+9: Lips Of An Angel - Hinder [REQUEST]

Request from @ConsultingFangirl_

You guys seriously need to stop making me love songs... I keep changing my ringtone and then forgetting I've changed it and wondering why my phone is randomly playing that song. Then I miss the call! ...Not that anyone other than my dad and uncle ring me... But still! Ugh. I love you all.

I got a little carried away with this one...

-

The detective groans, falling onto the sofa and laying across it, allowing his limbs to hang off the furniture. Both of his feet were over the arm rest and one arm limply lay to the side side, his fingers skimming the floor, while his other arm was tucked between him and the back of the sofa. He closes his eyes, drowning out the sound of his annoying friend who was bringing tea in from the kitchen.

Everyday since the whole 'Miss me?' incident across London, John had been coming to the flat and checking on Sherlock almost everyday. It got to the point where Sherlock just ignored him, really not interested in the man's pointless worrying about his safety.

John was in the middle of saying something and putting a fresh cup of tea down when Sherlock's phone began to ring. Sherlock's eyes fly open and he sits up, plucking his phone off the table and hitting the red button as soon as the name flashed across the screen.

When Sherlock looks up, John is frowning at him like he was that last word in the crossword that he couldn't figure out and made him reconsider all the previous answers he gave.

"What?" Sherlock asks, curiously.

"You got your own phone." John says it as if it's as odd as seeing a tiger roaming the cold streets of England.

Sherlock shrugs, brushing off the comment. Even though John was right to pick up on the oddness of it. "With you gone and no longer able to be at my beck and call, it's become something of a habit."

That was a lie. But what John didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Sherlock had been receiving frequent phone calls. Almost everyday he received a call. He couldn't tell that to John because that would inevitably lead to John asking Sherlock who was calling him everyday. And that was something Sherlock wanted to keep a secret.

"Sherlock, that's the fifth time in the past week you've got a call while I'm here. You never answer."

Sherlock has to smile. Dear John, always so noble and respectful of other's privacy. The curiosity was killing him, clearly, and yet he didn't ask.

"I'd answer if it was someone interesting." Sherlock flicks his wrist, dismissing the subject as he lays back down on the sofa in his previous position.

It doesn't take long for John to leave Baker Street, fed up with Sherlock being, as he put it, 'bitchy and childish' even though Sherlock was acting his normal self. After the doctor's departure, Sherlock's phone rings again. Unsurprisingly.

It don't get past three rings before Sherlock has hit the green button and raised the phone to his ear.

"Ah. You answered. I will get you to answer during one of your pet's visits, I promise." An Irish voice laughs down the phone and Sherlock gets a metal image of Jim sitting at a desk full of paperwork that needed sorting, but instead he had a phone to his ear and was grinning.

"Whatever you say, Jim." Sherlock replies, feigning indifference.

Another chuckle. "You're not fooling me, dear. I know you're considering my original offer."

Sherlock snorts and shakes his head. "I am not."

"Oh, but you are! I do love watching you act like all these phone calls don't affect you."

"They don't" The fact Sherlock was in denial was clear.

"Hm. Okay" Jim hums down the line, obviously not convinced.

"Stop calling me." Sherlock snaps, teeth gritted before he hangs up.

The detective leaps up then, rubbing his hands over his face with a sigh. His dressing gown flies all over the place as he steps over the coffee table and heads for the kitchen.

Once there, he stops and looks at the file sat on the kitchen table. Lestrade dropped it off a few days ago. Triple Homicide, killer used a silk rope to strangle the victims at the same time before tying said rope in a bow. Victims were obviously intended as a present for someone. The three girls, the presents, were sisters and had a younger brother who was locked away in a mental institution for three years now and had barely bat an eyelid when told that his sisters had been killed. The mother was distraught. The father had died some years before. The girls had no enemies or relationships that had gone so sour it was worth them being killed.

A brilliant case. Filled with twists and turns. Completely and utterly perfect for Sherlock.

He blinks at the file before he turns and walks into his bedroom, falling face first onto the bed the moment he was close enough. He had a very strong urge to scream into the pillow.

He hated this. But at the same time, he loved it.

Jim's offer was constantly at the back of his head, teasing and taunting him with it's brilliance and danger. It was the forbidden fruit. The opposite of what Sherlock had worked towards his whole life and yet he was seriously considering it for a number of reasons.

He'd made a room in his mind palace to carefully consider this. Without another thought, Sherlock turns so he's facing the ceiling and closes his eyes, quickly walking into his mind palace.

He climbs the stairs and walks into a room, seemingly at random.

Inside, the walls are covered from corner to corner with large whiteboards. Few of those whiteboards didn't have writing on. Red, blue and black marker covered them, examining this offer that had been made and the pros and cons of accepting.

Sherlock walks up to the whiteboard that stated the pros and went into a mini-analysis of each pro.

One:  Jim would make a formidable partner.

Two:  Jim is providing a way to escape the boredom.

Three: Together, we'd be unstoppable.

Four: It isn't safe.

Five: Trust needs to be placed completely in Jim. There can be no secrets.

Sherlock doesn't read further than that before he turns and scans a few of the Cons.

One: It is very possible, practically certain even, that John and all my other friends will hate me.

Two: Baker Street will no longer be my home.

Three: Trust needs to be placed completely in Jim. There can be no secrets.

Sherlock stops again, despite the fact both lists went in further than that. He doesn't read the analysis, either, just the actual point. He'd been analysing this for some time and could recite every word written in this room from memory.

All that was needed was a choice from Sherlock. He would never reach an answer that clearly outlined what he should do. He had to make the choice.

He knew this. He just didn't know what choice to make. Most of the Cons where personal and terribly sentimental, making Sherlock pay more attention to the Pros. The Pros made more sense to Sherlock and if he was honest than he knew that he would enjoy the rest of his life immensely if he accepted the offer. 

It felt like he was being unfaithful. Sitting there and considering giving up everything and restarting. His friends, the people he cared about, would go against himself. He'd go against them. His brother, his parents, everyone at The Yard, Lestrade, John, Mary, Ms Hudson.

Lestrade, John and his brother are likely to become his opponents.

Jim would be his one and only everything.

Despite that, the idea still very much appealed to Sherlock. Very, very much.

The main issue was trust. Is he ready to place his complete trust is Jim? Was he ready to receive Jim's trust?

They had always respected one another, Sherlock knew that, but trust was another matter completely. Sherlock had never trusted a person completely. There had always been secrets he could keep and liked to keep. But if he accepts, he'd have to trust Jim completely. He'd have to let Jim understand him on a level he'd never allowed anyone person to before. And Jim would do so in return...

Perhaps that was why Sherlock wanted this so much. He'd finally understand Jim Moriarty. Completely and utterly.

A shrill sound jerks Sherlock out of his mind palace and he almost tumbles off his bed as he flinches away from the sound. He blinks twice before realising his phone was ringing.

Sherlock answers quickly, pressing the phone to his ear.

Each time he answers the phone to Jim feels dangerous. Sherlock absolutely loves it.

"Sherlock... My dear... Good morning." Jim's voice sighs down the line.

Sherlock smiles, not even fazed by the amount of time he'd spent inside his mind palace. It wasn't his record.

"Been up all night considering my offer, again?" Jim teases.

"Yes" Sherlock replies honestly, not seeing the point in lying anymore.

If he was going to have to trust Jim 120%, he may as well get used to being honest with the man.

The man on the other end of the line doesn't make any comment or sound to imply that the answer, the honesty, shocked him. He just laughs softly, a sound Sherlock was quickly becoming used to.

"I'm glad you're starting see sense"

"I saw the sense of it from the beginning." Sherlock tells him.

"I'm sure you did, darling. The time you've taken to consider it also makes sense, considering what you'll be leaving behind. Everything, even your dear John, that sweet landlady and not forgetting the charming detective inspector." The smirk was plain in Jim's tone. He was loving this as much as Sherlock was.

"Friends, family. What are they in the face of fun?"

"I do love the way you think, my dear." Jim says. There's a brief pause and then "Will you tell me now then?"

Sherlock half sighs and half laughs. "Does it matter?"

"Yes." The answer is immediate.

"Why?" Sherlock demands, avoiding the answering part of this conversation.

A sigh comes through the speakers of Sherlock's phone. "Because, if you did enjoy putting a bullet in someone's brain, it will make me a very, very happy man."

Sherlock bit back the question 'why?' again.

"Fine... Yes, it did give me a certain thrill." Sherlock speaks the words casually, as if they weren't discussing the fact Sherlock and earned the title of a Murderer.

"How did you sleep that night?"

"Like a baby" Sherlock finds himself chuckling.

There's another pause and Sherlock looks around his room, trying to think what to say.

"Are you accepting my offer than, Sherlock?" There was something in Jim's voice. Something Sherlock couldn't place.

"I am. I'm cheating on - no.. leaving - I'm leaving my work. To come and join your side. To be your.. partner."

"Interesting way to put it, love. Partner."

Sherlock huffs "Are you going to be a flirt all the time?"

"Most likely. So get used to it."

Sherlock had to bite back a reply of 'I'm sure I can' and takes a short breath, trying to get whatever in him that almost caused that reply out.

"I'll give you two days, Sherlock. Arrange what you need to, say your goodbyes if you wish to. I'll send a car to pick you up at seven o'clock on Thursday. After that, there's no going back."

"A.M. or P.M.?"

"A.M."

Sherlock nods even though Jim can't see him. "I'll see you Thursday then."

"Bye, love."

*

Ms Hudson blinks, her eyes watery as she clutches an old, worn over mitt to her chest. She was looking at Sherlock as if he'd grown another head and Sherlock knew she was searching his eyes for signs of intoxication of any kind.

"Sorry, love. I must really be getting old. I thought I just heard you say that you're leaving Baker Street.." Ms Hudson shakes her head and turns to the oven, sliding the mitt on and removing a freshly baked loaf of bread.

Denial. Typical. Although, admittedly, Sherlock did feel an urge to wrap his arms around the landlady that had always been there and acted as a second mother. He wanted to tell her he was sorry and that he was thankful for everything she'd done.

He doesn't do anything of the sort, however. No point making this harder on her. He'd like to think that the sweet old gal could never truly hate him, despite what was to come.

"You heard me perfectly well, Ms Hudson. I leave early Thursday morning. I'll leave this months rent and my key on the table."

After the phone call with Jim had ended, Sherlock had set to work on arranging anything that needs to be arrange. First step, leaving Baker Street well and truly behind him.

Ms Hudson suddenly surges towards Sherlock, one of her strong small hands gripping his forearm - the other doing the same to his shoulder.

"Listen, Sherlock. If you're in some kind of trouble, we can help. You don't need to run." She was looking at him with big, pleading eyes.

Was Sherlock leaving Baker Street that much of a red flag?

Sherlock raises an eyebrow. "I'm in no trouble or danger. This is something I want to do."

Letting out a shaky sigh, Ms Hudson loosens her grip and nods. "Okay, dear. If you really want to do this. But you keep that key. That flat's yours and we both know I don't need the rent is brings in"

She gives one of her sweet, motherly smiles and pats him on the arm before she turns back to her bread.

Still resisting his urge to hug her, Sherlock nods and turns to head back up to the flat. As soon as he's crossed the threshold, his phone lights up to inform him of a new message.

When Sherlock sees the words on the screen, he can't stop his smile.

I'm proud of you, darling. -JM x

*

The 'Goodbyes' could have gone better, Sherlock supposed. His approach, while easier on him, seemed to annoy the cluster of people he cared about enough to tell. He had gathered John, Mary, Lestrade, Molly and Mycroft in the flat.

Naturally, they'd all been worried and curious about why they were called to Baker Street. Even Mycroft looked confused - which was very comforting and encouraging for Sherlock's faith in his future.

Before they could all ask questions at once, Sherlock had simply looked at them in turn before saying two words "I'm leaving"

It was silent for a few moments and then Molly sobs, hiding her face. Lestrade glares at Sherlock and put a comforting arm around Molly, although his eyes were sad as he looked at Sherlock.

John stood, looking every bit the soldier he is, walked over to Sherlock and punched him straight on the nose. He'd then sat beside Mary again and took her hand, his grip tight but she didn't say a word and just took the pain.

Sherlock wiped his nose, not caring about the pain. He kept all emotions he may or may not have felt about any of the reactions he'd got so far inside, knowing Jim was watching. Cracking wouldn't convince Jim he truly wanted this.

Next was Mycroft. He didn't get angry or sad, as expected. He simply regarded Sherlock in a similar way to many others. Sherlock wasn't a stranger to the look - though it was highly unusual from Mycroft. He was looking at Sherlock, clearing trying to figure him out and saying that he didn't understand Sherlock's motives.

Once calmed down enough, Molly had looked up and feebly asked "Why?"

Sherlock feed them the same lie he'd told Ms Hudson.

Looking down to the side of him, Sherlock feigned embarrassment and discomfort. He could feel all his friends eyes on him, confused and upset and angry.

"I've met someone." He tells them.

John had laughed, not believing it. He'd begun to state that this must be a joke, that Sherlock was pulling their legs but then he trails off and Sherlock knows that John is thinking about all the phones calls and text message. John had breathed the word 'God...' and that seemed to convince anyone else in the room who'd been having doubts that he was speaking the truth.

Unlike Ms Hudson, Sherlock didn't tell them when he was leaving. He'd just left a note for them all on the table - 'Goodbye. -SH' - for them all. John would likely find it, when he came round that afternoon.

Thursday morning arrived and Ms Hudson had cried, forcing Sherlock into a hug. Then Sherlock had puts his suitcases in the boot and climbed into the car that arrived and that was where he sat now. The rest of his belongings were staying at Baker Street. He had all needed - clothes, laptop, his skull and some of his lab equipment.

The windows his him from the world but he could see them all. A smirk takes over Sherlock's features. This was his life now. Always there, not being seen. Knowing everything about everyone he wanted to know about.

Leaning forward, Sherlock taps on the glass that separated the driver and himself. Immediately, the driver pushes a button to lower the glass.

"Sir?"

"I was under the impression Jim would be here" Sherlock says, half statement and half question.

The driver nods. "We're on the way to the Boss' personal flat now. He's been getting things ready."

Sherlock nods at that before he sits back.

He closes his eyes, aware that it'd be quite a drive. Jim had a number of properties but his personal favourite was on the other side on London. That was to be Sherlock's new home. It was almost like entering a marriage - he and Jim shared everything now (except a bed and surnames, of course)

*

Sherlock stops abruptly and peers into their living room, frowning slightly at the sight of Jim curled on the large armchair, pen in hand and glasses resting on his nose. He's writing in a red notebook, one Sherlock had seen a few times.

"What's that?"

"Hm?" Jim looks up, expression pure innocence.

"That notebook." Sherlock nods to it.

Jim looks down at the book, closing it and running his palm over the cover. He smiles and looks back up to Sherlock.

"Family tradition. From my mother's side of the family. After marriage, you pass it on to your first child. It's like a love journal. When the notebook holder falls in love, they use a single page to write the name of the person they love in the centre. They can decorate it however they like. Some of the family have used it to propose. When they get married to said person, they go over it in pen."

Sherlock pauses for a moment, torn between two main questions.

"You're getting married?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jim chuckles. "No"

Sherlock nods to the book again. "You're writing in pen"

"I said it was a tradition. Didn't say I followed it." The other man snorts before they both chuckle.

*

"You ready for this?" Jim asks for what felt like the ten thousandth time despite the fact it was actually the fifteenth time.

Sherlock gives a small sigh and nods. "Yes, I am. Stop asking. We've done plenty of jobs before"

Jim frowns at Sherlock. "I know that.. But if they're smart enough -"

"- which they're not" Sherlock was ignored by Jim.

"Then your friends, your brother, may realise. You sure you're ready to take that risk? To have them hate you?"

Sherlock glares at the man across from him, an overwhelming urge to shove him against the wall and just knocked some sense into him rising. Jim opens his mouth to speak again but before he can, Sherlock acts. The former detective shoves Jim into the wall behind him, crowding close so their faces were just inches away.

"Listen to me, if I wasn't ready for this then I would not have accepted that offer you made me so many months ago. You know I'm prepared, I've left all that and them behind. So, stop asking if I'm ready." Sherlock says all the words in a slightly rushed, low, dangerous voice.

Jim chuckles and tilts his head to the side. The laughter makes Sherlock overly aware of how close they are. He can feel Jim's breath on his lips. Sherlock moves his head back, not lessening his tight grip or intense gaze.

"Okay then. Let's go." Jim smirks.

Sherlock let's go of Jim, looks down at the floor before nodding. Sherlock kicks the button on the side of the box and the two men begin to run, giggling like teenage girls as they did.

*

Brother,

I must say, I'm both disappointed and impressed. Disappointed in the decision you have made but impressed at how well you lied to me. As you no doubt know, this is far different from when you went against me in the situation with Magnusson. Should I ever cross paths with you again, I won't hesitate to imprison you.

John has yet to figure out that you have formed a team with Moriarty and for his sake I truly hope he doesn't discover that it was his former best friend who was responsible for the event that occurred three nights ago.

Don't let mother or father discover this. Do that for them, if not for myself.  Allow them to think you've run off with the love of your life - perhaps, in a way, you have.

Farewell.

Jim reads over Sherlock's shoulder, laughing at the last line. Sherlock was sat at their dining table clad in his pyjamas and dressing gown. Jim, too, was still in his night clothes - a plain white top and pyjama bottoms. The man behind him leans I to Sherlock, his arms thrown casually over Sherlock's shoulder.

In the past few months, the pair had become extremely close and comfortable with one another in both a physically and emotional sense. Much like Sherlock, Jim wasn't one to care for personal space.

"You and your brother really know how describe what I am to you, don't you?" Jim's giggles were slightly hysterical now. "First, I was your partner. Now, I'm the love of your life."

Sherlock rolls his eyes but smiles, glad that Mycroft did make this awkward. Although, he doubts things could really get awkward. Jim acted half crazy most of the time and Sherlock was used to it. Jim was easily the most interesting flatmate in existence.

Jim leans down then, so his cheek was practically pressed against Sherlock's own. Sherlock glances at him and raises an eyebrow. In reply, Sherlock gets an eyebrows wiggle as Jim's other arm rests on Sherlock's other shoulder.

This wasn't new to Sherlock. Jim hugging him from behind. The first time was in the second week of Sherlock living here and it had scared the life out of him. He hadn't heard Jim approach and suddenly he had two arms wrapped around him, a cup of tea in front of him. Sherlock had jumped up and the tea went flying. Jim laughed and walked away, from then on he made a point of giving Sherlock tea that way.

"Can I help you?" Sherlock asks as he folds the letter from his brother and puts in back in the envelope.

"You okay?" Jim asks softly.

Sometimes, the change from seemingly mentally unstable to quiet and concerned really threw Sherlock off balance. Jim could be so sweet and considerate when it involved Sherlock's feeling and what he left behind.

"Of course I am. I've told you-"

"I know" Jim interrupts before he presses his lips to Sherlock's cheek. "I just worry about you.. and also, I don't want you to even want to go back"

Sherlock had expected the first bit. Not so much can be said for the last part of what Jim said.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock questions, eyes on the table in front of him.

"I mean, I want you to be happy here with me. For you to always want to be by my side.. I just.. Don't want to let you go." As if to prove his point, Jim tightens his arms around Sherlock for a second.

"This was meant to be a business partnership" Sherlock says, unsure what to possibly say to what Jim just told him.

"But it's so much more" Jim smiles, his fingers holding Sherlock's chin and turning his face so he could see his eyes.

Jim presses his lips to Sherlock's before pulling out of the hug and walking away, towards his bedroom.

*

Warm hands were on Sherlock's shoulders, shaking him gently. Words were being whispered into his ear and neck was being covered in small short kisses. Slowly blinking, Sherlock turns his head towards the person sat on the edge of the bed.

He smiles, still half asleep. "Morning"

"Good morning" replies a familiar voice.

The hands on his shoulder move. One goes to his chest, index finger traces small circles. There other disappeared briefly but is back again, holding something this time. A small parcel is pressed into Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock sits up in his bed, the soft cover resting low on his hips. He smiles at Jim before he looks back to the parcel. It's wrapped in lime green paper, a blue bow wrapped around it. It didn't take a genius to realise it was some kind of book, about A5 size.

"Happy birthday!" Jim gives a small cheer and produces a typical party whistle from behind him. He places the end in his mouth and blows, the foil unravelling itself briefly as the vibration like noise rings out.

Sherlock chuckles and leans forward, removing the stupid whistle and placing a short sweet kiss on Jim's lips.

"Open it" Jim urges.

Sherlock doesn't need to be told twice. He rips the paper off to reveal...

"Oh my God.." Sherlock eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

In his hands in a notebook. Jim's red notebook. The one that was a family tradition.

"Does this mean..." The words die as Sherlock looks up to find Jim on the floor beside the bed, balanced on one knee as he holds up a small purple box.

Sherlock's breath leaves him and all he can do is stare.

Slowly, Jim opens the box and continues to hold it but with the gold ring inside on display. Sherlock's heart was beating at a lightening fast pace, his cheeks and ears turning a bright pink.

Jim raises an eyebrow, that charming smirk on his lips. "Well? Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?"

"Oh my God.. Yes. A thousand times, yes." Sherlock puts the box to the side before he all but flings himself at Jim, kissing him hard on the mouth.

Laughing, Jim kisses back as good as he got. Their kisses slowly shortened and become less intense, until they were just pecking the others lips with large smiles. When they stop kissing, Jim holds up a file.

"Celebrate? It's another request from our dear friend Timmy."

Sherlock grins. "Bombs? Oh, do I get to use the new gun you brought me?"

"Both" Jim chuckles, squeezing Sherlock's hip.

Sherlock can't help himself, he just has to kiss him again.