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Emergency Contact	By : RueRambunctious Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 1534 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any related adaptations (inc. Professor Moriarty) and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 10
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Sebastian finds himself smiling as he hears Arty -Jim- bounding down the stairs. The teen is wearing those awful striped bottoms again. They make him look like an urchin -which he kind of is- but they also accentuate the line of his jutting hips and the curve of his distracting arse.

Jim's lips twitch, his eyes amused, as he notices Sebastian's attention. Sebastian looks down at the soup he is preparing for later.

“You can look, you know,” Jim says playfully.

“If I look too much I'll want to touch,” Sebastian mutters, taking out a knife and making quick work of the vegetables on the chopping board.

Jim sits down on the nearest stool. “And?”

“And you're here to recover, not be letched up,” Sebastian replies airily, scooping up the vegetables and dropping them into the waiting pot.

“Can't I have both?” Jim asks, picking up an escaped fragment of red pepper.

“Stress isn't going to make you heal quicker, and you can hardly be expected to feel safe around me if I'm making use of you,” Sebastian tells the steam rising from the pot.

“You're alright,” Jim says carefully.

Sebastian grunts and reaches into the fridge, pulling out a tray of mushrooms. “Eat,” he says, moving to the other counter to put the lid on the pot.

Jim stares at the mushrooms, feeling that he's missed something. “I don't-”

“You said you'll eat anything, and those will keep your strength up. Antioxidants, Vitamin B, niacin, selenium.”

Jim shoves one in his mouth dubiously, unsure what some of those are.

Sebastian glances at him. “If the problem is that you're restless, we could stretch your legs for a bit.”

Jim swallows the mushroom quickly. “What?”

“Feel like a walk?” Sebastian asks.

Jim is listening alertly, having been confined to two floors for far too long. “Where?” he asks immediately.

“I could take you shopping along Regent and Oxford Street,” Sebastian suggests. “Or if you think you could manage it I could take you to Soho for something to eat?”

Jim's eyes are wide, and he looks tempted, but he reluctantly admits, “I don't think I could manage as far as Soho yet. Like I know it's not that far, I-”

Sebastian puts up a palm calmly. “Hey, relax, it was only a suggestion. It's your choice what we do, and you dictate what you feel strong enough for.”

Jim stares at Sebastian and wonders whether the other man knows how unusual and appreciated Jim finds the sentiment.

“I think I'll need to borrow some clothes from you again,” Jim smirks.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, surmising from Jim's tone that the brat remembers how fuckable Sebastian had found him in that shirt.

“I'm buying you clothing that fits when we're out,” Sebastian declares.

Jim's lower lip drops a little and he slides off of the seat to run a pale hand over his pert arse. “What? Are you saying these don't fit just right?”

Sebastian points a utensil at the teen, resisting the urge to swat Jim with it. “Those aren't clothes; they're rags.”

“You have no manners,” Jim sniffs haughtily, amusement creasing the corner of his bright eyes.

“And you have no clothes, but we can rectify that one,” Sebastian responds wryly. He turns the soup to a lower heat and gestures towards the stairs. “Come on.”

“You just want me undressed,” Jim teases, walking on ahead.

“Hardly,” Sebastian retorts. “Have you any idea how torturous it is looking at your arse and not sticking my face in it?”

Jim laughs and slaps his own rear lightly. “A true tragedy.”

Sebastian laughs richly and follows Jim upstairs.

Jim approaches Sebastian's wardrobe and tries not to look too hesitant about opening it. Sebastian watches, feeling a strange sense of warmth as Jim begins to rummage through Sebastian's clothes.

Jim checks labels and sizes quickly, managing to root out a tiny pair of jeans that Sebastian has not been able to throw out for sentimental reasons. Sentimental reasons being how exceptionally depraved the night was when these were last thrown to the floor.

Sebastian is about to fetch a teeshirt from his drawer when Jim pulls down a casual shirt. It's burgundy: an odd gift from Sebastian's mother that neither fits Sebastian's frame nor compliments his complexion. Jim's so pale Sebastian would never have thought of the shirt, but when Jim pulls it on Sebastian is glad he never threw the thing out.

“You look good,” Sebastian confesses, his mouth dry.

Jim arches one brow. “I look fantastic.”

“You do,” Sebastian agrees. Jim smirks at him and shoves on his hellish trainers before heading downstairs. Sebastian puts on far less tatty footwear and quickly catches up.

Despite Jim being very visually distracting, Sebastian remembers to switch off the hob before leaving, thus avoiding burning down the apartment.

There's a strange energy between them in the lift. Excitement and nervousness coils both men's stomachs as though the possibility that Jim might do a run for it worries them both, despite the thrill of being outside together.

Jim is excited just to be outdoors again, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a little boy being taken for a treat when he's supposed to be grounded. Sebastian leads right onto Savile Row and turns onto Regent Street, trying not to focus to much on the worry that Jim might bolt.

“We're more likely to find you a suit if we head towards the Piccadilly end,” Sebastian suggests.

Jim startles slightly, lowering back onto his heels. “What do I need a suit for?”

“So that you don't look out of place in my lobby,” Sebastian explains dryly.

Jim rolls his eyes. “You don't think that's a waste of money?”

“Trust me, spending money on you is far less precarious than my usual pursuits,” Sebastian comments dryly.

Jim gives him a curious look, but Sebastian does not elaborate.

“Besides,” the older man continues, “There's a Lacoste at the other end of the street and an Adidas place on Oxford Street. You can have something you like if you can bear to part with those scabby black things you call clothes for any length of time.”

“Are you saying you have no sentiments for the first outfit you saw me in, and got me out of?” Jim asks with a wicked smile.

Sebastian's eyes sparkle. His voice is amused as he replies, “Did you notice I have restrained myself from burning them?”

Jim bites his lip, and Sebastian feels his heart stop for a moment. Jim comments, “Restrained yourself from a lot of things.”

“You're a lot more fun to be around when you're not running your mouth about how sexy you are,” Sebastian says dryly, hoping Jim hasn't noticed how the blood has drained from Sebastian's face.

“Are you saying you listen to me for something other than my accent?” Jim asks slyly.

Sebastian gives him a startled look. “I never even mentioned that!”

Jim smirks. “I still see that look in your eyes when I talk.”

“Brat,” Sebastian says fondly. He rolls his eyes, definitely picking the habit up from Jim.

Jim hums nonchalantly. “You know there's a Sports Direct up that way too, right?”

Sebastian sighs. “Like I know the difference? I haven't worn that crap since high school.”

There is silence for a beat as they both remember that Jim isn't far off school age, and Sebastian has been through his entire education.

“It's not my fault you're not down with it, Granddad,” Jim teases.

Sebastian laughs and swears at him. “Remind me why I'm treating you?”

“Because you need a distraction from thinking about my arse?”

“Yeah… I haven't stopped that yet,” Sebastian admits ruefully.

Jim gives him a smug look. “I'm worth every penny.”

“We'll see,” Sebastian replies, herding the teen into the first shop he notices with suits in the window.

Getting Jim clothing that actually fits is easier said than done. Clearly Jim has never been fitted for anything in his life and the process agitates him. He is belligerent to the staff and whines at Sebastian, who reminds the brat that the measurements taken would be helpful to a coffin maker too.

“Death would be preferable,” Jim grumbles, running his hands over the bandages on his sore arms. “I hate being touched.”

Sebastian's eyes meet Jim's and they exchange a look that suggests Jim's profession is therefore unfortunate. Jim's posture stiffens in discomfort, but Sebastian says mildly, “You don't hate being touched; you hate being touched by people you don't trust.”

Jim raises a brow at him challengingly.

Sebastian's lips quirk. “Fine, you grump, you hate being touched by people you like too, because heaven forbid you should let yourself enjoy human contact.”

Jim sighs and throws his head back. “Why is this not over already? Why couldn't we have picked something off the rail?”

“Because you're particularly slender and anything off the rack is going to make you look like a little boy attending a relative's wedding,” Sebastian points out.

“Would that matter?” Jim huffs.

Sebastian gives him a faux stern look. “If you don't stop complaining I'll take you back to Conduit Street, make you get measured all over again, and get you something garish by Westwood.”

Jim sighs and rests his head against Sebastian's firm shoulder. “After this you're getting me ice cream,” he grumbles.

Sebastian laughs, and whilst the staff aren't looking, presses a soft kiss onto Jim's scalp.

“I didn't hear a yes,” Jim says into Sebastian's torso.

Sebastian grins. “If you're a good little boy you can have ice cream and I'll let you stay up past ten.”

Jim swats Sebastian's muscular arm. “You're not funny.”

“Matter of opinion, Sasslips,” Sebastian smiles.

Jim looks up and tries to glare, but it looks more like a pout and Sebastian's heart tugs a little.

Eventually Sebastian has the awaited altered new clothing and lets a curious Jim lead along the streets.

Jim notices a board down a side street with friendly chalk writing and demands, “Here.”

Sebastian gazes at the menu. “I don't think they have ice cream.”

“No, but they've got licorice tea,” Jim explains, as though that is an obvious substitute.

Sebastian smiles and pushes the door open. “Whatever you like.”

“You know it, Sugar Daddy,” Jim mocks.

“Now who's not being funny?” Sebastian drawls.

Jim winks. “Maybe I'll let you punish me later.”

“Don't expect to drink your tea; I'm going to pour it over your head,” Sebastian grumbles back.

Jim's eyes merely sparkle in response, and he leans over the counter to order.

By the time they leave and head up to Oxford Street Jim is starting to wilt. They make it about as far as Hamley's before Sebastian pulls the brunette aside and says, “I think you need to rest.”

“I just did, in the tea place,” Jim protests, but he looks grey. His next dose isn't due for another hour, but today has been the most exercise he'd had since he got injured.

“It's your choice: you can rest for a bit then keep going, or we can go home and come back a different day,” Sebastian offers.

Jim's eyes flicker when Sebastian says 'home'. He knows the man means his home, not their's, but it makes Jim press his lips together anyway.

“Home?” Sebastian surmises.

Jim nods.

It's not far, and they are soon sitting on the farcically large sofa in Sebastian's living room. Jim curls into Sebastian and naps.

The broad blonde wakes Jim gently when the next dose is due. The boy sniffs at the simmering soup and demands a taste, although an indulgent Sebastian explains as he ladles it out that it would taste better after cooking for longer.

Jim gives him a sarcastic look, his lips bent mockingly. “Because first day soup is obviously the worst thing I've ever eaten.”

Sebastian grins wickedly. “You haven't tasted it yet.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “You can't scare me.”

Sebastian's eyes glitter and he looks down. “You have no idea,” he mutters.

He brings Jim the warm bowl with a spoon and the tablets. “What do you want to drink?” he asks.

“I want bread,” Jim demands with a smirk.

“Yes sir,” Sebastian sarks back, his words softened by a smile. “And to drink?”

He doesn't miss the way Jim's eyes light up promisingly at the address. Jim sniffs, “Your finest glass of vitamin C.”

Sebastian fetches the bread and orange juice, ascertaining Jim is content before eating himself.

“Want me to do the dishes?” Jim offers afterwards.

“No, I want you to take it easy,” Sebastian replies. “And I don't want you to get your bandages wet either.”

Jim rolls his eyes and dumps his bowl on the coffee table. “Suit yourself.”

“What size of tracksuit are you anyway?” Sebastian asks.

Jim gives him a thoughtful look. “Hmm?”

“Men's small or boys' large?” Sebastian prompts.

“Men's medium,” Jim retorts, sounding offended.

Sebastian's sure that's a fib. If Jim had still been wearing his trampy tracksuit bottoms Sebastian would have yanked back the waistband to check.

“Why?” Jim asks, scowling at the disbelieving look on Sebastian's face.

“I'll pick you up something when you take your next nap,” the blonde says warmly. He is definitely going to check the size first though.
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Emergency Contact