An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“Really, James?” Sherlock asked sceptically. “Affection? As an incitement to murder?”
This was the Sherlock that James adored: cold, unromantic, unflinchingly practical. To Sherlock, love was a choice. James knew only too well that love was what a man did when he had no other option.
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Rating: T
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty
Words: 3k
Tags: detective AU, demisexual Sherlock, solving crimes as foreplay, flirting, pining
From Swish and Flix Entertainment comes another season of sex, secrets, and shocking revelations. Join twenty new contestants as they begin their anonymous journey for love — sight unseen. When the Disillusionment Charms come off, will they say “I do,” or will they walk away forever?
Tune in every Friday at 8:00 PM for a new episode of Disillusioned Unions.
“What is it you’re looking for in a partner, Contestant Seven?” drawled an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the table.
It was Harry’s third blind date of the day, and he still wasn’t used to the sensation of sitting across from someone he couldn’t see. He found himself squinting into the apparently empty seat across from him, as though hoping he could make out a figure if he tried hard enough. But there was nothing there — nothing that he could see, at least, though the audience at home would be able to see them both.
“Er,” said Harry, “I’m… I’m not sure.”
“Are you looking for your other half?” the voice asked, now sounding coldly amused. “Your soulmate?” His voice positively dripped sarcasm, and Harry could imagine the stranger’s fingers sketching air quotes in the air.
Harry snorted. “Definitely not,” he said, with a wry smile that his date couldn’t see. “To be frank, I don’t much like the idea of — er — sharing my soul.”
The man laughed. Harry knew it wasn’t his real laugh — in addition to a wide array of modified Disillusionment Charms, the contestants had had Altersonorous Spells placed upon them, changing their voices beyond recognition — but Harry couldn’t help but notice that it was, nevertheless, a rather charming laugh.
“I think,” Harry said, when he was sure that the man wasn’t going to speak again, “that I’m looking for something… real.” For some reason, this statement made him feel rather exposed. He grabbed his teacup, merely to have something to do, and took a sip.
“Something real,” the man repeated, with something like amusement in his voice.
“Well, isn’t that what everyone wants?” Harry asked, a little defensively. “To marry their best friend and settle down? To build a quiet life, carve out a safe place for themselves in the world?”
“I don’t know,” the man said. “You’d be surprised. A lot of people are looking for more… fleeting pastimes.”
Harry watched in mild surprise as the teacup on the man’s saucer rose into the air, apparently of its own accord.
Then the man spoke again. “Not to be rude, but—”
“Merlin,” Harry cut in quickly, “if you ruin this date by asking something offensive… I’ve already been on two awful dates this morning, and I don’t know if I can handle another.”
He was thinking in particular of his date with Contestant Nine, who had quietly cast an Aguamenti Charm on himself to give himself the appearance of tears for the viewers at home — not realising that a Disillusioned Harry was seated directly across from him, watching the horrible scene firsthand.
His date laughed again. “I merely wanted to ask why someone who wanted something real would turn to a dating show.”
Harry considered this. “I wanted to see how a person would react,” he said finally, “if they couldn’t, you know…”
“See you?”
Harry sighed. “Yeah.”
“So you’re either horrendously ugly,” the man said, sounding amused, “or insanely gorgeous.”
It was Harry’s turn to laugh. “Is there an option C?” he asked. “None of the above?”
“No,” said his date. “No, I can tell from your voice—”
“It’s not my voice,” Harry protested. “It’s been changed, so it’s—”
“—that you’re attractive,” the man finished, not listening to him. “I suppose people lose their minds when they see you, do they?”
This was true, though not for the reason his date suspected, but Harry didn’t fight back.
“Is it your arse?” his date asked. “I’ll admit that I am myself partial to a good arse.”
“Er,” said Harry, genuinely unsure how to answer. “I — well, I play Quidditch, so it’s… not bad,” he finished humbly.
“Quidditch players are always fit,” the man said.
“Er,” said Harry again. “Are we?”
“I have it on good authority,” said the man, “as I’m a Quidditch player myself.”
Harry tried, unsuccessfully, not to react to this, but his chest had become rather warm. “I thought,” he said mildly, “that we weren’t supposed to talk about our appearances.”
“That’s not going to stop me from fantasising about your thighs,” said the man. Then he laughed and picked up his teacup again, apparently out of nerves. Harry watched the floating cup from across the table. “Fuck, sorry, that was… I think I’m getting a bit too bold, not being able to see you. Let’s talk about something a little safer, shall we?”
“What about you?” Harry asked, as the man set his teacup back on the saucer with the soft clatter of porcelain. “What are you hoping to find? Why did you decide to join this show?”
“Honestly?” the man asked.
Harry nodded. Then he remembered that his date couldn’t see him, and he gave a low murmur of assent.
“Well,” said Harry’s date, in a slow, thoughtful voice, “I… I suppose that, at first, I was bored. I find most people boring, to tell you the truth.”
“And now?”
“And now…” The man sighed. “Now, I suppose I’m going to have to keep you around, aren’t I?”
“Why?” Harry asked, surprised.
“Because,” the man said, and Harry could hear a smile in his voice, “you’re the first person in years to make me feel… well, anything…”
“A likely story,” said Harry, now smiling himself. “You’re just in it for the arse, aren’t you?”
“You’ve got me,” said his date, with a chuckle that made Harry’s chest feel warmer than ever. “You saw right through me… er, literally.”
