Unexpected

Chapter IX

"Exquisite!" Jim called out.

After days of cheap take out and microwave food he had decided to prepare an edible meal. It had taken him three days until he had convinced John and Sherlock. But as soon as Jim had broken Sherlock's childish stubbornness with his constant complaints about the state of the lab/kitchen, John also gave in and agreed to run the errands.

"We're ready, boys!"

Sherlock moaned, visibly glad to finally be released from Chef Moriarty's cooking show. Jim was still not in a state of handling everything on his own, so Sherlock and John had to do the cutting and everything, also Mommy Sherlock wouldn't let Jim touch a knife on his own.

"Time to eat," Jim play- and joyfully shouted, slapping Sherlock's ass when passing him with a bottle of halfway acceptable wine. The looks on the other two's faces were priceless! Jim couldn't remember when he had last been in such a great mood, could you get high from food steams?

They all sat down and Sherlock, finally remembering how to move, poured them the wine, until he reached Moriarty's glass and John loudly cleared his throat.

"I don't think you should consume alcohol in your state."

Moriarty stared at the doctor for a while, pondering about that he would have normally killed anyone who dared to say that to his face.

"Right," Sherlock approved and quickly filled Jim's glass with water, who stared at it sadly.

"You're lucky to be on my good side, Watson... Anyways," he continued cheerful again, "one of the reasons I wanted to have this dinner is because I made the decision to not kill you. This meal is a peace offering and thank you for all you've done."

Watson choked on his wine.

"Thank you," Sherlock answered casually, starting to fill their plates.

"So... this is not poisoned?" Watson checked.

"No, Watson. I owe you. I owe you my life. Enjoy your meal."

Still not convinced at all, Watson took a tiny a bite from the extremely tasty looking gratin. In fact none of them suddenly choked or fainted, so Watson gave in to the extraordinary taste, even if this was some deadly trick, it was one of the most delicious in his life.

After the even tastier dessert, the three men sat down at the fireplace.

There was a rather uncomfortable situation when Moriarty and Watson both attempted to sit down onto John's chair. Sherlock observed the silent battle of mind's with amusement just that to his surprise Jim was the one to give in and go with the uncomfortable client-chair.

"How is it healing," Watson asked into the silence.

"Agonizingly slow. But I guess that's the price for my own stupidity."

"I wouldn't call it stupid. I mean we don't know what you've been trough. Depression is a serious illness like any other, there's nothing you need to feel bad for. Okay, maybe being a criminal and so on, but I guess we're all just victims to our circumstances, right? No one..."

At this point Moriarty stopped Watson's embarrassing ramble.

"My most loyal associate tried to rape me, so I shot him and was pissed off. End of story. No sad childhood traumas or abusive uncles."

Silence filled the room. Sherlock precisely absorbed every detail about Jim, but the more his façade came down, the less Sherlock understood anything about the man.

"He," Watson stuttered, "like, you... and..."

Moriarty took a deep breath, how could Sherlock bear this man, he is living in slow-motion!

"Yes I'm gay, if that's what you ask," something in Sherlock's stomach area tensed up, "but it's not like I had something with this piece of dirt."

Watson showed off his best expression of a fish reacting to this open statement.

"Oh, yes, of course and that's fine, I mean I just didn't know, like... Wait, so what was that the first time we met you?"

The memory of Jim from IT back then still concerned John up to this day, but now he saw him in a completely different light. Hadn't he even given Sherlock his number back then? John's gaze flew to Sherlock, who sat in his chair, having showed no sign of commitment to the conversation until that moment, when he said, "John please, don't make yourself more a fool that you already did."

Even John noticed the tense undertone in his voice. In order to escape the situation he quickly asked, "Anyone else fancy a cuppa?" and got to his feet.

"I suppose a drink would be more appropriate at the moment," Sherlock answered, staring intensely into the fire.

"Right..."

A minute later Sherlock and John sipped on a Brandy, while Moriarty's looks at his glass of water could kill a whole stadium.

"The actual reason why I prepared that dinner for the two of you," he eventually started, "is that I am going to leave your hospitality tonight," Moriarty confessed. Watson visibly did not see this change of events coming. Sherlock on the other side, who showed no sign of surprise, simply said, "no you won't."

"Pardon?"

"Leaving here in your condition would be your death and I. Won't. Let. This. Happen," a bit calmer the detective added, "not after all this effort we put into keeping you alive."

"And that's up to you to decide, since when?" Jim countered.

"Since you moved into my bedroom."

"Oh, look who's showing off some dominance. You know I like that."

"So why not share a bed with me anymore?"

"Is that an offer?"

That was enough for John and he interrupted the flirt or battle or whatever this was, with a loud clearing of his throat.

"Moriarty, I am your doctor in charge and hereby I prescribe you physical rest and a 24 hour company in form of a doctor or consulting detective. Until I pronounce you healthy, you must not leave this apartment on your own."

With that said Watson left for the kitchen to do the dishes or something like that, mainly to have a badass moment. Not much time had passed when Moriarty stood in the doorway behind him.

"D'you need any help?"

"No, it's fine, you already did the cooking."

To be honest Watson was also still kind of embarrassed about this whole situation earlier on.

"Okay."

"Goodnight Jim."

Both men simultaneously realized in surprise that he had called Moriarty by his first name.

"Goodnight... John."