Procrastination and Profiteroles

((Listen to this while you read, it makes it much easier to understand: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3QmD3BY7RU ))

—-

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow as the garish music began to play. Jim had naturally insisted on using a record player, ironically the consulting criminal, master of disguise, liked his music to be authentic. He had only agreed to this because some small part of him wanted to see Jim dance, something that wasn’t part of a disguise. He wanted to see Jim dance, not Jim from IT or Jo the Clubber.

Jim stepped over, dressed immaculately as per usual. He’d forced Sebastian into a suit too and the sniper gave him a wary smile. Jim returned it, though to Sebastian it seemed like more of a ‘step on my shoes and I will murder you’ smile than an ‘I enjoy spending time with you’ smile.

Sebastian placed his arms in the position Jim had explained earlier, and began to dance shakily as the lyrics began. He almost laughed and Jim’s smile turned to a gleeful smirk.

“It seemed appropriate,” he remarked, stepping his feet and not bothering to go slowly for Sebastian as the lyrics urged them to ‘misbehave’. The sniper had a suspicion that if this foxtrot went well then they would indeed be ‘misbehaving’ later that evening.

After nearly twenty plays of the song, Sebastian finally managed to match Jim’s confident steps, though he didn’t go quite as exaggerated with his hips movements. He wouldn’t be surprised if Jim had taught himself to foxtrot in a mere ten minutes for some obscure job, but the shorter man seemed to enjoy it. He beamed up at Sebastian smugly and the sniper couldn’t help but feel a strong twinge of nostalgia, something that made him want to drink whiskey shots, take Jim in his arms and kiss him softly for once.

He shook his head at the idea, thinking himself ridiculous for feeling nostalgic of a time period he hadn’t even lived in.

They finished their final dance an hour later, and Jim dragged him off to the bedroom. For one rare occasion, Sebastian actually preferred the warmth of Jim resting against his chest afterwards. He gazed almost lovingly down at the smaller man, petting his hair lazily and lying back, his eyes open as the garish song played on loop in his mind.

—-

((Hope you liked it, sorry again for the long hiatus!))

“Come on, Seb, hurry it up,” the shorter man groaned. He’d moved from his position of being draped over Sebastian’s shoulders and was now perching on the desk, tapping his foot against it impatiently and making the computer jolt.

“It says I need to take my time to answer the questions, Jim,” Sebastian insisted, “I can’t pick between the mysterious statue and the talking mushrooms.” Jim snorted at him, reaching out and picking his answer for him.

“There, you’ve picked that one, hurry it up, Seb. You’ll end up in Slytherin with me, obviously, and I need to get a move on and get more house points by duelling. I want to be top of the table,” he replied, fidgeting and ignoring Sebastian’s roll of his eyes as he jumped off of the desk again and paced impatiently behind the sniper.

A few minutes later, Sebastian clicked once more, “There, done.”

“Finally,” Jim exclaimed, peering over Sebastian’s shoulders and reaching out to take the mouse, “Now hurry up and get to the common room.”

He began walking Sebastian through the game, quickly reaching the common room. He paused.

“What? This looks like a bloody hobbit hole, why the fuck are we in the Hufflepuff common room?”

Sebastian quirked an eyebrow.

“Because I got sorted into Hufflepuff, I just assumed Slytherin was for the boffins and Hufflepuff is where all of us badass people go,” he replied.

He didn’t understand until two days later why Jim stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He quickly deleted his Pottermore account, and the consulting criminal hid the Harry Potter books from their bookshelves. When Sebastian asked why, Jim replied that he was ashamed for his sniper.

Sebastian was just glad that he wouldn’t have to play anymore of Jim’s strange online games.

—-

((sorry for being inactive so long! Thanks for my followers who didn’t abandon me, I love you all))

Otherwise I’m scared that I won’t have enough time to fill them all

cheshiresden:

I knew something was different this morning when I walked into the kitchen.

Jim was already sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping from a mug, texting on his phone. I said ‘Good Morning’ to him and he answered me in gibberish.

I tried again, thinking he didn’t hear me the first time but the response is the same.

So I reached over and touched his forehead to check if he’s feverish (After all he wouldn’t start talking in tongues- he’s on the wrong side for that).

Jim’s forehead is cool and he slaps my hand away and calls me a moron. Obviously he spoke in Japanese. I dread to find out the reason why.

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Sebastian glanced around, feeling oddly subconscious as Jim practically dragged him through the shop. He couldn’t remember the name of it, but judging by the ridiculously abstract displays and the even more ridiculous price tags he was guessing that it was someplace fancy and designer. He shouldn’t really have expected anything less from Jim, although he’d never actually been clothes shopping with him before. He assumed that Jim went clothes shopping often enough to get new suits when he wanted, and every now and then a suit would turn up in Sebastian’s wardrobe and he’d just ignore it until Jim actually forced him to put it on.

That morning, however, Jim had decided that his new disguise was important enough that it needed a second opinion on it. Specifically, as Sebastian had only learned as they entered the store, on the underwear.

“How about these?” Jim asked, tugging on Sebastian’s wrist to get his attention. Sebastian turned to face him.

“I think those are meant for women,” he replied flatly.

“Yes, but I think they’d rather get the ‘gay’ point across to Mr Holmes,” Jim chuckled darkly. Sebastian tried not to imagine Jim walking around London with lacy underwear barely hidden by a pair of jeans, and forced himself not to ask Jim to buy them for later.

“Can’t argue with that, sir,” he replied, stuttering slightly and breathing a sigh of relief when Jim put the underwear down, because he really couldn’t handle the mental images this early on in their little shopping trip.

Leaving the store, he managed to talk Jim out of going into Ann Summers - even though he insisted it was ‘just to look’ - and they ended up in another expensive-looking shop. Sebastian decided that the underwear - at least - looked less feminine.

After another thirty minutes of browsing, Jim shooed him away as he went to pay. Sebastian tried not to sound excited when Jim told him he was going to have the sniper ‘test run’ the underwear he’d picked.

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))

We were doing a mormor RP that involved leather gloves. Sebastian drove in on a motor bike. FIND ME STRANGER!!

I love you all, wherever you suddenly came from. Feel free to send me asks and prompts and such anytime!

Sebastian was only half-listening as Jim rambled on about stochastic differential equations, and was more interested in how Jim had managed to go from talking about the merits of The Jeremy Kyle Show to mathematics in the space of about two minutes.

As they turned the corner and Jim moved on to lecture about Schrodinger, Sebastian heard a vaguely familiar voice behind them.

“Sebastian? Is that you?”

Jim stopped before Sebastian did, and turned around to leer at the girl who was now rapidly approaching them. It was Lisa. Lisa his former girlfriend who thought he was still in the army. Sebastian briefly considered making a dash for their apartment.

He forced a smile, “Hello Lisa, long time no see.”

“Too long. You look well,” she replied jovially. She apparently hadn’t noticed the death glare she was receiving from Jim. Sebastian didn’t think the situation was helped at all by the fact that Lisa was pretty and - even in flat shoes - was noticeably taller than Jim.

“Yeah, been keeping myself out of trouble, I guess. Look, I’ve really got to-“ he began, trying to get away before Lisa butted in again. She never had been one for reading nonverbal cues.

“And who’s this? One of your mates? Last time I checked you didn’t really have many friend,” she laughed.

“He’s my boss,” Sebastian replied all too quickly, “In the army, J-“ this time Jim cut him off.

“James Stevenson, nice to meet you,” he said, his voice dripping with a threat that only Sebastian could hear. Jim took her hand, shaking it. Sebastian briefly wondered if Jim had anticipated this and figured out a method for killing somebody with a handshake.

“Oh, yeah, nice to meet you too. I’m Lisa, me and Seb used to date.”

Sebastian didn’t miss the sudden change in Jim’s demeanour at the nickname, although the shorter man quickly returned to his faked joviality.

“Well, Lisa, it was nice seeing you but we really have to dash,” he said hurriedly before practically dragging Jim away, not caring that he’d probably get nagged at later for it. He definitely didn’t need his current boss-who-he-was-sleeping-with ripping the limbs off of his former girlfriend.

He wondered if drastic plastic surgery would be less painful than the consequences he would undoubtedly suffer for being recognised by a girl in the street again.

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))

James lay in bed, kept warm by Sebastian’s arms wrapped around him loosely as he pressed his forehead into the taller man’s chest. He liked sharing a bed with Sebastian, it seemed familiar and safer than when he slept alone.

Just like every night, Sebastian would mutter ‘Jim’ softly whenever he shifted or shuffled over a bit. James wasn’t sure if he was just saying it in his sleep, or if it was the same ‘Jim’ that Sebastian would sometimes say instead of his actual name when he wasn’t really focused, or had that sad look in his eyes.

This time when he said it, Sebastian’s arms tightened around James slightly and he nuzzled into James’ hair, his eyes still closed.

The same little sequence as usual began playing out in his mind. He could feel Sebastian’s arms draped over his waist and his lips pressed to his cheek as he mumbled something that was barely coherent to his sleep-dazed mind. Warmth would swell in his chest and he’d have the inclination to just fall asleep in Sebastian’s lap, but always he fought it. Well, he didn’t fight it exactly; it was as if he was being forced to fight it. And then the harsh Irish voice would ring out.

“You’re getting too sentimental, Sebastian,” it said harshly, and James didn’t understand why it sounded so angry because it seemed like such a happy moment. And the voice was desperate to curl back up in Sebastian’s lap and pretend he hadn’t actually heard the whispered words because then everything would be easier.

James never mentioned that to Sebastian. He never asked him why he said ‘Jim’ at night. He never understood why, when he was lying by Sebastian, the taller man never mumbled those same words, washed out by the haziness of his memory and the cosiness of the moment.

He didn’t ask because part of him understood - knew exactly why Sebastian never sounded so warm and almost loving when he spoke to James. Because he was James. Because he wasn’t Jim, and never would be.

—-

((I wonder if anybody can spot the allusion to one of my other fics, it’s actually quite obvious but maybe only to me, as I changed the ending of it a bit. Anyway, I hope you liked this and feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and general spam my way))

“Sebastian, there is absolutely no point in you wearing an expensive suit if you’re not going to wear it correctly.”

“So you’re saying I can take it off?”

Jim rolled his eyes, straightening out Sebastian’s tie, “No, what I’m saying is that if you don’t tuck your shirt in I’m going to make you wear a yellow suit instead,” he replied.

“I just don’t see why it’s necessary,” the sniper groaned, tucking his shirt in nevertheless.

“It’s necessary because you are standing behind me in an important meeting during which you need to look like a hit-man.”

“I am a hit-man.”

“But nobody will be scared of you if you don’t look like one,” Jim insisted, grabbing a tie pin and fastening it on.

“Jim, we’re meeting with a bunch of Italian men who are shorter than you,” he began, ignoring Jim’s scowl, “I could wear a leotard - no that is not a suggestion - and still look intimidating. But, like this suit, that would be extremely impractical for shooting them all in the face which is in fact what I am employed to do.”

“But you look nice in the suit,” he cooed in response, reaching up to brush off Sebastian’s shoulders.

This time it was Sebastian’s turn to roll his eyes, though he decided not to get into the ‘it’s not important to look nice when killing people’ argument that they must have had at least fifty times that year already.

He sighed, knowing that he’d lost any chance of wearing his usual clothes the moment Jim had walked in holding a suit, the price of which he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

“I better get to shoot at least one of these bastards.”

“Of course, Sebby.”

—-

((Hope you liked it, feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and random spam my way))

Sebastian cursed under his breath as they came to another cordoned off street. He glanced down it and considered making a run for it, but he was holding James’ hand and the policemen were already giving them strange looks. Gritting his teeth, he turned on his heel and pulled James back down the street.

He had never hated the bloody police so much. Four streets cordoned off, the four streets that just so happened to be four of the five streets that would take them back to their apartment - or at least get them to a place where he could afford to take a taxi from.

Cursing quietly again, he started walking briskly down the street he had sworn not to walk down again. Baker Street. The detective was dead, but he knew from surveillance tapes that the doctor still came here - often enough that Sebastian felt uneasy bringing James to Baker Street. He focused on the end of the street and their block of apartments in the distance, to the extent that he barely registered the tightened grip on his hand. Only when James actually stopped did Sebastian react, turning to see what the problem was.

James was watching as a man stormed across the street towards them both. John Watson.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, “James, let’s go.” He tugged at the shorter man’s hand again and this time James responded, walking over to Sebastian and clinging to his arm.

But by then it was too late, John Watson had already reached them.

“Moriarty,” he practically hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?” He took two quick strides over to James and grabbed him by the collar. James tensed immediately, his nails digging into Sebastian’s palm as he struggled to get away from the doctor who was now hurling partially incoherent insults at him, enraged.

Sebastian acted on instinct, shoving the doctor away and running, hauling James along with him as Watson yelled down the street about ‘not falling for his stupid acts’ and ‘finding him and getting justice for what he had done’.

Once they reached the end of the street, James was panting and still had a look of abject horror on his face. Turning back and sighing in relief at the distinct lack of any people following them, Sebastian pulled James to his chest, letting the shorter man cling to him and rubbing his hand over the back of his neck soothingly. He cursed at the doctor. As much as he wanted Jim back, there was a part of him - a small part, he told himself - that didn’t want him to ever remember Sherlock Holmes, that just wanted Jim. Sadistic, brilliant, unpredictable, dangerous Jim with no detective to distract him.

James barely spoke for the remainder of the week, and Sebastian was almost glad, because as long as James wasn’t talking he wasn’t asking any questions that the sniper had no idea how to answer. That he didn’t want to answer.

—-

((Not too keen on this myself, but hope you like it nevertheless! Feel free to send prompts, headcannon questions and random spam my way. I’ll be alternating between angst and fluff for the next few days, so I hope you’re all ready))

Because one or two of them make me genuinely sad just to think about. Hope you guys are ready for some angst.