They were playing Scrabble when there was a knock on the door.

Jim and Sebastian exchanged a look, both knowing that no one was expected to drop by anytime soon. Jim rarely had visitors, even Sebastian knew that.

A glance at the clock sends Jim's eyebrows towards his hairline. It was nearly midnight.

Who the hell was at the door at this time?

With a sigh, Jim raises to his feet. Sebastian's left eyebrow goes up, mingling with his hair almost, he knew his friend well by now. Jim nods and his Sebastian stands too, following him towards the door.

It was silly but Jim's heart was suddenly beating rapidly as thought of who may be on the other side of the door filled his mind.

Killers. Thieves. Female strippers. All scary things like that.

Had his life been a movie this would be the moment where the tense music began to play in the background, taunting them all.

Jim prayed this movie was just packed, like really really packed, with red herrings.

Sebastian squeezes Jim's arm before he gives Jim a push forward, urging him to open the door. Jim glares, knowing that Sebastian was also scaring himself with terrifying thoughts just like he was. Well, Sebastian might not be thinking that female strippers are scary but the first two on his list were probably floating around in the other man's head.

Jim's left hand settles on the doorknob as he gives himself a mental prep talk. He yanks the door open quickly, not giving himself a chance to chicken out of opening a damn door.

Both men breath a sigh of relief upon seeing who was standing there in front of them. Female, yes. Stripper, no. Well.. Maybe, Jim thinks.

It was a fact that they tend to overreact to everything, especially since they'd been up watching horror movies and had to play scrabble so they weren't scared shitless before sleeping.

Jim glances at Sebastian the same time Sebastian glances at him and they laugh quietly before turning their attention back to their visitor.

Irene was stood there, looking bored and as if she was waiting for something as she picked at her nails.

Jim opens his mouth to ask why the hell she was here at this bloody time when there was a familiar baritone from half way down the corridor.

"Irene! We're meant to stick together!" The owner of the voice appears then, glaring at the woman. "Or do you wish to be killed?"

A smirk spreads over Irene's ruby painted lips as she raises a hand to Sherlock's cheek, her thumb rubbing his cheekbone gently, like a lover would.

A wave of anger crashed through Jim like a raging storm but it was gone (pushed away) as soon as it came, his emotions settling back into a calm blissful tide.

"You'd always come to save me," Irene flirts.

"That's what you think," Sherlock replies with a huff, shoving her hand away from his face.

And for some reason that made Jim happy, and proud too. The bubble of emotion rises in his chest and wraps around his heart, giving it a squeeze before it's gone at the same speed as the wave had.

Jim was bloody glad that Sherlock was not friendly with this women, like she'd suggested. A smirk works it's way onto Jim's lips as Irene's flirty smile drops faster than a stone dropped down a well.

"Wait.." Sherlock speaks again, his eyes meeting Jim's for the briefest of moments before he focuses on Irene again. "Why were you at James' flat?"

The hostility was clear as day. Sherlock even sounded kind of possessive of Jim, like no one else, much less this woman, was allowed to interact with him without Sherlock knowing beforehand and giving his permission.

Jim found he didn't really have an issue with that.

"Jim," Jim corrects, speaking to cut off his thoughts but, as he expected, he's ignored by both the woman and the man at his door.

"Because he," Irene points at Jim "mentioned you." She points a manicured finger at Sherlock then.

"He is here," Jim huffs, gesturing to himself from head to toe.

He wasn't sure if he was imagining things or not but Jim could've sworn that Sherlock's eyes followed his hand down his body and back up again.

Maybe, Jim muses to himself, just maybe he didn't get it wrong when he thought that Sherlock had looked a tad on the disappointed side when Jim had so thoroughly dubbed their day out as not a date.

"So, Sher-cock," Jim chuckles. "Why are you here?"

Sherlock bristles a little at the nickname, having taken an immediate dislike to it when Jim brought it up at the shooting range. When they'd gotten drinks, Sherlock got coffee and Jim had been instantly reminded of the poor penmanship on his Vanilla Coffee.

Sherlock straightens then, brushing off the nickname and becoming serious. Well, Jim thinks, there's only one thing that could make Sherlock look that serious.

"Case," Sherlock says, confirming Jim's thoughts.

After Jim mentally awards himself a gold star, he raises an eyebrow. So Irene's case was bringing Sherlock to his flat, not his office. Jim found, shockingly, that he didn't have all that many complaints.

Yes, Sher-cock, come into my flat. Didn't sound much like Jim, did it?

"Bit more info would be nice, Sher-cock," Jim fought back a giggle at the nickname and rolls his eyes instead, masking the tiny smile on his lips.

"Irene has rather stupidly misplaced information that I need. It's stored on an memory stick, a green one. We've been retracing her steps to when she last had the memory stick. This is our last stop before we start looking for a thief." By the end of his explanation, Sherlock had pushed his way into the flat and was looking all over the flat's living room.

Jim felt a blush threatening to rise as Sherlock's eyes filtered over the stack of take away food by his sofa. He managed to stop his cheeks colouring, thankfully, and focuses on complaining about Sherlock's intrusion.

"I have work in the morning!"

Sherlock pauses, giving Jim a 'really?' look before he shoots a glance towards Sebastian, who was leaning against the wall taking in the scene with an amused smile.

"You weren't sleeping," Sherlock informs Jim, his tone suggesting the information wasn't even note worthy.

Irene looks to Sebastian, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Jim's eyes widen, registering how that would have sounded to the woman.

"It's not like that!" Jim says quickly, his face twisted in annoyance.

His friend, who was still just lounging against his wall, chuckles and winks at Jim.

"Anyway," Sherlock cuts in sharply. "Have you seen a green memory stick?"

Jim shakes his head. "I haven't" Had he not been talking to the most annoying person he knows, there would have been a 'sorry' tagged onto the end of that sentence.

"Can we look around?' Sherlock asks, despite already having pushed his way into the flat and begun his search.

"Like I have a choice," Jim rolls his eyes again before gesturing around to confirm that they could indeed look around.

As long as they didn't touch his computer, he really didn't care.

Two minutes later and Sherlock has demolished half of Jim's living room. With a small sigh, Jim picks up his laptop and moves into the kitchen. He opens up his laptop, loading it, before he turns to switch the kettle on.

"Jiiiiim," Sebastian whines, walking into the kitchen and gesturing to the laptop.

They'd agreed. No computers of any kind while Sebastian was here. Jim wasn't even allowed to use his phone unless he honestly needed to.

With a sheepish smile, Jim closes his laptop. He focuses completely on the kettle then. When it gives a shrill cry, he takes hold of the handle and begins to make tea.

"Shouldn't you be wearing your glasses?"

Jim huffs at the mention of his glasses before tapping beside his eyes. "Contacts."

Jim and Sebastian were leaning against the kitchen side, sipping tea and giggling about this and that when Sherlock walks in, face deadpan.

"You only have one bedroom," Sherlock says, rather snippy.

"I'm aware," Jim replies.

Sherlock glances at Sebastian, anger flashing through his eyes at the speed of light and somehow Jim caught it.

Was it possible that the great Sherlock Holmes was jealous?

"Oh, right," Sherlock nods, looking to Jim's friend. "Well. The sofa looks comfortable."

Jim snorts because his sofa really doesn't look comfortable and it really isn't comfortable. He needs a new one, really. Jim ignores Sherlock, turning back to the counter, adding a sugar to his tea and letting Sebastian correct Sherlock.

"I'm not sleeping on the sofa," Sebastian replies with a shrug.

Sherlock scowls. "Jim's gay."

What was with this guy constantly bringing up Jim's sexuality?

With a chuckle, Sebastian wraps an arm around Jim's waist as the man turns back to face Sherlock. "Oh, I'm well aware."

Jim didn't have much control over the way a crimson blush spread over his cheeks at the speed of light, he could feel the heat coming off his face and was scared to think just how red his face looked.

He didn't exactly resist the arm around his waist, comfortable with Sebastian holding him.

Sherlock looks between them, resembling a cartoon character watching a tennis match, before he huffs, turns and leaves the room as suddenly as he had appeared.

Sebastian chuckles, letting go of Jim. "That man likes you, rather a lot I'd say."

Jim just hums, not so sure.

Not that he wanted Sherlock to like him. Obviously.