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

Chapter Nine: Sherlock Holmes Needs Help?!

"I need your help."

Jim yawns, blinking at the man stood before him, blocking the way into the office. He was so tired. It had been very tempting to call in sick and stayed curled up against the warmth of his best friend.

"Good morning to you too," Jim quips, pushing past Sherlock to enter his office.

It was far too early to deal with Sherlock Holmes. Far far too early. Jim was too tried. 'Too tired. Need caffeine.' Jim's subconscious tells him and before he can make the decision to, his body is carrying him back past Sherlock and down the stairs towards the staff kitchen.

Coffee. Need coffee.

"James. I need your help."

"Coffee, first. Sherlock, later." Jim yawns again, wondering why Sherlock couldn't go bother someone else for a few hours.

Sherlock follows him all the way to the staff kitchen, watching him make coffee. Jim sighs, knowing the persistent man wasn't going to get off his back until he at least heard whatever he had to say.

He did thank Sherlock for being patient though. He doesn't ask again until Jim has drunk half of his coffee and is back in the comfort of his chair in his office.

Jim had managed to successful ignore the way Sherlock had become his shadow and when half his coffee is gone and he feels he can tolerate the annoying detective he spins around in the chair and gestures for Sherlock to speak.

"I need your help," He repeats, earning an eye roll from Jim.

"I got that much myself, thanks," He replies, tone dripping with sarcasm. He sips at his coffee, which needed more sugar, before speaking again. "Explain then, or I'm not helping."

"And you will if I explain?"

"Maybe."

"Alright," Sherlock nods. His eyes lock onto Jim's then, rooting Jim to his place. "I need your help hacking a drug dealers computer. I've tried. I can't do it."

"Your brother is the Government," Jim points out.

Sherlock sighs through his nose, visible irritated. "Mycroft won't help me. Says it's too petty for all the legwork he'd have to do."

Jim thinks about it for a moment.

"I'm not saying I'll help but what would I be looking for?"

"Contact details. Something that can be traced. He have the name of the drug dealer but if I'm to eliminate the whole organisation I need to trace it back to the ring leader. This organisation has come up in nearly five cases now, it's getting tiresome."

Jim did sympathise with that. Sherlock certainly wasn't a man tolerant of repetition, especially on his own behalf. It must be maddening for him.

"Is this the same information Irene misplaced?" Jim asks, more curious.

"Yes. The stupid woman..." Sherlock trails off, glaring at the floor as if it were the cause of all this issues.

Jim had heard Sherlock could get very serious about the work and had experienced the more serious side of Sherlock a few times but this seemed different. He seemed more angry now.

Then it hit Jim. He was ashamed.

Ashamed that he needed help from someone and that his skills weren't enough. He was angry that he needed someone.

Jim couldn't stop himself from laughing if someone offered a million pounds.

Sherlock's glare is redirected onto Jim, just making him laugh even more. Because it really was laughable. Sherlock was getting all pouty over the fact he needed a bit of help.

The more Jim laughed, the closer Sherlock looked to snapping and obviously the more annoyed Sherlock looked, the more Jim laughed.

Then Sherlock stands, the chair he'd been sitting on flying backwards. His jaw was set as he clenches his fists and looks away from Jim.

"Are you going to help me or not?" He snaps, the venom in his angry tone meant to sting.

Jim just giggles a few more times, wiping a tear from the side of his eye before straightening and sobering up a little. He still had a small smile on his lips though, unable to remove it despite his efforts.

"What's in it for me?" Jim questions.

Sure, helping take down a drug dealer was fun and all but he may as well get something out of it too.

"£100?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow, as if not expecting Jim to want something.

"Money. Boring." Jim fakes a yawn, although it soon turns into a real one.

He reaches for his coffee cup, bringing it to his lips as he watches Sherlock think.

"The place we need to go is a fair ground. I'll pay for one of those all day bands for the rides there. After we're got the information we can spend the day there" Sherlock shrugs.

"That sounds suspiciously date-like but fine. Computers and funfairs are my weaknesses." Jim laughs, ignoring how Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the date comment.

Looks like he had another not-a-date with Sherlock Holmes, the man that annoyed him to no end almost every day of his life. Well, since about two weeks ago anyway. "Perfect. Meet Irene and I at this address," He gives Jim a piece of paper. "At 11am tomorrow morning. Or I can pick you up at around half nine, your choice. You'll have to call in sick or something."

Jim glances at the card before looking back to Sherlock. "Irene's coming?"

Sherlock nods. "Yes."

"Why?" Jim finds himself asking before he can stop himself.

"She's doing this as revenge and wants to be there when we get the suppler in cuffs. She's not in this for the moral aspects of this quest," Sherlock smirks at his own words, tucking his hands behind his back.

Jim hums. "Sounds like you'd make a good couple."

"Jealous?" Sherlock's smirk widens.

Jim rolls his eyes, turning back to the computer. "Oh yes, very jealous," He mutters sarcastically.

Sherlock gets tired of being ignored some time later and leaves. When he does, Jim can't help but glance at the door and wonder if he was jealous.

He snorts and mentally scalds himself.

In no universe was he jealous of Irene Alder.

Hell, he didn't even want to interact with Sherlock. He was annoying, rude, selfish, annoying, arrogant, condescending, annoying, and did he mention how annoying Sherlock was?

Happy that he was wasn't jealous of Irene for having some form of a bound with such an annoying man, Jim returns to working.

Later that evening, he gets a text message.

'Shall I pick you up or will you meet us there? Have you called in sick yet? -SH'

Jim frowns at the message before typing back.

'How the hell do you have my number?'

'Molly'

Jim sighs, planning on having words with that girl about dropping to her knees for the stupidly pretty man named Sherlock Holmes.

'Whatever. Pick me up. Easier.' 

'See you at 9:30'

Sebastian doesn't ask when Jim furiously stabs his pasta and mutters about 'bloody Sherlock Holmes'.