//This is a repost from the old blog, moriartythespooky/moriartytheyounger.
I literally cannot find the bloody thing so this is an old drabble I did when sergeantsally was seeing Sherlock.
He stared at the screen of his phone, thumbing back to his list of contacts and then back into the messages, like there'd be a new one reappearing simply because he willed it. Out with Sherlock. It wasn't so much that it was Sherlock – Rich found that part funny, actually, or he had – more that it was anyone at all. Which made it sound like Sally wasn't a great catch. Richard knew she was. Intelligent, beautiful, strong, powerful, everything. Any guy, he knew, would be lucky to have her. And he wasn't jealous because he was in love with Sally but didn't have the balls to make a move.
No, he'd made a move (by which he meant Sally had), and it hadn't ended too well, had it? They both ended up in bed, unfulfilled, and ended up chatting all night and watching a movie instead. Not the worst ending to a night, really, but definitely one of the most embarrassing. That was ages ago, though. They were closer than siblings, it felt like. They could talk for hours about nothing, and then watch a movie and cuddle until she had to leave for work. It was the cuddly, almost domestic part of a romantic relationship. Without the romantic feelings. Richard loved it.
He'd never felt so loved by someone so entirely before, and it was an intoxicating feeling. It was addicting. Which, if he put it like that, would explain the sudden crushing feeling in his chest when she'd texted him moments before his rare request for her to come over and hang out and watch movies. Usually it was Sally's job to demand that kind of thing. But he wanted company tonight.
Going out on a date tonight!! x SD
He swallowed his surprise down, and smiled at the screen. It was like a phone call. People could hear if you weren't smiling.
That's great! Who with? xx RB
She was texting him back pretty fast – she was really excited. That request died on the tips of his fingers, died on the keys.
Sherlock. We sort of... have a thing. x SD
A thing. A thing meant they'd been seeing each other before this. That they did this more than he knew about. That they might've done this often. No, that didn't inherently bother him – good for Sally for having a boyfriend! Good for Sally for having something to do tonight. Good for Sally to... have someone else to talk to. Good for... Yeah. Great for Sally. Revulsion coiled in his stomach. He didn't think it was great at all. But he forced himself to type, to not wait too long. She didn't need to know. She couldn't know, really.
I bet he's great! :) Better have loads of fun, don't do anything I wouldn't. ;) xxx RB
He had to retype it three times before it didn't ring in his head as a lie. This still did, but everything did right now. That, and the fact that he'd started shaking partway through the first attempt. Sherlock. It made sense, now. It was fine, different, when she couldn't come over for work. Or even Lestrade, that was different. He had her (knew her) first. They never stayed out long. She could still usually come over.
Sherlock Holmes. A thing with Sherock Holmes meant they were dating. Probably having sex. That part didn't bother him. He was glad Sally was having sex, good for her. But... That was his friend. His only friend. The only person who made him feel like anything but an entirely insignificant thing when he was alone. Because with Sally, even if he was alone, he didn't mind. He knew he could text her, she'd be there. He wouldn't text her, during her date. He couldn't. It wasn't possible. Because her telling him, surely it had to mean that she didn't want him texting her while she was out.
Rich gnawed at a lip roughly, peeling the skin and wincing as his teeth pulled it free. They exchanged a few more texts, with Rich as excited for her as ever. Because Sally was happy, and that was actually good, no matter how he felt about it. Sally was happy. She was enjoying herself. Good, Richard. His throat seemed to close a bit, and there was a burn at his eyes. Very good.
He dropped himself sideways onto the sofa, wincing as his screen lit up.
A snapchat. Really? He looked resigned as he wiped at his eyes, neither coming away quite wet. Just tearing up, then. Passable. He couldn't get away with not. He winked, as he took it, typing out a hasty message to 'go enjoy yourself'. Maybe if she'd just go enjoy her bloody self, and didn't keep sending him pictures, he wouldn't be making that groaning, pitiful noise and nearly dropping his phone with how much he wanted this to end, so he could try and ignore what was going on, how horrible he felt.
But she kept sending them.
And Richie's smile was just as forced each time, a little different every time. Being believed was important, right now. And Rich could fake anything he wanted. For as long as he needed to.
Finally, finally, she stopped, and Rich stared at the black screen of his television with glazed eyes, dropping his phone. It was stupid. It was so stupid.
His arm stretched above him, to pet through his hair, and the cushion underneath him was a poor replacement for Sally. But it was trying. It was almost like Sally was there, and they were watching a movie. Rich didn't have the energy to turn one on, didn't see the point. He held out for twenty minutes after he started moving his hand before he stopped, abruptly, and turned his face into the cushion and cried because Sally wasn't his any more. Because this was stupid and he was being so stupid and selfish. But mostly because if he cried now, Sally wouldn't know by the time her date was over.
