igrab
in
grabi_hands
❄ december ninth | carol of the bells
title. carol of the bells
pairing. sherlock/sebastian
written for. storylandqueen
wordcount. 1,363
summary. sherlock doesn't want anything for christmas. he doesn't.
"What do you want for Christmas?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, toss off." Sebastian rolled onto his stomach, chin propped up on his hands. "Everyone says that, you know, but they all have something they really want. Come on, what is it?"
"Really, it's nothing." Sherlock scrunched his sock-covered toes on the edge of his desk chair; he was focused almost entirely on his laptop screen and thusly Age of Empires, with just enough leftover attention to carry on a conversation with his... what? What were they? Not thinking about it. With Sebastian. That was enough. "I despise Christmas. Haven't we had this conversation?"
"Just because you hate Christmas, doesn't mean you hate presents," Seb said, wagging a finger at him.
Sebastian Wilkes had the flattering (and tiring) habit of only acting like Sherlock was a real person when they were alone together - usually against Sherlock's wishes. He constantly seesawed between near verbal abuse in the company of Seb's friends, and an overbearing belief in Sherlock's humanity otherwise. So mostly it was flattering, but he was fairly certain Seb did it out of some twisted sense of ownership. That he could only be human when he was Seb's, which was true enough. Only, he didn't like being human. It was terribly boring.
"I dislike presents more than I dislike Christmas, which you're well aware of. What's with the sudden interest?"
Sub waved a hand vaguely. "Tis the season, and all that. If you'd really rather I didn't get you anything..."
Sherlock spared a moment for a contrite, apologetic smile. "I really would rather."
Seb looked at him, sized him up, then sighed. "All right. I won't get you anything. Now you'll make me feel bad for getting," he added under his breath, but Sherlock just grinned. He'd already hinted several times as to the nature of Seb's present, and while he hadn't quite guessed it, he was rabid with curiosity. Seb wasn't stupid - far from it. It made him bearable and sometimes even likable. But he was, occasionally, very dumb.
Soon enough, though, tiny animated Koreans in brightly-colored boats invading his castle distracted Sherlock from the conversation entirely. He didn't hold things for very long in his mind, nothing was important enough and there was always something frivolous to do - whether that was computer games, social contact, or drugs depended on just how bad it was. The boredom, that is. There was no relief for it, only a lessening now and again, and it was such a frequent, buzzing weight that Sherlock didn't even think about it most of the time, though it drove him relentlessly. Anything, anything to try and lift the haze.
On December 9th - he remembered the day clearly because he woke up with the sudden terrifying thought that he had something due in class today, something important, and he was supposed to have done it a week ago but where had that week gone? It was distressingly blank. Sherlock lay in bed and contemplated the enormous prospect of getting up, finding out what terribly inane thing he was supposed to have done, and doing it, all before class started in what was likely a manner of minutes. Ha ha. Very amusing. Highly unlikely.
He had just about enough strength to pull his laptop onto his chest, which he did. He opened it, poked it into life. Closed out of Age of Empires. Deleted half a page of musical notation, quickly determined to be crap. Checked his email.
Hang on - that wasn't an ad. At least, it didn't seem to be an ad, though they only name given was 'Anonymous', which was ominous and that rhymed. Sherlock opened it.
It contained a cipher.
He sat up in his bed so fast that his laptop nearly almost went flying, but Sherlock grabbed it and hit the internets harder than a falcon punch. Someday, he would grow too prideful to rely on the internet when it came to solving ciphers, but not now. He solved it within seconds.
I don't doubt that took you all of a minute, but your next challenge will be more difficult. Go to the computer lab. The computer in the far right corner will be empty; login with the following information.
Sherlock quickly memorized it, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He scrambled out of bed and into something resembling clothes. There was nothing but the chase. There was nothing. He wasn't bored.
The computer lab gave him a map that led to a bigger map that led to the library, and each consecutive puzzle grew more challenging and exponentially more exciting. The library didn't even come with instructions. His mind raced, drawing impossible connections and discarding them until he finally found what he was being led to - a note slipped into a book on rifles, which should have been all too indicative. In retrospect, Sherlock would hate his own methodology. Never again would he simply follow the bread crumbs, without trying to determine who was dropping them.
But this time, he shoved the book back on the shelf and stared at the note. It had a number. Just that; just a number.
His brain lit up and he understood, tearing right off again.
He was at it all day. This was better than cocaine, better than chemistry; it was better than sex and holidays and concerts. He felt alive.
The sun was setting as he crashed into the west courtyard, which was beginning to fill up with a thin layer of snow. He panted for breath, looking around wildly. This was the last clue. He was certain of it. What was at the end? What was he searching for?
A noise. Someone stepped out from behind the wall and Sherlock whirled in his place.
It was Sebastian.
Seb was standing there, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, looking self-assured and relaxed, like he always did. But there was a light in his eyes. A recognition, an awareness. Sherlock felt his heart thud dully against his ribs.
"....Seb?" he whispered, not even able to believe it.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," he said. "Did you enjoy your present?"
"What?" Sherlock sputtered, then turned around in place again. This had to - Seb? Seb was the one who'd..... but he should have known, shouldn't he. The book in the library, the right-corner computer, it all made sense now. Why couldn't he see it?
"It's a little early, but term's ending soon." He crossed over, his hips rolling in a slow swagger, his large shoes leaving trails in the barely-fallen snow. Sherlock could only stare.
"You did this? You?"
Seb grinned and kissed his unresponsive lips. "I thought you'd hate it. It was all kind of simple."
"Sim-mff." They were kissing again, and Sherlock sighed into it. ".....It was," he amended quietly. "But I'd say it had the desired effect."
That night, Seb found an email from an address he was unfamiliar with. It didn't seem to be spam, and it wouldn't hurt to check, so he did. Then his eyes grew wide.
Very nice work today. I'm impressed. You're wasted in the business school.
He frowned, wondering if it was from Sherlock - but no, Sherlock would have just told him, and anyway, they'd been together all evening. Who could it be? He sent a quick reply.
Who are you?
He didn't have to wait long for a response - his inbox flashed within seconds.
Your new Astronomy professor.
And it was true, he did have Astronomy and Cosmology on his schedule for next term. What it meant, though, was beyond him, and it was going to be a long month and a half before he found out.
"Hello, class. I'm Professor James Moriarty. But really, you can all just call me Jim."
pairing. sherlock/sebastian
written for. storylandqueen
wordcount. 1,363
summary. sherlock doesn't want anything for christmas. he doesn't.
"What do you want for Christmas?"
"Nothing."
"Oh, toss off." Sebastian rolled onto his stomach, chin propped up on his hands. "Everyone says that, you know, but they all have something they really want. Come on, what is it?"
"Really, it's nothing." Sherlock scrunched his sock-covered toes on the edge of his desk chair; he was focused almost entirely on his laptop screen and thusly Age of Empires, with just enough leftover attention to carry on a conversation with his... what? What were they? Not thinking about it. With Sebastian. That was enough. "I despise Christmas. Haven't we had this conversation?"
"Just because you hate Christmas, doesn't mean you hate presents," Seb said, wagging a finger at him.
Sebastian Wilkes had the flattering (and tiring) habit of only acting like Sherlock was a real person when they were alone together - usually against Sherlock's wishes. He constantly seesawed between near verbal abuse in the company of Seb's friends, and an overbearing belief in Sherlock's humanity otherwise. So mostly it was flattering, but he was fairly certain Seb did it out of some twisted sense of ownership. That he could only be human when he was Seb's, which was true enough. Only, he didn't like being human. It was terribly boring.
"I dislike presents more than I dislike Christmas, which you're well aware of. What's with the sudden interest?"
Sub waved a hand vaguely. "Tis the season, and all that. If you'd really rather I didn't get you anything..."
Sherlock spared a moment for a contrite, apologetic smile. "I really would rather."
Seb looked at him, sized him up, then sighed. "All right. I won't get you anything. Now you'll make me feel bad for getting," he added under his breath, but Sherlock just grinned. He'd already hinted several times as to the nature of Seb's present, and while he hadn't quite guessed it, he was rabid with curiosity. Seb wasn't stupid - far from it. It made him bearable and sometimes even likable. But he was, occasionally, very dumb.
Soon enough, though, tiny animated Koreans in brightly-colored boats invading his castle distracted Sherlock from the conversation entirely. He didn't hold things for very long in his mind, nothing was important enough and there was always something frivolous to do - whether that was computer games, social contact, or drugs depended on just how bad it was. The boredom, that is. There was no relief for it, only a lessening now and again, and it was such a frequent, buzzing weight that Sherlock didn't even think about it most of the time, though it drove him relentlessly. Anything, anything to try and lift the haze.
On December 9th - he remembered the day clearly because he woke up with the sudden terrifying thought that he had something due in class today, something important, and he was supposed to have done it a week ago but where had that week gone? It was distressingly blank. Sherlock lay in bed and contemplated the enormous prospect of getting up, finding out what terribly inane thing he was supposed to have done, and doing it, all before class started in what was likely a manner of minutes. Ha ha. Very amusing. Highly unlikely.
He had just about enough strength to pull his laptop onto his chest, which he did. He opened it, poked it into life. Closed out of Age of Empires. Deleted half a page of musical notation, quickly determined to be crap. Checked his email.
Hang on - that wasn't an ad. At least, it didn't seem to be an ad, though they only name given was 'Anonymous', which was ominous and that rhymed. Sherlock opened it.
It contained a cipher.
He sat up in his bed so fast that his laptop nearly almost went flying, but Sherlock grabbed it and hit the internets harder than a falcon punch. Someday, he would grow too prideful to rely on the internet when it came to solving ciphers, but not now. He solved it within seconds.
I don't doubt that took you all of a minute, but your next challenge will be more difficult. Go to the computer lab. The computer in the far right corner will be empty; login with the following information.
Sherlock quickly memorized it, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He scrambled out of bed and into something resembling clothes. There was nothing but the chase. There was nothing. He wasn't bored.
The computer lab gave him a map that led to a bigger map that led to the library, and each consecutive puzzle grew more challenging and exponentially more exciting. The library didn't even come with instructions. His mind raced, drawing impossible connections and discarding them until he finally found what he was being led to - a note slipped into a book on rifles, which should have been all too indicative. In retrospect, Sherlock would hate his own methodology. Never again would he simply follow the bread crumbs, without trying to determine who was dropping them.
But this time, he shoved the book back on the shelf and stared at the note. It had a number. Just that; just a number.
His brain lit up and he understood, tearing right off again.
He was at it all day. This was better than cocaine, better than chemistry; it was better than sex and holidays and concerts. He felt alive.
The sun was setting as he crashed into the west courtyard, which was beginning to fill up with a thin layer of snow. He panted for breath, looking around wildly. This was the last clue. He was certain of it. What was at the end? What was he searching for?
A noise. Someone stepped out from behind the wall and Sherlock whirled in his place.
It was Sebastian.
Seb was standing there, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, looking self-assured and relaxed, like he always did. But there was a light in his eyes. A recognition, an awareness. Sherlock felt his heart thud dully against his ribs.
"....Seb?" he whispered, not even able to believe it.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock," he said. "Did you enjoy your present?"
"What?" Sherlock sputtered, then turned around in place again. This had to - Seb? Seb was the one who'd..... but he should have known, shouldn't he. The book in the library, the right-corner computer, it all made sense now. Why couldn't he see it?
"It's a little early, but term's ending soon." He crossed over, his hips rolling in a slow swagger, his large shoes leaving trails in the barely-fallen snow. Sherlock could only stare.
"You did this? You?"
Seb grinned and kissed his unresponsive lips. "I thought you'd hate it. It was all kind of simple."
"Sim-mff." They were kissing again, and Sherlock sighed into it. ".....It was," he amended quietly. "But I'd say it had the desired effect."
That night, Seb found an email from an address he was unfamiliar with. It didn't seem to be spam, and it wouldn't hurt to check, so he did. Then his eyes grew wide.
Very nice work today. I'm impressed. You're wasted in the business school.
He frowned, wondering if it was from Sherlock - but no, Sherlock would have just told him, and anyway, they'd been together all evening. Who could it be? He sent a quick reply.
Who are you?
He didn't have to wait long for a response - his inbox flashed within seconds.
Your new Astronomy professor.
And it was true, he did have Astronomy and Cosmology on his schedule for next term. What it meant, though, was beyond him, and it was going to be a long month and a half before he found out.
"Hello, class. I'm Professor James Moriarty. But really, you can all just call me Jim."