Synopsis - Returning to Palermo for family business after so many years away, you suddenly bump into a new (and very cute) priest at your local parish. Soon you’re whisked away on a mysterious adventure, tagging along with two young detectives who can’t help but find trouble.
YS!James x YS!Sherlock x gn!Reader (if pronouns are messed up lemme know!)
Warnings (and some spoilers!) - Character death (off screen), funeral, religion and religious aspects that are probably wrong, historical inaccuracies, swears, innuendos, alcohol, one use of YN (i try really hard ok gang), i think thats it?
Chapter 2 - I Pray for You
8,010 words
The heavy heat of the day finally lifts as the evening becomes alive with music and dance. Swirls of people hop and swing around, arm in arm, hand in hand. Anyone not in the center of the mass claps or stomps to the beat of the makeshift band that stands at the back of the reception hall. Laughter and cheering is all that can be heard as the cool air flows through large, open doors lining the right wall, connecting the large room to a small courtyard, cool air blowing in, invigorating everyone to keep the party from ever lulling.
You nurse your second glass of wine while watching the world from the sidelines with a wondrous flush still on your cheeks from dancing. This is how life should really be celebrated, you think as you keep spotting family friends having the time of their lives while occasionally making fools of themselves.
The burial was nice, and it was comforting to cry with people who could truly understand how important Pietro was. Over dinner you got to share more tears and it dawned on you how sad your uncle would be to see everyone like this; he made sure there was something for everyone at each event he hosted. Whether it was a buffet, quiet corner, or exciting activity, he thought of it all. He was devoted to making people happy, and you were certain he would hate to see so many tears at one of his most important gatherings. Sharing stories started with dessert. Many you’ve never heard before, probably because you were too young for the type of content, but tears began drying up and laughter replaced sobs. The band finally took the stage, and people began sharing funnier stories or taking to the dance floor. Now, with your heart light and your cheeks aching from the wide smile on your face, you could accept this as Pietro’s final farewell celebration.
Swaying to the new tune that had just begun, you feel a light tap on your shoulder. Turning, you take in a pleasant surprise.
“James!” you shout gleefully, the alcohol already taking its toll and making you extra expressive, you reason with yourself as a light feeling begins taking over you, “what are you doing here?”
“I came to see what all the commotion was. I didn’t realise that the funeral would actually become a fully fledged party.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles down at you, and he eyes the glass that's on its way to your lips, “mind if I take a sip?”
Furrowing your brows and opening your mouth, James doesn’t hesitate as he steals your glass and brings it to his own. He keeps eye contact in an annoyingly cheeky way, half smirking into the glass, challenging you as your mouth hangs open stupidly.
“Hey! Are priests in training even allowed to be drinking while in uniform?” you snatch your glass back, giving James a very deserving pointed look, fighting back the bubbly feeling that was growing in your chest. You decide then and there that the only way to keep your composure is to put on an act. Having that previous conversation with James taught you that he was a natural flirt, whether it was intentional or not. Being such a young priest means he hasn’t grown out of it. None of this was intentional, of course, and so to protect your feelings you would have to act much bigger than them. This proves difficult as he leans on his shoulder against the wall beside you, his attention unwavering as he keeps a casual demeanor and creates a private corner for the two of you, blocking out the rest of the party.
“We aren’t allowed to get drunk, but as long as I’m careful, nobody will even notice,” he hesitates as he lowers his voice and dips his head slightly, eyeing you suspiciously, “unless someone snitches.”
You play into this act, putting on your best performance as your hand clutches imaginary pearls, a horrified gasp breaks the tension you’re certain only you notice, “how dare you accuse me of such a thing! My very own friend of over twenty years! Despicable I say!” Shaking your head, you turn away from James’ brown eyes that seem to be drinking in your every action. “I must never speak, nay, never see you ever again! Absolutely ridiculous!”
“The only ridiculous thing is you, and your incessant need to go on about everybody’s business,” James’ brings a pointed finger and begins wagging it in your face while the music drowns out, all focus coming to this silly little story the two of you begin concocting.
“I will never, ever, be considering you or your opinion again, so say what you want because we are thro—!”
“Are you two quite alright?” a new voice interrupts your conversation. You and James jump back from each other as you only then notice the ever decreasing space between you two. Your mouth pinches in embarrassment with the second realisation that the argument had become increasingly loud enough to interrupt anyone in the vicinity.
“Yes! I do apologise Uncle Sammy, we got carried away in our foolish joke,” putting on your bravest smile while analyzing the tall, bald man, you hope you get away with loudly bantering with the new and handsome young man. Although Sammy’s eyebrows are furrowing, he seems to only be confused by the interaction instead of upset. His large, trunklike arms lay crossed against his chest, sleeves rolled up to show off his numerous tattoos and scars. If you didn’t know this man, he would be quite intimidating, but Sammy always had a soft spot for you, and you’re certain if you and James tread lightly, you could get away without any sort of lecture.
“We haven’t met yet, my name is Father Moriarty, it’s a pleasure to meet you Sammy,” James puts on a polite, yet charming, smile.
The bald man takes it, gripping firmly, “please, call me Samuele.”
The pause that follows is the longest, most excruciating thing you have ever dealt with. The three of you settle into the painful awkwardness as you shift from foot to foot, trying to think of a way to save yourself from the thick air that is now choking you.
“How has the dancing been?” you manage to force out, “I saw you and Auntie Bianca having a grand time.”
Samuele finishes glaring at James as he turns to you, face completely shifting into something pleasant at the sound of your voice. “We were having the time of our lives. You know I’m not one to dance at these types of events, especially with my bad back, but Bianca has a way of getting what she wants.”
“That she does,” you turn to include James in the conversation, “I remember, once when I was really little, I was forced to go to a fancy dinner party and absolutely hated the outfit my mother picked out for me. I was so upset I started wailing and crying at the mention of the ugly thing.”
“I can’t imagine you having such a temper,” James says, eyeing Samuele cautiously to make sure he doesn’t overstep again.
“You’d be surprised with how much of a nuisance I was. My mom had to call in Bianca who somehow managed to whip me into shape, and I was wearing the itchy outfit not even ten minutes later.”
“Wish I had that talent.”
“It’s not so much a talent, rather, Bianca always has some sort of bribe up her sleeve. If I remember correctly, in this situation it was probably some gelato,” Samuele continues the story, easing into the conversation. You let out a silent breath of relief. As much as you love your family, they had a funny way of showing up at the worst times and sending many potential friendships running for the hills.
After a few more stories of your childhood (some more embarrassing than others), Samuele whisks you away to the dance floor, insisting on one for old times sake. As you spin to the music, only half paying attention to whatever Samuele was saying, your eyes can’t help but look for James on the sidelines, wishing to continue whatever mindless, but entertaining discussion that you were having.
James had sought you out, finding you in the busy crowd after only exchanging a few pleasant words hours ago. The thought makes your stomach flutter before you have a chance to kick the observation from your mind. He probably had nothing better to do tonight and knew nobody else around town. That was it, or at least, that’s what you continue telling yourself so that you don’t stumble onto Samuele’s feet.
As the current song finishes you give Samuele a big hug, sending a prayer that Bianca at least gives him a break before dragging him onto the dance floor again. Walking away, you notice James in polite conversation with other funeral members; until he spots you coming towards the group. Laughing at one last joke he leaves them, meeting you halfway and gesturing towards a table off to the side where you both sit.
“Making new friends?” You ask James, passing him his own glass of wine you picked up after dancing.
He takes it gratefully, nodding along, “if I’m in Palermo for a while, I figured I would need better company.”
“Ouch,” you feign hurt, moving your hand across your chest woefully. “I hope Uncle Sammy didn’t scare you off, I make great company regardless of my affiliation to him.”
“Ah yes, Samuele. I don’t think I can ever recover from that abysmal introduction.” He leans back, getting comfortable in his seat as he tips his glass back, tutting at himself disappointedly as if this one interaction will be replaying in his head months from now. For all you know, it very well could. As much as James acts confident and smooth, you can’t help but feel it might be a cover for something deeper. You don’t know this young man very well, and the few questions you have asked him were often met with a sly joke or a quick pivot to another topic. Even if he was this confident all the time, he was still obviously hiding something, though you can’t quite say how you know this.
I hope he doesn't see through my own act, you think, mindlessly swirling the edge of your glass. Whenever you were around James, no matter how many times you mentally chided yourself, your untamable thoughts ran rampant through your mind. You weren’t usually like this with any sort of handsome person. Thinking back on it, you can’t remember a time you’ve ever really felt this nervous for someone unless it was a long lasting crush. Your childhood crush made you a bumbling mess where any interaction–more often than not–ended with you running away to hide from your very strong, scary emotions. Growing older and taking more notice of other attractive people, you managed to flirt and banter occasionally, or just offer a simple compliment and leave it at that. James was different though. He had you questioning every act, hoping it wasn’t too much, that it would just be perceived as friendly instead of the way your heart wanted it to be. This was no way to think of a kind young priest who was just passing through; you have been taking advantage of him because of your own greediness and curiosity. You are being a pervert and he is only being polite. You can’t help the sour look that begins to cross your face at the thought.
“How many siblings do your parents have for you to call every person here your aunt or uncle?” James asks, snapping you out of your self deprecating thoughts. Looking up at him, you cannot tell if he is trying to distract you from your obvious spiral or if he's genuinely curious. Putting the mask back on, you do your best to just keep your cool. Pietro would somehow manage to enjoy the situation even if he thought he was going too far while making a fool of himself.
“They aren’t all blood relatives; actually most aren’t. They’re family either way though. Some are married to a distant cousin and others are just lifelong family friends,” you look toward the large crowd, happy to know so many wonderful people. “The only ‘real’ uncle that I have is Pietro, my Mom’s brother.”
James nods along, hesitating for a moment as if making a final decision. “I get that. Community is important, and I know my own mother wouldn’t have done as well as she did without it.” Your eyes widen at this, surprised with the amount of earnestness and vulnerability James is displaying. Before you have a chance to comment, he easily slides back into the casual smugness, trying not to bring attention to the fact that he feels like he has said too much. You almost miss the transformation before he quickly moves on. “Other than family relationships, do you have many friends in Palermo? Perhaps courtships? I can’t imagine how popular a young, out of city person like yourself must be,” he slyly states, eyes gliding towards your face for a reaction, watching carefully.
And a reaction he does get as you almost choke on your wine. “Uhm, can’t say there is much to say, in, uhm, in either department.” You feel your body still, becoming rigid as you sit straighter in your seat as you try to compose yourself, "unfortunately many of my summers were spent at Pietro’s villa, and very few people who were my age stayed as long as I did. Most of my friends are back home, in England.” James nods his head, otherwise completely still as he waits for you to continue on to the more important part of his question, “no courtiships either,” you finalize, and he gives a satisfied hum. You convince yourself it’s because he got to learn something new about a new friend, and not the actual information he gained.
“That is good news to hear, people are getting married much too young these days,” he states matter of factly.
You look at him, leaning closer to him across the table as the music swells, “a very interesting opinion coming from a priest.”
“I’m not wrong, you have your whole life ahead of you. You deserve to be fun and spontaneous, to be able to see the world before it becomes so small.”
“And what do you know about fun and spontaneity, James?” You tilt your head, resting it on your hand.
A wolfish grin spreads across his face as he leans in much closer, your neck prickling with the intensity of his gaze, “I know enough to teach you a thing or two.”
Letting out a shuddering breath, you hear five screams coming from behind you as a small stampede of children begins running around your table. Their laughter jolts you back to reality, almost toppling over your chair before regaining your balance. Your head swims with blurry shapes and shrieks as the carousel of kids seems to get faster and faster. James begins laughing with them, a hand coming to tousle his brown curls in slight disbelief.
A small hand taps your knee from under the table. You look at James who seems just as confused before the two of you dive underneath the fancy cloth. The youngest of what you might consider your ‘cousins’ hides beneath the table with pleading eyes. “They think I stole the last Amaretti,” the little girl, Ada, whispers furiously to you, “but I didn’t do it! I can’t even reach the desserts without help, ask my mom!”
“Couldn’t you have pulled a chair over?” You ask skeptically.
“That’s what they’re saying, but it isn’t true I swear!” Having known Ada since she was born, she always had a tendency to cause trouble for the rest of the kids, and was quick with a lie on the tip of her tongue for any adult who questioned her. Her small tells never alluded you, however, and it seems she is telling the truth; at least this time.
“Hiding under here won’t keep them away for long.” James says, settling on his knees in the cramped space, unable to sit in a comfortable position. Ada stares at the stranger grumpily, not very thankful for his more than obvious comment.
“I need backup before they–!” Ada begins to plead before she is dragged out from underneath the table. You and James share another look before scurrying out to see the mess. Two older kids lift Ada in the air by both of her arms as she kicks and screams, a wild smile on her face telling you that even though she was caught, there was no real danger. You smile to yourself at the excited shrieks before you, only to notice your and James’ wine glasses were no longer on the table, as two other children carefully inch closer to Ada with something in their grubby hands.
“Noooo, please! I swear I didn’t do it!” Ada continues to scream, every other word being interrupted by a fit of giggles as she continues kicking in the air.
“We must get our revenge!” A girl slightly older than Ada with curly pigtails tosses her hand towards the squirming Ada at the same time as a boy with the same dark hair. That’s the moment you find where your wine has gone.
Ada gets drenched. Your mouth thins as you groan internally. You love these kids, but they could be a real pain. James stands still, amazed with all the action as he tries to hold back a laugh. You give him a dangerous look before reeling on the children whose eyes all gaze up at you, waiting for the oncoming scolding they know is bubbling under the surface.
Ada was the shortest of the group, with sandy hair pulled back in an intricate bun and a freckled face, making her seem the most innocent. The two who stole the wine, Lidia and Aldwin look like deer in headlights who didn’t seem to know you were just behind them. Finally, Tessa and Kate drop Ada to the floor, inching away slowly as they cave in on themselves, knowing that as the eldest, they would be in the most trouble.
“Do. Not. Move an inch,” you warn them, casting a glare that makes them stop in their tracks. “Running around and playing while screaming your heads off, fine, it’s disruptive but can be forgiven. Pouring wine over Cousin Ada because of a foolish quarrel is unacceptable! You’re lucky today is the only time she isn’t wearing white because otherwise I would call your mothers over and suggest you get sent home, immediately." The children shudder at this, knowing the punishment at home would be far worse due to the public humiliation of basically getting kicked out of a function. Kate begins to open her mouth, but you put a hand up to silence her before continuing, “that being said, Uncle Pietro was very forgiving, so I will be too, only for tonight.” Big grins spread across everyone’s faces as they jump up to give you a hug, thanking you gleefully as if you had just freed them from prison. “My one condition is that you all must sit quietly as I clean everyone up, we don’t want to get caught looking so disheveled by one of your parents now.”
Tessa brings over a few more chairs as you start on Ada, drying her off and washing the alcoholic smell away. You almost forget James is still here when Aldwin speaks up, “what are you doing at my uncle’s funeral?” James’ eyebrows shoot up, taken aback by the child’s question, turning to you for some sort of support. But you know this isn’t your place, kids are blunt, and the only way to get out of their questioning is to go through it, giving as many answers as you can, even if they are only half truth.
“You can’t just ask strangers that Aldwin,” his sister, Lidia chastises, “he is a priest here to train, obviously, and Y/N invited him because they are friends.”
“They looked more like my mom and dad after drinking too much if you ask me,” Kate argues.
“They were about to kiss!” Jumping in her chair, Tessa joins in, exclaiming excitedly.
“Well…” James begins, but since the Samuele incident you decide not to trust anything that might come out of his mouth, no matter if it would raise suspicion for the kids.
"Don't go spreading rumours, you have been told countless times how rude it is!” Moving on from Ada, you push Tessa into her seat and begin redoing her now sloppy braid. “It’s loud in here, no thanks to five screaming children, so we had to get closer in order to understand each other.”
“I also wanted to get a closer look at your eyes, they sparkle with the soft lights,” James leans his head in his hand, looking dopey as he pushes his act. All the kids begin to gush over him, you don’t get to see the look of triumph on his face as your’s begins to heat up suddenly, and you avert your eyes, concentrating on tidying up Aldwin.
James seems to want to make this family gathering much harder for you, and you realise how many questions and looks you’ll get from family members in the coming days about your relations to the new, young priest. If they were going to talk, you figure you might as well give them something to talk about as a plan begins forming in your head.
You finish preening the children as they continue to ask James too many questions about his life, his thoughts on Sicily, and if Shakespeare was actually a real person or not. Slowly, you move around the chairs until you’re directly behind James’ broad, hunched over shoulders as he listens intently, deep into explaining how he also wished to be a pirate as a kid. His brown curls sit funny atop his head from the wind outside and now the stuffy room. James is about to eat his words and you can’t help but feel a bubbling excitement grow as you bring your hands to his head, James stiffens under your touch, sitting straighter in his chair. His breath stills as he seems to short circuit, cutting himself off as his mouth hangs in the middle of a word.
“Now now, don’t stop on my account. I’m just making sure the new priest doesn’t look like a fool himself when meeting the family,” you smile softly to the kids who take your excuse, easily moving on to their much more invigorating conversation. Though James pretends to be listening, he is still uncharacteristically rigid when you take out your pocket comb, carefully parting his hair. Your fingers dance through his soft locks, swirling the ends to make uniform curls. You reach the nape of his neck, a whisper of your touch sending a shiver down James’ spine and you internally giggle, biting the inside of your cheek to keep it from spilling out. All this teasing needed some sort of consequence, and you are very pleased with the fact that James, for once, has nothing to say in retaliation. You finish the look by adjusting James’ collar, his chest rising and falling carefully, and rest your hands on his shoulders to signify that you are finished.
“You look so handsome now!” Tessa compliments your handiwork as you return to your seat beside James, never quite meeting his gaze.
“Much less messy,” Aldwin agrees, nodding his head solemnly.
“I agree, Father Moriarty looks quite nice now that he is actually presentable,” a gloating smile plasters on your face, not afraid to hide how satisfied you are from your victory. “I think I hear Auntie Bianca with a new platter of sweets, why don’t you all go see if you can snatch them up before they disappear again.” They almost knock their chairs down as they scramble away, shouting thank yous behind themselves as they rush between other adults’ legs, already undoing their intricate braids and buns as they run away.
Turning to James while alone with him once again, he lets out a huff as he rolls his eyes. “I don’t think I was that disheveled, I even checked myself in a mirror before I got inside.”
“Vanity is a sin, Father.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am not your average priest, I allow myself to dabble in a few earthly pleasures now and again” his annoyance melts as his signature charming smile replaces a frown. Taking a swig from his wine glass to make his point, James only meets disappointment once he finds it empty.
You giggle, surprised with the ease at which you find yourself feeling. No longer thinking about all the things that could go wrong, you start enjoying the evening, able to see James as just another boy, without worrying about the ambiguity of everything he says.
“No, you’re not, you’re much too relaxed, even when those kids started talking about how they hope there’s dragons in the next chapter of the Bible.”
“But those are just kids, you’re supposed to be relaxed with them. They have to figure out the entire world while being so tiny. Plus, they’re more interesting to talk to than the adults, too wrapped up in their fake societal rules.”
You scoff, “no one is above society, part of it shapes you no matter how rebellious you pride yourself to be.”
“How so? I am a priest who won’t stop flirting with a beautiful young woman at her uncle’s funeral; that's not very proper on my end, and most certainly not accepted by most of society.”
Sucking in a breath and ignoring his comment, you continue with the argument, passion surging you on, “you must see how you’re wrong though. Even you just admitted to wanting to look good for an event where you are supposed to be presentable. Anyways, you thrive off of societal rules. We’ve had enough conversation for me to see you James, for who you truly are.” At this he perks up, posture becoming rigid with unease once again, and you don’t notice how James begins shifting away from you in his seat. “You love these societal norms because you’re able to see the loopholes, bending a room to your will while being praised for being a noble leader. But you would never have this charming power in the first place if the rules didn’t exist!”
Taking a moment to collect the rest of your thoughts, satisfied with your analysis, you look back to James who is just wide eyed with awe. Looking at him in question, the anxious little voice pushes back into your head, wondering if you had said something wrong or took the debate too far. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep, you’re just such a curious person and I was thinking about–”
“People can never seem to read me right,” James says softly, “I’m always just some sad, haughty, Irish lad who somehow always gets himself into trouble but you…” he trails off, remembering himself while leaning towards you, bordering your personal space as his hand comes to rest on the back of your chair, “you think I’m charming.” A devious smile spreads across his face, eyebrows lifted as the corners of his eyes squint gleefully, just begging for you to disagree.
But you don’t, instead you clench your jaw, disappointed with the slip of your tongue as you wrack your brain for any type of excuse. None come as the two of you sit there in silence, James enjoying his victory as your mouth just opens and closes with no sound coming out.
“It’s fine that you do, I pride myself on having that effect on most people. It comes with being so devilishly handsome, though don’t tell the big guy I said that.”
“You are impossible,” you huff out, crossing your arms, “charming has many different definitions.”
“Yes, but what you meant is that you’re attracted to my personality.”
“I don’t even know you, and I find your personality quite annoying.” Trying to deflect, you feel your heartbeat begin to quicken like a rabbit being cornered by a fox.
James rolls his eyes, pushing your chair slightly so that you face each other directly, “just admit you fancy a priest and we can both rest easy tonight,” you scowl, trying to turn away, but get stopped midway as James turns your chin to face him, now close enough to be heard in a whisper "be free and confess your sins.”
Freezing, you realise it would be so easy to give in, to tell James every awful thought you’ve had, especially about him. Part of you believes he would not only be forgiving, but delighted to hear about your intensifying emotions over the last few hours. Your breath quickens as your mind blanks.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot your empty wine glasses, and know that your dignity is much more important at the moment.
Swatting James’ hand away, you snatch the two glasses, practically running away as you make up a sorry excuse about the two of you needing more wine, not bothering to look back at the knowing look James burns into the back of your head, the promise of whatever this was to be continued later.
The refreshments table is a welcome oasis as you begin trying to control your rapid breaths, forcing your chest to rise and fall in a slow rhythm. What was that? You scream in your head, trying to figure out which decisions led you down a path of seducing a priest. If anything, it seems like he’s trying to seduce me. Looking over your shoulder, people continue to dance and converse, blocking the view of your table where James awaits. Nodding to yourself, you physically shake your hands in front of you, getting out of whatever funk you found yourself in. All this was just lighthearted flirting, nothing more. It might have been with a priest but that’s not your fault, he was initiating most of it anyways. But I’m leading him on! You internally argue with yourself, but soon the rational side of you wins once again. You’re having fun, and all games are built for at least two people, meaning only half of this mess was your fault. At least I have a dead uncle as a good excuse to be so emotionally turbulent.
Silky, red wine pours from bottle to glass, filling the second, and thoughts of running away back to your room fill your head. You shake it away quickly, though the embarrassment of crawling back to James really sucked, you were not about to be unkind to him. You convince yourself and force the courage to come back, and you make your way to your table.
The first thing you hear when you get into eyesight is the most obnoxious, goose-like laugh. Stopping in your tracks, you see the poofiest skirt attached to a person with the gaudiest purple ribbons flowing out of brunette curls. If you didn’t know better, you would have assumed the length and colour were an accident, but Josephine always had to show everyone up, and a funeral was no exception. With her honk-like laugh, she was hitting the arm of the person closest to her; the young priest.
Of course he had to get tangled up with her, you think as you weave your way between bodies and tables. Josephine was a distant family friend who was very charming and quite beautiful. Her smile was always wide enough to show off her perfect teeth, and her doll eyes seemed to trap every person into conversation. You too, have been victim of getting tangled up in her ‘effortless’ favours because you were too busy wondering how her eyelashes grew to be so long. The biggest problem with Josephine is that she always wanted something, and no matter what, the world seemed to will it into existence. No one was resistant to her charms, and even her funny laugh just seemed to draw people in. If anything, it made her more approachable, and you could never tell if it was some kind of trick; an act to seem more human instead of the picture perfect girl she was.
Coming upon the duo, you notice the way that James seems to be leaning into her the same way he did with you whenever he made a joke for your ears alone, causing some sort of blush or giggle to escape you. Almost deciding to turn around and leave the two to their banter, Josephine catches your eye. She shouts, waving you over before you have the chance to run. Plastering on a smile, Josephine pulls up a seat for you between herself and James, setting your glasses down and taking your hand to lead you, not letting go as you take your place beside her.
“Father Moriarty and I were just speaking of you,” she says. “He was telling me all about the graveyard, and how snappy you can be. I always knew this of course, your quick tongue got us in enough trouble as kids, I almost always had to find a way out!”
Your cheeks begin to heat up as Josephine rambles about your younger years, talking about one mistake after another. Her hand seems to light yours on fire, but you can’t gather the courage to unlink them; you’re not sure you want to anyways. Taking a careful look at James, he makes all the right expressions at Josephine’s story telling, not seeming to notice whatever internal battle you’re going through.
“They were always much more curious and smarter than I, teaching themselves how to read using Shakespeare of all authors!” You tune back in at the praise, a small smile growing on your face.
James makes an impressed sound, turning towards you, “you’re a fan of Shakespeare?"
“Other than the little ones you’ve just met, I don’t think I know anybody who doesn’t enjoy at least one of his sonnets.”
Josephine, excited to have found common ground among the three of you, pushes the conversation forward, “although I never cared for him as a child, his works really are spectacular, I love Romeo and Juliet, it’s the most popular for good reason, the drama, the romance! It’s enough to make your heart burst!” Her already bubbly personality is enhanced with your glass of wine that you offered her.
“If you need any further recommendations, As You Like It is very comedic with all the romance you could hope for,” James looks past you, smiling widely at Josephine. She smiles back, fluttering her eyelashes, and your stomach twists into knots, though you can’t seem to figure out why.
“I’ve heard of it but haven’t gotten the chance to read it. Do share your favourite quotes, I would love a little sneak peak.”
“Well, I am no actor myself, but surely I can try my hand at it,” James fidgets in his seat, seeming to think of a quote before nodding to himself. Getting into character he looks up, a heartfelt look on his face as he peers into your eyes, “Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers are in love too.”
You know the play well, and though it’s a funny line, you can’t help but feel James is trying to say something more with it. His unblinking hazel eyes seem to be waiting for any sort of response, and you refuse to give him one as a familiar, involuntary heat rises to your cheeks.
Josephine finally lets go of your warm hand and claps excitedly, “bravo, James, bravo! Oh if any of the actors are as good as you then I must see this play at once. Isn’t he absolutely dashing?” Josephine turns to you, and notices your frazzled state immediately. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she rounds on James, “don’t mind them, they always get like this with any attractive young man.”
Your eyes widen as you sit up straighter, “I do not!” you childishly try to defend yourself, which does nothing to convince either of your companions.
“Just look at yourself, you’ve always been slightly ditzy when it comes to crushes, even if you’ve somehow convinced everyone else that you are very composed.” Josephine’s cocky grin somehow widens on her face, akin to the Cheshire cat, “I don’t quite understand why they’ve never had reciprocated feelings towards you; your complexion is marvelous and you’ve always had the cutest features.”
“Do not begin this again, I don’t get worked up–”
“No, she’s right,” James interrupts you quickly, his own expression smug, “you really are cute as a button, I was equally surprised to learn you had no one waiting for you back in England.”
The fluttering in your stomach becomes even more intense as you figure out the problem: There's two of them!
Growing up with Josephine was difficult, not because she outshone you in almost every way, but because of her incessant teasing and your crush on her that never quite went away. The only reason why Josephine thought you acted funny around new people is because you were actually acting funny in front of her, never quite sure how to exist beside her more than perfect presence, opting to run away as soon as you failed to make a group of people laugh in front of her.
The two continue on, their attention locked onto you, teasing at your reactions and telling equally embarrassing stories of how you acted to this compliment or some other joke. Their laughs become more jovial and their teasing becomes worse.
“Both of you are insufferable,” you manage to get out in between their laughs.
“Oh, my darling,” you freeze at the familiar pet name Josephine always calls you, “we are only having some fun.” She leans in closer, her voice dropping when she continues, “mainly because you become quite attractive when you’re this embarrassed.”
“It’s very alluring,” James sips his wine, satisfied with the combined effect of him and Josephine.
The two seem fixated on you, and your mind whirls in a million reasons as to why. Of course they were just joking, making fun of your soft will because they were oh so perfect for each other and you couldn’t compare to either one. Your two companions were taking sides, and neither were with you. The fluttering inside your stomach turns sour. It’s not very fun when you’re the joke, being ganged up on by two people who you wish you didn’t care so much about.
“I think I’ve had quite enough of this,” you huff out, pushing away from the table and turning towards the courtyard, “thank you for including me in your discussion but I think I need some air.”
“Oh don’t be like that, come back we will be kinder, I swear,” Josephine flutters her eyelashes but you’ve always had an aptitude for being stubborn
“No, Josephine, I am all right, thank you.” Without a second look at James you escape outside, the cool night air a welcome pleasantry from the hall that was becoming much too stuffy. Finding a secluded bench, you sit, turning your head to the stars above and taking in a calming breath.
“Oh goodness, I think we might’ve taken it too far,” Josephine says sadly, looking out the door you dashed towards. James thinks back to his and Josephine’s words, looking for anything that would get you so upset. He doesn’t think it was anything worse than he had done previously, but then again, it could have been the build up from a night of being berated by a constant nuisance.
James taps the table in front of him, worry creasing his brows. A gentle hand touches his shoulder and he meets Josephine’s eyes. “It’ll be alright, they can sometimes get all mixed up inside. As soon as they calm down a bit they will come right back and we can apologise then,” she gives James a reassuring smile, but he doesn’t quite believe it.
“What about with her dead uncle and all, should she really be alone during his funeral?”
Josephine purses her lips, “perhaps not, but I don’t think she wants to see me right now.”
“I’ll go then,” James states, already pushing out of his chair, “thank you for this lovely conversation, I do hope we get to have one again.” He dips his head slightly before turning to find you.
Exiting through the large, open doors, James feels his breathing quicken. All this evening was supposed to be some fun flirtation with someone he would probably never see again. Then why do I care so much? He thinks, scanning the grown out garden for any sign of you. This light bantering was always a simple game to see how far he could take it, and how much he could get out of simply being charming. It was a challenge, and a means of survival, to have everyone in a room look at him with jealousy or infatuation, instead of turning their backs in distaste.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, James finally finds a secluded bench, and you, with your head still tipped back and eyes closed, enjoying the quiet alone.
James walks over, taking no means to conceal his steps as he takes a seat beside you. You don’t turn to face him as the two of you sit there in silence. James wasn’t the best at this, interrupting soft moments to… what? Apologise? Tease to try and get a bigger reaction? He didn’t quite know what he was doing here. Especially since it seemed Josephine was open for more conversation, and was eager enough to learn about the young priest. Instead, James decides that the long game will be much more satisfying to end and that’s why he’s so infatuated with you.
Finally, you turn your head to look at him, an impassive expression resting on your face.
“You never shared your favourite Shakespeare play,” he says matter of factly, turning his body to face you. You roll your eyes, drawing out a long sigh. “I promise not to make fun…” Big ask coming from you! the tiny Sherlock shouts in James’ head as he waits for your answer patiently, picking at the grain of the bench.
“I really like As You Like It too,” you say softly, still not meeting James’ eyes directly. He smiles, glad to find someone with good taste. “The characters are just so well done and I always find myself laughing, even when reading it to myself alone.”
“It is quite the tale, so many lies and deception, but most of it in good heart,” James does his best to somehow try and will your eyes onto him, until they do eventually meet his, “what’s your favourite quote?”
You mull it over in your head, giving James a pointed look. He awaits your answer, feeling anxiety bubbling as you draw out the pause before turning yourself so that the both of you sit face to face.
“I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.” You pronounce each word carefully, reciting it as if you’ve done it a hundred times before, yet there’s an obvious double meaning behind the words.
They know, abort mission, they know! Little Sherlock screams at James, his breath catching in his throat. You look at him carefully, waiting for James to speak. He decides to act stupid, which helps him survive a surprising amount of problems. “That seems a bit pointed,” a whisper of a smile spreading along his lips, trying not to show you how tense he is.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you take on a sickly sweet tone, eyes wide in pretend confusion as James snickers to himself, messing up his curls once again. “You are a young, and quite interesting priest, I don’t know much about you and it’s obvious there's a few confessions you also have to make.”
“I should have been a little more careful around you,” James simply answers. “But I guess you win, I may have a secret or two.”
A slow smile begins spreading across your face, and he realises this was a trap all along. You didn’t truly know the truth about him, but your suspicions were proven correct when James tried to defend himself.
“How about we start over, make a deal,” James nods along, cautiously excited for what you begin proposing, “I want to know the real James Moriarty.”
James smirks, tilting his head, “and what do I get in return?”
“Anything you want, as long as you answer the questions to my satisfaction.”
His heart begins fluttering as James eyes glance to your lips, “I’m sure I’ll be able to satisfy y–”
A cough quickly interrupts James who can’t help but hide his annoyance. “Bloody hell,” he says to himself, snapping to the person behind him after being interrupted for the fourth time today. “Can’t you see we’re tryi–”
“And this isn’t what frolicking about looks like?” A tall man stands behind the bench, awkwardly trying to avoid the branches of the plants behind him. His used to be sharp, grey suit looks rumpled as he looks squarely at James, disappointment clearly written all over his face.
“Sherlock?” James splutters, not expecting to see his friend any time soon. They were supposed to meet back tomorrow evening, and both their tasks were simple enough that neither of them were going to meet any trouble, so what was Sherlock doing here, in a bush? “Were you spying on me?”
“I was not spying on you, I was in the area and wanted to see–”
“See how I was doing, making sure I didn’t cause any trouble?”
“No! I trust you as a detective, but recently you have had a quick temper and have made quite rash decisions.”
“My decisions are not rash, and I am completely calm!” James begins shouting.
Sherlock sneers, “and what about with that ferryman, or the hotel owner, or on the train here?”
“This has nothing to do with the train, you’re the one who keeps bringing that up in the first place!” At this point James is standing, fists balled up with shaking arms.
“Look at yourself, you really think I believe this has nothing to do with that night?” rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, it's obvious his opinion will not be changed.
“You are such a pain in my arse! We both have jobs to do, I’m doing mine by dressing up in this terrible costume, why aren’t you doing yours? Got bored and decided to crawl back to me for some excitement, to laugh in my face once again as I wreck havoc?”
“I came here to check on my friend who has been nothing but stupid since we have stepped foot in Italy. You aren’t even smart enough to realise you’ve just admitted to lying to your new friend here.” Sherlock points to you, who was just as surprised to see the new stranger in the bushes and about all this new information on the priest.
James’ blood runs cold, just now remembering that you’re here, sitting quietly on the bench with your mouth hung open in silent question. James was really in for it now, by two very smart and very stubborn people.
“Shit.”
A.n - AHHHHH I am done!! this took forever but i think it's worth it because it's long but I think the pacing keeps it interesting. The hardest part was building enough tension that it could be broken again, but this whole thing is a learning experience and I am overall enjoying it even though it’s difficult
Also, YAYYYY SHERLOCK!! he is finally here and already tired of James and his bullshit, how fun! I am excited to write more about them being together, and the three of yall being together!! I have some silly scenes in mind already.
Thanks for sticking around, as per last time cunstroctive criticism is very welcome, otherwise lemme know what yall think! Who knows what comes next…
James is constantly handing Sherlock a drink. We know that Sherlock has a relationship to substances during his adulthood. James is attempting for control by hooking Sherlock onto alcohol, the hand that provides per say. 'A slap needs a tickle, a tickle needs a slap'. Now I know that line was an innuendo but I feel, that's a lot of foreshadowing. Double meaning. All of it meant. James is very, very deliberate.
Cordelia's knowledge of her son may be purely based upon her own experiences. She most associates her temperament with him rather than Mycroft as we can see with how much nicer she (unconsciously) treats Sherlock verses her own correspondence with Mycroft.
Mycroft is a horrible liar. I mean even at the dinner table scene, his lack of eye contact, constant shifting (e.g. when he forces out the fact that he'll act as Silas' go-between he's barely looking at them but when Sherlock's like 'are you happy now' Mycroft goes 'no' and he MEANS IT because look, he's making direct eye contact!). It's not obvious but it is there. You also note the isolation he experiences with his family too because not a single person picks up on it. All protect Mycroft, I feel so much for this man.
I don't think Mycroft is lazy, I think his avoidance is a trauma response if anything. He never had the luxury to make mistakes, potentially because he was constantly punished for it and probably took every hit meant for everybody else. He's burdened with memory. Sherlock and Bea are not. Precisely why Silas is afraid of him because Mycroft could so easily blackmail him with his experiences.
I read somewhere that Christopher Nolan is dogshit at writing satisfying characters because he uses concepts as his characters and the people as tools.
So forgive me for this particular transgression folks, but I'm sitting here wondering if they've done the same to Xiao Wei.
Was she just there as a tool to develop Sherlock? Saint to sinner? Irine Adler with a soul?
Again! No S2! I am working on an assumption and fifteenth view of S1! So I don't know if she'll be back to play games (so Sherlock doesn't simply learn how to fight from one person, a contrastive experience of his reactiveness when posed with questions of his sexuality), and if they'll provide her space to grow.
We are introduced to the dupe princess, out there murdering professors because Esad Kasgarli was there, right place, right time. She's angry, intelligent and dangerous. (Zine Tseng was a marvel at bringing depth to this character.)
She is used to take down the other professors because Silas strikes a deal with Malik and we learn that Esad is Silas' right hand man. She realises this. Merges with Sherlock and co (which James would be fuming about when referred to as 'co' sorry). Several scenes are dedicated to her attempting to make moves on Sherlock who freezes up and poses the question of what he's meant to feel?
Then we end with something along the lines of "I hope you put your beautiful mind to use" which felt so bleh.
Building up this character only for the last thing to say is 'Sherlock u r smart ily' LIKE. COME ON. YOU'RE GOOD AT POVS. YOU'VE DONE THE JOB OF CONTRASTING SHERLOCK'S WITH EVERY OTHER CHARACTER'S. THIS CAN'T HAVE BEEN THE LAST THING SHE SAID.
She's a person with a tragedy. She has done things in revenge with consequence. The build up was scrumptious.
And we finish with her admiration to Sherlock? Like he saved her?
BE SO FOR REAL.
To be fair we see Sherlock value her as almost an equal. He chats about not being fond of monarchy. I loved his final address to Xiao Wei before she leaves.
BUT THAT COULD NOT BE THE LAST THING SHE SAYS.
I'm so open to discourse, because again we need S2 to educate us further on the ongoings of this character and whether she'll be brought back or not. She'd be a useful contact for Sherlock.
Or she was there for him to have a crisis in S1 and to replay this memory throughout S2 while James prances about and he realises what he wanted to feel for her is felt for him.
Wait spider man x young sherlock au coming to me in a dream…
Hear me out it could be so spider noir coded and obviously Sherlock is spidey and James is Mj…considering his initials are JM (psychosis is setting in) and James has to help him figure out how to control his spidey powers and fight because he’s a disaster at first even though he wants to help people with his new abilities.
