Downloading... [Sheriarty AU] {Completed - Edited}

Chapter Six: Not A Date

Typically, the next week passed at a snail's pace. The little square on his calendar marked Sat was taunting him, as was the clock that seemed to run slower with each passing minute. It reminded Jim of being in school again. 

A shiver runs through him at that thought. Ugh. School was a horrible place and all those people that said he'd miss it when he left couldn't be further from right if they tried. 

It's Friday now and Jim is sat in his desk chair, watching the clock tick exceedingly slowly towards six p.m., which was when his shift ended. 

Sebastian had emailed Jim throughout the week and he'd planned to stay for a few days into the next week, only making Jim more energetic and excitable as the week went on. He'd even been all smiley and happy around Sherlock, confusing the detective to a point Jim almost thought it was cute. 

Molly, naturally, had squeezed him for every single bit of information about Sebastian. She wasn't going to ever let him live down the way he slipped up and called him 'Sebby' in front of her. 

Six o'clock eventually rolls round and Jim bounces up, smiling like an idiot. Sebastian would be here in just over a day. Plus, tomorrow he got to shoot at things and argue with Sherlock. 

It was weird. Jim actually found, when he thought about it, that he really really enjoyed arguing with Sherlock about anything and everything. On Wednesday he even found himself smiling when he heard Sherlock call him James. 

Usually he complained when anyone called him James, even his own mother got snapped at if she called him James. His full name only passed his mother's lips if he was being a right pain in the arse, though. 

In what seemed like a bat of his eyelashes, Jim is pushing his key into the lock to his flat. 

Now. To choose his outfit for tomorrow. 

Not that it's a date, he adds mentally before pulling out his wardrobe and scanning the clothes there. 

On one side he had all his suits, including his favourite from the lovely Vivienne Westwood, and on the other he had more casual clothes. His countless pair of shoes lined the bottom of the wardrobe and he probably had around twenty beanies on a shelf above his clothes. 

This was going to be a tough choice. 

Saturday comes faster than Jim expected and before he knows it he finds himself outside his Uncle's shooting range, clad in a pair of denim shorts that reached his knee (it was a warm day, for England) and a light blue check cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He'd gone with the casual look. Simple. 

He'd added a dark blue beanie too, just because he liked wearing them. He'd have to take it off to shoot but oh well. 

Clothes were a bit of a guilty pleasure for Jim. One day, like today, he'd look a little on the hipster side despite being twenty nine. Then other days he'd looked like a snob in his Westwood suits. He loved his ties too. 

Jim was pulled out of his fantasies about his own clothes by a taxi pulling up. Sherlock climbs out, dressed in his usual fitted suit and expensive top. Jim bet even his underwear was ridiculously expensive. 

Not that he ever planned to find out. 

Sherlock approaches him with a smile. "James." 

Jim rolls his eyes and nods back, a smile tugging at his lips. "Sherlock." 

Jim turns and heads for the door, hiding his smile. Within minutes Jim has the door to the actual range open. 

After some searching they find the storage room with the guns. Jim stops dead in front of the door, his whole face flushing red as he reads the charming note left by his Uncle.