Chapter 8
Luckily it had been a rather eventful day in terms of mental stimulation and so Sherlock didn’t struggle too much with sitting still and watching the show. He did lean back against the pillows at some point while Jim made himself fully at home, wrapping the sheets around him and switching positions to get comfortable whenever he felt like it.
“Why does that man remind me of you?” Sherlock asked without looking away from the screen where the protagonist was currently getting slapped by a mysterious new character in a suit.
“Mmmh… Attractive man in a suit?” Jim was lying on his side now, head propped up on his right hand.
“I think I would have gone with… Obsessively wanting to play games in rather eccentric ways with strangers on public transport.”
“You weren’t a stranger and I’m not sure if planes count as public transport– especially Business Class. But you know what, I’ll take it. I could be him.” Jim regarded the man on screen as if he was actively imagining doing his job.
The next couple of hours were interesting. Sherlock did try his best to focus on the show, especially since he was slowly starting to understand why Jim had found his suggestion to play the Squid Game so funny. Regardless, there were still some moments of realisation about what was going on in his hotel room. At some point he and Jim were sitting side by side, the sheets covering their legs while they were leaning against the headboard and focusing on the screen; then Jim was on his side, head resting on a pillow that was pressed against Sherlock's thigh. It occurred to him that it was very easy to forget he wasn’t alone. There was no sense of threat coming from the criminal by his side and he wasn’t irritated by the man’s presence. Jim was quiet, didn’t ask any silly questions and made no comments about irrelevant things such as Sherlock's clothes that were still strewn all over the carpet. Mrs Hudson would not have been able to stop herself from mentioning that. It was becoming increasingly obvious that as long as Jim was not trying to be the world’s most irritating criminal, Sherlock didn’t mind spending time with him.
Though perhaps this was all due to the fact that Jim was tired. That would have explained why he was so uncharacteristically quiet. Sherlock sighed and sunk further into the pillows, not bothered by the fact that their arms were touching now. How exactly this led to Jim’s head resting on his shoulder wasn’t clear, but Sherlock didn’t push the criminal away. There was an inexplicable urge to touch Jim and Sherlock didn’t know what to do with it. Before today he would have told himself that he needed to stay as far away from Moriarty as possible, but now that he was so close to the criminal he couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t feel bad at all. Jim still smelled very nice, which was strange because Sherlock didn’t usually care how people smelled as long as it wasn’t so bad that he didn’t want to breathe through his nose around them. The criminal’s skin was soft and warm, so unlike the image of Moriarty that he’d had in his head. Logically this made sense; Jim was only a man after all. Only it didn’t make sense because Sherlock wasn’t supposed to care how someone’s skin felt and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to be flustered when someone looked at him with a questioning look in their brown eyes.
Jim was looking at him. His first instinct was to ask something about the show, but he had lost focus on that now and couldn’t quite remember what the last scene had been about.
“I–” He wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say and he would never find out because as soon as he’d started, Jim had leaned forward and gently pressed their lips together. That was most likely the moment that marked the last second of Sherlock’s brain being able to formulate any coherent thoughts. He managed to wrap his arms around Jim and couldn’t help but notice how small the criminal felt. Their height difference wasn’t extreme by any means, but Jim seemed to have the perfect size to be pressed against his chest in a tight hug. Then there was the kissing– an activity Sherlock had always found rather useless, perhaps even bizarre. Logically speaking it was. There was no point to it, only now it no longer seemed like that was true. Kissing Jim only made him want to kiss Jim more.
Sherlock’s hand naturally found its way to Jim’s neck and held on to the hem of the criminal’s shirt as if his life depended on it. At the same time, a hand in his own hair indicated that Jim had similar instincts to hold on to him. Their lips parted after a long, uncoordinated kiss, but they stayed as close as possible, noses almost touching. Sherlock was no longer questioning why he enjoyed this, there was no point in trying to think when he could simply close the gap between them and feel Jim’s lips again. They soon ended up lying next to each other, all pretense of distance forgotten and the show playing in the background without being watched.
It was inexplicable why Sherlock had never been comfortable doing this and suddenly it felt as if he never wanted to stop. He’d kissed a few people before; experiments, stupid party games at uni– they’d always been awkward and disappointing. Like trying a popular dish and finding the taste mildly off-putting at best. Only now it was Jim he was kissing and that was more comparable to a delicious dessert. Perhaps not the healthiest choice, but since when had Sherlock ever cared about having a healthy lifestyle? He lifted his right leg and placed it over Jim’s, giving him another way to pull the criminal closer. His right hand also made its way from Jim’s neck to his hip, gliding along exposed skin where the shirt had ridden up. It was at that moment that Sherlock realised he wouldn’t mind if Jim made a move to take that shirt off– Actually, he would quite like that. For a second, he was so confused by his own thoughts that he stopped moving his lips. Jim seemed to see this as a great opportunity to lean over and kiss his neck instead and Sherlock felt a jolt of pleasure ripple through his body. Suddenly he realised that he was hard, which definitely explained the sudden wish for clothes coming off and skin being touched.
“Fuck.” He heard himself mumble against Jim’s ear and the criminal leaned back to smile at him.
“Want me to help with that?” Of course, Jim must have felt it too considering their bodies were tightly pressed against each other. Realising what the criminal was suggesting, he responded with an unintelligible groan while pushing his hips forward in an attempt to find some friction. Jim, looking fairly amused by this, quickly managed to manoeuvre him on his back so he had better access. Without Jim or the sheets on top of him, Sherlock realised he was quite exposed as his thin pyjama trousers left little to the imagination.
“Fuck, look at you…” Jim was not trying to hide the fact that he was staring, which did feel flattering, but Sherlock was running out of patience. Lying still when Jim was right there seemed like a waste of time. Luckily the criminal quickly leaned in for another kiss while placing his hand on Sherlock’s hip and letting it wander across his thigh until it finally reached his cock. The sound that escaped his lips would have been humiliating if it weren’t for the fact that Jim’s hand gave him a generous squeeze that distracted him enough to forget all he knew about keeping up appearances. He’d felt all tension leave his body once they started kissing, but now that Jim was slowly rubbing him through the fabric of the trousers it felt as if he was slowly melting into the mattress. He had a very short moment of clarity when the criminal pulled his hand back to move towards the waistband. With all instincts to question his every move overwritten, Sherlock reached down and placed a hand on Jim’s arse, pulling him down with one swift move. The criminal’s erection was more than obvious now that they were pressed against each other again and Sherlock carefully pushed his hips upward. It wasn’t the most coordinated of moves, but they both moaned softly as it created friction nonetheless. They stayed like this for a minute, kissing and moving their hips without any real sense of efficiency– until Jim’s hand found his waistband again, this time slipping past it and giving his cock a proper stroke. Sherlock knew this couldn’t last long and somehow Jim seemed to realise this because he lost no time before pushing the trousers down a bit and pulling him out properly.
“The things I want to do with you…” Jim was obviously losing his mind too. The criminal’s voice was barely more than a whisper, strained by arousal and a sense of urgency.
“Oh y-eah?” Sherlock almost stuttered when Jim moved his hand again.
“Such a pretty cock…” He would have never expected to enjoy the rather vulgar choice of words, but all Sherlock could feel was a strange sense of satisfaction. It was a compliment after all, why shouldn’t he enjoy it? Besides, at this point he was more focused on finding out whether he could return the favour. He frantically pulled on the waistband of Jim’s sweatpants until they finally slid off his hips, only to reveal a pair of black briefs. Hadn’t he deduced something about those earlier? Perhaps he could come back to that thought later, for now he was way too distracted by the outline of Jim’s erection through the underwear. For once, Sherlock didn’t have a proper plan of action. He knew how he liked to touch himself when he masturbated, but that was not the same as this. Losing time while trying to think was not an option though, so he simply did what Jim had done earlier and gave the criminal’s cock a careful squeeze. It was a bit strange to do this to someone else. When touching himself he would feel the pressure and be able to adjust his touch accordingly, but now he had to rely on Jim’s reactions instead. Luckily the criminal wasn’t difficult to deduce at that moment since he let out a desperate sound that clearly indicated pleasure.
All Sherlock knew without a doubt was that he wanted to hear it again. He wanted to see the pretty faces Jim was making and he wanted to see him come apart. The wet spot that had formed at the front of Jim’s underwear was oddly pleasing to look at, but Sherlock decided to push the fabric away regardless. He didn’t really feel qualified to judge whether Jim’s cock was nice looking or not, but the thought of wanting to lick it did cross his mind. It didn’t go any further than that though since Jim decided to properly press against him now that they were both exposed. Everything was too much, yet not enough. Their erections tightly embraced by Jim’s hand, the perfect amount of friction, Jim’s lips brushing against his own as they both started breathing heavily. Sherlock’s brain had slowed down to the point where he probably couldn’t even list the periodic table anymore– not that he cared to. All he cared about was how Jim’s thumb slipped over the head of his cock, making him squeal into the criminal’s neck before pushing his hips up and spilling all over Jim’s hand with no way to stop it. As his body slowly relaxed into the pillows, he vaguely took note of how Jim pushed his shirt up before stroking himself to completion and narrowly avoiding the fabric, hitting Sherlock’s exposed abdomen instead.
Jim dropped himself next to Sherlock on the mattress, his leg still slung over the detective’s. They were both audibly out of breath now and it seemed that the TV had stopped so they laid in relative silence for a while. Sherlock had a fleeting thought of realisation about what he had just done, but he was rather unbothered by it. This new kind of high was proving to have quite the effect on his body and he was content just lying there and trying not to think too much for once. He turned his head when Jim gently cupped his cheek. This was definitely his favourite version of the criminal so far: messy hair, soft eyes, stupid smile on his face and no obvious attempts to be funny or eccentric. It was just Jim, who probably felt the same as Sherlock did. They kissed again, much slower now that the tension had been dealt with. For a while, holding Jim close and kissing him was all he could think about. He even got close to falling asleep before he felt something being wiped across his abdomen only to see Jim throwing a tissue in the general direction of the bathroom when he opened his eyes. There hadn’t even been time for him to worry about how this could get rather messy– though it was probably not as bad compared to some of the things he’d gotten into for work. Memories of clothes covered in blood and sewage floated around this brain and he quickly dismissed them.
“Darling, I’d like to be perfectly honest here…” For some reason the criminal’s words did not inspire much confidence and Sherlock frowned up at the other man.
“My trip here is… Basically just a distraction.” Looking up at Jim, Sherlock couldn’t help but think that he was a wonderful distraction. Whatever was currently happening in his brain seemed to be the perfect dosage of everything. “For your brother… Though him sending you here was a lucky surprise, not my idea.” It was slowly sinking in that his suspicions about too many coincidences had been reasonable after all.
“You… You’re saying I don’t have a case here then? What are you planning?” He realised his voice didn’t sound accusatory enough to be intimidating. Jim only smiled and placed a soft kiss on his lips.
“That is none of your concern, darling.” Another kiss. “Though rest assured that I am not planning to harm your brother or any of your friends, but that’s all I’m going to share.”
Sherlock realised that he would either have to trust Jim on this or tell Mycroft that he’d been fooled. Only then he’d probably have to explain how he’d gotten that information in the first place.
“Same flight, same hotel…” He summarised to himself more so than Jim.
“To be fair, it is one of the best hotels in the city. Though yes, it's rather likely he booked you a room here because he assumed you’d keep an eye on me without needing to be told to do so.” Jim shrugged and Sherlock couldn’t help but think that he was technically keeping an eye on the criminal. And both hands. Of course it was not as if Jim would break into the bank himself, so keeping an eye on him would probably not help regardless of whether this was all a distraction or not.
“Hmm…” He couldn’t resist leaning in for another kiss. There would be enough time to think about this tomorrow and figure out how he wanted to proceed. With Jim in his arms and his brain swimming in hormones he would not be able to come up with anything extraordinarily clever anyway. “I may have missed the last part of that episode.”
“It’d be rather insulting if you hadn’t.” For some reason Jim decided it was a good idea to press an open-mouthed kiss on the exposed skin right below his ear. The obvious shiver that went through Sherlock’s body was only further proof that he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything as long as he had Jim’s mouth on him.