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Summary
"We can start with your hair,” James murmured, stepping closer. “To do the tricks.”
Before Sherlock could protest, James raised his hand and sank his fingers into that neatly combed hair—ruffling, tousling, working the strands loose from their usual array.
“Stop it.” Sherlock's voice was low and somehow restrained.
But James didn't stop.
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Bookmark Notes:
AUGDHSGUAHH SO GOOD
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Bookmark Notes:
Moriarty and Sherlock almost fucked in the street while waiting for Mycroft and it was beautiful and glorious