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Thick charcoal clouds darkened the city as everyone bustled without thought or care. Luka’s cerulean eyes fought tears as he tried to orient himself. The city around him was uncomfortably familiar; its landmarks somehow made it worse. He recognized Big Ben. He’d been to England before. But this wasn’t the London he knew. There was far too much smog, too busy of streets, and the colours didn’t register properly. It was as if everything had gotten both dimmer and more vivid.
He desperately wanted to find a hiding place to confer with the Kwami hiding in his jacket, but there were too many faces. Did Phantom Traveller’s power include modified vision?
Noting a café with a large glass window, Luka swung open the door, the bell announcing his entry.
“Afternoon!” The man behind the counter shouted.
Nervously, Luka waved before darting into the bathroom. He hadn’t noticed the man by the window who completely ignored his meal partner, too entranced by Luka’s panicked entry.
John’s words were dancing along the edge’s of Sherlock’s mind. If he said anything of importance, he would tune in, but he knew too well that John frequently partook in frivolous conversation. It seemed like quite a waste of breath. Sherlock knew his deductions had been brilliant, he didn’t need John’s yammering to understand that.
Besides, this case was cut and dry. Quite despicable, really, that the detectives couldn’t put it together within mere minutes. He really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. John could have sent him a photo of the crime scene and he’d have been able to send them the too obvious conclusion.
The murderer had been too familiar with the house, whereas there was little indication that the victim’s partner had been there for frequent or prolonged periods. Though there were two toothbrushes at the sink, it was a relatively new occurrence. Not only was the packaging obviously in the garbage, but there were also no signs of an older toothbrush that it replaced.
Even the bed made it glaringly obvious, the trench from rest was slightly off centre, but clearly only belonged to one person. Beyond these facts putting in question the amount of animosity to send the victim’s partner into a murderous rage, it completely negated the landlord’s story.
The landlord claimed they’d been fighting above him for nearly six months. To have a relationship with such heated arguments, there would need to be increased indicators of the partner’s presence. It seemed as though the landlord had watched one too many crime shows where it’s too often the partner.
They’d called him in because the signs pointed to the partner, who didn’t have an alibi. But the partner seemed genuinely distraught and confused. When the detectives arrived at his house, he was in the final stages of preparing for the pair's Valentine’s Day date for tomorrow. Though feigning normalcy is a standard reaction to hide murderous tendencies, he was genuinely distraught over the fact that Gary would never be able to follow his trail of gifts.
If the detectives had even a sprinkle of logic, they’d be able to catch the landlord’s homophobic cues. Perhaps latent closested sexual sentiments would be more accurate, but those specificities weren’t as integral. He despised that Gary and his partner were getting closer under the roof that he owned. Currently, the detectives were confirming the lack of alibi and the landlord’s homophobic tendencies, but he was already in cuffs.
The most obvious cue was the slight clench of the landlord’s jaw at the pride flag pinned into the wall. It does bother several landlords, when numerous items are hung in the wall, requiring maintenance once the tenant moves out. However, there were a few other items on display and none of them provoked a reaction except for the rainbow flag.
This theory, however, still had needed to be proven.
A smirk spread across Sherlock’s face, inciting a scoff from John.
“What, Sherlock?” John sighed, exasperated that Sherlock clearly hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
“Are you homophobic, John?” Sherlock mischievously grinned as he sipped at his tea.
“No! But next time, can you give me a warning before you try to French me? Please?” John ended his sentence in a wry chuckle. Though the situation had been disarming of its own, the hilarity of asking your best friend to just ‘give [him] a heads up’ before jamming his tongue in his throat at an active crime scene was undeniable.
“Even when caught off guard, I must admit, Mary is a lucky lady.” Sherlock teased as he continued his survey outside the window.
“I can’t believe that’s what cracked the case! What a mark of brilliance! I just wish it didn’t involve so much… spit…” John continued to trail on as Sherlock’s sights landed on an extremely confused man outside the café.
He was looking around as if he was lost, but it was beyond taking a wrong turn. His pupils weren’t dilated, lowering the odds of drug use. But that’s the only option that seemed to make sense with the erratic behaviour. The young man was tossing his head from side to side as he kept agitatedly patting at one side of his jean jacket. He was clearly petrified, but it didn’t seem like it was caused by anyone or anything in particular.
Further piquing Sherlock’s interest, the blue-haired man threw open the entry door.
“Afternoon!” The owner behind the counter shouted.
Sherlock studied the man as he nervously waved, as if such social interaction was perplexing in and of itself.
Bathrooms, over the years, have been socially structured to be in quite similar places. Usually in a corner or to the furthest edge of the store. It added a layer of intrigue as the man scanned the entire room before landing his eyes upon the bathroom sign and fleeing towards it. As if he didn’t know where one should actually begin looking for the lavatory.
Though incoming urination may be concurrent with a sense of panic, there were too many estranged factors.
John’s snapping pulled Sherlock’s attention as the man disappeared into the bathroom.
“What?” Sherlock snapped towards him, irritated that he needed to pull his attention from the bathroom door.
“Why do I even talk to you?” John scoffed, incredulously shaking his head as he took his turn to stare out the window.
“Because no matter how much I infuriate you, you still find me intriguing. Plus, you feel a sense of pride in the fact that you’re the only person I choose to spend my free time with.” Sherlock stated as he pulled his jacket off.
“Oh of course, because you’re a pompous ass. Got it. Where are you going?” John furrowed his brows as Sherlock stood from his chair, eyes fixed towards the bathroom door.
“Just need to visit the lavatory.” Sherlock announced as he strode from the table.
John muttered into his tea. “You went less than five minutes ago. My deduction is that you have the bladder of a pregnant woman.”
Slamming the lid of the toilet closed, Luka sat on his hidden throne. Opening his jacket, he peered down to Sass. He tried to hide his grimace as he noted that wherever Phantom Traveller had sent him was undoubtedly abnormal.
Sass, who was normally a smooth aquamarine, was now the shade of grass and covered in hard reflective scales. Even his yellow eyes were far more daunting than usual, peering at him as if Luka were his prey.
“Luka, calm down.” Sass coolly instructed Luka. “We’re just in a different world.”
“How do we get back?” Luka clenched his own hair, surprised at the clammy state of his forehead.
“Once Ladybug drops the Miraculous Ladybugs, everything will go back to normal. Even in this world.” Sass rested his taloned paw onto Luka’s chest.
“She should have sent them already!” Luka’s chest started to seize as his vision prickled. Was he going to be stuck here?
“Time works very differently in all worlds.” Sass reassured him. “It will just be a matter of time, I promise.”
Luka dropped his face in his hands, helpless to do anything else.
“Quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in.” A strange voice echoed through the bathroom.
“Just - uh - talking to myself!” Luka yelled as he pushed his hands onto either temple.
“Normally that only comes with one voice, you know?” The man chuckled. “I promise I don’t bite… usually.”
There was a long pause as Luka attempted to regain his composure. He wanted to trust the man, but he had no reason to have faith in him. And… also… now that he was here…
The man, seemingly omnipotent, started laughing. “I’ll be by the window. You take care of your business.”
Were his steps louder as he walked away or had Luka really been so distracted he hadn’t heard him approach them?
“How was yo-,” John started speaking towards Sherlock as he dropped to the table.
“Listen John, there’s something going on with that blue haired man. He’s communicating with someone else and apparently he’s going to be returned to his world at an indescribable time.” Sherlock sped through his words as he shifted into his seat.
“You’ve gone mad. It finally happened.” John set down his tea, unable to clamp his jaw shut.
“Stop being so pompous, John. This is our opportunity to comprehend a layer to the universe in which we find ourselves.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, as if he’d only stated that he found a professor in the bathroom.
“So, you’re both mad then? Is what you’re telling me?” John rolled his eyes.
“Sherlock! John! Your food!” The owner shouted towards the pair.
“Be a dear and grab that for me, will you?” Sherlock asked without breaking his returned gaze to the bathroom door.
John’s mutters fell on deaf ears as the blue haired man stepped out of the bathroom. He paused, observing the room, possibly debating running, before he finally headed to the direction of the table.
Giving a slight nod of his head, Sherlock pointed to the open chair beside him. The man’s cheek slightly concaved, no doubt biting it, as he lowered into the seat.
“Hello!” John was uncomfortably chipper as he brought over his and Sherlock’s meals. “Did you two have a nice chat in the loo?”
“Uh, yeah. Very nice… toilets…” Luka struggled with the entire concept of his current existence.
“Are the toilets worse where you come from?” Sherlock tilted forward. Considering the man’s discomfort, he could assume that he wasn’t genuinely intrigued in the quality of the bathroom’s. However, it was a segway to pick at the mystery.
The blue haired man froze, staring out the window as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Erm… what’s your name?” John tilted his head, wondering if Sherlock’s prying had short circuited the man.
“Luka…” He was paralyzed as he stared forward at the bustling streets.
“Well, I am John, and this twat over there is Sherlock.” John informed Luka. It was rare that anyone made him feel as voiceless as Sherlock, but this man was a close second. The fact that he pulled Sherlock further into the depth of oblivion certainty wasn’t helping.
Luka was paralyzed in a distant glare while Sherlock was partaking in a stilled stare, barely inches from the man’s face. Sherlock’s eyes were glassed with pure ghastly intrigue.
Sherlock followed Luka’s sights to see if there was anything out of place, but everything was arguably ordinary. There was someone spitting on the street, yellow taxis blaring their horns, and overbearingly bright advertisements flashing the air times for a television show.
Sherlock did not like knowing what was bothering the man. No one should appear this stupefied without some form of logical reasoning.
“Miraculous Ladybug…” Luka barely whispered before the last drops of blood ran from his face, followed by his head slamming against the table.
“Not to worry!” Sherlock jolted from his seat. “Just one too many, we’ll take care of him!”
“No! Why would we take-,” John attempted to protest; but no one ever wins going head to head with Sherlock.
“John! We need to keep him safe of course! Grab him a meal, I’m sure he’ll be famished. I’ll meet you back at the flat.” Sherlock instructed as he bore the weight of the unconscious man.
In the daytime, I’m Marinette. Just a normal girl with a normal life. But there’s something that no one knows about me. Cause I have a secret ~
Luka couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes, but he could hear the taunt of an eerie tune. It was similar to the Ladybug and Chat Noir movies he’d seen at home, but harrowingly different. This show knew her real identity.
As he shifted in the seat, papers started to fall to the floor. Finally opening his eyes he saw the cluttered living room in apartment 221b. Light poured through the window, directly onto the chair he’d been set upon. The show was playing off of a laptop set upon the desk beside the window, the screen nearly blackened by the sun.
“Dites-moi, est-ce que tu connais cette émission?” (Tell me, do you know this show?) Sherlock stepped into the room, working to catch Luka while he was still groggy.
“Un peux, oui. C’est une émission pour enfants, non?” (A bit, yeah. It’s a kids show, isn’t it?) Luka responded, massaging his temple. He was trying to discern if the specs floating across his vision was the dust from the room or from his mind in the process of turning back on. In reality, it was a blend of both.
“Fascinating!” Sherlock sat on the arm of the chair, holding a tea in his hand. “Yes, it is for a younger audience.”
“What’s fascinating?” Luka shifted his weight to the corner of the chair to lazily peer up towards Sherlock.
“What is your native tongue?” Sherlock asked as he sipped away at his tea.
“It’s - um-,” it was such a simple question. He spoke the same language that everyone else did. He spoke… France? Logically, it would have to be French, but he’d felt as though he was speaking his first language the entire time he was here. Which, it suddenly didn’t seem likely that everyone around him was speaking French.
“Ist Ihr Name Luka Couffaine?” Sherlock asked him to confirm his name in German.
“Ja, so ist es.” Luka confirmed his name, unaware that they’d switched languages again.
“あなたは何カ国語を話しますか?” Sherlock switched to Japanese, asking how many languages he knew.
“一つだけ。私が思うに。” Just one. I think. Luka squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t understand what was happening.
“Your Japanese accent is impeccable.” Sherlock smirked as he stepped towards the laptop.
“What? I don’t… I don’t speak Japanese…” Luka rubbed his eyes. If he spoke Japanese he’d be able to understand when Kagami spoke to her mother. That was at least one he was certain of.
“Fascinating.” Sherlock marvelled at Luka. “How did you get here? And do you have your little - uh - ‘Kwami’?”
Luka started feeling faint again. How did he know about Sass? What was this man playing at? How did he get out of the restaurant?
“Oh no, please don’t faint again!” Sherlock jumped from the armchair and dashed to the kitchen.
John adored Mrs. Hudson, but sometimes she truly did not understand when someone was trying to leave a conversation. He’d already had to wait for another meal to be prepared and was now pushing on twenty minutes of being trapped within Mrs. Hudson’s conversational talons. He could only pray for that poor man upstairs; that long with a heavy dose of Sherlock was enough to drive anyone off the edge of a cliff.
Thankfully, the banging from upstairs had given him a chance to escape Mrs. Hudson, but then came the second fear. What in the hell were they doing up there? Or more realistically, what the hell was Sherlock doing to Luka?
Creaking the door open, it was unsettlingly silent without either of them in sight. Setting down the food, he started scanning the apartment. His eyes hadn’t made it to the kitchen before dishes crashed to the floor.
Stomping towards the kitchen, he was greeted by an absolute disaster.
“Amazing!” Sherlock beamed as he stood on the kitchen counter that he’d cleared off by kicking everything on it to the floor.
Sherlock’s face was nearly touching Viperion’s knee, who was cross legged on top of the fridge.
“Oh, wait!” Sherlock leapt from the counter, somehow avoiding disaster as he danced over broken porcelain. Giddy, Sherlock raced to the living room where he kept his violin. He was so ecstatic, he barely noticed that he’d shoulder checked John on the way.
“You… you changed?” John tilted his head at the spandex man on his fridge, utterly perplexed.
“Gah, don’t be so dense, John. Obviously he’s a superhero.” Sherlock scoffed as he walked back into the kitchen.
“A superhero? You yelled at me a week ago for mentioning a ghost!” John yelled back.
Ignoring him, Sherlock started playing the background instrumental to ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ as Luka played the vocal cover on his lyre.
“This is absolute madness.” John shook his head, but found himself unable to walk away. “You’ve truly driven me to insanity. I’m delusional ! Hallucinating !”
“Quiet John, please.” Sherlock snipped as they finished the rest of the intro.
John kept his foot on the door to prevent Mrs. Hudson from pushing it open anymore. She was too curious a creature.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” John waved the caramel popcorn that had been requested as he tried to politely force the door shut.
“Did you figure out that noise, darling?” Her nose kept pushing at the edge of the door’s opening.
“Just Sherlock being obnoxious. Nothing out of the ordinary.” He resisted the urge to push her nose back through so he could close the door.
“Please leave Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock shouted, taking the onus away from John.
“One tin of caramel pop-,” John was interrupted by Sherlock snatching it from his hands and passing it towards Luka.
“There, as requested, payment in popcorn to watch your show.” Sherlock perched on the armchair beside Luka once again. The sun had now set, allowing the screen to be adequately visible.
Luka snickered at the offering. It had really only been stated as a joke, but he wouldn’t deny such a treat.
“Do you need your own chair, Sherlock?” John tilted towards him.
“God no.” Sherlock denied as he leaned closer to the screen.
“You’re being ridiculous, Sherlock.” Luka chuckled at the man’s strange behaviour. “You’ve been like that for hours!”
John’s snores from the chair beside them echoed in the room as Miraculous Ladybug continued to play.
“We haven’t seen all the episodes with you in them yet.” Sherlock flatly stated, as if it would be ridiculous to do anything else.
Rolling his eyes, Luka moved to the furthest edge of the chair, allowing just enough space for the detective to sit.
“Oh. Are you certain?” Sherlock’s brows furrowed at the concept.
“Think about it, if you sit here, you’ll be able to more accurately observe my physiological reactions to each episode.” Luka playfully poked at Sherlock’s knee.
Clearing his throat, Sherlock nodded, sliding beside Luka.
The past twelve hours had been the most unexpected, chaotic, marvellous hours of Luka’s life. Sherlock was eccentric and crass, but his melody was far different. Though Sherlock was blunt, it was never intended out of malice. In fact, most of the time he couldn’t comprehend that people wouldn’t react or see things the way he did.
“Did you really think things would work out with you and Marinette?” Sherlock’s melody slightly hitched as he attempted to get comfortable on the small chair, not wanting to jam Luka with his hips.
“Do you always ask questions to reduce your discomfort?” Luka thought Sherlock was absolutely ridiculous. He was morose yet sparkling with childlike wonder as he delicately moved around Luka, seemingly concerned that he might break him.
Sherlock’s eyes popped at the question. “I’m not, I’m not uncomfortable.”
His melody said differently as he shifted himself across the arm of the chair he’d previously perched upon.
“Here.” Luka shifted his lap to provide an easier surface for Sherlock to sit upon.
Sherlock slightly unballed, allowing some of Luka’s leg to abate the pressure of his weight. His presence was warm and comforting. Though Luka only met him that day, the man excited and enthralled him in ways he hadn’t ever expected. No one tended to engulf much interest in Luka, but that may be because he was apparently a side character back home.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Sherlock whispered as he rested his cheekbone on Luka’s shoulder. “Do you normally avoid questions when the answer defames your own intellect?”
Luka snorted at the follow-up question, nearly forgetting he’d asked one in the first place. “I think that’s a common human reaction. No one wants to feel dumb. Most people spend their entire lives trying to prove their worth.”
“But not you.” Sherlock kept his eyes on the show, which was currently on the episode ‘Truth’. “Which may explain why you willingly sought a relationship with someone unattainable. You’d rather believe yourself unworthy, only adequate as a second choice. Admirably accepting defeat, because not only were the odds never in your favour but, because you never believed you would be able to exist as someone’s first choice.
“We all do stupid things when we’re young, Sherlock. You have to remember, watching this show is a blast from the past for me. We’ve long defeated Gabriel and are fighting new villains. I don’t even think I had to shave at this point.” Luka watched the cartooned version of himself attack Ladybug and Chat Noir.
It was strange, really, seeing a recreation of a moment he had no memory of. The entire show felt as if someone had found Marinette’s old diary and scripted it off that. Considering the show was for children, it made sense to take Marinette’s perspective. They wouldn’t have to show Adrien covering up his bruises his father left. Or the marks left by Adrien’s own warped conception of self-worth and self-hatred.
Marinette had the air of innocence. She was privileged, both in finance and hardships. It would be too much, perhaps, to show Alya’s mother struggling. A widowed single mother suffering in a biassed world. Nora was always depicted in her Muay Thai gear, which though it was inaccurate in their daily life, was too poetically correct. Nora was always fighting for the family. Taking on jobs, at far too young an age, in order to help her mother pay the bills. If the show surrounded the Césaire family, the opening tune would be far less catchy.
In the search to find episodes with him in it, it would be lying to say it didn’t affect his ego when he realised how minimally he was included in the animation of his world. But he was not normal either. It was validating when Sherlock confirmed that he seemed like the only character with real feelings. The show never focus on the raw points for too long. A mention of the bridge he’d find respite at, but not the hours or the tears spent there. They muted his experience of being pulled out of school, bullied one too many times for Anarka to accept. Juleka had it hard too, but she kept her head up by lowering her voice. She entirely changed who she was to be accepted in the public domain. The show certainly got one thing right; Juleka constantly struggled with anxiety. With her ability to say anything or stand up for herself. The reminders of humiliation, force, and cruelty constantly drowning her into herself.
If anyone were to be chosen, to be soft on the palate, it was only logical that Marinette was chosen. The normal girl who’s obsession was overlooked through the trope of star-crossed lovers.
“Why were you attracted to her?” Sherlock’s face crumpled, obviously trying to analyse what made Marinette seem so enticing.
It had been many moons since Luka had to ponder that question. Him and Marinette had been friends for so long, it was too easy to forget that they’d ever dated.
“She was nice…” Luka pensively nodded, trying to trigger his own memories.
“Everyone on this show is nice, Luka.” Sherlock chuckled.
“I think it was more the effect that I had on her that hooked me.” Luka watched the credits roll, wondering if maybe this time he’d see a name he recognized.
“The effect of momentary distraction from Adrien?”
The words pulled at the scab long forgotten. Pulling up memories was prodding at it, but the bluntness of the question re-aligned the feelings of pain he’d long pushed away.
“Yes and no…” Luka chewed his lip searching for the right answer. “I could tell my presence calmed her. She seemed genuinely interested in me… I liked that feeling. That I could be someone’s support. I may not have been her first choice, but it was intoxicating hearing her melody slow when she was around me.”
“You are fascinating. Can you really ‘hear’ melodies? Or is that embellished for the show?” Sherlock brought his fingers to his lips, as if he had an oral fixation that presented itself the more he focused on a problem.
“To a degree, yeah.” Luka admitted, knowing that Sherlock would be interested in his own.
“Is mine as grating as everyone says?” For the first time since Luka met Sherlock, he flashed a genuine tone of sadness. A blue set there by years of being excluded and teased. Perhaps that trait was what they saw within each other.
“I think it’s rather beautiful.” Luka softly smiled as he leaned his cheek atop Sherlock’s head.
It wasn’t shocking that Sherlock’s tune was that of a violin. Though it was loud and fierce, the melody was serene and played with breathtaking body and precision. Sherlock’s melody was the type an orchestra would play at a ballet, bringing the audience to tears.
“Is it as captivating as Marinette’s though? Because that simple cord progression seems absolutely tantalising.”
“Oh shut up, I said I was young!” Luka pushed his face against the thick brown mop of hair. “Yours is far more complex and mesmerising, I promise.”
Sherlock’s excitement erected his back with such vigour that he narrowly avoided giving Luka a black eye. The hairs wisped over Luka’s eyelashes as Sherlock jittered in the chair. “Can you play it?”
The childlike sparkle overtook Sherlock’s face as he beamed towards Luka. How was it that within his own universe, that apparently was a keen interest for children, this sparkle never seemed to exist? Maybe it was a shine that only existed when one sees through the dark; when one is aware of the ailments of the world but chooses to find passion in obscure moments.
Fascinated by the man’s peculiar beauty and outlook, Luka brought his thumb to Sherlock’s cheek. “Maybe tomorrow. Let John sleep.”
“Oh. Forgot about him.” Sherlock mumbled as he lowered his head akin to a disobedient dog.
“I get the same thing with my ADHD.” Luka stated as he tugged on Sherlock to resume his position of comfort. “That’s something ADHD and Autism share, you know? Object permanence can pop up at the most inconvenient times. It makes people think we don’t care. It’s difficult to explain that they momentarily cease to exist without them hearing that they’re not important. Especially when that’s never the case.”
Sherlock’s melody returned to a calm state as he softened against Luka. Though Luka was convinced that someone with Sherlock’s stature would deny any implications of a learning disability, the reaction to the validation said it for him.
“I find your thought process intriguing.” The screen of the laptop reflected in Sherlock’s fixated eyes.
“I suppose I should take that as a compliment.” A grin took over Luka’s face once again.
It was strange how natural things felt with Sherlock in such an unnatural world. Luka wasn’t even aware that after he’d tugged Sherlock back his arm was draped around him. But neither of them reacted to the concept, it felt habitual. As if they’d sat like this a million times.
“You are extremely observant, you can see what most people cannot, yet somehow you couldn’t figure out that Marinette was Ladybug.” Genuine bewilderment intertwined with Sherlock’s voice.
“It seemed less obvious in person, I guess. Do remember that this is just a tv show.” He rolled his eyes, trying to avoid the fact that he also thought he was an idiot when he figured it out.
“Did she still wear pigtails and have the same voice?” Sherlock pushed the topic.
“Shhhh, watch the show.” Luka snickered, knowing that Sherlock would take the confirmation.
“Shit.” John huffed from the chair across from them.
“What is it John?” Sherlock whispered as he continued brushing Luka’s hair, now illuminated by morning sun.
“Mary is going to be pissed! We have a Valentine’s Day brunch reservation in twenty minutes!” John scrambled around the apartment collecting his belongings.
Sherlock needed to stay up until he’d watched every last episode with Luka in it and once the sun came up it seemed pointless to go back to sleep. Luka had fallen asleep during ‘Sole Crusher’. It was logical that he’d submit to exhaustion. Watching a recap of his life was likely nowhere near as fascinating for him as it was for Sherlock.
Once Luka’s soft snores started tickling at Sherlock’s hair, Sherlock worked to readjust the two of them, wanting to ensure the man would still get a half decent sleep. Sherlock bent one of his legs against the back of the chair and let the other foot rest on the floor so that Luka could rest upon his chest.
Normally, Sherlock would rebuff the bodily fluid leaking from Luka’s dozing mouth, but it wasn’t perturbing coming from him. Though Sherlock’s shirt was damp around the edge of Luka’s lips, it was merely evidence that the mystical man from the cartoon was truly here. Plus, his head positioned there was the best angle to softly pet his hair.
If Sherlock had to defend his affection, he’d say that it was because of the abnormal texture of Luka’s hair. For black hair to become such a bright blue, one would need to bleach it and then colour it. However, Luka’s hair was not brittle nor showed any signs of fading. It was as if his hair truly was naturally blue. Which, perhaps it was.
Luka’s eyelids fluttered as he fought the edges of his reverie. Sherlock couldn’t help but to wonder what he’d dream about. When he dreamt, was it in colour? Was it a cartoon or architectured like this world?
The detective nearly forgot about the Kwami until Luka’s hood started shaking. It was adorable how Sass had nuzzled into Luka’s hood; they were truly an inseparable pair.
“Thanks for letting us stay.” The scaly creature expressed his gratitude to Sherlock.
“Of course.” Sherlock returned his attention to the man on his chest. None of them knew how much time they would get. The only thing Sherlock was certain of was that the moment Luka left would always be a moment too soon.
“I haven’t seen him this content in a long time.” Sass floated before Luka’s face.
Sherlock was wonderstruck at the burning sensation in his cheeks. Was he, Sherlock Holmes, blushing?
How quaint.
Luka’s chaotic hair pointed in every direction as he stepped back into the main living area of the house, his hair now with a lingering scent of sandalwood. Usually, he would want to take more time in readying himself for the day, but the melancholic song was too enticing to ignore.
Sherlock resembled a fallen angel as he stood before the bright window; the rays dancing around him with each strike of the bow.
Since Luka was an infant, he’d had an interest in instruments. Fortunately for him, there was always a guitar present. Anarka said he learned to play before he learned to talk. He wasn’t sure how valid that statement was, but he held it as a badge of honour nonetheless. Though he loved the guitar, he found himself enamoured with the violin.
When played correctly, the sound of a violin was unparalleled. It was a finicky instrument, delicate to bumps, humidity, and tuning. If your E string was not perfectly tuned, everyone knew it. If your fingers were not placed without the precise amount of pressure, the violin would fight back. With a guitar, you can choose to use a pick, or your fingers, he’d even seen people use folded up pieces of cereal boxes. With a violin, it was imperative to approach even your bow with a fastidious nature. As the saying goes, high risk, high reward.
And there was no reward as sweet as a perfectly played violin.
Particularly when played by a tall handsome man completely lost within the moment.
The rosin cascaded from his bow with each impassioned note. His body slightly swayed along with the rhythm.
“There’s another violin between the desk and the wall.” Sherlock flatly stated without breaking his dream-like state.
Amused at the fact that he’d been caught, Luka obeyed and searched through the clutter behind the desk. It seemed strange to keep a violin case under a stack of books, but considering it was protected in a hard case he couldn’t find reason to protest.
“There’s a tuner in the case.” Sherlock’s eyes slightly parted, letting Luka know he was silently testing him.
Cracking open the case, Luka rotated the bow in his hand, checking its quality and wear.
“It’s pristine, I assure you.”
Wryly chuckling, Luka continued his routine nonetheless. Tightening the bow, he pushed the translucent honey coloured brick along the strings. Strange satisfaction pulsed through his fingers as the edges of the rosin dusted off with each strike. Content with the layer of residue, he slacked the bow to a playable tension.
Brushing his fingers along the strings, he tuned the instrument by ear. He preferred to run the bow along it for accuracy, but with Sherlock listening closely, it was better to attempt to achieve perfection before striking the bow.
Standing to his feet, he prepared himself to do the second ‘tuning’.
“It’s better to play by the window.” Sherlock casually invited him over.
“I need to make sure it’s perfect first. I wouldn’t want to ruin your song.” Luka ran the bow along each string, satisfied with himself only needing to use the fine tuner for the A string.
Sherlock held his last note as Luka stepped towards him.
“Well, you’re the guest. I’ve been told it’s customary to let the visitor choose the song.” Sherlock raised his brow, keeping his violin against his shoulder.
“You’re right. Let’s do Ode to Joy.” Luka bit back his smirk.
“Ah, Beethoven. Yes.” Sherlock did not hide his dissatisfaction as well as Luka hid his amusement. Sighing, he pulled his bow up to the strings, waiting for Luka to follow suit.
“You aren’t worried that it will be too hard for you?” Luka teased, breaking Sherlock’s disappointed face into a chuckle. “I heard I also play a killer twinkle twinkle, if that’s more your style.”
In the short time that Luka had with Sherlock, he knew that the man was constantly determined to be the best. If he was passionate about something, everything else fell to the side. He would hyperfixate until he could pulverise the most difficult barriers. A beginner's violin song would be of no interest to him.
Nonetheless, it was quite heartwarming that he was willing to play it anyway. As long as it meant that he’d get to play with Luka. Something they both had in common was they weren’t always the best with words; it was always easier to speak through music.
“If you ever suggest twinkle twinkle again, I will kick you out of my house.” Glacier blue eyes burned towards Luka with a hint of an elated sparkle.
“Fine, Mr. Fancy Pants. Let me know if you need me to slow down.” Luka raised his bow and started their game.
Sibelius’ Violin Concerto in D Minor is widely known as one of the most difficult songs to play on violin. When one strives to be the master of the violin, it would be dim witted to ignore Sibelius’ challenge. If one could play this song immaculately, there was no argument that they reigned with a bow. It was elementary that they both would have striven to perfect it.
Rosin snowed through the room as they battled for perfection.
Though they both played flawlessly, it wasn’t their performance that indicated a win. It was that when their final beat rested, they both beamed with glee.
“You truly are a wonder, Mr. Couffaine.” Sherlock exhaled in reverence.
“That’s a high compliment coming from you.” Luka mimicked Sherlock’s serious face as he brought his bow against his strings again.
“Yes. It is.”
Sherlock sifted through his suits, trying to find one that he’d be unafflicted if it suddenly disappeared along with Luka. It seemed quite frivolous, considering he’d miss no suit as much as he’d miss Luka’s presence. It was nearly impossible for him to find someone who simultaneously challenged and soothed him.
The thought of letting him go was heart wrenching. Sherlock was nearly at the point of following him in the bathroom; that way, at least know if the man suddenly returned home.
“I can take off my jacket, I’m sure it won’t be that bad.” Luka passively suggested behind him.
What a ridiculous thought. “Luka, if you are going to be in London for Valentine’s Day, you might as well experience the best of it.”
And ripped jeans with band t-shirts did not follow the dress codes for ‘the best’.
The day itself had never appealed to Sherlock. It was a gaudy display of performed love; truly a repugnant societal event. But the opportunity to try to incite another smile from Luka was too tempting. As much as he’d prefer to keep him within the confines of 221b, he knew the entire world was new to Luka.
“What is this deer hunter hat?” Luka picked up the cap that the newspaper’s portrayed as his signature apparel.
“Give me that!” Sherlock snatched the hat out of his hand and returned it to its place. “It’s truly an awful thing, but I can’t seem to part with it.”
Frustrated with the slight differences in his wardrobe, Sherlock pulled out the one that his fingers just happened to be on. They were all black, so it wasn’t as if it would make a terrible difference. He tossed the set behind him. Scanning the dress shirts he listened to Luka’s belt drop to the floor.
His eyes landed on a royal purple shirt. One he’d never wear, it was too flashy of a colour. It was easier to say that was the only reason; not the fact that it would also help Luka’s eyes pop. Hovering the shirt behind him, he stared at the emptied hanger. Once the shirt was tugged away, Sherlock gripped onto the shelf of his closet. He was supposed to be above these emotions. How was a momentary visitor stealing the stability in his knees?
“We may have a small problem.” Luka sang towards him.
Turning around, Sherlock burst into laughter. Luka was attempting to stand on his tip toes so the hem of the pants wouldn’t drag on the floor. They were nearly the same waist size, but there was approximately a three inch height difference.
“If you wore heels I’m sure it would rectify the problem.” Sherlock snickered as he rubbed his fingers along his mouth.
“Do you have any safety pins?” Luka lifted his arms as he spun around on his tiptoes.
“Have you ever considered ballet? You seem to have quite the natural knack for it.”
“Sherlock! Pins!” Luka dramatically fell backwards onto the bed.
“Yes, I’ll grab Mrs. Hudson right away.” Sherlock peered over his shoulder as he left the room. There was something so irritatingly captivating about how Luka continued to tread his feet in the air as he awaited sewing supplies.
“Oh my god.” Luka was breathless as they walked out onto the rooftop.
“Well, I thought we should go somewhere that you could see all of London.” Sherlock paused, likely to appreciate the stunned look on Luka’s face.
The sun was setting over the cityscape, leaving a flash of tangerine slicing rays through the deep lilac and cyan blue sky. The city below them twinkled to life, in a manner he’d never quite experienced in ‘Paris’. Luka’s mouth was agape as Sherlock started walking over to the table.
Luka was too stunned to move. The view was gorgeous and the place was packed. Sherlock obviously had connections if he’d been able to fit in a last minute reservation. Or at least, knew the right buttons to push.
“I assure you, the view is far more spectacular from our table.” Sherlock tugged at the sculpture of Luka.
Steadying his eyes on the sight, he reached for Sherlock’s hand. He didn’t want to take his sights off the view nor did he want to walk into anybody.
A slight moment of tension flexed in the palm he was trying to meet, sending a flash of embarrassment as he went to pull his hand away. His stomach calmed as Sherlock’s fingers intertwined within his own, preventing his separation.
Nullifying his entire excuse to reach for Sherlock’s hand, he turned his head towards the detective, who was attempting to hide a blush himself.
“The most beautiful view I’ve ever seen.” Luka lowered his head to intercept Sherlock’s evasive gaze.
“Ah - well - you haven’t seen it from our table yet!” Sherlock’s free hand tugged at the bottom edge of his jacket as he dragged Luka towards their table.
Luka decided Sherlock’s ability to get a last minute reservation was both connections and deducting his way to find someone’s skeleton hidden within their closet. They had a semi-secluded table by the edge of the roof. The black wicker chairs had wool blankets folded over top to protect them from the chilled breeze. Lights on the ferris wheel were starting to flicker on as Luka settled into his chair.
“Would you like a glass?” Sherlock grinned as he pulled the bottle of Rosé wine out of the bucket of ice.
Luka rested his elbow on the railing, using it as a pivot point to raise the pink bubbles to his lips. “That food was amazing. This day - you - it’s been amazing, Sherlock.”
Sherlock stood beside Luka, admiring his loss of words. “Don’t tell anyone. They’ll think I have a heart.”
“Oh, and wouldn’t that be terrible?” Luka snorted before taking another sip of his glass.
“It makes me more liable when I break others. If they think I’m incapable of romantic infatuation, then they carry less of the burden on themselves.” Sherlock stared into the bubbles moving around in his glass.
He hadn’t noted his choice of phrasing until Luka pushed off the railing. Perhaps he’d had too many glasses of pink.
“Romantic infatuation?” Luka raised his brow with a smile as he brought himself closer to Sherlock. Close enough to nearly feel his breath, but not close enough for their bodies to meet.
Clicking his tongue, Sherlock refocused on the champagne. “Why does everything on Valentine’s Day need to be pink?”
Pausing, Luka sipped at his drink. Sherlock shifted in his shoes, too aware of the piercing blue gaze he was under.
“Rhetorical or not?” Luka questioned, a cheeky tone apparent in his voice.
Most people would assume rhetorical. Or immediately correlate it with simply love or femininity. The question alone implied Luka had a deeper understanding than most.
Why did Sherlock have to give him up so soon?
“Well… It was primarily rhetorical, but I’m interested to see what you have to say.” Sherlock met the piercing blue oceans that glittered in amusement. “However, you can’t blame it on capitalistic commercialisation. That would be cheating.”
Though the prolongement of pink treats and greeting cards ceaselessly hammered in the concept of a particular shade of colour being intertwined with romance, it was still too obvious. He wanted to see if Luka was truly as smart as Sherlock thought he was.
“Hopefully I don’t bore you.” The edges of Luka’s lips twitched, evidence that he was trying to mute the amusement clawing at his expression. His eyes, however, completely gave him away, radiantly beaming in exhilaration.
“Most people do.” Sherlock admitted, keenly listening to what Luka had to say about shaded romance.
“There are a variety of factors that suggest the history of pink and romance. First, you always need to start with red. The most classic story is Aphrodite. She loses her current lover and in her distraught run towards him she cuts herself and bleeds onto a white rose. This implied that it was her heartbreak, her passion, that brought red roses into existence.” Luka started his ‘introduction to Valentine’s Day colours’ sermon.
Oh Luka, you need to be able to do better than that.
“However, there are other variations of Greek mythology that still encompass Aphrodite explaining the origin of red roses.” Luka waved his index finger to animate his point. “Another dictates that Cybele, the Goddess of Mother Earth, was so envious of Aphrodite that she created a red rose to compete with her beauty. And then there’s the one I find most boring where Aphrodite is wearing a white rose and Dionysus, the god of the grape harvest, drops some wine on it.
Basically, Greek mythology always puts Aphrodite, the goddess of love, together with the creation of red roses.”
Hmmm…. Now you’re starting to impress me. Maybe just a little bit. Maybe.
“Then, you have the association of red with luxury and richness. Red was nearly impossible to get, leaving red dye associated with the upper class. Though it became more accessible, the infatuation of the colour continued, still ingrained as a passionate and elegant colour.” Luka sipped the last of his glass, passing it over for Sherlock to fill.
Sherlock nearly missed the glass while he poured, becoming increasingly entranced in Luka’s perspective.
“And then of course we have the - ‘my heart is red, my blood is red’ bull crap. Because nothing is more romantic than bleeding.” Chuckling, Luka took his glass back, amused at his own comment. “But - the question was pink, not red.”
Which is glaringly obvious when you pause to think about it, but most people don’t.
“White is associated with purity and innocence, therefore, it is the blend of the romantic and the pure. Giving a ‘watered down’ Aphrodite if you will. It’s easy to consider this perspective even with wedding dresses. In Western culture the brides wear white, in China it is traditional for the bride to wear red. Pink is literally just the blend of two different sides of romance.” Luka opened his arms incredulously, as if the concept was beyond him.
You did not disappoint…
“I think that why pink in particular has seemingly overrode red in our perception of Valentine’s Day is the inclusion of children.” Luka pierced his lips for a moment. “Sorry, I know I’m cheating and talking about commercialisation, but I’m on a roll now.”
“Please, continue.” Sherlock nodded while taking another sip.
The rule was to not solely rely on it. Yet you can’t stop talking, in the most fascinating way. As if you’re genuinely excited with the more knowledge you share. Is it that you don’t often get to have these conversations? Is your intellect not challenged at home or is it merely on topics related to romance?
“Since there’s always money in the younger generation, it’s easier to create habits and rituals so that they will continue to spend in February because they were introduced to it at such a young age.
Consider Althusser’s Ideological State Apparatus. Social institutions, such as schools, refine people from a young age to dictate what they should or should not do in society.
In school, I was required to bring a box of cheap Valentine’s Day cards to my class. The expectation of participating in the holiday was being reinforced alongside the teaching of the ABCs.
But it would be socially unacceptable if it was correlated to blood and eroticism. So for economic benefit it was important to push for the dash of purity and innocence, bringing pink to the forefront.
This would also make sense why as one ages the Valentine’s Day products and events are more often portrayed in red than pink. Such as a cocktail bar’s Valentine’s event may be advertised in red, but a diner would be more likely to use pink or at least have a variety of colours.” Luka caught his breath, finally concluding his Valentine’s Day theorem. “At least… at least that’s my perspective.”
“Ideological State Apparatus?” Sherlock questioned him, stepping closer.
Red seeped through Luka’s face as he lowered his gaze to the ground. “Sorry, I went on a rant, didn’t I?”
Sherlock placed his hand on the nape of Luka’s neck, levitating his cerulean eyes once again.
“You are one of the most interesting people I have ever met.” The honesty behind the phrase flipped Sherlock’s stomach as he lowered his nose to graze Luka’s.
Luka’s warm breath hitched against the side of Sherlock’s cheek in anticipation. Goosebumps trailed Sherlock’s skin as Luka’s free hand ran underneath his jacket.
He hadn’t noticed the sting of the breeze until he felt Luka’s iced lips against his own; the lingering sweet champagne cooled by the night wind that contrasted the red fire burning under Sherlock’s skin.
Carelessly, Sherlock allowed the champagne glass to drop from his hands, startling the room around them. But, logically, it was the fastest way to wrap his other hand around Luka. One pulled at thick blue hair while the other pressed on the dip of Luka’s spine, pulling them closer.
Luka followed suit, sending his glass shattering to the floor to run both of his hands under Sherlock’s jacket.
“You guys need to go!” A disgruntled staff member ordered them.
Sherlock gripped Luka tighter as he started to pull away, knowing he had at least fifteen more seconds before the worker started getting truly upset. Luka’s kiss was infuriatingly intoxicating, erasing Sherlock’s normative line of thought. Releasing Luka from their kiss was an abhorrent thought.
“Sherlock. Let’s go.” A baritone voice commanded, clearly the server had brought in back-up.
Breaking the kiss, Sherlock rested his forehead against Luka’s. The cacophony of irritation existed solely as background music. Could no one else understand how enrapturing these eyes were? Deep beyond recognition, not to exist as merely beauty, but a reflection of his pensive intellectual nature.
“Can we get our dessert to go?” Sherlock flatly requested as he placed his palms on Luka’s cheeks.
“He’s impossible!” The server stormed off.
Heavily sighing, the baritone voice ceded. “Yeah Sherlock, I’ll bring you the damn dessert. As long as you leave immediately after you get it. Understood?”
“Crystal clear.” Sherlock tipped his lips back towards Luka. Afterall, they had to wait for the dessert, didn’t they?
Sherlock and Luka sat in the back of the taxi in silence. Sherlock’s hand gripped the squished box of mousse, some of it spilling out the top across his fingers. Their clothing, utterly dishevelled, reflected their departure.
The imbalance of the unkemptness slightly highlighted Sherlock’s infamy. Sherlock was missing all the buttons to his jacket, whereas Luka was only missing one. Sherlock’s dress shirt was ripped by the collar whereas Luka’s was merely irregularly untucked.
There was certainly a heavier hand taken to Sherlock. Luka would normally abide by the rules, but he felt instinctively protective over the eccentric man.
Luka curled his soiled sock as he stared down at his uneven footing. “My shoe.” He poured towards the once white sock, now coated in dirt and mud.
A low chuckle started to emanate out of Sherlock, pulling Luka’s attention. Sherlock’s whole face lit up when he laughed, it was unfortunate more people didn’t get to see it.
Smirking, Luka raised his foot in the air. “How did we lose my damn shoe, Sherlock?”
The detective’s rumble turned into a roar, pulling Luka’s laughter out along with him.
Still not recovered from their laughing spell, Sherlock raised his arm for Luka to lean into him. The street lamps flashed within the cab as they rode back to Sherlock’s loft.
“I can’t believe we got escorted by security on Valentine’s Day! Will the mousse be okay?” Luka tilted his head back to meet Sherlock’s amused expression.
“I can. It’s rare that I don't get escorted out.”
“You are quite the trouble maker aren’t you?” Luka snickered as the taxi reached its destination.
“Me? Never!” Sherlock guffawed as he opened the door.
Enamoured, Luka intertwined his fingers with Sherlock’s as they walked up the creaking stairs. He’d never truly celebrated Valentine’s, outside of grade school. There was never a particular draw. But he’d willingly get thrown out of a cocktail bar with Sherlock for any cheesy Hallmark holiday.
Sherlock was closing the door with his foot as Luka embraced him. Clenching his hair with one hand, he shoved the detective’s jacket off with the other.
Passion fueled Luka as his stomach pressed against the already crushed dessert between them.
Giggling, Sherlock fingered off some of the squished white chocolate and strawberry mousse dessert, a slight dribble of chocolate hazelnut sauce trailing towards the ground. Parting his lips, Luka sucked the sweet dessert off his finger. Even though the dessert had been through a literal fight, it was still fluffy before it melted in his mouth.
“Mmm…” Sherlock licked his lips with a lascivious smile. “Should I get us another glass of champagne?”
Planting a last kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, Luka nodded in agreement.
He watched in amusement as Sherlock sprinted towards the kitchen. It was perplexing, that he hadn’t even existed there for even two days, yet this was the happiest he’d been in years. To think, when he awoke here after fainting he felt as though he’d entered a nightmare.
Luka lovingly caressed the ratty scarlet chair that he’d slept upon the night before. The front was irreparably sun stained and it looked as if it could fall over at any moment. He had no idea how they’d managed to last an entire night upon it without it collapsing. Maybe this Akumatization wasn’t such a bad thing. If this world was still caught at his 15 year old self, maybe he’d be able to live a few years with Sherlock. They could spend their days writing and playing music. It would be a dream, seeing more of the world through Sherlock’s eyes.
Sherlock popped the cork on the champagne bottle in an amature fashion, shooting half the bottle across the kitchen.
“Um, we may only have a few glasses in here.” Sherlock announced as he rotated the bottle in his hand, trying to determine the volume within the bottle.
“I don’t have any flutes, would a teacup suffice?” Sherlock yelled into the living room, hearing nothing but the echo of his own voice. “Luka?”
With his hand still coiled around the neck of the champagne bottle he marched into the abandoned living room.
A visceral sensation of dread clawed at his abdomen as he ran towards the room. He clung to the chance that Luka had snuck through while the champagne was exploding over the kitchen.
Sherlock’s room was almost exactly as they’d left it. The only differences were that the suit he’d lent Luka was in pristine condition on its hanger and the royal purple dress shirt had returned to its place on the shelf.
Dropping to his bed, he sipped the champagne from the bottle. He knew that Luka would be leaving. He always knew that their time was meant to be short. Why then, did it feel as if someone sledgehammered him in the chest?
The entire room dimmed as Sherlock toyed at the rip on his shirt; the rip was the only proof he had that Luka ever truly existed within his world.