Three Is Company

Anytime, Day or Night

The five minutes that it took for Musgrave to arrive began to feel more like five hours, though when the black Cadillac began to crawl its way up the road the man allowed himself to breathe a quick sigh of relief. With the Doctor within range he felt a little more protected. Musgrave parked alongside the curb and dashed out of the car, his dress shoes clicking all the way up the stone path as he rushed to collect his patient from the front porch.
"What are you doing, standing out here?" Musgrave insisted, pushing open the door and herding Sherlock inside towards the warmth.
"I didn't want to be in there alone. I didn't know who else might have been there." Sherlock admitted with a whine. "I'm scared, Musgrave!"
"I'm sure there's a perfectly logical reason for all of this." Musgrave assured, tearing off his glasses so as to clean them against the length of his tan patterned scarf. Sherlock stood pathetically in the doorway; his toes wiggling as his body slowly defrosted within the warm, cozy home. And yet there was still a chill, one that was emitted from the invited mouth which may very well be sharing the same air.
"Tell it to me, then." The Doctor insisted.
"Can you look around first?"
"I'm not that I have to. I want the story. If I also come to the conclusion that there's an intruder we should first call the police, then they will have a look, not us." Musgrave insisted. Sherlock took another breath, nodding as he looked desperately around the house, trying to observe all dark corners before he continued with his story.
"I woke up at one o'clock."
"AM?"
"One o'clock as in ten minutes ago." Sherlock protested.
"I don't recommend that." Reginald sighed.
"That's beside the point. I woke up naked, and I can still taste alcohol on my tongue. I was drinking last night. I have a headache, I'm sure I'm hungover. But I can't remember anything." Sherlock insisted.
"And you think that you might have brought someone back to the house? For a hook up?" Musgrave suggested.
"It's not like me." Sherlock whispered. Musgrave nodded gravely, though if his eyes betrayed his cool complexion his glasses disallowed it. Whatever his gaze reflected was hidden away behind the tint.
"I know it's not like you. So much so that I doubt it's the truth." Musgrave muttered. "Take me upstairs."
"He's not up there."
"He?" Musgrave repeated, catching the single word out of the sentence as if using it to prove his point. Sherlock winced, but ignored the Doctor's remark. He was not going to begin fighting on that subject again. Carefully Sherlock led Musgrave up the stairs, his long fingers tapping upon the wooden railing just to make sure it was there if he should stumble. The Doctor was silent as they ascended, his heels clicking against every unpainted stair. Sherlock paused in the hallway, though Musgrave pushed past him into the bedroom.
"What happened here?" Musgrave wondered, plucking the water glass, now empty, from the wet spot upon the blankets.
"I panicked." Sherlock admitted. The Doctor sighed, passing the glass between his hands before ultimately setting it upon the dresser.
"Now, your theory is that you brought someone home for sex." Musgrave repeated.
"Reginald, the word." Sherlock snarled.
"See how you didn't flinch?" The Doctor pointed out. "You're getting used to it." Sherlock pursed his lips, furious as his cheeks began to blush a shade of pink. Musgrave pulled the blankets aside, examining the bedsheets, dropping to his knees to search under the bed, even poking a long gloved finger around in the trash can. When his search was complete the Doctor removed his gloves only to cross his arms, looking around the room one last time before he could come to any conclusions.
"I don't think anyone was here." he announced at last.
"Really?" Sherlock whispered.
"There are no clothes upon the floor, not even yours. Unless you removed them and promptly folded them back into the dresser drawers I cannot imagine you got undressed in a hurry. The bed doesn't look as disturbed as it might, and the trashcan is free of any signs of contraceptives."
"Well then why would I be naked?" Sherlock demanded.
"Showering, perhaps?" Musgrave suggested. Sherlock frowned.
"I usually get dressed after that." he pointed out.
"Perhaps a manic episode?"
"I certainly hope not."
"I doubt it as well. I think perhaps you were drunk last night, that the lapse in your memory is only hiding a simple night at the bar. You got home, you smelled of beer, you stripped and threw your clothes into the washer. You were drunk and didn't decide that dressing was worth the effort. You went to sleep and never set an alarm."
"When you say it like that it's perfectly plausible." Sherlock grumbled. "But...but I never drink."
"Who knows which of your own rules are broken when you lapse?" Musgrave pointed out. Sherlock grumbled in slight agreement, touching his fingers to his neck as if to make sure he didn't feel any irregularities. For some reason he imagined he could feel any unwanted kisses, like marks raised up against his normal skin.
"So you don't think anyone's in the house?" Sherlock clarified.
"Not except you and your roommates." Musgrave agreed. Sherlock nodded quietly, shamefully. He dropped his eyes down to his bare feet, wondering what on earth the Doctor might think of him now. A crazy man, so afraid of intimacy that he treats it like a crime.
"I'm sorry for making you come out here for that." Sherlock admitted quietly. Musgrave sighed, stepping closer as if his words would resonate better from a smaller distance.
"Never apologize to me, Sherlock. You know I'm here for you, I'm here to do anything for you." The Doctor assured.
"Then I'm sorry for making you wait on a lunatic." Sherlock whispered, turning his back and trying to escape down the steps before he was scolded for using that word. To his surprise he was not stopped with words, but instead with a firm set of hands placed upon his shoulders, trying to turn him around. The Doctor was a lot stronger than he looked, and before long Sherlock found himself facing Musgrave again, this time unable to look away for fear that it would be unspeakably rude. Musgrave didn't say anything; instead he pulled Sherlock into his chest, pulled him into a hug. It was unprecedented. At first Sherlock felt the need to run, he thought it might be best to fight his way free of the interlocking arms, to make it down the stairs before Musgrave got any more ideas. At first he panicked, but as the hug revealed itself to be an innocent gesture of trust and affection Sherlock began to melt into it. He began to fall deeper into the warm chest of his Doctor, finally finding it within his capabilities to wrap his arms tightly around Musgrave's chest. Sherlock didn't have time to consider the last time he had been hugged. His brain didn't like to think so far back, embarrassingly far. He instead tempted himself into enjoying the gesture, forcing himself not to fret for what he never had, but to finally appreciate what he was now gifted. It felt like more than a hug, it felt instead like a cementing of friendship. Of a vow of sorts, an unspoken promise of protection. Sherlock could have basked in that body heat all day. He could have stood with his arms around Musgrave until all the blood drained from his fingers, until his heart gave out. Though finally the Doctor pulled away. Like all things, this too had to come to an end.
"Call me anytime, Sherlock. Day or night." Musgrave assured, withdrawing from his patient before touching a careful hand against Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock gave a small smile, giddy from the proximity, but nodded all the same.
"Thank you, Musgrave." He muttered lamely. The man gave a nod in return, moving past his shocked patient and progressing back down the stairs. Sherlock was not the host he was expected to be, as he didn't see his guest to the door. Though by the time he even considered his manners he already heard the hinges, their shrieks abruptly ended by a small snap. He was alone again.