Hacking the computer had been ridiculously simple and much like when Sherlock's laptop was 'poorly' Jim has a strong feeling the genius could have easily achieved what he wanted without Jim's help. Why he constantly dragged him into these situations, Jim will never know.
When he was completely done and the details Sherlock wanted were on the screen, Jim turned the computer so Sherlock could easily see them and didn't need to move around on his leg.
The detective is quick to start texting someone, without so much as a word. Irene stands behind him, shamelessly peering over his shoulder to see what he was doing. Jim was curious but not only was he polite enough to not read over someone's shoulder, he was also very much rooted to the floor.
He was beyond worried someone would just stroll in, see them and either kill them or signal an alert to the rest of the building so someone with even less mercy could slowly chop them into little bits and send it to their families.
Jim suddenly had a mental image of Sebastian opening a letter, Jim's mother stood beside him, and he pulls out Jim's left ear. His mother shrieks and faints. Sebastian just stares in shock.
He shivers at the thought.
"Um, shouldn't we be leaving?" Jim asks, not even hiding the fear in his voice.
Sherlock stops typing, his fingers coming to a stand still on keyboard as he looks up at Jim. He almost looks guilty. The guilt, if that's what it was, is gone within moments and Sherlock nods, standing up with help from Irene.
Seeing how the woman was struggling to support the injured, and clearly pained, Sherlock, Jim moves to Sherlock's other side and slings one of those long arms around his neck.
Together, the three of them slowly make their way out of the room and towards the exit.
Sherlock's hand had a death grip on Jim's shoulder but Jim said nothing, knowing full well that with each step he took Sherlock was holding in a cry of sheer pain.
A text alert, Sherlock's, pierces through the silence then and Jim has no power over the way he flinched at the sudden sound.
"That'll be Lestrade. He'll have our man in cuffs by now."
Jim blinks at Sherlock's words. Surely it wasn't that simple and easy. No way. Sherlock had been after this guy for months, he'd said. It can't just be that easy.
"That was quick..."
Sherlock chuckles, beaming at Jim. "Thanks to you, yes. Without that information it may have taken me years of undercover work to find him." He makes a muffled noise as they step again, his fingers tightening on Jim's shoulder. He continues a moment later, speaking as if nothing happened. "He knew it too. Knew that no-one could find him. He was a nameless, faceless ghost before. So he was in the open, knowing he could risk it. Easy catch."
Jim nods, understanding it but still unable to believe it was so easy. They round a corner and Jim's worries dissolve as he spots the large 'EXIT' sign above a door at the end of the corridor.
They burst out of the door, all eager to get the hell out of that building. Police lights blind Jim and Irene's grip on Sherlock suddenly disappears, leaving Jim to blindly attempt to hold Sherlock up. They stumble but Jim manages.
"What the fuck?" Jim snaps at the women, who was simply standing there.
She ignores him, looking at Sherlock with fond eyes, a small smile on her lips that just makes Jim's blood boil.
"Thank you, Mr Holmes," She purrs, eyelashes fluttering.
Jim fights a sudden urge to growl.
Sherlock bows his head in a single nod. "You are welcome, Ms Alder."
Was Sherlock... responding to her flirting? Or just being polite? Maybe he just saw replying as a necessary pleasantry.
"Til the next time" Irene winks before turning on her heels and walking away, still looking like a woman worthy of the throne in her ripped and ruined dress.
"Hey!" Jim shouts, angry. "Sherlock needs help. You can't just walk away!"
Despite Jim's words, she keeps walking.
"Bitch," Jim huffs the word before looking to Sherlock.
Sherlock giggles a bit at Jim's lovely description of Irene before sighing in a way that suggested he was in much pain. He leans further into Jim, head rolling back onto his shoulder.
Jim doesn't let himself think about how it must look. Instead, he starts to debate whether he should try and carry Sherlock bridal style or not. He wasn't too sure if he'd be strong enough.
Just as he was about to put his arm under Sherlock's knees a man with slivery grey hair appears, heading straight for them. Jim vaguely recognised him, having seen him around Bards on occasion.
Unless Jim was very wrong, then this was the DI from Scotland Yard that Sherlock sometimes worked with. What division the DI worked in, however, Jim had no idea.
"Sherlock, we got the guy. I text-" He cuts off, eyes falling to Sherlock's poorly bandaged leg. "Shit! I'll go get the nurse."
He starts to turn back when Sherlock starts to shake his head.
"No. Don't bother, Lestrade" Sherlock protests. "John will take care of it when I get home."
Before Lestrade could reply, Jim snorts. "You are going to that bloody nurse and the hospital, Sherlock."
"I-"
"No" Jim cuts in before Sherlock had barely started. "Shut up and just do as you're being told for once"
Surprisingly, Sherlock shuts up and allows Jim to lead him to where an ambulance is waiting, already treating a few scrapes people had received in whatever trouble Lestrade's men had caused.
Frowning, Sherlock turns to a confused looking Lestrade (who was glancing between Jim and Sherlock). "Why is there already an ambulance?" Sherlock demands.
Lestrade snaps back to being professional and pulls out his phone. "You text me saying: Two unconscious in underground rooms, others scattered over the fair grounds. Find this man. And then the picture and details of our friend over there," He points to a police car where a rough looking man sat in the back, looking very annoyed. "Of course I was going to bring an ambulance."
Sherlock was nodding through the explanation, barely sparing the man they'd been after a glance. Two nurses had sat him in the back of the ambulance, treating his leg and tutting at the poor attempt Jim had made to wrap the wound.
Jim awkwardly takes a seat beside the injured man. Sherlock sends him a small thankful smile but of course says nothing.
Git, Jim thinks fondly.
No. Not fondly. He wasn't fond of Sherlock in any way, shape or form.
They weren't even friends.
Nearly three hours later, Jim found himself sat in a sparkling clean white waiting room. Sherlock was getting stitches for his leg and then they'd be on their way back home.
While he waits, Jim takes out his phone and brings up his chat box with 'Sebby <3'. There's a bunch of unread messages, at first they were just Sebastian being a tease and saying about it being a date and how he was not to have sex. Then they got ugly.. Sebastian was worrying and texting in caps lock and demanding to know where the hell Jim was.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Jim taps out a message explaining where he was. He then reconsiders and types out another that doesn't mention the hospital.
'I'm fine, Seb. I'll be back later on. Get some food. xx'
'You're missing for nearly ten hours and all you have to say is: get some food?'
Oh, shit. No kisses. Jim knew that meant Sebastian was very angry. Very very angry.
'Sorry. xx'
'What food do you want, you stupid reckless friend of mine? xx'
Jim had never been more relived to see xx's on the end of a message.
'What ever you fancy. See you soon. xx'
'Yep. xx'
Another hour later, Sherlock came out of the doors on crutches but otherwise was looking as healthy as ever.
With a relived grin, Jim made his way over to Sherlock. He was very nearly tempted to hug him.
"Alright?" Jim asks, a bit eager.
Smooth, Jim. Real smooth.
Not that Jim wants to be smooth around Sherlock. He doesn't care what Sherlock may or may not think about him as a person. He has no reason to care. Obviously.
"Do I look alright?' Sherlock quips in a playful manner, quirking an amused eyebrow.
Jim thought he looked as gorgeous as ever really, despite all the scrapes and cuts.
Colour explodes over Sherlock's cheek then and his eyes widen, locking on to Jim and darting around his face as if trying to riddle something out.
"What?" Sherlock asks, eventually. He was still in shock.
It's then Jim realises that his thoughts hadn't stayed in his head like he had assumed they would. Oops.
Of course. It's just typical, isn't it? The one time that Jim doesn't mentally add an insult after anything nice he'd thought about Sherlock is the one time, the onetime, when he accidentally opens the floodgate between his brain and mouth.
"I.." Jim licks his lips, nervously. There was no way he could back of this one. "Well, you're a pretty man."
"A pretty man?" Sherlock repeats with a smirk.
Jim grits his teeth, a very familiar chant entering his head.
Don't slap him. Don't slap him. Don't slap him.
"Yes." Jim snaps as a reply, annoyed. 'You're a fucking pretty man. Now shut the fuck up and take me home."
"Stop swearing. It's rude and lessens your vocabulary." Sherlock tuts.
"I will swear as much as I fucking like, okay?" It was clear in his voice that he's annoyed with Sherlock's antics.
Crutches or not, Jim was close to slapping the smug git.
Sherlock moves closer, close enough that Jim could faintly smell Sherlock's sweet, almost girly aftershave. Only a little, however. Mainly he could just smell some mix of Sherlock's blood and sweat. It was.. odd to say the least.
Jim doesn't move back though, far too stubborn to show that kind of weakness when all he really wanted was to reach out and wring Sherlock's scrawny little neck.
"So... You think I'm gorgeous?" Sherlock smirks.
"You're still an annoying brat"
"I'm older than you," Sherlock pointed out with his 'ha-ha, I win' look.
His smirk hadn't left. Jim hated that gorgeous smirk.
When Jim doesn't reply, just glares, he expects Sherlock to make another smart arse remark or start babbling on about something. He doesn't do that, though. What he does do.. shocks Jim a lot.
Sherlock leans forward on his crutches and captures Jim's lips with his own before Jim can even process what was going on. It's an awkward kiss, Sherlock sticking his neck out and Jim half frozen.
He can feel Sherlock's soft lips moving against his and doesn't even realise that he's responding just as eagerly. As well as being soft, Sherlock's lips are addicting, just making Jim want more and more. A wave of warmth goes through Jim, stopping in his chest and making his heart race.
He's definitely kissing back by this point, his own lips moving against Sherlock's with a small hum. Neither open their mouth, keeping it slow, sweet and innocent.
He hadn't been kissed in a long while and Sherlock was definitely good at it.
Jim's mind eventually catches up with him, however, and it's as if someone hit a worldwide panic button.
Sherlock is kissing him.
With a small gasp, Jim pushes the other man back and stares hard at him with widen eyes. He.. Oh, God. Jim's cheeks burn, both from embarrassment and frustration. Sherlock made his blood boil on a good day and now he does this!
"I.. I can't believe you did that! What the hell?!" Jim shouts, unnecessarily loud.
Sherlock just smirks again. "You didn't seem to be complaining at the time."
Jim doesn't even bother to hold himself back. He completely ignores the chanting in his head and raises his hand, swiping it across Sherlock's face with a loud smack! Sherlock's head snaps to the side and his cheek instantly grows a hot painful looking red in the shape of Jim's hand.
Satisfied he'd hurt the other man, Jim turns on his heel and heads for the exit.
The cab ride home was going to be awkward...