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Fic - Miss Me? - 1/1
Title: Miss Me?
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Implied Moriarty/Sherlock
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Post-Season 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Jim pays Sherlock a visit. They've got their next round to discuss.
AN: Written for my Trope Bingo table for the prompt 'Reunion'.
“Miss me?”
Sherlock turns, disappointingly easy to startle, and he grins when the detective’s gaze drops to his cheek. He tilts his head, displaying the scar proudly; it’s small and faint – he has, of course, the best of everything, including plastic surgeons, under his thumb – but Sherlock’s good enough to see it.
His hands are trembling a little with excitement. Oh, but he’s been looking forward to this! Years and years spent watching, recovering, moving through the shadows while Sherlock dug up and unravelled the detritus that had gathered around him. Starting afresh. New plots, new associates; he’d spared – of course – the useful people to use them in this new round; he’d even handed little Mary over on a platter so that Johnny-boy could have a distraction (and see how well it worked out? can you see that he wasn’t right for you now?) and he could have Sherlock all to himself.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles his widest, widest smile – all teeth and pleasure – and steps forward out of the shadow of the kitchen.
“You really need to start locking your doors,” he says. “Anyone could get in.”
“Clearly,” Sherlock says. He doesn’t step back, but he does lean away, tracking every movement with his eyes. He’s so intense. Delightful! He can feel in his bones that this is right; it’s going so right. All those games, all those sacrifices, the surgery - all worth it.
He slinks closer. “Don’t make me beg, Sherlock,” he says – warning through his smile. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Did I miss you?” Sherlock asks.
They’re so close that he can see the flecks in Sherlock’s eyes. See the shadows of his lashes on those cheekbones and feel the faint flutter of Sherlock’s breath on his face. He can see the way Sherlock’s pupils are dilating – fear or desire, he doesn’t much care; they’re much the same to him in the end – and the way his pulse jumps in his neck.
Sherlock is pausing deliberately. Making him wait. He wants to scream; lunge forward and choke him or kiss him (either, both, whatever). He rocks back on his heels instead and keeps his hands tucked into his pockets to hide the shaking and the clenching and to keep himself from doing something he might regret later.
Too much planning has gone into this.
“Did I miss you?” Sherlock repeats. His lips tick upwards into a slight smile. “Oh yes, Jim. I did.”
Jim beams at him. Correct answer! (Of course, of course, it was an easy question, after all – almost insulting, really, but his detective can be a bit slow on some things.) His breath shudders out of him in a rush. He licks his lips and claps his hands; the sudden noise makes Sherlock twitch.
“Good,” he says. “Very good. I’ve got some special treats in store for you, Sherlock.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Sherlock replies. “Don’t disappoint me, Jim.”
The gauntlet is down. “Do I ever?”
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Implied Moriarty/Sherlock
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Post-Season 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Jim pays Sherlock a visit. They've got their next round to discuss.
AN: Written for my Trope Bingo table for the prompt 'Reunion'.
“Miss me?”
Sherlock turns, disappointingly easy to startle, and he grins when the detective’s gaze drops to his cheek. He tilts his head, displaying the scar proudly; it’s small and faint – he has, of course, the best of everything, including plastic surgeons, under his thumb – but Sherlock’s good enough to see it.
His hands are trembling a little with excitement. Oh, but he’s been looking forward to this! Years and years spent watching, recovering, moving through the shadows while Sherlock dug up and unravelled the detritus that had gathered around him. Starting afresh. New plots, new associates; he’d spared – of course – the useful people to use them in this new round; he’d even handed little Mary over on a platter so that Johnny-boy could have a distraction (and see how well it worked out? can you see that he wasn’t right for you now?) and he could have Sherlock all to himself.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and smiles his widest, widest smile – all teeth and pleasure – and steps forward out of the shadow of the kitchen.
“You really need to start locking your doors,” he says. “Anyone could get in.”
“Clearly,” Sherlock says. He doesn’t step back, but he does lean away, tracking every movement with his eyes. He’s so intense. Delightful! He can feel in his bones that this is right; it’s going so right. All those games, all those sacrifices, the surgery - all worth it.
He slinks closer. “Don’t make me beg, Sherlock,” he says – warning through his smile. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Did I miss you?” Sherlock asks.
They’re so close that he can see the flecks in Sherlock’s eyes. See the shadows of his lashes on those cheekbones and feel the faint flutter of Sherlock’s breath on his face. He can see the way Sherlock’s pupils are dilating – fear or desire, he doesn’t much care; they’re much the same to him in the end – and the way his pulse jumps in his neck.
Sherlock is pausing deliberately. Making him wait. He wants to scream; lunge forward and choke him or kiss him (either, both, whatever). He rocks back on his heels instead and keeps his hands tucked into his pockets to hide the shaking and the clenching and to keep himself from doing something he might regret later.
Too much planning has gone into this.
“Did I miss you?” Sherlock repeats. His lips tick upwards into a slight smile. “Oh yes, Jim. I did.”
Jim beams at him. Correct answer! (Of course, of course, it was an easy question, after all – almost insulting, really, but his detective can be a bit slow on some things.) His breath shudders out of him in a rush. He licks his lips and claps his hands; the sudden noise makes Sherlock twitch.
“Good,” he says. “Very good. I’ve got some special treats in store for you, Sherlock.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Sherlock replies. “Don’t disappoint me, Jim.”
The gauntlet is down. “Do I ever?”