Chapter Text
Sherlock was bored, John was out on a date with Gemma or Sandra or Juliette or some random woman or other and had hidden everything of interest. He had no cigarettes, no body parts from the morgue, no cases, no bullets, no gun and crap TV was well, just that, crap. He was too bored to make tea, play the violin or even to move, his mind felt like it was turning to sludge, he needed to get out of the flat.
He rose suddenly and swiftly, discarding his dressing gown on to John’s chair and pulling off his t-shirt as he walked through the kitchen.
“Aren’t you even going to say hello?” came a soft Irish purr. Sherlock froze, his head still trapped inside his top. “I thought you’d be glad to hear my voice. I’d say see me, but you’re obviously having an ordinary day.” Sherlock pulled his head free, dropping the garment by the fridge, but not turning.
“I’m never ordinary.”
“Oh, really? You’d prefer a bored day?” Sherlock heard his soft footfall pad across the floor towards him, still out of sight. “Prefer to wander the streets being ordinary? Try to distract yourself from the fact that you are, in fact, completely ordinary?” Sherlock could feel his mind react, feel the gentle mocking push adrenaline through his body. He kept perfectly still, not showing any signs that his body was registering it. He could imagine the expression on Jim’s face, gently mocking him, the slight reptilian tilt of the head and slight pursing of his lips. “If I am ordinary, so are you.”
Jim clicked his neck, “How predictable, angel.” Sherlock’s muscles clenched tightly in annoyance and he felt the soft brush of Jim’s lips at the base of his spine.
“What do you want?” he snapped, forcing himself not to relax against the touch. Jim slid his hands up the inside of Sherlock’s legs as he straightened up and felt him quiver.
“To not be bored.”
“So, you came here.” Sherlock tried to sound like he didn’t want him there. Boredom was one thing, Jim Moriarty was another.
“Knew you were bored, I thought this might be a quicker solution for us both, bombs tend to be messy.” Jim had slowly trailed his finger across Sherlock’s skin as he walked around to his front, he looked upwards matter of factly, baiting him still further, wanting him to snap. Sherlock pushed him roughly against the fridge by his jacket and looked at him in disdain. “Why do you fight it, Sherlock?”
“Why would I want you?” Sherlock pushed him harder against the fridge, pressing against him threateningly, forcing him on to his tiptoes.
Jim grinned, “Evidence suggests otherwise.” He moved his hands swiftly, pulling Sherlock’s bum in tight and grinding them together. Sherlock’s eyes rolled slightly in his head and he found himself kissing Jim deeply before he realised what he was doing.