“I asked you, begged you, to stop play-flirting with my mother, James, and you go and bed my sister instead?!” Sherlock paced across the room, wanting distance between them. “Do you delight in giving me these migraines?”
James wanted closeness. He crossed the room to meet him. “Not delight, no,” he countered, eyeing him. “It didn’t mean any—”
“That makes it worse! You’ve ruined her reputation—”
“Oh I think we can agree she’s done a fine job of that herself, Sherley,” James interjected.
“Don’t try to make me laugh now,” Sherlock scoffed, ruefully baring teeth. “Will you go after my brother, next?”
James laughed at the absurdity of the accusation. He cocked his head almost cutely. “Not your brother, no,” he replied, hands in his pockets as he leaned forward, observing Sherlock observing him. “I thought I might try you,” he admitted, softer now.
Sherlock didn’t know what to say.
James pressed on. “I wanted you first,” he stepped forward by half.
“That’s—” Sherlock blinked stupidly.
“I always wanted you,” James saw no revulsion, no fear in Sherlock’s face. Only eyes that seemed to calculate, to process. He took that as permission to keep going. “Right from the first,” he took his chin. “Didn’t you know that?”
That should have happened in the series
I swoon when he took his chin
areudirty
jacobvanloon
jbbartram-illu
snowghoul
pixelskylines
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
germansingergirl
kianamaiart
tangentwithtanner
