Work Text:
It has been months since the Fall, and the hopelessly lost feeling still lingered. Jawn, desperate for an outlet for his angst, finally accepted the long-standing offer of his old secondary-school pal, Dietz, to go into the deli business. Using his militaristic surgeon skills, he butchered meat quickly and precisely, seeing Moriarty’s face on every mutilated ham. The company’s latest creation was a London Broil, in honour of the busy city Jawn used to call home.
Shurlawk, from his undisclosed hiding place, was, of course, still alive, under an alias. Every week, he wandered into the local shop to pick up groceries, in spite of his irregular eating habits. The first time he saw his former partner’s name on a ham, he had to use every fibre of his being to stay composed, lest he burst into uncharacteristic tears of longing and draw attention to himself. Without a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the top roast from the pile and paid for it with stiff, shaking hands. It was the first food the detective had ever truly enjoyed, and he could almost believe he tasted Jawn on it. From then on, Shurlawk bought exactly one London Broil a week and enjoyed it indulgently with tears in his eyes hoping that somewhere, Jawn was still thinking of him.
And he had been.