Fic: The Case of the Distant Hostage (1/3)
I fell asleep! I'm not very coherent! WHY IS THIS FIC SO LONG? It was supposed to be 7k words max. Urgh.
Title: The Case of the Distant Hostage
Recipient: thatsapplejack for TSN Secret Santa
Fandom: The Social Network / Sherlock Holmes BBC crossover
Warnings: Attempted murder via poisoning-of-a-sort.
Pairing: Mark/Eduardo
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~22k words.
Summary: Eduardo, having an allergy to nuts, has nearly died from anaphylaxis twice in as many weeks, while a letter threatening his life has been sent to Mark. Desperate to solve this mystery before a third attack, Dustin offers to recruit two people he has been following on a blog; Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. (Set years after the deposition, a whodunit mystery, and a Sherlock Holmes BBC series crossover.)
Notes: You do not need to watch BBC’s Sherlock Holmes to read this fic. The main focus of the fic will still be on our TSN characters. All you’ll need to know is that the BBC series of Sherlock Holmes is a modern day interpretation of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Sherlock is the world’s only consulting detective who regularly solves crimes using the powers of deduction, and he thinks of himself as a sociopath. John Watson is an ex-army doctor who has just returned from war and is Sherlock’s beleaguered flatmate. He often follows Sherlock on his cases and blogs about them.
Heaps of gratitude goes to elefante_locura for the amazing, emergency beta, especially considering the length of this fic and the little time there was left. ♥ All mistakes are my own, especially since I have done last minute edits after the beta-work.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Mark is afraid.
He keeps a tight rein on his expression as always, revealing little of how he feels.
Unlike what most people say, Mark does have feelings, a lot of strong ones too. But he rarely feels fear. Eduardo once said that Mark lacks basic survival instincts, which is why he stands there and taunts much larger jocks instead of running away like a smart geek.
Now, Mark doesn’t know how to cope with the thrumming fear that boils in the pit of his stomach and the constant, twitching anxiety that shakes his limbs.
The worst thing is that running away will do nothing in this case.
One could say that maybe running away all this time has only led him back to this point.
“I’ll talk to him,” he says. “He can stay with me for now.”
His voice is steady, even as his heart thumps and thumps with fear, fear for someone else.
# # # # # # # # # #
The door opens, breaking Mark’s determined contemplation of the staircase leading away from the living room.
“Mark, remember how I said I might know someone who can help? Well, they’re not from here, but they were in the city chasing up a lead on some internationally wanted criminal,” says Dustin, looking an odd mixture of excited and worried. “I convinced them to help us, and I really think they can figure out what happened-”
Mark interjects, “We should just pay the ransom. How is a private investigator going to help us on this? We don’t have the time for all this.”
“A consulting detective, thank you very much,” says a tall man who enters the room behind Dustin. “And I can guarantee you that I will be saving you a lot of time once you engage my services.”
The newcomer has jet black hair that falls in untamed waves and almost inhumanly pale gray eyes. He spoke with a rich, deep voice and a refined British accent. Even to Mark’s untrained eye, the man looks sharply dressed in a fitted suit, long lines of his body accentuated by what are probably very expensive clothes.
“You were supposed to wait outside while I convinced him,” protests Dustin.
“Sorry about that, he barged in before I could put him in a stranglehold,” mutters another man who had entered behind the taller newcomer, speaking with a British accent as well.
The second intruder has pale blond hair shot through with gray, and he scans the room with calm blue eyes. Wearing a baggy sweater and worn jeans, he doesn’t look capable of putting Dustin in a stranglehold, let alone his taller companion.
They’re practically besieged by strangers, and Mark doesn’t have the patience for this.
Mark says in a flat tone, “I’m not hiring a hack for something as important as this.”
“Oh great,” mutters the blond man.
The taller man strides into the room, glancing around. “Now, now, Mister Zuckerberg, there is no need to allow your fear to dictate your reasoning.”
Mark glares. “I’m not afraid. What is this, high school? I’m not going to cave just because you say shit about me.”
Gray eyes meet his in a steady, penetrating gaze. “How charming. You think your anxiety isn’t clear for all to read.”
“Um, just so you know, Mark being disheveled and rude is pretty much business as usual for him. He’s not really like regular people,” says Dustin hesitantly.
“I was hardly relying on those facts alone.” The man turns around and gestures at the laptop and paperwork on the table. “You have a pile of legal contracts on the table, your laptop has gone into sleep mode, and the ice in the Coke has almost completely dissolved with most of the drink still untouched. You’re a notorious workaholic, and you’re all set up to work, but you aren’t doing any of it at eleven in the morning. When we came in, you were standing there, staring at the stairs, a remarkable waste of time for an impatient man like you. Something there is distracting you and pulling your attention away from your work. Your facial expressions might be tightly controlled, but your actions give you away as clearly as if it were written on your forehead. You are not as hard to read as you imagine, Mister Zuckerberg.”
Mark stares. “Correlation is not causation. You’re guessing.”
Now, the other man actually looks put out. “On the contrary. You’re letting your fear cloud your judgment again, which disappoints me, frankly, because I heard you are a smart man. Not as smart as myself of course, but one has hopes for mediocre intelligence at least. Your ex-boyfriend’s life is very likely in danger, and you are eager to pay an aspiring murderer fifty million dollars as per their demands. Yet you haven’t asked yourself the most important question; What if they don’t stop there?”
Dustin asks what he’s talking about, but Mark already knows what he means. He has thought about it, but he hasn’t wanted to face it, because if it’s true-
If it’s true, then there’s nothing that can keep Eduardo safe. And that’s completely unacceptable.
“You mean if he keeps asking for ransom money,” states Mark.
Those tilted cat eyes spark with approval. “Ah, the famous smarts at work now. You’re not in a hostage situation, where paying the ransom results in the return of the hostage. You’re in a situation where the criminal claims they will kill Mister Saverin wherever he is, if you don’t pay the ransom. Even as your ex-boyfriend resides in your own house right now, this unknown person claims they’ll be able to get to him. What if you pay the fifty million dollars, and a month later, the same letter comes again? And again? And again? As long as the criminal is free, Mister Saverin’s life will perpetually be in danger, and if their claim is true, there is nowhere he’ll be safe.”
Mark takes a deep breath, trying desperately to regain the familiar steadiness that has carried him through brutal depositions and data center outages.
“Ex-boyfriend?” he asks, the only thing he’s willing to focus on right now.
The other man shrugs elegantly. “Hardly any deduction there. We heard Doctor Abdullah talking about Mister Saverin’s ex-boyfriend on the way in. It’s public knowledge that Mister Saverin sued you for a large sum of money when you cut him out of your company, and that you’re not on good terms. Yet, you’re willing to pay fifty million dollars in ransom, and your fear for his life is clear for all to see. You were obviously more than friends before, and it is likely you still have feelings for him. Which makes you the ex-boyfriend.”
Having it bluntly laid out like that is like a slap to Mark’s face. Mark hears Dustin breathe in sharply.
They aren’t…ex-boyfriends. They weren’t dating or anything. Eduardo and Mark had been close, and sometimes, when they were drunk or lonely, they fell into bed together. Best friends who were fuckbuddies sometimes. It was all just convenience, and if Mark sometimes wondered if they could have more- It didn’t matter anyway. It was a relic of the past. Dustin and Chris knew that as well, and no one had brought up the extent of their relationship during the depositions. Not even Eduardo, who might have been able to gain something out of that revelation.
It hadn’t been serious, and Eduardo’s doctor must be mistaken, must have misinterpreted whatever Eduardo had said.
“You’re enjoying yourself far too much,” mutters the second stranger.
Mark glares at all of them. “Make yourself useful then. Solve the mystery. Who is out to kill Wardo?”
The tall man smiles, a curl of his bow-shaped, wide lips. “Perfect. I do believe this case will be an interesting one.”
“I don’t know your name,” says Mark, not caring if he is being rude.
“The name is Sherlock Holmes,” the tall man announces like it should mean something. “And this is Doctor John Watson, my partner and blogger.”
Dustin interjects, “He has a hundred percent success rate. I follow John’s blog, and I verified their identities with a Detective Inspector Lestrade from London.”
“You’re definitely one of my smarter and nicer readers,” says the shorter man called John, wearing a friendly smile.
Dustin looks over the moon with that comment.
Sherlock strides further into the room, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he flops down onto the couch dramatically and crosses his legs. “Now that the boring pleasantries are over, let’s get down to business. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out.”
His probing gray eyes watch Mark with a disturbing intensity, but Mark nods in response. If this man really can help, it will be one up from what Mark can do, which is absolutely nothing.
# # # # # # # # # #
It had started with a letter left in his mailbox a little over a week ago. A bright teal shade, the unusual color enough to catch Mark’s attention among the pile of useless mail, and he had unfolded it without a second thought.
All it had said was, “Do you know where he is right now?”
Mark had stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, before he had panicked, thought it had to be about Sean doing something stupid again, and this was a veiled attempt at blackmail.
Three hours later, and the new PR guy - not Chris anymore - had Sean on the phone, swearing on his grandmother’s grave that he was at home, alone, and hadn’t done anything scandalous of late.
This had left Mark with not many other possibilities, but none of them more palatable than Sean in a Jacuzzi with underage girls again. Mark had called up Dustin, who was now working on his own start-up. When Dustin had confirmed his usual location and continued health, Mark had called up Chris. He got the same response.
He would have shrugged it off as a lame prank while complaining in annoyance, except he had felt the first stirrings of uncertainty.
There was one more ‘he’ in his life whom Mark never called by name, not anymore.
It wasn’t hard getting his number, only needing a couple minutes of hacking into various emails. The difficulty was that no one was picking up on the other end. It was only after Mark had asked Chris to talk to his contacts before he found out that his concerns weren’t unfounded after all.
Eduardo had been in a hospital.
He had been brought in, face pale, throat completely closed up. They had to intubate him just so he could breathe again.
It had been an anaphylactic shock, and had happened a day ago. And Mark hadn’t known.
Mark had finally gotten Eduardo on the phone, through his personal assistant. He wasn’t sure he would be allowed in to the hospital room, but he had to at least try to talk to Eduardo, because this wasn’t just about their broken friendship anymore. Eduardo had almost died, and someone had left a mention of it in Mark’s mailbox. It couldn’t be a good sign.
Eduardo had been polite, even though he sounded a little hoarse. He was always polite when they met up these days. Polite and a touch friendly, which never sat well with Mark. Mark doesn’t expect to miss, of all things, Eduardo’s anger, his temper snapping and eyes intense, or his arms flailing and mouth babbling.
“The letter could mean anything, Mark. Maybe it’s just a prank,” Eduardo had said in that disgustingly calm tone. “The restaurant manager has already apologized. There was probably some contamination between their ingredients, and my meal must have had traces of nuts in it.”
That’s all he had to say to Mark before excusing himself. He had politely shut down Mark’s questions on police investigations, and he didn’t stay on the line to discuss the supposed non-matter any further.
When Mark had vented about all this to Chris and Dustin, Chris had only said, “Oh, Mark,” which, what did that even mean? How did that help drill the danger of the situation into Eduardo’s brain?
He had worried. He had broken hundreds of laws and hacked into all of Eduardo’s communications to monitor him.
A week later, a second letter arrived in his mailbox.
“Where is he now?”
By the time Mark scrambled to his laptop and pulled up all the communication channels he was keeping a tab on, Eduardo was already back in the hospital.
# # # # # # # # # #
“It wasn’t that bad the second time,” Dustin explains, when Mark had paused to glare at nothing in particular. “And Wardo agreed to see us then.”
“He still wasn’t convinced,” says Sherlock, steepled fingers under his chin.
Mark shoots him a look, and Sherlock smirks. “We wouldn’t be here if he was. You would all be in an entirely different country by now.”
Logical and obvious. Mark should have seen that without needing a comment from Sherlock for clarification. His own judgment is impaired, Mark realizes with disgust.
Dustin hurries to explain, “Wardo still thinks it’s a prank, since Mark only received the letter after he was already admitted into the hospital.”
“The letter could have been delivered before that, during the night. I only checked my mailbox at eight in the morning,” says Mark with frustration, recalling the argument he had put forward to the pale, but still stubborn Eduardo.
His entire compound is now set up with alarms and security cameras, ready to be triggered by anyone approaching his walls and gates. Any letter delivered to his house is not going unnoticed this time. If only he had thought to do that sooner.
“How did Mister Saverin end up in the hospital this time?” asks Sherlock.
“Anaphylaxis again, this time from a contaminated coffee machine in his office,” says Mark with disgust. “No cameras on the floor, and no one saw anything suspicious, but it was still early in the morning so that means nothing. Wardo had his epi-pen with him this time, so it wasn’t as bad as the first time.”
John, who is seated next to Sherlock, frowns. “It seems too much of a coincidence that he almost dies of anaphylactic shock twice in a week. Why doesn’t he believe that there’s something more sinister going on?”
“He thinks he knows better than everyone else,” snaps Mark.
Dustin cuts in before Mark can get going. “He might just hate agreeing with Mark.”
“If you want to know what I think, why don’t you just ask me instead?”
Mark turns around quickly, eyes sweeping over Eduardo who is standing a few steps down from the top of the staircase. He looks a little better now, though that could be attributed to the fact that he’s finally out of the hospital and has had a shower.
“Mister Saverin,” greets Sherlock smoothly, getting up to shake his hand as Eduardo walks the rest of the way down. “I expect your personal assistant will be arriving anytime now with more of your personal belongings.”
Eduardo’s expressive eyebrows flicker upwards, but he doesn’t respond to the bait.
“Mister Holmes, please, call me Eduardo. Dustin told me that you’ll be helping with our situation,” says Eduardo, a slight smile quirking his lips.
“Situation,” mutters Mark.
“Oh yes, I’ll be solving it. Now, could you provide us with some insight to your belief that there isn’t any danger?”
Eduardo steps aside and walks towards John. “Just a moment. You must be Doctor Watson. It’s nice to meet you, though the circumstance could be better.”
“John will do, thank you.” They exchange handshakes and pleasant smiles.
Sherlock huffs in impatience. “Yes, yes, that’s very nice. Shall we get on with this, before someone gets poisoned again?”
Eduardo sighs, “I realized that there might be a real threat after my second hospitalization two days ago.”
“But you didn’t want us to pay the- um, well, threateners? And you didn’t want to come here,” says Dustin with a frown.
Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up at Dustin’s made up word.
“I’m a grown man, and I can take care of myself. I appreciate Mark’s generosity, but I don’t actually need to hole up here,” says Eduardo, not the slightest hint of insincerity at the mention of Mark’s ‘generosity’.
Mark glares, feeling inexplicably put out anyway. “What about the payout then?”
Eduardo meets his eyes with a calm stare of his own. “I heard Mister Holmes’ explanation too, and he makes a good point as well. But I was also thinking about what would happen if the public got hold of the news that Mark Zuckerberg was paying out millions to someone threatening my life.”
“Your pride is what you’re thinking about?” demands Mark.
John intervenes, “You might as well paint a target on him if such news leaked out.”
Eduardo rubs his forehead. “And people will think you have lost your mind, Mark. Facebook stocks would drop if people think the CEO is losing it.”
“While fascinating to watch- No, I take that back, this isn’t fascinating at all. And it’s entirely pointless,” Sherlock cuts in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Zuckerberg, show me all the threatening letters you have received.”
Gritting his teeth at the rude interruption, Mark fiddles with his phone before passing it over to Sherlock. He’s beginning to understand why people react the way they do when he has been rude to them.
He says as calmly as possible, “I photographed them before handing them over to the police.”
There had been four letters altogether. The third demanding fifty million dollars, to be delivered to some offshore account that the police are still investigating. The fourth had threatened Eduardo’s life after he had moved in.
“The police,” Sherlock says like it’s a dirty word, even as he peers at the screen of the iPhone. “I’m sure those fumbling buffoons are treating this case with the utmost delicacy then?”
“They’re still investigating,” Mark says, his flat tone delivering how effective he thought they were.
After all, no one had even come back to him over the last two days, and it had taken far longer than necessary for them to write up a report on his case.
Sherlock shakes his head. “I’ll have to waste precious time badgering them so that I can examine the evidence in person.”
John sighs. “Oh yes, wonderful. We get to alienate the police in this country too.”
Too?
Sherlock’s lips curve up in a smile, before he gets back to business. “In the last message, the mystery person promises that he will provide evidence of his reach if he doesn’t get the money within the next week. When was this sent to you?”
“Yesterday,” says Mark. “I only managed to complete my security system upgrade last night, so I didn’t get a video of the person who delivered the letter. But my house should be a fortress that no one can sneak up to without my knowing now.”
“We convinced Wardo to come stay here because we can better customize the security system here,” interjects Dustin, trying to be helpful.
“My apartment was perfectly safe-” Eduardo begins in annoyance.
“No, it wasn’t,” Mark states. “You share the floor with three other people, whom none of us know, and we don’t know if your apartment has already been compromised by the person sending the threats. The apartment building’s security is dismal, and I hacked into their security system in under ten minutes.”
Eduardo makes a face. “Please don’t tell me that.”
Mark continues stubbornly, “My house is secure, with the latest security systems that I installed myself, and no one would guess that you moved in here.”
“Yes, because it’s crazy!”
The backdoor leading into the kitchen from the outside opens and Vic steps in. “Hey, Mark, here’s the USB you- Oh, hi.”
As one of Facebook’s senior developers, Vic has been hounding Mark for some time over the last two weeks, wanting to talk about his new project proposal. Mark has lured Vic here with promises of some time to discuss the proposal, with the ulterior benefit of having a delivery boy on call while Mark works from home.
Sherlock hands the phone back to Mark. “Never mind the married couple bickering, I need Eduardo to take off all his clothes now.”
Mark spins around from glaring at Eduardo to glare at Sherlock instead. “What the fuck?”
Dustin and Eduardo stare with their mouths open, and John crosses his arms. “Sherlock, what have I said about explanations first?”
“Um, maybe I came back at a bad time…” Vic mutters while scratching the back of his dark, curly head, but everyone ignores him.
“God, everyone is so slow, it’s astounding,” says Sherlock, even as he puts a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder and nudges him towards the staircase. “I don’t have the time to explain my deductions in one syllable words right now. If you have some ridiculous sense of modesty, then we can do this in your bedroom. Come on, chop, chop, your life is at stake here!”
Eduardo grimaces as he heads up the stairs. “If this is some sick ploy-”
John hastens to reassure them all. “It’s- Look, Sherlock’s a little mad, but he’s a genius as well. He’s not very good at explaining his process, but if there’s anyone who can solve a mystery, it’s Sherlock. And- And I better follow him just to make sure your friend doesn’t kill him, alright?”
Mark goes up the stairs behind John, because he would be damned if two strangers are going to stare at Eduardo naked without supervision. “I’m coming too.”
From behind him, he thinks he hears Dustin say, “I can’t believe we’ve finally found someone more offensive than Mark.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Following closely behind John, they both barge in on Sherlock haranguing Eduardo to strip.
“Is your modesty really more important than your life? Time is a factor here! Start with your shirt and work downwards, hurry up.”
His urgent tone had the hair on Mark’s arms standing in a surge of adrenaline and fear. “Is he in danger?”
“I don’t know since none of you will do as I say,” snaps Sherlock.
John says in exasperation, “Sherlock, maybe if you could just explain-”
Eduardo’s hands are already on the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them swiftly. “If this is some sort of joke, I’m going to deck you.”
Mark would comment on Eduardo’s violent tendencies except he’s distracted now by the liquid way Eduardo shrugs off his shirt and hangs it on the back of his chair. He has an undershirt on, which only serves to emphasize his perfectly-shaped shoulders and finely sculpted arms. Eduardo’s body is lean, not muscular like those who hit the gym every day, but Mark knows he runs and does push-ups and sit-ups in the mornings. It keeps Eduardo’s body trim, appealing in a lanky and taut way.
As Eduardo pulls off his undershirt as well, Mark feels the familiar, slow burn of pleasure while he can’t help but follow the fine trail of hair that disappears down those well-fitted slacks. Eduardo turns a full circle at Sherlock’s impatient gesture, and Mark is treated to an unobstructed view of that smooth back and tight stomach. His mouth is suddenly very, very dry.
As if succumbing to the avid stares of the three other people in the room, Eduardo’s cheeks start to flush a little, and he’s no longer meeting their eyes. It used to drive Mark crazy, the way Eduardo would squirm under his scrutiny once the clothes started coming off, like he was impatient and embarrassed at the same time. On their narrow Harvard beds, Mark would pin Eduardo down with his hands or his hips, make him stay still for Mark’s sucking kisses and demanding caresses.
He snaps out of it when Sherlock snaps, “This isn’t a striptease, off with the pants.”
Eduardo’s hands had been dithering at his waistband, but he starts undoing his slacks with a sigh, as if resigned to his fate.
John points out, a little put out, “You can start explaining yourself any time now, Sherlock.”
While Eduardo steps out of his slacks, bending over awkwardly, Sherlock starts circling him. “I’m trying to see if he has any recent injuries or scars.”
“Why?” asks Mark, confused.
Eduardo stands there in his black briefs, with his slacks folded over one arm. “You could have just asked me that instead of making me strip.”
He sounds more than a little miffed, and Mark can totally get behind that. These two strangers have been gawking at Eduardo’s almost naked body when it wasn’t necessary? What the fuck?
Sherlock scrutinizes Eduardo’s bare, nicely toned legs, even bending down a little to look at his shins and ankles. “Yes, but maybe you don’t remember everything. You can’t see what’s on your back in any case, unless you spend every day craning your neck at mirrors.”
“What the hell? I would remember if I have been injured recently. And I haven’t, for the record,” says Eduardo.
“You would be surprised how many important clues people deem inconsequential and neglect to mention,” says Sherlock with disdain. “Or how many people lie even with their lives at risk. I had to be sure. And you’re still wearing one article of clothing.”
Eduardo glares. “I don’t have any scars or injuries on my ass or my dick. And you’re going to take my word for it.”
Sherlock finally stops his circling and meets Eduardo’s angry gaze.
With a huff, Sherlock concedes, “I suppose it would be unlikely for you to forget injuries in such a sensitive region.”
“Well deduced,” says Eduardo, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Are we done with the free show? Can I put my clothes on again?”
Sherlock waves his hand airily before resting his chin on it, as if sinking into thought even as he paces the floor.
“Why did you want to see his scars?” asks Mark, still a little off balance from the amount of Eduardo skin he has just seen when he hasn’t had such a view in years.
“Your criminal seems to be very certain that they can reach Eduardo despite the change in location and precautions you have all put in place. I was wondering if he might have planted something in Eduardo that he can control to release the same chemical properties contained in nuts,” says Sherlock in an off-handed tone, still pacing the floor.
Eduardo freezes, his mouth opening and shutting uselessly for a moment. Mark knows exactly how he feels, because holy shit, that’s a horrible thought.
Just as taken aback, John looks horrified as he exclaims, “My God, Sherlock! Are you serious?”
Sherlock stops and looks at John, before shaking his head. “You’re right, that would have been too outlandish an idea. Stick to the simple theories. Come, John. We need to see Palo Alto’s law enforcement.”
“That was not what I- Oh, why do I even bother,” grumbles John.
Sherlock is already sweeping out of the room. “We’ll see if they grow them as stupid over here as well.”
John shoots them both an apologetic look before hurrying after Sherlock. “Just don’t get arrested again, or I’m bloody well leaving you there this time.”
“It was that one time, John.”
Their voices fade as they clatter down the stairs. Mark feels like a whirlwind just swept through the room and left. Based on Eduardo’s dazed expression, it’s a shared experience.
It’s a short moment before Eduardo realizes he’s still mostly naked, and he starts to put on his clothes in a hurry. Not that Mark doesn’t appreciate the view of smooth skin stretching over sleek muscles. Perhaps a little too much in fact.
Mark shifts awkwardly, trying not to stare as Eduardo bends over to pull on his pants. It’s really hard not to look. Eduardo has a very nice, rounded behind, and his legs really go on forever-
His eyes snap to the side when Eduardo clears his throat in an obvious manner.
Caught.
Mark shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets unrepentantly. “There’s no crime in looking.”
Eduardo’s shoots him a disbelieving look while shrugging on his shirt and buttoning it up quickly. Rather than challenging him on that comment, Eduardo looks down at his buttons and says, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You never do nowadays.” The words escape Mark before he can reconsider them.
Eduardo continues to give his buttons way more concentration than necessary, as if he has regressed to his single digit years and hadn’t yet mastered buttonholes. “I thought you would prefer it that way.”
Mark stares. “I would prefer you being distant and cold, avoiding me every time we have to be in the same room?”
Now, Eduardo looks at him, frowning in honest surprise. “What? I was being polite.”
“When have you ever been polite?” demands Mark, surprising himself by his own surge of anger. “You sulk when you’re angry! You get rude and ridiculous, and you glare and wave your hands. You don’t smile politely and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, like you don’t even-”
Care.
He cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself any further.
Eduardo looks completely lost. “You want me to be angry?”
“Aren’t you? At all, after everything that happened? Or was it just water off your back the moment you got your money?”
He knows it’s a terrible thing to say the moment it slips from his mouth, but he doesn’t care, because he wants to see that Eduardo still feels something, anything.
Eduardo’s eyes snap with a familiar, flinty anger. “That’s fucking precious, coming from you.”
Mark feels a thrill of exhilaration to have those dark, passionate eyes on him again. “Why? It’s not like it really matters to you anyway, what I said or did. Did you even-”
Eduardo snaps his arm to the side, as if he can stop the verbal torrent with the sharp gesture. “Just shut up for a moment, Mark. Just. One moment.”
His nostrils flare as he clearly tries to gather his frayed temper. Mark doesn’t want him to calm down, wants to pick at him again to see that wealth of emotion come pouring out. But Eduardo holds his gaze, and he sees the silent plea as well as anger mixed in that gaze.
Whatever they might be to each other now, it’s still hard not to give in to that look.
Finally, Eduardo lets out a slow, almost ragged breath. “I don’t think you understand what I was trying to do, Mark. I wasn’t trying to- to prove to you that I didn’t care.”
Mark grits his teeth, trying to cling on to his dignity. “Like I fucking care about that.”
“You clearly do so shut up,” snaps Eduardo, before taking another calming breath. “I was trying to let bygones be bygones. That’s why I was being polite and nice, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t to keep you at a distance or to rile you up.”
“That’s- That’s bullshit and you can’t really believe that talking to me like I’m a stranger is not some passive aggressive way to get back at me,” says Mark.
“You’re the only one who thinks polite and nice is passive aggressive, you fucking crazy douchebag,” says Eduardo, lips curling up in an almost reluctant smile.
The affection is familiar, and it takes Mark’s breath away. He finds his anger draining away. “You’re the only one who thinks acting polite and nice after- everything, you’re the only one who can think that’s normal.”
Eduardo shrugs, dropping down to sit on the bed. “Me and my therapist actually.”
Mark blinks. “Therapist.”
How is it that Eduardo manages to steal away most of Mark’s considerable intellect in less than six words?
“It took a year’s worth of sessions before I accepted that I was clinging so hard to my past that I was letting it dictate my future. So yes, therapist.”
“Your therapist told you that distant, polite strangers was the best way to deal with this?” asks Mark, bland to hide his incredulity.
Maybe Eduardo’s therapist hates Mark. That would explain a lot.
Eduardo scrubs a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “She doesn’t tell me anything. I realized- Okay, think about it. It’s been six years since the depositions. Six years, Mark. In that time, I have traveled the world, lived in Singapore, helped start up four other companies. My father has started talking to me again. I have grown up, alright? And so have you. So I thought- I thought we could be normal business associates. That we don’t have to be angry and resentful for the rest of our lives.”
Mark stares. “So. So just like that?”
“It wasn’t just like anything. It took time to blunt the painful edges, but I think I’m finally there,” says Eduardo, with a self-deprecating shrug like he’s embarrassed at how long it took him to get to this point.
Mark turns the words over in his head, but he can detect no trace of bitterness.
He looks away momentarily, before saying in a rush. “I didn’t even apologize.”
Eduardo sighs. “I don’t need it. Not anymore, anyway.”
Mark jerks back to face him. “You used to tell me that people appreciate hearing apologies.”
It’s the reason why Eduardo was the only person Mark regularly said sorry to, for minor transgressions like cutting words or forgotten outings. How odd that for the biggest mistake of all, Eduardo is telling him that apologies are unnecessary. Mark finds the dichotomy hard to parse.
“You fucked up big time, and I think you know that. So I walked out. I ignored all your calls and then, I sued you ‘til I got my stake back in the company. You started the break between us, and I ended what there was left of our friendship. Then we grew up,” says Eduardo, frowning but meeting Mark’s gaze. “I think we’re close enough to even now.”
Mark bites his lower lip, contemplating his next words.
He decides they should be said anyway.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for all the shit I did,” says Mark.
There’s a flash of surprised pleasure, before Eduardo nods in acknowledgment. “And I’m sorry for all the stupid shit I did too.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, okay,” echoes Eduardo with a small smile.
They stare at each other for a moment, while Mark turns their words over in his head. “What if I don’t want to be just normal business associates?”
Eduardo raises an eyebrow in question.
Mark steps forward. “I want to be friends again. It’s selfish, but I want that. Have we grown up enough to still have that?”
Smiling, Eduardo says, “Well, that’s up to the both of us to try out, isn’t it?”
# # # # # # # # #
Part 2
Title: The Case of the Distant Hostage
Recipient: thatsapplejack for TSN Secret Santa
Fandom: The Social Network / Sherlock Holmes BBC crossover
Warnings: Attempted murder via poisoning-of-a-sort.
Pairing: Mark/Eduardo
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~22k words.
Summary: Eduardo, having an allergy to nuts, has nearly died from anaphylaxis twice in as many weeks, while a letter threatening his life has been sent to Mark. Desperate to solve this mystery before a third attack, Dustin offers to recruit two people he has been following on a blog; Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. (Set years after the deposition, a whodunit mystery, and a Sherlock Holmes BBC series crossover.)
Notes: You do not need to watch BBC’s Sherlock Holmes to read this fic. The main focus of the fic will still be on our TSN characters. All you’ll need to know is that the BBC series of Sherlock Holmes is a modern day interpretation of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Sherlock is the world’s only consulting detective who regularly solves crimes using the powers of deduction, and he thinks of himself as a sociopath. John Watson is an ex-army doctor who has just returned from war and is Sherlock’s beleaguered flatmate. He often follows Sherlock on his cases and blogs about them.
Heaps of gratitude goes to elefante_locura for the amazing, emergency beta, especially considering the length of this fic and the little time there was left. ♥ All mistakes are my own, especially since I have done last minute edits after the beta-work.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Mark is afraid.
He keeps a tight rein on his expression as always, revealing little of how he feels.
Unlike what most people say, Mark does have feelings, a lot of strong ones too. But he rarely feels fear. Eduardo once said that Mark lacks basic survival instincts, which is why he stands there and taunts much larger jocks instead of running away like a smart geek.
Now, Mark doesn’t know how to cope with the thrumming fear that boils in the pit of his stomach and the constant, twitching anxiety that shakes his limbs.
The worst thing is that running away will do nothing in this case.
One could say that maybe running away all this time has only led him back to this point.
“I’ll talk to him,” he says. “He can stay with me for now.”
His voice is steady, even as his heart thumps and thumps with fear, fear for someone else.
# # # # # # # # # #
The door opens, breaking Mark’s determined contemplation of the staircase leading away from the living room.
“Mark, remember how I said I might know someone who can help? Well, they’re not from here, but they were in the city chasing up a lead on some internationally wanted criminal,” says Dustin, looking an odd mixture of excited and worried. “I convinced them to help us, and I really think they can figure out what happened-”
Mark interjects, “We should just pay the ransom. How is a private investigator going to help us on this? We don’t have the time for all this.”
“A consulting detective, thank you very much,” says a tall man who enters the room behind Dustin. “And I can guarantee you that I will be saving you a lot of time once you engage my services.”
The newcomer has jet black hair that falls in untamed waves and almost inhumanly pale gray eyes. He spoke with a rich, deep voice and a refined British accent. Even to Mark’s untrained eye, the man looks sharply dressed in a fitted suit, long lines of his body accentuated by what are probably very expensive clothes.
“You were supposed to wait outside while I convinced him,” protests Dustin.
“Sorry about that, he barged in before I could put him in a stranglehold,” mutters another man who had entered behind the taller newcomer, speaking with a British accent as well.
The second intruder has pale blond hair shot through with gray, and he scans the room with calm blue eyes. Wearing a baggy sweater and worn jeans, he doesn’t look capable of putting Dustin in a stranglehold, let alone his taller companion.
They’re practically besieged by strangers, and Mark doesn’t have the patience for this.
Mark says in a flat tone, “I’m not hiring a hack for something as important as this.”
“Oh great,” mutters the blond man.
The taller man strides into the room, glancing around. “Now, now, Mister Zuckerberg, there is no need to allow your fear to dictate your reasoning.”
Mark glares. “I’m not afraid. What is this, high school? I’m not going to cave just because you say shit about me.”
Gray eyes meet his in a steady, penetrating gaze. “How charming. You think your anxiety isn’t clear for all to read.”
“Um, just so you know, Mark being disheveled and rude is pretty much business as usual for him. He’s not really like regular people,” says Dustin hesitantly.
“I was hardly relying on those facts alone.” The man turns around and gestures at the laptop and paperwork on the table. “You have a pile of legal contracts on the table, your laptop has gone into sleep mode, and the ice in the Coke has almost completely dissolved with most of the drink still untouched. You’re a notorious workaholic, and you’re all set up to work, but you aren’t doing any of it at eleven in the morning. When we came in, you were standing there, staring at the stairs, a remarkable waste of time for an impatient man like you. Something there is distracting you and pulling your attention away from your work. Your facial expressions might be tightly controlled, but your actions give you away as clearly as if it were written on your forehead. You are not as hard to read as you imagine, Mister Zuckerberg.”
Mark stares. “Correlation is not causation. You’re guessing.”
Now, the other man actually looks put out. “On the contrary. You’re letting your fear cloud your judgment again, which disappoints me, frankly, because I heard you are a smart man. Not as smart as myself of course, but one has hopes for mediocre intelligence at least. Your ex-boyfriend’s life is very likely in danger, and you are eager to pay an aspiring murderer fifty million dollars as per their demands. Yet you haven’t asked yourself the most important question; What if they don’t stop there?”
Dustin asks what he’s talking about, but Mark already knows what he means. He has thought about it, but he hasn’t wanted to face it, because if it’s true-
If it’s true, then there’s nothing that can keep Eduardo safe. And that’s completely unacceptable.
“You mean if he keeps asking for ransom money,” states Mark.
Those tilted cat eyes spark with approval. “Ah, the famous smarts at work now. You’re not in a hostage situation, where paying the ransom results in the return of the hostage. You’re in a situation where the criminal claims they will kill Mister Saverin wherever he is, if you don’t pay the ransom. Even as your ex-boyfriend resides in your own house right now, this unknown person claims they’ll be able to get to him. What if you pay the fifty million dollars, and a month later, the same letter comes again? And again? And again? As long as the criminal is free, Mister Saverin’s life will perpetually be in danger, and if their claim is true, there is nowhere he’ll be safe.”
Mark takes a deep breath, trying desperately to regain the familiar steadiness that has carried him through brutal depositions and data center outages.
“Ex-boyfriend?” he asks, the only thing he’s willing to focus on right now.
The other man shrugs elegantly. “Hardly any deduction there. We heard Doctor Abdullah talking about Mister Saverin’s ex-boyfriend on the way in. It’s public knowledge that Mister Saverin sued you for a large sum of money when you cut him out of your company, and that you’re not on good terms. Yet, you’re willing to pay fifty million dollars in ransom, and your fear for his life is clear for all to see. You were obviously more than friends before, and it is likely you still have feelings for him. Which makes you the ex-boyfriend.”
Having it bluntly laid out like that is like a slap to Mark’s face. Mark hears Dustin breathe in sharply.
They aren’t…ex-boyfriends. They weren’t dating or anything. Eduardo and Mark had been close, and sometimes, when they were drunk or lonely, they fell into bed together. Best friends who were fuckbuddies sometimes. It was all just convenience, and if Mark sometimes wondered if they could have more- It didn’t matter anyway. It was a relic of the past. Dustin and Chris knew that as well, and no one had brought up the extent of their relationship during the depositions. Not even Eduardo, who might have been able to gain something out of that revelation.
It hadn’t been serious, and Eduardo’s doctor must be mistaken, must have misinterpreted whatever Eduardo had said.
“You’re enjoying yourself far too much,” mutters the second stranger.
Mark glares at all of them. “Make yourself useful then. Solve the mystery. Who is out to kill Wardo?”
The tall man smiles, a curl of his bow-shaped, wide lips. “Perfect. I do believe this case will be an interesting one.”
“I don’t know your name,” says Mark, not caring if he is being rude.
“The name is Sherlock Holmes,” the tall man announces like it should mean something. “And this is Doctor John Watson, my partner and blogger.”
Dustin interjects, “He has a hundred percent success rate. I follow John’s blog, and I verified their identities with a Detective Inspector Lestrade from London.”
“You’re definitely one of my smarter and nicer readers,” says the shorter man called John, wearing a friendly smile.
Dustin looks over the moon with that comment.
Sherlock strides further into the room, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he flops down onto the couch dramatically and crosses his legs. “Now that the boring pleasantries are over, let’s get down to business. Tell me everything, and leave nothing out.”
His probing gray eyes watch Mark with a disturbing intensity, but Mark nods in response. If this man really can help, it will be one up from what Mark can do, which is absolutely nothing.
# # # # # # # # # #
It had started with a letter left in his mailbox a little over a week ago. A bright teal shade, the unusual color enough to catch Mark’s attention among the pile of useless mail, and he had unfolded it without a second thought.
All it had said was, “Do you know where he is right now?”
Mark had stared at it uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, before he had panicked, thought it had to be about Sean doing something stupid again, and this was a veiled attempt at blackmail.
Three hours later, and the new PR guy - not Chris anymore - had Sean on the phone, swearing on his grandmother’s grave that he was at home, alone, and hadn’t done anything scandalous of late.
This had left Mark with not many other possibilities, but none of them more palatable than Sean in a Jacuzzi with underage girls again. Mark had called up Dustin, who was now working on his own start-up. When Dustin had confirmed his usual location and continued health, Mark had called up Chris. He got the same response.
He would have shrugged it off as a lame prank while complaining in annoyance, except he had felt the first stirrings of uncertainty.
There was one more ‘he’ in his life whom Mark never called by name, not anymore.
It wasn’t hard getting his number, only needing a couple minutes of hacking into various emails. The difficulty was that no one was picking up on the other end. It was only after Mark had asked Chris to talk to his contacts before he found out that his concerns weren’t unfounded after all.
Eduardo had been in a hospital.
He had been brought in, face pale, throat completely closed up. They had to intubate him just so he could breathe again.
It had been an anaphylactic shock, and had happened a day ago. And Mark hadn’t known.
Mark had finally gotten Eduardo on the phone, through his personal assistant. He wasn’t sure he would be allowed in to the hospital room, but he had to at least try to talk to Eduardo, because this wasn’t just about their broken friendship anymore. Eduardo had almost died, and someone had left a mention of it in Mark’s mailbox. It couldn’t be a good sign.
Eduardo had been polite, even though he sounded a little hoarse. He was always polite when they met up these days. Polite and a touch friendly, which never sat well with Mark. Mark doesn’t expect to miss, of all things, Eduardo’s anger, his temper snapping and eyes intense, or his arms flailing and mouth babbling.
“The letter could mean anything, Mark. Maybe it’s just a prank,” Eduardo had said in that disgustingly calm tone. “The restaurant manager has already apologized. There was probably some contamination between their ingredients, and my meal must have had traces of nuts in it.”
That’s all he had to say to Mark before excusing himself. He had politely shut down Mark’s questions on police investigations, and he didn’t stay on the line to discuss the supposed non-matter any further.
When Mark had vented about all this to Chris and Dustin, Chris had only said, “Oh, Mark,” which, what did that even mean? How did that help drill the danger of the situation into Eduardo’s brain?
He had worried. He had broken hundreds of laws and hacked into all of Eduardo’s communications to monitor him.
A week later, a second letter arrived in his mailbox.
“Where is he now?”
By the time Mark scrambled to his laptop and pulled up all the communication channels he was keeping a tab on, Eduardo was already back in the hospital.
# # # # # # # # # #
“It wasn’t that bad the second time,” Dustin explains, when Mark had paused to glare at nothing in particular. “And Wardo agreed to see us then.”
“He still wasn’t convinced,” says Sherlock, steepled fingers under his chin.
Mark shoots him a look, and Sherlock smirks. “We wouldn’t be here if he was. You would all be in an entirely different country by now.”
Logical and obvious. Mark should have seen that without needing a comment from Sherlock for clarification. His own judgment is impaired, Mark realizes with disgust.
Dustin hurries to explain, “Wardo still thinks it’s a prank, since Mark only received the letter after he was already admitted into the hospital.”
“The letter could have been delivered before that, during the night. I only checked my mailbox at eight in the morning,” says Mark with frustration, recalling the argument he had put forward to the pale, but still stubborn Eduardo.
His entire compound is now set up with alarms and security cameras, ready to be triggered by anyone approaching his walls and gates. Any letter delivered to his house is not going unnoticed this time. If only he had thought to do that sooner.
“How did Mister Saverin end up in the hospital this time?” asks Sherlock.
“Anaphylaxis again, this time from a contaminated coffee machine in his office,” says Mark with disgust. “No cameras on the floor, and no one saw anything suspicious, but it was still early in the morning so that means nothing. Wardo had his epi-pen with him this time, so it wasn’t as bad as the first time.”
John, who is seated next to Sherlock, frowns. “It seems too much of a coincidence that he almost dies of anaphylactic shock twice in a week. Why doesn’t he believe that there’s something more sinister going on?”
“He thinks he knows better than everyone else,” snaps Mark.
Dustin cuts in before Mark can get going. “He might just hate agreeing with Mark.”
“If you want to know what I think, why don’t you just ask me instead?”
Mark turns around quickly, eyes sweeping over Eduardo who is standing a few steps down from the top of the staircase. He looks a little better now, though that could be attributed to the fact that he’s finally out of the hospital and has had a shower.
“Mister Saverin,” greets Sherlock smoothly, getting up to shake his hand as Eduardo walks the rest of the way down. “I expect your personal assistant will be arriving anytime now with more of your personal belongings.”
Eduardo’s expressive eyebrows flicker upwards, but he doesn’t respond to the bait.
“Mister Holmes, please, call me Eduardo. Dustin told me that you’ll be helping with our situation,” says Eduardo, a slight smile quirking his lips.
“Situation,” mutters Mark.
“Oh yes, I’ll be solving it. Now, could you provide us with some insight to your belief that there isn’t any danger?”
Eduardo steps aside and walks towards John. “Just a moment. You must be Doctor Watson. It’s nice to meet you, though the circumstance could be better.”
“John will do, thank you.” They exchange handshakes and pleasant smiles.
Sherlock huffs in impatience. “Yes, yes, that’s very nice. Shall we get on with this, before someone gets poisoned again?”
Eduardo sighs, “I realized that there might be a real threat after my second hospitalization two days ago.”
“But you didn’t want us to pay the- um, well, threateners? And you didn’t want to come here,” says Dustin with a frown.
Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up at Dustin’s made up word.
“I’m a grown man, and I can take care of myself. I appreciate Mark’s generosity, but I don’t actually need to hole up here,” says Eduardo, not the slightest hint of insincerity at the mention of Mark’s ‘generosity’.
Mark glares, feeling inexplicably put out anyway. “What about the payout then?”
Eduardo meets his eyes with a calm stare of his own. “I heard Mister Holmes’ explanation too, and he makes a good point as well. But I was also thinking about what would happen if the public got hold of the news that Mark Zuckerberg was paying out millions to someone threatening my life.”
“Your pride is what you’re thinking about?” demands Mark.
John intervenes, “You might as well paint a target on him if such news leaked out.”
Eduardo rubs his forehead. “And people will think you have lost your mind, Mark. Facebook stocks would drop if people think the CEO is losing it.”
“While fascinating to watch- No, I take that back, this isn’t fascinating at all. And it’s entirely pointless,” Sherlock cuts in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Zuckerberg, show me all the threatening letters you have received.”
Gritting his teeth at the rude interruption, Mark fiddles with his phone before passing it over to Sherlock. He’s beginning to understand why people react the way they do when he has been rude to them.
He says as calmly as possible, “I photographed them before handing them over to the police.”
There had been four letters altogether. The third demanding fifty million dollars, to be delivered to some offshore account that the police are still investigating. The fourth had threatened Eduardo’s life after he had moved in.
“The police,” Sherlock says like it’s a dirty word, even as he peers at the screen of the iPhone. “I’m sure those fumbling buffoons are treating this case with the utmost delicacy then?”
“They’re still investigating,” Mark says, his flat tone delivering how effective he thought they were.
After all, no one had even come back to him over the last two days, and it had taken far longer than necessary for them to write up a report on his case.
Sherlock shakes his head. “I’ll have to waste precious time badgering them so that I can examine the evidence in person.”
John sighs. “Oh yes, wonderful. We get to alienate the police in this country too.”
Too?
Sherlock’s lips curve up in a smile, before he gets back to business. “In the last message, the mystery person promises that he will provide evidence of his reach if he doesn’t get the money within the next week. When was this sent to you?”
“Yesterday,” says Mark. “I only managed to complete my security system upgrade last night, so I didn’t get a video of the person who delivered the letter. But my house should be a fortress that no one can sneak up to without my knowing now.”
“We convinced Wardo to come stay here because we can better customize the security system here,” interjects Dustin, trying to be helpful.
“My apartment was perfectly safe-” Eduardo begins in annoyance.
“No, it wasn’t,” Mark states. “You share the floor with three other people, whom none of us know, and we don’t know if your apartment has already been compromised by the person sending the threats. The apartment building’s security is dismal, and I hacked into their security system in under ten minutes.”
Eduardo makes a face. “Please don’t tell me that.”
Mark continues stubbornly, “My house is secure, with the latest security systems that I installed myself, and no one would guess that you moved in here.”
“Yes, because it’s crazy!”
The backdoor leading into the kitchen from the outside opens and Vic steps in. “Hey, Mark, here’s the USB you- Oh, hi.”
As one of Facebook’s senior developers, Vic has been hounding Mark for some time over the last two weeks, wanting to talk about his new project proposal. Mark has lured Vic here with promises of some time to discuss the proposal, with the ulterior benefit of having a delivery boy on call while Mark works from home.
Sherlock hands the phone back to Mark. “Never mind the married couple bickering, I need Eduardo to take off all his clothes now.”
Mark spins around from glaring at Eduardo to glare at Sherlock instead. “What the fuck?”
Dustin and Eduardo stare with their mouths open, and John crosses his arms. “Sherlock, what have I said about explanations first?”
“Um, maybe I came back at a bad time…” Vic mutters while scratching the back of his dark, curly head, but everyone ignores him.
“God, everyone is so slow, it’s astounding,” says Sherlock, even as he puts a hand on Eduardo’s shoulder and nudges him towards the staircase. “I don’t have the time to explain my deductions in one syllable words right now. If you have some ridiculous sense of modesty, then we can do this in your bedroom. Come on, chop, chop, your life is at stake here!”
Eduardo grimaces as he heads up the stairs. “If this is some sick ploy-”
John hastens to reassure them all. “It’s- Look, Sherlock’s a little mad, but he’s a genius as well. He’s not very good at explaining his process, but if there’s anyone who can solve a mystery, it’s Sherlock. And- And I better follow him just to make sure your friend doesn’t kill him, alright?”
Mark goes up the stairs behind John, because he would be damned if two strangers are going to stare at Eduardo naked without supervision. “I’m coming too.”
From behind him, he thinks he hears Dustin say, “I can’t believe we’ve finally found someone more offensive than Mark.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Following closely behind John, they both barge in on Sherlock haranguing Eduardo to strip.
“Is your modesty really more important than your life? Time is a factor here! Start with your shirt and work downwards, hurry up.”
His urgent tone had the hair on Mark’s arms standing in a surge of adrenaline and fear. “Is he in danger?”
“I don’t know since none of you will do as I say,” snaps Sherlock.
John says in exasperation, “Sherlock, maybe if you could just explain-”
Eduardo’s hands are already on the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning them swiftly. “If this is some sort of joke, I’m going to deck you.”
Mark would comment on Eduardo’s violent tendencies except he’s distracted now by the liquid way Eduardo shrugs off his shirt and hangs it on the back of his chair. He has an undershirt on, which only serves to emphasize his perfectly-shaped shoulders and finely sculpted arms. Eduardo’s body is lean, not muscular like those who hit the gym every day, but Mark knows he runs and does push-ups and sit-ups in the mornings. It keeps Eduardo’s body trim, appealing in a lanky and taut way.
As Eduardo pulls off his undershirt as well, Mark feels the familiar, slow burn of pleasure while he can’t help but follow the fine trail of hair that disappears down those well-fitted slacks. Eduardo turns a full circle at Sherlock’s impatient gesture, and Mark is treated to an unobstructed view of that smooth back and tight stomach. His mouth is suddenly very, very dry.
As if succumbing to the avid stares of the three other people in the room, Eduardo’s cheeks start to flush a little, and he’s no longer meeting their eyes. It used to drive Mark crazy, the way Eduardo would squirm under his scrutiny once the clothes started coming off, like he was impatient and embarrassed at the same time. On their narrow Harvard beds, Mark would pin Eduardo down with his hands or his hips, make him stay still for Mark’s sucking kisses and demanding caresses.
He snaps out of it when Sherlock snaps, “This isn’t a striptease, off with the pants.”
Eduardo’s hands had been dithering at his waistband, but he starts undoing his slacks with a sigh, as if resigned to his fate.
John points out, a little put out, “You can start explaining yourself any time now, Sherlock.”
While Eduardo steps out of his slacks, bending over awkwardly, Sherlock starts circling him. “I’m trying to see if he has any recent injuries or scars.”
“Why?” asks Mark, confused.
Eduardo stands there in his black briefs, with his slacks folded over one arm. “You could have just asked me that instead of making me strip.”
He sounds more than a little miffed, and Mark can totally get behind that. These two strangers have been gawking at Eduardo’s almost naked body when it wasn’t necessary? What the fuck?
Sherlock scrutinizes Eduardo’s bare, nicely toned legs, even bending down a little to look at his shins and ankles. “Yes, but maybe you don’t remember everything. You can’t see what’s on your back in any case, unless you spend every day craning your neck at mirrors.”
“What the hell? I would remember if I have been injured recently. And I haven’t, for the record,” says Eduardo.
“You would be surprised how many important clues people deem inconsequential and neglect to mention,” says Sherlock with disdain. “Or how many people lie even with their lives at risk. I had to be sure. And you’re still wearing one article of clothing.”
Eduardo glares. “I don’t have any scars or injuries on my ass or my dick. And you’re going to take my word for it.”
Sherlock finally stops his circling and meets Eduardo’s angry gaze.
With a huff, Sherlock concedes, “I suppose it would be unlikely for you to forget injuries in such a sensitive region.”
“Well deduced,” says Eduardo, voice heavy with sarcasm. “Are we done with the free show? Can I put my clothes on again?”
Sherlock waves his hand airily before resting his chin on it, as if sinking into thought even as he paces the floor.
“Why did you want to see his scars?” asks Mark, still a little off balance from the amount of Eduardo skin he has just seen when he hasn’t had such a view in years.
“Your criminal seems to be very certain that they can reach Eduardo despite the change in location and precautions you have all put in place. I was wondering if he might have planted something in Eduardo that he can control to release the same chemical properties contained in nuts,” says Sherlock in an off-handed tone, still pacing the floor.
Eduardo freezes, his mouth opening and shutting uselessly for a moment. Mark knows exactly how he feels, because holy shit, that’s a horrible thought.
Just as taken aback, John looks horrified as he exclaims, “My God, Sherlock! Are you serious?”
Sherlock stops and looks at John, before shaking his head. “You’re right, that would have been too outlandish an idea. Stick to the simple theories. Come, John. We need to see Palo Alto’s law enforcement.”
“That was not what I- Oh, why do I even bother,” grumbles John.
Sherlock is already sweeping out of the room. “We’ll see if they grow them as stupid over here as well.”
John shoots them both an apologetic look before hurrying after Sherlock. “Just don’t get arrested again, or I’m bloody well leaving you there this time.”
“It was that one time, John.”
Their voices fade as they clatter down the stairs. Mark feels like a whirlwind just swept through the room and left. Based on Eduardo’s dazed expression, it’s a shared experience.
It’s a short moment before Eduardo realizes he’s still mostly naked, and he starts to put on his clothes in a hurry. Not that Mark doesn’t appreciate the view of smooth skin stretching over sleek muscles. Perhaps a little too much in fact.
Mark shifts awkwardly, trying not to stare as Eduardo bends over to pull on his pants. It’s really hard not to look. Eduardo has a very nice, rounded behind, and his legs really go on forever-
His eyes snap to the side when Eduardo clears his throat in an obvious manner.
Caught.
Mark shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets unrepentantly. “There’s no crime in looking.”
Eduardo’s shoots him a disbelieving look while shrugging on his shirt and buttoning it up quickly. Rather than challenging him on that comment, Eduardo looks down at his buttons and says, “I didn’t say anything.”
“You never do nowadays.” The words escape Mark before he can reconsider them.
Eduardo continues to give his buttons way more concentration than necessary, as if he has regressed to his single digit years and hadn’t yet mastered buttonholes. “I thought you would prefer it that way.”
Mark stares. “I would prefer you being distant and cold, avoiding me every time we have to be in the same room?”
Now, Eduardo looks at him, frowning in honest surprise. “What? I was being polite.”
“When have you ever been polite?” demands Mark, surprising himself by his own surge of anger. “You sulk when you’re angry! You get rude and ridiculous, and you glare and wave your hands. You don’t smile politely and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, like you don’t even-”
Care.
He cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself any further.
Eduardo looks completely lost. “You want me to be angry?”
“Aren’t you? At all, after everything that happened? Or was it just water off your back the moment you got your money?”
He knows it’s a terrible thing to say the moment it slips from his mouth, but he doesn’t care, because he wants to see that Eduardo still feels something, anything.
Eduardo’s eyes snap with a familiar, flinty anger. “That’s fucking precious, coming from you.”
Mark feels a thrill of exhilaration to have those dark, passionate eyes on him again. “Why? It’s not like it really matters to you anyway, what I said or did. Did you even-”
Eduardo snaps his arm to the side, as if he can stop the verbal torrent with the sharp gesture. “Just shut up for a moment, Mark. Just. One moment.”
His nostrils flare as he clearly tries to gather his frayed temper. Mark doesn’t want him to calm down, wants to pick at him again to see that wealth of emotion come pouring out. But Eduardo holds his gaze, and he sees the silent plea as well as anger mixed in that gaze.
Whatever they might be to each other now, it’s still hard not to give in to that look.
Finally, Eduardo lets out a slow, almost ragged breath. “I don’t think you understand what I was trying to do, Mark. I wasn’t trying to- to prove to you that I didn’t care.”
Mark grits his teeth, trying to cling on to his dignity. “Like I fucking care about that.”
“You clearly do so shut up,” snaps Eduardo, before taking another calming breath. “I was trying to let bygones be bygones. That’s why I was being polite and nice, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t to keep you at a distance or to rile you up.”
“That’s- That’s bullshit and you can’t really believe that talking to me like I’m a stranger is not some passive aggressive way to get back at me,” says Mark.
“You’re the only one who thinks polite and nice is passive aggressive, you fucking crazy douchebag,” says Eduardo, lips curling up in an almost reluctant smile.
The affection is familiar, and it takes Mark’s breath away. He finds his anger draining away. “You’re the only one who thinks acting polite and nice after- everything, you’re the only one who can think that’s normal.”
Eduardo shrugs, dropping down to sit on the bed. “Me and my therapist actually.”
Mark blinks. “Therapist.”
How is it that Eduardo manages to steal away most of Mark’s considerable intellect in less than six words?
“It took a year’s worth of sessions before I accepted that I was clinging so hard to my past that I was letting it dictate my future. So yes, therapist.”
“Your therapist told you that distant, polite strangers was the best way to deal with this?” asks Mark, bland to hide his incredulity.
Maybe Eduardo’s therapist hates Mark. That would explain a lot.
Eduardo scrubs a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “She doesn’t tell me anything. I realized- Okay, think about it. It’s been six years since the depositions. Six years, Mark. In that time, I have traveled the world, lived in Singapore, helped start up four other companies. My father has started talking to me again. I have grown up, alright? And so have you. So I thought- I thought we could be normal business associates. That we don’t have to be angry and resentful for the rest of our lives.”
Mark stares. “So. So just like that?”
“It wasn’t just like anything. It took time to blunt the painful edges, but I think I’m finally there,” says Eduardo, with a self-deprecating shrug like he’s embarrassed at how long it took him to get to this point.
Mark turns the words over in his head, but he can detect no trace of bitterness.
He looks away momentarily, before saying in a rush. “I didn’t even apologize.”
Eduardo sighs. “I don’t need it. Not anymore, anyway.”
Mark jerks back to face him. “You used to tell me that people appreciate hearing apologies.”
It’s the reason why Eduardo was the only person Mark regularly said sorry to, for minor transgressions like cutting words or forgotten outings. How odd that for the biggest mistake of all, Eduardo is telling him that apologies are unnecessary. Mark finds the dichotomy hard to parse.
“You fucked up big time, and I think you know that. So I walked out. I ignored all your calls and then, I sued you ‘til I got my stake back in the company. You started the break between us, and I ended what there was left of our friendship. Then we grew up,” says Eduardo, frowning but meeting Mark’s gaze. “I think we’re close enough to even now.”
Mark bites his lower lip, contemplating his next words.
He decides they should be said anyway.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for all the shit I did,” says Mark.
There’s a flash of surprised pleasure, before Eduardo nods in acknowledgment. “And I’m sorry for all the stupid shit I did too.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah, okay,” echoes Eduardo with a small smile.
They stare at each other for a moment, while Mark turns their words over in his head. “What if I don’t want to be just normal business associates?”
Eduardo raises an eyebrow in question.
Mark steps forward. “I want to be friends again. It’s selfish, but I want that. Have we grown up enough to still have that?”
Smiling, Eduardo says, “Well, that’s up to the both of us to try out, isn’t it?”
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Part 2