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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
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Arty has been giving Sebastian strange little brooding looks since he discovered the second handgun, but Sebastian resolutely refuses to give a sufficient explanation.

Arty doesn't seem to mind much. Sebastian has washed the wretched tracksuit and Arty wanders around in the bottoms, his feet bare and his bandages exposed.

Sebastian looks around as he hears Arty shuffle up behind him in the kitchen, the teen's bottoms making a telltale swish swish as he walks.

“You know tea is supposed to go into tea cups, right?” Arty asks with a small smile in his voice. “The clue is kind of in the name.”

Sebastian looks down at the mugs he is fixing tea into and snorts. “Get used to it, Princess.”

Arty simply grins and reaches into the biscuit cupboard.

The stretching is not a clever idea and he pauses, turning his head away as he grits his teeth.

Sebastian ghosts his fingers over the space between Arty's shoulder blades in tentative reassurance. “Things are going to sting for a bit,” Sebastian reminds him mildly.

“Don't they always,” Arty mutters in mild irritation.

Sebastian lifts out the tin without needing to stretch and places it before Arty. He turns back to the tea. “Hope you like it strong,” he mutters.

“I don't care as long as it's warm,” Arty comments, lifting his head.

“Oh, you expect teacups and saucers, but screw the taste?” Sebastian teases, amused.

Arty gives him a look, his lips pursed and his eyes glittering a little, before lifting the tin and carrying it over to the coffee table.

“Come along, Basher.”

Sebastian smiles despite himself and considers throwing one of the teabags at the smug brat. Considering how long it would take to clean tea out of everything, Sebastian reluctantly disposes of the rubbish.

“What's taking so long?” Arty goads playfully.

“You want this over your head?” Sebastian asks, bringing over the tea smoothly.

“You'd have to change my bandages again,” Arty replies.

“It might be worth it,” Sebastian declares, handing Arty a mug carefully.

Arty does not seem to mind the heat, pulling it close to himself.

“If you burn your skin, Arty, I might stop believing you're the smartest one in the room.”

Arty looks up and smirks at Sebastian as he sits down. “Scalding myself still wouldn't put you in the running.”

Sebastian makes an amused yet long suffering face and reaches out to pull Arty's feet towards him, tucking them under his warm thigh.

Arty wriggles his toes and hips, getting comfortable.

“I have my uses?” Sebastian asks wryly.

Arty hums in reserved agreement. Sebastian laughs softly and blows on his tea, drawing it close.

A comfortable quiet descends.

“So what happened anyway?” Sebastian asks at last, startling Arty from his contemplative mood.

Arty gives him a sour expression. He indicates his wounds and crossly responds, “You can't tell?”

“That's not an answer,” Sebastian responds calmly.

“You don't have a pimp to worry about, if that's what you're asking,” Arty snaps.

Sebastian stretches his arms along the back of the couch. “Are you in trouble? Were you robbed? Being punished? What?”

Arty snorts coldly. “That's what this is about, isn't it? You think I got mugged over the amount of money you gave me.”

Sebastian gives him a patient look.

Arty pushes his mug onto the coffee table, intent to leave.

Sebastian reaches out and extends a careful pressure to an unmarked piece of flesh between Arty's shoulder and chest. “Sit down, please,” Sebastian orders.

Arty's eyes flash dangerously. “You're not entitled to anything about me!”

“Didn't say I was,” Sebastian says easily. “But I care about the answer regardless.”

“You don't know me,” Arty growls.

“What does that matter?” Sebastian scoffs.

Arty's gaze flickers for a moment in confusion. “It matters,” he insists.

“Then I'll get to know you,” Sebastian shrugs.

“No, you won't!” Arty asserts.

“Whatever you prefer,” Sebastian states mildly, “but you're going to tell me what happened.”

“No, I'm not,” Arty says with certainty.

Sebastian removes his fingers and leans back comfortably. “I reckon you will.”

“Not in this lifetime,” Arty growls.

Sebastian's lips curl. “And how long does your alias have left?”

Arty tenses up. He stands and turns around to face Sebastian quickly. His chest rises and falls quickly, his bandages glaring on his sore skin and the staples catching the light. “Stop it.”

Sebastian raises both palms upwards, still looking infuriatingly calm.

Arty snatches up his mug and throws it at Sebastian.

The older man catches it and gives Arty a look. “Really?” Sebastian drawls.

Arty clenches his fists, spinning as though he wants to pace. He lets out a noise of frustration.

“Arty,” Sebastian intones softly.

The younger man looks at him reluctantly, panting.

“Come here,” Sebastian states. His words seem to hang in the air and Arty looks at him edgily.

“No,” Arty says in disbelief.

“Come here,” Sebastian repeats.

Arty stares, trembling as though panicked.

“Fine, I'll come to you,” Sebastian declares mildly.

Unsure whether to move or not, Arty watches with frantic eyes as Sebastian sets down the mug and slowly approaches. Sebastian spreads his arms. “Here.”

Arty frowns and shakes his head. “No,” he says, staring at Sebastian as though the other man is unhinged.

“Now, Arty,” Sebastian says, hardening his tone.

Arty shakes his head, watching Sebastian nervously.

“Do I need to start counting?” Sebastian asks.

Arty glares. “I'm not a child!” he exclaims.

Sebastian raises his brows. “One...”

“No!” Arty snaps, stalking towards him angrily. “No, you do not get to-”

“Two, Arty.”

Arty shoves Sebastian, but the bigger man grabs his wrists and spins him around until Arty's back is pressed against Sebastian's chest. “Shh,” Sebastian says gently.

Arty thrashes.

“You're alright, Arty,” Sebastian says in a soothing voice.

Arty quivers and stamps down on Sebastian. Their feet are bare and Arty's light, so it doesn't hurt much. Sebastian does not adjust his hold. He waits.

Arty heaves a frustrated breath, his chest stinging.

“We good?” Sebastian asks.

“No we are not good,” Arty snaps.

“What's the matter?” Sebastian asks calmly.

“You're what's the matter!” Arty retorts. He twists around to see Sebastian and snaps, “I don't believe your fucking hero complex, okay?”

“Oh so I've got a complex now, have I?” Sebastian replies, his voice low and amused.

“Don't fucking laugh at me,” Arty says dangerously.

Sebastian quite possibly loses his mind for a moment and leans close to Arty's ear to whisper, “Make me.” He lets go.

Arty freezes for an instant then spins around furiously, his fists clenching. “What are you playing at?” he spits.

“I'm not the one playing at anything,” Sebastian says. “If you're angry at me, show me.”

Arty's gaze flickers but he steps away instead of closer. “I'm not anything,” he mutters.

“Try again,” Sebastian replies evenly.

Arty flashes him a dark look. “I hate you.”

“No, you don't,” Sebastian replies without doubt.

“Oh, is this another moment where you tell me what I like?” Arty retorts, his voice raw.

“You didn't complain when I slapped your arse at the hotel,” Sebastian points out. “What made what happened in the cab any different?”

“You used your hand at the hotel!” Arty snaps. “And you paid me well for my time.”

“That's not what you're mad about,” Sebastian replies dryly.

“Don't tell me what I-!”

“Don't lie to me then,” Sebastian interrupts softly, frowning a little.

Arty feels his stomach churn. He snarls, “Don't take the moral high ground!”

“I'm not,” Sebastian responds calmly. “I shouldn't have punished you like I did, but if you don't explain why not, how can you expect me not to overstep again?”

“I don't expect anything from you,” Arty snaps.

“You do,” Sebastian responds, “or else you wouldn't be so mad.”

Arty's gaze flickers. “That's nuts. You can't seriously expect me to believe that I-”

“That you feel somehow betrayed by getting your cute little arse spanked for almost killing us?” Sebastian finishes dryly. “I know, it sounds ridiculous to me too.”

“I didn't almost kill us,” Arty responds.

“You choked the driver!”

“There weren't any cars close enough to hit,” Arty retorts. “You think I'm stupid? I timed that perfectly.”

“You're not stupid; you're insane,” Sebastian responds.

“And you're not?” Arty sneers. “Who takes a hairbrush from a taxi driver and thrashes someone with it?”

“I misjudged the situation,” Sebastian replies, “but I had just had two pretty nasty shocks from you in quick succession and was running on little sleep. I still gave you plenty of opportunities to say no.”

“You could have just gotten out the car,” Arty says bitterly.

“And you could have asked me to stop,” Sebastian says.

Arty heaves a deep breath and presses his lips together, frustrated that Sebastian does not understand how unpractised Arty is with that phrase. “That's not- It's not the point.”

Sebastian licks his lips then says something which gives Arty pause. “So take it out of my hide.”

Arty's gaze flickers, his stomach fluttering in a way he does not want to acknowledge. “It doesn't work that way.”

“Then you best figure out what does work for you, Arty, because I'm not going anywhere,” Sebastian declares.

Arty is silent, shivering.
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