The science of deduction

OOM: Jim - a lazy day

Tue, 14 Jul 2020 18:58:44 GMT

When Sherlock wakes, he stretches and squints at the sunshine, which casts a golden glow across the floor of his bedroom, the bed, and the naked bum of his husband.

God, what a sight.

Sherlock moves -- gently and slowly, he doesn't want to wake Jim -- closer to Jim's back. He leans in first to smell the back of his neck. Mm. Best scent in the world, sleep and clean linens and Jim's cologne all blending together.

He draws his nose down Jim's spine, and kisses the base. He's in no hurry to make the day begin.

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OOM: Lupercalia, or. Two newlyweds celebrate St. Valentine's Day

Fri, 07 Feb 2020 22:45:57 GMT

Sherlock promised to make it up to Jim -- make up for being apart, make up for being injured again, make up for Jim having to show restraint -- and today's a good day for it.

He's got a list. It's entirely flexible. There will be music, food -- he does so love feeding Jim -- especially chocolate, and there will be sex.

There can be other things, too. Flexible.

Sherlock left a note with the Bar, to start things off with a bit of mystery.

A note, and a deep black rose.

Jim, my love,
Meet me in London. We're going to spot trains.
SH

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the Culverton Culmination

Thu, 09 Jan 2020 22:04:35 GMT

[Previously: Go to hell, Sherlock.]

Sherlock predicted everything. Everything, but Mrs. Hudson putting him in the boot. Well, there's always something.

***

Anyone.

They're always poor and lonely and strange.

But those are only the ones. We. Catch.

***

Anyone.

It got very confusing for a while. Reality was always ... tenuous? For Sherlock, particularly when he was high, particularly when he was very high a lot. But he was still Sherlock Holmes, and still determined to save John.

Once more into the breach, dear friends.

***

It's war, is what they don't realize. A war against evil, pure, humorless, terrible evil.

(Who also uses too many ellipses. Ugh.)

Anyone.

Even Jim had his reasons, no matter how random, and Sherlock supposes when the itch becomes too much he'll find his reasons again.

But first, the war, the plan, the battle. The fight with a bad guy. The fight of his life.

Saving the life of anyone.

***

All right, he didn't predict that Faith -- the lovely women he spent an evening with, and ate chips with, and quite liked -- was not Faith Smith. That she wasn't anyone at all.

Nor did he predict that John would finally take his anger about Mary's death out on him, mostly on his face.

There's always something.

***

He didn't think that anyone would be himself.

***

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

***

... yeah, no, actually, he did.

***

He still needs a hug.

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OOM: Jim

Mon, 19 Aug 2019 18:23:35 GMT

Sherlock sheds the dressing gown and the rest of his clothes the moment they're in the suite. He's not filthy -- it's just clear he hasn't bothered with a bath for enough time to be noticeable.

He goes straight to the bathroom the moment he's nude, and starts the water running in the tub.

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"The only way to save John is to make him save you."

Sat, 17 Aug 2019 18:25:40 GMT

[ooc: Sherlock is in shock. Jim is comforting.

Jim gives Sherlock some news. Sherlock takes it ... less than well.

Love is not about reason. NSFW.]

***

He'd rather have anyone but you. Anyone.

Mary was always clever. As observant -- more so, often -- as Sherlock, and several things Sherlock is not: understanding of human nature, intuitive. Sherlock can deduce the steps a person will take but not always why they will take them, while Mary can -- could -- predict not only the whats and whys but how to resolve the problem.

Did you miss me?

Hence the DVD. The final mission from Mary Morstan Watson. The only way he'll be able to keep his vow.

Go right into hell and look like you mean it. Go and pick a fight with a bad guy. Put yourself in harm's way. If he thinks you need him, he will be there.

***

It's difficult, of course. Aside from the occasional indulgence with Jim, Sherlock has been moving on from his drug habit. He hasn't needed it, but for John and Mary he'll jump off that particular wagon.

He calls in Billy. This kind of intensity calls for an expert. They arrange a schedule for him to get to a dangerous point that won't render him helpless. It will take approximately a month until the day he'll need to confront the bad guy.

Choosing the bad guy is far simpler than expected. The man's daughter visits Baker Street, distraught, and while during their long (and lovely) conversation Sherlock can't solve her dilemma, she practically drops the bad guy into his lap.

Culverton Smith. The cereal magnate. The serial killer.

***

The wheels are in motion -- save John, prevent any more of Culverton Smith's victims, go to hell, Sherlock -- when the door opens from the Baker Street flat to Milliways. Sherlock hesitates, just for a moment. No one has seen him in London for days and so aren't worried about him more than usual, but Jim will see it at once.

Well. It's probably time to tell him Mary stole his catchphrase.

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OOM: Jim

Thu, 25 Jul 2019 23:36:28 GMT

It feels a bit full circle, to be honest. The first time he trusted Jim it was due to grief -- misplaced, though he didn't know it at the time -- and now he trusts Jim completely, and trusts Jim to see him through this grief, too.

He takes off his gloves -- also stained with Mary's blood, and he thinks distantly that there will be no getting that out -- and shoves them into one of the Belstaff's pockets.

"Oh," he says, "we were going to get food. Are you hungry?"

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OOM: Jim

Fri, 19 Jul 2019 19:51:01 GMT

He promised pancakes with Nutella, he shall deliver pancakes with Nutella.

Sherlock also thinks they would be tasty with bananas. He picks a likely-looking one from the bunch in their kitchen and slices off one end, and peels it back as he takes it to the bedroom.

He pauses, though, just to look at Jim. His man. His lovely, lovely man, with his gorgeous skin, his strong shoulders and legs, his elegant hands.

Sherlock exhales and sits on the edge of the bed, and gives Jim's earlobe a little tug to wake him.

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OOM: Jim

Sun, 07 Jul 2019 20:45:34 GMT

["Sherlock, I'm sad."]

His husband is sad, and that won't do. Sherlock holds him close to his side the entire way up to their suite, and stops sometimes just to kiss him.

Jim deserves to just be kissed.

(He deserves everything, but on the stairs -- kisses. Many kisses. The higher up the stairs they go, the dirtier the kisses get.)

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OOM: Here be dragons

Sun, 10 Mar 2019 03:53:25 GMT

Christmas Day.

( He's a necessary evil. Not a dragon for you to slay. )

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OOM: Jim's Birthday

Sat, 20 Oct 2018 23:33:33 GMT

London.

It may be the London of another world, but it smells the same, sounds the same; Sherlock knows the chill in the air, the thickness of the fog. It's crowded with tourists and residents going about their business.

Their hotel is in South Kensington, a lovely suite of rooms with a tiny kitchen where Sherlock intends to cook for Jim as often as possible, though he was disappointed to learn there were no proper ovens in any of the hotel rooms. When he explained what he hoped to accomplish to the hotel's concierge, however, the woman said the hotel's bakery could provide.

They may even leave the bed once in a while. Sherlock has pored over maps of this London, just to be sure, and every street and alleyway is as familiar to him as his own. Which is good; Jim wants to see the London Sherlock knows, and this is as close as they can come.

They have a spectacular view. They have tickets to the symphony and the appropriate attire. (Jim looks so delectable in a dinner jacket.) There will be a delicious meal with plenty of champagne.

Jim, if Sherlock has anything to ay about it, will have a wonderful birthday.

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OOM: Jim

Sun, 23 Sep 2018 18:16:55 GMT

Sherlock has recently acquired two things: another Moleskine (lined) and a book optimistically titled Best-Loved Poems.

He's been in a hammock behind their Hawaiian villa, reading the poems, and wincing a lot less than one might think; and then writing down the thoughts the poems give him.

Some of them are just lists of words. Some of them are on their way to becoming poems themselves.

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OOM: Jim

Mon, 10 Sep 2018 21:34:03 GMT

It's the law, after all.

Sherlock tugs Jim back through the door to the villa in Hawaii. (They both really like Hawaii.) He holds JIm by both hands and kisses him, sweetly dirty, and laughs when they stumble over their feet.

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Tue, 07 Aug 2018 21:41:30 GMT

The villa borders the line between kitsch and tribute. There are two floors; the main floor with the master bed and bath, kitchen, family room; the second with extra bedrooms, should the family renting it need to sleep up to six more people. There are woven curtains over every window, to close during the frequent rains. (This is the tropics, after all.)

The resort offers many services, from cleaning staff to a chef who'll deliver meals in a basic three times a day. Sherlock and Jim arranged for the latter, knowing how they prefer their privacy, and Sherlock ordered several meals much like what he tries to feed Jim himself, light but nourishing, with frequent sweets.

There are also bookshelves filled with classics, a house-wide stereo system, lounge chairs on the back porch, umbrellas to take down to tiny private beach, and so on.

Sherlock loves the place. It's so much like the daydream he's had of he and Jim retreating to the tropics. He wouldn't want to stay there forever, but as a retreat, it's perfect.

Once they're through the door, he takes Jim's computer and puts it on the nearest table. "Bed or beach?"

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AU: A long, long time ago in a bar not very far away...

Sun, 08 Jul 2018 19:41:02 GMT

William Holmes reels through the door.

He is very, very high. The downers helped a little but he's experimenting with combinations, because he wants his brain to slow down a little but not so much it gets boring.

The coke was very expensive, so he has nowhere to stay tonight.

But! Magic bar! Magic bar where they let a tab run for simply ages! They won't serve him alcohol because he's too young according to some arbitrary cutoff, but alcohol isn't his drug -- he sniggers to himself -- of choice anyway.

And if anyone talks to him... oh, God, please don't let them be boring. That's all he wants. To not be bored.

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OOM: Young Jim

Sat, 12 May 2018 01:11:31 GMT

The flat is cluttered but tidy--Mrs. Hudson keeps it so, Sherlock barely notices the newspapers that piled up or the empty bottles of milk that overflow from the rubbish bin when he's left on his own--and empty. John, separated from his wife and no cases to distract him, works long days at the small clinic he'd started during the years Sherlock was dead.

It is the day Sherlock left to get married, essentially. It's early autumn outside. Rainy, but 221B is cozy and warm.

Leading Jim by the hand, Sherlock says, "My bedroom's this way, unless you'd rather do something else first."

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OOM: Jim

Sun, 29 Apr 2018 21:50:58 GMT

Once they're upstairs, Sherlock shoos Jim to the bed. "Give me just a minute. Don't take your clothes off yet."

The list of songs on the iPod is largely familiar -- thank goodness, because today is not a day for new discoveries -- and he chooses a likely one with a good rhythm. "Get comfortable!" he calls to Jim.

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Jim: Recovery from Hiking

Wed, 07 Mar 2018 21:07:41 GMT

Sherlock does not dump Jim unceremoniously on the bed. That would be indecorous. He places him down gently and with many kisses.

... and then jumps on him.

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The Adventure of the Shabby Hat pt 6

Sat, 24 Feb 2018 20:14:55 GMT

[Previously]

The neighborhood of Lapa is even more vibrant and colorful in a city defined by its vibrancy and color. I's crowded and musical; there are political slogans spray-painted on building walls; there are brightly-painted houses that resemble those in the French Quarter of New Orleans, with white bricks and tall windows. There are streetcars to ride the top of an 18th-century aqueduct.

Their taxi leaves them on Rua da Lapa, and Sherlock puts on his sunglasses as he looks around. "Where to?"

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The Adventure of the Shabby Hat pt 5

Fri, 23 Feb 2018 19:23:25 GMT

[Previously]

Sherlock and Jim meet Mrs. Morris in the hotel's outdoor restaurant, where diners are shielded from the sun by brightly-colored umbrellas and the drinks menu features cocktails adorned with fruit.

Mrs. Morris, wearing a sunhat large enough to negate the need for an umbrella, smiles brightly when she sees them, and turns up her face to accept Sherlock's kiss to her cheek. "Good day, young lovers," she says. "Have you made time to enjoy Rio?"

[Next]

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The Adventure of the Shabby Hat pt 3

Sun, 18 Feb 2018 20:06:00 GMT

[Previously]

The city doesn't really quiet down even after the parades are done, but the sounds are muted, like the distant rumble of the ocean.

Sherlock lies awake, his eyes closed, listening to Rio. There will be bars open late, for tourists and locals alike; dancers keyed up from the parade working out their energy in clubs or courtyards; swimmers on the beaches. Soon it will be time for the early risers, bakers and street sweepers, to leave their beds and start their days.

He thinks of the Magpie; the hum of its engines never quite louder than the lap of the ocean.

He thinks of London.

He's about to curl himself around Jim again when he hears an odder sound than the ones from outside -- a thump, a bump, and then a cry. A door yanked open and running footsteps.

Sherlock is on his feet as soon as the footsteps pass their door. He yanks open their door and looks out into the passageway, dimmed due to the hour, but only in time to see the door to the stairs swing shut.

At the other end of the hall, Sierra Scott is sobbing, "Police! Police!"

[Next]

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The Adventure of the Shabby Hat pt 1

Fri, 09 Feb 2018 21:36:16 GMT

Rio de Janiero is a colorful city any time of the year, but even more so during Carnivale. The air smells of spices and there's samba music on every corner.

The hotel is made of white stone. In the courtyard is an Olympic-length swimming pool and the white sand beaches are a mere street away.

Jim and Sherlock have the honeymoon suite. Of course they do. It's smaller than many rooms they have stayed in, but it's cool and quiet, the bed is large and comfortable, they have a balcony that overlooks the beaches, and there's room service.

Sherlock lounges on a divan in front of the windows, reading the printed itinerary the hotel has provided out loud. "The first parade is at 10 o'clock tonight," he tells Jim. "We can watch it from the hotel roof, but the view is better from the Sambadrome itself."

[ooc: Content warning for newlywed shenanigans.
Part II]

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OOM: honeymoon in the Caribbean

Sat, 20 Jan 2018 18:23:12 GMT

Between the islands that dot the Caribbean Sea, there are stretches of ocean where there is nothing but water from horizon to horizon. Not even the tip of a mountain peeking up above the curve of the Earth. No other boats or ships -- maybe a bird flying high in the air currents.

The yacht, the Magpie, has stopped at a few major ports at a few small islands for the crew to restock and refuel, and for the newlyweds to stretch their legs, shop, maybe stay overnight at one of the beautiful hotels (some with rooms that jut out from the beach over the sea, so the occupants can climb down a rope ladder or dive from their deck to swim directly from their bedroom; some with water parks and infinity pools; some built like a native hut, with a hammock for the occupants to sleep in).

The Magpie is a large yacht, as these things go--not a superyacht, because Sherlock thinks they're absurd and you might as well buy a cruise ship--just big enough that he and Jim rarely see the crew members beyond the chef and steward. Should they want to stop to fish or swim for a while, Jim merely places a call on the ship's line, a rope ladder is lowered or fishing equipment is brought up from the storage area, and the crew members melt into the background again.

It is, Sherlock suspects, much like how Jim wishes the rest of the world would be. Just the two of them. Everyone else is just ... not there.

In their little world of two, they read, they sleep, they cook, they make love, they look at the stars with or without a telescope, they write, they draw, and they talk, talk, talk. Jim's mind has always been Sherlock's favorite part of him, and to have it so open before him (Jim's head warm under Sherlock's hand as he combs his fingers through Jim's hair, the movement of him as Jim tells him a theory or reads aloud) is perfect. Is wonderful. Is exactly what Sherlock hoped married life would be like.

The yacht has excellent stores and a patient chef, and Sherlock has been learning Caribbean dishes from him, with their Dutch, English, and African roots. One of his favorite dishes is called Poffertjes, little buckwheat pancakes served with nuts, fruit, and cream. Sometimes Sherlock rises early to make them for Jim.

Sometimes like today.

[ooc: Rated NSFW.]

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OOM: Jim

Sat, 04 Nov 2017 18:39:47 GMT

[ooc: Post Conversations with Dead People]

Between the yell and Jim's movement, Sherlock wakes. His arms go around Jim instinctively, his head still woozy and half-asleep. "Jim? Love? What's wrong?"

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OOM: Jim

Wed, 04 Oct 2017 00:21:50 GMT

It's a relief to know the suite is waiting for them, a place that feels as much like home as the Baker Street flat does -- only this has Jim, and all his little touches, and all the things he's brought into Sherlock's life to make it more interesting and beautiful.

Sherlock barely stops kissing Jim as they make their way upstairs, and he dives right back in for more when they reach the suite.

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OOM: Jim's birthday

Fri, 15 Sep 2017 18:35:55 GMT

It is largely due to good luck that Sherlock has not mixed the ingredients of his two projects. Both are for Jim's birthday, and Sherlock is fairly certain Jim will enjoy both, but only one is delicious.

He has spent the day carefully packing his surprises, and stored a box of one out in the Caribbean inlet. The hamper with the other is waiting for him to fetch it from the bar kitchen, and he is waiting impatiently for Jim to emerge from the dressing room in their suite.

"Dress down, remember," he says as he paces. "This is an informal evening."

He check his pocket. The box is still there, just like the last twenty times he's checked.

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