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“What is it?”
“I forgot to prepare them in advance.” Sherlock complained, sharply snapping his cigarette case shut. “I must have been too enraptured in something to have noticed. I don’t tend to smoke while in the midst of a case, you see. The puzzle itself is enough to keep my mind stimulated.”
“Yeah, you smoke something else when doing cases.” Langdale grinned, “Am I not stimulating enough on my own?”
Sherlock slapped the ankle closest to him at the end of the bed, making Langdale yelp and tuck his legs away. “Hush.”
He hummed, “You can hit my vape if you want, it’s bubble gum.”
Grimacing, Sherlock shook his head. “No thank you.”
“Then you’re shit out of luck babe I’m afraid. Oh, actually…” Langdale trailed off, reaching over into his bedside drawer. “Someone left theirs on accident a while ago. It's not rolled but I’m sure you can figure that out.”
“Someone?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
“Jealous?”
He scoffed, “Hardly. If the mere idea of you sleeping with someone was enough to get me jealous then I’d have gone mad with it already.”
“Rude. Here you are. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Sherlock took the tin graciously, before turning his nose up with a small eugh .
Langdale smiled, “What is it now?”
“Does the cover have to be so…”
“Alluring? Tantalising? Sexy? ”
“Sure.” Sherlock said, flat. “It doesn’t even have a latch, you have to pop it off.”
He laughed, “You’re so posh! The big bad detective can’t handle a cheap tin and Tinkertits”
Incredulously, Sherlock looked at him.
“A bit of what? ”
“Tinkertits. You know, because Tinkerbells got her boobs out, those are her Tinkertits. Tinkerboobs. Titterbell. Tit-”
“Yes, alright, I get it.” He cut Langdale off. “Very clever. Who’s Tinkerbell?”
“Fictional fairy.”
“ All fairies are fictional.”
Langdale smirked. “Mm, I wouldn’t be so sure about that one.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, turning away from him to pack tobacco into the paper. “Nicky.”
“Sorry?”
“Nicky.” Sherlock repeated unceremoniously. “This is Nicky’s tin.”
“And how did you deduce that one, detective?”
“It says as such, scratched onto the side.”
“Oh.” Langdale pouted. “Spoiler much.”
Sherlock hummed, “I know. I’m a little disappointed myself.”
“Ah- but which Nicky, hm? I know more than one Nicky.”
“Nicholas Palka. Obviously.”
He deflated. “ Obviously .”
“Yes. You said someone left their cigarette case here ‘a while ago’, which isn’t a very precise unit of time by any stretch of the imagination, but I gather you take it to mean over a month ago. Why might someone not come back for their case? They could buy another, but this individual is a nicotine addict, and a poor one at that- you remember the quality of this tin- so would likely come back for what he has left behind.”
Sherlock paused, licking the paper to seal it together.
“Perhaps they are too busy to come pick it up, but despite it’s age this tin shows no sign of sun-damage, meaning this individual most likely has a night shift job and is unlikely to be very high in management so don’t deal with any paperwork, so they probably don’t have much to do other than log their hours. Therefore, they most likely have a lot of free time outside of work. Now, what other reason could there be for a poor nicotine addict who lives locally with a lot of free time to not come pick up the nearly full tin he left behind?”
Langdale sighed. “He’s avoiding something.”
“Precisely! He’s avoiding something. And judging from what I recall of your rants, Nicholas Palka has a very good reason to do so.”
He groaned, “Okay, I get it, you’re a genius.”
Sherlock smiled, “You asked. Not coming here is probably the wisest thing he’s done.”
“Didn’t ask, actually.” seeing him put the cigarette to his mouth, Langdale pushed his shoulder, “Go smoke out the window, my landlady will go nuts if the wallpaper goes yellow.”
“Speaking from experience?”
Langdale pushed at him with his feet until Sherlock relented, chuckling on his way to the window.
Sherlock wasn’t a gym rat by any means but his physical ability couldn’t be denied. Langdale had once asked him what his routine was and he said he didn’t have one, simply seeked out physical activity where he felt drawn to it. Like he might not plan to spend his time hanging upside down, but if the day drew him there he would. Gym trips though, Sherlock emphasised, must be planned in advance. The rest is merely the byproduct of his work, whatever that means.
Langdale supposed he understood it though. Being driven where you feel you must go next, wandering from place to place, purpose to purpose. Shame he doesn't try harder though, he thought, watching Sherlock tilt his head to exhale smoke out the window. He'd make an incredible pole dancer.
Langdale tutted, frowning. “Your poor curls, you really need to take better care of them.”
“My hair is fine.”
“Your curls are crying, Sherlock. I can hear them, crying out in agony for me to save them from this life of three in one hair products.”
A scoff, “I’m not a monster , Langdale.
“Is your roommate a monster?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” he muttered. “No, he isn’t.”
Opening his phone, Langdale laughed. “I saved a routine the other day, I think it's your hair type, let me check.”
“A routine?”
“Yeah, a hair care routine. It's got what shampoo to use and everything.”
“So, undisclosed advertising.”
“Beauty with Sharon would never .”
“Who?”
“Shush let me find it.”
Sherlock sighed, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and holding it there in his chest. One, two, exhale. He tapped it against the windowsill ashtray, contemplating. Surely his hair couldn’t be that bad. There’s no conclusive research to suggest that cannabis has an effect on your hair. He hasn’t done heroin in months, so that’s a no on that one. His one trial with cocaine was a horrid experience that he will never repeat, so no on that front too. Opioids can sometimes make hair prone to thinning…
Reaching into his hair, Sherlock felt around. “I don’t feel any change in texture or thickness. What is it exactly about my curls that are cause for concern?”
No response. “Could you elaborate? Langdale?”
He turned to see Langdale staring at his phone, face blank.
“What is it?”
Grinding his cigarette into the ashtray, Sherlock returned to the bed, this time perching next to Langdale. He jolted minutely, feeling Langdale rest his head on his shoulder, sighing.
“He found me again.”
Ah.
Sherlock gently plucked the phone from Langdale’s hands, grimacing at the comment left under his most recent post. “It’s not like it actually hurts or whatever It’s just so fucking annoying- like you can’t kick someone out and disown him and then- like- haven’t you done enough?”
“Quite.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and it was times like these that Sherlock cursed his neurodiversity. John would offer a well meaning comment, but his mind was rather blank. Mariana would offer to do something- drinking, perhaps? No, definitely not. That wouldn’t end well. Langdale’s taste in movies is… trashy, to put it bluntly, so he isn’t watching those. Another day perhaps he’d allow Langdale to do his nails, but as it stands the thought is making his skin crawl.
What else is there?
Deleting the comment and blocking the account, Sherlock put Langdale’s phone down.
“Would you like a distraction? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Mm… yeah, alright. Distract me, detective.”
“This isn’t really what I had in mind.”
“What were you expecting? Here you are.”
Langdale took the offered shoes, watching Sherlock sit down next to him.
“Well you know. You took me back to your place… you got changed…”
“It’s almost four o’clock, I was hardly taking you out to dinner.”
He sighed, “Would have been nicer than this.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not ice skating, Sherlock!”
“And yet here you are, with me, as I put my skates on.”
Langdale shook his head, “It’s just not happening.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please? With a… whatever the saying is.”
He snorted, “It’s with a cherry on top .”
“Stupid phrase. Please?”
“Stop looking at me like that!”
“Looking at you like what?” Sherlock cocked his head in confusion, allowing for highlights to brighten his eyes, hair jostling with the movement.
Groaning, Langdale conceded. “Okay, fine, fine, I’ll get on the stupid ice rink but I swear if I fall one time I’m leaving.”
“Sherlock, Sherlock please, God please- Sherlock!” Langdale shrieked.
“It’s alright, just relax.”
“No it is not alright, stop laughing at me!”
Sherlock’s lips quivered with effort, “One foot in front of the other, come on now. I thought a drag queen would be good at this.”
“Heels are very different from skates! Two completely different types of death trap!” Langdale hissed, fists balled in a tight grip on Sherlock’s coat.
“Breathe, relax.”
“You f-” Langdale inhaled harshly through his nose, then exhaled slowly, eyes screwed tight.
“There we are, that’s better.”
“Shut up. Okay, I’m okay, I’m totally okay. Yep.”
“Would you like to start letting go of me now.”
Langdale whimpered, screwing his eyes and fists tightening on Sherlock’s coat. “Nope. Here’s fine.”
Sherlock laughed, “I can hardly help you to your seat if you won’t let me go, can I?”
“Oh… no, no, okay, breathe Langdale.”
He nodded, “Breathe.”
Taking his head out of Sherlock’s coat, he met his gaze for possibly the first time since stepping on the ice. “There you are.”
Ignoring him, Langdale looked around to the sidelines, feeling his stomach drop. “Oh my god we’re so far out.”
“Hardly.”
“Maybe not for you, Tonya.”
“Who?”
“Nevermind,” Langdale shook his head, “Just help me.”
Sherlock slowly let go of his arms, reaching up to the hands bunched up at his collar. “Grab my hands.”
Langdale ignored the buttery feeling in his chest, steadily unclenching his clammy hands so he could hold Sherlock’s. “I’m going to step to the left slightly with my left leg, I want you to match this with your right leg. There we are, now move your other leg to match, like so. That’s it. Move with me, Langdale. Match my movements.”
Like dancing, he thought, swallowing.
“Bend your knees. A little bit more… good. Shift your weight onto your left leg and, when I say go, push with that leg to propel you forwards. When I say go, shift your weight again to your right leg and do the same. Ready?”
“No.” He said, slightly nauseous
“Good. Now three, two, one, go!”
For a moment, Langdale was scared he was going to crash directly into Sherlock, but the man was already skating back before his brain could catch up to push off the ground. “Excellent! Again, three, two, one, go!”
This time felt steadier, the movement easier, and Langdale huffed a laugh.
“Yes! It feels good, doesn’t it!”
A small smile appeared on his face. “No!”
Langdale chanced a look down. An uncomfortable feeling twisted in his chest, as he felt himself tilt forward slightly.
“Don’t look down, look at me!” He shot back up, seeing Sherlock focused on him intently, “Just look at me.”
He wavered slightly and could only reply with only a small, “Okay.”
Sherlock nodded. “Three, two, one, go!”
Stumbling, Langdale came to a sudden stop, crashing into Sherlock.
“Look,” He said, “Home safe and sound. And we didn’t fall over once!”
Langdale groaned. “I hate you so much.”
“Well that’s not very nice, is it.”
“Get me off this rink before I throw up on your shoes.”
“Righto.” Sherlock gently tugged at his arms, guiding him along the bannister to the rink exit.
“That was horrible, I am literally never ever doing that again.”
“Never say never!”
Sherlock looked up in surprise, “John?”
John, sat only a few feet away, grinned, “Wahey! Look who it is! Fancy seeing you two here.”
Langdale was only focused on one thing, “Oh my god is that water? Can I have some? I’m dying.”
“Yep, come here mate, let's sit down.”
Guiding Langdale over to John, Sherlock gently helped him sit down. With shaking hands, Langdale drank greedily from the offered bottle.
“Got visitors?”
“Ah, hello Mary.” Sherlock said, nodding. “As I suspected.”
“What?” John looked confused.
“Well you were hardly going ice skating alone, were you?”
Mary grinned, “Course not. I said that I always wanted to try ice skating but never got around to it, and twinkle toes here said he knew how to ice skate, and he could teach me everything he knew.”
He raised an eyebrow, “And how well has that gone.”
“Ahh, we don’t have to talk about all that do we.” John said, rubbing absently at his bruised ankle. “Hey, that’s the guy who taught me, blame him.”
Langdale groaned, “He’s a horrible teacher.”
“I think I teach just fine.”
“You can’t just drag someone onto the rink!”
Mary interjected, “Sorry, who are you?”
“Gosh, where are my manners?” Langdale stuck his hand out, “Langdale Pike, professional babysitter for the drunk, debauched and depraved .”
“He’s a drag queen.” Sherlock said, simply.
“Ah, I see.” Mary said, looking at Langdale’s manicured nails wrapped around her hand.
Langdale gasped, “I am more than a drag queen, I’m an artist, a visionary, a- yeah, yeah I’m a drag queen. You must be Mary Morstan.”
She froze. “Sorry?”
“I do listen to the podcast dear. You’re a Kiwi and you’re ice skating with John Watson, it isn’t hard to put the pieces together.”
John perked up, “You listen to the podcast?”
“Well it isn’t like Sherlock just tells me about his personal life for fun, I have to find out what’s been going on the hard way.”
He frowned, “I tell you things.”
“Like what?”
“I…” Sherlock floundered for a moment, “I told you about my tattoo.”
“Your what? You have a tattoo?”
Langdale gestured, “See, even John didn’t know about that! And you didn’t tell me, I saw it and you just affirmed you had it and carried on.”
“Hang on mate, I hang out with you every day and I’ve never seen any tattoos.”
“It’s in a private place.” Langdale winked, grinning.
Sherlock sighed, “I’ll show you later. For now, ice skating.”
“Hang on,” Mary said, putting her phone down, “Can I come with? I wanna learn to skate from someone who actually knows how.”
“Hey!”
Sherlock looked surprised, “You trust me to teach you?”
She laughed, “Sherlock, mate, you could jump off a waterfall and I’d come jumping in after you. Yes, I trust you. More than I do pussy foot here.”
“Right, I’m starting to feel really insulted here.” John pouted.
“If that’s the case then I would gladly help you, Ms Morstan. Chop chop.”
“You can’t just steal my girlfriend!”
“Watch me!” Sherlock yelled back, ushering a giggling Mary onto the rink.
John scoffed, “The nerve of him, honestly.”
Langdale paused for a moment. “So. Girlfriend?”
Blushing, John replied, “Yeah I mean, it’s been going on a while now. Properly asked her out in October. ‘Cause I couldn’t include all the stuff of us flirting and everything if we weren’t actually gonna be a thing, you know. It’d be a bit weird, I think.”
“I guess so, yeah. I always- no.”
“You always what?”
“I mean I kind of just thought that you and Sherlock…”
“Me and Sherlock what?” John stared puzzled for a few seconds before it clicked, “For- no! Why does everyone think this, no, me and Sherlock aren’t and never have dated.”
“But you are bisexual, yeah?”
He stammered, “That- it- that’s not the point, I don’t accuse you of dating every guy I see you with, do I?”
“Yeah but every guy isn't Sherlock.”
John sighed, then scrunched his face up. “Hey, I thought you said you listened to the podcast? Why would I be flirting with Mary if I’m dating Sherlock?”
Langdale paused. “Polyamory wins?”
“ Langdale .”
“I didn’t want to freak her out, okay! You know I know everything that goes on around here. I am listening, I swear.”
“Yeah? How far in are you?”
“Uh… the one with the cyclist?”
“The one with- that’s old! You’re barely caught up at all!”
He sighed, “I have other things going on in my life!”
“Yeah, like ice skating with Sherlock.” John scoffed.
Langdale huffed, “Jealous much?”
“No.” John asserted, before cocking his head, “To be honest I thought you two were like, you know. Out on a little date yourselves.”
“Me and Sherlock? Hah! No way.”
He smiled, “Hey don’t knock it just yet, I saw the two of you. You were holding onto him like the last breath you take before going under water.”
“Since when did you get poetic?”
John shrugged, “Have to add a bit of fluff to the episodes here and there.”
Langdale laughed before shaking his head. “Yeah, me and Sherlock couldn’t work?”
“Why not?” He nearly pouted.
“I don’t know we’re… we’re too different, I guess. He’s a quiet autistic detective and I’m a loud adhd drag queen, our lives don’t mesh as much as yours do. I mean, I couldn’t have my boyfriend disappearing all the time on work trips with his coworkers. You and Mariana are wonderful, but my jealousy and need for attention could not handle that. You know?”
Sighing, John nodded. “Yeah, I guess I get that.”
“Plus, I had a horrible crush on the guy for about a week a few years ago that I am never going to repeat. You hear me? Never .”
A scream made them look up, finding Mary flat on her arse, Sherlock in a similar state just a foot away. They looked at each other, exchanged words, inaudible, before bursting out in laughter.
“You two alright?” John yelled over, concerned. The disruption made them pause in their laughter, looking over at the two of them, before turning back to each other and laughing again.
“I almost miss when he hated her.” John sighed.
Langdale smiled. “I’m glad he has this now. I’ve known Sherlock for a while, it’s nice to see him laughing and joking around with friends that really care for him. You should have seen what he was like six or seven years ago, God! I do not miss that.”
John nodded. “Yeah… yeah I get what you mean. Like, I never imagined Sherlock and Mary would joke around like this. I hoped it would, mind. But for a while I didn’t think it was gonna happen.”
“Mhm.” Langdale leaned closer to him, conspiratorially. “You know triads work best when your partners are best friends-”
“It’s not happening!”