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Tea and Croissants in Paris
The stairs to the rooftop of St. Bart’s took longer than Sherlock wanted. “Damn stairs,” he muttered and stared at the door. Moriarty was waiting for him outside.
Taking a deep breath, Sherlock fished John Watson’s SIG-Sauer P226R from his coat and left it on the railing. The last time he’d brought a gun to a meeting with James Moriarty things had gotten a bit dicey and he’d forgotten to ask Jim out. A most unfortunate occurrence.
This time he was not going to forget anything. He’d made a list and stashed it in his pocket along with the ridiculously long list of codes for end scenarios that Mycroft had devised. They all called for Moriarty dying or being apprehended or killed. Too bad that none of them were going to be used. Sherlock had his own plan and it involved a hop, skip, and a jump to Paris for champagne. And some things that Jim was probably better versed in than Sherlock.
Pushing the door open, he strode forward calmly. There would be no mistakes this time. Jim was sitting on the raised ledge at the edge of the roof. His phone, playing Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees, was in his hand and he didn’t look at Sherlock as he walked towards him. Obviously annoyed with him.
“Ah... here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock, and our problem, the final problem.” Jim lifted the phone up higher. “Stayin’ alive. It’s so boring, isn’t it?” He switched off the phone somewhat angrily.
Sherlock winced slightly as he quickly observed that Jim was not just annoyed but angry with him and probably had been angry since the pool. Perhaps Sherlock should have brought chocolates. John always did that, not that it did him any good. Jim continued, “It’s just …” He paused as though searching for the right word. “... staying.”
“Then we should... go,” Sherlock stated cheerfully. Perhaps it would be easy.
Jim looked at him as though he were daft. It was adorable. “That’s why we’re he~ere,” he said. “All my life I’ve been searching for distractions. You were the best-” A compliment. Sherlock immediately guessed that Jim expected him to deduce it was empty or superficial flattery. He knew that it wasn’t but also sensed the anger underneath it. Perhaps it would not be easy.
“Wrong,” Sherlock said coolly. “We’re skipping the drama, James, skipping all the nonsense.”
“What… what are you talking about?” Jim stammered.
“All your life you’ve been searching for understanding.” Jim’s eyes widened almost comically. “And love from someone that you considered an equal. And let’s face it there aren’t many.”
“I’ve beaten you,” Jim said but he seemed less sure of himself. Sherlock guessed that this was a rehearsed script that the man was trying to perform. Sherlock started to pace. “And you know what?” Jim purred. “In the end it was easy.” Sherlock arched an eyebrow and then slowly shook his head as Jim continued, sounding more disappointed, “It was easy.”
“No,” Sherlock disagreed crisply.
“Now I’ve got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns out you’re ordinary just like all of them.”
“Skip the drama, Jim,” Sherlock repeated and smirked. “We don’t have time for it.”
“What?!” Jim shrieked.
“You know damn well I’m just as ordinary as you are,” Sherlock noted.
“No!” Jim said, while finally dropping all pretense of continuing his script. “We’re not skipping anything. Are you junked up, Sherlock Holmes?”
“No,” Sherlock replied primly then mentally cringed at how much like Mycroft he sounded. “That didn’t work so well for me last time.”
Jim made an exaggerated scrunched up thinking face. “No, it didn’t,” he then agreed coyly. “And I suppose that I should ask, are you armed? That also didn’t work well for you.”
Sherlock shook his head. “Did it turn you on when I pointed the gun at you?”
“Yes and no, darling,” Moriarty answered. “It was sexy but you have horrid trigger discipline and you were high as a kite.”
“True on the latter point.”
“I would have been horribly impressed if you’d managed to pull the trigger not to mention hit anything.”
Sherlock paused to review what had happened that night at the pool. The conversation had been rather seamless but now he saw elements of rehearsal and Jim had maintained his cool facade. “But you kept up the act.”
“Of course. It would have been utterly bo~ring to just have had Moran shoot you.”
Sherlock pursed his lips. He’d heard of Moriarty’s lieutenant, SM, and guessed that’s who Moran was. “Is he here today?”
“That would be telling, Sher~ly,” Jim said. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine, since we’re skipping things…” he pointed to the edge of the roof. “Just go ahead and do it. You picked a nice tall building.”
Sherlock shook his head. “No,” he said seriously.
“Do it for me~ee.”
“As you’ve said before: wrong day to die.”
“Your friends will die,” Jim said and he looked like he was back on his script. He looked so very convincing but Sherlock could tell that the man was bluffing. “Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There’s no stopping them now.”
Sherlock deduced that was a lie. He knew that except for John, Jim was secretly fond of the few people that Sherlock called friends. “I’m sorry about the pool,” he said. That should distract him.
Jim’s expression became blank as though he could barely remember what had happened. “There’s nothing to be sorry for Sherlock. You did what you wanted.”
A bland expression meant that Jim truly cared. “I didn’t mean to make it look like I was picking John over you.” Jim stared at him and his mouth opened slightly with shock. “I meant to ask you out but I got distracted.”
“You what?” Jim asked and drew his Beretta.
“Oh, Jim, put that away,” Sherlock said, eyeing the gun. “We’re skipping the nonsense because when I pulled a gun on you, everything went to shambles.”
“Are you sure you didn’t take anything today?” Jim asked skeptically.
“No,” Sherlock said. “And I made sure to leave the SIG-Sauer in there.” He pointed to the door. “It’s on the handrail for safekeeping.”
“You left an unattended firearm hanging on the handrail?!” Jim shrieked. “You DOOFUS!”
“Better there than in my hands. Otherwise I’d have to pay attention to the gun and not you,” Sherlock said coolly. It had taken him a while to learn but Jim was easy to read once Sherlock knew what he was looking for. Jim generally played opposite what he felt or he went blank and unreadable when his reaction was something he didn’t like or didn’t want to show.
“I should shoot Watson for leaving pieces where you can find them.” Jim tucked the Beretta back in his coat, strode to the door, yanked it open, and presumably retrieved the gun from where Sherlock had left it.
“I can find anything John hides.”
“Thank goodness I’m not you in this regard,” Jim grumbled.
“Well, now that we have that sorted,” Sherlock said flatly. “May I finish?”
Jim gave Sherlock a sour look. “You’re insane.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment”
“Yes, it was.”
“Go on, I suppose,'' Jim said but then sat down against a cement wall. “Might as well get comfortable. You’re clearly going to go on and on.”
Sherlock smiled and sat down next to Jim. “I never picked John over you,” he repeated. “But I’m also sorry about how things unfolded afterward. Mycroft should have never gotten involved.”
“He is a prat when it comes to you.”
“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “On a good day.”
“Understatement of the year.”
“I should have sent you an email or texted you. I really had planned on asking you out.”
“You were seriously going to ask me... out?”
“Yes but explosive vests, guns, snipers, swimming pools, and lasers distracted me.”
“And drugs.”
“That too but we needn’t dwell on that right now,” Sherlock said and took a deep breath. “We should go to Paris,” he said. “For tea and a croissant.”
“Sherlock,” Jim said rather matter-of-factly, “I’m trying to kill you here.”
“Yes, yes,” Sherlock said and waved his hand dismissively. “And you’re supposedly going to commit suicide and vanish.” He turned to look at Jim. “Is that what burning the heart out of me is all about?” Jim’s expression didn’t change but Sherlock saw a minuscule widening of his eyes. Got you! “Destroy my career, which is based on my strongest asset, my mind. Destroy my reputation. Ditto. Destroy my relationship with John. Force me to abandon him. Knowing that I’d figure most of it out, guilt me over causing you to kill yourself as well as depriving me of future challenges and companionship.”
Jim looked at him with shock and his lips parted slightly before he clamped them shut. Sherlock grinned. He’d definitely got it right. Before Jim could say anything, he leaned to his side and kissed Jim. Gently at first. Jim deepened the kiss. Sherlock felt like he was finally home. He’d started to figure out friendship with John and now was sorting through the beginning of a relationship with someone who was his mental equal. Eventually, they pulled apart. “As I said from the beginning, we’re skipping all that.”
“What do you want?” Jim asked quietly.
“You.”
“What does that mean?” Jim pressed. “In realistic terms.”
“We’ll go to Paris,” Sherlock said.
Jim sighed. “That’s just a nice fairytale ending and not very realistic,” he said. “We first have to get off this rooftop. Then we need a plan that works for both of us to get to Paris. Then we need to figure out how the rest of it is going to work.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was impressed that you did figure all that out, darling, but one, I don’t trust that this isn’t one of Mycroft’s traps,” Jim said.
“It’s not,” Sherlock grumbled.
“And two, if you expect to work cases with John Watson and exist around your brother all the while dating me, you’re going to need some ironclad plans on how to make it work.”
“We can sort all that out in Paris,” Sherlock said. Jim was good at planning, probably better than Mycroft. He could let his future boyfriend organize, plot, and scheme their life together. “I’m sure you can help.”
“Fine. I’ll figure out the practical details,” Jim said just as Sherlock’s phone beeped, indicating a text from Mycroft.
“Excuse me,” Sherlock said while pulling his phone out. “That would be brother dearest.”
“Wheeeee, the Iceman,” Jim said playfully. “Where did Molly stash your body. I can start pulling it out.”
Sherlock chuckled and pointed to a chimney stack. “Back there.” He fished out the list that Mycroft had made for him. “And here, pick one.”
Jim took the paper, arched an eyebrow, and then snickered. “Right. Codes. And very Mycroft at that.”
“I’m sure he made some of those up,” Sherlock said. “There are nonsense words there.” He looked at his phone.
Status? -MH
And then text another came in.
I am concerned, brother. -MH
That could be a problem. Mycroft was waiting fairly close by and his arrival would be suboptimal for getting this romance off the ground. “Pick a bloody code quickly,” he shouted to Jim who was dragging a corpse wrapped in a body bag toward them.
“Praxidike,” Jim said.
“Ah, yes, the Greek goddess of judicial punishment and the exactor of vengeance, excellent choice,” Sherlock said and started typing.
“Nooo~oooo,” Jim said. “It’s a retrograde irregular satellite of Jupiter, also known as Jupiter XXVII.”
“What?”
“Astronomy, darling,” Jim said and smirked. “A lot of these names are moons of Jupiter and Saturn. Praxidike is a c-type asteroid, grey in color, that orbits Jupiter in 614 days, at an inclination of 144 degrees to the ecliptic, which is 143 degrees to Jupiter's equator, and with an eccentricity of 0.1840.”
“Pick another!” Sherlock growled. “Remember, we’re skipping nonsense.”
“Astronomy is not nonsense.”
“Useless information.”
“Are we going to have a bit of an argy-bargy over this?”
“Pick another before Mycroft decides to show up.”
“Lazarus.”
“Good, that’s something religious,” Sherlock muttered as he typed in the letters and sent the message. He then noticed that Jim had pulled out his gun again. “What are you doing?”
“I have to shoot my body before we toss yours off the roof,” Jim answered.
Sherlock supposed that Jim had a small point. “Then Paris.”
“Then we go our separate ways, settle things, and meet at the Champ de Mars in four days,” Jim said.
Sherlock smiled and nodded. It was a decent plan. That way they both could make sure that this was genuine and not a trap. He supposed Jim was used to worrying about things like that. “I have to call John.”
“You can text him tonight or from Paris.”
“Mycroft has a plan that involves not telling-”
“No,” Jim said and shot a body that vaguely looked like him in the head. “Mycroft is an idiot. No phone call. Much as I dislike the good doctor, there’s no reason to torment him like that. Now, let's get you over.” They loosened the rope and maneuvered themselves and the body into position so that people would have a chance to see it.
“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock muttered. “How did I let Mycroft convince me that this is a good idea?” Jim giggled. “I love you, James Moriarty.” He kissed Jim again, slowly and languidly, and he could feel Jim almost trembling against him. This was real and Sherlock’s heart soared. They pulled apart slowly and listening to people screaming below, let go of the rope.
“Off you pop,” Jim teased. Sherlock smiled at Jim. “Oh, and Sherlock, Lazarus is a type of comet.”