Jim looked out his window at the white blanket that coated London, keeping her cold and warm all at the same time. The people buzzed and scuttled about as they usually did, going to their jobs and riding their trains and visiting relatives and being generally busy. Jim almost envied the way they could just shut everything out and bury themselves in a stack of paperwork.

But then again, that was hardly living.

That's what they call "running".

Jim let the curtain fall.

--------------------

"So where are we going, exactly?" Sherlock turned his collar up at the small breeze fluttering towards them. Snowflakes slowly danced down, joining their sisters on the unforgiving city pavement. It was the nice kind of snow, not the kind that whipped you indoors, but the kind that beckoned you out of doors. Jim shrugged. "Wherever we feel like, I suppose." He walked closer to Sherlock to try and absorb some of his warmth.

Plus, y'know. It was a date. Only natural to walk shoulder to shoulder.

Sherlock didn't seem to know how to show simple affection outside the bedroom. He didn't know how to hold hands, or hug someone, or leave a note entailing where he was leaving. Jim didn't need these things, but they were a nice touch anyway.

They walked for a while, quietly enjoying the sounds of snow crunching beneath their boots and the sounds of traffic and the hurried shuffling of feet. Jim stopped at the entrance to a park, peering past the gates. He nodded at Sherlock, and they turned in to walk among the foliage.

All was quiet. The city sounds were faded by the bare slumbering branches and the snow upon them, a faint chirp of a winter bird somewhere behind them. Sherlock inched closer, if that was even possible.

"Let's sit there," Jim pointed a gloved finger to a snow covered bench on the side of the trail. They dusted it off and relaxed on the stressed wooden seat.

They were silent for the most part. They stared off into space, lost in their own thoughts.

Jim wondered what Sherlock was thinking about. Was he having fun? Was he content? Was he sad? Lonely? Did he think about the things that Jim did, or the opposite? Did he try to figure people out as Jim did?

Did he already have them all figured out?

Is that why he did the drugs?

Seemingly out of nowhere, Jim turned and kissed Sherlock's lips. He flinched, and didn't pull away, but he didn't kiss back until a few moments in. They pulled back simultaneously, remaining close. Their misty breath warmed their faces, licking their rosy noses and cheeks, patiently waiting to be mixed once again.

This time Sherlock leaned in and kissed Jim, delicately, as if he would break him if he pressed too hard. Jim gingerly placed a hand over Sherlock's, and one underneath his chin, pulling him closer. Tiny snowflakes drifted down, settling in their dark hair. Earth seemed to have completely stopped rotating, refusing time to continue for the few moments that Sherlock and Jim were pressed together.

But all in all, it was an ordinary kiss for Jim, and he thought nothing of it.

Sherlock pulled back slightly, remaining close, his lips brushing against Jim's as he spoke. "I think I like you, Jim," he whispered, giving him another chaste kiss. Jim replied accordingly, "I like you, too." Sherlock shook his head and pulled away.

"Never mind."

Jim looked away. Of course he liked Sherlock. Why else would he keep him around? He was a brat, mostly, who desperately needed a little parental love and support, but he was a good guy all in all. Sherlock slid his hand out from under Jim's, resting them both in his lap.

Idle chatter. Things about current events and how cold their ears were and how Bianca was super hot and totally badass. Jim was gay, of course, but he could see past that and find the best things in most people. And Bianca really was hot, no doubt about it from either of them.

More idle chatter.

It was a good thing the bench was wooden and not metal, otherwise they'd be freezing. They scooted closer together for warmth, their knees touching and their legs wrapped around each other. No one was passing by to judge.

"I had this theory late at night once," Sherlock suddenly said. Jim hummed for Sherlock to continue.

"Do atoms have a consciousness? Do particles understand what they're doing? Can they comprehend the fact that they're building blocks?"

Jim furrowed his brow.

"What if we humans are just atoms, and we don't know it? Merging and dividing, creating offspring and life. What if we and the entire solar system can fit inside the tiny space of something greater, bigger? Something more important?"

Sherlock paused here. Jim looked up at him, but Sherlock was looking between the trees and out towards the sky in front of them. He didn't say anything for a moment.

"Stars are fueled by hydrogen, chasing itself around and creating new elements like helium. When a star runs out of fuel, it dies. And when a star dies, it explodes, and millions of others are created from the ricocheted stardust. Believe it or not, this stardust carries a lot of water, which means potential life. That's where Earth is believed to have gotten all it's surface water from," Sherlock looked at Jim, his eyes alight with passion.

"So everyone on Earth carries stardust in their bodies," he smiled, "Isn't that amazing?" Jim scrubbed his hands together, struggling to warm up, waiting for Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly became somber, and they fell to his hands, still placed in his lap.

"But eventually, every star will run out of hydrogen to fuel it. There will be less and less potential life around, and no hope. When the last star finally swells into a red giant and collapses on itself, outer space as we know it will be cold and desolate, without light and life. And there's still this possibility that we're simple atoms, and none of this even matters. All this trauma and sadness and fear doesn't matter, because we're all just a speck of dust on something else's coffee cup.

"And come to think of it, I don't really mind. If the universe were to end right this moment, and we were cleared away from this cold bench to make room for something more grand, I would be okay with that. I'm content with my achievements thus far, and I would be comfortable stepping aside permanently.

I don't even want to go to heaven, if it weren't a stupid idea invented by man. I would rather cease to exist, period. Being gone isn't a big deal to me anymore, like it was when I was younger."

Jim pressed himself closer to Sherlock, as if to comfort him. He didn't think about those things too often. He thought about people. Sherlock apparently stressed over outer space and things that won't happen for trillions of years.

"I'm not suicidal. Just...okay."

Jim gave Sherlock's knee a pat.

"You'll be fine. Interesting theory. Let's get some hot chocolate, yeah?" He took Sherlock by the hand and pulled him to a stand, and they walked hand in hand to find somewhere that sold some good hot cocoa.

--------------------

After some wandering, they found a little cafe by a place called the Rainy Days bookstore. It seemed quaint, Jim had briefly peered inside, but Sherlock's pace seemed to quicken slightly as he walked passed, as if he wasn't supposed to be there yet. A wrinkle in his story. Maybe it was just his imagination.

The cocoa was sweet. They used cream instead of milk or water, whipped cream on top and drizzled a syrup of your choice inside it. Sherlock, of course, got caramel, while Jim went for the chocolate walnut. They were too busy enjoying their drinks to have much real conversation.

And then they walked back to Jim's when they were done.

They lounged on the sofa for a while, until they got bored and scurried off to Jim's room for a mini adult sleepover. Jim had his post-sex cigarette, and Sherlock's eyes drooped lazily.

"I had fun today," he mumbled, his eyes slowly closing. Jim turned at the sound of his voice, placing his free hand on Sherlock's head and caressing his tousled hair.

And when he was sure Sherlock was completely asleep, he leaned down to kiss that tousled hair.

He had fun, too.