Chapter Text
Sherlock walked onto the roof with a strange sense of contentment. There were fourteen ways this could end and he was ready for all of them, even if it meant he had to go into hiding afterwards. John was where he needed to be; Mycroft was at an arm’s length. The criminal in the dark coat was waiting for him, certain he knew what was going to happen too. But the truth was neither of them ever really knew how their encounters would end, and wasn’t that the point?
Jim stood as Sherlock approached, his eyes hollow and haggard. “Ah, here we are at last. You and me, Sherlock, and our problem – the final problem. Staying alive! It’s so boring, isn’t it? It’s just...staying.”
“Let’s skip the banter, shall we?”
He arched a brow, turning off the music. “Alright. Spoil my fun, as usual. Welcome to the end, Sherlock. I’m almost disappointed.”
The detective smirked. “Liar. I’m the best distraction you’ve ever had.”
Jim huffed, shaking his head. “But you let me down, just like all the ordinary people. And for a moment I thought you were special.”
“I am. I’m not what you think, Jim.” Sherlock stepped closer, their lapels brushing as he stared down at the other man.
“Oh? Enlighten me.”
“You think I’m boring. The Virgin, the angel, the ‘good guy’. You’re wrong.”
He gave an exaggerated yawn. “A brief substance abuse problem and some minor arrests – practically pedestrian. Besides, you’ve turned into such a well-behaved Holmes since then.”
“I’m not talking about the past; I’m talking about the present. You said it yourself, Jim. We’re made for each other.”
“I thought so at the time,” he shrugged, “Is this a request to switch teams, Sherlock? Because that would be surprising. You’ll break Johnny’s heart.”
“I’m saying you should marry me.”
Jim took a step back, colliding with the edge of the roof hard enough that he had to sit or fall. “What?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m asking for your hand. I don’t see what’s so difficult about that, it’s a perfectly ordinary concept.”
“Exactly. Why would you want to marry anyone, let alone the man who intends to destroy you?”
The detective curled his lip. “Isn’t that what most spouses do?”
Jim laughed. “And people call me the crazy one.”
“I’m serious.”
“What would Mycroft think if he could hear you now, hmm? What would your precious John say? I doubt he’d volunteer to be best man.”
“I’ve never cared much for other people’s opinions.”
“Evidently.”
“Except yours.”
Jim pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m flattered, Sherly. But you still haven’t explained.”
Sherlock took a few steps back, pacing. “Why do I want to marry you, hmm? That was the question.”
“And why do you think I’ll say yes.” Jim crossed his legs, foot bobbing along to some unheard melody.
“Very well. From the first moment I heard your name I was intrigued by what sort of man you were. As time progressed I became more and more convinced you were the only person who could ever hope to challenge me. But you had your business and I had mine, and the two could not overlap without general uproar.”
“I can just imagine Lestrade’s horror if you were fraternising with me.” Jim drawled.
“As we hurtled towards this,” Sherlock waved a hand at the roof, “I started to think about what I wanted. You are a criminal; you should be punished for your actions and to prevent you hurting anyone else. And yet a prison cell wouldn’t stop you reaching your network, even if they managed to find a jury you couldn’t tamper with.”
“People make it so easy, surrounding themselves with loved ones. Even you, Sherlock.”
“So if I can’t have you arrested, I could perhaps turn you over to Mycroft. But you’ve seen the insides of his interrogation room already and come out practically unscathed, only to unleash even more damage.”
“He did try, poor thing.”
“Killing you would solve my problem but rob me of the only man I might call an equal. So since I can’t stop you, and I’m not inclined to kill myself as you intend, I decided we might as well do away with all the games and fuss and just say what we really want.”
Jim tilted his head, gaze curious. “And what’s that?”
Sherlock cleared his throat. “I want you around. I want to test each other and learn as much about you as possible. I’d prefer if you found a better use for your talents but I don’t expect you to change, and I hope you’d do the same for me. I told John once I was married to my work, and you are my work, Jim. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather spend my time with.”
Jim looked at him for a moment, gnawing at his lower lip. “So you think we should get married.”
“Why not? Neither of us is ever going to be able to tolerate anyone else.”
“It would blow your pretty little Baker Street life apart.”
“You’re trying to do that anyway. I just thought we might enjoy ourselves a little more if we stop pretending to be on opposite sides.”
Jim eyed him warily, searching for the trap, but Sherlock was sincere. He would marry Jim if the Irishman said yes. He’d never thought about getting hitched with any gravity before, but it seemed like it would be fun with the twisted genius. He’d have someone to talk to, someone not boring, someone who didn’t make the judgements he got from everyone else in his life. And he’d avoid all this trouble, the constant imminent doom aspect of their contest. The posturing was exhausting.
“You don’t think we’ll get bored of each other? Treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen, all that?”
“You’re changeable, right? I tend to get creative when I’m bored. I think we’ll survive.”
“I’m not going to let you into my work, Sherly.”
“I can understand your mistrust. Rest assured, I have no desire to intrude.”
“And I’m certainly not going to move into your bachelor bedsit.”
“Anywhere is fine with me.”
“Are you going to get jealous if I spend the night in other people’s beds?” Jim fluttered his lashes.
“Why should it bother me?”
“Oh I don’t know, some folks are touchy about that sort of thing.”
“Do as you please. I’m not your keeper.”
Jim looked at his shoes for a minute before slapping his knees with a huge smile. “Why the fuck not, darling? I can always kill you later.”
“That’s the spirit.”
*****
Change of plans. Won’t be requiring your assistance – SH
What are you talking about? – Mycroft Holmes
He tucked his phone away and looked over at Jim. “Where are we going?”
“I can’t very well marry you without a ring, Sherlock. What kind of husband would I be?”
The detective laughed. Jim’s acceptance had given them both a sort of giddy air. The whole thing was ridiculous and amusing, and though he knew Mycroft was going to have kittens when he heard, even that seemed hilarious. The taxi stopped outside Tiffany & Co and Jim threw some cash at the driver.
“We’ll be five minutes. Come on, Sherly.”
Jim held the door for him with a flourish, waving the other man through. Sherlock bowed his head appreciatively.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
A brightly coiffed and very posh sales assistant took in their suits with a simpering smile, hurrying over.
“Can I help you gentlemen with anything?”
“Wedding rings. Something special, I think. Are you a gold or a silver person, Sherly?”
“Never given it much thought.”
“Show us a selection then.” Jim beamed at her.
“Certainly. If you’d like to take a seat?”
Sherlock and Jim followed her to a pair of stools next to the long glass display case, the detective idly inspecting its shiny contents. The saleswoman disappeared and the two men looked at each other.
“Have you done much jewellery shopping in the past?” Sherlock muttered.
“Only when required. I must say I’m almost offended you didn’t bring me a ring when you proposed.”
“Do we ever do anything the conventional way?”
She came back with the same plastic smile and a small felt board with several rings on it in different colours and styles. Jim took in the whole lot with a grimace and gave her a bored look.
“Anything classier, dear? These are our wedding bands after all.”
“Oh. Uh, one moment.” She looked almost embarrassed, hurrying off so fast she dropped a ring and had to stoop and pick it up.
“Shall we register at Fenwick of Bond Street? I could use some new candlesticks.” Jim mused, leaning his elbow on the cabinet.
“I’m sure Mycroft will want to send us some kind of congratulations.” Sherlock smirked.
The woman came back with a smaller assortment, eyes lowered as she carefully set it down. A security guard was shadowing her at a respectful distance.
“These are our finest selection, sir, if you’re looking for something a bit more eye-catching.”
Jim picked up a multi-coloured gold stack. “What do you think, Sherly? Any take your fancy?”
He gave the tray a perfunctory sweep and picked up a twisted white and rose gold rope. “This will do.”
“Elegant. I’ll take this.” Jim picked up a white gold band with four equally spaced diamonds.
“Excellent. Would you like them wrapped, sir?”
“Oh no need, we’ll be using them in a minute.”
The saleswoman looked between them curiously and Sherlock winked.
“He’s very spontaneous.”
The taxi dropped them outside Westminster City Hall and Jim doubled over laughing.
“What?”
“We’re so close to dear Mikey’s offices. Perhaps we ought to call him down to bear witness?”
“He’s going to love having you as a brother-in-law.”
“I can’t wait. Come on, let’s get to it.”
The pair walked inside and straight to reception. Jim leaned on the counter with a huge ‘Jim from I.T.’ smile.
“Hi…Natalie?” he glanced at her badge, “We’d like to see the registrar.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” he grimaced, “See, my honey bear and I just thought we’d pop by and see if you could squeeze us in.”
“He’s leaving for three weeks tomorrow and I want to make sure he’ll come back.” Sherlock kissed Jim’s cheek, hamming it up to stop himself from giggling.
Natalie nodded. “I’ll let him know you’re here. You might get lucky.”
“Here’s hoping!” Jim held up crossed fingers, hustling Sherlock over to the wall. They fidgeted and chuckled like naughty schoolboys, whispering to each other until the registrar appeared. He was an older man, well groomed and smartly dressed, and he clasped Jim’s hand firmly.
“Hello then boys. Thought you could slip in, did you?”
“So sorry to take up your time, Mr?...”
“Newood, Thomas Newood. My office is this way.”
They followed him up a few floors. The offices were nothing special but someone had gone truly overboard with the wood panelling, and Mr Newood’s walls were lined with plenty of signed pictures of happy couples. Sherlock thought it might be funny to send him one of him and Jim, just in case someone who knew them saw it at some point.
“Now, what can I do for you?” Newood sat down, setting a pair of glasses on his nose.
“We’d like to get married.” Jim gave him the five-star grin.
“Wonderful. You’ve come to give notice?”
“Notice?” Sherlock arched a brow.
“Yes,” the registrar looked between them, “Fifteen days’ notice must be given before the ceremony, and I’ll need to see proof of at least seven days’ residence.”
“But we want to get married today. Right now, in fact.”
He gave them an apologetic but strained smile. “Well I’m sorry but I can’t do a ceremony without notice.”
Sherlock sighed. “More ridiculous rules.”
“Don’t fret, darlin’,” Jim reached over and squeezed his arm, “Daddy will handle this. How much would skipping notice cost?”
Newood frowned, his eyebrows coming together like angry caterpillars. “You cannot bribe me, sir. I am a city official.”
“A million pounds? Two? Name your price, Tommy.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me correctly. There’s a due process for these things-”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood. “He’s boring me, Jim. Let’s go find someone with emptier pockets.”
Jim’s voice was all sweetness. “No no Sherly dear, Mr Newood is going to be very obliging and change his mind.”
“I doubt that very much.” Newood shook his very pink jowls.
Jim reached into his coat and pulled out a huge silver gun, resting it carefully against the edge of the desk. “I don’t.”
“Really, Jim?” Sherlock scoffed, “On our wedding day?”
“Well there won’t be a wedding without it, so shush.”
Mr Newood’s hand trembled as he slowly brought it up to adjust his glasses. “This is outrageous.”
“It’s not really. We want to get married; I’m providing incentive for you to make that happen. And to be fair, I did offer him money first.” Jim glanced at Sherlock.
“You did. Quite a lot, actually.”
“He was the one being unreasonable.”
“Alright!” the old man shouted, “I’ll do your damn ceremony!”
“That’s ever so helpful of you. What do we need to do?”
“Just repeat what I tell you and then sign the papers.”
“Oh goody. Sherlock?”
They both moved to the window, Newood coming to stand over them hesitantly. Jim took Sherlock’s hand in his, the gun still pointed at the registrar, and gave an encouraging nod.
“This place in which we are now met-”
“And you’re out,” Jim grinned, “I think we can handle the words part. I, James Andrew Moriarty, promise that I will not murder you, Sherlock, in your sleep. I vow to defend your honour whenever it’s impugned and to perv on you when you walk around the flat in just your sheet. I swear, by poor Mr Newood here, that I will assist you in escaping all mandatory family gatherings and boring functions, even if it means blowing something up.”
Sherlock grinned. “Andrew?”
“Andrew. Your turn.”
“Do I get to call you James?”
“If you feel it necessary.”
“Alright. I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes-”
“William?” Jim gaped excitedly.
He gave the Irishman a withering look. “I’m trying to say my vows here, James.”
“Sorry, sorry. Just makes sense you’d go for the most ostentatious name of the lot.”
Sherlock glared and opened his mouth to continue.
“You know, so you could fit in with Mycroft.”
“Are you done?”
“Please, continue.”
“I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, promise not to destroy anything irreplaceable when bored, and to try to prevent you from being so. I swear I will keep my experiments out of the kitchen, provided there’s space. I will not interfere between you and Mycroft unless it looks like one of you is going to kill the other. And I promise to keep my violin to a minimum when you’re sleeping, since I know how rare that is for both of us.”
Jim jiggled the rings out of his pocket, sliding Sherlock’s on carefully. He had to switch the gun between his hands so Sherlock could do the same for him, and the criminal quickly switched back, turning to Newood.
“Are we done?”
He gave them a look like they were both insane. “Good enough for me. I’ll write up a certificate.”
*****
Sherlock smiled up at the hotel as they walked towards the entrance. “Are you trying to impress me, James? I didn’t marry you for your money.”
“It’s our honeymoon. We should splurge.”
“On your tab, I hope.”
“Ah, the benefits of being Mr Moriarty.”
Sherlock gave him a sharp look. “We never discussed taking your name.”
“I can’t very well take yours, Sherly. My clientele are used to it.”
They entered the lobby, heading for the counter.
“I don’t see why either of us should change it. I have no wish to make myself a target for dim-witted assassins.”
“Agreed then. We won’t change our names, William.”
The receptionist smiled. “Welcome to the Langham. Do you have a reservation?”
“No darlin’, but give us the Infinity Suite and charge it to this.” Jim tossed a credit card at her.
“Certainly. For how many nights?”
Jim eyed Sherlock speculatively. “Let’s start with one and see how we go, hmm?”
“I can have it ready for you in ten minutes, if you’d like to take a seat at the bar.”
“A celebratory drink sounds good.” Sherlock tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
“We just got married.” Jim wrinkled his nose at the woman.
“Oh wow! Congratulations! I’ll have them send up a bottle of champagne on the house.”
“Well thank you! We’ll be at the bar.”
Jim steered Sherlock away, glancing curiously at the taller man.
“Why are you smiling?”
“That was our first congratulations.”
“I suppose it was. How does it feel?”
“Strange.”
“I must say I was sceptical at first, but this is one of your better ideas, Sherly. Endless new amusements and we’ve only been married fifteen minutes.”
Sherlock sat on a bar stool and glanced at the few other patrons, searching for something to pass the time. Most of the customers were in pairs or groups, but there was a lone middle-aged man in the corner. He had a Tequila Sunrise in hand and was reading the business section, his suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair.
“What do you think?” Sherlock nodded.
Jim considered him for a moment, taking in the red cheeks and sweaty brow. “Banker. Saw his shares tank in the paper over breakfast and never went into the office. He’s on his…seventh drink? And in ten minutes he’s going to go up to his room to use the toilet and jump off the balcony instead.”
“Hope we don’t meet in the lift. That might be awkward.”
Jim laughed. “You’re not going to suggest we do something? Talk to him, tell a staff member, nothing?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Who are we to interfere? He’s made his choice.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were no angel.”
“Are you disappointed?”
“Thrilled, actually.”
A young lad from the concierge desk approached and smiled. “Your room is ready, sirs.”
“Thank you. Husband?” Jim offered Sherlock his arm.
“Husband.”
The room was beautiful in a strange way. The four poster bed and dark sheets and the big mirror on the wall all said antique, but there was plenty of strange post-modern blown glass around the place and the palette was a little too neutral for Sherlock’s taste. Jim draped his coat and jacket over an armchair and rolled his sleeves up before pouring their champagne. Sherlock followed suit, leaving his outer things on a short side table and kicking off his shoes. He played with the wedding ring absentmindedly, taking in the new detail as he walked over to accept a glass.
“To us, Sherlock, and the next stage of a beautiful game.”
“To us.”
They clinked and sipped, both looking around with their trademark observance. Sherlock had to get used to being more careful now; he didn’t want anyone using him as a way to find Jim or deciding the detective was a potential weak point.
Jim rested a hand on the bed post. “So what do two newlyweds in one of the city’s most expensive hotel rooms do when sex is off the table?”
“We could talk. I said I wanted to know everything about you, so we might as well start.”
“We’ve got our whole lives to talk, Sherlock. I want to have fun. It’s a special day!”
“What do you suggest?”
“Let’s take a bath. Relax a little, have a few more drinks, and then we’ll think about ordering some room service.”
“Is this a ploy to get me drunk and naked so you can take advantage?”
“I’m not going to waste my time trying to get between those pretty legs. Even The Woman couldn’t pry them apart.”
“She came closer than most.” Sherlock admitted.
“Really? I must ask her for advice then.” Jim waggled his brows.
Sherlock ignored him, walking into the bathroom to turn the taps on. He found a variety of bath salts and bubbles beside the tub, sniffing them each in turn before finding one that was a bit fruity and a bit musky and tipping the whole thing in. He unbuttoned his shirt carelessly before dropping it in the corner. His trousers went next, and he leaned against the vanity in just his underwear as he waited for the water to reach a decent level.
Jim folded his shirt and trousers over the back of a chair, straightening out the fabric. With his champagne flute and the bottle in hand, he padded into the ensuite and set the whole thing within reach of the bath, then stood next to Sherlock to wait.
“Are we taking these off,” Jim snapped the waistband of his underwear, “Or are we being modest?”
“I don’t know about modesty. It’s more a trust issue.”
“Sherly! I promised not to murder you in your sleep. I would have thought that was pretty convincing.”
“I’m not sleeping though, am I?”
“Fine. I’ll go first, if it makes you feel better. No reciprocation necessary.”
Jim stripped off as if it was nothing, climbing into the tub. Sherlock bit his lip. He had to admit it did make him feel more comfortable. Perhaps it was something about mutually assured destruction? He had no problem with Jim being naked; he was used to bodies and body parts, and they never affected him. Being shy about it was stupid. But he felt a bit safer with his underwear on, a bit more certain Jim wasn’t going to devour him.
But they’d made vows of a sort, and that seemed to count for something. He couldn’t leave his new partner hanging.
“I suppose if I didn’t wear any to Buckingham Palace, it’s a bit pointless keeping them on in here.”
“There’s my uninhibited Sherlock. Look, I’ll even cover my eyes if you like.”
Sherlock laughed as he obediently covered his face. “If you think you should.”
“I’m being a gentleman,” Jim said as Sherlock dropped his pants and swung a leg over the side, “Though I can’t promise I’m not imagining.”
“Fantasy’s better than reality, they say.”
“They’re idiots, Sherly.”
“Cheers to that.”
The first bottle ran out within twenty minutes, and the next two lasted an hour each. By sunset they’d gone through one more and their fingers and toes were so wrinkly they were almost numb.
“Perhaps we should get out, Sherls.”
“I’m famished.”
“Room service?”
“You’re not going to take me somewhere nice? Has the romance died already?”
Jim giggled and put his glass down clumsily, almost missing the edge of the counter. “No one is going to seat us in this state, Mr Holmes.”
“Order in then.”
“I might order the whole damn menu.”
Jim tried to stand and slipped, grabbing a towel rail to steady himself. He fumbled for the fluffy cloth, wrapping it around his waist and staggering into the bedroom to use the phone. Sherlock slithered out over the side, lying naked on the bath mat for a full minute listening to Jim order until he remembered he should be getting dressed. He dried himself in patches and slung the towel low on his hips, wandering out to find a comb for his tangled curls.
Jim was hanging up when the detective emerged, and he whistled. “Would you look at the knockout I married? Definite arm candy. All the other criminal masterminds are going to be so jealous.”
Sherlock snorted and found his prize in the bedside table, sitting down to struggle with the knots. “Do you compare notes on that sort of thing?”
“Not often, but I might make an exception this time. Send out an announcement.”
Jim took one of the big cosy robes from the closet and slid his arms in, letting the towel fall. He tied it shut and flopped backwards on the bed with a happy sigh.
“What happens tomorrow?” Sherlock asked.
“We have breakfast, I work out a few details, and then we move you in. Getting your things out from under Mycroft’s nose is going to be a bitch but then that’s half the fun.”
“He’s probably calling me like mad.” Sherlock glanced at his coat.
“Let him. We are drunk, Sherlock Holmes, and your brother is nothing but a buzzkill.”
“Try growing up with him.”
“No thank you. My own brothers were bad enough.”
“Brothers?” He put down the comb, shaking out his hair.
“Oh yes. Two.”
“Will you tell me about them?” Sherlock dropped onto the mattress beside him.
Jim met his gaze for a long moment, eyes glazed but for once not full of mischief. “I suppose that was the agreement, wasn’t it? All part of being a good husband.”
“It’s an outstanding start.”
Jim caught his wrist and squeezed gently. “Speaking of which, I never got to kiss the bride.”
Sherlock half-frowned but he was already closing the space between them, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s chastely for a few seconds before pulling away again. The detective wasn’t sure what to say; he had a feeling he should protest, but it was tradition.
“I’m the middle child.” Jim began, and Sherlock forgot to be concerned.
*****
Sherlock wouldn’t call himself the type to get hungover, but he never usually drank so he didn’t get many chances. This felt like a hangover. His stomach was protesting before he’d even opened his eyes, and doing so made something in his head twinge.
He wanted to go back to sleep but he needed to pee and it was irritating enough that he couldn’t ignore it. The brunette hauled himself relatively upright, pausing to adjust before he tried to get the rest of the way. The room was scattered with empty plates and dirty cutlery, an entire dining cart by the door looking like it had been picked over by hyenas. He swore he would never drink champagne again.
Sherlock glanced down and remembered Jim. The Irishman was snoring softly, clutching a pillow tight. He was still in his robe on top of the covers, while Sherlock had lost his towel at some point. At least he’d had the presence of mind to get between the sheets. It was bizarre to think he’d spent the night in bed with Jim Moriarty and not been molested or murdered. Stranger still was the fact Jim had seemingly also been unconcerned about Sherlock betraying him. It was a weird implication of trust, and it made Sherlock’s head worse trying to understand it.
He stumbled into the bathroom, thinking it might be wiser to just crawl. He relieved himself and washed his hands, sticking his head under the tap to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth. He felt a little bit better after splashing his cheeks, enough to know they needed greasy food and something to rehydrate them. He went back to bed, blearily stabbing at the phone buttons.
“Hmm?” Jim moaned, rolling over.
“I’m getting breakfast.”
“Fabulous.”
“The champagne was perhaps unwise.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Like getting married?”
Jim turned to squint at him, hair ruffled. “You’re not having second thoughts, Sherly? It’s a bit late now.”
“I’m not. Just making sure you aren’t.”
“I’m all ready to ride off into the sunset.”
“Good. Can it wait until we’ve eaten though?”
“Get hash browns.” The criminal mumbled in response, burrowing back into the pillow.