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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Sebastian wakes early, frowning against the glaring daylight. He peers into the brightness for a moment, confused as to what could have possessed him to stay in Mayfair again.

As he shifts, there is a sleepy noise from behind him and Sebastian realises he has a pair of feet entangled with his own.

Sebastian glances over his shoulder and his memories rush into order. Arty.

Sebastian lies still, his heart racing a little. What had he been thinking?

Arty doesn't have that wicked, challenging smirk on his face whilst he sleeps, but he still exudes an energy that Sebastian certainly likes.

It would be easy to put last night's misjudged games down to tiredness, but Sebastian knows he is not that blameless.

There's not much doubt that Arty is a street kid, so Sebastian better get himself the fuck under control, or Arty will disappear and end up with those hellish wounds infected.

Sebastian eases away from Arty carefully and leaves the bed.

He pads over on bare feet to where the medications and print outs lie. He picks them up and carries them through to the kitchen silently.

Arty sleeps deeply. It's notably different from the quiet stillness of his feigned sleep at the hospital.

Sebastian dumps the meds on the counter and perches on a breakfast stool to read the print outs studiously. There's nothing on them he doesn't anticipate, but he sticks them on the fridge with a magnet anyway.

Sebastian surveys the contents of his fridge and cupboards quietly. There's a reasonable amount of food, but if the kid's going to recover properly from his injuries he's going to need the vitamins and such that come from perishables.

Sebastian decides a quick trip to a nearby general shop is more practical than leaving Arty alone to make the small trek to Blandford Street, and slides down from the stool. He quietly retrieves trainers, joggers and a teeshirt from one of the smaller bedrooms and leaves quickly, swiping some notes from the change dish on the coffee table.

Sebastian heads for the out-of-season watermelon, because he remembers something about them boosting the immune system and preventing wound infection. He then picks up some easy-peel citrus fruit and a few other ordinarily pieces of fruit with the hopes that although he has no idea what Arty likes, the brunette will find something edible. Sebastian also picks up mushrooms, mixed nuts, fish and fresh meat.

He hurries back and puts the groceries away quietly before sticking his head around the main bedroom's door.

Arty is still sleeping.

Relieved that the teen is safe and healing, Sebastian retreats to the kitchen and considers what he can prepare quietly: cereal is out and the toaster is noisy (although is honestly unlikely to wake Arty).

Sebastian retrieves eggs from the fridge, checks their freshness with the float test, then proceeds to crack them very quietly. He poaches the eggs and sits down to eat.

The tasks seem to have calmed Sebastian, and eating soothes him further.

It's so quiet at this hour.

Admittedly the triple glazing and high floor makes it easy to ignore the people going about their days outside, but it is a Saturday so there are not so many of them.

Daylight streams through the wall of windows, bouncing off of the obnoxious white paint, but now that Sebastian is wakened it bothers him less. He stares out of the window for a while then gets to his feet and washes up.

There have been no noises to suggest Arty has woken yet. Sebastian glances at the oven clock and wonders whether he should wake the brunette just for the sake of the medication.

Sebastian is reluctant to do so, but mentally prepares himself to break Arty's sleep if he has not risen in an hour.

He occupies himself by quietly cutting up the watermelon with one of his expensive knives.

That is how Arty finds him as the brunette peers through to the living area dubiously.

Sebastian looks around at the noise.

“Morning,” he says mildly. “Are you ready to eat?”

Arty approaches slowly, eyeing the fruit as much as he eyes Sebastian.

Sebastian keeps his eyes at an appropriate level and hands the younger man a large chunk of the watermelon. Arty takes it wordlessly, noting Sebastian's trainers.

Sebastian puts down the knife and steps away, rinsing off his hands and putting out Arty's pills.

Arty eyes the large knife speculatively but merely continues to eat.

“You want toast, cereal, meat?” Sebastian asks.

Arty blinks, still unused to choices. “This is fine,” he comments.

Sebastian nods, pleased he's persuaded some nutrition into the boy. “You want me to make you coffee or are you going back to sleep after your meds?”

Arty blinks. “Don't you want anything?”

“I ate whilst you were sleeping,” Sebastian explains and indicates the drying dishes.

That was not what Arty mean, but he does not correct the other man. “Sleep sounds good,” the brunette states.

Sebastian nods, filling a glass with water and leaving it besides Arty with the tablets.

Arty bites down to the rind and glances around for somewhere to dispose of it. Sebastian points to the bin and takes a slice himself, sitting down on a different bar stool. “Help yourself,” he offers.

Arty does so, sliding onto Sebastian's chair with minimal discomfort. The large teeshirt rides up indecently. Arty notes how Sebastian focuses his gaze onto his food determinedly.

Eventually Arty feels full and takes his medicine in quick succession. He puts the green skins in the bin and licks the juice from his fingers.

“I'm going back to bed,” he announces carefully.

“I'll keep it down,” Sebastian promises. He blinks. “Oh, wait, let me get my phones first in case they wake you.”

Arty watches Sebastian jump quickly from the chair and disappear upstairs. He returns quickly with the phones and dumps them on the breakfast bar. “Bedroom's yours,” the broad man declares. “Should I wake you when you're due your next dose?”

Arty concedes with a silent nod, his expression strange, and retreats to the bedroom.

Sebastian clears up, then uses the shower in one of the small bathrooms, pulling the teeshirt and joggers from earlier back on afterwards.

He treads softly downstairs and conducts some business on one of his phones.

A noise from upstairs suggests Arty won't need the wake up call. The boy thumps softly down the stairs, not creeping this time, and greets Sebastian with a nod.

“Are you hungry?” Sebastian asks.

Arty shakes him head. “Can I – can I have some tea?”

“Sure. How do you like it?” Sebastian pulls himself off of the beautiful / ridiculous couch and boils some water as he clatters softly around in drawers and cupboards. He sets two plain mugs on the counter, quickly closing the door before Arty can see much more of the personal ones than a Persian badge.

Arty murmurs a response.

“The remote is probably tidied away somewhere near the TV if you want it,” Sebastian suggests as he prepares the tea.

Arty glances over at the expensive television but shrugs. “I'm alright.”

“Biscuits?” Sebastian asks mildly.

Arty shrugs, but it's a different sort, so Sebastian lifts a tin from a nearby cupboard and leaves it open.

Sebastian carries the steaming mugs over to the glass coffee table and deliberately ignores the coasters tucked neatly on a shelf underneath. He heads back to get the tin, but Arty lifts it wordlessly and follows.

Sebastian sits, the strange leather warmed by the sunlight, and picks up a mug, holding it to himself.

Arty lifts his mug and a biscuit. The brunette sits, not on the opposite end of the enormous couch, but a reasonable space away from Sebastian.

“Remind me to look you out a toothbrush later,” Sebastian comments.

Arty looks at the older man over the steam of tea, feeling mildly at ease. “Can I take a shower later?”

“Sure, whenever you want,” Sebastian says. “But you need to keep your bandages clean and dry.”

Arty gives him a dubious look but nods. He knows that were he to ask for help Basher would give it, but the brunette is unsure what that would cost.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Emergency Contact