shrugs.

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"Yes, but we were both agreed on my fate, whereas I wasn't going to let anything happen to you."

Watching him, to see if this still unsettles.

[napoleonofcrime]

It does. Jim glances away.

"You should have. I wasn't- supposed to matter to you anymore."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"You were just going to hurt me until I stopped caring about you."

Divining, watching close.

[napoleonofcrime]

He shrugs.

"That might have been part of the plan."

[lostwithoutmyblogger]

"-please be patient with me."

He asks him, looking up at you.

[napoleonofcrime]

"I don't want you to hate me anymore."

Quietly.

"I've tested that, and I've found that I don't want it to break."