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Their steps echoed as they entered a part of the city that seemed abandoned at night. The sound of horses and carriages from the main street didn’t reach, no one even bothered to light the grease lamps. It was a perfect neighborhood for a clandestine business. And that is precisely what Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty were looking for.
As their search for a secret society has come to a halt and desperation rose, it came a rumor about one of the member of said society owning a secret club. At least the person was consistent, James had noted with amusement. And secret clubs were notoriously easier to find since they needed customers to exist.
They followed the over complicated directions until reaching an unassuming door. The building seemed long pass its glory days, but the steps leading to the front door showed clear signs of recent use.
James took the lead by knocking on the door, his other hand finding Sherlock’s waist. The action took him by surprise, but he knew it was a requirement to gain entry. His friend gave him a reassuring smile before turning his charm to the burly man who was opening the door. He was once again impressed by how charismatic James was, the words, the smile and attentive looks. Sherlock was so mesmerized, in fact, he didn’t payed attention to what was being said, barely catching the final “and I did promise my companion a good time”.
The man stared at them and their comfortable proximity. He nodded once before allowing them in. The entrance was lit only by a candle, so as to not get the outside attention. They walked down a hall, passing by broken furniture and peeling wallpapers. Until finally arriving in front of an ornate double door. James’ hand never left his lower back.
The room was lively with color, music and people. Perhaps an old ballroom that have seen better days. High tables and sofas were strategic located through the floor plan to allow dancing, but also private conversation areas. By the farthest right wall was a bar with three servers. Sherlock was guided to a love-sit in a secluded part opposite the bar wall. James nodded and went towards the bar.
The patrons were in different stage of undress, some dancing, singing and kissing. Lots of kissing. It didn’t seem to have limitations as far as gender and quantity on it. When he first heard of this place, Sherlock had assumed it was somewhere men with specific taste could have their specificity met, but on a throughout inspection it seem it was for whomever dared to be themselves when the rest of polite society wasn’t looking.
James came back, sitting next to Sherlock and handing him one of the glasses in his hand. The couch was big enough for two grown men to share, while being small enough that their sides were touching at all times. James reached his left arm to the head rest, it gave them some space while also making them look more cozy to the onlooker.
They took the time to study the room. The walls were recently patched and a few places a framed painting was used to hide a more serious issue. Two women were dancing very closely together, they seemed happy. To their side a man faked being drunk while talking to a column, the men with him laughing. Most of them were fashionable clothes with very worn out shoes. The musicians changed to a quicker tempo and many joined in. Sherlock could not recognize the song, but it seemed to be a popular one among the crowd.
As Sherlock turned to face James, he suddenly became very aware how close they were. His own leg almost on James’ lap while his foot was between his friends’ crossed ones. He began sweating. Or maybe he already was and just now have realized. He had not moved his face and his realization must have shown through because his friend was smiling, “It’s fine, keep up the appearances.”
He felt so vulnerable at that moment. Not only to have a witness to his panic, but have them notice what was going in his mind. But James Moriarty wasn’t just anyone. He was his friend. His best friend. And as if on cue, James hand started messaging his back in a calming pattern. Sherlock drew a few shaky breaths until it even out.
“James…” he heard himself start and he wasn’t sure of what he was going say. Luckily he didn’t have to. A lanky man got his attention, dark blue suit with peacock feathers, somehow he did not look out of place. He looked at ease and people seemed to know him. Perhaps the manager, Sherlock pondered. He kept an eye on the man with the peacock feathers as he finished talking to the barmen and left through a staff door on the left. He rose to his feet and walked towards it. Without having to say a word James was already walking next to him.
They sneakily went to the door and found themselves on some sort of service area, with a staff room to the side. On the other side, a door with no identification. Sherlock peeped and it seem it led to the rest of the house. They could hear steps on the stairs and quickly followed. On the second floor was a hall with multiple doors, most of them had light through the cracks but almost no sound could be heard. They continued to the next flight of the stairs.
Sometimes it felt like they moved together as a rehearse dance. Maybe they were so in sync that every movement felt like of a single being. Or maybe they just happened to spend so much time together that they got used to having the other next to them.
The following floor was properly abandoned by the state of it. The fourth, however, seemed a lot more used. The Peacock Man had entered a room at the farthest door of the hall, so they used this chance to snoop around.
Most of the doors were locked or maybe the handles were broken, Sherlock considered since the only two rooms that opened, the farthest in the hall and the study, all had different handles than the rest of the doors. It made sense to safe resources in things, specially if they had no plans to use this place as a safe house for long.
The thought gave their movements urgency and they started investigating the study. Most of the shelves were empty, safe for the one behind the desk that had a neat collection of blue-covered books. A few more books piled on the desk that seemed to be part of the same collection. Neither of them could place the titles nor its authors. Sherlock started flipping through them as James went to check the desk’s drawers.
They heard the sound of a door opening and many steps walking back downstairs as they passed the closed study. Sherlock could feel his heart beating fast against his rib-cage, fear and excitement mixing in his veins. One look to James and he knew his friend felt the same mix of emotions. They waited for the people to leave before giving one final look in the study.
Before they could retreat undetected, The Peacock Man was opening the door. Without a moment of hesitation, James pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him. This was, to the surprise of no one, Sherlock Holmes’ second proper kiss. However, this was, to the surprise of Sherlock Holmes, a much better experience. He could feel how his lips melted when touched by James’. How his hands grabbed to the his friends clothes. One of James’ hand held his face in place while the other was on his waist. Why did it seem that James liked holding onto his waist? Sherlock couldn’t tell nor he cared. He was busy feeling every part of James’ body touching his.
“This place is off limits, gentlemen.” The Man sounded more annoyed than mad.
James slowly pulled away, his eyes searching Sherlock’s face for any resentment. “We do apologize.” He started with that charming smile. “We were just looking for some privacy.” The Man sighed, explaining that there were rooms available on the second floor. Or something like that. Sherlock couldn’t focus. He felt his fingers lightly touching his lips that had just been kissed. James took his hand and guide them down the stairs.
He walked, but his mind was elsewhere. Has this kiss been better because he had more experienced, being his second and all. Or was because it was with a man. Or even it was because it was his friend James Moriarty that kissed him. The same man who was next to him during such difficult points of his life. The same man who could get in his mind palace. James wasn’t just any man. He was his friend. His James Moriarty.
The Peacock Man led them to the second floor and gave them a key. Calling their bluff? Maybe just really being a helpful host. Sherlock was having an identity crises that made it really difficult to think of anything else. He barely registered the bed in the room or the fact James had locked the door once The Man had left them without questioning.
As many things in life he knew he needed more data to truly solve this puzzle. He looked to his friend, James seemed nervous. And not the fun type when their were sneaking in a forbidden study. Just proper nervous, scared even. Sherlock couldn’t understand why, but he had something else to understand, himself.
“Kiss me again” Sherlock blurted.
“I’m sorry?”
“Apologies accepted, now kiss me again.”
James looked shocked for a split second. Then his eyes darkened focusing on Sherlock lips. The kiss was less rushed, but hungrier. James held Sherlock’s face in his hands like it was a priceless relic, while Sherlock held his neck for dear life. Being the third kiss in his life, Sherlock allowed himself to follow James’ lead and just feel. Their lips, their tongues, their bodies entwined. He heard himself moan into James’ mouth.
“That good, huh?” James cocky words were betrayed by the uncertain look on his face. “Yes.” Came the honest replay. “Pretty sure I like kissing you.” Before James could make any snarky remark Sherlock continued “but to be absolutely certain I need to kiss you more.”
James laughter was warm, full of amusement and no objections. It would be good for their cover to stay a while longer and it wasn’t safe to discuss their findings here, that had to wait for them to be back home. Honestly a solid plan, Sherlock thought as he pulled James in for another kiss.