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

Chapter Ten: Again, Not A Date.

"Have fun on your date!" Sebastian calls as Sherlock and Jim leave the flat.

"Call it a date one more time, Sebastian, and I will slap you until you cry," Jim growls, flipping his best friend off as Sherlock wordlessly pushes the button for the lift.

Sebastian just blows Jim a kiss before closing the door.

Jim wanted to go back and strangle him.

"So..." Sherlock trails off as they enter the lift, sounding as awkward as Jim felt.

Jim hits the 'G' button before snapping at the detective, voice harsh. "Shut up, Sher-cock!"

He was too tired for this. With Sebastian here, he'd been going to bed a great deal later than he usually would. Plus, he had to get up at eight am this morning to shower and eat before Sherlock arrived. His body wasn't used to waking at eight am after only going to bed four hours prior.

Both of the men remain silent as the lift descends to the ground floor and neither of them breath a word as they climb into the waiting taxi. Irene was there but she was busy texting and didn't break the silence.

Jim was thankful for the quiet as he slumps against the window, watching the world go by as the cab crawled through the London streets to wherever the hell Jim had allowed the detective to take him.

Jim wasn't at all surprised when he receives a text from Molly, who'd clearly gone to see him only to find the man wasn't in his office as he should be.

'You alright? Want me to bring some soup round at lunch? xx'

Jim smiles at that before he taps out a reply.

'Nah. Thanks anyway. I'm not ill, though. A certain detective is dragging me to a funfair x'

'You skipped work for a date? xx'

'Not. A. Date.'

Jim was beginning to get more than a little pissed off by the fact every single person he came into contact with assumed that he was dating Sherlock.

'Of course it's not ;) Have fun! xx'

Huffing, Jim decides to not bother replying to his friend. He almost wished he wasn't going to the funfair and could go to lunch at Cindy's like he usually does - it had become a tradition for Molly and him now.

"Who you texting?" Irene asks, eyes locked on Jim. It was the first time Jim heard her speak so informally. 'Who you texting' was hardly proper English.

"Your mum," Jim replies with a smirk, mentally giving himself a high-five for the come back.

Irene just raises an eyebrow at that. "Sebastian keeping you up all night?"

Jim opts for simply nodding as a reply. Irene's eyes flash towards Sherlock. Just for a split second. Then she's back to looking at Jim, who was more than half tempted to glance at Sherlock as well.

Sebastian seemed a sour subject for the detective.

Before Jim can cave and look at Sherlock, Irene speaks again.

"Good, is he?"

"Oh, yeah," Jim chuckles, leaving out the fact that they actually done anything of that sort for years and the thought of them doing it now was less than appealing.

Irene seems shocked by that reply, no doubt expecting Jim to snap that it wasn't like that between Sebastian and him like he had the other night.

Sherlock shifts beside Jim, earning himself a glance from Jim. He looked like he felt extremely out of place and uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

"Oh, God. You're not one of those that get all awkward talking about sex, are you?" Jim laughs, nudging Sherlock with his elbow.

Sherlock glares at him. "No."

"Mm.. Okay" Jim hums, not convinced at all by Sherlock's protests.

Sherlock just grunts, jaw setting, before he turns to look out the window. Irene snorts a laugh at the exchange before she goes back to texting at speed of light.

"Who are you texting?"Jim asks, curious.

"Your dad," Irene smirks.

Jim bows his head in a silent show of respect before they all go quiet for the remainder of the drive.

Jim blamed it entirely on his stupid best friend when he fell asleep on the journey, his head falling on Sherlock's shoulder in his unconscious state and then somehow him ending up with his head in Sherlock's lap during the time he slept.

You know those mornings where you wake up tired and you couldn't give two shits about where you are because no matter how uncomfortable you may be waking is just the absolute late thing you want to do?

Well, Jim was feeling like that right now.

He didn't care that his cheek was pressed right against someone's warm thigh, nor did he care that someone was running a possessive hand through his hair as his body ordered his mind to just stay asleep.

Whoever was touching his hair must have sensed the change in his breathing pattern because a moment later the hand was gone. The tug gave to Jim's hair made him stir and sit up slowly, blinking.

With a yawn, Jim finally registered where he'd been sleeping... well, more specifically, on whom he'd been sleeping.

His eyes grew to the size of saucers, moon sized saucers that is, and he scrambles to push himself as far away from Sherlock as was possible. Sherlock was looking at him too, but he just looked bored.

It certainly wasn't the first time Jim had wanted to slap the man.

Sherlock had touched his hair! That was so not okay. It was probably messy now. Jim quickly raised his phone and opened his camera. Reversing it, he was more than relived to find his hair didn't look like he'd hand Sherlock's huge hands running through it.

"Creep," Jim huffs at Sherlock, sitting properly on his seat and crossing his arms.

Sherlock gives an odd curl of his lips, somewhere behind a smirk and smile before he looks out the window.

Do. Not. Slap. Him.

Jim currently had over ten reasons he shouldn't listen to the voice. Six of them being how annoying Sherlock could be and is. 

Irene snorts a laugh like she had earlier and mutters something about men being hopeless.

Jim ignores both of them, looking out his own window.

And if Irene saw him glance at Sherlock's hand a number of times throughout the journey, her eyes were just playing tricks on her because Jim had absolutely no reason to look at Sherlock's hands.

None at all. Not a single reason. Nope.

When they finally pulled up to the funfair entrance, everything crashes down on him.

He had no clue where he needed to go or what exactly he needed to do in order to help. All he knew was that Sherlock needed him to hack a computer. That raised more questions. What computer? Where was this computer? Was there even a computer?

Jim probably should have been asking these questions but he was too busy mentally cursing to even think about seeking answers.

A hand encloses around Jim's upper arm as they exit the cab. Jim glances to his right to see Irene was the one trying to cut off his circulation. Sherlock goes to walk forward but Irene reaches out and takes him by the collar.

Jim was starting to freak out. Was this part of some plan he hasn't been informed of?

Irene leans down to whisper in his ear. "Go along with it, okay?"

"Um..." is all he uttered before Irene began to drag them both towards a ticket booth.

Irene opens her mouth to speak to the fat man sat behind the glass but if she said something, Jim didn't hear it as there was suddenly a burst of pain at the centre of his forehead. His vision goes blurry before everything turns blank and he feels himself fall forwards. He's unconscious before he even hits the ground.